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alwaysmicado · 5 months

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Trouble

5.3k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 5

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, D/s dynamic, rough oral (m receiving), spitting, cum eating, leg humping, degradation/praise, humiliation kink, pet names, aftercare, feelings Summary: After you’ve distracted Joel from work with your explicit texts all day, he decides to teach you a lesson. A/N: Consensual degradation & humiliation – my beloved. This one's for you if you're into unadulterated filth with feelings sprinkled on top hehe. Let me know what you think, I love hearing your thots! 🤍

pt. 1 ・ pt. 2 ・ pt. 3 ・ pt. 4 ・ series masterlist

“You sure you got nothing else to say to me?”

“I’m—sorry?”

“No,” he tilts his head and you see the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “But you will be when I’m done with you.”

---

“Sneaking out for a hot date?”

Busted.

You sigh and turn around to face Kristen’s triumphant grin. Beautiful Kristen. The only person at your job with a bearable personality.

If you only had Janice from accounting and her incessant yapping about her feral kids, or John from HR and his never-ending tirades against “modern women”, you probably would have burnt down the building already.

Kristen’s been your lifeline over the past two years at this job. She’s upbeat, fun, a gifted painter and the closest thing to a female friend you have.

Her only flaw: she’s so nosy it’s not even funny.

After your get-well-fuck with Joel three days ago where he left multiple marks on your neck, you not only plastered a bunch of foundation over the purple reminders of his fever-fueled nipping, you also wore a silk scarf which, in hindsight, was a dumb idea.

The first thing you were welcomed with when you came in that morning was an enthusiastic “You go, girl!” followed by giggling after Kristen saw your unimpressed face.

You shoot her a half-hearted smile and raise an eyebrow. “Who says it’s a date?”

Kristen’s grin widens. “Oh, come on! You think I don’t notice the way you giggle at your phone like a lovesick idiot?”

“Oh, shut up,” you protest in mock offense. What the hell is she talking about? You don’t do that. “I got a doctor’s appointment. Nothing hot about that,” you say nonchalantly.

Kristen leans in, lowering her voice dramatically. “A doctor, huh? Do you have an ache only he can cure with his special tool?”

“You’re a pervert, you know that?”

“Yeah, duh. That’s why you love me,” she chuckles, causing the corners of your own lips to twitch.

“Well,” she smirks, “I hope the doctor will take the best care of you.”

You roll your eyes at her teasing, grab your bag and blow her a kiss before heading out. You leave the office with a grin, reveling in the sunshine that greets you when you step out.

The warmth of the day feels refreshing against your skin as you stroll to the parking lot. Your dress, despite being a result of prolonged laundry procrastination, is surprisingly comfortable, allowing you to appreciate the light breeze that rustles its fabric.

The sun casts a golden hue on the cityscape and you can't help but smile at the small pleasures of life – the sun on your face, a staff meeting getting canceled earlier, finding twenty bucks in an old pair of jeans this morning.

Life is okay at the moment.

Despite work kicking your ass, your mother trying to guilt-trip you into coming “home” and the last hookup you had throwing you out in the middle of the goddamn night because his wife came home from her business trip early.

You’re feeling good.

One might even say you’re happy.

If only there wasn’t this nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders when you see your Uber pull up. Get yourself together.

The car winds through the city streets, and as you give Joel's address to the driver, you can't help but feel a flutter of anticipation. The engine hums softly as you navigate the familiar turns, presenting the perfect background to lose yourself in a daydream.

As you settle into the comfort of your bed, the world outside fades away. In the gentle embrace of your imagination, you feel a figure appear behind you. Their warmth is a soothing balm, and as they pull you close, a profound sense of security envelops you. The weight of the world, of your being lifts, replaced by the tender reassurance of this ethereal embrace.

In this imagined sanctuary, sleep finds you easily, cradled in the arms of solace. The whispered promise of warmth and safety lingers, allowing dreams to unfold like petals, undisturbed and serene in the soft glow of moonlight.

The notification sound of your phone pulls you back to reality. Glancing at the screen, you see Joel's name. You open the message and involuntarily press your thighs together, your pulse quickening instantly.

Door’s open. Get naked, then come upstairs.You’re in real trouble, angel.

---

The familiar scent of Joel’s home greets you when you step inside. It smells more like home than your apartment or any other place you’ve lived in since you were a child. Safe, warm, comforting – like its owner. And it’s a surprisingly well-decorated and welcoming home for a bachelor.

So much so that you asked him flat out if he had a wife on your first night together.

You take your shoes off and put your bag on the couch in the living room before heading to the downstairs bathroom to wash your hands and quickly check if you look presentable. Your eyes are a bit swollen from lack of restful sleep, but other than that, you’re good to go.

As you take your dress, bra and panties off, you somewhat fondly remember the last time Joel ordered you to his home because you were sending him filthy texts and photos while you both were at work.

You spent thirty minutes sitting still on his lap while he worked on his computer, his throbbing cock buried deep inside you. Every time he would shift in his chair a little, you would whimper into the crook of his neck and he would whisper into your ear how well you were doing for him and draw soothing circles on your back with his palm.

You hated and loved every torturous second of it.

The office door is open when you come upstairs. Your eyes widen when you see Joel sitting at his desk. It’s incredible how handsome he looks. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, blue gym shorts and his glasses as he’s staring at the computer and typing something with his index fingers.

Your heart starts beating faster as you take him in, the domesticity of this scene giving you an unexpectedly warm feeling deep within you.

“You just gonna stand there and stare at me?” Joel asks with a swivel of his chair, his body now facing yours. He saw you out of the corner of his eye before but now that he’s getting a good look at you, his jaw almost hits the floor.

He will never get used to seeing you naked.

“God, you’re so much more beautiful in real life,” he murmurs, his pupils blown wide and the admiration in his voice unmistakable.

You give him a satisfied smile as you lean against the doorframe. “I sure hope so,” you tease.

“Do you know why you’re here, darlin’?” Joel asks with a tilt of his head, his brow slightly furrowed.

“I’m assuming it has something to do with the silly little texts and pics I sent you to brighten up your day,” you say, feigning innocence. “Did you like them?”

“You really think now’s the time to be a brat, huh?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Alright, then.” His eyes sparkle dangerously as he sits back in his chair and spreads his legs wider.

“You sure you got nothing else to say to me?”

“I’m—sorry?”

“No,” he tilts his head and you see the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “But you will be when I’m done with you.”

You bite your lip as your eyes focus on the visible bulge in Joel’s shorts, and try to suppress the huge grin that’s threatening to spread across your face. This is exactly what you wanted and you both know it.

“Hands and knees, baby,” Joel orders calmly and puts his hands on his thighs. “C’mere.”

You lower yourself on all fours without hesitation and crawl towards him slowly, making sure to sway your hips and never break eye contact. Joel’s the only person you’d put yourself in such a submissive position for and you revel in the exhilarating feeling it gives you.

Joel keeps his eyes trained on you, subtly rubbing his thighs as you come closer to where he’s needed you all day. His eyes are dark and full of need as he licks his lips and follows the mesmerizing movement of your body. He likes how you, despite your brattiness, know perfectly well where your place is.

“Look at what you did,” he says, once you’re kneeling on all fours between his spread legs. He palms his throbbing cock over the fabric and your eyes widen a little, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“That's right, baby, you did this. And now you need to take responsibility for your actions.” He gently caresses your cheek, tracing your lips with his thumb.

When he presses on your lower lip, you instinctively open your mouth enough for his finger to slip inside. He presses on your tongue, admiring the feeling and your willingness to submit.

“Look at you,” he chuckles, gently rubbing his cock. “Such a little slut, always wants something in her mouth.”

He moves his thumb further along your tongue, causing you to furrow your brow and gag a little. “You couldn't help yourself, huh, just had to put on a show all day like the needy whore you are.”

He takes his thumb out of your mouth and pulls his shorts all the way down, letting them fall on the floor next to his chair. His heavy cock flops against his lower belly, causing you to swallow and part your lips instinctively. Joel smirks at your reaction, enjoying the raw need sparkling in your eyes as he strokes himself slowly.

You start squirming, pressing your thighs together to alleviate at least some of the uncomfortable ache between your legs, and let out an almost inaudible whine as Joel continuously strokes up and down his length while looking at you curiously.

He leans in and tilts your chin up, his dark eyes boring into you.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He asks softly, feigning concern. He looks from you to his cock and back, raising an eyebrow. “All of this just because you’re a pathetic little cockslut with nothing else in her dumb little head than my cock. Isn’t that right, angel?”

You nod slowly, your lips slightly parted, hypnotized by Joel’s big eyes and filthy words.

“Use your words, slut,” he growls, gripping the back of your neck to tilt your head up even more.

“I just—wanted you so bad, I–”

“Aww, of course you did,” he teases you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Tell me your safeword, angel.”

He looks into your eyes intently as you say it out loud, then puts a soft kiss on your lips. You whimper when he withdraws, the feeling of his warm lips lingering.

“Open up,” he orders with a tap of his fingers to your bottom lip. “Stick your tongue out for me.”

You obey and do as he says, looking into his eyes expectantly. You watch in awe and pure need as the thick glob of saliva makes its way down from Joel’s mouth and lands on the back of your tongue. A shiver runs down your spine as you feel it run down your throat.

“Swallow.” He gently puts a strand of hair behind your ear as you show him your empty mouth. “Good girl.”

You moan softly at his praise and furrow your brow when your eyes find his cock again.

“You really want it, huh,” Joel purrs, trailing your neck and chest gently with his hands. When he brushes your nipples, you wince a little, eliciting a low chuckle from him. “Spread your legs, baby. Let me see your little pussy.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, his cock twitching impatiently when you sit back on your heels and present your glistening folds.

“Fuck me,” he murmurs, tracing your belly all the way down to your mound and stopping right before touching your clit. “Must’ve been uncomfortable to sit in that all day, hm?”

He gently pulls your lips apart with his thumbs and index fingers, inspecting you closely. “Your little clit is so swollen, baby, does it hurt?”

“Mhm,” you whine, his touch so close to your neglected bundle of nerves torturing you beyond belief. “It–it hurts so bad, Sir.”

“Hmm,” he searches your eyes, “and that’s why you thought it was a good idea to send me all those naughty messages?” He spreads your lips apart further, eliciting a long moan from you. “You thought I’d fuck you if you did?”

“Y–yes,” you stammer, your legs trembling, “I’m sor–”

You’re cut off when Joel lets go of your lips and swipes his fingers through your dripping wet folds agonizingly slowly, once, twice, three times, barely brushing your pulsating clit.

Listening to the noises you make and feeling your hot cunt on his hand is enough to make him almost come, despite his cock not having any contact at the moment. His eyes never leave yours as you whimper desperately, his barely there touch enough to build your long overdue orgasm.

“Go on, angel,” he withdraws his hand and holds his hand up to your lips, “clean up the mess you made.”

He pushes his wet fingers into your mouth, forcing you to suck your own juices off of him. You do so eagerly, sucking and licking his fingers, moaning around them.

“You would’ve sucked my cock in front of everyone if I had let you, huh.” You let out a desperate moan, feeling your pussy get wetter at the thought. “That’s right, baby,” Joel chuckles. “Show everyone you’re my little cockslut.”

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, satisfied with the job you did, then grabs your chin hard, his wet fingers pressing into your hot cheeks.

“You want it so bad, baby? Then beg for it.”

“Please,” you whine. “Please let me suck your cock, please, I–I want your cock so bad—”

“All yours, baby.”

He leans back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head, looking at you through lidded eyes.

“Fuuuck, that’s it,” Joel groans as you start licking and sucking at his balls, then lightly trace the veins of his cock with your warm tongue, swirling it around the tip, licking up the salty precum. You look at him expectantly as you lick up and down his length, fondling his balls with your hand.

He smiles at the needy look in your eyes, finding it unbelievably hot that you want to, need to hear his praise so badly even though it’s obvious that everything you do to him is and feels beyond perfect.

“Good girl,” he says softly, eliciting a little whimper from you. “Now stop teasing and take it.”

You immediately hold him up by the base and take the tip into your mouth, sucking on it eagerly. You take him further, inch by inch, bobbing your head up and down his shaft until he’s nudging the back of your throat. Your eyes well over with tears as you gag around his cock. Joel groans in response, his whole body tensing as he tangles his hands in your hair.

You make a surprised sound when he leans over you and pushes your head down until your nose is rubbing his pubic hair, giving you no chance to move your head. He keeps his length buried deep inside you for a few seconds before pulling you up, a thick string of saliva mixed with precum connecting you two, only to push you right back down.

“Fuck, I love the sounds you make,” Joel pants as you choke and whine loudly.

He pulls your head back up to let you catch your breath and make sure you’re enjoying yourself as much as he is. He knows from the look in your eyes that you are, but he wants to make sure before you continue.

“What’s your color, angel?”

You look at him with bleary eyes, but give him a dazed smile and whisper, “Green.”

Joel nods and caresses your wet cheeks, wiping away some of your tears with his thumbs.

