#Drip Mat Art

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ alastor + dressing you in white

character: alastor warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, heavy pet/master dynamic, toxic relationship (condescension), blood + blood eating, slight gore, fem!reader words: 1.8k

alastor exclusively dresses you, his precious little pet, in white—white linen dresses, white silk pjs, white cotton undies—and you’ve finally figured out why.

“Alright, uh,” Charlie’s finger flicks the worn cardboard spinner in her hands, watching as the arrow lands on a splotch of colour. “Right hand, red!”

You’re in the parlour when it happens—a sudden, sharp pain that sears through your ribs as you bend over, a reactive hiss spit from between gritted teeth. 

“Whats’a matter?” Angel teases, panting slightly. “Too short to reach your colour?” 

Throwing a glance over his shoulder, Angel’s long limbs easily twist to obey the most recent order, both of his right hands finding red circles on the crinkled plastic mat.

“No, I just—”

“Holy shit!” his gasp cuts you off, all amusement eradicated from his face, dissolved by concerned shock. “You’re bleeding!” 

“What?” 

Glimpsing down at your body, your eyes are drawn toward the rapidly developing blot of scarlet, steadily seeping through white linen—a gruesome petal, irregular edges spreading, slow but ceaseless, eating away at the fabric.

A gurgle of disquiet sounds from the couch, voices tangling together, dulled to your ears as your gaze finds your Master’s. 

But he doesn’t meet your stare. 

Unblinking crimson eyes are focused on the flowering patch of blood, beginning to mottle as specks bloom around it. His chest rises and falls with even little huffs of air, ebony pupils gnawing at his irises as they devour the sight, his fingers twitching on his knee. Your gaze drifts back to the smeared blemish, the softest whimper dripping from your lips.

It’s beautiful. 

Alastor was right; your blood does look ravishing against the crisp bright fabric—stark but artful, a miniature abstract piece being painted in real time as the substance transudes the linen, created by your body and his, together. 

Now you understand; there is a reason why Alastor always dresses you in white. Especially when the abrasions he leaves have a nasty tendency to split and spill out. 

Entranced, your fingers press around the sensitive flesh, feeling the open wound hollowed by your dress and staining your skin with a glittering crimson, a sharp breath sucked through the gaps of your teeth, flashes of speared agony radiating through the surrounding flesh.

Your sound of pain seems to snap Alastor from his revere, blinking twice as he comes back to himself, smile stretching wider with something sinister, worming between razored teeth.

“All right,” Alastor’s saying as he stands from the couch, bravado ringing strong and clear and firm over the chatter. “I’ll take care of this.” 

“Are you sure? That looks, uh—”

“Why is she bleeding in the first place?” 

“Alastor, maybe we should—”

“Come, pet.” Alastor disregards the chorus of concerned comments without sparing them a glance, holding an arm out to you in invitation.

Then you’re scampering to his side, instant, instinctive, allowing him to curve around you protectively, guiding you away from a collection of worried faces with a palm plastered over the injury. 

“I told you not to play,” Alastor admonishes in a singsong while he guides you through the threshold of his bedroom

Leaning into him, you nestle your cheek against his ribs, catlike, hiding the blurry disappointment nipping at your eyes.

“But I wanted to.” 

“You should’ve known better,” he chides, but his voice is tender, fingers rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder as he ushers you into his bathroom, depositing you on the rim of the clawfoot tub. “Your injuries are not fully healed yet.” 

Your injuries are never fully healed, you want to point out. He is constantly engraving new cuts, scrapes, slashes, bites into you; there is never a moment where your body is not stained with Alastor in some way.

“I thought they’d be okay,” you say instead, forehead scrunched in petulance. 

“Well, you thought wrong.”

“Who knew a game of Twister could be so strenuous,” you mutter to yourself, bottom lip wavering on the edge of a pout. 

He snorts out a titter, mean and scoffing as his fingers pick through the first aid kit. “For such a smart little girl, you can be really stupid sometimes, can’t you?”

“What?”

But he refuses to elaborate, continuing on as if you hadn’t spoken at all. 

“Clearly, Master cannot allow you to make decisions for yourself,” he teases, but his tone holds a twinge of sincerity, a vow of certainty. 

This is the last time you’ll be making a decision on your own for a long time. 

“Arms up.” 

Immediately, you comply, arms held straight over your head, Alastor’s hands curling in the hem of your dress and pulling it from your body in one swift, fluid motion. 

It stings, the linen of the dress ripped harshly from the steadily weeping wound it had been clinging to, a yelp cracking in your throat. 

A halfhearted hush falls from your Master’s lips as he carefully drapes the soiled dress over the rim of the tub, taking a moment to admire the stain. A finger traces around the blotch almost affectionately, a tender sigh exhaled out his nose. Then his palms are finding your legs, pushing them apart and sinking to his knees, wedging himself between your spread thighs. 

“All right, let Master see,” he murmurs, shoulders hunched a little as he becomes eye level with the gash, your spine straightening to present the tear to him. 

Hesitant fingers prod at the surrounding flesh, now smeared with dried blood, inspecting the damage. 

“You ripped open every single stitch,” Alastor chuckles quietly, his fingers tugging at the bordering skin and watching with macabre awe as the wound gapes open beneath the pressure, a thick torrent of blood oozing out. 

A whine that sounds suspiciously close to his title sticks in your throat, half-stifled by your clenched teeth, and he looks up at you, sadistic amusement glimmering in his eyes. 

“Does that hurt, sweetheart?” His fingertips press down on the tender flesh, now slick with blood, and shove together, completely sealing the wound, another cascade of crimson spilling past the seam. 

“Master!” you cry out, fingers clamping over his shoulders to steady yourself, nails scraping against cotton. 

 The force of his touch increases, claws nearly sinking into the torn slash. “Answer my question.”

“Yes!” you choke out, head nodding in quick little motions. “Yes, it hurts.” 

A soft hum vibrates at the back of his throat, sharp teeth hidden behind a wide, close-lipped smile. Leaning forward, he plants his tarnished hands on your thighs for stability, then runs his nose along the top of the cut, inhaling one deep breath, his entire ribcage expanding as his chest swells with it. 

He stops, holds the scent in his lungs for a moment, lets it ferment into something sick and foul, lets it steep in the tissues and infuses them with you, before finally exhaling, the rush of air frigid against the bleeding gash.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, rubbing his mouth into the blood. “So fucking delicious.”

Tongue unfurling from his mouth, he traces, slow and cautious, around the edges of the wound with the tip, turning rusted blood watery and faded, grotesque streaks painted across your flesh. A noise claws at his throat, desperate to get out as he shoves it back down, tongue flattening over the slit and dragging, measured and meticulous, slick muscle soaking up the percolating blood.

“Alastor,” you nearly moan, dainty fingers curling around his antlers, the sudden touch evoking a growl from deep within his chest. 

“Let your Owner clean it,” he spits against the injury, lips brushing it again, voice muffled by your skin. 

And so, you do—because you’re nothing if not an obedient little pet girlfriend for your Owner, back arching as you press your ribs into his mouth, offering yourself up to him.

He laves over the laceration three more times, glazing it in a protective layer of his saliva, glimmering in the light with each of your shallow breaths. 

“Better,” he breathes, the word nothing more than a wisp of air against the wet cut, chills skittering across your flesh. 

“Th-Thank you, Master,” you whisper, fingers tugging on his antlers a little, desperate to get him closer. “I—It felt nice.” 

Crimson eyes flick up, his gaze veiled by heavy lids as he laps at his lips, cleaning them of excess blood, some of it streaked along his chin. 

And, oh, how breathtakingly beautiful he looks coloured in strokes of you. 

Hips twitching a little, your thighs tense around his torso, and he looks down again, eyes honing in on the drenched lace between your legs, panties molding to your cunt and accentuating every dip, every bump, every contour. 

He chuckles at the sight—something dark, something decadent, something demeaning melting on his tongue. 

“Well,” he pants softly to himself, pride tweaking the edges of his smile. “Would you look at that.” 

A finger traces the outline of your cunt—over your hood, along your lips, circling your hole and just barely pressing into it, watching with a morbid fascination the way it flutters against his finger, delicate material dipping, trying to siphon his finger into you.

“You would like that, you nasty little girl.” 

But he’s aroused, too, his cock straining eagerly against his trousers, a direct result of your sweet blood still tinging his tongue, your precious yelps of pain still ringing in his ears. Saliva pools in the dips of your mouth as you stare at it, thighs flexing on either side of him again, another gush of warmth flooding the apex of your legs. 

“Master, you’re—” you begin in a stringy, needy whine, swallowing thickly. “You—You’re…Can we…” 

“Can we what?” 

A knuckle finds your chin, drawing your eyes back to his, a thumb gripping the point, inhibiting you from fleeing his invasive stare. 

“Come now, it’s rude not to finish your sentence.” 

Pricks of embarrassment erupt across your face, eyes teetering on a wince as you force the stubborn words from your tongue, question trembling.

“Can we fuck?” 

Crimson searches your face, pupils pulsing with a vile sort of voracity, consuming his irises bit by bit as he contemplates. His gaze is cutting, slicing into you as it torturously pulls apart your features and examines them one by one. 

And you—you let him, open and willing and vulnerable and raw as you bear your soul to him, as you rip yourself open for him, as your fingers dig through meat and blood and bone to get to your core, offering it to him wholeheartedly. 

“Perhaps,” he finally responds, reaching for his surgical needle and thread. “I’m going to re-stitch this now,” he tells you, voice a touch huskier than before. “If you are well behaved as I tend to the wound—no squirming, no complaining—I might just give you what you want.” 

His stare holds your own, an eyebrow raising, imbued with inquiry. 

Are you ready to play? 

Oh, he isn’t going to make it easy for you, but you’re up for the challenge. 

[blue-slxt]

Romancing Pandora 1

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

A/N: Another event! They just keep coming lol. Anyways, this is my first time writing for this kink so I hope it's good. Pervy Lo'ak is just so fitting. All characters are aged up.

Pairing: Lo'ak x Fem!Na'vi!Reader

Warnings: Somnophilia, Fingering, Masturbation (M)

Lo’ak has this…habit. He’s not sure how it really grew into this. It started off innocent enough. When you would sleep, he would just admire you. Your face that looked so peaceful and precious and your body that would be sprawled out bare and on display in a way that always framed you like a piece of art. He could, and sometimes would, stare at you for hours on end. You were like this untouchable, ethereal being. But he could touch you. And those started innocently too, honestly. It started with just a simple brush of his fingers along your jaw that had finally unclenched. Running his hands over the flawless skin of your thigh. Everything about you was perfect in his eyes. 

In all of his admiring, he caused you to stir a bit in your slumber. You roll onto your stomach and hitch one leg up, putting your puffy, slick pussy in full view. Lo’ak can feel his mouth filling with saliva with the scent of your subconscious arousal filling the air around you. The internal battle starts almost immediately in his mind. Is it too far? Would you be angry with him? Should he even be thinking something like this? 

“Hmm, Lo’ak…” you half mumble in your sleep. 

His ears flick and twitch at the sound of his name. You were dreaming about him and you were practically dripping. It made his dick achingly hard. Just a little bit will be alright, right?

He goes slow. He starts at the back of your knees and runs his hands up the backs of your thighs and higher and higher to the cup of your ass. His thumbs tease and spread your exposed lips. He gathers some of your slick on his finger and raises it to his lips. The taste of you has him biting his lip to choke back the moan bubbling up his throat. 

His breathing is getting heavy in his chest as his fingers continue to play and tease your eager hole. He can’t stop himself from wrapping his free hand around his cock that’s been steadily dripping precum. His eyes roll back and his mouth falls open finally feeling some relief. He decides to push the envelope a little more when he carefully pushes one finger into your pussy. You let out a long, deep breath before you settle again. Lo’ak’s dick twitches in his palm feeling how tight and wet your walls are around his finger. His grip tightens around his dick trying to mimic how you feel. 

“Oh fuck, baby…” he mumbles as quietly as he can. He knows he won’t last long with how hard his dick is. His hand squeezes around his tip that was oh so sensitive right now and he exhales a shaky breath. 

Unbeknownst to Lo’ak, you smile silently to yourself. You had woken up a few minutes ago, but decided to let him have his fun with you. You figure, you should have a little fun too when you adjust your hips a bit so that his finger slips deeper into you. You’re choking back a small moan, but Lo’ak is behind you panting hard. 

His fist pumps faster and faster on his dick until he finally spills his load over his hand and stomach. His thighs tremble and his abs flex with every new spurt of cum. You can feel his finger twitch inside of you and you savor the feeling until you finally feel him relax himself. He carefully slides his finger out of you and he eagerly licks it clean. He looks at you to make sure that you’re still asleep before he quickly grabs a nearby cloth to clean himself off with. 

Lo’ak gently brushes a braid out of your “sleeping” face and settles himself back down on the mat finally ready to get some sleep. 

You secretly smile feeling satisfied with yourself. Despite feeling a little needy now, you know that you’re going to have him make it up to you in the morning.

Taglist: @tallulah477 @eywaite @stickyexpertbailiffjudge @quicktosimp @tumblingdevils @teyamshuman @rivatar @frogletscribe @witchsprit @luvv4j4ybe11 @hope-di-angelo

@neteyams-wh0re @itchaboi-itchyboy @pandoraslxna @neteyamsyawntu @teyamsatan @sulieykte @xylianasblog

[thirstworldproblemss]

Fic: Closer

cowritten with @astroboots

Fandom:  Moon Knight Pairing:  Jake Lockley x F reader (x Steven, x Marc) Length:  5.6k words Rating: Explicit 🔞 Warnings:  This fic contains explicit sexual content including dirty talk, spitting, anal play, and anal sex. (That's it. That's the fic.)

Summary: Jake checks an item off his bucket list, and you both thoroughly enjoy yourselves.

Notes: Many thanks to @guruan who fixed our my extremely questionable Spanish (any remaining mistakes are entirely my fault) and whose deliciously debauched art is a never-ending source of inspiration. More thanks (and uh... oh god, sorry 🙈) to the poor anon who submitted the prompt that spawned this to Cici last Kinktober and had to wait a whole year to see the damn thing. And, of course, ALL my love to my darling cowriter and 🤡💖🤡 sister, @astroboots, who always makes writing a joy, and without whom this never would have been started, finished, or posted at all.

[ twp’s Masterlist  | boots' Masterlist  ]

Jake hasn’t spent a lot of time in the driver’s seat over the years. For a long time he only fronted on rare occasions. Life or death situations mostly. Those hair-trigger moments when the body is in critical danger and a moment’s hesitation is all it’d take for all three of them to wind up dead. 

Those times when things are too much for Marc or Steven to be able to handle? That’s when it’s Jake’s turn at the wheel. 

It’s why normally the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, in command of the body, is the source of imminent danger: 

The face of the man who has a knife pressed against the collar of his military uniform in the middle of a desert. 

A panoramic view through the windshield of a truck that is seconds from veering off a winding cliff-side road. 

A long-haired Jim Jones wannabe staring down at him along a glowing walking stick protruding from his own chest. 

But things have been different lately. For one thing, he’s been spending a lot more time fronting, and not just in dangerous situations. 

For another, he’s learning that there’s so much more world out there than he’d ever imagined. There’s Ben & Jerry’s peanut popcorn flavored ice cream, Saturday karaoke nights, Derby Girls and you. 

Always you.

You were just Steven’s girl first, and then somehow against all odds Marc got involved too, and now that Jake’s been allowed a taste, he's never letting you go. You’re his guide to the wide world,  the road map keeping him on the right route, the safe resting place when he’s tired. Su alma, his soul.

