#carrie the godlike

[fukiana]

     Deep within you, you feel an uncomfortable roiling. You can’t be certain if the sensation is physical or spiritual, but it immediately induces nausea and fills your ears with the sound of blood rushing through your head. The Pallid Knight- Show. Them. What. You. Are.      You close your eyes and turn your mind inward, blocking out the sounds of the harbor and the menacing pack of guards. Soon, all you can hear is the rushing of blood in your head and a muffled chime ringing somewhere far away.      You open your eyes. The harbormaster is gesturing wildly, presumably to get your attention, and yelling in your face, but you hear no words, only the ringing of the chime as your heart rate slows.      And slows.      And slows.

PILLARS OF ETERNITY 2: DEADFIRE (2018) dev. Obsidian Entertainment

[cliaban-rilag]

a squad of besties

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Terry Pratchett about fantasy ❤

Terry Pratchett interview in The Onion, 1995 (x)

O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?

Terry: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question.

O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre.

Terry: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.

O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.

Terry: (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus.

Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.

Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that.

(Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.

[wttcsms]

triple trouble, atsumu miya

pairing atsumu miya x f!reader word count 1.6k synopsis atsumu steals every reporters' attention as he introduces the media to his triplets during a post-game interview; or, more accurately, his triplets steal all the attention. like father, like sons. content contains domestic fluff, dad!atsumu, atsumu & reader are married and so in love, babies, mention of pregnancy more in this collection!

The flashes of cameras going off, the constant exclamations of “Miya! Miya!” coming from the crowd of journalists and reporters all vying for his attention, the fact that the foldout chairs they use for all these post-game interviews are harder on your ass than falling on asphalt — all of this is being handled with ease by a smug Atsumu Miya.

Or, normally all of this would be handled with ease by a smug Atsumu Miya.

But right now, the Atsumu Miya struggling to take a seat in the most uncomfortable chair known to man, dyed hair a mess, his usual trademark smirk replaced by furrowed brows and a look of concentration, doesn’t appear to be the godlike adversary on the court. In fact, he looks oddly human. 

The cause of what has humbled this cocky athlete and reduced him to mere mortal man are the three chubby toddlers he’s cradling in his arms. 

All of them are identical, from their chubby cheeks to their little grubby hands. Heads full of thick, dark brown hair (reminiscent of their father’s natural color) poke out from Atsumu’s hold, and the eighteen-month-olds’ eyes are all full of childlike wonder as they watch the crowd, confused as to who all these people are. 

After finally getting settled into his seat, Atsumu addresses the crowd casually, as if he didn’t spend the last two minutes ensuring that his baby boys weren’t going to slip from his arms while he tried to prepare for this interview. Akimitsu is secured in his left arm, Akihiko in the right, leaving poor Akinari to cling onto Atsumu’s neck. 

While athletes have been getting more comfortable with bringing their kids up on stage with them, no one has ever seen a professional athlete haul his three babies with him. 

A fact that one reporter is more than happy to point out.

“Miya, wife put you on babysitting duty?” A male journalist calls out from the crowd. A few chuckles follow, but Atsumu just smiles at the mention of you.

“Nah. It’s not babysittin’ if they’re your damn kids, right? Besides, she deserves a break.” A few appreciative murmurs flutter through the crowd. 

After the initial surprise of seeing identical triplets being carried in the MSBY Black Jackals’ setter’s arms, the reporters are back to business as usual. They’re all professionals — even if hearing Atsumu give them a great quote to use as a hook (“I respect Nakamura as a human bein’ but calling him a setter for a professional league volleyball team is an insult to setters everywhere.”) is followed by him cooing sweet words of affirmation to whichever of his sons happens to be babbling in his ears. 

“Nakamura isn’t a very good player, is he, Akihiko?” No one outside of your family and his teammates have ever heard Atsumu sound so affectionate. His words are practically coated in sugar, and it’s hard to remember that he’s insulting another player in the league whenever he’s practically bumping noses with his toddler son when he says it. 

Akihiko, most likely due to his father’s influence, lets out a stream of enthusiastic gurgles that Atsumu automatically translates to him being in complete agreement with him. 

“Write that down.” He says to the crowd. “Even my baby knows he’s shit at the game.” 

There’s a few more minutes of Atsumu answering the usual post-game questions, but halfway through one of his responses, Akinari loses his grip on Atsumu’s neck and is about to tumble to the floor before Atsumu’s reflexes kick in. You’ve made a joke once that you think Atsumu’s reflexes have become heightened after becoming a father; his athletic instincts have merged with the famous “dad reflexes” all fathers seem to be gifted with. (Atsumu tells reporters that this is why he keeps on becoming a better player; people think his family would hold him back, but once again, family is his greatest blessing.)

“Ya gotta hang onto me, buddy.” Atsumu can’t even pretend to be stern when he tells this to Akinari, who only smiles at him and exclaims something unintelligible. He shifts Akinari to his left arm, relaxes back in his seat, and is even excited to answer a question concerning his play style compared to Tobio Kageyama’s, but as he readjusts the two boys in his arms, Atsumu can’t help but startle at the fact that he has three kids. Not just two. 

Momentarily panicked, he almost wants to ask why the hell no one told him one of his kids jumped ship but then he feels a tug on the bottom hem of his volleyball shorts. 

Peering under the table, Atsumu is greeted with the sight of Akimitsu’s mischievous little face. He’s the oldest of the three and takes after Atsumu the most — meaning, he’s the cutest little nightmare there could ever be. 

“Whatcha doin’ under the table, Mitsu?” Atsumu asks, and Akimitsu gives out a happy, gleeful shriek. He’s clapping his grubby hands together and cheering. 

“Dada found me!” 

“I did find ya, buddy.” Atsumu coos. “Now why don’t you come sit on daddy’s lap?” 

After wrangling up all his kids once more, Atsumu sighs and looks up at the timer in front of him. 

“I have enough time for one more question.” He tells the crowd.

“Are you excited to get out of here and get back home to the wife?” 

“I’m always happy to come home to [Name]. If there’s a professional league for motherhood, she’s going into the hall of fame. I don’t know how she handles these fools by herself all day.” 

Akihiko takes a tiny, chubby hand and smacks Atsumu in the face. Repeatedly. 

“Home! Home!” His slaps get slightly more aggressive, but Atsumu’s received some serves with his face before, so it doesn’t really phase him. “Home! Mama!” 

“Well, you heard the man.” Atsumu actually gives a genuine smile for the cameras. “We gotta head home.”

You’re applying your moisturizer in the bathroom despite the mirror being fogged up from the hot shower. It’s probably why you don’t anticipate strong arms wrapping themselves around your body, and you gasp before your muscle memory recognizes him. Your body easily relaxes against his, and you’re smiling as you ask your husband, 

“Had a good day today?”

“We took ‘em in two straight sets. Slaughtered the other team to the point where it wasn’t even fair.” He angles his head just right so he can kiss you on the cheek, but you gently slap him away.

“I’m putting on moisturizer right now.”

“Great. My lips are dry.” He goes in for another kiss, and even though you’re giggling, trying to pull away from him, he still plants a peck on your soft skin. “Should I go for seconds, just for good measure?” He teases.

“Hmm, I guess so.” 

“Oh? What’s with the change? Realize how much you can’t live without my touch?” He pulls you in closer to him, your back pressed firmly against his chest. He’s fresh out the shower, stray droplets of water greedily clinging onto his skin. 

“Maybe.” You tilt your head back on the front of his shoulder so that you can see him. “You know your interview is trending on Twitter, right?” 

“Oh, yeah? Bet Nakamura’s pissed.” Atsumu sounds too happy at the concept. 

“No. There’s actually an interesting clip that keeps going around. Someone already used it as an intro for a thirst edit of you.” 

You like it when Atsumu is thinking. There’s an adorable crease in between his furrowed brows, and you can practically see him going through the memory files in his brain, trying to figure out what could possibly be worthy of inspiring an edit of him. 

“You seriously don’t know?” You’re laughing at him, and it’s the sweetest sound in the world. Atsumu doesn’t take kindly to being the butt of a joke, but from the moment he saw you, he knew he’d do anything to stay by your side, even becoming a fucking court jester if that’s what it took. 

You reach for your phone on the counter, taking a few seconds to load up the fan edit you have favorited. 

He’s burying his face in your hair, hiding away as he hears the audio of him going now why don’t you come sit on daddy’s lap playing on a loop. He groans when you let it replay, uncharacteristically shy as you keep telling him to watch it. 

“The comments are the best part, though, baby!” You haven’t been able to stop giggling at jackingthejackalsoff’s very bold and very true statement of yeah, if i were [name], i’d pop out triplets for him too tf 😭🙏.  

As Atsumu’s hands travel to rest against the growing swell of your belly, you tease him. “So, when the twins are born, do you think you’ll have enough space in your arms to haul all five of our kids, or should we finally use that baby chest carrier Shoyo gifted us?” 

“I can carry all of ‘em and you onto that stage.” He regrets making this smug remark whenever you slightly drop your teasing tone and use what he dubs The Mom Voice on him.

“Oh? If that’s true, then why did it take you so long to realize Akimitsu crawled out of your arms while you were busy calling your opponents scrubs?” 

“Have I ever told you what a wonderful mother you are? And this moisturizer! Wow, I don’t know what you’ve been doing with your skin, baby, but keep it up.” He’s peppering your face with more kisses, hurriedly trying to change the subject, and you gladly let him.

[igbylicious]

whichever way [woosan x reader] pt 2

pairing: woosan x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, fluff-ish, neighbours au, friends with benefits

ch. summary: You follow through with Wooyoung’s suggestion, but it looks like things aren’t ending there.

wc: 7.4k

ch. warnings: hard dom San, bratty sub Wooyoung, voyeur reader, consensual voyeurism/exhibitionism, kink negotiation, m x m, anal sex, rough sex, spanking, masturbation, dirty talk, blowjob, handjob, dumbification & degradation (@ Wooyoung), a hint of dacryphilia, praise kink (@ reader), safeword colour check (it’s green), aftercare

a/n: features a soft-bodied, aromantic reader who uses she/her pronouns

(also the first 2k of this chapter is basically kink negotation i got carried away i’m so sorry lol)

masterlist. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

“Hey. Sorry, it’s just me today,” San says, opening the door to let you inside. “Wooyoung got called into an extra shift at work.”

It’s just a mere few days after the memorable incident that capsized your entire relationship with your friendly neighbour Choi San, and here you are again, walking into his apartment.

He is still your friendly neighbour Choi San, of course, but now he is also the Choi San that you accidentally walked into while he was fucking his boyfriend — and he will soon become the Choi San who fucks his boyfriend in front of you with full consent from all parties involved.

And right now? Right now he is the Choi San who invited you over for a friendly chat about establishing ground rules.

This is totally fine. You are totally fine.

Somehow, some absurd chain of events has led you to this point, and you can’t quite work out how it happened. You are inclined to blame Byeol for it all, though you’re not sure yet how. It’s her fault for needing to eat, or something like that. If she could just go a week without food, you never would’ve been in San’s apartment that day.

Yeah. This is all on Byeol. Rock-solid logic right there.

“No Wooyoung? Oh, no sure, that’s fine,” you tell San, like it does not take a godlike amount of strength to meet his eyes directly. Like your brain doesn’t conjure up the memory of him sucking and biting at Wooyoung’s neck every time you see him. “Or should we do this some other time, when he can be here, too?”

While you are struggling to keep a tight hold on your one last thread of self-composure, San seems remarkably well-adjusted, especially considering how flustered he had been that day. Now that the initial shock has passed, his mannerisms are relaxed and easy — but you?

Your unexpected surge of Wooyoung-induced boldness had run out of juice approximately two seconds after leaving San’s apartment, and you’d only grown more antsy since then. Your days were spent second-guessing the whole thing and fighting back the urge to look up new apartment listings.

(You can’t decide if San’s ability to stay calm and composed is ridiculously unfair, or if it is for the best. At least one of you has their shit together.)

San looks casual and homey today, dark hair still wet from a shower. He’s wearing comfy socks with grey sweats and a simple black shirt that should, in theory, be oversized; but the fabric clings onto San’s broad chest in a way that is very distracting, his collarbones exposed by the wide neckline.

(That shirt is definitely unfair. Does San have no compassion for your poor nerves??)

“Wooyoung gave me the okay to go ahead without him,” San says, gesturing an invitation for you to step into the living room. “I know what he wants out of this, what his limits are. Is that alright with you?”

You hesitate for a moment — but honestly? If you already struggle this much to keep yourself from bolting out the door with just San in the room, you can’t trust how well you’ll cope with Wooyoung here too. It might take a few extra days to gather the mental strength required so you can face the memories that he conjures in your head. Like when his— (NOPE. Stop! Stop that right now, brain!! Cease and desist!)

“Yeah, if Wooyoung’s okay with it, then I’m okay with,” you say, smiling back at San. Nailed it; you are being so normal about this. “Let’s talk.”

And so you do.

San sits you down on the couch where he joins you, a literal arm’s length away to give you some personal space. He also hands you a mug with a hot drink — your favourite, and you feel a flattered burst of happiness that he remembered from some random smalltalk ages ago.

You weren’t sure what to expect out of this conversation — or actually, you had not expected a conversation at all.

It seemed simpler to just…dive in, as it were. They fuck, you watch; high fives all around afterwards. Probably the most awkward fives that were ever highed but still; pretty straightforward, right?

But San insisted on laying out some ground rules beforehand, and as the conversation unfolds, you understand why.

