#cobalt is in a rut again!

[salstray]

i love being pathetic about my OC's after making them in sims

[1800titz]

I’M IN MY PRIME | Best friend's dad

age gap. 4.8K on patreon

Third and final part to LIQUID SMOOTH & COME TOUCH ME TOO

Fucking an older man feels like every ugly, broken part of you shuddering to the surface. Buoying, dredged up from his broad hand on your shoulder, lugging you down to meet his pelvis in a wet slap. It feels… Heavy. Overwhelming. Raw— your rim smarts on the sheer stretch, and every bludgeon into you (you, being yanked back to envelop the root of his cock, again, and again, and again) feels like it’s cudgeling something sharp and deep. Bruising something awful. And you like it. Chase it, the same way you’ve been chasing him. Because when he resorts to softer grinds, just as deep, and palms at the sides of your skull, thumbs prying into the soft flesh under your cheekbones, with his fingers interlocking in the gentle arch of your nape— And he holds you like that, by the back of your neck, by your face, all withered adoration, lust in worn fatigue, it feels like he’s piecing you back together. Like he can cup his hands around you and make you whole. Your lower lip quakes. “There you go,” Harry tells you, hardly over a whisper (a rasp in ironclad passion), like he’s breaking with every rut, like this moment— fragile, flimsy— will break apart in his hands if he speaks any louder, “There you fucking go. Take it, baby. Just like that.”

preview

You don’t ask him about nice boys. What he meant about nice boys, and what it means for him now. Now, that you’re naked, and bare, and sweaty, stretched across his chest, tracing ink and freckles with your fingertip like coasting the shape of a foreboding asterism. 

Those constellations, spelled out in the horoscopes, on a webpage that was laid out like it was scraped straight off the wayback machine from the windows 2000 era, made your brain rot for years. Cheap, flimsy justification in the shade of cobalt blue and the distant sister of comic sans. You always reverted to the same page because it told you the pretty things you needed to hear, or rather, gave you enough space to pick out what you wanted to see; digging diamonds out of kimberlites. Because the brecciated rock was the bigger picture, maybe— mundane, aversive, your eyes listed, gnawing into the core— but if you picked in enough—

It doesn’t matter anymore. Not with his heartbeat humming in your ear like a perfect iambic pentameter. An unspoken love sonnet. 

(Your naked leg slotted over his bare thigh tells you as much.)

He laughs when you roll your hip forward and grind your wet cunt into the smattering of hair there. Your slick coagulates against his thigh. He feels it, and gives you this low, airbrushed sound in the hummingbird angel choir rippling across the little, vibrating bones in your ear. You hear it under his soft chest before you hear it from his mouth. Then, he tells you something about his knees not being what they used to be. 

Don’t start. Don’t start again— 

You feel like you’ve got your fingers on a winding key. You’re playing with cinders. Rolling live coal in your palms, but you’re waiting for the firework of the blaze reigniting. Waiting for the gear to click. That’s what love is, isn’t it? Push and pull. 

(You wonder if he’ll break. If the flame will swallow you whole, if you’ll hump his leg like a pitiful dog long enough, and he’ll lug you over his lap to bounce you dumb all over on his fat cock again. You wonder if he’ll give in when your knees start to ache.)

Undying devotion doesn’t get crushed under a maelstrom, never mind under a coasting cumulonimbus. You rock your hips a little, more into him, against him, so he knows you don’t care about his knees, or what they used to be, so he doesn’t think that you regret the disconnect in timelines; that yours didn’t overlap with his, enough, to indulge in what his knees used to be.

(You think you’re getting somewhere when he shifts his thigh against you, rigid musculature, granting you access to a better ride. And you wonder if, instead, he’ll mistake your placation for misbehavior. The thought knocks something ugly and wanting up from the settled sediment of your hunger.)

[lilacxquartz]

CHASING HUMANITY • kenjaku x fem!reader

ao3 • masterlist • << previous chapter • next chapter >> • chapter directory

summary: as you slept, kenjaku has a series of flashbacks back to when it all started, leading to problems in the waking world.

trigger warnings: referenced violence/past abuse & mentioned dissociation.

Chapter 8. Origins

You slept oddly peacefully given your grave predicament and although Kenjaku had already made up his mind about not sending you into an early grave, he still enjoyed the reign of power that he held over your very existence.

He lay there in bed with you, with his fingertips dancing around your pulse point, finding the feeling to be nothing short of thrilling—if even exciting—however, now he had a slight predicament that robbed him of a good rest.

He couldn’t help but feel like this whole situation was doomed to be like all of those other times and that it would all end up in the same old rut. The bigger issue being if he did care or not. Surely, if his mind refused to give him a clear answer, then it did bother him more than he let on.

Although, eventually, he too slipped off into sleep, or something close to it. The environment around him felt so familiar, though, so perhaps it was a memory rather than a dream that he was experiencing.

Muted tones of cobalt blue and sterile white painted his surroundings in clinical hues. Cast just overhead, a blinding white fluorescent light basked him in an almost, blinding glow. This place wasn’t new. He knew where he was perfectly well. From the droning buzz of the machinery that whirred in the background to the monotonous blipping of the monitors. He was back at work—but something felt off about it—something wrong.

Kenjaku considered the possibility of this being a cruel joke of some kind. Maybe he had hallucinated quitting the mundane to begin with, and had never left this wretched building at all. Maybe he was coming down from finally diving off the deep end, the high at last grounding him back into reality from what was a very convincing fantasy?

His eyes wandered around the space again. It couldn’t have been real. He could just tell. He was lucid enough to be able to tell that he was experiencing a dream—be it actually a memory, a warped flashback—or whatever else, but that was as far as the control extended. Everything else was out of his steer and he couldn’t do much else other than to remain seated within his body in a dormant state, watching the dream pass by on autopilot as the passenger.

The world outside the windows to the building just barely existed either, somehow making the hospital feel all the more real. That’s how it felt back then too. How depressing. The windows even now, were still fogged up from the perpetually spitting rain just outside—the skies somehow always overcast. Fellow nurses barked out his name in clipped, impatient tones as patients clung to his hands like he was some sort of saviour. In this particular glimpse into his past, however, everyone was a shadow, with not a single face retained.

Kenjaku’s mind scrambled as fleeting fragments of his old life passed him by on a whim, unable to determine why he was revisiting this part of his life. The experience was tilting, making him feel nauseous at the thought. He was everywhere all at once while not actually present anywhere at all—both carrying the burden and yet being free of it all the same. Monotony was the gist of it; day in and day out for years—a meaningless blur.

At some point, however, the dream forced him to pause, the hallway he found himself walking down growing longer with each passing footstep. The walls and windows smudged into something unrecognisable. The smell of copper lingered in the air and his hands felt warm, sticky, and laden with something he couldn’t quite force his gaze to follow while having a good idea as the walls smeared red.

A voice called out his name not too long after, forcing him to go stop and backtrack a few steps, the room at the end of the hallway not seeming so important anymore. It was soft and hesitant and as he responded to it, he let slip of your name without even realising it.

As a result, he couldn’t help but follow the voice, finding himself be drawn back into the long winding corridors where he had once lost his mind and as he did so, the voice became clearer to the point where it was almost jarring—but also, not yours. No, he recognised it perfectly well in fact.

A ghost from his memory.

The person that this whole thing started with.

When he entered the ward, it was exactly as he remembered it. A small, cluttered room with barely any privacy, save some stained curtains. His role in the hospital was supportive mostly, usually in the confines of whatever doctor he found himself shadowing, but one case in particular unlocked an almost morbid curiosity for him. He remembered this person to be some sort of unusual anomaly that gnawed in the back of his mind.

She kept getting pregnant—trying for a child—but the kids always came out wrong, dead or with a serious issue, lost within days. It kept happening and she always waited out past the point of an abortion, creating a problem each time. This was her third try and at first he was almost sympathetic, wondering if this was some thinly veiled attempt as a cry for help, given that the self-inflicted sabotage was repeating, but then his empathy was quickly lost, giving way into an almost clinical fascination instead.

He ended up spending time with this woman when the hospitals were starkly quiet, rendering her a specimen of some kind to study rather than to fix—awakening something within him that had been dormant for far too long.

The world around him back then slowed in her presence, with everything else fading into the distance. She was for a while, the sharpest focus of his study, but it was always boring whenever she got better. So he started to tamper with her progress with that same detached reverence that one might have had for a studied specimen, marveling at the sight as her body continued to hold itself against the odds.

Soon enough, he began to wonder just how much a person could be pushed before they were to break? How much one’s body could endure before they revealed some sort of truth about themselves that not even they knew?

He found it within that patient, at least, right at the cusp of death. The baby lived by some miracle, although it carried on a rare blood disorder, adorned with an unforgiving birthmark right across its face. Just as her eyes locked on the newborn, an answer formed in her eyes, her life slipping away right before he could hear it.

Kenjaku remembered the feeling of disappointment back then but not out of sadness or grief, but because she had left him hanging. How selfish, he thought back to himself again, leaving him in the dark like that.

He then blinked, finding himself somewhere else. A cold air hit his body, plunging him somewhere outside instead, far away from the hospital. The sterile corridors and ambient drone were gone and his surroundings faded away into something else entirely. He paused, recognising this as reality—but he wasn’t in bed with you—instead stood outside in the pouring rain, with the downpour seeping through his robes.

Such a change of scenery made him pause and he stood still as he tried to recollect himself, his heart beating fast. The sky above was still dark, the moon was just barely lacing through the passing clouds and the asphalt where he stood flooded slightly, leaving him more drenched than he would have liked.

Somehow, he didn’t hear the rain though—everything was silent, everything was still—and then finally, it wasn’t.

Without warning, a flash of red burst into his line of sight, flaring across his vision in a vivid explosion. His heart stuttered, nearly stilling in his chest. His hands twitched at his sides as he tried to ground himself back into reality and just as it started to all fade—the redness bled through again, pulsing in and out of the darkness in tune with his racing pulse. Each flash was sharper than the last, cutting into his vision like honed steel. He closed his eyes to block it all out, only for the colour to be burnt into his mind like a stain, leaving behind scarring sanguine in the dark.

When his eyes fluttered open again, the circumstances had changed once more. Everything was clearer that time—everything was real. He was awake this time, he could feel it. His eyes drifted down at last, fixing on his hands. They were red, just barely washed off from what they were doused within. It was without question blood—thick and congealed—clinging to his skin like molten carmine, digging beneath his fingernails and settling between the creased lines of his palms.

It was then that he realised that he was holding onto something.

A piece of torn fabric, maybe belonging to ripped clothing. At first, all he did was swallow hard, trying to process what he was seeing, making out specks of red strands reflected in the warm glow of the streetlights above, his mind racing back to you as a result, wondering what must have happened. Such a slip of the grasp on his reality made him question if he did something potentially irreversible—leading him to wonder if letting you get so close to him was a mistake on his part—if it was never meant to be at all.

Kenjaku blinked, his mind repeating the same question.

Where were you, exactly?

He found himself calling out your name into the empty streets, his voice coming out dry and hoarse. The surroundings churned once more, the rain blurring into marred strobes as red clouded his vision again. The rain continued to fall sharp against his skin as the world grew muted against his will; fleeting glimpses of shadows drifting in and out of his line of sight. It was disorienting to the point where he couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t at that point.

Kenjaku, trying to ground himself, stumbled forward as he tried to walk, finding his hands palming against what felt like brick walls even if he did appear to be back in the hospital once again.

Think, think, think—he demanded of himself, with not a single answer coming to mind.

He tried to walk back—to push through this whole mess—the area at least now seeming faintly familiar even if he was still fairly out of it. He couldn’t have gone too far, surely, and yet as he continued forward, the flashbacks started to happen again, assaulting his mind with conflicting imagery.

In a hasty flurry, a rush of faces flickered in his mind like a flip book of everyone he once made suffer, their names either long forgotten or a mere faint recollection. He blinked rapidly, remembering everyone else that it all started with. The terminal cases that nobody expected to recover; abused until they were eternally silenced by his own hands. Kenjaku remembered the fading life in their eyes; always the same look of an answer trapped in their gaze and yet never a clear admission as to what. Such a look haunted him, making him grow crazed—into a man obsessed. He had to dig slower, to push beyond the moral boundaries of what was right and what could extract answers—not quite caring how far he had to go, as long as he found out what he wanted.

(Of what made people truly human.)

He remembered certain people in fragments. Such as the elderly man who was close to being a corpse already, his body locked in a vegetative state. Kenjaku would linger for hours in the ward, running secretive tests that served no purpose other than to satisfy his curiosity, pushing past the limits of what such a husk of a body could endure. He logged every little reaction and every subtle twitch as he searched for signs of an answer that he didn’t even understand.

Comatose patients were the easiest to get away with when practicing such depravity, at least back in the earlier days. The face of a woman crept into his confronted memory; an unfortunate case of a comatose state as the consequence of drunk driving. She was a quiet case, so for a hot moment, nobody noticed all of those injection sites nor the incisions made in her skin, and due to her subdued state—it wasn’t as though she could feel all of those things either. He experimented in all sorts of ways, but just like before, the silence quickly grew boring.

It was after that point that he understood that he had to go even deeper. The sick and the quiet victims with their inability to fight back nor intervene were easy targets, but they were limited by their frail states and already broken bodies. No, Kenjaku found himself growing greedy, wanting more—needing much more, even if it meant that he would lose himself in order to get the results he wanted.

The memory then shifted, leading him somewhere stable again, but he was still dreaming—he could tell that much. The side rooms to the hospital corridor he was in before were all gone, forcing him to walk towards the end of the hallway. Albeit tentatively, he pushed inside, recognising the room as the office that belonged to his old boss. A small dim light just barely illuminated the space and a warm liquid gushed to trickle past his feet, hitting his senses with something metallic and suffocating. The smell was different from his memory, however—attacking his nostrils with the smell of phantom rot.

He blinked towards the sight of his former boss slumped in his desk chair, the body barely held together, the flesh parting from the bone. Kenjaku remembered it all faintly at this point, but there was one memory that stuck with him the most. The sickening crack of the man’s skull when he had finally succeeded in cracking it open—remembering just how calm he was when he gave into violence—how it all felt so right.

The memory, like with the strange rift between his dreams and reality, however, went blank when remembering a certain point. There was a witness to all of this. A janitor. Perhaps that was his first encounter when it came to losing himself. He still hadn’t the faintest clue what happened after, the details lost to his mind. All that he remembered was that one minute he was cleaning away blood-soaked splintered fragments of wood and the next, he was in the maintenance uniform, staring at himself in the mirror like he was somebody he didn’t quite recognise, yet accepting the stolen name as if it was his own.

Then, at last, he returned to the living, present world once more. Kenjaku still felt a touch out of place from the experience that was just inflicted upon him, but this time he was sure that he could handle his reality once more. He walked back in his suddenly acquired clarity, finding the studio apartment again without an issue, albeit feeling a lot worse than before. Now that he was out of such a strange state, he felt cold, the night chilling him from the bone. His clothing was now soaked and heavy, leaving him longing for a shower to wash the sensation away.

His hands still held onto the fabric tightly woven between his fingers. For a second, he was reminded of you again, causing him to tighten his grip around it as he fought back a feeling he still didn’t understand at all.

As he entered back inside, he paused in his footsteps, seeing you fast asleep in bed as the light from the building’s stairwell spilled partially inside. Your chest rose with each passing breath and your face looked at peace, with not a single part of you harmed at all.

Kenjaku stepped closer, his eyes fixing on your sleeping form.

The sight of you in bed, tangled between the bedsheets filled him with more tension than ever before. It wasn’t that he was disappointed in seeing you seeming, very much relieved that you were alive, but something in him churned—contorting into something else entirely. He stood, locked in place in the doorway, the rain dripping from his clothes and settling onto the floor, simply just staring at you.

Whose blood was that then?

He had no idea. The fact that there were gaps in his memory that couldn’t be recalled at all made all the matters worse. He tried for now to shake it off, hopping straight into the shower instead. Questions kept popping up, like who was—where was the original person and better yet, where did he leave them?

Kenjaku clenched his jaw as the hot water washed over him, the rising steam only barely calming his nerves. If this had happened while he wasn’t in control—if he did this without his own retained knowledge, then there was a chance that he executed the scene sloppily, potentially leaving behind something that he shouldn’t have.

He let out a cool breath as he left the shower, drying himself completely before getting back into bed with you—pulling you tight up against his chest as if to convince himself that you were in fact real, that he didn’t do something that he, for once, didn’t want to do.

The very thought made him react in an almost nauseous state and he almost didn’t want to go to sleep again just in case he would do something that he missed out on again. This—you were his biggest curiosity yet, so he wouldn’t take such an opportunity to learn away so soon.

