#cruelty mean wicked

[witchlingcirce]

“Someone important is gonna die in twp :(“ yeah and I think we all know who it’s gonna be

[nikibogwater]

Actually while I'm thinking about it, I just wanna say that the more live-action remakes Disney shlups out like shoveled manure, the more amazed I am that Cinderella (2015) exists. It breaks literally every standard of Disney's LA remakes.

It's not a shot-for-shot remake of the original 1950 animated film, though it does include small references and homages to it, but only when such things can be incorporated organically into the story.

The creators understood and respected the cross-cultural significance of the Cinderella story. They didn't want to "fix" it, or add some wacky twist to it, they just wanted to make the best possible version of the Quintessential Cinderella that they could.

Everything that could be done practically was done practically. The carriage was a real, the horses pulling it were real, and all of the other animals (with the exception of the mice and lizards, since their performance was a lot more involved than the others') were real living animals, the lizard footman and goose carriage driver were wearing prosthetics instead of just having their animal features added in post, the Fairy Godmother's dress had little LED lights sewn into it so that it would actually glow for real, the ballroom set was built by hand and included real chandeliers with more than 2000 total candles that were all actually lit for the scene, and I could go on but you get the point.

There's a ton of attention paid to little details that make the world feel real and lived in. Ella's shoes are always a little scuffed and dirty. Her farm dress is faded and wrinkled. When she breaks down and runs away to the woods, she rides her horse bareback (which, once again, was a thing Lily James actually did, no stunt-double or editing in post), because not only is that something a country girl like her would know how to do, but it also makes sense that with as upset as she is, she wouldn't want to waste time with saddling the horse. When she's dancing with the prince, it's visually obvious that he is leading her and giving her cues because of course Ella wouldn't know the latest ballroom dances, and would need him to guide her through it.

Hey speaking of dancing, y'know what else this movie does that no other LA remake has been allowed to do (at least not to this extent)? ROMANCE. Land sakes alive, this is one of the most unabashedly and yet still tastefully romantic movies I've ever seen. Ella and Kit are just oozing romantic chemistry from the moment they lock eyes for the first time. It all comes down to the fact that these two characters both have the same core values of courage and kindness, which makes their admiration for each other feel grounded and believable. Richard Madden also really sells Kit's feelings for Ella with the way his eyes go all big and soft whenever he looks at her. And don't even get me started on Lily's performance as Ella. Her quiet awe that someone as powerful as the prince loves her. The timidity and fear that she's not really worthy of that. The selfless determination to protect him from her family's cruelty, even if it means she'll never see him again, I'm just-- *banging my fist against the table and screaming into a pillow*

Absolutely god-tier costume design. No notes, I think Sandy Powell's work speaks for itself. Btw, in case you were somehow still wondering, yes, Ella's ballgown is fully practical--those layers upon layers of dreamy silk skirts are real. CG was only used to brighten up the blue color to make her stand out from the crowd more.

Wicked stepmother was allowed to actually be wicked. The movie never tries to make you sympathize with Lady Tremaine, or shift the blame off to someone else. And her villainy is given an extra layer of depth with the reveal that she is a dark reflection of Ella. They've both lost people they loved, but where Ella refused to let her grief get in the way of kindness, Lady Tremaine became utterly consumed by it. She views the death of her first husband as a sort of twisted justification for pursuing all her worst impulses. She despises Ella for her ability to flourish even while enduring terrible suffering, for being everything Lady Tremaine was either unable or flat-out refused to be.

Also Cate Blanchet absolutely SLAYS in this role. Hands-down my favorite portrayal of the wicked stepmother character.

Anyways, TLDR: Cinderella (2015) is the only Disney live-action remake that can justify its own existence and that's because it actively defies everything the LA remakes are today.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

tell me again that you hate me

a/n: i kinda just poured all of the filth ever into this one fic... you're welcome.

summary: “you know, I could help you. Pop that little cherry for you,” he shrugged as if he didn’t seem out of his mind for what he was brashly uttering, “you desperately need it, that fucking stick up your ass makes you such a bitch to be around. But no one is gonna wanna bang you, I mean, maybe you could be kinda hot if you weren’t such a fucking loser, if you didn’t dress like a fucking pogue, but I don’t think anyone would commit social suicide like that. So, I’ll take care of it. Fix that problem for the good of everyone else.” 

warnings: bully!stepbro!rafe cameron x virgin!reader, smut, dark content, dubcon/noncon, enemies to lovers, rafe is in college while reader is still in high school (everyone is over 18), blackmail, alcohol consumption, allusion to drug use, drunk driving, hidden cameras, panty stealing, references to somno, possessiveness, kissing, loss of virginity, size kink, belly bulge, pain kink, dirty talk, impact play, oral, pussyjob, just the tip, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, cumplay, no aftercare and not really any foreplay, public sex, rafe is mean and pervy and dark but it's all fun because it's just a silly fantasy

word count: 5153

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Your life had turned into a living nightmare.

