#because i'm lazy and like to live dangerously

[the-overgrowth]

Why draw good things when I can use my moderate art skills to create cursed artifacts?

I call this one "Communication Issues."

[ponderingmoonlight]

Geto's sister melting like butter in Toji's hands

Pairing: Geto's sister x Toji; (Geto's sister x Geto brother dynamic; Geto's sister x Satoru lil flirt)

Word Count: 2,6k

Synopsis: When your brother and Satoru arrive at Jujutsu High with the star plasma vessel, things start to get heated. But instead of running away like you're told to, you follow your brother. Only to be alone with a certain someone...

Warnings: we're talking about Toji so the usual, (y/n) is ducking weak in this one, not 100% proofread bc I'm lazy

„Where is your smaller version?“, Yaga barks at Suguru.

“My smaller version? You mean (y/n)?”

“Hehe, sounds like she’s your child”, Satoru comments while giggling.

“I guess she’s training right now. And also, she’s older than me. Why?”

Suguru was never keen about you joining Jujutsu High in the first place. But the second you realized that you are able to see courses just like him, there was no going back. It’s only natural that he’s worried about you, right? Especially when he and Satoru were sent here to guard the star plasma vessel…What do you have to do with this? Isn’t his teacher aware of the fact how dangerous this mission is for a first year student?

“Get her here right now.”

Urgh, this doesn’t mean anything good. Does he have any chance to escape this though? With a sign he gets moving. Nope, a glimpse into Yaga’s serious eyes is enough to get that he doesn’t stand a chance against his will.

Why you, though? Yes, you are quite skilled for being in your first year, but so are Haibara and Nanami. So why does it have to be you? What does this man have in mind for you?

“Got ya!”, you cry out while Yu’s body lands on the floor harshly.

“How did you beat me again?”, he presses out, rubbing his aching head.

“Because you weren’t paying enough attention”, Kento remarks dryly with that signature bored expression craved into his face.

“I think (y/n) is just a way too great opponent for me.”

“Oh, don’t make be blush.”

“(y/n).”

That voice that makes you instantly roll your eyes without even turning around. What the hell is your brother doing here again?

“What do you want?”, you groan.

“Yaga-sensei sent me after you. I guess you are assigned for a mission”, Suguru replies, completely unimpressed by your snarky attitude.

A mission? Your head darts towards him immediately. A mission with Suguru? He is on his second year, more than skilled enough to fulfill even difficult missions on his own. So why would Yaga-sensei ask about you and not Yu or Kento?

You don’t care that much to be honest. The thought of going on an important mission alone makes your body tremble in excitement. Even if it means your brother has to accompany you.

“Will Satoru be there too?”, you purr.

It’s way too fun to mess with your brother. When it comes to men, he always widens his eyes in disgust before crossing his arms and glaring down at you.

“Don’t get stupid ideas. I hate that you are flirting with my best friend”, he remarks.

“It’s not my fault that he looks so damn fine.”

“Stop the crap”, he spits at you while you smile widely.

Oh, how much you love to mess with your big brother. Since he is your only sibling, you take your responsibility of teasing the heck out of him very seriously. Especially now that you are living the same life.

“There she is”, Suguru mutters, your figure appearing behind is tall frame with a triumphal smile.

“Hi Satoru”, you hush towards the white haired boy who smirks at you.

“Hi (y/n), looking good as always”, he flirts back, sliding down his sunglasses to catch a better glimpse at you.

“Can you two please stop before I’m losing it”, Suguru grumbles.

“I agree. (y/n), you will assist these idiots by escorting the star plasma vessel to Tengen-sama.”

You can’t believe your ears, cheeky mouth not daring to speak of. Assisting both Satoru and Suguru at once? By escorting the star plasma vessel of none other than Tengen-sama?

This has to be a dream, a stupid joke they play on you. Yes, you are a quite skilled jujutsu sorcerer, maybe better than the other first years at this point…

But are you this good? So good that you are able to keep up with Satoru and your brother?

“This is something very big you’re asking for”, you reply automatically, all eyes darted towards you.

Damn, this doesn’t sound like your usual confident self at all, even Suguru doesn’t recognize you. Without hesitation he steps to your side, placing his hand on your shoulder gently while beaming you with his smile.

“Satoru and me are here, too. You are the backup plan if something goes wrong.”

“And nothing will go wrong. Don’t worry (y/n)”, Satoru adds.

Yes, nothing will go wrong, right?

- the arrival of Suguru and Satoru at Jujutsu High –

“You sure took your time getting here”, you comment dryly, on the brink of falling asleep at the entrance of Jujutsu High.

“Oh my, you look like death warmed over”, you holler towards Satoru.

Damn, you thought they went on paid vacation without you. Why the hell does he look this bad? The dark circles under your brother’s eyes tell you how stressful these last day have been.

“You’re safe now. No need to waste your energy anymore, Satoru”, you speak out.

And with that, the glow in his eyes is gone.

Just seconds before he gets stabbed by a stranger.

Your eyes widen when reality hits you. A dagger pierced through Satoru’s chest.

The Satoru Gojo.

Your brother’s best friend.

Your gaze darts towards the tall man behind him. Who the hell is this guy? And how was he even able to get through the barrier in the first place? You hold your breath, mind racing in thoughts. This has to be a bad joke.

“Satoru!”, your brother cries out, on the way to sprint forward before he is stopped by his best friends words.

Save the star plasma vessel.

Escort her to Tengen-sama.

“I’m coming with you”, you breathe out, following your brother’s steps right on track.

“No way in hell. You go back where you came from, (y/n)”, he hisses.

What? He can’t be serious, right?

“Yaga-sensei put me here to help you escort the star plasma vessel. What makes you so entitled that you think you can just send me off like that?”

Your brother turns around, eyes glistening with so much rage that you have to swallow. Fuck, you’ve never seen him like this, storming towards you without slowing down.

“This isn’t a joke, (y/n). If that man was able to break through the barrier and hurt Satoru, he sure as hell is able to kill you right on the spot. Get out of here right now, I couldn’t stand losing you”, he barks into your face along with grabbing your shoulders roughly.

“Fine”, you mumble.

With one last spiteful glance at you he’s gone, taking the girl and the woman with him.

That man.

Your eyes dart towards him and the way his muscles flex underneath his tight black shirt, showing every single vein of his well-trained body. How old is he? Must be in his 20s, hard to say when he’s moving so fast that you aren’t even able to follow his movements properly. It’s safe to say that he’s looking like a snack, though. So different from all the guys you’ve met at Jujutsu High.

“Get out of here, (y/n)!”, Satoru yells at you, ripping you out of your daydreaming so violently that you flinch.

Urgh, how unfair. First you get assigned with this job and now you are supposed to stay out of line?

No, certainly not.

With a swift motion you start to run away. Not in direction of Jujutsu High, but following after your brother’s scent. After all, Satoru will get this man down easily, will he?

What a shame about his pretty face, though.

You stop in a long and poor lit hallway, tingling senses telling you that something or rather someone is behind you.

Could it be Satoru? No, you can not only detect his scent, but recognize him by his long and slouchy steps. Whoever this is doesn’t belong to Jujutsu High. But why on earth would a stranger come here?

“You’re in the way, y’know.”

That voice. Your eyes widen instantly when he steps out of the shadows, well-trained figure lit up ever so slightly.

It’s him, the man from before. The gorgeous man who fought Satoru only a few minutes ago.

“You came here to see me?”

To your very own surprise, your sturdy voice doesn’t give any hint of the panic flooding your veins. Why the hell is he here? Does this mean that…

Satoru lost?

“You’re pretty easy on the eye, gotta give you that”, the unknown man in front of you remarks with a sly grin.

You seem to be pretty young, uniform telling him that you’re a jujutsu sorcerer yourself. But that look in your eyes, the color of your hair…

“Have I seen ya before?”, he questions.

“Unfortunately not”, you purr.

You begin to circle each other, like a predator he lingers over you.

Something about the way he carries himself tells you that he isn’t someone to mess with, the darkness in his eyes almost swallowing you whole. Yes, this man is bad news even though you can’t detect any cursed energy on him.

“Oh, you look like that guy before…What was his name again?”

“Yeah, he’s my brother”, you clarify briefly.

“Ah, gotcha. Where did he go? I need to kill that brat he has with him.”

“Why chasing after him when you can stay with me instead?”

You know it’s reckless, that the man in front of you could possibly kill you without flinching. But every precious second you are able to negotiate for Suguru is important right now.

He comes closer, his tall frame roaming over you while you shamelessly stare at his gorgeous, yet bloody chest. Damn, this man really is attractive. Why do your knees suddenly feel so weak?

“I’m no one to mess with”, he remarks.

Your back hits the cold wall behind you, his muscular arms trapping you in place. Fuck, this is so hot.

No, this is absolutely dangerous.

“I know”, you breathe out.

His eyes linger over you, the little scar on over his lips twitches in amusement. One look into your glossy orbs is enough for Toji to be aware of the fact how unexperienced you are. Even though you try to straighten your shoulders and keep eye contact with him, he can see the way your limbs are trembling and how your knees are about to give in. You look young, maybe a few years younger than himself. And your body…he can tell you are trained underneath that uniform. After all you are a jujutsu sorcerer, right?

A little playing doesn’t hurt as long as he’s able to kill that little brat.

“Aren’t ya a little young to get killed? Wouldn’t take me much to do so. Killed that Gojo guy too.”

His words hit you with full force.

He.

He killed Satoru.

“That’s impossible”, you whisper.

No one was ever capable of killing Satoru. No, this can’t be true, he has to mess with you. Satoru is the strongest along with Suguru, the gifted child.

He…he can’t be dead.

But why isn’t he here then? How is it even possible for this force of a man to stand in front of your very own eyes if he’s lying? Satoru would have chased him down, fulfilled his mission no matter what…No, this can’t be…

“Can show ya. I mean it’s quite nasty, but if you want-“

“No”, you interrupt him immediately.

Fuck, what are you supposed to do? Stand here and wait until he gets bored? Fight him?

You clench your hands into fist. One swift motion. One swift motion of your fist should be enough to send him flying.

“Cute”, he comments, catching your hand mid-air with ease.

Fuck. Ice cold sweat runs down your neck. This man is a menace. There’s no way in hell you are able to defeat him.

Suddenly he pulls you closer to him, the heat radiating from his body seems to burn right through your soul.

“Who the hell are you?”, you mutter.

“Toji Fushiguro”, he remarks.

Toji Fushiguro. You never heard his name before and the fact that you can’t detect any cursed energy on him tells you that he isn’t a jujutsu sorcerer.

“Y’know, didn’t think I’d meet a hot girl down here”, Toji comments, amusement sparkling in his eyes when catching a glimpse of the blush creeping up your beautiful face.

Oh god, you feel like fainting with his tall frame lingering over you so unpromising. Despite being around gorgeous men all the time, no one ever caught your eye enough to be this close to him.

But this man…You shouldn’t like the way his touch brushes over your skin, making every fiber of your being shiver in excitement. No, you should tear yourself away from his grip, fight him, kill him. You are a jujutsu sorcerer, Toji Fushiguro killed Satoru and is on his way to kill the star plasma vessel and who knows even your brother. This is so wrong, him touching and teasing you shouldn’t cloud your senses.

“Be as charming as you want, I can’t forgive you for killing Satoru.”

He tilts his head to the side, a playful grin playing around is lips as one of his hands wraps around your neck, pressing gently.

“What a bummer, thought we’d have a good time here”, he replies.

Oh god, what happened to your self-control, what happened to your self-consciousness? You can’t act like a horny teenager only because a handsome man is touching you.

What’s going on in your beautiful mind? Seems like you’re lost at words. It’s nothing new to Toji that women fall head over heels for him, especially the ones who are into guys like him. But you look so innocent, that spark of determination in your eyes gone with the wind. Yes, you are like butter in his hands. The things he could do to you right now, showing you just how much of a man he is.

“You’ve probably never been with a man, huh?”

You stare up at him in disbelief. How did he know? Your heart hammers violently against your ribcage, mind not able to produce a single logical thought. He is so near that you’d be able to touch his broad chest ever so slightly. And the way his fingers press against your neck…

You’re doomed.

“Thought so. How’s it that a hot girl like you didn’t get it yet? Could show ya how it’s done with my very own hands...”

“I know what you’re doing. But I can’t let you get through this door, you can’t reach my brother”, you whine more to yourself than him.

Huh, that’s why he was here. Toji signs to himself, already aroused by the way you blush and whimper under his touch. How much he’d love to just stay here and show you how it’s done. To see your eyes roll into your brain in pleasure, how you squirm under his merciless touch.

But he’s got a job to do.

“What’s your name?”, he purrs against your outer ear, making shivers run down your spine like waterfalls.

“(y/n) Geto…”

“(y/n)”

Your own name sounds so strange coming out of his dangerous mouth.

“I promise I won’t kill your brother, but I gotta go now. Hope to see ya again. Sleep well.”

Before you can react any further, his flat hand rams itself into your throat that you get consumed by darkness immediately, numb body falling against Toji’s firm figure.

Carefully, he lifts you up and carries your body with him, casually placing you over his broad shoulder with your head hanging down his back.

“Now let’s get to work”, he mumbles, smacking your ass slightly.

[elmentalwish]

tag dump pt 2

[romanoffsbish]

Perfect Timing

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Request | Prompts

Warnings: Jealousy | Meddling / Pushy Men |

Smut: Cuffs | Tribbing | Fingering | Oral | Choking

Word Count: 5,250 Words

Natasha hated Tony Stark, she decided this with finality as she left the medbay in a huff. Normally she'd flip the man off at the mention of another party, but apparently this one was a mission in disguise so she hadn't a choice.

——

Then she'd usually make her way up to her room, and after about five minutes she'd slip across the hallway and into yours. You guys weren't exactly hiding your infatuations.

Natasha didn't care if people knew, she just cared if they commented about what didn't concern them. Her love life at the top of that list. The concept was foreign to her anyways. These feelings she had were new, only ever roused by the likes of you. The pretty agent from Shield with the heart of gold who by some stroke of luck for her now lives as an Avenger.

All she wanted was a warm mug of tea, a good book, and you in her general vicinity. There didn't even have to be a discussion, just the occasional brush of hands, and tender glances.

There was still an unspoken tension, but it was bearable. Natasha wasn't ready, you could see that, and you'd never push her to be. You knew that when she was ready you'd be together, and that was enough for you. As it was for her.

This time as she entered your room she found you sat in front of your vanity. Getting ready for the stupid party that interrupted her plans. You'd continue your routine, not even sparing her a quick glance back, you knew who it was.

The musky whiff of sandalwood that blew your way as the door slammed shut proof enough.

Natasha huffed, "Life isn't fucking fair." She fell back on your mattress and kicked her feet. Mussing up your perfectly made bed like a child throwing a tantrum. You giggled as you looked over at her, nose scrunching in defiance when she glared at you. It was truly heatless.

"Welcome home Natty," you greeted, looking into her eyes as you leaned over the edge of your bed while sat in your rolling chair.

Natasha gazed up at you with a pout, it was deep and adorable. You wanted to peck it away. But you controlled your urges and instead offered her a comforting hand on her cheek.

A deep exhale left her as your finger drummed against her temple rhythmically. Her eyes slowly fluttered shut and she smiled. Your heart warmed at the perceivably unusual sight.

It was a new norm for you, but one you knew came with special privileges. Because no one else would ever see The Black Widow herself behaving like this. There was no doubt that she was tough, but what she loved most, was that with you she didn't have to be. She could be lazy, goofy, or sickeningly soft without fear of ridicule, or your perception of her changing.

"Wanna tell me what's got you upset honey?" Natasha bit her lower lip, anxiety inspiring her to nibble on it as she thought up a response.

"I wanted to watch a movie with you," she admitted softly. "But now we have to party."

"Oh Natty," you cooed, something she'd see as condescending from another, but never you.

"It'll be over in no time, then we'll clean up and watch Bond movies until you can't keep your pretty eyes open any longer." You kissed her forehead tenderly, soft lips lingering there until you heard her sigh, "Okay, I'm on board."

"Wait." Your brows furrowed, and you began to look over the redhead with determination. Nat grabbed your chin, raising your gaze as she looked up at you with a smile. "Just a couple scrapes and bruises, I'll be okay to attend."

There was no way in hell she'd send you to one of Tony's parties alone. You were too special. She wouldn't dare risk leaving you to his snobs.

Plus, this one came with increased dangers that indeed supersede the typical horny rich man.

"Are you sure?" You asked, panic evident. Her eyes glimmered as you rambled on like crazy, "Because you can just stay up here. It's a quick intel mission, Tony gave me that dress there to wear. Said that I'd be tonight's extractor."

Natasha followed the point of your finger to see a red dress, if you could even call it that. The dip of the neckline was steep and left no room for imagination as it ended over your abdomen. The same went for the slits running up the side that only came to a stop where your panty line would normally be, but she knew it wouldn't.

There was no way she'd trust you'd be safe.

"It's okay love," she replied, "Tony said I had no choice, so I'm going to change real quickly, then I'll be back to see you all dolled up."

"Since when do you listen to Tony?" Natasha chuckled from the doorway, "Never, but when it comes to being with you I'll never pass that up, so I don't have any rebuttal to offer him."

Natasha's shoulders slumped as soon as she left the safety of your room. Wanda snorted, "God, you're both incredibly transparent."

"Bite me, little witch!" Wanda giggled, "I'm okay, seems like a job more suited for Y/N."

Natasha flipped her off and then slipped into her dark room with an annoyed huff. It upset her greatly whenever the team would draw attention to her feelings for you. All she wanted was to cherish this easy label-free phase before it became something real and in turn serious.

Not that she isn't serious about you, she is head over heels for you, but for now, she's enjoying the lack of pressure she's under with you.

The woman moved swiftly through her closet, annoyedly looking for something to wear, but nothing really appealed to her though as her mind was distracted by thoughts of you.

"You should pick the red bralette and the grey slacks, they make your butt look perfect." You don't know why you said it, but you did, and now you felt overtly exposed as your unfiltered pervy thoughts had come flying right out.

Natasha hummed in amusement, "Oh yeah?"

Now you were left to stammer, "Mhm, I mean you look gorgeous in everything Natty, I didn't mean to offend you or anything." The redhead turned to you with a teasing smirk, equally as teasing words on the tip of her tongue, but they instantly wiped away as she saw you fully.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest at the sight of your exposed skin. You were positively gorgeous, and she was devilishly gazing.

Here you were apologizing to the woman you'd been flirting with for years, about your correct commentary, and here she was ogling you like you were a piece of cake. Fuck, you looked hot.

The silence you were met with only made you more nervous. "Oh God, I hope I didn't."

"Hey, don't overthink it," she teased while making her way over to you. Her strong hands naturally found their way onto your body, one of them fell to your waist as the other danced over the skin of your bare arm, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps in their tantalizing wake.

"I-I, um, stand by my words then," you stuttered, while your nervous hands picked at her shirt making the redhead smirk at your new shyness. Craving this eternal proximity.

"Why's that?" You grinned childishly. "Because then at least this way we can match Natty."

God, you were so adorable. Natasha was hardly able to keep herself from pouncing, she'd been fantasizing about taking you for so long now.

The way you looked at her as if she was the most important person to you didn't help. It was suffocating, really, but she didn't mind. Nobody had ever looked at her that way before, and she's thrilled that the first to was you. She also hoped you'd be the one, and only to do so.

The idea of matching with you was emotionally charged. Like you belonged together and you were publicly, but silently claiming it. Even if you had to chat up some pretentious guy as she only watched from a distance on standby.

"I'd like that," she admitted with flushed cheeks, the both of you now painfully aware of the need for space lest you miss the party.

"So you'll wear the grey slacks?" Natasha nearly burst into laughter at the eagerness you wore so proudly on your face. "Well, I'm not sure detka, because, I only need the red to match you, I can wear my black pair. They are more comfortable." She chose to mercilessly tease you instead of confirming the other.

"Uh, okay," you shrugged, then scurried on out of her tight grasp. "I'll be waiting for you at the end of the hallway Natty. Be quick please, I don't want to hear Tony's complaining."

You didn't want to seem like a total perv, even if for a brief second you were being one. You wanted to respect her choices, boundaries are important, so you left before anything could happen. Mistakenly so too, Natasha wanted you to force her into the grey slacks yourself after fucking her until she went dumb.

It was just an inappropriate fantasy. Just like all the others she's had. You were both pervs. Don't get her wrong, she knows you have it in you, but she'd never let you top the first time.

Natasha took a second to shake the budding disappointment away, and then a smile overtook her face as she thought about how cautious you always are with her. Most people have no problem telling her how they perceive her, whether that be in a gross, oversexualized manner, or a macho-esque, "I'm a man, therefore I'm better" way. Both usually ended the same, with the perpetrator on the ground coddling their bruised egos as well as groins.

But you were considerate, rarely ever bold, more so a shy flirty mess of a human being. Natasha adored it, especially knowing that it came from a genuine place, and was not purely driven by lust. Hardly actually. Though she did see the way you looked at her during training or missions, and it's one of the rare times that she actually craves such devious attention.

Which is why she made sure to slip into her red bralette, and her grey slacks for you. She then spun around, smirking as she checked out her behind, now understanding what you meant. Her ass looked phenomenal, as to be expected really since she never missed leg day, the thin fabric formed perfectly to her plump behind.

To embelish the otherwise simple outfit the redhead threw on a few silver rings, along with a silver chain with a rose emblem that fell just above the arrow she never took off. She smiled as her fingers ran over the small grooves of the red charm, you'd gotten this for her the past February, not on Valentine's Day, but the day after when you, her, and Wanda spent the day out as gal pals, indulging in half-price treats.

It was perfectly placed. A bit closer to her heart than the other, and she reasoned that was fair because she loved Clint wholeheartedly, but it's you afterall who truly held the claim to her.

After a swift tossing of her hair into a low bun, and a quick moisturizing of her face, and lips she made her way out into the hallway to find you faced away staring out over the banister. Nervously fiddling with the strings of the faux vines Tony had oddly placed for decor. As the redhead approached she began to catch on to the why, and she almost wanted to thank the annoying man for the sweet gesture.

