#with the full expectation that the only option in the end is for one of us to be dead

[thick-monster-thighs]

Warlord Yautja/Reader; An Act of Respect

Title: An Act of Respect Rating: Explicit Fandom: Predator: Killer of Killers Ship: Warlord Predator/Grendel King (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood & injury, angst Author Note: This is part 03 of my Warlord series! The full fic is (as always) available on AO3! Summary: Time has twisted your rocky relationship with the Warlord into something very intimate, very strange; from prisoner to plaything to something that has no name. Your world has become a balancing act between reality and wishful thinking �� until one bloody night turns everything upside down.

When travelling in a spaceship, there's no day or night. Time warps like a planet that meets an unfortunate end in a black hole; days become months, which become seconds, which become mere moments. If you listen closely, and if you're not working shifts in the belly of the ship or on the bridge, but instead are alone with emptiness and boredom, then you can hear yourself slowly but surely going mad.

You turn onto your side. Soft fur tickles your nose, and the scent of sleep and tired bodies surrounds you in this non-night, in these hours designated for rest.

At this point, you even miss the nights in the colony. Being on a planet gives you a certain rhythm that you miss so much in open space. Even a Weyland-Yutani barracks can feel like paradise when days are no longer days. A worn-out cot or even the floor can seem beautiful when you can feel day and night merging into one another. On the freighters, you worked according to Earth time or the time of the colony you had just left. It didn't matter, as long as it was something to cling to. Time is a spider's web that anchors you in reality. Without it, you're little more than space junk, drifting through the void.

Free fall in zero gravity.  With a snort, you roll from one side to the other. You've been rolling back and forth for hours, like meat on a spit over a grill. No position is comfortable enough and no thought is pleasant enough to lull you to sleep. Everything is dull and has been overthought a thousand times before, every possibility weighed up dozens of times. Boredom has eaten its way into the folds of your brain like a woodworm, leaving behind a yawning void that can only be filled with discontent. Who would have thought that boredom could be so annoying?

No, seriously, you'd kill for a datapad with a book, or even just old archive entries on it! Though it's probably this mental wasteland that drives the Yautja to train and fight so intensely. They pass the time through training, bloodshed and the quest to become the best hunter. They have to keep themselves busy somehow.  

Getting up and looking for something to do isn't an option either. You still share your bed with the Yautja who claimed you as his property about a year ago. Has it really been a year already? It feels more like a month. Or ten years. Time is strange; it often exists in two places at once, yet it's merely a vague framework to which simple beings such as humans and Yautja cling.  The Warlord takes up most of the fur-covered bed; you have to snuggle up to him to lie reasonably comfortably. At first, this took some getting used to, but now it's everyday life. His body is an anchor and an obstacle, and it's dearly missed when he's out hunting again. When you sleep alone in this nest of trophies, the bed feels enormous and empty – a thought you never would have expected to have. It's so strange to long for the person who kidnapped you and is holding you captive. Is this perhaps the final form of Stockholm syndrome? Yearning for him when he's not here? Absent-mindedly, your hand strokes the arm beneath you, the one that is holding you in a semi-firm embrace. Gentle fingertips trace the scales on the thick, leathery skin up to the biceps, which feel hard and firm even when relaxed. It would probably be easier if the Warlord wasn't so attractive; unfortunately, however, there's no denying that you're physically attracted to him. Emotionally speaking, the whole thing is pretty neutral territory. Love is not something that really happens here on the Hkr'Rcho. The fighting and fleeing never stopped. Since you first lured him into a trap and took what you wanted, there have been several similar incidents. As with so many things before, it has become a game of hunter and hunted. Predator and prey. Whoever can force the other into a hopeless situation wins and to the victor go the spoils. He often has the upper hand, but you've also managed to leave him with a scar or two. Raw power is pitted against adaptability and speed: Yautja against human. Broken bones and open wounds are all part of the game, as are the sweet nectar of victory and the almost ridiculous satisfaction of winning. Every orgasm is a thousand times better when it's earned by blood.

It's crazy how much fun it is, as well as it's incredible how quickly you began to feel as a part of this ship, this clan. The boundaries between human and Yautja identity become increasingly blurred. Being part of the whole makes the loneliness less painful.

Your nails lightly scratch his thick skin and he sighs in his sleep.   The Warlord himself is in a category of his own when it comes to contrasts and oddities. He's like the sour wine that the Yautja love to drink: it tastes strong and bitter, but it gets you oh so wonderfully drunk! He's the chain that binds you to this ship; yet he's also the hot metal that stokes your desire and creates something beyond logic and common sense. He pushes you to indulge in whatever lurks in your own shadow, and you love it.

He mumbles something in his sleep – or is that a growl? Hard to say. Then he moves slightly. You can vaguely make out a few words in Yautja beneath the deep rumbling of his chest, but even the best linguists would struggle to distinguish between mocking growls and clicks and an accented Yautja word. Is he dreaming? Are these warriors dreaming of successful hunts? Well, you are. You dream of the moment the great warrior falls into your increasingly creative traps, when he's all yours to play with. They are good dreams, hot dreams, full of lust and satisfaction.

Your gentle movements on his arm don't stop. He's somewhere between deep sleep and being slightly awake, exhausted from leading this clan and enjoying a well-deserved break. This semi-awake state of your jailer and lover brings you peace. The soft, human hand continues to gently caress the inside of his wrist, which is otherwise covered by the wrist gauntlet. Interestingly, the skin there is soft and sensitive, receptive to the tenderness that keeps the giant warrior in this twilight state. Even these monstrous and terrifying creatures have weak spots and vulnerabilities. The Warlord has few weaknesses and you know them all by now. And what an interesting discovery this one was: A tired Yautja is a tame Yautja. If you manage to wear one out, they seem to regress into the reptiles from which they probably descended. Their deadly claws and warm muscles then search for a source of warmth to cling to - a safe place to rest and restore their energy reserves through deep sleep.

Yautja sleep in short phases; they usually rest for no more than 3–4 hours at a time so that they can be fully active for around 30 hours. However, every few days - more or less a week on Earth - this short sleep rhythm is replaced by a long, deep sleep phase, which enables them to function with so little sleep in everyday life. This deep sleep lasts between 16 and 24 hours, during which their senses are duller than usual, making them vulnerable to attack. Therefore, they first look for a safe place to sleep. Only the stars know whether the Warlord feels safe with you, but it's probably also the case that he sleeps peacefully because you are physically inferior to him. Either way, the huge, warm body next to you gives you a completely new feeling of security: When you work on a freighter, there's no security, either from the W-Y company or your own crew. Short-distance freighters have motley crews, many of whom have dark pasts and even darker desires. You have to sleep with one eye open; otherwise, you could quickly find yourself with a knife in your back or a stranger in your bed.

It's different here on the Hkr'Rcho. Although this Yautja is the opposite of a guardian angel, nothing can happen to you while he's sleeping next to you. Your status as his favourite pet gives you immunity among the crew. You're absolutely safe when he's around - because you give him something that only you can give him. This secures your special status at his side: You're his toy and he's yours. You live and breathe together, sleep in harmony and fight like old friends, enemies and lovers. His rough manner is an unchangeable part of him, just as your bitterness is an unchangeable part of you.  A tired Yautja is a tame Yautja, and a tame Yautja is a gentle Yautja. The growl in his chest has become a deep, vibrating purr as your fingers continue to gently stroke the skin on his wrist. It's a weak spot, exposed to you like a wound. He smells like sweat and something earthy, mixed with that sweet, irresistible undertone. You know what you want and you're going to get it. He moves and turns onto his side; chest muscles press against your back, and you make a satisfied sound somwhere in your upper body. Hard muscles, warm flesh. Wonderful. Your free hand pulls the Warlord's other arm around you, engulfing you in his firm embrace. And when you push your pelvis back towards him, a soft sound rumbles in his chest, breaking through the fog that still surrounds his mind.   Yes, you're going to get what you want.

>>> Continue on AO3

[chronicallyjirai]

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⟡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ JIRAI ONLINE SAFETY TIPS ₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⟡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

˚₊ the first one that got me to do this entire post: digital footprint IS, in fact, bullshit. however. it is only bullshit if you cannot be googled. the great thing about tumblr is this is a thing by default. as long as you avoid using your full Government Name, say what you like!!

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⟡ the concern is: if we google (for example) Saki Tenma, do we find Saki's verrrry public Jirai blog? if we do, then so does everyone else. people can and do google you before a job interview, iirc some colleges/universities also do character checks. if Saki is clever, she won't go by her full name, or will go by something else, to avoid her Jirai ventblog ever showing up when they do this! if u have concerns abt what u post online, google both ur blog name and ur irl name and see what comes up - that way u know what to scrub or make private. ₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⟡

˚₊ if you do not want this sort of posting to be traced back to you, which is entirely understandable w/ a community like this, avoid using the same url and name in multiple places. being real: i do not go by callie elsewhere. it's not my name. i just picked it bc it's fun! i have a "healthier" tumblr blog that i'd be more willing to namedrop irl. still embarrassing getting caught at the devil's sacrament, but not end-of-the-world.

˚₊ now, this bit is slightly more specific, however as an adult who had SEVERAL younger friends w/ shitty parents, this one feels like a necessity. your parents may be checking up on what you're doing online. this is not a bad thing if your parents are sane and non abusive. if they ARE, however:

˚₊ you do not have to let them know you're here. there are two specific things i'd do for this. #1: you can just straight up use a private browser, it does not save any history that way. firefox has this as an option by default, iirc, but you can google "[your browser private tab]" and #2: clearing your internet history.

˚₊ the above is a sc of clearing your history on a pc. in this sc you're clearing literally everything. cache and active log ins will likely yeet you from anything you're logged into, and possibly make pages run slower. form, search, browsing and download history is what you need to clear if you're concerned about being Watched. it WILL leave a gap and if you know what you're doing it's noticable, it looks a bit strange - think 2 hrs between opening web pages - but you could reasonably explain that away to someone who doesn't know tech well.

˚₊ be careful browsing on a device or internet that isnt directly yours. schools and workplaces both definitely monitor what you're doing, and tech-savvy parents can do the same.

˚₊ this last one is just a rant about anonymity, ngl. strawpages and anon asks could be anyone. don't give out irl details to them, don't take too much stock in negative things they say. in this space i'd also be VERY hesitant to talk about dark mental health things w/ an anon, too. there are, really, people who get off to certain actions. it's lowkey gross. tumblr now lets you block any anons you get, iirc, and you *should* utilize that! it doesn't stop them from interacting w/ you which is rly dumb but it's always worth blocking ppl who upset you.

˚₊ if you are concerned about keeping your blog/moots/etc long term, it's worth reading tumblr's tos. i'm trying to keep this statement Neutral, bc in the long run i don't care and the vast majority of jiraiblr are ok w/ seeing certain content, it's kinda an expectation. this is not a 'do not post x' rant, this is a 'post x but be prepared for the tos to bite you' thing! unfortunately block don't report is just advice and people likely will still notice concerning posts.

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 2x11, "need to know"

#hacy conclusion plus a gag-off at the end.

this one is of biblical proportions.

big moment for one of wilson's strongest, destructive traits - never letting something lie. but more on that later. while i really enjoy this one (are we tired of hearing that yet?), i found that there is a lot of collateral damage as a result of house and stacy departing that's never really explained. like mark supposedly setting his rehab "back three months"? that's like...a big deal!

i'd name the dominant theme of 2x11 avoidance, but it doesn't come from who we'd expect to avoid everything emotional at all costs. house is desperate for 1) stacy to make a choice between him and mark; and 2) to tell mark what they did. house values truth, of course, but he ordinarily avoids any territory that involves emotional truth. it's safe to say then that he's eager to pounce on this emotional truth because, to him, it's entirely stacy's responsibility to handle the situation.

but, again, house's desperation for mark to know about their now full-blown affair really captured me. this is the first time we've seen him being outwardly emotionally needy in real time (and in his own special way). house wants the major emotional commitment of exposing him and stacy's shared transgression. i even wonder if house wants stacy to go through a little bit of emotional pain, re: what he said to wilson in 1x22. through all of this, he wants to be someone else's number 1. if stacy can come back to him, after all they endured in their old relationship, then he can't be all that bad, right? he doesn't have to change, right? (wrong!)

house frames the choice to stacy in clear, powerful terms: "it's not easy, but it is simple." that really stuck with me.

obviously, things aren't that cut and dry, especially not where stacy is concerned, a character who's so concerned and adept with grey areas. 2x11's patient, margo dalton, has a dilemma that mirrors stacy's, albeit with life-threatening consequences (typical house md equivalency). the heart of margo's medical emergency comes from the intersection of her fertility treatments and her paradoxical birth control use. rather than confess to her husband ted that she doesn't want to have children, she's majorly harming herself yet still begs house and co. to keep this from her husband. she chooses, against house's advice and demands, to undergo needless surgery to remove the benign tumor in her liver to keep up the lie.

this dilemma coincides almost exactly with stacy's, as does house's opinion about it. stacy's safe option amidst her relationship lies is to maintain the go-between, to try to have her cake and eat it, too. she still plans, until the very end of the episode, to move away, back with mark, with this burning secret between her and house.