It’s not that San overwhelms you with a multi-page kink inventory (“Maybe for some other time,” he jokes), nor does he take all the spontaneity out of it with a five-step business plan, laying out what will happen to the smallest details. He just…answers some of your questions, asks some questions of you, forcing you to actually solidify your thoughts about what your boundaries are — even as ‘just’ a spectator.

No, you don’t mind if they get a bit rough. What does ‘a bit rough’ look like to you? Oh, that’s a good question, actually. No, no you’re down for that. Umm, oh that’s quite… Yeah, of course they can talk to you during the scene; you’d feel weirder if they ignore you completely.

You’re no longer surprised that San is so calm today; he is obviously in his element, experienced in this type of kink negotiation. He does let out the occasional self-conscious chuckle — but that only makes him more endearing, his warm nature blanketing the strange formality of hashing out these limits.

Somehow, he strikes a sweet spot between keeping the dialogue casual enough that you don’t feel pressured, but thoughtful enough that you know he is taking you, and this whole thing altogether, seriously.

It helps to put you at ease; San knows what he’s doing, makes you feel like you are in safe hands. He explains how exactly he and Wooyoung use the traffic light system for safe-words, and he is quick to take anything off the table that you waver on, never pressing your boundaries.

Gradually, you find an inner calm in the reminder that you want this to happen, while San’s lack of judgement is a soothing assurance that it’s okay to want this to happen. Every person involved has given their enthusiastic consent — you may have stumbled into San and Wooyoung the first time, but this is different.

This time, you are making the conscious decision to step through the door, knowing what will be on the other side; and you can turn around any time you want to. You just don’t want to.

“Hey, thank you by the way,” San says at one point, “for being so open about this. Makes it a lot easier for me.”

“It does?”

He nods, his eyes curving. “Less stressful when I know what everyone’s expectations are. I don’t mind improvising, but it’s comfortable to have a baseline to work off, you know.”

Huh. You hadn’t thought about it from San’s perspective, but yeah, that makes sense. You tell him this, and thank him for making it easy on you, too. San’s eyes shine as he lets out a small, breathy laugh, like he is the one endeared by you right now.

“What about touching? Did we cover that yet? Maybe it goes without saying, but just to say it anyway,” he continues smoothly. “Off the table, right? Keeps things simpler. We don’t touch you, you don’t touch us. …We’re alright with you touching yourself, though, if you want to.”

San adds the last part so casually that it takes a beat for the suggestion to sink in — but then your breath catches at the thought, your bottom lip sucked between your teeth. For weeks you had held back from touching yourself to their muffled noises, and now they themselves are giving you permission to do so right in front of them? Oof.

“Oh? You hadn’t thought that far ahead, hm?” San says when he notes your dazed reaction, and the curve of his smile goes just slightly cocky. “Give it some thought, I’ll trust you to make up your mind on your own.”

“I think I already have,” you blurt out, resisting the unbidden urge to rub your thighs together.

San leans back, his grin showing a flash of teeth. “Good, I like that,” he says, and the simple confidence of his words does something to you. Something that makes you feel more than a little bummed that you’ll only be there as a spectator — but hey, at least that means you don’t have to bring up your IUD and clean bill of sexual health. “One last thing,” San goes on, “then I think we can wrap this up.”

You give him a curious look, encouraging him to continue.

“Wooyoung can get…mouthy,” San says, cautiously.

…

“No way,” you deadpan. “You’re joking.”

San gives you an exasperated look, one that you’ve caught him giving Wooyoung from time to time, but moves past your comment. “He likes to rile me up, likes it when I’m rough with him.”

This isn’t exactly news to you; where is San going with this? “So, uh, kind of like what was going on when I walked into you guys?”

It’s the first time that you’ve acknowledged what happened, and you can’t tell if saying the words out loud makes you die a little on the inside, or if it sets the most cringe-ridden part of you free. There is something strangely liberating about just speaking frankly; perhaps that is the secret behind Wooyoung’s bold audacity. Shame loses some of its power when you own up to things.

San does fluster a bit; apparently his miraculous recovery from the embarrassment of that day is not as complete as it seems, his endless composure not so endless after all. “Y-yea, no— It’s not…not always that mild,” he says, “the way I talk to him, that is.”

Mild?

You have vivid memories of how San had mocked Wooyoung for cumming untouched, the look on his face, the taunt in his voice. A stark contrast with the soft-hearted man sitting next to you now. So that was mild for them?

…Huh. Interesting.

San manages to recompose himself, while you mull over this new piece of information.

You feel curiosity, but also an instant discomfort that you can’t quite explain. The discomfort causes an immediate reflex to push it all down and ignore it, to pretend that you are fine with anything that San and Wooyoung want to do.

But San sees the hesitation in your face, and you know that you cannot hide your gut feelings from him. He will not let you. You try to relax, and remember that San has literally just thanked you for being open with him; this needs to be an honest conversation. Not only for your comfort, but for San’s.

“It’s not a judgement thing,” you immediately rush to reassure him. The last thing you want to do is imply that you’re kink-shaming him or Wooyoung. People like what they like, it’s got nothing to do with you. (Except this time it does have something to do with you, since you will be right there.) “I’m fine with anything like what I already heard, but hard name-calling or something like that… I’m not sure. It’s just—”

It’s just that San and Wooyoung have built a foundation, able to lean on their experiences and mutual trust when the harsher words come into play. They know that every degrading insult has the purpose to make the other feel good, even if it may seem counter-intuitive on a surface level. You are an outsider looking in — and you struggle to predict how you’ll respond to anything less ‘mild’; whether it will be just as exciting to you as it is to them, or only upsetting.

(Rationally you also know perfectly well that San would never say anything that Wooyoung isn’t on board with; but the connection between rationality and arousal is shaky at best.)

“No need to explain yourself,” San says, waving your concern away with his hand, “it’s all good. I’ll make sure it doesn’t go too far. There’s more than one way to deal with Wooyoung.” He adds a wink at the end, a cocky undertone in his words, but there’s still a hint of shyness burning at his ears. The dichotomy of it all is ridiculously endearing.

San walks you out the door, where he stops you for just a moment. “Sorry again for forgetting to text you,” he says. His smile is apologetic, but the sharp edge of embarrassment seems to have worn off of him too, the words calm. “I’m happy we’re doing this, Woo and I had been trying to think of a way to bring it up with you, I just— It would’ve been nice if we’d figured something out before…you know.”

You pat his arm, reassuring him that it’s all good between you. The catalyst to this turn of events had shaken you, but now? Now you feel steady in walking forward. Still a bit nervous, but (mostly) good nerves. Steady.

(Maybe you ought to buy Byeol some extra treats.)

“What would that conversation have even looked like?” you ask with a small chuckle. “‘Hey, want to watch us fuck?’ I mean, yeah, but that’s still pretty wild to ask your neighbour out of the blue.”

“And there we were, so worried about scaring you off,” San says, laughing.

“Well,” you say, puffing up your chest, “as you can see, I don’t scare easy.”

It’s just a line to poke fun at yourself and the whole situation, but San gives you another of his easy, confident grins, adorned by dimples. “No, you don’t. I like that too.”

You had worried that your discussion with San would take the excitement out of things, but those worries are unfounded. With the worst of your stress out of the way, anticipation has a chance to build up — and in a way, it’s kind of refreshing to have some idea of what to expect out of this, even if you won’t participate directly. No fumbling around blind to figure out what works for everyone, where the limits are. Just clarity.

Besides, it’s not like you have a play-by-play of what will happen. The only thing you know for sure is that you’re in for a memorable night.

Wooyoung confirms the latter as soon as he opens the door to greet you with a sly grin, biting his bottom lip.

“It’s good to see you again,” he says playfully, completely unbothered that he was buck naked the last time you saw him. Now he is wearing tight leather pants with a simple short-sleeved black shirt that shows off his arms — and again with the wide neckline! What is it with these damn men and their stupidly attractive collarbones!

Wooyoung notices how you check him out and preens immediately. He pushes his hair back with a suggestive wink, striking a little pose. “It’s a sexy look, right? Right?”

“Woo, don’t tease her,” San calls out from inside the apartment.

There is something about San’s voice that has you on alert, an edge of authority that you never heard from him before; but Wooyoung appears immune to it.

“I wasn’t teasing!” he calls back, rolling his eyes while he gestures you to come in. You note how his gaze lingers on the short skirt you’re wearing, but also that he does not touch you on the way to the bedroom; is he already taking the ground rules into account? You feel that slight pang of disappointment again; Wooyoung’s ass just looks so pinchable in those pants.

The lights are dimmed in the bedroom, and you step through the door with a mix of excitement and nerves — but they still are good nerves, only enhancing the excitement. San is already inside, waiting for you and Wooyoung.

This moment marks the first time you’ve ever seen Choi San shirtless.

You suck in a sharp breath, unable to help yourself.

You should not have been surprised; you’ve seen his arms on hot summer days where he hangs out in a sleeveless shirt, you know how wide those shoulders are just from seeing him in his regular clothes. And with the knowledge that San is one, a martial arts instructor and two, a certified gymrat to top it off; no, you should not have been surprised.

Not by the shadowed definition of his abs, not by the smooth expanse of his chest, tapered down to a slim hips where a faint treasure trail disappears into the waistband of his baggy, faded jeans. Add the tension in his jaw, his sharp narrowed eyes, the imposing posture; and San has undergone a total transformation, unrecognisable from the gentle guy next door.

You have always thought of the two men as gorgeous, but fuck. Whatever the you of a previous life has done to earn you this today, you send her a silent thanks.

San is unfazed by your moment of stunned admiration, simply showing you the comfy chair he’s readied for you. You sit down meekly; you may not be involved in the scene directly, but his dominant air still wraps around you. Usually you would describe San’s appearance as masculine handsomeness balanced with a perfect dose of cuteness, but now there is an edge of roughness to him, even by just standing there.

Wooyoung looks from you to San, raising an eyebrow at his boyfriend.

“What are you doing, showing off like that?” he says; bold words for a man who just posed to show off his (admittedly fantastic) ass in those leather pants. “You really want to impress her, trying to look tough, huh? Just do what you always do, geesh, that’s already fucking hot enough.”

The compliment slips past almost unnoticed, but Wooyoung turns to you before San has a chance to react. “Did you know,” he goes on, with the grin of a born troublemaker, “Sannie seriously did push-ups before you got in here. I think he’s nervous, isn’t that cute?”

His grin widens when you crack into a smile, so caught off guard by Wooyoung’s reveal that you have to muffle a laugh. It is cute.

San’s face goes dark while he watches Wooyoung mouth off. Your sweet neighbour would be flustered by the callout, but San isn’t your sweet neighbour right now. He has slipped into a different mode, and won’t be knocked out of it by Wooyoung’s antics.

Instead he takes two long strides across the room and without warning, grabs Wooyoung’s chin, tilting it up. “I think it’s time you shut your mouth and use it for better things,” San says, his voice rough.

Wooyoung softly gasps a surprised ‘ahh’, his body instantly reacting to San’s forceful touch. San’s eyes flash at the way Wooyoung’s back arches, a sharpened half-smile on his lips.

(“He likes to rile me up,” San had told you — but clearly San likes to be riled up, too.)

San pulls Wooyoung forward, mouths clashing in an aggressive kiss. Immediately he palms the crotch of Wooyoung’s leather pants, kneading at the growing bulge. Wooyoung groans, his teeth digging into San’s bottom lip while his hands cling onto broad, bare shoulders to keep his knees from buckling.

You rub your thighs together at the sight, a familiar pressure building in your lower abdomen. Your breaths go shallow, eyes unsure of where to focus.

Down to the smooth roll of Wooyoung’s hips as he humps into San’s hand, up to the way their jaws shift as the kiss gets messier; giving you more and more sloppy peeks at their tongues sliding together with wet, eager moans. San’s grip on Wooyoung’s chin is still unrelenting, manoeuvring the shorter man in whichever way pleases him.

A slow hand travels down your thigh, knees parting by instinct as your fingers slide in between. You’d wisely foregone on underwear, and you can feel the easier slide through just one layer of fabric, a growing damp spot where you rub the skirt against your clit. Your inhibitions are lowering rapidly, a soft whine joining Wooyoung’s loud one when his hips begin to stutter — and San immediately pulls away.

“F-fuck,” Wooyoung hisses, chasing after San’s hand. “C’mon, just let me—”

“And let the show end so quickly?” San asks, finally releasing Wooyoung’s chin to give him a condescending pat on the cheek. “That’s real greedy of you, Woo.”

Wooyoung scoffs. “You know I can go for more than one round, you’re just being a— f-fuck, San—!”

With a sharp smack, the flat of San’s hand strikes against Wooyoung’s ass. Just from the sound, you think even San’s palm must hurt from the impact against leather. Wooyoung jolts forward, mouth fallen open as he pants for hard breaths. He lets out another moan when San tangles his hand in those fire red locks of hair, forcing Wooyoung’s head at an angle.

“You think you deserve to cum more than once, after mouthing off like you just did?” San says, his voice cool, an almost detached expression on his face. “You’re lucky I don’t call the whole thing off right here.” His free hand undoes the button of his jeans, the sound of his zipper loud in the quiet bedroom. He is not wearing anything underneath. “Here, prove that you’ve earned one at all, or do you want to disappoint our guest? On your knees. Now.”

For a moment Wooyoung looks ready to balk — but then his eyes dart to you and he visibly swallows down a retort, obediently getting down.

Obedient, for you.

Your fingers press down a little harder into your cunt, aching at Wooyoung’s compliance, all to please you. The barrier of fabric becomes increasingly frustrating, its damp spot growing outright soggy as you whine a soft moan.

Wooyoung’s eyes immediately snap back to you, glittering as he watches the swirl of your fingers, the tensing of your thighs, partially covered by the skirt that is slowly riding up. He licks his lips, eyes hungry.