You thought that when your high school bully graduated, you’d finally get rid of him. But little did you know what the future held in store, just who your own mother would decide to marry and what particular family you’d be forced to fuse with. 

Rafe Cameron had been the bane of your existence for years. Sure, when you’d first met him, you admittedly had a bit of a crush on him, but that was until he noticed you and truly showed you the notorious bully that he was. And now that he, the very person who had turned your teenage years into literal hell, had become your stepbrother, you couldn’t wait to get out of there, move halfway across the globe just to never see his face again. 

It also didn’t help matters that you got situated in the room right next to his, even had to share a Jack and Jill bathroom with him. 

Now what you didn’t know was how Rafe’s feelings truly were towards you. How he only started bullying you because you made him feel some type of way that no other chick did, but you came from the wrong side of the island, so getting those feelings out in the form of cruelty only seemed natural to a guy such as him. You had no idea that it was actually you whom he thought about every time he jerked off on the other side of that incredibly thin wall you shared, or even that his wicked fascination with you only seemed to grow now that you were a part of the family. 

The impatient knocks were no use, so swiftly you swung the door to Rafe’s bedroom open. He was nowhere in sight, but before you could turn around to search for him in another place, the light that his computer monitor blared out into the space caught your eye.

Your vision however grew wide as soon as you saw the taboo tab that was open. It was porn, but not just any porn. The open page was littered with rows and rows of graphic videos that all fell under the stepsister search he had typed in. 

Frozen in your stance, you wanted to sprint out of there, though at the same time, some part of you wanted to inch closer and snoop further. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” a voice blared from behind you and caused you to jump.

Skittering away from the desk, you spotted the familiar buzzcut standing in the doorway. 

“I–, uh,” you swallowed and recalled the reason for your hunt, “my mom’s forcing me to go to that party at Topper’s tonight.”

“Okay, and?” he scoffed. 

“And so, because I don’t really do that sort of thing–”

“Because you’re a fucking loser who never gets invited.”

“Because I have better things to spend my Friday nights doing, your father wanted you to keep an eye on me and to make sure I got home safe.”

The only way you were gonna get through the night was if you got as wasted as possible.

Which is exactly what you ended up doing. 

When the clock chimed two, the raging headache you were developing from the blaring music convinced you to finally call it a night. You’d given it enough of a chance, enough experience to go home and state that partying simply wasn’t for you. 

But if you didn’t find the literal demon of a stepbrother and let him complete his end of the bargain, then maybe your mom wouldn’t believe you alone and force you to go to another. 

However, locating him turned out to be a much more difficult task than you’d thought. As you stumbled around the massive house, supporting your wobbly weight on the walls as you peeked into each of the rooms where some partygoers had migrated to, you soon dug your phone out of your jeans and dialled up his number. 

It was on the third attempted call that you finally stumbled into him. Sitting with a random blonde on his lap and the remnants of a mysterious white powder dusting the coffee table separating you from him. 

“There you are,” you grumbled, “I’ve been trying to call you!”

His expression turned sour as he noticed your presence, swiftly flipping his phone around as it layed on the table, though the caller ID that lit up the screen wasn’t of your name as your phone still buzzed in your palm to get through to him. Instead, it spelt out fleshlight in big bold letters. 

“So, you have,” he exhaled, “what do you want?” 

“I wanna go home,” you shoved your phone back in your pocket. 

“So, go home. What do you want my fucking permission? Are you that obsessed with me?”

“You have to take me home,” you reminded him, though when he began to laugh in your face, you shot back, “or you can just deal with your dad yourself when you get home. Your choice if you wanna keep being in his good graces or not.” 

That managed to shut him up. Though as he reluctantly pushed the blonde aside and got up from the couch, he muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “fucking prude,” like a curse on the wind just before he marched passed you and grabbed a hold of your arm to drag you with him. 

“Ow, Rafe, you’re hurting me!” you tried to tear yourself free of his grip. 

“Oh, shut up you baby, no I’m not. You wanna feel what does hurt?” his long fingers then dug further into your flesh and caused it to actually ache, “this.”

As he pushed open the front door, you whined, “ow, please stop,” but when he finally did, he only traded the grasp out with a light shove to your shoulder, directing you further towards his parked car. 

When you were planted in the passenger seat with your gaze firmly fixed out the window as the dark streets rolled by, you crossed your arms and mumbled, “I hate you…” gaining enough courage from the dizzying alcohol ravaging your system to utter it out loud. 

“What was that?” Rafe cast a glance in your direction.

Twisting your neck to glare back at him, you hesitantly repeated, “I hate you,” though the faint flicker of bravery you’d acquired was snuffed out as swiftly as it ignited when you saw the smirk that bloomed on your stepbrother’s features. 

