#rest of him is subject to change

[mossbriar]

nobody is ready for silly ear lionblaze

[starry-bi-sky]

don't you want to be a cult leader? - danyal al ghul au

this is mostly a joke post but i thought it was funny and had to share so--

his first mistake was, obviously, inheriting his father's inability to see an injustice and stand still. -- actually, danyal's first mistake was his lair being so big. a mountainous island with a large temple in the center resembling his old home in Nanda Parbat? With sprawling foliage and rivers and streams and waterfalls galore? What was he going to do with all that space? Let it go to waste? He had plants there! Native trees of the ghost zone growing from the soil! He couldn't let it all be left unchecked!

So naturally after helping a fellow teenage assassin ghost -- who he later learns is named Akihiko, -- from Walker of all people, he sent them over to hang low at his lair until it was safe enough for them to wander around the Zone. Walker couldn't get through Danyal's astrofield if his life depended on it, and trust him -- he's tried. Danny was clearing out debris from his stupid transport vans for weeks.

Honestly it wasn't so bad, he and Aki really quickly became fast friends and Danny loves having a sparring partner close to his level again -- he hasn't had this much fun fighting since he left the League. Aki was very dedicated and levelheaded, the both of them clicked really well because of it.

Nonono, the real trouble began after Danyal met some long-passed League members and allowed them to come join his island as well. Apparently they had made a few enemies of the zone, and maybe Danyal still felt some loyalty to the League. He couldn't just let them be left to rot. Their zealotry could be overlooked so long as they kept it contained and helped him take care of his island.

And it.. snowballs from there? He meets a teen squire aptly calling himself Ambroise -- whether that was his living name or not is yet to be seen -- who died during feudal france, who is just about as dramatic and passionate as every french stereotype makes them out to be. He calls Danyal "my moon and great muse" -- which is both flattering and little uncomfortable, but Danyal's grown up in the League as the Grandson of the Demon Head, he is used to mild worship. he passes it off as nothing more, nothing less. -- and while his energy is overwhelming on the worst of days, he helps Danny draw out of his shell more in ways that Sam and Tucker still struggle with.

Him and Aki butt heads a lot, but the two seem to hold the other in at least some positive regard, so Danny doesn't worry too much about them fighting while he's gone. It only becomes a mild issue when Aki also begins calling Danny "my moon". It's a little sweet, so Danyal brushes it off.

Then he takes in a troupe of ghosts some time after he defeats Pariah Dark and they begin calling him "great one" just as the yetis do in the far frozen. This is where he meets the twins -- a pair of sibling ghosts who call themselves Trixie and Missy (short for Trick and Mislead) -- who aren't quite as passionate as Ambroise but more energetic than Aki. Eventually they also start calling Danyal "my moon" and attach themselves to his hip, even within the living. They like to hide in his shadow and cause trouble for the rest of the students. He makes sure they don't hurt anyone.

He's pretty sure Aki is jealous, same with Ambroise, but he can't be too certain other than the fact that they become much more lingering (re: clingy) whenever he visits the island.. Something he's trying to do much more often these days due to the increasing amount of people living there now. Since when did he become so popular?

Then there's Pēnelópeia from the Greater Athens, who ran away from home and joined his Island after he ran into her while she was being chased by Skulker -- and he's pretty sure the reason was because of her chimeric appearance. Her strange eyes and mismatched wings and lion's tail and talons. She assimilates into his friend group very easily, she gets along well with Ambroise and Trixie and Danny usually finds the three of them climbing the trees to pluck the most fruit from the top. They can fly and he knows it, but they prefer to climb.

Then finally there's silent poet Akkara who comes from ancient mesopotamia, who gets along most with Aki -- which is no surprise there considering their similar personality dispositions. he watches Aki and Danyal fight each other and leaves comments on this or that that he notices. He writes Danyal poems on clay tablets and leaves them by his room.

They're one big mismatched group of outcasts, and Danny's got the other ghosts on his island to tend to, because they're living on his island and he wants to be hospitable even if he struggles with that. But he spends the most of his time with them.

Sam and Tucker are making fun of him. Tucker jokingly tells him 'careful Danny, at this rate you're gonna start a cult'. Danny really wishes he had taken that joke more seriously.

He just. keeps. collecting people. Wayward souls lost in the zone, looking for shelter or refuge from something or other -- whether that be another hostile ghost, or a past afterlife, or just a purpose. Danyal finds them, he takes them in, offers them a place on his island until they are ready to leave. Many seldom do. He's not complaining -- he has the space, and it feels like it's only ever growing.

His close friends, his "inner circle" as he's heard the others call them, keep insistently calling him "my moon". He starts calling them his stars, because then it only feels fair. They're his stars, this is his constellation. It becomes a thing; little star halos begin forming behind their heads, picking them out from the rest. He loves them so much, it's hard to place. Sam and Tucker are also his stars, but they reside in the living realm, they're his tie to Life. Meanwhile, his friends here know what it's like to be dead, and sometimes its nice to relate.

Those living on his island keep calling him "Great One" and he's beginning to notice zealotry in their care for his island. He really, deeply appreciates it. His close friends gain nicknames -- as his stars, it's only natural for him to pick them out from the cluster in the skies. Akihiko, his Sirius and bright star. Trix and Missy, Castor and Pollux, the twins and troublemakers. Ambroise, his zealous Antares and close friend. Penelopeia, chimeric and loyal Vega. And Akkara, his Arcturus and strength.

It's ridiculous how long it takes for him to notice; he is, of course, a deadly trained assassin. He is meant to be observant -- and normally he is! But somehow this becomes a blind spot. One that becomes too big to be dealt with by the time he realizes it.

He should've noticed when Aki, his Sirius, stood beside him one day while Danyal looked over his island and saw the sprawling spirits carrying on about their afterlife and bowing to him as they saw him, and said: "I looked down into the depths when I met you; I couldn't measure it." They aren't one for flowing prose, it took him so off guard he was silent for over a minute before he finally spoke.

Danyal should've recognized devotion for what it is, and yet he didn't. He should've recognized it when Antares began spouting praises about him, crowing about his radiance and resplendence to the heavens. He just brushed it off as Ambroise being Ambroise. He should've recognized it when Trix and Missy nearly broke Dash's leg after he knocked Danyal's books out of his hands, he excused it as them being protective. Of them coming from times where such violence may have been customary -- after all, that's what he used to be like. What he was still like, sometimes, when his emotions nearly got the better of him.

He should've noticed it when the people living on his island followed his word like gospel, looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. When his friends gifted him a shawl with the moon phases delicately embroidered into it, with silver, shimmering thread and moving stars lovingly stitched into it. Their constellations seen clear as day in the dark fabric. When he found small shrines dedicated to him -- but they lacked any image of him beyond stones carved to look like moons, so he ignored it. When the religious imagery began popping up.

He really, really should've noticed it when a bunch of cultists accidentally summoned Antares, and Antares had turned to him when he arrived and called them heretics. But he was so centered on the fact that they had kidnapped one of his stars, that he hadn't paid much attention to what Ambroise had said.

Sages say that faith is blind, they should also say faith in you is even blinder.

It really only hits him one afternoon while he's sitting in Sam's room studying with Tucker, Missy and Trixie lounging at his feet, Aki sat on his right, Penelopeia braiding his hair, Ambroise draped against him, and Akkara lurking over him. Its one of the rare few times they're all in one room together.

It hits him like a bolt of lightning. He looks up from his textbook. "Oh Ancients," he says in no amounting shock. Everyone looks up to him.

"I've become my grandfather."

[tommygotwrittenoff]

no, no, because imagine. we get a shot of eddie looking at himself in the bathroom mirror. he touches his mustache and sighs. the next shot is someone knocking on the door of the loft. buck opens it, and it's eddie on the other side, freshly shaven and finally ready to acknowledge what buck means to him

[king-crawler]

🏳️‍🌈❔

RALPH BREAKS THE INTERNET (2018) dir. Rich Moore & Phil Johnston

[questions-within-questions]

Being a ranger I spend a lot of time alone in the wilderness for hours in the company of one of four co workers.

One such worker for the purpose of this post we shall refer to as Dave.

Dave is a very quiet man. He confesses that if conversation happens too quickly and for too long he gets tired so we often work in silence. He's very polite and good natured but it's obvious that he would happily live and work alone for the rest of his life given the option.

He's very much in the previous generation of ranger, a practical man in his fourties or fifties happy to be kept physically busy for a day and then be sent home with some pay. I had to show him how to use a work issued smart phone.

Meanwhile the rest of the team is made up of the current generation of rangers; openly nurodivergent queer women in their twenties or thirties who work this job because it's the only setting where we can vaguely look sane.

So Dave sticks out a bit. It's really nice when he opens up though because he's an impulsive individual when left to his own devices and has plenty of stories to tell if the mood takes him. I really like working with Dave.

Anyway, one day we've got a job that takes a three hour hike to get to and early on the topic of deer comes up.

I hadn't realised this was the first time we had discussed deer, but blatantly it was. Dave's entire demeanour changes, there's a bit of passion in his voice, but it's also hushed as if he's talking about something sacred.

"Deer are my favourite animal." He says.

I'm also eager to hear Dave talk about himself, so I encourage him to say more.

"I'd love to be a deer myself."

And more

"If a genie offered me the opportunity to become a deer I'd take it. I wouldn't even stop to ask what the price was."

And more

"Sometimes I feel like I'm a deer having a dream about being a human.*

And there I am, a long time commuter to the therian/otherkin community keeping up the encouraging face of someone being politely interested, knowing that this man is straight up a therian with no frame of reference.

And I decided that I wouldn't push the subject outside of the bounds of what Dave is comfortable with, I wouldn't try to teach him the terms "Therian" or "Otherkin" but absolutely I would talk with this man as if he's a deer.

And it's a bit magical really. He's an impulsive individual so I have to talk him out of some risky choices every so often and "this is why deer like you keep getting stuck in fences" has become this magical phrase that allows him to step down from a mistake with a bit of a smile on his face.

[sv3t1ana]

Thinking about Husband!Sukuna who just lets you do whatever the fuck you want now.

There was a time when he protested. A time when he had pride, pride in being a man, in being a fearsome king, commanding respect wherever he went.

But you?

You were relentless. So utterly, absurdly relentless that at some point, he just stopped fighting it.

He had never been a man of many words, and marriage hadn’t changed that. It was only a week ago that he sat comfortably on his throne, heavy head resting in his palm as he drifted off to sleep, until he was interrupted by the sudden weight (or loss?) on his chest.

A lesser man would have panicked, but your husband? No. He merely took a long inhale, an even longer exhale, and cracked one eye open to find your tiny, mischievous hands cupping his pecs like a scientist.

“They don’t really move like mine,” you mused, experimentally bouncing the firm muscle in your grasp.

He didn’t know if the subject of this experiment was his breaking point or whatever nonsense idea had wormed its way into your head this time.

Your expression was serious, too serious, as you moved in front of him, gripping the hem of his robe as if a scholar prepped for a dissertation.

“May I remove this?”

His eyes, half-lidded with the dull exhaustion that only centuries of being a king could bring, slowly trailed to meet yours. His lips pressed into a flat line.

You took his silence as consent.

And soon enough, his shirt was discarded, leaving him bare from the waist up as you squinted in intense concentration, leaning in close to his chest.

It was pathetic, really. The size difference. Your husband was a mountain of a man, yes, his frame large enough to dwarf yours entirely. And yet, there you were, fingers struggling to span across his tits as you earnestly attempted to jiggle them, as if you could replicate your own softness on his ironclad frame.

At one point, you had both of his pecs squished together, testing them like some critical judge at a livestock competition.

“Wow, you’re a lot different than me.”

Oh, his lovely wife. His lovely wife, who was genuinely comparing her milk-producing breasts to those of a war-hardened king.

Oh, the patience he had for you.

And despite the sheer disrespect you continually brought upon the honor of Sukuna, the King, the Conqueror, the Lord of Curses…

He still let you.

And it never stopped.

Because right now, right this very moment, he was balls-deep inside you, your knees pinned to your chest as he fucked you senseless, guttural moans echoing in the grand chamber as he pounded into your dripping cunt.

The nights the lord would bed his wife was always the same, multiple orgasms, a sore throat, bruises painting your skin like a lover’s signature, and the brutal satisfaction of a man who knew he could ruin you.

There couldn’t have been a worse time, a worse thought, and for the first time in his life, Sukuna wished, prayed, for something to be different about his wife.

“W-wait, ‘Kuna- fuck- wait-!”

Because he never wanted you in pain, never wanted you to feel anything but pleasure despite the sixth climax of the night barreling toward him, he reluctantly halted.

Oh, may the lords above grant him the strength.

Because you, thoroughly fucked out, hair knotted, sweat glistening across your body, brought your trembling hands forward,

and groped his fucking tits.

Like he was some toy for you to hold onto.

“Okay, continue.”

He stilled. In shock? In horror? In spiritual agony?

Slowly, he tried to thwart at your hands, momentarily lifting one from under your knee, but-

“No, I said continue.”

That’s right. Your wish was his command.

So he continued. And every time his cock rammed deep into your walls, every time you moaned so sinfully, your little hands squeezed tighter.

It was almost comical, your soft, delicate fingers clutching at his immovable chest as if this was your god-given right.

With a grunt, he muttered, “Why must you do this?” His brows furrowed, thrusts becoming punishing.

Through your breathless whimpers, you somehow managed, “Ngh- I just- oh, god- like them.”

His cock twitched at your honesty.

His breasts flexing in tandem.

And when your shaking fingers dared to pinch his nipple…

Oh, that was when the real fun began.

“Fuck, don’t- fuck-” He spat through gritted teeth.

Neither of you could ignore the way his back arched the tiniest bit, the way his thrusts faltered for a split second as your fingers toyed with him.

You were too far gone to form coherent sentences, let alone fucking laugh, but your lips curled in amusement, jaw slack as the wet pat-pat-pat of his cock slamming into you filled the air.

“You think this shit is funny?”

His hold on you shifted. With inhuman ease, he lifted your legs, pressing them together straight up in the air, holding your feet in a single massive hand while his other gripped your thigh in a vice.

The new position devastating.

His thick cock dragged along every sensitive spot inside you, punching deep into your cunt, the head kissing your cervix with every pump.

It was enough to wreck you, your body shuddering as your next orgasm tore through you like divine wrath.

And Sukuna, normally composed and always in control, was panting.

As you both lay side by side afterward, spent and breathless, a singular, intrusive thought carved its way into your little head.

“...Can I be big spoon tonight?”

He didn’t respond, simply sighing and rolling onto his side. Letting you attempt to wrap your arms around his impossibly broad back.

Oh, his lovely, sweet wife.