San chuckles at Wooyoung’s meeker demeanour. “So eager to have her watch you suck my cock, hmm? Would’ve done this much sooner if I’d known how quick you’d be down on your knees.” He runs his hand through Wooyoung’s red hair, forcing him back to the task at hand.

Wooyoung stares up with a glower, wrapping his hand around the thick, half-hard cock. He parts his lips and leans in — for a small, rebellious bite on San’s hip.

San hisses, his grip on Wooyoung’s hair tightening. “Play nice,” he warns in a low growl. “I can still change my mind about all this.”

Silently, Wooyoung simply laps his tongue at the bite; to soothe the mark, but also to take pride in it. A last act of defiance before his mouth closes around San’s cock with a soft wet sound, and he hollows his cheeks as he sinks down.

You’re spellbound, watching how Wooyoung noisily sucks and bobs his head. Moaning decadently, heavy-lidded eyes transfixed on San’s face. San takes shallow breaths, staring right back at Wooyoung and the glossy shine of spit that spreads over his hardening cock with every pass of Wooyoung’s mouth. You swallow thickly when Wooyoung’s cheek bulges, his fingernails lightly scratching the exposed skin of San’s thigh. It must be sensitive; San bites his lip, his hand balling into a fist in Wooyoung’s hair.

“Little faster, Woo. Work for it,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse. “You think I’ll take it easy on you just because we have company?”

Wooyoung lets out a whiny noise but eagerly follows the lead of San’s hand guiding him, now working his cock in earnest as his speed picks up. Drools escapes the corner of his mouth, more dribbling down with every muffled wet moan.

Desperate for friction, Wooyoung’s hips roll forward uselessly — but San stands still as a rock in contrast, content to make Wooyoung’s swollen lips slide up and down his thick length. He’d look utterly unaffected if not for the rise and fall of his chest with hard breaths, his jaw clenched as he watches Wooyoung go deeper with every pass.

Your last shreds of inhibition crumbles away, the sharp pulse in your cunt harder and harder to ignore. You are burning, and your boldness grows in direct proportion to your desperation for relief. A hand slips underneath your skirt, and you sigh at the direct contact, greeted by a slick mess.

San’s eyes flicker to you at the sound, his eyes piercing into the point where your wrist disappears underneath your clothes. You aren’t sure how much he can see, your skirt hiked up but still providing some cover — but you are sure he can hear the faint squelch of arousal as you fall into a rhythm, fingers sliding across your clit in familiar, toe-curling patterns.

You can’t even feel shy anymore at San’s enthralled stare, so deep in the chase for pleasure that his attention only spurs you on. Soft gasps for breath, your lips parting to give free passage to a shameless moan.

“Fuck,” San curses softly, and pulls Wooyoung’s mouth off of him.

Wooyoung is dazed, his eyes a little glassy, and he is reluctant to part his lips from San’s cock. He looks up in hazy confusion, lifting a hand to wipe his smeared face clean.

“Leave that,” San snaps, lightly smacking Wooyoung’s hand away. “Clothes off. On the bed.”

Wooyoung is too far out of it to even consider disobeying, his movements rushed and clumsy as he strips down. San is more controlled as he shucks off his jeans, then grabs for a bottle of lube from his nightstand. He watches approvingly how Wooyoung get on all fours, squeezing the base of his cock to take the edge off before he joins his boyfriend on the bed.

“Here,” he says, grabbing onto Wooyoung’s hips to manhandle him into a position where you get almost a full profile view, then roughly turns Wooyoung’s head towards you. “Let her take a good look at that face, what a pretty mess you made of yourself.”

Wooyoung is a pretty mess; eyes unfocused and mouth hanging open, lips and chin glistening with saliva and precum, his red hair unruly but pushed back to expose his forehead and the small studs of his eyebrow piercing. He is breathing shakily, bent down on his forearms; his back arches prettily, pushing his ass up into the air, and he rocks back in anticipation of having San’s hands on him.

But Wooyoung’s eyes slowly come back into focus when they fall on you, mesmerised by the same view that captivated San only a moment before. He hisses when you bite back a moan, deliberately shifting your thighs to make the skirt ride up higher. “Talk about pretty messes,” he groans. “Fuck.”

You whine, the praise blooming hotly in your abdomen. It’s hard not to squirm under Wooyoung’s heated gaze; so you don’t bother to try and stop yourself, hips rocking forward to meet your fingers as one trails down to press inside you, just a shallow dip, teasing yourself — and Wooyoung.

He groans unabashedly and burrows his face in the sheets, like the sight is too much for him to handle, his back arching deeper.

“That’s it,” San says in a silk-smooth voice, running his hand across Wooyoung’s spine, before drawing back to squeeze at his ass. “You’re enjoying yourself like this, aren’t you? Putting yourself on display like—” San bites something back, shaking his head. (You realise that you wish he hadn’t held back.) “How is it, Woo? Is it just as good as you thought it’d be, hm?”

“Better,” Wooyoung rasps, a crack in his voice. “It’s better, f-fuck, San…”

San chuckles, coating two fingers with a generous amount of lube. “See? That’s what happens when you behave. Never say I don’t reward obedience.”

You can’t quite see from this angle, but you still know exactly when San pushes inside Wooyoung. He shudders at the intrusion with a pleased moan, turning his head to glance back at San. He grins, just a little cheeky, when San’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Did you—?” San blinks, but then his eyes curve into a pleased smile. “You already prepped for this, babe? So considerate,” he purrs, squeezing Wooyoung’s ass in approval. He goes for another finger, just a few passes, but quickly pulls back to slick up his cock instead. “I could get used to this, you’re spoiling me today.”

“It wasn’t for you,” Wooyoung retorts. “Don’t get carried awa-aah—!”

The words are knocked out of him when San lines up and buries himself in Wooyoung’s tight hole in one smooth thrust.

“What was that? Didn’t quite catch that, Woo,” San says, panting slightly. He palms Wooyoung’s ass, then strikes with just enough force to have Wooyoung garble a choked moan. “I’d almost think you were mouthing off again, but that can’t be right, can it?”

“You’ll know when I’m—fuck, nghh!”

San quickly sets a hard pace, and your eyes go wide at the aggressive snap of his hips, brutal and hypnotising. You stop teasing yourself, two fingers picking up speed to match him, the heel of your hand rubbing against your clit. It’s not enough, not nearly enough compared to what you see, and you groan in frustration, pushing yourself to stretch around a third finger, arousal smeared on your thighs and dripping onto the chair.

Wooyoung moans and whimpers loudly with every thrust — noises that you are already familiar with, but never heard so closely, so clearly before, no more walls in between you and him.

San’s teeth are gritted, sweat falling down his chin. He keeps up the punishing slam of his hips as he fucks into Wooyoung, whose upper body crumples into the bed under the relentless onslaught. His knuckles are pale from how hard his fingers clench onto the sheets, prominent veins in his forearms.

Shamelessly, you flip back your skirt entirely and use your free hand to press at your clit at a better angle, wishing desperately for a vibrator; for Wooyoung’s thighs to hump and grind against; for San’s cock plunging inside of you. Their mouths on you, devouring you whole. You whimper as the fantasies pile onto the reality in front of you, augmenting each other and pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Wooyoung looks close to that edge too, his brow knitted, eyes squeezed shut; a faint glimmer of tears on his lashes. Drool gathers on the sheet under his mouth, nothing but garbled nonsense leaving his lips.

“Any smart words, hm?” San demands, grunting tightly from keeping up his pace.

Wooyoung can only moan, squirming in San’s hold. San’s fingers dig harder into his hips, forcing him to take and take and take his cock, over and over again.

There is a triumphant glint in San’s eyes at Wooyoung’s incoherent state, barely able to string two words together. “That’s what I thought,” he chuckles, laying down another smack on Wooyoung’s ass. You can see the reddening imprint even from where you’re sitting. “Never takes long before you’re fucked dumb on my cock.”

Wooyoung sobs, teething at the bedspread as a thick tear rolls down his cheek. You inhale a sharp breath at the sight, shooting through you like lightning.

San hears your gasp and freezes for a moment, immediately turning his head to you. His hips slow down to a shallow rocking, much to Wooyoung’s frustration, but San is focused on you; unsure whether your response is rooted in arousal or something else. “Colour,” he asks, firmly.

“Green,” Wooyoung whines loudly, “it’s green, you fucker, don’t stop now—”

San smacks his ass with a sharp hit. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he warns and Wooyoung shuts up — though he does not stay quiet, whimpery moans escaping him as he pushes his ass back.

But San pays him no further attention right now, looking at you. His expression is somewhere halfway between the hard dom of tonight and the gentle neighbour that you know; wanting to know for sure that he did not overstep in his degradation of Wooyoung.

You nod, vigorously. “Green,” you say in agreement, “very green.”

The way Wooyoung is losing himself in the thrill over this treatment, the way he revels in pushing San just to make him push back; he visibly gets off on the consequences of his bratty actions — and that is getting you off too.

San holds your gaze a moment longer, like he is gauging the honesty of your answer. Then he nods, with a wink so quick you almost miss it.

“You hear that, Woo? She likes me talking to you like this,” he purrs, leaning over to catch the tear on Wooyoung’s cheek with his tongue. He briefly rubs his nose against Wooyoung’s temple and straightens back up, quickly picking up the pace again.

But Wooyoung has lifted his head, coming just slightly out of his stupor at the sound of your voice. He looks in your direction; at perfect eye level with your leaking cunt, and the three fingers sunk deeply inside.

His face contorts with a pained groan, fingers twitching in the sheets. The lewd display of you fucking yourself on your fingers breaking through his last shred of self-control. “Oh fuck,” he hiccups. “Look at that wet pussy. F-fuck, been so long since I last buried myself in a juicy cunt like that.” He is full-on rambling now, his tongue thick and speech slurred.

You whimper, clenching around your fingers. No touching, you remind yourself. It’s just talk.

“Wanna suffocate between those thighs, god you’d taste so good I just know it,” he babbles, high on the thought of you, and the mental images blaze through your head like wildfire.

He would tease, you are dead certain of it; he’d drive you mad on purpose until you grab his hair and grind into his face, exactly as he wants you to — fuck, that gorgeous slope of his nose looks just perfect to ride up against your clit—

“Woo…” San says warningly, but he is deaf to it.

“Can I—” Wooyoung sobs, repeating the words like a chant, Can I— Can I— Can I—

“Y-yes.”

It slips past your lips before you can think it through. Quiet and desperate; but Wooyoung hears. San hears. He tuts sharply, mercilessly intercepting the shaky hand that Wooyoung reaches out to you.

“You know the rules, Woo,” he chides, but even without him looking your way, it still feels partially directed at you too. “Or are you so drunk on my cock that you can’t remember something that simple? Tell me what the rule is, now.”

“N-no touching…” Wooyoung whines.

San nods in approval, and rewards Wooyoung by reaching around to wrap a firm hand around his neglected cock. “Good,” he coos. “Look at you, you poor thing. So drunk on cock but still starved for pussy.” San’s eyes are on you now, and you’re taken aback by the hunger there, like he has mixed feelings on reinforcing the rule.

“Can’t even blame you for forgetting,” he says with quiet intensity, the smooth roll of his hips losing their aggressive edge, his hand working a little faster instead. Wooyoung makes a noise of complete debauchery, burrowing his face back into the bed with a desperate moan. “What a mess she is making, dripping on my chair,” San goes on, licking his lips, “all just for us. So cruel of me, dangling her in front of you like that. A pretty cunt like that deserves to be worshipped.”

The praise blooms hotly in your core, and with a flash you realise this is San’s way of reassuring you he is not upset about the push against boundaries. Suddenly the heat wraps into a sharp coil, and you’re not sure what does it; San’s hungry praise or the desperate stutter of Wooyoung’s hips as San jerks him off, slick wet noises mingling with shaky whimpers. They pick up in speed as Wooyoung rushes towards his own peak, dragging you down with him into his unravelling.

You fall apart right after he does, broken by his choked up sobs; by him futilely twisting and wriggling against San’s strong grip. Your thighs shake, toes curling, the slide of your fingers against your clit just right — but the sight of the two men in front of you even more potent. Your hips jerk up as pleasure surges through you, mouth falling slack in a silent cry.

Desperately, you try to keep your fingers moving, to ride out this wave for as long as you can; all while watching how San’s palm glistens wetly as he lets go of Wooyoung’s cock and grabs onto his waist, yanking him back as San fucks into him, shifting focus to his own release. Wooyoung is nothing but a crumpled, snivelling mess but still he groans eagerly, encouraging San to use him.

San does just so, leaning over Wooyoung’s prone body to bite at his neck as San ruts into him, panting for breath. San’s moans grow higher than you expected, his low grunts fading away; if he was putting on a tough front when you first came in the bedroom, he no longer is now, too preoccupied with chasing his high.

Somehow it feels vulnerable, his dominant coat slipping off his shoulders. Like it’s something you’re not supposed to see — except he does let you see, lets you watch how the persona falls away as he slowly comes undone. Your breath hitches, a sharp moan catching in your throat as suddenly the aftershocks of your first orgasm stir with renewed life; and just like that you cum again, biting down your noises as though not to disturb San, trembling quietly in the chair as you watch, entranced. San’s hips finally stutter with a loud whine and then he stills entirely, pressing his face between Wooyoung’s shoulder blades with a drawn-out shudder.

With a weak moan your hands fall away; your body spent as though you are the one who just got fucked within an inch of your life.

The bedroom goes silent, almost.

