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archiveikemen · 5 months

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『Love Sparks from A Mean Lie』 Collection Event

Harrison Gray

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection. I do not own any of the original content. Please support CYBIRD by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Warnings and FAQ

The soft rays of sunlight poured in, brightening the room.

Through the open windows, cherry blossom petals could be seen fluttering in the garden with the pleasant spring breeze.

… On this tranquil early afternoon in springtime that felt perfect for doing absolutely anything relaxing, my brain was grinding its gears at full power.

Kate: A Straight Flush!

I confidently declared, finally having a strong hand of cards after being on a losing streak.

Harrison: … Oh? That’s a pretty good hand you got there.

Kate: Fufu, how's this? Can’t beat me now, huh?

Harrison: … It’s bad manners to show my foot, but I shall show my hand.

Kate: Eh?

Harrison: Yup, Royal Straight Flush.

Kate: Since when did you have a hand this good!?

Harrison: I just got it without realising.

Kate: *sigh*... I lost again. I really want to beat you, Harry.

Harrison: … Then how about we play a game of ‘Doubt’ next?

‘Doubt’ was a game where the players place a card from their hand facedown on the table and take turns to declare the number on the card, aiming to clear all cards on hand as quickly as possible.

The fastest player to end up with no cards on hand wins.

… However, players are allowed to lie about the number on the card.

The other players may doubt the truthfulness of the number declared and call it out by saying “Doubt”.

Kate: The point of this game is to either see through your opponent's lies or be convincing enough not to get caught…

Kate: But you never fail to see through my lies… I think this game isn’t fair to me!

Harrison: You can play silently without declaring the number on your card.

Harrison: I’ll declare the number on my card, and give you a little extra help.

Kate: … What do you mean?

Harrison: Just the number doesn't serve as a good hint, right?

Harrison: Therefore, I’ll tell you a ‘truth’ when I’m declaring the correct number on the card.

Harrison: When I’m declaring the false number, I’ll tell a ‘lie’.

Kate: So you’ll tell me the number and a statement… that's two pieces of information.

Harrison: With this level of disadvantage on my end, do you think you can win?

The corners of Harry’s mouth lifted into a confident grin.

(It’s frustrating, but… this is my perfect chance to beat Harry.)

Harrison: Let’s give it a go. You first.

Harry shuffled the deck of cards and dealt me a few.

Kate: Hmm…

(I should place ‘A’ down since it’s the first round.)

I placed the ‘A’ card facedown, according to the rules of the game.

Harrison: You’re starting off with a common card, huh.

(How does he know that when I haven't said anything…?)

Harrison: … My turn next.

Harrison: The number of my card is 2, and ‘I had fish for dinner last night’.

Kate: Oh… that’s a lie. Doubt!

We had dinner together yesterday and it was a meat dish, so that’s a lie.

Harrison: Yup, you’re right.

Harrison chuckled and revealed his card.

The number on the card was 6.

Harrison: What do you think? This way, my abilities will be limited.

(If he tells a lie every time he declares a false number… there’s a possibility I’ll win!)

Kate: Got it, let’s proceed with this rule!

Our game of Doubt lasted for approximately an hour.

Throughout the game, Harry sometimes saw through my lies and vice versa. We were soon approaching the end.

(Harry has only one card left on hand…)

Harrison: My bad, looks like this will be my win.

(I have to come up with a lie here somehow to win…!)

Harrison: … Before that, there’s something we haven't decided on.

Kate: Haven't decided on…?

Harrison: The penalty game for the loser.

Kate: You’re talking about the penalty while we’re in this situation…

Harrison: You don’t have confidence you’ll win? … That can’t be helped, then.

Harrison: If you’re already prepared to lose, there’ll be no penalty game.

Kate: I didn’t exactly say I have no confidence…

Instigated by Harry’s words, I responded vaguely.

Harrison: If that’s the case, then the penalty game will be ‘the loser has to listen to the winner’s every word for the rest of the day’.

Kate: … Got it.

(I wonder what on earth will he make me do…)

(…! This won’t do. I haven’t officially lost the game yet, I still have to try to win!)

Harrison: Well then, this is my last card. The card is an ‘A’, and…

Harrison: ‘I want to kiss you right now’.

Kate: … Huh?

Harrison: Now, is that the truth or a lie?

Kate: D-Doubt!

Harrison: … Huh? Are you saying that I don’t want to kiss you?

Harrison: You’re denying my feelings of wanting to kiss you? … That’s sad.

Kate: …

(I can’t call it a lie when he puts it that way…)

Kate: I-I take it back.

With that, Harry laid down his final card and the game ended.