Your hand reached down, fingers splaying, grabbing a handful of his ass.

A slow, agonizing inhale.

Then a measured, exasperated exhale.

“...No more tonight. Please.”

You couldn’t see his face, your own buried between his shoulder blades.

But maybe, juuust maybe, someone, somewhere, could say there was the barest twitch of a smile on his lips.

[deathofacupid]

ceo!sukuna x bubbly!barista!reader, i fear it's my new obsession. banner credits to @/uzmacchiato. both inspired by, and dedicated to @salsakiyoomi! hope you like it, pretty <33

ceo!sukuna, a man whose resting face could curdle milk, hates physical touch. like, he'd rather wrestle a rabid badger than endure a friendly pat on the back.

his employees? mere rodents scurrying around his corporate cheese grater, their sole purpose to make his existence slightly less agonizing.

of course, they mostly failed at that. they were less "competent assistants" and more "walking disasters with access to staplers." his day was basically a high-stakes game of "clean up the employee-induced apocalypse," and he was running out of patience, and more importantly, employees.

ex-employees, he'd mentally correct, adding them to his ever-growing blacklist. he'd personally ensure they'd be lucky to get a job at a clown college.

and yet, despite this raging misanthropy and deep-seated aversion to human contact, he ends up craving your arms. the irony was thicker than his expense reports.

"'kuna?" you ask, peering up from your couch fort. "how was your day?"

a grumble is his reply. you've deciphered his grumbles into a complex language, and this one translates to "hell on earth."

you open your arms, and he promptly transforms into a sentient, grumpy weighted blanket, flopping onto you with the grace of a falling grand piano.

you wheeze, but you're used to it. he’s basically a cat, except instead of knocking things off tables, he knocks the air out of your lungs.

"don't even get me started," he mutters, his voice muffled by your chest. he sounds like a toddler who just lost his favorite pacifier. "do you know how many people i had to terminate today?"

"fired, you mean? sukuna, you mean fired, right?" you’re picturing a corporate bloodbath, and it’s not a pretty image. he waves a dismissive hand, which, due to his position on top of you, almost knocks your phone out of your hand.

"yeah, yeah. whatever. they were basically performance art pieces of incompetence."

"okay, but, like, how many?"

"enough." he then changes the subject. "what about you, flower? how was the café?"

your mood instantly does a 180. "oh! it was great! nice and slow. but this one guy came in, all grumpy about his coffee. said he could make it better."

"he did?" sukuna raises an eyebrow, a feat considering he's basically face-planting into your chest. "what happened?"

"told him to go do it, then," you say, grinning. "and then kicked him out."

"that's my girl," he says, a rare flicker of approval in his eyes. "did you throw his coffee at him first?"

"i considered it, but i didn't want to waste good coffee."

he's impressed, that much he'll admit. he shifts, crushing you further. "sukuna!"

"i've been away from my girl all day," he grumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "let me have this."

for a man who supposedly treated physical contact like it was kryptonite, he sure seemed to enjoy clinging to you. maybe he just needed a you-shaped stress ball, you think. and maybe, just maybe, he was secretly a giant softie, hidden under layers of corporate armor and general grumpiness.

or maybe he just liked your couch. either way, you were trapped, and honestly, you weren't complaining. too much.

general taglist: @jeonwiixard. (i didn't forget this time 👩‍❤️‍👩)

[gojosconsort]

what happens in the car, stays in the car !? // nanami kento

𓂃୨ৎ you're the young intern who's been fantasizing about your stoic coworker, nanami, and he's the older, unhappily taken man who finally breaks, pinning you down in his car after drinks to fuck you senseless.

𓂃୨ৎ pairing. afab!reader x coworker!nanami

𓂃୨ৎ warnings. mdni. oral (both receiving), fingering, deep throating, spanking, bondage (seatbelt), edging, age gap, overstimulation, cheating (nanami has a girlfriend), gagging (with tie), creampie, drunk driving (don't do that! it's more of a plot hole), car sex

you’re sitting at the bar, the dim lights casting a warm glow over the polished wood counter, the faint hum of chatter and clinking glasses filling the air. it’s been a long week at the office, and you and nanami, your coworker who’s somehow always got that tired look in his eyes, decided to hit this place to unwind.

he’s in his early thirties, a bit older than you and more experienced in your job, but tonight his tie’s loosened, top button undone, and there’s a slight flush on his cheeks from the whiskey he’s drinking.

you’re in your early twenties, still figuring out the corporate grind, and maybe that’s why you’re drawn to him—his steady presence, the way he carries himself like he’s seen it all but hasn’t let it break him.

you’re both a little buzzed, the kind of buzz that makes your laughter come easier and your shoulders relax. the bar’s crowded, but it feels like it’s just the two of you in this corner, elbows brushing on the countertop. he’s telling you about some client who botched a deal today, his voice low and rough, and you’re leaning in closer than you need to, catching the faint scent of his cologne—something expensive, woody, grounding. you make a snarky comment about the client, and he chuckles, a rare sound that makes your stomach flip.

“you’re trouble, you know that?” he says, his eyes flicking to yours, a playful edge to his tone that’s not usually there. he’s got that half-smile, the one that makes him look younger, less burdened. you grin, nudging his arm with yours, your skin lingering against his for a second too long.

“me? trouble? you’re the one who’s been scowling at spreadsheets all week,” you tease, sipping your drink, the burn of alcohol warming your throat. your knee bumps his under the bar, and you don’t pull away. neither does he.

he shakes his head, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. “you make it hard to stay focused,” he mutters, almost to himself, and you catch it, your heart doing a little stutter.

he’s got a girlfriend, you know that—someone he’s been with for years, someone he talks about in passing but never with any warmth. you’ve seen the way his jaw tightens when her name comes up in conversation, the way he changes the subject. it’s none of your business, but you can’t help wondering what’s keeping him there when he looks so damn miserable.

“what, i’m a distraction now?” you say, leaning closer, your voice light but your eyes searching his. you’re treading a line, you both know it, but the alcohol’s got you bold, and the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to care.

he tilts his head, his fingers brushing against yours as he reaches for his glass, and you swear it’s not an accident. “something like that,” he says, his voice softer now, almost dangerous. his thumb grazes your knuckles, just for a second, and it’s enough to make your pulse race. you laugh it off, but your cheeks are warm, and you’re pretty sure he notices.

“careful, kento,” you say, using his first name like you’ve done a hundred times at the office, but here it feels different, heavier. “don’t want to get too friendly.” you’re joking, mostly, but there’s a challenge in your tone, and he picks up on it, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“too late for that, don’t you think?” he replies, and there’s something in his voice—something raw, unguarded—that makes you wonder how long he’s been holding back. his hand shifts, resting on the bar near yours, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his skin. you could pull back, keep it safe, but you don’t. instead, you let your fingers brush his, just enough to feel the spark.

the bartender slides another round your way, breaking the moment, and you both laugh, the tension easing but not disappearing. you talk about work, about the idiots in upper management, about anything that keeps the conversation flowing. but every now and then, your eyes meet, and there’s something unspoken there.

your drinks are running low, and you’re feeling reckless, the kind of reckless that comes from too much whiskey and the way his knee keeps brushing yours under the bar. you’re the one who suggests it, half-joking, half-daring. “wanna play a game? make this night a little more fun?”

he raises an eyebrow, that half-smile creeping back, and you can tell he’s intrigued. “what kind of game?” he asks, his voice low, like he’s already expecting trouble.

“truth or drink,” you say, smirking, tapping your glass with your fingernail. “answer the question or take a shot. no dodging, no bullshit.”

he leans back, considering, his eyes flicking over your face like he’s weighing the risks. “alright,” he says finally, his tone almost challenging. “you first.”

you grin, leaning closer, your elbows on the bar. “okay, kento. what’s the one thing you hate most about your relationship?” it’s a cheap shot, and you know it, but you’re curious, and the alcohol’s making you bold.

his jaw tightens, just for a second, and you think he’s gonna drink. but then he meets your gaze. “she doesn’t see me,” he says, voice quiet but heavy. “not really.” he doesn’t elaborate, just takes a sip of his whiskey anyway.

your heart does a little twist, but you keep your face neutral, nodding. “fair enough. your turn.”

he doesn’t hesitate. “what’s the most reckless thing you’ve ever done for someone you wanted?” his eyes are locked on yours, and you feel the question like a hook, pulling you in.

you laugh, but it’s nervous, and you grab your drink, stalling. “that’s a loaded one,” you mutter, but you don’t drink. instead, you lean in, voice dropping. “snuck into a guy’s apartment at three a.m. just to leave a note on his fridge. didn’t even know if he’d see it.” you don’t mention it was a dumb college crush, not worth the effort. you just watch nanami’s reaction, the way his lips twitch, almost impressed.

“bold,” he says, and there’s something in his tone that makes your skin prickle. “my turn.”

the game goes back and forth, questions getting sharper, flirtier, the shots piling up. you’re both laughing, but it’s tense, like you’re circling something dangerous. you ask him about his first kiss; he asks you about the last time you broke a rule. he’s loosening up, his usual restraint cracking, and you’re eating it up, every brush of his hand against yours sending a jolt through you.

then it’s your turn again, and you’re feeling bold, maybe too bold. “what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to try but never had the guts to do?” you ask, your voice teasing, but your eyes are daring him to cross a line.

he pauses, longer than before, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath, and says, “something like this.” before you can process, he grabs a shot from the bartender’s tray, holds it up, and says, “new rule. you hold the shot. i take it.”

your brain short-circuits, but you’re too far gone to back down. “what, like, in my mouth?” you say, half-laughing, half-challenging, but your heart’s pounding.

“exactly like that,” he replies, his voice so low it’s almost a growl, and his eyes are burning into yours, no trace of a joke.

you hesitate, but the way he’s looking at you—like he’s starving—makes you nod. you take the shot glass, tip your head back, and let the tequila pool in your mouth, the burn sharp against your tongue. you’re hyper-aware of everything: the bar’s noise fading, the heat of his body as he stands, the way his hand brushes your jaw as he tilts your face up.

he doesn’t break eye contact, not once, as he leans in, his lips hovering over yours for a split second, close enough that you feel the ghost of his breath. then his mouth closes over the edge of the shot, his lips brushing yours, soft but deliberate, as he takes the tequila, his tongue grazing the corner of your mouth just enough to make your knees weak. he pulls back, swallowing, his eyes dark and unreadable, but the tension’s so thick you could choke on it.

“your turn,” he says, voice rough, sitting back like nothing happened, but his hand’s still near yours, and you know you’re both in way too deep now.

the tequila’s hitting hard now, your head buzzing, the world softening around the edges. you and nanami are slouched closer together, the bar’s noise a distant hum, like it’s just you two in this hazy, charged bubble. your thighs are pressed together under the bar, and you’re not sure who leaned in first, but neither of you’s pulling away. the empty shot glasses are piling up, and your laughter’s getting looser, sloppier, every touch lingering longer than it should.

he’s got that look again, intense, like he’s trying to figure out how far this can go before it breaks. the game’s still on, but the questions are getting reckless, dangerous. it’s his turn, and he leans in, elbow on the bar.

“what’s your biggest fantasy in bed?” he asks, no preamble, no hesitation, his eyes locked on yours like he’s daring you to flinch. it’s filthy, the way he says it, and it sends a shiver down your spine, your breath catching.

you laugh, but it’s shaky, and you take a sip of your drink to buy time, your cheeks burning. you could dodge, take a shot, but the alcohol’s got your guard down, and the way he’s watching you—hungry, unguarded—makes you want to match him. you lean closer, your lips curling into a smirk, and say, “you.”

it’s out before you can stop it, hanging in the air like a spark. his eyes darken, and he doesn’t laugh, doesn’t brush it off. he just stares, his gaze heavy, like he’s imagining it right there. “careful,” he murmurs, but his voice is thick, and you catch the way his hand tightens around his glass. “you don’t know what you’re starting.”

you’re dizzy, from the drinks or him or both, but you don’t back down. “maybe i do,” you say, your voice softer now, teasing.

you’re both drunk, past the point of pretending this is just friendly, his tie long gone, sleeves rolled up, and your hair’s falling messy around your face. his hand’s been creeping closer all night, and now it’s resting on your thigh, warm and heavy through your skirt, his fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse race.

“you wanna know why i don’t get along with my girlfriend anymore?” he says, leaning in so close you can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek. his hand tightens on your thigh, sliding up an inch, and it’s enough to make your whole body go weak, your breath hitching. “yeah,” you manage, your voice barely a whisper, “tell me.”

he’s so close now, his lips almost brushing your ear, his fingers digging into your thigh like he’s anchoring himself. “it’s her,” he says, low and rough, the words spilling out like a dam’s broken. “she doesn’t want me. not the way i need. i want—fuck, i want someone who’ll let me take control, who’ll give themselves up to me, let me push them to the edge and beg for more.”

your knees are jelly, your head spinning, and you’re gripping the edge of the bar to keep yourself upright. his words are filthy, raw, painting pictures in your mind that make heat pool in your core. his hand’s still on your thigh, higher now, his thumb brushing slow circles that send shivers up your spine. you try to speak, but all that comes out is a shaky, “kento…”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes heavy-lidded, searching your face like he’s waiting for you to stop him. but you don’t. you can’t. you’re too far gone, your body leaning into his touch, your lips parted, and he sees it—the way you’re unraveling under him. “you get it, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice a low growl, his hand sliding up another inch, bold and possessive.

you’re weak, completely undone, your heart pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it. his face is inches from yours, and you’re drowning in the scent of his cologne, the weight of his hand, the promise in his words. you know you’re crossing a line, but right now, with him this close, you don’t care.

he leans back suddenly, his hand slipping from your thigh, leaving your skin cold where his touch had been. “you wanna get out of here?” he asks. it’s not a question, not really; it’s a dare, and you feel it in your bones.

your heart stumbles, but you don’t hesitate. “yeah,” you say. you slide off the stool, legs shaky from the drinks and the way he’s looking at you, and follow him out, the cool night air hitting your skin like a shock.

his car’s parked a block away, a sleek, dark mercedes that screams understated money, and you’re hyper-aware of his presence beside you, his hand brushing your lower back as he guides you through the crowd. neither of you speaks, the silence heavy, loaded. when you reach the car, he unlocks it but doesn’t open the door right away. instead, he turns to you, backing you against the passenger side, his body close but not quite touching, caging you in.