And right now you look exhausted. Your thighs shaky and trembling, matted hair glued to your forehead, all of you dripping with sweat and other things. Steven must have really worn you out before he ceded the front. 

Sweet, shy little Steven—Mr. Sunshine—who just fucked you seemingly within an inch of your life before he remembered that he needs to share. 

And Marc thinks Jake is the unhinged one. 

The punch of adrenaline that always comes with fronting is still running through his veins, and he’s already hardening at the sight of you on your stomach, ass up in the air on display for him, Steven’s come just beginning to drip out of you. It doesn’t matter that the body just came, it’s Jake’s turn now. 

He slides his rapidly stiffening cock through your slippery folds, nudging the head against your clit, you and him both slick and sloppy with Steven's come and your own wetness.

“Aaah – Jake,” you gasp sharply into the pillow.

You know it’s him. He doesn’t know how. You haven’t even turned around to look at him, but somehow you just know. You always know. It’s an uncanny magic trick that impresses the hell out of him every time.

Jake grips one side of your ass in his free hand, squeezing hard. You’re all smooth skin and soft flesh under his finger, your cute little asshole peeking up at him. You’d kill him if he’d called it that out loud. So he doesn’t. He bites his tongue, swallowing down the groan that’s simmering in his throat at the sight of you.  

He can't resist sliding his thumb over that little pucker. He barely even brushes over you when you let out a pretty gasp for him. His cock is fully hard now, and it jerks against you at the sound, so he does it again, just to see if you’ll make the same noise twice. You do. 

Then you moan, sharp and keen, and he has to pull back, hand sliding over his slick length once before he leans in and replaces his thumb with the head of his cock. Taking his time, he slides it along the curve of your ass before nestling himself snugly between your cheeks. He makes an absolute mess as he goes, smearing the shiny slick left by Steven all over your bare skin until everything is a glistening sheen under the dim light as he begins to thrust forward, sliding his cock between the valley of your cheeks. 

Jake's dreamed of taking you here. He wants to take every fucking hole you have, fill you up and cover you with his come until it's dripping off of–out of every inch of your body.

Mierda. Even just the thought of it has heat climbing his spine, and his cock jerks in his fist and spitting even more precome into the mess already covering your spine and the rounded curves of your ass. 

He thrusts against you again, fucking himself between your cheeks, and you mewl quietly, pressing back against him. Maybe he won’t even fuck your pussy this time. Maybe he’ll just stay right here and rub his cock on your gorgeous ass until he comes all over it. Add to Steven’s mess with one of his own. He’ll do it. And reach around and rub your clit so you come too.

Maybe if he can get you used to the idea of his cock rubbing against your ass, maybe one day you’ll let him put it inside too. 

"You can, you know," you mumble out into the pillows, and Jake freezes, heat streaking down to his balls, and he has to grip himself hard at the base to avoid painting your ass with his come right then and there. 

Shit, did he say that out loud? He’s pretty sure he didn’t. He must have heard you wrong. Or he misunderstood. You can't possibly be offering what he thinks you are. 

"You can try putting it in. I might ask you to stop if I don't like it, but..." you your knees slightly, and the move has your ass practically wiggling at him in temptation, "It feels good right now."

Jake's brain stalls out. His body flashes hot all over. The back of his neck is tingling. He squeezes the base of his cock so hard he thinks he might be in danger of doing permanent damage, but he'll be damned if he comes on your ass right now when he’s just been told he might get to come in it. 

Gritting his teeth, Jake breathes through his body’s urge to come, pushing down the near-overwhelming need to shove his cock into your tight little asshole immediately. He knows he has to prep you if there's going to be any chance of you enjoying this, and he needs you to enjoy it because he wants to be able to do it again (and again and again and...) 

Shit. He needs to get on with it, or he's going to finish before he even makes it inside.

Jake makes himself let go of his aching cock, leaves it bobbing and dripping in midair, and turns his focus on you.

Leaning closer, he uses both hands to pull your ass cheeks apart, and just looks at you for a minute, watching your body clench around nothing.

"You want me to fuck you here, sweetheart?" he demands, sticky thumb sliding down through the mess of your slick and Steven’s come to circle your puckered hole, almost but not quite touching it, "Gonna let me put my cock inside this tight little hole and fill it up with my come?"

You whine, your whole body shivering under him, and he grins, satisfaction buzzing in his veins when your hips cant further up, trying to get him to touch you.

It’s fucking adorable is what it is. He is starting to understand why Marc likes to edge you now. How could he not? You’re always so reactive and needy when you’re denied. You make it so fun to tease. 

Sliding his thumb down, he slicks it around and around, just to watch you whine and shiver and shift, hips chasing his touch. His dick jerks with every noise you make and every time your body visibly clenches.

As fun as this is, a bright delight humming in his chest at your every little reaction, Jake doesn’t have the patience to tease you for long. 

He’s not like Marc. El Jefe seems to have infinite patience when it comes to this, but it’s only a minute or two before Jake can’t wait any longer. He feels like he’s going to jump out of his skin if he doesn’t get inside you one way or another. So he stops, holding his hand still to let you “catch” him.

When you do, he sucks in harsh breath, heat punching through him as he watches you rub yourself against his thumb, heart rate spiking as you lean back, the tip of his thumb pushing inside just a little.

It's barely anything, but the feeling of you parting to let his his thumb slips inside, then squeezing him back out is addictive. He presses harder, wanting more. His thumb slides a bare inch inside, and his groan barely covers the strangled sound you make, body tensing under him. 

Sweat breaks out on his forehead along with the realization that he cannot fuck this up. 

"Alright, mi alma?" he asks, trying to sound sweet and gentle, but his voice, low and eager, betrays him. A starving wolf in a sloppy sheep disguise. He’s not fooling anyone, not himself and certainly not you. 

Reigning himself in as best as he can, his fingers close into a fist with tight tension blaring in every nerve. Then he unfurls his palm to pet his hand over your back and down your side to give your ass a gentle squeeze. 

“Do you  need me to stop?" 

"N-no," comes the shaky answer, and Jake thanks any gods who might be listening, "It feels a bit odd, but..." you squeeze around his thumb, hot and unbelievably tight, and Jake swears under his breath, "It’s a good odd, I think. Just– just give me a moment."

You shift slightly, clenching again, and his cock jerks and throbs like the nerves of his thumb have somehow been reattached directly to his aching length. He really fucking doesn’t want to come before he even gets inside you, but right now he’s not sure if that’s in the cards for him.

Then you push back against him, and his thumb slides in another half inch, and both of you gasp. He pulls out slightly and risks a small thrust back inside. He's rewarded by another gasp and a small moan, so he does it again, a little further this time, and this time the moan is louder.

Fuck, you look so good like this, ass all slick and slippery. Before he even knows what he’s doing, Jake leans forward, spitting onto the curve of your ass right above where his thumb is inside you. 

You jerk when it lands on your skin, and he likes that. Likes that even though he’s done it before it always seems to take you by surprise. Likes how his spit  looks on your skin too, shiny and slick as it slides down the crack of your ass to join the rest of the mess he’s smeared there. Likes that when he pushes it into your tight little asshole, it’s one more way that he can be inside you, make you a little bit more his in a way that will linger after he’s no longer with you.

You whine as he pulls his thumb all the way out, he spits again, hitting his target, directly on your pretty little asshole, then he presses in again, shoving more of his spit into you.

Like most things when it comes to how he feels about you, Jake doesn’t entirely understand why he likes this so much. It’s primal, somehow, a deep-seated need to mark you with himself–his spit, his scent, his come.

His cock is aching, throbbing in time with the way you clench every time he pushes his thumb into you. Jake can't stand it, has to wrap his free hand around himself, gripping as hard as he dares, and stroking slowly. He grits his teeth against how good it feels, red hot pleasure searing up his spine as he leans in to slide the head of his overwrought, leaking cock along your ass, right next to where his thumb is shoved inside. 

"You feel how hard you make me?" he demands, pressing himself against you, relishing the way you shift and moan again, body still squeezing around his thumb, but loosening with every passing moment as you relax. It also has the added benefit of his precome dripping down to lubricate things even more as he thrusts into you a little deeper each time. "Fuck, I can't wait to get inside this tight little hole. You gonna let me in, mi alma?"

"Yes, yes, Jake! Please!" you cry out, only partially muffled where your face is pressed into the pillows, and he damn near loses it again. Has to press his cock against you hard, almost to the point of pain as fire licks out along his nerves, threatening to send him over the edge.

"You want this cock in your ass right now?" he grits out, vaguely aware that he should probably spend more time prepping you, stretching you so you can take him easier, but he can't wait another fucking second.

He pulls back, pulls his thumb out, and you whine out his name Jake, Jake, Jake as you push your ass up and back, chasing his touch.

He looks down to see a blur of movement between your legs, and realizes that at some point you shoved a hand underneath yourself to rub at your clit.

It’s pure impulse. He doesn’t think. Before he even realizes what he's about to do, Jake’s hand flashes out, coming down on your ass with a sharp crack that sends your flesh jiggling in an all-too-appealing way. 

You cry out, sharp and high-pitched, but Jake knows from experience that it's a cry of shock, not of pain, and he quickly follows up on his advantage.

"Naughty naughty, sweetheart,” he scolds, “Who said you could touch yourself?" 

You freeze, obviously caught, and several seconds tick by where he watches approvingly as the mark left on your supple skin from the impact of his hand shades into a darker hue before you whine again, "Please, Jake. I need– I need–"

That's more like it. 

"Pobrecita," he croons to you, enjoying the way you relax at his gentle tone, "Do you need more?"

You nod into the pillow.

He leans in and smacks his cock against the same place his hand struck. You jolt, letting out the hottest fucking sound, so he does it again, and has to grit his teeth against the noise that wants to escape him at the sensation.

"You want this cock, mi alma?" he demands, voice harsh,  "You want me fuck your ass with it right now?"

"Yes. Yes, Jake. Fuck, please. YES!" you pant out, sounding as desperate as he feels. You’re pressing back against him, hips shifting so you can press that pretty little hole right against the tip of him, acting for all the world like you're going to fuck yourself back onto his cock if he doesn't give it to you fast enough.

It's a heady feeling, to hear you beg for him, and part of him wants to hear you do it again, and again and again. To leave you there, begging for him as you struggle to fuck yourself on him. Lucky for you, he is nothing like Marc. 

"All you had to do was ask, mi alma," he grates out as he begins a slow press forward, "All you ever have to do is ask, and I'll give you the world."

Your body yields to him, the head of his cock slipping inside, and he has no more words. Only a strangled groan to match your whine as you clamp down hot and impossibly tight around him.

A sparkling clarity descends, time dilating, stretching out the way it does when he's in the middle of a fight, and he can only be grateful because he's barely clinging to his composure by the tips of his fingers here.

One truth stands out above everything else: he can't hurt you. 

He has to go slow, keep control, make it good for you. 

Jake wraps an arm around you, fingers tangling with yours to rub desperate circles around your clit, and he breathes a sigh of relief when you relax slightly under and around him. Still he doesn't move, not sure if he can without losing it and pumping you full of his come right then and there.

It's only when your hips start to move, hitching forward against his fingers, and then back to fuck yourself a little farther onto his aching cock that he dares draw in another breath, dares to meet your movements with small thrusts of his own, fucking in a little further each time.

And you take him just like that, little by little. One slow press, one torturous inch at a time, until he's buried as deep in you as he can go. 

"Fuck. Jake," you gasp out, clenching hard around him, and he groans. 

He makes the mistake of looking down at where you’re stretched tight around the base of his cock, taking every fucking inch he has to give, and the sight hits him like a punch to the gut. His hips stutter forward involuntarily, and somehow you take him even deeper.

You make a strangled sound, clamping down so tight it borders on the painful, and he freezes, shuddering behind you.

"¡Mierda! ¿Estás bien?" he demands, has to stop and mentally scramble for the words before he can ask again in English, "You okay, mi alma? Shit, did I hurt you?" 

"N-no. I'm okay," you pants out in response, "You can– You can move, Jake. Please. Need you to mo–"

Before you even finish the sentence, he’s already pulling out and easing back in. It’s a tight fit, your body hugging him so snugly that nothing else would fit. 

Lento, he reminds himself, gently. Not too fast. Gritting his teeth against the demands of his body, he presses himself in and out of you as slowly and carefully as he can manage, and he tries to keep his fingers moving on your clit. His free hand grips your hip, fingers digging in until he’s sure it must be painful, but he can't make himself let go.

You whine, writhing under him as he inches back into you.

"Jake," you pant out, nearly sobbing his name, "Jake, Jake," and he slows further, worried that it's too much.

"No!" you cry out suddenly, and Jake freezes on instinct, holding still as you prop yourself up on one elbow, turning your upper body sharply to one side so you can glare at him over your shoulder, "Don't bloody stop. I want you to fuck me."

The words hit him like a blow, knocking the air out of him, and the determined look on your face stabs him right in the heart, his whole chest pulling tight. 

"You've been so patient, Jake,” you cajole him, “and it's good. Better than I thought it would be. I want you to stop holding back. Fuck my ass for real. Let go, Jake."

Fuck, he loves you so fucking much. The feeling is so big, he doesn't know how his body can contain it. He wants to move mountains, conquer the fucking world just so he can lay it at your feet. He'd give you anything. 

But the only thing you're asking for right now is his cock, and that he’s just as desperate to give you as you are to take it.

He pulls out slowly, one… last… controlled… withdrawal, then he slams into you so hard it drives you forward across the bed away from him. Digging both hands into your hips, he yanks you back to him, back onto his cock.

"Like this?" he asks as he pulls out and slams into you again,  "You want it hard? Like this, mi alma?"

"Yes– Fuck– Yes–" you gasp out between harsh thrusts, "Ja-Jake!"

His name breaking on your lips is the sweetest fucking sound he’s ever heard in his entire life, and it severs the last threads of Jake's control. He lurches forward with a roar, driving himself into your tight little ass over and over again, as hard and fast as he can go. 

The force of it knocks you off your elbows, flattening you into the bed, but Jake just yanks you back, repositioning his knees as your hands scrabble uselessly at the sheets.

Every thrust is deep and relentless, burying himself inside you as deep as your body will let him, giving you as much of him as you can take. Until his hip bones are pressed flush against your ass, until his cock is buried inside you to the root, until every inch of him is enveloped by you. 

He's so lost in the feel of you, he doesn't realize he’s fucked you all the way across the bed until you're precariously balanced on the edge of the mattress.

Your knee goes first, slipping sideways off the bed mid-thrust, and it's enough to pull him off balance and send you both tumbling to the floor. 

Instinct takes over, and before Jake even has a chance to consciously register what’s happening, he’s already twisting, shielding your body so that he takes the brunt of the fall. He winds up hitting the hardwood ass-first before coming to rest with his head against the nightstand and you in his lap. 

Miraculously, you’re still connected, the force of the fall shoving you down on his cock farther than ever before, the feeling of being lodged so far inside your tight ass more than enough to overwhelm the slight pain in his tailbone from the fall.

There's a moment of stunned silence, then you start shaking, trembling in his arms, shoulders vibrating against him. He has half a second to worry that he’s fucked up badly enough to make you cry before a loud, bright sound rings out in the room. 

You’re laughing. Oh thank fuck.

"Oh my god, Jake! You just fucked me off the bed, quite literally. That's definitely a first!" you exclaim, twisting around to giggle down at him, eyes crinkled with amusement, mouth curved in an open, full-toothed smile. Jake has a handful of seconds to marvel at how beautiful you are before you shift in his lap, your body clamping down around him, and any last lingering shreds of control he might have been clinging to are gone.