In an attempt to bridge the gap in bold moves tonight the woman found herself pressing your body into the banister with her very own. Trapping you, but as she'd hoped, you relaxed just as soon as you could smell the earthy tones of her cologne. "What's troubling your mind?"

Her arms that had been loosely caging you in, with hands on either side of the banister now wrapped around your waist in a comforting hug. She slowly swayed you to the faint sounds of the music coming from the room holding the party while she waited for you to find a response. "I'm nervous Natty, I don't want to fail the mission. What if he doesn't like me?"

The unfavored question caught her off guard in a multitude of ways, as if his attention actually mattered for anything other than the mission.

But what really got to Natasha was that you'd genuinely sounded insecure. It was like you didn't actually see you were the most beautiful person here tonight. It was disheartening.

Natasha gently turned you to face her, with your back now pressed into the railing as she held your body protectively against hers to keep you safe. She wanted to quell your fears, but she needed you to really see her, so you could feel the honesty. "You're overthinking it again Y/N, nobody with a lick of sense would be able to find something wrong with you."

Natasha cradled the left side of your face in her hands, eyes abounding with adoration as she cherished this rare moment without the usual disturbance. "You're beautiful, that's a given, one smile is going to be enough to melt that entire room." The redhead paused, admiring the way that your frown slowly melted away, giving proof to her claim as her heart skipped.

"But what really sets you apart, and enhances that beauty is your heart that shines brighter than the physical. I promise you that he'll be enticed by you just as soon as we descend."

You were nearly on the verge of tears as you saw the truth never wavered in her eyes, it wasn't a fronted approach to make sure you were mission ready. Natasha meant every word, and though you knew of her feelings deep down, it was finally nice to hear it. Albeit in an indirect way, it was sort of reassuring.

"Shall we go then?" Natasha's heart melted as your smile exuded a bit more confidence, she cleared her throat and took a step back to offer you her bent arm. "We shall milady." You giggled and scrunched your nose as you slid your arm through hers, and laid your head on her shoulder. Her heart stuttered but she played it cool, the nerves weren't harrowing.

The party was booming when the two of you stopped outside of the doors, Natasha felt you tense momentarily so she pulled your front to hers and hugged you tight. "You've got this in the bag Y/L/N, get the intel, then we'll steal some booze, and hors d'oeuvres, then slip out." She placed a sweet kiss on your temple, then ushered you into the party before she made her grand entrance not even a minute later.

Her eyes instantly searched for you, the innate need to ensure you were safe had the you-induced fluttering of her heart ceasing. When her emerald eyes found you she saw you'd already met with the young man, as she turned her coms on she heard Tony mention his name was Dewayne. He was handsome enough she supposed, in a red suit that nearly mirrored your dress. The thought alone of you being paired with another made her mood sour.

Dewayne was clean-shaven and well-versed, he even offered you a warm smile, but she saw right through his act. She wasn't exactly sure of his ties, the mission wasn't discussed in detail, but she knew that whatever his intentions were with you, they were unwelcomed and devious.

"So, Dewayne, how are you finding your first Stark party?" The man sipped on his scotch before offering you a thoughtful hum and a near-terrifying grin. "With you at my side, I'd say well." He paused, looking you over before his gruff voice reemerged, "Dare I say perfect."

You nearly threw up on the man as he laid a hand on your shoulder, but you kept your true feelings at bay in favor of a successful mission, and giggled flirtatiously, "What a charmer."

His responding smile was smug in nature, and Natasha wanted to wipe it right off of his face, and as your conversation continued she felt the jealousy steadily building. It was manageable until the man got a bit too handsy with you.

Tony had just given you the all-clear, saying that the information they needed to collect from his neglected belongings was secured. Natasha ignored the fishy nature of Tony's tone as she saw Dewayne press you into the bar with absolutely no regard for the way your body froze, or for how a grimace overtook your face.

In that moment she undoubtedly saw red, and before she could reign her reactions in she was yanking his arm from your waist, and spinning him into the bar, with a hand wound in his hair she slammed his face into the bar, then again into the bowl of complementary lemon wedges.

Dewayne cried out at the sting now prominent in his eyes, the sound only intensified as the cracking of his fingers could be heard. He'd tried to get out of her hold, but it was of no use, he was a couch potato, with a fast metabolism from Jersey, and she was a deadly trained assassin with enhanced genetics from Russia.

He simply couldn't compete, where he'd never begin to compare. Leading Natasha to begin to piece together the fishiness of this mission. It made her livid to think that someone, Tony, felt she was so incapable of making the move eventually that he had to make it his priority.

Wanda sipped her drink, suppressing her giggle as she saw Tony's face fall in silent understanding, that was going to cost him a lot of money. "This is what you get for meddling Stark." She offered him no more than that as she walked away, he was a billionaire after all, the hospital bill and proper compensation wouldn't even put a dent in his accounts.

Had he not hired such a douche, he'd be fine.

Wanda's heart soared though as she knew that you and Natasha, her besties, would finally be passed this unbearably long mutual pining phase and hopefully into a relationship.

Meanwhile for you, everything had happened so fast you believed yourself to be experiencing whiplash, one second you're lazily flirting with a perp, then you're listening to the sickening crack of that very man's nose and fingers, and then the next you're being tossed haphazardly into the woman of your affections bedroom, to now end with your body pressed into her door.

"Natasha," you whimpered softly as her body kept you painfully pressed into the doorknob, your body ached, a dull throb in your back keeping you from enjoying the joy that stems from the incoming promise of pleasures.

No matter how many times you called for her she ignored you, she was lost in her anger, and after a moment of listening to her ramblings you got the gist of what took place. So you let her go on, but with every angry word she'd mutter, she would pull you in just to push you back harder into the knob. Abusing your poor body without any true malicious intentions.

"I don't see why people can't mind their fucking business," she sneered, her fingers curled even tighter around your hips and you yelped. "Who does that pretentious twat think he is? Paying someone to harass my girl."

"Natty please," you cried again, "That hurts."

Her eyes widened fearfully at the idea of hurting you, she tried to step away, but you held onto her forearms and shook your head to keep her there. Natasha's guilt instantly settled as she saw the needy look in your eyes, she shifted you, then pressed her body against yours, this time with your comfort in mind.

The tension was palpable now that her focus had shifted to you wholly, her eyes that were focused in on yours sparkled and she reveled in the feel of your subtle squirming against her. Your breathing was growing labored and hers had remained surprisingly calm. Natasha knew she had you right where she wanted you when your eyes closed and nails dug into her arm.

"You know you're mine right detka?" Her nose brushed against your cheek, and she smirked when you tried to take the chance to kiss her. "If you'll let me baby, I'll prove it to everyone."

The woman didn't wait for you to respond, her lips faintly pressed against yours, and your needy whimper told her that was the right call.

"Do I have your permission then detka?" You weaved your hand into her hair, and guided her face into the crook of your neck. "Prove it."

Natasha smirked against your skin, then she purred, "Gonna look even prettier with my marks." Then she let her overwhelming urge to claim you take over as she began to mark you.

The need had always been there, but she'd never felt threatened before. She needed to make sure that nobody else in the compound ever questioned your status as hers again. To make it clear, so anyone who looked in your direction could see her claim, the widow's bite.

While you leaned into the feeling of her lips finally being on your skin you became a bit of a whimpering mess. Each noise different as she purposefully switched up her method with each bruise she left. Her teeth adding a variety of edges to the marks where she'd nibble over skin she'd previously suctioned her lips to. 

Then all at once she became impatient, and spun your bodies around so she could get you undressed and beneath her. It was a blur of articles, between hers and yours, but the dress was removed with a care that told you just how much she appreciated seeing you in it tonight.

"You're so fucking perfect," she gawked at the sight of you bare, and spread out on her sheets. It was everything she expected, a picture of beauty, and somehow it was also more with the way your thighs glimmered with your essence and your collarbones were littered in bruises.

The moment needed to be vividly imprinted onto her mind, she had no doubt it would star in her dreams tonight, but she needed more. Something tangible, so without much thought she grabbed her polaroid camera, and to her delight you spread your legs and fondled your breasts, giving her a show worthy of capturing.

However, as she settled the copious amounts of film down onto her bedside table she found herself growing unfairly jealous. Seeing you play with your breasts, pulling moans from the depths of your soul as your thighs rubbed together made her feel inadequate. As if you were going to just get off on your own, when she was standing right there to assist you.

"Detka, I said you're mine," she purred, your eyes fluttered open as her body weight settled atop of yours. The feel of her slick on your stomach had you jonesing to get your hands on her, but before you could even try she had yours pinned above you. "So don't touch."

The feel of the cooled metal as she secured you to her bedpost was both a relief, and a curse. It was soothing to your overheated skin, sure, but it put up an unnecessary barrier between your bodies. All you wanted was to hold her close, and make her feel just as good as you knew she was about to make you feel. Natasha had plans though, and you wouldn't ever question them.

For a moment the redhead just stared into your eyes, a silent conversation being had as she was genuinely gauging your comfort. It was clear as your hips canted, pushing her up as your body rolled that this move wasn't concerning you but only leaving you desperate and at her mercy.

So, without any patience remaining she was moving down your body. Lips feverish as they found yours, and her hands equally as crass as they groped your abandoned breasts. Natasha ground her hips into yours on pure instinct, and caused the kiss to momentarily break as you both moaned into the other like whores.

Natasha rubbed her wet folds against yours again, testing the waters, and you shivered affectedly. Her tongue caressed yours, feeling the vibrations of your moans as she picked up a steady pace, smearing your wetness together until the both of you were screaming in bliss.

The prior kiss was already passionate, but now as you both continued to grind against one another in search of prolonged pleasure it had become expectantly sloppy. At this point it was really just tongues laying atop of one another as the two of you panted and came back down.

"You're so alluring," she whispered, her lips now trailing over your jaw. "I have never been so desperate before, jealousy is beneath me." Her rough hands contradicted her words as they possessively tightened around the skin of your hips. They'd been slowly moving down from their previous place on your breasts in an inconspicuous, but truthfully devious manner.

"But when I saw that man," Natasha paused, pulling back to look into your eyes, her tone mocking as she sneered his name, "Dewayne."

She looked pissed, you'd seen her this way before, but never towards you. This still wasn't aimed at you, but you couldn't help but shiver as she went on. "With his grubby hands on you, I could see it in his beady eyes that he thought you were his to take. As if he wasn't hired to lure me in to collect what was mine all along, and well, to effectively doom Tony's fate."

"Natty, I," you went to apologize for your delayed reaction to his advances but she shushed you with a kiss. "Don't apologize, it's not your fault that these men are clueless."

You giggled softly, the redhead smiled at you adoringly, but you saw the glint in her eyes, and felt the way her hand traveled much lower. She then chuckled when your lower body caught on, she could feel your legs trembling against her own that were straddling yours. 

"It's okay though detka, because you're going to give them a refresher," she teased, a nimble finger slid through your drenched slit, your collected juices covered her digit in seconds.

"Natty please," you begged, and she grinned. "Yeah, like that detka, just louder, yeah?"

Two fingers slowly entered you a second later and you felt like you were going to combust. " You feel so good detka, fuck, I've wanted to have you like this for so long," she grunted her truth into your shoulder as she slowly thrusted her fingers into you, fighting against the way your walls tried and failed to still her moves.

Natasha smirked down at you. "Tell me how it feels. It doesn't hurt does it?" You could only mumble a labored, "Full," as you shook your head while slowly becoming accustomed to the unfamiliar stretch from her fingers.

Natasha chuckled, "Do you feel good though?"

You nodded with a loopy smile. "So good."

Natasha hummed softly as she kept up the steady pace of her veiny fingers, you were melting even further into the mattress as she relaxed your body. It was clear how much you trusted her, and with every flutter of your wall, she could feel just how much you wanted this.

It was heartwarming to see the relaxed smile, but it was also arousing when small moans slipped through your lips, she was desperate to increase the tenacity of your reactions at all costs. "I'm gonna do the type of things that happen in your dreams." You gasped as her fingers suddenly wrapped around your throat, it was a featherlight touch but you could feel the scalding burn of arousal bubbling over.

"You're the star of them after all," you actually managed to whisper with a teasing grin that she wiped away with the curling of her fingers.

"Oh fuck," you mewled as your body writhed, missing the look of shock on the redhead's face as she peered down at the way your slick had just gushed around her fingers and onto her bed. Her fingers slid from you without struggle, and wetness followed, trying to escape into the fabric of her sheets but she was quicker as she replaced the digits with her eager tongue.

Natasha lapped up every last bit of your intoxicating arousal, and then some until she was reaching your depths causing you to scream out a series of expletives as pleasure coursed through your body all over again. It left you pathetically gasping for air, your vision spotted with flashes of black and white dots.

"I've never tasted something so," Natasha paused, voice labored from a need she satiated with another long lick up your slit. "Sweet..."

She noticed the way you had failed to reply, body only offering her a twitch of your hips so she peered up to find your eyes shut tightly. It filled her with a sense of pride to already have you so pliable, just totally brainless for her. So much so you didn't even register her moving.

When you opened your eyes you flinched at the sight of the woman hovering your face. There was little to no green left in her irises, she looked near crazy as she seductively licked her slicked-up lips clean before offering you a delighted grin. You instantly felt hot under her intense stare, in the prior moments you had overwhelming bliss to tamper your nerves, but now you were on full display beneath an actual goddess and felt like you needed to escape.

"You're so adorable. Aww, don't hide your face." Natasha pulled your attention back from beneath the side of the pillow where you'd tried to burrow. "Don't cover up."

"You are intimidatingly beautiful," you huffed and the redhead cackled before softening at the sight of your frown. She kissed you slowly, and you melted into the affection without a single rebuttal. "Tell me what you need sweetheart."

Natasha patiently waited for you to give thought to her words as she began to mark up the skin of your throat, an over-the-top attempt to continue claiming you. As if the entire compound didn't know that you were off the market the moment she took you from the faux mission, or before. It didn't hurt to gloat.

"I-I want to touch you too," you croaked, "Please remove the cuffs Natty..."

The redhead thought it over, you'd been so good for her thus far, letting her possessiveness run its course instead of being put off by it all.

With a tender touch designed for only you in mind she unlocked the metal, lifting your sore wrists up to her lips where she'd place a wet, soothing kiss just before taking the initiative to settle your hands over her breasts. "Touch all you want detka, I'm yours just the same."

[noraunor]

LOST LOVE.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Alastor x ex wife reader

๑ | synopsis : if there's one thing alastor want in heavens and hell, that is to get his wife back to his arms once again.

๑ | tw : angst, out of character al? -

๑| Tags :@moonmark98 @ilikemyteawithmilk @blueninjablade3

๑ | a/n : Hiii! I'm very happy that you loved this fic x3! Thank you y'all for the lovess!

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

Two weeks have already passed on your stay at the hazbin hotel was quite.. Something, well of course it would be because of a certain demon.

Alastor won't leave you alone.

In everywhere you go, you have the radio demon following you around like a lost pup. If not him, his shadows would be everywhere. You don't know whether you feel safe or in a lot more danger.

Though some where in your heart, it still flutter at the thought of him still caring you, but hate always overtakes your heart. How can be so caring and loving when he's the reason of your death?

But then again, some night you wonder, should you give him a chance again?

Well he is your husband for 10 years back in the days of your living with him, but the thought of hating him just kept eating your mind that the thought of forgiveness for that man disappears.

Today is another same day, with you observing the hotel and then helping the staffs here and there. Everyone was surprisingly nice that even Peter was comfortable enough to be alone with them, and that's the same for you but, you'll never feel the same way from the radio demon.

You know how alastor is, he would always do the unexpected. Oh how he always love seeing your shocked expression, so you choose to never be alone in the same room with him.

But guess was not in your side today.

You, alastor, Peter, Charlie was in the lounge today, with the princess and angel chatting happily while you sat stiffly across the radio demon.

You tried to get comfortable at the soft cushions of the seat but still his presence makes you very uneasy.

" oh! You should see the garden here! " the princess beamed.

" wait- there's a garden here?! " Peter exclaimed excitedly.

" yeah! Dad just added it here in the hotel after me renovation! "

" oh you should very much show it to me! "

You were to caught up on your thoughts about your ex-husband that you didn't even noticed the pair walking away.

" a penny for your thoughts, cher? "

You flinched, hard at the static voice in front of you, when you finally looked in front of you, you see your husband leaning down to you with his lazy grin. Too close.

You frown at the distance before pushing his face away.

" you should learn on how to respect a woman's personal space, mister. " alastor chuckled at this as he leans away from you as he planted himself at the armrest of the seat with his arm resting on the headrest of the seat.

" but I believe we're past through that,mon cheri. " he cooed.

" we were, but you decided to break that stage so suck it up. " you hissed at him before standing up from the seat, you could still feel his eyes burrying at your smaller form.

He went quiet for a moment before he sighed as he watched your retreating form.

" you're never going to let go of that.. Won't you? " he sighed, the radio effect on his voice wasn't there when he said that, your stomach tingles upon hearing his masculine voice once again.

You stopped on your tracks as you speak. " how can I let go of that when I died without fulfilling the dreams I have been wishing to commit at the age of 36 when you killed me. " you breath out.

Your glow brightens up as a signature of your raising temper.

" how can you just say that when you know that you're the very reason of my death? " you painted shakingly as you slowly turned to him.

His heart clenched once he saw the wall you've been building just after you met him again, crumbles. You, his wife, fighting back the tears you have been holding for a century. His throat bobbed as he swallowed the guilt that is eating him. His smile is already strained at the sight of your quivering lips and reddish nose.

Oh how he wanted to embrace you, right here, and apologize for a millionth time just to have your forgiveness once again.

" alastor- I missed a bunch of years! — " your wings and hands fly out in frustration as a small sob escaped your lips.

" and in those bunch of years! I could have started with something! Something with you! " slowly, tears escaped you eyes.

You were to caught up with the pouring emotions that you didn't notice him already making his way towards you with a slow steps.

" in those years I've missed... we could had a child with you to raise, to love, go watch them grow.. To tell them stories of how we met! " you sobbed, completely breaking down at the man you've hated to see just after your death.

" mon cheri.. " the stag breath out as he reached out for you. Alastor was never the one dealing with situations like this, in fact, he never had approached you like this back in your days since, you were already a happy woman with him back then.

" darling.. I- " his breath caught his throat as he watched you break down.

" we could've had grown old together.. But instead- we both died barely even starting! " you cried as you felt his hands reached out to your shoulders.

" darling.. My love, I'm sorry, I really am. I- " he stuttered.

You slapped his hands away from you as you stumbled back.

" no, no, don't touch me! You don't have the rights to touch me anymore! " you raged, he looked hurt at the action you did, but you didn't have enough heartstrings to pull for this one.

Alastor felt vulnerable at this state. Vulnerable for you, the man would do everything just to get you back again. Yes he fucker up, but the man still had a heart to beat for someone, and that is you. He doesn't mind looking pathetic, vulnerable, he'd do literally everything just to get his wife back to him again.

" my love, I really am sorry. I messed up big time and I know that there's in no way you'd forgive me for the action I did. " he reached out again for you as he continued " I'm very am sorry, I didn't know what came over me in that night-..just- just the thought of you leaving me scares me once I saw you in that basement.. " he breathe our finally holding your shoulders, his smile is finally gone as he swallowed his pride for apologizing.

" I regret it darling.. I really do, I could turn back the time , I would stop myself from piercing that knife to you.. " he pulled you into his chest, his hand was in the back of your head while his other than was in your waist, clutching on you desperately.

" but.. If you would give me another chance i-.. I would be a better husband. " he nuzzled the top of you head and leaving it a kiss.

" just darling.. I can't bare to be apart from you for another century again. I don't want to be away from you again. If there is a away to take back the love we lost, I would do everything in my power to get ignite the flames we had.Just please give me a chance. "

Your heart clenched at his attempt of getting you back, never once in your life you saw him like this. So it somewhat made you happy that he's willing to break his character just to have you by his side again. But you still feel uncertain for him.

He pulled away from you as he held you cheek, wiping your tears with his thumb.

" Cher?.. " he softly called out to you as the both of you stared on each other's eye.

You took a deep breath as you closed your eyes, a few tears dropping your eyes as you leaned into his touch.

" I don't know whether should I trust you or not.. I still feel uncertain. " you muttered as you held his hand that was resting on your cheek.

" then give it a time, I will wait mon cheri, even if it takes a century, I will wait, if it means I could be with you again. I don't mind courting you again, and again. " he smiled warmly. Your heart flutters once you saw his genuine smile.

You were silent for a moment before removing his hand from your cheek.

" .. Ok. " that was all you can manage to say as you pulled away from him.

" just tell me when you ready to try again mon cheri. " he cupped your chin and tilted it to face him. You gave out a nod as he felt his lips on your forehead making you froze. This is probably the first intimate thing he did in your whole existence.

" I'll wait for you. " he hummed against your forehead before going in for another kiss.

He let go of you as he took a step back with a the same smile before he melts into the shadows. You stared at the spot where he vanished before placing a hand on your forehead and thought, are you going to regret this?

[theanimeoftheblackbunnymask]

Heyy! I hope you’re having a lovely day/night! I would like to request a yandere ADA dazai alphabet please. Thank you :)

Yandere Armed Detective Agency Osamu Dazai Alphabet

Author's Note: No problem! After this alphabet is done, I think I'm gonna write Chuuya's next.

Warnings: Mental Abuse, Murder Mentioned, Death Mentioned, Suicide Mentioned, Possessive Behavior, Clinginess, Masochism, Sadism, Self Hatred (Dazai), Manipulation, Minor Gaslighting, Physical Assault, Implied Torture, Torture Mentioned, Sexual Abuse Mentioned and Somewhat Implied, Possible Anime Spoilers If You're Not On Season 4, and Trauma.

Links: {Masterlist} {Alphabet Used}

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Just like in the Port Mafia Alphabet, Dazai is extremely affectionate and he's probably even more affectionate now.

He loves sitting in your lap, kissing you, buying you gifts and flowers, and he loves having all your attention.

There is some evidence in the manga that kinda implies he's a yandere in canon sooo.