Everyone is catching their breath, and Wooyoung makes an unintelligible sound when San pulls out and gently lowers him onto the bed. San’s eyes go soft as he brushes the hair out of Wooyoung’s face, kissing him on the forehead before he straightens up.

While you and Wooyoung lay boneless, slowly recovering, San rolls his shoulders and stretches his limbs with a quiet grunt, then grabs a robe to put on. He goes back to the nightstand, this time for a bottle of water. You never even noticed the two glasses that he clearly prepared beforehand, along with a few washcloths. He fills a glass, dampens a cloth, and returns to Wooyoung’s side.

Wooyoung hums in thanks as San helps him upright and hands him the glass of water. He takes a slow sip while San starts to wipe the sweat and other bodily juices off his skin, a grin bubbling up to his lips as his energy recharges. “Did so well, Sannie,” he says, stealing little touches with his free hand while San cleans him up. Eyes glittering with pure adoration. “Took such good care of me, you always do.”

“Shush. Drink your water,” San chides him, but his cheeks glow red at Wooyoung’s steady babble of praises.

The intimate sight of San and Wooyoung in their little bubble causes an unexpected fuzzy warmth to bloom in your chest; touched that they also trust you as an audience for this part, the quiet aftermath. It’s making you strangely timid after all that just transpired, smoothing down your skirt almost subconsciously.

Finally San takes the now empty glass back from his boyfriend. He pulls a blanket across Wooyoung’s body and helps him settle on the bed, where Wooyoung immediately snuggles up against a pillow and lets his eyes rest. (For a guy who made a point of ‘being able to go more than one round’, he sure is out like a light.)

San leaves a final peck on the top of Wooyoung’s head and sits back up, then goes to fill the other glass. He brings it to you with a fresh cloth, and hands you the drink. You take it with a grateful nod, but blink in surprise when San leans in to dab the sweat off your forehead.

He seems to suddenly realise what he has done, freezes instantly, then yanks his hand back as though burned. “Sorry,” he mumbles awkwardly, whispering so he won’t wake Wooyoung back up. “Forgot the damn rule myself.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him quietly, taking the cloth off his hands with a small, tired smile. You really didn’t mind. Did it even count now, during the aftercare?

San returns the smile. “Don’t tell Wooyoung, will you? I won’t hear the end of it,” he jokes, and you raise your thumb and forefinger to your lips to ‘zip’ them closed.

“Your secret is safe with me,” you promise solemnly, but the serious expression does not last for long; pushed out by the undeniable urge to tease San. “Besides, it’s nice to have some blackmail in case I ever need a favour from you.”

“Seriously?” he scoffs. “You’re as much of a handful as Wooyoung, aren’t you?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment!”

“Don’t tell him that, either,” San says with a soft laugh, shaking his head.

It is silent again, and you wonder if you should feel awkward, cleaning yourself up right in front of San. You should, right? But he isn’t watching you anymore, simply keeping you company in the quiet, and somehow the whole thing just feels easy and natural. So you wipe the washcloth across your thighs with a ginger touch, avoiding the places where you are most sensitive. Just a quick pass to clean the worst of the dried arousal and sweat sticking there. You’ll take a proper shower at home.

“About what happened…” San says after a while, when it’s clear you have settled and are breathing a little easier, “what Wooyoung said. What you said—”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. We did agree on no touching beforehand, I shouldn’t have pushed it.”

He snorts. “You weren’t the only one pushing. But no, it’s fine. I told you, I don’t mind improvising, but in this case…” San hesitates, like he’s not sure how much to say. “Woo is a bit more impulsive than me during a scene. I… like clarity. I like knowing for sure that nobody does anything they might have second thoughts about later. Maybe I’m too cautious sometimes, but that’s how it works for me. So I didn’t shut it down because of you, I want you to know that. That was for me.”

“I understand. You feel responsible for him during a scene like this, right?”

“I am responsible for him. And for you too,” San gently corrects. “That’s how I see it, at least. It’s part of what I signed up for.”

“‘Signed up for’?” a hoarse voice echoes from the bed. “What am I, a job?”

“A full-time one, Woo,” San fires back without missing a beat, smiling fondly as he says it. “How long you’ve been listening in?”

Wooyoung’s head pops out from underneath the blanket, his red hair in complete disarray. But his eyes are already clearer than they were just a few minutes ago; maybe you should give him some credit for his recovery time after all.

“I don’t have second thoughts this time,” he mumbles, his speech still a little slurred.

San just nods in acknowledgement, and turns to you with an inquisitive look. The implied question is all too clear.

“No second thoughts here either,” you agree. No point in getting shy now.

“Well,” San says, and that easy, confident grin is back on his face, “then I guess we’ll have to do this again sometime.”

“Mm, good,” Wooyoung says, turning over to his other side to get settled again. Then he glances back at San, a spark of trouble in his eyes. “Do you need a refresher on the ground rules before that happens, Sannie? Just in case you forget any?”

“Dammit,” San groans under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. Brow furrowed in pain, he gives you a reproachful look for the laugh that you unsuccessfully try to muffle. “So much for your blackmail,” he sighs.

[natalievoncatte]

There was something inherently unnerving in Superman staring at her, Lena decided. She could *feel* the weight of his gaze on her. If she hadn’t know better, she would have thought that he was trying to steal glances at her. Of course, there was the matter of Lois Lane and all that, and Lena was assuredly not his type. She was, after all, a Luthor.

But he kept staring.

Lena listened to the mission briefing, feeling a bit detached. Her work here was done; she’d worked out the math and it was up to Kara and her cousin to push the asteroid just so, to return it to its proper orbit and send it on its merry way.

It was routine, if two people with godlike powers pushing millions of tons of rock through space could be said to be normal.

There was only one problem.

Clark.

Kept.

Staring.

Lena looked away from him, then slipped out of the room, looking up at the sky. She could see the offending space rock just barely, and extended her arm, covering it with her thumb, one eye pinched shut.

“Hey.”

Kara was in the doorway, not quite emerging onto the balcony. She’d suited up in her space suit, a new design of Lena’s that outfitted her in a stark white with a glowing amber light behind the red-gold frame of her family crest. Lena was proud of her work. It carried a sufficient air supply and was shielded against radiation, just on the off chance they Kara met something up there that bypassed her immunities.

Kara had her helmet tucked under one arm and her hair up on a tight bun, and she looked absolutely dashing. Lena couldn’t help but grin like a big kid, as worried as she was.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” said Lena. “You look good in that.”

“Of course I do, you made it,” said Kara.

She broke across the balcony in three quick strides, and from the way she canted her head, Lena thought it might finally happen. She might crack that last barrier and press her soft lips to Lena’s, stealing some luck to take with her, and stealing Lena’s breath away.

Kara had stolen her heart years ago.

She didn’t, though. Rather than a hug, she ducked down and brushed her forehead lightly against Lena’s, before quickly pulling back.

“Come right back,” said Lena.

“You know it,” said Kara. “Want me to bring you something from my trip?”

“Just come back safe.”

Kara grinned her cocky grin and offered Lena a little salute.

“It’s time,” Clark said, from the doorway. Lena hadn’t even noticed his presence.

He was staring at both of them, now. Lena turned away. The pair stepped back inside, Clark speaking to Kara in clipped, rapid Kryptonese. Lena couldn’t parse it quickly enough, but she made out something about scents.

The mission was not routine.

Lena’s work was perfect. The data was not. Lena white knuckled the railing in her hands as the asteroid drifted down, skimming the Earth’s atmosphere and carving out a channel of unbound flame.

Alex was frantically demanding a status update, but neither Kryptonian answered her. There was only static. Lena watched the control room monitors, and her hands felt as cold as the steel they grasped. She felt utterly numb, on the verge of screaming.

Then the speakers crackled. It was Kara.

“I’m sorry, Lena,” Kara rasped out. “I made a mess of your suit.”

They landed a few minutes later. Kara was the worse for wear, with some of the reinforced plating melted off on her left side. She spun a harrowing tale of struggling to correct the rock’s course, Clark nodding along silently beside her. Lena locked eyes with Kara and let out a slow, agonized breath. She was okay. She was okay this time.

She’d always be okay. Right up until she wasn’t.

After, when Kara had been pried out of her suit, with her cousin’s help, and changed into a hoodie and leggings, she attacked the buffet that was laid out for the two of them in the cafeteria. Shoving around celestial bodies in as hungry work.

When Lena turned and saw Superman staring at her again, she decided she’d had enough and squared up to him.

“Okay, farmboy. Out with it. Why do you keep staring at me?”

“I was waiting for Kara to say something,” he said, “but I guess she’s too shy or she’s worried about what I’ll think. It’s okay with me if you two are together. I don’t hold your name against you.”

Lena’s brain about leaked out of her ears.

“Together?”

“Of course. I noticed earlier that her heartbeat synchronizes to yours whenever you’re in the room, and of course she’s been scent marking you.”

“She’s been what?”

Clark shifted on his feet, either from her tone or her expression or both. He looked strangely young.

“Oh, uh, I see. Anyway I need to get going, long flight back to Metropolis.”

Lena barely noticed him leaving. She stood in the same spot far too long, staring at the refrigerator. She was still standing there when Kara came up alongside her.

“Hey.”

Of course, she was devastating. Kara was in black leggings and a threadbare hoodie that was actually Lena’s, and padding around the place barefoot. Her golden tresses spilled around her shoulders in loose waves, held back by her glasses. The dashing bravado was gone and she was soft, warm, equally lovely Kara again.

“You scared me up there,” said Lena.

“You kept me safe with your suit. You always do.”

Lena looked Kara in the eye. Kara had the most lovely eyes, a gorgeous deep blue that could be as heavy as winter storm or as light as a summer breeze

“I heard what Clark said.”

Lena swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

“He caught me red handed,” Kara added.

Lena wondered if she should laugh it off, or make a joke. Kara smiled, pulling her gaze away in a slightly embarrassed way, her cheeks turning a rosy pink.

“Does Kryptonian scent marking mean what I’m guessing it means?”

“It, um, it does.”

“This is how humans do it,” Lena whispered, diving headlong into Kara’s space.

She ducked just a little, tilting her head back, and Kara read her intentions perfectly. Their lips came together, and their first kiss was quick and soft, a promise for later, when there would be only fairy lights and Kara’s couch and soft, eager explorations full of slow, desperate intensity.

For now, Kara simply took Lena’s hands in her own, and very gently nuzzled her nose against Lena’s, breath ticking her lips.

“Take me home, space cowgirl,” said Lena.

[frociaggine]

Is it better if John erased their memories, or if they came back that way and he just decided not to fix them?

It's immensely better if he intentionally mindwiped them. TO ME.

I'm a John fan. I think he's a tremendous tragic antagonist, and that everything he does in the HtN backstory is relatable if not painful familiar. He was under immense pressure, trying to mitigate the literal end of the world, having his mind and his whole self changed in ways he had no frame of reference to understand. He went from being desperate and trying to do his best to being carried away by circumstances to going absolutely fucking insane. There are many ways to rationalise John's actions all the way to the end, which is what makes it such an effective corruption arc. If you want to engage in some blorbo apologism, there are plenty of excuses to be found.

There's absolutely no fucking way to excuse mind-wiping his friends. THAT is why it's so important to me that he did it deliberately, in cold blood, justifying it to himself as a way to take their burdens upon himself so they wouldn't have to feel guilty. He removed their agency. He didn't want any peers in the world he'd created. He could have acknowledged what had happened, for better or worse, and tried to make amends - but instead, he chose to remove their knowledge that something had even happened in the first place. It's the turning point! I need him to go into that with his eyes fully open. He's doing it on purpose! He weighed the pros and cons and prioritised his comfort over his friends' identities.

EYE believe that his story arc is infinitely more powerful if there's a point we can look at and say "here is when John's story went from things happening TO HIM to John doing terrible things". Especially in a backstory that's ultimately about divine corruption and losing touch with your humanity, I think that turning point needs to be something that has a personal value to him, something that can't be chalked up to "he was high on death" or "humanity was doomed" or even "he touched the soul of the earth and went insane."

I think it's important, thematically, that one of his first actions after acquiring godlike powers was to make sure that no one would be able to remember his human self and challenge him on equal footing, even if he's still internally lamenting his own loneliness and wishing things were different.

Obviously, this is all coming from a known John Girlie™ and Eldritch Alecto Enjoyer — I interpret John's ascension to quasi-divinity as something that was mostly imposed ON him and he couldn't control, which is why I need him to cross the moral event horizon outright with the mind violation of his inner circle. Someone who views John as more directly culpable in the end of the earth might feel less strongly about the importance of the mindwipe in his story arc than I do, but TO ME it's the culmination of the tragedy. You've become the inhuman horror, baby.

/post that inspired the question

[justrustandstardust]

it's established that gojo's blindfold is a hallmark of his character. it's understood that the blindfold keeps things out; however, i also think there's something to be said about how it also keeps things in. despite the fact that there's already a lot of discourse regarding his blindfold, i think there's more to it than meets the eye (or doesn't, in the case of gojo).

this is going to be somewhat of a long post, but i promise that if you stick around, the end will make the journey worth it.