(…Would he?)

~~~

The apartment was quiet when you next stirred, with the sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains. You shifted restlessly through the blanket, tearing awake as if from a nightmare—although you couldn’t recall it upon waking up. Your fingertips brushed across his body as you stretched and yawned, trying to shake off the exhaustion from your body entirely.

Kenjaku was already awake, his face adorned with deep-set eye bags that bruised over his complexion. You didn’t question it though. He remained perched on the edge of the small bed, watching you with such an unwavering intensity that made your heart flutter, but not in a warm way. If you were being honest, he still unsettled you, but now you had the knowledge that you did the same thing to him.

So perhaps that’s all it was. You let out a sharp breath of air at the thought, laughing to yourself.

“You’re in a better mood,” he observed, his tone softer but his gaze still tightly fixed.

You sat up slowly, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes. Overall, there was something different about you that you couldn’t quite place. A quiet confidence swept through your body that hadn’t been otherwise present before, stripping away the cautious demeanour that you had let on prior. It was as if whatever invisible wall you had encased yourself within was finally beginning to crumble, your guard, despite last night’s events and its follow up, letting itself down at long, long last.

“Yeah,” you yawned out, slipping on your clothes that you had otherwise discarded on the floor. “I guess… I guess I am.”

Kenjaku took note of this shift, deciding to accept it as it was. He was in favour of you adopting a more consistent, maybe stable personality. Perhaps last night, whether it was too early or if it was wrong to happen, dissolved away some sort of barrier between the two of you, leaving nothing hidden.

“I’ll be taking you with me today, like we discussed,” he disclosed a moment later, moving to get dressed himself.

You watched as he fussed with the robes, wondering if the entire get-up was as worth it as he let on. “Oh yeah, I remember. Something about meeting with the acquaintances in the city.”

“That’s right,” he replied, “just one thing though—remember to call me Geto. Don’t slip up and use the name I gave you.”

Without meaning to, you snorted at the thought. “These guys take orders from a monk?” you asked, wondering just what sort of strange identity he kept up with these people. You knew that he was moonlighting a certain identity under wraps, but you thought that he would have been transparent with the people he potentially worked with.

Kenjaku scoffed, although his expression turned amused. “It is what it is. I found them after. They know what I do to an extent, but they don’t need to know the full story. Especially since I’m going to fuck them over in the long run.”

“Aww, and you’re telling me that?” you asked, tilting your head curiously to the side as he told you.

“I’m telling you so that you won’t get too chummy with them,” he corrected you.

“I won’t,” you replied, adopting a teasing tone a moment after, “but alright murder monk, I’ll call you Geto for today.”

Kenjaku blinked. “Murder monk? Really? Out of all the things you could call me—that’s what you choose to go with?”

“It’s fitting, so suck it up,” you shrugged, your lips curling a little bit, “you’ll take whatever I give you, right?”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t fight you on the matter, still feeling curious more so than resigned with wherever this whole thing went. Although, despite his displayed composure leaving nothing to doubt beneath the surface—he was still reeling from the night before. Whatever this was, was nice and for that reason, he couldn’t let something similar happen again, because what if he—nevermind.

He’ll fix it, one way or another. Or at least figure out what triggered it and then figure out where to go from that point on.

~~~

The meet-up happened at a quaint little cafe tucked away into some sleepy neighbourhood in the quieter end of Tokyo, somewhere within a residential district. It wasn’t that you minded such a place at all, but you where wondering what on earth this innocent cafe had done to become the host of something potentially awful.

You warily sat down next to him, seating yourself on the cushioned pastel-green chairs, your eyes drifting down to the whimsical checkered yellow tablecloth. Kenjaku nursed a plate of some sort of sponge cake and a hot milky latte, while the rest of the table too, watched on with slight annoyance—save for a man with steel-blue long hair who had ordered something similar.

As they ate in tense silence, you took your time to familiarise yourself with the three new people. The one who too, had ordered such an unsuspecting dessert in addition to Kenjaku was referred to as Mahito. Somehow, despite how attuned he seemed to be in comparison to Kenjaku, he bore a more chaotic undertone. Unsettling was definitely it, but just his overall appearance with messy scars decorating his body, with his messy hair—the overall vibe… was just different, that was all.

Next to him, sat a broad-shouldered figure who referred to himself as Jogo. He sat there with a grumpy expression, cradling a floral mug of plain black coffee. Just beneath the table, a crackling sound played just out of view—his other hand holding onto a small disposable lighter—his thumb fidgeting with the spark wheel, as if to soothe himself.

Finally, there was a woman. A quiet and composed figure who sat with long, dark brown hair packed into a tousled bun. Her form was broad and muscular just like her companions with her overall presence radiating an almost intimidating energy. Despite this, there was a certain calmness about her that made you drift towards her more than the others. This person was known as Hanami—and she sat herself in the middle, quietly waiting for the meeting to start.

“So, Geto…” Mahito began, finally finishing up his treat, playfully flicking over some residue icing towards Kenjaku. “You’re a bit later than usual, keeping us all waiting like that. Didn’t you say that punctuality was important?”

Kenjaku remained calm, adopting a light-hearted demeanour. The facade he let on was a carefully crafted one and there was not a single hint of hostility in the air, but something about the cold dead look that didn’t match the warmth in his expression, was a sure giveaway.

“Apologies,” he gently spoke, his voice soft, “I overslept. I wouldn’t miss this meeting for a second—it’s been a while, after all.”

“Yeah?” Jogo snorted, choosing not to address your presence. None of them did beyond the simple pleasantries, which comforted you a great deal. “This better be important,” he added.

“Patience Jogo,” Kenjaku smiled, maintaining his performance as someone calm and collected. “I have an important job for you all, actually.”

“Something fun?” Mahito piped up, his eyes beaming with glittering wonder.

“Not exactly,” he replied in a fixed tone as if to let the guy down gently. It was bizarre with how he spoke, seeming almost carefree. It was as if he was a guardian or a mentor of some kind, counselling some sort of troubled band of outcasts, rather than overseeing a couple of thugs. “I have something that needs monitoring before we can move forward with our main plans, but I can assure you all that it will be beneficial in accomplishing the goals that we all agreed upon,” he added, leaning forward, “although,” he let slip a scoff, “it’s a bit selfish, I’ll admit. I’m going to need you all to be my eyes and ears, and if you notice anything unusual, such as… police poking their noses where they usually wouldn’t, then I’ll trust you to report to me.”

“So, are we just sweeping up the potential crumbs you’re leaving behind, or what?” Jogo huffed.

Kenjaku smiled. “Something like that, but I do promise that it’s so that I can move forward with the plans we had all once discussed. After all, we wouldn’t want the police to be snooping around where we’re set to carry out our operations, now would we?”

The group collectively nodded, begrudgingly accepting their position. Hanami didn’t say a word and Jogo only grunted, but Mahito seemed restless even after accepting the role. He seemed to stir at the idea, not quite accepting something so plain. “Aww, come on. You called us out here to get us to be your watchdogs?”

“Actually Mahito,” Kenjaku considered, “there is something that I’d like for you to do,” he revealed, standing up and gesturing for the man to follow, “a word outside, if you please,” his request sounding velvet smooth.

You were left behind for the time being, focusing all that you could on the comforting figure who continued to regard you with a calm, albeit almost eerie smile. Unlike Kenjaku however, there seemed to be something genuinely warm about her that didn’t leave you unsettled in her company. Kenjaku on occasion flicked his sights back, taking note how you were talking to Hanami, not quite liking the view. He warned you to not be chummy with the group and yet there you were.

Focusing on the matters at hand however, Kenjaku schooled his voice into something a touch more serious and authoritative—although, to keep up Mahito’s compliance—he used both such a tone and words alike that made the mission seem like more than it was. How easily manipulated were those around him given a nudge in the right direction.

“I’m going to need your help with a delicate matter,” he revealed, catching Mahito’s attention right away, “something… risky, but only if you think you can handle it.”

Mahito’s eyes lit up, his lips melting into a lazy, almost arrogant grin. “I can do anything you can do.”

Bait and hook. Kenjaku broke his lips into a measured smile in return. “I thought about all of those ideas that we discussed,” he began, referring to a point in time where Mahito had many ideas for how people could be ‘studied’, “and I’ve been thinking, you know, that it’s your time to shine while I keep a low cover,” fully intending for him to get caught, buying some time if possible should such an outcome occur.

“Like…” Mahito trailed off, propping a finger to his lips in thought before tilting his head off to the side. “Like… a copycat, right?”

“Something like that,” Kenjaku nodded. “Think you can outshine me?”

“I can try!” Mahito practically bounced, already anticipating the idea.

“Good,” Kenjaku nodded, but then suddenly seemed serious as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a now coarsely dried piece of fabric from the night before, the old blood settled between the threads, “and also,” he brought his voice down to a low murmur, “see if you can find a match for this. I’d like to know who it belongs to, or if there’s a scene out there that matches a struggle that hasn’t been contained yet. Run some matches—do whatever—check the morgues, the dumpsters if need be. Do whatever and if you can’t find anything at all, then…” he trailed off, his eyes darkening slightly, “then… report back anyway.”

“Oh, what have you done then?” Mahito asked, failing to pick up on the suddenly hostile atmosphere, blissfully unaware and purely curious. It wasn’t his fault for being so inquisitive, so ever questioning the world around him. That’s why Mahito was technically the perfect person for this whole job in a sense, his unrelenting nature to figure out what made everything tick was a valuable trait above everything else.

Regrettably, Kenjaku stiffened, letting slip his composure for a fleeting second. “Let’s not ask too many questions,” he warned before smoothing out the jagged edges of his spiking temper, taking on a once again assured tone, “we don’t want to ruin the surprise, now do we?”

Mahito paused for a moment but kept quiet at the prospect of mystery. Despite this, he pouted slightly at the idea of being left in the dark, even if he didn’t let it before him outwardly. “Fine Geto, you’re sometimes just so cryptic, you know—it’s just no fun,” he playfully sulked, continuing to however accept his assigned task, “but alright, I’ll look into it. Can I…?”

He tilted his head slightly, wondering if Mahito was setting up his question to be what he thought it was going to be. “The person doesn’t have to be left alive if you find them,” he correctly guessed, “just as long as they’re found and disposed of correctly.”

“Gotcha!” Mahito accepted.

Kenjaku nodded to himself, turning his gaze back towards you once more, watching how you carried yourself in a quiet conversation with Hanami just opposite the table. Jogo remained indifferent to you, which he supposed was a good thing—that was as neutral as the arsonist could ever get. Knowing that he had to screw these people over at some point though, his mind flickered with the notion of something different from seeing you act on good terms with them both—it wasn’t quite jealousy, but it was enough to make him feel uneasy the longer he left you alone.

Pulling you away once the meeting concluded, he muttered out a terse warning, “I told you, don’t get too close—also, it’s time to go, so come.”

You shrugged it off, following him out of the cafe, parting your way with the three in a flash. Kenjaku walked at a brisk pace back toward the busier confines of the city. You kept up with him just fine as the time went on, although you were confused as to why he seemed so agitated, and, every so often, he’d set his eyes on you, making sure that you were keeping up with him before he eventually, at last, slowed down.

The vibrant hum of the returning city eventually enveloped him, his shoulders sagging slightly at the sight. Something internally was exhausting him—even if he did feel at ease with you, already understanding that much about the dynamic you both shared. He let out a quiet sigh, closing his eyes for just a short moment, but within just a beat, he was back in the hospital again. The stark image of the crimson-soaked office filled out his line of sight again, pushing him into the long and winding hallway that stretched impossibly narrow with him in it.

He froze, trying to will himself out of it. Not right now, not right now. Kenjaku tried to ground himself as the episode looped—his nails biting half-moon crescents that bled right into his palms. Soon enough with enough applied force, he was able to push the invasive images aside for now, driving himself into the present moment once more—but there was one little problem.

You weren’t there with him anymore.

He froze at the realisation, his eyes darting around almost manically as he scanned the streets around him. The crowd was endless, but he still couldn’t see you anywhere. Not even as much as a glimpse of you passed into his vision, causing his chest to tighten—a foreign sensation overwhelming his being and he hated every second of it.

“Where did you go?” he murmured to himself, his mind racing all over the place.

For the first time, in what felt like his entire existence, Kenjaku felt a hint of panic begin to form in his core. His pulse quickened as his eyes zigzagged restlessly, yet not once locking onto something that had even resembled you. His heartbeat felt heavy, despite how rapidly it was pounding and in the blurring haze of his lapsing clarity—the world around him felt as if it was slowing down.

At first, he tried to think rationally. Thinking maybe that you slipped off somewhere into a store nearby or that you went back to the studio, or even to the bathroom, but the longer he waited around, the emptier the world became. The images from the night before crept back into his mind—the undeniable sight of blood dripping from his hands. He never cared about those he killed, but something about yesterday left him feeling hesitant��perhaps even uneasy.

The gaps in his memory were starting to feel less like cracks and more like a fully split void that he couldn’t stop himself from falling into again and again—stuck in a brutal loop of his past meddling with the present.

What if… you had slipped away from him and escaped?

You wouldn’t do that to him—to yourself—you wanted this, right?

So, what if he then… what if he—no.

Unless he slipped up this time around—unless he had done something while he wasn’t aware of it, then maybe it was really fine. There was no blood on his hands this time around, but that much wasn’t comforting enough. There were many ways one could take a life that didn’t require a single drop to be spilled—he knew that much perfectly well.

Kenjaku stopped, forcing a calm breath to trickle out of his lungs. The world around him began to blur with nothing left clear, but then he heard something. He heard you. Suddenly, his hands were full of some sort of pink-colored drink in a tall plastic cup while you held onto something similar, immediately going for a sip.

Without even thinking about it, he pressed his lips against the straw in a daze, letting the strawberry taste hit his senses.

“So, do you like it?” you asked him, watching for his reaction.

He blinked, masking his response. “Oh yeah, this is good—how’d you know I’d like this?”

“You’re so funny,” you replied, nudging at him with more comfort than you had ever displayed before, “you asked me to get you one of these. Unless… I got the wrong one, somehow?”

Kenjaku joked his way out of it, letting the familiarity of the stable situation ease him back into being around you. Something about you was bringing out a side of him that he couldn’t l control and much to his concern, if it carried on down this road, then it was potentially going to be a problem for him.

Especially with everything else he had going on.

For his sake—and potentially yours—he needed to figure out why this was even happening at all.

And why it seemed to be caused specifically by you.

[greenconverses]

Recently read: It's an odd assortment of romances for February! Slowed my reading down because I have a craft project, but I'll squeeze at least one more book in for the month.

Loved The Earl I Ruined by Scarlett Peckham. My only quibble with it was that it was constantly emphasized the the hero was a salacious dom and we really only got one scene worth of it in the third act? Boo, I say. Give me the kink sooner! Not gonna read the third in this series since it involves an evangelist priest kink and that is not for me, but I will pick up her next series! (★★★.75)

If you pick up Throne of Secrets, know that you are in for 500 pages of getting beat over the head by the words rake, cobalt, dragon, ice, gluttony, reporter/columnist, etc. until you're screaming for it to stop. Kerri Maniscalo clearly turned in her first draft for this and stopped there because it is total ass. I had hope for this series because the first Prince of Sin novel was pretty fun, but clearly I live to be disappointed by romantasy. (★)

For a book centered around treasure hunting and monster fucking, Bull Moon Rising by Ruby Dixon was pretty dull. Dixon's world building is better here than it is in the Ice Planet Barbarian series and I liked the character work a lot better, but the middle chunk of this book was pretty boring. Also, we once again run into the problem of introducing the hero's kink (in this case, a minotaur getting ready to rut) in the first chapters of the book, trying to edge the audience with anticipation for 300 pages before finally ruining it all with a lackluster climatic scene in the back half. Get these folks banging earlier, authors! (★★★)

The Queer Principles of Kit Webb by Cat Sebastian was cute and delightful, though I wish less of it had been devoted to setting up the next book in the series. (★★★.75)

[yanderart]

Another installment in my yandere pov series, and inspired by a few anon requests I got to paint dabi. 

Below the cut, as customary, is a one-shot I wrote for the backstory behind the portrait (Dabi x reader, 3k, dark themes). Hope y’all enjoy 🖤

Tws: nsfw, noncon, hinted kidnapping, inner turmoil. Overall nastiness.

   Staring at the marred back of the man lying beside you, eyes following the billowing pattern of his scars, it was easy to pretend you two were just another couple sleeping side by side. Pretend that you weren’t in a ratty motel room hidden away from the world, on a mattress that creaked with any slight shift of movement, and with the bitter taste of fear resting below your tongue.

   Pretend that he loved you, just like you loved him. Fantasize that it wasn’t the type of complicated infatuation corroded by trauma filled pasts, by bitterness and the phantom of brokered trusts.

  But then Dabi turned, the hitch in his breath warning you of his now alert state, and when his cobalt eyes held your stare all illusions were promptly shattered. Wishful words died on your lips before they even had the chance of being born, the frown on his face deepening as his arms circled around you, drawing you close.

   You tried to leave your mind blank then as he pressed your face into his chest, wishing it was easier to tune him out while he muttered lazy words against the shell of your ear. 

   “What happened, Princess?”, Dabi’s sluggish smile dragged the corner of his mouth upwards, making you feel the unmistakably texture of his metallic staples digging into the side of your face, “Are you lonely?”, He was mocking you, of course, and yet it was hard to not identify the hopefulness that hid behind his jest. 

   A hopefulness that went hand to hand with his need, with the sharp line of his body enveloping you and a rapidly hardening length heating up your lower abdomen. 

   A tremble shook you, prompting you to curse beneath your breath as a low chuckle was drawn from the man holding you. 

   “Or were you cold?”, and he was still teasing you, elated in your humiliation. 

   Because you were naked in his grasp, without even a blanket to aid you or any other heating present in the musty motel room. He had refused you any covers from day one, taking away what little you owned in terms of clothing and citing the fact that you needed not hide away from his glare. But you knew the truth behind his meager explanations, the reasons why he so rejoiced in seeing you exposed and trembling.

   In the death of winter, with the cold biting at your skin and the air feeling suffocating in its humidity, he was your only source of warmth.

   It became impossible not to let out a reluctant sound of relief as he dragged his palm through your sides, heating up your skin with languid movements. Although you were luckily way past the point of feeling any embarrassment at your own willingness to stop the cold, past the point of blaming your body for reacting in the way your captor had conditioned it to do so. 

   “Want me to warm you up, then”, Dabi muttered now at the base of your neck, his breath hot and almost painful as it grazed your nearly frozen skin, “Princess was so cold she couldn't even wait for me to wake up on my own, is that it?” 