He traces your swollen lips with the head of his cock, loving the way his precum sticks to them.

“Breathe through your nose, baby,” he pants. “Can’t have you passing out on me.”

You wrap your lips around his head, swirl your tongue around it, then bob your head again – messily, sloppily, just the way he likes it.

“Good girl,” he breathes, thrusting his hips to slide in and out of your mouth, smiling at you and petting your hair. “Such a perfect little fleshlight.”

You tremble and moan around him, not entirely sure if his filthy mouth, his groaning, or the fact that he’s using you for his pleasure is turning you on the most. You just know you love it when he holds your head steady and fucks your mouth roughly, taking what he wants from you, making you gag and choke, saliva and tears running down your cheeks, chin, neck, and body.

You look like a masterpiece.

“I’m close, baby,” Joel pants, your perfect, wet mouth and the admiration he sees in your big, wet eyes making him tremble every time he thrusts his hips into you. You push him right over the edge when you squeeze his balls hard.

He comes with a strangled groan, shooting rope after rope of warm cum down your throat and onto your tongue. You welcome it with eager moans, so far gone that you don’t realize what you’re doing until after it’s too late — you swallow it all without his permission.

Fatal mistake.

Joel grabs you by your hair, pulling you off his pulsating cock, still breathing heavily.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh?”

Your eyes widen in shock, your lip quivering. “I–I'm sorry, I–I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Joel sighs and raises his eyebrows. He loosens his grip in your hair and looks at your eyes welling up with tears. You stumble over your words as you keep apologizing over and over again. You’re so perfect like this.

“What’s your color, baby?”

“Green, Sir,” you sniffle. “It’s green.”

“Now what am I supposed to do with a fleshlight that doesn’t work right, hm?” He tilts your chin up and rubs it softly with his thumb. “Do you think you deserve to get fucked?”

“I’m—please, I'll be good, I promise,” you choke out through tears and hiccups. “Please, I’ll do anything you want, just please—”

Joel smirks and leans back in his chair. “No need to tell me that, angel. I know you’ll do anything.” He lifts his foot between your thighs, eliciting a small, needy noise from you when he presses it against your swollen cunt.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby. All from being used, hm?”

“Yes, Sir,” you whine, wiping your cheeks and trying your hardest to stay still. “Thank you.”

“Such a pathetic little slut.” He rubs his foot against your folds, and you moan, closing your eyes, your lips trembling, your face hot from embarrassment and arousal. Joel presses harder and you cry out, your hips jerking instinctively.

“Pathetic enough to hump my leg?”

He snorts when he sees the stunned look on your face. You are definitely startled, but you don't protest. Joel can see a mix of hesitation and need in your eyes, and he understands that he needs to push you.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he says, gently petting your hair, “so you better thank me for letting you come at all.”

He sighs and pulls your head back by your hair when you don’t answer fast enough.

“Use your words, slut.”

“Th–thank you,” you whimper. “I–I just–” You trail off, too shocked and embarrassed to finish your sentence, your voice trembling as you babble unintelligibly.

You hear Joel say your name and feel him cup your cheeks. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

You sniffle and try to focus on his eyes. “Tell me your color,” he says gently, his deep voice soothing your nerves.

“Still green,” you breathe, swallowing hard.

He searches your eyes and nods before sitting back up and extending his leg a little.

“Go on, then.”

You look at the satisfied smirk on his face before taking a deep breath and scooting forward, adjusting yourself against Joel’s leg. Gripping Joel’s thigh for balance, you tilt your hips forward until your clit makes contact with his hairy leg. You shudder at the feeling, a needy little moan escaping your lips.

Joel’s pupils are so blown, his eyes are completely black now.

You slowly drag your hips upward and duck your head, embarrassed that you’re actually enjoying this – and that you’re this wet. After slowly rocking your hips up and down a few times, you can’t keep yourself from moaning anymore. It feels to fucking good.

You shift a little and allow yourself to set a pace that will make you come. You nuzzle your face against Joel’s thigh and don’t hold back anymore, rutting against his leg with abandon, chasing your release.

“That’s it, angel,” Joel purrs, gently brushing a wet strand of hair out of your face. “You’re doing so well for me.”

You rock your hips against his leg over and over again, your brows furrowed, whimpering desperately as you grind your wet folds against Joel’s leg, the friction causing your whole body to shudder.

Joel fucking loves seeing you like this; pliant, obedient, wanting to be good so badly that you’d do anything to please him. Most of all, though, he loves how much you trust him.

“You’re such a good girl,” he praises, tilting your chin up to look into your glazed over eyes. “My good girl.”

You moan at his words, your fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs, your hips jerking frantically, desperate for release. Joel smiles softly at your reaction, reveling in the fact that he's ruining you for anyone else.

He fucking delights in it.

“That’s right, angel. Keep looking at me with those beautiful eyes.”

You barely hear what he says as your breathing comes out in noisy, deep gasps, too far gone, too overwhelmed to feel embarrassed at fucking yourself on Joel’s leg. There are no thoughts left in your brain, your only focus now is chasing your climax.

“Feels good, huh? Such a spoiled brat, aren’t you,” he taunts, marveling at your blissed out expression and the sheen of sweat glistening on your naked body.

“You think you deserve to come, hm? Even though you’re just a dumb little whore, only good for taking my cock in all her holes?”

That’s almost enough right there to tip you over the edge.

“Tell me what you are.”

You let out a choked sob, fresh tears making their way down your cheeks. Joel wipes them away with his thumbs as you stutter, “I’m–I’m your dumb little whore, Sir. I’m all yours — please, please–”

He gives you a warm smile as his dark eyes bore into. “Come for me, angel.”

You press your throbbing clit hard against him, humping his leg feverishly until the tension finally snaps and shockwaves grip your whole body, your legs trembling as you moan uncontrollably. Your walls contract around nothing as you collapse onto Joel’s thigh and start sobbing.

It’s all too much right now.

He immediately draws you into his strong arms, lifting you up and cradling you. “Shh, sweetheart,” he purrs, holding you tight and stroking your hair, “you did so well. Are you alright, hm? You want me to go get you a towel?”

Your eyes widen at the suggestion of him leaving you, causing you to shake your head fervently, your tears flowing freely now as you gradually come down from your high.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby” he coos, putting soft kisses on the top of your head and rubbing soothing circles on your back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You're still naked and Joel wants you to feel comfortable and warm, so he swivels you two towards the couch to snag the blanket and drape it over you. He holds you close, whispering into your hair how well you did and how good you are, intermittently pressing soft kisses on your wet face.

You feel the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath, a comforting rhythm that wraps around you like a protective cocoon. The warmth emanating from his body seeps into yours, making you feel calm and protected.

Joel’s not surprised that you need physical affection and closeness right now, knowing that humiliation is one of the most effective ways to make you fly – and crash.

Falling apart in front of somebody, allowing them to see you in such a raw, uninhibited state, is an incredibly vulnerable act.

Joel is not taking your trust lightly.

When he sees you wipe your nose with your arm, he swivels you back to his desk and opens the drawer to get you some tissues. Your heart skips a beat when you see what else is inside, but you keep quiet.

“Was I really good?” You mumble after listening to Joel’s calming heartbeat for a few minutes.

“You were perfect, baby,” he says softly, pressing a tender kiss on the crown of your head.

“So, can you fuck me now?”

The vibrations of Joel’s chuckles reverberate beneath you, making you laugh yourself.

“How about we make sure you drink enough and eat something first, hm?”

“Just say that your refractory period is getting longer, old man.”

“Why, hello,” he laughs and pinches your sides, making you squeal, “the princess is back.” You lift your head to look into his eyes. His beautiful, warm eyes. “You think I’ll fuck you if you keep being a brat, hm?”

“That’s exactly what I think. Because you always do. Because you love it.”

“Wow,” he chuckles and shakes his head. “All this just now and you’re still sassing me?”

“Just admit you fucking love it, so we can move on and decide what we wanna have for dinner,” you murmur.

Joel can’t hold back the beaming smile that’s spreading across his face.

Save for last time, you usually leave shortly after you’ve come down. He’ll sometimes ask if you want to stay a bit, but will never pressure you into doing so – even if it hurts him.

And it does, sometimes, if he’s being honest.

“Alright, alright,” he sighs deeply, his smile betraying his mocking tone. “I fucking love it when you’re a little brat and torture me all fucking day, making me sit in a fucking meeting for hours on end with a hard cock, listening to some rich fucks who want me to build some bullshit building for them.”

You giggle at the description of his day and kiss his dimple. “I really am sorry, you know.”

“No you’re not,” he shakes his head. “Now, what are you in the mood for?”

“Can we, um, can we go eat the fattiest, unhealthiest junk food ever and then wash it down with huge cups of pure sugar, so we’re both gonna have a stomach ache for the next three days?”

“Have I ever told you you’re perfect before?”

---

You step out of the shower, dry off, wash your face with Joel’s face wash and drink a glass of water. Joel put your bag outside the door when you were in the shower, giving you space to do your thing and going downstairs to take a shower there himself.

You’re kind of tired now, feeling a little burnt out.

You put on your panties and retrieve the comfy gym shorts you were smart enough to bring with you from your bag. They’re the only other clean piece of clothing besides the dress you could find in your drawer this morning.

“Joel?” You shout from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah?”

“Can I borrow a t-shirt?”

“Sure, darlin’. Just grab one you like.”

“Thank you.”

You smile and make your way to Joel’s bedroom. Opening the drawer, your eyes fall on a white shirt you’ve seen him wear many times. Don’t do it. You sigh defeatedly and lift the shirt up to your face, inhaling the unmistakable scent.

Then you suddenly remember it. Fuck. You need to make sure.

You put on the shirt and quickly walk to the office. Taking a deep breath and making sure Joel’s not watching you snoop through his things, you open the drawer.

The polaroid feels strange in your hand as you lift it to take a closer look.

It’s one of Tommy, you and Joel in it, from the night Tommy introduced you two. You don’t even remember taking this one, but now that you’re looking at it, you see something. It’s the way you’re smiling.

You turn the photo and read the handwritten note that catches your eye.

when I met her

You swallow hard and put it back. It doesn’t mean anything. You hung the other polaroid, the one of only you and Joel, up in your apartment and that doesn’t mean anything either—right?

“Babe?” Joel’s voice pulls you back.

You turn around and look at him, startled. “I, uh, was just looking for some batteries. Couldn’t find any though.”

“I got plenty downstairs,” he says with a tilt of his head. “Come on, let’s go.”

---

You’re sitting in a booth, munching on your burger, intermittently sipping your soda. You don’t even realize you haven’t answered Joel for the third time.

“Are you sure everything’s okay, sweetheart?” Joel touches your arm, his brow furrowed. You look at his concerned face, his cute little frown, before putting down your burger with a sigh.

“I, uh,” you start but can’t think of the right words. “I’m just feeling a little off these days, I guess. Work’s been stressful and, um, you–you’re gonna think I’m weird,” you murmur while picking at the fries on your plate.

“Darlin’,” Joel sighs, taking your hand into his, “you’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met.” He chuckles when he sees your offended face. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He rubs the back of your hand softly and searches your eyes. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“It’s, um,” you clear your throat. “Do you ever get this feeling that there’s something looming?”

He tilts his head and looks at you curiously. “I’m not sure I follow, darlin’?”

“Like if you’re happy, do you ever feel like it’s not real, it can’t be real, and there’s something looming? Like there’s something just waiting to fuck everything up?”

When he doesn’t answer, you avert your gaze and try to withdraw your hand. “I’m sorry, I’m killing the vi–”

“No, sweetheart. Hey, c’mere.” He extends both of his hands to you on the table and you give him yours to hold. “I’m sorry, darlin’,” he murmurs, “your question just caught me off guard a little.”

You softly rub his hand with your right thumb and study his features. He looks gorgeous with his tousled hair and his big cow eyes.

“Look, I know that happiness is hard to accept sometimes because we’re afraid of it not lasting. It may even seem easier to sabotage it preemptively, so we’re not disappointed or don’t get hurt when something bad does happen. And I also know that we sometimes don’t think we even deserve to be happy.”

Bingo.

“But sweetheart, I need you to understand something,” he squeezes your hands gently, his sincere eyes boring into you.

“If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.”

You try your best to blink away the tears that are forming in your eyes.

---

Thank you for reading! 🤍 part 4 || part 6 || series masterlist

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simply-whump · 6 months

Text

Mysterious Lotus Casebook (莲花楼) - Whump List

Whumpee : Li Lian Hua played by Cheng Yi, Fang Duo Bing played by Joseph Zeng and Di Fei Sheng played by Xiao Shun Yao

Synopsis : Ten years ago, Li Xiang Yi, the master of the Sigu Sect, dominated with his superior swordsmanship and was a symbol of light in the martial arts world. However, he suddenly disappeared along with Di Fei Sheng, the leader of the Jinyuan Alliance, after they arranged to battle in the East Sea. Ten years later, Li Lian Hua is a countryside doctor who travels dragging around a lotus tower. He accidentally becomes "famous" and gets pulled into the pugilistic world that he no longer wants to have any connections with. (MDL)

Genres : Mystery, Historical, Action

Warning! Possible spoilers below!