the irony is that, when she finally does choose to leave mark for house, he undoes the decision, implying that margo's husband may have very well left her if he found out about the birth control secret. i love when house md isn't afraid to show people being ugly.

sela ward is just incredible in this scene, btw.

only the audience knows exactly what's motivated house to undo what he's longed for this entire season - his encounter with mark (which is why i have beef with wilson in this episode). mark confronts house, at first seeking advice about how to preserve his relationship with stacy, as it grows increasingly strained from what MARK assumes is his disability. but house knows the truth, that stacy is shutting him out in favor of house.

visually, this scene is brilliant, not just because mark tries to pulling himself up the stairs and falls into house's arms, but because of the power politics at play.

mark, physically weaker right now, has the emotional hold on this conversation, whether he knows it or not. he's postured below house, but he's stronger. it looks like he's Kneeling At The Altar Of House (a frequent occurrence), seeking help and/or absolution, but house experiences this, instead. he realizes the error of his ways.

what's more, though, is the introspection this spurs in house. he literally and metaphorically stands in between stacy and mark. he's the major hitch in their relationship; he is the in-between in terms of their mobility. as mark pulls himself upright, house realizes that mark refuses to be stagnant, physically or emotionally. he is doing the rehab that house refused to; he is putting in the work that house didn't/couldn't post-infarction.

all that is to say that i think 2x11 is especially tragic in how it portrays house's perception of himself and his disability. he tells stacy that things would never work out between them because he can't change, ignoring the fact that the very nature of his decision to let her go signals change! house sees himself exclusively in terms of pre and post-infarction. in his view, he's just Stuck Like This now, and that's heartbreaking.*

the patient story also wraps up some of the disparate moments of 2x11 via paralysis. in order to perform an MRI at the top of the episode, foreman and cameron inject margo with a paralytic so her muscle spasms won't mess up the results. foreman described the treatment to ted: "essentially cuts off the brain from the muscles." i relate this to, first, stacy's head/heart divide (acting on emotionally impulses vs. being rational about mark), and, second, decision paralysis.

stacy can't make a choice between mark or house until pushed up against the wall, yet, meanwhile, cameron's indecision over reading her HIV results sets up an excellent background thematic development. in the end, her fear wins out, and she avoids the result completely, only for house to sneak the big reveal. much like how he pushes stacy, he pushes cameron, going beyond what's even remotely appropriate and violating her privacy, mind you.

i'm disappointed in 2x11 for reducing this scene to such a quick interaction. it's very important, and characterizes house's capacity to care for his fellows/friends in a negative, painful way, probably the same way that was so grating to stacy back in the day and would continue, should they stay together now.

OKAY FINALLY: wilson spent all of 2x11 All Up In Everyone's Business And Being A Hypocrite. why does he care so much about all of this?

i think there's 3 layers of an answer to that question, and they appear in the following order: selfishness, deflection, and, despite everything, care for house.

wilson tells stacy (in a very iconic scene imo) that, last time she left, "i was the one stuck picking up the pieces." while this does relate to a post i literally made last night about how wilson's work in his friendship with house goes unheard and underappreciated, by 2x11, we don't have a basis for that yet. here, he sounds mostly upset that his friend is careening for another exhausting breakup that wilson will have to suffer through, by extension. persona layer number one - check!

but we're not stupid. we've seen the way house md is ramping up wilson's cheating. we know the other shoe is due to drop soon. he's so appalled by stacy's behavior (which! uh! it takes 2 to cheat! james!) because he sees himself in her. his retort that she can't do this because "you're married" is laughably stupid, and stacy ate with "not to you!" wilson is much more interested in stuffing his nose in other people's affairs than investigating his own (maybe because this one is especially egregious lol) and wishes he could exhibit the morality he pushes upon stacy. persona layer number 2 - check!

this makes the switch-up with house all the more insane. wilson goes from flaming stacy for being irresponsible and toying with house (girl. introspection) to gossiping about how house could potentially win her back in the same day. and then he says something so batshit crazy and SOOO wilson that i was gagged even before their scuffle at the end of 2x11:

house: "she's not gonna leave mark in the middle of his rehab. too much guilt."

wilson: "she left you."

oh he hates her. misogyny abound, wilson's earlier complaint that he would be the one who will take care of house post-breakup rings very hollow when wilson implies 2 scenes later that he would do it again. that he was upset about house's pain. that he blames stacy. never once does wilson point the finger at house for damaging things with stacy in the past.

this post is already so fucking long but i have to talk about the elephant in wilson's adjoined office: him rolling (a horrible) joint. why did they do this? is it for grace? is it to show that he's not Mister Nice Guy Oncologist? because i got that much. i won't make a phallic joke. i swear i won't. but just know that one is on my mind.

ok now for the gag-off, the scene that echoes 1x18 and sets the stage for their future toxic shouting matches.

at first, i completely disagree with wilson's diagnosis. he claims that house "has no idea" why he let stacy go, and he sent her away "because you've got to be miserable." EH. WRONG. we saw in house's encounter with mark that something real shifted within him that motivated his decision, at least in part, which is why house retorts with something brilliant:

"that kind of psycho-crap help get your patients through the long nights? or is it just for you? tough love make you feel good? helping people feel their pain?"

translation: you're just assuaging your own guilt here. don't put it on me. you don't know what led me to this choice.

but because wilson can see to the heart of house, i think it's this fraction of vulnerability that puts him onto the real problem, which i agree with, painful as it is: "you don't like yourself. but you do admire yourself. it's all you've got, so you cling to it. you're so afraid if you change, you'll lose what makes you special. being miserable doesn't make you better than anyone else, house. it just makes you miserable."

he's the clear victor. house is reliant on his status quo, the one made up of his own misery, and actively fears anything that will threaten it. two things can exist at once: he made the choice to leave stacy because it was the right thing to do, but, to wilson's point, i think this was secondary to the real fear he had of reopening all those old wounds because he cannot envision himself changing for stacy. this is reinforced by this shot, that emphasizes house popping some vicodin in silence:

in his classic way, wilson berates house here, banking on the tough love house mentioned. but deep in there is some compassion since wilson is the only person who can break through to house. it's compelling that they make this so clear in 2x11, at the tail end of the stacy saga, when house has closed himself off to emotional vulnerability.

and this all makes no mention of how wilson is just very psychosexually obsessed with house lmfao but we don't have time for that rn.

this uh. does not bode well for future wilson-heavy episodes. sorry this was so long, and if you got to the bottom of this post, just now that there is a special place for you in my heart.

[a-flaming-idiot]

Ah, Ceroba Ketsukane, my beloved. If Self-Destructive-Downward-Spiral was a person(A furry to be exact)

[lookwhatyoumademelou]

.

[pitlanepeach]

Reader is secretly married to Lando, and she starts using his sim, she misses him and she wants to feel closer and also really wants to learn (even if she is not ready to admit that she always had a thing for learning how it would feel to be in an actual f1 car). She creates a profile for herself for fun: Mrs Norris (which of course no one thinks it’s actually her). She becomes so good at it that she ends up beating the whole grid one time, and everyone is just wondering who the hell is this person…

👀👀👀👀

Very unrealistic, but well… 😂😂😂😂

Mrs Norris (Oneshot)

Lando Norris x Verstappen!Reader

Summary — It was only supposed to be a bit of fun, but really, what did she expect? Her surname might be Norris now, but she was born a Verstappen.

Notes — This was so fun!!!!!! Em, I will never not appreciate your cute ideas.

Lando had been gone for exactly twelve hours when she caved.

It wasn’t boredom—the Verstappen family didn’t do boredom. Her schedule was packed with gym sessions, influencer brunches, and brand events she had no real desire to attend.

But the apartment felt off without him. Too quiet. Too tidy.

And the sim rig—God, it just sat there. Smug. Taunting. Like it knew she’d eventually give in to its silent, high-tech seduction.

She told herself it was just curiosity. Racing was in her blood, even if she’d had zero interest as a kid. She used to stage silent protests just to get out of karting, sulking until her dad finally let her quit and focus on gymnastics instead.

Still, one harmless session wouldn’t hurt, right?

Just a few laps around Silverstone. Just something to do before bed.

Two hours later, she was red-faced, sweaty, and yelling at an AI Williams for brake-checking her into Turn 1.

She was terrible. Hilariously, painfully terrible.

But she was hooked.

—

By day three, she was watching tutorials, scribbling notes, and fine-tuning the seat and wheel setup like her life depended on it.

She texted Lando under the guise of checking in.

Hey handsome, you okay? Totally random, but what’s the best braking point for Eau Rouge?

He didn’t even question it—just sent a smug voice note with a full breakdown like she was a rookie on his team.

It made her want to destroy his time.

That night, she created a profile.

She debated using her real name, but that was a quick no. The username had to be anonymous… but also funny.

So she picked the most on-the-nose option possible.

@Mrs.Norris

It was meant to be a joke. A bit of fun. She never expected it to go anywhere.

She definitely didn’t expect to get good.

—

Two weeks in, she was holding her own in online lobbies. Four weeks in, she was winning. All of them.

Six weeks in, she entered a public charity sim race and beat George, Charles, and Alex.

The stream chat lost its collective mind.

Who TF is Mrs. Norris???

Actual alien pace.

Lando alt??

Plot twist: it’s Max Verstappen in disguise.

That last one made her laugh so hard she nearly fell out of the rig. The idea that they thought her brother was racing under her married name? Unhinged enough to make her cry.

Then came the text from Lando.

Lando:

Baby, are you using my sim under the username Mrs. Norris?

You:

Yep. And I beat them all.

Lando:

No. Shut up. You did not.

You:

Duh. I might be a Norris now, but I was born a Verstappen.

—

When he finally got home after the triple-header, he walked in to find her mid-race, cursing like a sailor, laser-focused, fire in her eyes.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, smirking.

She crossed the finish line five seconds clear of second place.

Slowly, she removed the headset. Even slower, she turned to face him, cheeks flushed pink.

“Hi,” she said softly, suddenly shy.

He didn’t say anything.

Then he grinned.

“Mrs. Norris,” he drawled, walking over to kiss her forehead, “we are so screwed if this gets out.”

She smiled. “It won’t. They think I’m Max.”

He leaned in, voice low. “You beat my Silverstone time.”

“Your fault for sounding all smug about Eau Rouge.”

He kissed her properly then, holding her like he hadn’t seen her in months.

And neither of them mentioned the way his hands trembled slightly at the thought of her in a real F1 car.

Because if her dad ever found out?

He’d have her in one tomorrow.

[keets-writing-corner]

Thinking a LOT about Lucifer in the latest Hazbin episode. Idk what I was expecting but not this??

As I was watching my immediate thought was just "huh... Lucifer is kinda of weird..." but as the episode went on I realized the issue

the dude is off the chain depressed, like he says it as a joke but holy cow it is SO BAD

He's manically just creating rubber ducks cuz his daughter really like it that one time but it's empty, it's never good enough but he keeps doing it, maybe cuz he doesn't know how to pass the time otherwise.

like I get the feeling he HAS better things he SHOULD be doing than making rubber duck after rubber duck. At first I was like, "Bruh why isn't the king of hell doing anything?" aaaaand then it became clear...

The dude is disassociating so bad he can barely hold a conversation let alone remember information. He clearly WANTS to, he wants to be involved with his daughter so bad, he wants to care about the things she's doing so bad, but his depression keeps interfering. It's like he can only hear every other word and he grasps onto the ones he does hear semi-out of context. Like you can see every time he catches something that he hadn't before and he just "well shit I didn't catch that part"

and that's why he reacts so weird when people talk to him. He is struggling so bad to engage with the conversation he's only getting 50% of it

does that look like the face of a man who knows what the hell the conversation is even about??? he is STRUGGLING

like Charlie spent so long telling him about the hotel, and he STILL didn't understand what she wanted. Yeah it comes off as ditzy but literally I've been in that position where your brain just "nope, not doing this right now" and nerfs your conversation comprehension. So as someone who's BEEN in that position, to me it feels exactly like what he's dealing with. He's sorta engaged with the conversation, but only as much as his brain will allow

For example, when I'm dealing with this, this is what someone talking to me feels like this where the crossed out parts are what I missed and bold is what I catch, "Hey! You know I was thinking for dinner we could either make some chicken with rice? But if you don't feel like cooking, pasta is super easy and you love that right? What do you want to do?" you can kinda get that someone is trying to talk to you about dinner, and towards the end you get the impression that they asked something that needs your input so you can decently put 2 and 2 together and try and pass off, but crucial bits were left out, I would have no idea that either chicken or pasta is in the conversation only having heard "rice". When someone is just talking at me, I can decently pass off as being engaged but the second I'm required to participate in the conversation I'm screwed. Seem familiar? At which point I have 2 options, try to give a bullshit answer, or admit that I missed what they were saying and ask them to repeat

Lucifer, unfortunately, is trying so damn hard to hide that he's dealing with like 24/7 dissociation, so he can't admit that he's missing entire chunks of the conversation, hence his really weird replies. He does eventually get the full picture and then he and Charlie start having the real conversation

Also, the Alastor/Lucifer rivalry was hilarious but also really indicative of more of what Lucifer is dealing with

Alastor is, unfortunately, really good at picking up people's insecurities, and thanks to Charlie's description earlier and watching Lucifer clearly trying to overcompensate, he immediately picks up on the fact that Lucifer KNOWS he struggles to be a good dad (we know cuz it's cuz of the depression, hard to be engaged when your brain keeps turning off) and decides to rub salt in the wound by pretending he's been acting as a surrogate father to Charlie. Now why Alastor decided to pick a fight with the king of hell is beyond me, I do not understand Alastor (and I LIKE IT) (maybe it's cuz Alastor thinks he's hot shit and was expecting Lucifer to at least have heard of him but Lucifer just treats him like a nobody? who knows)(why would Lucifer listen to radio anyways when he can't even pay attention to a conversation it'd just be white noise)

But yeah I just was expecting someone who oozed either charisma or presence and instead I got a depressed dad who's dissociating so bad he can barely function and be present in his life. The only thing it seems he CAN do is make rubber ducks cuz his daughter really liked it that one time

Idk Lucifer is tragic to me. Whatever the full details of what heavan did to him absolutely broke him and he can't deal with it. He's aware of it, and he doesn't know how to fix it, so he tries to over compensate and sorta makes an ass out of himself but no one says or does anything cuz this guy is supposed to be THE king of hell

Suddenly it's making a lot more sense why he just rolls over and lets heaven do what it wants and even told Charlie to go in his place the start of the show. He's not in any headspace to hold a basic conversation let alone negotiate! He didn't even know who Alastor was, he's been so out of touch

idk I like him, he seems sweet, I hope Charlie brings some light back into his life. He really needs to get out of that rubber duck room

[alpali]

You didn’t necessarily know what your relationship with Kei was.