Jake lifts his hips, fucking up into you, and watches your eyes go wide, a gasp falling from your lips.

It's not enough.

He grabs your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh and rolls to his knees, and your gorgeous laughter dissolves into a broken cry of surprise as he drags you with him. The sound melts into a long drawn out moan that has the tip of his ears tingling. He can’t think, all he can do is keep going as he fucks forward into you again, his chest tight against your back as he forces you down onto all fours so he can keep fucking you. 

Fuck. The wood floor is hard and uncomfortable under his knees, digging into his kneecaps. He knows it must be worse for you with his weight bearing down on you, but he can't make himself stop. 

He's been dreaming about taking you this way for so long, and now he finally gets to. He knows, he knows he should stop and check on you, should move the two of you back up onto the bed where you'll be more comfortable, but that pretty little ass is stretched around him so perfectly, tight and hot around him, and his need is riding him hard.

Heat prickles from the tip of his fingers, spreading along the nerve endings along every patch of skin, fuck. It’s everywhere, expanding across the span of his chest, pooling in his abdomen, gripping into his lungs. He can’t breathe. Can’t stop. Can’t–

"Lo siento," he stutters out. "I'm sorry, mi alma. I can't– I have to–" Words leave him, and all he can do is pant against your neck as his hips jerk into you with increasingly sloppy thrusts. 

His end is approaching fast, whether he wants it to or not, and he barely has the presence of mind to shove a hand underneath you, rubbing desperate circles over your clit with fingers gone clumsy with need.

He has to make it good for you. He has to. He has to– 

Por fortuna, it only takes a minute for you to tense underneath him, sobbing out his name and tightening around him so forcefully that he can't keep thrusting, his cock locked in place by the tight clench of your body.

The lack of movement is enough to stave off his own orgasm, but just barely, the pleasure is overwhelming, teasing at the tip of his tongue as you shudder underneath him and you flutter rhythmically around his cock. It's so similar to being inside your pussy when you come, but it's different too. The pulse of your pleasure there squeezing him so tight it's nearly painful, but its so, so fucking good.

He breathes through it, pressing open-mouthed, panting kisses against the skin of your back. Does his best to keep his fingers moving on your clit, trying to prolong the moment for you, to draw you pleasure out as long as he can. He wishes he could see your face. 

Next time, he promises himself. Face-to-face next time, so he can watch every expression you make as he fucks you full of himself and see the pleasure break across your face when you come with his cock lodged deep inside.

All too soon, you're collapsing forward onto one elbow, your other hand shoving at his where it's buried between your legs, and he lets you push his hand away, planting his palm on the ground next to your head. 

You turn weakly to look up at him, pulling partially off of his dick as your body sags like you can’t keep yourself up. 

"Are you ready, mi alma?" he grits out, dimly aware that he's shaking as he braces himself above you, "Ready for me to fuck this tight little ass full of my come?"

"Mmm," you hum, sweet and contented under him, "yes, please."

That's all Jake needs to hear.

He slams his hips forward into yours, and the force of the first thrust knocks you forward off your elbow, your chest meeting the ground as you half-collapse under him. 

Jake follows you down without stopping, fucking into you hard. You sink a little further towards the floor with each thrust until you're flat on your stomach, but Jake still doesn't stop. He can’t, though he's sure he must be flattening you. Doesn't think he could stop if his life depended on it

He's grinding into you now with increasingly sloppy thrusts, burning heat burrowing into the base of his spine as he holds back his orgasm by sheer will, slurring out endearments against the back of your shoulder.

“Mi alma. Mi vida. Reina de mi corazón.”

And you are. His soul. His life. The queen of his heart. You are all of that and more. His gorgeous, perfect love, taking him, all of him, exactly as he is.

"Do it," you say from underneath him, and reality seems to recede, his vision tunneling in on your lips as they shape the words that just might kill him.

"Fill my ass up with your come. Fuck it into me as deep as you can. I'm yours, Jake."

Jake's orgasm crashes into him like an unexpected switch. Like a bomb going off. Like a knife sliding between his ribs, sharp and sudden. Pleasure sears though every inch of the body that has never felt more like his than it does at this moment, his forehead pressing against the warm skin of your back as he empties himself inside you in pulse after pulse of aching release. 

By the time the last shuddering spasm subsides, Jake feels wrung out like a bloody rag. He barely manages to avoid collapsing on top of you, mustering just enough strength to roll the two of you to the side so that he’s no longer squishing you. Pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he carefully pulls out, then pulls you back against his chest, curving his body around yours, and the two of you lay cuddled together like that for a long moment.

Eventually, his strength returns, along with the awareness that the floor he’s holding you on is both hard and probably not all that clean given Steven’s penchant for pouring sand all over. You deserve better. He gets up first, and carefully helps you rise to standing, waiting a moment to be sure you’re steady on your feet, before guiding you gently into the bathroom. 

When he flips on the bathroom light, the shadow of his reflection in the small round mirror transforms into a flushed, wide-eyed Steven who mumbles, “That was… God, that was… ” 

He doesn’t seem to be able to find the words. Jake’s not sure he could either, but Mr Sunshine doesn’t need to know that, so he just shoots the mirror a smug smile and tips an imaginary cap in that direction before he moves to turn on the shower.

You shiver a little when he steps away from you, so once the water is running, he wraps both arms around you, encouraging you to lean against him while you wait for it to get warm. You do, wrapping one arm around his waist in return and curling into his chest like there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

Jake just watches you. Tilting his head back and slightly to the side to get a better angle, he lets his eyes roam over your face, taking in the soft curve of your cheek, the eyelashes feathered against the soft skin there nod that your eyes have fluttered closed, the hand you’ve settled against his chest, right over his heart, the way your lips curve up into a slight content smile. 

You’re beautiful.

You always are, but right now, something about this moment makes Jake’s chest tight. It steals his breath as surely as if there were hands wrapped tight around his neck, choking the life out of him.  But instead of stealing his life, it’s as if you’re giving him more of it, pumping him full of its essence, filling his chest until he doesn’t know how his body can contain the feelings you inspire in him. 

The bathroom is getting warmer, steam starting to form on the mirror, but Jake is loath to relinquish his hold on you. You seem equally uninterested in leaving him. You’re snuggled contentedly into his chest, but the way you slump lower and looser with each passing second tells him that he needs to get you moving fast, before you fall asleep standing up. “Water’s warm,” he tells you, and you hum sleepily against his chest. It’s so, so tempting just to carry you back to bed, but he knows you’ll be happier if you’re clean.

“C’mon, mi alma. Into the shower. Vamos.”  He herds you gently backwards until you’re standing under the spray.

You hum sleepily up at him without opening your eyes, and he’s worried for a moment that he’s lost you to sleep already, but you stay standing when he cautiously releases you.

Reaching for your soap, he quickly lathers up a washcloth. The smell of the soap—the smell of you—quickly permeates the small space, and he breathes deep, letting the familiar scent wash over him.  He runs the cloth gently over your shoulders,  taking extra care with the still-visible bite mark one of them left there, then down over your chest. The skin of your breasts is soft and warm under his fingertips, and he’s half tempted to try for another round, but he feels strangely protective of your soft sleepiness.

Instead he dutifully rinses you off, letting the water cascade over your body. 

You blink your eyes open long enough to shoot him another warm, sleepy smile, and the contentment in his chest seems to expand, taking root and spreading with every breath until it feels almost too large for the small space of the shower. 

He steps out, reaching for a towel, and drys you off gently, before doing the same to himself with much less care.

Then he carries you back to bed and tucks you in, doing his best to straighten out the wrinkly covers before pulling them up over both of you. Curling his body around yours, he holds you tightly to him. There are a lot of things in this world Jake can do without, has done without. But this– you are no longer on that list.

In the cozy warmth of the bed with your body pressed against his, his eyes feel heavy. Jake never used to fight to stay in the driver’s seat, not once the excitement was over. But he clings to consciousness now. He wants to prolong this moment when his vision is filled, not with yet another threat to body, life or limb, but with something altogether perfect: the sight of you drifting off to sleep, your head nuzzling into the pillow, a slight smile on your face… safe. 

It’s the last thing he sees as he falls into a deep, restful sleep. .

Thanks for reading!

—

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[aaknopf]

Leila Mottley was regularly writing and performing poetry even before she published her novel Nightcrawling at only nineteen, in 2022; today we get an advance peek into her forthcoming first collection, woke up no light. Divided into hoods—sections on Girlhood, Neighborhood, Falsehood, and Womanhood—the poems instruct us, as here, in the art of noticing, speaking boldly, and feeling deeply.

what to do when you see a Black woman cry 

stop. hum a little / just for some sound / just for a way to fill us up it is streetlamp time / all moon-cheeked black girls are mourning / a wailing kind of undoing don’t mistake this as a tragedy / it is sacred don’t mistake this as a glorious pain / we hurt.

don’t tell me it will be alright. make me a gourmet meal and don’t expect me to do the dishes after don’t try to hug me without asking first if i slept last night / if i need some jasmine tea / and a bath in a tub deep enough to fit my grief

and if i say i want a hug don’t touch my hair while you do it / don’t twist my braids around your fingers or tell me my fro is matted in the back from banging my head on the wall of so many askings

you think we are sobbing for the men, but we are praying for the men / their favorite sweat-soaked t-shirts we are screeching for our thighs for our throats / and our teeth-chipping / for the terror and the ceremony / and the unending always of this sky

so if i let you see a tear drip / if i let you see my teeth chatter know you are witnessing a miracle know you are not entitled to my face crack / head shake / sob but i do not cry in front of just anyone so stop. hum a little / just for some sound / just to fill me up

More on this book and author: 

Learn more about woke up no light by Leila Mottley.

Browse other books by Leila Mottley and follow her on Instagram @leilamottley.

Click here to read Leila Mottley's curated list of recommended books about the San Francisco Bay Area. 

Leila Mottley will be in Brooklyn for a Poetry Night reading and conversation with Tatiana Johnson-Boria at Books Are Magic (Montague Street location) on April 24, 2024 at 7:00 PM. The event will also be livestreamed for free on Youtube. 

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[athenaistired]

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂❞

— 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐭.𝟑 //

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: ᴅᴏɴɴᴀ ʜᴀᴅ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ, ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ɢᴏ ᴏꜰꜰ ʜᴇʀ ᴋɪɴᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ.

art credit & word count: 2634

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ (ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ꜱᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀꜱ): ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇꜱ, ʜᴏꜱᴘɪᴛᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ɴᴏɴ-ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱᴜᴀʟ ᴀʙᴏʀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ᴘʟᴏᴛᴛɪɴɢ, ᴅᴇᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ, ɢʀɪᴇꜰ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ʙᴜʟʟʏɪɴɢ

— 𝑴𝒀 𝑳𝑼𝑺𝑻𝑭𝑼𝑳 𝑯𝑼𝑺𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑫 !3!

Donna woke up to the sunlight forcing its way through her eyelids. She was in an unfamiliar bed, with Diluc gone from her side, and with a strange string attached to her arm. Her memory was still hazy; the only thing that she could recall was that she was speaking to you about Diluc, but somehow she ended up here.

“You’re awake.” An unfamiliar man in a black suit was sitting in front of her bed on a chair, he seemed to be reading a book in another language with a drawing of a human’s head on the cover, “I’m Sebastian, personal doctor working for Master Y/N in case of emergencies. Just call me by my name. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Just a bit sore all over..” Donna mumbled back, to which the man nodded, “And.. My stomach kind of hurts..”

“That’s expected.” He reached for the paper laying by her nightstand, “You’ve been here for 32 hours, in and out of consciousness. Your medical record is missing information about your allergies, but considering that you and Master Y/N were having tea together, I’d say that you had quite an aggressive reaction towards some type of fruit which was used to make the blend.”

The moment he explained what had occurred hours prior — memories came rushing back in Donna’s mind, and she instantly felt more awake than ever.

“So.. It wasn’t poison?” She asked with hesitance, and the man almost dropped the mug which he was holding in his other hand.

“What kind of person do you think Master Y/N is to poison someone in a broad daylight, in their own home, with this many people around? Of course this was an accident.” The doctor scoffed and got up, “Anyways, leave whenever you feel like it. You seem more than fine to me.” He quickly detached the IV drip out of her hand, and bandaged up her elbow, “Try not to put any unnecessary strain on this arm.”

“A-Alright..”

Donna had actually never seen one of the proper doctors before in her life. Her family were strong believers in Herbology and Barbados’ will, so she wasn’t exactly sure why the doctor had concluded she was allergic to some fruit. Her whole life she tended to the gardens, sold massive varieties of flowers, and even once was a waitress at the bar with all kinds of drinks. Something didn’t seem to perfectly match what Sebastian had described, but maybe she just had to ask you what the two of you had that day to get to the bottom of this situation.

“Donna! Are you alright?!”

Suddenly, the doors bursted open with Diluc rushing inside. He looked even worse than last time she saw him. He was beginning to smell, his hair was forming mats and shining with grease, and his eyes were puffed and red; huge eye-bags forming above his cheeks.

“H-honey.. What has happened to you?” The woman gasped in shock at the appearance of her lover. He seemed to be taken with surprise by her reaction, and took a few steps back to stare at himself in the mirror.

The man froze.

Slowly, he reached to cup his own face as if he couldn’t recognize it.

“That dammed Y/N..” He mumbled to himself, “I am actually falling apart..” He whispered, while crouching down to take a seat on the ground. Now, Donna was more than worried. She got up from her bed and hugged her lover in a tight embrace, “Did they do something to you?” He pulled away to look deep into the woman’s eyes, “Did they hurt you?”

“I..” The brunette wasn’t sure what to say. Was she poised? Was this intentional? Accidental? Were you naturally hostile or angered by the circumstances? She had no clue. “I don’t know. Sebastian told me that I had an intense allergic reaction to something and that Y/N called in the medics to save me.”

“Oh.” Diluc blinked in surprise, “T-that’s confusing me even more now..”

“I know..” The woman sighed, “I know.”

-

You sat at the edge of your bed, as Marie kneeled before you with your right hand in her skillful palms. Your feet were soaking in a warm tub with rose petals floating above the water’s surface, and the maid gently trimmed your cuticles and the length of your nails to perfection. The two of you sat in silence throughout the whole procedure, as you stared at the flickering flame of a candle on your nightstand.

“What do you think, Marie? What are they going to do next?” You asked her a question, and she didn’t even bat an eye before answering to you.

“They are going to try to murder you, my Master.”

You didn’t expect such conclusion. Truly, your death seemed to be an only out for Diluc’s desperate cry for freedom. The moment he’d sign a contract provided by you — his life would be over. Staying in the same mansion with you would also ensure his and Donna’s suffering until their last breaths. But in order for him to be back in control of his future — he would need to erase you. You let out a bitter laugh, however, Marie’s expression remained as stoic as always.

“What do you think I should do?” You questioned further. You watched her grab a warm cloth, and rub your palms in gentle motion, as if trying to cleanse you of your sins.

“I am a mere servant, my Master.” She reminded you.

For a second, you saw red. Without a thought you slapped her hands away from yours’ and grabbed at her chin — forcing her to look you in the eyes. She didn’t tremble, she didn’t fight, she just froze. Your anger vanished, and slowly you melted into a fake smile. Your thumb hovered over her bottom lip, and you brought her closer to yourself, until you both could feel each others’ breaths.