Li Lian Hua

Ep 1 : Fighting, cuts on his face and chest, veins appear on his arm, stabbed, spitting blood, eyes red, falls into the water — Slammed into a table

Ep 2 : Paralysed briefly — Choked

Ep 3 : Unwell, blue veins, treating himself — (Flashback) Stranded on a beach unconscious, wakes up, blaming himself for the death of many — Walking weakly, collapses, treated, bleeding from the mouth, told he lost almost all his power and is poisoned with no cure in sight, told he only has 10 years to live — (Present) Sword at his neck — Locked up

Ep 4 : Hands tied — Chained, almost tortured, saved

Ep 5 : Hit by rocks, blood at his mouth, found, concern for him, passes out — Unconscious in bed, wakes up from a nightmare

Ep 6-7 : None

Ep 8 : Hit, holding his chest, spitting blood — Sword at his neck

Ep 9 : (Flashback) Crying — (Present) Grabbing his chest, concern for him — Fails to get up

Ep 10 : (Flashback) Has an allergy to peanuts, red spots on his neck — (Present) Pinned against a column, grabbed by the neck, grabbed a second time

Ep 11 : Pushed, rolls down, hits a rock, falls into water, bruise on his neck

Ep 12 : Arm in a sling — Crying

Ep 13 : Paralysed — Kinda forced to drink some medicine, feeling uncomfortable, inner power given to him forcefully, blue veins on his neck and hands, in pain, spitting blood — Thrown into a pit full of snakes, bitten multiple times, groaning in pain — Spitting blood

Ep 14-17 : None

Ep 18 : Healing someone, using some power, sweating — Collapses, spitting blood —Coughing, concern for him, passes out — Unconscious in bed, concern for him — Walking unsteadily, vision blurry — Told he only has 4 months left to live — Crying — Has trouble getting up, given inner energy

Ep 19-24 : None

Ep 25 : Falls through a trap — Choked, almost stabbed, saved

EP 26 : Holding his chest, kidnaped — Thrown to the ground, surrounded by monsters — Found on the ground seemingly unconscious, concern for him, is fine, helped up

Ep 27 : Identity revealed to Fang Duobing, collapses, spitting blood, passes out — Wakes up, coughing — Walking unsteadily — Waking up in bed, coughing, told he was unconscious for 3 days — Coughing

Ep 28 : Hit, holding his chest

Ep 29 : None

Ep 30 : Arrested — Poison acting up, unwell, cold, curled up on himself, shivering, concern for him, wrapped in blankets — Wakes up in bed, vision blurry — Loses balance briefly — Blue veins on his neck, fighting, spitting blood, concern for him, in an explosion, helped up, attacked, thrown around, spitting blood, weak on the ground, vision blurry, protected — Unconscious, carried — Unconscious in bed, wakes up, concern for him, can’t get up, shaking, blue veins on his hands, coughing, told to lie down, cold, coughing up blood, passes out — Unconscious in bed, treated — Carried unconscious

Ep 31 : Wakes up — Crying — Coughing, refuses to be saved at the cost of someone else’s life

Ep 32 : Crying

Ep 33 : Crying, spitting blood, collapses to one knee, continues to fight even though the poison is acting up

Ep 34 : Crying — Red and blue veins on his wrist, concern for him

Ep 35 : None

Ep 36 : Captured, chained in prison, wrongful accused, frees himself

Ep 37 : Drops a cup, rubbing his eyes — Stabbed by someone he trusted, spitting blood, passes out — Missing — Prisoner, chained, unconscious — Wakes up, vision blurry, weak, coughing blood, blind

Ep 38 : Still chained, coughing — Choked, coughing — Regains sight, manages to free himself

Ep 39 : Intense final battle, poison acting up — Learns a shocking truth, teary eyed

Ep 40 : Uses his internal power to save someone, coughing, sweating — Walking unsteadily, collapses to one knee, spitting blood, vision blurry, concern for him, passes out — Wakes up in bed, pulse taken — Spitting blood — Leaves (Dies? Lives? You decide)

Fang Duo Bing

Ep 1 : Drugged, dizzy, passes out

Ep 2 : None

Ep 3 : Locked up

Ep 4 : Hands tied

Ep 5 : Drugged, passes out

Ep 6-7 : None

Ep 8 : Hit, spitting blood, passes out — Woken up

Ep 9-12 : None

Ep 13 : Hit, spitting blood, collapses to one knee, in pain — Suddenly passes out, unconscious in bed, treated

Ep 14 : Unwell, treated — “Poison” acting up again, in pain

Ep 15 : None

Ep 16 : Cured — Tied up (Comedic)

Ep 17-25 : None

Ep 26 : Has a headache, collapses — Fighting, arm cut, treated, bandaged

Ep 27 : Bombarded, fighting many enemies at once, shoulder cut, saved by Li Lianhua — Feeling betrayed, upset, crying

Ep 28-29 : None

Ep 30 : Drugged — Wakes up tied up with ropes, taken hostage, finally learns that Lianhua is gravely poisoned, grabbed by the neck, freed — Fighting a lot of people at once, injured, holding his side

Ep 31 : Coughing, bleeding from his previous injury, hiding it

Ep 32-34 : None

Ep 35 : Hit, falling through a deep hole, trapped

Ep 36 : Still trapped, fighting, hit, spitting blood

Ep 37-39 : None

Ep 40 : Crying, worried for Li Lianhua

Di Fei Sheng

Ep 1 : Fighting, stabbed in the shoulder, stabbed in the chest, falls into the water

Ep 2-7 : None

Ep 8 : Poisoned

Ep 7-12 : None

Ep 13 : Acupuncture performed on him

Ep 14-19 : None

Ep 20 : Stabbed in the stomach, poisoned — Unwell, bleeding, walking unsteadily, passes out, found in the water unconscious — Lost his memories, passes out — Unconscious in bed

Ep 21-24 : None

Ep 25 : Has a headache, poison spreading, treated

Ep 26 : Headache, groaning in pain, collapses

Ep 27 : Headache, poison acting up, stumbling, supported, sweating, cutting the palm of his hand with his sword, cured, passes out — Wakes up in bed, regained his memories but pretends he has not

Ep 28-33 : None

Ep 34 : Poisoned, attacked, bleeding from the mouth, stabbed, both wrists and ankles slashed (tendons broken), bleeding, collapses, bleeding from the mouth — Weak

Ep 35-37 : None

Ep 38 : Prisoner, chained in water, injured, wound touched, wincing, stabbed, spits blood (in the villain face, which was kinda nice), slapped — Freed, carried — Meditating to heal himself, bleeding from the mouth, helped — Trapped

Ep 39-40 : None

>> More Whump List

#mysterious lotus casebook #whump list #whump #asian whump #cdrama #chinese drama #cheng yi #joseph zeng #xiao shunyao

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dairy-farmer · 12 days

Note

Tim getting lobotomised from the villain of the week, now Bruce has to look after him in every way (including sexually). Dick and Jason are sad that Tim's changed at first but slowly they accept it and it brings them back together as a family, Tim seems happier now anyway, watching children's shows, carrying around his plushies, getting fucked, being bathed, why bother trying to fix him when it makes them all happier? (Maybe Bruce even arranged it in the first place to keep him from leaving)

tim becoming permanently injured snaps something among them. because it's one thing being killed, another thing becoming physically and mentally scarred. with tim it's a deliberate act of cruelty designed to extract the most pain from tim's friends and family by forcing them to see what they've taken away from tim.

tim. poor tim. they were too late. it's not until his distress beacon turns on, activated by this new villain that decided to make their name by taking out one of the 'birds' of gotham, that they arrive.

his injuries are minor. some rope burn around his wrists and a cauterized circular scar above tim's eyes where the sick fuck had used a laser to sever tim's prefrontal cortex.

they don't want to believe at first. but the villain had left documentation, scans, taunts to show them how they were a "threat" to be taken seriously. they track him down in a matter of hours, it's the fastest they've ever caught a rogue. they won't go to arkham. it's highly unlikely they will ever even leave a hospital bed for the rest of their lives given the damage jason had done. because unfortunately for that villain, red hood had gotten to their location three minutes before anyone else and that had been more than enough time for him to instill his own personal brand of justice.

they extend every effort they can to fix this. leslie says there's not much she can do. yes she's a doctor but neurology is not her specialty but even without it she knows that...injuries with the brain are very complex and intricate matters. bruce extends every effort. he flies in doctors, specialists, doctors who have been retired for years but had been the best of the best, professors who don't even practice but have done more for the branch of science than anyone else, he gets special permission to visit villains in prison to get consults from them even though it burns the ethics seared into his bones but he can't deny that some of them know their stuff.

in the end its the same. the brain is complex. it's a deeply important organ but so much of it is still an enigma. bruce is given prescriptions for tim, recommendations for therapists for him, told that his support is all he can offer, a few of them even tell him that...that a care home might be the best option for tim if he doesn't feel equipped to deal with someone who is disabled.

at every person who can't help him bruce and the others grow more desperate. they're thinking of consulting magic users but zatanna says that's not their specialty. bruce thinks of consulting that short list of metas the league has of those with healing powers but none are particularly skilled and can only hear minor cuts and breaks. bruce thinks...of the pit...

and stops himself. and in a moment knows he's gone too far because he knows that tim would never want that. he wouldn't want the pit. and so...with a heavy heart bruce calls it off. tells the others to stop their desperate search for a cure or a fix. they have to accept this. tim is still alive, he's still tim. the brother and son they all love so much. and tim might be a little hurt and a little less of himself but that doesn't mean they love him any less.

so they have to try, to try and adjust to how things are now. it's easier than they thought it would be. but also hard in ways they hadn't expected.

tim had a temper sometimes, tim was a grouch in the mornings, tim got angry and always knew what to say to hurt someone, tim was independent, tim was private, tim was funny, tim was rude, tim stood up for himself, tim never hesitated to call them out on their shit.

tim was an incredibly self sufficient person. he was like a plant that could go months without being watered and it wouldn't die. he was resilient. and they didn't realize how much tim was away and absent until they saw him each day to help him. bath him, dress him, feed him.

tim isn't fully helpless. there's some element of cognition he retained given that he still refuses to eat the navy beans that alfred makes for lunch one day. tim has preferences, things he likes and wants and enjoys. it's easy to love tim like this. he's so...simple. so easy to please and make happy and ask for forgiveness.

dick holds and kisses the top of tim's head all afternoon while movie after movie plays and tim doesn't fuss or whine once.

damian finds it easy to endear tim to him by offering little gifts. chocolates, candy, stuffed animals. things that make tim trust him without a second thought and it soothes some hurt indignation inside him that had always simmered because he and tim had never really fallen into that easy relationship once damian had stopped wanting to kill him.

jason...jason finds an ease at being with tim. a simplicity. he'd always harbored some suspicion towards the other. he was...conniving. sneaky. it was just hard to believe his words and not feel like he was being conned or used as some pawn in a bigger scheme because jason wasn't cooperative and when bruce wanted something that's what HE did and everyone said that bruce and tim were so similar...

maybe it's cruel. fucking disgusting even. but...jason likes tim better this way. tim's capacity for trickery has been greatly cut down. jason could ask if tim spoiled his dinner by eating chocolates when he wasn't supposed to and tim would clutch a stuffed hippo close and say he didn't, all while melted chocolate would be smeared on his lips and cheeks. tim is an open book. and with a family full of bats its a breath of fresh air. even alfred isn't fully transparent. with tim there's an honesty between them.

tim is different now. softer, weaker...sweeter.

they get used to him fast. tim requires more careful attention but its nothing they aren't willing to do.

until dick goes to get tim dressed for the day and finds his panties soaked through and tim making soft sounds and pressing his thighs together.

and bruce tells them that tim may have become changed mentally but his body is still very much that of a young adult. that he has needs and desires even if he can't understand them or do anything about them.

and they try to ignore it initially. dick cleans between tim's legs and ignores tim's soft noises and the wet stickiness coating his thighs. they ignore the soft slopes of tim's body, the hard ridges and lines of him having softened from retirement.

tim grows agitated, frustrated, upset. bruce already had tim on birth control because the pain of his period would just confuse and cause him unnecessary pain.

so..jason brings up a possible solution. an idea. there are...toys they can give to tim, things to help him along. tim's clearly in discomfort.

and they do. they try to offer them but tim doesn't understand what to do with them. he gets frustrated, upset.

so...they need to help him. just like how they have to help tim in other ways now they have to help him like this. if that means they help part tim open and press a toy in before turning it on so tim can squirm and writhe on it well, that's just part of the job.

they escalate without realizing it.

sometimes they're out in the garden or on the couch in the sitting room, or in the library and tim gets needy... but they don't want to go all the way to tim's room where they store his toys. so...they just use their fingers. their hands are clean so it should be okay and tim seems to enjoy it so much more. he's curled up close and weakly clutching at their clothes while they press fingers in and gently rub at his front- so they keep doing that until they suddenly they don't use the toys anymore.