If it was up to labels probably friends with benefits or a situationship.

You never really knew.

Neither of you have ever brought it up. But your reasoning was solely because you liked him and you were convinced he was only in this for the sex.

A drunken night was what spurred this up and after that the you both couldn’t stay away. A booty call away, a late night text message.

You were half expecting him to come tonight but you weren’t up for doing anything. You were tired. Physically and mentally.

In a cower of your own thoughts, you confessing like a normal human being didn’t please as an option for you. So you thought pushing him away was better. You knew things would end like this. In one person getting hurt. And since you assumed he wouldn’t have feelings for you, you’d rather be the first to leave.

As you lay in your bed, the moonlight makes its way through your curtains. The chill of the night caressing your face. You felt yourself slipping away.

Yet your door opens and you already know who it is. His tall figure casts a shadow in your room. The moonlight hitting his face so perfectly he looks heavenly. He slides in behind you, pulling your back flush against his chest. His big hand gliding across your tummy.

“M not in the mood Kei.” You whisper.

Your heart is beating rather fast and you’re sure that he could feel it. His movements freeze for a moment but he continues.

“That’s ok.” He whispers against the rim of your ear.

You shudder, your body not knowing whether to warm up or tense. You’re a little shocked that he stays, full heartedly expecting him to leave. You cast a glance behind you and he opens an eye.

“What?” He grumbles, closing his eye once again.

“You’re not gonna leave?” Which you agree sounds terrible but you didn’t mean any harm.

“Jeez, do you want me to?” He perks up and you shake your head.

“No. Sorry. I just thought you’d want to.”

His brows furrow.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, I don’t know I figured you’d just wanna have sex.”

Now he’s definitely confused and even offended.

“Is it really that weird for me to just stay over?”

You purse your lips, embarrassment getting to you.

“A little yes. You’re always gone by the morning.” You mumble.

“Because I have practice.” He says softly.

You sigh, your malicious thoughts getting to you. You both fall silent. Both of you to far in your head.

“Did you really think I just came to fuck?”

You gulp.

“Yea.”

Your voice is soft. Kei probably wouldn’t have heard you if he wasn’t next to you. But he does and that confirmation hurts him.

“Why?”

You’re growing a little frustrated or maybe it’s the embarrassment getting to you.

“I-I don’t know. We never talked about what we were so I just assumed you didn’t want anything serious.” You sigh.

“I do want something serious with you. But yea, we never really brought it up.” He blinks.

“Ugh you’re being confusing! How can you say all of this with a straight face.” You pout.

He sits up, looking down at you. He motions you to get up as well and he pulls you on his lap. Your cheeks are redder than ever, your eyes scanning everywhere except him.

“Look at me.” He says softly, cupping your cheek.

You meet his golden eyes, his glasses set on your table so you’re able to really look at him. Your arms wrap around his neck, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck.

“I like you, I’ve always have.” He whispers, a faint smile on his lips.

But you’re finally able to see it. The softness and adoration in his eyes.

All of it.

Just for you.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, letting his lips linger. He pulls away just enough that your noses graze eachother.

“I’ll take you out tomorrow after our classes. If my words aren’t enough.” He mumbles.

“It is enough Kei but I’m not opposed to you taking me out.” You smile so big and he looks relieved.

“There you are.” He laughs, meeting your lips in a sweet kiss.

[darkmatilda]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: basically just two bookworms arguing about books and having a s3x right after

𝐚/𝐧: please read the note! so it's only a very short part of my upcoming fanfiction that has...25k words...i'm aware no one is going to read it all soo i'm publishing one of my favorite parts.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.1k

Maybe it was that one drink you had, but your legs seemed to take you in a certain direction.

You weren’t sure if Spencer was even home. But if you had nothing else to do, why not check? A short walk. You were a little desperate, after all, you didn’t have anywhere else to go. That’s how you justified it. You were going to him because you had no other option.

He opened the door, dressed in a wrinkled shirt, trousers, and a tie loosely hanging around his neck. His hair was in disarray, and you felt an urge to run your fingers through it and style it the way you wanted, but it would’ve been awkward.

"Hey. Am I interrupting?"

Surprised, Spencer shook his head.

"No... Actually, I was asleep."

"In those clothes?"

"I fell asleep while reading..." he explained, trailing off when he noticed your appearance. To put it modestly, you looked incredibly hot. For a long moment, his gaze lingered on your dress, visible beneath the open jacket and ending high on your thigh. "Very... nice dress. Is it... is it your mom's too?"

You chuckled.

"Can you imagine my mom, a school psychologist, in a dress covering half her ass?"

Embarrassed, Spencer raised his hands in apology and also chuckled softly.

"Sorry, I'm still half-asleep. Anyway... is there something wrong that you're here?"

"My mentally unstable ex-boyfriend of my roommate is lurking under our apartment.” You confessed bluntly “I'm a little scared to go back, and... I didn't know where else I could go."

It seemed like he was suddenly waking up quickly. He swung the door wide open, letting you in.

"Of course, come in. Is he dangerous?"

"He shows up every now and then and then disappears. It's like a lottery. Jude doesn't want to ever see him again, so we just pretend we're not here when it happens."

The inside looked just as you remembered. The lights were off everywhere except the bedroom, where he was probably reading. You allowed yourself to take off your uncomfortable shoes and set them by the door.

"Why don't you report it to the police?" His forehead furrowed with concern.

"Jude doesn't want to. And I don't want to do anything against her will. But I swear, if this happens again, I'll convince her. Or I'll do it myself."

"You should," he said, and suddenly a silence fell between you.

You weren't sure how to act. You'd barged in on him in the middle of the night, pulling him from his sleep. Not to mention, you hadn't seen each other since that conversation at the bar.

"Let me take your jacket," he said after a moment, as if remembering how to behave when hosting a guest.

You slowly took it off, revealing the full dress. Spencer momentarily let his gaze linger on it, but then he caught himself and turned away to hang your jacket. The glance didn't embarrass you in the slightest; if anything, you expected to catch him looking.

"Sorry if I woke you," you said, realizing you should probably apologize. It was only then that you began to feel a little awkward about the situation.

"You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault. And I'm glad I can help," he said, and once again, silence settled between you. Spencer placed his hand on his forehead as he realized you were still standing in the hallway. "Sorry, it's been a long time since anyone's visited, and I don't even know how to act... Do you want something to drink, or need anything?"

"I’m fine," you assured him, walking behind him into the living room. "I don't want you to act like I'm some important guest, Spencer. Or like you need to serve me."

"But you are an important guest," he replied.

A warm, gentle smile appeared on your lips.

"What were you reading?" you asked, leaning your lower back against the kitchen island, the two rooms connected as one. You glanced around the cozy interior, in soft, almost warm hues, where the darkness of the night blended with the orange light of the lamp. "Let me guess, some spine-chilling thriller?"

"I have spine-chilling thrillers every day at work," he snorted. "I was reading... Emma. Jane Austen."

Your eyebrows shot up.

"You fell asleep reading classic literature on a Friday night? Spencer Reid, what kind of man are you?"

"In a good way or a bad way?"

He stood across from you, his arms loosely crossed over his chest. Your eyes lingered on the first few undone buttons of his shirt.

"Of course, in a good way. Why would I judge someone for reading?"

"I don’t know," he shrugged. "Some people think it’s boring. And weird, especially on a Friday night. And what about you? What were you doing before your roommate’s ex showed up?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes as he nodded meaningfully toward your outfit. "Were you reading too?"

You lifted your chin high.

"Exactly. I was reading my favorite Shakespearean drama in my favorite dress. And those incredibly comfortable shoes I left by your door."

"That goes without saying."

"I definitely wasn’t at any club."

"I wouldn’t even suspect you of that."

"I was doing what any God-fearing virgin would do," you said, bursting into laughter at the absurdity. "Alright, alright. I’m getting carried away. Now I actually feel like reading something. But nothing too classic—I don’t have the brainpower for it. Do you happen to have any romance novels?"

I'm afraid not."

"Really? You have more books in your home than the library in my hometown, and not a single romance? I’m not talking about dark erotica or anything—just something subtle. Friends to lovers, polite sex..."

Spencer choked on a laugh.

"Sorry, but are you drunk?"

You were just horny. 

"Not a drop of alcohol has touched my lips. I'm just hyperactive. That’s what the night does to me."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"So? Aren't you hiding any sinful books in there?"

He rolled his eyes, clearly amused rather than annoyed by your persistence.

"You're welcome to look," he offered, gesturing toward one of the shelves. "But I’m not promising you’ll find anything like that."

"But if I do, you owe me a drink."

“And if it turns out I’m right, then what?”

You bit your lip, pondering. 

“I’ll figure something out.”

“You know, I won’t enter a bet unless I know what I get in return.”

“And what do you want?”

“A dinner together,” he replied without hesitation. “Or breakfast, if you prefer.”

“Deal,” you answered just as quickly. You weren’t worried about regretting it—your blood was buzzing too much for that.

He extended his hand for you to shake on it, sealing the deal. Instead of letting go, you held onto his fingers firmly and tugged him toward the bookshelf. He stood so close as you examined the books one by one, taking some out to inspect their covers to see if they suggested any hint of romance. When they didn’t, he let out a short laugh, his breath brushing against your neck and sending a shiver down your spine. You didn’t let it show.

“Spencer…” you started after a while, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “It counts if the book has a romantic subplot, right?”

“No, it doesn’t count! We agreed on a romance. A full-fledged, contemporary one.”

“We didn’t say contemporary.”

“I assumed it was implied since I mentioned owning Jane Austen books. Pride and Prejudice is a romance, among other things…”

“Ha! So you do have one. I won!” You raised your hands high in victory.

“…But it’s also a social and domestic novel. Doesn’t count.”

You poked him in the chest with your finger.

“You don’t know how to lose.”

He glanced at the spot where you touched him, clearly trying not to smile.

“Maybe I just care a lot about that dinner,” he admitted boldly.

You didn’t know what to say. You tried to look at him confidently, but it was hard to think and maintain eye contact with him at the same time.

“Or breakfast,” you murmured.

“Or breakfast,” he agreed. Realizing how close he was standing, he instinctively stepped back half a pace. “So, are you ready to admit my victory?”

You shot him a defiant look.

“Not a chance. I haven’t even checked all the books yet. I’m only about three-quarters through. Who knows what kind of BDSM might be lurking in the last quarter?”

“Seriously?” he asked with a sigh. “Okay, just look at me. Do I seem like the kind of guy who reads stuff like that?”

“Honestly, you look like the kind of guy who reads encyclopedias. But the one thing I know about people is that appearances can be deceiving. Still waters run deep.”

He shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re as stubborn as they come.”

“Maybe I just really want that drink,” you teased.

“I can make you one,” he offered unexpectedly.

“Seriously?” The suggestion caught you off guard.

Spencer shrugged casually.

“I don’t drink much, but some friends gave me a few bottles for my birthday.”

You hesitated, considering.

“I’m not really in the mood,” you admitted. You felt good, even without alcohol. “But I do have another request… Do you happen to have something I could change into? I won’t lie, this isn’t the most comfortable dress… though it’s absolutely stunning.”

He smiled softly.

"You’re right. And yes, I’ll find something for you to change into. Just… it’ll be something of mine."

Following him into the bedroom, you let out a small chuckle.

"You know, I didn’t expect you to have a closet full of women’s clothes. Plus, in my size. Although, who knows what girls leave behind at your place. It’s a tactic, you know? You leave a sock at a guy’s place to have an excuse to come back. Unless you didn’t like it, then you have to accept losing the sock."

He didn’t say anything, opening the wardrobe to find something appropriate for you. You’d been in his bedroom before and didn’t feel the need to look around; nothing had changed inside.