“last chance to walk away,” he says, but you catch the strain in it, like he’s holding himself back by a thread. his eyes search yours, and you can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his hands flex at his sides like he’s itching to touch you.

you don’t walk away. you tilt your chin up, defiant, wanting, and that’s all it takes. he closes the distance, one hand cupping your jaw, firm but not rough, and kisses you like he’s been starving for it.

his lips are hot, demanding, and you melt into him, your hands fisting in his shirt as you pull him closer. the kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue, the taste of whiskey and tequila mingling, and you’re drowning in it, in him.

you arch into him, desperate for more, your body pressing against his, but he’s in control, and he proves it. when you push up on your toes, chasing his mouth, he pulls back just enough to make you whimper, his thumb brushing your lower lip, teasing. “slow down,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver through you. “we’re doing this my way.”

you’re panting, your body trembling under his gaze, and he’s watching you like he’s memorizing every reaction. his hand slides to your waist, pinning you against the car, and he kisses you again, slower this time, deeper, like he’s savoring it.

you try to arch again, to press yourself closer, but he pulls back just enough to keep you wanting, his lips hovering over yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “patience,” he says, and the word alone makes your knees weak, his control wrapping around you like a tether you don’t want to break.

you’re trembling, caught in the push and pull of his restraint, the way he keeps you teetering on the edge with every calculated move. his hand on your waist tightens, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp, and you feel the hard line of his body against yours.

“you’re shaking,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, almost amused, but there’s a hunger in it that makes your stomach flip. his thumb traces a slow line along your hip, slipping just under the hem of your shirt, grazing bare skin. “nervous?”

you shake your head, defiant. “not nervous,” you manage, your voice breathy, betraying you. “just… want you.”

his eyes flash, something dangerous sparking in them, and for a second, you think he’s going to kiss you again, devour you right there. but he doesn’t. instead, he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “you have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, his voice a low growl, each word sinking into you like a promise. “but you’re gonna find out.”

before you can respond, he pulls back, his hand leaving your waist to open the passenger door. “get in,” he says, not a request, and the authority in his tone makes your knees weak. you slide into the seat, your pulse racing, and he shuts the door with a quiet click that feels final, like you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross. he rounds the car, sliding into the driver’s seat, and the silence between you is heavy, charged, as he starts the engine.

he doesn’t drive far—just a few blocks to a quieter street, where the city lights are dim and the world feels smaller, just you and him. he cuts the engine and turns to you, his gaze heavy, assessing. “still with me?” he asks, his voice softer now, but still laced with that control that makes your skin prickle.

“yeah,” you breathe, leaning toward him, your hands itching to touch him. you reach out, fingers brushing his jaw, but he catches your wrist, his grip firm, stopping you. your breath hitches, and he smirks, like he’s enjoying how easily he can unravel you.

“not yet,” he says, his thumb stroking the inside of your wrist, slow and deliberate, making your whole body hum. “you don’t get to touch until i say.” he releases your wrist, but his hand slides to your thigh again, higher this time, his fingers spreading possessively over your skin. you arch toward him, desperate, but he pulls back just enough to keep you wanting, his eyes never leaving yours.

“kento,” you whisper, half-pleading, and he leans in, finally kissing you again, slow and deep, his tongue teasing yours until you’re whimpering into his mouth. his hand slides up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher, and you’re melting, completely at his mercy, every nerve sparking under his touch. when you try to press closer, he pulls back again, just enough to make you chase him, his lips curling into that infuriating, controlled smirk.

“good girl,” he murmurs, the words hitting you like a shockwave, and you’re done for, your body trembling, ready to give him anything he wants, right there in the dark of his car.

“you’re so responsive,” he murmurs, like he’s savoring every reaction he pulls from you. his hand slides higher, fingers slipping under the edge of your underwear, and you gasp, your hips jerking instinctively toward him. he pauses, his gaze sharpening, and you feel the weight of his control settle over you like a blanket. “stay still,” he says, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. “you move when i tell you to.”

you nod, biting your lip, your body trembling with anticipation as his fingers brush against you, teasing, not quite giving you what you want. he’s slow, deliberate, exploring you with a precision that makes your head spin, his touch light but purposeful, building a pressure that’s almost unbearable. you’re already slick, desperate, and he knows it, his lips curling into that smirk that drives you wild.

“you’re so needy,” he says. his fingers trace the edge of your underwear, slow, teasing, brushing the sensitive skin where your thigh meets your core. you’re already aching, slick and hot, and he hasn’t even touched you properly yet. “but you’re gonna be good for me, aren’t you? gonna let me take my time.”

you nod, biting your lip, your body trembling as his fingers hook under the fabric, tugging it aside with agonizing precision. the cool air hits you, and you gasp, hips twitching instinctively, but his other hand presses firmly on your thigh, keeping you still. “what did i say? don’t move,” he orders again.

his fingertip grazes you, feather-light, just along the edge, and it’s torture, the barest touch sending sparks through your nerves. he’s slow, methodical, circling your entrance, spreading your wetness with a deliberate stroke that makes you clench. “so ready,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his eyes flicking to your face, drinking in the way your lips part, the way your chest heaves. “but i’m not letting you have it that easy.”

you whimper, your hands gripping the seat, nails digging in as he presses one finger against you, not pushing in, just resting there, letting you feel the pressure. “kento, please,” you whisper, your voice breaking, but he shakes his head, his thumb brushing over you, teasing your clit for a split second before pulling back.

“patience,” he says, his voice a low growl, and then he’s finally giving you something, his finger sliding in, slow, so slow, the stretch deliberate as he pushes past your entrance. you feel every inch, the way he curls slightly, testing, exploring, his knuckle brushing against your walls as he sinks deeper. your head falls back, a moan slipping out, and he pauses, just holding there, letting you adjust, letting you feel him.

“look at me,” he commands, and you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze, dark and intense, as he starts to move, pulling back almost all the way before pushing in again, deeper this time, his finger curling just right to hit that spot that makes you gasp. when you start to rock your hips, chasing more, he stops, his finger still inside you, and you whine, tears prickling your eyes.

“i said don’t move,” he repeats, his voice firm, his free hand gripping your thigh harder, pinning you in place. “you come when i let you, understand?” you nod, desperate, your body shaking, and he rewards you with a second finger, pushing in alongside the first, the stretch fuller now, making you bite your lip to stifle a sob.

“please, kento,” you beg, your voice a broken whisper, tears spilling over as the pleasure coils tighter, your body screaming for release. he leans closer, his lips brushing your cheek, his breath hot against your skin.

without warning, his pace shifts, his fingers thrusting harder, faster, the rhythm brutal and unrelenting. the wet sound of his movements fills the car, obscene and overwhelming, as he drives into you with a force that makes your whole body jolt.

each thrust is deep, his fingers curling sharply to hit that spot inside you that sends white-hot pleasure shooting through your veins. you cry out, your head falling back against the seat, your hands clawing at the leather as you struggle to hold on.

“kento—fuck,” you sob, your voice breaking, the intensity too much, too good, your body screaming for release. his fingers are merciless, pounding into you, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit with every thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure that make your vision blur. you’re a mess, trembling, sweating, your hips twitching despite his orders, desperate to meet his brutal pace.

“please, kento, i can’t—i need—”

“no,” he cuts you off. “you’ll wait.” his thumb presses hard against your clit, circling roughly, and you scream, the pleasure so intense it’s almost pain. he’s pushing you to your limit, his fingers relentless, driving into you with a ferocity that leaves you sobbing, your body completely at his mercy.

“look at you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear as he keeps up his punishing rhythm. “crying for me, so desperate. you’re mine right now, aren’t you?” his fingers twist inside you, hitting that spot again, and you nod frantically, tears falling freely, your body shaking as you cling to his words, to his control.

you’re right there, teetering on the edge, the pleasure so overwhelming it’s almost unbearable, your walls clenching tight around his fingers. tears stream down your face, your breaths coming in broken sobs, and you’re so close, so close and he knows—reading every shudder, every gasp, and just as you feel the first wave start to crash, he pulls his fingers out completely, leaving you empty and aching.

you cry out, a raw, desperate sound, your body shaking, leaving you a panting, trembling mess. your thighs are slick, your underwear soaked, and you’re practically sobbing. “no, no, please.”

“i told you,” he says, “you don’t come until i say.” he shifts, his hands moving to his belt, the sound of the buckle clinking loud in the quiet car. your eyes widen, your breath catching as he undoes it with slow, deliberate movements, the leather sliding through the metal with a soft rasp.

“get over here,” he orders, his voice sharp, and you’re moving before you can think, your body obeying on instinct. you lean across the center console, your hands trembling as you reach for him, but he grabs your wrist, stopping you.

“not your hands,” he says, his eyes burning into yours. “your mouth.” he undoes his pants, freeing himself, and you swallow hard, your mouth watering despite the ache still pulsing between your thighs. he’s hard, thick, and the sight of him makes your already shaky resolve crumble.

he guides you down, his hand firm on the back of your neck, not rough but unyielding, and you lower yourself, your lips brushing against him. you’re still reeling, your body screaming for release, but you want to please him, need to, and you take him into your mouth, slow at first, your tongue tracing the length of him. he groans, low and guttural, his fingers tightening in your hair, and the sound sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice rough, guiding you with a steady hand, setting the pace. “take it all.” you do your best, your lips stretching around him, your head bobbing as you try to match his rhythm, but he’s in control, his grip firm, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

every time you try to speed up, desperate to please, he pulls you back, slowing you down, making you feel every inch of him. you’re a mess, tears and spit mixing, your body still trembling from being left on the edge, but you’re lost in him, in the way he’s using you, in the way he’s watching you with that dark, hungry gaze.

“deeper,” he says, his voice a low growl, thick with want, and you feel his fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you closer. you relax your throat, taking a shaky breath through your nose, and he pushes you down, slow but relentless, his cock sliding deeper until it hits the back of your throat.

you gag slightly, your eyes watering, but he doesn’t let up, his hand steady, holding you there as you adjust. “that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice rough but steady, his thumb stroking the back of your neck like a reward. “take all of me.” your throat constricts around him, the sensation overwhelming, and you’re struggling to breathe, your hands gripping his thighs for balance. he’s so deep now, filling your mouth completely, and you can feel the pulse of him, hot and heavy, as you try to keep up.

he pulls you back just enough to let you catch your breath, your lips slick and swollen, but before you can fully recover, he pushes you down again, harder this time, his hips shifting to meet you. you choke, a muffled whimper escaping. his groans are louder now, raw, and you can feel the tension in his thighs, the way his control is fraying just a little at the edges.

“fuck, you’re perfect,” he mutters, his voice tight, and he thrusts into your mouth, shallow but firm, making you take him deeper with each push. his hand in your hair guides you, relentless, and you’re a mess, spit dripping down your chin, your body still throbbing.

you can feel him tensing, his breaths coming faster, rougher, and the way he’s throbbing against your tongue tells you he’s close, so close you can almost taste it.

just as his hips stutter, a low, guttural sound escaping him, he yanks you back by the hair, hard enough to make you gasp. your scalp stings, and you’re panting, spit-slick and dazed, as he holds you there, his eyes blazing with intensity. “not yet,” he growls, his voice rough, strained, like he’s fighting his own edge as much as he’s controlling yours. “you don’t get it that easy.”

your chest heaves, your lips trembling as you try to catch your breath, but before you can process, he’s moving and gestures to the backseat. “get back there,” he says. you scramble over the center console, your body shaky, skirt still bunched around your hips, and he follows.

he doesn’t give you time to settle. his hands are on you, pushing you down face-first onto the seat, your cheek pressed against the cool leather, your knees tucked under. you hear the soft click of the seatbelt being pulled, and then his hands are on your wrists, yanking them behind your back. the seatbelt strap loops around them, tight and unyielding, binding your hands together.

“stay down,” he orders, his voice low, dangerous, as he kneels behind you, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you pinned. you can feel the weight of him, the heat of his body, and the rustle of his clothes as he shifts, his other hand trailing down your spine, slow and deliberate, making you arch despite yourself.

without warning, his hand lifts, and then it comes down hard, a sharp smack against your bare ass that makes you yelp, the sting blooming hot and sudden across your skin. your body jolts, but his other hand keeps you pinned, unmoving, and the mix of pain and pleasure sends a shockwave through you, making you clench instinctively. “fuck,” you gasp, your voice muffled against the seat, and you hear him chuckle, low and dark, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“you like that,” he says, not a question, his voice rough with control as he delivers another smack, harder this time, the sound echoing in the cramped backseat. your skin burns, the heat spreading, and you whimper, your hips twitching despite his orders to stay still.

he pauses, his hand resting on the stinging flesh, fingers kneading lightly, and you can feel his gaze on you, heavy and assessing. “answer me,” he says, his tone sharp, demanding. “have you thought about this? about me, your coworker, fucking you?”

your breath catches, your face burning as much as your ass, and you’re too far gone to lie, too wrecked to pretend. “yes,” you admit, your voice shaky, barely audible against the leather. “all the time.”

he hums, low and approving, and delivers another sharp spank, this one making you cry out, the sting blending with the throbbing need between your thighs. “good,” he murmurs, his hand lingering, soothing the burn with a slow stroke that makes you tremble. “because i’ve thought about it too. bending you over my desk, making you scream my name.”

he shifts behind you, his hand on your lower back easing up, but the reprieve is brief. “spread your legs,” he orders, and you obey instantly, your knees parting as far as the cramped backseat allows, exposing yourself completely.

without warning, his mouth is on you from behind, his lips and tongue diving into your slick heat with a hunger that makes you cry out. it’s sloppy, relentless, his tongue lapping at you, broad and rough, no trace of gentleness in the way he devours you.

he’s so mean about it, sucking hard on your clit, his teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt, the sensation sharp and overwhelming. “kento—fuck,” you whimper, your voice breaking as you squirm, but his hands grip your hips, pinning you in place, his fingers digging into the tender flesh he spanked raw.

“stay still,” he growls against you, the vibration of his voice sending a shockwave through your core, and you moan, your bound hands twisting uselessly against the seatbelt. he’s merciless, his tongue plunging into you, licking deep, then pulling back to suck and nip at your clit, the wet sounds of his mouth obscene in the quiet car. spit and your arousal mix, dripping down your thighs, and he laps it up, greedy, his stubble scraping your sensitive skin.

he knows exactly what he’s doing, pushing you right to the edge, his lips closing around your clit, sucking hard, then releasing just as you start to unravel, only to dive back in, harder, meaner. “please, kento, i can’t—” you sob, tears spilling down your cheeks, your voice muffled against the seat as the pleasure becomes too much, too intense.

