#camera ardente

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA Giornale Di Sicilia di Oggi giovedì, 19 settembre 2024

[onoranzetriolo]

è mancata Domenica Megali in Crucitti

è mancata Domenica Megali in Crucitti Ne danno il triste annuncio i figli: Paolo con la moglie Angela, Natale con la moglie Emilia, Carmelo con la compagna Adriana, Mariella con il marito Davide, i fratelli Sebastiano con la moglie Ines, Franca con il marito Giuseppe, Angelica con il marito Fortunato, Margherita con il marito Carmelo, i cognati Crucitti con le rispettive famiglie, gli adorati…

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: f!reader | age gap, reader is nineteen | mild exhibitionism | size difference | choking | objectification (f receiving)

BRUCE WAYNE was in the hot seat. Well, more appropriately, Batman was in the hot seat. Which meant it was time for the billionaire playboy to make a public appearance so controversial, any press worth their tacks would cover his televised blunder rather than some depressing masked vigilante’s dealings. People prefer gossip over politics, and Bruce knows how to work an angle.

You’re a fresh adult, but the people already know you. A perfect Gotham sweetheart: a little darling on the front cover of lingerie magazines, starring as a bombshell in motion pictures, named the honor of the Ice Princess last month. You wore your little feathery outfit, next to nothing in the freezing cold, and turned on the city's giant Christmas tree lights just as the Ice Princess does every year. Known for your youth and beauty, Bruce knew you were the perfect candidate to take all the attention away from where it shouldn't be. Tabloids couldn't decide whether to praise the seasoned billionaire for landing a nineteen-year-old catch, or condemn him for having a mid-life crisis.

"Bruce Wayne seen with Gotham's Ice Princess." was everywhere anyone looked. It seemed the city had taken quite a protective role over you, which is exactly what Bruce needed.

Now that he's got you, he flaunts you. He lets you lug him around town, any local events that could be televised are his priorities. There, he makes a big show of touching you in ways only a lover is allowed to. Things that make you pat his huge bicep scoldingly. "Brucie!" you chide with a gasp, "You're so shameless." you say, but you fucking love it. How he openly mouths at your neck, lapping and sucking on your pulse point enough for lewd pretty sounds to slew from your parted lips. Little whimpers that any onlookers eat up.

He'll grope you unabashedly, big hand grabbing at your ass or giving it a swat. He needs those cameras to see how gross he is, how crazy he is about his nineteen-year-old situationship. If you get kissed, it's fucking sloppy. Mostly tongue, tongue outside the mouth as much as he can appropriately get away with. His "dirty sense of humor" will bleed into the public scene as well, hugging you from behind only to jokingly engulf your neck with his hand to fake a choke.

Every single one of these things he does for attention, leaves you hot and bothered. Frustrated from his treatment of you that's so warm when there are prying eyes, but so cold when you're finally alone together. You want Bruce Wayne to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you, but when doors are closed suddenly it's: "Something's come up." or "The sushi hit me wrong." Or the worst one of all: the polite, civilized, but uninterested act. You're all over him, begging for him to finally fuck you after stringing you along and teasing you so ardently all day, and he treats you as if you are an acquainted business associate who has overstayed her welcome. You don't get it. An hour ago he was pulling your neckline towards him for a peek down your dress, and now he's showing you the door with a smile on his face.

[brieflyinfatuated]

Gooooob morning everyone, here, hav some dew drops

Asdfghjkl I mean, just LOOK

[sauolasa]

Roma, il saluto al feretro di Gina Lollobrigida. In tanti alla camera ardente in Campidoglio

I primi ad omaggiare la Bersagliera sono stati il sindaco di Roma, Roberto Gualtieri, accanto all'unico figlio dell'attrice. I funerali si svolgeranno questo giovedì presso la chiesa degli Artisti in piazza del Popolo

[multi-fandom-imagine]

❥Sᥕᥱᥲt, bᥲbყ, sᥕᥱᥲt || Stanley Pines ||

A/n: Here it is, the winner of the poll!

Warnings: being filmed, P in V, teasing, cream pie, older!man x younger!reader { reader late 20's - late 30's }, spanking, creampie, dirty talk

Stan couldn't help but feel a rush of pleasure hit him as you gave him that smile he loved so much. You wanted to...make a porno? With him? This felt too good to be true, honestly the man had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming, how in the world could he ever say no to you?

His eyes were glued to your form, from how you set up the camera to how you stripped yourself free of your clothes, your body laying back on the bed as you parted your legs for the man, for the camera.

"Fuck me Stan."

Stanley's breath caught in his throat at your wanton display. The way you looked at him, eyes smoldering with arousal, sent a sharp thrill of desire straight to his core.

Growling low in his throat, he closed the distance between you both, his hands fumbling with his own clothing as he captured your lips in a searing kiss. His calloused hands roamed hungrily over your bare skin, fingers tracing the gentle curves of your body.

Breaking the kiss, Stan gazed down at you with eyes darkened by unbridled lust. "As the lady wishes," he rasped, voice rough with need.

Now naked, Stan kept his gaze focused on you. You were so beautiful.

Shaking his head, a smirk formed on his lips as he positioned himself at your slick entrance, slowly sinking into your welcoming heat. A guttural groan escaped him as your walls clenched around his throbbing length. Stan stilled for a moment, savoring the exquisite sensation, before beginning to move - his powerful thrusts slow and measured at first, but steadily building in intensity.

Leaning down, he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck, occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin. His rough hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he drove into you with steadily increasing fervor.

"Oooh dollface," he growled, words punctuated by the slap of flesh on flesh. "You feel so damn good..."

Letting out a cry, your nails dragged across his back as you then draped one of your legs across his hips, your breasts bouncing with each of his thrusts.

"Harder...Stan...fuck...."soft cries leaving your lips.

Stanley's powerful hips snapped forward, driving into your heated depths with unyielding force. Your cries of pleasure only spurred him on, igniting a primal need to give you every ounce of ecstasy he could muster.

Calloused palms gripped your shapely thighs, holding you in place as he pistoned into you relentlessly. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the air, mingling with your breathless moans, your mind fogging forgetting for a moment you two were being filmed.

Shifting his angle slightly, Stan angled his hips to hit that sweet spot deep within you, drawing forth a shuddering gasp. He repeated the motion, reveling in the way your walls clenched around him in response.

Leaning in, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries. His tongue tangled with yours in a sensual dance, matching the pulsing rhythm of his hips.

Pulling back, Stan gazed down at you with unbridled lust. "That's it, darlin'," he rasped, voice thick with need. "Scream for me. Let the whole damn world know who's making you feel this good."

He emphasized his words with a particularly hard, deep thrust, intent on pushing you over the edge.

Stifling a cry against his lips, you did your best to match your lovers thrusts as your gaze then drifted to the camera that was capturing your most intimate moment together.

Stanley's virile form moved with an animalistic grace as he drove into your willing body. Your breathless cries only fueled his primal need, every fiber of his being focused on bringing you to the heights of ecstasy.