damian is the one who gets curious. he's young, he's horny, he's curious- they really should've realized that. and damian after having his fingers dripping and hand drenched with tim's..release. he grows...curious. the smell, the taste...

before he knows it he's using his mouth on tim instead of his fingers and tim just likes it so much better. he gets all sweet and pliant afterwards and damian likes seeing the different reactions so he keeps doing it until dick finds him with his head buried under tim's skirt while tim squirms and whines on the carpet, his hands wrapped tightly around a stuffed giraffe.

damian doesn't get...grounded. but he is reprimanded by dick for allowing tim to lie on the floor which could hurt his back and for making tim's panties messy and not properly cleaning him up.

it progresses. it just does. suddenly dick is gently poking the head of his cock into tim, checking his reactions and whispering assurances and telling tim that dick will make sure this feels good that he wants tim to know what this feels like because he will never have gotten to feel it otherwise.

sex with tim is nice, he's so vocal and doesn't hesitate to express how much he enjoys something which is refreshing. every person dick had ever fucked always tried to retain some kind of dignity or clung to the idea that they needed to pretend like he wasn't good at what he was doing to 'check his ego' or something. tim reaches for him, kissing at his cheeks, and whines so sweetly and breathlessly when dick presses in nice and deep filling up his baby cunt with cock. tim is tight and hot and so pliable and easy to move around into good positions and though dick may have been hesitant at first that changes after the first time he sinks his cock into tim with a thick wet sound.

it's good. it's nice. its addicting fucking tim. pumping their hard cocks into him, watching it disappear into tim's hot little cunt, pressing flush to his puffy lips, gently fondling his baby tits, and fucking him in all different ways until he's clenching hard and going 'ah ah ah' on their cocks while the head is pressed right against the entrance to his womb and their spilling ribbons of warm cum all over his walls.

tim is so much happier after they fuck him. he cooperates better, behaves better, has less tantrums, is more affectionate. its a win win for all of them.

the only rule to it is that they're not allowed to fuck tim through the night.

'you're robbing him of his sleep' bruce scolds them after tim can barely stay awake at breakfast because damian had kept him awake the entire night by fucking him. its the reason tim sleeps in bruce's bed with him at night, so none of them get any ideas and also so bruce can prevent tim from rolling off the bed.

it also means bruce is the first of them to get to fuck tim as soon as he wakes up when his cunt is all warm and wet. bruce enjoys fucking tim's thighs, not quite trusting himself to push in. he's significantly bigger than his sons after all, even jason doesn't try to work in more than half his cock. but tim seems content either way, laying under him, underwear and little shorts pushed down to his knees, shirt pushed up to expose little, pink tits. bruce coats his cock in wetness and fucks the wet seam, listing to the thick wet noises and squishes as tim whines and grinds up against him.

truly tim has never been happier. the family has never been happier, and bruce has never been more content.

he knew when he'd found that new villain's plans during his raid of the office building they worked to track down a different criminal that he'd made the right choice in stepping back. he'd considered how things would turn out and they'd far exceeded his expectations.

sabotaging tim's distress beacon to delay by half an hour once activated was the best decision bruce had ever made. tim had been making to many moves that had bruce tensing, making too much talk of perhaps moving to san francisco permanently.

no. at least this way bruce's family stayed together. and thats all that really mattered in the end.

#answered asks #asks #anonymous

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khepiari · 3 months

Text

Hyped Up Rambling: Spoilers for ONE PIECE Chapter 1104

There are many daddies in One Piece.

But there is only one person who deserves the title of FATHER!

And it’s you, sir Kuma.

As much as I have grievances with Odachii, this is an arc written by a father for his daughter.

Parental love hurts. But still, parents continue to love their children despite the pain, loss, fear, and hardship.

Again I am reminding you all. The series finale actually began exactly two years back when Luffy punched Saint Charlos.

Kuma just continued the fight that Luffy lit the fire for! As my best friend put it, “Kuma is following in Joy Boy’s footsteps. Bringing light to the world…”

Even a “slave”, stripped and robbed of all his rights, mental prowess, and dignity and abused to the point of being on the brink of death will FIGHT TO PROTECT! A slave who lost everything rose up on his two feet to protect his child and punched the man who sits on the highest seat of power, and Joyboy aka Luffy made it possible.

And do you know who the people in power fear the most?

The slave they robbed of autonomy.

The scholar they denied true knowledge.

The ethnic groups they massacred.

And the God Born Out Of People’s Despair who comes to seek vengeance.

AND KUMA IS ALL!

May I also remind you all, Borsalino is worse than Sakazuki, he is a scum without any hope in him or in anyone. He is scarier than a straight-cut villain like Sakazuki.

There is a reason idealists are easier to defeat than cynics. You can’t beat a deadbeat easily.

My favourite rascals! Franky and Sanji have no chill! They went after Saturn, without any fear or hesitation, just like they went after Saint Roswald, Doflamingo and Big Mum. Their brain operates on: we are Future Pirate King’s Crew, we will kick anyone who is a scum!

I still can’t believe so many people hate Franky! The dude has literally the least count of losses and the funniest battles! Because he doesn’t fight one one-on-one guy, and he shines in the fights when minions and their bosses are involved against lone him! In Dressrosa he ran wild; kissed a girl (yes without consent; thanks scum Odachii) to defeat her, had a hard-boiled match with Senor Pink, destroyed the SAD factory and went to support the fairies on his own! And In Wano he ran his monster bike right into Big Mom’s face and knocked her out! We need more Franky love!

And finally!

I don’t like to pit series against series, but this is how you utilize the most cliché theme in the entire world: LOVE. You have to show it with actions and gestures and not tell it to your readers. Yes, Gege, I mean you brat; do better.

Why do you think we the readers and viewers still crumble at the theme of love? It’s extremely simple.

Love is radical.

Love is unpredictable.

Love is powerful.

And time and again in One Piece—Love is an Anomaly.

Ace was born because of Rouge’s willpower born of love.

Sanji was able to retain his humanity because Sora did everything in her power to protect her kids.

Robin was saved because her teachers, mother, and Saul loved her so much that they chose to protect her.

Nojiko and Nami had a chance to live because Bellemere protected them.

Trafalgar Law made it through a life-threatening disease and nihilistic approach to living because Corazón bet his life on him.

Hiluluk’s love for Chopper pushed him to be the doctor who wanted to cure everyone.

Zoro’s love for Kuna is what pushes him to work hard.

Because Franky wants to protect his “Family” he becomes the face of criminal activities.

Shirahoshi never revealed her mother's death circumstances because she decided to protect her mom's dream.

Examples of love changing the course of history are endless in One Piece, hence we should remember: Love is the invariant.

#one piece #one piece spoilers #one piece meta #one piece manga #one piece manga spoilers #one piece 1104 #one piece 1104 spoilers #monkey d. luffy #one piece kuma #bartholomew kuma #joy boy #sun god nika #trafalgar law

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heartfullofleeches · 11 months

Text

There once was a witch.

Yandere Candy Folk + G.N Sweets Witch Reader Teaser

An: A taste of what was meant to be a blurb, but became more. Hope it peaks your interest and I'd love to hear theories on where you might think the plot will go

There once was a witch.

The first of her kind.

"A candy witch? What a ridiculous idea!" She was quick to disagree.

"It is my magic. If I can't do for me first, I haven't the heart nor time to do a thing for others."

Her mother had been the town doctor with her healing magic, and her mother's mother nurtured the barren lands they founded their village upon. Her mentors encouraged her spirit - cautioning to keep her roots close to heart. The young witch had not a care for their warnings nor the people around her. Her goals and ambitions were met much closer to home right - in the pit of her stomach. The girl found even great tragedy could become the sweetest delight with the right confectionery. A spoonful of sugar a day kept most of her troubles away. Outside of home, she was mocked and ridiculed for her dreams. How selfish and cruel was she to use her birthrights for her own agenda. Without her, the town would be left unprotected. As the day of her ascension to power drew near, the kind eyes and faces around her turned scornful. The witch wore a brave face, but she did not have the same guise to protect her behind closed doors. She cried through every spoonful.

Had it not been for that one person, she would've given up on everything.

"My birthday is the day after your coronation. If you do become a sweets witch like you say, would you make the cake?"

That person gave her a tooth ache no amount of her mother's magic could cure. Everything she ate hours after their meeting tasted bland and bitter. Nothing in her entire pantry could be sweeter than that smile. They were the child of the town baker who saved a loaf of sweet bread for her every week, and her first and only friend. Against her own word, she acted from the kindest of her heart and did as they pleaded. The cake was an extravagant piece; nearly twice the size of banquet table it stood upon and tiered with every flavor she could think of. The light in their eyes was brighter than the flames all six dozen chocolate candies held. The witch's fingers were in her mouth more than her fork as she had to make sure her teeth had rotted and fallen out. Her family had always given her praise, but that silent display of gratitude and wonder opened her heart. She wanted to see that expression more - on their face and beyond. She would come a witch for the mass, like every witch in her family before her.

The newly appointed candy witch became an apprentice not at her mother's clinic, but the baker's kitchen. The two youths were inseparable with the time they spent as one. They swore to run the shop together when the mantle was passed down. Balancing magic and her culinary skills, the witch uncovered numerous feats in her time. In doing so, she learned she had the influence from any element of craft - so long as they were baked into her treats. She infused healing magic into her scones, created truffles that turned hair the same color as their filling. She built a house for her and her friend to live made out of gingerbread and sugar glass. Everyone was happy.

Too happy.

The town's people demanded more than she had already gave. They wanted sweets that could increase their wealth or assure their hand in marriage. The witch began to double back on her old beliefs. Being wed was a necessity as food and shelter were. She hadn't confessed to her true love yet either - so why should others get what she hadn't the guts to? They grew angry, she locked herself away in her home - unaware that her sweet friend was the new outlet for their fury. They ran the store and stocked it's shelves with her treats all by themselves; returning home with a smile and hidden wrists. The witch knew something was off, but she never bothered to ask as their smile was still as sweet as it was the day they met. She never questioned a thing - until it was too late.

Left all alone in a place that reminds her of what she lost at every turn, and people so uncaring of her grief and pain - the witch went mad. These savages acted as if they cared, reassuring her her love would return while holding out a hand for their reward. Selfish. Greedy. Demanding... Murders. If they hadn't asked for so much, her friend never would have tried to become a witch on their own to help their community. A task proved too taxing on their untrained body. The witch could not help those deep in the hell of their own making. She still longed to make others happy, but her talents were wasted on these dreaded husks known as humans. She would create her own town - with people made of the treats of her youth. They would never take her for granted and they would never die - the only securities she needed. The witch would clear out the entire town and make room for her and her candy companions were they would love the rest of their days in eternal peace. What the witch didn't know...

Was that they'd betray her worst of all.

The bell chimes above a confection shop's door. Wiping sweat from their brow with their forearm, a figure curses beneath their breath; hunched over a lit stove.

"Shoot..... Just a minute!"

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere blurb

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haggishlyhagging · 5 months

Text

During the '80s, mannequins set the beauty trends—and real women were expected to follow. The dummies were "coming to life," while the ladies were breathing anesthesia and going under the knife. The beauty industry promoted a "return to femininity" as if it were a revival of natural womanhood—a flowering of all those innate female qualities supposedly suppressed in the feminist '70s. Yet the "feminine" traits the industry celebrated most were grossly unnatural—and achieved with increasingly harsh, unhealthy, and punitive measures.

The beauty industry, of course, has never been an advocate of feminist aspirations. This is not to say that its promoters have a conscious political program against women's rights, just a commercial mandate to improve on the bottom line. And the formula the industry has counted on for many years—aggravating women's low self-esteem and high anxiety about a "feminine" appearance—has always served them well. (American women, according to surveys by the Kinsey Institute, have more negative feelings about their bodies than women in any other culture studied.) The beauty makers' motives aren't particularly thought out or deep. Their overwrought and incessant instructions to women are more mindless than programmatic; their frenetic noise generators create more static than substance. But even so, in the '80s the beauty industry belonged to the cultural loop that produced backlash feedback. Inevitably, publicists for the beauty companies would pick up on the warning signals circulating about the toll of women's equality, too—and amplify them for their own purposes.

"Is your face paying the price of success?" worried a 1988 Nivea skin cream ad, in which a business-suited woman with a briefcase rushes a child to day care and catches a glimpse of her career-pitted skin in a store window. If only she were less successful, her visage would be more radiant. "The impact of work stress . . . can play havoc with your complexion," Mademoiselle warned; it can cause "a bad case of dandruff," "an eventual loss of hair" and, worst of all, weight gain. Most at risk, the magazine claimed, are "high-achieving women," whose comely appearance can be ravaged by "executive stress." In ad after ad, the beauty industry hammered home its version of the backlash thesis: women's professional progress had downgraded their looks; equality had created worry lines and cellulite. This message was barely updated from a century earlier, when the late Victorian beauty press had warned women that their quest for higher education and employment was causing "a general lapse of attractiveness" and "spoiling complexions."