"Do you do this often?" he asked, inspecting a t-shirt. "Use the sock strategy?"

"No," you replied, shrugging. "I’m too straightforward for that. If I like it, I just go back and say 'Let’s do it again' Or I don’t leave at all. I’m a bit of a parasite too."

He chuckled at the comparison and finally handed you some clothes. You didn’t really look at them; you just needed something looser, something you hadn’t danced in for hours at the club.

"You know where the bathroom is, right?"

You confirmed and were about to head in that direction when you stopped.

"Wait," you said, turning back toward him. But then, you turned again, facing him with your back. "The zipper on the dress," you explained, pulling your hair to the front. "I could manage it myself, but I don’t want to risk breaking it. Could you…?"

"Y-yeah," he agreed after a moment, stepping closer.

He stood just behind you, reaching for the top of your back. Before he pulled the zipper down, there was a moment where he simply paused, unmoving. Your knees suddenly trembled, almost impatiently. Then, he tugged at the zipper, unfastening the dress, and the coolness and freedom teased your skin.

You could have said thank you and headed to the bathroom, but you didn’t. Something kept your body rooted in place, right there next to him, feeling the pads of his fingers on the lower part of your dress.

Even his breath, louder and irregular.

When you began to, slightly disappointed, assume that he wouldn’t do anything more, his lips found a spot on your neck, kissing it slowly. You inhaled deeply, your head instinctively tilting back, giving him more access, as if you had been waiting for just that.  He stopped for a longer time in this specific place, pressing on it harder, as you barely hold a groan. 

Your breath was given a free rollercoaster ride.

You reached your hand back, wrapping it around his head and pulling him closer to you. You felt him sigh directly into your skin, leaving another two hungry kisses on an exposed skin on your shoulder. God, why were you still wearing that dress?

You abruptly stopped, turning around and almost hitting the top of your head against his jaw. You didn't care about it, and the thought of apologizing never crossed your mind, just simply pushed him, planting a strong kiss right on his lips.

The clothes he gave you slipped from your hand and fell to the floor, but neither of you were concerned about it, as you were both too absorbed to care. You pushed him again, this time onto the bed, on which he sat, surprised by your suddenness. You saw red marks creeping onto the parts of the neck exposed by the undone shirt. 

"Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," you said, shaking your head in a mock reprimand. He tilted his head to the side, unsure of where you were going with this, his fingers impatiently brushing your waist on both sides. "You lied to me."

Your hands grabbed his face, positioning just under his jaw and lifting it upward so you could find his lips right against yours. 

“I lied to you?”

"“That's right. You said you don't read romances. But tell me, how does someone who doesn't do that know such practices?”

“Practices?” he repeated again, surprised."

His gaze was focused solely on your lips to which he tried to get closer, but you hadn't allowed him to yet. 

"This whole unbuttoning of the dress. And then, the neck”

With your index finger, you traced along the skin on his neck

“Did you like it?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. He removed one hand from your waist and took your hand, the one you had been playing with.

“Did I like it?” you scoffed with a genuine laugh.“I’m like half naked now. Answer that for yourself”

Undressing was the element you hated the most. You became impatient and couldn't understand why your clothes couldn't just disappear from you, instead of threatening to burn your already overheated skin. Spencer didn't help, so slow in his movements. You had a feeling he was doing it on purpose. He probably enjoyed watching you struggle to untangle yourself from the dress. He waited a minute before helping you, effortlessly pulling it over your head.

Maybe slow wasn't the most accurate description.The way he touched his body wasn’t slow. It was like rationing a treat, breaking it into small pieces and savoring them one by one. Meanwhile, it gazed straight into your mouth, shouting, eat me!

It required incredible self-control and composure, but it resulted in something more than just pleasure. When he found himself right between your legs, his lips touching gently every single inch of your thigh and refusing to go further despite your pleas, you compared him to the previous guys you slept with. With them, on the other hand, you had to tell them to slow down, to do everything more carefully, and not to focus solely on their own needs.

“Does it feel right?” He asked, briefly lifting his gaze, his hands gripping your thighs.

Your back arched, probably enough of an answer, but you confirmed it with a soft moan.

"I'd rather you said it out loud. Does it feel right?"

"That's edging on sadism, do you realize that?" you whimpered, trying to release the tension by pulling at his hair.

He stopped again.

"Please, do it again."

It wasn't something he had to beg for.

The rest went similarly. You liked how his confidence and courage grew, but you also went wild when, at certain moments, the same gentle and sometimes awkward Spencer returned. It was a perfectly balanced mix.

"Can you talk to me more?" he asked over time, once he was already inside you. "I want to know how you feel about all of this." After those words, your forehead twitched slightly as you felt the onset of pain. "Does it hurt?"

"No," you whispered, accompanied by a faintly tired exhale.”A little. But it's normal I just didn't have sex for a while”

"No, it shouldn't hurt you. Do you want to stop?"

"Just... give me a moment."

He slowed down, almost stopping. You took a breath,pressing your forehead to his. You stayed like that for a moment, neither of you in a hurry. After all, where to? Outside, the night still reigned, long and patient, winter’s grip holding steady. You liked having his face so close to yours, joining them together and not speaking. For the first time, you could truly say that you enjoyed the silence.

You had always considered silence overwhelming, incapable of calming the chaos that arose in your mind. You preferred moments of wildness, loud sounds, and fast pace, but it was in that silence, which fell then, that you found a peace filled with intimacy.

You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck.

"It's okay, I'm ready."

After everything, you simply lay facing each other, tangled in one another. Actually, you didn’t like that expression "after everything." After everything—after what exactly? Sex wasn’t just about the physical act; it also included the long moment before and the even more significant one after. It was precisely that moment after which revealed the true you both. How much you cared for each other and how much you meant to each other beyond the bed. That was often missing in one-night stands; the perspective of quickly disappearing from each other's lives and being forgotten somehow intensified selfishness in people.

Lying there, you played with the hair on his forehead.

"You know, they say this is the moment when people are the most honest with each other."

"Do you want to squeeze a few secrets out of me?" he asked.

"Just one," you said mysteriously, turning onto your back. Before that, you noticed his eyebrows furrow.

He propped himself up on his elbow to look at you again.

"Which one?"

You pretended to hesitate before answering. You tried with all your might to keep the smile from appearing on your face, betraying you.

"I'm afraid that even now, you won't be honest with me."

"I'm starting to get worried."

"I'll tell you, but you have to promise to tell the truth. Give me your pinky."

"What?"

"A pinky promise, you fool."

“O-okay” 

Clearly surprised, he did what you asked.

"Now tell me the truth. You got any romance books at your place you're too embarrassed to admit to?"

He rolled his eyes.

"I'll find them," you teased. "I’ll get up right now and find them."

You pretended to get up, but he pulled you closer, preventing you from moving.

"You're not going anywhere."

i know some of you were curious about this fanfiction, so I'm tagging it.

@nightfullofparadox @bloodredrubyrose @lillaberry @miriamnox @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

[gravegoer]

OMG sevika x reader who fills in for silco after he dies?? 🤍 but sevika is oddly shocked at her kindness—

Sevika's boss ꩜

i absolutely love this idea ! sevika pledging her loyalty to you whilst you pledge yours to her !! so this is how you met + how you treat her on the job.. and off (i fear silco didnt provide a safe work environment)

visit my masterlist HERE , part 2

Zaun needed a new leader, and you just so happened to be the second in line to the throne.

You had the option to throw Sevika out if you really wanted a different right hand man. But in your opinion, if she worked for SIlco; she would work for you.

You'd never met her before, only heard the things that Zaunites whispered about her on the street

" She took on three men at the last drop yesterday. I think Silco put her up to it. "

" The way she looked at me made me think I was going to meet my end. "

Silco was no gentle ruler, he was strong and fierce. You could only imagine how he treated his goons, and and only Gods know how he treated Sevika.

You sat in his office chair, displeased with the scattered papers on his desk and the old whiskey in a glass that now smelled rank.

You had called her in to have a chat, so that you knew who you were really working with. Not knowing what to expect; you watched as the door creaked open and you nervously drew in a quick breath.

In walked a tall woman, definitely over 6', obviously muscular with one prosthetic arm. Your eyes traveled up to her face, and now you knew why everyone talked about her gaze. It was steely and almost frightening. She looked you up and down with something in her eyes that you couldn't place. Her skin was littered with scars, the biggest one was smack dab across her cheek. How intimidating.

You spoke to her, firmly but gently, "As you know, I'm taking over for Silco until things can be.. sorted out-"

She cut you off with a brisk, "Get to the point."

You eyed her full lips as she said this, the gap between her teeth was more prominent when she spoke. Not to mention her husky voice, she sounded tired but with still a hint of determination.

"I'm not demoting you or anything, just so you know," you spoke while raising an eyebrow at her, "I just wanted to get to know you before I start ordering you around, y'know?"

She narrowed her eyes at this statement. Its obvious she expected you to immediately ask her to do things for you the way she did for her former boss. Always running around the city cleaning up his mess, fighting his battles. But no. You weren't Silco. There was something different in the air around you.

Now that you've officially met its time to put this girl to work !!

She was almost always available. This concerned you. If you asked for her presence she would be there within minutes. It was like she was waiting for you at the door 24/7.

This made you bring up off days to her, "You know, if you ever need time off or anything don't hesitate to ask me. I don't bite"

She was confused at your willingness to let her do nothing but sit around while you did the work. And even after you said this she never asked to be called off.

"Okay, you know what. If you're injured after a mission don't even think. About trying to leave your house," You called her in to run some errands but what she didn't tell you is that she got stabbed roughly in her side the night before.

This made her angry, did you think she was weak? You're making her take a break because she didn't do her job good enough for you? Trying to cut her pay by putting her out of work?

But no, surprisingly in the next few days you sent her out again, and when she came back you slid a hefty bag of coins her way. She questioned your ways but she wasn't complaining.

You tried never ask absurd or unnecessary things of her. If you needed to talk with someone in the city you would go down and do it yourself. She caught you out one day, talking to a shop owner about prices.

"Why the hell are you out without me."

You turned around to meet her eyes (also having to crain your neck to look up at her.) "Well, I don't need a body guard to walk around you know that right?" You said, tilting your head to the side.

She drug her hand over her face at this, "You could have asked me to do it for you, I'm free. Plus don't you know anyone could be trying to get at you? Are you an idiot?"

"I can handle myself Sevika. But if you're soo worried about me ill let you come next time," You teased before turning around to speak to the owner again.

She grumbled to herself before taking a seat in one of the old chairs behind you and crossing her arms. If you didn't know any better you would think a small embarrassed blush kissed her cheeks.

When you walked around in the streets with you she always walked behind you, looming over your shoulder. Sometimes you thought she would start barking if anyone came up to you. You slowed down a bit to match her pace before latching onto her arm.

Her body tensed at your touched and she looked down at you, though you didn't meet her gaze as you continued looking forward. The neon lights illuminating the angles of your face. She shook her head at your willingness to touch her, but didn't comment on it.

You felt the flex of her bicep when she tensed up at your fingers. Her arm was hot under your touch and you could feel the scars that littered her skin.

This became routine, when Sevika walked you home late at night she would get comfortable enough to drape her arm around your shoulder, her poncho sheltering you from the cold.

And yes, she started walking you home at night because she stayed in your office to keep you company whilst you did paperwork into the late hours. Saying, "Its the least I could do since you don't let me do it for you."

Lighting a cigarillo she sat on the couch, putting her feet up on the coffee table. The smoke wafted from her position to your nose, the smell oddly comforting.

When you groaned and dropped your head into your hands it was her queue to get up and pull your chair out from your desk.

"Its too late, you should get home."

Sometimes you'd fall asleep in at your desk, but this was no problem. Sevika would pick you up, gently as to not disturb you and carry you to your home. And she was careful to walk through quieter places in the city so that the hustle and bustle of people didn't wake you.

And yes she tucks you in.

If you really insisted on staying to do paperwork she would grumble a few curses but stay anyway.

You were starting to grow on her. Maybe being cuter than Silco gave you some brownie points.

thank you for reading ! if you sent an ask in the past few days, don't worry, I'm getting to them all :) I appreciate all the support !! ♡♡

[keirareidss]

guilty pleasure - s.r

♡ summary: spencer feels guilty about his crush on his co-worker, but that doesn't stop him from thinking about her pairing: perv!spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, spencer fantasizes about reader, unprotected sex wc: 1.8k request here

He felt horrible. He never meant to do it. It just happened. All the time. Whenever he'd catch a glimpse of you, even from across the room, his brain would go haywire and fire off every possibility of what you could be doing to him. Caressing his body, sucking him off under his desk, kissing him so hard his lips ached.

He convinced himself it was just a stupid crush. That these were little, meaningless feelings that had nothing to do with wanting to have a full relationship with you and everything to do with how touch starved he was. He knew this was it because he was only attracted to you sexually. His eyes trailed your body and he fantasized about having sex with you. And sure, these thoughts were involuntary, and sure he never acted on them, but that didn't stop him from touching himself to you at night.

He never expected to get caught. You were usually in separate hotel rooms or sometimes he did it at home in his own bed, he felt especially guilty about that because he now thought about it every time he looked at the bed. But this time was different. This time, something happened.

