#the right thinks by doing this it will reign supreme

[girl4music]

This is just a higher consciousness perspective on DEI.

For anyone that doesn’t understand balance and that the Earth literally has to have a dual experience to exist.

DEI censorship and erasure is an absolutely senseless undertaking. Only stupid people think this is good.

It being understood as “political” unless you’re a white straight cisgender middle-aged rich man is something that will ruin the world and all the diversity that makes it function. If it was true, nobody would exist. No one.

The Earth itself would simply be non-functional for humanity. That does include the white straight cisgender middle-aged rich man too. It will kill us.

We’re calling for our own extinction here by doing this.

The world will still run right. But it won’t be with us.

[blossomcola]

GIRL, SO CONFUSING — 𝓓aniela 𝓐vanzini

❝𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦. 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘦.❞

──── ( 🏆 ) fueled by years of dance rivalry, daniela and you prepare to face off at a competition, but a heated backstage argument ignites a forbidden passion that could shatter both your careers.

𝓟aring. dom!dancer!daniela avanzini & sub!rival!fem reader

𝓒ontent 𝓦arnings. cunnilingus, degradations, face sitting, fingering, hair pulling, humiliation, scissoring.

𝓦ord 𝓒ount. 7,5k

not proofread bcs i'm sleepy sorry

the air backstage crackled with a nervous energy that was almost palpable. sequins winked under the harsh fluorescent lights, and the scent of hairspray hung thick, mingling with the faint aroma of sweat and anticipation. costumes, a kaleidoscope of colors and fabrics, lay scattered across chairs and benches, testament to the organized chaos that reigned supreme before any major performance. this was it: the annual dance competition, a clash of studios, styles, and dreams, all vying for the coveted top spot.

for daniela, a veteran of countless stages, the feeling was achingly familiar. her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat mirroring the rising tide of anxiety in her stomach. years of training, countless hours of rehearsal, all boiled down to this one moment. on the surface, she projected an air of unwavering confidence, a dancer poised and ready to conquer. but beneath the carefully crafted facade, a whirlwind of doubt threatened to unravel her composure.

around her, the other members of her contemporary dance group buzzed with their own pre-performance rituals. some meticulously reapplied eyeliner, others stretched their limbs with disciplined precision, while still others whispered words of encouragement to each other. megan, daniela’s closest friend and confidante, was perched on a stool, carefully smoothing a stray strand of hair into place.

just then, ms. rodriguez, their dance instructor, a woman of formidable presence and unwavering dedication, swept into the room. her voice, usually warm and encouraging, was laced with a sense of urgency. “alright, ladies, listen up! wwe’re getting close. you’re on right after the ‘rythmic sensations' jazz group. so, final touches now, and let’s get ready to shine.”

the mention of “rhythmic sensations” momentarily diverted daniela’s attention. her brow furrowed as she mentally cataloged the other studios participating. then, it clicked. a slow burn of annoyance ignited in her chest. she turned to megan, her voice tight with suppressed irritation. “rhythmic sensations? seriously? what the hell is she doing here?"

megan, ever the peacemaker, blinked in confusion. “who? what are you talking about?”

“you know exactly who I'm talking about.” daniela hissed, gesturing vaguely towards the direction of the other dressing rooms. “her. (y/n). what is she doing at this competition?”

megan shrugged, her expression casual. “oh, (y/n)? she’s pretty good. i didn’t think it was important to tell you she was here.”

daniela stared at her friend, incredulous. “not important? not important? megan, we’ve known each other since kindergarten! you know.”

megan winced. she knew. she knew about the history, the rivalry, the unspoken animosity that simmered between daniela and (y/n). it had started innocently enough, two little girls vying for attention in ballet class. but somewhere along the line, it had escalated into something more – a constant, low-level competition that permeated every aspect of their lives. even after they had chosen different dance styles. megan had hoped time might have healed things, that their childhood squabbles would fade into distant memory. but seeing the look on daniela's face, she realized she had been wrong.

the truth was, (y/n) had always been a thorn in daniela’s side. you possessed a natural grace, an effortless fluidity that daniela, despite her relentless dedication, sometimes envied. where daniela was precise and powerful, you were loose-limbed and expressive. you had a way of captivating an audience, of drawing them into your performance with a smile and a wink.

daniela, on the other hand, had built her reputation on hard work. every move was meticulously crafted, every emotion carefully controlled. she was a technician, a perfectionist, driven by an unwavering desire to be the best. and in her mind, (y/n)’s presence was a direct challenge to her ambition.

“you know you have to let this go right?” megan tried to reason. “it was years ago, you both have improved a lot through the years. what happened back then doesn’t define you guys anymore.”

“easy for you to say,” daniela spat without thinking, regretting it immediately after when she saw her friend's reaction. “sorry, i didn't mean that. i just... i don't know why she even bothers to show her face here... or why you didn't tell me that you decided to invite her as if she was a friend of ours.”

“oh, come on, daniela, i didn't invite her personally. what makes you think that she's not able to be here? she deserves to be here as much as you do, she's a very talented dancer and she and her crew have been working their butts off for this competition,” megan spoke sternly, and continued. “and you're the one who needs to let go of the past. i'm not going to lie, both of your attitudes back then were pretty horrible and i'm lucky i got to continue being friends with both of you, but if you don't leave that childish rivalry behind, i'm going to have to pick a side.”

daniela was taken aback. she couldn't lose megan, she was the only true friend that she had. it was true that she needed to let go of the past, but it was so difficult. thinking about how (y/n) somehow managed to be in her life again, even if indirectly, made her nerves go up the roof.

megan noticed the look of slight horror in daniela's face, and decided to smooth things out. “i'm sorry, maybe i was a little too harsh. but please, just try and ignore her, okay? focus on your performance. you've worked so hard for this, don't let (y/n) ruin it for you.”

daniela nodded slowly, taking a deep breath to compose herself. “you're right. you're absolutely right. i can't let her get to me. this is about me, about us, about all the work we've put in.”

she straightened her costume, adjusted her hair, and forced a smile. the anxiety was still there, but it was momentarily overshadowed by a renewed sense of focus. she had a dance to perform, a story to tell. and she wouldn’t let anything, not even the presence of (y/n), distract her from that goal.

as the group began to line up, waiting for their turn to take the stage, daniela caught a glimpse of you, standing with your own team. you were laughing, your face radiant with excitement. your costume, a vibrant explosion of color, glittered under the lights. for a fleeting moment, their eyes met. there was a flicker of recognition, a ghost of the old animosity, before you looked away, dismissing her with an almost imperceptible shrug.

that simple gesture, that casual disregard, was a spark to the powder keg of daniela’s emotions. the carefully constructed wall of composure began to crumble. the doubts, the insecurities, the pent-up frustration — it all came flooding back.

she knew she shouldn’t care. she knew she should focus on her own performance. but she couldn’t help it. the old rivalry, the years of unspoken competition, it was all too deeply ingrained.

as daniela and her team took their positions on stage, the lights dimmed, and the music began to swell. she reminded herself that this was her moment. this was her chance to shine. but even as she moved, even as she poured her heart and soul into every step, she couldn’t shake the thought of you, watching in the wings, ready to take the stage and steal her thunder.

as the music reached its crescendo, daniela's feet seemed to move of their own accord, her body a whirlwind of color and movement. she was lost in the moment, her passion and energy pouring out onto the stage. but in the midst of that frenzied dance, a misstep occurred. a slight miscalculation, a momentary lapse in concentration, and daniela's foot came down in the wrong place. the mistake was subtle, but it was enough to throw off the entire routine.

the rest of the team struggled to recover, their movements faltering as they tried to compensate for daniela's error. the music continued to swell, but the performance had lost its cohesion, its seamless flow. daniela's heart sank as she realized what had happened. she felt a wave of panic wash over her, her mind racing with the implications of her mistake.

as the music finally came to an end, daniela's team took their bows, their faces frozen in smiles. but daniela's smile was a thin, brittle thing, a mask that hid the turmoil brewing inside her. she couldn't bear to look at her teammates, couldn't bear to meet their eyes. she knew they would be disappointed, knew they would be wondering what had gone wrong.

as soon as the curtains closed, daniela stormed off the stage, her eyes blazing with tears. she pushed her way through the crowded wings, ignoring the congratulations and words of encouragement from the other performers. she didn't want to hear it, didn’t want to be told that it was okay, that mistakes happen. she knew that, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear.

she burst into the dressing room, slamming the door behind her. the room was empty, the other performers still out on stage or in the wings. daniela was alone, surrounded by the familiar sights and smells of the dressing room. she collapsed onto the bench in front of the mirror, her head in her hands.

why had she made that mistake? why had she let her emotions get the better of her? she knew it was because of you, because of the way you had dismissed her, because of the old rivalry that still simmered between you. daniela's eyes flashed with anger as she thought about it. she had let you get inside her head, had let you distract her from her performance.

as she sat there, trying to calm herself down, daniela couldn't help but think about the years of competition between you and her. it had started in dance class, when you were both young and ambitious, both determined to be the best. over the years, the rivalry had grown, had become more intense. you had always been the favorite, the one who got the lead roles, the one who won the competitions. daniela had always been the runner-up, the one who came close but never quite made it.

but today was supposed to be different. today was supposed to be daniela's moment, her chance to shine. and she had blown it, had let her emotions get the better of her. she felt a wave of despair wash over her, felt like she was never going to be good enough.

as she sat there, lost in her thoughts, daniela heard the sound of the door opening. she looked up to see her teammate, emily, standing in the doorway. emily's face was concerned, her eyes filled with sympathy.

“daniela, i'm so sorry,” emily said, coming over to sit down beside her. “that was just a mistake, it could have happened to anyone. you were amazing out there, despite what happened.”

daniela shook her head, feeling a lump form in her throat. “i wasn't amazing,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “i messed up, emily. i let everyone down.”

emily put a hand on her shoulder. “you didn't let anyone down, daniela. we're a team, we're in this together. and besides, it's not like it's the end of the world. we'll get feedback, we'll work on it, and we'll come back stronger next time.”

daniela nodded, feeling a small sense of comfort. maybe emily was right, maybe it wasn't the end of the world. but as she looked up, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. her eyes were red, her face streaked with tears. she looked like a mess, like a failure.

and then she thought about you, about the way you had looked at her, about the way you had dismissed her. daniela's anger flared up again, her determination growing. she was going to prove you wrong, was going to show you that she was just as good, just as talented. she was going to work harder, and was going to practice more. she was going to come back stronger, and was going to make sure that next time, she didn't make any mistakes.

as emily hugged her, trying to comfort her, daniela felt a sense of resolve growing inside her. she was going to use this mistake, was going to use this feeling of failure, to fuel her. she was going to come back, and she was going to come back stronger than ever. the rivalry between you and her was far from over, and daniela was ready for the next round.

the glitter in daniela's hair felt like shards of glass, each one a tiny reminder of the spotlight, the music, and the agonizing stumble that had shattered her performance. the echo of the gasps from the audience still rang in her ears, amplified by the crushing weight of disappointment. she sat slumped on the plush velvet bench in the dressing room, the elaborate costume suddenly feeling like a prison.

and then she thought about you.

about the way you had looked at her – a fleeting glance, barely acknowledging her existence, before turning your attention back to your own flawless routine. about the way you had dismissed her, not with outright cruelty, but with an air of quiet superiority that cut even deeper. daniela's anger flared up again, a welcome heat against the icy grip of self-doubt. determination solidified within her, a burning ember refusing to be extinguished. she was going to prove you wrong. she was going to show you that she was just as good, just as talented. she was going to work harder, and she was going to practice more. she was going to come back stronger, and she was going to make sure that next time, she didn't make any mistakes.

as emily, her ever–supportive dance partner, hugged her tightly, trying to offer comfort with whispered words and gentle pats on the back, daniela felt a sense of resolve solidifying. she was going to use this mistake, this feeling of abject failure, to fuel her. she was going to claw her way back to the top, and she was going to do it with a vengeance. the rivalry between you and her was far from over, and daniela was ready for the next round.

the door creaked open, interrupting emily's pep talk. your silhouette filled the doorway, framed by the harsh backstage lights. you paused, a smirk playing on your lips, before sauntering into the room with an almost theatrical flourish.

“well, that was… certainly something,” you said, your voice dripping with an insincere sweetness that made daniela’s skin crawl. you leaned against the vanity, casually examining a nail as if the drama that had just unfolded hadn't even registered.

emily, ever the diplomat, offered a strained smile. “(y/n), we were just…”

“offering condolences?” you finished for her, your eyes finally flicking up to meet daniela’s. they held a glint of amusement, a challenge that daniela couldn't ignore. “save your breath, emily. daniela seems perfectly capable of handling her own… shortcomings.”

emily’s hand tightened on daniela's arm. “y/n, that's not…”

“it's fine, emily,” daniela interrupted, her voice surprisingly steady. the anger had sharpened her focus, clearing away the haze of embarrassment. she pushed herself up from the bench, meeting your gaze head-on. “y/n is just being… y/n.”

you raised an eyebrow, the smirk widening. “oh, i'm just being honest. a little constructive criticism never hurt anyone, darling. especially when it's so painfully obvious.”

daniela took a step closer, her eyes blazing. “constructive criticism is helpful. what you're doing is being a condescending…”

emily squeezed daniela’s arm again, a silent plea for restraint. you, however, seemed to be enjoying the rising tension.

“condescending what? cat?” you purred, tilting your head. “go on, daniela, don't be shy. let all those… pent-up feelings out.”

before daniela could unleash the carefully crafted witty retort she had brewing, emily abruptly turned to you. “(y/n), could you excuse us for a moment? daniela and i need to talk.”

you sighed dramatically, pushing yourself off the vanity. “fine, fine. don’t want to intrude on your little pity party.” you paused at the door, turning back to daniela. “just remember, darling, talent isn't something you can fake. you either have it, or you don't.” with a final, dismissive flick of your wrist, you swept out of the room, leaving silence in your wake.

emily, shaking her head, hurried after you. “i’ll be right back, daniela.” and then she was gone, leaving daniela alone with her simmering rage.

the silence stretched, thick and heavy, amplifying the sound of her own ragged breathing. everything about you irritated daniela to her core. your arrogance, your effortless grace, the way you seemed to glide through life while she had to fight for every inch. and now, this. the smug, condescending remarks, the thinly veiled insults. it was all too much.

“oh, i am not going to let her get away with that,” daniela muttered, clenching her fists. she was just about to storm out of the dressing room, ready to confront you and unleash the full force of her anger, when you suddenly reappeared in the doorway.

“forgot something,” you said, your voice disarmingly casual. you reached for a tube of lipstick that you had apparently left behind on the vanity. “wouldn't want to be caught without my signature color, now would i?” you capped the lipstick with a satisfying click, your eyes never leaving hers.

daniela narrowed her eyes. “you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?”

you tilted your head, feigning innocence. “doing what, darling? making sure my lips are perfectly kissable?”

“trying to get under my skin,” daniela retorted, her voice tight with controlled fury. “trying to provoke me.”

a slow smile spread across your face. “and is it working?”

daniela refused to give you the satisfaction of an answer. instead, she crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. “you think you're so clever, so untouchable. but you're not.”

“oh, i know i'm not untouchable,” you said, stepping closer. “i'm just… better.”

daniela's patience finally snapped. “better? you think you're better than me? just because i made one mistake?”

“one mistake that cost you the entire performance,” you corrected, your voice soft but laced with steel. “one mistake that everyone will remember.”

“they'll also remember all the flawless performances i've given,” daniela shot back, her voice rising. “they'll remember all the hours of hard work i've put in. they'll remember that i'm not afraid to take risks, to push myself beyond my limits – something you clearly wouldn't understand, hiding behind your perfect technique and your carefully calculated safe routines.”

you laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down daniela's spine. “safe? darling, you have no idea what i'm capable of.”

“then show me,” daniela challenged, her eyes blazing. “show me that you're more than just a technically proficient robot. show me some passion, some fire, something real.”

you stepped even closer, until you were standing just inches away from daniela. your breath ghosted across her face, and she found herself strangely breathless. the anger was still there, burning bright, but there was also a strange undercurrent of… something else. something she couldn't quite name.

“maybe i will,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “but not here. not now.” you leaned in closer, your lips hovering just above hers. “maybe… when you've proven yourself worthy.”

her hand slid higher, fingertips grazing the edge of your panties. she leaned in, her breasts pressing against your arm, as she nipped at your earlobe. her voice dropped to a whisper, a sinful purr that made your toes curl in your shoes.

“i’m going to make you scream my name, (y/n). i’m going to make you forget every girl you’ve ever been with. you’re mine tonight, all mine. And i’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”

with that, she crashed her lips against yours in a bruising kiss, claiming your mouth with a hunger that stole your breath. her tongue pushed past your lips, invading and dominating, staking her claim on you.

daniela kissed you with a fervor that bordered on violence, her lips moving demandingly against yours. her hands roamed your body with bold, possessive strokes, mapping out the curves she intended to explore further. she gripped your hips, pulling you flush against her, leaving no space between your bodies.

she broke the kiss abruptly, leaving you breathless and wanting. her eyes, dark and wild, stared into yours with a feral intensity. “i want to taste every inch of you, (y/n).” she growled, her voice rough with desire. “i want to feel your skin against my tongue, want to hear you moan as i touch you.”

her hands slid down to the hem of your shirt, and with a swift, ruthless motion, she yanked it up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. her eyes raked over your newly exposed skin, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

“fuck, you're gorgeous.” she breathed, her hands immediately coming up to cup the swell of your breasts. her thumbs brushed over your nipples, which pebbled instantly at her touch. “i could devour you whole, right here, right now.”

she leaned down, her mouth hot and open against your neck. she sucked a mark into the sensitive skin, her teeth grazing your pulse point before she soothed the sting with her tongue. her hands slid down your stomach, fingers dipping teasingly into your navel before hooking into the waistband of your pants.

“i’m going to take these off, yeah?” she murmured against your skin, her voice vibrating through you. “i’m going to touch you until you’re dripping and begging for more. i’m going to make you come so hard, you’ll see stars.”

she shoved you backwards, pushing you down onto the worn leather couch. she loomed over you, a predator ready to pounce. her hands made quick work of your pants, practically tearing them off your body in her haste. she threw them to the side, leaving you in just your panties.

daniela grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, her thighs straddling your hips. she leaned down, her face inches from yours, her breath coming in harsh pants. her eyes blazed with fury and lust, a dangerous cocktail that sent a thrill of fear and excitement down your spine.

“i’m going to use you, (y/n).” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “i’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll hate yourself for loving it. i’m going to make you my bitch, my toy, my fucking plaything.”

she punctuated her words by grinding her hips against yours, the rough cloth of her dress rubbing deliciously against your core. she was already so wet, you could feel the damp patch on your panties growing, the flimsy fabric the only barrier between you.

her hand slid down between your bodies, fingers pushing your panties aside. she didn’t bother with foreplay, didn’t tease or tantalize. she thrust two fingers deep inside you, filling you suddenly, roughly. she started fucking you with a brutal pace, her palm slapping obscenely against your clit with each thrust.

“the fuck–!” you whimpered loudly, clearly surprised by daniela’s sudden action. despite the lack of preparation and firm rudeness, there was something about daniela’s wild behavior that was making your head spin…

“that’s it, fucking take it.” she snarled, watching your face contort with a cruel smile. “take my fucking fingers like the desperate little slut you are. i know you fucking want it.”

her other hand slid up to wrap around your throat, squeezing just hard enough to make you lightheaded. she leaned down, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your neck, marking you, claiming you. she sucked hard, a dark bruise blossoming under your skin. she wanted you to wear her mark, to have a reminder of this brutal fucking every time you looked in the mirror. she wanted the whole world to know that you belonged to her now, that you were her property to use as she saw fit.

her fingers pumped into you at a punishing pace, the obscene sound of your wetness filling the room. she could feel your walls clenching around her, your body instinctively trying to pull her deeper. but she didn’t let up, didn’t give you any respite. she fucked you with a single–minded intensity, determined to make you come undone.

“fucking come for me, (y/n).” she growled, her breath hot against your ear. “i want to feel you fucking come on my fingers like the desperate whore you are. do it, fucking do it now.”

she bit down on your neck again, sucking another mark into your skin as she curled her fingers inside you, pressing against that spot that made your vision go white. at the same time, she rubbed your clit hard and fast, her fingers moving in tight, rough circles. the dual stimulation was too much, and with a scream, you came undone.

your body convulsed beneath her, your back arching off the couch as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you. she didn’t let up, working you through your orgasm with single–minded focus, wringing out every last drop of ecstasy until you collapsed back onto the leather, spent and panting.

but she wasn’t done with you yet. not by a long shot. she climbed off you, only to flip you onto your stomach. she yanked your panties down your legs, leaving you bare and exposed. she delivered a sharp smack to your ass, the sound echoing through the room.

daniela shoved your face down into the couch cushions, your cheek pressed roughly against the worn leather. her hand gripped your ass hard, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as she delivered another brutal slap. the pain mixed with the lingering pleasure, a dark cocktail that only served to stoke the heat between your legs.

“that’s for being such a fucking tease.” she snarled, rubbing your sore cheek with a rough, calloused hand. her other hand slid between your thighs, fingers pushing through your dripping folds without preamble. she circled your clit with a hard, unyielding pressure, her touch bordering on punishing.

daniela leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear as she spoke, her voice a low, menacing purr. “i’m going to fuck you until you hate yourself, (y/n). until you can’t stand the sight of your own reflection. i’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”

she punctuated her words with another hard slap to your ass, the sting radiating through your skin. her fingers delved deep inside you, pumping at a brutal pace, the obscene sound of your wetness filling the room.

she nipped at your earlobe, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin before she soothed the sting with her tongue. her other hand slid up your spine, fingers splaying across your shoulder blades as she pressed you down harder into the couch cushions.

she could feel your walls fluttering around her invading fingers, your body instinctively trying to pull her deeper. but she didn’t let up, didn’t give you any respite. she fucked you with a single–minded intensity, determined to make you come undone.

“that’s it, fucking take it.” she growled, her voice rough with lust and something darker, more vengeful. “take my fucking fingers like the desperate little slut you are. i know you fucking want it.”

her thumb pressed down hard on your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, rough circles. the pressure was intense, bordering on painful, but somehow only served to stoke the heat building between your thighs.

she could feel your breathing growing shallow, your chest heaving against the couch cushions. she could feel your pulse pounding beneath your skin, your body responding to her brutal touch with a will of its own. she knew she had you right on the edge, teetering on the brink of something explosive.

“fucking come for me, (y/n).” she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “i want to feel you fucking come apart on my fingers, want to hear you scream until your throat is raw. give it to me, you fucking whore. give me everything.”

with those words, she curled her fingers inside you, pressing against that spot that made your vision go white. at the same time, she pinched your clit hard, twisting and tugging on the sensitive flesh. she could feel your body stiffen beneath hers, your muscles pulled taut as a bowstring ready to snap. she could hear the desperation in your scream, the raw, primal sound that tore through the air and sent a dark thrill through her own body. she could feel your cunt clamping down around her fingers, your walls fluttering wildly as your orgasm ripped through you with the force of a tidal wave.

“that’s it, fucking come for me.” she snarled, her voice ragged and breathless with her own building arousal. “fucking soak my fingers, you filthy slut. i want to feel your fucking juices dripping down my wrist, want to be covered in your goddamn cum.”

she worked you through your orgasm with a ruthless intensity, her fingers pumping in and out of your spasming cunt, her thumb rubbing merciless circles around your clit. she didn’t let up, even as your moans turned to whimpers and your body went limp beneath her. she fucked you through the aftershocks, prolonging your pleasure until you were sobbing and begging her to stop.

only then did she slowly withdraw her fingers from your dripping hole, bringing them up to her mouth. she licked your juices from her skin, her tongue swirling around each digit as she maintained eye contact with you. she savored the taste of your arousal, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

she grabbed a fistful of your hair, wrenching your head back and forcing you to look up at her. her eyes blazed with a manic intensity, a feverish light that made your blood run cold. she licked her lips, a slow, sensual movement that was somehow more threatening than any of her brutal touches.

“you taste fucking delicious, (y/n).” she purred, her voice low and rough with lust. “i could eat this pretty cunt for hours, could fucking drown in your juices and die as a happy woman.”

daniela released your hair only to grab your chin, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of your cheek. she leaned down, her lips brushing against yours in a mockery of a kiss. her breath was hot and heavy, the scent of whiskey and cigarettes mingling with the musky aroma of your combined arousal.

she grabbed your shoulders and shoved you down onto your back, straddling your face before you even had a chance to catch your breath. her dress rode up around her hips, the dress pooling around her waist. she wasn’t wearing any panties, and the first thing you saw as she settled her thighs on either side of your head was her bare, glistening pussy, already swollen and slick with arousal.

she reached down and grabbed your hair, fisting it in her hands as she dragged your face towards her dripping sex. she rubbed your mouth against her slit, smearing her juices across your skin, marking you with her scent. the musky aroma filled your nostrils, heady and intoxicating, making your head spin.

then she was grinding down on you, her fingers tightening in your hair as she used your face like a toy. she rolled her hips in tight circles, rubbing her clit against your mouth, your nose, your chin, coating every inch of your face with her essence. soft, breathy moans spilled from her lips as she rutted against you, chasing her pleasure with single–minded focus.

she could feel your tongue instinctively trying to push out, trying to taste her, to please her. she could feel the way you gasped for air as she ground down harder, cutting off your oxygen supply. she could feel your chest heaving, your lungs burning for a breath that wouldn’t come. and still, she didn’t let up. if anything, she rode your face harder, driven wild by the desperate sounds of your choking, the way your fingers scrabbled uselessly at her thick thighs.

“fuck, your mouth feels so good, baby.” she panted, her head thrown back in ecstasy. “i could fucking choke you out and come all over your pretty face. would you like that, you dirty girl? wanting to suffocate on my cunt, to die with the taste of me on your tongue?”

she punctuated her words by grinding down harder, her thighs trembling with the force of her movements. she could feel her orgasm building, the coil of heat in her core winding tighter and tighter. she was so close, teetering on the razor’s edge of something explosive.

“don’t you dare fucking stop.” she snarled, glaring down at you with wild, fevered eyes. “i’m going to fucking drown you in my cum, paint your face with it until you’re fucking drowning in it. you’re going to swallow every last fucking drop, you hear me? not a single bit of my cum is going to waste.”

she slammed her hips down one last time, her cunt clamping down around your mouth like a vice as her orgasm ripped through her. a guttural scream tore from her throat, the sound echoing off the walls of the dressing room. her juices flooded your mouth, pouring down your throat in a seemingly endless stream as she came harder than she ever had in her life.

she collapsed forward, her forehead pressed against your stomach as she gasped for breath. her body shuddered and twitched with the aftershocks, her skin flushed and slick with sweat. she could feel your own breathing, ragged and painful, and a dark thrill shot through her at the knowledge that she had robbed you of air, that she had used your mouth to find her pleasure.

slowly, she lifted herself off of you, her thighs trembling with the effort. she looked down at you, her eyes glinting with a cruel, satisfied smile as she took in the sight of your face. your hair was a wild mess, tangled and damp with her juices. your skin was flushed and slick, your lips swollen and shiny with her arousal. she licked her own lips, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she took in the sight of your debauched appearance. her eyes raked over your hair, matted and damp with her juices, your skin flushed and slick, your lips swollen and glistening. she could see the way your chest heaved as you gasped for air, the way your body trembled slightly in the aftermath of her brutal use.

“fuck, look at you.” she purred, her voice low and rough with satisfaction. “look at the fucking mess i’ve made of you. you’re like a work of art, baby. a masterpiece painted in the colors of my fucking cum.”

she reached down and swiped her fingers through the mess on your face, scooping up some of her juices. she shoved those fingers into your mouth, pushing them past your lips until you had no choice but to suck them clean. the taste of her was overwhelming, the flavor of her arousal exploding across your tongue.