The beauty merchants incited fear about the cost of women's occupational success largely because they feared, rightly, that that success had cost them—in profits. Since the rise of the women's movement in the '70s, cosmetics and fragrance companies had suffered a decade of flat-to-declining sales, hair-product merchandisers had fallen into a prolonged slump, and hairdressers had watched helplessly as masses of female customers who were opting for simple low-cost cuts defected to discount unisex salons. In 1981, Revlon's earnings fell for the first time since 1968; by the following year, the company's profits had plunged a record 40 percent. The industry aimed to restore its own economic health by persuading women that they were the ailing patients—and professionalism their ailment. Beauty became medicalized as its lab-coated army of promoters, and real doctors, prescribed physician-endorsed potions, injections for the skin, chemical "treatments" for the hair, plastic surgery for virtually every inch of the torso. (One doctor even promised to reduce women's height by sawing their leg bones.) Physicians and hospital administrators, struggling with their own financial difficulties, joined the industry in this campaign. Dermatologists faced with a shrinking teen market switched from treating adolescent pimples to "curing" adult female wrinkles. Gynecologists and obstetricians frustrated with a sluggish birthrate and skyrocketing malpractice premiums traded their forceps for liposuction scrapers. Hospitals facing revenue shortfalls opened cosmetic-surgery divisions and sponsored extreme and costly liquid-protein diet programs.

The beauty industry may seem the most superficial of the cultural institutions participating in the backlash, but its impact on women was, in many respects, the most intimately destructive—to both female bodies and minds. Following the orders of the '80s beauty doctors made many women literally ill. Antiwrinkle treatments exposed them to carcinogens. Acid face peels burned their skin. Silicone injections left painful deformities. "Cosmetic" liposuction caused severe complications, infections, and even death. Internalized, the decade's beauty dictates played a role in exacerbating an epidemic of eating disorders. And the beauty industry helped to deepen the psychic isolation that so many women felt in the '80s, by reinforcing the representation of women's problems as purely personal ills, unrelated to social pressures and curable only to the degree that the individual woman succeeded in fitting the universal standard—by physically changing herself.

-Susan Faludi, Backlash: the Undeclared War Against American Women

#Susan faludi #female beauty #amerika #consumerism #performative femininity #cosmetic procedures #plastic surgery

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maximwtf · 10 months

Text

“I’ll promise you this.”

Julian Devorak x Reader

words: 1200

google docs pages: 2.5

Warnings: description of the red plague and the symptoms, death.

opening: Julian is so busy working on the cure for the plague, that he doesn’t notice you, his apprentice falling ill. He comes to find out about your condition when he finds you locked in his office.

AN// Does this fandom have any demand on here anymore? I have no idea. I’ve still come back to this fandom after all these years, because I saw 1 picture of Julian on my Pinterest feed. (Reader can be any gender)

“I’ll promise you this.”

It had started as a simple cough, and if you hadn’t been working as hard as you were, you might have realised that it wasn’t just a simple cough. Being Julian’s apprentice made you work as hard as you could for the cure, which led you to ignore your own health most of the time. This all put together got you to ignore the symptoms of the very thing you were searching a cure for. But you not noticing what had been going on, didn’t mean that no one had noticed. As the cough got worse and your temperature began to rise, Valdemar noticed.

It was already night, and you had been planning to leave soon, only collecting some of your things from the dungeons before getting out of there. A voice caught your attention, you weren’t alone anymore. “Doctor 069 left you something in his office. He requested for you to see it as soon as possible.” Valdemar’s cold voice said. You could only let out an agreeing hum, accompanied by a firm nod. You snapped your bag shut, and slowly swayed your way to Julian’s office. You could tell there was a fever rising in your body, and by today you had come to accept the fact that you had fallen ill without noticing. A nasty cough escaped your mouth but that didn’t startle you, the slam from behind you did. It was as if your body turned around on its own to see what had happened. The office door had been slammed shut, and before you could speak a word the key on the other side of the door turned, clicking it locked. “W-what?” You asked, leaning on the wooden table behind you. “You obviously got a case of the plague. We can’t have you getting others ill as well, can we?” Valdemar’s cold voice replied as they walked away. The heels of their shoes clicked against the hard floor, before disappearing completely.

You slumped down onto Julian’s chair, chest feeling heavy. It was true that you’d be a danger to others out there, but this wasn’t the place you would have ever thought of having to die in. Gaze following along and slumping down to your hands, you could see the redness starting from the tips of your fingers, soon it would spread more. This morning your left eye had seemed a little red, and by now it must have been worse. There was no mirror to fact check that from, but you had taken care of enough patients to know how the symptoms progressed. Time would pass in the cold dungeons, and as the fiver would rise you’d slowly start to get more delirious.

Time passed, but you couldn't count the hours anymore. Your vision felt blurry and a cold sweat kept you feeling uneasy. The only sound you could hear were the bugs in the pit, feeding on their latest meal. It disgusted you, or would have if you weren't in the delirious state you had thought about earlier. Nothing made sense, time felt like it didn’t exist anymore and sometimes when you gained a little bit of your sense back you’d find yourself either sitting on the cold floor or sitting on the chair with your head in your hands. Your body shook.

Through all this, you couldn’t hear what was going on outside the small office. But someone had heard you, heard the heavy breathing and painful sounding coughs. Julian had a worried look on his face as he fumbled with his keys, clicking the lock open and revealing your worn out form, leaning against the table. “Y/n!” He exclaimed as the keys fell from his hands, clinking as they went down. The doctor was quickly by your side, leaning you off of the table to get a look at you. “Open your eyes for me dear.” He said silently, tapping your cheek a little to get you to cooperate. His eyes went over your form frantically, not even noticing that he was biting down on his bottom lip. A groan left your mouth as you opened your eyes, gaze wandering around the grim room. That was enough for Julian to see the scleras of your eyes had turned red. The one that had started to go earlier was a deeper shade, the other had just begun the process. Julian took a napkin from his coat, wiping the cold sweat from your forehead in a desperate attempt to help you. Your hand shook as it lifted up to take a hold of his wrist, barely hanging on. “Stop. You’ll get infected.” You groaned out, looking up at him. His eyes on the other hand were on your palm, watching the red that had spread even more from the tips of your fingers. “How did I not notice…” He scolded himself the same way you had seen him do many times in the past. “We’ve both been busy.” You mumbled as a response, feeling the sense in you being pulled away by the high fever.It almost felt like something was taking over you, not allowing you to think properly.

A loud rumbling noise filled the room as Julian sweeped half of the items from the table to the floor, some of them he slid into a compartment. “Come on dear, we’ll get you all healed up.” He murmured as he lifted you to the table, laying you to your side, in a position he had found the patients at this stage found the easiest to breathe in. “I’ll get some leeches and we’ll-” His almost frantic voice said, not being able to hide his sheer panic and regret much longer. “There is no need for that.” You growled out, trying to keep a hold of your mind as it spiralled. “Surely you don’t think I’m leaving you to die here?” The doctor said in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood, mostly for himself. “What is there to do?” A much weaker cough escaped from you. “If you wish to help me, find the cure after I pass. Then my work was not for nothing.” You added slowly, the fever making you see things. You might have only been an apprentice, but you knew what a good fever was capable of. Your comment seemed to have stunned Julian in a way for a moment, since he didn’t say anything.

The doctor's hands had formed into fists, anger in him boiling as the knowledge of not being able to do anything for you slowly set in. Could have he prevented this if he had noticed earlier? You didn’t deserve this. If anyone deserved this, it was him. He should be laying on that table, alone. Julian easened his jaw, and spoke up. “I’ll find the cure. I’ll promise you that my dear.” He looked down, hair falling over the white raven-like mask. There was no response from you anymore, and wouldn’t be for a long time.

#the arcana #julian devorak #the arcana julian #the arcana julian devorak #julian devorak x reader #the arcana x reader #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction

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teeth-farie · 2 years

Text

Hysteria 2.0

Lucio/AMAB Reader

Notes: plague era, doctor/patient, handjobs, mask kink, cum eating, a bit of cbt, humiliation/degradation, piss, lucio can’t get it up, prostate milking, 6k words

☞. . . The long awaited sequel I mentioned! If you read the first and thought ‘hey just jerking him off isn’t enough’ then this is the fic for you!

Your world is dark and red and plague coats the streets as thickly as molasses. It seems the city has crumbled a little more with each person that falls. With a life so bitter, you clung to the ounce of hope you had and applied for apprenticeship under a doctor at the palace. Asra left, desperate for distance from the city but you couldn’t join him—you wouldn’t, this was your home and you’re determined to piece it back together no matter what it takes.

The pungent smell of rubbing alcohol and the distant tang of coppery blood assault your nose even through your mask. The skittering of beetles from the pit buzz in your ears like terrible white noise, fueling your unease—but you persist, this is your job now. You chose this.

“I trust you to go on your own this time. It’ll be no different, it’s just like we’ve done together.” Doctor Devorak speaks monotonously and his eyes are bruised with sleep deprivation. Constantly, he hunches over books and furiously scribbles notes in an attempt to find a cure. Would it be in vain? You’re unsure, but if this takes a little stress off his shoulders, you’ll do it. “Be careful.” He says after a moment's hesitation.

In your bag, you carry all the equipment you need for your patient. Count Lucio.

You’ve gotten as used to his cocky persona as much as one possibly could. Even riddled with the plague, he still acts as though he’s the same man as before. He knows he isn’t—though denial is the greatest placebo. You’ve gotten used to your mask by now and your lenses barely fog up anymore. It scares Lucio, though he doesn’t show it willingly. You rap three times on his chamber doors before entering.

His room smells of disinfectant and night air that seeps through his cracked window. “Good evening, Count.” You greet coolly, approaching his bedside and placing your bag on top of an oak wood dresser. Lucio scans his eyes over you, red and puffy. “Which one are you?” His voice is rough and scratchy, you assume he’s been having coughing fits. You answer him with your name and he seems to perk up. “Your voice is too muffled with that thing.” Lucio gestures vaguely at your beaked mask. “Where’s Doctor Jules?” He watches as you unpack your bag and pull out various tools.

“Working.”

“He’s no fun. You know what they say, three's a party.”

Lucio is a terrible flirt and he doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care about boundaries between doctor and patient. If it were up to him, he’d have both his favorite doctors in his room with him after hours. But that isn’t what this is, he’s reminded. He’s a dying man and it’s a procedural matter.

You don’t answer his cocky remark and gather your stethoscope. You plug it in your ears and press the metal disk to his chest. “Hey! A little warning might be nice!” Lucio groans, nearly jolting at the cold metal. “Quiet, I need to hear.”

Luckily, he shuts up and you listen to the rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat. You move it over his lungs and his breath rattles. “I need to put it under your shirt.” You lean back up and Lucio grins. “Oh? If you wanted me shirtless you just had to ask.” He grins and you roll your eyes. “You don’t need to take off your shirt, I’ll put it under.”

You lift the hem of his linen shirt and press the metal to his naked chest. It draws a gasp from him that you ignore. You move it across his chest where you need to listen and reach around to press it against his back. His lungs sound like a baby’s rattle, scratchy and clogged. His skin is warm to the touch though you can barely feel it through your thick gloves.

You move the metal disk higher and lower as you need it and Lucio’s heart rate accelerates as you move back to his chest.

“Remember to stay calm, we needn’t any heart palpitations.” Your voice is smooth and methodical. Setting the stethoscope aside for a moment, you fetch a band from your bag. “Would it be wrong for me to say you make my heart skip a beat?” Lucio croaks, completely ignorant of your lingo.

“Yes, that’s what a heart palpitation is, milord.”

“Right, I knew that.”

You grab Lucio’s right arm with gentle hands, turning it to expose the crook of the reddened flesh and tying the band tight around his bicep. He winces at the pinch of skin and watches you like a hawk as you place the stethoscope under the band and plug it back into your ears. You watch the clock across from his bed, counting each beat of his heart with practiced ease. Lucio barely holds in the painful cough once the full minute is over, turning his head and covering his mouth with the palm of his hand.

You take a moment to write down his vitals and rub his back while he swallows thickly and clears his throat. “Why are you doing that.” Lucio’s voice comes off more nasally than usual, craning his neck to peer over his shoulder where your hand lays. “I’m offering you comfort. Do you want me to stop?” You feel you may have crossed a line despite the count's provocative nature.

“No! No. By all means, keep touching me.” Lucio attempts to keep the familiar swagger in his tone yet you don’t miss how desperate he’d sounded for that split second.

You don’t reply to him, just moving your gloved palm to his forehead and the heat seeps through the leather. You sigh softly. “Fever still high. May I try something, milord?” You question and Lucio scoffs—well, the best he can without sending himself into a hacking fit. You take that as a ‘whatever’ and loosen the fingers of your glove, pulling it off. Lucio watches with interest as you place your bare hand to his clammy forehead and summon a simple cooling spell. He groans softly and leans into your hand.

“How’d you do that?”

“I’m well acquainted with magic.”