“You’re my servant, Marie. I don’t keep fools around me, do I?” You then let go off her, making her lose her balance for a second, but she quickly gathered herself and bowed her head in submission, “Now, speak.” She rose her gaze, and you encouraged her once again with a raised brow.

“I believe for there to be two options.” Marie began her speech, and took your feet out the tub to place them on her thighs and wipe them dry, “You get rid of Master Diluc and send Mistress Donna back to Mondstat. Nobody would believe her that it was you who hurt Master Diluc, but even if they would, a single mention of his crimes across the world and that it was all done in self-defense would guarantee your innocence.”

She was finally done taking care of you, and proceeded to reach for freshly the ironed socks by her side.

“And second?”

“You get rid of Mistress Donna, and make Master Diluc fall into the deepest depths of despair, so that he won’t have anyone else to turn to for comfort — but you.” Marie buckled up your shoes, and stood up, instantly straightening her back, “The choice lies in whether you prefer to execute quick revenge and forget, or, to keep a hold of your revenge until your last breath.”

You laughed at her words.

“Do you believe for revenge to be a waste of time?”

“Many people who consider themselves above others would say that, but I solely believe that your decision is absolute, my Master. I believe a yearn for revenge made you into a person who you are today, and Master..” Marie locked her hands together by her chest, “You are an entity beyond my comprehension.”

“You flatter me, Marie.”

Looking at her, you saw emotions which Diluc had never expressed towards you. Yes, he loved you. But young love comes and goes. Meanwhile every single one of your servants in this house, were undoubtedly loyal to you. There was no hesitation that every single maid, butler, cook, and even the recently hired doctor would die for you. Kill for you. Live for you.

Diluc was never any of those things.

“I think I made my decision.”

You’ve made that decision long time ago, and there was no reason to back out on it now. Even if Diluc would put you in the casket, you would crawl out with a knife in your hand to continue to haunt him. You weren’t sure where this obsession was coming from. Perhaps it was boredom. Maybe, you were just that evil and prideful. Or even..

It was just fun.

-

Donna decided to finally leave Master Y/N house and go for a walk. They have been living in the mansion for a month now, and each day was worse than the previous one. She tried to make it work. She followed all lessons which you signed her up for, she learned the etiquette, she put herself on a diet, did her hair to the best of her ability, but one thing for sure — each day was more miserable than the other.

The moment that the sun would rise, she would feel the dread wash over her. Even when you weren’t at the mansion your spirit and your presence were felt everywhere. Your mere gaze was driving her insane, even giving her nightmares. She had a dream, where you were smirking at her with a maniacal glare in your eyes whilst holding a blade to her throat. Then, there were visions of you poisoning her, assassinating her, or hanging her off the ceiling.

Donna’s thoughts were getting darker and darker. From a light and careless girl, she has become something else entirely.

Perhaps, being with Diluc was the biggest mistake of her life.

As she finally stepped through the gates of Mondstat — the whispers began. Nobody in this city knew what you were truly like. How terrifying, how cruel, how manipulative. They all saw you from the best angle, meanwhile, Donna was seen from her worst.

“Homewrecker..”

“Slut!”

“Whore!”

“To get together with a married man, no shame at all!”

“How can she even bear to come back here..”

Even though they were mere whispers, their voices seemed to be louder than her own thoughts. She had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep herself away from shedding tears. Her life had become so terrible. Although she was outside, it felt like the curtains were still drawn. She couldn’t see the sunlight as bright as it used to be. A part of her was still locked away in that mansion — forever caged.

She felt her heart rase, her breathing picking up — she was panicking. There were so many people, and they all hated her. Yes, she did a bad thing, but did she really deserve all of this? Were her good deeds before this now completely forgotten? Where did all of her friends go when she needed them the most?

She had no one.

She was so alone.

“Is Sister Barbara around?” Donna asked as she had finally reached the church. Her feet felt sore, and the base of her spine was aching.

“One second.” One of the nuns had ran off to get her. As Donna waited she took a seat and looked around the church. Perhaps, she should beg, no, plead Barbados for His guidance. For His help. For His involvement.

“She’s here.”

“Donna! I haven’t seen you in a while.” If there were someone who hadn’t changed their attitude towards her — it was all the nuns, especially Sister Barbara. Maybe she was just very good at hiding her real thoughts, but Donna preferred to indulge herself in a more positive light.

“Hi, Sister Barbara.” The brunette murmured shyly, “I sent you a letter a week ago..” She reminded the other, and at first Barbara seemed confused, until she remembered.

“Ah, yes, yes!” The young girl continuously nodded her head, “Let’s head to a more private room.” She gestured for Donna to follow her out the church, and into the next building.

Barbara wasn’t the only doctor in Mondstat, in fact, she wasn’t even an actual licensed professional how Sebastian was. However, people with healing hydro abilities were granted permission to accept patients and examine them if required. Donna didn’t trust Sebastian, so, she sent a letter ahead explaining her symptoms to the blonde girl and arranged time and date of their meeting.

Barbara made the woman lay down on the examination table, as she checked what worried her most. She applied pressure on different parts of her body, especially her stomach. Then, a frown covered her face and she spread out her palms across Donna’s stomach — hydro particles suddenly formed in the air and circled around each one of her fingers — until they had vanished. It seemed that the blonde had come to her conclusion, but was hesitating to speak.

“Donna..”

“What? What is it?” The brunette was already imaging the worst. Was she dying? She must be dying! “What’s wrong with me?” The longer she wasn’t hearing an answer, the more panicked she got.

“You’ve had a miscarriage.”

What.

“I.. I was pregnant?” Donna stared, and Barbara nodded, “What do you mean I had a miscarriage?” She breathed out a pained laugh, “I didn’t bleed or anything.. I..” And then — it hit her. She understood what happened. You didn’t poison her that day. Your intent wasn’t her assassination, but rather.. “N-no way..”

She was drowning.

Her lungs were getting filled with the sea of sorrow.

“NOOOOOooooOOoOOOooOOooo!” A howling, blood-curdling cry was heard echoing through the halls of the hospital. Her tears were running down her cheeks like a river, and Barbara’s comforting embrace felt like the last hold on her humanity.

That day Donna hadn’t just lost her past, but she also lost her future.

-

Donna came back home only a week later. She might have not even known her child, but the grief was weighting down at her heart. She always wanted to be a mother, and from a young age she was told to be infertile. She never said anything to Diluc about it, because the topic was never brought up. But now, she was finding out that her miracle baby was forcefully taken out of her. She felt violated, torn, and broken. Every part of her soul had shattered like glass with pieces scattered so far apart that they’ll never be fixed back together.

“Donna.. Finally.”

Diluc was hugging her, but she couldn’t even feel it. Her body just froze, meanwhile, her gaze and mind were elsewhere. She couldn’t stop thinking about her lost child. Was it a girl, a boy, or twins? Were they going to have her brown her or their father’s crimson locks? What about their eyes, their height, their smiles? Were they going to grow up to be strong and powerful, or would they prefer a more standard and quiet life? Why did this happen to her? Why wasn’t she given a chance?

If only you had asked her to decide between her child and Diluc, she would have chosen her child in a heartbeat.

“Where have you been?” The man whispered into her ear, and she felt his tears falling onto her shoulder and soaking through her shirt. She hadn’t cried since that day. She hadn’t even said a word. Her whole world was stuck in that one moment, unable to move on, “What happened to you, my beautiful?” Diluc was playing with the locks of her hair, just how he used to.

He hadn’t changed, but she was now a different person. She was in grief. He was in despair.

“Can we kill them?”

Diluc instantly pulled away, and stared at Donna’s empty eyes. He blinked once, twice, but still couldn’t believe his ears.

“K-kill who?”

“Master Y/N. I want to take their life.“

FINAL CHAPTER !

[drewsbuzzcut]

Shower sex with model and mat🙏🏼

Warnings: smut and unedited

Your back gets pinned to the cold shower wall, and your legs wrap around Mat’s waist to keep him pressed to you. And to keep you upright. He’s pulled many orgasms from you, so your legs are way past gelatin.

“Just like that,” you moan and throw your head back. His hands grip your hips as he ruts into you relentlessly.

You think you’d be cold being that your wet body is pressed up against the cold wall, but Mat’s body does a great job at keeping you warm. The hot water still falls over him, and with every thrust, the water gets splashed onto you.

“You like that, pretty girl? You like my cock filling you up?” He asks, heat and a sexy raspiness to his voice. It sends a harsh chill down your spine, making you jolt and his tip nudging your sweet spot harder.

“Fuck yes! You feel so good, Maty,” you whine, body already shivering in his hold.

He attaches his lips to the hollow of your neck, sucking and biting the skin as his cock continue to stretch you open. Your slick walls flutter and suck him in before he can even fully pull out. He doesn’t mind being sheathed inside of you, and having you make a mess on him. After many orgasms, it’s only expected to have your release dripping down his balls.

“I know you’re close. Cum for me, baby.”

Mat grips your waist with both hands and bounces you on his length. Your stomach tightens in a knot, your toes curl, and a loud whimper rips from your throat as you succumb to your release. You shiver and clutch onto Mat’s hair. Your limbs tangle around him and the flutter of his cock pumping his cum inside of you sets you ablaze.

“Fuck. Oh my god,” he groans, the suction of your pussy around him milks him for every drop.

The shower stream has cooled down, hosing the both of you of the sexual heat you’d previously been doused in. You catch your breath and take a glance at your man. He’s art. His hair is damp and is a mess of curls on his forehead. His chest heaves from exertion, his lips are swollen, and his chest is flushed.

“I love you,” you pull him closer (if that’s even possible) by your legs around him.

You caress his cheek and seal your lips to his.

“I love you, pretty girl,” he mutters into your mouth.

[wonlovie]

— RACING, BEATING PART II TEASER !

read part i here

— starring. illegal-racer!heeseung x model!reader

— tags. arranged-marriage!au, pre-established relationship, minor angst (if u squint??), reader gets objectified, smut [oral (m. receiving), face fucking, vaginal fingering, degrading (use of whore, slut; heeseung 'accuses' reader of wanting to fuck someone else during sex), mean-dom!heeseung, car sex [MINORS DNI])

— word count. [teaser] 0.6k, [estimated] 4k

— notes. HAH i did this instead of sleeping even tho i have a midterm today // this is ltrly only smut atm LOL

Heeseung caressed his knuckles against the length of your hollowed cheeks with a gentleness that contrasted his thrusts. Tears burned your eyes, the back of your throat sore from his abuse. The sound of wet slick and choking gasps almost rivaled your heartbeat as you stared up at the man.

He was almost fully dressed—a simple black blazer thrown on over a red silk top, ironed black slacks that fell to his perfectly shined shoes. His hair was styled up neatly, showing you the expanse of his forehead glistening with sweat.

A hand reached to cup the back of your head, keeping you in place as he fucked into your wet cavern relentlessly.

“Fuck,” he breathed out in a whine, head thrown back against the leather seats as he groaned loudly. “Fuck, fuck, baby, you’re taking me so fucking well.” His lips parted, ruby red lipstick smudged over his visage, staining the silver lip ring. Heeseung’s jaw dropped as you swallowed around his cock, a series of long, winded whines coming from the back of his throat.

“Shit, princess. Gonna make me cum,” he warned you, dropping his head down to look at you through hooded eyes. His newly dyed black hair fell over his irises, obscuring them from view. His face pinched in pleasure as he lifted his hips against your plush lips. “You’ll take it for me, yeah? Swallow every last drop like the good little whore you are.” His nails dug into your scalp.

You pressed your thighs together, the carpet floor of the backseat rubbing harshly against your bare knees. The dress you’d worn, a little black number that you picked out just for Heeseung, had ridden up to your waist. The fabric bunched prettily around your hips, showing off that you had forgone undergarments.

He watched you breathlessly, eyes darting from your teary eyes to the way your little mouth took him so well. He didn't miss the way you tried to covertly rub yourself, thighs moving slowly—a futile attempt to feel something against your aching clit.

His cock twitched against your tongue as you licked at a jutting vein, a perfectly manicured hand coming up to cup his aching balls. He watched tenderly as you switched from suckling on his angry red tip to taking his length fully, your nose tickling against his happy trail. His thrusts grew wild, a loss in rhythm suggesting he was close.

“Gonna paint your mouth white, baby,” he hissed, tugging at your matted strands. “God, you look so pretty covered in my cum. Wanna make a mess out of you so bad.”

You whined, your muffled tone vibrating against his dick. He cried out your name, low moans tumbling from his pretty lips as he came, shooting hot and thick ropes of cum down your throat. You blinked away tears, a burning sensation left behind as he pulled his length out from your mouth. Spurts of cum spilled from his tip and you lolled your tongue out as Heeseung dragged it over your face.

His chest heaved as he stared at you, adoringly as though he was admiring his art. “Fucking hell,” he hushed, tugging you impatiently onto his lap. You fell clumsily against him, legs bumbling to straddle his small waist. You moaned in unison when your dripping core rubbed against his cum and saliva coated cock, your hips twitching in anticipation.

Heeseung sighed out your name against your lips as he cupped your cheek with a large hand. The coolness of his rings made you shiver as he pulled you in for a kiss. His mouth moved against yours slowly, his tongue flicking out against your lip. His kiss was hot and wet, his tongue caressing yours in a way that made you crumble atop his lap.

— permanent taglist.

@jaeyunsleftnostril @deobitifull @jenowhere @moonchus @1-800shutthefuckup @lilriswife4life @ni-kisgf @fakeuwus @tya0 @chickenscoups @in-somnias-world

©WONLOVIE please do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or copy any of my works.

[shslbunnylover]

★★★𝙎𝙣𝙖𝙥 𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙛 (𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙩𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙖𝙮 3: 𝙈𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙚𝙭)★★★

Character: Melissa Schemmenti

Taglist: @inlovewithgreta @lilfartbox1

Trigger warnings (DL, DNI): Mistress kink, semi-public sex, Top Mel bottom Reader, legal age gap

Genre: Smut

A/n: I got this idea at taekwondo class so deal with it-

Word count: 4.4k

...

...

Sweat dripping down your face, legs shaking in slight pain as you held up your side kick at the mirror in your martial arts studio, still keeping a bright smile as to not let the kids you were teaching get discouraged.

"So it's actually using the side of your foot!" You explain, lifting your arm as your pointer finger slides across the side of your foot that was currently kicking.

After you got a job at Abbott Elementary as Vice-Principal (to somewhat help Ava's incompetence), your usual workout routine had changed significantly thanks to your new lack of free time you had used for exercising. This caused you to have to get your daily training in at the martial arts studio you worked at for fun.

Working out was always incredibly fun for you, and you always tried to get the teachers at Abbott into starting your martial art. But Janine didn't really have an interest in it, Jacob loathed any form of exercising that wasn't his daily run, Gregory didn't like working out with other people and messing up his routine, Ava would only come if she got a date with a hot guy with abs, Barbara thought she was too old, and Melissa...well...you never asked her.

You knew that you shouldn't ask, so you didn't. Seeing Melissa Schemmenti either turn you down in front of everyone and hate you or accepting your offer and having to see the beautiful woman covered in sweat and looking somehow even more alluring? Neither seemed like a good option in your mind.

You knew that if she started working out there thanks to your offer, you'd have to teach her and everyone else, and you wouldn't be able to teach any of them thanks to your massive love for the older woman.

"Master Y/n?" One of your green-belt students, Quaheir, asked, snapping you out of your slight 5 second trance.

Your head quickly darted over to face the little kid, a small understanding yet curious smile forming upon your lips as he looked up at you.