The camera's red light blinked steadily, immortalizing their ardent coupling. Your gaze flickered towards it, eyes hooded with unbridled desire. The knowledge that you would be able to relive this moment whenever Stanley was away only heightened the raw sensuality of your tryst.

Stan's calloused palms caressed and gripped your trembling form, guiding your hips to meet each of his powerful thrusts. His touch was firm yet reverent, conveying the depth of his affection even as he indulged your every carnal whim.

Leaning in, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your soft mewls of pleasure. Stan's tongue tangled with yours in a sensual dance, mirroring the pulsing rhythm of his hips.

"That's it, darlin'," he rasped, voice thick with need. "Lemme hear how good I'm makin' you feel."

"Stanley." Your voice was desperate now, you did your best to cling to him. Your hold wavering, leg slipping off his hips from his powerful thrusts.

"I'm so close." You whined. The familiar heat coiling in your belly though all it took was a particular thrust from Stan that had you seeing starts. His name torn from your lips as her pussy clenched tightly around his cock.

Your legs now wrapped firmly around his hips to prevent him from pulling out. You wanted to feel all of him, you wanted to capture it all.

Stanley felt a surge of primal satisfaction as your desperate cries filled the air. The way your body clung to him, the exquisite sensation of your walls pulsing around his throbbing length - it was enough to drive any man to the brink of madness.

Gripping your hips firmly, he angled his thrusts to hit that sensitive spot deep within you again and again drawing forth another guttural moan. Stan's calloused palms caressed the soft curves of your trembling form, his touch reverent yet possessive, his hand moving up to give your breast a squeeze, thumb gliding across your nipple.

"That's it, darlin'," he rasped, voice thick with need. "Let go for me. I wanna feel you come undone."

Leaning in, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy. Stan's hips pistoned forward relentlessly, chasing his own release even as he sought to push you over the edge.

The camera's red light blinked steadily, capturing every moment of their ardent coupling. Stan knew this footage would be a treasured memento.

With a final, earth-shattering thrust, he felt your walls clench around him in a vice-like grip. Your back arched as you shattered, your scream of euphoria muffled by his searing kiss. Stan's own climax followed shortly after, a guttural groan rumbling in his chest as he spilled himself within your pulsing heat.

Collapsing against you, he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, placing gentle kisses along the sensitive skin. His grip on your hips loosened, calloused palms caressing you in a soothing manner.

"Damn, sweetheart," he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "That was one hell of a show."

"You're so sexy....hmmm I love you.." You did your best to return this kisses as you melted into his touch. Your fingers slowly running down his back showing off your own affection but thats when you remembered the camera.

"And you, my dear, are a vision," he murmured against her mouth, voice low and rough with lingering desire. "Driving me wild, as always."

With a lazy smile, you returned the kiss then sat up to grab the camera panning it down your body, letting it film to her slit feeling his cum slowly dripped out.

"You really filled me, didn't you Stanley."

Stanley's heart swelled with affection as you melted into his touch, your fingers tracing delicate patterns along the burn mark on his back. The adoration shining in your eyes made his pulse quicken, and he couldn't resist capturing your lips in another searing kiss.

Gazing down at you with hooded eyes, Stan watched hungrily as you angled the camera to capture the sight of his release seeping from your slick folds. A rumbling groan escaped him at the erotic display a surge of pride hitting him, he couldn't resist giving your backside a playful squeeze.

"Mmm, you're damn right I did," he purred, gaze drinking in the enticing sight. "Filled you up good and proper, just like you wanted."

Dipping his head, Stan placed a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, savoring the lingering taste of their ardent coupling. His touch was possessive yet reverent, conveying the depth of his affection.

"This is one show I'll be eager to replay," he purred, nuzzling against your skin. "Though nothing compares to the real thing, darlin'."

Giving him another kiss, you let your fingers run through his silver hair. "My handsome silver fox, hmm I love you Stan."

Stanley's heart swelled with affection as Brooke's soft lips met his own in a tender kiss. The warmth and adoration in her voice made his chest ache in the most wonderful way.

"And I love you, darlin'," he murmured "Ain't no one else who can get me goin' like you can."

Pulling you close, Stan nuzzled against your neck, placing a trail of gentle kisses along the sensitive area. A satisfied rumble reverberated in his chest as he reveled in the afterglow of your love making.

"Mmm, you really know how to show this old dog a good time," he purred, voice laced with contentment. "Ain't no doubt in my mind, that was one for the record books."

Stan then brushed a stray lock of your hair from your face. "You're one in a million, sweetheart. My one and only."

Gazing softening, you gave him another soft kiss turning the camera off as you let it fall to the floor as your arms wrapped around his neck.

"I love you Stanley Pines."

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Marlene Dietrich (Shanghai Express, Witness for the Prosecution, Morocco)—Bisexual icon, super hot when dressed both masculine and feminine, lived up her life in the queer Berlin scene of the 1920s, central to the 'sewing circle' of the secret sapphic actresses of Old Hollywood, refused lucrative offers by the Nazis and helped Jews and others under persecution to escape Nazi Germany, the love of my life

Mary Philbin (Phantom of the Opera, The Man Who Laughs)— I must simply say I love Mary Loretta Philbin. She was known for her, in the words of Wikipedia, ethereal screen presence. In fact, Pat O' Malley says it best, "If I were superstitious I would think that the spirit of some great tragedienne of a forgotten past slipped into Mary's soul when she heard the camera begin to click." I first saw her in the Phantom of the Opera adaptation of 1925, where she plays a very interesting rendition of Christine Daae (I would argue a foundational performance, since this was the first mainstream portrayal of the character outside of Gaston Leroux's 1910 book) opposite Lon Chaney as the title character, and I Loved her performance, and ofc developed a bit of a crush on her. After her years in Hollywood, she stopped acting in 1930 and lived the rest of her life in relative peace. One fact that always stuck with me was the fact that later in her life, she very rarely made public appearances, but did in fact do so in order to attend the Los Angeles opening of Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera. And if all that isn't enough to convince you, look at a photo of her. She is really, stunningly beautiful.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Marlene Dietrich:

ms dietrich....ms dietrich pls.....sit on my face

its marlene dietrich!!!! queer legend, easily the hottest person to ever wear a tuxedo, that hot hot voice, those glamorous glamorous movies…. most famously she starred in a string of movies directed by josef von sternberg throughout the 1930s, beginning with the blue angel which catapulted her to stardom in the role of the cabaret singer lola lola. known for his exquisite eye for lighting, texture, imagery, von sternberg devoted himself over the course of their collaborations to acquiring exceptional skill at photographing dietrich herself in particular, a worthy direction in which to expend effort im sure we can all agree. she collaborated with many other great directors of the era as well, including rouben mamoulian (song of songs), frank borzage (desire), ernst lubitsch (angel), fritz lang (rancho notorious), and billy wilder (witness for the prosecution). the encyclopedia britannica entry im looking at while compiling this propaganda describes her as having an “aura of sophistication and languid sexuality” which✔️💯. born marie magdalene dietrich, she combined her first and middle names to coin the moniker “marlene”. she was a trendsetter in her incorporation of trousers, suits, and menswear into her wardrobe and her androgynous allure was often remarked upon. critic kenneth tynan wrote, “She has sex, but no particular gender. She has the bearing of a man; the characters she plays love power and wear trousers. Her masculinity appeals to women and her sexuality to men.” in the 1920s she enjoyed the vibrant queer nightlife of weimar berlin, visiting gay bars and drag balls, and in hollywood her love affairs with men and women were an open secret. she was an ardent opponent of nazi germany, refusing lucrative contacts offered her to make films there, raising money with billy wilder to help jews and dissidents escape, and undertaking extensive USO tours to entertain soldiers with an act that included her a playing musical saw and doing a mindreading routine she learned from orson welles. starting in the 50s and continuing into the mid-70s she worked largely as a cabaret artist touring the world to large audiences, employing burt bacharach as her musical arranger.