“that’s it, baby. taste what a fucking slut i am for you.” she cooled, her thumb pressing down on your tongue, forcing you to open wider. “taste what a dirty whore i am, using your face like a goddamn toy. i could fucking ruin you for anyone else, you know that? i could break you so fucking bad, you’d never want another woman touching you again.”

she held your chin firmly, forcing you to maintain eye contact as she spoke. her eyes blazed with a manic intensity, a feverish light that made your blood run cold. she leaned in closer, until her lips brushed against yours, until you could feel the heat of her breath mingling with your own.

“but i’m not done with you yet, baby girl.” she whispered, her voice a sinister promise. “oh no, i’m nowhere near fucking done. i’m going to keep using you until i’m satisfied, until i’ve wrung every last drop of pleasure from this gorgeous body of yours. and then, and only then, i’ll let you go.”

daniela grinned wickedly at your suggestion, a predatory gleam in her eye. she licked her lips, already aroused by the idea of scissoring with you, of feeling your slick folds sliding against her own.

she climbed off of you and stood up, kicking off her heels and shimmying out of her dress. she stood before you in all her naked glory, her skin glowing in the dim light of the dressing room. She had the body of a goddess, all lean muscle and soft curves in all the right places. her breasts were full and heavy, her nipples hard and straining, just begging to be touched and tasted.

she tugged you up and against her, your bodies pressing together from chest to thigh. you could feel every inch of her, every dip and curve, and it made your own body ache with need. she slid her hands down your back, grabbing your ass and squeezing the firm globes, pulling you impossibly closer.

she walked you backwards until your legs hit the arm of the couch, and then she was pushing you down, forcing you to sit. she climbed on top of you, straddling your thighs, her knees bent and feet flat on the couch cushions on either side of yours. she leaned down, her curly hair falling forward to curtain your faces as she gazed at you with a hunger that stole your breath.

she reached between your bodies, her fingers sliding through your dripping folds, gathering your juices. she brought her slick fingers up to your mouth, pushing past your lips, forcing you to taste yourself on her skin. the flavor was heady and intoxicating, the musky aroma of your arousal filling your senses.

at the same time, she slid her other hand down her own body, ger fingers found her own slit, and she began to rub herself in tight, rough circles. she let out a low moan, her head falling back as she lost herself in the sensation of touching herself. she could feel your eyes on her, watching her work her clit with a feverish intensity, and it only spurred her on, only made her touch herself harder.

“that’s it, baby.” she panted, her voice ragged and breathless. “watch me touch myself. watch me fucking finger my cunt. Imagine it’s your hand touching me, your fingers buried deep inside me, making me fucking scream.”

she brought her other hand down to your thigh, her nails digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks. she used the grip to pull your leg up and over, opening you wider, baring your dripping sex to her hungry gaze. she licked her lips as she looked at you, her eyes dark with lust and desire.

“fuck, you’re so wet.” she growled, her fingers never stopping their relentless motion against her clit. “so fucking wet and ready for me. i bet you want to feel my cunt grinding on yours, want to feel my juices mixing with your own. don’t you, you dirty girl?”

she leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear as she spoke, her voice a sinister purr. “i’m going to fuck your little pussy so good, baby. i’m going to make you come on my cunt, make you scream and cry and beg for more. i’m going to ruin you for anyone else, make it so you can’t even think about another woman without thinking of me, without remembering how good i made this pretty cunt feel.”

with those words, she shifted her hips forward, and suddenly, she was grinding against you, your slick folds sliding against each other in a delicious, erotic dance. she moaned loudly as she felt your wetness against her own, her fingers moving faster, more urgently against her clit. she could feel your body trembling beneath her, could feel the way your hips instinctively rolled up to meet hers, seeking more of that incredible friction.

she could feel your body trembling beneath her, could feel the way your hips instinctively rolled up to meet hers, seeking more of that incredible friction. she could feel your body trembling beneath her, could feel the way your hips instinctively rolled up to meet hers, seeking more of that incredible friction. she grinned wickedly, a dark thrill shooting through her at the knowledge that she had you so worked up, so desperate for more of her touch.

“that’s it, baby.” she purred, her voice low and rough with lust. “grind this pretty little cunt on mine. “fucking soak me with your juices, let me feel you dripping all over my thighs. i want to be fucking drenched in your cum by the time i’m done with you.”

she punctuated her words by rolling her hips harder, grinding her slick folds against yours with a brutal intensity. she could feel your clit throbbing against her own, the sensitive nub swollen and aching with the need for release. she rubbed herself against you in tight, rough circles, the pressure and friction driving her wild with pleasure.

her fingers moved frantically against her clit, the obscene sound of her wetness filling the room as she touched herself with a feverish abandon. she could feel her orgasm building, the coil of heat in her core winding tighter and tighter until she thought she might explode from the intensity of it.

“fuck, i’m going to come.” she gasped, her voice high and breathless with pleasure. “i’m going to fucking come all over this gorgeous cunt, baby. I'm going to mark you as mine, claim you as my own personal fuck toy. you’re mine now, you hear me? this pretty little pussy belongs to me.”

with a scream that echoed off the walls, she came undone. her juices flooded your joined sexes, pouring out of her and coating your thighs, your stomach, your chest. she ground against you harder, her hips jerking and spasming as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over her. she could feel you coming with her, your body shaking and trembling beneath her own as your orgasm ripped through you with a force that left you both breathless.

daniela collapsed against you, her forehead resting against yours as she tried to catch her breath. her skin was slick with sweat, her hair a wild mess around her face. she looked into your eyes, her gaze softening with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

she reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers lingering on your cheek. she traced the curve of your jaw, the line of your lips, as if committing every detail of your face to memory. her thumb brushed over your bottom lip, the gesture surprisingly gentle.

“fuck, (y/n).” she murmured, her voice low and intimate. “that was...incredible. i’ve never felt anything like that before. it’s like...it’s like i can’t get enough of you. like i want to devour every inch of you and make you a part of me.”

she sat up slightly, her hands coming to rest on your stomach. she looked down at you, her eyes searchingly as she spoke. “i hope your stamina in bed is as good as it is on stage because i’m not done with you.”

[wilwheaton]

Officials purporting to defend their person on the ground by offering some “push back” on the Trump campaign attack, but doing so anonymously while trying to keep it from “escalating.” Escalating into what? You’ve already been run over, so that leaves the only obvious conclusion: The Army itself is trying to avoid being the target of MAGA attacks. This is untenable acquiescence to bullying. Is that really going to be the end of the story? No consequences, no new measures to enjoin Trump from doing the same thing again at Arlington or another military cemetery, no price to pay for his thuggery. It’s a familiar pattern. The erosion of any kind of strong, unified, national, countervailing force to Trump’s public bullying and nastiness only enables and emboldens the thuggery that is central to his appeal and that he has already notoriously used on Jan. 6 to try to retain power. If you don’t think a Trump win in November will unleash a reign of thuggery against anyone who stands in his way – not just political foes but innocent bystanders and regular folks just doing their jobs – then I don’t know what else to tell you. He’s doing it right now, he’s promised to do it if he wins, and his minions are poised and eager to follow through. He’s not a schoolyard bully. He’s a public menace, and if he wins back the White House, he will be a public menace with vast official powers and Supreme Court-sanctioned immunity.

Cemetery Staffer Declines To Press Charges For Fear Of Retaliation

[delightfulmakertidalwave]

As much as I ADORE fem!Percy x Apollo. I adore it soooooo muuuuccchhh and the Athenide AU is most definitely theirs and theirs alone, I have had these oh so random feelings abt our dark lord Hades.

I know he is HAPPILY married to Persephone but ever since I read the latest chapter of @dewypinkmorningroses "triplets of the sea" fic where it was elaborated that the only reason why Hades' and Persephone's marraige is open is because of Adonis the only thought in my mind is that "Percy goddess of loyalty would have NEVER done him like this. Ever."

I went on a whole shpeal about how at the time Persephone didn't really know what she wanted & it was a mistake of delayed teenage rebellion that drove her into doing what she did. That fueled her desire for Adonis. But how such a mistake (and it really was a mistake y'all) ruined, what was essentially the perfect marraige.

Hades was kind to not divorce her because that would have meant a MASSIVE demotion from goddess of spring and QUEEN OF THE UNDERWORLD to yet another nameless faceless minor nature goddess that dotted the endless pantheon of Olympus.

She'd never be as revered as she was a queen and with the many domains her husband had gifted her. And honestly? Is she really the goddess of spring for real? Because it is DEMETER who brings about spring upon the return of her daughter. She was precious only in the eyes of her mother and then later on her husband.

And all I could think was, 'Damn. Percy wuld have never done that to her man.'

And all I could think of were THOSE TWO and how sexy their dark aesthetics would have been. Would have fueled culture, media and romance literal for centuries. CENTURIES I MEAN! Goth couples will be emulating for millennia to come. Mark my words. "every goth king needs his goth queen." but also? She's sporty, sunny tan and athletic. So maybe it would be like "Every emo goth loser needs his sunny, smiley bikini wearing girlfriend who forces her king of darkness BF to take a break from all his work and just enjoy a day at the beach and stop hissing evertimw the sun touches your skin husband. You're a GOD. Not a vampire!"

Walk with me here guys. Walk.

Her aesthetic: sexy beach goddess. White sands. Bright sun. Clear water. Fresh air. Palm trees, fresh fruits all that.

Him:

Lol. I couldn't quiet get a face inspo but just imagine a pale sickly guy in dark robes and shit. I don't care.

Also. I couldn't get over the idea of Poseidon and Hades going from not just brothers but also to father and son in law and I just found that whole dynamic Hillarious. Just absolutely Hillarious.

Perpollo still reigns supreme by the way. Perpollo supremacy forever!!! ✊🏿✊🏿✊🏿

But! This idea is cute too lol. Poseidon & Hades relationship is prolly healthier than the relationship he and Demeter have in canon. But still mischievous, taunting, petty and childish too Hehehehe... 😭😭😭

They're family tree is soooo wierd like that. There's no way in hell Hades would EVER see his younger brother as his dad BUT he's also his beloved's dad so I Imagine childish petty sibling rivalry and nonsense to ensue.

This will create SOOOOO MAAANNY MYTHS. So maaaany.

Like Poseidon's irrational fear that Hades will take his place in Percy's heart and be her DAD and not just her DADDY or whatever.

Poseidon: star fish. You don't love him more than me right? *defeated seal pup look* 🥺

Percy: *looks at her father with deadpan face* How many times do I have to explain this to you??? He's my HUSBAND. You're my DAD. I love the bothe of you EQUALLY but in VERY DIFFERENT WAYS. no one type of love is superior to the other. You will ALWAYS be the first member of the male species I loved when I came into this world. So yes u are the first man I loved. But he's my HUSBAND so I love him too. What's not clocking? Can't you see that I'm standing on business?? (in her justin bieber voice)

They get married but Poseidon still won't let his daughter go (so no kidnapping here) so Percy decides to just run away and elope with her love. When Poseidon sees the letter his heart drops. Blood turns cold. His blood pressure rises. And he becomes the first god ever to experience a heart attack.

Poseidon is HEART BROKEN! The winds from the oceans blows colder into the mainland. Making what was supposed to be rain ice. The first winter in experienced by the world.

Zeus tries the big stick approach and basically threaten and punish his brother into acting like he has some godsdamn sense again but Poseidon is stubborn and petty so it doesn't matter how much Zeus pokes or bashes him with a stick the big pile of sadness that is the lord of the seas REFUSES to budge.

And so Zeus summons the happy couple to Olympus to solve the damn problem.

Zeus: listen. Poseidon's sadness is literally destroying nature and killing Mortals in the realm. I've had it up to HERE with nature gods, goddesses spirits, nymphs and their moms petitioning me to solve the damn issue.

But most importantly? Seeing my brother like that is really bumming me out. Like. We don't get along I know but it still bums me out as a brother to see my bro like this.

So I've decided! Lady loyalty will stay with her husband in the underworld 3 months out of the year and Poseidon will get the other 9. Cool? Cool. Problem solved.

Percy: *deadpans* I was just on my honeymoon. And I wrote in the letter I'd make sure to visit every weekend anyways. 🙄

Poseidon mumbles from his heap of blankets: but that's not enough. U promise to be daddy's princess forever! Remember!

Percy: I was 30 minutes old when that happened! How was I supposed to know I was swearing a vow? Or even what that vow meant?! I thought that meant I'd keep my title as an atlantean princess and be a loyal and dependable daughter! How was I supposed to know you meant I shuld stay in my child form forever?!

Another cool advantage of this pairing is the fact that there aren't that many famous demigod children of Hades. And even if he does have canonical ones in the Riodanverse he can have them after Percy's disappearance and before her return and rebirth. So nico and bianca di angelo get to exist in this world yay! Without any cheating involved! Also yay!

And Nico gets a cool step mom! Also yay!

Anyways. Just had to get that dabble out my mind.

[hargreeves-duncan]

⎯⎯ NSFW ALPHABET

visual is for vibes only, reader’s appearance is nondescript!

pairing: luca x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT - MINORS DNI

word count: 1.6k

a/n: some horny luca thoughts for you all - enjoy!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Super, super caring. Luca will fuss and dote over your every need the moment you finish.

Cleaning you up and getting you hydrated are his top priorities and sweaty cuddles are mandatory.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Luca’s always been proud of his biceps, and for good reason, they’re fucking huge.

He may or may not have started paying extra attention to them in his gym sessions after starting dating you because of how gushy you got, looking at them…

On you? Your face. He loves cupping it in his big hands and watching you, instinctively, melt into his touch.

There’s something so fulfilling about watching your body switch off when he’s holding you, like it knows that you’re safe with him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Even in the bedroom, Luca’s neat freak tendencies reign supreme.

He prefers to come inside your mouth, or on your tongue. He’ll eagerly watch you swallow it down until every drop is gone.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

On more than one occasion, when he’s been eating you out, Luca has come in his boxers - completely untouched by you.

Sometimes it’s just too much for him: hearing you moan his name and being drowned in your slick with you tugging his hair and clamping your thighs around his face.

He finds himself grinding helplessly against the bed, like a dog in heat, to get some sort of release as he watches you come apart above him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He has a low body count, probably no more than four, but he really knows what he’s doing.

Two of the four were long term partners, so, Luca’s not only skilled, but studied.

Luca watches your every reaction and when he sees your face crumple just right, he keeps at it. You don’t even need to ask.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

The Butterfly. Luca loves being the one to put in the work and make you feel good and this position lets him do just that.

With your legs draped over his shoulders, he’ll press a tender kiss to your shin and then grasp your thighs, tugging your hips up towards him to fuck into. He’ll let himself slide deep into you, each stroke purposeful.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He tries to keep things light-hearted in the bedroom. After all, happy wife, happy life, right?

Luca is always trying to make sure you enjoy yourself. Physically and emotionally.

He’ll stay focused on the moment but the second you start giggling or there’s a random noise, he’s laughing and joking along with you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s well-groomed and keeps his dark-blonde hairs trimmed. Natural, not naked.

His face is usually clean-shaven, but sometimes he’ll leave a bit of scruff because he knows it drives you crazy to feel it graze against your skin.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Everything Luca does is romantic. His touch, his words, his aftercare. It’s all a gesture of and a means to worship you.

His hands graze over your skin, never once letting you go. He wants to indulge in your body, fully, and so he holds you close.

His words are filled with with praise, his soft, gentle tone purrs in your ear, letting you know how perfect you’re being for him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t do it often and doesn’t really feel the need too. However, when he knows that you’re coming over, he’ll work himself up in preparation. He’ll think about what he’ll do to you later, imagining your time together in vivid detail…

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Overstimulation, for sure. Seeing you come undone over and over is a privilege and he’ll keep giving until you’ve soaked the mattress with your release.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere with water. The shower’s the easiest but he’ll take a bath, a pool, or even the ocean, happily.

Something about watching the water roll over your curves and splash against you, wetly, in time with his thrusts drives him wild.

see in full here

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Hearing you say his name is his ultimate turn on. You’re both quite affectionate people and so pet names are used more often than anything else.

But, nothing gets Luca going like the breathy sound of you calling out his name when you’re truly aching for him. The raw, desire-filled plea of your voice drives him crazy.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Luca values your relationship and being yours above all else, so, anything with a third person in the mix is a definite no.

You’re for his eyes, and his eyes, only.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He’s never one to ask for head, but when you look up at him with your sweet, pleading eyes? How could he say no?

He’s not crazy for receiving, but he loves seeing how eager you get to please him. The determinedness of your gaze as you take him deeper and deeper could finish him alone.

Giving is his favourite thing to do to you. Luca would happily suffocate between your pretty thighs, lapping every, last bit of you until you have to pull him away by his hair.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He’ll start slow, dragging it out for as long as you’ll let him.

But as soon as you start whining and wiggling your hips down to meet his cock, he’ll give in, hitch your leg up and fuck you deep, right to the hilt.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Whilst, Luca would rather take his time, if you’re out having dinner and tension’s building a little too quickly, he’d much rather whisk you away to a the bathroom for a quickie than suffer through the rest of the evening, painfully hard. Tactical quickies.

And, if he has to be quick, Luca always makes it up to you by dragging things out again later.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Luca is happy to experiment, but he’s calculated with it. Naturally cautious, he prefers to take controlled risks. With him, it’s all about building things up bit by bit, no jumping straight to BDSM or anything too extreme right away.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

About three rounds, sometimes even four if you’re really feeling needy.

When Luca says he could keep it up all night, just know that he isn’t lying.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t own any himself, but, if you do, he’ll put them to good use.

Holding a vibe to your clit whilst he’s buried inside of you and feeling the vibrations echo through his cock is mind-numbingly delicious.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s not very unfair at all. Sure, he’ll tease you by guiding your hand to rest on his shorts and flexing his biceps subtly when he knows you’re watching, but he always follows through.

He’ll have you feel him through his trousers and not even ten minutes later, he’ll have you pinned against the nearest surface, screaming his name.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Luca’s not shy when it comes to being loud. He’ll moan and groan from the second he’s got you naked in front of him. Feeling you tighten around him, he’ll be practically growling, all low and gravelly.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Luca has a bit of a thing for watching you get dressed or undressed. It’s got nothing to do with the outfit, but the teasing anticipation of what’s underneath it.

Watching your graceful movements drives him wild, and, more often than not, he’ll be caught saying, ‘Do you need any help with that?’

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

On the slimmer side, but that’s counteracted by the fact that he’s just over eight inches.

It takes some coaxing to ease you down onto him, especially if you’re going on top. But, Luca’s sweet with you - comforting kisses and coos of ‘There you go, darling… taking me so well.’ soothe you as his hands guide you inch by inch.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Luca’s sex drive is pretty average, but, he definitely has his moments.

Most days, he goes about his day without really thinking about it. But if you give him one stray look or start kissing him a little too eagerly, it flips a switch in his brain.

Once you start him, there’s no stopping until you’re both satisfied. He’ll go round after round after round until you’re completely spent.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You’ll always cuddle up with one another post-sex and share a lazy kiss or two for a while before you eventually settle down to sleep.

Luca loves watching you, entirely blissed out, and struggling to keep your eyes open just to hold a conversation that could easily wait til morning.

But, he indulges you anyways because your gorgeous, clouded eyes looking up at him are more important than sleep.

Naturally, you’re the one who falls asleep first, usually mid-ramble, as Luca’s arms encompass you.

[liillyliilly]

No Free-Solo

kenji sato x reader words; 10021 synopsis; from high school on, kenji couldn't do it alone, especially not when she was there for him.

“You’re missing me with that busy shit. You’re missing me with your whole ‘I can’t come over tonight’ act.” Kenji sat in what she liked to refer to as his dungeon, his lair, his Ultraman den. His too large for life couch made of black leather was cold and the emptiness was expansive in his mansion. He wanted her near, he wanted her to come back.

“I really can’t come over, I’m helping out Ami with Chiho tonight.” She tried to let him down gently, but he huffed through the phone.

She wasn’t a nanny per se, but she did do a fair amount of long-term babysitting for lots of people, mostly for Ami, occasionally for other busy mothers. She had a certain touch to the whole watching and raising kids thing, entertaining the child while also educating them.

Chiho was snoring in her bed. Ami was out with her fellow reporter boyfriend. And she, well she was watching movies in the family room of Ami’s house. Drawings that Chiho had done were covering the walls, plenty of Ultraman pictures to Kenji’s amusement.

She knew the Sato family through a long-winded connection by friendship shared between mothers. Kenji’s mom was best friends with her mom. In terms of maturity though, she was light years ahead of Kenji even when they were in high school. Back in America, when life was typical (meaning lacking in Kaiju and Ultraman responsibility) and the LA Dodgers still reigned supreme in Kenji’s head. They had met for the first time right before her junior year and his senior year.

She would be the youngest junior at the school and he would be one of the oldest seniors at their Los Angeles high school.

Her mom had insisted they visit her good friend the summer before her junior year started, and that she would need to help the son out in adapting to American High school since they had just moved from Japan.

She was worried due to a potential language barrier, but her mom assured her that he would be fluent in English. But how would her mom know that? Her anxiety was off the charts. She spent hours studying basic Japanese, which she found was probably going to kill her, why a language needs more than one writing system was beyond her.

“Ah! It’s so good to see you, Emiko!” Her mom went in for a big hug, and the petite Japanese woman returned the hug with as much enthusiasm as had been given. Her mom muttered about the separation between Emiko and Hayao, and Emiko gave a strained smile, leading them into the house.

Kenji was lounging on the couch, which she soon learned that he loved to do, a tendency to sprawl due to his height and lankiness. He was switching TV channels, until he landed on a baseball game and committed to watching that.

Her mom ushered her over to him, telling her to make conversation and get to know him. How she expected her to do that despite not knowing him at all was a wonder. She didn’t suspect that they had anything in common, and with the zeal he was watching the baseball game, she also suspected that he wasn’t going to be a huge fan of her preference for movies and shows over sports.

So she mustered up a greeting in Japanese from a textbook she had picked up. She had missed the way his eyes glinted with amusement, it was at that moment he decided to play just a small inconsequential game. A game where he pretended he didn’t know any English.

He responded in Japanese, and she realized she really knew nothing at all about Japanese. He sat up and patted the seat next to him. The moms left the main living space in favor of drinking some tea upstairs on a balcony, leaving her alone and incapable of communicating.

Pointing to herself, she said her name with a forced smile. He said ‘Kenji’ while pointing to himself and saying a variety of other words that she had no idea meant anything at all. At least Japanese sounded pretty, so she started thinking about the linguistic history and design of the syllables. He waved a hand in front of her face and she snapped out of her mini history lesson to herself.

Pushing his joke a little further, he used his head to point to a door near the stairs. She raised an eyebrow. He spoke for a few more moments, and she could only stiffly smile and nod in return. When he grabbed her hand and went to the door she thought she was going to die.

Inside the door was his room, and she really thought that this was the end of her sanity, her childhood, her innocence. She had fandangled herself into an intimate relationship with someone who didn’t even speak English and her heart was going to burst at the seams. Trying to recall all the words she had memorized, she was mad that she never learned the words for; no, stop, or I’ll kill you.

It was when she began to slink towards the door and hold her arms across her body in a cross shape that he realized maybe he should drop the joke. Her ears seemed like they were burning and her breathing had increased to a mile a minute in pace.

“Relax, I just wanted to show you my baseball cards.” He held up a binder and opened it to reveal a collection of player cards double sleeved and tucked neatly into a sheet protector.

“I thought you didn’t speak any English!” She frowned and put a hand to her heart. He laughed and she realized she had fallen for a trick.

“My bad.” He holds his hands together and puts them up near his head with a slight bow to apologize. Kenji pushes his bangs back and licks his top row of teeth, “Do you know if our school has a baseball team?” He asks.

She nods. “We’re in the top bracket for playing, it’s super hard to get onto the team though, my friend tried-”

He raised a hand to get her to stop speaking, then he informed her of his inherent athletic prowess, “Believe me, I’ll get onto the team.”

And he had. He’d even qualified to play on the varsity team.

A few months into the school year, while she was eating in the library with some friends, Kenji came bustling into the open space with his pack of baseball players. They always tagged along behind him, treating him like some sort of fancy foreign exchange kid, which she realized was exactly the situation and so her mental analogy didn’t end up working out and she clicked her teeth.

But the majority of white boys at the school did tend to lean a little too hard into the racial stereotypes and unfunny jokes. All Kenji could do sometimes was purse his lips and keep eating his natto. They thought because they had an Asian friend it was an excuse for their behavior, why Kenji never stood up to them and told them off was a huge confounding plight in her eyes. Kenji himself didn’t quite understand it either. Not even when they shortened his name into just Ken for ease and convenience.

Before she could tidy up her comparison and dissection of Kenji Sato, he was leaning on her desk, eating her carrots and searching for her eyes to meet him. He said something in Japanese, and she tried to remember how the words sounded so she could look up what he had said.

“I need your help.” He stole a bite of her sandwich, then drank some of her water. Before he even took it without asking, she offered her pastry to him and he ate the whole thing in one bite and mumbled a ‘thanks’ with his mouth full. He finished chewing and swallowing.

“I need you to pretend to date me so I can get these guys off my back.” He stuck his thumb in the direction of his teammates.

“Absolutely not. No way in hell, Kenji.” She started to pack up her bag, but he just put his hand on her bag and pressed it hard against the desk. With his other hand he gently grabbed her by the chin, and tilted her face up to his. Inches away. Her eyes went wide.

“Pretty please?” He licked his lips and she tried to bring her own face back to avoid his tongue getting to her lips.

She thought about what her mom said, telling her to help out Kenji if he needed it. This couldn't apply though, right?

“I’m going to need so many favors.” She groaned, managing to get her bag out from under his hands.

He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, ruffling her hair and heading out with his friends who began to goad him for keeping her a secret for so long. He had just taken her first kiss and it didn’t seem like it bothered him at all. She was too busy pressing her hand to her lips to even notice the way his ears were a scorching hot red.

When she went to research what he had said to her, she thought she must have misheard him because the proposed English translation was something along the lines of, ‘please let this work out in my favor’.

Continuously, she called in favors, and he was there to meet them. Getting books off the top shelves in the library. Sharpening pencils when they were studying. Even helping her learn just a little more of his language.

“No, no you gotta give each syllable its own beat. Copy me.” Kenji went over the blended ‘r’ and ‘l’ sound that felt clunky in her mouth.

She did replicate what he was saying, at least to her own belief that that was her best ability. He laughed a little and she frowned.

“Okay, move your tongue a little, right behind your front teeth, but also not touching your teeth, just let your tongue kinda do the sound in the middle.” Kenji opened his mouth a little so she could observe. She tried again but it sounded even worse than the first attempt.

“I wish I could just move your tongue for you so you could get the motion right.” She looked quickly side to side, biting her bottom lip. Kenji backtracked immediately, “That didn’t come out quite right, I think that’s enough Japanese for one day.” She nodded rapidly and closed the journal she was using to take notes.

He said that they could go get food, she agreed and they got burgers and milkshakes at a run down family owned diner. He paid, despite her insisting she could pay for her own food. Saying that that was apart of the whole fake dating thing.

“You know, you do a lot of things under the guise of our not dating, dating thing.” She sipped her milkshake. Kenji took a bite of his burger, musing about what he would say.

“Well, we’re friends as well right?”

“Yeah, we’ve been hanging out since you basically arrived here. We’re friends, but honestly, we behave more like best friends.” She finished off her shake and cleaned up her area.

That was something he liked about her, her consideration for cleanliness and organization. But also her appreciation for others around her, cleaning up her stuff so that the likely overworked waitress didn’t have to. A person who thinks about other people. Now that was his type he decided.

“I’m happy with being best friends.”

In all fairness, he was probably the best fake boyfriend that a girl could’ve asked for. They had settled on knowing their relationship was best friends, but for others they had the additional label of dating. Sometimes though, he’d do something like grab her hand or wrap an arm around her. When those situations presented themselves, she always looked for possible viewers, his teammates. But based on her data, he only did things like that around 20% of the time when his teammates were actually watching. Meaning that the other 80% of the time he did the physical acts of affection, no one was around to watch.