   He wasn’t even expecting an answer at that point, just talking for his own sake as your shaking became even more pronounced, getting off on forcing you to hear whatever sadistic taunts his mind provided. Unwittingly pressing yourself against him as you tried to wiggle out of his grasp (dumb girl, should’ve known better than to think you would ever get away), by the time you felt the twitching of his bulge against your stomach it was too late to try and pull back. 

   His hands were pressing you down from the small of your back before you had a chance to think of voicing any discomfort, his sarcastic laughter turned into a low rumble as he proceeded to roll his own hips into you, angling you with ease so that he was pushing against a much more sensible spot lower down.  

   With your face away from him, it was too late for you to trick yourself into zoning things out. All you could see was the dirty mattress you were forced to lay on as he continued to mutter against your pulse, the rough texture of nails diving into your flesh as he coaxed you into following his movements, setting a cadence for you both as he continued to rut into you through the thin fabric of his boxers.

   All you could feel was the disgust climbing from your gut, the burning sensation of tears you hadn’t been able to shed since your very first few weeks with Dabi. 

   “I’ll warm you up, baby”, he was whispering as one of his hands crept up your stomach, tickling your ribs with its blazing touch and making you wonder if you were about to get marked again. He sounded so utterly pleased with himself, so absolutely content, that your mind was quick to conjure up images of blue flames licking at your flesh, of the barely fading scars that littered your entire body. 

   He took one of your breasts into his grasp then and snapped you away from your lingering memories, kneading it slowly, almost carefully, before his fingers made contact with the sensible bud of your nipple. Again, it would’ve been so easy to get lost in that sensation, in that revering touch, if your circumstances didn’t make it anything short of horrifying.

   (But you were warming up already, weren’t you? Your cunt reacting despite the disgust and horror you proclaimed, slick gathering as it greedily prepared for the impending intrusion. What a liar you were, Princess.)

   He continued his lethargic rhythm as his fingers toyed with your chest, teasing himself (teasing you both), before taking his other hand away from your lower back. You were trained enough not to try getting away from Dabi by that point, knowing better than to fight the inevitable, but it was still hard not to feel shame bubbling back up as you found your own hips stuttering down to meet his out of reflex.  

   In his hands, your own body became the deadliest weapon he could wield against you.

  (Yet you’re enjoying this, you like this. Therefore, you must like him too, right?)

   His now vacant arm slid up until he was roughly grasping your jaw. He angled your face down to stare into his gaze, into his scarred face and parted lips that morphed into a perfect picture of lust riddled reverence. And seeing the longing in those orbs was far crueler than all of his jests, all of the degradation and threats. Far scarier, too. 

   “Kiss me, Princess”, he commanded then, his stern voice almost succeeding at hiding away an eagerness you knew lurked beneath. 

    And you did, because you knew the consequences you’d otherwise face. You dived down to capture his lips in a mechanical way, moving dispassionately (or that’s what you tried telling yourself, as in denial as you were) until he took over. Much in the same way he had coached your hips earlier, the hand in your jaw instructed you with light movements until a pleased sound left the back of his throat. 

   “So willing for me”, he praised in a hushed tone as he briefly broke away, voice grave and dripping with desire. 

    And just like before, it wasn’t long before he decided you were well enough accustomed to the action, and then the grip holding your jaw was once more moving downwards, his scorching touch now merely tickling you as a palm pressed against your stomach, massaging your flesh as it continued its path to the same place his thrusts were directed at. 

   Your breath caught in your throat then, eyes closing as you tried to preemptively contain your emotions. 

   Dabi did not appreciate that. 

   “Look at me”, he uttered with a dark edge, a heavy order to loom over your quivering shoulders. 

   But you kept your eyes tightly shut, feeling fingers snaking between your legs and tracing the outside of your cunt as they quickly became dampened by the wetness gathering there. The squelching sound of his digits dipping inside your folds only made you cringe further, so focused as you were into keeping immobile and quiet. 

   You wanted to disappear. (You wanted to open your eyes and moan).

   Confronted with your tenacious refusals to comply, one of his fingers made its way to your hidden nub as a response, proceeding to mercilessly rub against it before he gave you any time to become accustomed. The spiralling stimulation made it difficult not to visibly shake. There was nothing teasing or slow about his movements, unrefined and harsh, yet you thought you could feel Dabi’s frustration at your stubbornness through that touch alone. 

   “Look at me before I decide that just humping your needy cunt won’t do”, he threatened, his own words breathless and hoarse.

   Which did give you a moment of trepidation as you tried and failed at ignoring his assault on your body. Your hands were now clenched into fists against his chest, nails digging into your own flesh while his fingers delved deeper inside you. They stretched you in a way which felt uncomfortably pleasant, quickly finding your tender spots in a practiced manner. 

   “C'mon, you don't have to make it harder. You've been so good for me lately, so sweet", and despite the terrible nature of his words, the slight softening of his tone had a terrible effect on you. 

   His words scared you, terrified you, and yet the backhanded compliment only made you more lightheaded, helping the unwilling pressure steadily building up due to his quick and nimble fingers. 

   You didn't notice his face getting closer, his breaths coming in hot puffs against the skin of your tender neck, but you did feel his lips as they closed against the crook of it, his teeth as they scrapped carelessly before claiming that same spot in a painful show of dominance. 

   You were trembling now despite a part of you still commanding your eyes shut. Inside you, his digits felt warm, so filling already, and you couldn’t help clasping around them despite your attempts at ignoring any unwanted excitement. 

  (Were you seriously going to cum on the fingers of your captor? Of the man whose face now plagued your nightmares, whose voice never left your conscious mind? My, my, what a hypocrite of a whore you were.)

   “Mine”, you thought you heard Dabi whisper as his love bites continued littering your skin “My princess.”

   And wasn't it fitting, how his awful nickname for you was the last thing you heard before his fingers achieved their goal. Two of them were slamming in and out of you, filling the room with horrible wet noises that you had unsuccessfully been trying to tune out, and a third one still insistently toyed with your clit. 

   It was fast, it was relentless, and your eyes were shooting open without your permission as a choked moan finally escaped your tightly shut mouth. You shook while you came, opening your fists against your assailant's chest and trying to ignore the pungent taste of shame as you found purchase on his shoulders instead. 

   From the back of your conscience, still overwhelmed by the shots of pleasure shaking your core (by his fingers that hadn't stopped for a second, insisting on accompanying you through your orgasm), you thought you heard a satisfied hum coming from the man holding you. 

   And as the pleasure numbed slowly, as the sensations turned painful while he refused to leave your oversensitive sex, Dabi was finally exiting the cover of your neck and his cerulean eyes were finding yours again. 

   There was a satisfied smirk in his lips, his expression almost soft if it weren’t for the hidden glimmer you had learned to tell apart.

   “Now, now”, he cooed at you as he continued to force your body into overstimulation, sobs fighting to exit your throat now instead of the unsolicited moan from earlier, “I knew you’d be good. You always listen to me now after all, don't you, Princess", his other hand had started kneading your other breast, left neglected until now, and your body was so unbearably hot by that point that you would have gladly welcomed back the terrible winter cold, “You'd do whatever I ask of you, wouldn’t you?”

   It was hard to think, hard to respond as the last vestiges of your pride still leaked out of you and facilitated his relentless attack on your flesh. Your nipple was being pinched roughly, only adding to the pain of being overstimulated.

   (But you were feeling It again, right? The tell-tales of your arousal awakening for a second time. So eager to please him, to be obedient despite whatever objections you claimed to harbor). 

   Another tug at your chest, this time nails lightly digging in, and you were slapped out of your dazed state into answering with rushed words. 

   “I'll do whatever you ask, Dabi”, your voice felt foreign to you, so small, so docile, “but make it stop. Don’t...”, a sound resembling a cry fought its way out through your sentence, one which neither of you knew if it was from discomfort or a pleasure quickly gearing its head back up, “make it stop, please.”

   He was so fucking satisfied to hear your meek little pleads again then, relishing on them like a man starved after so long of your stubborn refusals to speak. To his ears, it sounded like the chorus of heavenly angels descending from the heavens to reach him. He, who if there even was such a thing as Heaven, would be better fit for the scorching flames down below. 

   And that's when you felt it again, the threat of his now bare cock coming to rest against your pussy. It was a tentative probe, almost clumsy without hands to aid him in his search, and his fingers did not ease their assaults for even a second as you tried not to feel betrayed.

   (But did you really believe he would keep his word? That he'd just hump you like an eager virgin when he knew the alluring slickness waiting to hug him, to welcome him back? You were even dumber than you looked.)

    “I know I promised", he admitted while you felt his warm erection pressing slightly, teasingly, against your slit, your own body starting to reach its second cusp without the time to even completely get down from the first, “but you took too long this time, Princess. You were being such a brat…”

   And it was almost poetically ironic, how your second orgasm hit as his fingers relented and his cock finally entered you in their place. It stretched you in a way which was no longer painful but filling (it didn’t make you cry, having you fruitlessly trying to find anything to ground yourself to as it tore you apart. Not anymore anyways). You sighed and moaned while being stuffed full, finally giving in despite any apprehension, and your pussy took him in and hugged him tight as a response. It distracted you from the shame, the guilt, the remorse, and before long your keening was filling the room with its eagerness. 

   “Maybe next time”, he kept groaning against your ear, now both hands going down to grab at the supple globes of your ass, persuading your pliant body into follow the rhythm he was easily setting, “if you're better then, if you…”, even for him it was becoming harder to talk, entranced as he was by the welcoming hold of your inner walls, “if you don't wake me up, if you aren’t so needy. Maybe then, fuck.”

   You were still cumming as his halfhearted promises mingled with his excuses, as he became lost in his own pleasure, in using you as he saw fit. And, lost as you were in the sensations, you were foolish enough to think them true for a moment.

   Maybe next time, you repeated to yourself as his thrust become frantic. His grip on your ass turned painful as he lost sight of the force he was using, his palms heating inadvertently and your skin sizzling below them. You'd have more marks once all was said and done, more patterns to add to your growing collection. 

   Maybe next time he woke up he'd let you go. Maybe he'd finally understand love was not a prison nor a leash. Maybe next time he would ask for your forgiveness, understanding all the trauma and horror he was forcing you to endure. 

  (Or maybe you'd be the one asking for penance, kneeling in front of him and finally seeing him in the way he so desired. Maybe you would start understanding the dimension of his efforts then, of his love for you that he knew not how to show otherwise. A love that scared him as much as it damaged you.)

   As his hoarse moans mingled with your own, you were too drunk on your own fantasies to even attempt to squirm away before he was filling you up with his seed, your walls still convulsing around him as your body stayed attentive, pliant and tender. His lips were kissing you, licking you in poor attempt at providing comfort, and yet you felt a hopeful smile turning the corners of your lips ever so slightly. 

   So many things could happen next time. And anything would be better than this, right? Feeling his cum coating your insides as a litany of nonsense left Dabi's mouth, his softening cock refusing to leave and allow any drop to leak out. Anything had to be better than being owned, being conquered. 

   (So naïve you were, the only person you had gotten good at convincing was your damn self.)

   “Love you, princess", his head was buried in your neck again, his favorite place in your body to hide in while he slowly rocked you both, “so fucking much.”

   And in his own twisted way, as much as you wanted to fight and argue, you didn't doubt his words. Such a twisted love it was, but unquestionable in his burning desire. 

   Even as it charred you to a crisp, leaving nothing but ashes behind and deadlier than anything his quirk might subject you to. 

   Dabi loved you, his sweet little princess, and maybe if you weren't so stubborn you could start loving him back. 

****

Probably the longest one-shot I've posted alongside a portrait so far, since I'm still getting comfortable with the length of my writings (still cant believe people read and enjoy these lol). And special thanks to my pals @reinawritesbnha, @coyambition and @snappysnapo for lending me a pair of eyes before posting 🖤 love y'all !

🥀 Requests/Suggestions OPEN 🥀

[littlefreya]

(Ok, What if..)

Henry's partner is kinky, while Henry isn't really himself. But, one night, during a round of passion, she convinces Henry to kink spank her.

(I'll leave the rest to that genius and delightful mind of yours 💕)

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Warnings: 18+, RPF, sex, spanking, some role play, doggy style, dirty language.

A/N: Okay, but with a small twist. You’re an actress on Enola Holmes' set, and seeing him as Sherlock makes you... 💦 not beta’d. This is spaaaarta.

Role Play

You knew he was playing a role, but once the celluloid rolled, gone was your boyfriend and before you stood a victorian disciplinary lord with a furious glower wrinkling his brow. So direly convinced, not once did you have to repeat your lines as your voice trembled at "Sherlock’s” rebuke.

This weakness cost the entire crew a prolonged day of filming, sending you home at the kiss of midnight.

Though Henry was never ma, and despite your embarrassment and sense of shame, you had one thing on your mind the entire ride home...

Still caged in the confines of your victorian attire, you shoved him against the door the moment you stepped inside. Your kisses were drenched with ardent bruising desire. Henry chuckled into your mouth, reaching his hands to gently caress your cheeks.

“Spitfire,” he called as you allowed him a wisp of air before conquering his mouth again and sending a whimsical hand to squeeze the hardening bulge at his groin.

Naturally, he began to fumble with the buttons of his vest and led you toward the bedroom, but you halted him with urgency in the middle of the main hall and shook your head.

“No!” you turned your back at him and leaned against the dining table. Glaring at him you lifted the many skirts of your dress to expose your rump with an invitation.

“Fuck me in that outfit, fuck me like sherlock!”

Henry scrutinised you thoughtfully, weighing your demand. He wasn’t much into these types of games, but you did well to provoke him all day long and make things harder with those wanton glares. The way your blossom rose with every arduous breath was not lost on him either.

The same strict mien spilt into his glare, turning your tender lover into a man with eyes of dark shimmering cobalt.

Not saying a word, he shuffled behind you and forcefully tugged your panties down your thighs. Your breath already shook as he ground his yet covered cock against your dripping mound.

“Do I take you like a maiden? Or like a whore?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave lower.

“Take as whatever you want just... oh!”

Guttural grunts and high pitched cries composed an enticing duet with the sudden slap of his thighs into your ass. His cock speared your hilt, buried so deep within your squeezing curve you felt shockwaves of pleasure spurring at your breasts.

A sliver of a moment was given you to adjust, or for him to dwell at the sweet warmth of your cunt before he began slamming into you with fervour.

“Fuck!” you gasped, grabbing onto the edge of the table that shook and dragged with the might of his ruts. Both of you were obscenely loud, enough for whoever passed the hallways to hear, and the hotel neighbour below was sure to complain about that heavy thuds at their ceiling. Not that you mind, if anything you were only enticed by the notion and specifically as you imagined yourself to be a victorian lady being pummeled like a bitch by a respectful gentleman.

Henry seemed lost in the tempest of this little game as well; grunting deeply, he took you rougher than he usually would, his heavy sack smacking against your petals every time he pushed back inside you.

“Spank me!!!” you heard yourself scream in the midst of ecstasy.

“What?...” he panted, not relenting on his rhythm.

Turning your head, you nibbled your lip and threw him a begging stare.

Henry took you in and balled his fist in a moment of consideration. Your eyes shone with paradoxical innocence, attempting to coax him to your demand. Seeking for fiendish power within him, he tried to convince himself how wicked you’ve been today; so drenched with lust like a wild woman. A spark of anger rose to him, and with the wring of his wrist, he lifted his hand and granted your ass a stinging smack.

Astonishment washed over your face, your mouth agape, and your back arched suddenly to receive him.

A shred of concern surfaced in his mind but soon faded as he witnessed your joy and despite his slight resentment of hurting you, he pulled his hand and spanked you once more, watching your thighs quaking and how you broke apart at the burst of your climax.

“Wanton little harlot,” he choked, feeling how your cavern contracted around him. The last spank was delivered as a true punishment, scolding you for making him do something so lewd. His fingers then squeezed your flesh and he drilled into you until a shuddering grunt cracked from his throat and he seed painted your womb.

Spent, he collapsed, his cheek pressing to the wing of your back. Both of you trembled, exhaling loudly at the incredible experience and the waves of bliss that lazily ebbed away.

“See?” you uttered. “It’s not so bad.”

Henry chuckled dryly and planted a kiss upon your sweaty nape.

“You are lucky I am not the chiding man Sherlock is, you would never be able to sit again.”

[mindninjax]

Heat of the Moment

Pairing: Tobio Kageyama x Reader (College AU)

Rating: Explicit (18+ minors do not interact)

Warnings: virgin!Kageyama, sex, virgin sex, nipple play, condom sex, Y'all it's pretty tame ok. It's wholesome sex

Word Count: 2.6K

a/n: HERE IT IS CEE! @spacelabrathor I PROMISED YOU A KAGS FIC AND IT'S HERE. Here he is in all his cute, dumb, awkward, blunt (but still a fucking prodigy at everything he does) glory! ALSO FOR YOU some Atsumu slander bahahah. (No one come for me I love Atsumu but like... come on, mans is a little asshole) ANYWHOO This is supposed to serve as a little continuation to my first Kags fic So I hope you enjoy! Also s/o to my love @dymphnasprose for always dropping sweet yummy Tobio thirsts in my DMs and making me absolutely feral for this man. I love you forever baybeeee

“I want to have sex.”

He’s decided, made up his mind, the decision is final, no more going back and forth. Steely blue eyes gauge your very surprised expression as you lay on your belly on his bed, feet kicking the air as you read a book. Your eyes widen in surprise as you take in your boyfriend’s expression.

“What?” you ask, chuckling and pulling yourself up to sit and give him your full attention.

“I want to have sex with you.” He repeats it, confident and reassured that it is exactly what he wants as he looks into your eyes. When you raise a questioning brow, he stomps over to the bed to sit beside you and place a hand on the small of your back.

“Tobio, is this about what Atsumu said last week?”