First of all, there are those publicity photos of her in a tux. Second of all, I have never been the same since knowing that she sent copies of those photos to her Berlin lovers signed "Daddy Marlene." Not only is she hot in all circumstances, but she can do everything from earthy to ice queen. Also, she kept getting sexy romantic lead parts in Hollywood after the age of 40, which would be rare even now. She hated Nazis, loved her friends, and had a sapphic social circle in Hollywood. She also had cheekbones that could cut glass and a voice that could melt you.

Her GENDER her looks her voice her everything

“In her films and record-breaking cabaret performances, Miss Dietrich artfully projected cool sophistication, self-mockery and infinite experience. Her sexuality was audacious, her wit was insolent and her manner was ageless. With a world-weary charm and a diaphanous gown showing off her celebrated legs, she was the quintessential cabaret entertainer of Weimar-era Germany.”

The bar scene in Morocco awoke something in me and ultimately changed my gender

"Her manner, the critic Kenneth Tynan wrote, was that of ‘a serpentine lasso whereby her voice casually winds itself around our most vulnerable fantasies.’ Her friend Maurice Chevalier said: ‘Dietrich is something that never existed before and may never exist again.’”

"Songstress, photographer, fashion icon, out bisexual phenom (notoriously stole Lupe Velez and Joan Crawford's men, and Errol Flynn's wife, had a torrid affair with Greta Garbo that ended in a 60-year feud, other notable conquests including Erich Maria Remarque -yes, the guy who wrote All Quiet on the Western Front- Douglas Fairbanks Junior, Claudette Colbert, Mercedes de Acosta, Edith Piaf), anti-Nazi activist. Marlene was a bitch - she had an open marriage for decades and one of her favorite things was making catty commentary about her current lover with her husband, and her relationship with her daughter was painful- but she was also immensely talented, a hard worker, an opponent of fascism and the hottest ice queen in Hollywood for a long time."

"She can sing! She can act! She told the Nazis to fuck off and became a US citizen out of spite! She worked with other German exiles to create a fund to help Jews and German dissidents escape (she donated an entire movie salary, about $450k, to the cause). She looks REALLY GOOD in a suit. If you're not convinced, please listen to her sing "Lili Marlene". Absolutely gorgeous woman with a gorgeous voice."

Gifset link

"Bisexual icon and Nazi-hater. Looks absolutely stunning in the suits she liked to wear. 'I dress for the image. Not for myself, not for the public, not for fashion, not for men'."

"would you not let her walk on you?"

Mary Philbin:

She is hot?

Shes just so cute

Mary Philbin started acting after winning a beauty contest hosted by Universal Pictures and went on to star in a number of films, including one of the most iconic silent horror films of her era, "the Phantom of the Opera". She also gave a sweet, heart-wrenching performance in "The Man Who Laughs" alongside Conrad Veidt.

[cadewitha]

my contribution to payneland day 2 is that in the myth of Achilles and Patroclus Charles would be Patroclus and Edwin would be Achilles (I’ve seen most everyone else say the other way around, but let me explain)

First of all, their relationship is similar to Achilles and Pat in the sense that Achilles never really had anyone to truly understand him before Pat. And while he may have been surrounded by others (Cat King, Monty, Simon), it was never in his cruel “destiny” to forge connections with anyone. That’s, of course, until he meets Pat and a friendship/ love affair is forged between the two of them, making them inseparable. Edwin was never meant to be happy. His life sucked, and he went to hell unfairly. His destiny was written in such a way that he should never experience joy, and YET.

Charles comes from a similar place as Patroclus. He had inattentive/abusive parents, never really felt a sense of belonging, and was inexplicably drawn to this one boy (Achilles/Edwin). Once meeting his Achilles, he found himself dedicated to this boy within a number of HOURS. Such devotion has only ever been written of in myths.

I feel as though we can get really caught up on the VISUALS of myths. In the story of Achilles and Patroclus, Achilles is this buff, golden, god-like man (just like Jayden Revri amiright haha) while Patroclus is a weaker, scrawny and nervous boy. When given these descriptions, it’s easy to say that Edwin is obviously the physically weaker one, and Charles is the brawn. Even knowing their personalities we can fall into this assumption, as Achilles is undoubtedly more of a people person then Patroclus, but I still feel this way of thinking to be incorrect. The answer, for me, lies in the dynamic.

Patroclus views Achilles as his savior, his light, his hope. Charles absolutely feels this way towards Edwin, as showcased by the emphasis on the lantern and warm lighting often used when the camera is showing Charles looking at Edwin. Achilles views Patroclus to be his reprieve, his comfort, his heart. Edwin, obviously once again, feels this towards Charles, as showcased with the only scenes where Edwin acts or appears relaxed are the ones where the two boys are interacting or simply together. Even the whole Hell segment could be considered a metaphor for this, as the times when Edwin feels most lost are the times when he doesn’t have Charles. Again this is a huge theme in the myth of Achilles and Patroclus as shown with Achilles’s grief at Pat’s death, and depictions of him being lost anytime he is without Pat.

My last point is that Edwin, to me, feels like a classic greek hero. He has gone on a massive, gods damned journey, he has discovered comfort that has been ardently tried to be ripped away from him, but ultimately in the end found an eternal peace. Edwin is a hero. I’m not saying that Charles isn’t, as he too has many traits, I just feel that this myth isn’t quite his. Maybe Hercules because of the anger issues, lol. Either way, I believe that in the case of Achilles and Patroclus, Edwin is most likely to be Achilles and Charles as Patroclus.

[stellayuta]

18+ mdni

Gojo Satoru has one daunting yet well kept secret.

He is an ardent follower of your 18+ livestream account.

Gojo often finds himself logged into his computer after midnight, very much familiar with your streaming schedule. You prefer putting out your pretty body on the net after dark. In today's stream, you greet your devoted audience with your perky breasts up close and personal with the webcam.

As you slowly move further from the camera, Gojo finds you sitting plush on your blanketed bed, fully naked with nothing but your navel piercing shining in the soft glow of the pink leds and your signature, black shirt covering the entirety of your head to obscure your identity. Something about the thrill of not knowing what your face looks like and yet knowing all the nooks, crannies and canals of your body makes Gojo rock hard.