(this analysis is the lovechild of mine and @chiarrara, whose sexy big brain sponsored this whole thing).

as a character, gojo is unknowable without his eyes. it's very much proposed that gojo is his eyes; he's even repeatedly referred to as "the six-eyes brat". he's the strongest, and his eyes embody that status/symbol/role in the narrative. his eyes and his character are so intertwined that they almost become the same thing.

we are repeatedly reminded of his eyes throughout the story; they are perhaps his most distinct and identifiable feature. when we're shown the progression of gojo's life from birth to adolescence, we only see his eyes.

during this scene when toji is remebering him, he repeatedly refers to him as the "six-eyes brat". he is his eyes, and nothing else. that's the only thing that toji knows about him because to the jujutsu world, that's all he is.

however, when he's a teenager, although his eyes are more present than we've ever seen them throughout the series, they're noticeably un-glorified. they're undeniably present but they're unremarkable.

they're less symbols of his power and more what they are, which are just eyes. we see glimpses of his eyes so often that we almost forget that they're special, until he steps into his role as the strongest and reminds us of them.

it's important to note that what sets the depiction of his eyes apart here (versus when he's an adult) is the presence of geto. if you comb through every single scene with geto in hidden inventory, you will find that gojo's eyes are not the focal point of his character. they're backgrounded features; his eyes are either half-hidden or entirely obscured by his shades, and they rarely glow.

his eyes make themselves known when geto is absent, like during gojo's fight with toji. in these moments, he is the strongest, invariably leaving room for nothing else. the only exception to this rule is when he's carrying riko's body, in which his eyes glow when he toes the line between human nature and godlike power. if we understand his eyes to be conduits of his power, then their noticeable downplaying can be understood as gojo leaving behind his title as the strongest and stepping into his humanity.

when geto breaks up with gojo, his eyes are not only uncovered, they're un-emphasized. they're perhaps the dullest we've ever seen them, and their distinct, eye-catching blue is swallowed by the whites surrounding his irises. his strength and power don't matter in this moment, and his eyes reflect that. when he's losing geto, he is not the strongest; he is purely gojo satoru.

the emphasis on his eyes in his youth makes their absence in his adulthood even more stark. we rarely see his eyes now, and it's only in the direst of circumstances.

everyone is familiar with the dictum '"the eyes are the window to the soul", which is true: eyes let people see into us. however, they function both ways; like a two-way mirror, they also let us see the world. eyes let people look in, but they also let their beholder look out.

there's a reason gojo only put on the blindfold after geto left. why didn't he wear it from the start? why did he start wearing it at all? all the credit to @hijinks-n-lowjinks for their masterful analysis that inspired this idea, which is as follows:

"....Gojo wants nothing more than to leave the memory of Geto unscathed....There's still a part of Geto's memory that's untarnished if he keeps it private instead of exposing the depth of Geto's crimes to the students, and I think that's what he's clinging onto."

gojo wears the blindfold for two reasons: one, to keep people out, and two, to keep geto in.

in donning the blindfold, gojo seals geto in his mind and simultaneously seals himself off from the world. he holds geto inside of himself, rendering him (or gojo's construction of him) untouchable by anyone else. in order to achieve this, however, the practice necessitates that gojo keeps everyone else out, because they belong to a world without geto that gojo literally and figuratively refuses to see. the wall functions like eyes: twofold, both keeping in and keeping out.

geto can be understood as gojo's blindfold: he is the reason it exists and why gojo put it on the first place. the blindfold is an intractable element in how he (doesn't) navigate the world without geto, because geto's departure from his life catalyzed his withdrawal from the world, which is symbolized through the blindfold.

when geto was in his life, gojo let the world in because it had geto in it. after geto left, he wasn't there for gojo's eyes to find. the permanent blindfold operates like schrödinger's cat— instead of seeing a world without geto, gojo simply chooses to stop seeing.

it's worth noting that the literal barrier pairs with the figurative barrier gojo puts up, which is in his disposition.

there's a reason that gojo's cocky, lighthearted persona comes out when he's wearing the blindfold. it's a figurative barrier that matches the literal one. like i said before, we only see his eyes in the direst of circumstances, and his goofy, cocksure demeanour is notably absent from these instances. i'm not saying it's fake, but the persona is a front, designed to keep people at a distance. he plays it up, and it feels even more distant because we can't see his eyes.

however, gojo isn't the only person with a barrier.

after the breakup, we never see geto wear casual clothes. we always see him in his cult leader outfit, which is distinct and elaborate. geto knows it's a costume, evidenced by the way he even says it himself when someone asks why he's wearing the cult getup:

we also see a notable shift in his persona, to a crazed and almost manic disposition that contrasts starkly with the gentle, kind nature he had in his youth. geto's literal barrier is found in his cult outfit, whereas his figurative one is in his disposition. although they present differently, gojo and geto's literal and figurative barriers mechanize the same modes of expression that seem to be at odds with one another.

gojo’s disposition is designed to counteract the loneliness that shapes his character (a loneliness that geto abetted in being his companion) and geto’s disposition is designed to push people away, because he decided no one could understand him (a role which was previously fulfilled by gojo).

gojo can read geto in a way that no one else can, and geto is gojo's counterpart in a way that no one else can be— they’re missing something only the other can provide and compensating with two dispositions at opposite ends of the emotional spectrum.

when geto is dying, gojo drops the literal and figurative mask. he's almost unrecognizable; he's not laughing, he's not smiling, and he's not wearing the blindfold, because he doesn't need it anymore. the only person he wants to see, the only person he's ever wanted to see, is in front of him now.

however, once again, he's not only one whose walls have come down.

geto drops the manic persona (although he retains the ideals) and he gently smiles in a way that's reminiscent of his youth. his cult leader outfit is also falling off, exposing him in more ways than one. he admits that he never had any hate for anyone at jujutsu tech, and in doing so, materializes the version of himself that lived in gojo's mind for a decade. that's why gojo doesn't bother with the blindfold; the geto in his mind and the geto in front of him are congruous and he's looking at the person he's been seeing inside his head all along.

it's been established that we don't know what gojo says to geto. however, it is also absolutely key that we don't see gojo's eyes in this deeply intimate moment. his eyes, which are inextricably linked to his strength and his role. his eyes, which are the medium through which he limits his engagement with the world. his eyes, which he sealed after geto left and only brings out when he's tasked with fulfilling his role.

in this moment, he considers the question geto asked him during the breakup. "are you gojo satoru because you're the strongest? or are you the strongest because you're gojo satoru?"

and in shielding his eyes from us, gojo answers him.

"i'm gojo satoru because of you, suguru."

his eyes, as the windows to the soul and witnesses to the world, are looking at geto suguru not as the strongest but as gojo satoru, and they are meant for geto alone. yes, the eyes are the windows to the soul but they're also two-way mirror— gojo opens his eyes for geto to look into his soul because the material manifestation of his soul is dying in front of him right now. in baring his eyes, he bares his soul.

before geto dies, we see him the same way gojo does. he seems bashful, almost shy, even mirthful; all traits that are antithetical to the crazed front he put up earlier. conversely, gojo is the most solemn we've ever seen him. in this moment, we see them both for who they really are, because they literally and figuratively only reveal themselves to each other.

after they part ways in shinjuku, geto and gojo embody the same barriers through identical mechanisms: fabric and persona. these barriers function to do the same thing, which is to keep people at a distance in order to leave space for the one person noticeably absent from their lives. it's very fitting that their walls come down as they meet for the last time, because the only people who could've torn them down are the same people for whom they put them up in the first place— nobody else but each other.

[wholoveseggs]

Could you do blood sharing smut with one of the Mikaelsons? or even a headcanons or one shots on how they would each react to you asking them about it?

~✦~ Biting the Mikaelsons ~✦~

Klaus, Kol, Marcel and Elijah ♡♡♡ and hating on finn at the end

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Just some headcanons on what I think bloodsharing would be like with the Mikaelson men.

♡♡ Thanks for the request anon, love doing headcanons like this ♡♡

1.8k words - Warnings: descriptions of sex, bloodsharing & dirty phrases.

Klaus

~Hybrids first!~

❥ Blood sharing is an incredibly intimate act so if you asked Klaus it would feel like a declaration of love to him.

❥ He's overjoyed that you trust him that much to take care of you and give you pleasure in your vulnerable state and will give you anything you need. He always bites you first so that when he pulls away you're already squirming and all worked up for him.

❥ A bit sadistic by nature, but with you he's as slow and deliberate as possible to savor the act and every moment of you in his arms, tasting your blood and giving you yours in return is just pure euphoria.

❥ He would bite you on your neck or maybe your shoulders just to make you shudder, hold you so close to his body that there wasn't a space in between you and while you drink he'll have you close your eyes so the sensations feel heightened.

❥ He likes you pressed tightly against him, close enough for him to taste and feel everything he's feeling through your bond, running his fangs slowly so that your bite lasts for a long time and when you drink his blood he's watching your face, savoring the feeling.

❥ He would have you sitting in his lap with no clothes, all pretty and flushed, he would get you all worked up before letting you have a taste. He wants you to associate the taste of his blood with sex and pleasure so that you'll crave it whenever you're together.

❥ But naturally, it's Klaus, he will get a little rough with you after, the passion and intensity increased because of the blood. He bites your neck hard while thrusting, making sure that you're connected in everyway possible. He still takes care of you but he also wants to savor this more than he already has.

❥ Definitely bites more than once. He will find excuses to do it, all over your body until you're an exhausted and droopy mess, letting out sweet little moans of satisfaction.

~He will say things like~

--- 'Oh darling,' pulling your hair away so he can see the bites on your skin, 'you were hungry for it weren't you?'

--- 'Even better than I thought, did I not have a claim on you enough?'

❥ He's not going to apologize for drawing out the fact that he's now basically making you drunk on pleasure. If anything, he'll tease you for getting so riled up from a simple bite.

--- 'Tsk tsk, and you wanted my blood? Beg for it now.'

--- 'Naughty girl, a little taste of me and you let me taste the parts of you only I get to see.'

--- 'My name tastes so good coming from those lips, doesn't it dear? Say it again.'

--- 'Better?' Nuzzling his face into your shoulder, 'Is that what you needed? Don't ever be afraid to ask me.'

❥ When you are both satisfied he will carry you to the shower, anywhere where you two can clean up, undisturbed. He's a complete softy when it comes to you in these moments, it's such a rare opportunity to see his vulnerable side.

❥ But, once you share this intimate act with him, he will consider you his. Marking you not just with the bite on your skin, but in his mind and in yours. 

Kol

~High risk of death with this one!~

❥ Drunk. This man. Is. DRUNK on pleasure. Sex and blood sharing? Such a godlike combo, you've created a monster (but really Kol's a monster already. You've just unleashed the beast.)

❥ Wants it often, though doesn't pressure you at all about it. The thirst for it is always there, in the back of his mind and during your more intense sex it's all he can think of.

❥ When you asked him about it he rushed you to his bed without a second thought. Kisses and bites at all points, not even sure where he wanted to bite you the most and didn't care at the moment.

❥ He thinks this is the perfect way for you to realize how sexy you are, if the way he stares at you is anything to go by he already knows it. Wants to savor your taste, how beautiful you look, everything.

❥ He likes giving the first bite right at your thighs so it sends sparks everywhere, he goes absolutely feral between your legs. Easily makes you into a trembling mess underneath him while licking you clean and then biting you again at your thigh.

❥ It's very intimate for him, but in a wilder, more passionate way. He's slow in his movements, likes to have both hands on your thighs while tasting your blood, his mouth sucking at the skin, giving you the utmost pleasure as your life essence pours over his tongue.

❥ When you drink his blood he comes fast. You can do whatever you want with him in that moment and he won't complain. But, he always wants the last bite.

~He will say things like~

--- 'Have I made you a bloodthirsty little minx? As much as I encourage your requests, darling, it's a bit of a torture to have those lips on my neck and not on my cock,'

--- 'Fucking delicious, you are,' as he gently nibbles, 'taste even better than I thought...'

--- 'Well, if I get to see this side of you, I'll offer you my blood anytime, love.'

--- Laughing, nuzzling his face into you he'll smile, 'better than I imagined, sweetheart, and all because of my pretty little pet.'

❥ Afterwards, he likes to play with you, knowing you're vulnerable as he laps at your thighs, or even fingering you. He'll let you mark him up in return if he's in the mood for it (which he often is) and enjoys snuggling into you and kissing you, tasting you on his tongue for a while.

❥ When you're both calmed down he will want to hold you close. Run his fingers through your hair and watch you with an awed expression for a bit. He can't believe how lucky he is to have you, on top of being his girlfriend, willing to share such a personal part of you with him, he's not going to take it for granted, swearing to prove to you how much it means to him to have your trust.

Marcel ~Don't let Rebekah catch you!~

~Couldn't find any gifs of him drinking blood :( ~

❥ When you tell him he's eyes widened and you heard his breath hitch before he takes you into his arms and smothers your face with kisses while lifting you up, just excited to be able to be as close to you as possible.

❥ He's playful with you, laughs and bites down gently all over your skin, little pecks before another nip of his teeth, never sinking in to deeply or in the wrong way, he's experienced, so he never has to worry about how deep he's going. His favorite bite spot is your breasts but he will tease and place playful bites over the rest of your body as well.

❥ After a few bites he'll end it by making your orgasm together and he'll moan your name. He's not much for talk but he's super sweet to you after. Let's you do the biting or the drinking as much as you like before cuddling into him and when you finish, he smiles, running his hand through your hair.

~He will say things like~

--- 'You know, you'll never get rid of me now right?'

--- 'Relax baby, I got you'

--- 'Love that sweetness in your voice,' tugging you down, "You want more?'

--- 'That's right sweet girl, don't you know what you've gotten yourself into?'

❥ When he's done, he will lick your body and wounds, healing them with his blood if necessary and lay you down while covering your face and lips in kisses, letting your suck the remaining blood from his lips while slowly fucking you.

Elijah

~Saving the best for last~

❥ When you tell him that you want him to drink your blood during sex it shocks him but before you can even open your mouth and explain he just picks you up and carries you to the bedroom, kissing you gently and asking where you want him to bite you.