“you can,” he says, his voice muffled but firm, and he doubles down, his tongue fucking into you, fast and deep, his lips smacking wetly against your skin. it’s too much, the sloppy, relentless assault driving you wild, and you’re done for, the coil snapping as your orgasm hits like a wave, crashing through you.

you scream, your body shaking uncontrollably, your hips bucking against his face despite his grip, and he doesn’t stop, licking you through it, drawing out every shudder, every pulse, until you’re a whimpering, oversensitive mess, your thighs trembling, slick and spit coating you.

he finally pulls back, his breath heavy, as he watches you quiver, still bound, completely at his mercy. “that’s one,” he murmurs. you barely have time to catch your breath before you feel him shift, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force, pulling you up just enough to position you how he wants.

without a word, he lines himself up, and before you can brace yourself, he thrusts into you in one swift, brutal motion, his thick cock stretching you so suddenly that you scream, the sound raw and loud in the confined space.

he’s big, impossibly so, filling you completely, and the sensation is overwhelming, your still-sensitive walls clenching around him as your body struggles to adjust. your juices coat him, slick and dripping, making the slide easier but no less intense, and you’re loud, too loud, your cries echoing in the car.

���quiet,” he snaps, and you hear the rustle of fabric before his tie is suddenly at your lips, shoved into your mouth with a quick, firm push. the silk muffles your moans, tasting faintly of him, and you whimper around it, your eyes watering as you bite down, trying to obey.

his hand grips the back of your neck, holding you in place, keeping your face pressed into the seat as he leans over you, his breath hot against your ear. “i said stay quiet,” he growls, his tone low and dangerous, sending a shiver through you even as his cock pulses inside you, buried deep, unmoving for a moment, letting you feel every inch of him.

his hips pull back, slow and deliberate, then slam forward, hard, the force rocking you forward against the seat, your muffled cry stifled by the tie. he sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust deep and relentless, his cock stretching you, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice tight, his hand still firm on your neck, keeping you pinned as he fucks into you, hard and mean. “take it all.” your body is helpless, bound and gagged, completely under his control.

your mind is a haze, completely cockdrunk, lost in the relentless, brutal rhythm of nanami’s thrusts as he fucks you hard into the backseat. the tie in your mouth muffles your moans, but you’re still loud, whimpering and choking around the silk as his thick cock stretches you to your limit, slamming into your cervix with every deep, punishing thrust.

your wrists strain against the seatbelt binding them, your body rocking forward with each movement, face pressed into the sweat-slick leather, your juices dripping down your thighs, pooling beneath you in a sticky mess.

the car is a furnace, the windows fogged up, condensation beading and streaking as the air grows heavy with heat and moisture. sweat clings to your skin, your hair sticking to your neck, and nanami’s no better—his shirt clings to his chest, damp and rumpled, his breath coming in loud, guttural grunts that fill the space every time he drives into you. the sound of him, raw and primal, mixes with the wet slap of his hips against your ass, obscene and unrelenting, making your head spin.

“fuck,” he growls, his voice rough, almost feral, as he pushes in again, deeper, harder, his cock hitting your cervix with a force that makes you see stars. he’s relentless, his hands gripping your hips so tight you’re sure they’ll bruise, pulling you back to meet each thrust, his grunts louder, more desperate, as he loses himself in you.

“look at you,” he growls, his voice rough as he leans over you, his breath hot against your neck. “so fucking dumb on my cock, aren’t you? just a messy little slut, taking it all, crying for me.” his words hit you like a spark, making you clench around him, a muffled sob escaping as the pleasure spikes, sharp and overwhelming.

he slams into you harder, his hips grinding against your ass, and you feel him hit your cervix again, the pressure so intense it’s almost painful, but you’re too far gone to care, your body craving every brutal thrust. “bet you’ve been dreaming about this,” he snarls, his cock throbbing inside you. “getting fucked stupid by your coworker, my fat cock stretching you out, making you drip all over me. you’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

you’re shaking, your mind blank except for his voice, his cock, the way he’s claiming you completely, your walls clenching around him, and he feels it, his grunts getting louder, more desperate. “fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, his thrusts growing erratic, his control fraying. “gonna fill you up, make you take every drop. you want that, don’t you? want me to cum deep inside this perfect little pussy?”

his words, the raw hunger in them, send you spiraling, and you’re done for, the coil in your core snapping as another orgasm crashes through you. you scream into the tie, your body convulsing, your walls clamping down around him so hard it pulls a guttural moan from his throat.

he’s right there with you, his cock pulsing as he slams into you one last time, burying himself deep. “fuck,” he growls, and you feel him cum, hot and thick, filling you, his hips stuttering as he grinds against you, drawing out every shudder, every pulse.

you’re both trembling, panting, the car a haze of heat and sweat, his cock still buried inside you as you both come down, your body limp, completely spent, his cum and your juices mingling, dripping out around him. he leans over you, his breath ragged, his hand stroking your hip, possessive and grounding, as you both try to catch your breath in the sticky, fogged-up confines of the backseat.

he shifts, and you feel him move, his hands gripping your hips again, possessive but slower now. “good girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough, almost hoarse, and before you can process it, he’s pushing into you again, his softening cock sliding through the wet, nasty mess between your legs. it’s sloppy, the slick sounds obscene as he thrusts in, slow and deep, the sensation overwhelming your raw, sensitive walls.

you whimper, high and broken, your body jerking at the overstimulation, every nerve screaming as he fills you again, his cum and yours making everything wetter, messier.

“shh,” he says, but it’s softer now, less a command and more a coaxing, his hands kneading your hips as he rocks into you, lazy but deliberate, savoring the way you clench around him. your whimpers are constant, muffled by the tie, your body trembling uncontrollably, too sensitive, too full, but you can’t stop the way your hips twitch back into him, craving the feeling despite the intensity.

he leans over you, his chest pressing against your bound arms, and you feel his lips on your back, soft and warm, kissing a slow trail down your spine. “so good for me,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low, almost tender, as he kisses lower, his lips brushing the curve of your back, grounding you in the haze of overstimulation. “look at you, taking it all, so fucking perfect.”

his thrusts slow, becoming more of a grind, his softening cock still buried deep, and you’re trembling, your body a live wire as he kisses down your spine one last time, his breath warm against your skin. he finally stills, his hands stroking your hips, your thighs, soothing the trembling as he stays inside you, letting you both catch your breath.

the car is quiet now, save for your muffled whimpers and his heavy breathing, the air thick with the aftermath, the windows fogged, the leather slick. he presses one final kiss to the small of your back, soft and reverent, before pulling out slowly, leaving you empty, spent, and utterly his in the hazy, sweaty confines of the backseat.

[foxy-eva]

Send Nudes

Summary: Chaos ensues after you accidentally send Spencer a nude pic

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) dub-con (Spencer receives an unsolicited nude pic), embarrassment, awkwardness, tension, heavy kissing, male masturbation, oral (fem receiving), handjob, protected penetrative sex

Author's Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient Challenge!

Word count: 3.2k

Masterlist

Panic. Embarrassment. Shame. 

It was hard to describe what you felt when you stared at your phone, realizing that you had just sent Spencer Reid a nude picture of yourself. 

It was a mistake, of course – right when you wanted to send him a screenshot of an article, you stumbled over the mess in your apartment and selected the wrong picture. Frozen in place, you watched in horror as the read receipt showed up instantly. 

Spencer had just seen your naked body light up on the screen of his phone. 

A picture he never asked for and probably didn't want to see. It wasn’t a bad photo, some might even call it aesthetically pleasing. But you had never intended for anyone else to see it. It was just a way for you to make yourself feel good about your body. 

You contemplated your options. Burning your phone, moving across the country and changing your identity sounded intriguing but difficult to arrange. Instead you decided to text Spencer, hoping that soon you’d both be able to laugh about the embarrassing thing you just did. 

“I am so sorry about that. I really didn't mean to send that! Can you please delete the pic and forget about it?” 

You didn't get a response. Spencer was never great at texting but you had really hoped to hear back from him. It was hard to tell if he felt just as embarrassed or maybe even offended – you certainly wouldn't want to receive unsolicited nude pics either. 

You had barely gotten any sleep when you walked into work the next morning. Worst case scenarios had plagued your mind all night – from another painful workplace sexual harassment seminar to maybe even losing your job over your mishap – you had no idea what would expect you today. 

Everything seemed normal when you got to your desk, except for the fact that your favorite coworker didn't even look at you when you walked by him. Spencer usually liked sitting beside you in the conference room and also on the jet, but he did neither of those things that day. 

“Wow you really must have pissed Reid off, huh?” Luke whispered when he sat down beside you on the plane. 

“Did he say anything to you?” you wanted to know. 

“No, he didn't. What did you do? Spill coffee over his favorite chess board?” he teased. 

“Oh it’s so much worse than that,” you whined while heat rushed to your face. 

Emily decided to discuss the case before Luke could ask more questions. Spencer avoided you for the next couple of hours until you decided you both had suffered enough. 

A quiet moment in the coffee kitchen of the police precinct seemed good enough to approach him.

“Hey Spencer,” you said and noticed how he almost jumped at the sound of your voice. 

“H…hi,” he mumbled, his eyes fixated on the floor.

Stepping closer, he finally looked at you for the first time that day. The rosy shade spreading over his cheeks was impossible to ignore. 

“I’m very sorry about the… you know. I didn't mean to send it but I understand if you feel offended by it,” you sincerely told him. 

“I’m not… offended.”

You took a deep breath before you continued talking, “All I want to say is… if you want to discuss this incident with Emily or even HR, I would understand. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable in any way.” 

“No, it’s okay, really,” he lied. “We can just forget about it.” 

Spencer Reid was good at many things. Lying, however, definitely wasn’t his strong suit. You decided to drop the subject for now, aware that talking more about it would probably not make him less uncomfortable. 

The tension between you two was palpable for the rest of the workday. When you stepped into your hotel room that night, you were relieved to finally have a couple of walls between the two of you. 

If this thing didn't resolve soon, you’d have to talk to Emily about it eventually. But there was still hope that it wouldn't come to that. The embarrassment about your mishap was already bad enough as is.

The three knocks on your hotel door startled you. With your heart beating uncomfortably fast, you walked over to the door to find Spencer on the other side. 

He walked into your room without saying a word. Then he began slowly pacing up and down your room, still silent. He looked at you for a second but his sight fell to the floor immediately after that. 

“I uh…” he began before taking a deep breath. “I lied to you earlier.”

“About what?” you wanted to clarify. “Wanting to go to HR?” 

He shook his head. “I said that we can just forget about it but I don’t think I can do that.” 

Your heart felt heavy at his words. His discomfort pained you and you wished nothing more than to be able to take it back. “I’m so sorry Spencer.”

“I deleted the image off my phone but…” he paused to finally look at you. The expression written over his face was hard to read. What you didn't find was the discomfort you expected. Instead he looked… cocky?

He continued, “...it seems like it’s burned into my brain. And I can’t help but wonder, was it really an accident?”

“What?! Of course!” you squeaked. “Believe me, I would never want to send you a picture like that unprompted.”

That was when you saw a subtle smirk on his face. “Interesting choice of words.” 

You thought about it for a moment. Had you really just implied that you would want to send him nudes if he’d ask you to? 

“That's not what I meant,” you tried to brush it off. “And please don’t give me a lecture about Freudian slips.”

His presence filled the room and you felt like you couldn't take deep enough breaths to satiate your need for oxygen. His demeanor was so different from what you were used to and you had trouble wrapping your head around it.

His next question was even more surprising. “Who did you take this picture for?” 

The undertone in his voice was unsettling and you started feeling defensive. “I don’t see how that's any of your business but just for the record, I took it for myself. I do that occasionally to make myself feel good about my body.” 

It seemed as if he was content, almost relieved with your answer. You scanned his body language again and replayed his words in your head. Then it hit you all at once. Spencer was not here to scold you for what you did. 

He was jealous. And he wanted to make sure no one else got to see your picture. 

A grin formed on your face as you realized that you could play this game too.

Your tone was laced with a certain playfulness when you asked, “What did you do after you saw the picture?”

The change of your demeanor seemed to take Spencer by surprise. “I just told you, I deleted it.” 

“I don't think that's all you did.” He audibly gulped and you noticed his cheeks taking on a reddish color. Stepping closer to him, you whispered, “Did you touch yourself, Spencer?”

A shaky breath left his mouth before he confessed, “Yes.”

“Naughty boy,” You teased him. “You really liked that image, hm?” 

Nodding, he took a step forward until there was barely any space between the two of you. “I can't stop thinking about you.”

His words boosted your confidence. “I know I look great in that pic. But I think I would look even better in this lighting right here, don’t you think?” 

Before you could bring to action what you had insinuated, you felt Spencer's hands cupping your face to pull you into a kiss. The surprised gasp escaping your throat was muffled by his lips against yours. 

He kissed you with a fervor that knocked the air out of your lungs. Weakness rushed to your knees and you had to hold onto him to not tumble back. One hand pawed at his shirt while the other one held onto his shoulder. His lips felt soft yet firm against yours. 

When his tongue begged for entrance, you let it. As he deepened the kiss, you could feel heat rushing through body. A few moments ago you really thought you’d have the upper hand in this game you were playing but now realized you were just as pathetic as he was. 

Maybe sending him that image was a Freudian slip of some kind. Or maybe it was just some odd plan the universe had to bring you together. Either way, you were grateful for how things turned out. 

Your hands became curious as they wandered over Spencer’s body. The tingling in your fingertips could only be soothed by feeling his skin underneath them, so they quickly began unbuttoning his shirt. Spencer showed a similar interest in feeling more of you by the way his fingers dropped down to the hem of your shirt. 

Piece after piece both of your clothes fell to the floor, only ever breaking the kiss for as long as necessary. When you stood completely bare in front of one another, you dared to press your body against his to feel him. 

It was impossible to tell who moaned first when his length pressed against your stomach. With a firm grip on his shoulders, you moved him back until his legs made contact with the edge of the bed. You pushed down until he sat on the mattress, staring up at you with a curiosity in his eyes that made your heart jump. 

As you stepped back, his tongue darted out of his mouth to lick over his lips and you wondered if he thought about tasting you. To your surprise, he managed to not break eye contact until you challenged him, “Go on, take a look.”

His sight scanned your body, lingering on your breasts for a second before moving further down, taking everything in. You couldn’t hold back from looking at him, too. A rosy color had spread all over his cheeks and chest and when you dared to drop your eyes to his cock, you noticed how it twitched slightly against his thigh. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he cooed when your eyes met again. 

“Better than the image?” you teased, smirking at him. 

He only nodded before looking at your body again. It was like he was mesmerized, as if a miracle had just unfolded right before him. It became obvious that he was ready to worship you if you’d let him. But first, you had something else in your mind. 

“Show me exactly what you did when you saw my picture,” you told him. 

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Wh… what?” 

“Don’t be shy now,” you snickered. “Come on, I wanna see how pretty you think I am.” 

The sweet smile on your face seemed to encourage him enough to let his right hand move towards his hardness. It was as if he needed reassurance when he found your eyes and you nodded.