He's kinda like a cat, if he wants your attention he'll get it.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

ADA Dazai is less likely to kill people now after Oda's death and the promise he made to him. Plus, he can get rid of his competition in ways that don't make him have to kill.

He can literally cut them out of the picture and they'd still be alive.

If he were to kill though, fragments of his former/true self will surface. It'll be scary.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Firstly, you and Dazai would officially be dating once his yandere tendencies sink in, and he wouldn't kidnap you. He'll slowly become more an more possessive and toxic, and that's when you realize what you got yourself into.

Dazai let's you go out on your own, but that's because he makes sure you're painfully aware that anything you do, he'll know or find out about. Dazai is way too smart to hide things from him for long periods of time.

And you're no secret to anyone. Everyone, even his enemies, know about you. So he is a little worried that Fyodor might do something to you when he isn't there.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Ehhh, depends.

Dazai is, how can I say this, extremely pushy and persistent. He's a womanizer, and the way he is with the woman he ask to do a double suicide with, he'll do the shit to you but worse.

Like, for example, if he wants a hug and you say no, he'll cling to you and whine and whine and whine, like what he does to Kunikida, and you'll eventually give in to him just to shut him up.

Due to his lazy and childish nature, it's easy to forget how dangerous Dazai is and can be. This nature of his makes it so easy to ignore his possessive behavior.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Dazai rarely lets you see how bad he's really doing. He can be crying in the living room at the thought of him losing you, remembering Oda's death, and just his own self hatred, but the moment you come down stairs he's wiping his tears and puts on his flirtatious, childish, lazy and teasing act back on.

It's hard to read Dazai because you never know what he's thinking. It's hard to know how much he's really hurting inside.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Amused. I see Dazai as a masochist with some sadistic tendencies. He'd beg you to hit him more, hit him harder. He'll pin you down to the table and beg you to hit him, to fight back, be his cute little feisty girl/boy.

You'll eventually start crying and he'll feel bad, but only a little bit. Don't forget, the worst part about Dazai is his torture methods, if you go to far you'll see why Dazai was so dangerous in the PM.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

If you were to actually escape, Dazai would've known about your plan way before you actually did it.

The thing is, Dazai as a yandere feels more like a toxic boyfriend than a capture. So I wouldn't call it escaping, I'd call it breaking up with him.

Dazai would let happened, but don't think you're free to go. I'd say the perfect time to escape is right before Dazai gets arrested by Jouno. Because 1, he won't be able to find you directly, and 2, it can buy you some time.

Dazai would've known, he'd see it coming, he just has to wait for this entire thing to get over with. Once the whole prison thing is over, you'll find him lying down on your couch, saying that he was sorry.

Dazai is so pushy and persistent that you'll eventually get back with him, but this time, it's just a little bit worse.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

If you ever push him too much to talk about his life in the PM, or more specifically Oda. It would cause him to snap.

Now Dazai in ADA wouldn't want to hurt you physically, but he never said he wouldn't.

The more the persist with him about it the more hostile he becomes. He'll eventually pin you to the ground with a gun to you head, asking you if you wanted to die. His eyes would be empty like they were in the PM, his old habits are slipping through again.

You'll scream and cry, begging him to not kill you. He wasn't even going to, he didn't take the safety off. He'd lick and kiss your tears before picking you up and dragging you to your room. The next day you'd wake up with your arms and legs covered in bandages, dried tears sticking to your face, and Dazai sitting next to you with an empty smile on his face, but you can see the cried tears on his face. Whatever he did, you don't want to know, and it's obvious he regrets it.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Dazai doesn't really see a future for himself. He wants to end his life in a double suicide with you, that's all he wants.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Dazai doesn't get jealous easily, but when he does it's hard to tell.

There's two kinds of jealously with Dazai, fake jealousy and serious jealousy.

Fake jealousy is when it's extremely obvious. Dazai is whining, clinging to you, begging for kisses and attention, this is mostly common when the two of you are with Chuuya, or anyone Dazai likes/works with. Dazai isn't actually jealous, he's just being annoying.

Now serious jealousy is extremely rare. When he's jealous he's quiet, and he has his arm around your waist or shoulders. He could feel his eyes twitch.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Annoying. He's like a really clingy boyfriend. He's cuddling with you, and if you work at the ADA, he'd beg you to do his paperwork if Kunikida said no and if you say no too he'll whine and whine.

Dazai likes to tease you and whisper the most sexual or teasing things your ear until you walk off, them he'd start laughing and beg you to come back to him. Like I said, it's easy to ignore his red flags.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Like all the other woman he asked to do a double suicide with. But then the longer he spent time with you, the harder in love and obsession he had for you fell. He'd officially ask you out in a beautiful park, it'd be so peaceful.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Dazai's true colors are both dangerous and tragic. Dazai is tragic character, no doubt about it. Rarely anyone has seen them, including you.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Dazai doesn't really sexually punish you as often or really in general until his PM counter part. The reason why, eh, it just happened.

Dazai punishes you mentally, physically is rare, mental though is consistent. It breaks you.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

You surprisingly have a lot of freedom. The right he takes away though is the fact that he'll never let you break up with him or leave him long term.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Dazai is a pretty paitient person.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If you die, he'd break down. Everything he loved and cared about either left him or died, that's why he was so scared to get attached to anyone. He shouldn't have let himself get attached to you. He'd be pretty empty, he'd try to keep up his facade, but when alone he's crying and just wanting to end his suffering.

Leaving and or breaking up with him I already answered.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

He never abducted you in the first place.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

I'd say it gotta do with his past. I don't see him ever getting any love and care for the majority of his life. Chuuya pretty much being his first friend, or at least the first friend around his age, Ango's betrayal and losing Oda who he cares a lot about. Dazai is scared of getting attached, or too attached to anyone, because he's scared that he'd lose them because that's what happened in the past.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

If you're crying because of him he'll leave you to it. If someone else made you cry he'd comfort you while your sitting in his lap, crying into his shirt while he rubs you back while saying it'll be ok.

If you isolate yourself he'll whine for you to let him in. If you continue to refuse he'll sigh and give up, he'll probably go bother Kunikida mext.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

He doesn't kidnap you, lots of freedom, feels like a normal relationship most of the time.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Good luck finding those. I don't think anyone has out smarted him just yet, correct me if I'm wrong. But if you think you can successfully do it, you're funny.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Yes.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Dazai worships you. He'll do anything for your attention and praise.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

You got into a consenting relationship at first. I'd say a few years.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Possibly, it depends.

[phantomrose96]

I think one of my least favorite Reddit personalities is what I'm gonna call Destitution Superiority.

It's a pretty disturbingly popular mindset I encounter frequently on Reddit. The kind of people who are like "Yeah I always save 75% of my income and I do this by never buying any single thing I do not need" "I've cut out 100% of processed sugar from my entire diet and it's great for my body" "I spend (absurdly long) time at the gym and eat (absurdly few) calories every day which I weigh and count it's really turned my life around."

And the thing is like, I believe them when they say doing this makes them feel good! I believe this satisfies a primal need for accomplishing a difficult task, for being proud of their efforts, for feeling superior to people who are simply too "lazy"/"impulse-driven"/"ignorant" to do the same.

...But by god. What's the end game? Do these people want to hit 80 years old and look back on their entire life pride which was just... self-deprivation? Do they want to look back and think "thank god I never once tried a delicious piece of cake" "thank god I missed my friend's birthday party so I could hit my gym goals" "thank god I'm dying with millions in the bank which I never let myself use or enjoy in life"

They're defining themselves by what they refuse to let themselves have. They're seeking accomplishment in being less, and doing less, and consuming and spending less so they can soak in the ephemeral brain chemicals that say "you did good by denying yourself this experience." And what happens when they crack? When day 487 of no desserts they feel weak and have a cupcake and hate themselves? And they go back to their hivemind which tells them they were simply weak and need to get back on the horse. It's sad. It's sad to watch.

And it is so very dangerous for how easily people will get sucked in. How extremely easy it is to blur the lines between "healthy, responsible behavior" and "cultish adherence to denying yourself pieces of your own life." They don't recognize that line themselves. Because if you try to bring this up with them, they deflect as if you were suggesting they plunge themselves deep into the opposite obsession. "Oh you think I should just spend every single dime I earn and end up in debt and broke?" "What are you suggesting I just let my health go because it's easier to sit on the couch every day."

No. I just think the narrative around "responsible" behaviors of finance and health needs to address the far-too-pervasive phenomenon of people overdoing it with cultish adherence, and locking themselves out of life, experiences, and joy, because the chemical rush of choke-hold control on their life--(or worse, the fear of slipping and being seen as one of the irresponsible others)--blinds them to the fact that they earnestly want to shrink the one and only life they have to live.

[k2ntoss]

WISH YOU WERE HERE – PT. 2

tw ⭒ swearing, angst, couple argument, break up, stalking (NOT IN A CREEPY BAD KINDA WAY, OKAY??? DON'T DO THAT SHIT, IT'S WEIRD AND WRONG), mention of blood and injuries (reader gets into trouble but hey, it's okay), jason todd x fem!reader and okayyyyyy that's everything heh and just because i won't pay for your therapy there's fluff at the end (i'm crying so ugly i can't stand thinking about sad baby ): )

prompt from @unboundprompts "I know I'm not perfect, but we can work this out." !!!

a/n ⭒ once again song based fic, part two for dirty little secret with a bit more angst because i'm craving it. wish you were here by neck deep.

this one is for @millyhelp who requested part two :3

no word count, i'm lazy so deal with it. :3

one year thrown to waste or at leats, that's how it felt, because even if you tried to push one more month with jason it didn't worked out. you knew he tried hard to trust things could be fine but it simply didn't happened so one day you decided to show up on his place holding a box of the things he gave you.

a few books poking out of the box and also some of his clothes, the ones you used to wear to sleep because it allowed you to feel he was with you instead of wherever he was because you never knew it, your relationship was filled with secrets that didn't allowed the love you felt to breath until it suffocated.

"i can't do this anymore, jason" your words hit him as soon as jason opens the door of his place, eyes darting between your face and the box you hold on your arms and he knew that this day would come, sooner or later you'll end up getting tired of the things he couldn't give you.

but knowledge doesn't mean it is easier to accept your resolve, it burned inside of his chest because there was no way he would just let you go.

that he could have allowed to himself if things were easier, but this wasn't a fairytail in which after all the bad stuff you got to experience that pretty and fluffy happy ending so there wasn't another option for him or for you.

"just like that? just throwing everything to waste?" he asks as his hands take the box from your arms, eyes running over the objects on it and he notices the only framed picture of you both.

"are you sure i am the one throwing all to waste?" you ask him, and this time the table turns because he's the one that feels you stabbing him with each word because he knows that his fear is the only thing pulling you away from him.

there's a voice inside his head that screams at him to not let you go, he is totally capable of taking care of you and to keep you safe from all the bad shit that life throws at him but then there's the other voice, the one that whispers to him about his worst fears, the one that makes him have nightmares.

because in some of his dreams he lets you in to his life, without secrets and you accept him, you love him as he is but then he's naive enough to think that you can be into his arms safe. he dreams about you being in danger, about holding you into his arms but you're not here anymore and it's because he wasn't able to protect you. he never made it on time.

"i'm not gonna keep waiting, jason, i can't go arlund telling myself that you love me when i barely know you" jason wants to throw the box to hug you, to tell you everything about him and just cry against your chest because all his hell is making him be left alone once again. but he remains silent, standing with his eyes fixed on yours and he does a good job preventing the tears to pool at his lashline.

"people does not live of love" he says, blunt and harsh and it's true but how do you keep a relationship alive when it's burried deep into so many secrets?

"they don't but you can't expect people to be happy with someone that does not know how to love them" if you pay a little more attention you can hear his breath catching at his throat and beneath that, his heart shattering "i don't deserve this" it's the last thing he hears from you.

it's been two years, two damn year of being left alone all again. jason has lost count of how many times he has been about to call, just to hear your voice or to tell you he needs you.

two years of him moving out of that apartment to one of his safe houses, never being able to spend more than two nights complete there because he always ends up on the rooftop of the old building where he asked you to be his girlfriend.

there's days when he stands on the living room, in silence while he holds a cup of coffee and turns around to look at that photo; the only one he has with you because he told you he didn't liked photos but he wished he had a wall full of silly photographs of you kissing him and holding his hand but there's just that one. you lying over his chest and smiling widely while he pressed his chin to the top of your head.

he misses you so bad, because he deep inside knows that he had been unfair with you, he never knew how to love you and you deserved better and he wasn't enough, that's what jason tells to his reflex when he looks at it on the mirror and he's cried at it, he crumbles completely when he remembers how sad your eyes looked the last months with him.

he never fixed it. he never tried enough to make you happy. it was all his fault because no matter what, the people he loved the most always left him.

he remembers everyday how it has been two years and he hasn't been there next to you to celebrate your achieved goals, he hasn't been there to hold you and calm you when you needed it.

because maybe he wasn't really there but he is always taking care of you. it's been two years but jason takes time to, once or twice a week, go around your block to see if you're doing fine and the first year was hard because for a few months after your breakup you barely left your place.

he made sure to sneak into the building to leave food, without notes attached or anything that could tell you it was him and it never really crossed your mind because he cutted every knot with you, almost as if he vanished from your life. nothing else but a dream you had.

it took you time, probably haldf a year to shake yourself well enough to try and return to your daily routine, work and college with maybe a small join with your close friends and jason always made sure to know you would be alright. even if he wasn't by your side.

what he didn't knew was about the nights you spent crying on your room, curtains closed shut and lights off as you called him just to be met with nothing. he never changed his number, you asked his classmates and they told you it was the same but it was weird because why an stranger would wanna know that? so you stopped asking about him, it was for the better.

the second year was harder, trying to forget jason was hard but slowly you managed to stop thinking about him. after breaking up he dropped out of college, none of his friends knew about him, he just disappeared from everywhere so it was easier to erase him from your mind and heart. if only it was possible.

because there would be days where after graduating you drive past the campus just to remember how he used to wait for you at the gates so you could spend a few hours to act the fool on his place or yours. some other days you would be on a store, looking for something you need when one of the songs he used to hum when he cooked started to play all around the place.

you were over him but it didn't took away the sharp pain on your chest, the small tears falling from your eyes just to be met by a "is anything wrong, princess?" and oh, how much you wished he was here, that it was him worrying about you.

it wasn't jason. you know how they say that a nail takes out another? you never thought it could work but it was worth the trying, right? a nice guy to hold your heart so tenderly that you felt safe. that you felt loved.

jason knows it, that's the only reason he's now going less around your block. seeing you with someone else hurts, it makes him so fucking sad he can't stand it and he has been about to knock at your door because he feels so determined to let you in to his world sometimes but he doesn't, he knows he'll be too selfish to try to go back to you after making you suffer so much.

he drives around your block once every two weeks now, he tries to make it part of his patrol so there's sometimes when you're on your couch cuddled by your new boyfriend, too lost to pay attention to any movie he picked up but looking into the window just to be met by a red spot that makes you feel somehow safe but as it comes it goes, maybe the light of the police sirens.

alike jason, there's days when you find yourself on the rooftop of the building where he used to live, sitting on the floor and looking at the sky. the tears stream down your cheeks until one night you hear the heavy stomp of boots and when you turn around the red hood is looking at you.

there's a strange tension on the air, he stands there frozen like a deer in front of a truck and you just look at him about to say something but it's too slow. he's running away, jumping from a rooftop to another like he was beeing chased and maybe it's common. you're not the first gotham citizen that has had an encounter with the vigilantes of the city.

but the way the white sockets of his helmet lingered on yours made you feel calm, the kind of calm jason's presence gave you two years ago and you remember why your face is damp. he knows, jason knows damn well you go sometimes to his old building but he never expected to find you there, crying.

back at his place he stares at the picture again, you used to look so happy... why did he had to ruin it all? it was everything he had from you, that picture to tell him you were never going to come back to him. suddenly being home felt like drowning so it was better to go out, some more patrol and kicking some criminals would make him better.

call it destiny or whatever you want but jason thanks the heavens to his gut feeling. he ends up around his old block, he sees you're leaving the place and it's almost midnight, you carry your bag and walk through the dark alleys to go back to your apartment.

it's weird how things work because you turn to an alley you usually avoid and trouble finds you, there's a group of three men.

"seems like luck has found us, guys" one of them talks, there's a laugh-like rumble on his voice that tells you this is in no way a good thing. they walk in your way, the fear makes you hold onto your bag as if it was the most important thing in life.

"maybe it's our time to have some fun, isn't it?" this time another one speaks, circling around you until your arm is held behind your back. the third of them snatches your bag out of your grip or at least he tries because your hand is clenched around it.

"c'mon, let go of it or you'll get hurt" he warns, his eyes fixed on yours with a glint of anger on them as his hand reaches for something on his back pocket but there you go, playing brave.

"let go off me, i'm gonna fucking scream" your voice sounds firm but there was a slight tremble to it, but the threat just makes them all laugh like a lame joke.

"the little bitch has some guts on her, huh?" the man that was holding your arm snarls, holding you thighter "what if my friend cuts you open so we can see them?" it makes your blood freeze, because at this point your bag is completely snatched from your hold and there's an stinging pain on your stomach.

almost as he was punching you, the man that has your bag presses his fist against your body in a harsh push when he stabs you. the pain is too much it makes you foggy, not being able to fully register what's going on around you miss the sound of bullets and the heavy steps of the combat boots.

there are three thuds across the alley as your attackers fall and all of the sudden there's someone holding you thightly. blurry eyes seeing a faint red speck in front of you and from afar you hear a modulated voice.

"c'mon... don't do this to me" jason mumbles, he's still wearing his helmet and he refuses to take it off. he's not brave enough to look directly at you because on his head this is all his fault "can't do this to me, princess... look at me, please"

maybe it's the shock of your injuries but there's something familiar in the way the red hood calls you princess and it makes your chest ache, your whines turning into crying loudly between his arms because now it's not only the wound that hurts.

"no, no... you have to resist, don't cry like that, baby" he coos, on the edge of losing it all because he feels like dying when you cry desperately holding onto his jacket "you gotta be strong, pretty, you can't leave me"

"why? why did you had to give up just like that?" it comes out of your mouth without even thinking and it makes jason shake because it was almost as if you were talking to him instead to a vigilante that's trying to take care of you.

"calm down, sweetheart, please" he leans in, his hand pressed against the wound once he takes off one of his gloves "you'll hurt yourself more, you just have to let me take you to a hospital" he says, picking you up with so much care, too much tenderness for a guy that once was a crime lord, that has made so much wrong.

he's quick, he supresses his shivering hands because he has to be sure you make it to the hospital in time even if he drives you around in his motorcycle and misses all the red lights, he couldn't care less about it.

later that night, when you are resting into a hospital room he's being scolded by batman but he's too busy pacing around the rooftop, he took off his helmet and his hands are all over his hair and face. jason is trying to gather himself up to see you.

was this all his fault? of course it was. the person he loved the most, the one that brought so many good things to his life was now lying on a hospital bed injured because he had been so stupid and weak.

without thinking twice about it jason sneaks back into the hospital, still on his red hood gear he goes to your room and locks the door before he seats next to the bed. the helmet rests at your feet while his hand holds yours, not feeling able to look at you he cries himself to sleep, his forehead pressed to your knuckles until it's 4 am.

"jason?" your voice is all gruffy, throat dry but you have to speak because jason was right there and you'll be damned if you didn't recognized the jet black hair and that pretty white streak, it felt so soft brushing against your skin before your fingers brushed into the silky strands "jason..."

he wakes up, scared when he feels his hair being ruffled but he settles as soon as he remembers your touch, it soothes him but when your hand stops scratching he looks up.

it hits you like a train, his clothes and the damn red helmet resting at your feet on the bed.

"it's a lot to explain..." jason starts, he knows it's too much because there are things that cannot be talked just like that about him. your fingers are squeezing his and it makes him break down again.

"is this... is this why you didn't wanted me around?" the question itself is enough to make him nod in silence, the tears are starting to flow down again and jason doesn't fight it.

"it sounds so fucking stupid when you say it like that... i feel so fucking stupid" his voice breaks and it's the first time you see him so vulnerable, it makes you want to hug him because even with everything that happened you loved him. how could you not love jason? he had always made you feel safe and understood, because maybe you didn't knew him so well he knew you and he always made sure to let you know he loved you with your every flaw.

"it is so hard to think about it because i feel like you don't deserve to deal with even more shit" he says, looking away "do you... do you know how it feels when i imagine how much danger you'll face around me? i can't stop thinking that you're here because of me, it's everything my fault, y/n."

it's heartbreaking, because you know he is seeing himself as someone who wasn't worth it and ad the red hood it was even worse because everyone knew about what he has done but there's so much more about him than just that.

"it's not your fault... it shouldn't have had happened but i turned into the wrong alley" your voice is low and a soft grunt escapes your lips when you sit yourself up to reach his chin, making jason look at you "and there's no reason why being around you should be easy, who said it had to be everything safe when we live in gotham?"

the small smile that makes it up to your lips makes his heart break, after all his shit, all the hurtful things he said before you were trying to make him laugh.

"i'm so sorry, y/n" he holds your hand again, hiding his face on the mattress of the bed as he cried "i know i'm not perfect, but we can work this out..."

"i know you're not perfect, not as jason todd nor as the red hood" you say, thumb caressing his knuckles as you look into his bloodied hands and notice is the same hand he held pressed against your stomach "but right along all your flaws there's a lot more and with all the shit we've been through... i still love you, just like that"

[shhh-secret-time]

rahhhh i’m such a fan of your writing omg and I never request stuff so i’m very nervous to send this but can I Pretty Please ask for something w kyle who’s usually more of a sub being asked to like Go Crazy Dom and at first he’s nervous but then like completely gets into it and wrecks reader’s shit please…. thank u for yr service🙏🏼

Oh lovelies you never need to be nervous when sending requests, I know it can be intimidating but believe me I say this truly makes my day!

That being said, I hope you don't mind that I've combo the request with someone else's! I'm getting a lot of Kyle and I wanna make sure everyone gets a little of what they want! And there is filth ahead so get your bibles ready. Sinners the lot of you.