You know how much Atsumu is able to get under his skin. He teases him constantly about being a virgin after Tobio accidently and drunkenly let it slip that he hadn’t done anything with you other than heavy petting and heated make out sessions. Atsumu has teased him since then, making jokes about one day stealing you from him so you could be with someone with experience. As if you’d leave Tobio for Atsumu. Yeah right.

“You know I’d never leave you for him, right?” you say looking into his eyes with a worried expression. His cobalt eyes gleam back at you, getting momentarily lost in your beauty before he scowls again.

“It has nothing to do with that piss-haired loser!” he says defensively. He knows you wouldn’t leave him, especially not for Atsumu, but he can admit—only to himself—something else Atsumu said is what helped him make his decision.

There’s nothing better than seeing a woman come undone around you. You look at her face and see her pleasure and know it’s all because of you and you feel invincible.

Tobio swallows hard when he pictures for the fifth time tonight your face twisted in pleasure. You gasping and moaning his name like the woman in the porn he watched for reference last night. His hand moves to rub your back seductively and his expression softens.

He really does love you, you’ve put up with so many of his mood swings, supported him at every game, even helped him with homework is some of his toughest classes.

“I just want to be able to make you feel good. I know you’ve had sex with other guys before me, but I wanna be the one who made you feel the best.”

You crawl into his lap, straddling his muscular thighs and draping your arms around his neck to plop a kiss onto his surprised lips. The tiny lounge shorts dig into your thigh as you look at him through your lashes and he digs his fingers into your plump ass. He intakes a breath when you grind on the bulge in his pants and his eyes grow wide.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” you say, a sultry smile working it’s way onto your face. “But I won't say no to you trying.”

You kiss him, grasping his silky jet black locks and plunging your tongue into his mouth. Both his large hands grasp your ass as you grind down harder on the growing bulge in his pants.

Tobio always gets a boner when the two of you make out, but to feel how warm you are and how close your pussy is to his dick, it makes him grunt into your mouth. He leans back on the bed, flopping onto his back as he holds your waist and balances you atop of him.

You continue kissing him, purring and humming against his lips, and when you pull back to look him in the eye, a string of spit keeps the two of you connected. He looks at you in earnest, biting his lip and trying to focus on your pretty face instead of the ache in his shorts.

“Ok so should I fuck you now? Why are our clothes still on?” He asks with complete seriousness and you snort. Your world shines brighter due to his absolute lack of tact, and he frowns when he thinks you’re making fun of him.

“What?” he grumbles.

“That’s something Atsumu won’t tell you, probably because he sucks at it. There’s a beautiful thing called foreplay and you’re going to learn it,” you say as you smile against his lips and run your hand down his chest.

“From a woman no less, which means…you’ll already be ahead of the game.” You grind your hips down upon him again and he’s too late to stop the groan that tumbles from his pink lips.

You smirk then roll to the side to move off of him and he rises up in shock, eyes wide and worried. But he holds his breath when he sees you standing and removing your shirt and shorts before you look over your shoulder at him.

“Well, I can’t be the only one undressed.”

Tobio quickly sheds his shirt and shorts, sitting clad only in his tight compression underwear on the bed. He stares at your bra and underwear, eyes drinking in every deep curve, the swell of your breast, and how the thin twine of the straps of your thong sit on your hips.

His fingers fist into the sheets of the bed and his cock twitches at the mere sight of you. He can’t remember how he got so lucky but he smiles smugly to himself when he pictures the surprised look on Atsumu’s face when he finds out.

You tiptoe over to him sitting on the edge of the bed and push his thighs apart to stand between them. He wraps an arm around your waist and cranes his neck to look up at you. You run a hand through his hair, pushing it from his forehead. His long fingers trace down the curve of your back and you sigh at his touch. He places his forehead against your stomach and closes his eyes.

“Your skin is so soft. I want to kiss it,” he mumbles. You chuckle as you continue rubbing his hair.

“So why don’t you?” He opens his eyes and obliges, placing his lips against your stomach. You sigh again as he kisses down your stomach and stops at the hem of your underwear. His hands are on your hips now, digging into your skin and fiddling with the straps of your panties. He’s so eager, the excitement he usually saves for the volleyball court oozing out of him as his piercing gaze asks you for permission.

You give a curt nod and he loops his long fingers through the skimpy string of your panties and slowly pulls them down your legs. When you’ve stepped out of them and he’s face to face with your pussy, he gasps in amazement. He takes a few moments to look over you, his hands running up your thigh before he continues his path of kisses from your stomach down to your clit. He stops suddenly when you whimper and his eyes are wide with panic.

“Sorry, is that bad?” he asks in a small voice. You don’t realize your eyes are closed until you open them to see his eyes panic stricken expression. You rub his hair gently and give him a reassuring smile.

“Nope, it’s actually really really good. Aren’t I the lucky one to get a guy who doesn’t have to be told to kiss my pussy,” you say laughing. Tobio smiles up at you as well, now more calm by your relaxing tone.

“Can’t help it when it’s that pretty.”

He pulls you down on top of him and you squeal as you straddle his waist. He lays on his back, massaging your hips as you mount him. You reach behind your back to unhook your bra and his eyes grow even wider as your tits fall. You always knew Tobio was a boob guy, but the way he’s looking at you now, mouth slightly agape as he licks his lips, definitely cements that fact.

His cock twitches in his underwear and you give him a quick kiss before shimmying down his body to free him from his cotton prison. You’ve never seen Tobio naked before. You’ve felt his impressive length through his pants when you two have fooled around and fantasized about how pretty it would be when you finally witnessed it but like always with Tobio, it's better than you expected.

He’s not too long but he’s quite thick. He's already dripping precum and it leaks onto his belly when it pops free; the tip is a beautiful plush pink that matches the flush of his skin when he sees you staring hungirly at it.

When you bring it to your lips and lick the tip, he groans loudly and clutches the sheets on the bed tightly. “Wait…I almost…” he grunts through his teeth. You look up at him apologetically. A blowjob probably isn’t the best idea for his first time, but you definitely make a mental note to suck him off some time soon. The man’s cock is way too pretty not to be in your mouth.

“Sorry,” you say before moving back up his body to kiss him passionately. He grunts into your mouth as you bite his lips. His hands tangle in your hair and he ruts against your ass in anticipation. When he moves to bite your neck you moan and whisper his name.

“S’okay. I wanna...suck…” he grunts, pawing at your breast as he nibbles and licks your neck. He sounds like he’s asking permission and you breathe out a quick, “yes” before rising up to sit on his lap.

You can feel his heart speed up, thrumming underneath you as he raises and pulls your body flush to his. You feel his long lashes flutter against your chest before he latches to your nipple and groans deeply. You’re not sure how he knows exactly what to do but your pussy grows wetter with every flick of his tongue on your skin.

“Mmm Tobio, you’re so good at that,” you moan and you can tell he likes the praise. He flexes his hips up into you, grinding against your ass and you moan again desperately as blood pumps straight to your cunt.

Tobio continues licking and sucking your nipples, moving from each one to give them equal amounts of attention, but when he bites down and sucks like he’s pulling something from you, you throw your head back in bliss, a loud shrill whimper bursting from you.

You’re ready now, your body vibrating with anticipation. You push him to flop on his back again, lean over to open the desk drawer, and grab a condom. You quickly rip it open with your teeth, pull it out in one quick motion and roll it slowly down his length.

He watches in amazement, you’re a pro at this. How on earth were you able to make opening a condom that sexy? You lock eyes with him now as you hover above his dick and his chest heaves up and down. He thinks once again about how lucky he is, how gorgeous you are, and how much he can’t wait to see your face when you’re coming on top of him.

“Don’t be nervous baby,” you purr as you line the tip up with your pussy. Even through the condom he can feel how warm you are, and he has to take deep breaths and focus on not finishing too early.

“Don’t you wanna make me feel good?”

He grits his teeth as you sink slowly down onto him. You spread around his length and he watches in awe as you take him. You both cry out when you’ve sunk all the way down on top of him and your walls are fluttering as you become accustomed to him.

Tobio’s eyes are squeezed shut, he’s panting trying desperately not to think about how fucking warm and tight you are. He can feel you clenching, feel you caress his cock and he can’t imagine how good it would feel if the condom weren’t between you two. His hands are digging into your hips, leaving marks as he concentrates on holding in the cum he wants to shoot into you.

“Shit…is it always like this?” He grunts as he looks up at the ceiling.

You chuckle as you run your hands up your body, massaging your own tits and pinching your nipples. You lean down to whisper in his ear.

“No, it’s even better without a condom,” you smirk and he gasps at the thought. You lift your hips then, placing your palms on his broad chest and balancing yourself to hover over the tip before plunging down onto him again.

You continue rocking your hips and bouncing on him and he swears he can see stars. He grunts and moans, gasping as you draw circles with your hips on his cock. He remembers how good you are at dancing and isn’t surprised at how well you ride him.

“Fuck...shit this feels so good,” he groans and momentarily open his eyes to watch your lovely face. Your eyes are lidded and you’re biting your lips in concentration, a seductive smile playing on the edge of your lips.

“You’re doing so well baby,” you coo. You’re impressed, he’s lasted far longer than you thought he would, but then again Tobio’s always had great stamina.

Your ass slaps against him, bobbing like the first time he saw you twerking and it only makes him buck up into you more. Your tits are bouncing as the room fills with the sultry sound of slapping skin. He bites his lip as he feels his insides tighten, a pressure building in him as your pace quickens.

Your moans are loud, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure and when you whimper his name, it feels like he’s on the court. His instincts kick in and he flips you on your back. He pulls your body close to his and looks into your eyes before he plunges into you.

The new position allows him to hit an angle no guy you’ve been with has ever been able to hit and you cry out in ecstasy. He pumps into you desperately, kissing you and watching as your eyes start to roll to the back of your head. He feels so good inside you and he’s so close his arms and legs are starting to shake.

He watches as you bite your lip, scream his name and clench so hard around him he doesn’t have to be a pro to know you’ve just come. He smiles a cocky smile to himself before a guttural growl breaks from him and he spills a thick load of cum into the condom. So Atsumu was right about that. There’s nothing better than seeing you scream his name and watch you come undone because of him.

He stays embedded in you for a few minutes as both of you twitch and come down from your high. His head rests in your neck and when he’s finally caught his breath he flashes you a cocky smirk. You giggle and roll your eyes, not needing to hear him say anything.

“How the fuck did you do that?” you ask as he pulls out of you and removes the condom.

“I don’t know, my body moved on it’s own I guess,” he shrugs as you take the condom from him, tie the end and dispose of it. You kiss him on the lips and shake your head with a smile.

“Should’ve known you’d be a goddamn prodigy at it.”

Tobio pulls you back into his arms to hold you and bask in the after sex glow. He’d finally done it and he’d managed to get you to come too. A prodigy you’d called him. This was definitely something he’d “accidentally” share with Atsumu next time.

--

Thanks for reading!

[inkykeiji]

day 5 ❅ let’s hit the north pole and live happily

please don’t cry no tears now, it’s christmas baby

day four ❅ day five | series masterlist

character: todoroki touya | dabi

genre: hmmm bittersweet angst

notes: AAAAAAAAH MERRY CHRISTMAS TO THOSE OF YOU THAT CELEBRATE AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO THOSE OF YOU THAT DON’T <33 eeee here it is, the final day!! it’s short n (bitter)sweet, just a lil epilogue of sorts to wrap the whole thing up. thank you so, so much to every single one of you that has supported my blog over the past few months, your love means more to me than words will ever be able to tell you <3 | title credit: snowman by sia

warnings: 18+ (no hardcore smut but still), pseudo-incest (stepcest), tense family dynamics, size difference, generally toxic relationships (possessiveness, extreme dependency)

words: 2.3k

synopsis:

Because he’s right. Because this trip would have, undoubtedly, killed him, had it not been for you and your soothing lips, kissing his tears away; you and your gentle fingers, dancing along his skin as they calmed his sobs; you and your unwavering love for him, filling him up until he felt like he was going to burst with it, your discernible warmth laving over his body, his mind, his very soul.

  ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅    

The wind rattling the old bay window has you waking with a start, jolting a little as another harsh gust blows against the glass, sweeping up powdery snow and dancing with it in intricate, forceful squalls.

A deep sigh slips through your parted lips as your head flops back against the pillow, listlessly staring at the ceiling.

It’s Christmas.

You had decided to stay, Touya promising you he could handle another twelve hours around your family, especially if he was sleeping through most of it.

“I don’t want to further upset my mom,” he had told you, lips tugging down as bloodshot cobalt eyes glanced away from your inquisitive stare. “There’s no point in leaving now and causing more problems when we can just leave early tomorrow,”

Of course, niichan. Whatever you want, niichan.

Rolling over onto your side, you run your fingers through his tousled hair, head tilting forward to pepper tender kisses across his face.

It rouses him slowly, gently, lids lifting to reveal brilliant sapphire, gleaming in the grey morning light, and blinking a little as his gaze focuses, a small grin forming on his lips.

Really, there’s no other way he’d rather wake up, no other sight he’d rather be greeted with, except for you scattering the sweetest kisses across his face, calling his name in the sweetest whisper, staring at him with the sweetest eyes.

“Merry Christmas, princess,” his voice is gravelly, vibrating in his throat, eyelids still a little puffy and swollen from the night before.

“Merry Christmas, niichan,” you whisper, fingers trailing down the side of his face, a deep sense of bittersweet melancholy burrowing in your chest.

It’s Christmas.

He made it.

“You did it,” soft lips murmur the praise into his fluffy hair, inhaling his musky scent and filling your body with it, with him, burning hickory wood and Marlboros with just a hint of day-old cologne. “I am so proud of you,”

And normally, normally he’d playfully tell you to shut up, rolling his eyes at your gentle compliments.

But today isn’t normal.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he admits in a mumble, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and exhaling. His voice is so raw, so honest, that it sends tears rushing to your eyes, stinging a little as they blur your vision.

Because he’s right. Because this trip would have, undoubtedly, killed him, had it not been for you and your soothing lips, kissing his tears away; you and your gentle fingers, dancing along his skin as they calmed his sobs; you and your unwavering love for him, filling him up until he felt like he was going to burst with it, your discernible warmth laving over his body, his mind, his very soul.

You say nothing, because there’s nothing to say, swallowing thickly against the lump that’s lodged itself in your throat and blinking rapidly to keep the tears from escaping your eyes, little fingers tangling themselves in his hair as you hold him close.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

Christmas Day is tense, and awkward, as you’d expected it to be.

Neither of you are present at breakfast, opting to stay in bed, to pretend to still be sleeping as Touya ruts into you slowly, lazily rolling his hips as he swallows your mewls, mingling with his little pants and the gentle creak of old bedsprings, creating the softest, sweetest symphony. Words whispered against your skin promise you that next Christmas, and every Christmas after that, we’ll celebrate just like this, just the two of us, tangled up in each other as you writhe and gasp and tremble and cum.

Just the two of you…you like the sound of that.

No one tries to wake you. No one comes to get you to ask if you’re hungry, no one saves you a plate of leftovers, no one tells you that they’ve already begun opening gifts, that they’ll be done by the time the two of you finally emerge from your cozy little bedroom.

Your meek little merry Christmas is met with a chorus of mumbles, your family members keeping their eyes averted as you stand at the bottom of the stairs, peeking out from behind Touya’s torso.

They don’t ask what happened. They don’t ask where you went last night, or how Touya’s feeling this afternoon, despite the fact that every single one of them had witnessed his puffy, tear-stained face as you had barreled through the living room the past evening, had heard him choking on his own sobs as you frantically tried to calm him while half-dragging him to the front door.

And Touya doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t apologize for nearly pulling a gun on his baby brother the day you arrived, doesn’t apologize for lobbing a block of ice at his face, doesn’t apologize for the cracked lip and bruised eye he gifted him two days ago.

You don’t open any of their presents, which is fine, because there’s only one that truly matters to you—a tiny box sitting abandoned under the tree, wrapped in shimmering azure paper, glinting in the weak yellow light.

It holds a diamond encrusted platinum choker, roughly two fingers wide and not unlike the gold one Duchess from The Aristocats dons. You’re more of a Marie, Touya tells you as you stare down at it, tilting it in the dim light and watching as the precious gems catch, casting brilliant little rainbows. But I thought this would suit you, too.

Tears cloud your vision, glistening in the Christmas tree lights as you gaze up at your niichan, hitched little thank you’s lodging in your throat.

“Look on the inside,” he urges, jutting his chin at the box and directing your stare back down, dainty fingers picking it up in the most delicate fashion and scanning the inside of the band.

Right at the front, carved into the platinum in elegant, loopy letters, reads: To my princess, Merry Christmas. Love, your niichan.

“It’s stunning,” you murmur, looking back up at him again, little watery giggles tumbling past your lips. “Help me put it on?”

A fond laugh rumbles deep in his chest and he nods, taking the piece of jewelry from your hands and slipping it around your neck, large hands gentle and careful as they fasten it.

The weight of the choker is comforting around your skin, searing into your flesh in the most pleasant way, a physical manifestation of Touya’s love, of Touya’s ownership, that you can wear forever.

“Open mine!” you urge him excitedly, plucking the only other present left under the tree—a small rectangular box, wrapped in glittery pink paper—and shoving it at him.

And he can’t help the snort that escapes his lips as he tears through such pretty princess wrapping, eyes softening as he uncaps the box.

A Boker Lockback Hunter knife gleams up at him, the handle encased in pearly iridescent nacre, such elegant material contrasted by the glinting silver of the blade. Your name is engraved across the blade in a neat scrawl, and he inhales sharply, taking it between his fingers like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever held, turning it and watching it glimmer in the light.

Sapphire eyes finally flit to yours, an unreadable expression on his face. And, for a moment, you’re terrified he hates it.