“Aw, don’t tell me that, princess,” he chuckled, “you’ll just make me hard.” 

Eyes widening, they briefly fluttered down to the crotch of his trousers before you blinked away, a reaction that was evidently satisfying enough for Rafe to cause him to keep going. 

“But you probably wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway.”

“I know what to do,” you said defensively, though regretted your humouring him as soon as the words slipped out past your lips. 

“Oh yeah? Just how would you know that? Everyone knows you’re a fucking virgin,” something he was to blame for, though that wasn’t a fact you ever had to know. You didn’t have to be aware of just how many times he had stopped guys from asking you out, just because he wanted you all to himself, “but are you secretly a perv, sis? Is that how you think you know what to do?”

“Don’t call me that,” you cringed lightly. 

“What? A perv? Or sis? Don’t you wanna be reminded that you’re my stepsister?”

“Not particularly...”

As the car curved into the driveway to Tanny Hill, an offer suddenly rolled off Rafe’s tongue. 

“You know, I could help you. Pop that little cherry for you,” he shrugged as if he didn’t seem out of his mind for what he was brashly uttering, “you desperately need it, that fucking stick up your ass makes you such a bitch to be around. But no one is gonna wanna bang you, I mean, maybe you could be kinda hot if you weren’t such a fucking loser, if you didn’t dress like a fucking pogue, but I don’t think anyone would commit social suicide like that. So, I’ll take care of it. Fix that problem for the good of everyone else.” 

Your mouth hung agape as the vehicle rolled to a stop, the sudden shift made you fear that your latest drink would come up again. 

Utterly stunned, you couldn’t form a single word as you stared back at him. 

“I mean, it’s what you want, isn’t it?” he went on, turning in his seat to gaze over at you, already undressing you with his eyes, “haven’t you always had the hots for me?”

“I–…” it felt as if the car was swaying around even though it stood completely still, “…I drank way too much tonight, and I think you might have as well.”

“You’re drunk?” darkness glinted in his eyes, “well, I honestly don’t know if I should be impressed or run inside and wake everyone up so you can get grounded for fucking ever,” he laughed. 

“No!” you gasped, “You can’t tell them, please! I–…” you felt tears begin to sting the corners of your eyes and blur up your already hazy vision, “fuck!” 

Leaning even further back in his seat, he cocked his head, “I mean, I could also keep it a secret…” the tip of his tongue mischievously slipped out to poke his lip, “for the right price, that is.”

“Seriously?” you glared back at him, “are you serious right now?”

Capturing your hand, he swiftly brought it to the palpable tent in his pants, “do I not seem serious?” his eyes narrowed ever so slightly to a squint. 

Your lips parted in shock, stare flickering away from his eyes to spot how he ever so slightly pressed your palm down against him. 

He was so hard that you could nearly feel his pulse through the fabric of his trousers. 

“I mean, really I’d be helping you out,” your gaze stayed glued to how his broad hand engulfed your own a moment longer before you glanced up to find his unwavering stare once more, “so you should really thank me for both keeping your secret and doing you such a massive favour…”

As a shaky breath escaped your lungs, you whispered once more, “I hate you…”

But the proclamation only conjured a smile to appear on his lips, “tell me again,” and he leaned in a bit closer.

“I hate y–,” but you didn’t get the last bit out as Rafe then crashed his lips against yours.

It took a second for you to react with anything other than a surprised whimper, but when you did, it was slow and cautious compared to his boldness. 

A string of saliva strung you together as he eventually parted from you. Offering himself a small caress, he pressed your palm down against him one last time before he let you go. His breathing was heavy as he momentarily let his thumb trace your bottom lip, briefly slipping it crudely in your mouth, before uttering, “get inside.”  

Why, after all of this time, after all of the pain and torture he alone made you go through, why did he still have to give you butterflies the way that he did?

It was your room that he led you to, a hand ever rooted on you as you made the journey. At first, you thought it was because he saw the way you occasionally stumbled over your own feet, but perhaps it was just in case you wanted to make a run for it, just a precaution, a safety net already halfway over you. 

“Take your clothes off,” he commanded in a cold tone as he shut the door behind you. 

“W-what?” you turned to look back at him.

Sitting down on the edge of your bed, he repeated, “take your clothes off,” though they came out sounding slightly impatient. 

He palmed himself through his pants as you slowly began to strip. Though as you’d shyly peeled your t-shirt off and dropped it to the floor, his voice halted you just as you began to undo your jeans. 

“Stop,” his voice cut the thick air like a knife, “turn around when you pull those down,” you twisted away from him as your thumbs sank into either side of the waistband, “and do it slowly,” he made you put on a show, ogling as you gradually revealed the curve of your ass, “that’s it…” he nearly moaned as your pants crumbles to the floor, “bra and panties too, princess. Unless of course, you’re backing out of our deal already.”