While his English was practically perfect, he had the hardest time in social studies and history, so he got her help with his U.S. government class. He claimed that because he hadn’t lived here at all, and because he had Japanese citizenship that this class was completely useless for him. His defeatist attitude towards history made her roll her eyes at him.

One day, when she was intending to come over to help him, Emiko crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe as he cleaned up his room. He threw his baseball socks and jersey into the dirty clothes hamper.

“She’s coming over then?”

He mumbled an affirmative answer.

Emiko got giddy, saying she’d make a good rich curry tonight for dinner and that he’d need to tell her to stay for dinner. He gave a wave and kept picking up his room.

When the doorbell rang, he ran to the door. Emiko chastened him and told him to calm down. He let her in, and she greeted his mom, giving Emiko the box of fruit her own mom told her to drop off. He complained in Japanese that she always went straight to his mom instead of greeting him first. Emiko in turn smiled at her while scolding her son again in Japanese.

Watching the conversation unfold, she shrugged, Japanese was just not her strong suit.

“How hard is it to understand a constitutional federal republic?” She looked over his essay answer to a prompt she had given him to practice for his upcoming test. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, chewing the end of a pen. She was leaning against his bed frame, reading papers and marking up his essay with her red pen. Each time she made another red mark, he grumbled. Of all the people she had tutored though, his handwriting was the best.

“Correct these things first, and then I can edit again with my orange pen.” She held up said pen while handing the paper back to him. He just mimicked what she had said, holding his own pen the same way she had held up hers, even going so far as to bring his shoulders upwards to make him appear smaller.

In response to the insulting imitation she grabbed her notebook and hit him repeatedly on the knee. He let out a pained ouch, and she felt bad, so she put the notebook away and just patted his knee instead.

“If you really loved me you’d just write out the whole essay and then I could just memorize it and cross apply the right parts for the actual prompt Mr. Henry gives in class next week.” Kenji adjusted his body position, and her hand wasn’t on his knee anymore but dead center of his thigh instead. He smirks, and she immediately retracts her hand.

“Good thing I don’t love you then.” Kenji presses his hand to his heart and sighs, falling back into his pillow. “Just do the essay Jiji.”

He lifted his head and repeated what she had said, “Jiji?”

“Kenji.” She says his name and enunciates the two syllables cleanly.

“I like Jiji, I think it suits me. It’s a cute nickname.”

He finished rewriting the essay while she poked around his room. Photos of him with his mom and dad, which she already knew not to ask about because last time she did he went total silence for two weeks. But then he felt guilty about ghosting and took her out to get a sweet treat everyday after school for one week straight. Trophies from his old school back in Japan for his baseball achievements. Multiple MVP awards from the games he had played here.

The other photos that were in his room were mostly of him and his teammates. He just didn’t look too happy in those ones, so she tried to skim them, but failed. His teammates did their best to make him seem like he was a part of the group, but it just didn’t click all the way. Kenji always looked too serious in the photos, or it seemed like he was actually looking at the baseball diamond instead of the person taking the photo.

There was an adorable little figure, made either of acrylic or vinyl, of a little superhero with a red and silver supersuit and a blue circle on the chest. She picked it up and inspected it. What she assumed was Kenji’s name was on the foot of the toy. She bent the arms of the toy and moved it around like it was flying midair.

Kenji had completely paused writing his essay in favor of watching her dart around his room. He clenched his jaw for a second when she picked up the Ultraman toy, then eased his body language when she started making the toy fly around. If only that’s what Ultraman really was, just a toy. Just a toy and not an impending responsibility to protect and serve the people of Japan from Kaiju monsters. He wondered if she’d ever want to live somewhere besides Los Angeles. Tokyo for example.

“Kenji! Curry! Get the applesauce from the cabinet please!” Emiko called out.

She set the toy down and turned around, but Kenji was already standing right behind her. He had only meant to watch her movements a little more closely, but now this was entirely too close. He played it off like he was adjusting the Ultraman doll, smiled and then opened his door for her to exit and head downstairs.

When he heard the steps trailing down, he silently screamed and raised his hands to the sides of his head. Then he dragged a hand down his face and carded fingers through his hair. He envied the self he saw in the photos, cool and nonchalant.

“So, are there any boys you think are cute at school?” Emiko ate another bite of katsu that was drenched in curry sauce.

She swallowed thickly for a second, “I- uh, no. There’s not many good options for dating material at a hyper-athletic school.” She laughed to cut the edge off the conversation.

Emiko drank some water, but then prodded a little more. Kenji wished the earth would open and swallow him up.

“Not even at a school full of athletes? I would’ve sworn there were some good options for you on Kenji’s baseball team. What was his name? Eric? Eli?”

“Ohh, Ezra Johnson?” She supplied, eating some applesauce and then tapping her mouth with a napkin.

Kenji looked to her, then to his mom, then back at her. He was trying to stuff his face with his food so he could exit the conversation and then drag her and himself back to his room. She seemed insistent on blocking out the whole fake dating thing from his mom’s view and perception.

“Yes! He’s a really nice kid! He actually greeted me when I went to the first game. It was so sweet of him. His mom and I got to know each other a little bit. I can send you his details if you want?” Emiko grazed the back of her phone.

“No!” Kenji burst. His mom and his fake girlfriend both looked at him. “Uh, Ezra is talking to this girl named, um, Claire. Yeah, Claire.” He held his plate up and his mom nodded.

Rinsing his plate off he put it into the dishwasher, then from behind his mom’s back he tried mouthing to her so they could go back upstairs but she was too busy still talking to his mom to notice anything.

When she finally finished eating, she said she needed to go back home.

“What about my essay though?” Kenji rested his forearms on the kitchen counter while she was busy doing the dishes despite having to gently fight with Emiko about letting her even do the dishes in the first place.

“I gave you enough content to work with, just do the corrections and you’ll be good to go.” She bumped the dishwasher with her hip to close it, and he wondered what her bumping into him would feel like. And then he groveled a little that he wanted to be a dishwasher for even a split second. “I need to do my own homework now, tell your mom thank you again for me, okay?”

She rubbed his arm to comfort him slightly, but he took his chance to reach to her hip, tugging her lightly into him.

“What are you doing?” She hissed at him, trying to keep her voice down in case Emiko was still lurking around.

“Saying thanks for the help, goodbye, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” He grabbed the hand that she had on his arm and held her hand for a second, then brought it up to his mouth to press a light kiss to her knuckles.

She smiled, then pushed his shoulder.

When she had left the house, he flung himself onto the couch and giggled a little. Kicking his feet that were dangling over the arm of the couch. His mom peeked downstairs to see Kenji wriggling around and muttering. She just laughed a little. Maybe her instigation had worked out in the end.

The next week, she was hounded by baseball players after school.

She kept holding up a hand to cover her face, but they would not relent. Asking questions about her and Kenji. What Kenji was like outside of school, outside of baseball. If Kenji ever stopped being serious and aloof for even a minute. At this point they were just crowding her and not giving her the space to breathe.

She kept giving short curt answers, tugging her backpack straps closer and closer to her. At one point, one of them stepped on her foot and she winced a little.

It was like some kind of sonar sensor, Kenji could tell something was wrong. When he turned the corner, all he could see was his girl getting cornered by a bunch of idiots who didn’t even have his best interest at heart. The only reason why he asked her to fake date him was so that he could get out of dates with the girls his teammates had thought would suit him. The secondary reason was so she could avoid his teammates entirely. But clearly, the second reason did not go as planned because his teammates were a bunch of no-brainers who didn’t even really care about baseball.

“Hey, let’s go, I’ll drive you home today.” Kenji stuck his hand in between two of his teammates, and she grabbed it, so he was able to pull her out from the crowd they had made around her.

He strung two fingers around her jean belt loop and guided her to his car. When they finally sat down, and Kenji had started the engine, she let out a shaky breath. He put his hand behind her seat, and then moved his hand so he could lightly touch the back of her neck at her nape.

“Are you okay? I had no idea they would do something like that, I mean, it’s just completely ridiculous. I don’t even talk to them that much, if at all. And they treat me like some kind of foreigner, which I may be yeah, but really come on. That’s just herd mentality to the max. Ridiculous behavior, so childish.” Kenji kept talking while driving, she thought that maybe he needed a chance to really unload everything and mitigate the tension that had built up around him.

When they got to her house, he apologized again. And again.

“Don’t let it eat you alive, it’s all good, no harm no foul, if it makes you feel better, they totally reeked of body odor.” She chimed in after he finished his long wind of apologies. “And, um, what time is your game on Wednesday? My mom asked, she wants to hang out with your mom.”

“And here I thought you just wanted to see me completely kill the opposing team.” Kenji tried to lean out of the car just a little more, but his seatbelt kept him from getting his head out of the passenger side window. “I’ll text you. Get to your house safe ok?”

To her house from the car was approximately seven steps. The smile she gave him wrinkled her eyes and creased her nose just perfectly. He slid his hands up and down the wheel, smiling to himself as he started home.

The game went perfectly, he stole practically all the bases, and he made two home run hits. And an LA Dodgers scout was there. Once he got the documents and the scout shaked his hand, he was over the moon excited to play for the best team in the United States.

When he saw her with her mom and his mom, he just couldn’t hold himself back. In a second, he was hugging her and ranting about the scout continuously just repeating the experience over and over. Since his mom knew she would have a hard time prying Kenji off of his best friend, she just had to listen in to what he was saying, and she clapped when she had finally heard it all, celebrating from just far enough away to let them enjoy the moment.

His graduation was boring, she sat with his mom in the stands waiting for him to get his name called out. There were a lot of speeches, and she recognized the valedictorian from various library encounters, but for the most part everyone was a stranger to her. Emiko kept getting a call from an international number, but she didn’t try to ask about it.

Kenji barrelled through the crowd of graduates to get to his people, his mom and his best friend. When he started to talk about what he was going to do over the summer, his baseball camps and training, getting to meet the members of his team. His mom put a gentle hand to his shoulder, and he furrowed his eyebrows at the serious environment his mom had suddenly crafted. She backed away a little, but Kenji grabbed her hand and shook his head, telling her to stay for whatever his mom had to say.

“Kenji, your dad, he’s, your dad wants to talk to you. He’s, he’s on the phone.” Emiko couldn’t help but stutter a little, unnerved with how Kenji would react.

Kenji shook his head no, pulling her closer to him trying to use her as a crutch to prevent an interaction with his father from occurring. She looked between Kenji and his mother for a moment. Emiko with her tightened face and hand gripping the phone tightly said more than what her original request was saying. Emiko wanted Kenji to answer the call. So, she in turn encouraged him to answer it.

“Jiji, just answer the call. It’s your dad.” He felt betrayed.

“I’m not picking up the phone, I’m not talking to dad, and I’m getting a ride with a friend.” He pulls his hand away, despite missing her touch, and leaves his mom and her standing and stunned from his reaction.

Emiko pulled her into a side hug. “Thanks for backing me, you’re much more mature than I think people give you credit for. I have udon at home, call your mom and let’s have a girls night. I don’t think he’ll be home for a while. I’ll let him blow off steam today, but don’t think I’m soft on him, he’ll have some hell to pay when I catch him tomorrow.”

Patting the back of her head, Emiko went to the small electric van. She stood for a second, thinking about the space Kenji had just occupied. Maybe the family dynamic in the Sato household was more complex than she had anticipated, Emiko seemed to still love her husband despite them being separated. Kenji seemed adverse to and angry with his father, but Emiko didn’t carry any slight of resentment.

Girls night was a blast, including face masks and bad romance movies. Kenji got back around midnight, just as her mom and her were leaving his house. When she left, he was the one who closed the door after her. He gave a short pained smile and a wave. In her mind, it was a win because at least he wasn’t upset with her for taking Emiko’s side.

Summer was hot and burned the apples of her cheeks, leaving both sunburns and memories in it’s fragmented state. Kenji was busy conditioning for baseball practically everyday. Somedays he’d invite her out just to watch him play, so she could sip some icy lemonade and sit in the shade instead of being cooped in her house doing whatever it is that homebodies do.

It would be deceiving to say that she didn’t enjoy just watching him play. The way his baseball jersey would bunch at his elbows and shoulders when he hit the ball. Or the way he would run the bases each time he missed a throw from the ball machine. He still needed to get a haircut, so his bangs would completely cover most of his face, until he ran a hand through his sweaty hair and his almost snake-like eyes would study her from afar.

The best part was when he told her to move her legs a little, so he could sit on the row of bleachers in front of her. Eventually positioning himself to settle in between her legs, resting his arms on her thighs and his head was leaning on her torso. Although his sweat would lightly mark up her shirts when his hair dripped from his practice rounds, she still loved to be there for him in this capacity.

Either he was here with her or he would be at the diamond alone and angry. When he came alone, he would throw his bat when he made a mistake instead of just brushing it off and doing a lap. Somehow, doing baseball training alone while waiting for official LA Dodgers’ orders made him all pent up and out of control. So when she came to observe, it felt like he had more things in his control, his ability to manage.

“How are you gonna survive without me next year?” Kenji rolled his shoulders before getting his water bottle and guzzling down the IV infused liquid.

“Well, as far as everyone knows, we’re still dating, so I’ll have another year of free solo-ing the romance world at a hormone ridden cesspool.” She slid her backpack on, ready to start the trek home.

Kenji slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, then quickly switched which shoulder his bag was on once he saw which side she let her bag rest on, so that their bags wouldn’t bump into each other as he walked her home.

“You’re not gonna tell people we ended it?” Kenji sucked in some air through his teeth, readjusting the bag’s weight placement a little.

“Nah, it’s just easier that way. At graduation though if anyone asks how we’re doing I’ll say you found a supermodel that preys on greenie Pro-Baseball players.”

He nods, accepting the route she was going in order to terminalize their fake relationship.

“I was a good boyfriend though, right?” Maybe he asked so that he could feel out the possibility of a real one, or seeing what he could do better when he finally worked up enough courage to ask her out for real and for forever. For now though, he knew that friendship would satiate most of his yearning for her time and attention.

“Comparatively, to what I heard other girls went through, you were practically a saint. I mean, you never did press me into a couch so we could make out. Ruby held that over my head for the whole year once her girlfriend did that to her.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad actually,” Kenji stroked his chin, “One last boyfriend duty for me to do before I get too busy, ya know?”

“Kiss me without permission and you're a dead baseball boy.” He held up his hands defensively.

“That was one time.”

“In the middle of the library, in front of a good majority of my friends, right after I had been begged to be a fake girlfriend.”

Kenji raised his eyebrows, and tilted his head, “I do not recall begging.”

“You definitely begged,” She clasped her hands together and turned towards him, pausing their pace on the sidewalk for her to parody him, “Pretty please.”

She fluttered her eyelashes and pouted dramatically.

He rolled his eyes and tugged her hands so she would keep walking.

The postseason began around October for Kenji, and he made his official debut into the stage of professional baseball. Around the fifth game he played, he snapped. And that’s why he was sitting on her bathroom counter holding a bag of peas to the side of his face, while she dug through the closet just outside the bathroom looking for a first aid kit.

The catcher had just stepped out of line according to Kenji, messing up his at bat routine with his comments about his age, his inexperience, his lack of genuine talent. The first punch was Kenji’s, the second punch was the catcher’s and it rocked Kenji immediately.

Tasting the metallic blood in his mouth, he was just glad all his teeth were okay. He did feel bad for going to her instead of going home. But he knew that his mom would’ve killed him for hitting another player. The only reason why his mom wasn’t at this specific game was because she had some research files from years ago that his father needed, so she was spending the time trying to transfer data from floppy disks to USB drives.

She should’ve been asleep, or studying for her upcoming exams. He felt like an inconvenience and like a child who was being coddled, but he did feel like he was being fawned over by her which he could live with. Even the way she had reacted to him texting her and asking if she could help patch him up a little. She had sent nearly thirty messages, mostly angry, but also laced with worry.

“This might sting a little.” She reached up and pressed a cloth to his lip. He lurched away from the disinfectant, and she almost fell over due to having to reach up to get to his face.

“Hold on, give me a second.” Kenji got off the counter regardless of her complaints, she stopped complaining and was silenced once he swapped their positions, her sitting on the counter and him in front of her with his hands on either side of her hips, placed on the edge of the counter. “Better.”

She hummed a little, pressing the cloth to his face again, he tried to not lurch away this time. She put some triple antibiotic ointment on his lip and temple where there were some cuts. Putting some small star shaped bandages on his face where the cuts were biggest.

“All done!” She put her hands on his shoulders and gave a big smile.

Maybe he leaned in, maybe he didn’t. But their lips were definitely touching. When she pushed him away he realized he must have made a fatal error. So he decided to play it off.

“Sorry, a little faint from the fight earlier, not in my right mind.”

“Yeah, you, uh, you were just trying to, yeah.” She chewed the inside of her mouth.

Kenji helped her off the counter, and walked to her front door, ready to head out.

Holding onto the door, she stuck her head out and commented to him before he got too far away from hearing distance, “No more fights okay?”

He threw her a thumbs up before leaving her house. When he was safely back in his car, he did something that was all too familiar when he slipped up around her, he silently screamed and gripped his hair.

Years went by.

They stayed close, and he made sure of that. Baseball was going great, but no championships under his belt. She had graduated college, working at an office as an assistant. She moved out of her family home and got a shared apartment with some college friends who also worked in the main part of Los Angeles

Then, his dad hurt his leg, and everything went to hell. Hayao had called, telling Kenji it was finally time to take the name of Ultraman. He now needed to bear the gauntlet, the responsibility of keeping his home country safe. His mom just agreed, putting her hands on Kenji’s knee. Telling Kenji it was finally time for him to go home and be who he was supposed to be. And he was supposed to be Ultraman?

Baseball was his thing, he knew baseball and he was good at it too. Baseball felt like home, LA felt like his home, she felt like his home.

On top of all that, within a week of his father’s request and his mother’s urging, his mother had an accident. He had no idea what happened. Just that one day, Emiko was there and then she wasn’t.

He was depressed, and so he drank. His house was a mess. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink, he was wearing the same clothes from four days ago. His toothbrush had become unfamiliar. He didn’t bother turning on the lights, staying in the dark and sulking.

When her mom found out about Emiko’s disappearance and presumed death, she called her daughter and told her to check in on Kenji. He had been distant lately, and she knew that the distance was a result of his grief. Her stomach twisted into knots, and she realized she hadn’t reached out to him in a few weeks.

His front door was locked, she had a basket of fruit and a stack of tupperwares filled with lunches and dinners for an entire week. She tried to think about what food were both comforting and had a lot of protein, so she made a variety of pasta dishes with extra meat.

“Kenji?” She knocked repeatedly, checking her phone only to see that her messages had been left on read. She called out for him again, knocking harder. “I know you’re in there Jiji.”

Opening the door made her grasp the gravity of the situation he was in. His hair was covering his face, he seemed to have recoiled into himself, wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt instead of his typical jeans and jersey thrown over a solid color tee. He smelled too, not of his usual mintiness and clean linen, but of all and any sort of alcohol. With eye bags darker than dirt, and hollow looking features, he just left the door open as he lurked back into his blacked out house.

Setting her gifts on his kitchen counter, she turned on the lights, and got to work. First the dishes, and then she picked up all the clothing and started a load of laundry. She made him a plate of the food she had brought, and a big glass of water and some Advil for the inevitable hangover he would have.

Lying on the couch, Kenji played with the hem of his sweatshirt. He tried to take another sip straight from a bottle of red wine when she stole it out of his hands. Whining, he told her to give it back and turn the lights off. She clicked her tongue.

“Eat this,” she handed him the plate, “Drink this,” she sat the water and pill on the coffee table. She tapped her foot, her arms folded in front of her chest. He groaned but did as told.

Satisfied with his actions, she dragged him upstairs and told him to take a shower. Hearing the water running, she looked around his room and cleaned it up. His passport, along with a one way ticket to Tokyo for one month out, was on the floor, covered by blankets that were strewn around. Opened letters were lying on the floor as well, pictures and clippings of ‘Kaiju’ attacks in Japan. Maybe she needed to brush up on her international news instead of staying in her little bubble.

Coming out of the shower with baggy clothes on, he dried his hair with a small towel.

“What are you doing?” He saw her holding the letters his dad had sent. He reached out for them, but she held them back and to her chest.

“What are Kaiju?”

Soon, he was sitting on his bed with her as well. He had the Ultraman doll in his left hand and a stuffed animal that she had given him some years ago in his right hand.

“Basically, I’m this, by blood,” He shook the Ultraman doll, “And I’m supposed to fight these back home. Since my father can’t anymore.” Laughing slightly, he slammed Ultraman into the stuffie repeatedly.

Her eyes were wide. She may not have understood everything about what he was, or what he was supposed to be doing, but she knew it was important to him to some degree. It was irrelevant that his dad needed him, the only thing he cared about was that his mom had asked him to take the step to become something he wasn’t sure of.

But the idea that her best friend was going to be a superhero? That he could change into some kind of robotic monster slayer? She had to disconnect a little from reality just to process the whole thing.

Suddenly, he thought of something that could possibly get him out of his funk. Something that could make his time in Tokyo, living an entirely new life bearable.

“There’s some extra rooms at the place I’ll be living in. I know that you want to go to some kind of graduate school. There are really good graduate schools in Tokyo.” He scratched the back of his head, if she said yes, then he would be truly mortified that she had seen him like this but he would also get to have neverending time with her on a day to day basis if she agreed.

“I remember none of the Japanese you taught me, I’d need to get a visa,” She started listing off all the things that would keep her from leaving, “But, uh, I think I’ll go with you. Yes.”

“I can handle the visa thing, you’re just going to need to sign some papers and have an interview with some people, and you’ll need to wear a ring on your ring finger. As for the Japanese, I’m a better teacher now than when I was 18.”

Getting married was not on her bucket list, but at least she could get better tuition at her graduate school for technically being a form of naturalized Japanese national. Her mom was glad to see her living away from LA, and she was grateful for Kenji going with her daughter. Her mom just didn’t know about the marriage for a green card/visa situation, and honestly, she didn’t plan on telling her mom.

The whole flight to Tokyo she was practicing her Japanese with Kenji. For the first time in a long time, he was actually happy. Not ready for the whole Ultraman thing, but ready at least to leave home and be out of LA. Los Angeles reminded him of his mother, every street sign, every restaurant, the greenery and flowers, it all came back to his mom.

What he had explained to her as the Ultrabase wasn’t just some place that he was staying at, it was a literal industrial modern masterpiece of a mansion. The sleek design ebbed and flowed into the molding of the island it resided on. Ceilings higher than a museum’s, she traced her finger along every surface trying to soak in the elitism of it all. He reclined himself on the ginormous couch, watching her observe the surroundings.

To him, she was the best feature of the homebase. Where most things were cold and stricken with a detrimental weight of his responsibility, she was like a beam of no expectations. She gave him the space to just exist without pressure. That and she was always fighting with his robot assistant MINA which also made each time returning back from fighting a little easier to endure.

“Listen MINA, I just think that you’d be more effective if you were pink, also can you pass me my pencil case.” She was sitting at the kitchen table, snacking on candy and working on an assignment from one of her professors on her Master’s Committee. MINA used an extended robot hand to fly over the pencil case that had been in her backpack.

“If I was pink, it would detract from my integrated design.” MINA floats around her head, observing her completed work thus far. “Your work is completely correct, why are you changing the grammatical structure?”

“For the love of the process MINA, for the love of the process.”

Kenji just ate another bite of his New York Strip, enjoying the free entertainment. When he finished his meal, he asked if she wanted to go out for an adventure.

Matching helmets, black and gold design with her wearing one of his extra leather jackets just in case. For safety he justified. The cool Tokyo air felt even colder as they rushed around the streets, lane splitting and cutting in between cars. The headphones had built in bluetooth so they were listening to a shared playlist they had made. Blending rap, RNB, pop, and EDM crafted the right ambiance needed for a late night drive.

In some ways, Tokyo was similar to LA. She reasoned that it might have been the lights to a certain degree, but here, the lights were brighter and bolder. Neon signs and air pollution were the common denominators between the two cities.

He takes a corner just a little too hard, and she instinctively tightens her arms around his waist, tucking her head a little closer to his shoulder.

They end up taking a break for a minute, pulling off the side of the road to grab some vending machine drinks. Tea for her, coffee for him.

That’s when his watch begins to blare red. She fidgets with the ring on her hand, she didn’t need to wear it around he told her, but the cool diamond gem had grown on her. Just as a precaution if the case workers came around to check on their ‘marriage’, that was the explanation she gave to him for why she always had her ring on. They never talked about why he always kept his on too, despite interviews asking and continuously pestering him about the ring. The baseball world had just concluded it was either a secret wife or for the style since he never gave an answer.

“I think you have to go do your whole superman thing.” She pointed at his watch that he was trying to ignore.

Kenji groaned a little, calling for a ride so she could get back to his place. MINA had already gotten to them by the time the watch had started to blare.

“Ken, it is time to mitigate the primary conflict in Shinjuku.” MINA did a bow with their robot body. She tried to throw a pebble at MINA to test for reaction time, that being said MINA caught the rock. She shrugged.

Back at the dungeon, also known as the Ultrabase much to her distaste for a name like that, she was surprised to see an elderly man with a crutch sitting on the couch in the central living room.

He was watching a big hologram screen, which now clearly looked like Kenji (in Ultraman form) fighting with a pink monster dragon thing. When he got a particularly nasty body slam she sucked in some air through her teeth.

“Ahh, hello strange girl in the Ultraman base.” He circled her for a moment, his crutch slowing down his assessment of her.

“Ahh, hi strange grandpa in the Ultraman base.” She waved, and the older gentleman introduced himself as Professor Sato.

“Kenji’s dad?” She checked.

“Yes, I’m his father.” She nods, getting a glass of water.

When Kenji gets back to the base, that’s when things get a little crazy. What was once a slimy egg turned into a cute komodo dragon mutant baby. She was all over the baby in an instant, trying to get to know it better.

“She’s adorable. I love her.” She was tapping the glass of the containment cylinder, cooing at the infant Kaiju. The baby seemed to respond positively, making little coos back and stomping around a little.

Kenji just folded his arms and took it all in. He was still trying to get rid of his dad, despite his father’s willingness to help out. He just couldn’t balance it all without Hayao’s help, he realized. Especially when Emi needed more assistance, and help avoiding the KDF’s insistent attacks. She loved Emi, despite the Kaiju having the ability to totally crush her, Emi reciprocated quickly to her. Considering the contrast in how long it took for Kenji to demonstrate that his Ultaman form and his regular self were the same through systematic desensitization.

They became a family, even if a family consisted of a pro-baseball player, his fake wife/best friend, an estranged but loving father, a Kaiju baby, and a robot assistant.

A learning curve consisted of a lot more mistakes and complaining, but at the end of it all, Kenji had to commit. He was Ultraman now. He needed to protect Tokyo. At least now he had a support system he could rely on. Slowly, changes occurred with him. Putting others before himself, really truly thinking about life and the value of other human beings. The catalyst was a Kaiju baby named Emi, especially the way that said Kaiju baby loved openly.

The misadventures of raising Emi were wild and laced with KDF fights, but in the end, Kenji and his dad were brought together by defending Kaiju in a unique way. The monsters weren’t intentionally villains, humans had just made them out to be like that. That’s life though, people defining and categorizing things into concepts and schemas that made sense to them.

That’s what his dad was doing when he and Emiko separated. Hayao was trying to find ways to open human eyes to the world and beauty of Kaiju. Living in tandem with them may not have been immediately possible but why shouldn’t it be ever given a chance? Professor Sato, his dad, wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, he was trying his best to make the world a little bit better. Forgiving a father who he once believed left him wasn’t an easy road, but it was a path that needed to be traveled.

Saying goodbye to Emi was rough, yet, the Kaiju Island was close enough to go and visit on occasion. Baseball was great, winning the championship and going into a post-season diffusement.