But then he’s surging forward, dropping the box from his other hand and cupping your jaw as he drags your face towards his, smashing your lips together in front of the entire family. Someone gasps, someone mutters something, someone chokes on their breath, but you can’t be bothered to care, not when all you can see, taste, feel is Touya, mouth slotted against yours as his lips move in the gentlest caresses, pure love and adoration pouring from him and into you, filling your chest until it swells, until it feels as though it’s going to burst.

“I love it,” he murmurs as he rests his forehead against yours, breathing slightly laboured, eyes still closed. “Thank you, princess,”

And he does love it, he loves it so much, because now, he can carry a little piece of you with him everywhere he goes, something almost as pretty as you are on his body at all times. Because now, every time he uses that knife to protect, to torture, to kill, he’ll be reminded of exactly why he does it, and who he does it for.

The rest of the family stares at the two of you, gazes searing into your skin, their travelling eyes leaving a scalding, prickly heat in their wake as they observe you and Touya exchange your gifts, entirely consumed by one another, caught up in your own little world, eons away from everything else.

And you wait for it to come, wait for the hurt and sorrow and regret to seep into your chest, to sink, heavy and stifling, to the very pit of your stomach, but it never does.

Disappointment is thick in the air, adding a weight that should feel suffocating. And it does, in a way, but not the way it’s supposed to.

Because you meant what you said last night in the car—you really don’t care what any of these people think of you, don’t care if they’re upset with you, frustrated with you, exasperated with you—as long as you have Touya, it really doesn’t matter.

Their thoughts, opinions, feelings—none of them are important, not when Touya’s got his strong arms wrapped around your waist, not when you’re safe in his warm, protective embrace, nuzzling into his firm chest, comforting and familiar.

Your father can barely meet your eyes, let alone speak any words to you, but it doesn’t matter, not when Touya’s been gazing at you with such affection it’s nearly choking, not when Touya’s been whispering the sweetest little affirmations, praise and compliments and words of love, to you all day, lips tickling the shell of your ear.

Fuyumi no longer tries to keep the peace, looking as if she just swallowed something sour every time she accidentally catches your gaze. She sits next to her mother on the loveseat, her body so rigid it must be aching, muscles tight and tense, coiling any time Touya speaks, any time you answer.

But it doesn’t matter, because you feel relaxed and at ease in your niichan’s arms, answering his questions with soft murmurs and little giggles.

Natsuo can’t seem to sit still, fingers fidgeting as they pick almost viciously at his cuticles, palms running down his thighs, rubbing behind his neck, dragging over his face, body full of jitters as if he’s had too many cups of coffee…or as if he’s coming down from something.

But it doesn’t matter, because Touya is still, serene and calm for the first time since stepping foot in this cabin, finally able to breathe now that everyone’s stopped pretending, stopped trying to be a family that they’re not, a family that they’ve never been, a family that they’ll never be.

Shouto’s entirely silent, stoic and apathetic, though he isn’t afraid to look at you, to glare at Touya as nimble fingers pick idly at the thick cream bandage wrapped around his hand, covering an ugly curve of five stitches across his palm, curtesy of Natsuo.

But it doesn’t matter, because neither of you have anything to say to him, verbally or otherwise.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

You don’t stay for Christmas dinner. Rei is stiff when she hugs the both of you goodbye, voice void of any emotion as she wishes you a safe trip home, makes you promise to call her when you arrive at the flat, though you’re absolutely positive she won’t want to hear from either of you.

It’s just going through the motions at this point, doing what every good mother is supposed to do when her children depart on Christmas Day. No one else, save for Natsuo, bids you farewell.

Touya doesn’t apologize to his mother, either, although you know he will a few nights from now when he calls her—in his own convoluted way, a sorry without a ‘sorry’—deep voice caressing her ear sweetly like he always does, laced with just a hint of derision as he lists all of his wrongdoings, as he subtly and skillfully connects them back to her, as if they’re her mistakes. And you know she’ll forgive him, like she always does, that she’ll apologize too, for forcing him through such a horrendous disaster—apologies that had become a habit long, long ago, after something goes seriously south at a family event, as they have a tendency to do when Touya’s involved.

Snow crunches under your boots as Natsuo walks with you to the Audi, each step further away from the cabin aiding you in feeling lighter and lighter, each step further away from the cabin allowing your lungs to open up a little more, fresh air rushing in as the invisible weights of family obligations and duties begin to lift.

True to his word, Natsuo returns Touya’s weapons the moment he’s behind the wheel, wishing the two of you a merry Christmas and promising to swing by the flat soon—maybe for New Years, he muses—before patting the roof of the car and sending you on your way.

Rei watches the whole interaction from the front door, arms wrapped tightly around herself as she leans precariously against the doorframe, face crumpled with an emotion you’ve never seen before, something akin to a complicated, contradicting mixture of grief and affection.  

A deep breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slips through parted lips as the Audi finally pulls onto the road. Warm and heavy, a large hand snakes it’s way onto your thigh, kneading the muscle slightly, Touya casting a glace at you through the corner of his eye with a tiny smile tugging at his lips. And you can practically see it, the tension dissipating from his tight body with each second further from the cabin, becoming more fluid and relaxed. The two of you only have each other now, but that’s okay. It’s you and him against the world now, a fact solidified by this trip, but neither of you would have it any other way.

“Never again,” Touya sighs the moment the cabin is out of sight, disappearing in the rearview mirror behind a hill.

No, you agree. Never again.

[nyxdelanuit]

Papa Mammon (Mammon x F! Reader)

Lesson 25 got me feeling some sort of way, and I felt compelled to write this. @mammonrights is also to blame, since this is for her. 

WARNINGS: NSFW, BREEDING KINK, AMY’S FINGER KINK, DUMBASSES TO LOVERS, GENERAL SOFT DOM MAMMON

You had tried to get that night out of your head, but the memories seemed to haunt you whenever you were left on your own. The memories of the bright lights, your hand clasped with Mammon’s. The feeling of being pressed close to his body as he asked if you were trying to make him lose control. The way you shivered every time Little D #2 called him ‘Papa Mammon.’ You didn’t think of yourself as a particularly maternal person, but when it came to Mammon…

 It started just a passing idea. You had already wanted Mammon, that much was certain after the night at the carnival. But letting him cum inside of you? That sent such a sweet heat bubbling in your stomach. It grew from there, and although you and Mammon had yet to go any further than you did that night, you couldn’t help your how your thoughts spiraled. Now all you could think of when you spotted his face is how much you truly wanted to make him Papa Mammon.

 You danced around him as you went on with your life, a subtle touch here and there, a sultry look when you leave a room. Just enough to keep him looking at you. Enough for him to sulk when another brother took up your free time. They had definitely consumed every waking moment since your return, the paltry months of apart, making the desire to spend time together that much stronger.

 You had finally escaped Levi’s clutches after he had passed out half-way through his latest favorite anime. You were grateful for the out, but the nap you had taken midway through season two made you feel like you’d be up for hours. Sneaking back to your room was risky, being past curfew. Luckily you knew that a few doors down, there would be a bed that would gladly welcome you.

 You hoped.

You slipped the door shut behind you, surprised that the lights were still on in Mammon's room. You spotted him sitting on the couch, his glasses abandoned, and his head thrown back as he murmured to himself. His arms were sprawled over the back of the couch, and you did your best to slide into the space next to him before startling him out of his thoughts.

 "What do you think you're doin', creepin' into my room?" His blush gave him away, secretly happy for your presence after so long.

 "Levi kept me in his room so long I fell asleep. When I woke up, he had fallen asleep too, but I'm awake now. I didn't want to be caught by Lucifer after curfew, so I figured you'd let me hide in your room for tonight." You smiled innocently as Mammon stared at you.

 "Ya fell asleep in Levi's room?" Ah yes, what did you expect? He huffed a little longer until he realized you had asked to stay in his room for the night. "Ya want the Great Mammon to hide ya for the night? It's gonna cost you. Ya better feel lucky; I don't let just any human stay in my room." He shied away from your sight, but you only giggled.

 "Mammon, it's just us here. Don't think I've forgotten about the other night. You can drop the act." You leaned against his side, reveling in the warmth he gave off. Mammon didn't speak, he only dropped his arm to cover your shoulders.

“I thought ya would’ve forgotten, with how much ya hang around my brothers.” He pouted.

 “Mammon, how could I forget! You said we were crazy in love and dating.” You watched as his face darkened to a cherry red.

 “Ya don’t have to tease me.” He whined.

 "I'm only teasing if you didn't mean it." You were fairly confident that he was honest when he told you he loved you, especially when he held you so tightly to his chest. But Mammon was stubborn as always. Away from the magic of that night, he kept his feelings locked under his flimsy mask. Luckily, you had learned a few tricks to get past it.

 With a deep breath, you swung your leg over Mammon's lap, straddling. His hands flew to your hips, a strangled cry escaping him at your suddenness. Before his eyes could slip from yours, you trapped his face between your hands, running your fingertips through his hair the way you knew he liked. You felt him relax underneath you, and you took the chance to place a delicate kiss on his lips.

 “Do you think about that night?” Mammon nodded, seemingly captured under your spell. “I do too.”

 "I can't take it when you're this close. If ya don't stop, I won't be able to control myself." You believed him, truly. Out of all the brothers, he seemed to have the most control. Never once had his anger gotten the best of him; not once had he lost his cool in front of you. It was endearing at any other time, but that's not what you wanted then. You leaned in, letting your breath ghost against his lips before he surged forward. Finally, a taste of what you had been daydreaming of.

 Once he began, it became increasingly difficult to pull away. He hadn’t been lying when he told you that kissing you only made him want to do it more, and you were more than happy to oblige. Yet the ache in your core reminded you that it wasn’t the only thing you wanted. You pulled away with a light tug to his hair, and there was nothing to stop Mammon from continuing this time. He pulled you closer to his chest, laving kisses and bites over your delicate neck, drawing gasps from you every time his sharp canines scraped against the tender skin.

 “Mammon, what if I don’t want you to control yourself.” You felt him twitch underneath you, and just barely stopped yourself from grinding down on his hardening length. He groaned into your neck.

 "Are ya sure?" Damn his self-control. You bit your lip as you thought it through, this could go one of two ways. You could tell Mammon what you've been thinking of, and he could jump on the chance to lose himself in you, or he could be appalled, and any chance you had of getting into Mammon's bed would become a lot smaller.

 "You want to know what I think about the most from that night?" He nodded against your shoulder, the strain from holding back obviously taking a toll on him. Your voice dipped as you whispered in his ear, "I think of that Little D calling you Papa… and how much I want to make you a real papa. How bad I want you to fill me up, to mark me inside and out. Let everyone know I'm the Great Mammon's human."

 The world spun around you, Mammon moving faster than you had ever seen. One moment, you were on the couch with Mammon underneath you, and the next you were sprawled out on his bed, his demon form looming over you with glowing eyes.

 "Ya really did it now," he rutted against you sharply, pulling a dazed breath from your lungs. "Did ya really think I could control myself when ya say such temptin' things? You're mine, human. No one else is allowed to touch ya now. Ya want me to fuck ya? Want me to fill ya up real good?" You nodded, all restraint thrown out the window the moment your back hit the bed. With a predatory smile, Mammon drew his finger down your neck, the sharp claw at the end tracing delicately over your tingling skin before it reached the collar of your shirt. It tore through the buttons with ease, the ruined fabric was pushed roughly off your shoulders, and you scrambled to help him. He wasn't satisfied with that, though, ripping through the middle of your bra before throwing both offending pieces of fabric off his bed.

 His hand wasted no time mapping the curves of your stomach, pausing over where would fill you before dipping his fingers under the waistband of both your skirt and your panties. He pulled them down, pulling back to untangle them from your ankles. He sat back, looking upon you bare for the first time. You couldn’t help but squirm under his darkened gaze, you had wanted this too long to attempt covering yourself from his stares.

 He took his time to look you over, eyes traveling over your legs and pausing with a seductive lick to his protruding canine as he drank in the sight between your legs, no doubt already dripping and waiting for him. He didn't linger long, his hands following his eyes as they raked over your stomach to the peaks of your breasts. His hands enveloped them easily, and you were once again amazed at the differences between the two of you. His fingers absentmindedly traced over your pebbling nipples as he looked at you, the serious expression on his face was not one you were accustomed to.

 “Last chance, baby. Ya can get up and leave now, or you’re mine. No one else’s, and not just for a little bit.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss and swallowing the moans he no longer held back.

 "I told you, I love you, Mammon." He let his head drop against your shoulder with a whispered curse before propping himself up with an arm tangled in his sheets. His mouth replaced the hand on your breast, lapping and nipping at the sensitive nub. Your back arched off of the bed to press further into his mouth, and he groaned. His hand slipped from the other breast, pinching your nipple softly before reaching up.

 "Be a good girl, and get my fingers nice and wet." He panted, sending feather-light pulses of pleasure through your chest. You opened your mouth as soon as you felt his fingers trace your lips, tracing the digits with your tongue before closing your mouth around them. Mammon rutted against the bed as you swallowed around his fingers. He started slowly thrusting them in your mouth, pressing them deeper than you thought you could take. When your throat started constricting against the calloused pads, he removed them altogether. You sucked in a breath with a shuddering cough, and Mammon was quick to praise you.

 “Such a good girl, such a good little human takin’ my fingers so well.” He cooed, his cobalt eyes pinning you to the mattress better than his hands ever could. His drenched fingers fell down the planes of your stomach, tracing around your heat in a way that made your head spin. “Gonna take my fingers, yeah? Gonna let me stretch ya out before I fuck a baby in ya?” You nodded, head heavy with desire.

 Mammon was reaching his breaking point, quickly thrusting two fingers inside your dripping core. He bit at his lip, the tip of his canines digging into the skin as he spread his fingers inside you, trying to speed up the process.

 "Please, Mammon, please, I don't want to wait any longer." You tried to grind against his palm as his fingers worked within you, but it was no replacement for what you really wanted.

 "Greedy little treasure, you want my cock that bad?" He teased, placing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

 "Yes, I'm your greedy little human, I want it so bad." You whined at the inhuman growl Mammon let out as he nipped at your skin. His fingers increased their pace, curling up against the spongy tissue and making you writhe under his touch. Although you had wanted it, you still keened at the loss of Mammon's fingers, but you were quickly enthralled by the sight of Mammon ripping off his clothes, a hunger in his eyes that could rival Beel's.

 You were barely able to tear your eyes from him to watch him palm his length. You thought you might have wanted a little more time to prep when you saw the size of him. His fingers would be a joke compared to the way your throat would tighten around his cock. He was thick and longer than you were used to, a mouthwatering curve telling you that he’d effortlessly drive you crazy.

 “Please, Mammon, please, I can’t wait.” You sounded debauched, but you couldn’t find the will to care. He sent you a cocky smirk, rubbing the silvery slick he collected from your cunt over the head of his dick before giving himself a few shallow strokes.

 He rubbed himself against your neglected clit, giving a breathy laugh as you tried to buck into the sensation. “So impatient, you’re lucky I can’t hold back any longer.” He gripped your hip, throwing your leg over his hip as he eased into your tight slit. The melody of your whines and Mammon’s moans sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

 He paused for a moment when he was fully seated, savoring how your heat enveloped him so sweetly. That would be the only respite he would give you though, gripping your thighs with a biting hold as he started thrusting deeply. Each meeting of your hips drove you further up his bed, pulling a deep growl from Mammon's chest as your body inadvertently tried to escape him.

 He pulled you back to him by your hips with a snarl, his nails pricking into the supple flesh, and heightening the pleasure coursing through you. You were right about his dick, every pass filled you more, rubbing perfectly against your fluttering walls. Your pleasure climbed as Mammon quickened his pace, not yet satisfied with your keening cries. The dark chuckle that escaped Mammon snapped you out of the lustful haze clouding your head.

 "Ya know, babe, Levi's dumb little comics did teach me somethin' useful. Ya ever heard of a mating press?" You would have laughed, the thought of Mammon stealing Levi’s hentai so ridiculous in this context, but the breath was ripped from your lungs before you could say a thing. Mammon nearly folded you in half as your legs rested on his shoulders, pushing himself ever deeper into you with bruising force. “Take it, treasure. You wanted all of me, so take it. I’m gonna fill ya up so full.” You could barely breathe between the feral smacking of Mammon’s hips against your ass and the pressure of him leaning against your legs as they folded against your chest.

 He looked positively ethereal above you, wild white hair touseled around his ebony horns. His eyes glowed a deep blue, shining with possessiveness and lust, and hidden deep within, the tenderness that kept him in check even now. The curve of his dick was even more pronounced this way, dragging sinfully over every sensitive spot while the hair that trailed over his stomach teased your clit. You were so close, you just needed a little more.

 Luckily, Mammon was in tune with your greed, your lust for more. It was like a drug to him, the dizzying rush of his human, his treasure wanting more of him so badly. It drove him insane, he just wanted to consume and devour all you had to offer him. It was such a fine line to balance on, teasing himself with the edge of oblivion, knowing you trusted him to lose control just enough. He could live forever on this feeling alone. His lithe fingers trailed down your leg, finding the jewel nestled in your fold, prime for Mammon's taking. He was always drawn to such things, after all.

 “Tell me treasure, tell me ya want me.”

 "I want you, Mammon, only you." His cock twitched at your admission, heart beating erratically at how easily the words spilled from your mouth.

 “Tell me ya love me.”

 "I love you, Mammon, more than I've ever loved anything, please." He groaned low and deep, rumbling in his chest as tears threatened to drown his sight. His fingers nimbly drew patterns on your clit, pushing you higher, closer to your peak.