“Magic, huh? Must’ve lucked out with you, eh?”

Again, you pass over his comment and press your fingers over his temples and behind his ears, alleviating him of possible migraines. Your patient sighs a deep breath, the tension in his body slowly relaxing. “Keep that up and I’ll have to order you a raise.” Lucio hums and you remove your hand, slipping your glove back on. “I’m not getting paid, milord. I volunteered to help.” You clarify and the count gawks at you.

“You willingly chose to do this? Man..” he clicks his tongue and makes a sound of disbelief.

You continue the routine you’ve practiced with him before, taking notes on his behavior and advancements with his sickness.

“Have the assistants been helping you with your physical therapy?” You question, setting the quill down in its holder as you address Lucio. “Hmph, they haven’t even tried.” He huffs, staring ahead at the painting across from his bed—a commissioned portrait of a man defeating death, how ironic.

“That’s no good..” you mumble. “I’m assuming no one has taken you walking?”

“No. None of them want to touch me—I mean, I’m the COUNT, who wouldn’t want to fawn over me??”

You let him ramble as you take note of the lack of aid from his assistants. “I’ll help you with simple stretches today. I’ll give word about the slacking.” You announce, taking a moment to pop the joints in your arms and back. If you weren’t mistaken, the count would be like dead weight at this point, and stiff joints wouldn’t help you in this endeavor. “Are you ready, milord?” You prepare yourself to haul him upright at the edge of the bed, only waiting on his consent.

“If you hurt me, I’ll kill you.”

“This won’t hurt, I’m only going to relieve your body aches.”

Lucio gives you a skeptical look before nodding his head, pushing his arms out to allow you to grip under his arms, fingers pressing into his ribs as you help to position him. “First we’ll start with your arm; we can tackle your prosthetic later, though I’m sure you might need to take a break from wearing it to keep your skin from chafing…” you ramble on, more so to yourself than Lucio. He winces at the notion of removing his prosthetic, lips curling into a snarl. “No, the arm stays on.”

You only nod. “Yes, milord, I’ll make sure to inform the others of your decision.”

Lucio sits as straight as he can, back still aching as you take his right arm and start with overhead stretches. Sweat stains litter his shirt, and you make a mental note to have someone help him change after your checkup. Your thumbs glide down the inside of his arm, down over the red veins and to his wrist, pushing his hand down, holding, up, holding. Lucio watches like a predator watches its prey, yet sitting there with his hand in yours, back hunched, he seems more of a sad child; one who wears a pout on his face and kicks his feet where they dangle from his chair.

A strand of dull blonde hair falls into his face, and you push it back without really thinking about it, briefly raking your fingers through in a swift moment to instill its place among his hairline. Lucio closes his eyes, a rattling sigh and a sniffle of his nose. Something tells you to stay just a moment longer, and so you do, only under the guise of massaging his temples to relieve his headaches.

“We’ll do bed stretches for your legs, we needn’t overdo it.” Your voice, muffled by the leather beak of your mask, breaks him from his stupor. Lucio nods and clears his throat, which only leads to another coughing fit that you rub his back through. “Lay back when you’re ready.”

He raises his brow, then chuckles raggedly. “I knew you’d come around,” Lucio heckles, half falling back onto his elbows. You tut and guide him back yourself. “You have to lay back so I can stretch your legs.”

He rolls his eyes, rubbing the cool metal of his hand over his forehead. “Let me have a little fun, won’t you?”

You don’t answer, unwilling to fuel his fantasies. Your gloved fingers wrap around his ankle, one hand holding by the heel of his foot and the other in the crook under his knee. Slow and steady, you push his leg forward, knee bending near his chest. You don’t push it, just holding for a few seconds before pulling back and repeating.

Lucio doesn’t know if it’s just the fever talking, or the warm solid body maneuvering his, but he can feel the already present flush on his face getting hotter, his heart beating faster within his rib cage. He takes a deep breath, then out. This isn’t too bad, just stretching. Just his doctor's apprentice stretching his legs for him, with that hideous mask that for some reason has butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

“Good job, keep breathing just like that.”

Shit. He really wishes you wouldn’t talk like that right now.

Now you’ve set his foot on your shoulder, using it as leverage to push it back, focusing on the hinge of his hips, and by god does that send his blood right between his legs. You don’t notice the stirring in his trousers, nor do you stop and look—then again why would you look.

You release his leg and move to the other, repeating the same cycle from before with intense concentration in those hollow eyes of your mask.

Lucio’s breathing is getting heavier, you notice, so you stop. “Milord, are you o… oh.” The air in the room freezes, everything still and your heartbeat rises in your ears. “I apologize, I’ll leave you to tend to yourself,” you flounder, immediately turning to pack up your bag. Nothing prepared you for this, none of your training ever taught you how to approach this kind of situation.

“Wait!” Lucio struggles to push himself up, but he gets there, braving his arms behind him. “You’re not just gonna leave are you?”

That scene is still replaying in your head, the Count flat on his back with his legs fallen spread on the bed, eyes trailing down in between his legs—somewhere you never should have looked. “I, I mean, this is unprofessional,” your hands clenched at your chest, soft leather creaking at your joints. “That would be taking advantage of you.”

Lucio scoffs. “Taking advantage of me? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten my role, I could have you executed if you so much as pissed me off.” He swallows, pressing his hand down on the bed in between his legs, his wrist and forearm blocking the soft tenting in his pants. “So believe me when I’m asking you to do this,” there’s a new softness on his face, like he was just moments away from getting onto his knees—well if he could get on his knees.

You straighten your back, hands falling to your sides. “Ok, then. Ask me properly.” You demand, heart beating wildly in your chest nonetheless. For a moment Lucio looks almost surprised. Then, a catlike grin spreads across his pale face.

“Please Doctor, would you touch me?” He damn near purrs the word, the persistent flush on his face darkening for other reasons. “You wouldn’t leave your patient crying, now would you?”

You gather your bearings, heart hammering in your chest. A tad too stiffly, you begin searching through your bag. “Hey, I did what you wanted. What’re you doing now?” Lucio bobs his head around in an attempt to peer into your bag. You snap it shut after finding what you needed. “I won’t do it dry. Lay back, this won’t hurt a bit.” You unscrew the jar of vaseline, setting it down with a little clack onto his nightstand. Lucio’s already laid flat on his back by the time you turn around, struggling to shimmy out of his pants.

You grant him some reprieve, replacing his hands with yours and tugging down the waistband. “Finally,” he groans, cool air wafting over his hot skin. His half-hard dick lays on his belly.

“Now, stay still.”

With a gloved hand coated in lubricant, you grab his cock, slowly pumping him into full hardness. Lucio grips at the bedsheets, expensive linens wrinkling under his hands. The leather of your gloves glides across his heated flesh softer than he imagined it’d feel- the worn-in material like pure heaven.

“Doctor,” he gasps again, pants still snug around his thighs while he gives a pathetic buck of his hips. You press your free hand against his lower stomach, thumb rubbing right under the head of his cock. “Stay still, we needn’t cause any distress. Your palm acts as a stabilizer against his stomach, keeping him from the rowdy attempts at what his previous, healthy, body would have reacted with.

“I hope this relieves some stress, milord,” you twist your wrist and Lucio shudders. “Your health and well-being are my greatest priority.” Your thumb strokes along his jutted hipbone, mask-clad head tilting the tiniest bit to the side as you watch him writhe and pant.

“That’s-“ a heaving cough wracks through his body, making his stomach clench and cock twitch in your hand. “Th-that’s not sexy talk at all.” He groans, eyebrows furrowing and sweat dripping down his temples. “Oh?” You rub your thumb over his slit and a shuddering moan falls from his lips. “You seem to be gaining gratification right now, is this not sufficient? Would you like me to be a little more…intimate?” You press down lightly on his lower stomach, feeling his dick jump again in your hand as you start pumping faster.

“I-it would be, hg- fuck, helpful,” Lucio chokes, hastily trying to kick his pants off his thighs, the need for more mobility clawing up his spine until he's wiggling like a worm trying to get free.

You sigh, letting go of his dick and letting it fall against his stomach in favor of grabbing the hem of his waistband and sliding them down his legs. They fall to the floor with a soft thump. Lucio lifts his legs up to his chest, trying to make purchase on the edge of the bed rather than dangle off. “Don’t squirm, you’ll only hurt yourself.” You take his dick in your hand again and give another pump, something that makes his legs tremble. “Don’t tell me what to- ohhh,” his eyes roll back, lashes fluttering when you start stroking again, fast and methodical. He shouldn’t be much longer now, not with how he's starting to leak on your gloves.

His toes curl in his socks, his cool metal hand fumbling to brush up his shirt and thumb over a peachy nipple. You roll your eyes under your mask. You might as well.

You reach up and let your fingers rub over his second nipple, and the rumbly groan of delight that leaves his ragged throat is clue enough that you’ve made the right move. “You’re- you’re fucking creepy-” Lucio keens, weakly rutting his hips up.

“This mask is for my protec-”

“I know,” he heaves a great big breath with you carefully stroke his dripping slit. “The mask- it-it’s creepy but it's hot and, and-fuck!”

One well-timed grind of your finger under the head and tug on his nipples has him cumming abruptly, his thin hips giving aborted thrusts as weak loads of cum splatter against his stomach and taper off to drip down your gloved knuckles. Slowly, you taper off your stroking until he's gone soft in your hand. “I hope you feel satisfied. Now,” you give a disguised grimace under your mask at your gloved hand. “I should be taking my leave-!”

Lucio locks his legs around your hips, nudging you up against his as your knees knock against the edge of the bed. He leans upon his golden arm. “S’ not enough,” his heels dig into your tailbone. “Fuck me, fuck me like you mean it.” Your shock limits you enough for him to grab your soiled hand and bring it to his face. “You love your Count, don’t you?” He holds your wrist as he drags his tongue over your palm, licking up his own mess. “I’ll reward you, you can use me like a toy-”

The moment he tries to kiss your palm you yank your hand away with a sucked in breath, your heart hammering in your ears. You should leave, you should put a stop to this and forget that this ever happened.

…But you don’t. You don’t step away. You harden your gaze behind your mask and brace your hands on either side of his ribcage, looming over him.

“You really think you’re still in charge, don’t you?” Your voice comes steady, and you can almost see the shiver that runs through Lucio’s body. “Do you think this would be a reward for me? As if I didn’t do this because I pitied you?”

“Pity-!“ he guffaws, though quickly shut up the lower you lean into his space. You’re like a predator above him, the soulless beaked mask covering any sense of humanity. And honestly, wasn’t this what he wanted?

“Hold your tongue, milord, unless you’re using it to confess the truth.” The beak of your mask pokes against his blushed nose, and he scrunches up in reflex. His lips press into a thin line, barely hiding the tremble. “You begged me to touch you like a common whore- you will respect me. And if you truly want me to fuck you, you will beg again.”

There’s silence for a moment throughout the room. It’s still aside from the labored breaths, the baby rattle of his chest. Then, slowly, you can see his tongue poke into his cheek and confusion gathers in your mind until-

Lucio snorts and spits onto the beak of your mask. “Fuck you.”

Slowly, his viscous saliva slides down the bridge of your mask's nose, tinted with red specks and blood. You lean up, lips tugging into a scowl. With a quick movement, you swipe the spit off your mask and grab the Count by the face. Lucio winces, red eyes narrowing on you. “You insufferable little brat. You should be lucky I even touched you, not with your wife ignoring you up in this wing. Does she know you flirt with me? Does she know that you’re begging for scraps of attention like a dog? Does she care?”

Meeting your steely gaze, tinted by the red lenses of your mask, something in Lucio changes. You’re his only hope in any affection, you’re his only chance to be loved again–no matter how cruel it starts. Something in Lucio breaks.

“Give it to me.” He croaks, his nose hot and eyes wet. “I-I’ll take whatever- just love me, please.” …is what he doesn’t say. Instead, he swallows that pride of his and mutters a bitter ‘please’.

“Louder. I can’t hear you.” You demand, fingers pressing into his cheeks and squishing his face. His lips pucker embarrassingly. “Please.” Lucio repeats, louder and rough. Seemingly satisfied, you let go of his face and pat his cheek like rewarding a dog. “Now was that so hard? Someone should have taught you manners.” You knock his legs off your hips and return to your bag, rummaging for the vaseline you put back too soon. “I ought to put that mouth of yours to work, keep you quiet, but I don’t trust you not to bite.”

Lucio scowls, yet his heart quickens again as you unscrew the jar and scoop out a glob of viscous goop. “Wanna try your luck?” He slurs instead, tapping his teeth together as punctuation.

With your cleaner hand, you knock his legs back together and grab under the knees, pushing them up to his chest. He makes a gurgled sound of surprise, semi hard dick still hanging between the gap of his thighs. “I’d rather pull the stick out of your ass.” You grin a sarcastic grin, not that he can see it anyway. Lucio rolls his eyes, although short lived as they shoot open with the first prod of your fingers.

