#it's so catchy and irritating

[isabela-merceds]

freeze!!!

time to switch gears, use your hands to make elephant ears

now...wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle your ears, wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle your ears

stump stump stump stump stump stump like an elephant

[thedemises]

while doing one of my two assignments in Science, I decided to draw my persona(?) on a random scrap paper but slightly inspire it from rabbit hole by DECO*27

and no, I didn't purposely sexualize myself just bc the animation of it is an OC, inspired by Miku herself, wearing a sexual bunny suit so don't jump to conclusions 💀 I just made myself wear a suit with a blue bowtie- tho my character is only drawn with only the shoulders kinda visible bc i drew the sketch closer to the left corner of the paper-

also pls don't mind the terrible placement of the glasses… whateever they're called- but you'll get what I mean when you can obviously see it 💀💀 and my sort of exasperated expression is inspired by this screenshot here:

I liked the eyes cuz yeah. that's all :]]

[pallas-cat]

i like clay n friends as performers but smth about white middle class quebs calling themselves la musica popular de verdun, even if tongue is cheek is irritating

[hazbinhotei]

curing a hangover.

read part one here

warnings/tags: reader is hungover, alastor being a little shit, cunnilingus, P-in-V penetration, minor olfactophilia and dacryphilia if you look hard enough

word count: 6292

summary: The aftermath of one drunken night leaves you reeling—and Alastor surprisingly eager to help you recover in the most intimate way imaginable.

alastor x f!reader. my first ever smut fic, so please be gentle with me, my darlings. i did not expect this fic to end up so long but i really just had such a hard time diving straight into smut without some more interactions between reader and alastor—i love me some character building! i've always been a MDNI account, but especially in this instance—minors kindly go away!

It wasn’t just the hangover.

Though to be fair, the hangover was its own personal Hell—screaming behind your eyes like a banshee with a megaphone, and your stomach doing acrobatics that defied several laws of physics. Your mouth tasted like someone had poured sand into a blender with regret and served it lukewarm. Your soul felt wrinkled.

Even the walls of the hotel seemed to wince when you staggered into the kitchen, hoodie up, sunglasses on, and death in your eyes.

(The sunglasses indoors was definitely an active choice, a mental wave of a white flag as you hoped and prayed no one in this damned hotel would bring up the fact that you were so publicly caught snogging the Radio Demon less than 24 hours ago. At least, not bring it up while the tempest in your head demanded you rip apart the first demon who dared to piss you off this morning.)

No one dared speak to you. Husk took one look and slid the coffee pot across the counter like a peace offering before vanishing away down the hall. Niffty, bless her overly cheery heart, started to chirp a greeting—saw your face—and made a hard left turn, muttering something about reorganizing the mold drawer. Even Angel Dust tiptoed around you. Angel. A man who routinely did lines of coke on the lobby dining table at 2AM. He gave you a once-over and simply nodded in solemn solidarity.

But of course—it wasn’t just the hangover.

Of course.

The one person immune to your carefully cultivated aura of “speak and perish” was him.

Smug. Pristine. Radiant. Like he hadn't spent last night flirting with alcohol poisoning just to egotistically one-up you in a drinking game that he proposed you two play. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle in sight. Wearing that damn bowtie like he’d earned it.

He didn’t just walk into the kitchen. No—he waltzed in, humming a cheery little tune and radiating danger in four-part harmony. You ignored him, continuing to stir your coffee, hoping he would show you some pity to at least not bother you for the first few hours of the day. But of course he wouldn’t. He was Alastor, of course.

You felt him before you saw him. That chilling presence sliding in behind you, brushing too close, violating several unspoken rules about personal space and hangover protocol. You felt your bloodshot eyes twitch, whether that be from the hangover or the Sinner standing right behind you, you weren’t sure. Inhaling slowly, you continued to look at the caramel-colored beverage in front of you, once more praying to any deity out there that perhaps you were just imagining his presence.

"Good morning, darling!" he purred, like your skull wasn't splitting open. "Sleep well?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer. Not when your entire existence was currently held together with willpower and lukewarm coffee. You weren’t planning to reply at all until he cleared his throat—clearly waiting.

You swore the mug cracked in your hand. “…I had a dream that I died. Peacefully. In my sleep. You ruined it.” 

He chuckled, that low, musical hum that scraped up your spine and took residence in your brain like a catchy song you couldn’t get rid of. "Such vivid dreams. I do hope I was in them."

Despite your irritation, your stomach fluttered at his soft tone, the vocal static accompaniment absent as sincerity intertwined with his usual mirth. You turned slowly, craning your neck to look at him through your sunglasses. Pursing your lips, you watched him through the tinted lenses. “You know, I think I like this color palette of you more.”

Alastor’s eyes seemed to narrow when you lifted your chin up defiantly, a deep rumble of satisfaction emitting from his chest. “Ah, but chère, now I can’t see those lovely eyes of yours!”

He leaned down to remove the sunglasses, his long fingers brushing against your temple a bit too gently for your liking. You were about to protest before Alastor ripped the glasses off your face, your frown twisting to hiss like a vampire as you shut your eyes tightly in a failed attempt to shield yourself from the light. “Alastor! What the fuck!”

He only laughed at your pain, dropping the sunglasses on the counter behind you and covering your upper face with his large palms. You continued to shut your eyes after the light behind your eyelids disappeared, not daring to open them and face the sadistic asshole in front of you. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Open your eyes, chère.” You shivered at the sudden proximity of his voice, his breath tickling your right ear as you involuntarily swallowed. You weren’t sure why you necessarily listened to Alastor, but as your eyes hesitantly fluttered open, you realized you weren’t in the headache-inducing bright lights of the hotel kitchen. No, you were suddenly greeted by plush red cotton sheets, pupils adjusting to the dim glow of soft green lights littering the walls. 

You glanced around, realizing quickly you were in a hotel room. Not any hotel room—Alastor’s. You jolted up from the bed, wincing as you moved a little too fast for your hangover’s liking. “Alastor, why exactly am I in your bed?”

Your eyes landed on Alastor standing by his desk, coat discarded on the loveseat next to him, fingers starting to undo his bowtie. You practically short-circuited at the scene, your cheeks turning a bright red as you blinked in surprise. “Al, what is going on?”

“Why, I’m here to cure your hangover, dearest,” he stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You paused, trying to make sense of the current situation you were in—which was not giving you much to work with. Your brows furrowed. “And exactly how do you plan on helping?”

He hummed softly, placing his bowtie on the table as he approached your spot on the bed. “By getting in bed with you.” 

You choked on absolutely nothing, coughing up air as you gave him an incredulous look. “What?!”

“Oh please, nothing will come of this encounter if you don’t wish for anything to happen. I’m simply trying to help in any way I can.” He sighed dramatically, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you as he waved his hand over the other, a tall glass of water appearing in it.

You were too surprised by the turn of events to comprehend his statement, throat suddenly dry by the glorious cup of water practically dangling in front of you. He sighed once more, rolling his eyes as he handed you the glass. “Drink up.”

You snatched the cup with both hands and downed it, gulping so fast it nearly splashed back up your nose. Your eyes closed as you sigh in relief, your body an ounce better than it was before as you passed him the glass. Though you still had a raging headache, your eyes weren’t throbbing from any bright lights nor were you unknowingly suffering from dehydration now. 

“Would you like another one?” Alastor hums softly, watching your pacified expression. You shake your head, opening your eyes to look at Alastor. He was watching you with surprising patience, his smile small but genuine. You pause a moment to observe him, him merely doing the same as you meet his glowing stare. Those damn eyes—blood-red, always gleaming with mischief. But now, as he stared at you with uncharacteristic softness, you couldn’t help but get flashbacks from the way he watched you the entire time last night.

You inhaled through your nose, groaning as your moment of peace is suddenly interrupted by the remembrance of last night’s affairs. "...Are we going to bring it up or not?"

Alastor took a second to think, brow raising in confusion when he didn’t understand what you were talking about. "Bring what up, dear?"

You stared, huffing at him in exasperation. "The kiss, Alastor. Are we just gonna pretend that didn’t happen?"

His smile froze, ears twitching faintly—as if caught off by the thought of it as well. Then, just as quickly, he lit up like you’d handed him a fresh corpse wrapped in a bow and sealed with a kiss.

“Oh, that!” he chirped. “Heavens, no. I’d never forget something so…” He paused, his eyes dragging slowly—lazily—down your face. “…tantalizing!”

A sharp inhale slipped through your nostrils. You visibly recoiled, your face now a dangerous shade of crimson. “Tantalizing?!” you sputtered.

His smile turned downright wicked, lips curling upward. He leaned forward to set the empty glass on the bedside table, the movement smooth, casual. But your eyes betrayed you—snagging mid-motion, drawn down to the curve of his back, the subtle shift of fabric over lean muscle.

And then you saw it.

Somehow—somehow—you had missed it before. Blame the hangover. Blame the shock. Blame the fact that your brain was probably still rebooting from the whole appearing-in-Alastor’s-bed thing. But now that your gaze had landed on it, there was no un-seeing it.

The harness.

A jet-black leather harness wrapped around his broad chest, completely visible now that he was sans his usual red coat. Despite just drinking water, your throat suddenly felt extremely dry. You tore your staring upward like a Sinner yanking their hand from a Bible.

Too late.

He was already watching you. And oh, he was delighted.

His smile widened by degrees. His eyelids dipped into a half-lidded stare, slow and heavy with implication. There was no point pretending. Between your flushed cheeks and the way your eyes had lingered a millisecond too long, you may as well have been holding a neon sign that read: I JUST OGLED THE RADIO DEMON.

He savored your expression. A content hum rumbled in his chest, not quite a purr—but close.

“I do wonder, though,” he mused, voice dropping to a velvety murmur, “was it only the liquor?” His head tilted again, that playful glint never leaving his gaze. “Or...”—He leaned in slightly, just enough to send your pulse scattering—“would you still taste as sweet sober?”

Your eyes widened by the shift in his attitude, clearly feeling confident from your little staring mishap. Swallowing, you folded your arms, trying not to give into his very tempting flirting. “Alastor,” you warned, your tone brittle, “I’m five seconds away from tearing that smug expression off your face.”

“If that’ll help your hangover, by all means.”

You paused, confused if his words were another jest or genuine. “What?”

“I told you,” he said, gesturing innocently, “I’m here to cure your hangover. Whichever way you find fit.”

You blinked at him. Hard. The silence stretched. Finally, you squinted, hugging your crossed arms harder against your body with a slow, suspicious edge. “You’re messing with me.”

His brows raised in mock innocence. “Moi? Never. In fact…” he paused, his tone shifting just slightly—less cheek, more earnest, like the static had dialed down a notch. “I realize I’ve put you in quite the precarious situation. One that now, unfortunately, involves the rest of the hotel bearing witness. And for that”—He gave a faint, ironic bow of his head—“I do apologize.”

The cogs in your head churned in overtime to try and understand the current situation. 

You somehow were sitting in the middle of the Radio Demon’s bed, being pampered by that very demon himself, because he wanted to apologize? The very concept was laughable, and you especially found this whole thing unnecessary when it was simply a drunken mistake.

(Not to mention that you enjoyed every second of being in Alastor’s lap. How were you ever going to forget that intoxicating smell of cedarwood and death?)

You forced away your drifting thoughts, looking at him with a raised brow. “You’re doing all this to apologize? Really? All you did was kiss me.”

Alastor’s lips twitched, like he was resisting the urge to grin wider. It was a losing battle.

“Correction, dear,” he said, voice dripping with faux innocence. “You kissed me first.”

Your jaw dropped at how he completely ignored your question, instead focusing on your word choice. You scoffed, once again scandalized. “While wasted! That doesn’t count!”

“Ah,” he mused, tapping his chin as though pondering the secrets of the universe. “Then perhaps we should try again.”

You stiffened, throat catching at how he spoke so easily. His voice still held that familiar playful edge—but beneath it, something was shifting. The air thickened. His grin didn't widen this time. Instead, it softened, just a touch. Like he was testing the waters. 

His eyes flicked across your face—your mouth, your eyes, your mouth again. When he spoke next, the room felt smaller somehow. Quieter. You could hear the gentle hum of the fire in the hearth, blending seamlessly with the low radio static emitting off Alastor, the mattress creaking as he leaned a fraction closer.

“Why, I don’t do this often, you know,” he murmured, the static in his voice dimmed as he almost gave you a bashful look.

Your brows furrowed.

“And I realize,” he continued slowly, almost cautiously, “our unfortunate interruption last night may have left… desires unfinished for you.”

His eyes searched yours, expression unreadable. But his voice—oh, his voice—held the kind of vulnerability that cracked through your defenses like light under a locked door.

“I’m here to help.”

You blinked at him, stunned. The words didn’t even register at first—not fully. Not until they echoed in your chest a second time.

“…Wow,” you managed, trying to keep your tone light, deflecting with a slight teasing huff. “How noble, Alastor.” You bit your lip at how Alastor’s gaze studied every detail of your expression like a hunter, his lips thinning as if he was waiting for more from you—a challenge wrapped in silk.

You swallowed down your nerves, catching on the way his intertwined fingers twitched in his lap. “...Did it leave unfinished desires… for you?”

He stilled, his eyelids dropping as he took in a deep inhale at your words. And when he looked at you again, there was no mask. His smile had turned into something so hesitant—so faint that it barely registered in your mind as a smile at all, the corners of his mouth barely upturned. A long, soft silence filled the room as he looked at you with such intensity, you forgot how to breathe.

“I’d be lying,” he said, voice suddenly deep and sure, “if I said I am not undoubtedly yours, ma chère.”

The world stopped. Your breath caught. The heat that had been simmering under your skin now rushed to the surface, electric and dizzying. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words tangled. You hadn’t expected that. Not from him.

The man sitting in front of you was one of Hell’s most feared Overlords, a man who had crumbled the strongest of demons. And yet, he was also a man who had just confessed his feelings for you, just hours after french kissing you in a drunken stupor. Sure, Alastor had always seemed to be kinder to you than to anyone else in the hotel, but you had always just brushed that off to be mere acceptance of your presence—not a fondness for it.

Alastor simply waited patiently for your reply, legs crossed politely over the edge of the bed as he twisted his body to face you. His ears were flat against his head, his thumb tapping against his skin in a small display of nerves. And Satan help you, your heart surged at the sight like a moth to a flame.

“I—” you started, voice breathy. But as your brain failed to come up with a response, you didn’t try to say anything else.

You just leaned in, cupping his cheeks with your palms as you placed a gentle kiss on his lips. The gesture was familiar. But this time—unlike the inebriated mess of a kiss you’d given him last night—you had the decency to pull back. The radio static in the room swelled, the old radio on one of Alastor’s shelves crackling to life, playing a charming jazz melody.

“Dare I presume that’s your way of telling me you share the same sentiments toward me, darling?” Alastor chuckled, pulling his hands away from his lap to lean in closer to you.

Before you could react, Alastor had leaned in close once more, stealing another kiss from your lips. You couldn’t help but giggle in response, “Yes, you ass.” You gave him a light kiss on the cheek, your eyes twinkling with joy. “I’d hope you’d think I’m better than to just snog any demon in the lobby, drunk or not.”

Alastor’s grin turned sly, humming in satisfaction at your words. You gasped as he pushed you down onto the bed, your body bouncing gently as you found yourself now facing upwards. Your mind blanked at the sight of Alastor popping off his shoes, rolling off the leather harness with practiced ease. He climbed onto the bed alongside you, draping a casual arm around your body as he laid beside you. 

“Oh, I knew your kiss seemed too passionate for me to be just a passing fancy,” Alastor teased, “Good news is that I’ve found a lasting obsession with having your lips on mine.”

He didn’t wait for you to react as he leaned in to kiss you once more, this time harder. You sighed into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut as he pulled you closer. His hand found the side of your waist, firm but not forceful, fingers splaying like he was grounding himself in the moment. His lips were warm, steady, moving against yours with a relaxed confidence that stood in sharp contrast to the rushed, sloppy kisses from the night before.

And oh, the effect it had on you.

You shifted instinctively, hand coming up to bury your fingers into the trimmed hair at the nape of his neck. He hummed at the contact, the sound reverberating against your lips—low and pleased, a static buzz of delight that thrummed in your chest.

He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, nose brushing yours, and for a fleeting second you forgot what air was. His lips parted slightly, inviting you to meet him halfway, and when your tongues brushed, your breath hitched. That was all he needed to hear.

“Mmm… positively divine,” Alastor murmured as he pulled away just enough to catch your dazed expression. His smile was lazy now, lopsided and glowing with something deeper than amusement. “You make the air taste sweeter, chérie.”

“Flatter me more, why don’t you,” you teased breathlessly, though your voice came out more of a whimper than anything else. He chuckled, deep and velvety, as he leaned in again—no room left for anything between you now but fabric and heat.

This time, it was slower. 

Less fire, more honey. His kisses dragged along your lips like he had all the time in Hell to savor you—and damn, it felt like he would. He brushed his nose along your cheekbone, feathered kisses down to your jaw, then up again as you curled into his touch, the edge of your thigh sliding along his leg. His velveteen hand traced gentle circles at your hip, occasionally slipping beneath the hem of your hoodie just far enough to let you feel the scalding contact of skin against skin. But he never pushed. Never rushed.

Instead, he lingered like a melody stuck on a loop, exploring the shape of your lips with his own, pressing kisses that grew longer, needier, then softer again. He was addicted, drunk on your taste, his usual collected composure starting to become carnally hungry as he continued his kisses.