❥ Very delicate, pristine, he will have you under him, safe in his bed with him holding you against his chest, biting his own wrist first and then yours. For him, drinking is different, the intimacy increases as he stares into your eyes as he takes your blood for the first time. It's deeply romantic for him, he'll keep you close to his heart while doing so, telling you how good you are and how much he loves you.

❥ He's hesitant, he doesn't want to hurt you in any way so he asks a dozen times to make sure it's okay. He's so gentle when he drinks, he strokes your hair and then your face, watching to see what you're feeling and reacting to it, but then he starts to drink more and when he is tasting the very essence of you he groans against your neck, overwhelmed by the sight of you underneath him and by the taste of your blood on his tongue. He is sure you're too beautiful to actually be his.

❥ His favorite thing is to have you climax the same time he drinks, so he can taste your lust and your blood on his tongue and it has the added effect of you clinging on to him, shaking and squeezing around him, while feeding him, opening yourself up to him.

❥ When you bite him he has a little quirk. He will have a light chuckle that grows a bit as the pleasure courses through him, holding you tight against him as he feels your mouth on him. You're sweet, wonderful and a pleasurable little dove to him and the chuckle melts to a groan.

~He will say things like~

--- 'Are you sure, my love? This is a...intimate act, something I've craved from you, for us to feel connected as one,'

--- 'That's it,' pulling you closer to him, feeling your heartbeat, 'take what you need,'

--- 'I love you,' He takes your hand and kisses your palm tenderly, 'Are you sure this is what you want?'

--- 'Good girl, sweet girl, that's it, yes. Let me feel you give in to it.'

--- 'Can you feel my blood in your veins? How connected we are?'

❥ He will run his tongue all along your neck and the parts he's bitten making sure there's no mess and that you are okay. Has an affectionate way of sitting you up and stroking your back as he does so, kissing your shoulder in-between murmurs of praise, how good you were and how it's important for you to be comfortable during and after.

❥ He will clean you up and heal you afterwards and wrap his arms around your body while whispering adoring words into your ear, kisses trailing over your face and your neck. He will whisper 'Thank you' in the softest voice that causes you to wrap your arms around him, feeling safe and loved as you thank him back.

Finn

~Born a hater, die a hater~

When you ask him to bloodshare, he goes still. Blinking at you once then twice, but stays silent, denying your request.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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[seabirdtxt]

man idk why but i just kinda want to make creator! reader's backstory SAD like they were tortured (?) just to keep the rest of humanity/teyvat safe.. like i am a SUCKER for sad/traumatic backstories!! just a little brainrot i need to get out!!

i'll keep this short and sweet i told myself. lmao. i forgot i'm a sucker for easy angst

Blood of God

Notes: Sagau cult au, cut-based injuries, blood sacrifice. bunch of fun stuff. Reader is the Creator, golden blood, etc. read at your own discretion

WC. 976

----- ⚘ -----

When you first descended into Teyvat, You were initially met with praise and celebration. Countless festivals were held in Your name. Your beloved characters, Your acolytes, were the first ones in line to beg for Your blessings.

That's when everything started to go downhill.

With the realization that Your physical presence in the world meant no more divine guidance, Your acolytes grew desperate for Your blessings. Blessings that You, as a mortal human being, could not grant. Not to the same degree that You used to, when You played the game and bestowed buffs and upgrades aplenty to all Your teams, and generously ascended even those You didn’t have plans for.

But now, even as You stand before them in flesh and blood, Your godlike abilities have been reduced to mere party tricks. You spoke to the animals, and twisted the breeze. You made flames dance with a single gesture, and grew pretty flowers in your footsteps. None of this helped the acolytes, though.

Interest in Your well-being, in You, dwindled. Your acolytes wished You well, the rare few even questioning Your divinity, and sent You on your merry way.

Abandoned and unarmed in a world full of hostile creatures, You took up jobs with the Adventurers Guild. First, it was fetching and delivering goods for the city citizens. Then, it was carrying messages across the countryside from town to town. Lastly, it was picking off monster camps that strayed too close to civilization.

This is where a few of your acolytes found You, injured and bleeding brass-coloured ichor into the dirt and swinging wildly with Your adventurer’s sword.

Deity or not, Your acolytes were not ones to stand idle while another was put in harm’s way. Into the fray they jumped, and fought by Your side despite their reservations about You.

In the heat of the battle, the acolytes noticed something strange. Those sprayed with Your blood were given increased strength and capability for a short while, until the stain dried and wore off.

Encouraged, they investigated further. Using some of Your blood as war paints extended the duration of the blessing by nearly double, coating their weapons with it would increase the effectiveness of their strikes, and a brave few discovered that ingesting it would boost them all-around for the entirety of the day.

Harken, and rejoice! For irrefutable proof of the Creator’s benevolent presence has been revealed! And You, desperate for their love and acceptance, gave it to them without question.

A beautiful, elaborate temple was built in Your honour, with ceremonial blades scattered throughout the decor and deep channels filled with ever-flowing ambrosia running across the floor. As Your holy blood continued to be spilled, the hue of it began to run a shimmering gold.

Those who sought Your blessings need only visit you in Your temple, bringing offerings of kill trophies and unearthed relics. Then, they would partake of Your divinity by their choice of method, dipping their reverent hands in the rivers of ichor that pulse across the temple grounds.

You haven’t stopped bleeding in months.

It was bearable at first, when the first time the channels were filled You were pleased to discover that they would not run dry for some time. When the acolytes came for lessings, you would only need to refill the trenches every few days.

You asked if they could bring You softer offerings, of sweet foods and thoughtful bouquets. Such shows of softness were dismissed with a laugh. What need did you have for plants, when the strength you gave them could afford you even the rarest and most difficult trophies to obtain?

But the Abyss came. Celestia’s wrathful gaze descended. Your acolytes were fighting a war on two fronts.

They came on their hands and knees, emptying your stores quicker than you could refill them. Eventually, you took to sitting in the golden throne with your preferred blade, sluggishly carving yourself open to ensure the continued survival of your beloved acolytes.

It wasn’t enough.

Please, they begged. Give us the strength You once were able to grant. Show us the stars in your eyes and in your blood once more, that we might fight and win in Your name.

Filled with fear, and hurt, and love, you gave them everything you had left.

Their lips and teeth stained with brilliant auric gore, they took to the fields once again. The Abyss fell before them, the cursed beasts of the land fell into disarray and fled into the winds. Celestia conceded victory.

The acolytes cheered and danced in the aftermath of their slaughter. Eager to show their renewed devotion, they returned home to You.

But Your temple had crumbled, and the deep wells that once held Your pulse have turned to dust. Your blessing was but glittering sand in their mouths as they sort through the rubble to find any traces of You.

There was no way to know who broke first. Your acolytes realized too late the price for Your continued generosity, and squandered Your love on chasing strength and war.

Your temple was rebuilt with petals replacing every blade. The grooves filled with the soil that was steeped with the blood of the fallen, and flowers of all shades of vibrant, terribly human red grew there.

Dendrobium and Mourning flowers. Even the azure Sea ganoderma bloomed in rare patches where water pooled deeper.

Had they loved You as a human and not as a seemingly bottomless resource, would You have stayed? The thought of such a question shamed them. You asked for their love and they’d given You their blades. You asked for sweets and they’d brought you the bones of their enemies.

And yet, You wanted to stay. Even as they literally bled You dry, You had only ever wanted their happiness, no matter the cost.

And heavy was the cost.

[ninjaturtlemaniac]

Part 9 Trolls Headcanons/ Theories/ Thoughts/ Ideas

Part1 Part2 Part3 Part4 Part5 Part6 Part7 Part8 Part10

Trolls - Hard Candy = Hard Drugs 🍭

Boom - Floyd's solo music helped Boom when he was coming out. 🏳️‍🌈

Floyd - high pain tolerance and godlike levels of patience.

Floyd - has been to rehab for hard candy, is currently 10 years sober. Now advocates for health and wellness in Pop Village.

Floyd - Broke up with several ex's when he found they were all only using him for his fame. 💔

Bruce - can and will reorganize someone else's kitchen to what he deems is more efficient.

Bruce - always the first to volunteer to babysit other Troll's kids. Not that he doesn't appreciate his own children, he just loves being about to dote on kids he can actually hold on his hip and carry in his hair. Just being able to do the little Troll things he can't do with his own giant kids.

Bruce - noone on the island knew about his 'past life' except for Brandy. (Canon?)

Clay - had to quit being the Fun Boy cold turkey so that the Putt Putt Trolls would trust in his leadership.

Clay - I imagine a running gag that random Trolls keep calling him Viva's boyfriend/husband, and he keeps trying to correct them, but he is always cut off or they immediately forget. At some point a random Troll is like "What, is Viva not good enough for you?" And he is so exhausted from fighting it, he just gives up and rolls with it.

Clay - will stay up to sunrise reading 'just one more chapter'

John Dory - when doing outdoor work, his brothers silently bet how long it takes before JD is unnecessarily shirtless.

John Dory - ends up helping with raising and handling the critters kept in the village. E.g rearing orphaned Cuddle Pups, shearing the Puffalos, breaking in the Adorabulls, taming wild flyer bugs.

John Dory - when living on his own, he would only come back to civilization just before the start of winter when it would be harder to forage and hunt food. He would spend a week or so stocking up on supplies, interact with the locals, then disappear again.

Rhonda - really likes rolling around in mud, especially after she's just been cleaned. JD > 😑

Random One - the medals that I designed for Clay and Viva's knighthood are supposed to be designed after the Troll Tree.

[partycatty]

liu kang > in the new era

reader used to be a sweetheart and hero in the previous timeline, but something changed this time around.

warnings: :(, i'm a bit of a yapper in this one

notes: idk this one kinda flew off the handle but i had a vision

masterlist <3

•liu kang creating everyone with the strength and humility he carried in thunder god raiden's honor following becoming keeper of time

•he made everyone beautiful, everyone worthy and capable of good, honest work and for that he was proud

•of course, some of them strayed from the ideal path and sought to increase their strength, but perhaps it was always in their character to conquer. that, liu kang couldn't change.

•but you... it was you that he least expected to abandon that honor you always had.

•you were a good fighter, an honest worker and a force to be reckoned with when it came to kicking shao kahn's ass. the shaolins looked up to you. the shirai ryu used you as an example. the lin kuei knew not to fuck with you. the special forces practically begged you to lead their army alongside the Cage-Blade family.

•he could have had you, the romantic attraction was heavily implicated. but alas, the only time you two interacted was during a horrific Koliseum brawl or otherwise breaking bones.

•the last time he saw you was before his battle with kronika. you said you hoped to see him after the battle, and perhaps get to know each other sometime.

•he was sad to see that version of you erased from existence, but you were absolutely first on his list of people to shape. it felt wrong at first, to create you from nothing like the god he was. but he wouldn't be able to make a perfect world without you.

•when he came to your home to recruit you, he was nearly winded with your beauty. you looked just like he remembered, but with an innocent sparkle in your eyes, the eyes that were yet to see murder and magic. skin that wasn't stained with deep red blood. clothes that were neat and ordinary.

•you were always so curious, so willing to step in where you were needed. so it came as no surprise when you asked the fire god where to begin to defend earthrealm.

•months of training passed, and you naturally found that fighting skill. you joked about how it must be in your blood to know how to fight, and liu kang would hold his tongue, his eyes staring down at you with that deep feeling of loss and longing. he would simply smile and innocently agree.

•the time came for you to confront shang tsung in his laboratory and take him in for questioning. you went with the other earthrealmers, yet found yourself naturally leading the way.

•kenshi lost his eyesight, johnny got his shit kicked in, and kung lao got clotheslined. you were the only one of the group to remain conscious. shang tsung inspected you closely, claiming that you were just what he was looking for.

•you go missing for over a month. liu kang gets the help of the royal family despite their lack of knowledge about the mission in the first place. everyone is searching for you, and he has to resist the urge to burn down every forest and smash every boulder until he finds you.

•the hunt for you turns into a search for your body, as most presume you dead. it brings a heavy blanket of depression over the earthrealmers and liu kang.

•liu kang spends far more time than usual in his personal quarters, meditating with a tense posture. how could he let you get away from him? it nearly drives him mad, missing you dearly, but he wouldn't be able to express it. you were your new era self, with no clue about your previous self.

•the mourning only lasts so long before an all-out timeline war begins, and liu kang has to shove past the grief eating away at his godlike heart and gather the titans and heroes of other timelines to band together and defeat titan shang tsung.

•liu kang stands at the foot of the pyramid, fists clenched and jaw shut tight. behind him are hundreds, thousands of pure-hearted titans, ready to combat evil. the tension only grows when titan shang tsung saunters into view, a dark aura surrounding himself.

•"there is nowhere to run, shang tsung," liu kang shouts upward at his mortal enemy, channeling his anger of his lost love. "nowhere to hide. we have banded together to rid all timelines of your evil. the threat you pose to them ends today. in all timelines, the arc of history bends toward justice."

•"such certainty, liu kang, that this battle will end in your favor," shang tsung replies with a devilish smirk, a peculiar confidence radiating from his words. "in this timeline, it bends toward me."

•and from behind shang tsung, you walk out, eyes dark and wearing armor that resembles an enemy. your mind had been corrupted by power. after being captured, you were passed onto titan shang tsung, who knew of your strength and potential from the previous timeline. he filled your mind with ideas of power and endless possibilities at the cost of betraying Earthrealm.

•liu kang does not often feel physical emotion, but seeing you in that moment crushed him. his stance faltered and his arms lowered to his sides. the once innocent glimmer he saw in you was now gone.