He wrapped his fingers around his cock, giving himself a squeeze and you watched as precum spilled over the tip. Slowly, he began moving his fist up and down his length, swiping his thumb over the head each time he got to the top. The groan that slipped from his lips could only be described as absolutely sinful. 

You couldn’t deny how much the sight in front of you turned you on. Spencer was so incredibly beautiful and the thought that your body had the ability to make him feral like that drove you insane. 

Arousal gathered at your entrance the longer you watched him. This show was no longer enough for you, you needed more. Your hands found the curve of your chest, gently kneading them before your fingers began toying with your hardened peaks. Spencer’s eyes were fixated on your hands, his mouth hanging wide open and unabashedly moaning at the sight while accelerating the pace of his hand. 

Then suddenly, he stopped and got up from bed. Desperation was written all over his face when he looked at you. 

“Please,” he begged as he stepped closer. “I need to touch you.” 

It was everything you wanted right then, too. 

“I’m all yours, Spencer.” 

His mouth was on yours in an instant and he didn’t waste any time to move you over to the bed to push you onto the mattress. He followed quickly, towering over you as he kissed down your neck, making you moan in anticipation of what would follow. 

He moved further down your body, kissing and nipping on the tender flesh of your breasts before focusing his attention on your nipples. The sensation was almost unbearable and you could feel how your arousal began coating the insides of your thighs. 

Spencer smiled against your skin when he noticed you rocking your hips against his leg every so slightly. His confidence grew as he realized that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. 

“Needy,” he chuckled as he kissed down your stomach. “That’s cute.” 

Right then you couldn’t care less about being in charge, you just wanted to be taken care of. When his lips brushed over your inner thigh, you opened your legs further to give him better access. He lay down between your legs and didn’t waste any time before he began leaving feather light kisses against your folds. 

You watched as he licked his own lips, tasting your essence on them before he found your eyes. 

“You’re so wet,” he teased and let a finger move along your slit. “Is that all for me?” 

He expected a witty response, like you telling him to bring his mouth to good use for once. So it took him by surprise when you simply sighed, “Yes.” 

There was no more game to play. No more back and forth of who was in charge. It was just the two of you, equally as desperate to finally do what you both had been dreaming of for weeks.

“Good,” Spencer whispered, his hot breath tickling your core, before he finally granted you some relief. 

His tongue moved through your folds, collecting your taste before he focussed on your most sensitive spot. He experimented with different motions for a few moments, paying attention to your reactions until he found what you enjoyed the most. Your hand flew to his hair, your fingers intertwining with his curls to hinder him from moving away – even though he had no intention to do so, anyway. 

With one arm wrapped around your thigh he hindered you from bucking uncontrollably against his face while his other hand found your entrance, letting two fingers slip into you with ease. He moved with great precision, adjusting the angle and the pace according to your reactions, bringing you closer to your breaking point with every second passing. 

The sounds of your pleasure filled the room as you began dancing along the brink of euphoria. With just a few more skillful motions, he pushed you over it. Your walls pulsed around his fingers while your entire body shook. He worked you through your orgasm before he lay back down beside you, placing a gentle kiss against your lips. 

You were still panting when you found his eyes. The warm amber of his irises was almost completely swallowed by his pupils, the lust visible in his eyes contradicting the saccharine smile he showed you. 

“You okay?” he breathed as he wrapped one arm around your waist. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed while one of your hands moved down his body. 

Tentatively, you let your fingertips brush along his length, feeling his velvety skin under your touch. “Now what are we gonna do with you?” you purred as you wrapped your fingers tightly around him, making him gasp. 

With a torturously slow pace, you moved along his cock. “Tell me, Spencer. What do you want?” 

“I uhm…,” he audibly swallowed. “I have a condom in my pocket.” 

The fact that he brought a condom to your hotel room when he came over early amused you. He never had any intention of just talking to you. 

“So, you want to fuck me?” 

“Yes,” he admitted unabashedly. “If you want that, too, of course.”

With a nod you confirmed that that was exactly what you wanted as well. Right after you let go of him, he grabbed his pants from the floor to take out the foil wrapper. You watched as he ripped it open and carefully rolled down the condom. 

Then, he kneeled down between your legs, taking a moment to admire the beauty of the woman in front of him. 

“Come here,” you cooed and he leaned over you without hesitation. 

Reaching between your bodies, you guided him to your entrance. He closed his eyes when he slowly entered you, relishing the sensation of stretching you open inch by inch. When he was fully inside you, he kissed you before he began moving with slow thrusts.

Wrapping your legs around his hips, you brought him even closer. When he was sure that you could take it, he accelerated his pace, fucking you against the mattress until you were sure you would lose your mind. 

Spencer’s body began trembling and he suddenly stopped moving. 

“Sorry, I’m really close,” he whined and tried to pull out slightly. 

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded as you kept him in place with your legs around him. “Please, I need it.”

One of your hands moved down to where your bodies were joined to desperately draw circles around your little nub, making you clench hard around his hardness. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered as he began moving again. “I can’t, ah–” 

With just a few more deep thrusts Spencer came, his cock twitching inside you as his whole body shook. It was enough to throw you over edge too, entering a state of pure bliss together with him. After you had both come down from your high, you welcomed him inside your embrace, your fingertips gently dancing over his back as he caught his breath. 

For the sake of getting cleaned up you separated for a few moments, only to lay back down together soon after. A shaky breath fell from Spencer’s lips and caught your attention. 

“So…,” he began talking but didn’t continue. 

You propped yourself up on one elbow to find his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask if maybe–” 

“You want me to send you that pic again?” you interrupted him with a grin on your face. 

“No,” he laughed. “I mean… that’s not what I wanted to say.”

Still in a teasing mood, you snickered, “But you would like to see that pic again?”

“You know what,” he chuckled as he lifted the blanket to get a peek at your naked body. “I think I actually prefer this.”

“Good,” you chirped. “If you want to see more of me you’ll have to take me on a date though.”

Placing a soft kiss on your lips, he whispered, “Deal.”

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings

[3nderstar]

.

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ Daddy kink, spanking, anal fingering, cum play, whiff of breeding kink.

Days turn into a week, and then two, but you were fine. 

Everything was fine. 

Until you got your period. 

You woke up to blood in the sheets a day early, underwear and pajama bottoms ruined, the only saving grace being that the mattress didn’t stain. The cramps kept you in the shower longer than normal, and you were late to work because of it. Everything went downhill from there. 

You drank more coffee because you were behind, you skipped breakfast, you didn’t touch a glass of water until well after dark. You stayed up well past bedtime, your meals became inconsistent, you essentially forgot your glasses existed.

Going off the rails was only supposed to be one day, but then you couldn’t get back on the tracks.

It all fell apart. 

You unraveled at your already frayed seams. 

You were bad. 

Your phone is buried in the mess of your bed. 

When it starts vibrating, you have to dig through your blankets to find the sweater it’s in, shoved in the pocket haphazardly after you collapsed, kicked off your shoes and crawled into the middle, eyes already half closed. 

It’s strange how your apartment doesn’t feel quite like home anymore- 

but you don’t deserve to go back. 

A blocked number flashes across the screen of your phone, and you answer it with fumbling fingers. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi baby.”  You clap your hand over your mouth. The rush of emotion is too much, happiness building in the back of your throat as a sob, followed by anxiety that sticks like sludge in your mind. 

“H-hi daddy.” You don’t deserve to say it, guilt curdling in your stomach when it comes out. It feels hopeless, like you’ve ruined it all, and you have no control, sure he can hear everything in your voice.

You don’t know what to say to fix it, you don’t know how to make it better. You don’t deserve him, or this. 

Awful, noxious thoughts bubble to the surface, trying to spill out of your mouth and drown you. Drown him. Drag you both down.

“Hey sweet girl,” he coos, deep rumble contrasted by a lot of background noise, and it’s almost able to quiet the chaos in your head. “How are you doing?” 

“I’m… um, I’m good.” Shut up. Change the subject. “How are you?” 

“I’m okay. We’re about done here, and then I’ll be home.” Your excitement burns to ash in the face of dread. You don’t want him to know, to see you, to realize how far you fell. You didn’t follow your rules. You let him down. 

“T-that’s… great.” An engine is the only noise on the other end of the line for a minute until it starts to fade, and a door slams. 

Then there’s only his voice. Pitched smooth and soothing. “Are you okay?” 

“Me? Yeah! I’m fine.” The fake cheer makes you wince. 

“Are you lying to me?” You swallow the swell of sadness, the threat of a breakdown hovering on the edge. 

“N-no.” There’s muffled conversation somewhere on his end of the line, and he sighs. 

“I have to go, but I’ll be home soon, okay? Be good for me.” Your heart is pounding so hard the blood in your veins is throbbing, ribs caving in on themselves, your lungs struggling to expand. 

“Okay.” 

When the line goes dead, you burst into tears. 

His house is hollow.

He’s talked to you twice since landing, and you didn’t mention being at your apartment a single time, though your absence is no surprise. There was a pitch to your voice, one he recognized from before, when you were unsure and lost, stumbling towards him on shaky legs.

He’s not angry, but he is unsettled. He hates uncertainty, it chafes at his control, thoughts of you alone in your apartment rubbing him raw, and a mountain of blame slowly settles on his shoulders as he grapples with the consequences of both his choices, and yours. 

He knows what the rest of the night holds.

He’ll need to take you apart and put you back together.

He only has to knock once for you to come to the door. 

You fling yourself into his arms, refusing to let go as he shuffles you inside, bringing you down onto the couch, halfway on his lap. You’re rigid, intentionally looking away, gaze focused on your lap where your fingers are threaded together, head bowed like you’re praying, seeking absolution. It’s a heavy weight you’re carrying, one he will wring from your bones blow by blow. 

“Let me see your eyes.” He lifts your chin, finds what he anticipated in them, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. “Oh, baby.” Rattling against him, you hold on so tight like you want to crawl inside his body. 

“I missed y-you, I just… I missed you.” 

“I missed you too sweetheart.” You find your way back into his arms, pressing your face to his chest. “It’s okay,” he murmurs into the top of your head as he rocks you, soothes the shaking, the raspy draw of each breath. “It’s okay, I’m here.” It only takes a little bit for you to come back to yourself, and as you do, your fingers brush against the gauze on his arm. You freeze. 

“You… you’re hurt. You’re hurt? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. It’s nothing, just some stitches, nothin’ to worry over.” 

“Just some stitches?” You squeak, eyes wide with alarm, concern tightening their corners. “Wh-what happened?” What didn’t happen. He’d never tell you, he can’t, but your worry burns a flame inside a deeply shuttered piece of his heart, and he kisses your forehead. 

“I’m okay sweet girl. I promise.” He waits a beat, giving you silence, hoping you’ll come forward with it once you find your words, but when there’s nothing, he knows he’ll be pulling it out. Rip the bandaid off then. “Are you goin’ to tell me what’s going on?” You shake your head and stare at the floor. 

“I can’t… I- I’m sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for?” He knows, of course, but he needs to hear you say it. 

“I… didn’t follow my rules.” He folds his hand over yours, maintaining the connection while carving out your space. You’re a tangled, jumbled snare right now, and if he’s going to fix it, he needs you to take the first step. 

“Tell me what happened.” Your shoulders slump-

 and then you start. 

He makes sure you’re physically okay first. 

You’ve managed to eat dinner tonight and drink some water, which is all he really needs right now. Food, and water. The rest, the mental and emotional strife, the pain, he’ll mend, but punishments don’t sit well on an empty stomach. 

He takes his time. Leaves you on the bed while he showers, face down with your arms bound behind your back, stripped bare. If you were in his bed, he’d have each ankle tied to a corner, fully opening you up, teasing and toying with you, but this is adequate, and it can’t wait. 

The mess in your mind is dark, and dangerous. It’s consuming you, hurting you, and he has to draw it out, suck the poison from the wound. 

“Do you know why you’re being punished?” 

“I w-was bad.” He pauses. He went over this earlier, but it’s a tough one to stick. 

“No, baby.” 

“But… I didn’t follow my rules. You t-trusted me and I-I let you down…” He squeezes the fat of your ass cheek, just hard enough to make you gasp, interrupting your train of thought. 

“You didn’t let me down. You’ll always be my good girl, even when you make mistakes, and I know you didn’t break your rules on purpose, did you?” 

“No daddy, I didn’t. I swear.” He settles on the bed, pins you down with his weight, holding steady as you squirm. 

“I know.” You hiss when he lightly scratches his thumb nail across your skin. “But my girl has to take care of herself, and even after a bad day, she has to keep trying. Do you understand?” You nod. “Words please.” 

“Yes daddy, I understand.” This is only part of it. The festering guilt inside you needs to be released, you need your exoneration.

“Daddy has to make sure you understand how important your rules are, because you’re his priority, and you need to be safe and happy and healthy, right?” 

“Right.” Your brow furrows with concentration, preparing for what comes next. 

We’ll do thirty, and you’ll count each one.” You choke on your breath. The most he’s given you is fifteen and this will be double the sting. He can practically taste your fear. “Do you trust me to take care of you?” Your answer is immediate. 

“I do.” 

“Good,” he swings, your ass ripples on impact, and you grunt. 

“One.” 

“Louder sweetheart.” The second one hits the same spot as the first, and you lift your chin, trying to project your voice. 

“Two!” 

“Good girl.” He brings the third one down on the other side and then starts alternating, two on top of two.

By the time he gets to twenty one, you’re right where he needs you. 

Sobbing. Desperate. Wrists writhing against the bind of his belt. 

“Tell me why you weren’t home when I got back tonight.” He allows a small reprieve as he waits for your answer, arcing over your spine to kiss between your shoulder blades, the fabric of his sweatpants brushing across your aching skin. You whine in protest, feet kicking, trying to absorb the shock of a new sensation, a different kind of pain, and then you jerk when he presses the length of his erection in the cleft of your ass, cock heavy from watching you cry and shriek under his touch. 

“I d-don’t know.” He peppers you with four blows, back to back, forcing you to catch up with your count, the first two coming out as an agonized moan. 

“Tell me.” He pulls back for the next, but you stop him with a panicked bleat. 

“I didn’t deserve it!” There it is. “You trusted me… and I didn’t do it, I didn’t follow my rules. I’m sorry, I’m so- so- sorry.” You sob, spitting between your teeth, barely getting enough air. 

“Breathe. Take your time baby, slow, deep breaths,” he folds his hands over your diaphragm with loose pressure, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin as he calms you. “That’s it, you’ve got it.” You’re so close now. “You’re doin’ so well. Can you tell me the rest?” 

 “I felt guilty, like I shouldn’t be there, like I… I couldn’t call you daddy.” Good fucking girl. 