Yet, Kaiju still came and wreaked havoc, and Kenji still had to fight and protect Japan. Even if that meant coming back to the base bloodied and bruised. She was almost always there, wrapping his arms in white bandages and wiping off blood with towels. Running ice baths and making cold soba noodles.

Which is what she was doing at this moment, rinsing the noodles in ice water and stirring a sweet sauce for Kenji to pour over rather than dunk his noodles into.

He was resting a frozen water bottle on his shoulder, hoping it would numb the pain, the Kaiju just had to try and rip his good arm off didn’t it?

“Hey, can I come in? Got your soba.” She knocked on the bathroom door using her elbow, since both hands were carrying bowls of soba with sauce containers precariously resting on her lower palms.

“Yeah, I’m wearing swim trunks.”

“Good because I’m not ready to see you naked, like, ever.” She chuckled, but pulled a chair next to the ceramic tub, breaking her chopsticks and saying a quick itadakimasu. He copied her, immediately drowning his noodles in the sauce she set on the edge of the tub. She rolled her eyes at his action.

He laughed a little, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, “What, it tastes better like this.”

She hummed an affirmative sound, but her eyes glinted with an agree to disagree conclusion.

The noodles had been fully digested, but she was still there, dipping her fingers into the water and making small swirls. The frigid temperature makes her fingers feel detached from her body.

Kenji lowers himself in the tub for a moment, getting his hair wet. When he came back up, she was pushing his bangs away from his face, smiling. Her hand stayed in his hair, brushing the strands away from his face as they dropped droplets down the back of his neck and then into the tub again. The ice cubes bumped into each other, melting slowly but steadily.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, uttering a few words, “Hot tub?”

She nods and heads out of the bathroom to get a swimsuit on.

The pool on the second to bottom floor of the base had an attached hot tub. He turned on the low lights, leaving the space in a warm brown shade of yellow light. The glass wall gave an outlook over the city and the ocean that surrounded the base.

MINA zoomed into the pool area, “Shall I put on some smooth jazz Ken?”

“No. Do not do that.” Kenji waved off MINA with red stinging his ears. MINA states they were just trying to speed up the whole process, and quoted one of her favorite phrases adding an addendum of MINA’s understanding and AI learning, “For the love of the process, especially if it's about love.”

The hot tub was warm, not quite boiling, but warm. She rested her arms on the outside ledge of the tub, looking out through the window. Kenji came to her side and replicated how she was positioned, before remembering that his shoulder hurt and gave out a small sound of displeasure. She giggled a little, rubbing the back of his shoulder where there weren't any distinct injuries.

“You’ve changed a lot since we were in high school.” She closed her eyes and dropped her head so that it was on her crossed arms.

“That’s what happens with time.” He wants to ask why she brought up his self-improvement. But she cuts him off before any words settle in his mouth.

“Yeah, but you’ve made a lot of great changes. You’re actually friends with your teammates now. And you’ve taken on this whole responsibility for an entire country. You aren’t just Kenji Sato, you’re also Ken Sato, and Ultraman, and I like to think you’ve fully embraced your father again, and not to mention our friendship.” She looks up at the ceiling, “You’re like an actual adult now.”

“I’ve been an adult for way longer than you.”

“But not like this, like an actual responsible person. You can juggle everything now.”

She sniffles a little, “Which is why I can understand if you don’t want me to stay once I finish my program you know?”

Kenji grabs a hold of one of her hands, “What the hell? Why would you ever think I’d want to kick you out?”

She shrugs.

He continues, “I hate to say it, but I think you’re stuck with me. You know too much about my dark secrets.” She smirks in response to his teasing tone.

Kenji dives deeper into things he wished he would’ve said earlier.

“I mean, you already have the ring to prove it too.” Her mouth gapes open a little, raising an eyebrow.

It would be amiss to say that this wouldn’t alter everything, but it was time.

“I know that we’ve only ever been friends, but you need to know what I feel.”

“I think I already know.” She cups the side of his face, and he pulls her into him, and makes her face him. She’s sitting on the expanse of his thighs, and he looks up at her from how he’s leaning back onto the wall of the hot tub.

Wrapping arms around his neck, careful to not rest too much of her arm on his shoulder, she brings their noses to brush against each other.

“Mine now? Right? You’re mine now?” When she doesn’t respond he continues, “Pretty please? Mine?”

“I thought you said you never begged?” She grazes his lips with her own and he sighs with a light shudder in his chest.

“I’ll beg for this, for you.”

“Fair enough.”

He tightens his grip and pulls her flush to him. Angling his neck up and tilting his head, he kisses her. She smiles too much for it to be a proper kiss, but he keeps pressing against her mouth. When she stops smiling and starts responding with her own pressure of lips to lips, he has to suppress the hunger to bite her.

His tongue brushes against her bottom lip and she opens her mouth for him, he runs his tongue along the inner lining of her mouth before biting on the tip of her tongue when she tries to take her turn. He chuckles when she pulls back a little, nose crinkled and lips wet.

“C’mere.” He trails kisses down the side of her face, going to her neck and collarbones, glad that her swimsuit was low cut enough for him to graze the top of her chest, where the rise of her curves began. She just presses kisses to the top of his head while her hand tangles into the hair at his nape, twisting the locks into fake curls.

When their fingers were wrinkled from the water in the hot tub, they showered and curled up on his bed, watching a meaningless show.

“So, my thoughts are that we can just skip the dating thing and go straight to marriage since legally we already are.”

“My mom will kill me.”

“Good thing she loves me, just say we eloped.” He wraps his good arm around her and pulls her down to lay on the pillows. She snuggles into the silk blend pillow cases and murmurs a little, tired from a long day. He caresses the side of her face and rests his hand on her hip.

MINA flits around the base, erasing specific footage from the recordings in the pool room, for everyone’s benefit.

Kenji paced back and forth in the base, waiting for her to get back from babysitting Chiho, hoping that Ami’s date would end shockingly early for his benefit.

He’s still on the phone with her, “I don’t want to wait to see you.” He kicks a throw pillow that had fallen on the ground from the couch.

“Have patience, I’ll be back around one AM.”

“This is spousal abuse.”

“It really isn’t”

MINA chimed in and agreed with her, so she exclaimed and said that even a robot knows the truth that Kenji was just a little clingy.

“I think you should stop watching other people’s babies and come take care of your family. And by family, I mean me.”

“I know what you meant.”

He looks to the clock, three more hours of waiting would be excruciating. But at least she’d be back in time for him to wish her an extremely early happy anniversary with the new ring he got.

[aomiiine]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

jujutsu kaisen w SAMURAI!TOJI FUSHIGURO. format. fic. warnings. fluff + hurt/comfort + nsfw. mdni. fem!reader. beating mention. spanking mention. pretty domestic and vanilla ngl. lots of praise(good girl, etc). a bit of dirty talk. fingering. endearments. wife!reader. toji in denial that he’s stupidly in love. summary. samurai!toji w his pretty wife + non-sorcerer au so he’s just miserable here

author’s note. gcbuiawbf got this idea out of nowhere. a bit inspired by hell’s paradise.

toji zenin. His birth name given by his parents along with all the responsibilities he never knew he was obliged to carry. If his soul while a fetus was informed that he was about to be born in a family where prowess reigned supreme and the right to be treated as a human had be fought for, perhaps he would have never wished to be born at all.

Against his will, he was birthed by his mother anyway, having to be scowled at and ostracised by his own clan which was said to be family. Growing up as a child, he learned what he had wasn’t family by the sight he was greeted with when he went out to the capital—children his age, running around with colourful toys in hand instead of a sword. And most importantly, they laughed. Smiled even.

It was something so mundane—a smile—yet something so foreign to him. The only smile he knew of at that age was the smile his relatives had when they kicked him on the ground, using the wooden sword he was given to train to hit him instead. The only smile he knew, was one full of sadism.

The older he got, the stronger he became, the more he realised he was slowly starting to pick up that same trait from them.

Very so often, he’d accept challenges from his peers or outsiders that wanted to humiliate him and his skills, looking down at him despite his bloodline of the Zenin clan.

He’d unsheathe his the katana he had resting on his hip, lazily taking stance and staring the arrogant man dead in the eyes with his own void eyes.

Such duels would end with the same outcome—toji having them laid on the ground, the sharp edge of his long katana dangerously close to the opponent’s neck. Sometimes—just sometimes, he’d smile. Just sometimes, he’d unintentionally make a thin cut to the neck just enough to draw blood.

He would be lying if he said the view from above wasn’t satisfying, the feeling of finally being the one looking down on someone as pathetic as the ones that humiliated him for years. The sneer he’d make with his lifeless eyes under the thin shadow that masked his face from his muscular and tall physique would make anyone think their life was about to be taken in a blink of an eye. But he wouldn’t. Toji would spare himself the trouble of having to face his elders for making a scene out of nothing.

Toji’s lived at the isolated quarters of the zenin estate for years—and that wasn’t about to change. It was where his mother birthed him and died—and so it would be where he would live and die.

The very least he would expect or care about was having a wife to continue his bloodline despite his progressing age. He knew better than to be greedy and trap a lady to the hell he lived in. Besides, he had absolutely no intentions of taking the ladies he’d frequently meet at the brothels out in town as his lover, let alone as his wife.

So the news of the elders arranging him a wife from another samurai clan shocked him. It was early morning when he was informed of such news, he had almost spat out his sake. The only thing he could utter in response was a loud, deep, huh?

Toji finally met you face to face after hearing your name being repeated by his elders when he had a meeting with them. Your family name rang a bell, though he never thought much of them since they weren’t politically involved in anything other than war.

He’s sat beside you, his hair slightly better groomed and yukata straightened compared to the sloppy way he wore it before. Making an effort in his appearance was the least he could do—since he was convinced he wouldn’t bother changing a thing about himself just for your sake.

“Your wedding ceremony will be held five days from now. End of discussion,” one of his elders concluded, the leader of your clan bearing witness and agreeing. Toji merely stared head on to his peers, moving a hand to lift his cup of sake and chugging it down without a hint of respect.

After a few more minutes of discussing the details about the ceremony, he finally turned his head to look at you—his future wife. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, your figure considerably insignificant to his. From what he thought would be an average woman being wed to him, his eyes lingered on you quite some while before he glanced elsewhere, his expression unreadable still.

You two parted ways for the day and he returned to his quarters, cup of sake in hand and his arm rested on the knee of his leg that propped up while sitting on the floor, his other leg bent towards himself. Toji stared out the courtyard of the estate, trying to peel the image of you out of his head. He internally cursed himself and his elders for suddenly arranging a wife for him just because they didn’t want their reputation to be tarnished by having an unmarried man. What was he supposed to do with a woman he’s never met before anyway? Regardless, he refused to be like the men within the zenin clan that lacked sympathy towards women and children.

The wedding ceremony was brief but complete. He was the best dressed he ever was in years, with you by his side. Just some family member from your families and a brief dinner, and the ceremony was complete. You didn’t seem to say a word about it either. Deep down he wondered if you loathed him, or your parents, for setting you up the low life of the zenin clan instead of his cousins. He would never know, he didn’t want to anyway. Ignorance was bliss, he thought.

You were lead back to his quarters after the ceremony ended, the sight of the somewhat empty and undecorated room not giving you much of a shocking reaction as he had hoped. Toji didn’t know what exactly he hoped, maybe a look of horror, sorrow, or pity. Yet he looked at you only to see you nod and acknowledge him, your expression remaining calm as if saying ‘I can work with this’.

Your first night together was mostly silent, perhaps a bit awkward whenever he tried offering you a blanket and separate futon to sleep in. While you thought that he didn’t like you, he was worried (albeit in denial) that you’d be uncomfortable sleeping with him.

To his and your surprise, you ended up having a brief yet meaningful talk that same night while you were both in your respective futons, about to sleep. He liked that you didn’t have expectations, understanding of his situation and yours now that you’re his legal wife. Maybe you weren’t so bad.

Months had passed since your wedding. And he’s become increasingly close to you—he’s fond of you, is what he would say in his own words. Though in the eyes of servants, others that weren’t blind, could see just how infatuated he was with you.

With how he’s stopped going to the brothel he so frequents in the capital, with how he’s become more hostile to those who insult you, it was quite clear how he cared for you, at least. Though what they didn’t know was how flirty he is with you behind closed doors, how he it was simply impossible for him to keep his hands to himself whenever he was in close proximity with you. He was insatiable. Not that you’d tell that to anyone. Unless you wanted a good spanking in the privacy of your quarters.

“What’d I tell you about gossiping with the maids, hm?” He’d murmur against the skin of your neck from behind you, his hard body pressing up against your soft one. His hands were all over you, the curve of your hip and the soft flesh of your breast that he had cupped over your loosening kimono, his calloused fingers circling your nipple making you shiver and squirm.

“I wasn’t gossiping, you fool,” you mumbled, your breath shaky and your body writhing in vain attempts to rid yourself of his touch.

“Then what were you doing? Bragging? Complaining?” You heard from the shell of your ear, his hot breath fanning your skin and the sound of his breathy laugh making you groan in frustration in embarrassment.

“Neither,” you huffed, settling yourself down on the futon with his arm under you still, holding you close to him.

“Liar,” he quickly refuted, his lips grazing the skin behind your ear and slipping his hand under your robe, searching to cup one of your tits and fondling it the second he captured it. His other hand moved down to your thighs, hooking his fingers under the slit of your robe and pulling it away to reveal your bare thighs, and exposing a hint of your dampening heat.

“There’s my beauty,” he whispered, his eyes flickering down your body from your shoulder to see the present he unwrapped for himself, your pretty cunt. He’s reminded you so many unneeded times before that he owned it, you. His calloused fingers slid to the apex of your legs, parting your puffy folds since your legs remained insistent on keep closed.

“Toji—” you started only to quickly be silenced with a deliberate stroke of his finger up your slit, the pad of said finger resting on your clit. The sudden touch made your lips part to exhale a shaky moan, your eyes looking down between your legs to see the movement of his hand.

“Yeah? Need something, sweetheart?” He hummed by your shoulder, burying his face into the crook of your neck to feast on your skin. While his teeth nibbled and marked you up, his finger on your clit began rubbing deliberate circles, feeling you up until he felt it twitching against the pad of his digit. Before you knew it, he had parted your folds further, slipping his thick middle fingers into your entrance, revelling in the way it made you squirm against him, your ass rubbing against his hip. You could only answer him with pathetic mewls that were only music to his ears, knowing damn well he wouldn’t be giving you much time to catch your breath to utter coherent words.

“Thought so, baby,” he scoffed triumphantly at your soft moans, his fingers curling inside you as he thrusted it in and out of your slowly, making sure to leave brief harsh kisses on your g-spot to keep you wanting, to keep you clenching around his digit in need but not enough to make you cum.

“You’re so tight around my finger, darling, can’t imagine how much tighter you’d get when I have my cock buried inside you. Think you’d like that? Feelin’ stuffed?” Was what he kept on whispering to you while he bottomed his finger in and out of you at a steady pace, making sure you’re feeling it as much as he was—and fuck was he feeling it. Even if he had you drunk on his finger, you weren’t exactly oblivious to prodding of his cock on your lower back. You just didn’t have the capacity to focus on it, not when he was turning you on with the mere thought and descriptions of him fucking you.

Toji felt you beginning to spams around him, your voice getting more and more high-pitched and whiny along with your nipples hardened to peaks between his cruel fingers. Signs of you being close to cumming was everywhere and he noticed them all, though he led you on to brink just to pull away when you needed him most.

“Yeah, not on my finger baby. You know where I want you most—where I want you best,” he grinned, his voice gravelly and hoarse as his breath brushed against your already warm skin.

Toji slid his finger out of you with slowly, savouring the way your juices coated him. The mere sight of his slick finger assured him that you were ready for—so fuckin’ ready.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, his free hand now slipping under your thigh, lifting your leg up to forcefully part your legs knowing you’d cramp yourself while trying to keep it up for him. “Yeah, ‘m here,” he assured from behind you when he finally took notice how you kept calling out his name, your voice all whiny and shaky in desperation. He positioned himself from behind you, shifting his hips and snuggling closer to you to lose whatever distance you still had left between each other.

“Feel that? ‘M all hard and ready for you, baby. Just like how ready you are for me,” he cooed, tugging on his own yukata to free his raging hard on, letting the thick girth slick with precum prod your ass, earning a needy whimper from you. He couldn’t help but stare at your side profile, taking in the sight of his wife making such expressions you’d never make for anyone but him.

His arm under your body curled your body suffocating close to him, making sure you could feel his chest against your back and his chin buried on the top of your head, alternating the choice of preying on the skin of your neck or ear.

After a moment of teasing, he finally slid his cock over to your wet folds, letting the tip mingle his precum with your slick juices before he pushed upwards, slowly penetrating your entrance that fluttered around him already, making it hard for him to go further.

“Fuck, princess—you gotta relax. I know you can take me in like a good girl,” he groaned, his jaw clenching at the feeling your soft flesh against his tip before you finally relax, letting him push further into you. He kept on uttering filthy encouragements by your ear while he made you take him in inch by inch until the hilt, his head tilting to kiss down your neck. He stayed still for a moment to let you adjust to his size, not letting that moment go on for too long until he started bottoming in and out of you with you slow, deliberate thrusts, your leg trembling in his hand.

“All mine—this tight cunt’s all mine.” The foul words that reached your ears would have normally had you recoiling in disgust but now, knowing those words came from him, it only made you moan shamelessly in his arms, your insides churning with pleasure and need to chase that high that he so often gave you. His need for you was palpable, almost equivalent to yours with how his hand kept alternating between your tits while he fucked you, his pace quickening now that the knot in his loins was tightening.

Your shared bedroom room was filled with nothing was the scent of your arousals, the lewd squelching sounds of his thrusts into you and loud shared moans. Toji’s hips didn’t stop for even a moment to let any of you rest, not when he was so close, you were so close. His grip on your breast tightened along with his grasp that help your thigh up, his hips bucking into your until he felt his balls tighten, his cock eventually spurting ropes of his thick semen into your canal, his movements jerky until he stopped. He nestled his cock into you until the hilt, unloading himself and letting you clench all around him.

He savoured the feeling with heavy pants, deep growls on satisfaction leaving him when he realised you came with him. Toji kept himself inside you for a while, not showing any signs of pulling out as you both basked in the afterglow.

He’d finally lower your leg down, humping against you lazily now that you’ve both came down from your high. Toji cradle you close to him, his hand slipping out of your robe to move his hand to your stomach instead, his face buried in your hair as he inhaled your natural scent and the musk of your mixed fluids that had began to ooze out you.

“Think you’d be up for another round after this, darling?” His low voice breathless voice met your ears, earning himself an annoyed frown which he merely chuckle at in response.

[malfoysanctuary]

For You, Always

Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: The world knows Fred Weasley as untamed, relentless, a hurricane of mischief—but when his hands find her, when his lips ghost over her skin, he is something else entirely. And if she asked him to stop the world for her, he would.

The Great Hall was a symphony of sound—laughter bouncing off the enchanted ceiling, the scrape of cutlery against plates, the occasional pop of an experimental spell gone wrong. The chatter was endless, loud, overlapping. And at the very heart of it, the Weasley twins reigned supreme, orchestrating the chaos like a perfectly practiced act.

“And then—” Fred’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement, his brown eyes alight with mischief. “—Filch rounds the corner, steps right into it, and—BOOM—down he goes! I swear on my life, the man was airborne for a full three seconds—”

“Five,” George corrected, grinning.

“Five!” Fred exclaimed, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis. “I nearly passed out from laughing. You should’ve seen his face—”

“I wish I had,” Lee Jordan cut in, shaking his head in admiration.

“Should we do it again?” George asked, elbowing Fred.

Y/N, who had been quietly listening beside Fred, exhaled through her nose. Of course they wanted to do it again.

Fred turned to her, that boyish grin still stretched across his face, cheeks flushed with adrenaline. “Love, what do you think? One more round? Maybe this time with some—”

“No,” she said simply.

Fred blinked.

George immediately cackled, slapping the table. “Oh, you’re done for now, mate.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at Fred. “You’ve been bouncing off the walls for the past hour. Just breathe for a second, yeah?”

Fred opened his mouth to argue, to charm his way out of it, to spin some clever response that would let him off the hook—but then he caught the look in her eyes. It wasn’t scolding. It wasn’t disappointment. It was just… knowing. Steady. Patient.

And just like that, all the energy buzzing through his body—the rush of a successful prank, the endless loop of ideas for the next one, the laughter still ringing in his ears—settled. His shoulders dropped slightly, his knee, which had been bouncing beneath the table, stilled.

Only she could do this. Only she could cut through the hurricane inside him without even lifting a finger.

George nudged Lee. “This is my favorite part. Watch—he’ll fold like a cheap umbrella.”

Fred scowled. “I do not fold—”

Y/N merely tilted her head at him, fingers brushing his beneath the table. The effect was immediate. He sucked in a slow breath, his pulse steadying at the mere press of her fingertips.

Oh, he was absolutely done for.

“Alright,” Fred murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine.”

George gasped dramatically. “Oh, Merlin! He’s actually listening to someone! Alert the press!”

Lee smirked. “Truly historic. The taming of Fred Weasley.”

Fred glared at them both. “I’ll hex you.”

But his voice lacked its usual bite, his attention already shifting back to Y/N. He turned in his seat, studying her, as if trying to solve a puzzle he’d never quite figure out.

She was calm, effortless in the way she looked at him, like she had all the time in the world. The storm inside him always wanted more—more movement, more sound, more chaos—but with her, he found himself wanting less. Wanting quiet.

“Alright,” Fred murmured again, this time softer. “No more pranks today.”

George clutched his chest in mock agony. “Fred Weasley voluntarily stopping a prank? Who are you?”

Fred ignored him. He had bigger problems at the moment—like how Y/N was still holding his hand under the table, like how her thumb was tracing slow, idle circles over his skin, like how he suddenly felt ridiculously warm despite the cool autumn air drifting through the hall.

“I’d do anything you ask, you know,” he said, voice low enough that only she could hear.

Y/N’s lips quirked. “Oh?”

He nodded, tilting his head slightly, leaning in so close she could feel his breath against her cheek. “Anything. Want me to carry your books? Done. Want me to sneak into the kitchens and bring you dessert at midnight? Say the word. Want me to start a full-fledged rebellion in your name? Consider it handled.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Fred grinned, “you love me.”

Madly. Deeply. Without question.

She didn’t say it out loud, but Fred could see it. He saw it in the way she looked at him, the way she was still tracing those slow, hypnotizing patterns over his palm, the way she had effortlessly anchored him without even trying.

Y/N leaned in, brushing her lips against the shell of his ear. “That I do, Weasley.”

Fred swallowed, hard. “Merlin.”

George groaned. “OI. Some of us are trying to eat.”

Fred barely heard him. He was still looking at Y/N, still feeling the ghost of her words against his skin. For once, he wasn’t thinking about his next prank, wasn’t plotting, wasn’t bouncing off the walls.

For once, he was just here.

And it was enough.

[insidekatmind]

Deal~Berlin (Song Jung-ho)

Wearning: +18,smut

Chaos reigns supreme.

You stand next to the surveillance monitors, your eyes glued to the screens as you try to figure out why the alarm went off. Rio, Tokyo, and Nairobi are with you, tension written across their faces. Suddenly, Nairobi points to a monitor, looking confused.

“Hey, what the hell is wrong with him?”

You meet his gaze, then Rio curses under his breath.

“Damn. This is the last thing we needed. I’m going to go see"

“No. Help Tokyo and Nairobi. I’ll take care of it.”

There’s no time to argue. You rush into the back room, your heart pounding. When you enter, you see him sprawled on the floor, his body wracked with pain. You kneel beside him, trying to figure out what’s happening to him.

“Berlin! Shit, what the hell…”

You instinctively reach into your pocket, pull out the key, and unlock his handcuffs without thinking too much. But the moment his hands are free… he snaps. Too fast.

A sudden blow: his forehead collides violently with yours, making you stagger. You don’t even have time to recover before his fingers, weak but determined, tighten around your neck, using the sleeves of your uniform as an improvised rope.

“Without me, everything falls apart, right, London?”

His voice is hoarse, broken by the effort, but his pride is intact. And that spark of challenge between you… never goes out.

You kick him and with his distraction, you make him lie down on the ground and you go to straddle him. You put one of your hands on his chest while the other takes the knife, which is in your pocket and puts it on his throat. His eyes darken. You can feel his strong muscles tense beneath you, and he grits his teeth. But he doesn’t try to fight against your grip, his gaze fixed on the knife at his neck.

He snorts cynically. "What a lovely view.”His voice is rough, but there’s a hint of amusement in it.

"What's wrong with you? You were screaming in pain earlier" you whispered again with the knife at his throat.

He's still breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling. You feel the warmth of his bare skin beneath your hand, and he lets out a deep sigh before answering.

"Nothing I can't handle," he replies, his tone almost mocking. "But I must say, never thought you'd be on top of me. I might have to reconsider my opinion of you, London."

You blushed at his words. "Answer my question."

He laughs, his eyes roaming over you.

"Or what? Are you going to stab me in the neck?" he asks, arching an eyebrow in challenge.His chest still heaving with effort, he looks up at you. His voice drops to a hoarse whisper."Or is the sight of me beneath you doing something to you, hmm?"

Your cheeks are flushed, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, like a furnace.

His gaze locks onto yours, and he lets out a scoff, shaking his head slightly."You're enjoying this, aren't you? The adrenaline, the power... and the view."

You were about to answer him but you see his hand shaking. "You're sick, right?" you whispered.

His smirk falters for a moment, surprise flashing in his eyes at your question. He tries to hide his weakness by forcing a grin, but his hand continues to tremble slightly.

"I've been through worse," he replies defiantly, but his voice lacks its usual confidence. There's a hint of vulnerability there that he desperately tries to conceal.

You take the knife out of his throat and take his shaking hand and give him a massage, the shaking goes away and Berlin is surprised.

Berlin's eyes widen in momentary shock as you take his trembling hand and start massaging it. He had expected defiance, anger, anything but this gesture of genuine care.

He tries to hide his surprise, his gaze fixed on your hands on his. It's as if he's seeing a different side of you that he didn't think existed."You're surprisingly gentle, London," he manages to say, struggling to keep his voice steady.

You don't respond to his comment, solely focused on massaging his hand, your touch firm but careful. You notice how his breathing becomes more labored, his chest rising and falling with each movement of your fingers.

Berlin tries to maintain his composure, but his walls are slowly crumbling under your touch. He swallows hard, his gaze still fixed on your hands.

“I used to be a masseuse and that's why I know how to cure pain,” you whispered.

Berlin raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He can't resist making a cheeky comment.

"A masseuse, huh? So, you're not just beautiful, but also talented with your hands. The question is—"He runs his gaze over your body, a glimmer in his eyes."Where else are you talented with those hands of yours?"

His comment hits a nerve, and you can feel your cheeks flushing slightly. You try to ignore his suggestive gaze, but the heat radiating off his body feels like a furnace, making it impossible to ignore the tension between you.

"Berlin, shut up," you mutter, focusing on massaging his hand, trying to keep your touch steady and professional despite the turmoil inside you.

Berlin's words hang in the air, heavy with implication. His gaze lingers on your body, a clear invitation in his eyes. The atmosphere shifts, charged with a sudden tension that has nothing to do with their earlier struggle.

He reaches up, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a surprisingly gentle gesture. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, awakening something primal within you.

"I've always wondered..." he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "What it would be like to have those skilled hands of yours all over me."His other hand comes up to rest on your hip, his grip firm and possessive. He pulls you closer, until you can feel the heat of his body against yours."Show me, princess." He smirks.

Your heart rate quickens at his words, the touch of his fingers on your skin setting off a fire within you. You curse inwardly for your body's involuntary reaction to his presence, no matter that you hate him.

You look down at him, his smirk making your blood boil. But there's something about the way he's looking at you, a mix of desire and challenge, that sets your nerves ablaze. You hesitate for a moment, conflicted between your pride and the undeniable attraction to his confidence.

Berlin's breath hitches as you begin to undress him, your hands moving with a sensual grace that sets his skin on fire. He watches you through hooded eyes, his gaze dark with desire.