“Shit!” He yelps. “Couldn’t have made it warmer?” His toes curl in his socks, clenching up at the feeling of cold lubricant against his skin.

“You’re awfully spoiled, do you know that?” You rub circles over his rim, slowly warming up until he’s stopped clenching up so tightly. He grumbles, though goes quiet when you push the first finger in. You look up quizzically and find his eyes have clenched tightly shut.

“What is it now?” You ponder, finger sliding in and out, in and out, repetitively until he’s relaxed more and more. “Milord.” You call, crooking your finger up and-

“FUCK!”

The shout takes you off guard, and you almost pull your finger out until you see the tip of his dick wet and sticky with pre. “Oh?” You hum, bringing your finger in position again to rub at the gland inside. Lucio nearly chokes, dick twitching again in front of you. “Oh what a shame, it must have been so long since someone has touched you here, hasn’t it? If you’re giving me a reaction like that.”

“Shu-uuuoh-“ pre is steadily dripping from his slit, much more liquid than before as it pools on his balls and taint. “Ughn- j-just fu-huuuh-“ his eyes roll, heat pooling in every part of his body with each forceful press against his prostate, milking yet another glob of pre from his cock. “Fuck me alreadyyy,”

You tut, pulling your finger out and slathering more vaseline on. “Just a finger in and you’re already whoring yourself out- oh, my mistake, you already did that already.” You slide two fingers in, watching as Lucio’s rim widens and sucks in your digits. He can’t find himself to come up with a witty reply, too caught up in his own pleasure to comprehend half of what you’re saying.

More and more he loosens, weakly fluttering around your fingers with each pump. Three fingers in, and his pre- or at this point just cum- has dripped down onto your knuckles and coated his back end. “Filthy old man, you’re leaking all over my hand.”

Lucio guffaws. “Old?!” He babbles out his disdain for the adjective quite nasally.

You push three fingers up firmly against his abused prostate, grab his balls in your other fist, and squeeze.

“FU-HUUH-“

It’s almost as if the cum has been squeezed out of him, forceful sprays of the liquid splattering across your beaked mask. You flinch at the splatter, yet give his balls one more firm squish and twist before letting the flesh go, watching his dick fall limp between his thighs.

“Do you still want me to fuck you, Milord? Are you still craving my touch?” You slide your fingers out of his ass with a wet squelch, wiping your gloved hand in his thigh.

Lucio stares at the ceiling for a moment, vision spinning and chest heaving. He’s sore already in the groin, yet he wants more. You’ve given him a taste and now he’s starving; you’ve shown him your cruelty tonight, and he can only imagine how else you’ll beat him down. “Yes-“ he swallows, leaning up on his elbows to get a good look at you.

He nearly falls back again at the sight. That horrific mask that he hates so much, splattered with his own semen. It fills him with an odd feeling, one of both arousal and discomfort. That mask plagued him- literally, and now seeing it tainted, seeing it in a new light, it makes his chest tighten and privates throb. He…likes this mask, when it’s on you. And that thought both scares and excites him at the same time.

“You’ve gotten me messy,” you rise, meeting him face to mask and caging him in. “And you’re going to clean it. Go on, lick it clean like the mutt you are.”

Lucio grimaces, staring at his own reflection in the big red glass eyes of your mask. And then, somewhat to your own surprise, he sticks his tongue out and timidly laps at the end of your beak. You lean down a little further, the tip of the leather beak pressing against his lips.

The sickly blonde turns his head to the side of your mask, licking a stripe against the cool leather, cleaning his own semen from the material. He groans, sloppily licking the rest of the sticky mess off your mask with enthusiasm unfit for his previous behavior. You can only suppose it’s his not so secret desire to be humiliated.

His eyes have glazed over a bit, his licking leading back to the beak of your mask, his lips parting further like he wants to try and take it in his mouth. You chuckle and give his cheek a rough pat. “You’re that eager to have your mouth filled, huh?”

Lucio straightens up in a sense, embarrassment crossing his face. “I- Shut up!”

A type of wolfish grin stretches your lips and you stand straight, re-spreading his legs and unbuckling your belt. The count licks his lips. “Fucking finally,”

“Don’t get so cocky, milord, with how desperate you’re acting it might be too much.” You unbutton the front of your trousers and pull your cock through the hole, heavy and aching in your gloved hand. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t handle.” He seethes, yet angels his hips for you as you press the head of your cock against his stretched rim. You push into him without any further warning, easing into his lube-soaked hole with a low groan.

Lucio’s jaw falls slack, a strangled and aborted sound coming from the back of his throat.

“Is this what you wanted? Is this what you needed, milord?” You punctuate with a quick snap of your hips, forcing the rest of your dick into him. He gurgles, hands coming up to his mouth as a heavy coughing fit tears through his chest.

“Yes,” he croaks when the coughing subsides, the convulsion making him clench tightly around you. “Fuck, I needed it, so bad,”

You brace your hand against his skinny stomach, slowly pulling out and pushing back in at your own pace. Lucio groans in protest, complaining about the speed and making half-thought jabs. “All, all that talk,” he laughs breathlessly, though his eyelids flutter and he chokes on a whine when you bottom back out. “Can’t e-even fu-“

You roll your eyes, pull out, and snap your hips back in.

“Fuck!” His own cry punctuates your thrust, his head knocking back against the bed.

You build a quicker pace, fucking into him roughly and without care. Right now, he’s your plaything.

The rhythmic slapping grows louder and louder, blended with pitiful moans and cries, vulgar and desperate. Lucio’s face screws into one of brutal pleasure, his teeth grit and eyes screwed shut; all framed with the brightest cherry blush, only partly from his sickly hue.

You tear your gaze from his face, trailing down his frail chest and stomach and-

“…you’re not hard.”

You slow and grab his limp cock in your hand, roughly pumping it. “You’re all limp, Milord.”

His eyes shoot open, something like fear and humiliation flashing in his red eyes. “D-don’t,”

“Don’t what?” You dig your thumb into his slit. His dick gives a twitch but ultimately remains soft and useless. “It’s not my fault your dick is broken.”

Lucio snarls, though it holds no true malice. You slide your hands under his knees and push them up by his chest, picking up the pace again. His head rolls, hand reaching out to paw at your chest, fingers hooking on your light colored uniform. His flaccid dick slaps against his belly with each push of your hips, and the forceful press jolts him up against the bed almost violently.

“You truly are useless,” you spit, hips slapping against his, heart hammering in your chest. Lucio gasps and heaves, his sickly pale skin flushed red and sweaty. His sunken eyes are tear-filled, dampening his lashes and sliding over his cheekbones. “All you’re good for is warming my cock.”

To your surprise, Lucio hiccups and nods, weakly holding onto the bunched fabric of your shirt. In that moment, you realize just how weak Lucio is; how frail his body is, and how easy it would be to break him.

“You stopped,” he croaks, weakly punching your chest. “Duh-don’t be such a pussy,”

Ah. Maybe he doesn’t need too much tenderness after all.

You forgo your hold under his knees to grab his thin hips instead, squeezing tight enough to leave a violet bruise in your wake. “I thought maybe I should have granted you a little softness—but it seems that was wrong of me.” Your hips snap forward almost brutally, and the leverage that your grip on his hips gives you is similar to fucking him as if he was but a toy. You watch his eyes roll, jaw falling slack as a moan not unlike a strangled bird tears from his raw throat. “What, hah, would everyone think,” you begin, curling your fingers into the skin of his hips and belly, thumbs hooking into his hip bones. Lucio hisses at the ache.

“Knowing if you were fucked by a common person, a nobody, according to you.” He clenches at the thought, forming a vice around your throbbing cock. Hot pleasure seethes through your veins, and it seems if anything, The Count truly is just good for a fuck.

With each taunt, each rough thrust, your fingers press deeper into his skin, until you can feel a faint and lingering heartbeat under your fingertips. Your hands slide over his stomach, and a high-pitched cry tears from his throat, the look of pure shock laid across his face. Confusion gathers in you until you look down and see that limp, useless cock of his leaking hot piss over his taut stomach. It only hits you then that you had dug your fingers right into his bladder, practically squeezing it out of him–but he doesn't need to know that.

You guffaw instead, watching the last spurts of his yellow steam taper off and drip down the side of his stomach, pooling under him.

“Oh my gods- I had never taken you for a bedwetter, milord.” Lucio flinches at the humiliation…and yet his legs curl around your hips, limp dick still slapping against his now wet belly.

“Should I inform the other doctors and tell them that their count is incontinent? That their count is no better than a bedwetting child?”

“M’not a- uhng, hn!”

You strike his prostate and a small glob of fluid leaks from his piss wet dick. “Oh?” You cock your head to the side in thought. “Was that supposed to be you trying to cum?” Lucio’s face is a steady red, his teeth grit and brows furrowed. Your balls slap against his ass, the coiling knot in your stomach gathering tighter. Lucio babbles something about how you shouldn't talk about him like that, that he could make you pay–all the while moaning like a cheap whore.

And at some point, the tightness in your gut grows too tight, too intense. You knock his legs off your hips, pulling out to Lucio’s disgruntlement–and finishing on his stomach. Your cum splatters against the sticky urine already coating his stomach, almost mixing together in a disgusting concoction of a night of bad decisions.

“Asshole,” Lucio gasps, head falling back against the bed. “Shoulda’ came inside,” he bemoans. You roll your eyes, dragging your gloved fingers through the puddle of cum and piss on his stomach. “Oh, shut up.” You shove your messy fingers in his mouth unceremoniously. Lucio looks at you almost pitifully, but slurps up the fluids off your fingers almost too eagerly. You pull your fingers out of his mouth, and to your surprise, he keeps his mouth open in wait. With a shrug of your shoulders, you keep feeding him until the mess on his stomach is almost completely gone and his eyes are starting to droop with exhaustion.

You pull away, stepping into your own space to tuck yourself back in your pants before grabbing a spare cloth from your bag and wiping the rest of the sticky mess from his stomach. Lucio leans up on his elbows, watching you almost cautiously, like he hadn't expected this. “I…I hope this satisfied you like you had wanted.” You find yourself murmuring, wiping the lube and sweat from his thighs and ass before putting his underwear and pants back on him. “It did.” He grins lopsidedly, breathing out a comforting sigh as you help him sit up.

“We should do it again next time, how bout’ that?”

You pull the damp sheets off his bed, taking care to slide them out easily from under him. “I don’t quite know about that.”

Lucio pouts, crossing his arms. “I’ll see you again at least, right?” He grumpily lifts his arms as you pull his shirt back over his head.

“Of course, this is my job.” You pack your bag again and pause, reaching out to push Lucio’s hair back. He leans into it near desperately, choking down a whimper when you pull your hand away. “I’ll send someone to get you fresh linens and garments.”

“Do you…” he trails off as you approach the large door. “Do you like me?”

The question takes you off guard, and the look on his face is heartwrenching. You open your mouth and then stop. This is the man who sentenced those down on their luck to the bloody arena. This is the man who partied while his people died of the plague. Do you like him?

“...Goodnight, milord.”

The door closes behind you with a soft thump, and Lucio is left alone again.

#spicy #lucio #omo tw #hard kink #dom mc #top mc #the arcana smut #sub arcana #lucio morgasson #count lucio

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mrcompass · 1 month

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The Devil(s) of Metal Fight Beyblde.

Dr. Ziggurat, the main antagonist of Beyblade Metal Masters, shares many parallels and similarities with the Christian Devil.

He is a ruthless and manipulative executive of an enterprise called Hades Inc., who enjoys making "deals" with other people. Note that Hades and Hell were interchangeably used in Greek mythology to describe the afterlife. The deals he makes are almost like demonic contracts: Zeo had to become a lab rat to save Toby, losing his sanity in the process. Ziggurat takes advantage of desperate people like Zeo and even Julian.

Ziggurat transformed Toby into Faust, whose name comes from the main character of a German legend. Faust, inspired by Johann Georg Faust, made a contract with the devil: Mephistopheles would serve him, and after a certain number of years, the devil would take his soul. Faust sacrificed his soul either to gain knowledge or for material and personal gain, depending on the version. Toby accepted the arrangement against his will, and even if he was cured, he lost himself in the process. He can play Beyblade again, but as Faust, he is only a soulless tool.

The doctor himself seems to have "sold his soul," since he doesn't care about ethics or the fact that he is using children for his experiments. Hikaru explicitly said that some of the bladers incompatible with the arrangement system were so impacted by it that they had to end their careers.

Physically, Ziggurat appears taller than most of the cast, though this is because they are all children. He has spikes of hair at the back of his head, like Damian, that emulate horns. He also wears a dark gray suit, which contrasts sharply with all the colorful characters (even his collaborators, Daidoji and Pluto, seem more colorful than him). He is as gray and dark as the hellish world Damian creates with his Kerbecs.

His name comes from ancient structures called ziggurats, built by the Mesopotamians for cult practices. Daidoji's name means (literally) "great road/way to the temple". They were both part of the Hades cult, lead by Pluto who lived in a temple. However, Ziggurat can also be a reference to the German word "Ziege," which means goat. Ziggurat's design also emulates the animal, with his goatee and spiky hair. His Beyblade is Spiral Capricorn, and in the anime, its Bey beast is often depicted as a simple goat.