Clenching your jaw, you squeezed your eyes shut and shed the rest, ignoring his soft wolf whistles and crude comments as you exposed yourself. 

Slowly turning back around to face him, your hands were clasped before you out of sheer timidness and not knowing what to do with them. 

“You gonna stand over there all night?” he raised his chin slightly.

When your feet stood rooted right before his seated position on the bed, your hands began to fiddle as he pulled his shirt over his head and caused your pulse to somehow beat even harder than it already did. 

One of his palms then scooped up your stomach and briefly grabbed one of your tits before scooping you closer, “come here,” and utilised his leverage to toss you down on the bed beside him, “let me get a good look at you.” 

Grabbing for the bedsheets as the mattress momentarily bounced beneath your spine, you blinked up at Rafe as he sat next to you, twisting his form and craning down to near your core. 

You tried to clamber your legs shut, embarrassed for what his cruel reaction might be, but he was not only faster, but stronger than you, and grabbed a hold of your thighs. As he split you apart, his lips curled up into a grin. 

“Look at you… fuck,” he let out a short chuckle, “this is gonna be fun.” 

A gasp curled out of your frame as he then grazed his thumb over your folds, smearing some of the mortifying wetness that seeped out and made you feel even more intoxicated than you already were. He lightly spread you apart and studied intently your dripping pussy, how it looked, how it glistened and how your little hole twitched when he lightly circled your clit. 

“Oh, you like this, don’t you?” he rubbed your puffy pearl with a mean lightness that caused your hips to buck slightly, “you like it when your big stepbrother touches you like this?” but when you didn’t reply, he reached down and grabbed your jaw, angling it for you to meet his eye, “answer me.”

“I–… y-yes,” you quietly admitted, feeling as if you were in some strange dream. 

“Of course you do, you dirty little girl,” he bent down again to gaze at your pussy a little too close for your taste, “I knew you were a slut since the moment I met you.”

Letting go of your face, he then snaked his free hand down to give himself an ounce of relief. 

“You know, part of me doesn’t even wanna prep you with my fingers first,” he smirked and let his fingertips sweep down to tickle your entrance, “I like the idea of not stretching you out first and letting my cock do all the work, let it feel just how tiny and pure you are for me.” 

“But isn’t that gonna hurt?” your breath caught in your throat. Sure, you’d played with yourself nearly till your hands fell off, but that idea still managed to scare you. 

“God, I hope so,” he groaned and briefly leaned down to press a hot kiss to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and sloppily making out with it. 

When he then stood up and pulled his pants down, your jaw nearly hit the floor as well when you saw how thick his dick was. Fat and veiny, curving proudly up towards his abs. 

Seizing your hips, Rafe yanked you closer to where he stood, nearly letting your ass dangle over the edge of the mattress.

“Wait,” you suddenly reached out to touch his forearm as he gave himself a few lavish strokes, staring down at your cunt, comparing the obscene size of him to your puff, “what about a condom?” you squeaked as he flicked his leaking tip down to tap your core. 

Sucking in a fierce breath through his nose, he glared down at you and shot back, “what about you shut the fuck up and just be grateful,” before he sent his open palm down to smack your pussy. 

“Ah! I’m sorry, I just–, fuck!” you shuttered beneath him as he soothed the slap with the nudge of his length, rubbing it against you and teasing your cunt before he started sweeping it through your folds, nearly fucking your soppy slit, the tip of him kissing your little pearl on each silky advance.  

A dollop of spit dropped from his lips and joined the mess he already tickled at between your parted legs. 

“It’s too big…” you murmured as you stared down at how his fat girth parted your pretty petals, though the observation only conjured a smile on Rafe’s lips, “maybe you could just put the tip in?” you tried through your foggy mind, “that would still count.”

A rumbling chuckle bubbled out of him as he stared down at the two of you together, “just the tip…” his movements then grew more erratic as he slid through your folds, “is that all you think your little virgin cunt can handle?” shy gasps escaped you every time he deliberately let his cock catch at your opening, “just the tip?” 

As he slowly pressed just the flush head of his length in to breach your entrance, your brows crinkled up at the mind-numbing stretch. 

“Like that, baby?” he only moved ever so slightly, “is that all you think you can handle?” and you nodded foggily in return. But as you let your eyes flutter shut and breathed through the staggeringly wonderful sensation, Rafe’s voice once again washed over you, “nah,” like a splash of cold water while you were licking up warm sun rays, “that’s not good enough. This is,” and he then slammed the entirety of his length into you.

Your eyes instantly shot back open and your legs curled up even further on either side of you at the shock. 

“What?” he cooed at you mockingly as he slowly dragged his dick back out for just the memory to remain, “does it hurt?”

You were a blubbering and cursing mess, trembling beneath him as your pussy tried to accommodate him.