This time, you'd all been summoned to Maryland for a case. The hotels were all mostly full due to a convention in town so you had to double up in the rooms. Coincidentally, you and Spencer ended up sharing.

"Which uh- which bed would you like?" Spencer asked, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew which bed he wanted. The one furthest from the door. He knew it'd be more gentlemanly to take the bed closer to the door but he wanted to give you a choice. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable.

"I don't mind." You said, though you'd already set your go bag on the one Spencer had been eyeing. We could share, Spencer thought perversely before shaking the dirty thoughts from his head, setting his bag on the other bed. He supposed he was fine with the more courteous option.

"Do you want to shower first?"

"You can go ahead." You murmured, getting settled on the bed. Spencer was grateful you didn't seem eager to get in the shower. It gave him time to 'take care of himself' to the thought of you. He knew it was risky, doing it in the same hotel room at you but he couldn't help himself anymore. Back when he first started having these fantasies, about a month after you first joined the team, he was able to control them, able to resist. Now, he just couldn't help himself.

He undressed, stepping into the shower and letting the steaming water run over his skin. He reached between his legs, gripping his hard cock, pumping it steadily. He let out a small moan, trying to keep himself quiet so you didn't find out what he was doing. He ran through the images of you in his head, landing on you in that tight skirt you wore to the office last week. All day he had watched you in that skirt, crossing your leg over the other in your chair as you chewed on the end of your pen, bending down at the waist after dropping the stir stick for your coffee, swaying your hips as you walked up to Hotch's office.

He closed his eyes, imagining these scenarios more vividly, creating new ones. He imagined you sitting on his desk in the skirt, your legs spread. He imagined kneeling down on the floor in front of you, lapping at your center. He imagined you squeezing your thighs around his head as one of his own hands palmed himself through his trousers, a wet spot growing on the front of them.

Soon he was grunting as he came on the shower floor, his eyes peeling open, bringing him back to reality. He had just jerked himself off to the thought of his co-worker who was sitting on the other side of the wall. He cleaned himself and the shower before turning off the water. He left the bathroom, heading to his own bed. He doesn't notice you grinning at him until he sits on the bed.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. How was your shower?" You asked, the smirk on your face not faltering.

"Good?" He was thoroughly confused by now. Had you somehow heard him in the shower? He was quiet wasn't he? His face started growing red with the thought of what this might mean. Would you get upset with him? Would you tell him you reciprocated his feelings? Would you climb on top of him, pin him to the bed, and fuck him senseless? You did none of those things.

You stood up, still smiling, gathered your pajamas, and headed to the bathroom. Spencer was left confused and went to bed unsatisfied, dreaming of you.

The next night, the same thing happened. He took the first shower, fucked his fist to thoughts of you, this time it was you chaining him to the hotel bed and riding him until you climaxed. He finished in the shower and when he exited the bathroom, you were wearing that same smirk on your face. Again, he was confused.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." You took your shower and came back out, just like last night. Though, tonight, something else happened. Instead of heading back to your own bed, you sauntered over to his.

"What- what's up?" He asked, trying to act nonchalant, though his voice cracked anyway. You knelt on the bed beside him.

"I can hear you, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"In the shower. I can hear when you're jerking yourself off." You said in a sultry voice that turned Spencer's face red. "I can hear when you're moaning my name. What are you thinking about in there?"

"I- I'm not- I wasn't-"

"You weren't what? Fucking your fist to the thought of me?" He was speechless. He didn't think you'd figure him out. He felt insanely guilty and embarrassed but he couldn't help the side of him that hoped you would... punish him. He wanted you to recreate his dirtiest fantasies with him but never, in any way whatsoever, would he express this to you. "Well? Are you even going to try to defend yourself?" You chuckled. His mouth opened and closed but he couldn't come up with anything to say.

You tutted, straddling his lap, and reaching down to his sweatpants waistband. He sucked in a breath and you halted your movements, looking up to his eyes.

"You want this, don't you?" He nodded frantically. "Words, genius."

"Y-yes. Yes please. Please." You grinned, pulling down his sweatpants. You freed his cock from its confines before tugging off your own sleep shorts and panties. You lifted your fingers to Spencer's mouth, parting his lips with your pointer and middle finger. You slid them into his mouth, his saliva wetting your digits. You slipped them from his mouth, relishing the lustful look in his eyes.

You brought your slick fingers to your core, slowly inserting them into you. You let out a soft moan as you fucked your fingers into yourself. Spencer couldn't believe his eyes. His wet dream was coming to life right in front of him. Once you were ready, you pulled your fingers out of yourself, positioning your center above his leaking cock. He whimpered as you sank down on top of him, continuing until he had bottomed out inside you. You let out a shuddery breath as you felt the fullness of his length.

"Is this what you were imagining?" He twitched and shifted. "Is this what you pictured when you were moaning my name in the shower?" You asked, beginning to move your hips up and down. He let out a loud moan at the feeling. He never thought it could be like this. His hand surely didn't feel this good. No, you were warm, wet, tight, perfect, everything.

"Please, please, pl- agh- mmm." He whimpered, his hands clutching the sheets as he bucked up into you. You gasped at the sudden contact of his tip with your cervix.

"Fuck, Spence." You moaned. You ground your hips down with more passion, riding him with a fervor that made him let out a sound, deep in his throat, his head falling back as he spasmed.

"So close, so close- shit, god-" Spencer stammered. He couldn't fathom how this was happening. How the girl of his dreams, the girl he'd had a crush on for 2 years, was now on his lap, fucking him like he'd always wanted, making him feel so incredibly good.

"Come for me Spencer. Come inside me. I know you want to." You teased. He moaned as he finished. He squirmed as you kept moving, pulling your orgasm closer and closer. You reached down a hand to rub your clit as Spencer felt more and more overstimulated.

"I can't, I can't, please." He whined. As you finished, Spencer came for the second time, third that night, writhing underneath you. You breathed heavily as you came down from your high. You were both panting as you slowly lifted yourself off of him, wincing slightly at the sting. Spencer whimpered at the loss and you flopped down on the bed next to him, both of you sweaty and fucked out.

"That was amazing." You breathed. "I can't believe we haven't done that before."

"I know." It was silent for a few moments. "So you're not... you're not upset? That I... thought about you like that?"

"I'm more upset that you never acted on it. Were you that scared of me?" You teased and Spencer blushed.

"I was more worried that you would hate me. That you might think I was... perverted or something." He looked away, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"Oh, Spencer. My little perv." You grinned, kissing his heated cheek.

"Stop." He buried his face in his pillow, groaning as you laughed.

"Come on. Come back out. Please?" You smiled as he peeked his face up, looking up at you. "Come out. I want a kiss." You pouted. He relented, lifting his head from the pillow and leaning forward to plant a kiss on your lips. Now that his secret had been revealed, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. You knew how he thought about you and you weren't deterred. You still liked him. You still fucked him. And if he was lucky, maybe, just maybe, you'd fuck him again.

Taglist: @totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, @superbeaglewitch, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @redorquid

[green-butterfly-writes]

Little Thief

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

this is from Jason's perspective, but the next part will be a more standard 'x reader' fic. the reader is a fox, in case that isn't clear. there will be more parts soon, I promise. the yandere is a bit slow burn-y with this story.

I'm Dyslexic, and don't have a beta, so spelling mistakes are likely.

“What do you mean something happened? We’ve got all the guys pinned down over here!”

“Red hood, who took it?”

“That— it’s fine don’t worry about it, I’ll get it back”

“Red-“ *click*

Red Hood disconnected his com, before creeping closer to the small fuzz ball.

“Nowhere to run you little thief. Just give it back,” he bit out, while reaching for the flash drive in the foxes’ mouth. The fox was not happy, being trapped in an alley with a large man blocking the only exit, but it wasn’t as unhappy as one would expect, looking more annoyed than scared. 

Red Hood continued his slow approach until the flash drive was finally in arm’s reach, his hand shooting out to grab it, only for the little fox to dodge and dive right under a large green dumpster. It emerged a moment later— without the flash drive.

“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!! I NEED THAT YOU LITTLE SHIT!!” Red Hood shouted, already realizing he’d need to move the whole dumpster to get the drive back. The fox sat in front of the dumpster, staring him down with a blank expression. It brought one of its front paws up to point at the metallic back door stapled into a wall of the alley. Red hood paused. That door led to the back entrance of a restaurant, he recalled to himself, did it want food? The fox sighed with such an attitude its full body sagged a bit, before pointing to the dumpster, and back to the door.

“A trade then…” Red Hood translated hesitantly, and the little red fox perked up with excitement, “I’ll get you some food and you’ll give me back my flash drive?” The fox nodded enthusiastically. 

Red Hood sighed, before walking around the building and into the generic burger chain before him. He was greeted with abused plastic tables, torn red booth seats, a singular front end worker who looked like he lost his will to live years ago, and a strong stench of weed radiating from the kitchen area.

“Welcome valued customer, how may I serve you,” the worker droned out. Red Hood looked up at the menu plastered on the wall above the dead eyed boy at the register. ‘What do foxes even eat? They eat chicken, right? There are a few chicken options… the chicken sandwich has vegetables on it… vegetables are good, right?’ Ya, he’s going with that. “Can I get a regular chicken sandwich and cheeseburger with fries?”

Once he had the food, he returned to the dumpster where the little fox sat expectantly with the black flash drive hanging from its mouth. Red hood approached, sandwich in hand, and this time the fox didn’t run. He placed the sandwich at the fox’s paws, and held out his hand, where the fox delicately placed the drive, before trotting away with its food.

*click* “I got it back”

The coms immediately flooded with admonishments; for turning off his com, for not telling them what happened, for disappearing for ten minutes without explanation, among other things. He listened without comment, much more focused on his surprisingly delicious burger.

A week later he found a familiar looking fox dumpster diving along his patrol route, and decided to give it some fries during his break.

At a certain point sharing his mid-patrol meal with the little fox had become a daily occurrence for the Red Hood. He found its presence soothing, the way it chirped in excitement adorable, and the few times it would let him run his gloved hand down its back were the highlight of his week. 

The fox was currently resting near him on the roof, devouring a box of chicken nuggets, while he reread some case files on his phone. The penguin was up to something — one of the goons that was apprehended last week had slipped up and mentioned a ‘secret shipment’, and then promptly died in his cell before he could be questioned. 

There was other suspicious activity too; he had been spotted with Twoface several times over the past week and a half, his underlings were more on edge than usual, and he had been quieter lately. He was planning something. Something big. But nobody could figure out what. There just wasn’t enough evidence.

Exasperated, Red Hood turned to the joyous little fox beside him.

“You know anything about what the penguins planin’, little fox?” He chuckled into the thought, not really expecting an answer of any sort. If he didn’t know, how could his little friend? 