 “I love ya so much, my treasure. I’m gonna fill you up so good with my love, you’re gonna be dripping it for days. Everyone’s gonna know who ya belong to, especially when ya start showin’.” His eyes rolled back as you clenched in response to his words. “You’re such a good girl for me, I love ya.” All you could do now is hold onto his arms as he pounded into you relentlessly, the calloused finger on your clit rubbing frantically on the edge of pain. “Cum for me, my treasure. Cum and I’ll fuck a baby into ya, just like ya want.” He begged, and that was all it took to push you over the edge, the cascade of your release flowing over Mammon and staining the sheets below you.

 He whined, low and desperate as he bucked into you with abandon. The rhythmic pulsing seemed to pull him in, gripping him for all that he was worth. With a final look at your blissed-out face, Mammon came within you, filling you to the point that his release dripped down to join yours on the blankets.

  He moved you slowly after he recovered, taking the time to stretch your legs out as he lowered them around his hips. Once you had caught your breath, he reluctantly pulled out from your heat, collapsing next to you on the bed before rolling to face you. His fingers traced through your hair, not unlike how you usually played with his. “Ya alright? I wasn’t too rough with ya, was I?” You shook your head with a smile.

 “It was perfect, Mammon.” You hummed in contentment, stretching out your sore muscles before cuddling into his chest. His breath hitched, and it took him a moment to wrap his arm around your waist.

 “Did ya mean what you said? About wantin’ to have my kid?” His voice was soft, unsure.

 “Of course, silly. Maybe more than one.” You could practically feel his heart skip under your hands.

 “And you love me?”

 “And I love you.”

 “I love ya too.” You hummed in response, sleep pulling heavily at your mind.

 "C'mon treasure, let's get you cleaned up before we go to bed." He laughed softly at your pouting face, also reluctant to move. If he got up, all this might have been a dream. Surely it'd be better to just spend forever in his bed than to wake up and find you gone. But he knew that your needs were more important, and if anything happened to his human, he'd never forgive himself. "Fine, guess I'll just have to carry ya. I'm not makin' this a regular thing, though." A lie, he knew as soon as he held your content body in his arms. He'd carry you around everywhere if you asked. To the bathroom and back would be a good start.

[razorblade180-heated]

Missing You

[Smut! Lasting Embers AU]

“Finally! Home again!” Yang shouted into her house, followed by the giggling from feeling Jaune’s arms wrap around her waist.

“Only this time it’s for real.” He kissed her cheek. “Second time’s the charm.”

They walked in slowly just to take the moment in. Ten plus years of fighting had a way of making Yang very sentimental, not to mention thankful for marrying someone who never gave up on her return.

Jaune finally let go to get something for her to eat since she was probably hungry from the journey back, but was quickly pulled back into another comforting hug.

“You know, I think I missed this feeling the most.” She said as she took in his scent. “You’re as warm and calming as the day I left.”

“Which time?”

“Both, I can never describe how much I missed you.”

Jaune could say the same. Instead he lifted his wife’s head up and stole a kiss. It was passionate, not to mention liberating. All this time and it felt just like he remembered; time might’ve made it stronger even. He finally broke it off and planted another on her forehead that made her blush more than she already was.

“This almost feels like a dream. You and Yujin kept me going but even I started to think-”

“Sssshhh” Jaune said,rubbing her face. A tear threatened to appear on Yang that he wiped away. “Believe me, I know. Not a day went by that I didn’t ache for you. Yujin too, but we got through it all thankfully. Rest now and I’ll make you something.”

His words soothed her soul in a way only he could. They wouldn’t sway her from letting Jaune get out all his emotions however. “Jaune…” his name escaping her lips slowly.

Yang had stood on her toes and gave him a more passionate kiss. Jaune couldn’t help but groan as her hands rubbed his chest and her tongue invited itself into his mouth. The intensity brought them stumbling to the ground into a straddle, a thin trail of saliva still connecting them even after stopping the kiss.

Jaune’s eyes were trained on Yang’s body in its entirety. Not just in lust, but in longing. Hair, eyes, smile, blemishes, he missed it all so much.

“It couldn’t have been easy keeping faith, or raising Yujin. Yet you did it in strides.”

“Believe me, there was dark days”

“I know.” Yang pressed her body against him and put her forehead on his. The shared expression of deep desire sunken into them. “Just let it all out. I want...I need you to show me how much you missed me. Her breathing became slightly unstable. Yang’s beautiful lilac eyes drifted up and down him as they became red “because I really need to show you how much I missed you.”

A switch flipped inside of Jaune. He couldn’t stop himself from stealing another kiss, one that was hungrier than the last. He quickly went for Yang’s neck and started leaving heated kisses all over it, his teeth sinking into it to mark the pale flesh red.

Yang’s body shifted and rubbed up on him as every single thing they did made her moan for him. “Please don’t tease long…”

“Endure it.” His tone more strict from desire.

That tone could give him anything he wanted right now. Yang ironically was always the meeker one when it came to these sort of things, What could she say? It felt good to be the one being out of control for once. “Yes sir” was she could manage before Jaune removed her shirt and bra.

No time was wasted kneading and sucking on the mounds of flesh. He was going to worship every bit of her.

“Aaaa~ Fucking…..aaahh!” Yang’s hands clenched Jaune’s hair and held on for dear life. His body leaned forward until Yang’s back was against the carpet. To think the floor would be there setting for such a reunion? It was perfect. The bed would probably break.

Yang’s hips raised up by reflex and Jaune immediately removed her pants before stripping himself too.Funny how years apart didn’t change their speed in times like these.

Jaune took a moment to examine his wife yet again. Her toned thighs, sculpted arms, trained waist, and heavily breathing chest. Not to mention her dripping core she oh so let him see by spreading her legs. There were a few more scars than before, that was natural. So was the natural blemish that would come from age, mainly a few wrinkles and knowing Yang, she probably wished she was a tad skinnier.

“As beautiful as the day we met”

Those words made her look away from him. It wasn’t fair how he always knew what to say. “Lady Killer as always.”

He smirked and bent down until his breath could be felt against the wanting woman’s clit. He gave it an antagonizing slow lick before dipping his tongue lower to properly taste her. Earning him the sweet sound of a moan bellowing out for Yang.

He made his way inside of her and held her legs in place. Yang couldn’t help but quiver and shake as she felt Jaune’s tongue lap up her overflowing juices. This felt better than she remembered. Way better! Yang propped herself up with her arm to see his cobalt blue eyes looking right at her. He was so hot, so...everything. She had forgotten just how much he made her feel like she was everything.

“Jaune!” She whined. “It’s too much!”

He slid his tongue out. “Good.” There was that voice again. His mouth formed around her sensitive nub and Jaune began sucking and slurping while his middle finger took the place of his tongue.

“For fu...fu..ah gods.” It was indeed too much for Yang. Only a few thrust was more than enough before her walls clamped around the digit and her body convulsed from her orgasm. Yang wasn’t sure how she managed to go as long as she did with Jaune’s touch, but it wasn’t happening again.

Finally he was able to remove his finger. The sheer amount of excitement he got from feeling just how wet and hot she was pushed him to finally progress. “Yang, get on-”

Yang was already moving. Not to his orders, at least not at first. She turned her body around to face and grabbed a hold of his seven inch member and wrapped it around her mouth.

No sounds were made besides the subtle wet sucking and not so subtle groans as he throbbed in Yang’s mouth. Somehow resisting the urge to thrust as he felt her tongue glide across the underside.

‘His taste is thicker, more potent.’ She thought as she bobbed her head deeper. She felt his right hand press on her cheek and blushed deeper as Jaune was clearly enjoying it.

“You’re so sexy.” He groaned. Yang did everything in her power to not stop blowing him right then and there and just let him go at her. She wanted to do this though. After all this time, Yang wanted to do as much as possible. That included a load to the mouth. She wouldn’t admit it but the anticipation was making her so hot for him.

“Get ready for a mouthful.” Gods it was like he was reading her mind. Everything he said was what she wanted to hear. A slight tense in his grip signaled Yang to open wider, accepting the violent twitches of his shaft releasing thick ropes of cum that blanketed her throat. The taste was stronger too. Just how much was Jaune pent? Did he ever touch himself, he had to right? She sure did.

Jaune watched her gulp it down all at once before licking the tip of his still very erect length.Yang finally stopped and layed on her side with one leg bent and her forearm propping herself up. Jaune took the bent leg and put it on his right shoulder while his right hand held her hip.

“I love you.” He said while he rubbed the tip against her. Jaune knew he might not be able to say much once they started.

“I love you too.” Yang’s words dripped with lustful passion. “No please bury that cock into your wife and give it to her in your favorite position.”

Jaune slid in with no resistance whatsoever. Both gasped at the sudden feeling and Jaune’s right hand squeezed more around her shapely ass than her hip now.

Their eyes locked at Yang could already feel the heat start to rise in her core that threatened to melt Jaune in slick pleasure. In this position, he was gonna hit every spot from the start. His left hand grabbed Yang’s left boob for added pleasure and he thrusted deep.

Tight, she was overwhelmingly tight. “Yang!”

“Move! Don’t you dare hold back!”

He wasn’t planning on it. Jaune pulled back before thrusting his hips forward again and again and again; rapidly picking up his speed. Each thrust scraped a little deeper and kissed Yang’s womb. Years without practice and they were still in sync, making their emotions flare even more.

Yang’s nails dug into the carpet for any kind of leverage against Jaune’s passionate rutting. There wasn’t a movement that didn’t make her moan loudly and stir her up. Yang tried to bite her bottom lip to gain any sense of self control but it was a far cry from working. Her body showed many ways to Jaune just how much pleasure he was giving her.

Her pale skin was now covered in a thin layer of sweat and flushed all over. Strands of her long, beautiful hair clung to her face in a way that mesmerized Jaune. The way he looked at her only made Yang feel more sensitive, the sound and smell of her own arousal filling the room.

“I missed you so fucking much Jaune!” Her voice pleaded, letting all her emotions run free. Yang reached out to him with one arm and Jaune graciously bent forward.

It hooked itself around Jaune’s neck and Yang pulled him into their hottest kiss yet. Jaune never stopped moving his hips into her. As far as he was concerned, her love was the only thing sustaining him right now. The love he had been starved of for so agonizingly long.

“I’m never letting you go again.” Jaune all but growled. “I was...so lonely. Everything hurt some way without you.”

Jaune's left hand caressed her body and clung to it as if it might slip away. Yang couldn’t help but ache and yearn even more from his words. Their shared loneliness drives them heights better than any dream they might’ve had throughout the years. He made her feel so good, so...happy.

Time seems to erase itself as they continue their intense love making. What could’ve only been around twelve or so minutes felt like hours. And as much as Yang didn’t want it to end, she had been staving off her orgasm for half of that time.

The word “close” was all she could muster to say but he got the message. Jaune leaned into her ear.

“Your voice, body, everything…” he whispered. “I want to feel all of it again.” His thrusts got even harder and Yang could only hold her head down and shut her eyes tight as his words broke her down. Teetering on the edge never felt this incredible. Finally he said the one thing that she waited to hear since they started.

“Cum for me.” His voice, extra low… “my dragon”

A nickname that should’ve been inappropriate for this moment, and yet it’s what did her in.Yang had no choice but to scream as her body gave into Jaune’s command to cum, her blazing hot core coiling around him with suffocating grip in an attempt to milk Jaune of everything he had to give.

Jaune made no attempt to resist the pleasure and his body tensed up several thrusts later. Ropes of cum spurted right into her womb. Sending strong chills across Yang’s body as she rode out her orgasm with Jaune, with quiet groans of pleasure still lingered from both of them.

Jaune finally put her leg now which surprisingly didn’t cramp. Jaune’s body nearly fell on top of Yang’s before he managed to catch himself. Now they were face to face again with eyes that were still filled with fire as well as happiness.

Yang’s finger traced his lips before giving him a quick and gentle kiss. “You’ve gotten better with age.” Her face grew red at her own compliment.

Jaune smirked. “I’m not the only one.” He took Yang’s left hand and planted a small kiss right on her wedding ring that damn near made her heart explode.

“It’s not fair, turning the sexy off and on like that.” Yang giggled. She cradled Jaune’s face and smiled. “No more lonely nights, I promise.”

A gave her a comforting nod. Yang couldn’t begin to imagine how many brave faces he had given their daughter, or the anxiety of getting terrible news over the phone. A person can only take so much and Jaune had gotten his fair share of loss. They all had, Yang wanted to take some of that pain away.

The husband and wife found themselves kissing each other again. It couldn’t be helped, they had to make up for lost time. What started off lovingly quickly turned back into something more passionate and wanting as Yang let out a sudden gasp at the feeling of Jaune getting hard while still inside of her. Good thing Arc stamina went well with Xiao Long intensity.

”One more round?” He asked, flipping back on the sexy and husky voice. It really was too powerful for Yang’s own good in most situations. Most…

Her arms went under his and held on to his well toned and muscular back. “Two, and maybe one more right after unless you can’t handle-” she couldn’t even get here tease out before she felt Jaune go a little deeper, her cocky attitude immediately went cold as Jaune whispered in Yang’s ear again.

“We’re gonna be here awhile,ready to stop walking straight?”

“Yes sir.” Yang was glad to be home.

xxxx

A couple of hours passed and Tai had decided to stop by for a visit with Ruby, Yujin, and Raven. It would be nice to have a family dinner. All four stood quietly moments after entering.

Yang was laying on the couch watching TV while Jaune was cooking. Raven noticed the carpet marks on Yang’s arm, Tail was staring at the carpet cleaner that was left out, Ruby looked at the wide open window, and Yujin could see that both parents' hair was slightly wet. There was only so many reasons to shower at this time of day.

But they all could faintly catch a whiff of something. Yujin had zero experience in anything and yet she knew deep down what she was smelling. They all looked at Yang who didn’t turn around but showed visibly red ears. Same with Jaune.

Tai sighed, can we make this a cookout?

“Great idea.” The other three said at once. Jaune and Yang covered their faces. Next time, they would at least make it upstairs.

[dropletsofink]

Hopeless

“We’ve got to get him out of there!”

Mor clenched her fists, nails cutting into her palms. “Azriel, you know its too dangerous-”

“Like hell I care.” He flung his arm out, sending an ornate vase across the room as it shattered into the far wall. Bits of plaster and porcelain crumbled into the carpet below. Mor winced. “He’s stuck there because of us, because of Velaris itself and it would be an insult to everything we stand for if we just left him there with that bitch.”

Their heads snapped to the door as it opened, revealing a weary Cassian, and Amren trailing close behind him. She picked at her nails and glared at no one in particular. “What’s the plan? Do we even have one or are we going to stew here like a bunch of good for nothing-”

“You know we can’t do shit, Amren. Don’t make it worse.” Cassian snapped, throwing himself onto a nearby armchair. Mor sat beside him gingerly, careful to avoid his sagging wings and clasped her hands in the folds of her crimson dress. She turned to face Azriel, who was barely visible with shadows like ink in water swirling around him.

“Azriel, Amren, we have to face this. There’s nothing-” Her voice came out a strangled sob, “Nothing that we can do except from protect Velaris. It’s what Rhys would have wanted.”

“Stop talking about him like he’s dead!” Azriel cut back. “We can get him out of there. She’s not invincible, we just need to put our heads together and think.” He continued pacing the length of the room, wings snapped shut. He squeezed his eyes closed like he used to in those days after the incident, and slowly flexed his scarred hands. He prayed that when he opened his eyes, things would be different, and that he’d find Rhys sitting opposite him, laughing like he always did. But when he opened his eyes, black spots danced in his vision, and there was only Mor, Cassian, and Amren in the room.

“Azriel.” Cassian said, “If there were something we could do, we would have already thought of it. It’s been two months, and we’re no closer to solving this.”

“We haven’t been looking hard enough. Maybe there’s a crevice we haven’t checked, or-”

“I sent legions, you sent spies, Amren herself found nothing. Do you not realise that Under the Mountain is impenetrable to us, no matter what we do!” Cassian’s voice rose steadily as he got up from the armchair with clenched fists. He’d have to make Azriel see sense, or he’d end up where Rhys was now.

Azriel simply stilled, his expression turning colder than the glowing cobalt of his siphons. “We promised we’d take care of each other. We promised that no matter what, we’d let nothing hold us back from protecting each other if we needed help. Is Amarantha-”

“Say her name once more and I’ll make you regret it, Shadowsinger,” Amren growled. She was uncharacteristically quiet, and although her face was twisted into a feral snarl, there was no masking her fear.

Azriel paid her no heed. “Is she all it takes to make you forget what we said to each other after the Rite? I didn’t think you were this much of a coward, Cassian.”

“Don’t go there, Azriel. I don’t want to hurt you, but say that again and I’ll make that bitch look like a fairy tale.”

“I’m only saying what-”

“You’re not only one that’s scared, Azriel! I’m terrified for Rhys, Mor is, Amren is. But we can’t do the impossible. We have to stay here and guard Velaris, or everything he’s going through now will be in vain.”

“You mean stay here? Until a mortal falls in love with that coward who calls himself High Lord of Spring?” Amren shook her head incredulously, “I won’t do it.”

“Then what will you do? Challenge the Attor yourself?” Mor snapped.

Amren’s nostrils flared as she ground out, “If I have to rip the heart from that rutting beast, so be it. If I die, so be it. This court can’t be left without its High Lord, and if anything happens to Rhysand, I’ll-”

“We want to kill as much as you do, Amren. Turning on each other now will do nothing but hinder us.” Cassian wiped his eyes furiously as he felt the tears welling up. He turned to Azriel beseechingly. “Azriel, if you try to go Under the Mountain, you will die. Rhys is only alive because of what he has to do-”

Azriel didn’t hear the last part of Cassian’s sentence as he stormed out of the room, slamming the door hard enough to crumble the plaster on the roof. He leaned against the wall, wings and shoulders sagging as he pressed his hands to his chest to keep back the tears he felt coming. He couldn’t break down now, he had to think-

A hardened voice interrupted his thoughts. “As much as I hate to admit it, they might be right. There’s no way of getting in.”