“You’re… you’re really not gonna stop, huh?” you asked, giggling between kisses as you tried to catch your breath.

Alastor nipped at your lower lip, grinning devilishly. “Darling,” he whispered, his voice dipping into a fond growl, “not unless you ask me to. But I do hope you won’t, because I am utterly enchanted.”

Again and again, he kissed you, each one a little different than the last—some chaste, some daring, all brimming with a dangerous kind of tenderness that made your body warm up. And in between those kisses, he whispered little nothings: praises, teases, threats of affection so sweet they made your toes curl.

By the time he finally pulled away, just barely, your lips were swollen, your face flushed, and your heart? Utterly, stupidly his.

“Stars above,” you mumbled, dazed and breathless. “You really do like kissing me.”

He laughed, brushing his nose against yours once more, eyes sparkling. “You’d be surprised how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

You were going to fire back something clever—something cocky, maybe flirty—but the words fizzled out the moment his hand slipped beneath your hoodie.

Fingertips ghosted over your waist, your body shivering at how soft his hands were. The contrast of his sharp claws against your delicate skin made your spine tense, a soft gasp slipping from your parted lips—and Alastor felt it. He smirked against your mouth, already chasing another kiss before you could even process the last one. He shifted beside you, rolling slowly until he was caging you in from above with his large frame.

Teeth grazed your bottom lip, not rough—teasing. His tongue slipped past your lips, curling against yours with surprising precision, like he was memorizing the shape of your hunger. You moaned before you could stop yourself, thighs instinctively shifting beneath him. He groaned in response, low and guttural, barely restrained, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest like thunder waiting to crack open the sky.

“Dearest,” he purred, pulling back just enough to press a kiss to your chin, then your throat, then just above your collarbone. “Those little noises of yours are going to drive me mad very easily.” He pulled away for a second, looking down at you as his red locks surrounded your peripheral vision—it was just you and him in this moment. 

“Is… is this something you want?”

You felt his hand rub circles into your stomach soothingly, his eyes searching yours to make sure every bit of your being wanted him just as much as he wanted you. You can’t help but laugh at the uncharacteristic sweetness of it all, shaking your head gently beneath him. “Who would have thought the Radio Demon was so respectful in bed?”

“Why, I am a Southern gentleman after all, sweetheart!” He drawled, his smile widening at your teasing remark. “But tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop immediately. No matter how hard it’ll be to—quell my hunger.” He finished his sentence with a sharp nip at your neck, making you involuntarily squeak at the pinch.

You hummed, intertwining your hands into his hair. “Thank you for the concerns, but I promise this is everything I want.” 

He groaned at the way you scratched his scalp, his ears twitching from the feeling. You smirked at the starry look he gave you, his lips once more meeting yours. Your eyelids shut as you mewled into the kiss, Alastor’s hands returning to underneath your hoodie with more need. Your breath started to shorten as his hands hesitantly reached higher and higher, your chest rising and lowering faster.

His hands cupped your breasts, your thighs instinctively pushing together as you felt your head spin from the contact. You had to withdraw from the kiss, gasping for air as Alastor watched you with half-lidded eyes. He leaned down to kiss your neck instead, his fangs nibbling softly as he fondled your chest with such tenderness. You gasped when his thumbs rubbed against your nipples, and you felt Alastor grin against your skin as they peaked under his touch. 

Every caress of his sent a jolt of fire straight to your core, the heat between your legs growing. You were sure you were starting to seep through your panties, the room a thousand degrees hotter with how Alastor was groping your body. 

“You feel like sin,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “I could get drunk off the heat of you alone.”

Before you could reply, Alastor removed his hands from your breasts, leaning back on his knees to pull you forward in a searing kiss. You were temporarily winded from the sudden movement, sitting up as you desperately tried to match his pace. His hands gripped the hem of your hoodie, lifting it up over your head as goosebumps littered your skin from the sudden exposure. He discarded the material somewhere off the bed, pushing you down once more as his hungry mouth met the skin of your chest.

You moaned out his name, your hands carding through his locks again as his tongue swirled around your left nipple. His thumb stimulated your right nipple in similar fashion, your eyes glazing over as you let yourself succumb to the pleasure.

His mouth detached from your mound, going lower and lower as he continued to fondle your breasts. Wet kisses were placed in a trail down your stomach, his mouth hesitating right at the top of your shorts. He glanced up at you, your core clenching at the way he locked eyes with you before pulling down your shorts and panties in one steady go.

Alastor wasted no time pulling your thighs apart, your cheeks suddenly warm at being completely exposed to him. He had you spread out like a decadent offering, laid bare before him, your body instinctively trying to fight the vulnerable position. You struggled in his grip, his strong hands holding the bottom of your thighs steady as you tried to push them together once more. Your stomach coiled in embarrassment when he took a deep breath in, his nostrils flaring at the scent of your arousal. “Alastor—”

Your complaint was lodged in your throat as your eyes landed on his expression. His pupils were blown wide, grin parted, as though the image of you—dripping, glistening with need—was something sacred. One of his hands moved to gently spread your lips, and his thumb ghosted over your clit with maddening care, pulling a soft gasp from your throat.

“My, my…” he breathed. “So wet already. And all for me.”

And then, without further warning—he devoured you.

His mouth latched onto you with terrifying precision, tongue flicking in fast, deliberate strokes against your clit while his hands gripped your thighs, keeping you pinned to the bed. The sensation was immediate—sharp, electric, almost as if a wire had been connected straight from your core to your spine. You cried out, hips bucking, but he held you, kept you right where he wanted you.

“Easy now,” he murmured against you, voice muffled but amused. “Let me take my time.”

You were soaked—and he seemed to love it, moaning softly as his tongue dipped down to taste everything. He licked up your arousal like it was nectar, slow and indulgent, before circling back to your clit and sucking, gently at first—then harder. The lewd sounds of Alastor’s mouth mixed with the faint love song crackling from the radio, your eyes rolling to the back of your head from the pleasure overwhelming your body.

Your back arched. Your hands tugged on hair behind his ears, desperate for more. He groaned when you pulled on him—deep and vibrating against your sensitive flesh. The sensation made you whimper, thighs trembling on either side of his head.

“Th-that—Alastor—fuck—” You lifted one of your arms to cover your eyes, your face burning hot from the shameful sounds Alastor was eliciting from you. 

A shadowy tendril wrapped around your wrist, pulling your forearm off of your eyes. He pulled away only briefly, his mouth slick with your juices, a feral grin splitting his lips.

“Oh darling,” he purred, voice thick, eyes gleaming. “Don’t shy away from me.”

Then he buried himself in you once more.

His tongue moved with devilish skill—flicking, circling, pressing in just the right rhythm, while his fingers slipped lower, teasing at your entrance before easing inside you. One. Then two. Slow, curling motions that had your entire body clenching around him. You felt Alastor finger you with precision, the faint reminder of his pointed nails against your walls made your head spin. He could tear you apart in an instant, and yet here he was, devoting himself to giving you nothing but pure, unadulterated pleasure.

He fucked you with his fingers and licked you like a man starved—like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted. He’d groan when you moaned. Chuckle darkly when you cursed. Murmur “that’s it, my sweet, give in” when your hips started grinding against his mouth.

You were unraveling—gasping, writhing, begging for something you couldn’t name. The pressure was building exponentially, and you could barely form a thought beyond more more please don’t stop—

And he didn’t.

He knew. He felt the way your body tensed, the way your cries grew higher, the way your legs tried to close around his head—he pressed his free hand to your stomach, grounding you, keeping you open and his.

“Come for me, chère,” he whispered into your skin, voice thick and reverent. “Let me taste it.”

His words pushed you over the edge, snapping the invisible rubber band inside your stomach. You shattered with a cry, your orgasm hitting you like a storm, thighs trembling violently as your entire body curved off the bed. Alastor held you through it, lapping up every drop, groaning with delight as he worked you through the high with soft, slow licks until you were twitching, sensitive, your hands weakly trying to push him away. 

“Al—Alastor, too much,” You whimpered pathetically, your hands softly pushing him away from your overstimulated core. He finally pulled back, chin dripping with a mix of his saliva and your wetness, eyes black and gleaming.

And he smiled.

That big, sharp, genuine smile.

“So sweet,” he sighed, voice dreamy as he kissed your trembling thigh. “I could gorge myself on you for hours and still crave more, dearest.”

You were too blissed out to answer—just a panting, whimpering mess beneath him.

He crawled up your body slowly, pressing soft kisses to your stomach, your ribs, your chest. And when he finally reached your lips again, he kissed you with the same mouth that had just ruined you—and you didn’t even hesitate to return it.

You could taste yourself on him.

Alastor cradled your face in his hand, brushing your sweaty hair back gently, his voice a soft murmur against your lips. “Still with me, ma douce?” 

His voice vibrated against your lips, his hands coming up to his neck to quickly unbutton his shirt. His hands moved with practiced accuracy, your body still regaining strength from your orgasm. You glanced down at the strain in his slacks, your mouth watering at the sight of just how badly he needed relief. Withdrawing only enough to stand at the foot of the bed, he dragged his belt open with a snap that made your stomach flip.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much, won’t you?” he asked, even as he slid his trousers down his hips, freeing himself.

You nodded instantly, but your breath caught in your throat once your gaze landed on his member. He was long. Thick. Already dripping at the tip from how hard he was, how worked up you’d made him just from tasting you. His cock curved slightly upward, pulsing with anticipation as he crawled back over you, guiding himself to your entrance with one slow, grinding drag of his tip along your still-sensitive folds.

“Alastor, stop teasing.” You hissed as he continued brushing the head of his cock against your wet slit. A deep hum of amusement escaped his chest, his eyes fluttering shut as he relished the way your lips invited him in.

When he pushed in—it was slow. Torturously slow. Stretching you inch by inch, making your mouth fall open with a sound that bordered on a sob. You were still so aroused, your walls fluttering, clenching down on him as he eased deeper.

“Ohhh, fuck—” you gasped, legs trembling.

Alastor groaned—really groaned—his voice breaking for just a moment as your warmth enveloped him fully. You clenched around him as he hissed out your name like a prayer.

“You feel—divine,” he growled, his composure splintering as his hips finally pressed flush against yours. “Like you were made to take me.”

He stayed there for a moment buried to the hilt, before pulling back and thrusting in again with a force that made your body jolt up the bed. The rhythm started hard and deep—slow but intentional, like he was trying to imprint himself into every inch of you. There was no frantic rutting, no careless pace. Every thrust was a symphony of tension and release. Your moans came unbidden, rising with every grind of his hips, every brush of his pelvis against your overstimulated clit.

And Alastor loved it.

He drank up your reactions as if it were ambrosia, glowing red eyes fixed on your face, on the way you gasped and cried out, on the way your nails clawed at his back. Your sounds were music to his ears, your blissed out expression making his dick twitch. You looked thoroughly fucked, Alastor’s chest swelling with pride as he felt his antlers start to grow ever so slowly. You bucked beneath him, hips grinding up to meet his thrusts, and he groaned again—sharper this time. The sound shot straight through you, and your hands flew to his hair, yanking him down into another kiss that had your teeth clashing, your tongues tangling.

“This pussy—fuck,” he mewled into your mouth, “this perfect little pussy—clinging to me like she doesn’t want me to leave.”

His voice was fraying now, strained, unraveling at the edges. “Is that it, darling?” he rasped, still kissing you between words. “You want me to stay right here? Fill you until you can’t think?”

“Y-yes—please, don’t stop, Alastor—”

One hand suddenly snaked beneath your thigh, grabbing one of your legs and hooking it over his shoulder. The angle changed—oh God, the angle changed!—and you cried out, your back arching as he hit deeper, harder, grinding against that sweet, devastating spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“There,” he smirked, voice low and breathless. “There it is.”

He continued to pound into you until you were sobbing his name, clutching the sheets, tears brimming in your lashes from the sheer overwhelm of it. Alastor's smile turned feral as he saw your tears, his pace faltering as he kissed your tears as they fell.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispered, soft between the pounding thrusts. “So good for me. Taking me so well. You were meant for this. Meant for me.”

You whimpered at his praises, cumming again without warning—your body locking up, your orgasm ripping through you like a wave breaking against stone. Alastor groaned at the feeling of you clenching around him, pulsing, twitching, milking him as he drove in deep one final time.

He buried himself to the hilt and came with a growl—deep, guttural, almost animalistic—his cock twitching as he filled you, spilling inside you with a heat that made your thighs quiver. You felt him pulse inside you, bury himself deeper, hips twitching with the last few, slow thrusts.

Alastor collapsed beside you with a sigh that was more satisfied than smug for once, his arm immediately curling around your waist to tug you flush against him. His skin was slick with sweat, his breath still uneven, but his smile—that damned smile—was gentler now. Calmer. Like some longing ache inside him had finally eased.

The two of you lay there in silence for a moment, your body still twitching with the occasional aftershock as your breath steadied. Your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, warm and safe as your hands gently played with the soft fur of his chest. He sighed at the feeling, inhaling deeply as he relaxed.

Then, with absolutely zero shame in his tone, he spoke.

“So,” he drawled lazily, voice low and playful, “did I cure your hangover?”

You tensed, lifting your head just enough to blink at him, eyes wide and incredulous. You paused for a moment to focus on your head, realizing your headache was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, laughter flowed out of you, your head thrown back as you giggled at his question—of course he still remembered.

“You know what…” you breathed, grinning at him like he’d just said the funniest thing. “Surprisingly, you did.”

Alastor chuckled, eyes glittering with delight. He merely leaned down to kiss your forehead, brushing away the hair stuck to your forehead. Cuddling closer, you dropped your head once more to the crook of his neck, his fingers stroking lazy circles on your back, and the silence that followed was heavy with comfort. After a pause, you tilted your head to glance up at him again.

“...Did you get me drunk because you knew I’d kiss you?”

Alastor gasped dramatically at your questioning. Hand pressed to his chest, all mock offense and theatrical flourish. “Oh contraire, chérie!” he insisted. “I was trying to get us both drunk so I could confess my affections for you—never did I expect you to do something so scandalous.” 

He paused, grin widening into its usual smirk. “But alas, it ended in my favor… so I must thank you for it.”

You groaned into his shoulder, rolling your eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

He laughed—a full, rich sound that rumbled against your cheek as he kissed the top of your head once more.

“Perhaps,” he whispered. “But I’m your idiot now.”

tag list: @railgunuzi @frompiscium @rose-in-blue @catticora @milkissesx + @lovingyeet @flannychan @ari-hatake24 [want to join/be removed from the tag list? check my pinned post!]

[jpitha]

Vocal Mimicry and Ear Worms

Every time the drink machine finished, it played a little song.

It was pretty simple, less than 10 notes, but it was the same song, every time.

It wasn't even that it played the same song every time. It wasn't even that everyone on the ship - except the humans - got a drink from the machine.

The song was catchy.

Peg started it. She just found her self whistling the "drink finished" song one day. "beep beepita beep beep beep beepita beeeeeeep." She couldn't help it.

Then, Kelly picked it up. The song worked its way into her head too. She'd be working at her station and suddenly she'd be struck by an intense need to sing the song.

After about three cycles, every single human on the ship was singing it. Normally, this would be chalked up by the rest of the crew as "just another strange Human thing" but the problem was that it was the 'drink finished' song. Everyone onboard was conditioned to want to go get their drink when the song was done.

The humans could mimic is perfectly.

"beep beepita beep beep beep beepita beeeeeeep."

Captain Flowing River Rapid's feathers fluffed in irritation. Two people on the Command Deck got three quarters of the way out of their seats before they realized what they were doing and sat back down, sheepish. "Desmond! What have I said about mimicing the drink finished melody?"

Desmond ducked his head at the reproach. "Sorry Captain River, I couldn't help it. It's just so catchy."

Captain River clacked his beak. "It wouldn't be so bad if not for the fact that you can all mimic the sound so well."

Desmond turned and looked at the Captain. "What? We are? We're singing it, but it doesn't sound exactly like the drink machine."

The Captain pointed at Desmond accusingly. "Don't deny it! You're all singing the song at all times of the cycle! You know that everyone thinks a drink is ready when you do it. You sound exactly like the machine!"

One of the Sefigans who got partially up from their station nods quickly, their antenna bobbing. "Captain River is correct, Des. You all really sound a lot like the drink machine. How are you doing it?"

Desmond shrugged. "I mean, we heard the song, and it gets like, stuck in our heads. Singing it feels like one way to get it out. Plus, it's fun to sing Kel. Fun to make sounds."

Kel's wing covers clack. "Can you mimic other things?"

"I don't know Kel, I don't really think of myself as a mimic. There are others who can do it much better than me. Some humans made a whole career out of it."

"That sounds like a thing I human would do, yes. But what about your Des? Let's see...." Kel looks down at their station. "What about this?"

Kes runs a test for the collision alarm. It's a warbling rising and falling tone."

Des thinks for a second and sings - for him - a pretty close approximation.

Captain River gasps and leans back in his chair. "How do you do that?"

Desmond wails. "It wasn't even that good! I just heard the tones and repeated them."

Kelly entered the Command Deck just then. She was carrying a pad and her overalls looked stained. "Captain River, I've just come to report tha-"

"Kelly! Mimic the collision alarm"

"What? Um.." Kelly makes the same noise."

Now, everyone on the Command Desk gasps. Kelly is taken aback and looks at Desmond. "What's going on Des?"

Desmond sighs. "They say we're all mimics. It started with the drink machine."