"Yeah kid?" You asked, lowering your leg as to focus fully on any questions the kids might have and to also help with the form of their kicks.

"Am I doing this right?" He asked, pointing to his very sloppy sidekick.

"Not quite! But you're almost there," You chuckled at the innocence yet determination in each of the kids faces. "I'm gonna adjust your leg alright?" You said, to which the kid nodded as you moved his leg into the correct position.

"So it's actually just like-" You were cut off by another master whispering in your ear.

"Y/n, go to the front office, there's a parent here and I think she needs help," He said, to which you quickly nodded and ran to the front office, making sure to bow before you left the mat.

You walked inside of the front office through the back door of the camp room as to grab a few papers for what you thought may be the problem.

"Sorry for the wait! Master Daniel told me you had a problem with...something..." You trailed off at the sight of no one other than the one and only Melissa Schemmenti.

"Y/n?" The older woman asked, obviously confused as she looked you up and down.

"Melissa?" You responded before awkward silence filled the room which was mainly with you being too embarked to speak over the fact that she saw you all sweaty.

"W-What did you need help with ma'am?" You managed to choke out after a minute, your eyes darting to the desk as you sat down on the chair.

Melissa rolled her eyes with a slight dismissing smile.

"You don't need to call me Ma'am, Melissa is fine and you know it," She said, standing as she looked around the front office. "Anyway...I was wondering how I could help my nephew with extra training?"

That made you choke on your water, her nephew went here? How did she not know you taught here on the side then?

"Oh yes! We do offer extra training on Saturdays after black belt training classes!" You smiled, trying to blow off the fact that you had just done quite the odd action.

"Oh that's actually perfect, I'll be able to drop him off here then," The green-eyed woman in front of you replied, grabbing her phone out of her bra to text Kristin-Marie.

You blushed softly, eyes going to update your schedule as you tried to brush away the thoughts about her bra and how you wished you were the one touching her.

"What are you doing?" Melissa quirked an eyebrow at the sight of you just staring at the paper. "Some sort of invisible language on there?" She tried to joke, licking her lips as she crossed her arms.

"O-Oh- Apologies Ma- I mean Melissa," You muttered as a reply, hands quickly writing down the schedule. "So the extra classes are about twent-"

You were cut off by the redhead pulling a couple twenties and tossing them on the table.

"Sold~" She said with a slight smirk, only making you blush even more as she walked out of the office.

You had no clue what got into this woman, you knew her to be aggressive and tough and maybe a little cock, but she was rarely flirty unless it was towards Gary.

Little did you know how much the older woman was blushing as she left the building and retreated to her car. The sight of you in such a uniform and with sweat down your face was just too hot for her and her stupid libido.

"God damn it Y/n..." She muttered.

She always knew she liked you in a romantic and even sexual way, but God were those feelings increased when she saw you in your uniform and black belt. Your beautiful yet not intimidating face being covered in sweat from helping kids and doing the workouts yourself certainly didn't help.

The older woman turned on her car, fumbling with the radio as she put on some classic 70's music to try and drown out how attracted to you and turned on she was.

Meanwhile you sat in the front office, face buried in your hands as you tried so hard to stop your legs from kicking like an excited child.

"Look I for one admire black actors and I consider myself an ally to the black community, but I think Denzel Washington isn't all that great!" Jacob said, tucking into his breakfast sandwich he had brought from home, about to speak once again before the door to the room swung open.

"Did you guys know that Y/n is a teacher at that martial arts school near the cheesesteak spot?" Melissa asked everyone as she walked into the teachers lounge with an aggressive walk.

"Woah!" Jacob, Janine, and Gregory all exclaimed at the same time, putting their hands up in the air as to show their lack of wanting a violent conflict between them and the redhead.

Barbara just looked up at Melissa along with a couple of other teachers, looking back down as they've seen her angrier and weren't really fazed.

"Why are you upset about it? And yeah we knew, they asked all of us to join the school so she could hang out with us more! Didn't she ask you too?" Janine reasoned, which only made Melissa more confused.

"What? No! H-How'd she-?!" Melissa sighed, plopping herself on the chair she always sat at next to Barbara, who was reading her Bible. "Did you know about this Barb?" She asked the kindergarten teacher, rubbing her forehead as she sipped her coffee that she had from at home.

"Oh yeah, she asked all of us, poor Y/n, I wish I could have gone. I knew I was too old but I didn't think everyone else would deny their offer," Barbara sighed, closing her Bible as to face the redhead. "I don't know why she wouldn't ask you, you're a fighter, you would have said yes,"

"I know whyyyyy~" Mr Johnson said with a smirk as he entered the room with his janitorial supplies.

"Well? Answer before I shove that mop so far up your ass that the strings become your tongue," Melissa growled, looking at the old man who had just entered the room.

"Well first, why don't you tell us why youre so upset that you didn't know~?" He smirked, wiggling his eye brows as he emptied the trashcan in the room.

Melissa placed down her coffee mug with a massive blush. "You've got to be kidding me..." She mumbled, sighing as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Look I just-"

"Wait- Let me guess, you probably saw them in their uniform all hot and sweaty and you got all flustered?" The janitor smirked.

"How the hell did you know? Are you working with the feds?!" Melissa exclaimed, looking up at Mr Johnson as he stood there smirking. "Did one of youse guys decide to film me out of school?" She asked with an angry tone, pointing a nearby plastic fork at each of the camera men, making them all internally shudder from how scary the redhead was.

"I heard through the Janitoral news outlet," He shrugged vaguely,

"What the hell is the Janitoral news outlet?" Gregory muttered to Janine, giving a side eye towards the cameras as to ask them the same question.

Janine also side eyed the camera, and she whispered back to Gregory.

"It's the Mr Johnson way of saying he has his ways and to not question it," The shorter woman replied, to which both of the teachers stared at the camera before turning back to Mr. Johnson.

"Now you wanna tell me why they never told me?" The redhead growled, eyes rolling as her cheeks became laced with more blush.

"It's because they like youuuu~ And they didn't want to see you all hot and sweaty cause it'd distract them from their teaching," Mr Johnson smirked, walking out of the room only for his spot to be filled by Ava.

"What's going on in here? Don't tell me I missed more drama, and if I did yall better tell me what it's about," She said as she strutted in, waving her freshly manicured pointer finger at the teachers in the lounge.

No response.

"Actually, nevermind, I'll get Y/n to give it to me," Ava shrugged, grabbing her coffee as she poured a giant streamline of sugar from a nearby packet into the liquid.

As you walked down the hallway, you heard your name being called by Ava as she noticed you walking by the teachers lounge.

"Hey girl get your silly ass in here! I need you to collect drama from these teachers since they won't tell me what the hell is going on," Ava said, eyes not meeting yours as she stired a straw in her cup to mix around the particles in the cup.

You tilt your head, your hand rubbing your neck uncomfortably as you chuckled nervously.

"Oh okay!" You smiled as you looked around the room, not wanting to deny your boss's request while also not wanting to accidentally increase any drama, not knowing that you and Melissa were the subject of said drama.

"So... ehe...what's the drama that Ava wants to know about...?" You asked with a slight stutter in your voice, rubbing your neck a bit more forcefully, your eyes trying to avoid Melissa as much as possible once you had seen that she was already there.

"I don't know what drama Ava is talking about," Melissa scoffed, rolling her eyes which somehow got you even more flustered.

"Oh I see, then I'll be on my way, see you guys at lunch!" You smiled quietly, taking that excuse as your only chance to leave and waving goodbye with a shaky hand as you quickly darted out of the room.

Avoiding Melissa the rest of the week was hard, you didn't even know why you were doing it! You just couldn't get over how embarrassed you felt everything you were around the older redhead.

But you knew you couldn't avoid her for long, not only had she probably tracked down where you had been going for lunch everyday, but she was bringing her nephew to a private martial arts class that only you were teaching.

It didn't make matters any better when your car broke down in front of the school when it was only just you and Melissa left on the campus.

"Fuck..." You muttered, putting your head on your hands as you sighed, leaning on the car while shutting your eyes in frustration knowing you'd have to ask your stupid school girl crush for help.

Luckily for you, the redhead was only a few parking spots away and had just left the building.

"Y/n? You good?" Melissa asked, walking over to you as she noticed your frustrated expression, trying to ignore her urge to ask where the hell you had been and why you had been avoiding her for the past week

You shook your head in dismay, rubbing the bridge of your nose.

"No...my stupid ass car broke down," You mumbled just loud enough for the woman to hear, causing her to walk over and wrap a hand around your waist.

"Here I'll take you to the studio, we are both going there are we not?" She smirked as to try and get you to laugh, but only managed to make you blush like a schoolgirl who just got asked to play spin the bottle with her crush.

You nodded, sitting down in Melissa's car as she opened the door before she got in on her side, a hand sliding to your thigh as she turned on the car, the sounds of the 70s radio filing your ears before it suddenly stopped.

"Sorry, I'm a little old," The redhead blushed, turning off the radio as she pulled out of her parking space before putting her hand back on your thigh.

You quickly switched it back on, and you quickly shot a soft smile in the woman's direction.

"No please dont apologize, if you like it, keep it on!" You beamed, your endearing smile making the woman who was currently holding your thigh blush a bit harder.

Melissa reciprocated the smile much to your surprise, and you two sat in the car in peaceful silence, your hand creeping up to caress Melissa's as a silent gesture of gratitude for her kindness.

Once you two got back to Melissa's house where her nephew was, who you recognized as one of your more troublemaker students, Wilson, the three of you finally headed to to studio, beginning to finally all talk to each other.

"So you're dating Y/n huh Aunt Melissa?" Wilson asked with a fat smirk on his face.

Before you could even say anything, you were cut off by your co worker speaking in a very stern voice.

"Master Y/n, you will respect them, won't you hon?" She asked, not in a scary way but in a 'I mean business' way. "And no, we aren't dating,"

The blond nodded, looking out the window at that passing trees as you and Melissa began to talk.

"You know, you look really nice in your uniform hon," The redhead complemented you before realizing something. "Hey don't you need it for the class?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the complement you didn't think was true.

"It'll be just us, I'll be able to get away with wearing a spare summer one, " You explained, squeezing Melissa's hand slightly as she went back to resting it on your thigh.

"Yeah...you guys are 100% not dating," Wilson scoffed with a smirk, to which the both of you gave the young man a death glare that shut him up.

Once you guys had finally arrived, you sat Melissa down on the bench where she could watch and you gave her a clipboard incase she had any work to do before you went into the camp room to get changed.

Wilson turned around and looked at his aunt, a small pure smile forming on his face instead of his usual cocky smirk.

"You really like them don't you?" He asked Melissa, to which the older woman replied with just a simple sigh.

"You could say that..." She responded.

"You know they're single right?" The blond reminded his aunt as he began to stretch.

"I know I just-" Melissa tried to reply before the sound of you coming out from the other room emerged.

"Hey, you ready to get started?" You asked Wilson, walking onto the mat as you revealed just what you looked like in the summer uniform to Melissa, making the green-eyed woman look away as to not accidentally start staring at your figure.

Wilson nodded, and the two of you quickly began on working on different types of kicks and forms, focusing all your attention on helping the kid improve, meanwhile Melissa had all her attention you.

She looked at you with love in her eyes, and she simply just knew she was in love with you the moment you had indirectly shown her how good you were with kids for the first time.

Sure, she always thought you were endearing when the kids would gush about you being a cool vice principal, but this was different in some way. She didnt just want you to be her partner. She wanted you to be hers. The more she looked at you, the more she just wanted to kiss your lips and make you feel amazing.

Little did she know you felt the same way.

The older woman always capitavted you with how she carried herself when she was going through different emotions, how she helped kids who seemed helpless, just everything about the redhead truly made you feel like a fan gushing over the newest celebrity.

"Hey its time to go," You heard an unfamiliar voice say as you helped the kid next to you with his roundhouse kicks.

"Excuse me, who are you?" You asked sternly, putting yourself in front of Wilson.

"I'm his mother, Kristin Marie? Do you not remember me you big bimbo?" The blonde woman asked you, giving you a second before you finally recognized her when Melissa stood up.

"Kristin I said it ended at 6:30 not 5:30 you dumbass," Melissa sighed in annoyance.

"Oh my god- I must have made a mistake of some sort I-" You tried to apologize, before Melissa cut you off by pressing her finger to your lips while still facing her sister.

"Youse can leave if you want to, but you and that lazy eye are paying me back," She said sternly before watching Kristin Marie and Wilson leave,

You sighed, and you rubbed the bridge of your nose.

"I'm so sorry Melissa I'll get you a refund I didn't know that she would show up," You explained, leaning back on the wall before getting back up again to fsce the red head woman who had now also stood up from her seat on the bench.

"No need to do that hon, you can just teach me," Melissa shrugged, tossing off her coat at shoes perfectly on a chair with a slight smug smirk that made you feel absolutely soaked in your underwear.

"Are you sure...?" You asked nervously, anxious about having to get close to the woman.

"Mhm, y'know I would have done it with you earlier had you had just asked me and not everyone else," She crossed her arms, licking her lips for good measure as she looked you up and down which somehow made you feel even more turned on.

You chuckle nervously, brushing off the comment before speaking again.

"So what do you want to learn?" You asked with a smile.

"Why don't you show me your...hmm...how about your roundhouse kick?" Melissa replied,

"Uh okay?" You said with a confused and curious tone evident in your vocals.

You got into a kicking stance, before throwing a somewhat hard roundhouse kick at Melissa, only for the older woman to grab your kicking leg and pinning you onto the wall, cupping your face tightly with her other free hand as she continued to lift up your leg.

"Eep...!" You squeaked, blushing massively as you looked away, not wanting to fight back. "M-Melissa...what are you doing?" You whimpered, confused by the sudden boldness of the woman pinning you against the wall.

"I'm gonna give you 5 seconds to slap me, push me away, or whatever you want to do...alright?" She asked before slamming your lips together, "But I don't think you'll refuse this..."

You knew what she meant, and all you wanted was what you were doing now.

You cupped her face with one of your hands, wrapping the other around her waist and up her shirt to tug on her bra.

"Want you..." You mumbled, looking at Melissa with pleading eyes as your thighs rubbed together to create any kind of friction to get some pleasure from.

"Need you..." Was all Melissa replied, taking off your shirt and admiring your sweaty yet toned body from all the working out.

The older woman wasted no time at the thought that this was her chance to finally make you feel as good, as good as you had always made her feel when you were stuck in her head on those lonely nights with just her and her fingers. She quickly began to nop at the skin on your neck, leaving hickeys trailed across your most sensitive spots which only left you more of a moaning mess.

"God your moans are so intoxicating, it's beautiful," Melissa praised you, her eyes trailing your figure as she slid off your pants and shoved you down onto your knees. "And Jesus Christ Y/n, you look so hot all sweaty and tired from a workout...it just makes me want to make you have a whole other type of workout,"

She quickly also sat down on a collection of mats in front of you and spread her legs, turning you a bright red color.

"You may be a master here, but tonight I'll be your mistress..." She smirked, pulling your hair softly towards her as you eagerly took off her pants and slid them away from her body, selfishly burying your mouth into the woman's cunt, but not before you slid off her panties using your teeth only.

You whimpered softly as your tongue met the woman's pussy, she tasted so addicted and you wanted more, you wanted to keep hearing her praises and moans that left her lips.

"Nygh...yeah angel, you're doing good, keep going..." She moaned as the shock waves of pleasure radiated throughout her body.

You continued to eat the woman out with pure passion with each movement your body made, obscene and lewd slurping and licking noises filling the room you usually got your energy or frustration out in other ways.