As your hands roam over his bare chest, he lets out a low groan, his muscles twitching under your touch. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension coiled within him like a spring ready to snap.

"Fuck, London..." he murmurs, his voice strained. "Your touch... it's electric."

His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer until you're pressed against him. He can feel your breasts against his chest, your legs intertwined with his. The contact sends a jolt of pleasure through him.

"More," he demands, his voice a growl. "I want more of you. All of you."His hands slide up your back, pulling at your the robber's suit. He wants to feel your skin against his, to explore every inch of your body with his own hands and mouth."Take it off," he orders you.

Berlin's words and touch ignite a fire within you, your body responding to his every move like a moth to a flame. It's as if all the resentment and hatred you harbored for him have faded into the background, overshadowed by the sheer intensity of the attraction between you.

You hesitate for just a moment, caught between the desire to give in to him and the fear of what would happen next. But the look in his eyes, the raw need and want for you, shatters your resolve.With trembling hands, you begin to undress you.

Berlin's eyes widen as you take off your clothes, revealing your bare breasts. He drinks in the sight of you, his gaze hungry and possessive. When your hand wraps around his erect cock, he lets out a sharp hiss, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"Shit, London..." he groans, his head falling back against the floor. "Your hand feels so fucking good."He watches you through halflidded eyes, his breath coming in ragged pants as you jerk him off. The sight of your hand working his cock is incredibly arousing, and he can feel the pleasure building inside him with each stroke."Harder," he demands, his voice rough with need.

You moan softly at the sound of his demand, a strange thrill coursing through you. There's something about the way Berlin talks, the commanding tone in his voice, that lights a fire inside you. You'd never admit it to him, but you enjoy the way he takes control, the way he makes you feel.

"You're so demanding," you whisper playfully, but there's no hint of defiance or hostility in your voice. Instead, there's a hint of submission, a surrender to the desire that binds you both.

You jerk of harder. You took off your bra putting his cock between your breasts and you raised it and lowered it.

Berlin's eyes roll back as you take his cock between your breasts, the sensation overwhelming. He grips your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as you raise and lower your chest, sliding his shaft along the soft, warm flesh.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." he chants, his hips thrusting up to meet your movements. "That's it, princess. Use those beautiful tits of yours. Milk my cock."

His breathing becomes erratic, his body tensing as the pleasure builds to a crescendo. He's close, so close to the edge. With a final thrust, he buries himself between your breasts, his cock pulsing as he comes, hot seed spilling over your chest.

"London!" he cries out, his voice hoarse with release. "Oh, god, yes!"He collapses back onto the floor, his chest heaving, a satisfied smirk on his face.

As Berlin catches his breath, he looks up at you with a lazy, contented smile. He reaches out, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast, smearing his own release across your skin.

"Mmm, you're a sight to behold, princess," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Covered in my cum, your tits glistening... It's a fucking masterpiece."

He sits up, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you onto his lap. His stillhard cock nestles against your core, and he grinds against you, eliciting a gasp from your lips.

"But you know what would make this even better?" he asks, his breath hot against your neck. "Having you ride me, taking my cock deep inside your tight little pussy. I want to feel you come undone on top of me, screaming my name."His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing the firm globes as he lifts his hips, pressing his erection against your entrance.

You moan softly at the feel of him against you and, without thinking too much, you start kissing him, in a passionate, hungry kiss, that shows the want you have for him. He starts kissing you back, his hands starting to roam all over your body.

“Berlin…” You call him, before you keep kissing him, he is just like addictive, the way he is making you feel…

Berlin's eyes flash with desire as he feels your wetness against his cock. He knows you want him just as much as he wants you, and the knowledge sends a thrill through him.

"Don't keep me waiting, princess," he growls, his grip on your hips tightening. "Take what's yours. Impale yourself on my cock and ride me until we both forget our own names."

He leans in, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he whispers, "I want to feel you stretch around me, your walls clamping down on my shaft as I fill you up. I want to watch your face as I make you come over and over again."

You shiver, feeling Berlin’s words as if they were something physical, and you start kissing him again, more intense. You try not to think about what you are doing, and the fact that he is Berlin, but how you are feeling, just his lips against yours, it’s starting to drive you mad… how his hands are on you…

He starts kissing your neck, and you let out a moan, he knows he is giving you goosebumps. He is making you lose all your control.

You ride him and in the meantime you take his cum on your tits with your fingers and bring it into your mouth licking it.

Berlin's eyes widen in shock and arousal as he watches you bring his cum to your mouth, your tongue darting out to lick it off your fingers. The sight is incredibly erotic, and it spurs him on, his hips bucking up to meet your downward thrusts.

"Fuck, London!" he groans, his head falling back as you ride him. "You're fucking insatiable. I love it."His hands roam over your body, squeezing your breasts, gripping your hips, pulling you down harder onto his cock.

Berlin's eyes lock onto your bouncing breasts, his gaze hungry and possessive. He reaches up, his hands cupping the heavy globes, squeezing them roughly as you continue to ride him.

"God, your tits are perfect," he growls, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. "I could spend hours playing with them, sucking on them, marking them as mine."He leans forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud.

You shiver and let out a soft cry, he knows how to make you feel, even if he drives you crazy all the time. He knows how to make you feel like this…

He starts biting your neck, and leaving hickeys in your breasts… he keeps doing it, to mark you, to show you that you are his…

Berlin's eyes flash with desire as he watches your tongue dart out, a moan escaping your lips. The sight and sound of your pleasure only fuels his own, his hips thrusting up to meet your every move.

"That's it, princess," he murmurs against your breast, his voice muffled. "Let me hear how much you love my cock. How much you need it."

He switches to your other nipple, sucking hard, his teeth tugging at the sensitive flesh.

“So big” you moaned as you bounced on his cock.

Berlin's ego swells at your words, a smug grin spreading across his face as he feels your tight walls clenching around his thick shaft.

"That's right, baby," he purrs, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "I'm the biggest you've ever had. And I'm going to fill you up so fucking deep, you'll be feeling me for days."He starts thrusting up into you harder, faster, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with each movement.

“Yes,” you moaned, taking his whole cock. “So good.”

Berlin's grin widens at your words, his confidence soaring. He loves hearing you praise his size, knowing that he's the only one who can fill you up like this.

"You take it so well, princess," he praises, his voice husky with desire. "Your pussy was made for my cock. So tight, so perfect."He sits up, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against him. His lips find yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue invading your mouth possessively.

You kiss him with your tongue as you rotate your hips to take more of his cock.

Berlin groans into the kiss as you rotate your hips, taking him even deeper. The sensation is incredible, and he can feel his orgasm building rapidly.

"Fuck, London," he pants against your lips. "You're going to make me come. I'm so close..."

His hands grip your ass, spreading your cheeks as he starts to thrust up into you with abandon. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts.

"Come with me, princess," he demands, his voice strained. "I want to feel you squeeze my cock as I fill you up. Milk me dry..."

“I love your cock so much,” you moaned as you alternated rolling your hips and bouncing.

Berlin's eyes roll back as you bounce on his cock, your words driving him wild with desire. He can't believe how lucky he is to have you, to be inside you, to hear you moan his praises.

"Fuck, yes!" he shouts, his hips slamming up to meet your every move. "I love your pussy too, princess. It's fucking perfect. So tight, so wet, so fucking mine!"

His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he holds you in place. He's so close, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

"Come on, baby," he growls, his voice strained. "

You moaned and took more. “Yes, yes, yes” you said with each rotation of your hips on his cock.

Berlin's control snaps at your enthusiastic response. With a roar, he flips you onto your back, his hips pounding into you with wild abandon.

"Take it, princess!" he snarls, his eyes blazing with possessive fury. "Take every fucking inch of my cock. You're mine, do you hear me? MINE!"

His thrusts become erratic, his breathing ragged as he chases his release. He leans down, biting and sucking at your neck, marking you as his.

"Come for me, London!" he demands, his voice a guttural growl. "Squeeze my cock and milk me dry. NOW!"

You moaned at his words as you came. Berlin feels your walls clamp down on his cock like a vice as you come, the sensation pushing him over the edge. With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spills his seed.

"London!" he cries out, his voice hoarse with release. "Fuck, yes! Take it all, princess. Every last drop..."

He collapses on top of you, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm. He nuzzles into your neck, inhaling your scent, marking you as his.

"You're incredible," he murmurs, his voice soft and sated. "I've never felt anything like that before. You're... you're perfect."

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. There's a vulnerability in his gaze that he rarely shows, a hint of the man beneath the arrogant facade.

You look at him, trying to understand his expression, it’s not the smirk he usually does or anything… it’s… something else.

He starts tracing his fingers down your spine, in a way that’s almost… gentle? He doesn’t say anything, but he keeps his dark gaze fixed on you. For once in his life he doesn’t show any superiority or power, instead he shows you… he shows you the real Berlin.

You feel something in your chest when you look at this part of him, the gentleness, the almost... sweet attention, so different compared to how he usually treats you.

Berlin's fingers keep tracing down your spine, and then he starts to leave small kisses on your shoulder. It's not like he was biting you earlier, this is different, much more romantic. He keeps leaving kisses on your skin, until he reaches your neck.

Berlin's kisses move further up your throat, to your chin, and finally he captures your lips in a soft, tender kiss. This wasn't like any of the kisses he'd given you before, there's no heat or hunger, just a gentle intensity.

He breaks the kiss, pulling back slightly to look at you. His eyes are soft, almost vulnerable, and there's a hint of something else, something you can't quite place.

You cuddled up to him as you tried to recover from your orgasm.

Berlin wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him as he cradled you against his chest. He ran his fingers idly over your skin, a small, satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

For the first time since you've known him, Berlin was quiet and just... content with you.

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady thudding of his heart beneath your ear. Despite the intensity of what had just happened between you, there was a strangely peaceful air in the room.

Berlin's hand continued to trace lazy patterns on your back, the touch surprisingly gentle and almost soothing. It was a stark contrast to his usual arrogance and aggression, but you found yourself enjoying this softer side of him.

“We still hate each other, right?” you whispered into his chest.

Berlin's chest vibrated with a low chuckle as you spoke. He lifted his head and looked down at you, his dark gaze meeting yours.

"Of course we do," he replied, his voice soft. "I still think you're a pain in the ass, and I'm sure you still think I'm a cocky bastard. That's not going to change."

He ran his fingers through your hair, the gesture surprisingly tender. "But right now, I'm enjoying this. It's... nice."

You smiled and nodded cuddling more. "Yeah, I still think you're an asshole but it feels good." You whispered.

Berlin chuckled again, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapped securely around you.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you," he replied, his tone almost teasing. "But hey, I can't deny that I enjoy having you in my arms. It's a nice change of pace from the constant insults and power struggles."

"You're not so bad yourself, princess," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "I might even go as far as to say I enjoy our little... tiffs. They keep things interesting."

He pulls back slightly, his eyes locked on yours. There's a hint of something deeper in his gaze, a flicker of emotion that he quickly masks with a smirk.

"But don't get used to it," he adds, his tone playful but with an underlying seriousness. "I still hate you. Just... a little less than before."

Berlin's smirk widens at your giggle, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his usual arrogant facade. He leans into your touch, savoring the gentle caress of your hand on his chest.

"Well, well," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Looks like we've both softened up a bit. Who would've thought?"

He rolls onto his side, pulling you with him so that you're facing each other. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips.

"I think I like this side of you, princess," he says softly, his gaze intense. "The one that giggles and strokes my chest. It's... nice."

His other hand slides down to your hip, pulling you closer until your bodies are pressed together. He leans in, his lips hovering just above yours.

"Maybe we should have these little... truces more often."

You smiled. “We found a cure for our frustration,” you said, amused.

Berlin's eyes light up at your words, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks.

"Ah, so that's what this is," he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. "A cure for frustration. I like the sound of that."

His hand slides down to your ass, squeezing the firm globe possessively. "And I must say, it's a very effective cure. I feel... much better now."

He pulls back slightly, his gaze roaming over your face, taking in every detail. "But you know what they say about prevention being better than cure, don't you?"

His thumb traces your lower lip, his eyes darkening with desire. "Maybe we should... keep testing this cure. Just to be sure it works every time."

His other hand slides up your side, his fingers brushing the underside of your breast.

Berlin's eyes flash with heat as he continues his sensual exploration of your body. His hand moves to cup your breast, his thumb circling your nipple teasingly.

"I want to fuck you again, princess," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Over and over, until we're both exhausted and satisfied. Until there's no doubt in either of our minds that this cure works perfectly."

He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue pushes into your mouth, claiming you, possessing you. His hand on your ass pulls you flush against him, grinding his growing erection against your stomach.

"Tell me you want it too," he demands against your lips.

You moaned softly into his mouth, his touch and words sending shivers through your body. You couldn't deny that you desired him, despite everything that had happened between you.

"Yes, I want it," you whispered, your voice hoarse with arousal. "I need you."

His words still burned in your mind - until there's no doubt in either of our minds that this cure works perfectly. You couldn't help but feel a slight ping of worry, a hint of doubt. But his touch and his desire made it hard to resist him.

[misctf]

I just started a job at this university teaching biology. I am 52 and some of my students from the wrestling team are telling me I should join. I try to tell them I am too old. They set up a meeting with their coach. Should I go?

Why you decided to agree to this meeting was beyond you. You’re a biology teacher- a man of science. You’ve spent years building your career and livelihood. Sacrificing your early years in the lab while your friends and family enjoyed theirs. It was finally time for you to turn a new page- get a job at a small university, spend time with your husband, and finally put less emphasis on academia. Bitterly, you realize that the emphasis on academics is somewhat lacking at your new, smaller university. Sports seemed to reign supreme here, especially the wrestling program.

“So bro...” You raise an eyebrow, “Or do you prefer Mr...”

“Doctor.” You correct him- you weren’t going to let some glorified gym teacher demean you.

The wrestling coach smirks, “Ah right, doctor.” He cracks his knuckles, “So my boys tell me you’re not gonna pass ‘em.” He leans forward and you catch a whiff of his cologne- there’s a hint of pine and you subconsciously lean forward, enjoying the smell, “Look, it’s vital that you pass ‘em.” His smile is framed by a well-groomed beard and you can tell he works-out based on how his button-down hugs his muscular arms and chest, “Can you do me a solid? For coach? Just let it slide. Give ‘em the grades. For coach.” He puts emphasis on the word.

“For coach?” You mumble, “I... uh...” Why was your dick getting hard? Why was your mouth ajar? Were you drooling on yourself? You quickly shake your head, “Look, don’t tell anyone about this.” You say- noticing the smug smirk growing on Coach’s face, “I’ll pass them, but they need to work hard.”

“I’m sure they will. All my boys do.” He says, “You’re dismissed.” You nod, and without a second thought, leave the room.

Your husband asks you why you were late that night and you explain your odd meeting with Coach. He raises an eyebrow, asking why you call him Coach, but you’re unable to come up with an answer. It seemed right. He is Coach... You quickly tell him you’re tired and head up to get ready for bed. You needed the rest. At 52, you certainly didn’t have the energy for these longer days. You sigh as you look at yourself in the mirror- taking in the pudge around your mid-section, your tired eyes, and your horseshoe pattern hairstyle. Years of stress and chasing grants certainly did their number on you. You and your husband crawl into bed and you give him a kiss, albeit with less enthusiasm. Your mind wanders to images of Coach- his smile, his cologne, his build- and you find yourself smiling- your dreams filled with images of the other man.

You wake up the next morning with a morning wood reminiscent of your younger days. You quietly get out of bed, making sure not to wake your husband, and get ready for your lecture. But the day drags, your mind constantly preoccupied with images of Coach. Even as you’re trying to teach the basics of evolutionary biology, the subject you dedicated your PhD to, you’re struggling. The group of wrestlers in the back are snickering, and you feel your blood boil. This wasn’t high school. You weren’t going to let yourself be bullied by a bunch of stupid, dumb jocks. But you can’t bring yourself to discipline them. With a defeated sigh, you dismiss the class, telling them you aren’t feeling well. And as your students trickle out, you start to wonder. Did you really dismiss class early? Did you ever do that at any point in your many years of teaching? Why couldn’t you stop thinking about Coach? No... this was all wrong... It was those wrestlers, you figure. They disrupted your class- snickering and mocking you. They needed to be taught a lesson...

“Ah, so you’re back, doc.” Coach says, watching as you enter his office, “Again, thanks for giving my boys the grades they need to pass. Wrestling is...”

“Enough,” You say, your confidence and conviction seemingly catching Coach off guard, “Your wrestlers are disrupting class. It’s one thing if they want to fail, it’s another thing if they...”

“Woah, woah calm down there. Can you do that for me? For Coach?” You freeze, the confidence boiling your blood evaporating in an instant, “That’s right, easy does it big guy. Just like that. For Coach.” He smiles and you feel lightheaded, “It’s not right to talk to me like that. Respect is important, don’t you agree?” You nod, your eyes vacant, “So how about we work this out.” You watch as he adjusts his belt, “Relax a bit and suck my dick. Can you do that for me? For Coach?”

There’s no thought to protest. No resistance. You’re on your knees, your tongue greedily teasing his head. And soon enough, you’re deep throating him. His cock tastes good as it fills your mouth, and you can feel your dick straining against your pants. But your pleasure didn’t come from your dick right now- it came from sucking Coach’s cock. Up, down, up down... His moans tell you you’re doing it right... reassuring you that you’re exactly what Coach needs. And you gag as his dick swells before sending a torrent of cum down your throat. You swallow each drop, greedily licking the tip for any last drop.

“See, don’t you feel better now?” Coach pants, “Treat my boys with respect. Can you do that? For Coach?” You nod, “Good, good. Alright you slut, you’re dismissed.”

You stagger to your car, arriving at your home- your eyes still half-lidded. Your mind trying to conceive what just happened. You tell your husband you don’t feel well, and he looks at you with some concern, but you tell him not to worry. And as you lie in bed, you can’t help but wonder how this is happening. What was going on? And god, you couldn’t wait for Coach to let you suck his dick again.

Weeks seemed to pass and your life was starting to unravel. You’d lost complete control of your class- often just telling them to read out of a textbook. Your passion for teaching diminishing. You figured it was because you and your husband were fighting more. He finally had enough of your personality change and you pushing him away- your affection and friendship diminishing as your thoughts and desires centered around Coach. He finally moved out after you told him about your activities with Coach. Your heart broke when you saw how crushed he looked, and in that moment you wanted to tell him something was wrong. That you needed help... But Coach... Coach needed you... And that thought drowned out any remaining logic or love you had for your husband. Now, completely isolated, there were no more distractions.

“Yo you comin’ to the match tonight?” One of the wrestlers asked you at the end of another uninspired class, “Coach wants ya there.”

“Coach wants me?” You say, unable to hide the joy in your voice, “Yeah... yeah I’ll be there.” The wrestler gave you a knowing smirk and walked out, laughing about something with his friends.

You find yourself sitting on the sidelines later that night, your eyes wandering around trying to catch a glimpse of Coach. And when you finally made eye contact, a grin formed on his face. It was predatory- malicious even. Part of you wanted to run and escape, find your husband and leave this town. Quit this job. Live the life you’d built after so much hard work and dedication. But before you could even stand, Coach was sitting next to you, and you felt your resistance crumble.

“Please...” You whimper, “Don’t...”

“We have a problem.” Coach says, completely ignoring you, “AJ is injured.” He puts an arm around you, “He’s supposed to compete soon.”

“I don’t...” The world around you fades into the background. It’s just you and Coach, “I...”

“I need you, now more than ever.” Coach says, “Can you do this for me? For Coach?”

“For Coach...” You try your best to fight it, to resist saying it, “I’m not...”

“Can you lose the gut? Can you do that for Coach?” He asks, and you gasp as your paunch suddenly pulls back, leaving you with a flat stomach, “And while you’re at it, can you pack on some muscle. You can do that, right? For Coach?”

You groan as six tight abs form on your now previously smooth abdomen, a perfect set of V-lines pointing to your crotch. But it’s not just a new six-pack that you’re sporting. Your pecs swell with firm muscle- your previous moobs becoming toned and muscular. Your grunt and breath faster as your back widens and your arms tone before swelling with muscle- your once unimpressive arms sporting a set of bis and tris you’d only seen on dedicated athletes.

“Yeah, you’re doing great.” Coach says, watching as your calves and thighs swell with muscle, “But can you lose some age? 52 is too old, would you be able to be 21? For Coach?”

Your body seemed to defy the biology that you dedicated your life to as the years reversed themselves. Your skin becoming youthful and tanned, while your body hair vanished, leaving your new pecs, abs, and muscular back clean-shaven and smooth. In fact, you realize that the only place you actually grew hair was on your head and your pits. The wiry, musky pit hair poking out between your arms. You run a hand through your new hair and gasp. You’d started going bald in your 20s but now...

“This doesn’t.... this doesn’t make sense...” Your voice is unfamiliar to you now. Even in your 20s you didn’t sound like this... You sound like those wrestlers from your class- oafish and cocky... a voice befitting a jock, “How... are you doing this? Why...?”

“I know you’re a biology expert, but I don’t think we need that anymore, don’t you agree? How about you lose the smarts there, doc. Can you do that for me? For Coach?”

You realize in a momentary sense of clarity that this man... whatever he was... he took everything from you. The life you built... gone. And you weren’t about to let him take your career. All your hard work. Your passion... your... your what?

“Huhuhuh.” You feel drool forming in the corner of your mouth as a dim chuckle leaves your lips, “Like uh what... Wasn’t I like a...” Your head starts to hurt, memories of late night lab sessions, your dissertation- all overwhelming the simpler circuitry of your more primian brain, “Oh fuck Coach...”

“Just let it out, let it go.” Coach whispers, “Be the wrestler I need you to be. Do that for me. For Coach.”

And in that moment, whatever resistance- whatever memories you had been fighting to hold onto- vanish. Your body goes slack as your brain empties of your years of teaching and learning. But in the void of your empty brain, a new spark ignites. Wrestling... years of experience... years of intense training... all the moves, all the positions... And even more important, the passion for it- the desire to be the fucking best.

“Fuck Coach.” You grumble, your voice dull and slow, “You need me out there?”

“Not in that outfit.” He chuckles, “You know better than that. Singlet buddy. Put on singlet. Do it for me. For Coach.”

“Coach, bruh, already wearing a singlet.” You chuckle, gesturing at the tight singlet wrapped around your body, “Don’t tell me you’re losin’ it, Coach.” You smirk, a smug arrogance embedded in your tone, “Just tell me what you need me to do.” The two of you stand up, and Coach grins.

“I need you to win.” He says, “Win for me. For Coach.”

You grin as you walk to the face your opponent. You could do it. You could do anything. As long as it was for him. For Coach.

[lib-to-conned]

Red Wave Solutions: Spread The Word II

To read part one, click here.

The door clicked shut behind Jackson and his escort, leaving Mason alone with the two guards restraining him and the older man who now regarded him with a devilish smirk. The mysterious man clasped his hands behind his back, his demeanor calm and assured, as if he were savoring the moment.

“You know, Mr. Samsen,” the man began, his voice smooth like honey laced with poison, “you’re quite the lucky fellow. Few people ever get the privilege of witnessing the birth of such a marvelous creation.” He gestured toward the door, as though Jackson’s presence still lingered there. “By the time the sun rises tomorrow, that pitiful, flamboyant Cooper you knew will be nothing more than a distant memory. Forgotten and completely erased from existence.”

Mason seethed, but he stayed silent, his jaw clenched as the man’s words slithered into his ears.

The older man continued, his tone shifting to one of admiration, as if recounting a triumph. “In his place, Jackson will reign supreme – an ideal fraternity president, someone charismatic and commanding. He’ll inspire his brothers to follow him, molding them into men of virtue, strength, and conviction. By the end of the week, they’ll be chanting the creed of discipline and order under his lead while eagerly embracing the fraternity’s increasingly Conservative values. And his evenings?” He chuckled darkly. “Spent passionately embracing his girlfriend, who he’s already dreaming of marrying and impregnating. Such a fine trajectory, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mason strained against the guards’ iron grips, his frail muscles taut with anger, but the older man merely raised a hand to signal calm. “Remove your hands from his mouth,” he ordered the guards, his voice a command, not a suggestion.

The guards obeyed, and Mason wasted no time. “You sick bastard!” he screamed, his voice reverberating through the sterile room. “Someone help me! These psychos are–”

Before he could finish, one of the guards yanked his hair sharply, forcing his head back and silencing him with a firm pull. Mason winced in pain, gritting his teeth as he shot daggers at the older man.

The man tilted his head, his smirk never faltering. “Now, now. Let’s not make this unpleasant, Mr. Samsen. You’re a journalist, aren’t you? Surely you understand the value of conducting oneself with professionalism. Scream again, and I won’t hesitate to silence you in a far more... permanent manner.”

With the apparent threat of death now suddenly on the table, Mason took a moment to gather himself, forcing his breathing to steady even as adrenaline coursed through him. The guard released his grip, and Mason bit back his urge to retaliate, knowing that it would do him no good.

With barely concealed contempt, he spoke through clenched teeth. “Who the hell are you? And how is any of this possible?!” His eyes burned with fury. “Let me make one thing crystal clear – you can bet your ass that I’ll make sure everyone knows what you’re doing here. You won’t get away with this!”

The older man chuckled, a low, patronizing sound that made Mason’s blood boil. He clasped his hands behind his back again, his posture unshaken. “Ah, such spirit. It’s almost endearing, really.” He leaned in slightly, his dark eyes locking onto Mason’s. “But I think you’ll find, Mr. Samsen, that the more you learn about us, the more you’ll realize… we’ve already gotten away with it.”

He straightened and began pacing slowly, his tone turning colder, sharper. “As for who I am, you may call me Mr. Corbin. I’m the architect of conformity – the shepherd guiding lost, pathetic little sheep like Jackson into their rightful places in society.”

He stopped and faced Mason, his smirk widening. “And how is this possible, you ask? That’s the wrong question. The question you should be asking is why we do it. And the answer is simple: Order. Stability. Strength. Qualities your kind – weak-willed, rebellious, aimless – lacks entirely. We’re here to fix that.”

Mason’s jaw tightened, his mind racing as he searched for some way to counter the man’s rhetoric. “You think people will stand for this? You’re brainwashing them, turning them into…”

“Into better versions of themselves,” Corbin interrupted sharply. “Versions who can thrive in the world as it already is, not as your naive ideals imagine it should be.”

He motioned toward the guards. “Take him. It’s time for Mr. Samsen to begin his own journey toward understanding.”

The sharp, sterile room seemed to grow colder as Mr. Corbin’s voice filled the air, his words dripping with a chilling confidence.

“You see, Mr. Samsen,” Corbin began, pacing leisurely, “the intricacies of our process, the chemistry, the programming – all of it is irrelevant when compared to the bigger picture.” He stopped to face Mason directly, his smirk widening. “Our goal isn’t just to win elections. It’s to ensure that Conservative values never die, to create more virile men eager to impregnate women and indoctrinate the next generation of humanity. Permanence, Mr. Samsen. That’s the name of the game.”

Mason’s breath quickened, the weight of Corbin’s words settling over him like a suffocating blanket. He strained against the guards holding him, but their grip was immovable.

Corbin continued, his voice calm yet menacing. “The spiel we give our clients – temporary transformation, lasting only until the administration concludes – is a necessary fiction. A comforting lie. The truth, however…” He chuckled darkly. “The truth is that Conservatism will never end no matter who is in charge. As a result, neither will these transformations. Once someone joins us, they’re ours. Forever.”

Mason’s body surged with adrenaline. He twisted and jerked, attempting to break free from his captors, but the guards tightened their hold, rendering him powerless.

Corbin tilted his head, watching Mason’s futile struggle with mild amusement. “Ah, there it is. That spark of defiance. Admirable, if misguided.” He stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking softly against the floor. “You see, Mr. Samsen, you’ve played right into my hands. Your so-called journalistic curiosity, your relentless need to fight for what you think is ‘justice’ – all of it made you the perfect target. We knew you’d come snooping.”