"Oh that. I still can't get it out of my head! 'beep beepita beep beep beep beepita beeeeeeep.'"

Kes starts to rise from his seat again and catches himself, and sits back down swearing.

[rafecameronssl4t]

could u do Rafe x Thornton!reader where maybe instead of pope sinking toppers boat they’re acc trying to sink readers boat while her and Rafe are on it and pope runs into her or smth???

The forbidden zone || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

A/n: idk if i like this one, especially the ending 😭

Warnings: literally just swearing

Word count: 737

MASTERLIST (rafe x thornton!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

Pope’s eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in the sight of the gleaming Ferretti Yachts 580 docked outside your house. The yacht’s sleek design and shiny exterior exude luxury and wealth. JJ, equally stunned, stares at the boat with his mouth slightly agape.

“This is war, Pope,” JJ declares, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and determination. “They hit us, so we hit them right back.” Pope swallows hard, trying to process the sight before him. “Is that even Topper’s boat? Could be his parents’ or—”

JJ cuts him off, pulling up his neck gaiter with a resolute shrug. “Who cares? It’s parked outside their place, so they must own it.” With a resigned exhale, Pope peels off his shirt, his frustration palpable. He takes a deep breath, then leaps into the water.

~

With your AirPods in, you’re sprawled out on the sun lounger of your family’s newest yacht, basking in the luxury of the latest addition to their boat collection. This sleek, state-of-the-art vessel was a birthday gift, a perfect upgrade from your parents’ previous boat. Topper, with his 2020 Malibu, seemed downright envious in comparison.

You’re sipping on a chilled iced tea when your timer chimes, signaling it’s time to flip over. Deciding you need to reapply some sunscreen, you rise from your seat, looking around for Rafe, who is somewhere aboard the boat.

Removing your AirPods and humming along to a catchy tune, you stroll around the yacht. “Rafe?” you call out. “Babe, where are you—” As you turn a corner, you come to an abrupt halt, your eyes widening in shock.

Pope stands there, his face a mix of panic and surprise. “What are you doing here?” you demand, crossing your arms as you take in his distress. Your gaze shifts to the open door leading down into the bilge, and a sense of dread washes over you. “Uh…” Pope stammers, his fear palpable. You quickly piece together the situation and realise something is wrong.

Without wasting another second, you dash towards the bilge, your heart pounding in your chest. The area is dimly lit and cluttered with machinery. You scan the space rapidly, searching for any signs of trouble. Suddenly, you hear a loud splash and bolt outside, only to see Pope frantically swimming away from the boat.

“What the fuck?!” you yell, disbelief and anger mingling in your voice. The sound of hurried footsteps reaches your ears, and you turn to see Rafe approaching with a look of panic. “What? What happened?” he asks urgently.

“I found Pope snooping around the bilge,” you say quickly, your voice tight with anxiety. Rafe’s eyes widen, and his jaw drops as he processes the information. “What? Where the fuck is he now?” Rafe demands, his gaze following your finger as you point toward Pope’s boat. You both watch in stunned silence as Pope scrambles aboard his boat with the help of some blonde you could only imagine to be JJ.

Rafe’s frustration is palpable as he watches Pope’s boat disappear into the distance. He turns to you, his face etched with concern. “Did he touch you? Are you okay?” His hands grasp yours firmly, his eyes scanning your body for any signs of injury or distress. You shake your head, assuring him that you’re unharmed.

“What was he even doing here?” Rafe mutters, his voice a mix of confusion and anger. He pushes past you, heading briskly toward the open bilge door. “Do you think he was trying to sink the boat?” you ask, your voice tinged with worry as you lean against the doorway, watching him intently.

“Why the fuck would he do that?” Rafe snaps back, irritation colouring his tone. “I don’t know,” you reply, your voice tinged with frustration. “But why else would he be in the bilge room?” Rafe exhales sharply, his annoyance momentarily giving way to concern.

He turns to you and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close. His hands rest possessively on the curve of your hips, and you can feel the warmth of his body against yours. You lean in and press a gentle kiss to his neck.

“I think I should go tell Mum,” you say with a sigh, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace. Rafe nods, his expression firm and serious as he watches you walk off. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he scrolls through his contacts before clicking on Toppers contact.

Rafe

You won't fucking believe who snuck into your sister's boat while we were on it.

[gimmethatagustd]

blood on the sheets | kth

Despite what some people may think, your roommate isn't a monster. You know Taehyung; he'd never hurt anyone.

Pairing: Vampire Taehyung x Human Reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre/Trope: Fantasy, roommates to... lovers, dead dove, angst, smut

Word Count: 4,693

Content Warning: Fantasy, ambiguous/open ending, blood, biting, homicidal tendencies, yandere Taehyung, emotional manipulation, dubious consent, period sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, face-sitting, blood as lube

A/N: I wrote this for @taehyungcentral for Halloween 🦇

Soundtrack: this vampire kpop playlist hali showed me  

‣ Main Masterlist

“Doesn’t he, y’know, creep you out?” 

Robin takes a sip of her cocktail with lips so accustomed to being pursued in snootiness that little wrinkles have formed around the edges of her mouth despite her young age. It’s a shame, but the look is fitting. Sometimes, a person’s ugliness on the inside does reflect on the outside. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask with thinly-veiled irritation. 

You haven’t known Robin for a long time, though you suppose it wouldn’t have mattered if you knew her for a day or an entire year. She’s the type of person you could spend hours talking to and walk away knowing nothing about her. You’re simply coworkers, and that’s enough for you.

Robin shrugs and tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder when she turns to blatantly stare across the room. The bar isn’t big, just large enough for a few tables and booths lining the walls and a small dancefloor in the middle of the room. It’s intimate, so your coworkers picked it for the office’s monthly night out. Alcohol, catchy pop music, and hipster bars are perfect ingredients for morale-boosting activities, but Robin doesn’t know how to not be nasty. 

You follow her gaze, and a small smile lifts the corners of your mouth despite her rude question when you see who she’s looking at. 

The cup in Taehyung’s hand is colored glass. In the dim lights, the cup appears to be a dark forest green that pairs prettily with his fire-engine red hair and the contacts that turn his dark eyes a mossy color. You helped him pick out the contacts while the two of you got ready for the work outing. The green are just as alluring as the other colored contacts he owns, but they’re less intimidating than his favorite gray ones. 

The colored cups are the bar’s effort to hide the deep crimson liquid inside. Supposedly, it’s for the comfort of all their patrons, but everyone knows what passes through Taehyung’s plush lips when he brings the cup to his mouth. 

You watch his throat bob as he swallows. The v-cut of his shirt exposes his elegant neck and collarbones, not that you’re looking or anything.  

“He eats people, for Christ’s sake. How could you live with something like that?” 

Your vodka-cranberry drink is down to the ice, and your patience for Robin has melted with it. 

“Fuck you,” you snap. “Taehyung doesn’t eat people. And he’s not a thing; he’s a person.” 

It’s so unlike you to be this aggressive, but something mean twists inside your stomach whenever you’re forced to interact with people like Robin, who use their prejudice to infect everyone around them. Vampires have been integrated into human society for decades with very few incidents, yet there are still humans like Robin who hold onto the horror stories of the past. 

Besides, Robin doesn’t even know Taehyung. You’ve brought him around your coworkers before as a plus-one to work events, but Robin doesn’t actually know him. She doesn’t know how kind he is, how he looks after you when even your friends rarely do, how he goes out of his way to prove that just because he’s a vampire doesn’t mean he’s a monster. 

The pounding of your heart is enough evidence that you aren’t used to this hostile behavior. You nearly knock over your chair when you stand, and your hands are too shaky to pick up your drink from where it sits on the table before you. 

Robin glares at you with eyes that pierce through your tough facade. Her cherry-red lips part to expose teeth more dangerous-looking than a vampire’s fangs, but whatever she has to say dies on her tongue. 

“Hey, love.” Taehyung’s fingers skirt your lower back, and the cold of his fingertips bleeds through your thin shirt. “You okay?” 

“Yup!” You give Taehyung a slight smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I was just telling Robin that I’m going home. Is that alright?” 

Taehyung hums in understanding, his fingers now pressing against your hip bone. The pressure is light, but it’s enough to force your body to turn slightly to face him rather than the table where Robin still sits. 

You naturally gravitate toward him regardless. When you first became friends and shortly before you decided to live together, you’d playfully accused Taehyung of using his vampiric charms on you. 

“I don’t need magic to make you fall in love with me, baby,” Taehyung had replied with a lopsided grin, no fangs in sight.  

Admittedly, you spent far too many of the following nights replaying that comment in your head. 

“Of course,” Taehyung slips his index finger through one of your belt loops and tugs on it absentmindedly, “I’ll leave with you; I’ve lost interest in listening to Seokjin’s passionate rambling. There’s only so much video game lore I can handle.” 

Robin mutters something snarky under her breath that you can’t hear, but your heart hurts because you know Taehyung can. You’re sure it’s his superhuman hearing that set him off to rescue you from Robin’s bitchy attitude, considering how your heart is beating at a worrying pace. This situation is yet another example of how kind Taehyung is. 

Robin doesn’t know shit.

Going home is a good call for more than just escaping Robin’s bitchy behavior. From the time it takes Taehyung to drive home, your lower stomach begins to hurt with such extreme stabbing pain that you can barely walk upright once you arrive. Taehyung has to wrap his arm around your shoulders and slowly guide you up the elevators and down the hall to your apartment’s front door. Once he enters the passcode, he helps you inside and leads you into the kitchen. 

“You weren’t supposed to start for another week,” Taehyung comments off-handedly as he fetches you a glass of water. He speaks with the casualness of discussing the weather or your weekend plans. 

It makes your cheeks warm, and you stare at the water in your glass once he hands it to you. “How do you know that?” 

“I pay attention to you, love,” Taehyung murmurs. You should think it’s weird when he inhales deeply through his nose, but you only feel warm as goosebumps scatter across your skin. “I can also… smell it.” 

With a gentle grip on your waist, Taehyung draws you closer to where he leans against the kitchen counter. Once you’re standing directly before him, he slips his hand beneath your shirt to press his cold palm against your lower stomach. The gut-wrenching pain is still there, but in the mix of the pain, butterflies are swirling about, and the cool of his skin feels good against your too-hot body. 

Some of your friends have commented on how you act with Taehyung - or, more so, how Taehyung acts with you. He’s touchy, and personal boundaries mean very little. For some, it would be off-putting how Taehyung initiates touch without asking, but you find it comforting. You don’t mind; if anything, you’re endeared by it. It means he’s comfortable with you and knows you trust him.

Trust, you’re quickly learning, is important for vampires in a world that distrusts them.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s really gross.” 

“Gross?” Taehyung rubs his thumb along the sensitive skin of your stomach and watches you intently with his mossy green eyes. It should be unnerving, but you’re too captivated by Taehyung to think anything of it. 

“All my ex-boyfriends never even wanted to talk about periods, let alone…” You’re too shy to finish your sentence; repeating what Taehyung said seems too embarrassing. It’s embarrassing enough that you’re comparing your roommate to your ex-boyfriends. 

You let out a quiet sigh when Taehyung removes his hand from beneath your shirt. He takes your empty glass from your hands and places it on the kitchen counter. Letting Taehyung take care of you feels nice, especially when your period cramps make breathing difficult. 

“Humans are strange,” Taehyung murmurs as he gently turns you around by your shoulders to guide you to your bedroom. “There is nothing dirty or disgusting about blood. It is natural. A life source, in more ways than one.”

After changing into a new pair of underwear and comfy pajamas, you slip into your bed and patiently wait for Taehyung to finish getting ready for bed.

It isn’t unusual for you to spend time together at night, especially since you don’t have much time that overlaps due to Taehyung being nocturnal. He doesn’t sleep all day, but getting all covered up is a hassle just to brave the sunlight, so Taehyung prefers to spend his days inside. 

You get cuddled in your blankets with a heating pad pressed to your lower stomach. At the same time, Taehyung sets up his laptop on your bed before you, pulling up your favorite reality TV show because he knows you’re too sensitive to handle anything emotional. 

Taehyung is dressed in a loose white t-shirt and form-fitting grey sweatpants. It’s a deadly combination, and you hate that he can hear your heart flutter when he climbs into bed with you. You’re close enough that your shoulders press together, and Taehyung’s cool temperature seeps into your body, contrasting nicely with the heating pad resting on your stomach.

Sometimes, you wonder if Taehyung has figured out that he’s the reason you’re a jittery mess. You wonder if he knows that your heart races around him, not because you’re afraid of him but because you’ve considered what it would feel like to let him sink his fangs into your flesh.

He probably has no idea, you think as you appraise him out of the corner of your eye. He’s charming and naturally flirty. He probably thinks you’re just matching his energy.

You’re terrible at flirting anyway.

Clearing your throat, you adjust the blankets and try to focus on the TV show. However, it’s difficult to concentrate with Taehyung snuggled against your side. He’s being more affectionate than usual, likely because you get more sensitive when you’re on your period. You can’t complain. It feels nice to have his strong arm curled around your waist and his large hand resting against your hip. 

“Comfortable?” Taehyung turns his head to the side to speak against the curve of your ear. His cool breath against your skin makes you shiver. 

“Mhm,” you hum. “Are you?” 

“I’m with you, aren’t I?” 

“Shut up,” you hiss and give Taehyung a sharp slap to the leg that you know won’t hurt him. 

You slide further into the blankets to rest your head on Taehyung’s shoulder. There’s no reason for you to be whispering, but you do. Perhaps it’s the atmosphere, your bedroom dark except for a single bedside lamp casting a shallow yellow glow, and Taehyung’s laptop lighting up your bed sheets a pale blue. 

After a few minutes of silence between the two of you passes while the show plays through, Taehyung begins thrumming his fingers against your hip. 

“Were your exes truly mean to you about something so natural?”

“What?” You twist your torso slightly to look up at him. “Like, not wanting to talk about periods and stuff?” 

Taehyung nods. He’s no longer wearing his contacts, so you can see the lamp’s yellow light reflect in his deep red eyes, making them burn orange. Having known Taehyung for a year now, you’ve learned that the color of his eyes changes pretty regularly. You aren’t sure what the colors mean, though you’re pretty sure they have more to do with his mood than his hunger levels – contrary to what vampire films and novels might lead you to believe. 

“Well, yeah. Guys think periods are gross. A lot of people do, honestly. Because of blood, and also, y’know, misogyny and all that shit.” You shrug, having come to terms with these facts long ago. “Like, one time I told my ex about this article I read that said orgasms can temporarily relieve cramps, and he went on this whole rant about how period sex is disgusting. It made me feel like I was disgusting, honestly. But whatever.” 

Throughout your explanation, Taehyung’s face slowly contorts until he looks legitimately upset. It startles you because why should he care about any of this? 

Sweet Taehyung is too empathetic for his own good, you think. 

“Human men are pathetic,” Taehyung finally says with a snort. “Period sex sounds fun.” 

You struggle to swallow with how dry your mouth and throat have become. Why did you bring up sex while you sit halfway leaned against Taehyung’s chest in your bed, with the lights off, quite literally Netflix and chilling on a Friday night?

“W-well,” you start to stutter but quickly try to pull yourself together, “I wouldn’t know.” 

Taehyung hums and then falls silent again, so you assume the topic is dropped. That is until a few more minutes pass with Taehyung’s fingers playing with the hem of your t-shirt, and he eventually leans toward your ear again. 

“Would you like to find out?” 

This time, you turn around to face Taehyung. He keeps his head bent, which positions his face to be level with yours. You can smell the woody notes of his cologne that make you salivate. 

“What?” you squeak, but you hear him more clearly than you hear your own thoughts.  

“You still have cramps, don’t you?” You nod. “I could help you, love. You need not suffer.” 

Blood rushes to your ears, causing your heartbeat to throb inside your brain. The pounding has a ripple effect, creating beating waves that roll throughout your entire body. It’s as though you’ve become a giant heart trembling and pulsing from the prospect of having sex with the man you’ve desired in secret for far too long.

Likely noticing your body falling into distress, Taehyung cups the side of your face with his free hand. Using his hold on you, he tilts your head slightly. His eyes bore into yours with such intensity that you don’t think it’s physically possible for you to look away. 

“Are you afraid of me?” 

“No,” you respond without hesitation. You aren’t.

Your response pleases Taehyung, and you’re reminded of the importance of trust. When he smiles, you think his canines look slightly pointier than usual.  

“You know,” Taehyung begins slowly, his gaze dropping from your eyes to your slightly parted lips. “Humans drown themselves in shame. I have never understood it. What is so reprehensible about pleasure, hm? Is it so wrong to seek it?”

“I don’t know,” you admit through a breathy exhale when Taehyung brushes the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip.

“Your ex made you feel ashamed, didn’t he?”

You nod, rendered speechless from how Taehyung trails his fingers along your jaw and neck. Gently, he presses his index and middle fingers against the soft spot of your throat where your heart panics beneath your skin.

Taehyung wets his lips.

“I could make you feel good.”

All it takes is a light tap of his fingers against your hip, and you’re leaning into Taehyung’s chest. His large hand slides from the side of your neck to the back of your head, pulling you into a bruising kiss. It’s deep and demanding, sending your head spinning as you struggle to keep up with Taehyung’s soft lips.

You moan when the tip of his tongue flicks against your mouth, coaxing you open for him to taste. You fall apart for him willingly, ready to bear your soul if he so much as whispers the request against your lips.