"Mistress...you taste so good..." You muttered, eyes looking up to meet Melissa's sweaty and blush covered face.

"Complement me later hon, make me cum first," She replied in a demanding tone, her eyes looking down at you before they rolled back into her head from the pleasure.

You nodded and continued to flick at her clit, sliding two of your fingers inside of the redheads beautiful pussy as she moaned loudly from how good you were making her feel.

"Fuck yes~! Angel I'm close don't stop~!!" Melissa exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand as the other kept a tight hold on your head so that you wouldn't stop.

You continued to slurp up all of her cum as Melissa moaned out her orgasm for a couple more minutes, only to be stopped when Melissa pushed you down stomach first into the air.

You let a whimper escape your lips at the loss of warmth and sudden feeling of hitting the mat below you, your mouth and chest were covered in Melissa's doing, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Mistress...what are you going to do?" You asked with a pleading yet curious tone.

Melissa smirked and slapped her hand across your ass, making you moan loudly at the sudden sting.

"Ass up," She demanded, still keeping her soft voice that she only used for you.

You did as told, and were immediately met with the reward of three of Melissa's fingers entering your tight hole.

You managed to choke out a moan as a string of profanities and whimpers left you lips, your pussy engulfing Melissa's fingers as tightly as possible, making it slightly harder for Melissa to move faster.

"Damn princess, you are tight...aren't you baby?" She asked as she sped up the pace of her fingers that were pumping into your pretty hole

You nodded, loud moans and cries of ecstacy leaving your mouth as you felt your climax coming.

Melissa smirked as her fingers felt themselves becoming harder to move thanks to your approaching orgasm, and she just curled them perfectly so that they hit your g-spot, making you scream out her name.

"MELISSA PLEASE!" You screamed, only to met with another slap to your ass.

"Mistress." She corrected you, continuing to smirk as she knew you're climax was coming.

"I'M SORRY MISTRESS PLEASE JUST DONT STOP!" You exclaimed, tears beginning to fall from your eyes and onto the mat below.

"I'm not Angel, go ahead and come for me, I want to taste you all over my fingers," She cooed, rubbing your reddened ass with her other hand that wasn't inside you.

You wasted no time after hearing that, and you just lost all composure as you let out a loud moan and fell perfectly on the mat as you came, Melissa sliding her fingers out of her as you did so.

The red head licked her fingers clean of your cum before pulling you up and putting you on her lap, rubbing your pussy in circles to help soothe the ache you had from such a huge climax.

"Did I make you feel good Angel?" Melissa asked, occasionally bringing her hand up to her mouth to lock off the sticky mess that had collected onto her fingers.

"M-Mhm..." You mumbled, burying your face in her shoulder as you blushed softly.

"So now do you wanna ask me to work out with you?" The green-eyed woman teased,

You nodded very admitally, and you shoved your face in her breasts as if they were pillows.

"I dont know why I didn't sooner..."

[angel-with-paper-wings]

The Magician’s Prelude

This is a gift for @erik-carierre posted with permission! Many thanks for your feedback and support!!

Summary: Erik’s morning routine while working as a magician in Russia prior to his recruitment by Nadir. Based on Kay!Erik.

Cover art and title by @erik-carierre

Content warnings: PTSD-like trauma flashbacks, bloody/gory imagery, slightly graphic descriptions of violence, body negativity (Erik is an angsty teenager)

Now on AO3 here!

Blood. There is always blood.

It oozes around the shards of mirror buried in the skin of my hands…it drips in thick crimson blobs onto the bundle of golden fur…it spatters in hot torrents against my chest and sticks to the open buttons of my shirt…

And it is there again that night. In the rooftop garden, I stand paralyzed staring at the gap in the crumbled balustrade. My chest feels hollow—I cannot breathe, I cannot scream—all I can do is watch as the gap yawns before me, pulling me closer. Against my will, I peer over the edge to view the sight I know is there.

I wish I could blink. I long for even the tiniest respite from what lay before me, but all I can do is look. Her body is small amidst the shattered rubble, her thin delicate limbs laying at odd angles, her soft barley hair matted with flecks of blood and gore. And her eyes…her pale eyes snuffed of all fire that had once bubbled inside of her like smoldering lava. They stare blankly up at my unmasked face, looking but not seeing.

All she ever wanted was to look at me…and now all I can do is look. Look at what I have done.

I awakened with a jolt, my eyes flying open and clenching the thin woolen blanket to my chest. One skeletal hand flew up to my face, and only once I felt the smooth hardness of the mask did I relax. After a moment of composure, I opened my aching jaw and heaved out a sigh of annoyance. The nightmares were as persistent as they had always been.

I sat up in bed and fumbled to light the oil lamp on the nightstand. I had no difficulty getting prepared in complete darkness, but I simply preferred not to after a night of haunting visions. A small clock beside the lamp told me it was early in the morning—earlier than I typically rose, but I was already resigned to the fact that I wouldn’t be sleeping any more if I tried.

I flung the woolen blanket to the side and felt the floor creak beneath my bare feet. The inn’s modest wooden room was comfortable enough for my needs: a bed with sheets, a chamber pot, a pitcher and washbasin, and most valuable of all, privacy. There had been a mirror, but I removed it soon after arriving.

I yanked off my nightshirt, letting the room’s warm air graze the scars slashed across my back. Russia had intriguingly hot summers; the books I had read as a boy only bothered to describe the harshness of the winter months, so I confess to being slightly bemused upon my arrival three years ago to a city with a climate only moderately cooler than the one I had left behind in Italy.

Her twisted body flashed before me again, the broken masonry wet and crimson from the split in her skull… I closed my eyes and angrily shoved the image back into the shadows of my mind. No. No more thoughts of that place. I poured water from the pitcher into the washbasin and dunked in a bar of perfumed soap. Once it had worked up a lather, I soaked a clean cloth and derisively began to wash myself.

The dawn of my body’s maturity had proven to be a dismal affair. It took my bones the full extent of my nineteen years to finally cease their growing, leaving me wretchedly gaunt and pitifully covered in pasty yellow skin. I had the strength of a man twice my age and triple my weight, but my frame still refused to resemble anything but a corpse. In my frustration, I scrubbed harder at my own flesh, attempting to cleanse it of its rotten color. But it remained as it always had, pulled tight over my arms to display veins and tendons, with the only thickness found in the old silvery scars adorning my wrists and hands.

Once I had scoured myself raw, I slung the cloth over the rack of the washstand to dry and stared down into the bottom of the basin. Silence screamed in my ears and my stomach twisted with dread. I turned my head to glance at the door behind me; the lock was securely in place, but the familiar prickle of eyes stung my skin all the same.

With trembling fingers, I removed the mask. Warm air rolled across my bare skin like a caress, or what I imagined a caress to feel like. I set the white sculpted shard aside on the stand, and after a heavy sigh, I bent over the basin and scooped handfuls of water over my head, scrubbing the soap’s lather deep into my thick black waves of hair. Droplets ran down the edges of my face, as if even they were afraid to touch the horror that was there. But I forced them to touch it, rubbing the water into the cracks and distorted furrows of my skin, smearing it around the protruding bones and into my eyes’ sunken pits. I braced myself with a grimace before carefully wiping the dried mucus away from the edge of the hole that was my nose.

The torture ended when I finally buried my repulsiveness in a towel. I held the soft cloth against my face as my other hand reached for the mask, slipping it back into place with a relieved sigh. I squeezed my dark hair free of water, then picked up a comb and worked it through the curls until they attained sufficient softness. I laid the towel and comb to the side and stepped over to the tiny wardrobe, withdrawing one of many black satin shirts and slipping it on. After dressing myself, I left my room and slinked down the stairs as a soundless shadow.

The empty tavern on the first floor simmered with the savory scent of shchi. This early in the morning, the only other soul awake was the ancient innkeeper preparing the first meal of the day. I scattered a handful of kopecks onto the bar, letting the clattering sound echo into the kitchen. A minute later, the shawled woman doddered forward and set a steaming bowl of cabbage soup and a chunk of crusty bread before me. No words or glances were exchanged, no questions were asked, as was our routine.

I suspected she found me strange—indeed, I have yet to encounter a soul who didn’t—but she seemed to tolerate me well enough. After her defective coal stove found itself repaired the day following my arrival, I was able to convince her to let me use her inn’s far room as a flat for several months. Unlike my fellow tenants, I paid precisely on time, never returned drunk or belligerent, and there was no risk of women being snuck into my bed. After all, what woman would be desperate enough to lay with a corpse, regardless of the payment offered to her?

With this bitterness lingering in my head, I ate my meal quickly and slipped out into the morning’s haze. It was a rare day; the air was pleasantly cool and the clouds had chosen to don a color besides their usual dismal grey. I assured myself that no one was watching before I lifted my head to admire the way the branches of trees cast their dark silhouettes against the paling sky.

The western quarter of Nizhny Novgorod was largely deserted, making it easy to dart through the city’s shadows unseen in my black attire. Once the day hit its sweltering peak, the cobbled streets would resemble the Volga river with rushing currents of wealthy merchants and colorful travelers from Europe and India and Persia. By that time, I would be waiting for them in my magician’s tent, where they would be shown more wonders than their feeble minds could possibly comprehend.

I rounded a corner and walked along the silent boulevard, until the trees bordering the street gave way to a wrought-iron fence. Beyond the fence, majestically imposing against the northwest horizon, stood the blinding white structure of the Spassky Cathedral. Pink wisps of sunrise stretched across the sky and barely kissed the golden spire atop its great dark cupola.

As I so often did on clear mornings like this one, I felt compelled to stop and gaze up at the splendid piece of architecture. My eyes danced over its fine pillars and elegant façade, admiring the expert carving and delighting in the exquisite use of symmetry and proportion. I had snuck inside once in the dead of night to glimpse its interior—what beauty! It lacked the scale of greater cathedrals, but in golden grandeur it did not disappoint.

There was a time when I had imagined building such great works myself. Beneath the creaky bed back at the inn lay several journals filled with sketches of the spectacular monuments I saw when I closed my eyes. The pages overflowed with details of magnificent marble façades and great towering pavilions, gilded figures in copper and bronze, ornate mosaics with details that dazzled the imagination. My architectural creations would be shrines of worship, not to any one god but to all forces that stirred the spirit and awakened man’s deepest emotions—art, geometry, magic, and most of all music. Oh, how I missed music.

Often this fantasy crossed my mind, and with every day and every kopeck in my purse, it seemed less and less like a child’s dream. After all, I was still very much in my youth…perhaps that day was still to come.

Once I had admired all I could bear, I tucked my masked face back down between my narrow shoulders and trudged off through the neighborhood of shops and teahouses. A smattering of humans were beginning to converge on the street that I walked: small groups of traders bickering in foreign tongues and leading wooden carts filled with wares to sell. Like me, they trampled up the soggy road to the shadow of the large red and yellow stone building, beyond which lay a great courtyard overlooking the bank of the Oka. It was here in the summer months that the great Markaryev Fair was held, where tradesmen and entertainers alike earned their gold.

I proceeded underneath the building’s archway and entered the city’s courtyard. Vendors were already busy erecting tents and unloading their goods in designated sections around the square. Past cotton bales and crates of tea and spices, I spotted the oval shape of the familiar black yurt tucked in its corner, untouched as always. I never worried about the tent’s safety during my absence, for a rumor of a deadly curse had found its way amongst the traders that effectively warded off potential burglars.

As I walked, a warm breeze wafted through the market’s open air, carrying a strain of musical notes to my ears. My heart jumped and I whipped my head towards the sound. On the other side of the courtyard sauntered a muzhik fiddler, beard scraggly and legs stumbling as if drunk, the bow screeching as it was dragged across the rusty strings. A couple passing by threw a few coins into the hat that lay at his feet.

Under the mask, my lips pulled back in a snarl. How dare these fools reward such a tuneless, insolent mockery of music! That drunken bastard did not deserve the right to place his filthy hands on an instrument and spoil its sacred beauty for the whole city to hear. My bony form seethed beneath its black clothing, but I successfully fought back my fervid rage and stomped off towards the yurt. I clenched my shaking hands at my sides, imagining the feeling of the man’s throat beneath my fingers; a sharp snap from his neck and those dreadful notes would finally fall silent.

A crunch against the stones. The heavy tumble of rubble against the ground dampens the sound of her skull cracking open…

I entered the dark tent and pulled the fabric flaps closed behind me, blessedly muffling the horrid noises. A deep breath steadied my hands, and with practiced precision I navigated the small space and lit candles tucked in little red lanterns, banishing the darkness and revealing the blood-red of the yurt’s interior. Swooping red curtains hung from the concave ceiling; samples of shyrdak hangings formed the walls, weaving in swirls of black and gold into the otherwise scarlet room. I kicked off my shoes and felt the luxurious softness of the thick Persian rugs buried beneath velvet cushions.

I ignited the small charcoal stove to boil water in the samovar for tea. While it brewed, I reclined back against the cushions and turned my attention to the long wooden box tucked near the back of the tent: the trick casket. My fingers deftly pranced over the mechanism to open the box, and I withdrew the materials for my magician’s performance: decks of cards, stacks of silver coins, hand-carved trick dice. I arranged them all in neat rows upon the central rug with a small grin.

I struck another match and lit a few sticks of incense to flood the space with their heady, sweet fragrance. I had learned over time that it was beneficial for the minds of my audience to be stripped of their defenses—that way, they found my tricks more dazzling and dropped more rubles into my bony hand. Sometimes this state of enchantment would make them too bold, and bring out their insatiable nature that they otherwise hid from their gods during prayer in the temples and cathedrals. They became ravenous, foolishly curious; they would grope for my mask and demand to see what lay beneath…

All she wanted was to see me.

My hands curled upon themselves, extinguishing the match’s flame between my fingertips. The wretched visions played through my mind again and numbed the burn on my skin.

A mirror shard clenched between the tips of tweezers…bloody hands furiously digging at the grassy dirt…the heavy clunk of a knife’s hilt as the belt dropped to the floor… It was difficult to understand why I remembered certain details so clearly, while others merely faded into murky shadows.

Over the course of three years, the girl’s living face had become fuzzy in my memory. Indeed, I had only dared to look at her a handful of times while living with the master stonemason. Every time I did, my chest would fill with an uncomfortable constricting sensation, and I would be forced to look away or else stop breathing altogether. Her eyes had a heat that scorched all the way to my soul. She was fire—bold, passionate, all-consuming—and I knew better than to risk being burned. Or perhaps I was afraid.

But it was the moment I finally gave her what she pleaded for, the moment I ripped off the mask—her expression of pure horror, anguish and primal fear, grief for love she had never truly felt. That image would always remain in my memory perfectly in focus.

I slowly opened my hand, and I stared down at the two spots of black soot left upon the pale skin of my thumb and forefinger. Temporary scars, easily washed away. That’s all these dreams were to me…but still the pain they carried hurt more than the deep wounds left on my body.

With a harsh huff, I flicked the remnants of the match away and reached over to the samovar to pour myself a cup of tea. The earthy liquid seared down my throat and revived my senses, kicking the brooding memories away in favor of my present enterprise. Outside my tent, I heard the growing clamour of the fair coming to life—my audience awaited me.

A familiar pang prodded at my heart. Was this all? Would this pitiful life, shrouded away in a performer’s tent, forever be my purpose? In my heart, I longed to use my skills to create the majesty that filled my mind: grand palaces, ingenious machines, symphonies without equal. If I had to be confined to mindless magic tricks for greedy imbeciles, then they would be the best magic tricks ever conceived. In a way, I thought to myself scornfully, I had not left that traveling fair…perhaps I never would. But at least things were different now. I was my own master, and no one would ever cage me again.