"What should we do today?" You ask your chat while massaging your squishy breasts.

A flurry of messages decorated your screen while your tshirt cover hides your proud smile. Gojo is among the many messages, putting out request upon request. He knows you will never see it but he is stubborn. With a salivating, pervy expression he begs you in the chat to enact his wildest fantasies.

You go through the chat carefully, hmming and sighing at several recommendations while playing with your clit to prep yourself.

"Ahh~!" You moan as a certain stroke of your finger on your sensitive nub tickles just the right spot. The sound echoes in Gojo's brain as he pulls out his warm, hard length to stroke it, eyeing your clit with hunger. He sees you finally stop on one comment and let out a sly whistle. "Look at that. Fake cum with anal vibrator? That's a lot of work, @/blueeyes1989." You say, pointing out Gojo's comment while his heart skips a beat. You had picked his comment to talk about.

"I'm up for it." You say cheekily just when Gojo is about to give up. This makes him look up in hope as you shuffle away from your screen and give the audience a view of your ass and already leaking pussy as you lean over to grab some tools from your cupboard. The chat floods with love for your holes as you bring out a ribbed, veiny dildo attached to a tube and bottle along with a few small and baby blue bullet vibrators.

"Ready my loves?" You ask mischievously as you first finger your asshole and then insert the vibrators into your prepped butt with a moan. You leave one with it's end sticking out for the chat to see while the rest sit snugly inside you. Gojo watches intently as you press a button on your laptop and a pop up lights up Gojo's screen. "Choose vibration level"

The chat is faster than Gojo though because they have already started assaulting the option, picking varioud speeds and strengths to set off the vibrations inside your ass as your mouth lolls open and your tongue falls out inside your tshirt cover, falling prey to the sensation with incessant moans and sighs. Before Gojo can realise, his cock is violently slapping away at his abs.

You get used to the monotic vibrations though and seat yourself onto the dildo, ass facing the camera with blue vibrator looking like a blue button in your ass hole. "That's all y'all got?" You taunt the chat and now Gojo decides to control the vibration for you with one hand while pumping his cock with the other. Gojo starts with a steady rhythm but then erratically ups the speed and lowers the strengths. You are unable to get used to the unpredictability as you bounce as on the silicon cock on your bed. Gojo goes at the button relentlessly as you now turn to face the screen.

Your boobs bounce and ripple with each jump as Gojo watches on deliciously, chasing his own orgasm.

"Oh my goodness!" You choke out in a muffled voice as you cum from both the vibrations and the dildo at the same time as Gojo. He cums all over his hand with a loud sigh and a hiccup while he watches you remove the dildo and a flood of fake cum leaves your pussyhole. You moan out a few more times, fingering yourself as you come down from your high. Periodically, blobs of cum exit your hole as Gojo blushes red, feeling like it's his cum leaving your body.

Once all the cum is out, you turn around yet again, back down and ass up as you force out the vibrators from your ass one by one as they fly off with a pop and a groan from your mouth. This sight almost makes Gojo hard again.

"Nice job, chat!" You praise your audience as your turn around yet again and use the fake cum you squirted out to lather your clit while you say your final goodbye.

Just as Gojo decides to rub one out again in the bathroom after your stream ends. He receives a beep.

*Y/N has sent you a DM*

A/n: this just came into my mind randomly lol

[konigsblog]

please please please can we get a little blurb of what pornstar!könig is like?? based on the size of his bulge i just *know* he’s famous for how huge his cock is 😫

definitely famous for the sheer size of him :( 📽️

his huge, thick cock laying against your abdomen as he admired how far in he'd be. the camera pointing down against your glistening and swollen cunt, your pussy sloppy from his saliva and drool.

you rubbed your clit softly, moaning out as he teased you for being so impatient, ardent and pleading. he eased the tip inside, just an inch or so. your lips parted as he pushed in further, and your walls worked around the girth of him, a moan flowing through your lips met with a deep chuckle due to your whining.

“that's it, nearly there, my dear.” he smiled cruelly as he pushed inside, his cock filling you. your whimpers gave him pride and joy, egotistically shushing your sounds and pinning your wrists beside your head. the viewers had a beautiful view of your stuffed pussy and your facial expressions, as the large, brute man fit himself fully inside your greedy hole!

“my, my..” he taunted you as he pinched your nipples, twisting and toying with them before gripping your hips and angling them skywards towards his own. your drooling cunt leaked juices while you rubbed your sensitive clit back and forth through mewls. meekly, you grinded against him as he began thrusting deep into your full hole. he pumped his dick deep into you and growled out as your walls clenched around him.

“keep going, mein täubchen...” könig whispered, broad hips working to have your cum, to feel you squeezing around him and squealing his name through stuttered moans. he racked in thousands day-to-day, having your poor body all to himself and your tight hole forming and morphing to fit his familiar size.

men envy the size of him and how easily he has you cumming all down his abdomen. squirting all over his chiseled body, a breathless pant leaving his mouth ad he came all down your stomach, his shaft coated in your slick sex. :(((

[anachilles]

thinking more just now about @middlingmay's football player/journalist AU

there's a fine line that journalists have to tread between what they want to ask, and what they should ask at any given time, in order to both get something interesting to publish, and keeping management teams on-side enough to let them come back and give them access to the players.

gale's ardent "dispassionate impartiality" when it comes to his reporting means he's a notoriously hardball interviewer. one who is incredibly observant has no qualms at all pointing out both the individual mistakes and consistent, long-running in players' performances. not necessarily maliciously, or like he's looking for a "gotcha" moment, but from a place of getting the answers his readers are actually looking for.

making him a journo both players (especially for them being in league one and generally just starting out their careers, with a lack of media experience/training) and their managers + PR teams are trepidatious about setting up interviews with.

not helped by the intense, insanely blue-eyed stare he hits you with when waiting for an answer to one of his questions. does he even know he's doing it???

but at the end of the day, gale's a very well-regarded journalist (to the extent that it's almost a privilege that he chooses to cover league one) and he has a loyal + wide-reaching readership so it's very hard to turn down the opportunity for that kind of press.

so when bucky does finally agree to give his first ever public interview, no one expected it to be to gale cleven. or how much ease he felt answering him back, being tongue-in-cheek with him, and not seemingly taking much of it seriously at all.

or any interview he gives cleven going forward, actually.

or how cleven seemingly puts up with it match after match.

like gale will write these full columns picking apart the team's performance, having no scruples honing in on bucky's errors despite the 'special relationship' they seem to have.

and bucky will still answer (some of) his questions on-camera with a visibly nonchalant shrug, an unbothered smirk. constantly changing the subject though, diverting them off-topic. blatantly flirting with him.

"enough about that, though, i'm wearing new boots this week too. did you notice? new sponsorship. they offered me them in a bunch of different colours and i had to guess your favourite, so i hope you like 'em."