Taehyung could kiss you forever; he doesn’t need to breathe. You have to force yourself to pull back to gasp for air when you begin to feel lightheaded, and you struggle to register that you’ve somehow ended up in Taehyung’s lap. You straddle his firm thighs with your knees on either side of his hips and your fingers digging into his broad shoulders. It’s embarrassing, the feeling of suddenly having no control over yourself, but Taehyung squeezes your hips when you try to get up.

“Will you let me?” His eyes are a deep red, nearly black, as he searches your face for your answer when you don’t immediately respond.

Your entire body throbs with anticipation. Sleeping with Taehyung is everything you’ve forced yourself not to imagine - out of shame because what is more shameful than thirsting over your roommate who has no interest in you?

Except he does. You can feel his hard cock underneath you, and when you subtly scoot your ass against it, his fingers dig deeper into your hips.

“Please,” you whisper. The word barely leaves your lips when you’re suddenly tossed onto your back.

Taehyung’s nimble fingers slip beneath your t-shirt and push it up, murmuring, “Lift your arms, love,” and discarding it onto the floor in one sweep. Leaning forward, Taehyung kisses each of your now-exposed nipples, flicking his cool tongue over them until they’re hard and wet.

You moan and instinctually arch your back, pushing your chest against his open mouth.

“Can’t wait to taste you,” Taehyung groans into your skin as he slips his hands into the elastic waistband of your pajama shorts. The fabric easily slides down your legs. Taehyung flings them onto the floor, where they melt into a pool of blood-red silk. “You smell delicious. Always do.”

Understanding Taehyung’s praises is difficult when he lights up your nerves with every kiss and harsh suck of your skin into his mouth. You don’t feel anything sharp for now, but you want to. Again, it’s shame that squanders the urge to admit your desires to Taehyung. All you can do is tangle your fingers in his pretty red hair and stare into his eyes as he sucks wet kisses down your stomach.

Your thighs are already slightly wet with your arousal and, unfortunately, blood. It’s hot and sticky. You try to close your legs, but Taehyung keeps them propped open. To your horror, you watch him drag his hands up your inner thighs, smearing the little traces of arousal and blood that have rubbed off onto your skin. It leaves light pink streaks on his palms.

With dark eyes, Taehyung holds your gaze as he brings one hand to his mouth and licks up the entire length of his palm.

“Fuck,” he lets out a shuddery moan, eyes fluttering closed. “Goddamn, love.”

It shouldn’t be hot, the feral look in Taehyung’s eyes when he opens them again. It shouldn’t be hot, the way his fangs naturally drop. He snaps his mouth shut, and you watch his throat bob as he swallows a few times. His fangs are gone the next time he opens his mouth.

“Sit on my face.”

You nearly choke. “Excuse me?”

Reaching behind his head, Taehyung pulls his t-shirt off with one hand. Smooth, unblemished skin glows honey gold in the dim lighting. Possessed, you can’t stop yourself from reaching out to run your hands down his chest. His abs tense and contract when you caress them. By the time you reach the waistband of his sweatpants, you’ve lost the little bit of courage you had.

“I want you to sit on my face.” Taehyung’s voice is thick and gravelly. There’s a dangerous edge to it that you can’t quite name.

“O-okay,” you whimper.

A thrill pulses through your body when you remember what Taehyung is.

He’s a person, not a monster. But he’s dangerous all the same.

Taehyung lies on his back and holds his arms out, coaxing you forward. His large hands squeeze your thighs, just below your ass, to haul you further up until you’re hovering right over his face.

“Are you su-”

“It is impossible for you to understand how painful it has been to wait for this moment.” Taehyung holds eye contact with you as he slides his hands up to squeeze your ass cheeks and pull your pussy down onto his mouth.

“Oh my god,” you moan, scrambling to grab the bedframe to steady yourself.

Taehyung licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, lapping up the mouthwatering mixture of arousal and blood gushing from you with every pulse of your pussy. Using the tip of his tongue, he swirls your clit, flicking it repeatedly until he gets tired of that and sucks it into his mouth instead.

Your thighs quiver, and chants of Taehyung’s name flow from your lips like honey as he tongues your entrance. His mouth is relentless, nipping, licking, and sucking your clit until you’re trembling so severely that Taehyung has to prop his arms up to hold most of your weight. It only gets worse when he presses his tongue inside your pussy, fucking into you as he devours your sweet blood and juices with the moans of a starved man.

“T-Taehyung,” you gasp, reaching down to dig your fingers into his hair. Your nails scrape against his scalp, and the rumble of his moans into your pussy is to die for. “I’m gonna come, oh my god, oh, pl-, ah, please d-don’t-”

Your eyes, which had fallen shut as you focused on the feeling of Taehyung’s mouth on your pussy, fly open when something sharp presses into the inside of your thigh. You look down to see Taehyung’s fangs buried into your flesh, just at the crease of your inner thigh, where the skin is soft and supple. The pain quickly morphs into mind-numbing pleasure, so white hot that it feels like your brain is melting out of your ears when you finally come.

You slump forward with your face pressed against the wall and your hands weakly gripping the bed frame as your body convulses in Taehyung’s hold.

“Tae, Tae, Taehyung, oh god.” It hurts how deeply he bites into you, but the longer he clamps on, the more intoxicated you become by the venom all vampires carry in their bite.

It’s distracting, the way you feel like you’re floating. Your eyes flutter as you feel Taehyung pull you onto the bed on your back. He hovers over you, the bloodied face of a fallen angel closing in on you.

“I’m your first,” Taehyung states the question, already knows the answer, but you nod your head to confirm. Taehyung is the first vampire to bite you. It’s why the effects are so intense; your body has no built-up immunity.

He’s smug as he leans forward to kiss you, shoving his tongue into your mouth to force you to taste yourself on him. It doesn’t taste good, but you aren’t thinking when you stick your tongue out to lick the blood and cum off his lips. You lick and suck his lips, cleaning them off just to let him dirty you up.

“Fuck, love, you’re so fucking sexy,” Taehyung growls once you release his bottom lip from between your teeth. “Mine. All mine. You’re mine.”

You give him a sleepy smile and loop your arms around his neck. “Yours.”

Taehyung nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and runs his tongue along the crease, swiping back and forth between wet kisses. 

“Gonna fuck you now, baby.” He rakes his fangs down your neck, drawing blood in thin parallel lines. “Mark you, ruin you. Do you want that? Want me to make you feel good?”

Blood trickles down both sides of your neck to pool in your collarbones. Eventually, the pools overflow, sending rivers of red cascading down your chest, past your hardened nipples, and the hickeys Taehyung sucked into the skin of your abdomen. Between your legs, a giant black bruise spreads in your inner thigh, and blood trickles from the multiple puncture wounds there. 

“Please, fuck me, please,” you beg, eyes half-closed. Your head lolls to the side to watch Taehyung remove his sweatpants. Red splotches cover the grey fabric like a homemade tie-dye. 

“Look at you,” Taehyung’s voice is saccharine. He kneels in front of you on the bed and squeezes the thigh he bit into. With a yelp, your entire body jerks from the pain, though the haze of Taehyung’s venom makes the discomfort temporary. “So pretty.” 

Your blood drips from Taehyung’s fingers and follows the lines in his palms down to curve around his wrist. Something stirs inside your stomach as Taehyung smears your blood all over his cock, using it as a lubricant to jerk himself off. His skin turns slick and shiny red. 

With his free hand, he cups the back of your knee to hike your leg up, adjusting you into the perfect position for him to swirl the head of his cock in the blood on your thigh. Gathering more on the tip, Taehyung gives himself one last squeeze before positioning himself between your legs. 

He isn’t gentle when he enters you, sinking his cock into you in one bloody thrust. How his hip presses into the crease of your thigh hurts, applying pressure to your wounds that still bleed, but the pleasure of Taehyung’s thick cock pounding into you is enough to block out the pain. You’re so high, your soul barely attached to your body as Taehyung fucks you, each stroke fast and deep. His grip on you is supernaturally rough. Bruises immediately bloom across your skin, and his blunt nails dig crescent cuts into your skin. 

More blood. 

“Feel good, love?” Taehyung’s voice is on edge. He practically growls, and his words are slightly slurred from his fangs dropping down once again. This time, he doesn’t try to retract them. When he kisses you, you feel them press against your lips like cold daggers. One slices a small cut in the corner of your mouth, and blood collects in the creases of your lips until Taehyung sucks it all up. 

“Can’t, fuck, get enough.” Taehyung punctuates his sentiments with a snap of his hips. Pleasure rolls off of you in waves, dragging your mind deeper and deeper into a blank void. Taehyung is dizzying, so pretty with his bloody mouth and wild eyes. 

Your eyes flutter shut when you feel his lips press against your neck, leaving kisses far gentler than the way he fucks you. The coil building in your stomach is so hot and tight that you don’t even feel the pain of Taehyung biting your neck. You immediately come, your orgasm ripping through your body as Taehyung’s fangs rip through your flesh.  

Taehyung moans through his teeth as he comes inside of you, filling you up at the same time he empties you. 

“Taehyung,” you try to whisper, but your mouth hardly moves. 

He’s drinking too much. 

The realization hits you too late. There are bite marks all along your neck, the inside of your thighs, your tits, your wrists. Taehyung has his lips latched onto one of your bloody nipples, lapping up your skin. Your bed is flooded in red, soaked through the sheets and into the mattress.

“You’re mine, love.” Taehyung runs a bloody hand down your face, leaving streaks along your temple. “Fuck those bitches you work with. Those pieces of shit who think you couldn’t possibly love someone like me. They’re wrong, baby—all this shame. Humans drown in it, but not us. We won’t drown.” 

Red tears stream down Taehyung’s high cheekbones. You want to comfort him but realize in a panic that you can’t move. With wide eyes, you stare up at Taehyung in a silent plea. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, love. You have to let go. Let go for me, and then I’ll keep you safe. Forever, I’ll keep you safe.” Taehyung brings his wrist to his mouth. There’s a sickening crunch, and thick, black blood slides down Taehyung’s forearm like tar. 

His elegant fingers squeeze your jaw, forcing you to keep your mouth open as he presses his bleeding wrist to your lips. 

“Mine,” Taehyung repeats as he smears his black blood on your lips and lets it leak onto your tongue. “And I will be yours, just like you wanted. No one else’s.” 

Leaning down, Taehyung digs his fangs into your throat one final time and drinks until your last breath dies in your lungs. 

[makeyoumine69]

Disco Heaven

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Sub!Patrick Bateman x Dom!Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Patrick, after enduring restless nights consumed by obsession, finally meets the woman who has captivated his thoughts. Blinded by his own arrogance and misplaced confidence in his charm, he is unaware that the plan he has devised will unravel in ways he could never have foreseen and, in a twist of fate, ultimately turn against him.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Smut, femdom, oral sex (reader receiving), obsession, humiliation, degradation, coming in pants, nipple play, finger sucking, teasing, hair pulling, Patrick is touch deprived, dirty talk, pet names.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 5.8k

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂: Lady Gaga—Disco Heaven✨

𝐀/𝐍: Hello dear people! I hope you like this one, I had a lot of fun writing it!💕

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST].

How could he be so lucky to meet you at the Palladium Club when he thought he would never see you again? It was a fucking miracle. And although he hadn't liked McDermott's idea of coming here at first, it was definitely worth it now.

The flashing lights illuminating the dance floor made it hard to recognize any more familiar faces in the crowd of people moving to the catchy rhythm of another Bananarama song called Cruel Summer. Bateman couldn't say that it was his jam, but it was pretty exciting to see an uncountable number of girls dancing next to each other, their dresses too short to hide much, only making everything more alluring to his prying eyes as he stood at the bar with a glass of some tasteless drink in his hand.

Well, everything seemed to be perfect tonight except the alcohol.

The split second Patrick spotted you, he knew that you recognized him too and he liked that even more than he could imagine because it fed his ego that you remembered him. Could it mean that you were thinking about him the way he was? 

Bateman smiled at his own delusional theories, but he did not really call himself delusional, on the contrary, this man could swear to God that he believed in his own irritability—no woman could reject him, the word 'no' simply did not exist in his realm. And this belief was so strong and vivid that Patrick had no doubt that you would be his next victim to fall for his charming charisma, his boy-next-door vibe, and his masterfully curated facade of a gentleman.

"What are you staring at, Bateman?" Craig's slightly provocative voice was barely audible over the loud music, but it was enough to make Patirkc flinch in genuine surprise. "Oh, I better ask who?"

McDermott stood next to him, smoking a cigarette and waiting for him to answer. Bateman took a moment to scan the dance floor again to make sure you were still there, and when he did, he turned to face his colleague—a friend, perhaps—before gulping down his cocktail, only to cringe at the bitter taste.

"I think I saw someone familiar." Patrick gave Craig a toothless smile, unable to hide the thrill in its timbre.

"How could you see anything in that fucking mess of limbs and sweaty bodies?" McDermott asked, following Bateman's gaze, now scanning the dance floor as well.

A mess of limbs and bodies.

That single phrase, cut out of context, struck a chord in Bateman's head like a drumbeat playing exclusively for him, and no one could hear it. For a fleeting moment, the two men stood in silence, not talking or drinking, just watching people having their moment, throwing themselves into the flame of music and passion.

"Do you think these chicks might have a condom?" Craig laughed at the absurdity of his question but never stopped staring at the group of girls closest to the bar, they were good looking, not hardbodies but pretty enough to be fucked. "I'm getting bored."

"Then why do you care about fucking condoms?" Patrick replied nonchalantly and put the empty glass down on the bar with a thud. "Are you afraid of catching dyslexia like Bryce?"

"Oh, fuck you, Bateman." McDermott took a long drag on his cigarette, blew out some smoke, and considered ordering himself a drink, but then he remembered Bateman's disgusted face as he finished his own drink. "As soon as Bryce gets back from rehab, we should have a party at his summer house in the Hamptons, and no faggots are invited."

The men exchanged eloquent glances before bursting into laughter, though Patrick's was not really genuine - it was more like he was trying to fit in, rather he really enjoyed Craig's shitty attempts to sound funny. But all that fell away when Patrick realized that he had lost your silhouette somewhere among the dancing people—for a moment he felt nauseous—his forehead immediately became slightly sweaty.

No fucking way he could lose track of you. No fucking way!

But on the other hand, what if this was another beautiful illusion that had been chasing him since the first day he met you in that damn restaurant where he had dinner with Courtney? And dear Courtney, who was so reckless and clumsy that she somehow managed to spill her drink on your impeccable outfit—did he really call anyone but himself impeccable? Impossible.

Sheer panic clouded his anxious mind, McDermot's presence was nothing but an annoying bug, Bateman's slightly dilated eyes searched desperately for your elegant figure, literally praying for another miracle. Surprisingly, when he turned a little to the side, he saw you moving toward the small dance platform, and as you stepped onto it, the crowd consisted mostly of the men gathered around it. And Patirck could swear that all of them were trying to peek under your skirt—just the thought of it made his blood boil.

Fucking morons!

Yet the man never said it out loud. Patrick allowed himself to watch you so closely, as if this dance was for him and him alone, as if the two of you were the only ones in this club. The playful grin on your pretty face was like a burning sun—so painful to look at, but at the same time so glorious and wonderful. If only he could find you and kidnap you right in front of the greedy crowd of perverted men. As if Bateman was not one of them, oh no, his depravity was different. Exclusive. The man was so zealous in his belief that he had the right to be a horny animal and a cruel monster because he was so fucking rich, even though the constant pain he suffered from wouldn't stop even for a day. His life was both his blessing and his person. A golden cage covered with blood.

All these philosophical thoughts were just a backdrop. As if hypnotized, Patrick still watched you dance, every sway of your hips mesmerizing him, and when another girl rose and joined you on the platform, he felt himself so fucking hard that he almost chewed on the inside of his cheek. The imagination of this sick man was so powerful when it came to imagining two beautiful girls worshipping each other, their petite bodies rubbing against each other as they played with their pussies with pure abandon.

Fuck yes, yes, that was what he lived for.

And then Bateman suddenly felt too worked up—he could barely keep himself from exploding in his pants—thank God Craig was gone. Maybe the best option now was to just leave the club and go back to his apartment, masturbate and let off some steam, because Patrick was afraid that he would completely lose control and snap at someone right there in the club. He closed his eyes for a second and imagined himself getting his hands on the girl dancing next to you while you watched him grab her breasts and then suck on her nipples until they swelled. Holy shit, this man was literally obsessed, and he wanted you to be the same. 

Obsessed, obsessed, obsessed. 

Pathetic.

As soon as the music changed abruptly, the people around you started clasping hands and cheering the DJ as your "performance" slowly came to an end, he could tell by the way your movements became slower, less plastic and less energetic. Even though the girl next to you didn't end up kissing you as the man had imagined, he was satisfied just thinking about it. 

A little later, you gracefully stepped down from the platform to the floor to give another girl a hug and a light peck on the cheek. Patrick was literally stalking your every move, the way you were gossiping with other chicks, laughing heartily, and when you started to walk away, he could swear that he caught your gaze as you looked directly at him. And the eye contact was so intense that Bateman was left breathless, literally clawing at the bar to regain control. But then you dared to wink at him before turning on your heels and walking off in an unknown direction.

What was that but an invitation to follow you?

Patrick didn't even think twice before he left the bar and walked across the dance floor—the thrill of the chase set all his nerve endings on fire—he could feel the smell of blood in his nostrils, but he never forgot to keep his mask of a charming man. 

The music only seemed to get louder as he made his way to the VIP area. The VIP area consisted of several private little rooms where special guests could find some privacy for all sorts of things like sex, doing some drugs, or maybe...for a kill? 