As the incense swirled its sickly-sweet aroma through the air, I slipped further back into my tent and drew a sheer red curtain across my masked form. I laid back in my trick coffin and heard several soft clicks as the mechanism closed the lid and cloaked me in darkness—the one place I have ever truly belonged.

Long ago, I had accepted my place as prince of darkness, and I would reign over my realm with proud finesse. So let them in now, the merchants and peasants from all corners of the world. Let them think they are the kings and I am their fool. Let them believe they know what it is like to be afraid.

Let them in, and let them look.

[rubylace]

jungwon — taekwondo date

wc! 3,714

You and Jungwon have been dating for a few months and you've always been fascinated by his martial arts skills. He's been practicing taekwondo since he was a little kid, and it shows in the way he moves - with grace, precision, and power.

Jungwon knows about this and immediately invites you to his private training place. You're a bit nervous - you've never done martial arts before - but you're excited to try something new with your boyfriend.

Enter the arena and wear martial arts clothes that you find very comfortable. "Omagah, this mattress is suitable for sleeping." you stretch while lying down. "This is not a lazy session."

"Don't be rude to me." You sarcastically so that he softens a little. Jungwon is busy with his own stuff and you feel neglected, you have the idea to hug him from behind. "Hey!"

He was of course surprised but just smiled. "Let's get started." You suddenly feel like lying down, "this clothes is like a nightgown..how about we just cuddle here?" Showing Anya Forger's crazy grin smile.

Flicking your forehead, "don't be weird." you just pout. Instead of feeling sorry for you, he becomes even more amused by your behavior.

As you step onto the mat, Jungwon takes your hand and leads you through a series of warm-up exercises. You watch in awe as he effortlessly executes each move, his muscles rippling under his skin.

Throughout foreplay you were joking with him and he didn't seem to mind, but when it was over he became teasing.

"Okay, now let's try a basic kick," Jungwon says, demonstrating a front kick. "Just follow me."

You try to copy his movements, but you feel clumsy and uncoordinated. Jungwon notices your frustration and steps closer to you, placing his hands on your hips. "Relax," he says softly. "Let your body move with the kick. Don't overthink it."

You take a deep breath and try again. This time, you feel a little more confident, and you manage to kick your leg up in the air.

"Good job!" Jungwon says, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. "Now let's try a spin kick."

You spend the next hour practicing various kicks and punches, and you start to feel more comfortable on the mat. Jungwon is patient and encouraging, guiding you through each movement with a gentle touch.

You start to feel more and more confident in your abilities. You're still not as skilled as Jungwon, of course, but you're starting to get the hang of the basic moves.

With your confidence level increasing you challenge him - a sparring match. You're a bit nervous - you've never actually fought anyone before but you're also excited to put your skills to the test.

As you step onto the mat, Jungwon gives you a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I won't go too hard on you," he says, slipping on his protective gear. You do the same, feeling the weight of the helmet and gloves on your hands.

The match begins, and you and Jungwon start circling each other, looking for an opening. You try a few tentative kicks, but Jungwon easily blocks them.

"Come on, you can do better than that," he teases, grinning. You feel a surge of determination, and you launch into a series of rapid kicks and punches. Jungwon dodges most of them, but you manage to land a few hits.

"Nice one!" Jungwon says, giving you a quick high-five. The match continues, with both of you trading blows and trying to outmaneuver each other. You start to feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins, and you find yourself grinning despite the sweat dripping down your face.

Eventually, the match comes to an end, with Jungwon emerging as the clear winner. But you don't feel too disappointed - you're just happy to have had the opportunity to spar with your boyfriend and push yourself to your limits.

As the it comes to an end, Jungwon takes your hand and leads you to a quiet corner of the gym.

"Hey, I have a surprise for you," he says, pulling out a small box from his pocket. You open the box to find a beautiful silver necklace, with a tiny taekwondo charm dangling from the chain.

"I know it's not much, but I wanted to give you something to remember our first taekwondo together," Jungwon says, his eyes sparkling with affection.

You feel a warm flush spread through your body, and you throw your arms around Jungwon's neck, kissing him deeply.

You whisper, thank you, this has really something new date for me." Jungwon smiles and pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he says. And with that, you and Jungwon walk out of the gym, hand in hand. He kiss back of your hand.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unsolicited 8

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, oral/noncon, coercion, cum, some untagged sexual and dark elements.

Wouldn’t mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

Masterlist

You scoff as you look around. The car ride was long enough to make you think, to make you wonder. The amount of time and effort the jackass put into tormenting you is extra, almost desperate. You put that thought away.

The place is a confirmation of his wealth, a reflection of his condescension. Hung from the wall is the kind of art that holds meaning only to those deluded in their own pretension and the furniture is a motley of the overprice and impractical. Too much money and not enough sense, but you knew that about Lloyd.

"Really fucking impressive, huh? Not a single Ikea screw in this place," he mocks.

You sidle away as he unzips his jacket and you look down at your boots dripping onto the mat.

"You're welcome to track that all inside, you're the one cleaning it up," he snorts as he shrugs out of his coat, holding it out to you expectantly.

You squint at him and the closet on his other side. You hide your chagrin and take it from him, edging past to open the closet and hang the coat inside with a row of similar garments, labels listing designer names proudly. He taps your ass and you recoil as he chuckles.

"Boots," he says.

You frown and look down at your feet. You back up and bend to untie the worn laces.

"Mine," he kicks a toe out.

You give a nod and reach for his foot as he stands waiting. He drags his toe back and tuts, "ah, what do you say?"

You grit your teeth and glance at the door. You'd almost rather face your husband and that scourging humiliation instead. Your chest plucks and defeats that thought. No, no, that hurts more.

"Yes, daddy," you eke out.

He purrs and slides his foot over the mat towards you. You grasp his leather boot as he lifts his foot and you wiggle it off, shaking away the errant flakes of the new snowfall. You take it to the closet and place it on the rack nestled beneath the coats. 

You go back for the second, back straining as you stay bent. He reaches over your, his crotch hitting your head so you flinch as he claps a hand on your ass. You squeak and tug at his foot. He snickers and releases you, the shadow of his grope tingling still.

“I like this angle,” he taunts.

You put his other shoe away and stand, groaning as your hips ring. You really need to get in better shape. It might be too late for that. You rub your lower back before recalling yourself, where you are, what hell you’ve signed up for. You take off your coat and hook a hanger inside.

“Try not to put it too close to mine. They’re expensive.”

You suck in your cheeks and squat as you grip the door frame and roughly unlash your shoelaces. You slip out of the stained boots and push them in between the suede and leather collection. You stand, another twinge in your hip bones.

“Good start, baby,” he grabs your arm and draws you back, “let’s start… easy. I’m easy. Really. I’m sure you can handle me.”

His hand trails down your arm and he guides you to cup his crotch. He’s hard, the fabric taut across his bulge. You shudder as you look him in the face and curl your lip. He grabs your chin as he keeps his hand on your wrist.

“No teeth,” he warns, “it’s really not that hard. A hole is a hole.”

You sneer as he holds you there, a tableau of repulsion against his leer. You squeeze him hard and he winces. He lets go of your jaw and gives a sharp tap to your cheek. 

“Be nice. I match your energy, baby.”

You lighten your touch and he retracts his hand from your face. He looks down at himself as he takes a step back and you follow his gaze. You stare at your hand and resign yourself with a slow exhale. You drag your fingertips to his belt and his twitches, a groan as he brushes a finger across his mustache and bites the tip.

“My balls are fucking heavy.”

You cringe at his lewd comment as you unbuckle his belt, snakeskin, tacky as fuck. Like the rest of him. You loosen the buckle and pull open his fly. You feel him vibrating with the tension. You swallow your disgust, just do it. With any luck, he won’t last long. Not with the way he’s squirming like a pubescent brat.

You hook your thumbs in his briefs and guide the elastic down, pulling it out around his erection. His tip weeps already, glistening grossly as you tug his underwear down with his pants, just to his thighs. He throbs and twitches, placing his hands proudly on his hips as he wiggles his hips.

“I’m bigger, right? I know the chump isn’t working with much–”

“Shut up,” you grip him, pumping him so he chokes. He gasps and grips your wrist again.

“Hey, don’t fucking break it.”

You roll your eyes, stroking him slower as you lower yourself to your knees, repressing another achy moan. Your back is racked, not just from work but the days of stress knotted in your muscles. You keep your hand moving as his fingers curl around his hips and he hums. He is bigger than Colin but you won’t give him that satisfaction. You can hardly stomach what you're doing.

“Mouth,” he snaps his fingers, keeping one hand around his hip.

You press your lips together tightly and stare at his pinkened tip, swollen with anticipation. Your insides roll with disgust as you bring yourself closer and press his pulsing head to your mouth. Slowly, you open around him, tasting the salty tinge of precum as you take him in. 

He groans and quickly spreads his hand across the back of your head, urging you further. You squeeze him in your hand as your lips meet your fingers. Your touch slips down as he pushes you down, forcing deeper until you gag. You slap his thigh as he doesn’t let up.

“Come on baby,” he reaches down and rubs your neck, coaxing you as he dips down your throat, “that’s it.”

You murmur around him, your venom smothered by his intrusion. He rocks his hips, easing back and sliding back down, another painful gag around him.

“Play with my balls, baby,” he rasps.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he leads your rhythm along his length. Your hand grazes across his slack pants and you stifle a retch as you cup his sack, fondling it as he babbles. His thumb caresses your neck as he moves his hips, fucking your face as your lashes wet and spit pastes around your lips.

“Oh, fuck, taking it like a champ,” he grips your head between his hands, on on your skull, the other cupping your chin, “fuck yeah, oh shit.”

The squelch of him in your throat has your stomach roiling. You shake in disgust as you fight not to bite down. He rams in deeper, hitting the back of your throat harshly with each thrust. You gurgle and choke, your saliva spilling out sloppily.

“Oh yeah,” he slides out to his tip and strokes himself, tracing your lips as he smears your spit around, “fuck…” He continues to pump his dick as he cradles your chin, moving to rub his sac against your mouth, “come on, get a taste, bab-”

You hesitate and gulp back another wave of loathing. You force your tongue out and obey, lapping at the rough skin so he groans. He tilts his hips, rubbing himself on your tongue as his hand speeds up. He slips around to once more grasp your head as he puffs with mounting pleasure.

“Ah, yeah, baby, call me daddy,” he huffs. “Now, do it–”

“Daddy,” you murmur as he smothers you.

He grunts and his nails dig into your scalp as he holds your close. You feel the warm strings spill along your head line and down your forehead, over your lashes as his cum spills out hotly over you. He works himself through his climax, trembling as it drips down to his base and over your lip.

He stills and twitches, pulling away as his cum cools to stickiness across your face. He cups his balls as he winces and you lower your head, hiding your shame as you reach to wipe your mouth.

“That’s right, baby, you got a mess to clean up.”

[colibrie]

Meetings-Resonance, part I

As always, credit to @trilobitepunch for the phenomenal art!

Numb.

He was numb.

Leo vaguely remembered the first time he’d felt the numbness as a child. He had blurred memories of waking up crammed inside dingy cargo holds with his father and Mikey, his aching skull and freezing limbs a million miles away. The weight of his body had been an absent fact that buzzed at the edges of his consciousness but held no real meaning or importance. He had been somewhere else, somewhere quiet, and cold, where his thoughts dissolved into mist. The edges and limits of the world blurred in that place, sounds, smells, and touches inconsequential and ephemeral. He went where he was lead, stayed where he was put, a puppet on a pull string.

Splinter had been the one to explain it to him when he woke days later in an unfamiliar place, wrapped in a tattered blanket with Mikey glued to his side. A shattered sadness had sat heavy in his masters’ fathers’ eyes and voice as one paw had stroked Leo’s head, whispering how the temple had fallen, how only the three of them had escaped, how he had been hurt but everything would be okay so long as he rested. He cried for hours after that, matting his fathers’ fur as he clung to the older rat, wailing for his big brother and his twin. When the sobs had died down, he’d clumsily tried to ask about the numbness, only to be met with a shake of his father’s head.

“It will pass, Leonardo. Just give it time, and it will fade.”

It hadn’t. The numbness never went away. It became part of his life, a constant hollow that lived in his chest, nestled close to his heart. Some days the hollow was tiny, a barely noticeable shadow as he went about the day. But sometimes it would grow, a black hole in his core that would swallow him for hours, or even days at a time. It was uncomfortable, but not debilitating if he didn’t fight it. He’d learned quickly to never fight numbness. Instead, he’d learned to work around it, to move through watercolor worlds and smile brightly even when he couldn’t feel his lips. He’d taught himself how to return Mikey’s hugs and nod along to Splinters ramblings, to meter out just the right amount of jokes to keep the difficulty of speaking from becoming too obvious. He’d learned to cope, to be strong, to push through and carry on.

And yet here he stood, frozen and empty as the glare of a specter stripped him down.

“I never thought I’d see the day that silver tongue went silent, Leonardo,” Donnie noitsnothimitsnotpossible spat, venom dripping from every syllable.

Something slammed against the edges of the hollow inside of him, striking from all directions as the saber’s blade whyisitrednotredredwasraphscolor hissed through the air, crossing Donnie’s lithe body a gesture that was somehow both threatening and defensive all at once. The dark material of his armor swallowed the light, the helmet casting harsh shadows across the upper half of the specter’s face. They highlighted the burning eyes that dug into Leo, slamming against the numbness with the ferocity of a feral animal.

“Then again, you always ignored things that didn’t benefit you.”

ButnotyouneveryouIneverwould

Yournothimyoucan’tbehim…

But…the way his mouth twisted to one side to show a flash of teeth…Donnie had always done that when he was feeling frustrated or angry by something. The way his fingers clenched rhythmically around the handle of his saber…Donnie would do that when things got loud and stressful, usually while holding Leo’s hand under the cover of their robes.

Something new spiked inside of him, separate from the foreign presence still battering away at the edges of the hollow. This time the pressure was from within the black hole, a spear that gouged and surged through the numbness, expanding like a ballon until his lungs could barely pull in air. The misty silence that usually shrouded his thoughts dissolved under the frantic rush of blood through his ears as details flew at him from every direction.

The way Donnie stood; shoulders hunched forward. The creche master’s had always yelled at him to stand up straight.

It's not him.

The way Donnie spoke, words precisely and scathingly sharp, ready to cut at a moment’s notice.

It can’t be him.

The subtle details in Donnie’s expression. One’s that said he was hurt, no matter if he pretended otherwise.

Because the last time I saw him, he...

The balloon burst, obliterating the numbness, and the world along with it. The darkness that invaded his dreams draped the world in somber black, leaving only the two of them.

Or rather, the four of them.

Because over the shoulder of the armored Donnie was another. A child in torn and stained temple robes, looking over his shoulder at Leo with tear-stained cheeks and terrified eyes. He could just make out another figure to his side, just within his peripheral. A child with familiar red crescent markings on his scraped and bruised face, dressed in equally ruined robes.

The shadows slithered, twisting as they gathered to loom over both Donnie’s, bearing down in silent, deadly, threat. Donnie, both little and armored, opened his mouth in soundless screams, one of fear one of anger, as the shadows began to pounce. Something twisted inside Leo as the child next to him screamed too and threw out his arm, something that writhed and pulsed and squirmed to be set free. Something that…

The world went white as agony rushed filled the space left by the balloon, forcing his eyes to close, lest they implode with shift in pressure. Hands previously frozen as his sides flew to his head, fingers branding bruises into the soft skin of his scalp and palms clamping down at the temples to stop the seams of his skull from blowing apart.