•liu kang fights his way up the stairs, sending various evil versions of his friends into the green, hellish pit. he knocked the glasses off of dark star cage, beat kitana kahn into submission, and even took down a fiery scorp lao.

•when he makes his way up to the top, winded but still ready to battle if needed, he feels that pang in his chest return when he sees you stand beside shang tsung in a fighting stance.

•"please... i do not wish to fight you," liu kang tries to reason with you with a hint of desperation. "it is not too late to return to the light."

•"i know of your deceptive behavior, fire god," you reply with a nasty tone, mind corrupted by shang tsung's lies and delusions. "i will not hesitate to take you down."

•liu kang really, really did not want to fight you. he couldn't even use the defense that you weren't his (y/n). but you were. you were from his timeline. he made you, and fucked up. bad.

•all he could do was stand there, fists clenching and unclenching rapidly as he debated his options. but all the while, he held eye contact with you and your snarling face. you looked at him like he was a villain, because you were convinced that he was.

•for the first time in eons, liu kang wondered if resetting the timeline would be best. he knew he shouldn't, he saw what the power did to kronika. but god, it had never been that tempting until this very moment.

[your-local-hoemie]

I saw your praise nsfw post so may i request it with thoma and zhongli next :p

NS!FW. 18+ ONLY!

Come and feed, children. The food is ✨spicy✨

Sorry this took so long!! I’m feeling a lot better now so my creative brain juices are flowin’ again uwu.

Summary: Genshin boy’s with a reader who likes to be praised (just incase ya’ll didn’t see the previous request)

Warnings: Ns!fw, soft smut, public spice (Zhongli), Zhongli also gets a ego™️, swearing, established relationship, Gn!reader, not proof-read, I don’t know what else to put hdjfhdj.

Characters: Zhongli, Thoma.

Zhongli~

I headcanon that this man is one of the most innocent about sex.

Like he knows about it and he knows what it’s for but he’s never had the need to look into it before you.

He’s a little confused at first but he got the spirit.

It doesn’t last long though because his godlike ego inFLATES.

When you moan out his name just a little louder after he praises you, my man couldn’t stop.

Instant turn on.

He enjoys being worshiped after all wink wink

Your relationship with zhongli was extremely honest.

There wasn’t a thing about you that the other didn’t know.

At least so he thought.

Little did he know you’d been hiding the fact that whenever he praised you for doing something, Your heartbeat went just a little bit faster.

One night after coming back from a special anniversary date, your conversation changed to a more intimate topic.

You and Zhongli had done the do once or twice before but you were just too busy with your commissions to have much time or energy to get all steamy, which Zhongli; being the gentleman he is, understood!

So when the conversation started about being a little more intimate, you shyly happened to mention that you really, really liked it when he praised you. A switch in him flipped.

He already enjoyed giving his people praise when it was due.

He was used to them almost begging to be acknowledged by the great geo archon!

But now he’s retired. The only person he wants to show that praise and appreciation for, is you.

So now, you were a little surprised to say the least when you found yourself pressed up against his statue while his fingers worked their magic on your sex, while his pretty lips left equally pretty marks on your neck and shoulder.

Something about the way you squirmed and whimpered out his name whenever he did praise you, sent sparks shooting up his body.

“You’re being so good, darling”

“How does it feel to have your archon praise you like this?”

“Such sweet sounds you make, dear. Why don’t you moan a little louder for your god~”

Needless to say that walking home is definitely going to be a challenge.

Good thing your boyfriend is more than happy to carry you back, all while whispering more praises and all the things he has in store for you when you get home~

Thoma~

Ok ok, hear me out.

I think Thoma has a slightly kinky side to him.

He’s such a sweet, precious boy that he has to have some way he lets out any frustrations that he’s been too kind to bring up to others!

Not to mention, he’s so incredibly in love with you that he’ll do his best to make sure you feel good no matter what!

He also is very much into praising, so if you start doing the same to him while he’s praising you then things will get very spicy, very fast!

You and Thoma were slowly being recognised and Inazuma’s cutest couple.

You worked together as a team almost all the time. Helping people with any problems they had and just generally helping to keep the place as issue free as possible!

That doesn’t mean that I’d was always easy though. Sometimes things would just go wrong for no reason and it left the both of you feeling… frustrated.

And today was one of those days. You had both accidentally over slept leaving not time for your usual morning hugs or kisses before Thoma had to rush off to the Kamisato estate and you had to hurry over to the adventures guild to pick up your daily commissions!

After that things just seemed to go down hill. Not for any particular reason other than you were both just really pent up for some reason and it just kept getting worse.

So you couldn’t really say you were surprised when later that night, Thoma had you sitting on the table, legs around his waste while thrusting his pretty hips into you~

Nothing but both of your moans and curses could be heard throughout your house, along with the soft creaking of the wooden table underneath you while Thoma lovingly nuzzles his face into the crook of you neck.

“Archons, y/n. You feel so good!”

“I needed this so badly, please don’t stop!”

“You look so pretty while I’m inside you, sweetheart!”

After a little while you could help but start giving him praises as well, causing him to rut even more into you while letting out the prettiest of whimpers.

Definitely Inazuma’s cutest couple~

Bruh I’m taking care of a injured baby bird and it’s so loud, like I’m happy it’s recovering but my dude please chill I’m autistic T-T

[dimepdf]

★  𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄. + 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

masterlist. / taglist. / tip jar. synopsis. the lovely feelings Gojo would experience knowing just how vulnerable he was to your roughness.

✧. ┊    notes. everyone thank @ouchthathurts for getting me back on my writing grind, lord knows I need to start posting fics again. | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

✧. ┊    genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni | drabble | slight sub!gojo | hair pulling | strength kink | established relationship | body worship | oral sex(f receiving) | cunnilingus | pussy eating | fingering | overstimulation | multiple orgasms | pain kink(?) | title Inso by this song.

IT WASN'T SHOCKING that everyone thought that Gojo was significantly stronger than he had ever shown anyone.

It was also just the fact that he never really felt the need to flaunt the mass extreme of his abilities in front of others out of the pure amount of boredom he would feel being all serious and how tiresome he would feel wasting his time fighting all the damn time, surprisingly, including over performing in front of you as well.

Because of this, it was only logical to assume from an outside perspective that he was the "strong" one in your relationship. Even if the blue-eyed man did not have an unfair advantage over you with his supernatural abilities, he would still be the one to carry the weight of having the most powerful legacy within his bored, lengthy fingertips from his hidden lean build.

Gojo frequently outshone you in strength, and that was just a result of your extreme inability to even remotely compare to the godlike level of power he possessed. However, as the saying goes, behind every strong man is an even stronger woman.

Gojo can recall the number of times your influence has caused him to feel genuine fear, even though you weren't unable to destroy demons with the snap of a finger, and that you have not shed a few tears after stubbing your toe on something.

Despite all of this, Gojo would openly admit that you were the only living thing to ever manage to strike genuine fear into his heart, as well as the only living being to actually harm him in any way.

There were times when you weren't even aware of your strength. Gojo would still wince when you would find something just too funny to the point where your body would react on its own, playfully slapping him on the shoulder or whacking the front of his chest, too caught up in your fit of giggles to see that you would manage to catch him off guard enough to knock some air out of the poor man's lungs.

So sure, Gojo had his powers, but you were strong in your way. And the mere idea of it would be enough to get your boyfriend worked up all by itself.

When you're with Gojo, you don't even bother to hold back, and he admits that he adores that about you a little too much on his part.

His silvery white hair was caught between each of your knuckles, Your nails not letting up from their death grip, and your fist balled up at the front of his scalp as his mouth parted, leaving wet kisses between your inner thighs to let out a needy vocal reaction from the tug you had at his scalp.

The raw, intimate feeling of Gojo’s mouth teasing at your sensitive clit made it impossible for your hips not to jerk against your soft duvet bedding, even despite his locked-in hold around the bones of your hips. the small indents of his fingers already leaving small marks that you both knew would mix with the warming brown of your skin into a bruising color later.

Even with his hands holding you in place, your hips somehow still managed to buck against his hold so easily, the newfound strength building from the promise of your third orgasm of the night fighting against the man with impossible ease.  

You don't even realize that your hips are rolling involuntarily to the clouded thoughts littering your thoughts as you eagerly press Gojo's face closer between your legs, a low moan of impatience escaping from your throat, wanting him to do nothing more than settle the building orgasm that rudely threatened the proper wire of all your nerves.

Without embarrassment, his long finger's piston inside of you knuckle-deep, pairing almost too perfectly with the warmth of his tongue. The lewd, wet sounds reverberate through your shared master bedroom, making your body flush with a sweating sense of heat.

He made you feel so good that it almost started to hurt. Convinced at the thought of your bones having melted into some type of putty in Gojo's grip, and yet the sight of him lying on his stomach between your parted legs, with one knee bent lazily over his shoulder—the muscle tremor was barely noticeable if it weren't for the twitch of your toes, with the other one folded up—could barely be made through the tears that clung to your lashes.

Your breath was almost heaving at the piercing blue eye contact you had gotten back, and the flutter of his long white lashes almost tickled you as they brushed against the plush of your inner thighs. You could tell he was smiling with the telltale crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he would squint, despite his mouth being all too preoccupied with eating your pussy.

As he coaxed another orgasm from your poor, trembling body, you felt as if he was holding you captive. The whimpering release tensed you farther into your euphoria, having you lean your head back against your pile of pillows.

Your fist clenches tighter into Gojo’s locks at the slight slapping noise of your thighs squeezing together with Gojo’s face smothered and caged between the thick of them.

It takes a few moments along with a few breaths for you to come down from your climax, your legs unsensing and shifting quickly to something comparable to jelly as Gojo frees himself from your plush prison, wanting to laugh at whoever would consider you weak with a deep sigh accompanied by an all too happy famous beaming smirk.

🔖 @souljagrldotcom / @toji-dabi-wife / @dilfs-lover / @venussakura / @mimixrx2 / @unheolybakugo / @dunixxd / @songbirdgardensworld / @s-witch-bitch / @chloee0x0 / @kawatabae / @haitaniwhor3 / @pluzo / @momoewn / @angel-luv-04 / @laylasbunbunny / @celi-xxmoon / @sheluvzeren / @kogoshidied / @sacvh / @disaster-rose / @zombieghoulfriend / @hoohoohope / @thisbicc / @jadeisthirsting / @zuuki / @rumi-rants / @kiyomeichann / @anotherlovelyruin / @lone-poltergeist / @wenumsmol / @namidaass / @justanotherkpopstanlol / @awkwardaardvarkforever / @lexiinanime / @melty-kisses / @kageyama-i-want-tobiors / @crissteetee / @princesstiti14 / @watyousayin / @ziggy-09 / @carcarmeowmeow19 / @p-rizz-ha / @lilvampirina / @atsumubabe / @lialia3945 / / @innocxntdexth / @simpforsat0ru / @inumakiiz /

tap here to be added to taglist.

[lacroixqueen]

made your mark on me, a golden tattoo tattoo artist sevika x reader AU (18+)

Summary: you are getting your very first tattoo and sevika just so happens to be your tattoo artist. flirting and sexual tension ensue.

Pairing: tattoo artist sevika x reader AU

Word Count: 3357 (she's LONG)

Tags: soft sevika, unresolved tension, useless lesbians, gay panic, tattoo artist, tattoos, tattoo parlor

You shifted around the seat in the waiting room of the tattoo parlor for what felt like the hundredth time in the span of a single minute. For some reason you were a lot less nervous on the way here than you were literally waiting for your tattoo artist to set up the room and look over your art samples. You told yourself that this was something you were going to get done if it was the last thing you did. 

I mean, for God’s sake, it was a brand new year, and you wanted your first tattoo to be something special, to carry meaning that only you will understand. Kind of like a little inside joke. 

Apparently the tattoo artist you selected.. Sevika was it? Was quite well known throughout Zaun for several amazing masterpieces. She was attentive to detail, cared about each and every single one of her customer’s needs, and really wanted to make the best product possible for her clientele. 

You crossed one leg over the other, folding your arms across your chest and heaved out a little sigh. She better damn well be. The waiting list for her business was about three months long. You made sure to do plenty of research before committing to something as permanent as a tattoo. I mean, it will stay on your body for the rest of your life. Perhaps even into your death. 

You shuddered at the thought. Whatever. No matter what, it was far too late to turn back now. You already submitted your deposit, gave the artist the design you had in mind and for crying out loud, you were already here at the goddamn place. So might as well get this over with and try to have as few regrets as possible.

“Y/N?” a low and raspy voice called out from the back of the tattoo parlor. “I’m ready for you. You can come on back now.”

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. She was ready for you. Okay. What does that even mean? You stood up, dusting off your skirt and took a final big deep breath. 

Just stay calm, you reassured yourself. Everything will be alright in the end. And if it isn’t, heck, maybe there is a surgeon in town who can remove it altogether and you can forget this even happened. Maybe that’s a bit of an overexaggeration. 

You were greeted by what you could only describe as one of the most beautiful women you have ever seen. Sevika was tall. And just by the looks of her right shoulder and arm muscles bulging from underneath her black tank… you could tell she worked out. Like a lot. She was also smoking a thick cigar between her lips, so her already godlike silhouette was wrapped around in a dreamlike haze.

You muttered a little curse under your breath. As if matters couldn’t get possibly worse, your tattoo artist was hot. As in, very very very hot. This was going to be a long afternoon. 

“You can take a seat right here,” she said with confidence, slapping the tattoo bed with a resounding echo. 

“Oh, uh, yes okay,” you stammered, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before hoisting yourself up in a less than dignified fashion.

 

“Are you nervous, Y/N?” 