Standing right next to the corner, the man looked over to remember which room you were in, but then he noticed a tall, rather bulky guy standing right next to the door. Who was it? Your boyfriend, a bodyguard? Bateman couldn't really decide which was worse, his mind was busy plotting what to do next and he even considered just leaving the club because this guy alone was literally ruining all his plans.

In the end, the risk took over and pushed Patrick to go around the corner to the private room where he would finally have a chance to get to know you better. At first, he considered ignoring the weird-looking man and pretending he was your friend or something. But as he approached the door, the guy turned out to be even bigger than he looked - he was much taller than Bateman and more muscular, which made Patrick feel uncomfortable. Sweating a little, Bateman started to say something, but the stranger just clasped his hands together and nodded, stepping aside, no longer blocking the way.

Okay, now it seemed so wrong, but it was too late to think about it.

Too-fucking-late.

It didn't take long for Patrick to enter the room, which was so dark because of the dim purple light. But that was enough for him to recognize your form sitting on the small plush couch on the other side of the room.

"Well, hello-hello," you murmured, stretching back in your seat, your voice enough to send shivers down his spine. "Aren't you curious?"

"Me?" Patrick hummed back before glancing at the small floor lamp next to you that made this room look so ominous and... intimidating. "Darling, you worked your ass off all night to get my attention. I'm flattered, really." Bateman chuckled and leaned against the wall, casually shoving his hands into the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants. "But what is this?" He grimaced and held out his hands. "Are you a psychic or something?"

This little outburst of his almost made you laugh. Almost.

"No, I'm not a psychic," you replied, sitting close to the edge of the couch, genuinely interested in how far this man could go. "I doubt you know who I am. That's not really important. What is important is... did you satisfy your obsession by coming here?"

Confused, Patrick narrowed his eyes, which were as dark as the surroundings. Your question left him confused and he was on the verge of hysteria. But it was he who came here, he wasn't forced to, but why did he feel so... trapped?

"Hey-hey, hold on," he chuckled nervously, not really expecting you to act like this. "You wanted me to follow you."

"Did I?"

"Yes," Bateman let out a muffled gasp, his boner still stiff and yearning for release like a caged fire. "Because our meeting that day was no coincidence...I knew it. This interest is mutual-"

"I don't even remember your name," you suddenly cut him off, crushing his ego like a freight train might crush a small car on its way. "I don't even remember if I asked you one."

Leaning against the back of the couch, you smiled wickedly as you noticed the small glimmer of weakness in his brown eyes—the most delicious delicacy you could find these days, the broken ego of the yuppie. But besides all that, this man was handsome, it was hard to deny that, but his tactics to break you down, his assertion of control and his attempts to overpower you were simply pathetic to you. 

Embarrassed, Patrick nervously fixed his hair and then his red tie, his hands were visibly shaking and that prompted you to turn on another lamp, much brighter than the purple one—you wanted to see him blush in front of your eyes.

"But... I think I remember yours," Bateman added soon after, his cheeks truly flushed and the sight of it stirring something wild in your gut. "I hope you weren't upset about your dress."

"Oh, no, not at all," your smile grew wider and wider, and as you flew one leg over the other, you did not notice the way he was sizing you up. Literally taking in everything with his greedy eyes. "So what's your name?"

"It's Patrick, Patrick Bateman."

"Good," you really liked that name, it sounded solid, but in reality you didn't give a fuck. "So let me explain something to you, Patrick. I know that most guys like you only see women as fuckable pieces of meat," a short pause made the frown between his prominent eyebrows grow even deeper. "That since you're so rich, all women should fall to their knees."

Swallowing hard, Bateman stood still against the wall, his breath hitching in his chest, though he tried to look confident—in control of the situation—you couldn't blame him for being delusional. It amused you.

With a wry smile, the man finally decided to come closer, but not too close. "That's a valid point," he muttered, pacing since he couldn't stand in one place. "But not all men are like that."

You could barely hold back your laughter. 

"Oh, I know," your voice rang in his head so loudly that he had to clench his teeth. "But the truth is, I personally don't care about money, about wealth—all of that is boring to me, simply because," you faked a thoughtful expression, as if it was such a complicated conclusion. "My daddy is going to be president one day. Everybody knows the White House belongs to him. That's all."

And that was such a painful blow to his gut, you knew it, you could smell his frustration. Whenever some smug bastard like Bateman tried to impress you with his 'high social status', it was such fun to see their arrogant faces turn into a look of shock as they were literally speechless. But still, they didn't know anything about you and your family. For example, today you literally ran away from the charity dinner to have some fun at the club with some of your 'friends', in other words, just a bunch of people who followed you like a tail just because you were rich and influential. 

In the wake of the too-long silence between you two, Patrick let out a thoughtful hum, as if the cups on surreal weights were swaying from side to side inside his head, leaving the man perplexed in the complexity of his next decision.

"Do you think your father will protect you?" The man suddenly asked, and to be honest, the question was quite intriguing. 

This was what you had expected from him.

Thrilled, you smiled and crossed your arms over your chest. "And you... do you think you can protect yourself?" Bateman furrowed his brow but didn't answer, pretending not to understand the point of your question. "Do you think you can protect yourself from your obsession?"

After a short pause, Patrick burst into nervous laughter before he could say anything in his defense. "You're really funny. I always said that a good sense of humor is an underestimated trait in women."

He thought he was so smart—smarter than all the men who had been in the same situation before him, trying to show their dominance, not really understanding that only strong individuals could admit their weaknesses—that was such a cliché in today's society. Too bad for him that he still assumed that such tricks could work on you.

You shifted your legs to open them a bit, pretending that the whole conversation bored you, so you yawned loudly and stretched your arms out so that your breasts were on full display for him to see. You wanted to ask him some complex questions that would roast his brains, but seeing him so tense made you want to spare him a little.

"What do you want out of life? You seem to have everything and yet you decided to follow me here. Why?"

Bateman grinned in return, his face still tinted red even though the purple light had turned it a dark pink. "I could ask you the same question."

Spreading your thighs even wider to make sure he could see your black panties, you watched him gulp, his Adam's apple twitching so tantalizingly that you decided to go further and rake the hem of your dress to tease Patrick even more, and when the man finally surrendered, his eyes glued to your barely covered slit, you knew the trap he was setting for you had backfired in the most unpredictable way.

"Is this what you want, Patrick?" You murmured, fluttering your eyelashes as the most innocent creature on this planet.

The man didn't answer at first, fighting the urge to just snap at you here and now, but something still held him back. "Huh, you're not an easy one, are you?"

With a sly grin, you ran one of your hands along your chest, 'accidentally' bruising your nipple before tugging on one of the straps of your dress to slide it down a bit, revealing one of your tits. And that scene left him drooling as he was about to grab his hard groin at any moment.

"I can give you what you want if you can offer me something... special," you crooned, continuing to play with your taut nipple, twisting it between your fingers. "What do you say?"

Stepping even closer, Bateman approached your seated form so that you could see the huge bulge in his pants—at least nature had given him something to make up for the lack of brains—you stopped yourself from staring at his crotch as he continued to speak.

"Well, if you decide to spend some time with me, you won't forget it, baby," he grinned and glanced at the seat next to you, but you immediately put your hand there, implying that it wouldn't work that way. "I promise you."

"Nah," you replied casually, letting go of your little tip but only pulling up the skirt of your dress until it was cramped around your waist. "This is so boring! Always the same! Tell me this," you looked up at him before holding out a hand and taking small steps with your fingers along his hard groin. "Have you ever considered exploring something else? Because... I can't imagine that you don't get bored of the same thing. All those easily accessible chicks with low expectations... See, I can have you today and tomorrow I won't even remember you because I'll have another guy... maybe even with the same name as you," you giggled as you felt him twitch under your touch, his breathing becoming more audible. The sexual tension in the air coaxed you to switch to a whisper. "So the thing is, you can impress me, but not with the things you used to impress the other women, but with... devotion, dedication and submission. Because I find that really exciting."

With that, you sprawled across the couch with your legs spread, your underwear slightly wet from the thrilling game the two of you were playing. Bateman hesitated, but then he lunged at you in quick motion, and you managed to lift your leg at the last moment, almost sinking the sharp stiletto into his chest.

Furious as ever, the man tried to pull your leg up. "You bitch," he hissed in desperation as the memories of sleepless nights jerking off to the thought of you washed over him like a waterfall. "You think I give a fuck about your old man?" Patrick clenched his jaw but still did not do anything that could hurt you. "I don't fucking care if your father is Ronald Reagan himself!"

Bateman was about to lose control at any moment, so you used that for your own advantage and kicked him in the chest with all your might, almost threatening him. "That guy out there is my bodyguard and he has a fuckin' gun, a real one! And believe me, he won't hesitate to rip your ass apart if I tell him to!"

Another shock wave went through Patrick's system, turning everything in his head upside down. Stunned and lost, the man gasped for breath, and nevertheless he seemed to believe your words—he took them seriously.

Your breathing was as rapid as his, as you were still lying on the soft furniture, but your look was a bit disheveled. "I'm telling you for the last time, we play by my rules, or we don't play at all," you declared, slowly sitting back down. "And it's never too late for you to leave...no one is holding you here, you know."

Inflamed and annoyed, Bateman gave you a scornful look before turning and heading for the door, only to pause beside it as a genius idea dawned in his mind. What if he could trick you into thinking you were in control? So that when you lost your attention, he would cut you to pieces? That was not bad, not bad at all. Patrick smiled to himself, so damn proud of his own smartness that he saw himself as nothing but an evil genius.

As soon as you noticed the change in his demeanor and the man came back to you in several large strides, you couldn't help but smile broadly, especially when you saw him loosen his tie and brush off some sweat from his forehead.

"So are we cool, baby?" You asked him playfully, and before he could answer, you stood up to face him, pulling down the top of your dress to expose your heavy breasts.

The way your tits bounced a bit as you undressed was delicious, Patrick was literally on the verge of collapsing if you decided to touch his dick again.

"Yeah," the man finally replied before licking his lips briskly. "We're cool."

"Good," you walked closer to him, your hands never ceasing to caress your heavy breasts. "Now get on your knees for me."

The boiling, unbearable rage coursed through his veins, but he submitted to your will, kneeling gracefully before you, his brown eyes consumed by the darkness of their pupils as you hovered over him, only to lean down and press the soft mounds of your tits against his beautiful face, now so flushed again.

"Suck them," you commanded, biting your lower lip as he looked up at you in utter disbelief. "You've probably waited too long for this. Am I right, Paddy? I will call you Paddy because I really like it."

As much as he wanted to say that he hated any distortion of his name, the man simply couldn't pronounce a word when you were standing over him, the weight of your breasts felt so heavenly on his face and it seemed that his will to struggle for his dignity had fallen to his most basic desires. And there was nothing Bateman could do about it.

With an almost primal growl, the man obediently took one of your hard nipples into his warm mouth and sucked on it so greedily that you thought he was going to bite a piece of your flesh, so you had to claw a little at his scalp to make him be gentle.

"God, you're so fucking thirty for my tits!" You whimpered softly, burying your hand deeper in his brown hair, which looked so messy and chaotic now.

Panting, you let him wrap his arms around your hips and pull you closer to his face, but then you pulled away only to have him latch his lips around your other nipple—Bateman used everything he had, his tongue, a little bit of his teeth—you were soaking wet and it seemed that what was going on was not enough.

As you pulled your swollen peak out of his mouth, Patrick let out a small but loud gasp of frustration. "Are they natural?" 

Holy hell, that question alone almost made you fall to the floor, but instead you just smiled and looked down at your hard nipples, now wet with his saliva. "And what do you think?"

With that, you lifted the hem of your dress once more to place your leg on his shoulder, and the man wasted no time peppering your elegant leg with little kisses, nuzzling against your soft skin and moving higher until he grazed your inner thigh, but not daring to go any higher. Instead, he watched as you slipped your finger under the lace of your wet panties, and when you touched yourself with a lewd moan, Bateman had to cling to his hips as his orgasm loomed over him like an inevitable sin. Breathing heavily, you rubbed your swollen clit several times, covering your fingers with your flavor, before pushing them into his mouth and he gladly took them, sucking your taste off them and still yearning for more.

"Starved Paddy," you grinned, stroking his burning cheek as he pecked at your mound—his hot breath wafting around your core felt amazing. "You want me to use your face?"

Fidgeting on his knees, Patrick nodded and gently grabbed your ass, ready to dive between your legs and literally drink you dry—the wicked glint in his hazel eyes was a sight you would probably never forget. So Bateman was right about one thing—you would indeed remember him as an arrogant yuppie you had brought to his knees. And the feeling was absolutely delightful, even better than you expected.

"What are you waiting for?" Patrick's gruff voice brought you back to reality.

Oh man. Was this man really that desperate? 

You hummed and tilted your head, admiring his completely ruined appearance and yet there was so much more to come. "I want you to beg me," you suddenly demanded, literally hooking your leg around his neck, feeling the smooth fabric of his collar brush against your skin. "Come on Paddy, beg for my pussy."

Bateman took a nervous gulp, his face so red and sweaty, and you knew he was struggling between his own desires and the bruised ego it would all cause if he just gave in. Was he willing to pay that price to get what he so desperately wanted? Out of all the women, Patrick was unlucky to set his eyes on you, thinking you would fall for him the moment you met, but now that he realized you were not that easy, it seemed to excite him even more. Well, at least you liked to think so.

Patrick's heavy breathing was so warm against your mound as he pressed his face into it, nuzzling it, then kissing it, licking your skin here and there until he finally raised his eyes to you, his parted lips so red and glistening with your wetness.

"Please," the man purred, reluctantly at first, the stray strands of his brown hair scattered across his tense forehead. "I... I want... that little pussy of yours."

"Uwu," you smiled in awe. "That's so sweet of you," without any further hesitation you moved your soaked panties to the side and presented yourself to him and he couldn't take his eyes off of you, licking his lips in anticipation as he watched the soaked material of your underwear brush against your swollen clit, your oozing folds looking so damn delicious. "Cleat it up, baby."

To your surprise, Patrick didn't snuggle up to you the moment you allowed him to—the man decided to start with small, kitten-like licks along your pussy lips, savoring the taste of you with soft groans and the vibration they caused felt electric.

"Mhmmm...yes," you moaned into your palm, not wanting anyone to hear you, even though the music was quite loud. "Just like that...you're such a good boy."

As time went on, Bateman's actions became bolder as he watched your reaction all the time and the sight of him on his knees looking up at you was so fucking hot. The red tie was swung carelessly to the side and now lay on his shoulder as you grinded on his face, getting more and more heated up, and at one point you heard him moaning into your cunt as you pulled on his hair pretty hard. But you didn't care. And you couldn't really care, not when his mouth felt so good on you, when he sucked your little tip with inhuman ferocity, leaving out slurping sounds, and the next second he was already lapping at your cunt like a dog. And his tongue, fuck, his tongue was made for that.

"Oh-fuck," you cursed, pushing his face closer between your legs and holding him by the back of his head. "You know how to go down on a woman...do you like the taste, Paddy?"

Desperately gasping for air, Patrick tilted his head back for a moment with his eyes closed tightly—his whole look was so fucking ruined and messy—Bateman was glorious in his submission, though he would probably never admit it.

"Yes," he breathed out, licking his wet lips, catching the beads of your juices with his tongue. "I like it."

With these words the man dipped between your thighs again and this time you knew that you couldn't hold back any longer as the tight knot in your core pulsed like a bomb. And Patrick could tell by the way you clung to his head, leaning on his shoulder as your legs began to tremble, and as you climaxed he was still swirling his tongue around your feverish clit to prolong your bliss, not really realizing that he was about to explode as well. But what could he do? Bateman held himself back for too long, and as he lived through your orgasm with you, the man suddenly froze and grabbed your ass with all his might, as if you were his lifeline. It was a fucking disaster, he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself from cumming in his pants, still on his knees.

The musky, intoxicating smell of sex filled the small room, making it difficult for both of you to come to your senses, but eventually you were the first to push him away from you as the last aftershock of your orgasm faded. On your weak legs, you stepped away from the kneeling man, who didn't move as if chained to the floor, but that didn't bother you anymore. You straightened your dress and ran a hand over your slightly sweaty face before you snuggled back into the couch.

Utterly humiliated, Patrick tried to clear his mind to solve the fucking problem he had gotten himself into—he still had a designer handkerchief somewhere, and luckily his jacket was quite long, so he could hide his wet pants. But the thought of what had just happened could never be erased from his mind. 

Degraded, disgusted and completely abashed. That was how he felt.

"So," you suddenly began to speak, breaking the silence. "I hope you satisfied your obsession with me a little."

Fumbling for the pack of cigarettes in your purse, you frowned when the man either didn't move or didn't say anything. It was getting on your nerves, but you weren't going to tell the bodyguard to throw Patrick out—there was something oddly appealing about the fact that Bateman still couldn't pull himself together after everything was over.

"You'd better leave before you make trouble for both of us," you added in a stern voice, but then you smiled at your viscous idea and the next second you were already pulling down your panties to throw them in Patrick's face. "Here, so you have something to jerk off with."

But the man didn't even react when your wet underwear hit his tense face—he just watched it fall indifferently, only to take it later and hide it in his jacket pocket. And his pettiness was both breathtaking and frightening. Yet you didn't know about the chained beast inside of him that Bateman was somehow holding back, but still, the images of him stabbing you with the fucking stiletto of your shoe were so vivid. But if he was going to kill you here and now, what was the point of the game? 