He straightened and rolled his shoulders back, “We haven’t looked hard enough, Amren.”

She stood in front of him and folded her arms. Despite the fact that she barely reached his shoulders, he felt that other power roll off her like waves. His shadows skittered away from her, as if afraid of her presence. “Do you have a way of getting in, then?”

He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. His shadows couldn’t go near, none of his spies had found anything. As much as he’d trained them, they couldn’t slip past the guards undetected. Amarantha’s wards were too strong.

“Not even your shadows?” Amren inquired.

“No. The wards-”

“Are too strong, yes. Helion isn’t here to help us, but is there no way to surpass them?”

Azriel shook his head, “Even if we did manage to get in, Amarantha would know. We’d need someone with a wraith’s invisibility to be able to-” He stopped. An idea hit him so suddenly that he mentally cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. The shadows that had started to merge back into his skin leapt up, swarming around him.

“We can’t enter Under the Mountain.” He started, carefully. “But I might know someone who can.”

[team-crtq]

RWDE Flaws Quickie

Quartz here again. Last time I tackled the show itself and now I’ll be tackling the other side of team CRTQ’s purpose as well as the fact that we use a different tag for criticism than the normal one: Problems with the RWDE tag.

RWDE is the tag used primarily for criticism and sounds like a neat idea (in fact, our #crtq tag was made for this purpose), there are SO many problems with the RWDE tag that it has become a bigger problem with the show than the actual flaws of the show. And I’ll take you throw a quick rundown of them.

1. Criticism or Hate

A huge problem with the RWDE tag is that the tag can’t decide whether or not it’s a tag for criticisms about the show or it’s a tag for hate about the show. Constantly when I went into the RWDE tag to debate, I would keep getting the defense of “It’s not criticism, it’s hate” and vice versa.

Here’s the thing though: Criticism and hate are NOT mutaully exclusive. You CANNOT be critical and hateful at the same time. When you are being critical, you are trying to be as objective and neutral as possible to give a balanced critique. When you are being hateful, you bitch about everything you can find and even make up stuff to bitch about. These two things DO NOT go together. This gets especially bad considering the fact that quite a bit of the hate is trying to masquerade as criticism under the excuse of being “harsh” when in all actuality the intent is not to improve the show or medium but to attack the writers, the fans or the show itself. And this is a problem because actual criticism of the show gets buried underneath a pile of bitching and other assorted nasty things.

To know which is which, try the following test: If the intent behind the post is to improve the show or improve the medium and the tone and wording support this (like admitting to stuff they did right or trying to be neutral), it’s criticism. If the intent behind he post is to attack and harm and the wording and tone support  this (like blowing things out of proportion, directly insulting the creator or fans or making up flaws through misinformation), then it’s hate.

2, Arrogance

The RWDE tag suffers from a very severe case of arrogance and pride, saying constantly that they can do better and that their way is better. To this date (04/30/2017) only 1 person in the RWDE tag has attempted to make an improved version of the show and it is only a fanfiction and it is an abject failure. That’s only 1 person: The rest of the RWDE tag think they can claim to do better without proving it.

But it’s not as though they would do any better: Much of what the RWDE tag complains about is personal opinion and not objective improvements on the show. They demand that there be an LGBT character introduced as soon as possible despite the fact that means said LGBT character would be shoehorned in or messily written as well as fuck up the balance of character screentime. They demand that characters like Jaune essentially be removed from the story without knowing that Jaune and others serve an important role in the story as well as in the narrative. They demand that ships get together without seeing that it’s not the right time or that two characters might not work well together or that two characters haven’t had enough onscreen romantic chemistry. All in all, they’d fuck it up to an immense degree.

And then there’s the sheer audacity when the people in the RWDE tag say shit like “they’re dishonoring Monty’s memory” or “Their pissing on his grave” as though they knew Monty personally enough to know what the man would want and not his close friends and family (Neath Oum). This gives off the feeling that they think they know him better despite having never met him personally, let alone as long as the likes of Miles and Kerry. Or that they’re using Monty as a way of getting what they want but I decide to believe in the less damning one.

As a side point: Many people in the RWDE think and act like they are above criticism. They act as though because they criticize, they can’t BE criticized themselves. Not only is this damaging as hell to actual criticism but it’s also arrogant as hell to think you get to do something but others can’t. One RWDE poster even outright said they were a better person than Miles Luna because he “Queerbaits” (I’ll get to that topic next) and he can’t take criticism. Then they immediately block the person that criticized them, attacks the writers personally and also queerbaits in their work. All in all, it makes them and by extension criticism of the show look terrible.

3. Representation

Another major problem with the RWDE tag is that the tag demands representation from RT from everything, saying that since they don’t have network restrictions and they said there is an LGBT character in RWBY so they demand them as soon as possible. I’m going to point out the not so obvious flaw here: Quite a few of these people aren’t LGBT people nor are they a racial minority. Ergo, they shouldn’t have a stake in this discussion. This is especially bad for the LGBT argument which is the most used argument, is the most vitriolic and quite a few LGBT people now hate the argument. My comrades Tangerine, Regalia, and Cobalt are LGBT (bisexual by the way) and they are more exhausted and frustrated by RWDE in this regard than I am, a straight person. It’s quite telling when the group you claim to be speaking up for actively hates you for it, especially when these people say otherwise and get attacked for it.

Another problem RWDE has is the fact that they throw around terms like “sexist” “racist” “ableist” all the damn time, applying them to situations that only work because either the author has taken it out of context (like saying that calling the White Fang terrorists is racist despite the fact that they are using fear and violence to achieve their goals), interrupt the aspect in a completely different and illogical way (Like saying Taiyang is ableist for not training Yang until after putting on the arm when it was obvious Yang was rejecting help and sticking herself in a rut) or just plain lies (Saying it’s sexist that Jaune gets more screentime than Ruby…despite the fact that 75% of his screentime and lines are dedicated to making Ruby look good.) It makes it look like RWDE is only using these terms to justify their hate and make it look like they’re fighting for social justice when that is the furthest thing they are doing.

And finally, they act as though the creators of the show are obligated to show representation when that is not the case. RWBY is not a progressive show meant to promote social problems and such and it was never said to be, meaning that is not what the creators want to do. However, the RWDE tag acts like they must make a socially progressive show or else they are in the wrong for doing so, essentially trying to rob creative control from the creators. They are essentially the same as corporate executives whop change shows to appeal to the lowest common demonator except those guys at least have some idea of what they are doing.

And on a side note: The accusations of “queerbaiting” imply that if any characters of the same gender show anything that remotely resembles attraction to another male or female, they must end up together but the heterosexuals aren’t allowed to do this.  Just as well, the heterosexual equvilant of Queerbaiting happens as well: even more so. As such queerbaiting would just be the logical balance of normal ship tease and acting like it shouldn’t exist is like demanding special treatement AKA the exact opposite of equality.

4.Double Standards and Sexism

I’ve already discussed two other different kids of double standards in RWDE such as the thoughts that they are above criticism and that they can speak for groups that they are not a part of above the people that are actually in those groups. But there is so much more than that. RWDE as a tag have a severe bias against the male characters in the show.

Criticism about Male characters in RWBY is wide spread in the RWDE tag but inversely criticism about female characters is rather rare and this gets highly hypocritical. For example: Jaune is criticized for taking up too much screentime in Volume 4 when he didn’t have all that much screentime to himself. However, Blake had an entire episode to herself and Weiss appeared in the most episodes of any character and yet no one says a word. Jaune is called out for being a Dogged Nice Guy to Weiss but Pyrrha, who does the same thing to Jaune, is never called out. Stepping outside of Jaune, Taiyang is accused of being a horrible parent while RWDE will make excuses for Raven, the actual bad parent of Yang who she constantly abandons for selfish reasons and has practically said “I don’t love you” to her daughter. Likewise, Taiyang’s joke in Episode 4 is called out for being insensitive but Yang directly says something more sensitive, without a hint of humor and has a greater impact on Taiyang and nothing is ever said. And Sun is called being nosy and abusive for constantly getting in Blake’s business and trying to help her while Kali does the exact same stuff and gets away with it. This shows a heavy bias against male characters in the show and is constantly trying to be passed off as criticism.

And that’s not it. This is also a problem with race. Weiss is treated as a constantly racist girl for no reason other than elitest when she actually has an understandable  reason to think that way (the only Fanaus she ever met was WHite Fang members who made her life a living hell.) Likewise, Adam is treated as an innocent, sad broken man who fights for equality when he is really a genocidal, abusive, racist and all around terrible person/ In fact, the entire White Fang is treated like they can do no wrong even as they act so extreme to kill innocents and break up actually peaceful protests that other Fanaus (including a former leader of the White Fang) call them out on this. Just terrible.

5. Manipulation of facts

RWDE has a strong tendency to excuse and justify it’s actions as being right by either leaving important information out, choosing very miniute details to complain about or manipulating the facts. Like in the case of Jaune having too much screentime, they say that Jaune has taken the protagonist role away from Ruby because has had the most lines in the Volume. But here’s the deal: Most of Jaune’s lines in Volume 4 was interacting with Ruby and giving Ruby characterization and making Ruby look better. This is the same as Kamina from Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann: yeah he had more screentime than the actual protagonist Simon but Kamina’s screen time was used to build Simon up, inspire character development, point out his flaws and make him look good.screen time and lines alone don’t count: the context and content do. But this doesn’t stop RWDE from proclaiming he’s the main character while denying Ruby any acknowledgement of what she did right.

They also act as though very small details that would be overlooked in most other shows are huge problems in RWBY. They say that the proper usage of Raipers are important when there is numerous examples of raipers being used incorrectly in other animes, including ones the profess to enjoy. Then you have the times where they ask for very specific details about stuff when other anime built around Ruby never give those details. One example is that one RWDE poster demanded to know how Yanhg’s Semblence charges up and gives an example from JoJo’s Bizzare Adventure…an anime where time is stopped because. Very hypocritical.

And finally they tend to manipulate the facts like saying that RNJR could have taken a train despite the fact it was stated in the show that inter-kingdom travel wasn’t possible and that Grimm attack trains as well then proceeded to ignore that. They say that Yang magically recovered when it took six months for her to start and weeks to fully recover. And so on and so on, making it clear they’re making shit up to complain about, thus lowering the chance that ANY criticism will be taken seriously.

And that’s all I have to say for now. My comrades will surely have something to say as well so if you like this post, stay tuned for the others. and if you yourself want to criticize RWBY, please use the #crtq tag so that we can see it ourselves. Have a great day everyone!

-Quartz

[seashellsoldier]

Confessional #5: The Demons of Id

I’m going to share the last chapter of my masters thesis, a self-indulgent memoir that attempted to overlap the life of my father with mine, his experiences in Vietnam with mine in Iraq, and that hoped to basically take a close, harsh look at what soldiers bring back from war zones. Of course these days everyone shares such shit, so it’s nothing special, but I figure why not. I miss Australia very much, and I hate this hypocritical country to profound depths in this Age of Ignorance and Cruelty.

Chapter 43

The Demons of Id

“Walking up a damp hill at Manassas in the fall of 2002, I came upon a spot overlooking a huge field ringed by woods. Two or three cannons sat on that hill with a plaque; one could imagine the clear field of fire the artillery had been looking down on the mass of men running into the belly of the beast with flags waving and foot-long bayonets fixed. Bull Run. A few other tourists meandering around the battlefield on the chilly September morning, although, I couldn’t see them for the trees and hills. I had taken to the trails, found the signs marking firefights and skirmishes, where certain officers fell. Our Trojan War.

There on the sloping hill, a sinuous road wound on the right-hand side of the field. Low wispy clouds that seemed to scurry by at a rabbit’s pace tinged the gunmetal sky. I could sense something melancholy about the place, as if it were sacred ground soaked with souls long gone, yet still present, ghostly fingertips clutched to the edge of the cliff. A holy land of the valorous cast from a hellscape of men and cold steel, smoke and corpses. I stood there shivering for some time, my sweatshirt and watchcap inadequate, and the heat of the coffee in my stomach dissipated, captivated by the dream of the view.

There is a sad romance with warfare much too often misconstrued. When the bullets and bombs fly across a movie screen, or left to the reader’s imagination through black words on cream pages in an antiquated typeface, the palpability and weight of such events are utterly lost. No paint, words, or film can adequately project such visions. The weight presses on the heart, on the mind, upon the soul of combat’s participants. Each cradling his or her own unique perspective. There is nothing romantic about war, and yet even I have trouble separating the idyllic, dreamy heroism from the awful, blunt reality. My experiences are really nothing special compared to my father, or most other vets. I was no hero charging up a muddy hill; I didn’t save anyone’s life by carrying them through enemy fire. I never had to make a hard choice, and yet, I made choices hard for my ex wife. I hope she’s in a better place now, recovering from everything she experienced in Iraq, and in our home. As the immortal words of Whitman suggests, however, war never truly ends for those who survive:

A MARCH in the ranks hard-prest, and the road unknown, A route through a heavy wood with muffled steps in the darkness, Our army foil’d with loss severe, and the sullen remnant retreating, Till after midnight glimmer upon us the lights of a dim-lighted building, We come to an open space in the woods, and halt by the dim-lighted building, ‘Tis a large old church at the crossing roads, now an impromptu hospital, Entering but for a minute I see a sight beyond all the pictures and poems ever made, Shadows of deepest, deepest black, just lit by moving candles and lamps, And by one great pitchy torch stationary with wild red flame and clouds of smoke, By these, crowds, groups of forms vaguely I see on the floor, some in the pews laid down, At my feet more distinctly a soldier, a mere lad, in danger of bleeding to death, (he is shot in the abdomen,) I stanch the blood temporarily, (the youngster’s face is white as a lily,) Then before I depart I sweep my eyes o'er the scene fain to absorb it all, Faces, varieties, postures beyond description, most in obscurity, some of them dead, Surgeons operating, attendants holding lights, the smell of ether, odor of blood, The crowd, O the crowd of the bloody forms, the yard outside also fill’d, Some on the bare ground, some on planks or stretchers, some in the death-spasm sweating, An occasional scream or cry, the doctor’s shouted orders or calls, The glisten of the little steel instruments catching the glint of the torches, These I resume as I chant, I see again the forms, I smell the odor, Then hear outside the orders given, Fall in, my men, fall in; But first I bend to the dying lad, his eyes open, a half-smile gives he me, Then the eyes close, calmly close, and I speed forth to the darkness, Resuming, marching, ever in darkness marching, on in the ranks, The unknown road still marching.

The unknown road still marching.

Sitting in one of the waiting rooms at the VA hospital while fingering the sheet for my very first prescription to help manage PTSD, I hear the nurses call out names of the old timers around me, names like Marvin, Julius, and Sherman. It makes me think of days long gone, of times romantically simpler, if not nostalgically untrue. Days where radio programs served as mass communication, and where front porches as vacation spots; dusty roads a huge step forward from wagon ruts in the rural Midwest, black and white photography, and lemonade mixed with moonshine. They are the veterans of past wars, as we of Iraq and Afghanistan will one day appear as our names are called out, sounding senescent to young kids with fresh wounds. Behind us, countless generations will inevitably follow in our footsteps, bearing the burden of political decisions and the technological advancements of warfare, just as we have followed in the footsteps of those who marched before us.

Vietnam thrust another generation into the conflagration of war. Only this time, as opposed to the World Wars or even Korea, the war was illegal, unjustified, and immoral. The domino effect was a sad delusion concocted by fear-mongering idiots and war profiteers. Civilians rebelled against D.C. corruption, but by the time the dust settled, it was too late. We had a generation of young soldiers back home, deeply scarred, berated by the public, condemned by a government attempting to sweep their filth under the “pristine” rug of American history.

This time, however, we veterans will not be swept under the rug. The death of a dad is one too many, the self-inflicted wounds of the warrior can be healed, with care and with time. The work is not easy, the journey a hard road, but final victory comes from healing, a victory deserved by each veteran, everywhere, across cultures and nations, suffering from the cancer of war’s enduring wounds.

My father was a victim … a victim of blind chance, or foul luck, of God or the Devil, of hypocrisy, avarice, or the simply the complex and elemental nature of human existence. A Russian grenade, and married to a Russian woman. I experienced the sublime only once in my life, at the far western end of Australia in 2008. I had tried to escape reality by reaching a landscape I was enamored with, harsh yet welcoming, blue sea and sunbaked earth. Australia is Hawaii and Iraq smashed together. When I had volunteered to help with the sea turtle conservationists, and after a long and monastic foray along Eighty-Mile Beach, the entire group retreated to the welcoming town of Broome to recuperate, rejuvenate, and get drunk.