“Come on, princess,” he bent down over you and let his nose ghost against yours, “tell me that it hurts.”

“It h-hurts,” you whimpered as his hot breath fanned across your blazing cheeks. 

It did sting, a lot, but though you hated to admit it, a part of you loved it, a part of you sank even further into the pit of pleasure he so slowly dunked you into. 

“Tell me that it’s too big for you,” he nuzzled his nose against yours as he plugged you back up. 

Your body shook beneath his every time he moved as much as a millimetre inside you, “i-it’s too big.” 

Letting out a low moan of satisfaction, he then leaned down to press his lips to yours, stealing your breath away even further. 

You tried, but couldn’t really focus on kissing him back, not that he seemed to mind much as he moaned into your mouth, soon letting his sloppy kisses dance over your cheek and down your neck, letting hickeys bloom in his wake and mark up your skin like a brand.

As he sucked down on the spot where your pulse went wild beneath the skin, his hips drove against yours harder, causing them to collide in a sticky smack, as well as letting the tip of him bully the deepest part of you. He didn’t just do it once, but kept it up as he enjoyed the little squeaks you let out every time he bumped against your cervix. 

Kissing his way back up to your lips, he only offered them the briefest of pecks before raising himself off of you, just ever so slightly, and one by one, grabbed your already wide-spread legs and rested each one of them onto his broad shoulders, efficiently folding you in half. 

“H-holy shit,” you panted as the mattress rippled beneath you at every one of his rough thrusts, “Rafe–”

“Yeah?” he smirked down at your melted form, the vein in his forehead popping from the strain, “are you gonna cum? Are you gonna cum on your big bro’s dick?” one of his hands swept up to squeeze your tit, then gave it a swift tap before growling, “come on, princess. I can feel you squeezing me so fucking tight. Do it, I fucking dare you. Be a good girl and cum on my cock.”

You almost screamed as you tumbled over the edge, your head curling to the side to hide yourself in the crumbled duvet beneath you as your pussy gushed all over his fat girth. 

“Oh, fuck,” Rafe croaked as he straightened back up to get a good view. Pulling out of you, he briefly flicked his dick through your folds to urge more of your nectar to leak out, before he slid it back inside and asked in amazement, “you ever squirted before?” 

Trembling from the overstimulation, your eyes rolled in your skull as you shakily mumbled, “maybe twice, I think.”

“Such a good fucking slut,” he growled proudly, “squirting all over me like a proper whore. Just look at you,” his grip dented your thighs as he pressed them further down against the bed, “you’re already a pretty little cockdrunk mess.”

“I–, I–,” you blubbered as you felt drool begin to trickle down your cheek. 

“Oh, fuck,” he then groaned, glancing down at where he split you apart, “hold your legs back,” he requested, though had to help your sluggish hands find their way, “look at this, baby,” he scooped a palm behind your head and ushered you to spot what he had noticed. Splaying a wide hand over the lower part of your stomach, he traced the faint bulge that rhythmically appeared, “sure as fuck not a virgin anymore, are you? Fucking ruining that perfect little pussy of yours. Now that’s how you pop a fucking cherry. Aren’t you happy I was in such a charitable mood tonight?” he then pressed down on the imprint rudely, the overwhelming sensation causing your pussy to drizzle a little more around him, “aren’t you, sis?”

“Yes,” you mewled, feeling as if you were floating on a cloud and not getting your guts rearranged. 

“You’d let me do anything I’d fucking want, wouldn’t you?” he smirked down at your dazed form. 

“Y-yes,” the word flowed out of you, though you couldn’t quite comprehend all of his dirty talk any longer. 

“Hold on,” he briefly slowed down and stretched over to reach a small apprentice obscured and hidden in all of the cluttered decor on your nearby dresser. Turning it in his hand, he pointed the discrete camera down to film you, “say it again,” he picked his pace back up, “tell me that you’ll let me do anything I want to you.”

“Anything,” the words bubbled out through your moans, “anything you want.” 

“Say that you’re my little slut.”

“I’m yours–, I-I’m your s-slut.”

Tilting the hidden camera down to get a few close-ups, his voice then seeped into you once more, “now tell me again that you hate me.” 

One of your hands fluttered down and began to rub your puffy clit.

“I hate you.”

“Again,” he reached down to give your left nipple a harsh pinch.

“I hate you.”

“Keep going, princess.” 

And the more times the phrase flowed out past your lips, the more it began to lose its meaning and morph into just another sound, one that was almost akin to the complete opposite kind of proclamation. 

Just like you barely noticed when Rafe dug out the hidden camera, so too did you miss it when he put it back down, obscured somewhere among your things, possibly not even the only one. 

When you came once again, Rafe didn’t so much as pause when you creamed around his cock and drenched the sheets beneath you that much further.