Oh no. From the corner of your eye, you could see she was smirking quite noticeably. Her eyes flicked over you just slightly. Shit. Was she checking you out? You didn’t even do your makeup properly today because you had no idea what she even looked like. If you had known earlier that she was this drop dead gorgeous piece perhaps you would have put in a bit more effort. You win some, you lose some, you suppose. 

“J-just a little bit!” you squeaked out. “It’s my first tattoo, so I have no idea what to expect.”

“Well, let me just tell you that you have absolutely nothing to be nervous about, Y/N,” Sevika chuckled as she slid closer to you on her artist chair with your designs in either hand. “If I ever hurt you, you can always tell me to stop and I’ll go slower, okay?”

“Thank you!” Oh god. She smelled so good too.

“Of course. Sooo.. I got to take a look at your ideas last night and I honestly think they are great.” You watched as the thumb of her mechanical hand peeled back a page to glance at the alternate design. 

“Really? You think so?”

“Absolutely. Although I think for this bottom part right here, we might need to make a small color adjustment since there might be some shading issues. And for the top corner here where it gets a little bit more complicated? I think I might do a little bit more dotwork to really flesh out the details. But uh, other than that, the stencil is essentially done.”

“Wow! Then, yes, perfect, let's just keep going then,” you gulped. Your eyes casually glazed over the extensive tattooing Sevika had all over her arm and neck.

“Excellent. So, I’ll just have you lay back and.. you wanted it on your side, right? Just lift up your top for me so I can have easy access to that part.”

“Oh um, sure!” You did as you were told, carefully unbuttoning your sweater and shrugging it off your shoulders. You then laid back, and lifted up your cami to reveal the right aspect of your body. 

“Lovely,” she replied. “And.. may I?” Her mechanical fingertips lightly grazed over the top of your skirt. 

You nodded vigorously. “Of course!” 

With the most gentle touch you have ever felt, Sevika gingerly tugged your skirt down a little bit more so it rested comfortably on the roundest part of your right hip. She did the same with the pink lacy fabric of the thong you had on underneath. You tried to take a small breath as quietly as possible. 

“Cute panties,” she commented almost a bit too nonchalantly before turning her back to you to slip on some latex gloves and ensure her work tray was all in order. 

As if you weren’t already flustered beyond belief, now you might as well have been an uncontrollable mess. “Th-thanks! It’s from um, the store.”

She laughed ever so slightly. “Yeah, I figured as much. Sooo.. for the design. Were you thinking of having it more..” She trailed her gloved fingertip from your pantyline to the top of your chest. “Or more like here?” She ran her other hand over the curve of your waist all the way down to your hip. 

“Uhm.. maybe kind of like.. both? If that makes sense? Like it can sort of spread from..” You gently took her wrist and guided her finger from your belly button all the way to the divot in your waist. “Like that?”

“Hmm.. yes. That should be perfectly fine.” She smirked a bit when you immediately released her arm from your grasp as if you were overstepping a boundary.

 

Without another word, she quickly sprayed some isopropyl alcohol into a wipe and proceeded to sanitize the area. “This might be a bit cold, I’m sorry babe.”

Babe? Did she just call you babe? Does she call all her clients babe? Or is it a little pet name that she only has reserved for you? 

“I-it’s totally fine!” you yelped. But she was right. It was quite cold. She could tell you were lying through your teeth when your tummy suddenly clenched up. 

“You can’t tense up just yet, doll. I haven’t even gotten the needles out,” she chuckled, lightly slapping your hip. “I need you to loosen up a bit, I don’t want you to be too tight.”

“R-right!” you replied. “Definitely don’t want that.” After a brief pause, you struggled to figure out if there was any sort of double meaning in her words. Or maybe you were just overthinking again. 

She let out another hearty laugh and proceeded to massage in some warm lotions into the side of your body. “Just try to relax, hun.” You did as you were told, closing your eyes and making a futile attempt to count numbers. But she wasn’t making your life any easier with all these pet names. And why did her fingers have to feel so goddamn good simply by rubbing cream into your skin. It felt like it was working some type of dark magic, undulating in soft, round circles and moving rhythmically over your waist. 

You could have melted into her hands right then and there. 

“Okay, and now the stencil. This will feel a little bit wet, alright?”

You nodded your head, biting your lip so you wouldn’t accidentally yelp out. For some odd reason, even though you two just met, you felt very safe with Sevika. Like you could entrust your entire body and soul to her and she wouldn’t hurt any of it even if she was fully capable of doing so. 

She smoothed out the stencil exactly over the part of your stomach and waist that you pointed to. She gently kneaded it into your skin, taking extra caution not to be too rough with you. 

With one smooth motion, she removed the stencil and quickly leaned over you to ensure no detail of her handiwork got disrupted. That no stone was left unturned. 

“Looks… just about.. perfect,” she muttered quietly. You could tell her tone has shifted slightly from the flirtatious one she took on earlier. Suddenly she was laser focused, ensuring that nothing, absolutely nothing would disturb the intricacy of her artwork. 

“Great!” you chirped awkwardly, craning your neck over to see the stencil art. Good god. It looked absolutely breathtaking. Her line work was truly something out of this world. And she really did pay attention to every single request you made in your design. “Wow.”

She looked up, locking your gaze with the utmost intensity. “Yeah.” A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She was quite pleased with herself. 

She turned around to power on her tattoo machine. 

“This part is going to hurt just a little bit, okay?” she spun around in her artist chair to check on you.

 

You nodded your head and exhaled ever so slightly. “Okay.” A giant lump was starting to form in your throat and you could feel yourself getting a bit worked up. 

Sevika immediately held onto your hand and gave it a light squeeze. “If it ever starts hurting, just let me know and I will stop right away.”

“O-okay.”

“We’ll start with the first line. Take a deep breath and count to three for me, alright princess?” Sevika said as she positioned the tattoo gun at an angle to your skin. 

Oh my god. Princess?! She definitely does not call all her clients that. Alright. Big deep breath. One.. two.. three- 

The searing hot needle pierced into your skin like a knife. 

“Ah~!” you let out a small cry and Sevika immediately stopped midline.

 

“Too fast?”

“A little bit.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll go a lot slower this time.”

You nodded and took in another breath. You felt Sevika’s gloved hand slide over the curve of your waist as she positioned herself to gain a little bit more control over her line. By god did her cologne smell amazing. When she leaned over your body, a few short pieces of her bangs would fall out and just barely graze over your exposed tummy. It was definitely getting a bit difficult for you to concentrate on your breathing and counting. 

Sevika proceeded to carve out the central line of your tattoo design. She worked slowly and methodically, usually in complete silence. But for some reason when she was around you, she felt the urge to keep pushing the envelope and testing your limits. 

“Good girl,” she would coo gently when she noticed your stomach beginning to relax. 

“That’s my good girl..” she would say again when she finished a piece of detailing while you stayed quiet and still. 

You would moan softly every now and then when you felt the needle dig into your skin and Sevika would respond by going just a touch slower and smirking to herself. Secretly, she loved hearing how adorable and helpless her clients sounded when she sank the tattoo needle deep into their skin. Her sadistic nature was one of the primary reasons she decided to go into tattooing as a prime business. 

To have someone completely in her control, at her disposal. To leave a permanent mark on their bodies that would forever remind them of their experience with her. To watch them writhe in pain, or sometimes even pleasure. It was like a drug she simply could not get enough of. 

And you. Something about the way you squirmed was extra fucking enticing and she couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

In fact, she could feel you wriggling ever so slightly even now. “Stay still for me, angel.”

And you would immediately stop. Her voice was soft, but also definitively commanding. She needed to focus. To have you moaning and writhing was too much even for her. Her mind would begin to wander to dangerous places. 

Like how it would feel to start ramming into your cunt right then and there and watching how your sensitive body would react to her thrusts. How irresistible and beckoning your moans would sound as they ricocheted off the walls, encouraging her to pound into you so rough and so hard you just couldn’t take it anymore. How cute you would look clutching onto your sweater for comfort, or holding onto the sides of the tattoo bed for dear life. 

You would be lying if you said you weren’t fantasizing about a million hypothetical scenarios in your head. 

Having Sevika press her bicep over the top of your stomach to hold you still just did something to your psyche that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Your eyes danced over the detailing of her own tattoo. It looked to be very intricate and well-thought out… wait a second. Was that supposed to be Zaun?! 

“Um, I-I like your tattoo!” you chirped meekly. “It’s really beautiful.”

“Thanks baby,” she smirked to herself. “I designed it myself, actually.”

“Do.. you call all your clients that?” you asked out of the curiosity that was beginning to kill you slowly. 

Sevika suddenly paused in the middle of her tattooing to glance over at you.

 

“Only my favorite ones,” she said with a wink before returning to her work. 

Oh my god. Why does she keep doing that? It’s starting to become unfair. Like she was getting off the high of torturing you and watching your pathetic reactions. And what did she mean by “favorite ones”? So she flirts with all her clients she finds attractive? What does that even mean?!

Every now and then, Sevika would sneak a glimpse over towards you. She loved the way your chain necklace rested so comfortably over the top of your collarbone. Or how plump and kissable your lips looked in the dim lighting of the parlor. Or how your legs were beginning to spread instinctively the closer her tattoo work moved to the top of your skirt. 

Sevika had to fight every last urge in her body to not reach down into your panties and start pleasuring you the way you deserved right then and there on top of that tattoo bed. But she knew she had a job to finish, regardless of how damn adorable you looked and sounded as she drew on the finishing touches of your tattoo. 

“Okay.. almost done,” she said. “You are doing so good, sweetheart.”

You winced a little bit when you felt the needle dig just a bit deeper than usual at the last pattern. Was she trying to tease you back there? Or was that absolutely necessary to finish off the line? Whatever. You tried not to overthink it, even though you have been doing so this entire time. 

“Alright..” Sevika hummed. “Why don’t you step off the bed and take a look in the mirror over there?” 

You did as you were told, hopping off and hobbling over to the full-length mirror across the room. You tilted your head to the side, gently lifting up your cami again to look over the tattoo. Wow. She really did a stunning job. You were a bit surprised, given the fact that she was flirting with you half the time. But holy.. every single piece of line art and dot work flowed so evenly with each other. The design came out exactly the way you had imagined it. 

Sevika gave out a low whistle of approval from behind you. 

You jumped a little bit out of surprise. Sevika had snuck up on you without you even noticing. And god. Just by looking in the mirror she was already towering over you. 

“It’s… beautiful,” you said softly. “It’s exactly what I wanted.”

“That’s wonderful,” Sevika replied. “Now, can you take your cami off for me, Y/N?”

“M-my cami?”

Sevika chuckled and raised up the medical grade bandage she had in her hand. “For this.” 

“Oh. Right. Yes. Absolutely.”

You gently tugged off your shirt and tossed it onto a nearby countertop to reveal a pink lacy bra. Sevika tried not to comment on it but she did in fact take note of how good you looked in it. And how badly she wanted to take it off you right then and there. 

Sevika stepped forward so she placed her thigh between your legs and carefully laid the clear bandage over the top of your tattoo. She gently rubbed it in with her thumb and index finger, making sure to smooth out any uneven edges or creases. She smiled a bit to herself when she felt how hard and fast your heartbeat was pounding against your stomach, or how much warmer your skin felt compared to before. 

“Perfect,” she said, quickly removing her gloves and handing you back your shirt. “So, for this bandage, think of it as like a second layer of skin that offers extra protection. Leave it on for the next few days. Then I would rinse it off with some warm water. Oh and, definitely moisturize.” Her tone shifted from flirtatious to professional and matter-of-fact in what felt like a split second. How did she keep doing that?!

“Y-yes ma’am!” you sputtered out, returning to the tattoo bed to shrug on your sweater and gather your belongings. 

“And the payment is already taken care of since I saw you submitted your deposit in advance, so I believe you are all set,” Sevika said. 

“Great! Um.. thank you Sevika. I was super nervous going into this but you definitely made me feel a whole lot better afterwards.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she replied, giving you another flirty grin. “Oh, and uh-” The tattoo artist went behind the front counter to dig around a bit until she fished out a slightly bent business card and handed it over to you. “Call me.”

“C-call you?! As in like- Oh my god. I’m.. not sure if I would feel.. I mean, isn’t this kind of fast?”

“I meant to update me on your tattoo healing,” Sevika chuckled. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself, princess.”

“Right, right, no yes that makes total and complete sense,” you responded, folding the business card nervously into your palm. “Um.. well I guess I’ll.. call you.”

“Yeah.” She had already followed you to the doorframe and you were standing in the streets of the undercity at this point. “I’ll see you around, alright Y/N?”

“Okay! Yes. Um. Bye! Thank you!” You quickly scurried off into the busy crowds of Zaun, disappearing into the darkness once more. 

You were quite certain that if you didn’t act, that you would barely see Sevika again, save an occasional run-in at the liquor store or maybe a random night at The Last Drop. So you didn’t want to take any chances.

[n3zhka]

Если бы вы действительно были помощником(?) Дотторе

･ﾟ✧ ヽ｀、☁ヽ

To begin with, he doesn't need an assistant at all, and Dottore won't cherish and carry you in his arms just because you are his so called "assistant", rather you will be a target for his bullying. ;3

- Dottore will never talk to you except for some weird comments from him about you that will stick in your head for a long time, but at least it's not as bad as dying at the hands of that freak on the cold steel of the operating table.

- Meeting him outside of the lab will be a rarity, because most of the time he's poking around in places where dumbasses aren't allowed (well, the man who claims to be godlike knows better).

- Over time, even just being there will cause fear and an influx of horrible memories of the doctor that almost makes you shiver.

ㅤㅤㅤ