Mason froze, his eyes narrowing. “You planned this?”

Corbin’s grin widened. “Of course. The flier placements across campus? Completely intentional. That background check? A pure fabrication meant only to encourage you to snoop. We knew exactly who you were and how to lure you in. You pride yourself on exposing the truth, don’t you? Well, congratulations, you’ve uncovered something extraordinary!”

Mason spat through gritted teeth, “I’ll never help you. No matter what you do, I’ll never spread your message. Never.”

Corbin laughed, a sound so rich with mockery it made Mason’s skin crawl. “Help us? Oh, Mr. Samsen, you misunderstand. You won’t have a choice. You’re going to become a face of our movement. A voice that guides the disillusioned masses to embracing the truth – our truth.”

Reaching into his suit pocket, Corbin pulled out a small vial of vivid red liquid. The substance seemed to shimmer ominously in the harsh fluorescent light. “This,” he said, holding it up between his fingers, “was made just for you. A special concoction tailored to transform you into one of the most trusted news anchors in the country. A paragon of rationality, dependability, and Conservative values. Believe me when I tell you, your viewers will gladly hang onto your every word and follow anything you tell them.”

Mason’s stomach churned, and his attempts to thrash free became more desperate. “You’re insane!” he barked.

Corbin ignored the insult, instead turning and gesturing to the guards. “Open his mouth.”

The guards obeyed without hesitation, prying Mason’s jaw open with brutal efficiency despite his muffled protests and frantic attempts to resist.

Corbin took a step closer, his movements deliberate and unhurried. “Don’t worry, Mr. Samsen. I’m granting your greatest wish – you’re becoming the loudest voice of truth.” He tilted the vial over Mason’s mouth, the red liquid pooling on his tongue.

Mason fought with everything he had, trying to spit the liquid out, but Corbin was ready. He clamped Mason’s mouth shut and pinched his nose, cutting off his air supply. Mason’s lungs screamed for oxygen as his vision blurred. For a moment, he weighed his options – wondering if death would be a better option than the alternative. Before he could make a decision though, desperation overtook him, and despite his resolve, his throat contracted. The liquid burned as it slid down, where the instant it hit his stomach, a strange heat began to spread through his body.

Corbin released Mason, stepping back to admire his work. “And now,” he said, his voice filled with satisfaction, “the transformation begins...”

Mason collapsed to his knees, coughing and gasping for air as his body began to tingle and shift. Panic surged through him, but deep down, he knew: there was no escaping what was coming next.

Mason gasped for air as the tingling sensation coursing through his body began to intensify, a strange warmth blooming from his core and spreading outward. Mr. Corbin stood a few feet away, watching with an infuriating air of calm amusement. “Ah, the calm before the storm,” Corbin said with a smirk. “This process is not only fascinating to behold but incredibly amusing as we watch our customers reckon with the path that led them here. But don’t worry, Mason. We’ll give you a little privacy to fully experience it and embrace what’s to come…”

Turning to the guards, Corbin gestured toward the door. “Come along, gentlemen. Let’s leave him to it.” He paused at the threshold, his piercing gaze locking onto Mason’s trembling frame. “I’m looking forward to seeing just how incredible and manly you turn out. I have no doubt you’ll do us proud.”

With that, the guards followed Corbin out of the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind them. Their absence left an oppressive silence in the room, broken only by the sound of Mason’s ragged breathing.

Mason staggered to his feet, his limbs feeling oddly stiff and heavy. He began pacing frantically, his shoes squeaking against the polished floor. Despite what he had already seen and experienced thus far, he refused to believe it now that he was on the precipice of the same type of transformation. “This has to be a joke,” he muttered to himself, his voice shaking. “A prank. Some kind of sick, twisted dream. That’s all this is.”

In a desperate bid to wake himself up, Mason pinched his arm until the skin turned red, then slapped his own face hard enough to leave a stinging mark. But nothing changed. The room remained solidly real, the warmth inside him growing more insistent by the second.

“No, no, no,” he whispered, backing into a corner and sliding down against the wall. “This can’t be happening. This isn’t real!”

But the evidence against him mounted as the heat inside his body shifted, pooling in his stomach. The ache began as a dull throb, but it quickly escalated to a violent twisting pain that made Mason double over. His hands instinctively clutched at his abdomen as if he could somehow stop the process.

The memory of Cooper’s transformation flashed through his mind, sending a wave of cold fear crashing over him. “Oh God,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “It’s really happening…”

Despite his mounting dread, Mason’s gaze was drawn toward the mirrored paneling on one side of the room. He hadn’t wanted to look, but some morbid curiosity overpowered him, compelling him to face the horrifying reality of his situation.

At first, there was nothing visibly different. He still looked like himself, albeit pale and drenched in sweat. But then, his legs buckled slightly, and he felt a strange pressure in his bones – a stretching sensation.

Mason’s eyes widened as his reflection began to shift. He watched in horror as his frame elongated inch by inch. His shoes grew tighter before the laces snapped, and the cuffs of his pants rose higher and higher, exposing his ankles and eventually leaving them as comically short as capris. His torso followed suit, broadening slightly as his spine straightened.

The dizzying growth finally stopped, and Mason stumbled backward, bracing himself against the wall. He stared at the mirror, his chest heaving. The man looking back at him was taller, much taller in fact. Where he had once been a respectable 5’10”, he now loomed at an imposing 6’4”.

The change wasn’t as drastic as Cooper’s transformation, but it was enough to leave Mason feeling completely unmoored. His center of gravity had shifted, making him feel awkward and clumsy in his own body even when just standing still. His reflection felt like he was looking into a funhouse mirror, like he was staring at a distorted, elongated image of himself.

“What the hell is happening to me?” he whispered, his voice trembling as he pressed his hands against the mirrored surface.

But even as he tried to ground himself, the warmth inside him surged again, a sign that this was only the beginning of his changes.

Mason staggered around the room, trying to adjust to his new height. Every step felt alien, his longer legs making his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. His side bumped against the mirrored wall countless times, his face wincing at the sudden impact. Eventually, the throb of his ongoing transformation and the soreness of his side caused him to momentarily steady himself against the wall. “This is so fucking insane,” he muttered under his breath, still reeling from the sheer absurdity of his situation.

His head grazed the overhead light fixture, making him flinch. “How do tall people deal with this?” he grumbled. But as he focused on his awkward gait and trying not to trip over himself, he remained oblivious to the quiet changes already taking place.

The intense heat radiating through his body, which had initially been a dull simmer, began to shift and ripple under his skin. Mason didn’t notice how the slight flab that had clung to him from years of late-night snacking was dissolving. The warmth was burning it away, leaving him leaner and more defined with each passing moment.

It wasn’t until his shirt began to feel noticeably looser that Mason frowned. He tugged at the hem of his baggy shirt, his confusion mounting. “What the…?” he muttered, pulling the fabric away from his body. When he lifted it up to inspect his torso, his breath caught in his throat.

Gone was the slight paunch that had accompanied him for as long as he could remember. His stomach was completely taut and flat, the skin smooth and firm. “No way,” he whispered, running a trembling hand over the newly chiseled surface.

The reprieve was short-lived. Without warning, a sharp, stinging sensation shot through his body, like being slapped repeatedly in different spots. Mason gasped, doubling over as the pain ricocheted across his limbs and chest.

He forced himself to look at his reflection, eyes darting to the areas where the pain struck. His jaw dropped as he watched his body suddenly begin to inflate with muscle.

His arms, once thin and unremarkable, began to thicken. Veins surfaced as his biceps grew, swelling outward into solid, rounded shapes. His shoulders broadened, creating an imposing, V-shaped silhouette. A modest pair of pecs jutted from his chest, pressing against the fabric of his shirt.

Mason instinctively pressed a hand to his stomach, feeling a flurry of movement beneath his skin. He looked down just in time to see the faint outlines of a six-pack emerging, each muscle sharply defined. His jeans grew tighter around his thighs and calves, the denim straining to contain his newly bulging legs.

“Am I… becoming muscular like Cooper?” Mason whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief and dread.

But the changes didn’t stop there. Another wave of stinging slaps spread across his body, stronger this time. Mason winced as his muscles continued to swell, growing well beyond the lean athleticism of a frat bro.

His biceps expanded into massive, soccer-ball-sized domes of power. His pecs grew heavier and squarer, jutting out so far that they created a noticeable shelf. His back widened, his lats flaring out like wings, while his traps rose to form thick ridges near his neck.

His thighs strained against the seams of his jeans, each leg packed with dense, corded muscle. Even his calves weren’t ignored by the potion, quickly growing into defined, diamond-shaped bulges. The sleeves of his shirt ripped as his arms outgrew them, leaving shreds of fabric hanging from his impossibly thick shoulders.

When the changes inflating his body finally subsided, Mason stood frozen in front of the mirror, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The man staring back at him was unrecognizable. His once-average frame had been replaced by the colossal, hulking physique of a professional bodybuilder.

He gingerly poked at one of his biceps, the sheer size and firmness of it sending a chill down his spine. His other hand examined his pecs, which felt like slabs of stone under his fingertips as he awkwardly squeezed them.

“Holy… holy fucking shit… H-how is this possible?” Mason stammered, his voice cracking as he struggled to process what he was seeing.

He flexed his fingers experimentally, feeling the immense power coursing through his body. The strength was intoxicating but also deeply unsettling. This was not him. This was a stranger – a body far removed from who he had ever been or wanted to be. And yet, the mirror offered no denial. This was Mason now. And he had no idea what to do.

Mason barely had time to process the muscular bulk he now inhabited before a strange tingling sensation spread across his skin. His initial thought was that it might be sweat from the intense heat of his transformation, but the feeling was different – even deeper within him than before, almost as if it were coming from within his very cells. He watched in growing horror as his reflection in the mirror began to change once more.

His hands were the first to catch his attention. The skin on them, once smooth and youthful, began to grow slightly weathered. Fine lines crept across his knuckles and the backs of his hands, and faint wrinkles etched themselves into the creases of his fingers. His nails, which he rarely paid attention to, became neatly trimmed and pristine, as though they had been professionally manicured.

He looked back up at the mirror just in time to see his face start to morph. His youthful, unassuming visage shifted and contorted, as if clay being sculpted by invisible hands. His once-average features began to sharpen. Prominent brow bones jutted forward, giving him a commanding and intense gaze. His cheekbones rose and became more sculpted, lending an aristocratic air to his face, while his jawline squared into a picture-perfect angle that looked chiseled from marble.

His nose subtly reshaped itself into a straight, perfectly proportioned feature that seemed almost too flawless to be natural. The transformation left Mason staring at a face that, despite its changes, was undeniably his – yet now carried an unnerving, almost predatory attractiveness.

But the alterations didn’t stop there. As he stared, his shaggy hair began to retract into his scalp, the strands shortening visibly before his eyes. His heart sank as his hairline crept upward, a clear sign of his apparent aging. Within seconds, his once-casual and messy hairstyle had been replaced with a short, cropped look that exuded professionalism and control.

What disturbed him even more was the sudden darkening of his hair. The strands deepened into an unnaturally dark shade, hovering near black but tinged with a glossy sheen that further indicated its artificial origins. Along his temples, hints of grey emerged, lending him a distinguished, older appearance.

“Is, is this fucking hair dye?” Mason muttered to himself, his voice shaky. He reached up and touched his hair, feeling its styled, slightly stiff texture. The realization that his hairstyle was a perfect description for his new appearance hit him like a punch to the gut. He had been reimagined, reshaped into a figure that exuded dominance, age, and authority – but with a still-stylish edge.

The worst part was that he couldn’t deny the appeal of his new visage. He looked like someone who commanded attention, a man who could walk into a room and have every head turn. And yet, while thinking about the things this new self would say and the type of values he was becoming an unintentional mascot for, the thought now revolted him.

His thin, yet masculine lips, now perfectly balanced and tinged with a faint rosy hue, curled in disdain as he thought about what they would soon be used for. They weren’t his anymore – not truly. Those lips would soon spew lies, distort facts, and manipulate the masses with confidence and charm – just as Red Wave Solutions had designed them to.

Mason clenched his fists, his knuckles white against his weathered hands. He glared at the man in the mirror, wishing he could shatter the glass and erase the image forever. But no matter how much he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t. This was who he had become, and deep deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time before he forgot about who he once was.

Mason’s breath hitched as he continued staring into the mirror, his emotions a chaotic mess of revulsion, fear, and, despite everything, a twinge of morbid fascination. The man reflected back at him was undeniably magnetic. Mason hated the thought of what this form represented, but even he couldn’t ignore the undeniable allure it carried. A small, intrusive part of him whispered that he could use this body to his advantage.

He let his imagination wander, picturing himself walking into a gay club, towering over the dance floor with his imposing height and rippling physique. He imagined catching the eye of a younger, nervous but intrigued man who would be drawn to his aged confidence and charm. He pictured the heat of the music, the press of sweaty bodies, the flirtatious exchanges, and the way his strong, calloused hands might guide the man closer as they danced.

But before the fantasy could grow, a wave of something foreign rippled through his mind. A sharp pang of disgust shot through him – revolted by the imagined scenario. His stomach churned as his mind involuntarily recoiled at the thought of being intimate with a man. It was like someone had flipped a switch, flooding his thoughts with an inexplicable sense of wrongness.

“No,” he whispered, his voice shaky as his fists clenched against the edge of the sink. “That isn’t me. It’s just the potion. I like men, it’s just the…”

He tried to ground himself, closing his eyes tightly as he forced himself to think about the men he had dated throughout college. He thought of Ethan’s confident smile and his broad shoulders. He thought of the softness of Mark’s lips, the way they brushed against his own during their first kiss. He remembered the thrill of running his hands over a man’s hairy chest, the firmness of their bodies pressed together, and the comforting scratch of stubble against his cheek.

But the images began to shift. Ethan’s confident smile warped into a shy, feminine giggle. Mark’s lips thickened and became painted with glossy lipstick. Instead of the sharp, masculine planes of a man’s chest, Mason’s mind began to envision soft curves. His memories of perky butts in fitted jeans were overwritten by the image of plump, rounded hips in a skintight dress. The scratch of stubble on his cheek was replaced with the sensation of smooth, freshly shaved skin against his own.

“No!” Mason shouted, slamming his beefy hands against the mirrored glass in anguish. He stared at his reflection, wide-eyed and trembling. His mind was no longer his own – it was forcibly being overwritten, piece by piece, by something unknown and turning it into something incredibly wrong and utterly opposite of his innermost values.

He tried again, desperately clinging to memories of past kisses and the thrill of attraction to a man. But every attempt was corrupted, replaced with images of soft, feminine hands trailing down his chest, the warmth of a woman’s body pressed against his. A rogue thought emerged, unbidden and unwanted: the fantasy of cradling a woman’s delicate face in his strong hands and leaning down to kiss her full, pouty lips.

“No, no, no!” Mason muttered, pacing the room as he gripped his temples, trying to shove the thoughts away. But the more he fought, the more vivid the images became. 

He stopped pacing and looked at himself in the mirror again, breathing heavily. His reflection looked so calm and naturally composed, even as his inner world crumbled. The man staring back at him didn’t seem like someone who had ever kissed another man, much less desired to.

Faint tears pricked Mason’s eyes as he whispered to himself, “I have to fight this. I have to hold on to who I am.”

But deep down, he feared it was already too late. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth in a desperate attempt to resist a series of rogue thoughts that began to emerge throughout his mind.

One voice, low and smooth, slid through his mind like a serpent. “You’ve never had power like this before,” it purred. “Look at yourself. Who could resist you? Women crave a man like you. They’d do anything… anything to please you.”

“No,” Mason hissed, shaking his head violently as if the motion could dislodge the voice. “That’s not me. That’s not what I want.”

But the voice continued, unrelenting, dripping with smug certainty. “Oh, but it is now. Think about it. Think about how good it feels to have someone submit to you, to have them worship every inch of this handsome, powerful body. Imagine their eyes lighting up with desire, their voices trembling as they beg to make you happy in any way you want.”

Mason pressed his hands to his ears, his heart pounding as he tried to drown it out. “Shut up! Shut up!” he shouted, but his words fell flat against the weight of the seductive voice.

“You deserve this,” it crooned, each word pressing deeper into his psyche. “This body, this face, this strength – it’s what you’ve always been meant to have. And women? You’re only meant to have them as well.They’re your playthings –  there to entertain you, to serve you. Hook up with them. Take what you want from them. That’s what a real man like you is meant to do. Why would you waste time respecting them when they’re so eager to submit to a man like you?”

“No, no, no!” Mason’s voice cracked, his breathing ragged as he stumbled back from the mirrors. His reflection blurred in his vision, tears welling in his eyes as he fought against the intrusive words. But even as he resisted, the voice began to root itself deeper. 

He looked around in anguish, but found that his reflection offered no comfort. Instead, it seemed to mock him, standing there tall and perfect, the embodiment of everything the voice was describing. His mind began to falter, the line between his real thoughts and the implanted ones blurring.

Against his will, images began flashing through his mind. Women, beautiful and eager, surrounded him. They touched him with reverence, their eyes wide with adoration, their smiles promising pleasure. He envisioned their soft hands trailing down his muscular chest, their soft, dainty bodies pressing against his, their voices pleading for his attention.

And what terrified him most of all was the pull he felt toward those thoughts. It wasn’t just the voice anymore. Deep inside, a part of him – a seemingly small yet traitorous part – was beginning to quickly find the idea appealing. The concept of being desired so deeply and desperately by women who would do anything to make him happy sent an involuntary thrill coursing through him. Before he knew it, Mason could feel his cock beginning to thicken in his skintight pants.

“No!” he cried out again, though this time the word sounded weaker, less certain. He stumbled back to the sink, gripping it as he stared at his reflection. His lips trembled as he whispered, “This isn’t me. This can’t be me.”

“You know it’s true, this is who you’re meant to be” the voice interrupted, softer now, but no less insidious. “You’ve been given the ultimate gift. Why fight it? Just accept who you’re becoming. You’re not weak anymore. You’re not invisible. You’re a man now – a real man.”

Overwhelmed with everything going on, Mason began to pace around the room, each step heavy with frustration and fear while his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. The mocking voice inside his head didn’t falter, growing bolder with every moment. Its tone oozed confidence, a sinister undercurrent of triumph humming through each word.

"Take a real good look at yourself," the voice purred, a smirk practically audible. "You’re the perfect male specimen now. Tall, muscular, confident. A total alpha. Men will envy you, Mason. They’ll look up to you, want to be you. Women? They can’t help but fantasize about being with you. And even if they can’t, they’ll still eagerly listen to everything you say and accept it if it means possibly getting the attention of other men like you. You’re everything that anyone would desire, in one way or another.”

“Shut up,” Mason growled, his voice trembling as he pressed his hands to his temples, trying to block out the insidious whispers. But the voice ignored his protests, unfazed.

"You know I’m right," it continued smugly. "Especially with your career – imagine it. Every evening, people turn on their TVs just to see you. Their lives might be falling apart, but all they care about is catching a glimpse of you. The country’s favorite news anchor, the face they trust. You’re not just handsome – you’re a god to them, Mason. An alpha god sent from above to help mold the world in your image."

The words twisted in his mind, and Mason clung to the memories of his real career as an investigative journalist. He tried to picture himself standing at a podium, holding up an award for his hard-hitting exposés, the occasional flashes of cameras not hindering him from displaying his proudest smile. But the memories began to blur, fragments slipping through his grasp despite his best attempts to hold on.

Instead, new images forced their way in: the glaring brightness of stage lights washing over him, assistants swarming around him with powder brushes and combs, their soft touches ensuring he was flawless for the camera. He saw himself sitting at a news desk, posture perfect, a designer suit clinging to his impossibly broad shoulders. He could hear the countdown from the producer in his earpiece, the hum of the camera as it zoomed in on his chiseled face.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the Mason in his mind said, his voice deep and commanding, effortlessly capturing attention.

“No,” Mason whispered aloud, shaking his head. “That’s not real. That’s not me.”

But the voice pressed on. "Oh, it’s you, all right. Picture it, Mason. The power you hold when you speak. Every word you say – people hang on it. They believe you, they admire you, they trust you. You’re not some invisible journalist typing out words behind a keyboard. You’re seen. Respected. Adored."

Mason tried to resist, but his mind betrayed him, lingering on the imagined scene. He pictured himself leaning back in his chair during commercial breaks, assistants fussing over him, the camera crew nodding with approval as they reviewed footage of his perfect delivery. He saw the way his reflection looked in the teleprompter: sharp, polished, magnetic.

The warmth in his body flared again, and Mason stopped pacing, placing his hands on his hips to steady himself. Upon looking up and getting another look at his transformed reflection, his breathing grew shallow as a strange sensation overtook him. He felt an unwelcome smile tugging at his lips, while his hips began to buck softly, the motion subtle but rhythmic.

“No,” he murmured again, but his voice was weaker now, his resolve fraying as the images in his mind grew more vivid.

He saw himself adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit, flashing a confident smirk that could disarm anyone. He imagined the eyes of the crew following his every move, the palpable awe they felt as they worked in his presence. The thought of commanding such attention, such reverence, sent a shiver through him.

His lips curled further into a smirk as he caught his reflection again, the older yet impeccably handsome face staring back at him. It wasn’t his reflection – it couldn’t be. But as his gaze lingered, as his hips continued their subtle thrusting motion, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride.

He tried to think of the awards he’d earned, the articles he’d written, the causes he’d fought for. But those memories were hazy now, dimmed by the brightness of studio lights and the weight of the microphone clipped to his pristine tie.

“You belong here,” the voice whispered, dripping with satisfaction. “Accept it, Mason. This is who you are now.”

Mason’s thoughts continued to spiral as he stood frozen in front of the mirror, his reflection now fully the picture of an imposing, middle-aged news anchor. He flexed his square shoulders and ran a hand over his tightly cropped, dyed hair, his smirk widening as he imagined the commanding presence he would have on screen. The idea of his face beaming into countless homes every evening, his deep voice trusted by all who heard it, was growing quite intoxicating.

A spark of excitement ignited in his chest, fanned by the growing fire of his inflating ego. He imagined the headlines about his rise: “The Face of the Nation: Mason Samsen Leads the Evening News.” A sudden warmth spread across his body – not the unnatural heat from before, but a heady rush of pride and anticipation.

He thought about the newsroom, the bustling energy, the cameras trained on him, and, suddenly, a stray thought surfaced. He pictured his co-anchor, a sharp, intelligent woman who was respected for her wit and incisive reporting. But instead of admiration, another feeling crept into his mind.

Before he could fully process it, the voice in his head slithered into his thoughts, laced with venom. “She’s such a disappointment, isn’t she? A nasty little liberal. What a waste. Women making the same money as men despite all of our hard work, what could be more revolting?”

Mason recoiled inwardly. He didn’t believe that – he knew he didn’t. He’d spent years championing equality and defending people’s rights to love whoever they chose. But as he opened his mouth to protest, nothing came out. The words stuck in his throat, trapped by an invisible force.

The voice grew louder, more insistent. “Look at her. She could be on her knees under the newsdesk, begging for your attention, and yet she’d rather waste her time with another woman or a pathetic excuse of a man? What kind of sick joke is that?”

A sick feeling churned in Mason’s gut, but instead of pushing back, he found his thoughts being swept along with the voice’s hateful tirade. Against his will, his mind’s eye shifted, and he pictured her again – no longer as a colleague but as an object, someone he could have “had” if only she weren’t so bull-headed.

“She’s such a babe,” Mason muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with derision as though the words weren’t entirely his own. “And yet she wastes herself like that. What a man-hating prude.”

He felt a twisted sense of satisfaction as the words left his lips, despite the small, rational part of him screaming that this wasn’t who he was. The voice purred in approval, feeding off his growing disgust.

“That’s right,” it urged. “If she just stopped pretending to be some untouchable, real man-hating feminist, you’d show her what it’s like to be with a real man. She’d never look at another woman or man again after you’re done with her.”

Mason’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles whitening. He didn’t want to think this way – he knew he didn’t – but the voice’s influence was like a tide, washing away his convictions and leaving behind something monstrous.

He tried to recall admirable aspects of the co-anchor’s actual personality: her sharp humor during commercial breaks, the way she stood her ground in editorial meetings, her passion for stories that made a difference. But just as quickly as he mentally found these things that he once would praise or respect, those sensations changed to feelings of annoyance and rage at her way of trying to turn the station “woke”.

Instead, all he could focus on now was an imagined scenario: her storming into his office to argue about a segment, her cheeks growing flushed as his imposing presence overwhelmed her, and her eventual “realization” that she couldn’t resist him. The thought sent a twisted thrill through him, one he hated himself for feeling even as the voice praised him.

“You’re a real man now, Mason,” it cooed. “And the world needs to see that. No more hiding, no more playing nice. You’re the alpha here, and everyone else – women like her included – needs to fall in line.”

As Mason stared at his reflection, he saw the smirk tugging at his lips again. It was crueler this time, more predatory. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he could stop himself from believing the voice entirely.

Mason's mind swirled with the vivid clarity of a memory he hadn't lived yet now felt undeniably his own. He saw himself standing in the brightly lit newsroom, the buzz of post-election chaos filling the air. His freshly polished dress shoes echoed against the tiled floor as he crossed the room, exuding an aura of confidence that seemed to demand attention. Every gesture, every word, felt rehearsed to perfection – an embodiment of his calculated and commanding charisma.

His female co-anchor had just walked in, her expression an open book of grief and disdain. Her eyes, red and puffy, locked onto Mason’s. He could recall the way her shoulders sagged, her steps hesitant as if she were carrying the weight of a world that had just turned against her beliefs. In stark contrast, Mason stood tall, his broad chest puffed out with a sense of triumph that radiated from him like heat off asphalt on a summer day.

“You look like you could use a drink, Sarah,” he heard himself say in the memory, his voice dripping with smugness. The corners of his mouth curled into a smile that was as patronizing as it was confident. “But then again, I think it’s good for you to really reckon with the reality of the world and accept that your time of winning is finally over.”

Her response was a withering glare, her lips pressed into a thin line of contempt. But it wasn’t her silence that Mason remembered most vividly – it was his own voice, booming and unapologetic as he turned to the room of male colleagues.

“Gentlemen, let’s take a moment to celebrate,” he declared, raising an imaginary glass. “Finally, a real man is back in charge of the country! No more of this woke nonsense dragging the country down. We’re getting back to the basics – the way things should be.”

The memory felt intoxicating and foreign all at once. He could almost feel the collective laughter and cheers of agreement from the other men, the slap of hands on his back in camaraderie. Yet, in the pit of his stomach, a flicker of unease twisted.

In the present, Mason found himself nodding instinctively, the words spilling from his lips before he could stop them. “This country was going to hell, to be honest. Maybe things will finally get back on track…”

The stray voice in his mind cheered him on, reinforcing every sentiment. That’s right. It’s time for real leadership. Time for strength and order. You’re a part of that now.

For a moment, Mason tried to resist, to cling to the fading remnants of who he was. He thought of the co-anchor’s tear-streaked face, the silent despair in her eyes. But even that memory began to shift in his mind – her sadness no longer struck him as unjust, but as proof of her weakness. This is the natural order of things, the voice reminded him. She doesn’t belong at the table anymore.

Mason felt the words settle deep in his chest, his resistance ebbing further. The memory blurred as his present thoughts intertwined with it, leaving him with a growing sense of pride and belonging. His lips curled into a smirk as he whispered to himself, “We’re finally doing things the right way.”

Mason’s pulse thundered in his ears, his chest rising and falling as the inner voice grew louder, more assured. "That’s it, Mason," it purred. "You’re finally seeing the light. No more confusion. No more weakness. Just truth, strength, and common sense values. This is the life you were meant for."

The words reverberated in his head, filling every corner of his mind as though they were his own thoughts. He gripped the edge of the desk, his fingers trembling slightly, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. The voice surged forward, emboldened.