However, and much to his surprise, the little fox leapt from its spot, and pranced over to the opposite corner of the roof, before looking over its shoulder. Getting the message, Red Hood grabbed all the trash from their meal and followed. The fox led them from rooftop to rooftop, down back alleys, and between cars, before finally reaching an office building. It was a newer construction (relatively speaking) and bustling regardless of the time of day. It housed several different businesses, ranging wildly in specialty. “You're sure it’s here?” The fox nodded, “you know which one?” The fox shook its head, “well thanks for the lead, little guy,” the fox smiled as Red Hood ruffled the fur between its ears. He was already dreading telling the others he got a tip from a fox of all things… unless, of course, he didn’t. Plan formulating in his mind, he returned to his patrol, satisfied.

~~~~~

well, that's all for now, please let me know what you think! my ask box is open, and I'd love to hear from you 💚

[madwomansapologist]

──────〃✰ KINKTOBER DAY 6: 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

title: haunted bang synopsis: when you decided to explored a haunted mansion, all you wanted was to gain more knowledge for your grimoire. you never expected it to be habited, even less for all the residents to agree that sharing is caring. [1.8K] cw: wizard!reader, teratophilia, monster fucking, gangbang, voyeurism, size difference, manhandling, mind connection, scent kink, oral (f!receiving), pet play, pussy drunk, overstimulation, you know that post about "would you fuck your clone?", f in v, monsters included are a eldritch creature, a werewolf, a vampire and a shapeshifter.

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There is so many rumors about the mansion. Some believe it to have been built on top of an ancient cemetery, ending the ghost’s slumber. Others, that a coven filled every room with protection runes to preserve the soul of the late owners. A journal published a profile for an architect that died a day after the construction was completed, but quick research showed he had nothing to do with it.

Lies and gossips spread easily, but those brave enough to walk into the dead-end street can see the truth by themselves. Whoever chained those doors did so sensibly, since nothing sane could ever come out of them. A darkness spreads from within the house.

After making your way in with an old pliers, you explored the first floor. There were many chances of turning away, all of them ignored willingly. At the end, all you had were two options: to stay at home safely, or possibly learning a new spell for your collection.

Wizards aren’t known for making the obvious, easy choice.

Since the moment you sensed the darkness this mansion casted, nothing would’ve convinced you of not coming back to explore the secrets within those walls of bricks and stones. You feel it even better now, this great deal of mana. It isn’t a cursed mansion, only a heavily enchanted one.

A relieved smile appeared on your face when you finally found a library. You invoked flames in the remaining candles on the chandeliers and sat down on a large armchair. With the books floating from their shelves and surrounding your body, you analyzed them quickly in search of something worth your time.

In a few minutes, you found it. Holding an old grimoire in your hands, you blew the dust away. Walking through the library, your excitement blinded you. You put the book down on a table, opening your own to copy any fun spell.

As you begin to read the grimoire, your eyes widened. It takes strength from great old forces, eldritch entities incomprehensible to the average mortal. Based on entropy, it alters the fabric of reality itself.

Ancient magic. Its use is highly forbidden, and usually punished with death. Cleaning your glasses on your skirt, you bended over the table and read every line with an unending curiosity.

The first touch went unnoticed. A soft, quick brush against your arm. As your thigh got pinched, you assumed it to be the work of a hungry insect. But when a cold aura surrounded you, embracing your body and soul, there was no doubt left.

Whatever old force empowers this place; it was right here. Right behind you.

Your quarterstaff materialized between your hands. Your grimoire floated, pages turning as you recite your strongest protection spell. Changing your posture, you were ready to fight.

The quiet nature of this threat shifted.

Something forced its way inside your mouth, putting an end to your attempt of using radiant magic. An invisible force, but not less palpable because of it. As you bit down, trying to stop it, you felt it pressing down on your tongue.

Intruder, a voice spoke inside of your head. Low and strident, all at once. Thief in the night.

A limb embraced your waist, leaving a gelid trace as it fit beneath your shirt. A hand grabbed your left thigh so roughly you had no reaction but to whine with your mouth full. Little by little, there wasn’t a muscle of your body free to fight back.

It lifted you from the ground, forcing your hands open. The quarterstaff disappeared in the air before hitting the floor. Higher and higher in the air, your body trembled. Fully involved by this coldness, you had no way of moving.

Usurper, she hissed inside your mind. Or was it a masculine voice? You couldn’t quite picture it. But thinking back about it, didn’t it groaned and roar? Was it even human? Nothing will harm my home.

Nothing will, you thought. If you could hear its voice, then it could hear you too. You hoped. I mean no harm. I swear.

LIAR.

I want to learn, you tried to bargain. I have no intentions of hurting anyone. I didn’t even know there was someone in here to harm. All I desire is to know more than others. Nothing more, nothing less.

The silence gave you an opportunity to look for your grimoire. Alone on the ground, it was so close and yet so far away. Even if it was near, with you unable to speak or move there were few spells you could cast. And none of them would be of any real practical help now.

A soft caress on your cheeks took you from your hushed thoughts. As your feet touched the floor, you stumbled trying to regaining your balance. It held you in place, the feeling soft and rough.

I can teach you everything I know, it whispered. For a cost. This time, the voice came with pictures in your mind. Do you want that?

In them, you saw yourself. Lips hanging open, forehead covered in sweat, eyes half-closed. You saw tears running down your face, legs spread and trembling, fingers closed tightly around the same table you used before.

And in them, you saw glowing eyes still hidden by darkness.

Yes, I want that.

The same careless limbs bended you over the table, but this time it was gentler. Less worried about safety, more worried about you. Holding your hands behind your back, it placed your legs apart.

Something cold touched your inner thighs. It moved against your skin, lingering. Once more, you invoked flames. Contorting your body, a gasp broke the silence. Kneeled down, eyes fixated on your thighs, you found a werewolf.

“Your scent”, he groaned. His face rubbed against you, inhaling shamelessly. His yellow eyes raised to yours, and in them you saw desperation. His muzzle went away from you and he smiled, displaying his sharp fangs. “Hold her still.”

Once he closed his mouth, you tried to move away. Not because you wanted for him to stop, but because how couldn’t you when he says that? You were forced down, back caressed and head scratched. Like a pet, you were kept still and quiet.

Your skirt was thrown away from your body and he… sniffed you? Half of you bare to whoever there to witness, with a monster between your legs. To know that you’re being watched only makes you desire this more. A huge tongue licked your pussy, you moaned. It was real, just a tad louder than it needed to be.

Putting on a show, it laughed inside your head. Keep on this good work and I might not let you walk away.

Your eyes closed as he continued to ravish you. Restless, he simply continued. Tongue deep into you, teeth sinking into your skin, lips sucking around your clit. Your legs were covered in drool, and you could feel it dripping from your aching core.

A hand grabbed your hair, forcing you to look up. A real touch this time. The candles showed you the tall woman in front of you, nails so long they could be mistaken by claws. Looking into her red eyes, you felt a primal urge inside you.

Everything inside you told you to run.

Nature is such a disappointing force. It is not your fault that you were born a prey, that ancient being spoke. Its voice oscillated, as if it was too far away and suddenly right against your ear. And it is not hers to be turned predator long ago.

“This delicate sparkle in your eyes”, a velvet voice made to your ears. Elegant, but sharp. She smiled, and the fangs weren’t a reason to act surprised. “You won’t allow it to dissuade you, will you? Don’t struggle. There is no use.”

Her free hand closed around your neck. A movement faster than you could see, but delicate enough for you to know she didn’t want you to break apart.

“You are mine now, puppy”, she smirked. “Put your mouth to use.”

As she put her knee on top of the table, moving the black dress enough for you to see her strong legs, the vampire pulled your hair again. “Yes, mistress”, you said.

Satisfied, she forced your head between her thighs. As the werewolf continued to torture your poor pussy, you treated hers like a wine you had to enjoy every little sip. It was easy to get eager, to get lost on your own never-ending pleasure, but you made sure to treat her nicely.

Every whimper of hers made you weaker. Every bite from him made you weaker. Every hold onto your skin, whispers inside your head, made you weaker.

It was no surprise your orgasm would break you in pieces. It was no surprise every single one of you would continue despise it.

As you breathed in, trying to get your legs to work, a hand came back to stroking your skin. It put you on top of the table as if you weighted nothing. Before you could flutter your eyes open, those skilled fingers were inside of you.

Touching in the right place, with the right pressure, at the exact right moment. It was perfect. Did this creature read your mind in a way or another? Or is this fate, and in this wretched place you find someone that really knows exactly how to fuck you properly?

“What a delight”, the vampire spoke. “May I drink from her now?

The werewolf hummed. “Look at her legs. Those pretty lips”, you heard him doing just that. “You can’t. Not yet. I need my plaything strong and capable for the night.”

“But do you really, old dog?” She argued. “No one will judge you for admitting you need to rest. No one but me, of course.”

Her mind is far more interesting, it spoke again. Apparently, everyone could hear it. Her memories taste even sweeter. What a fine thing found us this evening.

“How luck we are”, you said.

But you didn’t.

Opening your eyes, you saw yourself. Fingers deep into your cunt, mouth displaying the most annoying smirk. Eyes glistening with fake innocent.

“Fuck”, you babbled.

The smirk seemed to grow. “Your mind is a interesting place”, that thing said. Even her voice was the same as yours. “But I need to say, your body if far more comfortable.”

Looking into your eyes, all you could do was take it. Let this being have its fill of you. Watch for your tits move. The strechmarks on your waist. Your soft thighs. Those freckles on your skin.

Being used, watching yourself, its voice came back. You want this to stop?

You giggled. “Don’t tell me it’s over already?”

Not at all, the voice came back. Let’s move to the next floor.

taglist: @ffinosie @lovelyy-moonlight @alzaira @s2-angells @eyes-ofhell @inlovewithmariah @chiiyohiimee @shaquilles-0atmeal @bloodyziggy @salemey @kcch-ns @notanalienindisguiseblink @py-schi

© all rights reserved to MADWOMANSAPOLOGIST

[kettlefire]

Prepare for the unexpected. (DPxDC)

Everyone knew about the reign of Pariah Dark. Even those who did not dabble in those realms have heard the tale of the tyrant. A power-hungry man who ruled over the dead with an iron fist.

Following the rise of Pariah Dark, his realm had been effectively cut off from communication. Many mystics and magic users knew better than to open the door of nightmares that could arise if Pariah Dark's reach went further than his own realm.

Except, the universe had plans to bring the realm of the dead back into the cards.

A new opponent, one that had all of Earth's heroes scrambling for options. A being with powers of a god over weather, destruction was on the horizon. A world ending threat.

It's the only reason the Justice League was doing this. In a deep bunker, far from close civilization as a precaution, the heroes looked on with grim expressions.

The world was already being threatened. It would be destroyed regardless of what the league did. So it only made sense to make the last ditch effort. To summon someone strong enough to defeat the threat.

No one wanted to do it. No one wanted to be the one to pull the realm of the dead back to the living. The consequences were untold if this succeeded. If Pariah Dark was freed and defeated the threat, whose to say he won't want control?

That was a problem for later. For the aftermath. For now, the league could only watch on with bated breath as Constantine completely the summon ritual.

They watched on as the shadows in the room seemed to darken and grow. As the sigil sputtered to life with a glow that was growing increasingly brighter. A sudden gust of wind rushed through the room, the temperature began to drop with eaching ticking second.

And then it was all gone.

The room stood perfectly still. Just as it had been moments before. Nothing changed. No giant king standing before them, no sign that the ritual worked.

The room stood deadly still for another beat before the murmurs started. The team trying to make sense of the situation, figure out what went wrong.

Constantine swore up and down that this was the correct ritual, taking offense that they would even think the problem was on his end. It only made it better when it finally happened.

A loud sound ripped through the room, pulling everyone's attention back to the summoning circle. Just in time to see a tear appear in the space above the circle.

A thin tear that ran the length of eight feet. The fabric of the dimension seems to curl at the edges, pulling back to reveal a deep glowing swirl of greens. A dark gloved hand reached through, fingers curling around the edge of the tear, stretching it even further.

A portal. The ritual had worked, but there had been a delay. A delay that had every hero nerves on edge. Each team member tensed, weapons at the ready as they watched the being stretch the portal to the right size.

Then, a foot stepped out with a heavy thud. A dark boot that looked otherworldly despite its similarity to mortal clothing. A deep black that seemed never-ending. A second foot quickly followed before a full body emerged from the portal.

Not many people in the room have ever seen Pariah Dark, let alone know what to expect. Based on what Constantine and Zatara had said, this wasn't Pariah Dark.

A man had stepped out of the portal, standing at almost seven feet tall, and built like a brick house. One glance at the glowing white hair, deadly red eyes, and shard teeth was enough to know this being was not to be messed with.

But there was no giant show of armor or royal garbs. There is no large crown at the top of his head or jewelry from the infinite realms laced around his neck.

Instead, the man stood before them in combat boots, worn-in ripped jeans, a graphic t-shirt, and a spiked leather jacket. Despite his almost normal clothing choice, the man's jacket seemed to be a never-ending depth of the dark night sky. If one was to look closely enough, the cosmos could almost be made out in the sea of darkness.

None of that would have prepared them for when the man spoke. His tone sounded more bored than anything as he took a step forward.

"Oh, so now you need the help of the dead." The man had spoken, running a hand through his hair. When Batman took a step forward to speak, the man raised a hand. Immediately commanding silence in the single gesture. "I'm on babysitting duty and have yet to have a cup of coffee. I'll be right back."

Just like that, both the man and portal vanished into thin air. Leaving behind a group of stunned heroes. Not only was the man not Pariah Dark, but he was also supposedly babysitting.

"Did that just-"

The Flash had been the first voice to speak up, his eyes trained on where the man had once stood. Except he had barely made it through the first few words before the man was suddenly back.

The man that now had a child hanging off his shoulders and another teen being held up by his scruff. Unlike the man, these kids looked human.

Too human for Bruce's liking. The dark black hair and bright blue eyes had every heroes eyes flickering to Batman for just the briefest moment.

"This isn't fair! I'm not even the king. Why do I have to be here!" The teenager had been complaining the moment the man had reappeared. Arms crossed tight over his chest and seemingly used to being held dangling. "Besides, who brings kids to a show down! Wait til I tell mom about this."