“There you fucking go,” he sent a palm down to smack the sensitive skin on your inner thigh, “god, you’re so hot. I can’t believe you actually let me do this,” he grinned as your fingers stretched out to graze his wild hips, trying and failing to slow him down, “you’re such a little freak,” he glanced down at the ring of your essence that marked the base of his throbbing cock, “so fucking nasty for your stepbrother. I bet you’d even let me keep using you after you fall asleep. I mean, who’s to say I haven’t already,” he chuckled, “you’re so fucking cute when you sleep. No annoying remarks, no dumb comments… I think I might prefer you that way…” his slamming grew sloppy as he soon moaned, “fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“Pull out,” you begged through your hazy pants. 

And just when you thought he wouldn’t respect your wishes, he yanked out and furiously stroked himself before your winking and wrecked hole as it slowly retraced from the severe stretch. Moaning loudly, he swiftly painted your pussy with his load, getting it all over your puffy petals till he was panting above you. One hand rested on your thigh as he brushed the sensitive head of his cock over the cream, messily tapping the hefty weight of him against your aching clit and making you jump a few times as he smeared it in. 

Throwing himself down on the bed beside you, he let out a long sigh and said, “you’re welcome.”

You felt like you couldn’t move, like you might never be able to move again. Your breath still came in ragged as the only thing you could focus on was the sore throbbing centred at your core, that blossomed out through the rest of your nerves. 

“Well,” Rafe huffed as he soon lifted himself up to a sitting position, “night,” and without another word, slipped out through your shared bathroom into his own bedroom. 

“I can’t believe they made you take me,” you grumbled as you watched Rafe shadow you in the clothing store, “I could have just gone to the mall on my own.”

“You don’t have a car though–, also, why are you the one complaining? I’m the one being forced to go fucking shopping with you of all people.”

Somehow, for some mysterious reason, since you’d moved into Tanny Hill, your collection of underwear had shrivelled down till you barely had enough to get you through the week. Guess that was the price you had to pay for letting someone else do your laundry, though you’d always assumed it would more just be a single sock that commonly vanished in the wash…

When you dipped into the fitting room to try a few of the gathered options on, you only managed to test out two of them before the curtain slid back open and you swiftly scrambled to cover yourself.

“Rafe!” you let out a hushed screech, “what do you think you’re–”

“Try these on,” he handed you a wide stack of hangers. It wasn’t just underwear dangling from them, but also some clothing, though all of it way too revealing than you were used to. 

Glancing down at them, you refused to grasp the items and simply stated in a clear tone, “no.” 

Letting out a low sigh, he then turned to close the curtain back up before he twisted back to face you, “do you need me to have a little talk with your mom and my dad?” he took a few steps towards you, slowly pushing you into the corner by the tall mirror.

Glaring back at him through your pout, you huffed, “no…” 

You stayed in the corner as he then hung the clothing up on the hooks before taking a seat on the small stool where your purse was resting before he swept it to the floor. 

“Are you just gonna sit there and watch?”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, “it’s boring as shit out there. At least in here, I might get a moderate amount of entertainment.”

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly began to try the attire on. 

“I hate thongs,” you muttered as you tugged a pair into place over your hip, trying not to catch your stepbrother’s stare as his gaze wandered from your reflection to the perfect view he had of your backside. 

“I recall you hate a lot of things you still don’t hesitate to jump on.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, “you have your fun, enjoy this little fashion show, but I’m sure as hell not getting any of these.”

“Well, good,” he uttered demeaningly, “because I’m buying them for you.”

Catching his eye in the mirror, you told him, “I’m still not wearing them. You can’t make me.” 

“Yeah,” he puffed out a smirk, “we’ll see about that,” and then tore his gaze away from you to gesture to one of the hangers, “try that dress on, but keep the pink thong on underneath, only the thong though.” 

You had to shut your eyes in annoyance a moment before you fulfilled his request, soon standing before him in a scantily cut, pastel mini dress, crafted in a fabric so thin that you could see the faint shadow of your nipples poking through them, especially after they’d turned all pebbly after Rafe had torn that privacy curtain to the side. 

“You happy now?” you turned to face him and propped your hands on either side of your hips. 

“Hm,” he cockily pursed his lips as his gaze studied you, “I was right…”

Your brows stayed furrowed till you watched his palm slide down to squeeze himself through his shorts. 

“What are you doing?” you hissed, eyes growing wide. 

“You do look hot in normal clothes.”

“I don’t think any of this is normal…”

“I think it’s time you learned how to suck a cock,” he suddenly announced, eyes still glued to the dress’ low neckline as he unzipped his slacks. 

“Rafe…” you breathed. 

His eyes flickered up to find yours, “get on your knees,” he tilted his head, “come on, princess. You’ll love it, trust me.” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[yasniger]

GORY GLORY

Evil always plays offense

with tact and meanness.