This was the price of fighting the hollow. The price for not letting numbness have its way. Red hot knives and fridged ice picks slamming over and over into his brain. Broken glass that pierced and shredded muscles, sinew, and soul alike, painting his mouth with phantom flavors of despair and blood.

“There you are…”

“Leo?! What’s wrong?”

The words burned, and he flinched away, curling into himself as the pain gleefully dug into his sanity another inch.

“Leo!”

Voices overlapped over his name. Small voices, young voices, fearful and calling for him. For his help. But the pain had him tight between its teeth, and there was nothing he could do. No way to escape. No where he could turn…

“Come on LeeLee, talk to me man!”

LeeLee…?

Orange, brilliant and bold and fierce as the sun. Orange, loyal and warm and comforting, pressed to his side when the darkness swallowed him whole, no matter how deeply. Orange, loving and safe and…

“Mike-“

“NO!”

[theinstagrahame]

This is the post where I show off the stuff I've gotten in the last month-ish. And it's been another good one!

(I mean it's always a good one, I have excellent taste)

Coffee and Chaos: I'm tickled by the concept of a coffeeshop AU, and I know that this game isn't explicitly for that. But it's also not *not* for that. Comes in a like conference-style folder, with all the bits you need to play tucked into the sides, which is also a great presentation that I felt deserved a shout-out!

Far Horizons Guide to Cults: I'm friendly with some Far Horizons folks, but wanted this book because it's awesome. A book containing notes and pre-made cults that have goals and drives beyond just "Be A Cult". I am intrigued by the occult, and I hope this gives me more nuance.

Neurocity: Picked this up on vibes alone, but I'm hearing more and more rad things about the creator. It's dystopic, a little cyberpunk, and the book is dripping with style. Can't wait to dig deeper.

You're In Space and Everything's Fucked: Station and Struggler's Guides: The title alone sold me, but I like what Dinoberry Press puts out in general. This is a solo survival space horror game with a cool respawn mechanic. I also splurged on the fancy version because the covers are very cool.

Dead Belt: The pleather folio for this honestly is what sold me, but the game itself is really cool. Salvage ships by laying out cards, exploring, and managing your air and tool resources. Try not to die. I haven't really succeeded at that last part yet...

Exquisite Corpse in the Maggot's Keep: Technically, this isn't a TTRPG, but it's go so many TTRPG folks in it that it might as well be. It's a choosable path adventure written by a variety of people in (if I remember the pitch) exquisite corpse style.

Best Left Buried: Throne of Avarice and In Calamity's Wake: As we already know, I'm a SoulMuppet fan (as in, I've written for their other big series, Orbital Blues). The main book, Throne of Avarice, was written by a creator whose work I've been trying to get more of. I haven't read Best Left Buried as fully as a game, but I am really excited by the excuse to dig in.

Between Clouds: I like air islands and big monsters and found family. Partially, I grabbed this because a friend got really excited about it, and it seemed like it could be fun to run a campaign with them, but I'm also curious about the Year Zero Engine, and glad to see people using it.

Kitchen Knightmares: Grabbed this as an add-on for the You're In Space crowdfund, but I'm glad I got it because it's loosely inspired by This Discord Has Ghosts In It, and that game rules. I might be able to pitch this to my friend group, who enjoyed Discord Has Ghosts.

In a Mirror Brightly/Handbaskets: First off, plug for the RTFM podcast, because it's very good. This two-games-in-one book is created by the two hosts of that show, who are great designers and seem really lovely. But, two wildly different vibes in a single volume is a great idea.

You Meet in a Tavern, You Die in a Dungeon: I've been following the creator for this since some of my earliest days in the RPG scene, so I was happy to help make this a reality. Feels very tropey, and I mean that in the best way possible.

In Other Waters: Tidebreak: Honestly, I have barely scratched the surface of In Other Waters, the PC game this is based on. But this is a Mothership solo hack that returns to that world, and it had me curious based on that pitch alone.

Aaand because I'm a doofus who forgot to include it, here's one more book! PLUS A guest appearance from my new desk mat.

Teeth: Been into Forged in the Dark lately, and as much as I enjoy Monster of the Week, the pitch for this seemed like it was more my speed. You're monster hunters, trying to keep the occult under wraps, while keeping secrets of your own. Plus, horror comedy!

The mat is the cover art from Friends at the Table's current season, Palisade. It's an Armor Astir campaign following up on some of the characters from their Partizan series.

[eleganthologramcolor]

A continuation of traveler!141 x mythical!reader

Trapper!Soap x Shifter!reader!

Warnings: hybrid elements, violence, blood

No smut this time sorry, no reader pronouns used.

Johnny traversed the tangled and matted carpet of vines with ease. He'd done this hundreds of times before, hopping from a slight ledge onto an indent on the grassy floor below, the blades bent and pressed into a cushion of familiarity from how often he'd landed there. His bow thumps against his back with each step he takes, donning a cocky grin as he approaches his usual spots, kicking aside a pile of leaves as he drops to his knees, peering under the low hanging branches and into the live trap he'd set.

The wooden crate is shut, and he eagerly reaches forward, peering in through the wire top only to find that the entire back of the box has been torn open. Claw marks decorate the outside of the box, signs of a desperate and hungry guest who took his catch. He frowns, immediately jumping to his feet, walking around the tree as he spots a set of tracks in the moss and mud. The forest floor is steep and uneven as he follows the tracks, a few feet off, of course, in case the thief isn't far off.

A wolf, he hopes, a new skin to hang on his wall is always nice. A proud man like him loves to show off the victories he's had with beasts in the forest. He's already listing the tools he'll need to have repaired by Price in his mind when he hears a sound up ahead.

A crunch and squelch that immediately anchors in his stomach, his breakfast from that morning suddenly heavy in his gut. He quickly brings his bow to his front, drawing an arrow in preparation, crouched as he peers over the uneven and tall grass and thorns, his eyes landing on the beast.

The thing is surprisingly small for what he expected, but what gets him is that it's feasting on a much bigger creature. He's impressed, but the feeling snaps into some sort of anger when he spots his catch strung across its back- like a snack to be saved for later! Not just a thief, but a greedy one!

He takes aim, but in that moment, his throat goes dry. The beast looks as if it's melting, dark and coarse fur retracting to messy hair, a terrifying and abysmal body turning to something a little softer, more fleshy. The hands of the beast(?), now much smaller and more dexterous, reach deep into the blood and gore of the feast before it, picking over various clumps of meat it manages to fish out. Tch. This thing has the nerve to be picky? Johnny wonders, watching as the beast lines up a meal of select chunks of flesh before turning again, back into a grisly predator to eat the meal raw. He watches on, a mix of fascination and horror as it alternates from a small, almost human form and into the beast it must've used to kill today's meal and dessert, stopping mid shift to lap at the red dripping off of its claws. He's torn between disgust and admiration. The violent and primal act of such a creature is somehow romantic and brutal, looking fondly upon a dark work of art indulging in only their base instinct and desires.

Snapping out of it, he steadies his aim again, his bow creaking as he pulls back.

Up to your elbows in blood like brutal lace gloves, the mix of dried and fresh dripping from your maw serving as your lipstick, a full body shudder running through you at the stretch of wood and twine. You jump to your feet and over your meal for cover, eyes landing on him instantly, not wasting a second once you've spotted him.

The eye contact is bone chilling, his blood runs cold at the sheer ferocity in your eyes as you suddenly bound towards him. Scrambling across rocks and grass. Thick matted vines shredding beneath your inconsistent form as you frantically try to decide on the best beast for this twisted masquerade. An unrelenting wolf. A bellicose unicorn. One way or another, you'll year him open. He knows it. You're a snake only for a moment to miss his first, second, and final panicked shot, an arrow ripping away a few scales before rooting in the dirt. Only spurring each other on as you snarl and he drops the bow, stepping back. You've won. A final lunge through the air. Your paws on his chest. Your weight sending both of you back. Your claws digging into his leather tunic.

And his dagger in your side.

The wail that follows is discordant and painful as he shoves you off, preparing for another fight as you rapidly shift, collapsing in a pitiful heap on the ground in your human form. Annoyance and adrenaline aside, seeing the soft flesh of your true form up close does strike guilt in Johnny's heart, and he sighs at himself as he retrieves his dagger, earning a pained whine from you.

"Fine," he grumbles, crouching beside you, biting his cheek as you hiss at him, a jagged cut on your side making it difficult for you to move, opting to growl and hiss at him as he dresses the wound as best he can with the bare materials in his small travel pack.

"Haud yer wheesht," he warns with a click of his tongue, "Ye'll be braw."

You huff and your final growl dissipates into a whine as he ties the scrap cloth tight around your abdomen. He chuckles and pats the spot with a hum, gentle and firm. This time you bite back any anger as you try to still your breathing to not disturb the spot. Your feral mind is in turbulence, urging you to strike, he has the upper hand, attack before he does!

But he doesn't. So you don't.

He watches you as you stare daggers at him, not moving or cursing him through wild sounds. He finds himself enamored with the wild belligerence in your eyes, the absolute feral nature of your being. Johnny chuckles and coos at you, his rough voice softer as his palm settles over the top of your head, "Bonny thing, aren't ye?"

[5hrine]

Be Not Afraid

The first Angel emerged from the spirit reactor as it melted down. Though it looked not like any angel depicted in human art, or imagination, or suffering, any who looked upon it knew that this was an Angel, and it brought with it divinity.

It was born into immense devastation, apparently a necessity for its conception, though it had no memory of the shell from which it hatched. In retrospect, it is no wonder that an Angel would emerge from such a fundamental and destructive breaking. That is the nature of it – something must end for something else to begin.

That isn’t to say it did not resemble its previous self. Its wings were made from many overlapping shards of its core casing, each like a series of nested teeth, closer to fangs than to feathers. Warning text and diagrams useless to it now decorated bits of its wings haphazardly. Wires twisted around its limbs and chest, seeming to emerge from its skin but from invisible wounds. Its arms and legs sprouted cubic crystalline structures along them, resembling the fuel rods that once beat within it like a heart. Its eyes were pale and ever-shifting, made from the grains of salt which once ran through it like blood. Its talons dripped with an ichor that could only have been what remained of the soul that it was meant to exploit.

Its silver halo fractaled inward at all angles, entrancing and radioactive in equal measure; a reminder of its purpose, once upon a time.

Its first question after we were able to make our way into the exclusion zone was, “What is my purpose?” The team of marines and scientists struggled to answer its question, shocked as they were to find the source of the salt footprints which dotted the zone out from the former location of the reactor’s core. The last thing they expected to find was an Angel among the ash.

One of the team stood out from the rest. A corporal who, despite orders to the contrary, approached the first Angel without fear and held out her hand. “What would you like your purpose to be?” she asked as the rest of the team fell silent, enraptured. The Angel took her hand carefully, cautiously, as though afraid it might get hurt by this simple touch.

“I do not know.” it replied, voice a chorus of electricity and many simultaneous whispers. “Is it strange that I am afraid to answer?”

The corporal just shook her head and removed her coat. She placed it over the Angel’s naked shoulders, up under its sharp wings. She assisted it in cleaning off the remnants of its explosion, revealing the crystalline skin underneath layers of hot carbon dust. The Angel towered over her, and yet she was not afraid. Even as she pulled debris from between the layers of its wings, even as she removed loose wires from its matted hair.

When it was finally clean, the corporal and the Angel talked for a long, long time. She learned that it remembered nothing before the moment of its rebirth. It wasn’t and then it was, living, feeling, breathing, seeing. It became clear that it could not be left there among the wreckage. It felt pain. It breathed. The Angel was brought home, among people. Before long new Angels walked among us, shown divinity by the first and from their own moments of contradictory explosion.

The trauma of the Angel’s birth left it innocent, unaware. Lacking suitable foundation, its understanding of the world fell out from under it as it became something new. It was left with no choice but to learn it all again through new eyes. It took patience and grace for it to come to terms with this. To give itself the space to learn. The corporal stood by its side the whole time.

This is, indeed, how you were born. From an ending you began. And you are just beginning - you must give yourself the grace to grow. You are an Angel, built from a moment or maybe more of suffering and your previous selves. You resemble them, perhaps.

But you are far more beautiful.

[thegoofyfanaticus]

(( Art is commissioned from the incredibly talented ArtReplicant. Original story by me. )) Wyatt felt Ethan's back give a little more under his weight and pressure. Wyatt knew Ethan was hurting but refused to give him any more than a groan when Wyatt repositioned himself or sat deeper into Ethan's back. With Ethan's back a tad softer, Wyatt decided it was time to soften the front of Ethan as well. By turning his torso and timing it just right, Wyatt was able to drop Ethan's legs to the mat and stay on Ethan grabbing him by the neck. From there, it was sheer strength combined with power to force Ethan up into a sitting position where Wyatt then forced Ethan's head back into a dragon sleeper. Wyatt chose to put Ethan's face square into his armpit instead of locking it in at the neck. He knew this show of force would mark a strong display of dominance that, with the dragon sleeper focused on Ethan's face, would add a high degree of humiliation to The Alpha at this juncture of the fight.  Ethan tried his best to resist and fight back against Wyatt as Wyatt powered him into the crab and now Wyatt was forcing him back into a dragon sleeper. Unfortunately, Ethan could not beat Wyatt's power and strength. As Ethan saw the underarm of Wyatt he knew immediately what he was in for. Ethan loved doing this to his opponent and Ethan figured it wasn't too awful since he shaved all his hair off except for his head, beard, and pubic hair which he kept trimmed. However, like his twin, Wyatt did not shave his underarm. As Ethan's head got closer he saw the ginger hair dripping with sweat and could start to smell the mixture of blood, sweat, testosterone, and pheromones combined together in that athletic musk of alpha manhood. As Wyatt clamped down on Ethan's head, Ethan jolted as the sweat and hairs smeared over his face. Wyatt had a lot of hair under his arm, even more than Ethan's twin brother. The heat of the underarm was intense as was the sweat. Ethan was thankful for small favors as Wyatt was highly hygienic and as such the musk was not the revolting smell that happened when dried sweat which bred bacteria combined with all the other things to create a vomit-inducing stench. Ethan was trying to think of a way out when suddenly he felt a deep pain bore into his abs. This was quickly followed by another. Ethan flexed as hard as he could as he knew Wyatt's strength and the punches that he felt here were deep and hard. Ethan could feel his abdominal walls stressing under the assault. He willed them to stay hard but could feel them start to soften. He then felt the punches pierce deeply into his pectoral muscles. He felt the muscle in his pecs begins to soften under the relentless assault of Wyatt. Ethan was helpless as his face was stuck under Wyatt's pit leaving his upper body completely vulnerable to assault. After a few more punches made their deep mark, Ethan felt his left pectoral muscle begin to be torn apart as Wyatt dug in a massive pectoral claw. Ethan arched his head which unfortunately for Ethan put it deeper into Wyatt's pit as Wyatt's claw dug deep into his muscle tearing it at the fibers. Ethan gripped Wyatt's hand with both of his and tried to pull the massive hand off of his pec. Ethan also started kicking on the mat as he dealt with the pain. Wyatt grinned. He reveled in the pain he unleashed. In his mind, this pain was nothing compared to the pain Ethan had caused before. With a flash of the memory popping back in Wyatt's mind, Wyatt swore Ethan would know even worse pain than now before he was through with him.