Harrison: Thanks to you, I won the game.

(It’s frustrating to lose to him again, but more than that…)

I couldn’t take my eyes off Harry’s card laying facedown on the table.

Harrison: Why don’t you flip it over if you’re curious?

Kate: … Can I?

Harrison: The result of the game has already been decided, so go ahead.

(If the card is an ‘A’, it'll mean that Harry wants to kiss me…)

My heart was thumping loudly with the sweet anticipation—

Kate: Huh…?

— The card wasn't an ‘A’, but a ‘3’.

Kate: … That was a lie?

Harrison: This game is all about lying, isn’t it?

Kate: …

(Harry doesn’t want to kiss me…)

On top of feeling frustrated that I lost the game, I also felt disappointed that Harry didn’t want to kiss me.

While I sat there disheartened… Harry drew a few cards from the deck and held them in his hand.

I watched him absentmindedly, wondering what he was up to when the game had already ended…

Harry put his other hand over mine on the table.

Harrison: Saying that I want to kiss you is a lie.

Kate: … Y-You don’t have to say it again. Don't you think it makes me look pathetic?

Harrison: Why?

Kate: Because I… I’m the only one who wants a kiss…

Kate: … Having such one-sided feelings is pathetic.

Harrison: … I said I lied about wanting to kiss you, but I have a reason for that.

Kate: A reason…?

Harrison: … Because just a kiss isn’t enough.

Harry chuckled.

Harrison: This card is an ‘A’. … ‘I want to hold you so tightly, you can’t escape’.

Saying those honeyed words. Harry flipped the card over.

He pointed his chin at it, urging me to turn it over, and so I did.

(It was as Harry said, the card was an ‘A’...)

(... This means Harry does want to hold me.)

Harrison: The next card… is a ‘2’.

Harrison: ‘Kissing your lips isn’t enough. I want to kiss and leave marks all over your body’.

Harry placed the card facedown on the table again, and I quickly flipped it over to look at the number.

(He’s right… it’s a ‘2’.)

Kate: Harry…

Harrison: … I still have cards leftover. You’ll let me complete the game, right?

Harry continued playing the right cards while voicing out the things he wanted to do with me, until he reached the ‘Q’ card.

— If the card is correct, he’s telling the truth.

Everything Harry said so far was, without a doubt, his truest feelings.

Harrison: Lastly… this card is a ‘K’.

Harrison: ‘I’ve had enough of spending time with you today, so I think it's okay for us to go our separate ways after this’.

(This is…)

Kate: Doubt!

Harrison: … You win.

The card wasn’t a ‘K’, but an ‘A’.

He was lying about thinking it’s okay for us to go our separate ways, so the truth is…

Kate: … You want to continue spending time with me after this?

Harrison: Yeah, that’s right. So…

Harrison: … Will you take responsibility for exposing my lie?

Kate: Yes, I’d love to!

Kate: Ah… before that, shouldn’t we do the penalty game to be fair?

Harrison: You had one win and one loss. They cancel each other out, don't they?

Kate: The penalty is part of the game, so let’s give each other a penalty.

(The penalty we agreed on was… ‘the loser has to listen to the winner’s every word for the rest of the day’.)

(In that case… I know what I want to do with Harry.)

Kate: I’ve decided what I want to do for the penalty. What about you?

Harrison: … I’m probably thinking the exact same thing you're thinking of.

Kate: Let’s say it together. Ready… go!

Kate: I want to do all the ‘truths’ you told me.

Harrison: I want to do everything I said earlier.

Our feelings were mutual and we burst into laughter.

Harrison: Well then… we shall start with kisses.

— The darkness of the night long forgotten, the two of us drowned in the sweetness of games and penalties.

Being played by Harry’s mean lies and truths had me falling for him all over again.

#i did this for inky🤍#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #ikevil translations #otome #ikevil collection event #harrison gray

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decafdoodlez · 3 months

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Fic Submission from @skuppenish 🖤

Note from @skuppenish: HEY SO I AM HOUSE SITTING, and the last time I was house sitting I wrote you a thing, so here, have another thing! Wooo! Warning: it's just straight PWP, whoops. 🫠 Also, it has minimal editing! DOUBLE WHOOPS 💀

word count: 2.9k

warnings/tags: NSFW | Dubcon, PWP, 100% Smut, written with AFAB OC x Canon in mind, captive/captor themes, power imbalance, age difference (all adults are 25+), nipple play, degradation, breeding themes, rough fucking, drawing blood/marking, overall Fox being a dirty old man with his sweet little babydoll, Rina~

“This is meant as a punishment, you know.” The words pour out of him through sharp, gritted teeth, through a moan, through a snarl. Despite the violence building up behind them – despite the need, and the hunger – he speaks slowly, each and every one delivered at a punishing, even cadence that matches the rhythm of his hips as buries his cock inside of her. “A pun-ish-ment,” he reiterates, drawing that particular one out as he slams his hips forward into her soft, plush ass, his steadily thickening cock filling her weeping cunt.