Serving its old sentence

with renewed madness.

It is the forte of cruelty

to pretend it is kindness.

It’s air of bold coy beauty

filled with sly wickedness.

[ozzgin]

Hello.

Do you think I can request headcanons for Nakamaro ?

Like in an alternate route, reader and him (he's in his twenties because... magic ?) are married and reader is pregnant.

But the funny thing is, Nakamaro can't bully the yokais because reader will exorcise him each time he tries.

Aaaaah I finished writing and only afterwards it occurred to me you might've wanted a modern day reader for this. 😭 I imagined the events in his own timeline. Oh well. I think it can work both ways. Just replace the ancient pouch with, I don't know, a visa card that he throws at your parents for wife payment.

Yandere! Onmyōji x Reader

Yokai Harem AU as the wife of Abe no Nakamaro, a legendary sorcerer and collector of yokai. Although you're not quite as powerless as to not keep his cruelty under control.

Content: female reader, arranged marriage, mentions of pregnancy

[Main Story] [Character Guide]

Your family had vehemently opposed the marriage. To think their one and only daughter would fall into the hands of such a cruel man. The famous Abe no Nakamaro, descendant of Abe no Seimei himself, has quite a contradicting reputation. He has saved many lives, cured countless illnesses, protected villages from monsters and brought peace to the land. Yet many have also witnessed his ruthless nature: the arrogance he has towards humans, the disdain and utter disgust he harbors towards demons. He is quick to punish, rarely forgives, and never forgets. The yokai he’s captured under a binding contract are kept on a leash, like cattle before slaughter.

It is this man who approached your parents one day, when you were still young, demanding your hand. He claimed you had special powers and a lot of potential under the right guidance. Such spiritual prowess would waste away in a family of plebeians. You don’t remember much of the discussion, only the expressions: the man’s mocking grin as he threw a pouch fattened with coins, the frown of your parents who wanted to refuse, the uneasy, grim eyes of the horned demons brought to intimidate. It was clear they were there against their will. One will find just how difficult it is to go against the wishes of the onmyōji, and you happened to be his most ardent desire. Thus, with a heavy heart, you’d been sent away with the stranger who promised you were to live a life of luxury. One your parents could never afford.

True to his word, you have not struggled since. In Akutagawa’s short masterpiece, Hell Screen, artist Yoshihide is wicked and vicious towards everything and everyone except his beloved daughter. Similarly, the sorcerer seems to have a soft spot for you in particular. He often praises your talent, and patiently caters to your whims without complaint. You once inquired about it yourself, as the idea weighed heavily on your mind: why is it that he does not show the same hostility towards you? He stared at you as if you just grew two more heads. "You're my wife. What else is there to question?"

This favoritism, however, is to the benefit of everyone. Especially to the yokai under his command. You've grown rather fond of the demons in your years spent alongside them, and they've quickly learned that your presence means safety from any punishment. Some need reassurance more than others. To these you've even begun to feel like a motherly figure, shielding them from the wrath of an unforgiving master. At last, an authority even Abe no Nakamaro himself can't disobey: the word of his wife.

And soon enough, as if your marriage wasn't already the ultimate argument, you welcome the return of your husband with the news he's always longed for: you are the soon-to-be mother of his child. His name has just been guaranteed to continue its course through time. To say he is elated is an understatement. You've only seen him smile so genuinely once before in your life, on your wedding day.

"Can you imagine the powers this child will command?" He muses, referring most likely to the fact you've both been blessed with an innate, unmatched talent in onmyōdō. You finish rolling the parchment paper and gently tap his head with the scroll in a scolding manner. "You better not burden the kid with your bizarre expectations!" The same man feared throughout the country is chuckling apologetically at your gesture. "As the Mother says."

[uhzuku]

╰─▸ ❝ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝. ❞ ──── 𝐟𝐭. 𝐳𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: “Yes, this tight cunt’s mine to fuck — mine to breed, isn’t it?”

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: genshin impact | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: zhongli/reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 1.03k.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: age gap, breeding kink, jealousy, zhongli’s given name pre-morax is lapis, voyeurism, previously established relationship, mentions of kidnapping, star goddess reader, first descender zhongli, yandere zhongli, darling reader, hinted neuvillette/reader.

𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐬: y’all chose yan zhongli so eat up bitches HDBXHRBHC

— 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 !!

“I — I — O-Oh, Lapis!” The shrill cry echoes through the hills below as the mighty dragon claims his prize. 

Ever since the nonhuman male had first descended from the stars with the goddess gripped tightly in one arm, the world of Teyvat ( though messy and unmolded by anything ) had changed forever. Ruled by dragons of all kinds, Lapis fit well amongst the beastly kings and queens that reigned unchecked, his wicked nature festering like an infected wound amongst the cruelty of this new world. 