Me too

Warning: NSFW, Slight choking, Dom!Kyle, Sub!Reader, Breeding Kink, Oral, Strong Language

Pairing: Kyle x Fem!Reader

Notes: Shout out to the roommate who talked me through making a Danish so I didn't have to google it lmao.

The smell of brown sugar and cinnamon filled the air swirling around in your small kitchen. The morning light peeks through the curtains of the circular window in front of the sink, you smile at the view of lilac and orange seemed to blend. You've read things online where people compared the morning sky to painting where the paint seemed to just melt together, and it seemed like one of those days. If you were better with a camera, you'd take a picture just to share it. That and the fact that you had a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and a very sleepy curly red-haired man nuzzling into your shoulder.

Your husband Kyle was never a morning person, for all his perfections and his strict schedule keeping, when the morning sun would greet him, he'd return the greeting with a groan and a feeble attempt to hide. You were trying to revive the poor man by making a pot of coffee, the warm brown liquid was the only thing that brought him back to the land of the living. The man ran off of coffee, you were sure the Tweeks owed half their business to him. With the coffee pot humming its little tune and the smell of ingredients laid out across the counter this morning just seemed perfect. Now if only your husband didn't have to leave and go to work if he could just stay with you and keep you warm.

The crisp morning air seeped into the house and sure you could change out of the basketball shorts you stole from him, and the large T-shirt you stole from him, oh the fluffy socks you stole from him but then you wouldn't smell like him. Because he would be leaving after he got through with his morning routine, and you'd be alone in this cold little house.

"What's with the face baby?" His voice broke you out of your little pout, the sleepy gravel laced in each word sent a shiver down your spine.

"What face? I'm making apple and brown sugar Danishes..." You say with a little smile on your face knowing full well he was going to keep bugging you about this.

"Hm... that’s why you had your lip poked out. And your brows were doing that thing." How did he know? He still had his face buried in you, now pushed into the crook of your neck.

You only hum in response as you focus on the apple in your hands, the knife gliding across the skin of the ruby red fruit. He knew better than to mess with you while you were handling dangerous kitchen tools, so he waited until you finished. Once you finished slicing the apples you gently placed them into the lemon water mixture, it would keep the apples fresh while you worked on the rest of the pastry. Next your hands find the mixing tool and begin to pull together nutmeg, brown sugar, butter, salt, and finally the cinnamon. Because you didn't have a lot of time in the mornings, knowing your husband had little time, you prepared the flour before he even stirred.

"You can't ignore me forever; I'm just going to keep bugging you until you tell me why you made such an adorable face." Kyle reminds you that he's still latched onto you by placing a lazy kiss on your neck, his lips trailing down towards your shoulder touching any skin that's exposed by the baggy shirt.

Every little kiss pulled you further and further away from your mixing, you couldn't help but melt under his affection. That didn't stop you from trying. You try squirming away from his lips, pushing your cheek against his face to nudge it out of the way.

"Baby, I'm trying to make you breakfast. Do you want to go to work hungry?"

"Hmm no, but if it means getting you to talk then I can suffer a little." He responds by tugging you back against him pulling you away from the bowl, the only shield against his wondering lips.

Kyle turns you around and lifts you up so you're facing him, using the counter so that you can look him in the eye. He's lucky you already put the ingredients you needed in the bowl, it didn't matter how pretty he looked with his messy bedhead and his soft green eyes, if he ruined your work, he'd get more than a pout. You expect him to move his hands from under your thighs, but he doesn't, instead he slots himself in between your legs and keeps the warmth of his palm on your exposed skin.

"No where to run now, come on love talk to me."

You look away for a moment, the heat from his hands was almost as warm as the blush on your face. "I- was just thinking about how lonely it is sometimes when you leave for work. I miss you..." You finally cave, how can you not under his gaze especially when it softens as you speak.

Kyle lets out a soft 'oh' that seems to drag out along with a sigh. He places a soft kiss on your cheek, one of his hands leaves your thigh and cups the side of your face his lips aren't on. "I'm sorry, you know getting out of bed is one of the hardest things I do every morning. I want nothing more than to stay wrapped up in the blankets with you."

This is why you didn't want to say anything, it was a selfish feeling. He was the one going out to provide for you both, he was the one who had to leave the house while he insisted that you stayed home to relax. When you first married Kyle, it was one of the first things he expressed he wanted, the need to take care of you and pamper you. It was a dream at first, having all that time to yourself and your hobbies and the only thing you needed to focus on was keeping the house clean.

Kyle pulls your face towards him, his index finger hooking under your chin to guide you back to him. His face drops to a frown when he sees the look on your face, his eyes studying you carefully.

"Hey, why don't we go out tonight? We can get some dinner and maybe catch a movie?" He's trying and it's so sweet, the way he doesn't seem to even mind your selfishness.

"That sounds nice. I'm sorry Kyle." You smile at him giving him a little kiss on the nose.

"Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything wrong."

"It's just-...you're the one that has to work and I'm being, I dunno clingy?"

"Baby you're not clingy. Honestly, I love that you want me here. I want to be here." If he wasn't already smiling at the way you kissed his nose, he definitely has a love filled grin now.

"I know and it makes me feel bad for telling you. Like, it's probably already hard enough for you to go to work."

Kyle goes quiet for a only a moment before shaking his head, the red curls bouncing from side to side as he does. He sighs softly and looks at you with heavy lidded eyes. The love in his smile matches the soft greens of his eyes.

"You're so sweet. Such a wonderful wife, you know that? I can't believe I'm this lucky to have married someone so considerate." Between his barrage of compliments and the way he peppers your face with so many soft kisses you can't argue back. "You're not making my life harder by wanting me to stay, I'm not burdened by you, I promise. Have I ever been the kind of guy to keep that kind of thing quiet?"

No. If Kyle Broflovski felt strongly about something you would hear it. It was honestly one of your favorite things about him, you never had to guess how he felt or if he wasn't upset and was too afraid to tell you. There were moments where he needed time to sort out his feelings or he'd explode, and he swore he'd never do that to you. Not you, not the person he bound his life to.

"There's more to this isn't there? Come on love, what is it?" Kyle Broflovski was also very good at reading you, turns out.

You pressed your lips together as your hands worked up towards his hair, carding your fingers through his fiery red curls. He hummed in delight at the way your fingers felt against his scalp, if you didn't want to risk ruining the moment, you'd compare him to a cat.

One should feel honored that Kyle would even allow them to see his hair when he was a kid, now here you were touching it and even massaging his scalp. You swore if you had enough time, you'd have him purring in your hands.

"I was just thinking about a way to not make the house so lonely."

"You want me to see if I can't start working from home? It'll be a little difficult, but I can-"

"No, no. I mean that would be awesome but no. I mean like...what if we had a little us running around? You know?" You whisper letting your voice drop as if someone could be listening in on your conversation.

Kyle's eyes widen and you watch his face turn a bright red, the freckles on his face pop against his skin. You've never seen him react like that, even before you were married in those early dating stages. Sure, there were times where he got nervous, times where he felt his heart speed up when he looked at you, times where he was puddy in your hands and you could pull a side of him that he'd never show anyone else.

In the bedroom it was you who took the lead. Maybe it was because Kyle was so busy being "dominate" in other parts of your relationship that when it was time for love making, he just wanted to let someone else have control. Being able to shut his mind off and just focus on the wonderful feeling you gave him was what heaven felt like, he was sure. And he was just lucky you liked the role, that you took to it so easily. There was no shame in his eyes, he just wanted to keep what you both did between you two. The world didn't need to know what went on behind closed doors. But the way he looked at you told a different story.

"You...want a baby? My baby?" His voice matches your level, but his voice seems to dip lower than his usual sleepy voice.

"Who else? I know we haven't really talked about it, but I think we're in a good spot and we'd make really good parents."

When Kyle doesn't respond you squirm a little on the counter, shifting in his hold that seemed to tighten around your thigh. You watched as he took a deep breath, and his eyes fluttered shut. Then he grabbed his phone and began tapping away against the screen. You went to move so you could give him the privacy he needed as your eyes caught the little text bubbles being sent. You tried your hardest not to read what he was texting but his hand on your thigh squeezed around the soft flesh, a silent warning to keep still. The way his jaw shifts and the veins in his arms poke out makes you tilt your head in confusion.

"I called off." His voice breaking the silence makes you jolt, that and the way he tosses his phone to the side.

"What?! Why!? I don't want to be the reason you're staying home." You try to protest further but you're cut off by the way his lips slam into yours.

"I've got plenty of sick days I never use. You're sitting here in my clothes talking about wanting my baby. And god damn it I didn't even want to go in today anyway." He growls in between the kisses, emphasizing each word.

"I always wear your clothes though! I don't see-... Kyle did asking for a baby get you worked up?" You ask pulling him back from your lips by his hair, he usually likes when you tug on the roots.

He lets out a small moan, but it's cut off by another growl, he grabs your hands holding your smaller wrists in his one hand. Pinning them above your head against the cabinets behind you makes you gasp, and your eyes widen. This was a new side to him that had your core pulsing with desire.

He didn't need to answer, you got it from that alone, but he did. "You have no idea how long I've been thinking about wanting to fill you up. How bad I wanna cum in you until there's no question that you're pregnant."

You shutter and whimper at the way he speaks to you, his dirty talk working its magic. As the years went on, he worked on trying to keep it out of his vocabulary, but in moments like this where he gets worked up it would slip out.

But it never came out like this, you never realized how much you liked Kyle like this. You never saw the looks he would give you when you were so busy taking care of Ike. The way his eyes would linger with a dark hunger behind them as you took care of his baby brother like it was second nature. Thoughts of your own kids grabbing at your hip and hugging your leg, a baby in your arms and another one in his. How jealous he was that Stan told him one night that he was trying with his partner for kids. How Kenny already had one with another one the way. Kyle wanted his kids to grow up with theirs, maybe they'd be best friends like they were.

More importantly he wanted to see you pregnant, the need to take care of you was ingrained so deeply that he wanted this. Needed this. His cock was aching already over the fact that you brought it up and he didn't have to. You came to him wanting a baby and fuck he was going to give you one. Especially if you kept whimpering and pressing your body against his like that.

"Who's getting worked up now? Do you like that idea? C'mon talk to me Mama." Oh, the way he called you that was dangerous, his hot breath ghosting over your exposed collarbone.

"I-I-" You can't get it out, the way your head is spinning and the way his lips are working, making his mark on your skin. You yelp when his teeth sink in and his grip on your wrists tightens. "I do! I-I want you!"

He seemed to like that, liked the way you beg for him so easily. You feel him smirk into your skin and his free hand push up your shirt. His fingertips glide across your skin finding your breasts, there he gives your nipple a sharp pinch, rolling the nub between his index finger and this thumb. "You sound so pretty like this; I should have done this forever ago.... I'm gonna let your hands go so I can get this shirt off you. You keep them there." Kyle wasn't asking, not the way he clicked his tongue and rolled your nipple.

You cry out and nod, barely able to verbally respond, the pain was intoxicated something you didn't even know you liked. If this was how he was acting from just talking about putting a baby in you, you couldn't wait until he was actually fucking you. For now, you'd play his game, keep your hands above your head so he can slip the faded T-shirt off you.

"I never get tired of this." Next comes your shorts, he unties the strings keeping the baggy basketball shorts up and around your waist. His hands working on pulling them down until they pool beneath his feet, kicking them to the side. "I can't believe you thought for a second I would be upset with you for wanting me to stay home. Fuck, I'm glad you said something. Guess I don't have to worry about going to work hungry hm?" He returns to your neck, but he doesn't stay for long, he kisses a heated trail down to your breasts.

There his lips latch onto your hardening buds. His tongue swirls around the pink flesh hungrily sucking until they're red and sore. Each little cry and moan you let out only encourages him to give the other side the same attention. All the while his hands work on opening your legs to him.

His attention is pulled away when he feels your soaked cunt. Expecting to find your panties, he growls and looks down at you. You don't know how he went from looking you in the eye, to almost hovering over you with such a dangerous look. How he made you feel so small like you were prey.

"Was this a part of your plan? Make those adorable pouting faces and get me to fuck you on the kitchen counter? Wear nothing under my clothes so I can dive right into that delicious looking pussy?" You moan and throw your head back, not just from how filthy he spoke but from how he bit the inside of your thigh.

Teeth marks marking up and down your plump perfect thighs, they were perfect to him. Perfect in the way they felt under his teeth, perfect in the way they filled his hand, perfect in the way you tasted. All of you was perfect.

"Oh fuck~" You're nearly cut off by another gasp as his nips turn to kisses against your slit.

"Keep moaning like that, it goes so well with my breakfast." The way his tongue slipped through the lips of your cunt against your bud made your gasp turn to moans.

Kyle devoured you like you were his last meal, his tongue swirls around your nub like he had your breasts. You couldn't help as your hips rolled against his tongue chasing pleasure with greed, but he stops you with a firm hold on your thighs. His teeth graze your bud as a warning, a silent demand for you to sit still, but if the way he spoke and pinned you down was anything to go off of; you needed to keep pushing. So, you pushed against his hold again, squirming against his mouth.

When Kyle pulls back and clicks his tongue, it isn't until you see the look in his eyes that you know you're in trouble. "I kept my hands up like you told me to...w-what is it?"

"You know what. I'm trying to eat my meal in peace and you're making it very hard. Quit being a brat."

"But I was just-"

Kyle cuts you off again, but not with his lips or his own words, but from his hands wrapped around your throat. The tips of his fingers applied a healthy amount of pressure to cut off just enough air to make your head spin. His eyes narrow down at you as he forces your head up.

"You were just...what? Arguing with me? No, I think you were going to say, I'm sorry I won't move my hips again. I'll keep still so you can eat."

He waits. Waits for you to nod before letting your throat go, then he waits another second looking at you expectedly. As you gasp for air your tongue traces your bottom lip. "I... I’m sorry and I'll keep still so you can eat."

"Good girl."

Oh. Oh. Maybe you were more of a switch than you thought. Maybe it was just the way he said that with that delicious purr. At this moment you didn't really care to put a label on it, you were just burning from the praise. Not like you had a lot of time to think about it anyway, not when he knelt back down and started eating you out. His lips latched onto the sensitive nub pulling a moan from you as he sucked, his tongue flicks over it again and again. He's attentive to every sound you make from the way your muscles flex and bounce under his touch. All but humming when your yell for God or his name.

Throwing your head back, you swore you were seeing stars when he shook his head back and forth. The friction had you clenching around nothing and your nails digging into the wooden cabinets behind you.

"Kyle baby, I'm gonna cum. Please let me cum. I-I've been good I did what you told me!"

When he doesn't say anything, you have to fight the urge to grab him by the head and force him to look up at you. Slowly he looks up at you and the little flicker of fire behind them tells you all you need. It takes everything in your power not to close your eyes as you cum around his tongue, even more so when his tongue begins to greedily lap it up. You mewl and squirm trying to pull away from him, but he won't let you, won't let you move from his hold. Nothing you could have baked for him would taste as perfect as you do.

"So sweet~. Hmm always taking care of me." Kyle rubs his lips against your thighs again, wiping the slick off his jaw.

As he stands back up, he can't help but admire his work. The way your skin is marked with his teeth marks, the purple bruises on your thighs shaped like his hand, and now the way your face is flushed a dark red as you try to catch your breath. You can't quite read what's going on in his head, but he's got that look like he's thinking about something. The way his brows knit together and his eyes flicker from you to around the room.

Then he hums, picks you up and carries you over to the kitchen table. You shiver when the cool wood hits your back but it's a distant complaint as he hovers over you. Somewhere between the counter and the table he's slipped off his plaid bottoms and his boxers. Discarded somewhere with your clothes, you click back into reality as he pulls his shirt over his head. Most of his freckles are covering his shoulders, dusting across the pale skin and down his back. He raises a brow at you when he catches you admiring just how handsome he really is. It's only morning and he's already got you so dazed and worked up.

"Got something to say Mama?"

Fuck you were really beginning to like that, "just thinking about how incredibly lucky I am. We're gonna make some really pretty babies."

He smirks at you, the kind that would have made you fall to your knees if you weren't laying on the table. "Yeah? I was just thinking the same thing. How fucking beautiful you are. How pretty you're gonna look when I finally paint your insides."

You cover your mouth to stop the moan from slipping out of your mouth, but once again he stops you and pins your hands by your side. "No. Let me hear you. I need to hear you begging for my cock. Beg me to fill you up."

It takes a few teasing glides of his cock over you folds and a few more growls before you finally cave. The way the words roll of your tongue is like sin. "Please Kyle, I want you to fuck a baby into me. I want it so bad; it has to be you. Only you!"

"Fuck!" His own resolve crumbles just as the tip of his cock slips back down to your begging hole.

This isn't the first time you've felt him without a condom but this time it felt so different. Knowing he wasn't going to pull out this time was exciting, the fact that he could just let go and take you however he wanted. To claim you with his cum. You're so caught up in your own thoughts you don't even feel the way he puts your legs up on his shoulders, or his curls brushing against your face. It isn't until he finally sheathes himself into you that you snap out of it. You moan next to his ear when he bottoms out in you, the way your thighs burn feels so good.

"Your cunt's choking me, trying to milk me already baby? Don't worry I'll give you every last drop." Kyle lulls his head to the side as he begins lazily rocking into you.

You're almost folded in half from the way he has you under him, knees pushed back towards your shoulders. Kyle's got your hands still pinned by the side of your head; fingers intertwined with yours. Normally his eyes would flutter shut, he'd give into the sensation of his cock nudging into your walls, but this time he keeps them open. Like he is trying to memorize every time your lips form that cute little 'o' and a moan comes spilling out. The way your moans pitch up when he hits that delicious spot. The way you pant and beg for him to go faster.

That's when he shifts, the loving hold and lazy thrusts turn to fast paced fucking. Love making is always there, you never doubt that, but the way he's got his hands around your waist pulling you back onto his cock feels so raw. He slams into you with a newfound force neither of you knew he could muster. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, stars dancing across your vision. He rewards you with his own moans and grunts, the further his cock head pushes past your walls the faster he brings you to climax. Now that your hands are free from his strong grip, you place them on his forearm’s nails digging into his flesh. He hisses but it only seems to push him further.

"Come on baby. Cum around my cock. Yeah, just like that. Just like that!"

You arch your back and give him all you have. Your walls finally grip his cock as you reach your peak. Between your heart beating in your ears and the way he slams back into you, it's almost too much. Kyle finds a way to keep you on the line without pushing you too far. You feel the way his hips begin to stutter, and his moans become ragged. You know he's close.

"Yeah. Fuck you feel so good, I'm gonna- gotta fill you up. Take it!" He groans and then you feel his hot seed against your walls. Pushing up into your cunt, he plugs your hole with a final slam of his hips.

You and your husband lay there against one another, panting heavily until your breathing slows down to match one another. You can feel his lips pressed against your neck and his eyelashes tickle your skin. When you move your hands to his hair again, he knows you're okay, he presses a few short kisses onto your soft lips. Kyle feels you smile against his lips, and he doesn't even bother stopping the lazy one that comes across his.

"Never seen that side of you. I like it." You purr finally able to talk now that you've slowed down.

"Hm, keep that in mind when we do this again."

"Again?"

"Oh baby, we've got all day. It's Friday. I'm going to treat you to dinner like I promised. After that I'll take you upstairs and we're going to do this again. And again. Aaaaaand again. I'll keep my cock plugged in you like this and we'll go to sleep." His fingers push back into your hair, pushing it out of your sweaty face.

"J-Jesus Kyle." You shutter under his touch, unable to stop the way your walls flutter around him again. You can feel his cock bob in response, and when he slides his hardened member out slowly; you feel every little vein like he wants you to memorize it.

"Gotta make sure you're pregnant. My perfect, beautiful, wonderful wife deserves to be a mama. And what kind of husband would I be if I didn't give her exactly what she wants?" Kyle smirks down at you with newfound energy.

It was going to be a long morning, maybe you could convince him to let you finish making those pastries but you had a feeling that would be a battle. Especially since he's already started thrusting back into you. Maybe a few more rounds wouldn't hurt, you could always have him put the baked goods in the oven. After all he was doing so well already.

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

I'm still saying Afton is not the Mimic

Spoilers for the Ruin DLC under the Cut. I wanted to include this in my mega post... but I know that the fandom is flooded with "the Mimic was Afton all along" theories right now actually.

There will be a lot under the cut, explaining some personal theories and the ending of the RUIN DLC so... be warned.

The Mimic, if you read the books, (but you probably haven't so I'll explain it in a few short sentences) is a character from the Tales of the Pizzaplex Books that was built by a Faz Engineer who made a robot to mimic his son to keep him company while he worked long hours while he lived in a factory. The child died in a car accident, and the Mimic kept miming his son's behavior. So in his grief, the engineer beat him to death in rage and grief. This infused rage in the machine.

So now the Mimic mimes behavior of a four year old, but it's corrupted and twisted. It will mime the action of 'scooping icecream' but will be scooping out your brains. It also has an adaptive learning AI so the violent pain it experienced, along with a four year old teaching it, it's a very dangerous thing.

It's also buried into the foundation of the Pizzaplex. And was reprogramed by some dumb lazy tech to clear the debris down there. By disassembling the robots and putting them in a pile. Which it did to all the human construction workers by disassembling them and putting them in a pile.

"This pile" I think is the Blob. Or as the game files refer to it.... "THE TANGLE."

(hard to see but take my word for it. that's him)

(cheating camera angle)

I think "The Tangle" is a infused pile of machinery, robots, and bodies that have all wound up down there.

So, we know that the blob is real. But I really think it's "The pile" that the Mimic has been stacking in the Book Epilogues. And it got out. Gregory/Mimic or Grimmick, says that something tunneled out of the building... And I believe this is 100% true. Because in Base Security Breach, we see this thing in the underground where Afton's room is.

But in RUIN.... This thing is on the top level??? HOw Did he get up here???

Easy..

He tunneled up.

So... the reason why RUIN looks like it does, and HOW it looks how it does...

Is because The Tangle got loose. And has been using the Pizzaplex as it's own series and network of tunnels like a burrowing snake or ant. Causing the entire building to fall in on itself. The Pizzaplex is it's ecosystem now. So that's why everything is falling apart how it is. He's breaking the very foundation and walls of everything.