"Aw, come on, Danny. This is gonna be fun!!" The younger girl seemed in much better spirits than the teen, Danny. She had climbed up the large man, sitting on his shoulders and resting her arms on the mess of glowing hair. "It's like take your kids to work day! Ooo, Dan! Can we fight too!?"

Unlike the two kids, the man looked purely exhausted and annoyed. The man, Dan, dropped Danny like a sack of potatoes as he took a long drink from the travel cup in his hand.

It didn't take a genius to recognize the look of an exhausted parent in Dan's expression. A look many of the league members were well acquainted to. A look that even had Batman grimacing with sympathy.

"Can it, little shits. You two were grounded, remember." Dan had growled at the kids before shifting his focus back on the team of heroes before them. His glowing eyes set in a deadly glare. "Pariah Dark isn't coming, and he never will. He's been dethroned and banished. We're the best you've got."

A summoning that started with a group of on edge and scared heroes looking for the ghost king, ended in a way no one expected.

No one was even sure if it made any sense. They weren't sure if they should feel hopeful or in despair.

Because truly, what was a ghostly man with two seemingly human children against a godlike foe with the control over the weather?

The unspoken question of power and ability seemed to vanish following Dan downing the metal travel cup of coffee, and crushing it in his fist.

He tossed it to the side, straighting up his posture as he looked over the heroes. Dan might not be a hero, but he's been playing family for too long.

An almost feral, bloodhungry grin spread across the man's face, sharp fangs on full display. The look made the man suddenly look even less human. He looked closer to a demon from the pits of hell rather than the exhausted parent he looked just a few seconds ago.

"Point me in the direction of this bastard. It's been too long since I let loose and had some fun."

[glossykissies]

clark and his gf who’s all sad because her friends keep ditching her and he’s trying to make her feel better.

love you so much on both blogs!

i like this as bsf!clark who’s in love with you so he hangs out with you and all your girl friends and is basically apart of your group — just so he can be near to you.

you’d planned a girls night, and clark was fine with that because… well, he had stuff to do around the barn anyway. you’d been excitedly rambling about it all week — buying facemasks, ordering pizza and pulling out the best girly romcom dvds to ensure a perfect night… until they all cancelled.

you were a sweet, sensitive soul who didn’t take well to disappointment, so clark’s heart sank when the phone rang, your best friend picking up only to be met with your snivels.

“look, hey, don’t cry — i’ll come over, okay?” he coo’s, his natural instinct being to coddle you and just hope it didn’t come off as patronising. you usually seemed to like it.

“what— what about the barn? ‘said you were busy with it tonight—”

“ah, the barn can wait.” he blows it off. you can’t see him but you know he waved his hand as he said it as if to convince you even more of its unimportance. “my old man’ll understand. he thinks you’re a total angel. infact i think he’d be more mad at me if i didn’t go to see you.”

you sniff, twiddling pathetically with the phones curly wire. “well… if you’re sure…”

“completely sure. i’ll be over there as fast as i can.”

clark was a little too excited, having to convince himself not to use his super speed.

he didn’t expect you to be so upset however, ending up beside you on the couch with a hand on your back as you cried. he knew it would be rude to ask if your emotions had anything to do with your menstruation cycle, he wanted to slap himself for even thinking of it — but he wondered if that had a part to play.

“i just feel like i always put in effort with people but there’s always something more important.” you rant, swiping beneath your eyes in frustration. clark shuffles closer, tentatively placing a hand on your back.

“mhm?” he urges you on in a gentle tone, hoping to ease you into a more relaxed mood.

“i was excited.” you pout, turning to face him — seeming to be at the end of your meltdown. he presses his lips together with a sympathetic smile.

“yeah, i figured. i mean, look at all this effort you went through setting this up.” clark validates you, lifting a hand to gesture to the way you’d decorated the living room with snacks and movie options, blankets strewn across the couch creating a comfortable atmosphere. “i suppose we’ll have to enjoy it just the two of us.” he grins, mindful of his tone — not wanting to seem like he wanted to take advantage of this situation, even if he secretly did.

“you’ll even do facemasks with me?” you let a smile slip, peering up at him through wet eyelashes. he grimaces like he’s pretending to think about it as you giggle, now being the one to shuffle closer to him.

“you gonna put cucumbers on my eyes?”

“oh yes, the full spa experience.” you tease, and clark can’t help but reach up and brush the final tear off your cheek with a fond smile. you lean happily into his hand, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“i’m lookin’ forward to it.”

clark effortlessly takes your mind off things, a natural at distracting you with dumb dad jokes, debating over pizza toppings and lastly making silly observations about the rom-com you’d landed on.

you’re sleepy — clark had noticed you always got sleepy after eating a big meal, and after tearing through copious amounts of pizza you’d allowed yourself to lay on his chest, tired eyes glued to the screen as he strokes your back, afraid to even breathe wrong incase you come to your senses and crawl off him.

you couldn’t help it, he was just so big and warm — it would be a waste for him to take up all that space and for you not to use it. you figured you were close enough to cuddle anyway, thigh cocked up in a half straddle on his lap, sleepily giggling at a point he made.

“i just don’t get why the main love interest is being played by a forty year old.” he shrugs and you chortle harder against him.

“y’so warm.” you muse out of nowhere, drunk on tiredness. it had to be nearing 2am at this point; and you’d totally let your guard down. you feel his heart skip a beat against your ear.

“uh— really? oh, well… thanks. i think?”

“s’a good thing clarkie.” you shift until you’re looking up at him, faces inches away, body to body. clark licks his lips, brows furrowed slightly as tries (and fails) not to glance at your mouth. “thank you for hanging out with me.”

“y—eah.” he rasps, voice breaking at the low volume. he clears his throat, and you take an extra second longer to look at him before dropping your head back down, body getting heavier over the minutes that pass as you slowly succumb to sleep. clark stays awake, unable to sleep a wink, too consumed by the feeling of you on top of him.

[askaalaska-vdeppressed]

Black Antler Buck

This is absolute filth and I am not sorry.

Alastor X Doe! Reader. Rut fic. Word Count: 5K.

Absolutely no minors, Zero, zilch, na dah. I mean it, this is 18 + Adults only.

It always started as an itch.  

Not in the metaphorical sense, it always started as a physical itch.  

Alastor's skin would become hypersensitive to the point that any slight variation in cloth would cause his skin to itch. He had ripped out any tags present on his garments by the seams many many years ago. Yet every year his nerves always managed to find something. A raised stitch here. A pulled section of the weave there. A wayward thread.  

Every year, without fail, he would find some ways to itch.  

And that was only the beginning.  

He hated the fall.  

What was once one of his favorite times of the year became his season of torture. Memories of frightful masks and chilled air were replaced with hot skin and a boiling pot of lust read to spill over. Hell had two options, blistering heat or frozen wasteland. It was quickly on its way to the latter as Alastor made his way down the darkened street. The wind was cutting and cold would creep in to the bones of any uncovered fingertips. Yet Alastor was fine, the cold air felt rather pleasant on his heated skin.  

The building and general crowd of the city began to fade as he made his way further and further into the outskirts. As the sidewalk ended it gave way to endless desert, which would become tundra as the cold progressed. Nothing. No building, no road, no person ahead as far as the eye could see. Or so it appeared at least.  

Alastor allowed himself to slip into the shadows. Transporting himself to his destination in a matter of minutes. While it wasn't the flashiest of his powers, it was the most useful. The journey to his destination was at least a four-hour drive by car, supposing you didn't run into any trouble along the way. It would have been a full day of travel if you decided to walk there. How anybody else got there he had no clue, and that was by design. Anonymity was a key part of its existence after all.  

Alastor manifested out of the shadows near a small collection of rocks. Completely innocuous to most anyone. Alastor checked the time on his watch before fastening up a black jacket over his clothes. He then pulled up its black hood over his head. Allowing the black mesh attached to the front to fall in front of his face before securing it to the jacket with the attached buttons. The hood was irritating on his ears, and the mesh was hot and hard to see through but it was mandatory dress code.  

Now properly dressed Alastor knelt down to the rock, pressing a small custom coin onto a discoloration in the stone. The quiet click of a latch reached his ears as he lifted up the rocks. The hinge of the trap door was well oiled and silent as Alastor made his was down the stone stairs.  

 He wasn’t sure what triggered it this year. Normally he could handle his season. Or at the very least keep himself cooped up for the worst of it. But something about this year- probably stress from the hotel- drove him to near madness. He was sure he had worn down the finish on the floor from how much he paced in the night.  

The stairs led down to a solid wall of stone. Another defense mechanism. Alastor found the crack in the stone and slid his coin through. It was clear this place was designed for animal sinners, considering it expected its guests to find their way to it with no light whatsoever.  

Alastor waited for a few breathes, double checking the time in his mind again. He was at his assigned window of entry he was sure of it. Just as panic started to swell, the stone slid to the side, the low light of the room welcoming him as he stepped in. The lobby was empty, save for a singular woman who sat at the front desk. “The Watering Hole” was craved into the stone above her, lit with low warm fluorescent lights.  

An establishment that catered to animal sinners seeking partners for their season. Completely anonymous and secure. Nobody outside of it knew about it and nobody inside of it talked about it. Alastor himself wasn’t even sure how he’d been selected to join. The coin and instructions written in code were slid under his door one day. Once he figured out the code and went to investigate, he had been stopped at the wall at the end of the stairs. A force unlike anything he had seen or felt before or since came over him and he woke up in a small room. A voice prattled off his information, aspects of his life that he swore only he knew. After being thoroughly intimidated he was made aware of the rules.  

Everything is anonymous, unless an individual wishes to disclose their identity, which they do so at their own risk.  

Everything is consensual.  

And once you step out of the facility everything you heard, said or saw becomes something you didn’t hear, say or see.  

Follow these rules to the letter or else, no exceptions bar one. Should something you do in these walls follow you out of them, the facility will contact you and handle the issue on a case-by-case basis.  

For the longest time this vague clause in the rules confounded him.  

If the whole point is anonymity what would follow you out? At first, he thought this may be for a stalker situation. Only recently-- in part thanks to the hotel's resident porn star-- that it occurred to him this probably referred to STD’s.  

Perhaps it was a catch all sort of thing, giving the facility and whoever ran it, grounds to meddle if they felt so inclined.  

All could be true or none could be, Alastor wasn’t particularly worried about it at the moment. 

Right now, all he wanted was the fog in his head to dissipate and the hard on in his pants to go away.   

Alastor waited for the receptionist to wave him forward before placing the coin on the desk and stepping back. The woman grabbed it and placed it on a small square plate that glowed once it was placed. She then reached under her desk, the sound of a drawer pulling open and files being sorted through drifting up. She reemerged with a thin file, opening it and flipping to the second of the two pages that were in it.  

She grabbed the page and placed it under the desk once more, a thunk sound could be heard, like the sound for punching in and out of a workplace. The page was then set back at home in the folder and put back in its drawer. Her movements were crisp and meticulous like this was all she did every day.  

Maybe that is what she did all day.  

The stone was placed toward him once more, the woman leaned forward, pointing to a hall off to the side.  

“Down this way, turn right at the second hallway, third door on the right.”  

Alastor retrieved the coin once more, beginning to make his way down when he heard the receptionist speak once more.  

“So are you gonna...” She made a vague gesture to the top of her head with both her hands. Alastor was confused a moment before getting the hint.   

Alastor closed his eyes a moment, feeling the top of his head shift as he allowed his antlers to extend out from there compact structure to the full spread. The bone slid through the top of the hood like butter, splaying out to the 8 points they currently were. 2 more were sprouting towards the ends, soon he’d be a proper 10 points. Internally Alastor chuckled, knowing in his life he would have loved to bag a 10-point buck.  The thick bases, normally cumbersome felt comforting and natural in his rut addled state, focusing his mind back to the task at hand.  

“Well well” the receptionist muttered under her breath as he passed her to head down the hall.  

~ 

The room for the cervides was cool, ambient rustling and chirping noises being pumped out from some unknown source. It was a little too ‘on the nose’ for you personally. Just because you’re a deer doesn’t mean that the meeting room had to be a damn forest. You supposed however, that maybe some of your fellow deer demons, or deermons as you jokingly called them, needed that atmosphere.  

In any case you appreciated the temperature control.  

Your heat this year was killing you.  

It was so bad that you’d finally took the time to rummage around your dresser to find that stupid coin that let you into this place.  

It was clear you were the strongest in the room so far, by a large margin. The second you had stepped in your scent had overpowered everything. Most of the other females flocked toward you. As you settled atop a large stone structure against a far wall, they all settled near you, awaiting your judgement on any approaching males.  

And approach they did.  

Strutting, calling, posing, running into each other and locking antlers.  

All of them perfectly serviceable, but none of them were what you needed. This heat felt different. Normally your heats consisted of a throbbing ache in your core, paired with a sensitivity and skittishness that was annoying as hell. This time it felt like a pain from the top of your throat to the tip of your hooves.   Every time your walls convulsed, begging to be filled, your chest would follow suit causing spasms.  You’d fucked yourself thoroughly with every toy you owned before coming here, just so you could keep a level head.  

But that was only a short-term solution. You needed a buck, one that could properly chase you, pin you and mount you. Your heat craving power and protection, you needed someone as strong or stronger than you. To quell this heat, you’d need a near bombshell of a buck, and the only adequate spread before you simply wouldn’t do.  

Leaning back on the stone you relaxed, allowing your mind to drift as you waited for something worthwhile to walk through the door.  

~ 

An enclosed path greeted him as Alastor walked into the instructed room. Tight and narrow, foliage crowding either side. He’d always appreciated the attention to detail this place had. He moved swiftly following the sound of clanking antlers to find where others may be.  