"hey now, hey now. anymore questions about what i do for work and you'll have me thinking we're on a first date."

on a day when it's been raining all morning and into the afternoon, and gale shows up to the interview a little damp/windswept and holding an umbrella he'd been juggling throughout the entire match. "[whistling] only one page of notes today? those tight asses up in business opps not spring for the sheltered stands?"

after the latter incidence, seeing as once an interview is confirmed and then eventually wrapped up the team's management don't really care quite as much about accommodating the press, bucky insists on bringing gale up to the club house to dry off, get a sit down and a drink, chill out for a bit. Maybe just to keep him around a little bit longer. All of the other players/management team that are milling about are a bit wide-eyed/furtive, like putting a cat amongst the pigeons. If Bucky notices the looks (he does) he's blissfully uncaring about them.

Addition: Gale's also the first person, naturally as the only journalist he'll speak to in any official capacity, to pick up on Bucky's growing boredom with midfield defence. Straight up asks him one day, on the record, what position he'd rather be playing and if he'd ever been given a shot at it.

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA Giornale Di Sicilia di Oggi giovedì, 19 settembre 2024

[muzansfangs]

Guilty pleasure.

Starring: Muzan x f!reader; Nakime x f!reader, Douma x f!reader, Daki, Kokushibo and Akaza (mentioned).

Warnings: modern au, cheating, choking, mention to murder, gore and violence, mild sexual content, vaginal sex, dom!muzan, sub!reader, slight somnophilia.

Plot: the morning after, you wake up in Muzan’s embrace. While he seems affectionate, his mood swings allow you to see past his angelic face and you start to connect the dots about his dark side. You make love again, but he becomes distant right after it. He leaves for work and you bump into Nakime, who tells you about some of Muzan’s habits. In need for fresh air, you run in the basement but Douma allures you to give in to your animalistic desires. You could love whoever you wanted privately, right?

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

THE DEVIL.

His hot breath fanned your earlobe, his arm was draped over your waist to keep you close to him. Muzan loved how you were smaller than him, so beautiful and fragile. You were his special someone to protect, to give his all for.

His mouth left a trail of open mouthed kissed down your shoulderblade, his half-lidded, plum red eyes watching how you stirred in your sleep and snuggled into his chest. He barely knew you and he had already taken so much from you. You had practically given yourself to him without blinking, so diligently, you had given up on the mundane and trivial part of your life to train yourself to be a First Lady.

“Y/N” he purred, his long fingers drawing patterns on the naked skin of your stomach to wake you up softly. He did not want to startle you, he just craved to taste you once again before leaving for work. While he perfectly knew he could have had you by the time he got back from his office, he had the irresistable urge to have you again now, as the first rays of the sun seeped into his bedroom from the curtains.

You rolled on your side, facing him and, lifting your heavy eyelids to peek out at his angelic face. It felt unrealistic. It was not a dream, you were really sleeping on Kibutsuji Muzan’s king-sized bed. His hand was gently squeezing your hip and you blushed, hiding your face into his toned chest, not to allow him to see your sleepy face.

A hoarse laughter rumbled through his chest as he pulled you closer to him, his chin propped on the top of your head affectionately “I did not wake you up for you to hide your pretty face to me. – he murmured, sending shivers down your spine – I have the ardent desire to fuck you again, before I go” he blatantly said, his fingertips digging onto your waist possessively, earning a soft whimper from you.

“Do you?” you whispered bashfully, craning your neck to stare up at him.

Your legs were still sore from the previous night events and a dull track of pain was still present in your core. But you could do it again, you could do it one more time because you wanted to, because he was staring intently into your eyes and his fervent passion felt like boiling droplets of lava on your sensitive skin.

“I don’t particularly like to repeat myself, darlin’. – he stated, arching a dark eyebrow up and propping his elbow on his crimson pillow, only to rest his head on his fist to inspect your visage – I own you, I desire you. Haven’t I been clear enough, hm?” he inquired in a cold tone, his voice dropping a few octaves.

There it was, his feral side. The one you, deep down, hoped to see crossing his face. He had rarely lost his temper on the camera, but when he did you usually feared for the safety of those who had dared to enrage him. And, dear God, something bad happened to them, sometimes.

How could he be so fascinating, when his malicious inner side showed up? You should have been scared of him.

“I didn’t mean to—…” you said, yet you never finished your sentence. His hand reached out to your neck, the iron-grip knocking the air of your lungs as he easily pushed you down on the mattress and hovered over you. You gulped down forcefully, lips parted in excitement and a ounce of fear as the dark-haired man on top of you grinned down at your writhing frame.

“Tch, bloody hell. How do you expect me not to fuck you senseless, when you look at me like that?” he rhetorically asked you, a vein popping his forehead as he gave your neck one last squeeze, before releasing it.

You inhaled sharply through your nostrils, legs timidly hooking behind his back as a sign that you were ready, that he could claim you again.

“Muzan…” you called his name lowly, your hand cupping his smooth cheek and brushing your thumb against his cheekbone. His eyes never left yours. His lips twitched as his mouth connected with yours in a hungry kiss. You did not even fight for dominance, he won, he shoved his tongue into your mouth without bothering to ask for permission. Your hands went up to thread his hair as you shyly squeezed his waist between your legs to relief your core from the pressure engulfing your nether regions.

He growled in your mouth, grinding his groin down onto yours to feed you what you longed for.

His hands cupped your face, his lips barely brushing over yours as his breath mingled with yours in erotic, erratic pants “Impatient little girl. You will learn not to play with fire”.

You had no time to realize what had happened. All you knew was that a sharp pain pierced the tender flesh of your neck and you squealed out in surprise. You tugged at Muzan’s hair unintentionally, when you felt his tongue lap at the bruised skin of your neck. Only then you came to the conclusion that he had bitten you and, right after that, he wasted no time in pushing your panties to the side and slipping into your already wet cunt.

♚

You walked him to the door, once you two were ready. He did not kiss you goodbye. Actually, he was back to be the cunning, distant politician you saw on the tv screen during his interviews. He barely glanced at you, before shutting the door behind him and leaving with Kokushibo.

You should have not felt hurt. You were not into an enstablished, true relationship. You were paid to keep him company and stick by his side in public. You remembered what he had told you before Kokushibo took you back home that night.

“You can love whoever you want privately”.

You could, right. But if he kept on these mood swings, if he made you believe you meant something for him by the way he fucked you, or the way he looked at you, there was no way in the world you could have ever had eyes for someone else. Additionally, who? Who could you love far from the medias, without letting the news reach the ears of the journalists?

You were conflicted and the best thing you could do to distract yourself was probably talking to someone, or asking them the permission to leave. Possibly alone. You made your way to the elevator, your finger reaching up to push the button, when you had stop midway.

“Miss L/N, can I help you?” Nakime asked from behind you.

You flinched, turning around to face the woman with the same expression of someone caught red-handed and bowed your head at her “Ah, Nakime-san, goodmorning – you quipped, forcing a smile on your face – I was going to the basement” you told her, thinking that your answer would have sufficed to chase her away.