Avoiding looking in your direction, Patrick could only say: "When can I see you again?"

Again?

Shocked, you grinned, but then looked at him with feigned concern. "Are you crazy? Was that not enough for you?"

"Was it... enough for you?" He muttered back and slowly started to get up, surreptitiously searching for the handkerchief.

You took a moment to consider this sudden...proposal? Because to you, his words sounded like a business deal, and that was kind of interesting. "Did you say you work on Wall Street?"

"I didn't say that," he replied, pressing a soft piece of cloth to his flustered face. "But I really work on Wall Street."

With that, Bateman handed you his business card, and when you looked at it, you saw the text Pierce & Pierce printed in a nice font. "Pierce & Pierce? Never heard of it."

Frowning, Patrick wanted to say something, but then he felt the slipperiness between his legs—it felt so fucking disgusting that he wanted to rip off his clothes and go naked, because it would be better than that.

"You know, my father worked on Wall Street too," you muttered thoughtfully. "Before one day he decided to become a fucking politician. My mother was so crazy in love with him that she forgave him everything and now... it all ended with my dear daddy having a new young wife. A model or something," the man listened to you without blinking. "This world sucks so much!" You giggled hysterically and waved your hands in despair. "Listen, if one day I don't know what to do... I'll call you. Until then, don't even try to find me. Do you hear me, Paddy?"

Bateman couldn't remember how he left the private room, how he found his way to the bathroom and waited for everyone to leave so he could clean up a little. The man didn't feel comfortable in his own skin anymore, he could barely keep himself from smashing the mirror with his fist every time he looked at his reflection. And all because he was afraid—afraid to admit that he might like the things you were doing to him. It was contagious to his ego and the perfectly curated concept of the ultimate yuppie he always wanted to be. But what could he do now when his body betrayed him?

There was no escape, only agony.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

[sunshinescribes]

The House Always Wins

Part 2 of this fic

Pairing: Sir Crocodile x Fem!Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+)

Warnings: Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Rough Sex, Cunnilingus, (lowkey) Sugar Daddy Crocodile, Crocodile is smug and petty

(edit: realized the original artwork was fanart and I couldn't find the artist's @ to credit them, so I changed it)

Crocodile doesn’t know what to expect when he wanders onto the casino floor of Rain Dinners in search of you. Slot machines chime, playing a catchy little tune with each pull of the lever. Dealers grin and offer words of encouragement, coaxing big-eyed fools into another game with the sweet promise of lady luck’s favor.  

You don’t usually partake in gambling, not keen on the idea of betting away your berries when you know it’s all rigged—and why would you even need to? You never ask for anything, but Crocodile provides. Spoils you even.

He enjoys watching the way your eyes get all big, stunned by the diamond necklace he places around your neck, or the soft gasp that passes your lips when he gifts silk charmeuse and chiffon dresses, designed, and tailored just for you.

Crocodile continues to seek you out, his sharp eyes flitting between the slot machines and card tables. He ignores the curious and lingering looks targeted at him—the smartly dressed patrons who vie for his attention as he continues to search—and then he hears it.

Your laugh, loud and beautiful—music to his fucking ears. He turns.

Crocodile doesn’t expect to see you at the bar, perched on a stool, leaning into a man he doesn’t recognize. Your hand is on his slender arm, your lips pulled into a pretty smile, and laughter escapes again—so lovely and genuine and for someone else.

The man grins at you sheepishly, transfixed on your mouth. It’s so blatant—barely contained, the way he’s staring at you with a mix of adoration and lust.

You must feel Crocodile’s eyes on you because you glance over your shoulder suddenly. Your smile widens, and you exchange a quick word with the mysterious man before hopping down from your seat.

Crocodile is silent as you approach, stone-faced. You grab his arm with both hands and tilt your head towards the man, all while smiling up at him.

“I want you to meet my friend,” you say excitedly, steering him towards the bar.

Crocodile doesn’t catch the name that rolls off your tongue—he can’t seem to hear anything over the sudden ringing in his ears, so sharp it drowns out the sounds of the jingling slot machines and triumphant cheers of those foolish enough to think they’re the winners.

The fond smile that plays on the mystery man’s lip never falls, but Crocodile notices the sudden unease as the man’s eyes land on him. The imposing height, the cold, almost irritated expression he comfortably wears—the golden hook that glints under the blinding casino lights. It’s enough to strike fear in the heart of anyone smart enough to value their life.

And the man is a small thing—average in every sense of the word, Crocodile thinks. The plain clothes, the nervous, uncertain words that stumble from his mouth as he tries to introduce himself. Crocodile doesn’t feign interest—he barely even acknowledges your friend, and that only serves to add to his anxiety.

If it wasn’t for the pitiful look you shoot him, Crocodile would laugh at just how pathetic this man is.

“We both grew up in Coombe,” you explain, glancing back at the mystery man. “I never thought you’d leave the North Blue.”

He must take your surprise as a compliment because he gives you another bashful smile.

“I didn’t either. Guess I finally figured if you could do it, so could I,” he chuckles softly. “Imagine my shock when I saw you here, of all places.”

“Small world,” Crocodile chimes in dryly, drawing your friend’s attention once more.

Crocodile places a hand on your hip, drawing you a little closer to him.“She never mentions much about her home in the North Blue.”

And she never mentioned you. The insult is unspoken, so subtle that he thinks even you don’t catch it.

But it’s also true. You rarely spoke about the North Blue—of the life you had before you entered the Grand Line and ended up in Alabasta. You never mused over an island you once called home, or a lovesick, hairbrained boy you left on it, and Crocodile doesn’t pry. He isn’t particularly interested in knowing, truth be told. He only cares about the life you have now, with him.

The man goes on an excited tirade about how beautiful Coombe is this time of year, about how you used to love the new bloom after winter finally passed, and all the fun you both had in your youth. He can’t help but reminisce, tries to connect with you in the only way he’s able.

“You should visit when you can. Uh—you both should.”

You pretend to consider it, and Crocodile gives little more than an unaffected grunt.

You inquire how long he’ll be staying and recommend shops and restaurants he must visit before leaving. He shamelessly seeks more of your company—your attention—and asks if you could possibly give him a tour.

You promise to check your schedule and follow up, and he beams as if he’s won an invaluable prize. Crocodile’s irritation grows—twists and festers the longer he stands by your side, little more than an onlooker. His frustration isn’t directed at you—you’ve always been friendly, offering a smile where he would surely offer a sneer, but it doesn’t stop his grip from tightening on your hip.

You notice, finally excusing yourself. The man gives you both a soft goodbye, one that Crocodile ignores completely as he whisks you away, and he can’t help the way his lips pull into a smug grin at the quick glimpse of the dejected look on his face. It must hurt him to see you walk away in the arms of another—to know the golden opportunity he thought the world had provided him never existed at all.

“You didn’t like him.”

It’s the first thing you say when you enter Crocodile’s private suite, disappointment dripping in your voice. You weren’t foolish enough to think he would be thrilled, but you thought Crocodile would at least be amicable. 

He shrugs his coat off, placing it on the coat hanger near the door. “He was shameless.”

Your brows furrow, your lips pull into a slight frown…You don’t know? It takes Crocodile by surprise; surely you must. The man is far too obvious; his intentions are impossible to mask.

“He would have taken you right there on the bar if you had let him,” Crocodile scoffs.

You blink, dumbfounded.

“Gage?”

So that’s his name.

Your voice comes out in a high-pitched squeak, taken aback by the sudden accusation. “He doesn’t want to fuck me.”

Crocodile gives a mirthless laugh. You’re so sweet. So naïve. Always offering others the benefit of the doubt.

Crocodile recognized the hunger in his eyes—the longing. He suspects this friend of yours has harped on you for a long time, never quite brave enough to take the chance.

Not even now. By some miracle, he survived the Grand Line, and he still can’t brave his own futile emotions. Crocodile isn’t sure whether to laugh at how spineless the man is or burn with anger at how he even thinks he has any chance of having you.

The dark, ravenous part of him takes high offense.  

Crocodile comes up behind you and dwarfs you with his body as his decorated hand cradles your jaw. “Course he does. Look at you.”

He tilts your head, forces you to face the full-length mirror on the opposite wall. You try to focus on your own reflection, but you can’t help but watch Crocodile when he dips down, pressing a tender kiss to your neck, all while his half-lidded eyes hold your gaze.

“Maybe I should invite him to our room so he can watch me fuck you,” he murmurs against your skin.

You shiver, nearly stumble out of his grasp as his lips trail higher.

“Don’t be cruel...”

Cruel? His offer would be courteous. It would be the closest your lovestruck friend would ever get to your naked form. The only way he would ever know what you sound and look like at the height of your pleasure—how perfect you are, stuffed and babbling through your orgasm.

The cruel thing would be what he truly wants to do—to use his devil fruit powers to turn the man into a withering corpse, forgotten in the endless sand dunes.

“Would you rather he joined?” Crocodile inquiries plainly.

He attempts to come off unaffected…curious, but the wicked voice in the back of his mind nags at him, hisses about feelings that could have been, and still may be.

The man matches your gentle nature, and is somewhat competent, at least to have made it this far from the North Blue. He’s the kind of man who would kneel at your feet if you asked, worship you as if it were his sole purpose—he’d give you a typical life, picturesque in its simplicity, and you would be content.

The thought makes something vicious twist in his gut. It makes time stand still as Crocodile awaits your answer.

“No.” You shake your head softly, meeting his cold eyes in the mirror. “I’ve never thought about him like…that.”

Of course not. What would you want with a sniveling worm? How could you go back to mediocrity after everything that’s been offered to you? The attention of a warlord of the sea—the savior of Alabasta. How could anyone else ever compare?

It’s pathetic how the gluttonous beast inside of Crocodile settles and hums contentedly, knowing that you only want him.

And maybe this is your power he couldn’t recognize before, why he was so unnerved in the beginning—this ability to effortlessly turn sensible men foolish. Even him.

“Only want you.” You turn, your soft eyes trained on him. “Always want you.”

Crocodile captures your lips as the words escape, and you melt into him—mold your body into his until he is all you sense. The heady scent of his sweet cigars mixes with hints of patchouli and cedar—his cologne—it lingers on his fitted clothes, drawing you deeper into his searing kiss.

You feel the bend of his golden hook press into the curve of your back, forcing you to curl into him as he parts your lips with his tongue. You’re caught in a pleasant haze, lightheaded, while Crocodile kisses you like he’s claiming your mouth, making sure that your lips never forget the feel and taste of him—that they never desire another’s.

Crocodile lifts you from the ground effortlessly with his ringed hand, still kissing you hungrily as he shifts blindly through his suite, knowing the layout well enough to stumble into his lavish bedroom. He parts from you with a low groan.

“Lay down,” he orders against your lips, and you comply, sinking into the soft mattress while he looms over you.

The ache you feel in your core blossoms—hurts so good from how desperately you want him—to be wrecked and teary-eyed and a mess for him.

You even go as far as to whine when you notice Crocodile isn’t working to free the fierce erection that strains his dress pants, eager to be lost in your warmth.

“None of that,” Crocodile tuts coyly, lowering to his knees near the foot of the bed. His large hand skims up the length of your thigh, pushing up your dress until it is bunched around your waist, and he can see the evidence of your arousal staining your thin lingerie—another gift.

That creature inside of him purrs gleefully, proud of how well he turns you into a spectacle—a gift of his own to admire and unravel again and again.

Crocodile tugs your panties down your legs, tossing it aside carelessly as his hooded eyes catch on your bare pussy, already slick and ready for him. A deep, guttural noise catches in his throat as you part your legs—eagerly welcome him where he belongs.

“I bet he wonders what you taste like…” Crocodile muses, leaning into your aching slit. A soft gasp passes your lips when you feel the heat of his mouth on your needy cunt, tending to the ache his salacious words and desperate kisses created.

There are rare moments when Crocodile takes you apart slowly, his movements languid and measured, bringing you to the height of your pleasure at an agonizing pace, only to rip it away just when you begin to tip over the edge. And then he continues the process again and again. He leaves you delirious on days like that, wasting the hours away with your body—and perhaps today would be a day such as that if he didn’t feel he had something to prove.

If the desire to plague your every thought didn’t control him like a cruel master.

Your soft whimpers turn to shameless, needy moans, light and airy but loud enough to satisfy the wicked parts of him.

“S’good,” you whine drunkenly, your hips bucking instinctively when Crocodile’s lips latch onto your neglected clit. Your fingers thread into his long hair, pull him even closer, and he groans—it makes you arch painfully as the feel of it cascades through your body and tickles your aching nub.

Each swipe of his talented tongue pushes you closer, making the heat that pools in your stomach metastasize until you’re chanting his name, so close and ready to reward him.

He squeezes your clit with his mouth, sucks your aching bud, and you’re gone—shoved over the edge as pure hot pleasure rips through you, flows from between your legs, and Crocodile laps up your sweetness like a starved man.

You glance down at him through your lashes, eyes heavy, body slowly recovering. Crocodile pulls away from your pretty pussy with a sigh, as if he’s sad to part, and the idea alone makes your core ache with newfound need.

“Always so sweet for me.”

Your release smears his chin. It makes him look depraved and delicious. If you had the energy for it, you’d lift from your spot on the bed and kiss him. Feel the taste of yourself on his tongue, but all you can do is watch him with tired eyes as he rids himself of his clothes, tosses his lavish vest and dress shirt aside haphazardly.

His pants are the last thing to go, and you watched as if caught in a spell, buzzing with anticipation as he palms his hard dick. It’s so pretty, with the tip blushing and spilling precum that glides onto his thick fingers. Crocodile smirks, amused by the enchanted look in your eyes.

“This what you want, darling?” he asks, giving his dick a rough tug that warrants a delighted hiss. You nod—nearly sob—as you continue to watch Crocodile’s hand rub up and down the length of his lovely cock. You feel so empty—the desire to be filled in a way only he’s capable of taking precedence in your mind.

“Tell me,” Crocodile encourages as he shifts to the bed, his large frame casting you in shadows as he hovers over you. That smug smile still plays at his lips and only grows crueler as he grinds his hard length against your needy cunt.

“N-need you. Fuck—need you so—so bad. Baby please—”

The request sounds pathetic, even to your own ears, but it must be exactly what Crocodile wants to hear because he sinks into you the second the term of endearment passes your lips.

A deep grunt rips from his throat and tickles your ear pleasantly as Crocodile drags his fat cock deeper into you. You’re so warm and wet and snug, your velvety walls hugging him like this is where he belongs—where he should always be.

And he’ll admit, there’s no better place than here, between your legs. No better feeling in the whole fucking world—not even the sweet giddiness that builds inside of him each passing day as the fall of the Alabasta Kingdom draws closer. Having you writhing beneath him, breathless and lovely, is incomparable—a sensation he never tires of.

“Always take me so—mmm…well,” Crocodile rasps, transfixed on how your sloppy cunt swallows him over and over and over again. It makes him fuck you harder; drive even deeper. “This pussy was made for me. You were made for me.”

And he thinks perhaps it’s the most honest thing he’s ever said to you. Uncertainty still stirs within him—dread lingers in the corner of his mind, silent and waiting, because you complicate everything. You’re the only person who can placate the ravenous creature within him, feeding its insatiable appetite without it ever growing incurious. It wants everything you have to offer—can’t conceive of feeding from anyone who isn’t you. Not anymore.

Never.

Crocodile pushes your thighs close to your chest, drives his dick even deeper as he continues to pound into you. The sound of his powerful thrusts and your tortured moans is a beautiful symphony, lovelier than the melodic sounds of the stirring sand at dawn.

You have that lost, blissed-out look in your eyes as you blink up at him, words completely evading you as he uses you.

How could your foolish friend ever even dream of having you like this? Think he could possibly do to you what Crocodile has done?

Crocodile feels equally as hopeless as you—is incapable of thinking clearly because a confession he knows he should swallow pours from his lips without warning.

“I’ll fucking kill anyone who tries to take you from me,” he growls, digging the tip of his hook into the mattress, inches away from your head.

You should be…shocked. Unnerved by such a confession. Crocodile doesn’t pretend to be a saint, but he never mutters his murderous intent. He hides behind practiced indifference; let’s others paint a glorious picture of him, never revealing his true nature. You attempt to feign shock for a split second, but you can’t help the way your pussy clenches around him and goes mad at his declaration—some depraved, feral part of you stirring to life.

And the knowledge that a part of you likes this fucked up part of him must awaken something in him, because his thrusts grow brutal, his balls slap against your ass as he fucks you into the mattress like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance to. Crocodile hits deeper, the head of his throbbing dick brushing against that sweet, spongey spot inside of you, and you’re gone before you can even warn him.

You choke out something that sounds like it could be his name, tears trickling down your cheeks as you come so violently that your breath stutters. You shake through your orgasm, squirm beneath Crocodile while he fucks you through it—watching you come apart with wicked fascination and unbridled lust.

He loves how he wrecks you—how you hold onto him for dear life, as if he might slip away.

He’s ruined you, just like you’ve ruined him.

The thought alone is the final push he needs, make his dick throb violently as he explodes inside of you and fills you up the way he knows you crave—the way your perfect pussy deserves. The squelch of his seed mixing with your sweetness is enough to drive him mad. Makes him want to fuck another load into you.

Maybe in a bit, he considers as he rocks his hips sluggishly, riding out the sweet aftershock of his powerful orgasm.