“Thank you for telling me.” He kneads the now raw skin of your ass cheeks, and you jerk, trying to thrash away from the burn. “I know it’s hard to talk about how you’re feeling sometimes, and I’m very proud of you.” 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry daddy, I’m sorry,” your tears are different now, they come just as fast, but they’re born from a release, a dam overflowing with all of your pain and guilt. A river running free.

“I know. Five more, you can do it. You’re almost there.” And all will be forgiven. 

You scream them out, and it’s over, but you can’t stop. You cry into the mattress, inconsolable as pets you, rubs your back, telling you again and again how good you are, how proud he is, how happy you make him, how important you are. You’re not bad baby, you’re perfect, you’re precious, you’re mine. 

He repeats it as many times as needed so you feel it, let it sink in and fill those gaps, the ones your suffering left behind. 

Almost done. 

He hasn’t moved, still on top of you, marveling as your hips twitch and press downward, movement revealing a small wet spot on the sheets. His cock throbs.

“Look forward,” he tugs his sweatpants down to his thighs and strokes himself, squeezing from base to tip. The element of not knowing, not being able to see puts you on edge, but you trust him. You listen. “Stay nice and still,” it’s going to sting, pull more tears from your heart, and each one belongs to him. “Fuck, baby. Your daddy’s good girl aren’t you? Took your spanking so well,” You moan, grinding against the mattress desperately. “Nice and still sweet girl, you can do it,” he holds you down by your wrists, pressing them into the small of your back. There’s no endurance in this, no long game as he comes, painting your cheeks with it, milky white cum covering your skin as he empties his balls all over you, your shocked gasp music to his ears. It turns into a hiss and then a whimper as he smears it around, somewhat in mourning as he thinks about where it should be. 

Though- 

He unties you. “Keeping looking forward sweetheart. Can you wiggle your fingers for me?” Trembling, they uncurl, flicking back and forth until he’s satisfied. “Anything hurt? Feel numb?” You shake your head, sniffling. “Words.” 

“No daddy.” He tugs on your wrists gently, guiding them to your cheeks. 

“Hold yourself open baby,” Your fingers slide through his cum. 

“L-like this?” 

“Just like that.” You’re shaking, from the spanking, from your emotional release, from the uncertainty of this situation. You’ll need a lot of care tonight and tomorrow, hours and hours of reassurance, focused attention, physical touch. He yearns for it.

“What… did you- did you, uh-” You’re so fucking precious. 

“Come all over your ass?” He scoops up a dripping pearl and drags it to the tight ring between your cheeks. “Yeah sweetheart, an’ now I’m going to put it inside you.” 

“Inside me?” You squeak, instinctively turning your head to watch him from the corner of your eye, alarmed. Shocked. He chuckles.

“Do you want to watch daddy push his cum into your ass?” 

“Oh god,” you groan, immediately tensing, still holding on but unable to thwart your involuntary response. The animal in his head tells him it’s a waste. It should be in your pussy, fucked deep past your cervix and into your womb. 

You’re not ready. You can barely take his fingers, let alone his cock. 

And you’re certainly not ready for a baby, though maybe he’ll give you one before he’s an old man. 

“D-daddy, I… I’ve never… no one’s ever, um...” The pad of his finger gently presses, swirling cum across your hole as you shiver. 

“I know, you're okay. Push out,” he coaches, “good girl, here you go,” he barely breaches the ring, but you jolt just as he expected, trying to wriggle away. 

“Ow!” Jesus. He’s hard again, head of his cock already leaking where it sits on your thigh. “Oh- Oh my god.” It’s not pained, or uncomfortable, but moaned. You like it. He gives you more, sinking into you, stretching you around to his second knuckle. 

“That’s it.” His control is a tether, a hook. It keeps him grounded, prevents him from tearing into you even as he keeps putting more and more of himself inside you, so tempted to stretch you with another finger so he can fit the tip of his cock there instead. Slow. Steady. That’s what will win this race. 

He pulls and tells you not to move as he goes to the bathroom to wash his hands, tucking himself up into the waistband of his sweatpants. 

His cum is dribbling out of you, falling in drips down to your pussy and the sheets. He tries to memorize it, burn it into his brain, indulge in it for one more second before he eases you out of the position, rolls you onto your side.

It’s time for the things that really matter. 

Taking care of you. Holding you. Getting you in the shower and then rubbing cream into your skin, feeding you, hydrating you, putting you to bed in his arms. You’re far past ready, eyes glazed over, lips parted, bliss smoothing out the furrow of your brow. The only thing missing is making you come, but you won’t get an orgasm tonight, not with the headspace you’re in. He’ll have to save it for tomorrow. 

“Mmph,” It’s not quite English, or anything, but he understands the sentiment and takes your hand in his, kneeling at the side of the bed, cupping your cheek. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Sleepy.” You find his thumb and suck, lashes fluttering. He lets it linger for a few minutes, massaging your wrists, your elbows.

“Precious girl,” You’re not with it, not aware of anything except his thumb, your comfort, and he takes advantage while he can, brushing his lips across the shell of your ear with a whisper. “Daddy loves you.”

[mallory524]

the thunderbolts when you’ve been kidnapped

pictures from pinterest

tags- guilt, fear, angst, kidnapping, guilt, canon level action/violence, injuries, mentions of arguing, implied drugging/beating, mention of Void

notes- This all ended up being way longer than I intended. Oops. I need to keep writing or else I’ll explode. The fixation is strong

Yelena

When you’re with Yelena, she can be so tender and sweet that it’s easy for you to forget the life she’s lived and the things she’s capable of. The day you don’t come home from what should’ve been a 10 minute grocery run, that tender side is gone - and boy is it sorely missed around the tower. When Yelena's upset, she lashes out at anybody who gets too close to her, and it gets ugly pretty quickly. Her words are cruel and vindictive, as if each member of the team is personally responsible for what’s happened to you. She knows the people who took you are doing it to lure in the "new avengers", but it doesn't matter. It's working. She's going to find you, and she's going to march right in there, guns blazing.

You're in bad shape when the team finds you, but you are able to walk out on your own two feet with just a little assistance from Yelena. Pay no mind to what happened to your captors. It's not important.

Yelena can't go "back to normal". You're trying to, but it's clear you're still shaken, and so is she. You keep trying to laugh it off and say that you've survived worse, and she knows you're just trying to change the subject, but she doesn't push it. She's not going to force you to open up if you're not ready. All she can do is make sure you know that she's always there to support you and listen if you ever do decide you want to talk about it. You do know that. As everyone in Yelena's life knows, she might be a bit rough around the edges, but she will always be there for you when it matters most.

Bucky

Bucky tracks you down very fast. He knows these people are doing this to get to him, so he tells the Thunderbolts to stay behind and let him do this himself. Good thing they never do as they're told.

The people who took you thought they had laid the perfect trap for Bucky Barnes, but all they did was set themselves up to be pulverized by the Winter Soldier. When he does find you, you're unconscious and clearly injured. Nothing serious, but it doesn't matter; he feels more guilty than he has in a long, long time. The team covers Bucky as he runs back out to the car with you in his arms, and you're immediately rushed to the hospital. The press is already there, waiting to ask Congressman Barnes all kinds of questions about what happened tonight, but after a few choice words from Yelena and Walker, most of them leave immediately.

Even when things slowly start to go back to normal, Bucky is constantly reminded of what happened. You're sitting around and laughing with the group one night, weeks after, and he notices a bruise on your shoulder that he'd forgot you had. He wakes up in the middle of the night a lot of nights to you tossing and turning and shaking in your sleep. He holds you and repeatedly reminds you that you’re home and that you are safe. He’s reminding himself, too. This is all hell for him. Every nightmare, every scratch, and every bruise is a reminder to him that he couldn't keep you safe. He rescued you and brought you back home, but it's not enough for him. This never should've happened.

Ava

Ava woke up to the sound of alarms and glass breaking. She phased through the walls to your room right away to make sure you were okay, but you were already gone. Nowhere to be found. She’s immediately panic stricken. Who did this? Why would they take you hostage? Where did they take you?

Ava’s desperate. When Ava gets desperate, her sense of right and wrong gets very skewed. You’ve been kidnapped, and that’s wrong. Everything she’s doing in an effort to get you back is right. Or that’s how she sees it, at least. The rest of the team sees this as Ava spiraling out of control. This is a mess. These people who took you do not realize what their "leverage" means to the team, especially to Ava. They do not know what's coming.

Your rescue was not easy, and it definitely wasn't pretty, but everyone's just happy that you're home. Adjusting to business as usual after your rescue is tough, but she's there for you every step of the way. If you don't want to sleep in your room for a little while because it doesn't feel safe anymore, Ava offers you her room. She'll sleep on the ground, she'll sleep next to you, she'll sleep in the other room, whatever you want. She'll demand more security features in your room and around the tower to make you (and herself) feel safe again. If the people in maintenance and security were to question the necessity of doing this, Ava would install these features herself. Nothing like this is going to happen again, and she doesn't even want you to feel like it's a possibility. You're safe now.

John

It all happened so fast. An explosive had gone off during a fight, he’d lost sight of you for a minute, and when the smoke cleared, you were gone. He frantically searched the perimeter, but it didn’t take him long to realize what had happened. Bucky practically had to beg John to get in the car, saying they could figure out their next move back at the Watchtower. John didn't want to stop looking for you, but he knew it was the only choice he really had. Everyone's really worried about you, but John is losing his mind. His brain is plagued with images of you, scared and alone and hurt. He's snapping at the team even more than usual, but they give him a pass just this once. Ava walked by his room one night and she could hear the sound of him softly crying through the door. She never mentioned it, but she went easy on him for a few days.

Down in a dark, cold underground base, you're going in and out of consciousness. Your body aches and your head's spinning, but the moment you register that it's Walker gently taking you into his arms, you smile up at him weakly. He caresses your face, and you can feel that his hands are shaking as they trace every little wound, no matter how small. All of Walker's anger has been replaced with a weary, guilty sadness. All that aggression, replaced with a certain gentleness. He carries you out, and although you don't see much of your surroundings, it's hard to miss what remains of the poor souls who thought they could stop John Walker from breaking in to save you. It's not too shocking, though. You know he would've torn the entire world apart if he had to.

Alexei

Missions and fighting and hero activities in general are usually really fun for Alexei. This is not fun. It's so rare for the team to see him like this. He's downright miserable. Since the moment he lost you, he hasn't slept. He works alongside the team all day long to find you, and when everyone's asleep, he just paces back and forth around his room, which gets more cluttered with garbage and papers and files with each passing day.

When they find you, nothing and no one can stand in his way. He's a real sweetheart, but let's not forget how strong he is or how much damage he can do. Believe me, there's a lot of damage done in the name of your rescue. All of that is worth it for Alexei when he finds you. He gently wipes at the sweat and dirt on your face, a lot of which is dry and caked on after you've been sitting down there for nearly a week.

Alexei is so relieved to have you home, but he thought he'd feel better. There's still something... off. The illusion of total safety has been shattered. He's not able to keep you from ever getting hurt like he thought he was. If you were to try to joke about what had happened to keep spirits up, or spin it to sound like a cool story instead of the worst week of both of your lives, he'd try to go along with it. But everyone notices how his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's proud of you and he usually loves hearing you're cool tough stories, but this one is hitting a little too close to home for him to fully enjoy it. Maybe because he was there. Maybe because he almost lost you for real.

Bob

Bob's terrified. The team came back from a mission, but instead of you pulling him into a big hug while the team fills him in on what happened like usual, everyone is frantic and you're gone. He's never felt so helpless in his life. He breaks down the second he's alone in his room. Whenever Yelena tries to talk to him, he insists he needs to be alone, or he doesn't even respond and continues just rocking back and forth on the floor and talking to himself.

When the team tracks you down, they tell Bob to stay behind. He keeps telling himself that they're right and staying behind is the responsible thing to do, but he just can't do that. He has enough control on the Void now to use his powers, right? The team is slightly horrified when Bob shows up out of nowhere, doing everything they told him not to do, but this isn't the time to worry about that. They're definitely not going to try arguing with him right now. He's a bulletproof human shield, more powerful than any of them could ever hope to be, so it's good to have him there to help. He crashes through walls, busts down doors, and disarms everyone in his path without breaking a sweat. Then they find you. Bob rushes to your side and tears apart your restraints with his bare hands, and in a second they turn back into the gentle hands you think of when you think of your Bob. He helps you to your feet and slowly leads you back outside. As tears start to roll down his face, Bob smiles a soft smile at the others, thrilled that you're safe again. They smile back at him, but it's like they're all holding their breath until you're all fully out of there. Void may not have made a formal appearance this time, but they know now what lengths Bob will go to and what risks he'll take to ensure your safety. The man is not helpless, and he sure as hell isn't weak.

[kthologue]

5:13pm — gojo satoru

contents. highschool!gojo, fluff, he’s so lovesick and everyone is just plain sick of it, obsessive behavior kinda, oblivious!reader

notes. a small drabble as i get back to writing! this is cute n all, but if a guy acted like this irl i would probably file a restraining order ngl. here's to the return of my lovesick!gojo series!!! *not proofread eek

“look at waka inoue's latest issue–!” satoru flips open his phone to display the raunchy image of the gravure idol in nothing but a tiny bikini, giving the effect that her breasts were basically spilling out of the fabric. he and the other second-years had just wrapped up a mission and, at satoru's relentless insistence, ended up celebrating at a nearby dessert shop. with a smug grin and eyes shut in self-satisfaction, the white haired boy remained oblivious to the looks of pure disgust his two friends were shooting his way.

“and you wonder why you’re less popular with girls.” suguru coughs under his breath.

satoru shoots him a glare. “what’s that supposed to mean? i’m plenty popular with the ladies thanks to this money maker,” satoru takes off his sunglasses, striking a pose for his friends.

they grimace.

“girls don’t want a guy whose wallpaper is a gravure model,” shoko deadpans. “especially not [name].”

that gets satoru's attention. he immediately perks up from his spot on the cafe booth.

“seriously?”

“seriously.” his two friends respond in unison. 

suguru snickers behind his hand, and satoru swiftly kicks his feet under the table. the resulting loud thud earns them a chorus of glares from the other patrons, but satoru barely notices.

then, like music, your familiar scolding reaches his ears

“honestly, satoru, i’m not here to supervise you and you’re already making a scene–”

his lips are already curling into a grin, ready to greet you with some teasing remark, but then– he actually sees you.

and he thinks he's stopped breathing.

“are you trying to kill me?!” satoru practically chokes, cerulean eyes blown wide as they rake over you, taking in every detail. his jaw slackens, and he stares, openly and painfully shamelessly.

under his intense, and almost hungry gaze, you shift awkwardly, suddenly all too aware of the frilly dress hugging your fram. you tug your cardigan around yourself a little tighter. "...no?"