Nevertheless, you were wrong.

“No one is in the basement” she declared flatly.

“Oh… Do you know where I can find Douma and Akaza then?” you then asked her, folding your arms against your chest. Were you really going to spend the day in her company? Honestly, it sounded like hell.

The brunette took a few steps forward, her high-heels clicking against the marble floor “On a mission. – she said, cocking her head to the side – How can I help you, miss L/N?” she repeated the question, her red-painted lips curling up in a faint smile. There was something off about her. She radiated hostility and danger. However, you did not have much of a choice.

You shrugged, averting your eyes from her and staring at the majestic Muzan’s potrait hanged on the wall. Damn it, his eyes were haunting you even through paintings.

“Uhm… A-actually, can you do something for me, please?” you stammered, fidgeting with the charm of your necklace. Bad habits never died. It was a clear sign that you were on the verge of snapping.

“Do you want me to kill someone for you?” Nakime blurted out, making your blood run instantly cold. What did she say? Why did she ask that as if it was not a crime? Was she really a killer? Well, you should have not been that surprised.

“What?! No!” you replied horrified, grimacing at the mere thought of Muzan giving his bodyguards the order to kill his opponents. But, deep down, you knew he did. You just decided that pretending he was a good man was the easiest way to get along with him.

Further more, the feelings he gave you were controversial. Would you have been able to forgive him, if he had told you he had made his flunkies slaughter his foes? Probably. Why? He could manipulate you to believe it was the rightest thing to do.

Silence swallowed you two for minute straight. Then, she spoke out again.

“Oh, I get it then. – Nakime said, walking towards you and stopping right in front of you – Just relax, okay?” she added, before slowly dropping down on her knees. You were puzzled by her actions, even more when she grasped your hand and planted a chaste kiss on its back. Nakime curled up to your thighs the hem of your skirt, careful not to touch the exposed skin of your legs.

You were paralyzed, mouth agape when she planted a kiss on your clothed sex. What was she doing? You shivered, blushing furiously as she reached for the waistband of your panties and tried to tug them down. Was she going down on you? Were you letting her do it? Christ, why? No, no, no. That needed to stop.

You took a step back, gawking at her as you straightened your skirt and ran your fingers through your hair in shock. Nakime cocked her head to the side, scrunching her nose in annoyance at your rejection. Why did she assume you needed this kind of favor? Plus, was she really into it?

“W-What was that, Nakime?” you blurted out, blinking at her skeptically.

“Well, I assumed you were sexually frustrated. – she chimed, standing back up and bowing her head at you – I apologize. Master Muzan usually asks me to help him relax” she added, blushing slightly but keeping her head high.

Her words made your breath hitch in your throat and you gaped, forrowing your brows in curiosity “Y-You… Does Muzan—”.

“Fuck me? Yeah, he does. Daily”.

“Jesus…” you choked, clenching your fists down your sides. You were such an idiot. Of course he had told you to love whoever you wanted privately. It was exactly what he did. You should have not felt offended at the revelation, you were nothing more than an actress. Yet, it pissed you off.

“I’m not even the only one and, definitely, not his favorite. Daki is probably on her way to his office. – Nakime added, glancing at her wrist-watch – Now, what was that favor you needed from me?” she pressed, folding her arms over her chest.

Daki. Daki was his favorite. If Daki was his favorite, you were not. Ouch.

“Who’s Daki?” you asked, cursing yourself for being upset about it.

Nakime scoffed “His sixth in command. Now, what in the actual hell do you need me to do?” she asked again, exhaling through her nostrils.

You rolled your eyes at her and turned back to the elevator, pushing the metallic button. You felt her staring at you, although her eyes, that you still had to see, were hidden by her long fringe.

“Where are you going?” she spat, but before she could pest you again with another question, you entered the elevator and waved your hand at her mockingly. Maybe you were going to be punished for that, but you needed to get away from her and taking a little time for yourself. You knew that there was a garage, somewhere, with dozens of car. You had heard Kokushibo mentioning it and, right now, you needed to borrow one of them. You were the soon to be First Lady, after all.

Nakime sprinted up to catch up with you, but the doors closed and in five seconds you were at the basement. When you walked in, you took a look around and you realized that the cold-hearted brunette was not lying when she told you no one was there. You sighed and started to search for a secret door, or something that could have led you to the garage, but you could not find anything.

“What the fuck…” you uttered in exhasperation, walking over the huge library and staring at the titles almost absent-mindedly.

It was foolish, maybe, but you had seen enough movies in your life to know that rich scions loved to hide rooms behind libraries. Now, which was the book starting the device?

Your fingertips grazed the covers of the novels, as you passed by and you were about to pick one of them to test your theory, when a mild voice rang in your ears and you jolted in fear. You twirled around, your back pressed against the library as your eyes locked with a pair of multicolored hues. Was he not supposed to be out on a mission?

“My, my… What is my cute, little doe doing here?” Douma chimed, his hands on each side of your head caging you between his body as the library.

You blushed, staring up at him in embarrassment. It was hard to breathe. Not only he was standing way too close to you for your likings, but he was handsome as hell and… And some dried, scarlett substance was splattered over his face. Was it blood? Was he out murdering someone?

“D-Douma… Is… What’s on your face?” you breathed out, heart thrumming into your chest as you pointed your finger at his right cheek.

He quirked his eyebrows up, his gloved hand reaching up to touch the stained portion of skin on his face and he grinned, his pearly teeth on display as he took a step back and nodded his head at you “Oh, that’s blood! It’s not mine, don’t worry, love!” he stated, winkig at you.

You thought you were going to faint and maybe you would have slumped down on the floor, if it was not for his sharp reflex. As soon as your knees buckled, his arms were wrapped around your waist and he held you up easily. It was time for you to deal with the fact that your fiancé was a murderer. The morning had started with a bang and you were, apparently, not ready for Kibutsuji’s secrets to screw your life.

“Sensitive, aren’t we? – Douma joked, as you clutched the fabric of his white shirt in your hands – Are you alright?” he asked, giggling at your reaction.

You sighed and let go of him, walking to the small leather couch and sitting down “Whose blood is it?��� you boldly asked him, watching how he hastily joined you and slumped down on the comfortable surface.

“Does it really matter? I mean, he is not dead… Just battered. I did such a good job!” he beamed, winking at you and lolling his head back on the backrest.

You flinched and shifted to face him properly, eyes round as you jabbed your finger at him “Douma! Please… It matters to me. I didn’t think–…” you started, but you choked on your own words, tears spilling out of your eyes without your permission. Gosh, it happened. You were on the verge of a breakdown.

Douma stared at you clearly confused, his hands immediately cupping your cheeks as he tried to calm you down. You sobbed, his thumbs wiping away the tears falling from your lashes as he ducked his head down to inspect your face better. You did not protest, you did not have enough strength to do anything else, except for leaning into his touch and batting your eyes closed.