This animal is often tied to the Devil and is one of the forms it takes. The painter Goya depicted a gathering of witches with "Witches' Sabbath" (Goya, 1798), where the Devil takes the form of a goat and is offered children to eat. While the doctor doesn't (seem to) eat children, he effectively despises them and shows a lot of disdain towards them. He also steals their innocence in a way. Zeo and Toby do not take back their Aries Bey; they now use Beys with the Spiral fusion wheel, reminiscent of Spiral Capricorn. Aries is a sheep and is typically associated with innocence. They cannot go back to who they were; they are permanently scarred by what they have been through during their time in Haves Inc.

In the scene where Zeo is stopping Ziggurat, he is at the bottom of the stairs, symbolizing a shift in power dynamics between them. This positioning could also symbolize Zeo casting Ziggurat back to Hell, as Hell is below the Earth in popular culture.

"JoJo's Bizarre Adventure" has previously utilized its antagonists, DIO (assimilated to God) and Diavolo (a mafia boss, assimilated to the devil), in a similar manner. DIO is upstairs (heaven), while Diavolo is at the bottom of the stairs (hell). I would add that in the Metal Saga, it is common for villains to fall: Nemesis and Daidoji fell into a pit, and Hades City fell into the abyss of the sea.

These falls can be interpreted as both a physical defeat and a symbolic triumph over an evil that is cast back into hell.

Ziggurat is a more traditional version of the devil who makes deals with people and manipulates them, while Nemesis embodies the devil of the apocalypse, wishing for total chaos.

#mfb #metal fight beyblade #metal fury #zeo abyss #character analysis #julian konzern #toby beyblade #daidoji #doji beyblade #pluto beyblade #nemesis beyblade #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jjba diavolo #dio jjba #damian hart #dr ziggurat #ziggurat beyblade

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blouisparadise · 2 years

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We’re back with another part to our A/B/O rec list! You can find part one here, part two here, and part three here. And since there are so many incredible A/B/O fics out there, we plan to do more parts in the future. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Press Into My Bones | Explicit | 2121 words

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he hisses, half annoyed, half aroused.

Harry only hums in lieu of a reply, his eyes not even open yet. Bastard. His mate is a bastard.

2) You Fit Me Better | Explicit | 3854 words

Louis moves back to Cheshire with no prospects and lacking a laundry machine for his apartment. At the laundromat, he meets Harry, a meddlesome alpha who smells divinely enough to ease his anxiety. When Louis goes back home, he finds out he switched clothing with Harry, meaning he needs to meet him again to give it back.

3) Pits Of Love | Explicit | 3936 words | Sequel

Harry smells Louis' sweat for the first time after they've moved in together. His alpha goes a bit wild.

4) Unfortunate Fortunes | Not Rated | 9793 words

There are three stages of touch deprivation. Stage one is very mild, stage two leads to itchy skin and restless nights, but stage three is the worst. Omegas with stage three touch deprivation, rarely survive because the only cure for it is finding your true mate.

Louis Tomlinson is an omega with stage three touch deprivation and Harry Styles is his new alpha neighbour who also happens to be a famous boxer-not that Louis knows.

5) Don’t Know If I Could Ever Live Without | Explicit | 14140 words

“We’ve come up with a solid solution. You’re not going to like it.”

“What is it?” Louis narrows his eyes suspiciously, glancing at a visibly enthusiastic Liam.

“What if you pretended to be an Alpha?” Zayn suggests.

6) No Lemon Drops No Bubblegum | Explicit | 14797 words

They never interacted in that one semester, in that one class, and never were put in the same group, never sat close to each other.

Then again, it’s not like Louis was hoping it’ll turn to something more. Just a fleeting crush, that he’ll get over once he stops seeing him every week.

Except he hasn’t stopped, he’s still thinking about it once in a while. What’s Harry Styles doing today? Has he cut his hair? Does he still eat scones for breakfast every Wednesday? He got his answers now, at least about the state of his hair. Harry’s hair is a lot shorter than the last he remembers, it curls around his ear, framing his square jaw nicely. He’d have to ask about the scone next time. If there’s ever a next time.

7) Tennis Court | Explicit | 18285 words

Nearly every single Monday, a new wave of gossip about Styles appeared in Louis’ office, like a dysfunctional and very thirsty clockwork. Because nearly every single Monday, a new omega freshly out of their heat had to tell how fantastic their weekend with the alpha was.

And all thanks to Louis' office mating cycle system, which consisted of a database of employees who needed partners for their heat/ruts. It was a practical and very useful system; employees checked the people in it and had to pick three of them from the list of candidates to spend their cycles with—just in case one of the three was unavailable for those days, they still had at least two options secured. His first year working there, Louis made the huge mistake of putting Styles as one of his options. Styles, of course, never made himself available for him, not even once.

8) Butterflies, The Beautiful Kind | Explicit | 18401 words

Prompt 36: Louis is a single parent with a child who is terrified of doctors. However, one day, the kid gets sick. Thankfully the new pediatrician, doctor Styles, has wild curly hair and green eyes and a soothing deep voice that the kid immediately grows attached to.

9) This Love Is Ours | Mature | 21028 words

Farmer Harry got village girl Louis pregnant without mating.

10) Swept Me Off My Feet (Took My Heart And Took Me Down) | Explicit | 25447 words

When Louis had decided to reopen his mother's bakery, he never thought a charming alpha would walk in through the door, let alone fall in love with him over tea, dessert and music.

11) A Kiss From A Rose | Explicit | 26437 words

“What the fuck was that?” Louis screeches, backing himself up against the back wall, ignoring the pain of the hand rail digging into him. The lift isn’t making any noise now, eerie silence filling the space.

The other man looks a lot less panicked than Louis feels, merely frowning at the door like it’ll open if he glares at it hard enough. “I think it’s broken down,” he says. “It’ll probably start back up in a minute. Place like this—probably happens all the time.”

Louis is not comforted by that at all.

12) Worth The Wait | Explicit | 29262 words

In all the words Louis would use to describe a baby shower, the last one he’d ever thought to use was depressing.

13) You Fill My Lungs With Sweetness (Can I Be Close to You?) | Explicit | 29844 words

Busy picturing Harry’s stupid face on the stupid dummy, Louis goes through a series of kicks before returning to a low guard and cycling through punches. Harry’s still talking, gesturing with his hands as he rounds Louis, standing to his back. “You do a few butt-shaping exercises, tighten this up a little bit,” he smacks Louis’ arse and the omega freezes while Harry cheerfully continues, “you could pull this off.”

“You know what?” Louis snaps, lifting on his tiptoes to get the leverage so he can wrap his arm around the alpha’s neck, forcing him to bend in half while Louis locks him in a chokehold. “Pull this off,” he snarls. They stagger over a few steps, Louis gritting his teeth as Harry tries to break free. “Is it because Payne hates me?” he complains, voice edging on an annoyed whine, “Or is it, like, an omega thing?”

Too late, Louis realizes that Harry has got a grip on his leg and this time as he pulls against Louis’ hold, it loosens, the alpha lifting him in the air before slamming his back into the mat, breaking Louis’ grip completely. Harry kneels on the mat, hovering over him with a sneer, “Don’t kid yourself. Nobody thinks of you that way.”

14) You're An Alpha, Harry! | Explicit | 32900 words

Right before Harry goes to university, he presents as an alpha. Struggling with his newfound identity in a completely different environment, he seeks advice from the notorious Louis Tomlinson, an omega whose claim to fame is being the local campus sex expert. Sex Education AU.

15) A Common Place Affliction | Explicit | 36508 words

“You should go home,” Louis muses, and Harry can feel the omega crouch down to become eye level with Harry, poking his cheek with a dainty finger. Harry lifts his arm, taking a peek at Louis’ face. Louis looks tired, he notes, but not exhausted, and there’s an eyelash stuck to his cheek. Harry doesn’t hesitate to lazily reach out and thumb over his cheek.

“Can’t,” Harry croaks, blindly twisting his hand around to grab at Louis’ offending finger and just holding it. “C’mere. Take a nap with me,” he asks after a beat, opening an eye to look at Louis.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “M’not going to nap with you in the middle of the ER, H.”

Sighing, Harry squeezes the young nurse’s finger. “Nobody cares.” He knows they do; they’ll annoy nurses and probably worry patients when they catch sight of a nurse and surgeon sleeping on the job. Let alone in the middle of the emergency ward hallway. Harry can hear the complaints now: ‘these are the people we’re supposed to trust with our lives?’

16) Best Colours For Your Portrait | Explicit | 37717 words

Louis bites his lip in, his eyes leaving Harry's face, they are cast low as he takes a deep breath before sighing, "In solitude, I felt the liberty you spoke of."

"But," The omega glances up, his eyebrows twitching as he brings his face closer to Harry's neck to overpower the alpha's scent with his scent, "I mostly felt your absence."

17) Letters To June | Mature | 41150 words

It's 1915, Europe is in the middle of the Great War. Omega Louis decides to join the Letter Home Project to become someone’s penfriend. Through this he meets a lovely soldier who hasn't got anyone else to send a letter to. Along with his letter, comes a picture of the most handsome alpha Louis has ever seen.’

18) Now I Think That I Could Love You Back | Explicit | 42225 words

“I do not care if she banishes me to my chambers for a month or the rest of the year, you two must see reason,” Louis protests, feeling a minor fit coming on. “He is nothing but an insufferable, cocky, cloddish, pitiful excuse for an Alpha, and he deserves to live the rest of his days in solitary, not me.”

“My, my, what an array of abuse. I surely would loath to be this inadequate excuse of an Alpha you speak of, but alas I cannot relate to possessing such deficiency,” a honey-glazed voice drips out from behind Louis, and the omega can feel the steam pouring over, ready to burst out of his already flushed ears.

19) Untamed Hearts Align | Explicit | 55795 words

For as long as Louis has known her, Lady Margaret Tomlinson has had two aspirations for the remaining years of her life. The first was to out-dress the Duchess of Kent at every soirée and gathering. The second was to marry off her omega nephew to the most honorable – and highly ranked – alpha suitor she could find.

He does not expect for her to arrange a marriage between him and the crown prince, and he certainly does not expect to fall for him.

Everything changes when Harry disappears.

20) It’s Golden, Like Daylight | Explicit | 61496 words

"I actually think you might be onto something.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You mean…”

Louis nodded. “As crazy and insane as this, this might just solve both of our problems.”

“Are you saying you’re in?” Harry asked.

“I’m in.”

21) I’ve Got You | Explicit | 62988 words

As a reward for saving the king's life, Harry is offered omega Prince Louis' hand in marriage. Neither of them has any interest in the union going forward, and so they concoct a plan to prove to the king that they are far from a perfect match.

22) Heat Wave | Mature | 64000 words

Italy, 2018. Summer in Italy is sticky, especially in Marina di Pietrasanta. Louis Tomlinson, a soft and independent omega, goes to spend his holidays there with his daughter Alice. He has rented a vacation home built on a large estate owned by one Harry Styles, a kind-hearted alpha who is not very fond of children, but he tries.

A lot can happen in fifteen days.

23) Dripping Like Spider Milk | Explicit | 64303 words

When he sees the alpha, his brown hair curling around the top of his neck and his broad back that’s filled out over the past couple of years, Louis freezes for a moment. The alpha turns around, Louis’ surprised expression mirrored on his own for a fraction of a second before he schools it into a big, yet shy grin and a wave of his huge hand. With his nostrils flared, Louis knows that he can smell him, too.

They never hired alphas, except for—

“Harry.”

24) Billow And Breeze (Islands And Seas) | Explicit | 102506 words

It was bright; that was the first thing Louis could recall. With a groan, he winced at the throbbing behind the sockets of his eyes and rubbed his temples in an effort to soothe the pain. Maybe he really did hit his head when he took his tumble. The omega squinted as he looked at the surrounding rolling hills and fog hanging over the countryside. As strange as it was, the world felt different, though it looked practically the same.

Disoriented and confused, Louis padded through the moss and listened for his husband. “Liam?” he croaked shakily.

Nothing but a symphony of woodland creatures met his ears. His footsteps were muted by mossy green grass beneath his feet and soil fragrant as he neared the crest of the hill. At the top, he froze, lips parted in horror and eyes widening at the expanse of empty farmland—not a soul in sight. It had only been less than ten minutes prior that he could see Inverness from the crest, but now there was nothing.

“Impossible,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief—his mind not quite able to make sense of it.

25) You've Got A Higher Power, You're Once In Any Lifetime | Explicit | 113444 words

Giving up and letting them think they're right were never valid options in Louis Tomlinson's mind.

In a society full of prejudices, finding a family and being accepted, also seemed like an unrealistic utopia.

Louis sets out to do what no other of his kind ever has before and in doing so, he finds love, friendship and more about himself than he thought he would.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #trackinghome #larry #fic recs #blp fic recs #blp #a/b/o

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