“then why are you wearing that?" his voice is sharp, almost accusing. "why do you look like that?"

you're not sure you get what he means. his behavior is strange– stranger than usual. but satoru isn't looking at you anymore. he's looking around you, surveying the dessert shop like he's assessing a battlefield.

was something wrong? was it ugly? you lower your gaze, fingers nervously smoothing over the lace of your dress. the style was trendy... you're nearly certain.

“cute, right? i picked it out myself.” shoko says, smug and satisfied as she pulls you down into the booth beside her.

satoru clicks his tongue. "a little too cute," he mutters darkly, arms crossing as his fingers dig into his sleeves. his jaw tightens, knee bouncing underneath the table. never mind his racing heart!

he glares at the rest of the shop as if daring anyone to look at you for a second too long.

"i don't want all these normies seeing you like this."

“you freak.”

suguru, ever the angel changes the subject, steps in before satoru can dig himself an even deeper hole. “i think you look great [name], but you didn’t have to go out of your way to dress up right after your mission.”

“i wanted to dress up! it’s fun to wear something other than the uniform—“

“cursed technique reversal: red..” gojo murmurs under his breath, his eyes flickering across the room.

shoko groans, suguru sighs, and you—still blissfully unaware—blink in confusion.

[bloomeng]

This is my official Batfam Magical Girl AU Masterpost (everyone clapped)

(Updated 4/16/25)

I’m going to do a brief overview and then go into more details for those interested.

Bruce being from old money (and apparently being connected to Camelot) inherited a mysterious mineral with unknown properties. In its raw form it’s very unassuming, but when cut like gemstones and added to accessories it can be harnessed into a tool. By altering the mineral into a wearable item it allows the magic within to be channeled. The magic of the mineral connects with its wielder to create an outfit and (typically) a weapon. These outfits do not grant the wearer special abilities outside of the transformation and the weapon, but when worn the wearer is granted (what is basically) hammerspace and a nearly impenetrable outfit. The uniform granted is not something they can alter the appearance of but will change gradually overtime to reflect how the wielder has grown.

This mineral will henceforth be known as Arcanium. It operates on Kryptonite logic in that it’s— allegedly— super rare but also shows up whenever the plot needs it. (I’m aware it shares a name with a card game, but I wanted my Kryptonite spoof)

Martha Wayne unknowingly started the cycle by turning— what she thought was a rare gemstone— into a brooch. She died shortly after having it made and Alfred held onto it in her memory. Like canon Bruce goes on his journey of self-exploration to train. When he comes back he enacts his plan the way he does in Batman: Year One, where he goes out in basically just make-up, and it goes poorly. He wanders his manor trying to formulate a strategy and is drawn to his parent’s room and finds his mother’s brooch. Cue the first magical girl transformation. From there he alters the brooch to fit his bat aesthetic and the Batman Brooch is born.

Dick comes into his life the same way as canon. Bruce takes him in as a ward, Dick tries to track down Zucco on his own, etc. Bruce decides to use the other raw sample of Arcanium to turn into a second magical artifact. He lets Dick pick the theme, and thus the Robin Pendant is born. The rest is history.

(Before I continue I want to warn that I’m making shit up as I go, so some of this is subject to change as I move forward.)

The Robin Pendant is passed down from Robin to Robin. Each Robin got their own unique look while using it. Following canon, Dick and Bruce have their falling out and Dick gives up the Robin Pendant in a moment of anger. In this au I think Dick, not having the pendant to fall back on, tries to lead a vigilante-free life, but of course falls back into it. During a fight he somehow manages to stumble across Arcanium in its raw form. Recognizing it he takes it with him. Like Nightwing: Year One he has his conversation with Superman and decides to become his own hero. Using his knowledge of Arcanium from his years with Bruce he creates his own magical artifact and becomes Nightwing.

This is a good place to interject that I’m not changing any of their hero names. I was asked about it a couple times due to the caption, “Red Bow & Sailor Nightwing” on my Dick and Jason designs. It was just a silly caption, because I didn’t want to simply state “Jason and Dick Magical Girl au.” But being serious, I don’t really see a reason to change their names, with the exception of maybe Red Hood, seeing as I didn’t give him a red hood. My au operates on Sailor Moon logic where despite the lack of masks no one recognizes them, and it’s just vaguely explained by magic. I think it would be funny if Bruce chose to wear a mask anyway because he’s that paranoid, but we’ll see when I actually design him. Anyway point is Red Hood is lacking a red hood, maybe he secretly has a red hood on his jacket or maybe he really does go by Red Bow, I’ll leave that up to interpretation.

Arcanium does not just accidentally appear. At the end of the day it’s still a mineral and it’s not sentient, but the magic has an element of “the wand chooses the user.” It’s not so much a “chosen one thing,” so much as the magic can sense intention. It doesn’t care about the morality of the user, the magic is more seeking a symbiotic connection. (Meaning yes rogues can in fact wield artifacts.) Simply put, it wants a host that will be able to wield it. In its raw form the magic is dormant but it seeks to be… not dormant, so when it finds those who actually have the potential to create an artifact and use it, it reveals itself. It was not a coincidence that Martha had the inclination to have the brooch made, it was not a coincidence that Bruce was drawn to his parent’s room, and it was not a coincidence that Dick found Arcanium in the alleyway.

Each of the Bats have their origin moments with their own magical artifacts. I don’t have the whole timeline down, but I will say there was a lot of drama between Tim and Damian, because Tim was forced to hand over the pendant. Even though he technically relinquished it, emotionally the connection wasn’t severed. No one was sure if the transition would work, but Arcanium responds to whoever needs it more and therefore who will use it more. Like canon, Tim is having an awful time during that era. On top of all of it he’s had his title stripped from him and he can’t even argue because if it wasn’t the right move the pendant wouldn’t have responded to Damian. Dick tries to comfort him by telling him that Arcanium will appear for him when he’s ready, but Tim is furious and impatient. So like a well-adjusted person he decides he’s going to engineer his own magical artifact artificially. It goes as well as his attempt to clone Kon does. It’s not until Tim starts to get back on his feet that Arcanium presents itself to him. My thinking is that while Arcanium finds its users when they need it most, Tim’s case is abnormal. His acquisition of the pendant was unconventional from the start since he showed up and demanded to take on the Robin role. Arcanium is drawn to individuals who will actually use its properties. Tim tends to rely more on his own detective work, which renders the pendant’s properties pretty moot. Especially when he’s going off the deep end, he becomes a hermit meaning a) he wouldn’t really need/use Arcanium’s properties and b) he inadvertently limited his own chances of stumbling across it “in the wild.”

In a similar vein I believe Barbara’s journey is abnormal in that she forged her own Batgirl artifact that operates a little differently than the others, seeing as she made it without Bruce’s influence. After the accident she shelved it, maybe she passed it down to Cass, but eventually she gets it back. She created the Oracle identity without it, and for a long time the Batgirl artifact is something she avoids using, until she gets the idea to combine it with her computer to create a magic computer… sort of. She gets a uniform that is basically connected to the computer.

Going back to Damian needing the Robin Pendant more, its reaction to his acquisition was unique. As I mentioned previously the suits typically provide a weapon, well Damian is the exception. Unlike all the other Robin’s Damian didn’t need more weapons in his life, what he needed was guidance. For the first time the pendant granted Damian a magical animal guardian, which is how he gets Alfred the Cat in this au. Despite being an animal lover Damian is extremely pissed at this development. He wanted dual swords or a scarier animal at least. He can’t formally communicate with Alfred the Cat but he understands him intrinsically, though Alfred the Cat seems to be able to understand human speech somewhat. Only Damian seems to be able to truly understand Alfred the Cat. (Cue the antics of his siblings trying to figure out what the cat means or trying to control him in any capacity.) Besides being an animal, Alfred the Cat is also unique in that he doesn’t dissipate when Damian isn’t in uniform the way that the weapons do. Like the weapons he can be summoned by the pendant, but he seems to have existed prior to the pendant’s creation. (I’m toying with the idea that while in uniform, the cat would also get some sort of uniform.)

Before I get into Duke and his abnormalities, I want to address the Speedsters in this au. It’ll make sense after.

So the Flash. I want to say I don’t know if I will get around to creating full designs for them. I do have plans for Bart and maybe Wally, but I have determined how I want their mechanics to operate in the context of the au. Not all the heroes in this au are “magical girls,” in fact I’ve made the executive decision that you have to be human to wield an artifact. Arcanium may have magic in it, but it doesn’t grant its user magical abilities beyond the uniform itself. The speedsters retain their canon origins, hit by lighting blah blah blah, only with one key difference: they had Arcanium on them when they were hit. Instead of engineering an artifact Arcanium fused with their bodies granting them powers. I want to keep the magic transformation aspect (because it’s not a magical girl au without it), so instead of using a physical artifact as a channel for their powers, it’s instead the act of transforming that serves as a gateway to their speed abilities.

To me it was always important to maintain Batman’s identity of not having super powers and having to rely on engineering, which is why the Batfam have to physically build their artifacts. In a similar way I wanted to retain the integrity of the Flash’s identity of being meta but also still human. Which brings me back to Duke. I know in canon that Duke inherited his abilities, but for the sake of the au I’ve decide that he either had an accident when he was young in which traces of Arcanium fused with him or his parents had it in them and he inherited it from them, but regardless it’s less potent, but operates similar to the Speedsters. For years he couldn’t fully transform or use his powers and it wasn’t until— with Bruce’s guidance— he was able to create an artifact that allowed him to channel his abilities and transform. Even though he is a meta I wanted him to still have some of those Batfam qualities in there.

But what about the Superfam? They’re not human so how do their transformations work? The answer is simple: They’re not “magical girls.” At least not real ones, they’re faking. They’re not human (Kon and Jon are technically half human but they still get their abilities from their Kryptonian DNA), and thus cannot forge a connection with Arcanium. Truthfully I’m about to get silly— even sillier than this au already is— but I have decided that Clark is a fake artifact wielder. I like the idea that Batman has been operating longer than Superman has, so when Clark decided to become a hero in his own right his only example of how to style himself was from the bat themed vigilante, who might as well be a cryptid, operating out of Gotham. Only blurry pictures of him existed, so Clark designed his outfit based on his Kryptonian origins and Batman’s aesthetics. He had no idea about the existence of Arcanium or how it worked. This is also why Kon’s design looks so much like his canon outfit with a few magical girl elements (and definitely not because I think the lines in his canon suit already lend themselves well to a magical girl aesthetic and didn’t want to change much). Later when he gets to know Batman more he learns about the transformations, to which he panics and invents his own transformation using Kryptonian tech (ex: MAWS’s transformation). For years Bruce goes crazy trying to figure out Arcanium’s effects on aliens and if it grants them abilities on top of the ones they’re born with, and if Clark has plans to use it as a weapon, and how he managed to forge the connection in the first place— Clark comes clean as a fake once they reveal their identities to each other.

Side tangent but I find it hilarious that Green Lanterns are— by technicality— already “magical girls,” considering they’re granted magical accessories that give them powers and transform their clothing. Hal is very clear with the JL that he is nothing like Batman and constantly feels the need to assert that he is not a magical artifact wielder. The non-human members of the team still lump them together anyway.

Things I haven’t figured out:

- what each of the batfam’s weapons are

- what each of the magical artifacts are

- what to refer to magical artifact wielders as

Stepping outside the canon(?) lore of the au for a minute, obviously I’m redesigning DC characters using inspiration from a genre, because that’s what “magical girl” is. It’s a genre. This is why I refer to it in quotes and don’t call them magical boys, because I am always referring to it as a genre, which isn’t a gendered thing. However, in universe they wouldn’t call themselves magical anything, the same way the characters of Sailor Moon don’t refer to themselves as magical girls, but rather Sailor Scouts. As of right now I’m sort of just referring to them as artifact wielders, but I feel like Bruce would come up with a better name. On a similar note, throughout this whole thing I’ve been referring to Arcanium in it’s wearable state as an artifact. I don’t know if that’s the best term, but I can’t think of anything better for the generalized form of Arcanium outside of it’s raw state. For now I guess it will be “artifacts” and “artifact wielders.”

- how the wonderfam fits into this

I really can’t think of a reason why Wonder Woman would be a “magical girl” in this au. She was born with abilities, she’s not human, and I can’t see her altering her uniform to match the aesthetic. A transformation would just be a waste of time for her. I could to see maybe Cassie or Donna wanting to match with their respective teams, and perhaps maybe that’s why they would alter their uniforms? All I know is I want see Tim, Kon, Bart and Cassie as a matching “magical girl set.”

Fin… for now.

[I’m just going to put this here preemptively, because I’ve gotten messages about turning my au into fics or tiktok skits. You’re free to use this lore HOWEVER you MUST credit me not just for the designs but for the creation of the lore. I’ve put a lot of time and thought into this and I love that people love it, so I just ask for recognition. If you want to make something that’s inspired by my designs or loosely based on my au, just a simple credit for the inspiration is fine. You’re free to change things this is just how my own au operates. Regardless I would prefer to be tagged so that people can find me but also because I’d love to see other’s work.]

Current designs:

[satoruan]

HELL BENT — RYOMEN SUKUNA

✧･ﾟ The Incubus King finally claims his intended.  

( TW ) f!reader, incubus king!Sukuna, major size difference (Sukuna’s 8ft tall!), harem, group sex, fingering, cunnilingus, biting, rough sex, bleeding, forked tongues, cervix fucking, mating bonds, reader goes in some type of ‘heat’, explicit content. 

word count - > 1.5k

author's note: PLS don’t take this seriously Idek what this is!! unedited + I'm trying a new writing style

Can’t stop thinking about Incubus king!Sukuna who finally finds his intended after centuries of looking. Who finds her in a place he never thought to check, the human realm. Who he kidnaps and brings down to his realm, telling you how you are to be his queen and rule his subjects alongside him. You have a mental breakdown your first week. The change of scenery, coming to terms that this is real, the differences between you and Sukuna’s species he calls Incubus. You’ve heard of them before, but you didn't think they were real—who did? They’re eight feet tall, winged creatures who liked to fuck 24/7. Half of them roam around naked and you can’t turn a hallway without catching two or more in sexual activities. So, hearing that you're some type of ‘mate’ to the king of the creatures? You think you’re dreaming. Sukuna brings you food every day and talks about how the mating bond has been activated now. How the several next week's you’re going to be restless until he ruts and claims you. 