“Don’t cry, little doe! – he murmured, his nose now brushing against yours – No one is going to hurt you, I promise!” he soothed, his hands sliding down your back, until they were settled over your hips. It was weird, inappropriate even. Maybe, if Akaza or Kokushibo were here, he would have not even dared to touch you like that. But some physical contact, some comfort, even from a serial killer, was not that bad.

You had slept with one of them twice, after all. And, naturally, you knew that Kibutsuji Muzan was the worst of this crew.

You nodded your head and Douma smiled, cradling you in his arms. Now, you were the one who had pushed his limits. You should have not straddled him, you should have not played with his tie, but when he grasped your chin between his forefinger and thumb, you parted your lips and Douma kissed you.

It was intense, but not demanding. Was it a soothing kiss? You had no clue about what was happening, but you kissed him back, chest pressed against his one as he held you close to him. His tongue brushed over your lower lip and you softly moaned, arching your back as he entered your mouth. It lasted for a while, your body melting under his touch. You only abruptly parted, when you felt his bulge pressing against your thigh through the fabric of his trousers.

“What the fuck did I do?!” you panicked, standing up and fixing your clothes. Was everyone horny in that place? Were you slowly slipping in the deep end too? Were you becoming a whore?

Douma licked his bottom lip, a smug smile curling his plumped lips as he stood up and straightened his tie “Oh, well, you opened your mouth for me, ma’am. Such a pity you did not open your legs too…” he complained, feigning sorrow and tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants.

Muzan did not have to know about that. Plus, he had no shame in sleeping with Nakime and that Daki girl, right? Maybe you should have not felt guilty for it.

“Listen, that was a mistake—…”.

“One hell of a mistake, love!”.

“Gosh, will you please just take me out for a stroll and a lunch? I might just explode” you blurted out, throwing your hands in the air.

Douma gladly complied, his hands somehow always finding their way to your waist, but you finally managed to hop into his car.

Your phone in your purse buzzed, you ignored it. You were too busy chatting with Douma, laughing at his stupid jokes, to check it out. It was Muzan, telling you that you would have made your first public appearence in two days and that, maybe, you were in trouble for having tricked Nakime.

Muzan: I don’t accept insubordination. I know what you did. We ought to talk tonight. Don’t bother wearing anything.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hi there! Third part is out! Buckle your seatbelts and prepare yourselves for a very, very crazy ride with the Kibutsuji crew. I enjoyed writing this part and, just to be clear, I’m a sucker for Douma… So, it’s clear why the reader is going to have some fun with him, alright? Thanks for the support, really! Please, read the first two parts of this series to understand better. Likes, comments and reposts are appreciated!

Tags: @bookandstar

[loveandleases]

So lets say MC loves glitter, uses it in their makeup, outfits, and even in their hair (tastefully so they look like a fairy or like a twilight vampire in the sun lol). Who of the ROs is for it, who wears a hazmat lmao. Pls and thank you.

Inbox : Open

I love these random asks!

❤️ Cam - Is game, will ask for you to put glitter on him. Will have a trail of glitter in his wake. You want to take photos, sorry there is glitter stuck in the camera give him a sec. You want to eat some of the Oreos out of the pack, sorry that's a speck of glitter on the creme. He will embrace all the glitter, so much so that he will say they are his new freckles.

💙 G - Hazmat suit. While most glitter is non-toxic to animals, G will not take that chance. They refuse to put them in any harm, and they also may be using that as an excuse to just not have it stuck on their face all day.

💚 Kara - She's into it. Though not an overabundant amount. She wouldn't mind a nice glitter top or a glitter eyeliner. Just don't let her get it on her lips and you'll be perfect.

💛 M - Please for the love of god no. Hazmat all the way. While they think it is cute for stationary, or in gel pens. They don't want to take the chance of it getting in their eye, resulting in a scratch. Resulting on them being late on a deadline. No thanks!

💜 Isaac - They won't really understand why there are such excessive amounts, but you do you. They just won't let you get into their car with it. It takes way too much to keep it pristine.

🖤 Ardent - He could be persuaded. Could he use it to leave a little trail to the bedroom, to the top of his pants? MC could get him to give in to a large amount of glitter, just have to beg for it.

[ohmenai]

Icelandic Elastic Kinks

On the rugged shores of a lake, nestled between Icelandic mountains that scratch the skies, the cool morning air nips at everything exposed. But there is warmth in the unexpected; there stands Ragnar, an erotic vision from the exotic lands known for its chill. I him through a friend of a friend, a stripper in need of a portfolio to promote his captivating nights.

It was like discovering a raw diamond in a sea of glass. With his intense emerald gaze under the rugged contrast of a blue bandana and his hair dark as the midnight sun, he was eager to be immortalized. In the dim light of dawn, his silhouette is stark against the serene backdrop. Today, he's not just a local dancer, but a deity ensnared in my artistic vision, eager to expand his allure onto the pages of my OhMenFlex collection.

It didn't take much to persuade him to strike a pose for me; he had a kinky affinity for the tight squeeze of elastic bands. So when I promised him a collection of these tantalizing rings, he readily complied, and strutted into the lagoon's embrace standing knee-deep. This bands wrapped tightly around his biceps, wrists, and neck, enhancing the beat of life that pulsates from his veins—a beat that seems to echo through that quiet morning.

But the bands' true masterpiece lay between his legs, where they coiled around his erect cock and saggy balls, squeezing them into an outline of salacious desires. Those bands around his raging hard-on, one on his base, another cradling his shaven nuts, and one crowning his ultra-sensitive glans made him gasp, the sensations undeniable, his meat stick hanging plump, skimming the water's surface. A single dark mole was highlighted on his engorged morcilla, nestled between prominent veins, as if it were a mark left by the Gods to distinguish him from mere mortals, was so damn provocative.

With each click of my camera, Ragnar's arousal became more palpable. The elastic bands had turned his cock into a cylinder of yearning, the head of his member glossy and outrageously sensitive. His shaven balls, seemed to quiver with anticipation, as if aching for release from their blue constraints. The session—though set in nature's lap—became a theatre of carnality, each shot a confession of ardent obsessions whispered into the ear of the world.

Available now at Patreon and Fanvue

[urlocalrambler]

DN fanfic: an exploration into Kai Mori's mind while he's in prison. Introspective piece. So get ready for self-loathing, the woes of the disgraced son and the Banks reminiscence and yearning that we deserved.

My first Devils Night fanfiction ever. Actually, it's my first writing piece in a long time in general, but fuck it, we balling. I've always struggled a little with understanding Kai, but I think this piece helped me get more of a grip on my characterisation of him <3.

_

Kai sits in jail, and he knows he's a scrouge on his family name. He’s the shameful blot in their lineage, the fuck up who keeps on giving even when all they want is for him to stop. Kai's the shadow in his family's illustrious life. A good boy gone wrong, the ungrateful child, responsible for his mother's tight smiles and fervent worry — he’s the parasite leeching away at his mother's kindness, carelessly ruining the happy life his father fought to give her. It took one blow of a hammer slamming against a gavel, and his parents have a sword of humiliation rammed into their guts. The pain is only dug in deeper with the indignity of a sentence of 28 months lost to the confines of walls crammed to the brim with prisoners, with his fitted suits for interviews traded in for a standardised orange jumpsuit, as a lifestyle befitting of an animal is thrust into the hands of their only son. 