Marina doesn’t say anything. Marina buries her face in the soft, tangled sheets and cries, and cries, and cries, and it doesn’t matter how all those layers of fabric muffles the noise. Fox’s ears prickle, quirking at the sound, a wide and leering smile splitting his face. She can try to hide it as much as she wants, but he can hear it clear as day. There, now: there’s the music of her sobs, working through her body in waves. And there, there in a moan of her own is her voice pitched high and sweet like the peal of a church bell.

He hears it as clear as any sinner would on a sunbright, Sunday morning. There’s no escaping it. Not that he’d want to –

Not that he’d ever want to.

It fills the room, no matter how she tries to smother it. It fills his ears, and his head, swelling up and building in his chest until he’s laughing, until his laughter joins her precious, mewling chorus. The way she cries, it’s a psalm, a hymn – a promise of heaven he’s far too rotten to ever deserve. Fox has a place waiting for him in hell, he’s sure of it. Once, he might have regretted that. Now, he acknowledges it gladly, and with all the eager selfishness of any of God’s own damned.

Until the fires come to claim his black-rot soul, he will live this life on earth to its fullest.

He will take what is his to take.

“I’m sorry!” Her cheek is pressed into the bedding, now. He can see her face through the spill of her hair, fair skin flushed red through a spill of her pale gold hair. “I’m sorry – I’m sorry!” Now it's her turn, crying out her repentance in a sin-soaked rhythm. Now those words break off in pieces, shattered apart by each unrelenting thrust as he bottoms out in her tight pussy. I’m - so - rry! I’m - so - rry! The syllables are fragmented, choked and halting between sobs and hiccups. Cheeks gleaming in the low light, her face is wet and sweet with tears. Fox can imagine how they taste. Salt, salt, and more salt, so sweet, somehow, on his insatiable tongue.

He holds her hands behind her back, his fingers biting and vice-like around her wrists. With her pinned down and bent over the edge of the bed, he can look down at her and survey what’s his. Against his own legs, he can feel her own tremble, watch them, savor the sight of her thick, beautiful thighs as they quiver with each thrust. They’re white too, so pale, like snow, like cream, and a shudder works its way through his whole body as he reaches out with one clawed hand and buries it into the perfect curve of her hip.

White skin, pink scars – and now red, red, wet and red.

Like knives, his claws sink into her. Around them, Marina’s flesh gives way, soft and easy like her battered cunt does around his cock. He isn’t looking at that, though. He isn’t looking at her thigh. Rather his eyes are fixed on her face, savoring the way her head tilts back, the way her eyes, already closed, squeeze tighter. Transfixed and frozen like an addict before his favorite vice, he cannot look away from the way her sweet mouth parts around a broken shriek of pleasure-strangled pain. Whether it’s because she’s come to like the way his nails run ragged down her already-scarred flesh or because the way he’s angled his hips to drive the head of his drooling cock against a particularly sensitive spot within her is anyone’s guess – and Fox doesn’t particularly care. All that matters to him is that she’s unutterably lovely. All that matters is the hot, wet sensation of blood against his palm, and the even hotter, wetter sensation of her cunt fluttering around his cock.

“Oh, babydoll,” he says, shaking his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth. It’s an effort to maintain this veneer of calm; watching her is tearing him apart at the seams with each and every passing second. “You know sorry isn’t enough, don’t you? Don’t you?” Against her thigh, his fingers tighten, his nails digging ever deeper. That desperate scream in her throat has given way to another moan, another messy, pleading mewl, more tears, more hiccuped cries. He wishes he could bottle them up. He wishes he could bend down and take her beautiful face in his blood-wet hands and milk those cries out of her, tease and torment them out of her, filling her up again and again with his cock and with his cum –

Until she is emptied out of all of that pain and full of nothing else but him, and him, and him.

This is meant to be punishment. It is. And Fox wants it to be, he does, he really does. Wants it to hurt. Wants her to cry. Wants to rake his nails across every inch of Marina’s trembling form until every part of her perfect body is made even more perfect by his perverse adoration for her. Red wounds gone pink, pink scars gone white – and god, he thinks, fucking Christ. Her body is a masterpiece all on its own that he wants for himself. He wants to make it his in a way everyone can see, make every delicate and feminine curve of hers a roadmap of where he’s been and where he’s going –

Until everything is taken, conquered, claimed.