So we do know the Blob IS real.

And let's assume that he's "the pile" that the Mimic has been building in the Tales of the Pizzaplex Epilouges. Just... sorting all the garbage, bodies, and endos into piles that he can find and stack.

So we know the Blob is real... but is Afton Burntrap real?

Forgive me I don't have the proper collectable screenshots so I'm pulling from the Wiki:

Throughout the game, you collect these real collectable comics that include all of the endings of Security Breach. And Cassie can recognize this as Gregory's art style, and has no idea when he had the time to make these or when he made them. EXCEPT Princess Quest. Which is pretty important I think. Which I think cements that Princess Quest is the definitive three star ending.

It's also worth noting that in Vanny's Room in the RUIN DLC... there is a book of "Fazbear History" by Vanny's Bed. So if Vanessa was freed and got out... we can assume she was talking to Gregory about the Fnaf lore as she knows it.

Also, it makes sense why some of these endings are a little insane now. cause it was just Gregory trying to process everything that happened to him at the Pizzaplex.

Gregory: So, I thought you had a twin sister for the longest time and-

Vanessa: Try again...

But anyway... if None of the previous endings were real.... Is Burntrap even real?

We collect this before we face the Mimic.... of Afton and the Blob. So we know The Blob/Tangle is real.... but was Afton ever real? Was Burntrap ever real? That's what we need to answer...

But if he isn't.... Why is his charging station down here in the furnace room all clouded up? ....As if it never was opened. As if he rotted inside with no more remnant to collect???

Cause here's the thing... I can accept the soft retconning of Afton. And if he was never real to begin with, and this is just Gregory's personal interpretation based on what Vanessa told them about what she was suffering through, I will take that. Or maybe Gregory saw the Mimic and interpreted it as this... I will take that as well.

However....

From what I said earlier... The Mimic... All his motivations in the game don't line up with Afton's.

He is doing exactly what he wants to do.

The Mimic is sealed in the back with Concrete... he's using Helpi and the VANNI Network to get Cassie to let him out. He just wants to get out of the basement and get Free.

Now... if Mimic is Afton the whole time...

and there is a case for it... they have almost the same idle animations as an endo, the Mimic does have Burntrap's claws on one hand. And he does have a similar pawed foot to Burntrap's design and they're practically identical height and pose.

And the Mimic is almost one-for-one linked with Hepi and the VANNI network. And I don't doubt that Vanny the person was using the VANNI network to get around the pizzaplex and become invisible to certain animatronics.

.....But...

here's a big But...

If the Mimic's goal is to kill people with his bare hands... and to get out of the concrete sealed basement, and break all the Security Nodes so he can get free???

WHY DOES THE PIZZAPLEX HAVE SO MANY MISSING PEOPLE/CHILDREN?

Why was the Human Staff all killed in the Pizzaplex?

Why are their children missing?

Why is Vanny hunting children and adults alike to kill in the first place?

This is not the Mimic's MO.

Because Vanny WAS working under influence of Glitchtrap and not the Mimic.

Because if the Mimic just wanted to get out... He would have told Vanny/Vanessa... head of Security.... To break all the Security Nodes A WHOLE LOT SOONER. Cause she literally has a VANNI Mask/suit and access to all of that.

The Mimic has no need for remnant or child killing or human killing if they aren't doing it themselves. The Mimic has always been very hands on with their kills.

But If Burntrap Afton is REAL... HE DOES have a reason for gathering this much Remenant.

He is growing in the charging station and trying to regrow his body.

And while the Mimic moves in a similar fashion to Burntrap, I think that's because he witnessed his behavior at one point and is copying it. But he never saw Afton in his prime. So he literally can't mimic the serial killer behaviors Afton is known for. Just likely his walk and how he breathes.

Because He literally can not copy Afton as a copy-cat killer, if there is NO Afton to Copy. There is no way that he could have learned who Afton was from all the way down below into the foundation. Especially with MXES keeping it hidden down there. And by "hidden" I'm sure it's hidden from Glitchtrap to even possess or check out that low.

People have to remember. The Mimic doesn't have access to illusion disc technology from the books. he can't replicate a corpse face. He's just a learning killer AI who has access to crappy mascot costumes. He can't look one-for-one like a person, even if he can sound like one.

So, there is a possibility that Burntrap Afton DID exist... He just rotted into dust once Vanny stopped collecting remnant for him.

Or there's also the possibility he was never real to begin with.

But.... Glitchtrap certainly was at one point. And Vanny was working with Glitchtrap to kill employees and children.

Not the Mimic.

Just their motivations and modus operandi don't add up if they are one in the same.

It wouldn't make sense for the Mimic to just tell Vanny to parade around in a bunny suit, kidnapping children and killing employees.

He would be telling her to disable the Security Nodes.

There is also the possibility that Vanessa sealed the Mimic in concrete after the events of Security Breach. But even then, I really don't think that she knew about it before hand until she went down to the basement to unplug Burntrap from his charging station.

Anyways... The only way I will see "Mimic is Afton" is that if Afton was using it's body. But then, it's not the Mimic anymore, it's just another Afton-clone.

And from everything from how I've seen the behavior of the Mimic in the DLC, it is operating completely divorced from Afton with it's own motivations and morals of it's own accord.

Oh, just to be clear, I'm not mad at this soft-retcon of burntrap. It's fine. Lol I actually prefer if he didn't exist.

And even if Burntrap was never real in the first place....

Then it means that Vanny was purely an agent of Glitchtrap.

Then when the Glitchtrap Virus got destroyed.... the Mimic hijacked the VANNI network and took it's place.

[theharddeck]

your love is the love i need || chapter 4/4

pairing: javy machado x femme reader (no y/n), callsign Cross

summary: Javy keeps his promise to feed and fuck Cross.

warnings: 18+, minors please DNI – y'all know who and how I am, so we have dirty talk, explicit PiV sex, f!receiving oral sex, overstimulation, truly just a smidge of body insecurity (like not even a full paragraph, just the natural ramifications of existing in the same space as Javy Machado), i don't even know the tag/tropey name for it, but he's too big/some discomfort/some coaching to fit? size kink of course follows, but that defs happens.

length: 6.7k

A/N: took me approx 900 years to finish it BUT WE DID IT thank you to everyone who cheered for, beta-ed, sent HCs, sent vibes, or anything else to make this fic happen. i'm so glad we all fell so hard for this version of Javy; I just adore him.

chapter one / chapter two / chapter three

The day seemed to last forever. 

Jake flew especially recklessly, Mav took personal offense at that, and everyone suffered the consequences. Hours of drills led to hours of debriefing, followed by exhausted locker-room showers and when you finally, finally, made it off base, you were almost too tired to remember Javy’s promise. 

Almost. 

Tonight, after I’ve fed you…

You were cooking asparagus on the stove, and you snuck a glance at Javy, melting butter in a pan beside you. He’d followed you back from the base, and looked seventy different kinds of handsome, standing in your kitchen. An apron was stretched across his chest, covering his turtleneck and slacks, and you were glad you’d changed into a pretty dress. It wasn’t how you normally dressed off base, but you liked the contrast the two of you made–dressed fancy, barefoot in the kitchen, cooking. 

Every now and then, one of you would move past the other, and the lingering touches let you know you were both excited about the night. 

Dinner came together quickly – gnocchi and asparagus in browned butter and sage, and Javy made a show out of pulling out your chair for you. You pressed your lips together, trying to quell the sappy smile that threatened to overtake your face. Who pulled out chairs anymore?? Javy did – Javy who’d brought groceries, who looked like a GQ cover model, who listened when you spoke and made you feel like there was no place he’d rather be. 

A part of you had wondered if there’d be any lingering awkwardness after this morning, but that hadn’t been the case. You’d just fallen into a rhythm of being near each other that felt so natural, and you’d be nervous it was too-perfect, if you didn’t trust Javy so much. 

After dinner, you slipped into the living room to change the vinyl in the record player, and a moment later, you heard the tap in the kitchen. 

When you came back into the kitchen, Javy was standing at the sink, doing dishes like it was natural. 

“We can use the dishwasher,” you protested, feeling bad that he’d essentially made you dinner while you boiled water for vegetables, but he just shook his head. 

“Won’t take long,” Javy shrugged. “Might as well, you know?”

So of course, you grabbed a dishtowel. 

And this was the dangerous part: doing dishes. Because it didn’t feel like a date, it felt like everything you wanted. Because nights out were glamorous, but someone to clean a kitchen with? Someone who’d bump his elbow against yours, just to make sure you knew he was there, was curious how you were doing. You thought of what he’d said this morning, before everything, about how perfect waking up had been, and you shook your head at him, when he handed you the last plate. 

“I need you to ruin it,” you told him. 

Javy frowned, confused. “Ruin what?”

“Tonight,” you said. “It’s literally the perfect first date, and it’s setting impossible expectations.”

Javy grinned, a lazy smile that was just shy of proud. “Perfect, huh?”

You couldn’t even give him a hard time; it had been. You handed him the towel to dry his hands and started moving around the kitchen to put away plates. 

You didn’t hear him move, but after you’d put the glasses back in their cabinet, he was right behind you when you turned around. One of his warm hands closed around yours, and he pulled you into the middle of the room, shuffling slightly, and the music from the record player filtered into the room, now that the sink wasn’t running, and dishes weren’t clattering. As Jake Isaac sang about waking up to forever, you smiled against the front of Javy’s sweater. 

“This is the opposite of ruining it,” you said into the cashmere, and his chest shook as he chuckled. 

“That was kind of the point,” he said, his voice a soft rumble. 

Of course he was a dance-in-the-kitchen person. 

It wasn’t the most elegant, but it was sweet and gentle, and you loved that he’d made this moment for you both. After the frantic intensity of the morning, after the grueling longevity of the day, after the classic romance of dinner, this was just the perfect nightcap. 

The song faded into another, and Javy spun you slightly in his arms. You smiled to yourself when he twirled you back into him, you back to his front, his arms wrapping around you like a hug. It was the kind of dance that made you feel like you were on a film set in the 40s, all glamorous and elegant, despite what the stars of the time looked like. You swayed together, arms crossed in front of your chest, and you felt his head lower to rest his temple against the side of your face. 

The record faded, and Javy spinned you back. You went out, following his lead, and when he pulled you back to him, the kitchen was quiet as you stood facing each other. You tilted your head, looking up at him. So handsome, so perfectly beautiful, in the dim under cabinet lights. 

He stepped closer to you, moving slow because he was a tease and knew how close desire was lingering under the surface for both of you. His long fingers curled around the back of your neck, prompting you to come closer to him, and you did. He smiled just before he kissed you, something like relief in his eyes, and you understood when his lips brushed over yours.

He kissed you gently, like he was determined to enjoy it, like this was the indulgence he wanted for the night. You felt another hand settle on your jaw as he cradled your face, like you were precious, and your hand slid over the soft material of his turtleneck, resting on his chest. It felt like a fairy tale kiss, romantic and sepia-toned, and you loved it.  

When you broke apart, you were only breathing slightly harder than normal, it’d been that sweet. You looked up at him, your lips tingling and your heart beating fast, and you knew it was time–you wanted good on that promise. 

You weren’t sure what your expression looked like, but whatever Javy read on it had him pulling you back in. 

This kiss was different– charged, hungry. When Javy’s tongue swept over your bottom lip, you opened for him, and he hummed in approval. He deepened the kiss with a confidence that had your head spinning, and your hands crept up from his chest to smooth over his shoulders. His had fallen to your waist, and his big hands were holding you tight to him, and you loved that you could feel how close he wanted you. 

You didn’t break the kiss, but you did step back, pulling him with you. Javy followed you automatically, and you felt his step falter when you took another, walking backwards. 

“You sure?” he asked, his voice a whisper against your lips, and you nodded instead of speaking. You wanted this, and him checking in only confirmed that. Your fingers twined together and he followed you to your room; when you pulled him, he sat on the edge of your bed. 

You liked him here, his soft eyes and broad body taking up space that you always thought of as yours. You stepped between his spread thighs, close as you could get to him, and Javy’s hands trailed up your legs. His touch was light, almost reverent, and goosebumps prickled in his wake, as his fingers traced higher. When his hands trailed unobstructed to your waist, his breath caught, and his fingers traced back over your hips, double checking, before Javy’s hands gripped your hips loosely. 

“Are you serious?” he whispered, his voice almost gruff, and when you tipped your head to the side, shrugging lightly, and Javy groaned. 

Not wearing panties had apparently been the move. 

His hands spanned from your hips to the curve of your ass, and Javy leaned up to nudge the neckline of your dress down with his nose. Your head tipped back as he pressed wet kisses over the upper curve of your breasts, his hands gripping you tightly, almost possessive. Before long you were squirming, entranced by his soft touches, but needing more. 

You reached back to unzip your dress and Javy stilled, sitting back. You tried not to be nervous, but when the zipper reached the bottom stop, you couldn’t make yourself move to push the dress off your shoulders. You had a decent amount of self confidence, but Javy was…Javy. The kind of perfect that wouldn’t show imperfections if he were on a billboard in Chelsea, much less in the muted light of your bedroom. 

You looked into his eyes, read the desire and admiration there, and you bit your lip, suddenly shy. Javy sat up straighter, pressing his mouth to yours in a reassuring kiss. He was so sweet, his mouth felt so good, and you felt his kiss reassuring you. 

“Let me see you, gorgeous,” he murmured, and you nodded, shaking your shoulders so the dress fell. Javy kissed you as the dress pooled over his hands, still gripping your ass like he couldn’t let go of it, and you felt the last of your worries melt away. He wasn’t here because he expected you to look a certain way, but because he wanted you, period. 

He let go of you to let the dress fall, and the moment it was over his hands, he pulled you closer to him. His mouth trailed down the edge of your bra, his tongue teasing under it to lap at your skin, each caress a promise. The feeling of his tongue over, around, through, the lace was maddening, and your hands gripped his shoulders. Javy kissed between your breasts, and then he kissed you over the bra. You clamped your lips shut to trap a whimper as you felt his tongue teasing you through the lace, and you reached back to undo your bra as well. 

“Beautiful,” Javy breathed, and then his mouth was on you again. His lips moved over your breasts and his hands tightened on your ass, and you felt every touch, ever caress. His tongue flicked over one of your nipples, and you squirmed, lifting your head to look down at him. 

His eyes were closed.

As he kissed you, as he felt you, Javy’s eyes were closed like he was lost in the pleasure of pleasuring you, and your desire ratcheted higher. His teeth scraped over your nipples, and you were ready for more.

“Jay,” you gasped, and he made a sound low in his chest, like approval. 

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he asked, pulling back slightly to look up at you. Your heart flipped at the sight of him, his lips swollen from kissing you, his eyes hooded from his own desire.

You tried to think of a way to say ‘everything’ that wasn’t terribly cliche, but came up blank. Whatever was written on your face, Javy’s jaw clenched when he read it, and he smiled up at you. 

“Get on the bed then, yeah?” he said, and you scrambled to follow his ask. 

Javy stood up, pulling his sweater over his shoulders in a movement that looked like it should be in an Ambercrombie TV spot. You couldn’t believe this man was in your room, and you settled back against the comforter, 

“Jesus, baby,” Javy said, his voice lower than you’d heard it before, “What you do to me…” 

Your thighs pressed together tightly to hide your arousal, and how bad you needed him, just from some light petting and kisses. You didn’t even need to ask what he meant, you knew, and you felt the same. Javy undid his belt, holding eye contact as he pulled it from around his waist. 

You thought he’d crawl over you, but instead he closed a hand around your ankle, and pulled you. You squealed as he yanked you down the bed, and before you could register what he was doing, he’d knelt beside it, spreading your thighs around his head. 

“Been waiting all day for this,” he said quietly, more to himself than you, and you propped yourself on your elbows to look down at him. Not that he was looking at you, he was just staring at your cunt, spread before him, arousal pooling and he hadn’t even touched you. 

“Please, Javy,” you whispered, and his eyes fluttered, before flashing up to you. His lips spread in a smile, and he held your eyes as he leaned into you. His breath ghosted over you and your mouth dropped open, you were panting, near breathless in anticipation, and you still weren’t ready for when he touched you.

Your head fell back against the mattress as Javy licked you. A moment later you felt his hands on your thighs, pulling you apart and holding you in place as he practically drank from you. His tongue spread your folds, traced over you and your back arched when he found your clit. He moaned, sending vibrations through you, and you shivered. 

“Fuck, honey,” Javy said, “You taste so good.”

You moaned at his words, and a moment later he was back between your thighs. His tongue teased, stroked, pulled, and when he sucked, your body keened. His elbow pressed across your lower stomach, pining you to the bed, holding your thighs apart with his shoulders as he ate you out. He learned the caresses that you responded to, and then you were nothing but responsive. He licked and you trembled, he kissed and you whimpered, he sucked and you moaned. He had no right being this good, but he was better, and your hips grinded into his mouth, needing him. 

“Javy,” you cried, squirming when he didn’t let you move. 

“Need something, baby?” Javy teased, and your eyes rolled back at the thickness in his voice. 

“Want to come,” you whimpered. “Please, you feel so good–”

“Anytime you want, honey,” Javy soothed, his voice muffled by your pussy. God, how were you gonna get through drills with him, now that you knew how his voice sounded when he was swallowing your arousal. It was so hot, he was so hot, and you felt restless, desperate. 

“Jay,” you whimpered, and his hands shifted. They slid up your thighs, wrapping around the backs of your knees and he folded your legs back, pressing you into the mattress. 

He had you practically bent in half, a position more a testament to his strength than your flexibility, and you felt your core tightening at the absolute power he had over you. You moaned as his mouth closed over you again, slurping obscenely, like you were a feast spread out for him and he was starving. 

And he was drinking from you like this was for him. Like burying his face in your pussy was all he wanted, all he needed, and he was just as desperate for it as you were.

“Come for me, baby,” he mumbled into your cunt. “Let me taste it, been desperate for it since this morning, but now it’s mine, let me have it–”

His tongue and his words pushed you higher and when his mouth closed over your clit, sucking, you shattered. Your orgasm swept over you, thighs shaking, mewling sounds falling from your mouth and Javy fucking groaned into your cunt. 

“Fuck, honey, you taste so good,” he moaned. “So beautiful, such a pretty pussy, and you did so good for me...”

You were obsessed with how he sounded, how he felt and your orgasm ebbed into a tide of needing him, more of him. You reached for him as your head cleared, pushing him away from your still throbbing pussy, and pulling him up. 

God, you loved how his shoulders felt under your fingers. He was so warm, supple, and you knew how good his hugs were, but you were ready for another kind of embrace. You reached for his pants with shaking hands, and Javy chuckled at your enthusiasm before helping you. As his pants slid down his thighs, he reached for the pocket, but you stayed his hand. 

“I’m clean,” you said, your voice hoarser than you thought it’d be. Maybe you’d been making more noise than you thought. If the way Javy’s eyes darkened as he heard it were any indication, he liked how you sounded like this. 

“Me too,” he said, after a moment. 

“Then I don’t need that,” you said, lifting your chin at the slacks, and the condom presumably in a pocket somewhere, “if you don’t.”

You hadn’t realized much Javy was a creature of motion until the moment, when he went completely still. 

“You want me,” he said, his voice so fucking low, so hot, “bare inside your pussy?”

The temperature of the room shot up 15 degrees, you were absolutely sure of it. 

“Please,” was all you could manage, and then Javy tackled you. 

You would’ve laughed, but you were too distracted by how much of his warm body was covering yours. Strong arms, broad thighs, tight stomach, all pressed up against you, as his mouth found yours for an eager kiss. 

You tasted yourself on his tongue and you moaned into his mouth, your hands covering as much of his skin as you could reach. You felt his muscles ripple under your touch–shoulders, back, abs–as you smoothed over his body, trailing down to his boxers. 

After the amount of time he’d spent with your ass earlier, you figured it was only fair to return the favor. Your fingers snuck under the edge of his boxers, slid around to push them over his butt, squeezing experimentally as you did. Javy’s hips slammed forward at your caress and you both gasped. 

He felt huge. 

Maybe it was the angle, him over you, maybe it was the fact that he was between your thighs, but you were breathless at how he felt. You rolled your hips and you groaned as you felt the hard, hot, length of him press against your core, even through the thin cotton of his boxers. 

Javy shucked them off the rest of the way and when he resettled between your hips, you glanced down. You could feel yourself salivating at the sight of his hard dick against your stomach. Everything about Javy was beautiful, you knew that already, but it was one thing to watch him take himself into his hand across a kitchen, and another to see his fat cock against your body. You felt hyper aware, needy, like your whole body was begging to feel the stretch of him, and when Javy pushed off of you to line himself up, it took everything in you to not try to work yourself onto him early. 

When you looked back up at Javy, you were breathless for another reason. He looked fond and smug and amused all at once, and you were just so infatuated with his handsome self. You were trying to come up with something snarky when he moved, his cock sliding between your folds, teasing both of you. Your eyes fell shut at the perfect motion. He was so thick, so hot, it was going to be a hell of a stretch, but you were desperate for it. 

He pulled back, and then pushed against you again, and you actually whined. He laughed, amused, and lined himself up, and then neither of you were laughing. 

When his cock breached you, you couldn’t lay still. 

Your hands scrambled over the bed, scratching sheets and needing to be grounded, anchored, something to help you take the gorgeous pressure of his hot dick. He felt so good, so big and so steady, and your mouth fell open as he pressed in. 

“Fucking Christ,” Javy swore, his voice sounding gone. “You’re so tight, honey, shit.”

You whined, trying to cant your hips to take him, willing your body to give. Your skin felt hot, feverish and you worked your hips for a moment, desperate. He was bigger than anyone you’d been with before, but you’d also already come, and surely it’d be fine–Javy moved again and you winced at the pressure.

This couldn’t be happening. 

You pressed your lips together, knowing you were wet, knowing it was going to be a stretch…but the discomfort only grew.  God, how was this happening? You wanted him so badly, you knew he’d feel good, but Javy pulled back to press into you again and your stomach dropped. 

“Wait,” you gasped, your hands curling into fists against his shoulders. Javy froze, immediately, and it only made you feel worse. You hated this, you wanted to be good enough, you wanted to feel him, why couldn’t you just take it. 