You’re little more than a quivering mess under him. Your eyes are closed, your breathing is ragged…so so beautiful, and Crocodile doesn’t frighten at the tender feeling that blossoms in his chest—a sudden warmth that takes him by surprise yet seems to make all the sense in the world as he stares down at you, all while a pleasant thought crosses his twisted mind.

What’s the harm?

Why shouldn’t I revel in what’s mine?

divider credit @/cafekitsune

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #108 Part 1

He remembered going to bed in his own bed last night. His own bed in his own room. This wasn’t his room, his bed, or even his pajamas. The body he was in didn’t feel quite right either, almost like it somehow knew he wasn’t supposed to be in it. Part of him wondered if he was dreaming but he was way too self aware for this to be a dream. 

This room didn’t look like any of his brother's rooms either. It had a bunch of space themed trinkets, glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, and NASA posters on the walls. None of his brothers were into space as far as he knew so this had to be a strangers room. He wondered for a moment if he was kidnapped or something, but that didn’t sound quite right either. He was in a stranger's body so he must be in this person’s room. He had to figure out exactly what was going on. 

Just as he was considering his options the phone by the table side started ringing. Damian didn’t really know where the tune came from but it sounded catchy. He looked at the caller ID and while the phone didn’t recognize the number Damian did. It was his own, hopefully he’d be able to get some answers. 

“Hello?” He answered.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about all of this. My parents are inventors and one of their inventions backfired big time. I’m Danny” The voice on the other line was his own, a little jarring sure but it to be expected, if he was in someone’s body there was a good chance they were in his body. “My name’s Damian, Inventions? This is quite the backfire. I hope you have a plan to switch us back.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ve got a couple friends looking into it, they’ll be on their way in a bit to help with all of this.” 

Damian was starting to get irritated a little at how this was going. Bringing outside ‘help’ into the situation just seemed more like a distraction from whatever ‘Danny’ had planned for Gotham.

“Right, Damian, so right now you're in my body and I’m in your’s… so, my parents' invention was only supposed to strengthen the soulmate pull, but because of my weird biology. We switched bodies instead.” Damian didn’t have word’s, the whole story sounded ludicrous. But at the same time, Damian couldn’t help but believe it was true.

The weird things about the body he was in, helped convince him and then, suddenly a thought occurred to him. Hesitantly he lifted his other hand up to his neck to check his pulse.

It was unusually slow, “Why’s your pulse so slow?” he couldn’t help but ask. He didn’t want to admit it but he was starting to freak out a little. 

“Like I said, I’ve got weird biology. I’ll explain, but it isn’t a pretty story. I don’t really want to explain all of this but since you're in my body, you need to know so you can keep my parents from finding out. Deal?”

Having weird biology still didn’t quite explain things but hopefully a few things didn’t quite make sense, “You said your parent’s were researching soulmates? Why.”

“Alright, I’ll give you this one but seriously you’ve got to promise to keep my parent’s from finding out about things. They were a little upset that I haven’t found mine yet, my sister found hers so they were excited for me to find mine. Long story short, bad things tend to happen when my parents get excited.”

So from the sound of things Danny thought they were soulmates. That might have been true but there wasn’t a good way for them to prove anything at the moment. For now it would probably be better to go along with Danny’s plan. He didn’t like it but he could probably get a lot of information out of Danny’s friends if he played along. “Alright I agree to not intentionally reveal anything to your parents.”

“Work’s for me. What do you know about ghosts?”

[coralinnii]

Hi there! I have been a huge fan of your work for a while now so i hope you like this request.

Can i request the Savanaclaw characters + Rook with a s/o who likes to sing under their breath whenever they were bored

Again love your work! Hope you have a great day/night!

❋ Whispering like a siren ❋

↳ Reader S/O who sings under their breath

feat: Leona ��� Jack ⭑ Ruggie ⭑ Rook

genre: fluff

note: no pronouns used with the reader, established relationships, nicknames are used for reader (songbird in Leona’s section),

Thank you for your kind words! Being someone with this habit, I relate to this so much. The amount of times I got caught too 😳

Song recommendations (songs I listened to as I wrote these):

If you love me for me - Barbie’s Princess and the Pauper soundtrack (Leona’s section), I love you too much - Book of Life soundtrack (Jack’s section), Call me maybe - Carly Rae Jepsen (Ruggie’s section), Dancing without music - BRDGS (Rook’s section)

A similar prompt: singing a break up song while dating him

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

Despite Leona’s loafish demeanour, he’s quick to pick things up and keeps track of his surroundings. His senses are the sharpest amongst the beastmen in the campus, so nothing escapes his ears.

Thus, he was aware of your habit as you were humming while you tended to your botany project in the greenhouse. He assumed you weren’t aware of his presence as you swayed to the tune in your head.

When he noticed your little tendency, the beastman was amused. To him, it was like watching a naive little birdie sing, oblivious to a beast sleeping nearby.

Leona got to see more of this side of you when the two of you started dating. Whether it was due to embarrassment or perhaps as to not disturb him, you kept your singing habit around him only when Leona was sound asleep.

But Leona would wake up to the soft sounds of your voice, lost in your thoughts as your fingers gently combed through his brown locks. He would hear you whispering sappy lyrics while he teeters between consciousness. He contemplated on not telling you he was already awake, rather he waited for you to realize. He found amusement in your startled expression when you do notice. If you ask him why he didn’t tell you he was already awake, he’ll reply with a haughty smirk,

“I couldn’t possibly stop you, not when you seemed to be enjoying yourself so much.”

The stubborn housewarden will keep this secret, but he feels a lot less irritable when he wakes up to your voice, and more irritable when he doesn’t. But when Ruggie pointed it out, Leona ignored the hyena beastman’s observation. It’s not like Leona owes him an explanation, and Ruggie definitely doesn’t need to know about your cute habit.

Leona doesn’t care what song you would sing, your little quirk became his favourite thing to wake up to. It could be a sappy love song or a sad ballad, it doesn’t matter as you already tamed the prideful lion.

“Aw, you’re embarrassed I caught you singing? Don’t worry, songbird. It’s just us, so keep going.”

Like many beastmen, Jack has a keen sense of hearing. His ears notice the smallest things, aware and ready for anything. The tall freshman caught on early to your penchant for singing when bored.

Before the two of you started your relationship, Jack’s ears would perk up to even the softest pitches of your voice, but acted ignorant if you sensed an audience (aka him).

As the two of you began your courtship with him. Jack is still quick to register your voice during his shared moments with you, like when he was studying with you in the library. In the quiet environment, Jack was extremely aware of the softest of noises, especially from his study partner.

You were whispering the lyrics of a familiar song, and Jack realized it was a song from a show that the two of you were watching together. It was a catchy tune that you had already started singing since you first heard it.

The earworm of a song was apparently back as you were absentmindedly humming the melody of the song, lost in your own world. You didn’t even realize that your partner was watching your little performance.

Jack really tried to mind his own business, to get back to his studies. But, the way you would bop your head to the beat, your soothing voice that sounded so beautiful despite being so soft. He didn’t have a bad opinion of the song itself, he thought it was a good song but nothing that he would suddenly recall. But the way you sang it? He became a lovestruck puppy all over again, a fool to your raspy tones as you whisper under your breath.

“Jack?”

That same soft voice that enthralled the snow-haired man snapped him out of his trace. Your eyes locked with his own as you asked if he could help with a particularly tricky assignment, reminding him where he was.

Jack would nonchalantly hide the burn in his cheeks behind his large hands, but you can’t imagine the amount of sheer will Jack needed to stop his excited tail from sweeping the floor of the library.

“You must really like that song, judging by how much you keep singing…not that I was always listening to you! I just…noticed, it’s all.”

Ruggie was quick to notice your little quirk, and was even quicker to tease you about it. He walked in when you were singing your boredom away as you tediously washed dishes in the kitchens during a shared shift at Mostro Lounge. You could hear his signature chuckle as you turned to see the amused hyena beastman relaxing, as he watched you sing without your knowledge.

To be clear, he’s not laughing because of your singing skills or anything of the sort. He just can’t help this bubbly sense of happiness within him whenever he watches you as you whisper the lyrics of a catchy tune. If you start to really get into it, Ruggie just can’t stop the smile on his face as you begin to bop to the melody.

It soon became one of his favourite parts of the day to catch your little performances.

Ruggie loves it when he zeroes in on your voice, the hustle and bustle of the world goes away as all of his attention goes straight to you. The stress of work melts away whenever he watches that even in boredom, the light in your eyes shines as you reach to your favourite part of your song.

Ruggie especially loves when he could surprise you when you get into this kind of mood, when you get so lost in your world that you get so startled when you become face-to-face to your sneaky boyfriend.

You could be the type to push Ruggie away out of embarrassment, or you’re the type to laugh after being caught even when you tried to keep your singing session to yourself. When the two of you began to date (and even before then), these small joys became truly a precious sight for the shaggy-haired sophomore.

“Anyone tell you that you got a voice for showbiz?… What? I’m not tryin’ to schmooze you, I’m serious! You sound… real amazing.”

This quirk of yours may even be one of the reasons that had Rook smitten with you in the first place.

You were standing in the courtyard, by the well-known wishing well. Epel mentioned this well to you, mentioning how the ambiance of the echoing waters is particularly soothing.

Out of curiosity and a little bored, you tested the echoing of the wells. The verberating sounds felt so relaxing that you continued to sing under your breath as to avoid attention. However, you already garnered the attention of a certain Pomefiore junior who was situated in the trees nearby.

Rook was already curious and a little amused watching you play around with the echoes of the well. You reminded him of an old tale Vil mentioned from his homeland, how a beautiful woman caught the attention of a passing prince when singing into a well.

When he heard your whisper-like humming, Rook felt a camaraderie with that prince as the feathered-hat student was captured by your performance. Though your voice was as soft as a whisper of the wind, his sharp ears were immediately entranced.

Rook was charmed like never before. He had sang praises for countless professionals that trained to be at their level of perfection, but yours was like no other. Yours felt more personal and intimate. He couldn’t bear to leave, he was spellbound to keep listening. If you let him, he would write poems based on the feeling of love he felt from your voice.

This does not change when you two start dating, Rook’s just a little less subtle about his admiration. Everytime you would snap out from your singing daze, your eyes will lock gazes with a pair of fond green eyes and a look of infatuation, before a slew of poem-worthy adulation is poor from this foolish man.

“Mon amour, you were singing so beautifully again! I could spend the rest of my days enchanted by your dulcet tone.”

[bahablastplz]

Resident Advisor: Changbin x Reader

Changbin is your R.A. and also your friend that you’ve been in the talking stage with for weeks. When he has to do room checks and he finds alcohol in your dorm, you tell him you’ll do anything for him not to snitch on you. 

content: smut, fluff, angst (reader is distressed) warnings: mention of bugs, college AU, kissing, oral (f! and m! receiving), alcohol, changbin has a huge coke can cock WC: 2700 A/N: happy birthday Changbin! I know it's a week late but I think he would find it in his heart to forgive me. also slightly ironic i was wine-drunk when i wrote this <3

Seo Changbin is beautiful. 

This, of course, has been an undeniable fact of life that you have been aware of since the first day of your sophomore year, your second year in college when you moved into your dorm room. 

The earth tilted on its axis when Changbin, your resident advisor, peeked his head into your room and introduced himself to you. He was a junior, a year above you, but as previously mentioned, a beautiful man with broad set shoulders and hair a color that fell between some shade of blue and purple. Your first thought when the R.A. had introduced himself to you was ‘damn, I need to spend more time with this man and get him to fall in love with me.’ But the glorious thing about him being your resident advisor was that he a.) lived in your dorm building on your floor, and b.) you had a free pass to bother him whenever you so pleased. 

And you did, shamelessly. Anytime you found any sort of reason to complain or bother Changbin, you could just knock on his door or even shoot him a text, as he had shared his number with every resident on your floor. And while anybody else might have been annoyed by the constant pestering, Changbin always seemed happy to help, no matter how small the issue. If there was a leak in your bathroom, you couldn’t remember the number to reach out to maintenance, or your neighbors were too loud, you were likely bothering him about it, to which he would greet you with a smile every time. 

One night in particular there was a cockroach in your room. The dorm building was a million years old and crustier than what was likely allowed by safety regulations, but you definitely had no qualms about bothering Changbin for this. 

“Queencard, I’m the top, I’m twerkin’ on the runway, I am a queencard you wanna be the queencard!” You heard from behind his closed doors the sounds of a fast and catchy girl group song, Changbin’s voice loud as he sang along with the lyrics. It made you pause a moment and giggle, knowing if he weren’t the R.A. he definitely would have received some noise complaints himself. 

Raising your hand you knocked on his door and the music came to a halt, Changbin opening the door while slightly out of breath. You realized that he must have been practicing the choreography or something, which made you grin a bit more before you remembered the situation at hand. 

“Y/N!” he smiled. “What can I help you with?”

“Changbin, hi,” you said to him, slightly teary-eyed. “Roach. There’s a roach in my room. I’m just– can you help?” 

He blinked at you for a moment, grabbing his keys and phone immediately before wordlessly ushering you out the door. He knew his way to your room already–as previously mentioned, this was not the first time you’ve bothered him–and he’s the one that bravely opened your door, grabbing one of your shoes from your shoe rack and holding it as if it were a weapon. 

Needless to say, that night ended in girly shrieks from the both of you, maniacal thumping and stomping that likely irritated your downstairs neighbors, and, thankfully, a dead roach. He was just as disturbed by the situation as you were, and you couldn’t help the fit of giggles once the bug was dead that escaped from your lips. He was just so dramatic and loud after the fact, recounting how gross and evil the creature was. You must have thanked him at least a million times, but that night you went to sleep with a smile. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You texted Changbin all the time now, about the most menial of things. At some point, you weren’t sure when the line had crossed from ‘R.A. down the hall’ to ‘someone you text about food hall chicken nuggets and professors that refused to round up your grades,’ but you weren’t complaining. Fast forward to now, soon to be fall break, when you (and you’re entire floor) get an email from Changbin about room checks. 

You recall disregarding the email since you weren’t going home for fall break anyway. You’re staying on campus to get caught up on your assignments after midterms, plus a professor specifically requested your help in their lab over break for extra credit. Who were you to say no to that? You had already filled out the break contract, letting the school know that you were to be staying in your dorm over your break, so you had nothing to even worry about. Or so you thought. 

It’s 6 p.m. on the first day of break. You’re being very studious, just as you had planned (scrolling through tiktok on your phone with your assignments pulled up on your laptop), when you hear a knock at your door. You only slightly jump out of your skin, not expecting anybody else to even be in your dorm hall at this time. You peek through the peephole and let out an excited gasp. 

“Hi, Changbin!” you say excitedly, cracking the door open enough to slide out and greet him in the hall. “What are you still doing here?” 

You should have made the assumption that he’s ‘on duty,’ but you clearly weren’t thinking. Here he stands, wearing a polo that says ‘Resident Advisor’ in your school colors, his name tag adorned on his right side. He also clearly wasn’t expecting to see you, however, eyebrows quirked and a playful expression gleaming in his features. 

“Y/N,” he smiles as he addresses you. “I’m doing room checks, don’t you remember?” 

“Oh, that’s right,” you say, mentally kicking yourself. Of course it was just room checks. Part of you wishes he was just here for you, to spend time over break, but you know that’s a silly notion. He has a job to do, after all. “Well, I’ll be here all break, so you don’t need to check my room. Good luck, though! Hope you don’t find anything too crazy.”

You go to turn and head back into your room when he starts to speak again. “Yah! Doesn’t anybody ever read my emails?” You glance at him sideways, unsure what he’s talking about. “Everyone needs to have their room checked, if they’re staying on campus or not!” 

“What? Seriously?” you stammer. You really should have read that email. “Shit okay, give me like, 10 minutes to clean, okay? I gotta make sure there’s no roaches or anything.” 

You attempt to crack a joke and he does smile, even lets out a little giggle at your words. But when he explains to you that he’s not supposed to give you time to organize your room, just in case you’re hiding anything you’re not supposed to, you blanche. You’re not even really sure what to say as Changbin opens your door and starts his room check, you standing awkwardly behind him. 

You notice your mistake before he does, the large gallon-sized container of vodka on your dresser that you’re definitely not supposed to have. You really can’t even defend yourself there. You subtly shuffle to stand in front of the opposing object, staring down at your phone to feign disinterest. 

“Y/N?” you hear Changbin call. 

“Mhmm?”

“What’s behind you?” Shit. He totally knows. 

“Um. Nothing?” He walks to stand closer to you, a wide but slightly sad smile splayed on his face. 

“Please, please, don’t make me be the bad guy here.” 

“Fine. Can’t you seriously just like, close your eyes for one second? I’ll hide it and you won’t have to do a ridiculously long report, and I won’t tell anybody, please,” you beg. 

“Move, let me see what we’re working with.” With a sigh, you step to the side, revealing the extra large bottle of straight-up hard liquor. 

He picks it up, giving you a side-eye with an exasperated sigh. “Seriously? Why?” he practically whines. “You’re really gonna make me get you in trouble?” 

Fuck. The tears that prick at your eyes threaten to drop out and your face heats up. There seriously can’t be a worse situation that your crush having to write you up and get you into disciplinary trouble, all because you couldn’t be bothered to read a fucking email. 