But she’s just so beautiful. Everything about her is. Beautiful and innocent somehow, no matter how he ruins her, no matter how many scars he gifts her, no matter how much she bleeds, or cries out, or cums like a whore on his cock. He calls her terrible things. He marks her, with wounds and his own cum, again and again, morning and day and night. Her pretty cunt is always so swollen. It’s always red, always puffy, always so tender, because he’s just so hungry, because he can’t stop fucking her, because his hunger for her is a terrible, brutal thing in him that can never be satisfied. Just one more time, he tells himself, every time. Just this one last time. Just this last taste.

The spell will break, and it will be over, and he will be free.

But Fox is an addict, and as an addict, it only ever gets worse. He only ever wants her more, and more, and more. And when Marina looks up at him with her wide, glazed eyes, lovely as lavender, cut-gem amethyst made luminous with tears – when he feels her cunt fluttering around his cock as he fucks her for the third or fourth time of the day – it’s like the first time again. It’s like the first time with her, every time.

Furiously, he grips her shoulder. He should fuck her like this, he tells himself, angry at his own lack of self-control. Keep fucking her like this, bent over the bed, like an animal would. Savage her. Break her. He’s broken her so many times before, broken her, put her back together, broken her again. She deserves it. She deserves it.

But god – god, he wants her. He wants her.

With his hand on her shoulder, his fingers wet and slick with blood, he wrenches her over and around until she’s on her back. There’s red on her thigh, and on her shoulder now, too. Red on his hand, copper scent heavy on the air, pennies on the tongue. That’s sweet, too. The sweetest perfume, the smell of her blood, the smell of her needy, wet cunt as he pushes himself back into her again, driving himself down until his balls slap at her ass.

Marina cries out. Maybe it’s the way his nails snag in her shoulder. Maybe it’s because of the frenzied way he’s humping into her, his cock swelling, his lips pulled back from his sharp, sharp teeth in an expectant, awful grin. Again, it doesn’t matter. What matters now is how badly he wants this. How badly he needs it.

How badly he wants her. How badly he needs her.

He wants her like a starving man wants for meat. Like a man suffocated needs air. He wants to fuck her. Needs to breed her. It’s a screaming, desperate sensation inside of him, millennia upon millennia of evolution, pins and needles in his extremities, a howl in his chest that claws its way up the length of his throat and snarls behind his teeth. It demands to be let out.

It demands to be sated.

Fox looks down at her and watches her as he bullies his cock inside of her. With each and every thrust, there, there, there: her perfect tits bounce, nipples swollen, budded tight and no doubt aching for him. His mouth waters as he watches them, and inside of her, his cock twitches, drooling the same way he does.

“It’s your fault,” he hears himself saying, his voice ragged, gone even more savage. “It’s your fucking fault, looking like this. God, you’re like a whore straight out of a hentai. Big tits, thick hips made to breed. God, Rina, you’re a perfect little fuckdoll – an onahole, the best little onahole, made perfect, made just to be fucked, made to be bred, made to take cock, again, again – fuck! – again!"

Again, Fox keeps saying, snarling. Again, again, over and over, in time to each devastating thrust. The hand at her shoulder lets go, moves down, catching her under her knee so he can pull her leg up and away. The other takes hold of one fat tit, his fingers spread out wide so he can savor the way her flesh pushes up between each of them. He cups it, cradles it, pushing it up even as it spills around his hand, her skin so soft, flesh so warm.

It’s meant to be punishment. It is. It’s meant to be about his pleasure, and not hers, meant to make her feel bad because she’s been bad – because she’d had goddamn audacity to talk to someone when they’d been out shopping. Fox is too selfish to allow that.

Fox isn’t willing to share.

And Marina likes it like this, he knows. On her back, with him looking down at her, with his eyes bright and hungry, fixed on her own. She likes it when he touches her this way, his fingers full of her tits, his fingers inching up, taking hold of her swollen nipple, pinching it, rolling it between his fingers until she’s writhing for more reasons than the way his cock fills and stretches her.

But he can’t help himself. God help him, he can’t help himself.

Dipping his head, his hand moves just enough to give ground to his mouth as he takes her abused nipple between his lips. Hot and starving, his tongue laves over it like the feral animal he is, sucking the tight little bud into his mouth with an undisguised moan. Around her leg, his grip tightens reflexively. Against her cunt, his hips stutter, driven by that instinct, his thrusts shallow and frantic for all the way he’s already buried deep inside of her.

Because at the base of his cock, there it is: his knot, grown heavy, thick and engorged and every bit as demanding as he is.