"Picture it: a wife who loves and obeys you, children who look up to you and carry your name with pride. That’s the purpose of marriage, Mason – to create a legacy that matters. You’ll guide them, protect them, and in return, you can sneak around and fuck as much as you wanted. After all, spreading your seed to as many women as possible is what men like you were made for – to help create the next generation of like-minded men."

Mason’s lips parted, almost involuntarily, as a low murmur escaped. "Yes… that sounds… right."

Images began to flood his mind – visions of a suburban home with a pristine lawn, of a woman in a modest dress standing at his side, her eyes glowing with admiration for her strong, successful husband. He could see a handful of children laughing as they played in the yard, their voices ringing out in the glow of an idealized life. In addition, rogue flashes of hooking up with women in his office or underneath the news desk while live emerged.

The voice continued, its tone sharpening with conviction. "And with your career, Mason, think of what you’ll achieve. Not just the respect, but the wealth. The power. You’re not like those lower-class men, struggling and scraping by. You’ll be the man they look up to, the man they envy. Capitalism rewards the best, and you’re going to be the best. A beacon of the upper class."

Mason nodded, his jaw tightening as he stood straighter. "I’m not meant to be small," he said, his voice gaining strength. "I’m meant to succeed. To live my best life. To be on top."

The voice practically growled with approval. "Exactly. It’s time to step fully into your destiny, Mason. Embrace it. Wade into the red waves and claim the life you were always meant to lead."

Mason’s breath quickened, a guttural grunt escaping his lips as he clenched his fists. "I can’t wait," he said, his voice deep and resolute. "I can’t wait to be a part of the red wave. To leave behind the prissy liberal nonsense and finally live like the man I was meant to be."

The moment hung in the air, a crescendo of inner turmoil and transformation. Then, without warning, Mason froze. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as his body stiffened. His head tilted back slightly, a sharp gasp catching in his throat.

His eyes rolled back, leaving only the whites visible as his body shuddered violently. His mind swam in a haze of euphoria and terror, the voice laughing triumphantly as it echoed within him. The world around him seemed to blur and spin, his consciousness teetering on the edge as the last remnants of resistance faded into the overwhelming tide of transformation.

And then… stillness.

The room was quiet save for the faint hum of air conditioning as the massive figure eventually stirred a few minutes later. A deep, guttural groan rumbled from his throat as his eyes fluttered open, their sharp blue intensity scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. His brow furrowed, and he brought a hand to his throbbing temple, the remnants of a disorienting fog clinging to his thoughts.

David Carlson looked up, rolling his shoulders and trying to get reacquainted with his massive frame. Confusion flashed across his face as he looked down at himself, noticing the ill-fitting, torn clothes stretched over his immense, muscular body. The fabric strained at his bulging chest and biceps, seams barely clinging together, while his thick thighs threatened to split what remained of his pants. He chuckled, low and rich, the sound resonating like a confident hum.

“What in the world?” he muttered, his voice deep and commanding. He shifted his legs apart, resting a meaty hand on his thigh, and stared at his reflection in the nearby mirror. A smirk spread across his face, revealing perfectly white teeth framed by his square jaw.

“Well, damn,” he said, standing slowly to his full height, his head almost brushing the ceiling. He turned, flexing one arm, admiring the round, granite-like bicep that bulged against the tatters of the shirt. He ran a hand down the vast plane of his chest, his thick fingers grazing the solid grooves of his pecs. “Now, if I’m not the sexiest man in the world, I don’t know who else could be. After all, a sexy motherfucker like me can make a woman cum from just giving a traffic update,” he remarked with a cocky sneer.

His smirk widened as he leaned closer to the mirror, tilting his head to inspect himself further. His piercing eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his killer smile flashing as he flexed his shoulders, watching his reflection move like a sculpted titan come to life.

As his gaze dropped lower, he ran his hands over his thighs, feeling the dense muscle through the shredded fabric. His fingers lingered momentarily, and then his eyes caught something out of place: a suit bag hanging neatly off the door handle.

His brow lifted in curiosity, but the smirk never left his lips. “Ah, now we’re talking,” he said, striding over to the bag and unzipping it with precision. Inside was a sleek, custom-tailored suit – a dark navy jacket and trousers, paired with a crisp satin dress shirt and a tie that shimmered faintly under the room’s fluorescent light.

“The sooner I can get out of these pitiful cheap shreds, the better,” he muttered, stripping off the ruined clothes with haste. The shirt slid on effortlessly, the cool satin gliding over his thick, warm skin. He tugged the sleeves, adjusting the cuffs, and buttoned it up, marveling at how perfectly it hugged his torso. His chest stretched the fabric taut, but the shirt held, emphasizing every ridge of his muscular form.

Next came the trousers, which he slid on with care. The waistband fit snugly, outlining his powerful thighs, while the tailored cut tapered sharply to his ankles, exuding professionalism with a touch of dominance. The jacket followed, and as he shrugged it on, he couldn’t help but flex his shoulders, feeling the material strain slightly over his bulk.

“Perfect,” he muttered, stepping back to admire the result in the mirror. The suit was impeccable, a testament to luxury and power, and it fit him like a second skin. He adjusted his tie, smoothing it down with one hand, and grinned.

“David Carlson,” he said aloud, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re a goddamn masterpiece. An alpha that women wish they could have and men wish they could be.” He ran a hand through his neatly styled hair, standing tall as he gave his reflection a final approving nod.

With that, he strode to the door, his polished shoes clicking against the floor as he pulled it open. His broad shoulders barely fit through the frame as he stepped into the hallway, his head held high.

Now dressed to impress and radiating confidence, he set off with purpose. “Time to find Mr. Corbin,” he said, his voice echoing slightly in the empty corridor. “Now that this tour is over, I just need to ask a few more questions about the operation they’re running here.”

As soon as David touched the door, the flash of a green light emerged and allowed the massive newscaster to turn the handle and exit the room. He strutted confidently down the polished hallways of Red Wave Solutions, easily navigating through the labyrinth-like hallways as if he’d known it like the back of his hands. While walking, the sharp lines of his suit accentuated his immense frame, his shoulders brushing perilously close to the walls as he passed. Employees bustled around, their heads turning one after another to catch a glimpse of the imposing man. David’s smile gleamed, radiating charisma and cockiness.

“Morning, folks,” he said, nodding toward a group of young interns who stood frozen in awe. “Don’t work too hard now.” He chuckled as they scurried off, red-faced and whispering among themselves.

To a middle-aged man in a lab coat carrying a stack of binders, he flashed a wink. “Looking sharp there, Doc. Keep it up – love to see the brains behind the brawn in this operation.”

The man chuckled nervously, nearly dropping the binders in his haste to nod in agreement.

David continued his journey, stopping briefly at a glass window showcasing a bustling control room filled with monitors and data feeds. His keen eyes scanned the workers hunched over their stations, fingers flying over keyboards. He gave them a small wave, followed by a cocky grin. “Looking good in there! Keep making magic happen, people.”

Every interaction added a spring to his step, his ego swelling with each fawning glance and whispered admiration. By the time he reached the sleek, modern front desk at the heart of the facility, he felt utterly invincible.

Upon noticing the slim, well-dressed man with his styled grey hair and trimmed stubble, David made his way over to Mr. Corbin. With each step, the reporter watched how the man’s smile widened into a huge beam as he extended a hand out to David. 

“David Carlson!” Corbin exclaimed warmly, gripping the reporter’s hand with surprising strength as they united for a firm handshake. “You look absolutely incredible. Like you were truly made for this.”

David arched a brow, the compliment throwing him slightly off balance as he took in the other man’s amused grin. “Uh, thanks,” he said slowly, his grin faltering just a fraction. In the back of his mind, a stray thought surfaced: Is this guy a homo or something?

But Corbin’s expression didn’t linger long on admiration; instead, he pivoted seamlessly, his demeanor shifting to one of professional excitement. “So,” he said, gesturing grandly to the lobby around them, “what do you think of the place so far? Impressive, isn’t it?”

David straightened up, smoothing his tie as he nodded. “It’s incredible,” he replied, his deep voice carrying genuine approval. “State-of-the-art. Honestly, I think what you’re doing here is brilliant. I’ve read all about your mission, and after what I’ve witnessed here today, I can’t say enough about how much I agree with what you’re trying to accomplish.”

Corbin’s face lit up, his smile widening as he stepped closer. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he gave David a friendly nudge in the side with his elbow. “Does that mean I can count on you to give us a glowing report tomorrow night?”

David tilted his head, letting a smirk play across his lips. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as though sharing a private joke. “You better believe it. I’m going to make sure your message reaches the people who really need to hear it. We’ve got to work together to trick these pathetic progressive losers into finally opening their eyes and seeing how the world is supposed to look.”

Corbin’s laughter boomed through the lobby, rich and full-bodied. He clapped a hand on David’s broad shoulder, his grip lingering as he leaned closer. “Ah, I knew you were the real deal, David,” he said, his tone brimming with satisfaction. “It’s such a relief to meet someone who gets it… someone who truly sees the vision. You and I? We’re going to do amazing things together.”

David’s chest swelled with pride, the man’s approval feeding his growing sense of self-importance. “Damn right we will,” he replied, his voice steady and firm. “This is just the beginning.”

***

The studio lights bathed the room in an artificial glow, casting long shadows across the set. David Carlson sat tall at the anchor desk, exuding the poise and confidence that had cemented his place as the number one star in the conservative news world. The countdown to airtime ticked away on a monitor beside the camera, but David’s focus wasn’t on the clock.

Instead, it was on Tiffany, the studio’s blonde bombshell of a makeup artist, who approached him with her signature playful grin. Her heels clicked softly on the polished floor as she sauntered toward him, her skintight dress emphasizing every curve. Tiffany’s long, golden hair framed her flawless face, and the warm scent of her perfume wafted toward him as she leaned in to touch up his makeup.

“Just a quick touch-up, David,” she said, her voice teasing as she gently dabbed at his forehead with a powder puff. “Can’t have our star looking anything less than perfect.”

David chuckled, his piercing eyes scanning her physique without subtlety. From the generous curve of her chest to the hourglass dip of her waist and the way her dress clung to her toned legs, she was a sight to behold. His lips curled into a wolfish grin.

“Not sure anyone’s looking at my forehead, Tiffany,” he remarked, his voice low and smooth.

She giggled, a blush creeping across her cheeks. “Oh, don’t be modest. The viewers love you. You’re the reason they tune in every night. It’s our job to make you look as good as possible.”

“Damn right,” he replied with a chuckle and smirk, his hand casually brushing the edge of the desk as he shifted closer. As Tiffany leaned over to adjust a stray strand of his perfectly coiffed hair, David let his gaze linger on her mouthwatering tits before making his move. His hand slid down and gave her plump ass a confident squeeze.

Tiffany gasped softly, her cheeks flushing an even deeper red. But instead of pulling away, she giggled nervously, her eyes darting around to ensure no one was watching.

David leaned in, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Why don’t you swing by my office later? Evening broadcasts can be intense, so I always need to let off a little steam.”

Her blush deepened, and she bit her lower lip as she nodded. “I’d like that,” she murmured, barely able to meet his intense gaze.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his grin widening as he patted her ass and sat back.

Tiffany quickly finished her work, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “You’re all set,” she said, smoothing her dress. “Go kill it out there tonight, David.”

David chuckled, adjusting his tie as he leaned back in his chair. “I always do,” he said, his tone oozing self-assurance. “Let’s be honest, every viewer out there goes crazy for me. I can’t say the same for everyone at this desk though...”

His gaze shifted to his female co-anchor sitting across from him. She was busy reviewing her notes, her expression composed but tired. David’s eyes narrowed into a glare, the weight of his ego palpable as he mentally compared their on-screen presence.

The studio’s director called out, “Thirty seconds to air!”

David straightened his posture, his polished smile snapping into place as the countdown continued. Tiffany disappeared off to the side, but the lingering scent of her perfume and the promise of their meeting later fueled his already inflated confidence.

As the final three seconds were uttered and the red light on the camera blinked on, David Carlson’s face suddenly filled the screen with a look of composed sincerity. For any viewer at home, they couldn’t resist savoring how his sharp jawline was framed perfectly by the flattering angles of the studio lighting. His deep, resonant voice greeted the viewers with the practiced warmth of a trusted confidant.

“Good evening, patriots,” he began, his tone rich with professional gravitas. “I hope you’re all having a wonderful evening. Tonight, I want to take a moment to speak directly to you – to the Americans out there who may feel unsure or even afraid about what the future holds.”

He leaned forward slightly, his piercing blue eyes staring directly into the camera, as if he could reach through the screen and hold a private conversation with each viewer.

“Are you worried about what comes next? Are you feeling ostracized by those who don’t share your values, your beliefs, your way of life?” His voice softened to a somber cadence, each word laced with a careful, purposeful empathy.

David paused, letting the questions hang in the air for a moment, before flashing one of his signature charismatic smiles – a smile that seemed to radiate reassurance to the viewers. His tone lightened, carrying a hint of optimism.

“Well, my friends, I’m happy to report that I’ve found a solution to these concerns – a solution that has left me thoroughly impressed. It’s a company called Red Wave Solutions.”

David sat back slightly, his hands folding neatly on the desk as he continued.

“Red Wave Solutions has developed an innovative way to ease the anxieties many of you might be feeling. They’ve pioneered a state-of-the-art ‘recalibration’ process that allows individuals to step into a new perspective – specifically, the perspective of strong, confident conservative values – for the duration of this current administration.”

His diction was flawless, each word delivered with precision, yet his tone carried an undercurrent of excitement that kept the message personal and engaging.

“Yesterday, I had the privilege of visiting one of their clinics to observe the recalibration process firsthand,” David explained, his voice lowering slightly as if sharing an intimate secret. “The facility was absolutely cutting-edge – everything you’d expect from a company that cares solely about delivering results safely and effectively.”

He leaned in again, his tone becoming animated as he described what he saw.

“I watched a young man, clearly nervous and weighed down by his worries, begin the process. And when it was over, he emerged completely transformed. I’ll tell you, folks – it was remarkable. He was lighter, happier, even eager to talk about the exciting future ahead under our president’s leadership. It was a night-and-day difference.”

David chuckled, shaking his head as though he could still hardly believe it. “That young man, who had walked in anxious and unsure, left ready to embrace life with open arms.”

He sat back again, his hands gesturing subtly to underscore his words.

“Now, I understand that some of you at home might be skeptical. You might be thinking, ‘What if I don’t like the change?’ or ‘What happens when the presidency ends?’”

David’s expression grew earnest as he addressed the concerns head-on.

“Well, let me reassure you,” he said, his voice steady and confident. “The recalibration process is designed to be completely reversible. When this presidency comes to an end, so too will the recalibration, leaving you exactly as you were before – no muss, no fuss.”

He leaned forward, his hands clasped together as his eyes locked onto the camera.

“I feel for anyone out there who’s afraid of what lies ahead,” he said earnestly. “This can be a challenging time for many of us, and let me the first to say that I see you and I hear you. But if you want to make things easier on yourself and your family, I strongly urge you to consider reaching out to Red Wave Solutions. Their process is seamless, safe, and highly effective. But don’t wait too long—appointments are filling up fast!”

David’s smile widened, a glimmer of encouragement in his eyes as he delivered his closing line.

“Take control of your future, patriots. Call Red Wave Solutions today and see what they can do for you. You’ll be glad you did, I guarantee it!”

As the camera shifted to focus on his co-anchor’s segment, David leaned back in his chair, flashing a satisfied grin at the crew. He knew he had delivered the message perfectly, feeling incredibly cocky about the fact that he would be the reason why Red Wave Solutions began converting hundreds to thousands of “libtards” into real men.

[justporo]

Bowing in thy name

Tonight he was fully here with you.

You had pulled him here and held onto him so forcefully that Astarion couldn’t do anything but let his own desires reign supreme - just like you had planned.

And - if he dared to - he might even be in charge of them tonight. For once freely taking what he desired, what he wanted. You were more than happy to let him play with you. You trusted him after all, maybe even more than you liked to admit to yourself.

MASTERLIST | AO3 | PART 2

Author's Note: Ah yes, here we are for dinner - after Astarion already received some good loving in the last part, it's time for the vampire to take the reins of his own desires - with Tav there for him every step of the way. Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

Gif by @cheekylittlepupp (pls follow them!)

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You)

Warnings: explicit sexual content, light dom/sub dynamic, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, light exhibitionism, slight religious imagery, aftercare

Wordcount: 3,2k

You were hovering right above Astarion. Your body in desperate need of feeling all of him. So how could you deny his request? Especially if he was making an effort to claim the desires he himself wanted.

“Let me be inside of you.”

Had anything ever sounded so promising?

“Anything for your pleasure,” you muttered softly. You felt slightly high and numbed from the recent blood loss. But more than that you found it aroused you immeasurably how your treatment of the vampire had quite obviously been very effective.

You saw it not only in the way his hard, wetly glistening dick was continuing to twitch against his stomach but in the way his crimson eyes glinted at you - filled with life and lust. It was in the way he held himself with much more confidence and his bold cockiness returned to him easily. 

Tonight he was fully here with you.

You had pulled him here and held onto him so forcefully that Astarion couldn’t do anything but let his own desires reign supreme - just like you had planned.

And - if he dared to - he might even be in charge of them tonight. For once freely taking what he desired, what he wanted. You were more than happy to let him play with you. You trusted him after all, maybe even more than you liked to admit to yourself.

Only a tad of worry flickered through the vampire’s eyes as he scoffed at your answer. He was bad at taking things at face value. But so much had been different with you, maybe this could be too?

The worries weren’t gone. But maybe they could be forgotten for a few more moments, maybe for this night.

Astarion’s gaze softened. With his hand still balled up in your hair he pulled you towards him, making you climb onto him so he could pull you to him, to his mouth.

Your lips were already parted, a dreamy sigh slipping from them as your vampire dragged you to him. All these emotions - delightful light-headedness from the blood you had given him, the overwhelming need to offer him all the pleasure in the world and your own coiling, burning desire for him - swirled into a barely tolerable cocktail. No one had ever made you feel like this. It was intoxicating.

As Astarion pulled you to him, his gaze shifted again. While he felt your bodyweight as he dragged you towards him his eyes began burning, assuring you he was just as hexed by you as the other way around.

He dragged you in for a kiss as you basically fell onto him. His hardened length pressed between your bodies as he touched his lips to yours. Astarion moaned as he let his tongue slip into your mouth, tasting himself in your mouth.

You grabbed for hold as he pulled you into this kiss harder. His fingers slowly untangled from your hair, cupped your face, then wandered deeper.

The vampire’s hands really grabbed hold of you, feeling your body - shoulders, tits, ribcage, waist, butt. Astarion took his time with each part of your body as he deepened the kiss, fingertips pressing down on every single bump down your spine as you shuddered in his embrace. You almost got lost in the sensation. Your body leaned into him all on its own, hopefully making it even more pleasurable for both of you.

Meanwhile it almost felt obscene the way his hands roamed all over your body, despite the fact that you were still clothed. His fingers squeezed and squished, sometimes so hard that you felt a light sting even when his hands had long moved on.

You whispered his name against his lips and pressed yourself harder to him. This was what you wanted. To make him forget himself in between your locked lips, limbs wrapped around him and the way you urged him to claim you and your body as his if he wanted.

And Astarion was keen to take you up on your offer, he just couldn’t stop himself.

With one hunger sated and with how you seemingly felt so pressed to offer all of yourself up to him tonight to indulge another hunger, was slowly taking over his mind. He felt his erection twitch achingly between both your heated bodies.

Whatever right turn he had taken to be offered at least a temporary amount of bliss with you: he’d take it now. No questions tonight, no fear, just pleasure - his own. And you made it easy for him with how you squirmed in his arms with nothing but lust and a desire to please on your mind.

The vampire made sure to repeatedly make your body drag along his, continuing the lewd grinding from earlier now with you on top until you took the hint and began bucking your hips into him while he kept exploring your body.

Eventually he tugged on your shirt, not even taking a break before swiftly dragging it off. Then your pants. Then your underwear. Until you were finally pleasantly naked against him.

A groan left Astarion’s lips at the feeling of your hot, smooth skin on his. He caught your bottom lip between his, one fang grazing it dangerously until you felt a single drop of your warm blood run down your chin.

Immediately the vampire caught your face carefully in both his hands, turning your head so he could lick up the trickle of blood.

The small reminder of your taste was enough to make Astarion growl. You felt his dick jerk against your stomach and answered with a breathless whimper. For what he had asked of you he was taking his godsdamned time.

But you needn’t have worried. Astarion had edged himself on for long enough it seemed.

He pressed himself up as he still gently cradled your lovely face in his hands. His red eyes glittered like garnets as he gazed upon you adoringly and you could do nothing else but stare back at him and feel your heart inside your chest slowly melt away. You only wanted this for him forever - and for yourself too - was that too much to ask of fate?

Astarion pressed another soft kiss to your lips, your naked torso pressed against his, your boobs squished against his chest, as he slowly rose up. The metallic taste of your blood was still lingering on his tongue and your broken lip.

Then some of the tenderness got lost as the rogue grabbed you lightning quick, flipped you around so you were on all fours and he pressed himself against you from behind. You yelped, a silent groan caught in your throat as he manhandled you and then delighted in this wholly new position.

His hard cock pressed between your buttcheeks and slowly rode upwards as Astarion leaned over you, covering your body with his own.

You arched your back, making your ass rub against the vampire and his rock hard groin. He thanked you with a content low hum while he grabbed your hair from behind and rolled it around his hand. When it was wrapped around his finger like a taut rope he dragged on it, thereby forcing you to arch your spine even more. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning and your eyes rolling into your skull as you bowed your body for him.

Astarion made you turn your head thereby exposing your neck to him while he leaned over you, his free hand lightly covering yours. His fingertips brushed over your knuckles so tenderly before he entwined his longer fingers with yours so that one could have almost forgotten that his hard cock pressed against your ass and he tugged on your hair so hard it made your eyes tear up with how pleasantly it burned. But this enticing discrepancy of a display of tender affection and rough love was exactly where you would lose your mind, you knew.

The vampire leaned his face close to one of your pointy ears, took note of how your pulse was still able to quicken at his closeness and answered it with a pleased smirk you didn’t need to see to know it was there

“You’re a gift, darling, you know that?” Astarion whispered in a voice so low it was merely more than a soft grumble in your ear. Then he moved, shifted his hips and suddenly you felt his hard length slide along your heated core, tip teasing your entrance. But he merely started to rub his stiff cock along your cunt, covering himself in your molten, sleek wetness. Helplessly you mewled as his erection rubbed against your clit that immediately began pulsating from the friction and the need to feel more of him.

“I just-” you began but interrupted yourself with a hearty moan when Astarion bucked into you harder than before while pressing a kiss right behind your ear. “I just want you to be happy,” you muttered breathlessly and truthfully.

 A shiver ran down your spine and you began wiggling your butt desperately trying to get more.

The vampire chuckled softly then let go of your hair and straightened himself, withdrawing from you just a little. In your surprise you toppled over, catching yourself with your arms and face leaning on the ground now, hands reaching for hold and suddenly grabbing a bunched garment on the tent floor. It was Astarion’s shirt you noticed somewhere in the back of your mind.

“I thought this was about me, love,” Astarion muttered teasingly as he observed how you whimpered at the loss of him and immediately shifted your hips to hopefully feel him again. You threw your hair back and turned your head to look at him, hands curling into his shirt and you moved it so you could rest your head on it.

You groaned in desperation at his words. It was about him but he made it increasingly difficult to form a thought and hold onto it, not even mentioning a whole plan. 

Astarion’s crimson gaze adoringly wandered over the incredible curve of your spine as you were now practically bowing like a devoted worshipper in front of him - your offering was just a little different from the usual -, face half buried in his shirt and you stared up at him with an expression between playing coy and foxy. He wrapped one hand around his cock and began to stroke himself slowly as he kept enjoying the sight of you: bend before him, presenting yourself like a present that was only waiting to be unwrapped to reveal the goodness inside before being fully and entirely ravished. The vampire’s eyes kept wandering over you, your swollen, throbbing core bared for him between your legs, the swell of your breasts he could see with how they were pressed to his bedroll now, your soft, inviting thighs - and again your eyes that dared him to finally take from you what he desired most.

“Look at how eager you are for me, my love,” he whispered and pumped his cock again and leaned over you once more. Then he pushed down his hungrily twitching cock with his flat hand as he leaned over you again, almost cowering above you. And while his hardness pressed against you again to your delight, you felt his fingers slide along your core aside it and his lips at your ear again.

“Don’t worry, my love. Seeing how you hunger for me,” - two of his fingers slid into you - “how needy you are” - they pumped in and out of you as you couldn’t hold back a moan - “makes this all the more enjoyable for me, darling.” And with the last word drawn out slowly he withdrew his fingers only to replace them with his aching length. Sliding into you to the hilt with a single hard thrust without warning, making you yelp and clench your lower body.

Immediately Astarion began an unyielding rhythm, instantly being barely able to control himself as he felt you finally clench around him, and you coaxed him on with how you lewdly moaned his name and arched your back like a tense bowstring.

All the while he kept teasing you with his hand between your legs, wrapped around one of your thighs, while the other gripped onto your hips hard. His fingers toyed with your clit, drawing lazy circles in time with his thrusts increasingly becoming harder, faster and less and less in control, having you to really press against him to not lose balance.

Your hands clenched in his shirt so hard your knuckles showed as white and you turned your head, desperate to see his face as he increasingly got lost in you.

The sight of him in the low lantern light as he kept rolling his hips into you almost made you lose your breath. His eyes were closed, head lolling back time and again, his skilled fingers stroking you right to the edge of complete oblivion without even having to spare a glance. Astarion’s lips were parted and curled into a blissful smile, revealing his fangs.

A low rumble deep in the vampire’s throat filled the tent as he kept thrusting into you, making your body clench hard around him, as it involuntarily tried to get even more out of this.

That made his head snap back up again, haughtily smirking at you as he realised how unravelled you were already beneath him.

Sharp red eyes kept watch of you from there on out, drinking in every detail of your form, how your face was contorted by pleasure and need for him. And when he leaned his head slightly to the side to observe how his rock hard and wetly glistening cock kept plunging in and out of you, it was almost like something snapped within him.

His hand on your hip gripped you tighter, digging into your flesh painfully and his thrusts became even harder. Just like when he had drunk your blood earlier his more animalistic side was almost fully taking over. There was nothing gentle in this moment about how he fucked you, only raw, basic need and desire.

The rumble in the vampire’s chest became a full on growl as he slammed into you relentlessly. You would have lost balance if you hadn’t already been burying your face in your makeshift pillow of Astarion’s ruffled shirt. Your nails were digging into the balls of your hand even with the linen inbetween it. You were all tension, but it felt more like you were slowly dissolving into light and air.

The sensation as you felt the both of you rapidly approaching the desired edge and losing all restraint and decency in the process was pleasantly obscene.

You were entirely sure the rest of your party could hear you and know what was going on if they were awake. It didn’t worry you in the slightest. If anything it gave you even more of an edge to fleetingly think about how everyone around must immediately know how entirely and willingly you gave yourself to Astarion. What you allowed him to do with you.

You moaned a little louder just for the hell of it.

Whatever you had imagined for the night, you couldn’t remotely have figured it would be this mindbendingly pleasant. And clearly the same went for the vampire as he kept uttering your name and calling you pet names in time with each of his thrusts while his balls tensed up with almost unbearable pleasure.

“Tav - my darling - my love - my sweet - Tav - my darling - my sweet - my heart.”

A mantra on his lips. The only thing he was still capable of muttering as deep inside him he felt what he had known for a while now: you were changing him forever, being an end and a beginning simultaneously.

“My sweet girl,” Astarion whispered, voice almost breaking as he felt the last string stopping him from falling head first become ready to snap. “Come for me, my love!”

You felt him hit deep inside of you, hyper aware of where your body was connected to his, how his fingers kept working your sensitive bud between your legs. You smelled his signature scent on his shirt crumbled up in your hands. You heard his breathy words of praise and his plea and still tasted him on your lips and tongue. And when you turned your head a little again you saw him too, pleasure and adoring wonder shining on his face and his crimson eyes piercing into you.