The worst part is that they still loved him despite his neverending failures.

"–Gave him three broken ribs. So he fractured his fucking spine."

"Who?"

"The rich brat. Mori. He didn't even hesitate."

"Shit, he might belong here, after all."

Yeah, maybe he does belong here.

From the start of it all, he's been the defining reason for the lines marring his father's forehead, those were wrinkles etched in from worrying about Kai's unfortunate tendencies, but he's still forgiven again and again for every indiscretion that they catch him in and he learns to forgive himself for the thousands that they don't know about as a default. Kai's allowed to follow his own path even if it means spitting at his father's feet and disparaging the legacy that Katsu built with his roughened hands. It's wrong, grievously so, but he takes the chances and the freedom, Kai proves he's a certified fuck up. Useless boy who's worth nothing much when compared to the father who tried to give him every head start in life no matter what it cost. Katsu's a man who pulled his family out of poverty, he gives his wife her old life back tenfold, and Kai’s the worthless son who ruins it by gorging himself on endless vices, amusing himself by toeing the lines, and eventually, he gets a crew and starts obliterating the lines. Never improving even as they ardently pray for him, Kai only gets worse as the years pass.

Everyone knows it in Thunder Bay. Kai Mori's a cautionary tale in the flesh. 

The good boy who gets caught up in the wrong crowd and suffers for it. Prince amongst the heathens, gilded gold stained by their tar, a demon playing at being an angel. Kinder smiles and 'thank you's' on his tongue don’t get rid of the taste of sin, but they mask it well enough. Until it suddenly doesn't anymore, and they see that he's made of the same strokes as his friends. Demon, not an angel. Predator, not the prey. Villain, never a prince. Sins can't be hidden forever in a modern era of phones to the ear and the glimmer of cameras catching their every move. He should’ve known better than to have expected zero consequences – Kai hid his truths better than his friends ever managed to, but an unchained nature couldn't be hidden forever.

People were predisposed to making assumptions. 

In Thunder Bay, they accepted and revered the version of him that they thought they knew, and they share their aggrieved regrets as his fall from grace occurs in the brightened spotlight. Analysed just like Icarus, with a tragic fate of his own making – Kai can't meet his father's eyes for the first couple of weeks after his wrongs are aired to the public. Kai Mori had potential in spades, the gossip somberly chastens, and he squandered it away on freedom ravelled within insanity, he wasted a guaranteed future on the kind of lust that made priests look away in discomfort, and he ruined himself due to a useless loyalty towards friends that should've never amounted to much more than a footnote in his life.

Outsiders never understood how the blood of the covenant could run thicker than the water of the womb. They didn't feel the allure of darkness in its fullest form. Nor could they understand the power that control gave him when it was cradled in his palms, and he had chaos biting at his neck. She had, though, that one girl who hides in his mind just like she'd veiled herself into that confession all those years ago– she understood it all, and she even fed into it back then. 

He wonders what she felt when she saw him in cuffs. 

Mystery Girl was among his worst mistakes, mostly because she quickly became his darkest daydream and a favourite nightmare.

Kai's quiet when he does it. In the showers, when heat spindles against the mirror, he washes off the heat of shame by engaging in more depravity. He thinks about her often. And he's not gentle, not even close to it. Whenever he thinks about girls wrapped up in men's clothes, in shirts that aren't his, he's harsh and angry because they should've been his clothes, she should've been his girl. He thinks of smart quips on the curve of her lips, and he wonders how sweet it would've been to have held her and shut her up in the way he'd desperately wanted to whenever she said the name of a man who wasn't him. Kai's got a hand on his cock and he jerks it hard to the thoughts of her. 

Chocolate hair. Green eyes. Golden skin. Daydreams and nightmares. 

She's the only thing he never got that he'd desperately wanted in his golden years; she's the thing he still wants so carnally even in his darkest hours. Wants her thighs wrapped around his torso, wants his name to be the only thing she's capable of saying by the time he's done with her, wants her marked and ruined by the touch of him and him only. Indulging in her, Kai knows, would've been his favourite sin. Back then, he got only a speck, got nothing more than a touch, and he'd still been hopelessly addicted, high on fumes when he had the wisp of her silhouetted in his arms, and he was in withdrawal whenever he lost her to a man he hated and loved in equal measure. Just a taste back then, just the thoughts now, and he's still maddeningly hooked on her. Pretty girl, harsh girl, but never his girl. Sweet like candy with a tangy kick to her. She's the only drug in his veins, inching in without warning, putting him in a trance and an unruly high.

In the dead of night, she visits him, and Kai welcomes her. 

He is a fuck-up, Kai knows it well. Somehow, he's still so ready to engage in the betrayal of his brother in everything but blood. Damon's down in a living nightmare in solitary, and he dreams of stealing his girl. He dreams of using her up. He yearns to take her and have her feed the desires of his concupiscent flesh for as long as he wants, and he thinks he wants to keep her for months, for years, for as long as it takes until she feels more his than anything else.

Irreverent lust, onerous fingers, amatory desires, and all for what? A girl he had known all of a couple of weeks. And he thinks he'd sell the flesh on his back to go back to that time with her. For her, he thinks he'd do anything because if she's a reverie then he's a victim to the ghost of her. Kai thinks of her and that hotel room, and he wonders why he let his dream girl go. 

She's the only person to ever make him feel alive, to make him feel desire on an impulse, the only one who could easily stoke his dangerous need for control, and she did it all without ever trying. No fight to take and no need to make his blood boil; there was no need to force himself into those conversations with her because he was already obsessed with her voice from the second he heard it. Everything came naturally when it was with her. 

He thinks she could've been his if she hadn't been Damon's to keep. 

Kai laughs when he grips the plexiglass, breathes harder, and strokes faster– she's certainly not either’s now, and she wasn't his back then, but she is all Kai’s in the darkness of his mind. Smooth skin pressed against his chest, lips to his neck, and she's begging for it, for his dirty criminal's hands to stay on her neck. Moaning, whining, crying for more. He's undone by the idea of her, air caught in the chasm of his lungs, knuckles tightened to a pale white, as he gives into his favourite nightmare. Kai's spent by the thought of her, the evidence washed away by water, as his back presses against the shower wall. 

Suddenly, he's almost glad that he doesn't see Damon here at all. Kai tries to convince himself that he should be relieved that he'll likely never see her again either (it doesn't work but he tries). If he doesn't see her, then it means the fantasies, the output of those unreachable desires, can stay intact.

There's no Damon to stop him. No dancer in a hotel to distort what they could've had. No blood to mop away and no nights to hide away. It was just him and her again.

In his dreams, Banks is everything he still desires.

In his dreams, she belongs to no one else.

In his dreams, Banks is all his.

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