It’s always like this. Always. He cannot resist her tits. The way they feel in his hands, and in his mouth – the way she whimpers when he works his teeth and tongue over her nipples, so sensitive, so tender – the way she cries when his hot breath ghosts over her savaged flesh, made wet with his saliva, wet with her blood.

“Always so sensitive, Rina,” he coos, saccharine and slick as too-sweet syrup, his mouth moving against the flesh of her breast. At the shudder that takes her, Fox laughs, grinding his hips forward, always forward. “You’re like a fucking perma-virgin, every time. Little virgin slut. Pretty little onahole.”

And god, she is like a perma-virgin. Even with her cunt as wet and needy as it is – even as her own arousal coats her thighs and his invading cock both – it takes no small amount of effort to work that thick knot into her. With every new centimeter he manages to claim, she’s thrashing under him, burying her whimpered cries behind the knuckles of her hand, her fingers a convulsive tangle in the sheets of the now very unmade bed. “Take it,” he says, low and raspy, cruel with his own vicious need. His teeth latch onto her nipple, and he bites down, earning another beautiful cry. “Take it, take it,” and now it’s a hiss in his blood-filled mouth.

And there: finally. Not a second too soon, his knot is inside of her. Fox shudders above her, sucking in air through his red-wet teeth at that delicious, wonderful tightness. Beneath him, Marina trembles through her own shudder, petal-pink lips parted around a panting gasp. His knot isn’t done, they both know that. Any later and he wouldn’t have been able to fit it inside of her. Any later, and it would have been too big to manage.

Now it’s still too big, but inside of her. Now it’s too big, and there’s no getting free until he’s done.

With his hand pushed up and under her knee to give himself more room, leans over her, sinking as much as he can into her. There’s no pulling out, not even if he wanted to. Held fast inside of her by his still swelling knot, there’s no real space for leverage, and so he can only thrust forward. Quick. Needy.

Desperate.

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to do much. He’s already so close.

Still, he takes her nipple into his mouth again, coaxing it up between his lips with his hot, wet tongue. And with his face buried in her soft tit, growling against her, suckling, teasing at it with his teeth, he feels that incessant and demanding pressure that never leaves him when he’s with her finally, finally give.

And god, it pours out of him. He feels it, every twitch, every throb, every convulsive pulse of his cock as it empties out all of his lust and his need for her. It fills her like his cock does, like his knot does, hot and potent, backed up and trapped there behind the too-big seal of his knot. His hips jerk and stutter like he’s a nineteen year old boy and not a forty-seven year old man – like she’s his first ever girlfriend, like she’s the first girl he’s ever touched, ever lusted over, too pretty and too perfect for him to have ever hoped to score on his own. He moans around the flesh of her tit, drool coating her skin until it’s slick like her face is with tears, like her thighs are with pre-cum and her own arousal. He moans against her, and he humps into her, all instinct again, the way his hips move – trying so hard to drive his cock deeper into her despite him already being as deep as he could ever really hope to be already.

There’s no real thoughts anymore. Nothing coherent. That’s instinct, too. Breed her. Fill her. Fuck his cum into her. The way she cries and the noises she’s making, it’s a siren song in ears. Even if she were telling him no – which she doesn’t, not anymore, not since he’d made her his good little pet – he’d know by the noises she’s making that what he’s doing is right. That what he’s doing is meant to be. That she is made for this, made for his cock, made to be fucked, again, again, again.

“Rina, Rina, little fuckdoll, little onahole.” The words are slurring, now. His tongue feels thick in his mouth like his cock feels thick between her legs, filling up her puffy, over-stretched cunt, that tight, perma-virgin cunt he can’t ever get enough of. “Rina, Rina.” Crooning her name, his hips push and push, trying to fuck his cum into her, deeper, deeper. “You deserve it. You ask for it, looking like you do. You were made for it. God – Rina. Rina.”

Half-lidded and heavy, he lifts his gaze and then his head, staring down at her through red and silver lashes. His hand slides up her thigh, up, up, trailing over the soft curve of her stomach. As if he might be able to feel the hot cum he’s pumping into her beneath it, he lays his palm there with all the reverence of someone touching something holy – –

Of some unrepentant sinner savoring the prize he has stolen out from heaven itself.

“Mine,” he says. He says it lazy, almost, lazy and tired and drunk, but no less menacing for it. There is blood on his teeth, after all.

“All mine.”

#submission #OK IM INSANE #THANK YOU SO MUCH SKUPPY I LOVED THIS I WILL BE THINKING OF IT FOR WEEKS TO COME #allie’s fic collection 🤍#tpof #tpof fox

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