“Changbin, please, I’ll do anything,” you beg, dropping to your knees in front of him, your hands clasped together. You don’t even look him in the eye. “I can’t afford to get in trouble over this, you don’t understand. What if I lose my scholarship? Fuck, my parents will kill me. I’ll do anything, I really mean it. I’ll never drink again. I’ll pay for your laundry for the year. I’ll even suck your dick–” 

“Woah woah, Y/N, it’s okay, I was just kidding–wait, what?” he freezes, your words finally catching up to him. What he thought was an attempt at teasing you, who had finally started to become his friend, had obviously gone a step too far. 

“You were joking?” you ask, finally getting the courage to look at him. You swipe your arm over your face, using it to wipe away your tears. You look up at him with these innocent doe eyes that go straight to his cock, especially after what you just said to him. 

“Yes, babygirl, I was just kidding. I’m not going to tell on you,” he says, staring down at you, the picture of perfection on your knees beneath him. “About… about what you said, Did you just say that because you were trying not to get in trouble, or… do you actually like me?”

“About sucking your dick?” He almost chokes on the saliva in his mouth. He nods timidly. “I meant it,” you confess. “I’ve liked you for a long time.” 

He blushes, moving forward to run his fingers through your hair. You notice the bulge in his jeans quite literally staring you in the face and you almost can’t believe your luck. You’re really going to get the opportunity to get with Changbin just because of an (almost) accidental confession? 

“You’re sure?” he asks, pushing back his own beautiful, purple-hued hair as he looks at you with lips slightly parted. You nod at him, moving to help him unbutton his jeans and he hisses at the contact of your hands against his clothed cock. “Fuck, baby,” he groans as you push his pants down just past his thighs, mouthing at him through his boxers. “Will you at least let me take you out on a date after this? This is really not the way I thought this would go,” he sighs, but his head is thrown back in pleasure nonetheless. 

“Yes, Binnie, I would really like that.” You notice him grin at your use of the nickname, losing his resolve at your response as he pushes down his boxers and lets you get a good look at his hardened length. He’s huge–you can’t help but blink at him for a moment, his cock just so girthy that you have a hard time wrapping your hand around it fully. His length is definitely longer than average but nothing to blink an eye at once you’ve gotten used to just how much girth he’s got. You do take a moment to appreciate his large, toned thighs, running your hands up and down the muscles before you wrap your lips around his tip. 

You set an almost brutal pace, eager to please him with your mouth as you use your free hands to help you cover what you can’t reach. You think about how much you would kill to take the time to properly worship him, every inch of skin and muscle that he has been working on, but your carnal desire and need for the man standing above you heavily outweighs that. He’s properly enjoying it too, a hand woven through your hair and breathy pants and moans let out at your actions, even something along the lines of praise whenever you suck him just right, and that just fuels your desire to do even better for him. 

You move your hands to cup his balls, heavy and tense with the need to spill, and you can tell he isn’t going to last long. You barely notice his hips as they grind forward into your mouth, meeting you halfway with every movement of your head along his length. When you look up and blink at him through your lashes he explodes, finally spilling into your mouth with a loud groan. You help him through his high, making sure you get every last drop of him before you swallow, smiling sweetly at the man.

He helps you off of the floor then, hoisting you up and off of your knees. You didn’t even notice the pain radiating through them from their spot on the hardwood, far too focused on pleasing the man in front of you. He checks on you though, scanning your body for any insight that you might not be okay before pulling you into a tight hug. You smile against him a moment, pulling away to speak before he crashes his lips hard into yours. It takes you by surprise, not expecting him to still be so eager and filled with desire after you helped him get his release, but the kiss is both full of thanks and an unsaid desire from his part as well. 

“Changbin–” you finally say, pulling away from the kiss in an attempt to catch your breath. 

“You’re stunning,” he tells you, his hands falling onto your hips before gazing intensely, almost scrutinizingly at your body in a way that would make you self-conscious if it were any man besides Changbin. “I was really hoping you liked me too. I don’t text every girl on this floor, you know. Just you. I’ll only kill roaches for you, do it all for you. Can I? Make you feel good too?” He asks, still somehow out of breath and full of lust at the sight of you. 

“You want to?” The words are barely out of your mouth before Changbin lifts you up effortlessly. You want to be surprised by this fact but you feel like that would be an insult to him, to his biceps that flex and bulge at the action, his muscles that he’s been working on very hard for this exact moment. Your legs wrap around his waist and he lays you against your bed, grabbing a pillow so that he’s now on his knees at the edge of your bed. 

He wastes no time slipping your shorts and panties off in one swift motion, taking the time to properly admire your glistening core. You want to be shy but you can’t, not before he’s eagerly diving in and lapping at your pussy like it’s his final meal. You both let out a moan and some string of words that sounds like, ‘oh my god,’ and he’s taking care of you with the same vigor and innate desire that you showed him just moments ago. 

He works you up quite quickly, his hands roaming all over your body in appreciation as his tongue flicks against your clit. Your hands occasionally fist at his hair and he takes a moment to stare at you with dark and hazy eyes before continuing his ministrations. When you get close to your release and your hips start to buck up he holds you down so effortlessly that it’s hot. You barely realize the way that he stares at your face once you reach your release, cumming all over his face as he laps at your core. He pays attention to every expression, every furrowed brow and sound you make, and he knows just when to stop before the stimulation becomes painful. 

Sitting up in bed to stare at him, you watch as he licks his lips, savoring your taste. He pulls you in for one final kiss and you can even taste the way your flavors combine, moaning into his mouth at the sweet and simple action. He helps you to pull your pants back up and even crawls into your bed for a few moments, stroking your hair as you lay upon his chest. Neither of you speak for a moment, relishing in the post-orgasmic bliss. 

He laughs. “Really? Tito’s? Is that worth getting into trouble over?” 

You smack his chest playfully. Something along the lines of “Shush,” is all you can come up with. 

“So, about that date?” 

You might be in love with Seo Changbin. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

[theus-what-are-you-doing]

Final Scene Analysis and Key Sender Theory

A theory below? It might be obvious, but I'm being a dumbass and connecting dots that might not be there. That and I'm trying to wrap my head around the plot of season one while making predictions for season two too.

Words: 768

Okay, I'm not sure if anyone has pointed this out already, but this has been playing on my mind like a catchy song, and I genuinely need to vent it.

Something is telling me that Chase is being used by Buddy, indicated through the interaction shared by him and Violet at the end of season one.

Nox "can't do this" anymore because he's slowly falling for Chase. He's coming to love and care for him, like during the finale arc e.g. shielding him from water, comforting him during his breakdown, kissing him to be his hero.

He doesn't want to hurt the ones he loves, especially knowing how much Chase is trying to help others around him, specifically his own mum. See below:

Now, I think Nox is intelligent enough to put things together. So, I think these lines spoken towards him during Chase's breakdown could have made things click for him: Why Chase was sooooo determined in the beginning of the series to go into the book's for example, despite how irritating and upsetting Nox tried to be.

Given Nox is more familiar with Chase's personality now, it would only make sense for him to use the wish for someone else he cares about, hence Nox's hesitation to continue stealing the naratonin. As Nox cares more for Chase, he may come to want what Chase wants too, like a couple would.

But what's to says he's stealing it?

Well, we know Nox is a key now, and by all means, I don't think he can gather Naratonin by himself as it's established other keys can't. Though he was priorly human, I think he lost the ability to gather Naratonin when he became a key.

Considering we've been shown no other key holders, I don't believe any of them are left too, that there are any humans to help collect this naratonin. I really think it's just the keys.

Yet we've been shown that keys can use naratonin and that Buddy plans to use it to get a wish. But instead of wishing like a birthday wish where you whisper your secrets to the naratonine, I think you need to consume or absorb it, much like Silver did earlier in the series.

Here, it's shown that Silver fixes herself using the Naratonin Chase collected, so who's to say that Buddy isn't either. He just needs more because the thing he is trying to fix is his human self, to regain it.

Now i think that staying close to Chase is just a way to transfer his production of Naratonin to him and Violet, as they're also keys, or that Chase's production of Naratonin also goes over to them. It would explain why Chase gets so little every time and why Buddy wants to be close to him so often.

Keysender Theory

And so here's where my theory comes in. Let's focus on that second panel again!

"After all you've done for this"

I can't help but get a feeling that Nox was the one who sent the other keys out, or at least orchestrated getting them out with someone else acting as a proxy. It would explain why he's done so much work for this, to become human.

If my theory is correct and Libris holds no current key holders, the only way for Buddy to get Naratonin would be to get the keys into the hands of other humans, follow them into the books, and retrieve naratonin from being near them, so he can heal himself much like Silver did but to a larger scale. This is what we see happening with Chase after all.

Yhe keys have been scattered too, perhaps to not only heighten the chances of getting more people into the books but to also prevent them from gathering all the keys to make that wish (Like Silver admitted to Chase, you need all her family to make the wish)

Future predictions

With this in mind and my rambling over, I'd like to throw my hat in the ring for things I'd love to see from this analysis and theory, if they ever became true.

I'd love to see Buddy be confronted for this, perhaps out of guilt he would tell Chase he's been stealing narratonin and thus Chase obviously gets upset, as he's trying to collect if for his mum. I feel like this can be a way for them to share their wants for each other and even help each other with getting their way.

Anyway, that's all my rambles done. I hope they made at least a semblance of sense!!

[strangegutz]

Man wtf are people on about, first of all that song is super catchy thank you for introducing me to it, secondly my god how little tact to people have to go one someones art post and leave rude comments about their taste in music? Like they do understand you aren’t their friend right? Saying they hate it (lighthearted) doesnt come across the way they think it does to a complete stranger. Im an artist and ive had people leave what are clearly supposed to be cutesy snarky comments on my post (including i think even the lighthearted or genuine tone tags) and like my god it just killed my motivation. Like there is a real person behind the screen seeing that comment, someone who isnt your friend. Would you just go up to someone minding their business and go hey i think your outfit is weird as fuck haha but in a lighthearted way! Jesus i swear no one has any manners anymore

EVERYONE LISTEN TO THE LISA OST NOW!!

you're so right for this, theres a Playful Rudeness epidemic and it pisses me off so bad. Especially when you match the energy back and they hit you with the "um well I was kidding :/" like oh, we're not playing anymore? Is it real now that I've replied to you? lol. I've gotten so much worse than this in terms of Playful Rudeness and man, I'd prefer if people would just be a full on asshole to me

Alright, like, people saying they're scared of my choice of the Lisa grunting track (Work Harder) is whatever. but goddamn, I'm not used to the whole "all attention is good attention" thing and having a hundred tags being like "why the fuck did you pick this music" is driving me crazy, especially when like. It's a silly track. I know it's a silly track. Do you seriously not see that the sample used is purposely goofy. The sample itself was an inside joke with the Lisa dev IIRC. Though, I've seen people on this website have the same reaction to the track 666 Kill Chop Deluxe which is an even more insane track to be "scared" of IMO, so I guess i was asking for this to happen eventually, lol

Not to get on my Artist High Horse here, but the most irritating is people saying something like "cool doll but what the fuck is the music i hate the music unmute at your own risk" like man, alright, look, I made a video of myself making a demon woman doll with a fetish hood and a cigarette, and I chose Work Harder as my backing track. I made an intentional choice as an artist, and if you can't meet me in the middle for this less-than-2-minute video, then perhaps my work isnt for you? Idk, mute it and play Taylor Swift over it if you want. Or maybe this, if it's less scary. But now my art has a completely different vibe than I intended. it feels so dumb to say this about Work Harder but i guess if you gotta shave off the edges to swallow my work, do it, and thanks for the reblogs!

All of my friends encourage me to start cracking down on rude (or just annoying) commenters, it's hard but ooohhhh i'm certainly creeping closer

tldr:

[sharksarewaterdogs]

Spoiler-y Word Vomit on KPop Demon Hunters:

This deserves to be The movie of this summer. I feel so bad it didn't have more marketing & a theater release 😭

The music? 😘 Personal fav is probably "How It's Done", followed by "Golden"

Hamster Zoeyyyy

Three-dimensional female characters allowed to be goofy YES

Also BOBBY. Love him

For the split second before she saw Jinu, Rumi's ":/" while the other two thirsted over the Saja Boys was THE most relatable thing as a lesbian, lol

Mira eating the popcorn

Rumi's frown at Zoey during "Soda Pop" but then joining in shoulder bobbing with her, "It IS annoyingly catchy tho" omg I loveeee theeeeem 🩷🩷🩷 She's the leader but she's also down to goof with them and I love it so much

"Yeah, that's right"— Mira, you're a bamf, never let anyone tell you differently.

Watch it for the visuals! (Saja Boys) > WRONG

Watch it for the visuals! (Tiger & Bird) > CORRECT (I say, while my shallow ass watched it for Huntrix...)

Mira checking in on Rumi 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷 (Also 💔)

I love Jinu's irritated little "I made it for the Tiger but the Bird keeps stealing it >:(" and the visual of him making a tiny matching hat for his kitty, BUT I love even more the bird's "Yeah that's right and what are you gonna do about it" stare back. Best character.

Jinu just honestly thinking it's a date & being utterly cool with it, buddy you are down BAD (sir your "she's not my type!" was such a blatant lie pls)

Also being annoyed that she's late. You know he showed up early when he arranged their meeting, meanwhile for hers she's fashionably late & jumpscares his ass lol

Aww the bracelet (also the bracelet lady)

Noooo the fangirl got her soul sucked??? Pls tell me she's ok in the end (idk if I missed it, did it show if the "disappeared" people were dead-dead)? Rip kid I bet your fanfic game was amazing

I love the idea that Jinu wrote "Idol" for Rumi not for the romance angle but bc her response was then basically to go "Lmao bet" & assemble her friend group to support her. He's like "worshippp meee" & then ends up sacrificing himself for her (buddy you are DOWN BAD)

(The way he's just... frozen, when she appears, while the other boys are rushing to fight. He's so obvious.)

THE HUUUUG ❤️❤️❤️❤️💔💔💔

"You're just my type! 😍 Oh well! 😃 *slices*" —Zoey you are also iconic don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Rumi embracing her marks and them all chilling together 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷 (girls I love that you engage with your fans but do get some quality couch time in! You deserve it!)

Just... everything is so good, I hope we get a continuation.🤞

Also that Rumi adopts the Tiger & Bird!!!!

[beneathsilverstars]

Hello, there! So, in the secret passage, we learn that Odile had a “hate-crush,” so how do you think it went? (I am an aro Odile believer—)

Hii anon let me introduce you to my OC, Rei (she/he/it)

Rei and Odile met in queer circles while in university. They're both trans activists, but with very different strategies. Odile is all about getting her hands dirty, breaking unjust laws to keep her peers safe and happy. Meanwhile Rei is planning to rise through the ranks of the government so she can change the laws that are causing the harm and unhappiness, which requires a clean record.

So they're CONSTANTLY fighting. Trying to plan a protest? Rei says to bring catchy signs and Odile says to bring self-defense weapons. Trying to physically transition? Rei says he knows a legal source of low-dose estrogen and Odile says she can start body crafting you right now in the basement, just say the word. Stressed about getting misgendered at school because your paperwork says the wrong thing? Rei offers to help you draft letters to your teachers explaining that adopting masculine pronouns isn't an attempt to alchemize the self but rather a form of artistic self-expression and Odile offers to forge you new paperwork.

Odile thinks Rei's plans are never going to pan out; Rei thinks of course they won't if people like Odile don't stop giving the community a bad rep as dangerous law-breakers. Rei thinks Odile is ruining her own chances at a happy, stable life because if anyone finds out her current body is the result of body craft it'll all be over; Odile thinks Rei is making itself miserable staying in the closet for no reason and if it transitioned it would be able to actually start living life.

They're both so passionate and motivated. And they both think they know exactly what the other person should change to fix all their problems and finally live up to their potential. And they're both not above sabotaging the other if they think their plans are gonna cause damage. And they both think the other is really, really hot, especially when they're being infuriating.

At first it's just genuine arguments that occasionally end in sloppy makeouts, oops. But eventually they both kinda lose sight of their goals in favor of trying to one-up the other? Refusing to compromise with each other on principle. Trying to ruin plans in a way that will prove the plan was shitty all along instead of just quietly preventing it from coming to fruition, because maybe if there are consequences they'll finally understand how wrong they are. Interfering with aspects of each other's lives that have nothing to do with the activism. Doing things that will irritate or even hurt the other purely for the sake of foreplay. Etc!

Rei always liked Odile a bit more. He's nicer and more vicious both, better at social manipulation, better at shrugging off insults. He's more willing to turn around after an argument and have a friendly conversation, but he's also quicker to start the arguments in the first place. He takes some things very seriously, but others are just a bit of a game. He would call Odile a friend!

Odile takes it all more personally. She's more worried about Rei, more hurt by her, more angry at her, more desperate to best her and succeed. She thinks Rei could be someone she could be friends with, but she hates the person Rei chooses to be instead. She doesn't like how she acts around her but she can't stop herself from rising to the bait, either.

And then! One evening! Odile was lying in Rei's bed and realized that she didn't want to get up and leave. She wanted to stay the night. She wanted to give up on being reasonable and let Rei escalate their fights as much as it wanted. She wanted to torch its reputation so thoroughly that it had to give up on politics and skip town and start over with a fake identity that was more true than its life now. She wanted to drop her own plans because she hadn’t actually cared about them in ages. She wanted to stop fucking around and win once and for all. She wanted to wake up in the morning and argue about how to cook eggs.

And that’s when she realized that she had to stop seeing Rei IMMEDIATELY or else they’d make each other worse to the point of blazing ruin. ^^

tfw you find the one person you ~like that way~ and it’s the worst thing that ever happened to you <3