“Cross?” Javy asked, worry clouding his voice and you felt awful. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, embarrassed, covering your eyes with your hands. You knew it wasn’t your fault, or even his, but you still felt like you’d done something wrong, like you should be able to just take him. 

“Hey, hey,” Javy said softly, and he pulled out gently, but you couldn’t stop the wince when the pressure eased. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

You felt the bed shift as Javy moved, settling to sit against the headboard, and immediately pulling you into his arms. You went easily, preferring hiding in his chest to hiding behind your hand, and Javy’s arms were reassuring around you. He was so warm, and you appreciated that he didn’t seem at all frustrated, only concerned that you were okay.  

“Cut that apology shit out right now,” he murmured against your hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You knew he was right, but you hated that you felt this way. Your body was throbbing, desperate to take him, wanting to feel him, but you just…couldn’t. You felt yourself calming down as he continued to hold you, and you could tell Javy felt you settling too. 

“Do you want to stop?” he asked, and your heart thumped, knowing he would. God, he was such a good guy, to jump straight to suggesting you guys stop, rather than trying to find alternatives. 

“I don’t,” you said, truthfully. “I want to be able to take you, I want to keep trying, but I also don’t want it to hurt.”

“Baby…” Javy pressed a kiss to your forehead, and you hated that you could hear in his voice that he felt bad. 

“Can we try another position?” you asked, before he could start apologizing for something that was no more his fault than yours. 

“Whatever you want,” Javy agreed, and you pulled back to look at him. He meant that, he really did. You leaned up to press a quick kiss to his cheek, smiling sheepishly as you pulled back. 

“Why don’t I try being on top?” you suggested.

Javy’s eyes closed and he drew in a slow breath through his nose. 

“Have I told you lately you’re my dream girl?” he asked, and you smiled. 

“I don’t think you’ve told me ever,” you pointed out, not at all bothered by the fact, flattered by it, more than anything. You pushed yourself off his chest, swinging one leg to settle over Javy’s lap, and you were stilled by his hand on your chin. When you met his eyes, his expression was one of utmost sincerity. 

“You are my dream girl,” he said, and despite everything – the fact that you were naked, the fact his head had been between your thighs, the fact his cock was leaking precum between you – that was what made your skin heat. 

You reached between you, your finger running over the length of his dick. 

“Even if I can’t take this right now?” you asked, hating the uncertainty in your voice. 

“No matter if,” he corrected, “you can’t take this right now.” 

His breath caught as your finger traced a vein, but he didn’t look away. He meant it, you realized, and it only made you more determined to take him. You could do it. 

Javy leaned back against the headboard and you positioned yourself over him, guiding his cock to your entrance. You licked your lips and pressed down until it hurt–only a short distance, but it wasn’t as overwhelming this time, because you were entirely in control. 

Javy’s hands smoothed down your side, settling on your ass again, and your lips quirked into a smile, amused that Javy Machado was an ass man. You worked your hips slightly, trying to stretch yourself out, and reached between your thighs to play with your clit. 

Javy groaned.

You looked up at him, but he wasn’t looking at your face; his eyes were glued to where your hand was rubbing over your clit. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” Javy mumbled, almost entranced, and you smiled at his sweet admiration. You spread your fingers into a v, feeling around where he was pressing into you, smoothing back up to your clit. 

“Can’t believe–” he broke off, shaking his head. “I got to see you come this morning, and then on my face, and now I get to watch you work yourself onto my dick.”

He said it like it was an honor, like you weren’t working yourself onto the biggest cock in Uncle Sam’s navy, like it was his privilege. His admiration warmed you, worked through you as your fingers brushed over your clit. You felt your knees slide further apart as you were able to take more of him. The extra inch felt like yards, but it felt so good, so right, to take him into you. 

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he promised, and you realized his hands on your ass were lifting, helping. He was taking some of the weight off your thighs, literally holding you in his hands, so you wouldn’t be pressured to take him too fast. 

“So big, Javy,” you panted. “God, you’re stretching me so good.”

Javy’s hips pushed up slightly at your words, and it stung, but with your hand working your clit and the way he was holding you steady, it was more pressure than pain. 

“You can’t talk to me like that, honey,” he warned. “I’m trying real hard to be gentle here, you can’t talk dirty to me and not make me mess up.”

A part of you wanted him to mess up, wanted him to just ram into you, and you could deal with it later. Another part of you relished the stretch, accepted the slow burn of sinking onto him torturously slow. You felt hyper aware of him, of you, and every millimeter of him that you took, only made you want him more. 

“You talk to me then,” you muttered, and Javy huffed out a laugh.

“What do you want to hear, huh?” he asked. “How fucking good you feel? How hard I am for you, how I feel like I’m throbbing for you, how bad I can’t wait to be inside you?”

Your fingers worked faster, and you moaned, bearing down. “Yeah, that’ll do.”

“We’ll get you there, honey,” he soothed, his cock easing into you, slow and thick and fucking perfect. “With how good you feel around my dick? Honey, we’re not gonna stop. We’re gonna train this pussy, soon enough, she’ll be able to take me.”

You whimpered at the thought, at the mere concept of being so stuffed with Javy’s cock that eventually your body would just adapt to it. You shifted your hips on principle, determined to take more of him, and Javy chuckled. 

“And then can you imagine the hell we’ll get into? Quickies in the shower after a long day of drills, in the back seat of a car–fuck, baby, to think I could slide into this pussy whenever I want, ready for me, to take me–”

He pressed deeper, a motion that bordered on painful, but soothed by the sweetness of his words. You wanted that, so badly, for your body to always be ready for his. Javy pulled back, just slightly, rocking into you, and you whimpered. 

“Feels so good, Javy,” you whispered, feeling yourself sink lower. 

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he said, leaning forward to brush loose kisses over your skin. “You’re so beautiful, so good, and working so hard to take my dick.”

His words sent goosebumps over your skin, and you wondered if you should be embarrassed by how much you wanted to be good for him. 

It took a while. 

You didn’t know how long, but eventually you realized that though you were still shaking, you were no longer hovering. You were in Javy’s lap, your arms curled between your bodies and your hips pressed flush against his, his cock entirely inside of you. 

He felt…unreal. Enormous, like you could only breathe when he did, but so fucking good. 

“I did it,” you breathed, and when you looked up at Javy, he was grinning down at you. He looked proud, he looked pleased, he looked so damn pretty you wanted to never leave his lap.

“How’s it feel?” he asked, and you took a moment to bask in his pride. 

“Pretty good,” you teased lightly, and Javy had the expected reaction of affronted indignation. 

“Pretty good,” he sputtered, like it was sacrilege. “Wanna try again?”

You shook your head, smiling, and it was knocked right off your face when he lifted his hips. It wasn’t a thrust, it wasn’t like he’d pulled out, but Javy pushed up into you like he was doing a hip press at the gym. Your jaw dropped open as his thighs flexed under your ass, pushing impossibly deeper into your cunt. 

“So full,” you gasped, and Javy grunted like that was an acceptable answer. “Fuck, Javy, you feel so big. I can’t– feels like you’re everywhere; I love it.”

“That’s better,” he muttered, his voice dark. “Because you feel like fucking everything to me, honey. So tight, and warm, fitting me like a glove after you worked so hard to stretch this pussy over me.”

You did feel stretched and his words sent pulses of heat through you. The burning stretch of him eased as your body tingled with arousal, wanting to feel him, needing to feel him. 

“Need you to move, Jay,” you whispered, and Javy’s hips punched up in response. 

“You need me,” he repeated almost to himself, and you both moaned when his dick slid out of you partway, before he fed it back to you slowly. “That’s right, sweetheart, first you were embarrassed because you couldn’t take it, but now that you have this cock, you just want more?”

“Please,” you whimpered, astonished to find you were actually close to tears. You wanted that, wanted him, wanted the stretch and the pressure and the motion of his hips. You tried to lift yourself off of him, but your legs were shaking so bad, so overstimulated by the fullness of him in you, but you were desperate for it. 

“S’okay, baby,” Javy practically purred, his voice sweet and dark and deep. “I’ll help you.” 

His hands closed around your waist, gripping you tightly. He lifted you off his cock, pulling his hips back and then bringing you back down into him. You moaned at the sensation, perfect and overwhelming and so strong, feeling every gorgeous inch of his cock. 

“Feels so good,” you mumbled, and Javy groaned. 

“Honey, you have no idea,” he grunted, and he lifted you again. 

It was slow, it was impossibly deep, but it was everything. You felt drunk on the deep stretch of him, the way you could feel his eyes on you, the way every breath he took you felt against your skin. You felt so connected to him, so overwhelmed by him, and the slow press of his cock. He pulled you forward, rocking your hips down into him and when your clit brushed against him, you jolted. 

“That’s it,” Javy encouraged, pushing his cock deeper, and you felt your body trembling. “Honey, you’re doing so good. You feel so fucking good around me, I can’t–”

He settled into a rhythm, pulling you up and bringing you down, bruising your clit and fucking you against gravity. He moved you over him like a fleshlight and you had no control over your body, the sounds spilling out of you. He felt so good, so slow and steady and deep; it was perfect and you were overwhelmed. 

“I’m gonna come,” you gasped, amazed to find it was true. Just from the steady press of him, the deep pressure, the teasing brush of your clit, you were somehow there again. 

“Ah, please, honey, let me see it,” Javy groaned, and he buried his face in your neck. You wrapped your arms around him, clinging to him as he moved you over him, your body climbing higher. 

You felt him everywhere, like a heartbeat, like your pulse, and you crested before you could realize it was there. Your body felt liquid, like it would never stop shaking, like this was what you were made for, to take his cock like this. Your head swam as you slumped into him, your hips throwing your pussy at Javy as your orgasm worked through you, your body pulsing and sated.  

The room was a dreamlike haze as you came back to yourself. 

You were on your back on the bed, and Javy was hovering over you, and your breath caught in your throat as you realized his arms were shaking with the effort to hold himself still. 

God, he was so beautiful. 

His perfect body, his incredible strength, had nothing to the beauty of his heart, the way he had worked you through that and was now carefully watched you, smiling hesitantly when he realized you were back. Your throat felt hoarse and you swallowed slightly before lifting your hips weakly. 

Javy’s breath punched out of him and his eyes clenched shut as he dropped to his elbows over you. 

“Sweetheart…” he groaned, and his voice sent tingles over your skin. You loved how strung out he sounded, how he was holding on just by a thread, and you wanted him to come undone. 

“Fuck me, Jay,” you whispered, and his eyes opened, looking between yours. 

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice hoarse, and you needed it, suddenly. You nodded, pressing your lips together, wanting it more than anything. You knew you were adjusted to his size, for the immediate future at least, and you wanted to know how he’d feel finding his pleasure in you, driving into you when his release was the goal, wanted to be the reason for it. 

“I can take it,” you whispered, and Javy surged up to kiss you. 

It was messy, mostly gasping breath and clashing teeth, and then his arms wound under your back, and his hands wrapped around your shoulders as he settled into you. You were just about to think that it was a sweet embrace, when he started moving. 

Javy pulled out of you and slammed back in, and you cried out. 

Gone was the gentleness with which he’d coaxed you, gone was the steady control, the gentle pace. In its place was a gnawing, gaping desire, and you could feel how badly Javy needed this. You moaned with the thrust and it seemed to spur Javy on. He pulled back and pushed back in again, just as deep, just as strong, just as perfect. 

Fuck, he was so big, filled you so damn well like this, and how he was moving made you dizzy. He settled into a punishing pace that left you breathless, but who needed air, when you had dick this good? 

He was everywhere. 

Pressing you into the mattress, shoving his cock into your cunt, clutching you to him, overwhelming and everywhere and everywhere. You couldn’t tell where he stopped and you began, felt like an extension of his pleasure and the thought nearly sent you out of your mind. 

“How is it still so tight?” Javy grunted, and you moaned at the tremble in his voice, like he was just as awed and exhausted as you were. “Fuck, honey, you’re so perfect. Taking me so damn well, pulling me into this hot cunt, it’s so good–” 

His hips slammed into you, each stroke brushing your walls and making you feel so full. His body weight over you felt like the only thing grounding you, and you moved with him, for him, all for him. The room was thick with the smell of your shared sweat and your cum, and Javy’s panting breath in your ears was the perfect chorus. 

You could feel Javy getting close, could feel his thrusts go from determined to desperate and you were lost in it. For how well he’d fucked you, how carefully he’d held you, you needed him to come. Heat spiraled through you, your mind blanking as you realized you were whining with each sure stroke he made. 

“Need you to come,” you whimpered, breaking off when Javy’s hips stuttered. “Please, Javy, feels so good, need to feel you–”

Javy arched his back to kiss your neck. His teeth closed over your skin, his tongue laving over you, and you moaned. 

“You know how to make that happen, sweetheart,” he whispered against your neck, and you shook your head as his meaning sunk in. 

“I can’t,” you managed, even as your thighs started shaking. He’d pulled so much pleasure from your body, and you didn’t know if you could survive another wave…oh, but how he sounded. His soft grunts, the growl in his voice, the heavy sound his balls made as he pushed into you. 

“I think you can,” Javy said, closing his lips and sucking. You keened, your body overwrought and unmoored, just orbiting around him. His strong hands, the taste of his sweat, the rhythm of his hips, the only things that were real. 

His hands on your shoulders tightened, crushing you to him and something in the angle changed. He brushed a different part of you, deeper, softer, and your breath caught.

“Just there?” Javy asked, proud and breathless. “That’s the spot that’ll get this pussy to come again?”

“Javy–” you moaned, as he hit it again, and again.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Javy soothed, his dick driving into you. “You’ve done so good for me, this pussy has been so fucking good, and I know you can do it again. Let me feel it, honey, let me feel this tight pussy come for me one more time, fucking take it, come on.”

He was fucking you into the bed, his thighs and his words reorienting your world. You felt so full of him, so precious and receptive and you knew that you might never recover from it, but if he asked you to come again, your body would do it. 

“Baby,” you whimpered, and Javy groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. 

“I’ve got you,” he mumbled into the bed. “Ah, shit, honey, you feel so good. Like you were made for me, to take this cock–oh my god, yes, that’s it, just like that…”

“Take me,” you begged, “Please, Javy, I need–”

“Yes, fuck,” Javy groaned, his thrusts turning frantic. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t know where he found the strength but he surged up to kiss you, pressing your lips together as your bodies writhed together. You pushed and pulled together, breathing from each other and for each other, and the heat burned impossibly hotter between you. You felt light-headed, you felt close and Javy moaned as you tightened around him. You whined against his lips as you came, your orgasm cresting over you, and just moments later, Javy shouted as he came. He was so wonderful, his body thrusting into yours, his hips working you both through it, his groans growing louder as he emptied into you. 

It felt right, it felt final, as his warm cum thrust into you, and you turned your head to find him again. 

This was a lazy kiss. Indulgent and sloppy, exhausted and messy, and you smiled when you felt Javy come back to you, returning the kiss slowly. You liked that his arms were still around you, that his dick was still inside you. You felt held, treasured, at peace. 

You kissed Javy gently, another realization brewing in your mind. 

Here, with this man, you felt at home. 

//the end

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[eightstarr]

i know — van palmer.

summary: you can't remember a life before van, but there was one. there must've been one. it feels ridiculous to think about. you'd rather think about her, rather think about this— two moments then, and two moments now (and so, so many to come).

notes: heyyy i know i said i would post this like a month ago, i fully forgot!! if there was like one person waiting i'm sorry and i love you sm <3 also this ignores the plot entirely and i wanna make that very clear just in case!! it's like a nothing happened and we're all okay au! anyway here's to my loser girl and to whoever also finds themselves staring at the wall in silence thinking about her :)

୨・┈﹕✦﹕﹕✦﹕┈・୧

THEN.

"You're hogging the blanket," Jackie mutters over a mouthful of popcorn, purple polished nails tugging at the soft fabric.

She's right— you are. "I'm not," you say, and bring your legs close to your chest partly so they can offer some kind of comfort, but mostly so they're not touching the unknown dangers of the floor anymore.

The TV flashes red and Jackie's living room is bathed in it, along with all your faces.

Shauna snorts at a man getting brutally and very unrealistically decapitated on the screen and pulls her own blanket closer to her best friend before she even has to ask. They do that a lot; talk without words. Any other time you would've noticed, thought that's cute and smiled to yourself, but right now you're too terrified.

The movie is bad. Or, that's what you have to keep reminding yourself of. It's lazy in a way that's bordering on comical and needlessly violent in a way that proves that it was written by a man with interesting fantasies. You shouldn't be scared, but you are.

Another death earns you a few minutes of quiet, though you know the build up to the next one will be worse. The characters cry and fret over the dead body of their friend but the killer is nowhere to be seen, disappearing conveniently into the night. You're granted a scene of daylight but the sun comes and goes, and then the screen turns to dark violets and blues again and you're tensing up in your seat.

It's fine, at first— the pretty blonde girl is yielding a kitchen knife and walking around while her muscled boyfriend boards up the windows of the big house. Lottie shifts where she's sitting on the floor next to Laura Lee's legs and whispers about why they would lock themselves in instead of taking their chances outside, which is 'obviously the smartest thing to do'. You don't have time to process what she's saying because suddenly an ax is clawing its way through one of the windows and the characters are screaming and, well, so are you.

"Fuck!" You curse, jumping and landing yourself halfway into Van's lap, the softness of her thighs under your own, your back against her chest.

Van blinks, more startled by your reaction than the scene itself, her hands coming up to steady you and then immediately dropping back down a second after they brush over the cotton of your shirt. She lets out a shaky breath and does not think about how good your weight feels on top of her, because that would be a bad thought, a questionable thought. And it should not have been the first one to pop into her mind. Definitely not. That would be embarrassing. That would be bad.

You cover your eyes with one hand as the sounds of screaming come to a crescendo and hold one of her hands tightly with the other, mumbling sorry, sorry, sorry as if you're doing something wrong. As if you don't know that, even if you were, Van is incapable of being mad at you. Famously so. Everybody knows.

She looks around the room to the rest of the girls. No one is staring, too busy chewing popcorn and wrinkling their noses at the more gruesome special effects. Van turns her head back to you. A million thoughts rush in, overwhelming and unforgiving. Something about the soft tint of chapstick on your lips, the curve of your nose, the shape of your fingers. Things she's noticed before -Van is often greedy of all your details-, but not in this way, never from this close. She can smell your shampoo from here. Somewhere in the back of her mind, over the scent of honey and strawberries, she wonders if she's going insane.

Your body noticeably relaxes as the violence dissipates, your grasp on her hand loosening slightly. When you uncover your eyes, the final girl is clawing her way through the woods. You're unsure of how she got out of the house, but too comforted by the thought of the movie finally coming to an end to care.

Van is scared to say anything, scared to move— if she does, you might push yourself off of her, ignore her for the rest of the night because you're embarrassed. The thought is ridiculous. You'd never ignore her, you're not that kind of person, but it's what she would do. Except she'd probably never be in this position in the first place, because she'd never be brave enough to throw herself on your lap, even if she was as scared as you were. And that's just it anyway, it's not like you chose to do this. You didn't pick her. You would've found the same comfort in anyone's arms. Right? Van feels you shift closer, just slightly, like you're unaware of it. Right?

Her forehead falls on your shoulder as she thinks herself sick.

"It's scary, right?" You whisper, confusing her crisis for fear. Your fingers wrap around her bicep, soft and absentminded when they brush up and down her skin, trying to make her feel better.

Van feels her stomach flip, her hands twitch. In another world, she would wrap her arms around your waist and press her lips to your ear, mumble something stupid like if you say so, baby just to annoy you. Here, though, all she does is nod her head. She whispers back, "Yeah, it is."

She looks up at the screen, tries to be scared, to be invested. You relax further into her, personal and comfortable as if there's no one in the room but the two of you. Van blinks. She can't give you the name of the girl on the screen. A minute passes and your back straightens suddenly, but you don't rush to slide off her lap. You do it carefully, not because you want to but because you're worried about making her uncomfortable. Van wants to pull you back but she's never faced anything as daunting. She comforts herself with the thought that one day she will, a hungry attempt at manifesting or breaking a mental wishbone or something. For now, she follows you with her eyes and feels her anxiety melt away when you notice her staring and give her a smile. The movie's not yet over. She looks back. Who's the bad guy again?

—

NOW.

Van likes to pretend that she's a better cook than she is. Someone else might find it funny, annoying even, but you can't find it anything but cute. You love telling her that you've run out of food and watch her scoff and puff up her chest.

"I'll make you something out of nothing," she'll say. Then she'll open the fridge and bend at the waist, stare at said nothing for a solid two minutes before resurfacing and declaring that she's craving pizza from the place down the street, anyway, so there's no point in cooking.

At the grocery store the next day, you make sure to buy the essentials for the one pasta recipe that she does actually know how to make. Van likes to feel useful. And you like to indulge her every need, maybe a little too much.

You pick the sweetest looking tomatoes for the sauce, no real expertise behind your method— you're not exactly an amazing chef, either, but the two of you do just fine. Someone calls your name in the middle of bagging the last tomato and you turn to meet a face you had almost forgotten about.

"Katie Lopez?" Van asks again, staring at the folded piece of paper with the almost-stranger's number that you'd gotten without asking (a friendly gesture, you're pretty sure) after a slightly lengthy conversation that carried on even after your multiple anyway, I should probably get going's.

You're telling Van about the encounter while washing the tomatoes in the sink, sleeves rolled up. Your cheeks are warm with kisses like they always are when you make it back to her, as if she wants to reward you for it. You've been hers for so long, and she's still amazed at the fact that you come home to her. "Yes," you repeat. "Why is that so shocking?"

"It's not," she says, flicking the paper where it sits on the counter, kinder than her original need to ball it up or light it on fire or something even more dramatic. She moves to open the cabinet and starts putting away the canned goods you've brought. "I just didn't know you guys were close."

"We're not. She was just being polite."

Van hums. For a moment you think she'll let it go, but of course she won't. She doesn't like the thought of someone flirting with you when she's not there and she especially doesn't like the thought of that someone being Katie fucking Lopez, who's most memorable for fingering girls in the bathroom for most of your shared high school experience.