You scream and cry how this is his fault. He leans over the buffet of food and smacks your thigh with a grumble. You refuse to speak to him for the rest of the night even when he undresses and washes you. Making crude comments like how he can’t wait to breed your human body full of his offsprings. Sukana who doesn’t have the time for your refusal to talk to him for he has a kingdom to run, so he drops you off to a group of naked, pierced women who he calls his harem. He gently pushes you into one of the tall women before telling her to take care of you or else.  

You can’t find it in your to be jealous of the women for being his ‘harem.’ You don’t even like Sukuna right now and the women, they’re so kind and mature that you would much rather spend your days lazing around with them than sitting on Sukuna’s lap while he laughs at his people who come to him with misfortunes.  His harem teaches you all about their lands, how sex isn’t taboo instead something they need just like oxygen is to humans. How when they fuck, they release some type of energy that’s built up in their body that causes their kind to go insane and terrorize the human realm.  

Sukuna’s harem who are utterly obsessed with how small you are compared to them. They used to spend their days lying around on rich cushions and blankets waiting for Sukuna but even they got bored of him—if it were up to them, they’d lock him in their room and never let him out. His harem who was supposed to be teaching you more about their king but instead chose to spend their days lazily eating you out with their long-forked tongues and fucking you dumb with their big fingers. They make you suckle their breasts and grind on their faces. They’re so gentle after, hissing at each other when one speaks too loudly after you had fallen asleep, washing your body clean, wrapping you in the softest blankets to carry you back over to your room with Sukuna. Some days they happen to catch Sukuna in his room, and they smirk and giggle when they see his jealous face. They take it as the highest compliment their queen has decided to lie with them before the king.  

Incubus king!Sukuna who feels the mating bond grow stronger with every second you're in his castle. He feels himself shifting. He unable to stay away for long periods of time. He forces you to bathe with him before making you sit on his throne with him while he talks to irrelevant people, his hard cock jumping every time you move. You want to get away, moaning and grumbling how his you want to go play with his harem, it’s uncomfortable sitting on muscular thighs for hours while listening to him talk in several languages you don’t understand to people you don’t know. Sukuna who hisses and grumbles at you before going back to his subjects who kneel at the bottom of his obsidian throne.  

 Throughout the week you can’t help but get hornier and hornier until your unable to walk without liquids dripping down your thighs and wetting your skirts. Despite Sukuna's harem playing with you can’t help but plead and cry for him. You barely know the man but your body aches for him, for his cock, his bond. Sukuna who finally comes to see you one day. Who picks you up to set you up top of the cushions so you can watch him fuck his harem. He does everything he could think to the women, he wants to see what makes you twitch and ache and cry. By the time he’s done—hours later—you’re in a puddle of slick panting and crying how you want him. He doesn’t take you though, he can smell that you aren’t ready for him just yet, and he can’t risk injuring his mate who he’s searched for centuries. He won’t allow himself to bring you any harm, so he just holds you in his lap and makes his harem play with you until you pass out. 

Sukuna whose balls deep in one of his women when he sniffs that air and smells the scent change in you. The women he’s fucking laughs when he yanks himself out of her and goes to you. He picks you up from the drenched cushion you're sitting on. You wrap your arms around his neck and sob and the feeling of his body. You try to wrap your legs around his huge frame but you’re too tired, so they just hang as he walks you back to your room, your thighs rubbing against his cock. Sukuna lays you down on the huge bed before ripping your silky dress and ding his head in between your legs. He brings you to several orgasm, but his mouth and forked tongue isn't what you want. You want his cock. You want him to fuck you pregnant while he bites you and claims you as his. You scream and kick and pull and at the pair of horns on top his head, but he just shushes you before going back to eating you out.  

Sukuna finally deems you ready to take his cock but before he kisses and drags his teeth all over your body. He suckles at your breast, commenting on how you’ll be feeding him with said breasts soon. You cry out when he finally turns you ass up. You don’t even think about how much bigger he is than you, how his cock might not fit inside. Sukuna pushes your head into the blankets, grabbing the base of his cock and rubbing it over your pussy. You scream at him, but he ignores you enjoying the sight of your pussy against his too big cock. When he finally pushes into you scream into the pillow. You scream for more, for him to slow down, for him to breed you, for him to fuck you harder, for him to stop and let you catch a break. He’s too out of it to listen. He never knew what it would feel like to claim a mate but this? If he had any doubt the little human underneath his wasn’t his, he didn’t now. He finally felt whole. He felt your essence flowing into him, making him stronger, more aware, if he concentrated hard enough, he could feel your emotions and hear your thoughts. He fucked your impossibly harder. 

Sukuna leans down and whispers for you to open, and let him in. You don’t understand what he's talking about until his cock shoots some warm liquids and you feel your cervix open. It hurts so good when he pushes deeper into you. You orgasm again before he releases his seed into you. The tension leaves your body at the feeling of his seed rushing to your womb. You’re about to succumb to the sleepiness before Sukuna jolts you awake saying this is just the beginning.  

[alinathinkstoomuch]

Heels of Dreams

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: you wear heels for a fancy dinner, but in the end, it’s not your shoes that carry you home. warnings: suggestive, fluff, hotch being the perfect man once again by carrying reader home and taking off her heels, age gap implied, reader giving hotch a hard time about being old. (all i hear is hotch is a boobs man, hotch is an ass man no! hotch is a legs man! he told me himself!) word count: 2k ✧ masterlist

Your feet ached – so much so that you weren’t even surprised when Reid, probably fed up with your quiet whining, casually mentioned over dinner that high heels were originally invented for men. And honestly? That made perfect sense. Only creatures that ridiculous would willingly subject themselves to this kind of torture.

He had then launched into an explanation about how, somewhere in the eighteenth century, heels became associated with women’s fashion, but by that point, you were far too focused on two things to pay attention: the persistent throb in your feet and the slow, deliberate movement of Aaron’s hand as it slid over to rest on your thigh.

That had effectively wiped out any interest in Reid’s history lesson.

It had been a small dinner, one of those rare nights where the girls – Penelope, really –  insisted on dressing up. She had made a reservation somewhere far fancier (and significantly less sticky) than your usual bar, declaring it a much-needed change of scenery.

So, you had picked out the prettiest pair of shoes you owned – the ones you knew Aaron liked because he had insisted on buying them for you. He hadn’t even flinched when the price climbed high enough to require a comma, just given you that quiet, unwavering look that made it clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

And now, after hours of balancing on them, you were really hoping that look extended to carrying you to the couch.

“Regretting your choice of footwear?”

You huffed, dramatically shifting your weight onto one leg. “I regret your choice of footwear.”

His brow lifted. “Mine?”

“You picked these out, remember?” You gestured toward your aching feet, the expensive, unreasonably gorgeous shoes peeking out from beneath the hem of your dress. “You practically demanded I get them.”

Aaron hummed, slowing his pace just enough to make you aware of how much effort you were putting into keeping up. The ass. “I don’t recall any demanding,” he said, tone far too innocent. “I seem to remember you trying them on and looking at me like you were hoping I’d tell you to buy them.”

You gasped, stopping in your tracks. “That is not what happened.”

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable – except for the glint in his eyes, the one that only appeared when he was in the mood to toy with you. “No?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No.”

He paused for a moment before asking, “Which one is it going to be?”

“Huh?

“Do you want to walk home in my shoes,” he clarified, like he was offering you something as normal as his jacket, “or am I carrying you?”

You stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was actually serious. “You can’t just carry me,” you argued, crossing your arms.

Aaron arched a brow and before you could react, he took a deliberate step forward, closing the space between you. “You underestimate me,” he said and suddenly, you were very aware of how close he was.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you can – I just don’t think you should.”

His lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. “Why not?”

“Because it’s ridiculous.”

“You’re limping,” he pointed out, not unkindly. “And you’re already dramatic when you’re comfortable, I can’t imagine how much I’ll have to hear about this tomorrow if I don’t carry you.”

“Jeez, you’re making me sound like a real catch.”

His smirk deepened just enough to make your breath hitch. “You are,” he said simply, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “That’s why I’m carrying you.”

And before you could even form a protest, his arms were around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

A surprised yelp escaped your lips as he adjusted his hold, settling you securely in his arms, carrying you like you were weightless. The absurdity of it all – his confidence, the way he did it without hesitation, the sheer ridiculousness of being carried down the street like some sort of Disney princess – sent you into a fit of laughter.

“This is silly,” you managed between giggles, clinging to his shoulders. “Baby, put me down, I’ll walk barefoot.”

“Not happening.” His grip on you tightened, as if the very thought of letting you go was out of the question.

You let out another giggle, looping your arms around his neck for balance – not that you needed to, because Aaron held you like you were made for this, like carrying you home was just another part of his routine. Like it didn’t even require effort.

“Well, at least it’s not too far,” you mused, mid-yawn. “Wouldn’t want you throwing your back out.”

Aaron huffed out a laugh, the warmth of it brushing against your temple. “My back is fine. I think I can manage a few blocks.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, a teasing smile curling at your lips. “You think you can manage? Should I be concerned?”

“I should drop you just for that.”

Your eyes widened in mock horror, gripping his shoulders a little tighter. “You wouldn’t.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a smile “Wouldn’t I?”

Still, you gasped dramatically, clutching him even tighter. “Wow. Threatening to drop your much younger wife? That’s low.”

He sighed, the kind of long-suffering exhale that only came from years of dealing with you. “Here we go.”

You bit back a grin, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I mean, I get it – you’re not as young as you used to be. It must be exhausting carrying someone so full of youthful energy.”

“You do realize I’ve tackled suspects more than twice your size, right?”

“Yes, yes, very impressive,” you conceded with a wave of your hand. “But, you know, they don’t cling to you and distract you with conversation while you’re carrying them.”

“No, usually they’re either trying to stab or shoot me.”

You blinked, considering that. “And I’m the difficult one?”

Aaron didn’t bother dignifying your last remark with a response, he just shook his head, adjusting his grip on you. The movement brought you even closer and you could feel his warmth bleeding into you. If you weren’t still revelling in the absolute delight of being carried, you might’ve admitted that this had been your plan all along.

Eventually, the familiar sight of your apartment building came into view, and you sighed dramatically. “Well, we made it. Against all odds. How’s your back? Need me to book you a chiropractor?”

“Maybe a divorce attorney,” he mumbled, earning a swat at his chest from your clutch.

“Excuse me?”

But before you could demand a proper retraction, he angled you slightly, adjusting his hold so effortlessly it was almost infuriating, and you barely had time to react before he nodded toward the door.

“Kick,” he instructed.

Rolling your eyes but obliging anyway, you lifted a foot and tapped the door open, muttering, “Chivalry is dead.”

“Chivalry is alive and well,” he corrected smoothly, stepping inside with you still securely in his arms. “It’s just carrying a very mouthy woman up the stairs.”

You gasped again, scandalized. “Wow. I think that definitely just earned you a night on the couch.”

“We both know you’d end up joining me anyway. In fact,” he mused, his voice dropping as he carried you up the stairs, “I recall you saying that the best sex we’ve ever had was on that couch.”

Your mouth snapped shut, heat rushing to your cheeks so fast it was disorienting.

“You cannot just say things like that,” you hissed, your head whipping toward the door opposite yours. “We have neighbours. You know Agatha is a night owl.”

Aaron exhaled a quiet chuckle, completely unfazed. “Agatha’s hard of hearing.” He paused then added, “Keys, honey.”

With a dramatic sigh, you started digging through your clutch, fingers sifting through a graveyard of lip glosses and tiny perfume samples you had no intention of ever using but refused to throw away.

Aaron tilted his head, watching with mild amusement. “Need some help?”

“I’ve got it,” you muttered, ignoring his deeply unnecessary smirk as you fished out your keys. “Not all of us have the luxury of bottomless suit pockets.”

“That’s not what they’re called.”

“Whatever, Mary Poppins.”

He shook his head as he patiently waited for you to unlock the door – still very much carrying you.

Finally, your fingers closed around the keys, and with an exaggerated motion, you yanked them out. Aaron hummed, the sound low and pleased, before lowering you just enough so you could reach the lock.

The door swung open and he carried you inside, kicking it shut behind him. He made his way over to the infamous couch. The moment he set you down, you let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, stretching out dramatically. “Ugh. My hero,” you drawled. “My feet may never recover, but at least I died beautifully.”

You watched as he crossed the room with that same grace, making his way back toward the door. He slid off his suit jacket, draping it neatly over the back of a chair before reaching for the lock.

He made his way back over to you without a word, nudging your legs apart just enough to settle between them, sinking onto his knees. His fingers went immediately to the delicate strap of your heels, the pads of his thumbs brushing against your skin as he worked.

“Wow. Didn’t even have to ask.”

Aaron barely glanced up, his focus on your ankle as he did his best to undo the tiny buckle – one-handed, no less, because his phone and wallet were still in his grip. “I take care of what’s mine.”

Your stomach did a little flip, but you refused to let him win just yet.

“Hold these.” He pressed his phone and wallet against your stomach, and you took them instinctively.

Your fingers brushed over the wallet – the one you had given him for his birthday last year, the worn leather soft and familiar against your palm. You turned it over in your hand, shaking your head. “Oof. Trusting me with your wallet? Big mistake, Hotchner.”

He slipped the first shoe off your foot. “Spend whatever you want,” he murmured, his fingers wrapping around your ankle, lifting it slightly. “Take whatever you want. Take everything.”

Before the words could even land, he dipped his head and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your ankle. His lips continued to trail lower, placing another kiss just above the curve of your foot, then another, his movements achingly tender.

You exhaled a quiet, contented moan, your body melting into the cushions as his touch worked its magic. It was like he knew – of course he knew – the exact places that hurt, the spots that had been aching for hours, and now, with nothing more than his lips, his touch, his presence, he was undoing all of it.

Like he needed to make it better.

Like he wanted to erase every trace of discomfort you’d felt all night.

His hands skimmed up your calves, pushing your dress up, fingertips pressing gently into the sore muscles before his thumbs followed, kneading warmth back into you.

Then, with that same patient care, he reached for your other foot, undoing the second buckle. The strap slipped free and he set the shoe aside before his hands returned to you, skimming up the length of your legs.

And then his mouth followed. Kissing. Worshipping.

His lips trailed over your shin, each kiss pressing something deeper into you – something that made your chest feel full.

His breath was warm against your thigh when he mumbled, “Marry me, baby.”

You blinked down at him, another giggle slipping from your lips, light and breathless. “Aaron, we’re already married.”

You felt him smile against your skin.

“Marry me again.”

Another kiss.

“And again.”

Another.

“And again.”

Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging it slightly, your heart stuttering as warmth curled deep in your stomach.

He looked up then, eyes full of love, lips hovering just above your skin.

“As many times as you’ll have me.”

And just like that, you knew – you’d say yes to him a thousand times over.

dividers by cafekitsune