Your every sense was filled with him. Astarion was stretching all along your horizon and beyond.

You wouldn’t have wished for anything else.

Your eyes locked onto his.

And then you felt yourself burn up from the inside out. Flames exploding and rushing through all of you as they consumed you whole. In the back of your mind you were aware that you screamed your lover’s name with a hoarse voice, muffled into his shirt. Your body clenched violently around Astarion and as all your muscles tensed and screamed in pleasure and agony alike you felt him falling as well.

His cock inside you twitched violently as he spilled himself into you. Your name was a prayer on his lips as he groaned it and your cunt clenched around him again and again, making sure nothing of his seed would go to waste. He toppled over onto you, his hands slid over your trembling arms and grabbing onto your clenched fists while he kept fucking you through your joint orgasms.

You both rode out your high until the last pulse, the last drop, the last moan and there was nothing but breathless panting filling the air and Astarion stilled within you but stayed buried deep inside of you.

The vampire’s head fell onto your shoulder, his full body weight was on you and your legs shook weakly. You stayed like this for a while - both content, fully spent and deeply happy and relaxed.

Soft white curls tickled the sensitive skin of your neck as you slowly and carefully turned your head after long moments and pressed a tender kiss to the vampire’s cheek while you were both still gasping for air.

Astarion’s lips curled into a genuine smile and he turned his head to throw you a loving glance. He pressed a quick peck to your lips in reply.

Then, with a groan, he lifted himself up again and withdrew from you as he began to soften. Before you could collapse since your body was still shivering from the violent orgasm, Astarion caught you carefully in his arms and used the last of his remaining strength to pull you to his chest as he laid down on his back.

You happily let that all happen as you felt that you had truly given him everything you could have offered. You’d happily do it again any time.

Astarion fumbled around a little until he had found his blanket to throw it over the two of you. You snuggled up to him as close as possible and enjoyed the feeling of being close to him and pleasant exhaustion.

Neither of you spoke - it wasn’t needed.

Astarion began stroking your back as you closed your eyes and felt exhaustion slowly taking the better of you. Occasionally he softly tugged on strands of your hair playfully. A smile grew on your face.

Three little words danced on the tip of your tongue, desperately wanting to spill from your lips.

But other words broke the silence before you could.

“Would you let me take care of you in return?”

~~~

Last part!

If you enjoyed this you can support me by reblogging this! You can also support me on Kofi (pinned post on my profile)!

Taglist (DM if you want to be added): @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon @hereliesblackdragon @ayselluna @ajokeformur-ray @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @rikuyrk06 @marina-and-the-memes @somewhatclear @divineknightmare @linllewellyn @makeitmagical @jwera @honeyluvender @miss-rebel-without-applause @generalstephkenobi @v3ntis-lyr3 @trinswhimsys

[skythealmighty]

hey gang sorry for disappearing from tumblr i have been uhhh. i dunno actually but i got into epithet erased so that's cool. i should catch up on ppt2 soon probably oops

#rocket talk #epithet erased #ppt2 #hopefully people get that i mean paper puppets take 2 #not poyo poyo tetris two #i've never even played that slkjdfkls

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

hey guys sorry for the radio silence i'm fine now i promise :') soap is okay we're all good we're all chill

#mics ramblings #mostly anyway #its a very long story.

(13 notes)

🟢 greenyguy Follow

yo this ice cream bangin

🍺 pillowpepper Follow

greeny that is a tub of playdoh,

🟢 greenyguy Follow

yo this ice cream bangin

(39,132 notes)

🍿🔃 stevecobseviltwin Follow reblogged 🩷 under-lock-and-key

🩷 under-lock-and-key Follow

writing with a glitter gel pen in my own pages. i'm losing my sense of humanity

#mecore

(713,034 notes)

💼 emotional-baggage Follow

@nowaynuhuh i'm so sorry for disappearing like that earlier! i didn't mean to cut you out of anything, things just got busy :( on better news, i won a competition and made a new friend! do you have discord? i think you'd like her too ^_^

⛔ nowaynuhuh Follow

oh my gosh, that's SUCH a relief. things have been busy over here too, so i completely understand, dw! and i do have discord, so i'll dm you my username! can't wait to meet your friend

💼 emotional-baggage Follow

yay!!

#cases chats #thank you for the well wishes though!!

(4 notes)

🔌 electricalmusical Follow

i suffer every day from that post that got popular. HELLLPPPP MY NOTIFFSSSSSSSS

🎡 not-tally-hall Follow

I TOLD you to get off of Tumblr. This is what you get

🟧 mail-time Follow

Is this the right site?

🔌 electricalmusical Follow

HI PB YEAH IT IS!!! WELCOMEEE

🟧 mail-time Follow

Thank you! Glad to be here!

🎡 not-tally-hall Follow

...I left you alone for a day, how did you already find someone to add to your group?

🔌 electricalmusical Follow

we're just that swag

🟧 mail-time Follow

LOL

🎡 not-tally-hall Follow

You better not have caused any trouble.

🔌 electricalmusical Follow

😶

👑 kingofeverything Follow

😶

🟧 mail-time Follow

😶

🎡 not-tally-hall Follow

I hate my job.

(31 notes)

🧋 latte-or-not Follow

are there actually cishet people on tumblr? that feels illegal

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

i thought your host was cishet

🧋 latte-or-not Follow

and i thought you all were dead but no. he's bi.

💥 fans-fantastic-features Follow

diversity win...

#fans speeches #the host who made a joke about eliminating people cause theyre gay is bi #what a growth arc

(284 notes)

🛞 wheelnotonthebus Follow

GET ME OUT OF THIS FUCKING VOID

🛞 wheelnotonthebus Follow

I HATE CLOCK I HATE CLOCK I HATE CLOCK I HATE CLOCK

🛞 wheelnotonthebus Follow

I'M GOING TO KICK SOMEO

(2 notes)

🌽 is-steve-cobs-dead-yet Follow

11/29/2024

YES 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

#ii steve cobs #inanimate insanity #ii 18 spoilers #ii2 finale #WE DID IT CHAT

(8,623 notes)

🍿 stevecobseviltwin Follow

I Win

#I REIGN SUPREME BITCHES

(9 notes)

🟧 mail-time Follow

Why is there fanart of us on here? How do people know who we are?

👑 kingofeverything Follow

shhhh dont worry about it

[rafayelgod]

🔞WARNING 21+ ADULTS CONTENT!🔞

Rafayel God Of Sea

In the depths of the ocean, where sunlight shimmered through the waves, a tale of forbidden love began to unfold. In a hidden cove, Rafayel, the God of the Sea, had saved MC from drowning, pulling her from the dark abyss and into the light. The moment she gasped for air, her heart racing, she looked into his eyes, deep, captivating, and full of secrets. From that day on, their fates became intertwined.

Days passed in the sea castle, a magnificent structure made of coral and pearls, where the sounds of laughter and music echoed through the grand halls. However, beneath the surface, a tension brewed. MC, a mortal among the sea royalty, often felt the weight of her status. The highborn merfolk floated through life, their laughter ringing hollow to her ears. Their world felt stifling, suffocating, a gilded cage she longed to escape.

One evening, sitting together on the balcony overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean, MC sighed, her gaze distant. "You can't take this anymore, right? The endless parties, the hollow conversations... it’s all so boring." Rafayel asked.

Rafayel chuckled, his deep voice like the gentle roar of waves crashing against rocks. "You know, my dear, there is a world beyond these walls. A world filled with adventure and excitement. Would you like to see it?"

Her eyes widened with curiosity. "What do you mean?"

He leaned closer, the salty breeze tousling his dark purple hair. "We could sneak away, just the two of us. Leave behind the pomp of sea royalty and explore the hidden wonders of the ocean. What do you say?"

MC's heart raced at the thought. "Yes! Let’s do it!"

That night, as the moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow over the water, Rafayel led her through a secret passage in the castle, one known only to the gods. They swam through coral gardens, vibrant with life, and explored underwater caves that sparkled like diamonds. Laughter bubbled from her lips as they twirled and danced through schools of shimmering fish, free from the constraints of her royal life.

But their adventure led them to a forbidden part of the ocean, a realm where the sea royalty gathered to celebrate their power. Hidden behind a curtain of kelp, they watched as the elite merfolk feasted and danced, their laughter echoing through the water.

"This is where they think they reign supreme," Rafayel whispered, pulling MC closer. "But they are blind to the beauty of the world outside their bubble."

MC smirked, a rebellious glint in her eye. "Let’s give them something to remember."

With a mischievous grin, she and Rafayel slipped into the gathering, their presence drawing curious glances. The nobles paused, their laughter fading as they took in the sight of the God of the Sea with a mere mortal by his side. Whispers filled the water, rippling outward like waves.

"Who is she?" one of the royals sneered, his voice dripping with disdain.

Rafayel stepped forward, his aura radiating power. "She is my guest, and I will not have you speak of her in such a manner."

MC felt a thrill of exhilaration course through her. Surrounded by the elite, she felt empowered, the tension of her previous life melting away. She turned to Rafayel, her heart racing, and whispered, "Let’s dance."

He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. "As you wish."

They moved to the center of the gathering, their bodies swaying in perfect harmony. MC felt the weight of the sea royalty's eyes upon them, but instead of fear, she embraced the moment. The music pulsed around them, fueling her desire for freedom.

As they danced, the chemistry between them ignited like a flame. Rafayel's hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body. The world around them faded, leaving only the two of them wrapped in each other’s embrace.

"You're intoxicating," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "Every moment with you feels like a treasure."

MC smiled, her heart racing. "And you, Rafayel, are everything I never knew I needed. Show me more of this world."

With a swift motion, Rafayel lifted her and swam away from the gathering, the water swirling around them. They broke the surface in a secluded lagoon, the moonlight shimmering on the water like diamonds. The air was thick with unspoken desires, and MC could feel the tension crackling between them.

"Rafayel.." she breathed, her voice laced with longing. "I want you. I want to feel everything."

His eyes darkened with desire, and he pulled her in for a searing kiss, their lips crashing together like waves against the shore. MC melted against him, her body responding instinctively to his touch. Rafayel's hands explored her curves, igniting flames of desire in places she never knew existed.

With a teasing glint in his eye, he lifted her effortlessly, pressing her against the smooth rock of the lagoon. "Are you sure you want this?" he asked, his breath hot against her skin.

"Yes," she gasped, her heart racing. "I want to be yours."

Without hesitation, Rafayel kissed her deeply, his hands roaming over her body, pulling her closer. MC’s breath hitched as he explored her curves, his fingers trailing down her sides, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever they touched.

The world around them faded until it was just the two of them, lost in the depths of their passion. With each kiss, MC felt herself surrendering completely, her body and soul entwined with Rafayel's.

He pulled back, gazing into her eyes, filled with a mix of adoration and hunger. "I want to show you... the pleasures of the sea, to make you feel more alive than ever."

MC's heart racing with anticipation as he began to undress her, revealing your skin to the cool night air. She felt exposed yet exhilarated, the thrill of their secret affair heightening her senses.

Rafayel kissed down her neck, his lips trailing fire along her collarbone before moving lower, his mouth worshipping her body. "Hah-" MC gasped, her back arching as he took one of her breasts into his mouth, teasing her with his tongue. She moaned, the sound mingling with the gentle lapping of the waves, the night air thick with the scent of salt and desire.

"Rafayel," she gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as he lavished her with attention.

He responded by sliding down her body, his hands caressing her hips as he knelt before her. With a flick of his tongue, he teased her most sensitive spot, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through her. MC cried out, her body trembling as he lavished her with attention, his mouth working magic as he brought her to the edge.

"Yes! Just like that!" she cried, her voice rising in pitch as the pleasure built to a crescendo.

Rafayel smiled against her skin, the vibrations of his laughter sending waves of pleasure through her. He continued his ministrations, drawing her closer to the brink before pulling away, leaving her gasping for more.

"Ah.. Rafayel, please," she panted, her body aching for him.

He rose, his powerful form looming over her, and kissed her deeply, allowing her to taste herself on his lips. "You have no idea how long I have desired this, how much I want to make you mine."

With a swift movement, he positioned himself at her entrance, his eyes locked with hers, a silent promise of ecstasy. She nodded, her breath hitching, and he entered her slowly, filling her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain, as she adjusted to his size.

"Ah... Are you okay?" he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

"Yes," she gasped, urging him on. "Please, don't stop."

"Mmh.." With that, Rafayel began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, then building in intensity. The rhythm of their bodies echoed in the night, a primal dance of passion and desire. MC clung to him, her nails digging into his skin as she surrendered to the waves of pleasure crashing over her.

"Hah..ahh.. you're so perfect," he groaned, his breath hot against her ear. "I never want this to end."

With each thrust, he drove deeper, his tentacle-like appendage curling around her, adding another layer of sensation that sent her spiraling into ecstasy. MC cried out, her body arching against him, every nerve ending ignited with pleasure.

"Harder.. ahh..hahh..." she begged, desperation lacing her voice.

Rafayel obliged, his movements becoming more frenzied, the sound of their bodies colliding filling the air. MC's moans grew louder, echoing against the rocks as pleasure washed over her in waves. The world around them faded, leaving only the two of them, lost in their own paradise.

"Yes .. oh.. Rafayel.." she cried, her climax building, tightening around him like a vice.

With a deep growl, Rafayel thrust into her one last time, "Ahh.." their bodies colliding as they reached the peak together. MC's vision blurred, her body quaking as waves of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her breathless. Rafayel followed suit, his release flooding her, a warmth that filled her completely.

They collapsed together in the lagoon, the cool water wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. MC lay in his arms, panting as the reality of their actions settled in.

"What have we done?" she murmured, a mix of joy and fear swirling in her chest.

Rafayel brushed a strand of hair from her face, his eyes filled with warmth. "We’ve embraced what we are together. And I would do it again in a heartbeat."

MC smiled, her heart swelling with affection. "I think I would too."

As they drifted in the calm waters of the lagoon, they held each other close, knowing the world above would never understand their love. But in that moment, it didn't matter. They had forged a connection deeper than the ocean itself—a bond that would challenge the tides of fate and defy the constraints of royal power.

And so, beneath the shimmering moonlight, they made a pact, a promise to explore not only the depths of the ocean but also the depths of their hearts, forever entwined in a secret that would bind them together against all odds.

- The End -🔞🌚💦

© CM (Follow for more hot story) 🌚💦

[shelleysmary]

lots of fans have made valid points and written well-thought-out posts about the trop ai drama, so i'm not gonna rehash them, but i do want to bring up something that no one seems to be talking about and it's the impulse that leads people to plug these things into ai generators in the first place.

fandom over the last year especially has become increasingly toxic to the point that actual billion-dollar corporations are afraid it. the result is subpar, pandering films, books, and television shows that break no new ground, recycle old tropes, and sacrifice story integrity to avoid catching heat from the loudest, most entitled people in the room. i'm calling this an issue of entitlement first and foremost because the idea that the audience should have any say over a non-crowd-created media project is preposterous. deciding that the cons outweigh the pros of watching something and choosing to walk away without making a fuss is a lost discipline now because everyone with an internet connection and a social media account believes that their vision reigns supreme. "how dare this show downplay my favorite ship! they were supposed to kiss! that was the whole point! the absence of this one thing i had on my wishlist is a crime against me personally!" so they turn to ai and click some buttons and now these gifs exist and are being circulated with an air of "i've righted a wrong." worse, the use of ai in this way is being conflated with the creation of fanworks???

there are reasons why i don't believe the ai saurondiel kiss is on the same raft as, say, making them kiss in a drawing or a published fanfic, but my main concern is with the spirit behind each. fanworks are made in homage to the source material, even the fix-it fics. there is an acknowledgment, a separation even, between the television show and the fanwork. this separation is necessary and i would say even integral to the nature of fan creation, while ai closes that gap until it no longer exists. the elimination of space between creator and audience also happens on social media, when disgruntled fans who have taken umbrage with a fictional character or creative decision directly harass the writers or the actors involved. more and more, fans are demanding to be in the rooms, in the minds, and to exert control over the people who tell their stories, and it has only ever worked to our collective detriment. now i'm not saying that if you liked and shared the saurondiel ai kiss that you're the same as the internet trolls who harass (mostly) women and people of color online. but i'm begging you to do some self-reflection and ask yourself why you feel entitled to seeing what you want on your screen.

what has changed in the last few years that would make you dissatisfied with, say, reading someone's fic or making your own drawing? is it a matter of "the tool is there, so why not use it?" is it "i believe it should have happened and it didn't and i feel cheated?" or maybe there's been a pattern you've noticed in your recent media "consumption" (god, i hate that word) where, unless a show or television series goes the exact way you want it to, it feels like you've been defrauded somehow? i'm not being facetious. i'm inviting you to notice that what you're feeling is probably discomfort, disappointment, maybe even cognitive dissonance because you imagined it going one way, and now you're at a loss because it didn't. you built it up in your head, you had something to look forward to, you were convinced that it would happen, it was exciting and you were so eager to get to that point, and then.... and then...

we've all been there. and it sucks. but i also want to remind you of how important it is to preserve the separation. this space is ours. the writer's room, the filming set, the editing room, those spaces are theirs. the actors' likenesses are theirs. thinking beyond trop, the separation is how we get creative works that challenge us politically, emotionally, that make us uncomfortable and tell us important truths. writers shouldn't have to - and shouldn't FULL STOP - do what we want them to do. sometimes that means knowing when to walk away, when to say "i no longer enjoy this show, i will no longer support it" or "i will continue to watch but pretend things went differently," the latter of which has been the spark that has moved so many online fans to draw, paint, write, or sew. it's a type of creation that allows "canon" and "fanon" to exist parallel to one another. moreover, the effort it takes to make anything with your own two hands, with your own time, and with your own energy increases your appreciation for the creative impulse. films and books and television stop being "products" for your "consumption" because you're aware of what goes into them, and it becomes easier to look at things you don't like or disagree with and say, "you know what, i'm gonna pass," or "not in my headcanon."

oh, and by the way plugging things into an ai generator? is theft. the same way that it's generally frowned upon for people to use ai to, say, write the rest of an unfinished fic without the express permission of the fanwork creator, using the actors' likenesses to make them kiss goes against everything the actors' union fought for last year. i'll also add that it's incredibly creepy. almost all of us are in agreement that intimacy coordinators are a good thing because they act - again! - as a separation between what's "real" and what isn't, the same way going on ao3 and reading a fic that very clearly says on the tin that it's a fanfic, unaffiliated with the official ip, is a separation. it's another beast entirely to normalize fan-use of ai, to say you support creatives, support actors, support unions, and then do this in your personal life. i repeat the question: what impulse leads anyone to believe that this is okay other than a feeling of misplaced ownership?

tl;dr: ai nonsense does not belong in fandom spaces. (in my home state of california, it is illegal to use digital replicas of an actor's voice or likeness in place of their actual services without their informed consent [which, in spirit, is what you're doing by using ai to make your gifs]). we all just need to mind our own business and go back to writing our fix-it fics and complaining to our friends in relative peace. if you're finding it impossible to do so, ask yourself why. remember that fanart is our longstanding tradition. stop outsourcing it to an unregulated technology just because your two faves didn't kiss.

[katharsisboy101]

Lunarians vs Lustrous - A look into Individualism and Collectivism in Houseki no Kuni

As I've mentioned before in my posts, these two races have a lot of parallels in regards to real life cultures and philosophies, and I'd like to examine what characterizes each of them more closely and how their portrayal and subsequent differences reflect the themes and messages of the manga.

The West and the East

There's many factors that cemented the difference between the individualistic collectivist cultures, but in essence, what separates them is what each of them valued according to their cultural and religious beliefs. Beyond looking at what caused that each side of the world turned to a different way of living (which in and of itself is massively simplifying it, because not the entire west is individualistic and viceversa, it's a lot more gray than that), it's important to understand what each philosophy entails.

It has to be said that this separation, through globalism and its subsequent capitalism, became blurrier and much more skewed towards the western way of doing things, in which eastern spirituality is just another commodity, but I'll talk more about it later.

By the way, my little analysis of the incredibly underdeveloped Admirabilis is that they basically aim to represent a culture under monarchy (because of their designs), but I don't think there's a lot more to extrapolate from that other than the fact that they represent the missing piece of how humanity can organize itself and its beliefs, I guess.

The Lustrous

I normally call them gems, but I guess their official name is the Lustrous, right? Well, whatever, maybe I'll use it interchangeably as I write.

The Lustrous are clearly a collectivist society, which are associated with Eastern cultures. Characterized by favoring community, which many times means the suppression and neglect of those who don't fit in it or those who aren't in it, it's clear that characters like Phos and Cinnabar are meant to be the misfits in a society like the one Kongo promoted. The arrangement at the start of the manga, in which everyone knows Cinnabar is suffering but no one does anything about it because it's more convienent that way is a perfect example of this.

Even those who fit in and take pride in their usefulness (the value that reigns supreme in the gems' society) have to compete in that regard, as a collectivist society which values a specific trait will have a "supposed way of being" that isn't as tolerant of differences and different ways of expressing yourself and achieving success as an individualistic society would.

Just take a look at Dia and Bortz, the former who despite being at the top of the "usefulness hierarchy" still feels like she isn't enough because she has Bortz as a partner, or the latter who feels like she constantly has to live up to her reputation of being the strongest and actually feels relieved when others step up to cover for her. (Like when the Lunarians stop attacking.) Everyone is bottling things up and no one is doing anything about it because it's easier that way... except it obviously isn't.

Hell, even though I do agree that Phos' loneliness is self inflicted for the most part, it can't be ignored that the reason the gems alienated them so easily and quickly was also partly due to this collectivist mentality, in which the gems are "us" and everything else is "them*.

Phos further strayed from the "us" with each transformation, to the point that she is rejected understanding because of her differences with the rest, despite her seemingly good intentions. This black and white way of viewing people and beings in general results is dangerous, and can justify inhumane acts such as what Phos was made to bear during her prayer. And of course, the "architect" of this society is Kongo/Adamant, though I do understand the reasoning behind it.

The Mastermind

I'd say that Kongo overcorrected, and created a society that separated itself from the selfishness of humanity along with the earthly pleasures that he saw dominated the humans, to the point of the gems' worth becoming completely about how useful they were in their work and neglecting their emotions and the fun they could have in between along with ignoring the importance of their individual relationships (as opposed to just their cordial relationship to each other, out of being part of the same species).

Kong actively discouraged feeling, discouraged crying for Phos—he discouraged humanity, with the good and the bad.

This has both pros and cons, because even though it keeps the gems together and allows them to effectively counter the threat that the lunarians pose, it also eaves them in a stagnant society, one in which they have to bear the risk of losing the people they care about while still being expected to keep their composure for the sake of each other and tradition.

It's a society that is afraid of change, because change is a stand out, and no one should stand out in a collectivist society—and yet, it's that same unchanging quality and resilience for the sake of each other that strengthens the bonds of the gems after Kongo reveals the truth to them. Their loyalty to Kongo and each other gives them meaning, and allows them to keep going year after year.

Whatever the case, that status quo is broken the moment Moon Phos enters the picture. And I'd say the main difference between her and the rest of the gems is her selfishness, the selfishness to see how far she can push herself and to discover what's out there. This is where we start to enter into individualism, with all the progress and independence usually attached to it, that many gems secretly admired, to the point of calling her their "hope".

The reason we call the Phos with Lapis' head "Moon Phos" is because once she arrived to the moon, she assimilates with the Lunarians in a way—she's extremely compatible with their way of being and the optimization and research they constantly promote, but she also has the disadvantages that come with being like that, in how that obsession for optimization and rational planning keeps her mind away from those who are supposedly important to her, just being tools in her game and ultimately causing her downfall as she's broken by those whose trust she broke with too many mindgames and rationality. But in order to analyze this more in depth, let's take a look at individualism in general.

The Lunarians

Personally, I see individualism as a cult of of rationality and its subsequent optimization, in which the only logical conclusion of valuing independence and progress over everything is the commodification of any and all experiences and resources in order to sell them and increase your own gains. Everything is a tool, a means to an end, feeble feelings like love and community aren't as important as the american dream and the self made man. Individualism, and the economic version of it, capitalism, are systems that perpetuate the ideas they represent and instill them onto the mind of those born under them.

We can clearly see how Ichikawa meant for the Lunarians' extravagant lifestyle to be a complete contrast to the simpleness and community-focused society of the Lustrous.

They are literally a society expecting and wishing for their demise, too caught up in it to value what it is and keeping their minds busy with sensorial pleasures and progress—"what will be". They are much more technologically advanced than the gems due to this, which is good, of course, but it also comes with a cost.

And that's the magic of comparing these two cultures—each of them is incredibly flawed, and yet changing them also comes with losing something of value in the process. It shows the contrasting nature of certain philosophies and ideas and how the overreliance on them leads to black and white thinking and unhappiness, whether it is from suppressing yourself too much like the gems or not allowing yourself to compromise and live at all like the Lunarians.

Maybe, just maybe, instead of grand philosophies that apply to everyone and anyone, idealizing their principles and taking them as a gospel to live, it's better to just be, like Phos learns to do in the last arc.

Assimilation and Conquest

Remember what I said about how globalism blurried the line? I'd say the assimilation of the gems to Lunarian society, becoming Lunarians themselves, reflects this perfectly.

Now, they're allowed to be who they are, seek their own interests, indulge into the endless pleasures that were prepared for them and discover a whole new world in which love, food and entertainment are part of their day to day life. However, as great as it sounds, much is also lost through the assimilation—the gems' glitter is gone, and their care for each other isn't really touched upon.

The gems, upon first arriving on the moon, are made to wear new clothes, fancy and more feminine, they are shown the pleasures they can indulge in, and the possibility of keeping the culture and mantaining the positive aspects of their bond is neglected, almost ran over, in what is in essence a colonization.

Cairngorm is a clear example of this, and although she becomes happier by allowing herself to show her true colors (literally) and falling in love with Aechmea, there is this constant feeling that she strayed away from who she should have been, from her relationship with Phos, from her own wishes and interests… because she never discovered them.

She always lived for the sake of others, for Phos, for Lapis, for Ghost, and even if it is under the mask of a loving relationship, she repeats this pattern with Aechmea. Their relationship is all that is great and wrong with Lunarian culture, in which you are drunk with pleasure and forget your true self as a result. Why else do you think Cairngorm is continually portrayed as hyperfeminine and small, almost child-like, compared to the manipulative, dominating and masculine Aechma?

These labels are the ones that individualism and capitalism pushes in order to survive and keep the power dynamics that characterize it. They are images and illusions of what "should be", of masculinity and femininity that the characters fool themselves into wanting in order to continue with the "blinding-youself-with-pleasure" charade.

There's a foreboding sense that Cairngorm—no, that the Lustrous, have lost their purpose and are trying to distract themselves from their inevitable demise through the eartly pleasures that the Lunarian society offers. There's a reason why the album of photos starring the gems living on the moon is called "Party of the End"—because that's what the life of the Lustrous on the moon is.

A party, which involves overindulgence on sensorial pleasures, that is done in order to create an instance away facing their own mortality and having to reflect upon their actions. A celebration that precedes the end, in which they become nothingness and yet they also become something else without ever having come to terms with who they were, like Phos does.

We are all the Same

With all of that in mind, I believe that rather than choosing to ally with a certain philosophy, religion, or culture, Houseki no Kuni shows unabashedly the ugliness that each possibility holds, the selfishness and selflessness of humans, and how those traits manifest differently depending on the ideas and principles that surround you. It's a story that blurries the lines between a selfish collectivism and a selfless individualism, between the organic and inorganic, between what is us and what is something else (Phos), and it arrives at the conclusion that it's all ultimately meaningless in the face of a simple happiness—that binarisms are misleading and in truth, even cultures as different as the Lustrous and the Lunarians have as much in common as they have differences, especially in their selfishness. It's an examination of humanity and the way it deals with each other and itself.