Van clears her throat and the cabinet closes with a thud louder than she intended, definitely not because she was caught up picturing you under Katie's gaze. She means to sound casual, but she's not trying very hard when she asks, "She ever try to get with you?"

You spare her a single glance, as if to check that she's serious. Of course she is. "What, in high school?" You shake your head, chuckling like the idea is funny. "No. She was more into the cheerleader type."

Van knows that you're right. Still, she squints her eyes at you, ginger hair leaning to one side when she tilts her head. "Is that a hint of resentment that I'm hearing?"

You've gotten good at knowing how to handle her jealousy. It's only fair, considering that she's gotten good at handling yours. Neither are ever that serious. "I was making a neutral observation."

You know she's creeping closer before you feel it. You know her too well. "Yeah?" She mutters, her hands on your hips as she presses herself to your back. Her nose is familiarly cold where it brushes against your neck.

You dry your hands and lean back on instinct, and she doesn't flinch at the added feeling of your weight. Van can be a lot like a brick wall, but you don't usually tell her that, unless you're feeling extra sweet and want her to grin like a cocky little shit for the rest of the day. "You were into that type, too."

Van scoffs, a soft gust of air on your neck. "I was into you," she says.

You hum, purely fucking with her. "Maybe."

"May— what the fuck are you talking about?" She pulls away just enough to prove that she's actually offended. And she is, because the idea is ludicrous and yeah, she's taking it personally. You can question Van about anything you want, except for the fact that she's been in love with you for more than half of her life. "When did you ever see me looking at cheerleaders?" She asks.

You and Van work for a lot of reasons. You work because you're different where it matters, enough to balance each other out, and you work because you're the same in everything else. You might've been just teasing her at first, but now the thought does that stupid thing where it starts to linger and -just like she had thought about you and Katie- you can almost picture it in your head, a younger Van standing on the soccer field, her eyes trailing over a girl's short uniform skirt. You roll your eyes, annoyed mostly at yourself. "Oh, don't act like you wouldn't have loved for them to shout your stupid name."

Van chuckles. She can read your train of thought like a book. She knows you too well. "Stupid name, huh? You're cute when you're jealous." And a little mean, too, but in a way that makes her weak in the knees. She won't be telling you that part. You already know, anyway.

You pull the hands that are wrapped around your waist away from you. Van lets you— she wants to see where this is going. "Not jealous," you mutter.

"No?" She teases, half-heartedly disappointed when you don't turn around to let her kiss you.

You look at her over your shoulder and then make eye contact with the piece of paper on the counter, recalling the words of your old classmate. Call me whenever. We should totally hang out. You're too old to be telling people you should 'totally hang out', but Katie Lopez hasn't changed much from the last time you saw her. You hold back the urge to wrinkle your nose at the memory of that same teenager-trying-to-be-cool smirk that she gave you throughout the whole interaction and hum thoughtfully, like you've been tempted. "Maybe I will call her—" you take one step towards the counter in a half assed attempt to reach for the paper but Van is unusually quick as she strides forward and takes it in her hands, tongue poking into the inside of her cheek as she rips it in two. "Van!" You gasp.

"What? Don't tell me you were actually gonna use it," she pouts. "You're breaking my heart, baby."

You try to take the two pieces away from her and all you earn is her breaking it in four, holding it above your head. You're laughing as you slap her shoulder. "God, you're so stupid."

Van raises her eyebrows, mismatched numbers wrinkled in her hand. She drops them on the counter in favor of cupping your face, pressing a contained short peck to your lips. Don't feel bad, she won't hold back for long. "Stupid like my name?"

"I love your name," you shake your head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I love it. Just as long as it's mine to say."

It is yours, but you know that already.

—

THEN.

Van's room smells like the incense you got her. You wonder if she used it just to appease you because she knew you were coming, but it's a silly thought. Van likes you. You know this now. She takes everything you give her (your time, your smiles, your kisses) like it's a precious gift, so you can't imagine that she would neglect an actual gift.

Your grandmother said you should light the incense before a game, to bring you good luck and calm your nerves, and you're not ashamed to admit that you bought Van her own pack the very next day. Everything makes you think about her lately, especially this kind of thing. You're not even sure that the incense works, but why wouldn't you share it with her? She deserves all of it— good luck, a stomach free of nerves, at the very least a nice lingering scent if your grandma's beliefs turn out to be a myth. But you hope they don't.

Your girlfriend is anxious more often than you are, but never really about a game. Van knows that she's good at soccer. She's nervous about other things. Keeping her side of the house clean, being able to afford Sinéad O'Connor tickets, what her mom's mood will be like tomorrow, English assignments but only because she thinks the professor is the coolest guy alive and she wants to impress him even if she won't admit it. And lately, there's another thing. She worries about whether you'll look at her one day and realize that you're too good for her.

You know about some of her anxieties, but clearly not all of them. She can picture your reaction if she were to share the last one with you, how your face would scrunch up and you'd look at her with eyes so loving and so sad. She can almost hear you ask, soft and patient, why would you think that? And she wouldn't know what to say. There's comfort in the fact that the worry is there, but it's not constant. Van only worries about that when you're gone. When you're in front of her, or sitting next to her in class, or talking to her on the phone, it's hard to imagine that you'll ever stop liking her. She takes in your smile, your laughter, your sparkling eyes and she can't think about anything else. You make all of it go away. If you asked her, she would tell you that she thinks the incense works, but only because it came from you.

She can smell it faintly from where she is now, but there are a hundred other things overwhelming her more— the feeling of your legs on either side of her, the sound of your bracelets clinking together when you move your arms to rest them next to her head and cage her in, the sight of you leaning in to kiss her. It's easy to say, she's only been dating you for three months, but Van is sure that she will never get tired of this.

She hums against your lips, something too close to a moan. Her cheeks are red when you pull away, and you're not sure if it was the sound she made or the regretful, kind of embarrassing thing she has to tell you that gave her that reaction. "My mom will be home in, like, five minutes," she says, raspy and breathy.

Her voice distracts you. Your lips are tingling. "Okay," you say, nodding your head even though it takes you another three seconds to actually process what she said.

This is where you sit up, break apart. Neither of you move.

You smile and lean back down to kiss her again, stomach fluttering from the sound of her giggling as you tilt your head back. How are you supposed to stop when she's so fucking— so cute, so handsome, so in love with you. You've never felt so secure of another person's feelings for you before, but it's impossible to doubt Van. She makes you confident, makes sure that you know at all times. Might as well be saying I love you, I love you, I love you between each kiss that she pulls you back into.

It takes everything in you to break away from her, but you have to. "Fuck, okay. I gotta go," you mutter. You have to. You'll see her tomorrow. It should be embarrassing how greedy she makes you.

She watches as you sit up on her lap, your skirt bunched up over the crotch of her jeans. You must notice her looking, because you're laughing like you can read her mind when she huffs and covers her face with her arms, her lips pursed as she suppresses an even more embarrassing sound than the one she made before.

"I'll see you tomorrow," you insist, like saying it outloud will make leaving easier. You stand up and brush your hands over your hair, flattening the flyaways. Then you grab your backpack from the floor (don't think about the pretty pin she got you a few days ago, because it'll make you want to kiss her again) and walk over to her window.

You could take your chances with the front door, but you don't want to. Van was afraid that her neighbors would see you and innocently mention it to her mom, say something like oh, I saw that Vanessa's friend came by the other day. Van wishes it could be left at that, but her mom is rarely that simple. She looked so worried as she told you about it, so ashamed. You kissed her cheek and promised yourself you'd get good at climbing.

She comes closer as you climb to the other side, getting your footing on the familiar edge of the wall, and she hisses when you let go of the window railing to reach over and cup her face. You don't have to pull for her to bend down and let you kiss her, your thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

"Please don't fall," she's saying as you make your way down.

You look up at her and smile, and Van thinks you're so pretty that she misses the mischievousness behind it. "Have a little faith in me— oh, fuck!"

Van flinches, bumping her head on the window with how quick she moves to look down at you. The sound of your laughter makes her realize your hands never left their safe grip. Her shoulders relax. "Oh my God, fuck you," she scoffs, though she's too relieved for it to have any real bite.

"What were you even gonna do?" You ask, still giggling.

She shrugs, eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know, fucking— grab you or something."

"Your arms are too short to reach me from up there."

"I take offense to that."

"Well, I'm sorry," you sigh, tilting your head. "Doesn't make it any less true."

"I better not hear you asking for my short arms to carry you after practice tomorrow," Van huffs, said arms now crossed over her chest.

You look up at her in disbelief, raising your eyebrows. "I have literally never asked you for that, you always offer."

She shifts slightly where she stands, moves her weight from one leg to the other, caught. "Because I can do it," she mutters.

"Yes, I know. You're very strong, baby."

Van rolls her eyes, choosing to believe that you're teasing her because if she believes that you're being genuine she might die.

Your feet hit the ground with a thud. You do a silly curtsy, as if to say ta-da! and Van thinks you're so cute she's certain that she'll die. You give her one last grin and blow her a kiss before sneaking away from her house into the night.

Van goes to bed with her cheeks aching from smiling, her bed smelling of your perfume, and the faint sound of her brain screaming (terrified, celebrating) you are fucked!

—

NOW.

"I wish I'd asked you to prom," your voice is muffled by her sweatshirt, lips partly pressed against her shoulder.

Van snorts, looking down at you. "What?"

"You never went," you explain, and you have that look on your face, like you've been thinking about this for weeks. Like you could cry. Van presses pause on the (admittedly) shitty action film she'd chosen and lets you try to get your thoughts out. "I really wanted you there. You would've liked it."

She lets out a sigh through her nose, a hand coming to rest against your cheek. "I really don't know if that's true, honey," she says honestly.

You straighten your back a little, a tiny frown on your face like you get when you've been challenged. "You would've liked it. You love to dance and the DJ was, like, surprisingly good. And Ms. Dawson actually said yes to a dance with Peter K., even though that was highly inappropriate now that I think about it. But it was funny at the time— and Natalie snuck in a bottle of vodka."

"Yeah?" She asks, awfully endeared even when she's heard the story a million times before. You'd told her all about it the day after prom, your voice groggy and sleepy over the phone. She had felt lame about having missed it, but a thousand times better as soon as she picked up the phone, giggling in her bed like a fool at every detail you gave her.

You wrap your fingers around the hand on your cheek, press a kiss against her palm. "You would've loved it," you say, sounding somehow more convinced than before. "I should've asked you."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I was a dick," you insist. "I was a coward—"

"Hey, no. No," Van sits up from her lazy posture, two thin wrinkles between her eyebrows when she frowns. They look good on her. You remember when they weren't there, and it always makes you a little emotional. "Don't say that. You weren't."

"But I was," you try to reason, stubborn to a fault. "I'm not, like, condemning myself. I'm stating a fact."

Her frown deepens. "Well, I don't like it. And I don't think it's a fact."

You didn't mean for this to turn into an argument, but you're not exactly thinking about that at the moment. It happens— you've let the thought saturate in your brain for too long and now you're stuck thinking that you're right. "Why are you arguing with me right now?" You ask, not being petty but genuinely wanting to know.

Van huffs a frustrated breath. "Because I thought about asking you to prom for years, okay?" She says, crawling with embarrassment. "I told myself I would over and over again and then I fucking didn't. If you were a coward, what does that make me?"

You pause, guilt swirling in your stomach because you realize all at once that you've been poking on a tender bruise you didn't even know existed. "Van," you say softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

She sighs, almost a chuckle. She can be so mean to herself, so condescending about her own feelings. You know she's not laughing at you, or disregarding you in any way— it's just what she does when she feels like she's humiliated herself. Especially when you're there to watch, looking at her so kindly when she's certain she deserves none of it. "Yeah, well. That was intentional," she mutters.

You let her look away from you for a moment before you push yourself onto your knees, placing one on each side of her hips. She welcomes you like she always does when you come to sit on her lap now, her hands on your waist and her face falling forward to press kisses over your collarbone. A thoughtless motion, automatic.

"Sweet girl," you hum, guiding her head up with a careful hand, smiling when you meet her eyes. "We should've gone out dancing alone. Would've been way more fun."

Van breathes out a laugh. She wonders if she'll cry, and feels like she could. "Yeah," she agrees.

"I would've said yes, you know. I'm not blaming you for not asking me, I get why you didn't. I really do. But it's important to me that you know that." You brush a strand of hair behind her ear. It's pretty, and getting long. In no time she'll be asking you to wash it over the sink and trim it with your fancy hair scissors, like you've been doing since you got back together when you were twenty five after a stupid argument that led to a two years long break. It wasn't a good time for either of you, but you don't regret it. You have the rest of your life to live with her. Still, there will always be things like this— arguments about deep buried shame, fears that might never go away, moments you missed that other high school sweethearts didn't because their worries weren't like yours. It's sad, but not inescapable all the time. You and Van don't blame each other for any of it. But sometimes you need to be reminded of that.

"I know," she nods, her voice in that soft, quiet tone that you love but rarely get with how passionate she is. It's not a hardship, you love that just as much. "I think maybe that's why— why I was so freaked out. Like, if you said yes, it would become real."

You nod and chuckle a little, sweet and airy. "And you'd have to actually start to date me? Yeah, I would be scared," you joke.

Van buries her face in your chest with a groan. "That's all I fucking wanted," she says, feeling too honest to play along like she usually would.

You let her stay there for a while, her nose brushing against the rise and fall of your chest. Wanna be here forever, she'd told you once, with cold fingers sneaking under your shirt, more than a little drunk. You have been making fun of her about it for ages, but it tugs at something different today. It makes you pull her softly with a hand on the back of her neck, just enough to press your lips against hers, not wanting to deny her any of your warmth that she might crave.

Van hums against your lips, moving where you want her when your hands guide her own from your waist down to your hips. You press your chest against hers like you know she likes and she moans into your mouth, a hand moving to press against your back and force you closer.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask you," you mumble when she lets you pull apart, speaking close to her ear as you kiss her cheek, lips soft over old acne scars and sunspots.

Van shakes her head. "I don't care," she promises, smiling like she does when she's about to say something corny. "Look at me now," she shrugs, fake humble. "I got the girl in the end."

You laugh against her smirk and kiss her until she's lifting your hips and pushing you down on the couch, your back against the worn pillows, a hand on the back of your head in case you bump it on the arm rest. You like when she moves you around just to show off, reminds you of when you were younger and she'd flex her muscles just because she knew you were looking. She might not be the same type of strong now, but she can still pull out some tricks when she wants to. And with you, Van often wants to.

She tilts her head back when you try to pull her in for another kiss, sighing as she gets comfortable on top of you. She almost gives up the act when you pout at her, blinking your pretty eyes, but instead she leans her weight on one hand next to your head and says, "That is, of course, if she doesn't leave me for Katie Lopez's magic fingers."

Van expects you to roll your eyes, slap her shoulder so she can say ouch! and dramatically rest her hand over the wounded spot. Instead, you slide your hand over hers where it's resting against your hip, intertwining your fingers together and smiling pretty, tilting your head. "Mmh, but I have the best fingers right here."

Van scoffs, playing amused rather than speechless because she's trying not to show you how much your words get to her. It's embarrassing how proud it makes her, how quickly she melts into the palm of your hand when you as much as imply that she's good at something, that you would pick her over everyone else, that you want her like she wants you. Praise from others makes her smile and say thank you, but praise from you reaches her core, makes her dizzy. Her lips feel dry and her tongue pokes out absentmindedly to lick them as you guide her hand up. Van barely registers the movement, too busy watching your face— how beautiful that she gets to see it all the time now, that she knows all the details like you know hers.

Her fingertips come to rest against your lips and her breath stutters as she tries desperately to maintain any sense of coolness or dignity or fucking something while you kiss each one, soft and attentive. She's thinking, is she insane for finding it as thrilling as she does, even after all these years? Do you know what you do to her? You can't possibly know, Van almost decides, but then you part your lips to slide two of her fingers into your mouth and she thinks that you do. You definitely know.

"F—fuck," she breathes out, and tries to remember her original plan to tease you but can't recall your old classmate's name. "You trying to butter me up?" She asks, her chuckle trembling but deep, from the back of her throat.

Her fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and Van groans. You hum, "Is it working?"

You're mean, evil. You're the sweetest thing she's ever seen. Two things can be true at once. You're a dream, and you're not like this for anyone else. The thought echoes through her skull, warm and infectious. Van smirks. "Yeah."

[factual-fantasy]

22 asks!! :DD 💖💀🎉💖

@bunny-coffee

@elegysonnet

AAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! AND YOOOO IM DEVOURING THIS IDEA FRFR-

There's so much sadness! So much angst! AND JEVIL COMFORTING FRISK BY MAKING HER LAUGH?? PERFECT!!!

Now I may be not able to apply this idea word for word.. but I LOVE so much about it! Would you mind if I yoinked some of this? Its great!! :DD

:DD Happy new year!🎉🥳🎉 And thank YOU for sending me a kind message! I endlessly appreciate it 💖💖

@bunny-coffee

:00 Really? Thank you!! :DD I was actually pretty unsure of that detail for Jevil.. Making him round and squishy kind'a made him look too young to me.. but I'm so glad you like it! Maybe his squishiness isn't so bad! :D

:DDD Happy new year!! 💖🎉🥳🎉💖

XD Its been a while since I watched the movie. But I think my reaction was something along the lines of:

"..oh?.... OH..?.... OH YOOOOO---" *excited for angst noises XDD*

Thank you!! :DD As for his knuckle scars, there isn't really one specific way he got them. It just shows that he's rough and tough. He's been through a lot and has been on many dangerous missions.

You know, scraping his hands on rocks, dealing with sharp teethed and dangerous creatures every day.. Your hands would naturally get beat up a lot of you lived like Kwazii.

Aww! How fun! I'm sure Foxy wouldn't mind the company! :}

Foxy: "Oh? Are you a new animatronic?"

Calico Jack: "BIG TALKIN ROBOT-"

Now usually I would say Calico Jack. And its probably still true.. but considering how I'm trying to structure my Octonauts AU.. Inkling might actually be the one who's studied up more on folk tales and mythologies.. 👀

@rockbott0m47 (huh.. in all my days I don't think I've ever received a question like this XDD)

I try to be as factual as possible.. but in all honesty, my factual stops where the lazy begins-

XDD You're welcome?? Ah- Sorry for your loss?? XD I'm not sure how you feel about this realization but none the less thank you! I'm so glad you've liked my artwork! :DD

@nevereatingpeas

:DD THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I'm so glad you like my deign!! :}}💖

AAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! 😭😭💖💖💖

(Post in question)

WAAAAAHGG THANB YIU SO MCUH!!! ITS SO COOL TO ME THAT YOU SAW ALL THOSE DETAILS!!

Yes exactly! Shellington's "VEGGIE DAD" shirt, Kwazii's bent whiskers and scars.. AND YES YES! THE CAPTAIN IN FULL UNIFORM!! I was thinking that he is an early riser and was up before everyone else was. He's not intending to eat later- he's just already had breakfast! :0

AND YES!! The meals were all correct but one <XD google says that sea otters eat crab. So I googled "crab meat meal" and drew one of the things that came up. It might be a salad thing..? Or a crab pasta thingy.?? Not sure <XDD But MAN the potatoes would have been a good idea too-

One detail that I was fond of was the steam coming from everyone's cups. Though Peso and Barnacles have no steam, because they're drinking cold drinks! You get it?? Becuase they are cold creatures?? Don't like warm things??? I'm so smart 🤣

@itschrisboys

YOOOO THIS IS A REALLY SOLID IDEA!! She could have the guilt of having killed everyone, while also trying to give everyone their happy ending.. Cool! Would you mind if I used this idea? Or at least part of it? Its really neat! :00

@britneyt

:DD Thank you! I'm glad you like that design detail of his XDD

Also thank you again! Happy new year!! 🎉🥳🎉

@beryl-shade

XD My first thought was Glamrock Freddy; "HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO HIDE YOU NOW GREGORY??"

I do! I'll have to draw them sometime-

@tallchest13-blog

Thank you! I'm so glad! :DDD

@natewithacake

:DD Thank you so much!! I'm glad you like the designs I've given them! :}}}

[vqrtualheartss]

"I'm sure you're taller in another dimension" Miles cooed to himself

He hadn't found one yet, and there was no chance you'd ever grow, or do anything else— because you were dead.

"October 7th, 14:38" Miles had the date and time engraved into his brain. The feel of your now cold skin. Your voice, eyes, and lips, the heart-shaped mole under your right eye. it. was. all. engraved. into. his. brain.

His coping mechanism came to be one similar to Miguel's, admiring from afar. He jumped from dimension to dimension, just to see you, even if it wasn't technically you. Everything he observed regarding you in other dimensions reminded him of your last living moments in his.

1 (I was supposed to put smth here but I got lazy so until tmrw)

2

3

4

5

Still after your death, you caused him to experience emotions more than guilt and remorse. He wasn't ashamed or hid that he felt

Bitter everytime he saw you with another boy or girl

Sad each time he saw you by yourself, hurt yourself, progress in life without him by your side

Angry when he saw you getting nursed by someone in even the slightest way, knowing that he wasn't able to protect you

"It's not your fault Miles" Gwen would tell him

"It's wasn't your fault Miles" Pavitr soothed

"It's not your scum man" Hobie would reassure

Truth be told, he grew inconsolable knowing he was aging without you, times were changing without you. He grew inconsolable because you were comfort. were

"Thing happen Miles" Margo consoled

It was hard to ignore how Miles changed for the worst. Constantly it felt like barbed wire was wrapped around his throat, his voice broke off into fractions. Since the death of his uncle, Aaron, it was the most his family had seen him cry. There wasn't need for Rio or Jeff to scold him about coming in late because he never left his room, except for the infrequent trips to patrol and save Brooklyn.

There wasn't much of that left though, using footage from fight analyses it became clear than he would purposely put himself in harm and take hits more than necessary. His reason being that he wanted to feel 'something'. Following, the other spiders kept eye on Brooklyn.

His misery became contagious, more dangerous the more nights Rio heard Miles begging to be taken in his sleep.