The path branched out to a ‘clearing’ in the room. A wall supported a large mound of rocks and before it bucks were showboating. As Alastor stepped out into the clearing, he walked into a wall of scent. It was addicting, sweet, salty and rich like some combination of sweat drying on perfumed skin and old leather. Distinctly feminine, it made his palms sweat and his dick twitch. His spine now stick straight, his head swiveled to find the doe that was emitting such a rich aroma.  

Paying closer attention to the center of the action, Alastor noticed that it was only bucks on the ground before him. All of them trying to win over females that weren’t there.  

That was until he paid even closer attention. Following his nose, he moved closer, at first what he thought were shadows of the rock pile were actually the cloaked figures of does. Heads all turned to the action in front of them.  

Yet strangely none of them moved.  

Not a wave or sound, not a single inch of acknowledgment. 

None of them were as great as him, but these bucks couldn’t be that bad, could they?  

As he pondered the peculiar scene a nasty little scrap finished. A slightly smaller buck with blue antlers having successfully pushed his opponent aside, the other conceding defeat.  

The head of the victor, and the heads of the does all lifted up to the top of the rock formation. Following their line-of-sight Alastor noticed a singular doe perched at the top. Casually reclined, her head tilted back to drive home the point that scene in front of here was completely uninteresting to her.  

Ah, now Alastor saw what was going on here.  

A pecking order had been established, and the lesser does were waiting for their leader at the top to pick her mate before they pursued theirs.  

Their leader at the top who was most likely pumping out that devilishly pleasant perfume.  

Well if it was a show she wanted.  

~ 

The heat was cooking you from the inside out you were sure of it. You’re only comfort the cool stone beneath you, cutting through the fabric of your anonymous attire to provide its soothing chill to your heated skin.  

Gods above why did this lot have to be so average.   

All of the struts and battles were barely worth a passing glance.  

Perhaps it would be better to go home at this point so at least the rest of your fellow does could get some.  

A crack, like a strike of lightning rang out, sitting up you tried to locate the source. A buck with a thick sprawling black rack had just used said antlers to rip a limb, the width of your torso, off a tree.  

You were glad you didn’t leave earlier.  

He turned his head expectantly, waiting for one of the other bucks to challenge him. The previous victor began to charge, but he didn’t even get to lock onto him. All it took was one swipe of his head and the black antlered buck had thrown the other to the ground. He raised his head and squared his shoulder preparing for another challenger.  

Two bucks, one on either side of him charged, apparently going for a team attack. The black antlered buck was too fast and clever for it though. He ran quickly toward one of them, locking antlers. Then with a mighty swipe he lifted one challenger and swung him into the other. The two crashing into a heap.  

You’d seen all you needed to see. Your heat wouldn’t hold out much longer, and things were turning just a bit too violent for your tastes.  

~  

Perhaps he had been wrong about his earlier assessment. 

Maybe these bucks truly were that bad.  The second Alastor made his presence known, a majority of them stepped back, conceding then and there. And the three that had tried to fight him were pathetic. One with a blind charge and the other two with a cheap double team tactic.  

No wonder the doe at the top was bored.  

Peering up to see her reaction, only an empty spot at the top of the rocks greeted him instead.  

Alastor felt his rage begin to stir. He took a deep breath in just before it could rise through and he was hit with that scent, infinitely stronger now. It made him want to buckle his knees and jump into the sky simultaneously. Sensing someone behind him, he turned quickly, expecting to face another challenger.  

The doe from the top of the rocks greeted him instead. He had been correct before, that salacious scent was coming from her. It caused his heart to skip and his breath to hitch. Every instinct in his body begging him to grab her, puller her down and mount her right on the spot, but he quelled it just barely.  

Her hand raised, and Alastor swore he almost heard the does behind him gasp in anticipation. 

Her hand hovered just next to his face; in almost any other context Alastor would have assumed he was about to be slapped.  

Maybe he was.  

Mercy was on his side however as the doe’s hand moved down, tracing the outline of his arm without touching him. Diving down, down till it finally moved and grabbed his hand. Lifting it up, the doe then splayed her palm against his, seemingly comparing the size difference. Then she held his hand in her own once more and began to lead him along. Walking backwards for a few paces, slowly, giving him time to retreat if he so wished.  

Fat chance.  

Once it was clear he had made his choice, the doe turned forward, continuing to lead him to the path leading toward the exit.  

~ 

The hall with the suites could only be described as plush. All red and brown and dark lacquered wood.  Once they reached a room that was free, each deer moved to their respective door. Each suite at facility came with private rooms for either partners, each containing a small living area and bathroom. The room proper would have the bed, a fridge and other necessities both for living and for pleasure.   

“So, how do we want to do this?” Alastor spoke before you could open your door, his voice was low and deep, hoarse from heavy breathing. He’d stopped himself from producing the radio static just before speaking. Reminding himself that this was all anonymous after all  

“Heh” you let out a small laugh. “Normally I’d just advocate for dropping trou and getting down to it, but...” you walked over to the tall buck. Getting into his personal space, basking in the raw musk and power that was rippling off of him. He dwarfed you, and your pussy couldn’t help but clench at that fact.  

“After that little display, I think i need every piece of you I can get. So, I say we turn off the lights, take off our clothes and you show me exactly what your made of.” The laugh he gave in response sank into your ribcage, bouncing around causing your heart to flutter.  

“I couldn’t agree more” he replied.  

You sauntered back to your door, hazarding on final glance at the thick antlered buck’s cloaked figure.  

“I’ll meet you on the other side then.”  

~ 

The bottom of the bed was rimmed in red lights. Far too dim to be of any use outside of marking where the bed was. Still, you were able to make out the faint silhouette of your buck’s sprawling rack in the dark. As your door closed, the silhouette turned to face where you were. Hooves met hardwood as he made his way toward you.  

Your palms were splayed out in front of your naked torso so you could stop him before he bumped into you. The sudden shock of warm skin caused your shoulders to jitter. His hands met yours giving himself a reference point as he then moved higher and higher. Cradling your neck with one massive palm he squeezed slightly in warning before pulling you into him. His lips were plush, pillowy and soft as they crashed into yours. His other arm snaked around you, hand against your back so he could pull you even closer to him.  

The kiss was a mess of passionate chaos, the two of you pushing into one another in a fervor. Your hands began to wander, mapping out his torso as his tongue pushed forward to map out your mouth.  

He was thinner than you’d expected, his figure being helped greatly by his massive shoulders. As your hands wandered up to his head, mirroring him by splaying your hands on his neck he began to dip you backwards. The pleasant feeling of your thighs meeting his causing a small gasp to escape you.  

He returned the noise with a pleased hum before moving his head down. Sharp canines bit at your neck before those plush lips attached themselves to the thin skin just under the base of your ear.  Sucking and nibbling, your toes curled and chest convulsed at the sensation. Getting to hear in high definition the delicious noises he was making as he devoured your skin. The vibrations from the noise causing a shiver to run up your spine.  Digging your nails into his shoulders, you desperately tried to ground yourself as he chuckled. Releasing your skin, he licked his way across your jawline before diving tongue first once again into your mouth.  

You couldn’t help the moan that left you, the way his lips crashed into yours once more. You could taste the salt from your skin on his lips. He relented a moment, allowing you to breath before attacking the skin underneath your other ear.  

Becoming jittery once more at the sensation you began moving a hand along his side. His ribs were prominent. You let your fingers ghost over them, feather light touches on the little hills and valleys. You swore you heard him laugh slightly before a sharp bite to your jaw caused you to grab his hip.  

Your fingers found the divot there, allowing it to guide you lower and lower to your prize. Just as you began to feel curls of hair he spoke up.  

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” He asked, his voice somehow lower than before.  

“This” you replied moving before he could stop you to grip the base of his cock.  Just like his antlers, it was thick. A vein bulging out at the bottom. You followed it with the tip of a finger, reaching his uncut tip before following it back down. You could hear how ragged his breathing was becoming, his rut surely making him sensitive. You leaned your head into his neck, allowing him to feel the smirk on your face before you moved lower.  

His balls were hot in your hands, heavy with seed as you began to squeeze and massage. Experimenting till you’d found just the right pressure, knowing you’d found it by the moan he let out, quickly followed by a growl. 

“Watch it little doe” he warned.  

“Or what? You gonna stop me? Buck?”  you taunted. You knew challenging him, riling him up was a bad idea, but it was the only way you were going to get what you wanted.  

What you needed.  

The tension was palpable as neither of you moved. If you were going to back down now was your opportunity.  

Fat chance.  

To prove your point, you squeezed his sack once more at that exact pressure again, lips finding purchase on his chest as you sucked, surely leaving a deep hickey on him.  

The growl he let out shot through you as in one swift motion he grabbed your ass and hauled you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.  

Marching over to the bed he threw you down onto it, a hand reaching out and grabbing an ankle before you could get your bearings. The dim lights underneath allowed you to see more of his silhouette, though no real distinguishing features. Gripping your ankle tightly he wretched your leg out of the way, pushing it as far as it would comfortably go.  

Then a swift sharp slap smacked against your pussy lips. An audible wet sound could be heard as he growled and smacked you again.  

You hadn’t even realized how wet you were. The sting from his palm causing you to spill even more.  In this moment you very appreciate that this wasn’t your own bed you were ruining. 

As his massive palm gave your lips one last love tap, he kept his hand still. Using his outer two fingers to splay you out, your walls pulsed at the sensation of open air. Before it could become uncomfortable, he sank his two middle fingers into your pussy without warning. A sharp gasp ghosted out of your mouth. After feeling so empty, finally, finally warm thick skin was coming to fill you.  

He wasted no time as he began to drive his digits in and out of your hole. The sounds in the room now a mix of wet, gasps from you and creaking as he leaned forward above you on the bed.  An overture of sin, lust passion and desire. He began biting at your chest, pain blooming as he played with skin of your breasts in his mouth. Your clit switched in irritation, his hand angled away from it, and his torso blocking your arms so you could not take care of it yourself. The rhythmic pumping of his digits, in and out, forward back, filled and empty was driving you swiftly toward the edge.  

You became restless underneath him, trying to wiggle and adjust yourself in such a way that you could get some friction on your poor neglected clit.     

By the grace of the gods he got the message, a smug and amused chuckle spilling from him as he adjusted his thumb to press against your bud. Your heat addled brain turning to mush, making you convulse and jolt under him. Anything to get him closer, faster, deeper, all you wanted was just more of him. Finally, you reached your crescendo, walls clamping down on his digits in a vice like grip, that you knew would only get tighter with the heat. As pleasure surged through your body your back arched off the bed. A high pitched whine rattling out of your skull.  

As you came down from your high, his hand did not stop. Overstimulation now poking at you, scratching the raw parts of your freshly orgasmed brain.  You huffed at him to stop, kicked your legs out but he kept going.  

Finally, you’d had enough, lunging forward you grabbed the black antlered buck by his shoulders and pulled him on top of you. Removing his hand from your depths to steady himself on the bed. Your grip shifted as you dragged clawlike nails, or nail like claws down his back, while you lifted up and began biting on his neck.  

You need him to mount you and you needed him to do it now.  

Locking your legs around him your rubbed yourself against him, wet arousal coating his hard on. He made no movements for a moment, small whimpers and moans leaving his lips as he took in the sensation. They almost sounded... staticky?  

Your lips moved up to bite at his jaw and he seemed to snap out of his trance. Dipping down he lined himself up with your hole he pushed forward. Your previous orgasm and heat allowing him to enter with minimal resistance. His head neck to your, large antlers keeping you down, unless you wanted to lose an eye, he began shallow thrusts. Sighs let the both of you as your instincts were being satiated. 

You felt hot and cold running up your back, dancing between your shoulder blades. Hands itching to roam you moved toward his ribs again. As you made contact, he stiffened, back rod straight. A low growl rumbled through his chest, he removed himself from your walls and lifted you. Pivoting so the pair of you were lengthwise on the bed.  

On his knees between your legs once more, your felt hands grip your claves, lifting them out and up so eventually your ankles rested on his shoulders. As he entered you once more, he took a sharp breath in. Those massive hands grabbed your arms, his grip sturdy and sure. A warm comfort as your chosen mate for the season began brutally pounding into you.  

Those strong muscled legs thrusting him forward, burying his cock deep into your core. While those lithe arms simultaneously pulled you back, impaling you on him, forcing his length to go even further into your channel.  

The pace was constant and quick, the head of his member pushing over and over against the entrance of your womb.  

You were redeemed and gone to heaven, or at least that’s what your heat was telling you.  Bliss coursed through you as he grunted above you, cockhead bullying your cervix. HIs body rubbing against your button with each thrust. Long loud gasps and moans left you involuntarily. The room filled with moans from the pair of you, wet slapping and thrusting. The symphony grandiose and full.  

You were much, much to far past the point of common decency to mute yourselves. If the people running this place didn’t think to soundproof the rooms, then that was on them.  

You could feel your pleasure scaling once more, calling out to your mate.  

“Fuck i.... Buck please...” You had no idea what you were crying out for. 

“Doe” he gasped out to the air “let me fill you with fawns”  

“Yes, Yes” You cried out, finally losing yourself to pleasure once more. A whine, bordering on a scream left you and your walls clamped down, milking the buck still thrusting into you.  

“Ah, ah, fuck doe, take it take it.” He moaned above you, thrusts stuttering as a final choked moan left him and you could feel the hot release of his seed filling you.  He let go of your arms, dropping forward and caging you under him as your both caught your breath. 

As your breath steadied, sleep began tugging on the edge of your brain.  Normally the idea of sleeping like this, sweaty, smelling of lust, covered in spit with seed dripping out of you would be gag inducing. But right now? Right now, you were a heat heavy deer, content for the time being, freshly mated, with your chosen buck next to you.  

Right now, sleep seemed ideal.  

The black antlered buck seemed to agree as covers moved under you, arms searching you out to drag you next to him.  

Your heat would still be a few more days, as would his rut. But now that prospect didn’t seem as daunting.  

Small breaths against your neck told you and your inner doe that now you were safe and now could sleep.