Sitting beneath the azure dusk, sipping beer and listening to the waves colliding beneath the ridge as some orchestral music tinged with techno whispered and thumped in the open courtyard of the wet bar, a storm approached, swiftly and methodically. Paul sat to one side and Kris to the other, Mai, Liz, and Chris filling in our little enclave of sunburnt and giddy nomads. The storm churned through the starry vacuum, billowing with strength. The breeze summoned its presence, a methodical mass of gnashing atmosphere. At first the front seemed to strobe with smothered light, the ballooning throats of bullfrogs, the light inside the bells of a giant, sprawling, swelling jellyfish bloom. The rumblings of thunder were low and growling, like a sleeping mastiff cornering a rabbit in its dreams. The cobalt blue waves below slapped against the rock, gathering weight and force and determination, wanting to grind the stone down. Valkyries rode within the saddles of such storms, winged and armed with great, serrated spears. Shivers of lightning soundlessly rooted cloud to ocean in lurid, fisting arcs. The blackness seemed impenetrable, hypnotic, and terrifying—a manifested evocation of some god’s will—meshing inky sky with pitch-dark sea upon the canvas of the vanished horizon. It pushed directly south of us with only its great dragon’s wing sweeping the sky above our heads. A few raindrops fell. Big salty marbles of crisp water scattered like buckshot across the grass, plopping onto the table, splashing like crystalline bird shit upon my shoulder and thigh. The air chilled, goosebumps bubbled across my skin, up my arms and down my neck as we sat there witnessing the storm smashing into the coast with a broadside of thunder nearby and earthshaking. The dark trees bent and quaked to its will in the middle ground. A thundercrack exploded above, so loud and close we tried to dodge it, eyes pinching closed, heads bending away from the fray. The glasses and bottles rattled upon the table, some Aussies in dress shirts and sun dresses ran for cover in a single sheet of rain, an embrace from Nereus—quick and invigorating—followed by warm air and calmness, but we just sat hypnotized as the lightning arced and crashed into the distant hills, into the grave-dark waves, electrifying the air—air so perfectly virgin and elementally fragrant—with a terrible ferocity. A mist of static and adrenaline filled our lungs, my heart rate paced with the awe of it all. Kris’ hand again slid into mine without tearing her eyes away from the vault of the night’s dramatic show. I squeezed her hand and snaked my fingers through hers.

Quickly, the clouds wheeled south and drove into the continent. Lighting fired across the dry forest as rain fell in blankets. The symphony of a thousand charging horses receded, galloping over the sodden hills. Slowly, the stars began to reemerge in the storm’s wake, as if children unveiling heads from thick bed sheets, the monster in the closet now gone to another house, through the chimney, into another neighborhood. Stars framed the ocean at the edge of the earth. Both thunder and twinkling heavens far away. The behemoth stomped on, leaving the land cleansed, refreshed, more alive. The comforting rhythm of the sea returned, the sailor’s sea. Mysterious and unpredictable, beguiling and deadly.

Through war, love and loss, religion and feral fighting, through witnessing mindless death and the thirty-year deterioration of my father, and through every experience of one full lifetime seemingly trapped in the morass of failure, this solemn moment on the fringe of this great storm, with my hand and life force unconsciously joined to a woman who we—at that moment—were oblivious to the intoxicating and sorrowful harrowing ahead of us, was as close as I ever came to the sublimity of God.”

[kidsviral-blog]

Lapdogs swoon, Obama holds presser; ‘Knows nothing,’ pats Rice on head

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/lapdogs-swoon-obama-holds-presser-knows-nothing-pats-rice-on-head/

Lapdogs swoon, Obama holds presser; ‘Knows nothing,’ pats Rice on head

http://twitter.com/#!/AprilDRyan/status/268781587678765056

Classic empty podium!

As Twitchy reported, President Obama is finally gracing the press with his presence today. It’s been far too long; Unrequited love hurts!

Obama presser will be like Paula Broadwell panting after Gen Patreus at a staff meeting.

— Kelly Marie(@flyoverangel) November 14, 2012

President Obama was way too “exhausted” from campaigning to hold the traditional post-election presser. Priorities!

The last time Obama had a presser he said “the private sector is doing fine.” Can’t wait for what he’ll say this time

— Matt Sauvage (@mattsauvage) November 14, 2012

I’ve got my popcorn and hip waders — ready to commence live-tweeting of Obama’s presser 1:30 OST (Obama Standard Time)

— toddstarnes (@toddstarnes) November 14, 2012

Pres. Obama sure to face questions about the handling of the attack in Benghazi that killed 4 Americans including his Amb Chris Stevens.

— Mark Knoller (@markknoller) November 14, 2012

Are you sure about that Mr. Knoller? Or will the presser be filled with typical softball questions?

#ObamaPresserQuestions Are racist Republicans obstructing your clear mandate already?

— American Attitude (@marklindesr) November 14, 2012

Twitter users prepare with some predicted questions.

How are planning to blame Bush for the looming hyper inflation crisis? #ObamaPresserQuestions

— Sam Valley (@SamValley) November 14, 2012

#ObamaPresserQuestions Was the use of Greek columns because you always intended for the USA to crumble like Greece?

— Matthew Daniel Green (@solo_sonata) November 14, 2012

Can you tell us just how mean those Republicans are? #ObamaPresserQuestions

— Kevin B Snyder (@Kevinbsnyder) November 14, 2012

#ObamaPresserQuestions Are racist Republicans obstructing your clear mandate already?

— American Attitude (@marklindesr) November 14, 2012

Will you autograph my ballot?? *swoon* #ObamaPresserQuestions

— Sam Valley (@SamValley) November 14, 2012

There may not be time for all those, though.

Ready for Obama presser. Word is he will take only 8 questions.

— Bill Press (@bpshow) November 14, 2012

OF course.

I think the first question at the Obama presser will go to Pimp with the Limp.

— Jon G. (@ExJon) November 14, 2012

Heh. Can we spot him in the crowd?

Reporters prepare for Obama presser twitter.com/AlexanderTrow/…

— Alexander Trowbridge (@AlexanderTrow) November 14, 2012

Let’s start with this question:

If you wanted to balance the budget, why didn’t you do it in your first 4 years? Like you promised. #ObamaPresser

— Amy Lutz (@amylutz4) November 14, 2012

And, away we go.

Popcorn time! Nothing beats following an Obama presser by reading tweets. Of course they’re rare enough that the novelty hasn’t worn off.

— Cobalt Blue (@rightchemistry) November 14, 2012

AP gets first question

— Stefan Becket (@stefanjbecket) November 14, 2012

He’s calling reporters from a preprinted list of approved reporters. Bet FOX is not on that list. Obama Presser

— Charlie ‘Tuna’ (@TunaCharlie) November 14, 2012

Obama says he got letter from an in Tennessee who didn’t vote for him but will give president his support

— David Nakamura (@DavidNakamura) November 14, 2012

Letters. And stuff.

And, drink! Here comes the “middle class being held hostage” by those mean, old Rethuglicans. Post-partisan!

RT @grahamdavida: All together now. twitter.com/GrahamDavidA/s…

— Dylan Byers (@DylanByers) November 14, 2012

Come on, everyone had to tweet that. It’s classic drinking game fodder.

Reporter to Obama: How do we know you are not going to cave on Bush tax cuts again?

— Charlie Spiering (@charliespiering) November 14, 2012

Great question for Obama at presser: “Why should the American people believe you won’t cave again (on Bush tax cuts)?”

— whodoes (@whodoesblog) November 14, 2012

Rut-roh. Who asked that? They may not be invited back.

Bush! Drink again.

POTUS:We cannot afford to extend Bush tax cuts “for the wealthy” – but we can make sure middle class taxes don’t go up

— Shannon Bream (@ShannonBream) November 14, 2012

O in his 2nd term and still blaming Bush #obamapresser #bushtaxcuts

— Oliver M. Barie (@OliverBarie) November 14, 2012

No pesky Petraeus questions, y’all. Buck passing, as always.

Asked if he should have been told of Petraeys affair before elex Obama says ask FBI b/c they followed internal protocols

— David Nakamura (@DavidNakamura) November 14, 2012

“Ask Herb in Human Resources. Or something.”

Actually, ask Herb everything.

Shorter Obama: “I know Nuthink!” ~ #BenghaziGate

— Adam Baldwin (@adamsbaldwin) November 14, 2012

Finally, he admits that he knows nothing. No, really. He said it.

Obama: “Ask the FBI about the investigation.I know nothing … nothing … nothing …”

— T.J. Conwell (@RevConwell) November 14, 2012

Obama: I know nothing.

— KRenner (@KRenner2) November 14, 2012

Twitter users agree that he’s clueless.

Since #obama knew nothing about anything having to do with our natl security, who is leading our country as commander-in-chief?

— cupcake4120 (@cupcake4120) November 14, 2012

Obama hussein. I KNOW NOTHING I KNOW NOTHING I KNEW NOTHING I KNEW NOTHING I KNOW NOTHING I KNOW NOTHING WE SHOULD TAX THE RICH

— twotoms (@twotoms1) November 14, 2012

He evidently still knows how to pander, though. Pander like the wind.

Next question from Telemundo. Immigration question.

— Ethan Klapper (@ethanklapper) November 14, 2012

Obama giving maybe the most pandering response of all time on question about whether he’ll send immigration reform bill to Congress.

— Geoff Holtzman (@Geoff_Holtzman) November 14, 2012

On immigration reform Obama says he’s very confident Washington can get it done after big Latino turnout at pools: “we need to seize moment”

— David Nakamura (@DavidNakamura) November 14, 2012

Wait, what?

MT @buzzfeedandrew: Obama says undocumented workers should be able to earn citizenship, earlier in presser just said “legal status.”

— Vince Coglianese (@TheDCVince) November 14, 2012

Oh no.

POTUS is Pock-e-ston-ing “Latino”

— Daniel Foster (@DanFosterNRO) November 14, 2012

For his aggravating pronunciations, he must pay.

Math, so hard!

Obama can’t keep his answers straight. How do you believe anything he says? Because math is hard and being a sheep is easy. #ObamaPresser

— Andrew (@Serginov) November 14, 2012

MT @lachlan: Obama: “Two years ago, the economy was in a different situation.” Q3 2010 GDP growth: 2%. Q3 2012: 2%.

— John McCormack (@McCormackJohn) November 14, 2012

Oh, dear. So is compromise.

POTUS:”Compromise is hard.”

— Shannon Bream (@ShannonBream) November 14, 2012

Greatest Orator Ever: Compromise is hard.

For those playing at home, President Obama is currently averaging 47 UPMs, or “Uhhhs Per Minute”. #ObamaPresser

— Michael Deppisch (@deppisch) November 14, 2012

#Obama stuttering a lot at this presser without pre-written answers & no teleprompter

— Joey Sanders (@Jsanders10) November 14, 2012

Translation: “Working together” means giving up everything you want and submitting to what the Dems want #ObamaPresser

— Amy Lutz (@amylutz4) November 14, 2012

“I will examine how better to work with everybody, so long as it’s exactly what I want and need, for me.” ~ @barackobama #ObamaPresser

— Rick Canton (@rumblindurango) November 14, 2012

Oh, softballs!

Another softball: How will you communicate better with Congress in your 2nd term? … Uh? Email/Txt/Twitter? Give me a break! #ObamaPresser

— Heath Mayo (@HeathMayo) November 14, 2012

#Obama Presser: Is this really happening?? What a bunch of weak-kneed, cowardly alleged journalists.Nothing but softball BS. Wow.

— David Wohl (@DavidWohl) November 14, 2012

Oh, my! A Benghazi question actually enters the pathetic mix.

6th Question up about Susan Rice and Benghazi. #obamapresser

— Kris (@MissKristilyn) November 14, 2012

Ambassador Rice blamed the video. The. Freaking. Youtube. Video #ObamaPresser

— Amy Lutz (@amylutz4) November 14, 2012

Obama defends her. Unbelievable. Well, totally believable, but still.

Obama does NOT like the Rice attacks:twitpic.com/bd7wck

— Chris Geidner (@chrisgeidner) November 14, 2012

@ambassadorrice – “has done exemplary work..ppl besmirching her reputation is outrageous” – #Obama on Amb Rice #POTUS #ObamaPresser

— Michael Bociurkiw (@mikeybbq) November 14, 2012

Obama puts out a full throated defense on Susan Rice and her comments on Benghazi. Calls attacks on her “outrageous”. #obamapresser

— Curtis Kalin (@CurtisKalin) November 14, 2012

Obama scolds Sens. McCain, Graham, saying if they “want to go after somebody, they should go after me,” not Rice.

— Rebecca Kaplan (@Rebecca_CBSNJ) November 14, 2012

“@huffpostpol: Obama: “When they go after the UN ambassador, because they think she’s an easy target, then they’ve got a problem with me””

— Donna Brazile (@donnabrazile) November 14, 2012

Big, strong man will protect the poor dear! Is he finally admitting the buck stops with him? Doubtful. He’s just trying to get people to shut up about the buck.

Obama is more concerned about protecting Ambassador Rice than Ambassador Stevens. #Benghazi

— Razor (@hale_razor) November 14, 2012

If Pres Obama would rather focus be on him than Ambassador Rice, good. He should visit the Senate and testify if he is a man of his word.

— Brad Dayspring (@BDayspring) November 14, 2012

Bingo.

Sen. Graham lets Obama know that he does hold him totally accountable.

RT @grahamblog Mr. President, don’t think for one minute I don’t hold you ultimately responsible for #Benghazi.

— WhiteHousePressCorps (@whpresscorps) November 14, 2012

Heh. Campbell Brown notices Obama’s pitiful “big, strong man” Rice-defending behavior, too.

Yes. We girls need to have men defend our honor @clarajeffery: defending Susan Rice’s honor is going to play well with women. Watch out GOP

— Campbell Brown (@campbell_brown) November 14, 2012

As does Kirsten Powers:

Why does Obama think GOP sees rice as “easy target”?Is she somehelpless damsel in distress? His defense was a little paternalistic

— kirsten powers (@kirstenpowers10) November 14, 2012

Wow! Ed Henry with an awesome question.

Ed Henry gets 7th q — asks Obama whether he issued any orders on Sept 11 to protect lives of Americans that were killed in Benghazi.

— Geoff Holtzman (@Geoff_Holtzman) November 14, 2012

Obama is not pleased. How dare he ask a pertinent and probing question about something important?

Obama not happy with that Ed Henry Benghazi question. . .

— Charlie Spiering (@charliespiering) November 14, 2012

Obama claims Middle Class mandate in response to Benghazi question.

— WhiteHousePressCorps (@whpresscorps) November 14, 2012

@michellemalkinWOW!!Obama showing how INDIGNANT he is when asked about Benghazi!!Then turned it into middle class mandate!Wow!

— Janie (@JanieBeachGirl) November 14, 2012

Obama pivots off Benghazi to “middle class families.” Clearly very uncomfortable answering Benghazi questions. No doubt.

— Jedediah Bila (@JedediahBila) November 14, 2012

Now he admits that America deserves far better than HIM.

Obama: People “deserve a better government than they’ve been getting.”

— Roger Simon (@politicoroger) November 14, 2012

Sigh.

YES! We’re talking about climate change! Finally!

— Current TV (@current) November 14, 2012

4 Americans dead in Benghazi and we get a question about climate change.

— Jedediah Bila (@JedediahBila) November 14, 2012

Obama is a science denier?!!!111eleventy

Obama: “We can’t attribute any particular weather event to climate change.” DENIER!!!!11

— Lachlan Markay (@lachlan) November 14, 2012

Wait, no.

“The temperature around the globe is increasing, faster than it was predicted even 10 years ago,” says Obama.

— jennifer bendery (@jbendery) November 14, 2012

Lapdogs swoon madly.

One reporter just treated Obama as if she was a Beatles fan girl and he was Paul McCartney at Shea Stadium in 1965. WTF, media…wtf?

— Josh Hammer (@josh_hammer) November 14, 2012

If you’re still wondering why Obama won reelection, the media questions so far should help you figure that out.

— Jedediah Bila (@JedediahBila) November 14, 2012

First press conference in 8 months and I learned absolutely nothing new. Especially on Benghazi.

— Jedediah Bila (@JedediahBila) November 14, 2012

Lappy McLapdog. RT @toddstarnes: Reporter: “Thank you, Mr. President — and congratulations.” “I’ve never seen you lose.”

— Michelle Malkin (@michellemalkin) November 14, 2012

These Obama lapdogs put the sick in sycophant.

— Michelle Malkin (@michellemalkin) November 14, 2012

*Video* Reporter congratulates Obama for winning re-election: “I’ve never seen you lose” washingtonexaminer.com/article/251346…

— Charlie Spiering (@charliespiering) November 14, 2012

And now it’s time for all MSM reporters to go to their mikes and thump their chests and say what a great leader Obama is.#ObamaPresser

— Karen Braun (@SpunkyBraun) November 14, 2012

WH Press Corp all giggles after NON presser? #ObamaPresser

— Occupy Bawl Street (@OccupyBawlStree) November 14, 2012

Jimmy Olson from the Daily Planet would have the balls to ask better questions. #ObamaPresser

— John ☣⚠ (@MetalMeza) November 14, 2012

#ObamaPresser “Mr President, a follow-up. Can I get your autograph on my 8×10 glossy?” #IrreleventQuestion

— Lisa Kemp (@Lautergeist) November 14, 2012

know why that was called the #ObamaPresser? because the media were invited to press their lips….

— Prudence Paine (@PruPaine) November 14, 2012

Can they even function without having drool buckets at the ready?

Must now write “I will not shout out questions at the president” 100 times on the chalkboard.

— Kaili Joy Gray (@KailiJoy) November 14, 2012

Aww, poor baby won’t answer a “shouted” question. Poor precedent and stuff.

Pres Obama declines to answer shouted question on kicking fiscal cliff down the road. Says it be a “horrible precedent” and walks off.

— Mark Knoller (@markknoller) November 14, 2012

And, in a nutshell:

Shorter Obama press conference: I don’t know what my gov’t is doing; I just know you need to pay more for it.

— John Hayward (@Doc_0) November 14, 2012

When answers are so long. That you’ve forgotten what the question was, you know the answer is mostly deflection and lies. #ObamaPresser

— WENDY(@TXCupCake) November 14, 2012

You voted for incompetence, America. You got it!

— John Hayward (@Doc_0) November 14, 2012

4 more years of this…ugh #ObamaPresser

— Amy Lutz (@amylutz4) November 14, 2012

Read more: http://twitchy.com/2012/11/14/live-updates-obama-graces-press-with-his-presence-today-will-allegedly-take-questions/