— "Mama, I can hear you crying"

The words made her sob harder, she couldn't tell if she was happy to have grown such a selfless young man or sad that he didn't ever want to ask for help. She walked in to find Miles standing on the other side of the door, his hand in motion to turn the doorknob. He embraced her, resting his head horizontal on hers. Tears streamed down both their faces.

"I'll be fine, I'll be fine"

It wasn't evident who Miles was trying to convince— himself or his mother. Because he knew that deep down, always and forever, you would have a tug on his heart.

BOW BOW BOW!!

[horce-divorce]

something something about the power imbalance inherent to being an unhoused person, how similar it is to the dependency that abusers intentionally foster in their relationships to keep victims from leaving. but if you're homeless and someone is putting you up, especially if it's for free/some kind of exchange other than rent, you're basically expected to put up with whatever indignity they can imagine for you and still just be grateful. And if you set a boundary or speak up for yourself in any kind of way, that's Taking Advantage of this poor kind person who's doing SO much for you already, how could you?

sorry its 2am and I'm trying to write a better draft about this for later too but its like. being homeless is a huge, huge vulnerability. ppl people will look to exploit that, intentionally or not. and doubly so if you're homeless because you're disabled.

also something the ableism involved... about how I know so many fellow disabled people who have struggled with homelessness, and we all have similar stories about people we trusted, friends or loved ones who seemed all too happy to help and take us in, and how we repeatedly impressed upon them the nature of our health and the situation, and they swore up and down that they understood and that we were on the same page about boundaries and expectations... only to have them blow up and kick us out at the absolute first sign of conflict or miscommunication, or because we didn't get jobs fast enough, or because we didn't contribute financially even after being told that wasn't expected, and so on.

and how, I know so many housed people who have never been through this, who all have very similar stories about how they tried to help a friend in need once, and they were SO lazy and horrible and took SO long to get their shit together that they clearly were just a freeloader taking advantage who should've never been trusted, just like all homeless people, and that's why we give them socks and canned beans instead of money.

I was never allowed to complain about ableist expectations or abled people ignoring my boundaries in my parents' home. Especially not after I became a disabled adult who still needed help with housing. And that's been true of most of the couch-hopping I've done since then, too.

Currently we have a fairly nice situation... we live with a trusted and pleasant friend. It's a whole house, not an apartment. Not even in the city. We have our own entire room. We don't have to pay rent or anything. It's temporary even aside from our discomfort, it's just been a nice place to land for the cold months.

However. Friends parents are not so chill. Their dad is the most disgusting man alive and has repeatedly gotten us sick bc he's always got something, bleeds all over and never cleans it up, never washes his hands, leaves his dentures on countertops and tables with food still stuck on them, coughs all over our stuff and never masks, is actively making the mouse infestation worse with all the food he leaves out, and puts our health at risk in SO many ways.

he used to work in Healthcare btw. His wife still does. They know we're here bc we're homeless; they know we're both disabled and immunocompromised; neither of them will wear a mask. Both of them are constantly coughing everywhere and not even covering their mouths. We've tried to politely bring this to their attention multiple times and nothing changes. They just ignore us.

We could literally die from this. We could get lifelong health complications even worse than what we have now. Bel lost his sense of taste today and now we're terrified that it's gonna be long covid or something else that sucks what little joy is left from our daily lives.

You lose everything, and then you're supposed to just say nothing and accept your lot, no matter how much danger you're in, because beggars can't be choosers. If you're disabled and poor you'd better just be fine with people abusing you and putting your health and safety at risk indefinitely, because you're lucky they're even helping you at all instead of JUST abusing you.

You dont get to have a home. You dont get to collect things, or keep sentimental things, or have a whole, adequate wardrobe. You get what you can carry with you and what won't get stolen or destroyed by others, or by the nature of moving so much. You dont get to have safety and stability and roots and community. You dont get the dignity of boundaries or your own space. You get what you get and you don't throw a fit. And be happy and say "thank you" if people are merely ignoring you instead of actively silencing you. And if the people "helping" you actually give you the thing that kills you, at least you didn't die of exposure, I guess? Or something?

Its just. Every single thing you do as both a homeless & disabled person reminds you how utterly worthless you are to the """normal""" people around you. Every day. It's so demoralizing.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Servantly duties

A/N: I've been working on this on and off for like a month so I'm sorry if its no bueno! I was really just trying to finish it and am keen to work on kinktober!

TW: implied sexual harassment, chipped fingernail, aphrodisiac/ love potion trope, forced kissing/touching

Synopsis: as a human servant to a satyr god, you're forced to draw him a bath and fall to his whims. 

Word Count:4000

Being a servant for a deity and their court was not as glamorous as it may have seemed. “Yes your highness” this, and “of course my lord” that; you were just thankful that satyrs were a lively race. Especially considering their knacks for magic and devious enchantments, not to mention their selfishly lustful acts. But you, you had the special task of taking care of a very important one. A god. Though the god himself was not very powerful nor crucial to most creatures, in the hierarchy of his race he was the most grand. 

After getting caught stealing from his altar out of desperation, you were condemned to work in the prime temple as a servant. You were shown mercy partly due to the gods laziness, and mostly because the being took a strange, licentious liking to you. Besides nymphs, humans were one of the most sought after creatures by satyrs, and it was not very often that one of the two would strut into such a dangerous territory. If it weren’t for the deity keeping you at his side, you probably would’ve been taken by one of his subjects. Satyrs never had a filter on their ravenous sexuality, only god knows what would’ve happened if they got their claws on you. But, it's not like the deity was any better. 

Though your servitude was a punishment, you grew accustomed to your life here. You swallow your pride in order to avoid the gods wrath, hoping someday to be free of serving such voracious creatures. A snide comeback wasn’t worth being cursed for the rest of your life. He was still a deity, after all. So, you bite your tongue and do your duties. You were constantly at his beck and call to refill a glass of wine, to clean up after a luxurious party, or to wave a fan. The work never ended.

You recalled the orders from earlier. 

"Dearest, I want a bath this evening. Make it nice, I only want you in my company." he purred to you. 

You responded accordingly, but saw the way he looked at you. You were sure that he was planning some dastardly crude idea to get you to fall for him. 

You were brought out of your thoughts by a searing pain, accidentally touching the burning pot in front of you. You retracted your hand as fast as lightning from the boiling water. The small fire underneath it had been slowly dying but yet the pail stayed piping hot. Picking up the handle, you delicately rose it from the fireplace. The metal handle dug into your skin as the weight of the water became nearly too much to carry. But you continued walking towards the large bath.

Reaching the basin, you took the thick cloth in your pocket and held the bottom of the pail, dumping it into the bath. The steam quickly diminished as the hot liquid mixed with the water already placed in the tub.

You hummed to yourself as you picked up a bottle of rose oil. You smelled it for a moment, savoring the sweet scent you'd likely never be able to experience fully. Small drips of the liquid fell into the bath, the smell becoming more potent the more it dripped. Setting it back down you took the few flowers surrounding the bathtub and began to peel them. The dried petals fell into the water elegantly. You snuck a few smaller ones into your pocket, watching the door in case the deity appeared. 

You got up to find the clothes you put on the bed earlier, grabbing them and turning slowly to the basin again; The labor of the day was finally hitting you yet it was nice to have a moment alone. But your slack shoulders didn’t stay at ease for long; the sound of the bedroom door swinging open made you tense up again, hurrying to bring the clothing into the bathroom.

“Oh dearest human,” a sing-songy voice called. “Is my bath ready yet?” You heard the rustling of fabric come from the bedroom as you tripped over yourself to get to the door. 

“Yes, my lord.” You cleared your throat, looking as you saw what was in front of you. 

The satyr deity, Philon, was currently eyeing you with a grin. He had already tossed off his satchel, his dirty tunic clearly next. To say the god was bulky was an understatement. His race was not all that different from humans, but his huge stature and animalistic features said otherwise. The deity status was not one that made him any less intimidating, either. He easily towered over you, peering down while his furry ears twitched and his hazel eyes twinkled. You had helped dress the satyr on multiple occasions and occasionally tended to his bath, but it was always with other servants or worshippers. Now, you were given the task to handle him alone. You couldn't even imagine it.

He completely shattered any line of professionalism to the point where you didn't know whether to take his flirty words seriously, to refute them, or to fall to his whims out of fear for your life. Some of the other servants believed Philon was trying to court you. From the way he pursued you longer than any other creature that caught his eye, and how he dismissed any other satyr from touching you, it did look suspicious. But you wouldn't believe it; after all his games and his sickeningly sweet remarks, you believed you were just another distraction until he got bored.

"Finally," the god released a groan, stretching his arms as he began to disrobe. "Feels like I've been out in that forest for ages." 

He noticed you watching as he pulled leaves out of his long hair, undoing the intricate weaving you prepared this morning. Small pieces of gold and little jewels were still strung in his locks. He smirked, staring back at you as he stroked his hair. 

"See something you like?" 

You looked away quickly. 

"I apologize for staring," you mumbled, embarrassed and trying to gesture to the bathroom. He was so full of himself. "Please my lord, your bath is ready." 

Philon grinned, strutting past you. 

As he made his way to the bath, the god began untying his once white tunic. It had been stained with spilt wine and dirt, remnants that surely came from the loud festival outside. But he stopped for a moment, watching you stand there without following. 

"Well come on now, these clothes aren't going to come off themselves!" The satyr said with a hearty laugh. 

You swallowed harshly. At Least being ravaged by a deity was better than any old satyr, you thought to yourself. The all male race had definitely not been easy to deal with.  Everyone was still outside the temple, busy celebrating this year's harvest thanks to Philon; he was usually the last one standing when it came to celebrations of himself.

You walked as slow as you could to the large porcelain bath. Philon sat on the edge of it and stuck a finger in the warm water, swirling it around as petals stuck to his skin. The pleasant aroma of the bath helped ease your nerves. 

He watched you shuffle in, poorly hiding a devious smirk behind his hand. Your shaky hands begin to undo the knot that he had clearly re-tied. 

You felt him staring down at you as warm breath hitting the top of your head. Your fingers struggled with the knot, sweat dripping down your brow as his stare grew intense. But he didn't stop you. Fumbling until your fingernail split, you successfully undid the knot. A small sacrifice to keep your dignity. You were glad the satyr didn’t seem to notice. 

At the removal of the knot, the rest of the satyr’s clothes came undone. His chiton fell to the floor gracefully piling around his feet. You had seen the deity in all his naked glory before, but for some reason this time it felt different. Maybe it was because you were the only one who had his attention. Or maybe, it was because it felt like he was burning holes into your face with how hard he was looking for your reaction. 

You ignored him, picking up the loose fabric that smelled of sweat and sweet wine to put in a small basket. Philon stepped into the tub, letting out an audible groan at feeling the water pool around his legs. You jumped at hearing him, the sensual noise catching you off guard. The lord lowered himself into the bath of petals and sweet smells as he waited for you to tend to him. Picking up the basket of clothes, you intended to get out as fast as you could. Bowing shortly you skittered towards the door. 

“Wait a minute,” the satyr beckoned you with a finger, eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t think you’re done, do you? How am I supposed to get clean?” 

He lifted his furry hoof, water dripping off of his lower half as you looked away; you were tempted to roll your eyes. Of course he wanted you to clean him. You reluctantly set down the basket, coming closer to the bath. You prayed to any other deities that could hear you, hoping they would save you from such a fate. 

But alas, nothing stopped you as you found a clean washcloth on the table behind the bath, near the flower oils and a bar of soap. You quickly grabbed it, dipping the washcloth in the bath water and furiously rubbing the chunk of lye. Maybe if you rushed, he wouldn’t have time to try and mess with you, right? That was the only hope you could cling to. 

But as soon as you were ready to begin bathing him, you froze. This was going to be a lot harder than you thought. You thanked the gods that bubbles covered his lower half, but his bare, dripping chest and biceps still sat before you.

“Start with my shoulders,” He commanded, resting his arms on the bath’s rim. “I’ve got a terrible ache.”

You bit your tongue and shimmied on your knees to the other side of the bath. “Of course.” 

His back was as clean as you’d expect of a god who lazed all day. The nape of his neck was slick with sweat and water, a flurry of freckles dotting his back; they almost seemed to form constellations. You brought the washcloth to his shoulders, feeling his muscles vibrating under your touch. The small divots and hills of his skin were smooth against your fingertips. Before you knew it you had soaped up his shoulders and back completely. He had let out a few, throaty groans at your work but you were too preoccupied to notice. The satyr let out a blissful sigh as he turned upward to look at you. 

“Don’t think your work is done yet, my little dove,” Philon grinned from upside down, fingers reaching out to graze your lips. He left your cheek wet with soap suds as you stayed put, mostly out of surprise. He cupped your cheek as you dared not to lean in or move away.

He then pointed to his head, the long reddish brown strands swaying as he moved. You were dazed for a moment until it clicked, your eyes lighting up with relief. Perhaps, all he really wanted was a bath? Maybe your hope was turning to delusion. 

You grabbed a fancy glass bottle, remembering from having seen it a thousand times while cleaning. You assumed that it was the right one for hair, and poured its contents. Lathering it in your hands, you came to find Philon’s hair was already wet, likely done by the deity in order to speed the process up. You could tell he was growing impatient.

You began from the top of his skull down to the tips of his long locks, thoroughly massaging the suds into his head. You got to the sides near his long, furry ears, rubbing the soap in as you heard him release another groan. They seemed nearly unintentional; the deity's eyes were shut as he let you mold him, his body lax.

You were careful to avoid his horns, their presence hindering your scrubbing. They were one of the few traits that defined the satyr. Other than his horns and ears, from the waist up you'd think he was human. Well, nearly. His kind tended to grow more hair and fur than humans, and this one in particular had the blood of a god flowing through his veins. 

You cupped the deity's chin and leaned his head back lightly, cupping water in your hands to wash out the lavender scented soap. He leaned his head backward and brought your arm to his chest.

Your hand went limp in his, afraid for a moment. You allowed yourself to keep washing the soap suds as he stroked your palm. Philon’s fingers messed with yours, prying open your hand that was balled into a fist. Warm, wet hands tickled your wrist as he intertwined his fingers with yours. 

You swiftly finished rinsing the soap, getting up to busy yourself with finding the rag you left somewhere. You swore you left it on the table only a few feet away. But before you could figure out the location of the rag, you felt your arm tugged by a slimy hand. 

"What's this?" Philon asked. He observed your broken nail. "What happened?"

You watched as he stroked your pointer finger, looking closely at the crack that divided your fingernail. 

"Just an accident. It doesn't impede my work." You said matter-of-factly.

"Well I can't have you working with an injury like this. It could get infected, you know. "

"But the soap--"

He put a finger to your lips, talking over you.

"No buts. In fact, I think this needs to be taken care of now before you injure yourself more."

You were unable to protest as he pulled your arms into the tub. Before you knew it, he had dragged you entirely in, making you let out a yelp as he embraced you with his arms. Your clothes quickly soaked as you flailed. 

Philon chuckled as shock and surprise fled your eyes. You bit your tongue to prevent from giving him a piece of your mind, not daring to extend your servitude sentence any longer. But boy, did you want to bite his head off.

"Awe, what's with the frown?" He grabbed your chin, twisting your face to admire the scowl you held. "glad I was able to make you wet, though."

You couldn't help but cringe, feeling the satyr grip your backside, both to hold you up and to cup a feel. You assumed you looked like a wet cat about now. 

"My lord, how am I supposed to do my work like this?" you said between gritted teeth.

The satyr kept grinning at you cheekily.

"I can't have you getting hurt again on my watch. You can keep washing me in the bath." He leaned back in the tub, waiting for you to make your move. 

Looking at his chest, you realized what he expected. He was still holding you, rubbing his large hands on your knees as you unintentionally straddled his waist. You didn't waste any time wondering what the protruding thing beneath you was.

At a loss for words, you decided to just keep working. Still holding onto the delusional hope of being able to finish quickly and leaving, you leaned forward to grab the soap from behind the Satyr. 

The awkward positioning reminded you just how odd and wrong this situation was. He was a deity, a forest spirit who could banish you to never step foot in a grassy plain in the region again; he could take you if he so pleased, nothing in his presence able to stop him from claiming you as many times as he wanted. 

It wasn't your place to be here, in a bath big enough to hold three, of which barely fit the both of you from the sheer size of the satyr. He touched you as if you were a lover, softly, taking in every crack and blemish in your skin. But that touch was also filled with authority; the way he touched you without looking for your acknowledgement, proved to you he knew there were no consequences. 

Philons’ hand traveled up your hip, caressing your side as you extended to grab the bar of soap. You nearly had it, but it was still out of reach. He merely watched as you struggled to grab it. You were too engrossed in reaching the slick bar of soap to see him come up close to you, breath tickling the hairs of your neck. A soft kiss was planted below your ear, the satyrs’ hand coming up to caress your jaw.

 You slipped without warning, which planted you face-first into his chest. Your nose burned from hitting his sternum so roughly, making your eyes tear up. His flush skin pressed on yours made you scramble up immediately, feet scurrying in the water to get off of him. Grabbing your hands he steadied you as you stuttered. 

"I'm so sorry!" You cried. While the satyr made your skin crawl, you still felt bad about planting yourself right between his tits. 

"Calm down," Philon chuckled, steadying you on his lap. "I never realized how much of a skittish little thing you were." You tensed as he brought your hand with the soap bar up to his chest. "Guess that's one more thing I enjoy about you."

His words nearly made you vomit. But the soap! You managed to grab it during the fall. The satyr almost looked disappointed when you ignored him and found the rag once more, watching you scrub the lye bar. Philon adjusted his legs beneath you, groaning as he "accidentally" grinded upward to get more comfortable. You would've scrambled off his lap by now if it weren't for his hands holding your damp hips. 

Rubbing Philon’s chest in a methodical motion, you watched as the cloth began to make white bubbles on his tanned skin. His ears twitched and you swore if he wasn't in the bath, you would see his tail doing the same. The deity was waiting in anticipation, licking his lips as he felt your soft hands on his torso. He panted, flexing his fingers into the flesh of your thighs. You sighed and looked up at him to see what all the fuss was. 

But his mouth was on you before you could ask. His forehead knocked against yours as he kissed you with a salivating mouth. Philon moved fast, pushing you backwards in the bath and pressing you against it; the water sloshing outside of the basin didn't stop him. Your arms stuck out awkwardly with your hands still holding the rag and soap. 

"Mmn…! I can't help myself anymore--" he cut himself off with a kiss to the side of your mouth, voice hoarse and impatient. "I tried to give you time… let you come to me to spare my pride, but I can't … can't wait any longer. " 

You squealed against his mouth, surprised and desperate for air. You knew the god would pounce, just unsure of when. And now was not the most convenient time. His soapy chest pressed into yours and dampened the rest of your clothes; his hands gripped hard onto the tub as he tried to get on top of you. His furry legs tickled yours under the water, ears flicking against your cheek as he smothered you with affection. He really had been holding back. 

"My lord--" your voice cracked as you tried to press yourself deeper into the tub to create space. Philon took the challenge, pressing harder. "Please this is no way to behave-!" You were cut off with a kiss as he straddled your waist and forced your hands into his hair. The rows and rows of indents that formed his curled horns were smooth in your hands; Philon moaned into your mouth each time you ran your hands down them to push him off. You twisted away from his mouth, biting his lip for an extra measure. 

"Why don’t you understand, I don't want this! Leave me alone!”

He laughed, belittling you with just one condescending look.

"I love the chase,” He licked his lip. "I think you'll find yourself yearning for me soon."

"What?" 

Philon reached for a fragile bottle of wine on the counter of soaps and oils. You never had the pleasure of tasting such a delicacy but have witnessed its effects on those who drank it. It was a well-known aphrodisiac in the region, and you wouldn't be caught dead drinking such a thing around a satyr. Nonetheless this bastard.

He eyed you, taking a sip but not yet swallowing. You fought to get out of his grasp now that his other hand was preoccupied; he managed to hold you down with his forearm, pushing it across your chest to keep you tucked against the bath. The water was beginning to grow cold, bubbles having disintegrated and the fragrant smells starting to diminish. The flower petals had long since dissolved, turning the water a rosy red. 

He threw the empty bottle to the floor with a clang, using his now free hand to try to pry open your mouth. As much as you stayed stubborn, you couldn't help but release a gasp when his long nails dug into your thigh. 

Philon slammed his mouth onto yours, forcing the wine down your throat and against your tongue.Tears welled in your eyes and your nose began to burn. The satyrs inhuman leg pressed itself against your crotch as your hands twisted into his. 

Letting go of your mouth with a wet "pop," philon came to recover your lips with his hand, nearly suffocating you. 

"Swallow. Swallow it." He looked at you with expectant eyes. "Be a good little human now."

You couldn't breathe, water sloshing next to your ears while the large creature forced himself onto you. For the satyr though, he couldn't get enough. The water dripped down your chest, your collar slightly open as you breathed heavily. You groaned against his fingers, just like he always wanted. 

You swallowed the thick, fermented juice, only out of fear for your life. The male let go as you gasped for air. 

"I'm going to make you give yourself to me." He said, as your chest heaved and your hands tried to push him back. "When you're desperate and drooling in only a few moments, you'll have to beg me to touch you."

You promised yourself you wouldn't, that you would keep that small sliver of dignity no matter how dire the situation was, no matter how badly you wanted to return home. But the wine was already starting to take effect. You felt it in your fingers and toes, ones that tingled and went numb. Your chest ached and a warm feeling spread down your stomach. 

"You're already feeling it, aren't you?"

The aphrodisiac was beginning to take its course. Your muscles tensed  as your body grew restless; Philon watched with a sadistic glint in his eyes. He stayed true to his words, refusing to touch you until you began to squirm. You put your hand to your crotch, trying to suppress the growing urge inside of you. The sweet aftertaste of the wine still lingered in your mouth. Philon growled, ears twitching and flicking the gold pieces embedded in his horns and hair. The wine was beginning to take its hold on him, too. Not that he would’ve needed it in the first place.

He panted, running his smooth fingertips down your wet clothes. You felt sticky and hot and impatient, breathing heavily as something inside you made you thirsty. Philon squeezed your chest with hungry hands; you could see the lust beginning to take over his snide expression, his normally insatiable libido somehow growing worse. 

“you're going to be begging on your knees for me.“