You, the woman he’d dragged along with him ( his woman as he preferred to refer to you in the company of peers ) weren’t so fond of the current world order. The Dragon Lords were cruel and unjust aside from the Water Lord of the Great Lake north of the desert, and Lapis rarely allowed you to visit him in frequent fits of jealousy; he knew how much affection the Water Lord harbored for you, and he knew you returned these feelings. He’d have killed the other male long ago if that were any sort of option, but he had no means of controlling the many storms the Water Lord reigned over, nor would any of the minor drakes within the Water Lord’s territory appreciate the new order he’d instate — so for now, the Water Lord would live. 

“Let’s see him smile at you so blatantly next season’s meeting when you’re fat with my clutch, yes?” the Stone Lord growls into your ear possessively, pounding into your sopping hole from behind as you wail and clutch at the stone beneath your fingers. The meeting earlier this week had run long and had been torturous, and Lapis had forced back endless growls and snarls at the sight of you and the Water lord being so keen on each other as if he couldn’t see you. 

Once the meeting was over, he’d not even bothered allowing you to make it to the bed before wrenching off your clothes and pressing himself inside of you, his run-thin patience snapping like too thin ice on a lake on the first day of winter. That was how you’d found yourself here, with copious loads of cum that he’d already pumped your abused cunt full of leaking down your legs and forming a puddle on the floor between them. The part of you that could still think wondered if he’d make you lap it up later; it wouldn’t be the first time. 

 “L-Lapis, please-“ you moan weakly, letting out cries as he thrusts even harder into your hungry hole as your voice reaches his ears. 

“Yes, beloved?” he purrs, pressing his front against your back as his hips piston against you. His heavy balls slap against your sensitive skin, and you whimper from the feeling as the overstimulation of it slowly begins to overwhelm you. “You’re wanting more? Don’t worry, dear one, you’ll get it.”

“No-o, can’t,” you whine, fingers clawing slowly at the floor as he fucks you harder into it. A sharp cry of pain falls from your lips as he bites hard onto your shoulder and locks on, his fanged teeth burying themselves in your flesh and marking you up as he likes. “L-Lapis!”

Releasing you, he growls, “You are mine!” as his claws dig into you, and your eyes roll back in your head slightly as the sharp tools of death dig thick lines through your soft skin. Blood runs down in slow streams as he picks up the pace, each thrust getting messier than before as he approaches his climax, and you let out a long, low wail. You don’t notice, but the Water Lord rushes up in worry to check on you, having heard you screaming; Lapis, however, senses him instantly, and is more than pleased to show off his claim. 

“You’re my pretty little whore of a goddess, aren’t you?” he asks mockingly, his voice soft yet cruel. You only respond with a dumbed out ‘Uh-huh’, drooling slightly and pushing back on his thick length. Large even when disguised as a human, you were lucky tonight that he’d not decided to fuck you with the twin lengths he possessed due to his lineage of being a dragon. “Yes, this tight cunt’s mine to fuck — mine to breed, isn’t it?”

“Y-Yes!” you moan, eyes slightly rolled back. “Yes, yes — Breed me, Lapis, I’want it!” A choked noise from the shadowy thicket not far away reaches Lapis’ ears, and he grins into the soft skin of your throat; maybe the bastard would finally get the message that your pretty face was something to be admired from a distance. “Fill me up, fuck me full — wanna have your babies, Lapis, please!”

“I will, sweet girl, you don’t have to beg!” Lapis promises you gently, his hips still snapping into yours. Gods above, fighting off the urge to fill you so far’s been hell. “It’s all for you, and only you: my beautiful embodiment of the night sky, my goddess of the stars.”

A shrill wail leaves your mouth as you clench tightly around him. A roar falls from his lips as the feeling of you cumming around him send him over the edge as well, and his claws dig into you all over again as he fills you up once again another countless time. Lapis allows himself to relax into the feeling, content with the presence of the Water Lord having disappeared; maybe the bastard had finally learned his place. 

The two of you lay like that, his cum filling you up and a cloudy feeling in your head as you bask in the feelings your captor had bestowed upon you. There was no doubt in his mind ( just as there’d be no doubt in yours once you fully came to ) that his seed would take tonight, not with how much he’d bred your hole over the last few hours. You’d soon be forced to grow round and fat with his damned spawn, carry his children and raise them with love, and there was nothing you could do about it. 

And after tonight, when he’d witnessed the way you’d begged for your kidnappers cum, you didn’t even have Neuvillette to lean on for support anymore. 

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

The Witness and Why It (and its demise) Means Everything to Me (A POC Perspective)

Hey everyone!! The Final Shape has ruined me and has brought me to levels of not only grief, but hope, that I did not think possible, so I decided to give my thoughts on the different aspects of it that moved me to a place where I can be at peace with many things in my life and look forward to paving a better future!!! I think I’ll be making many posts pertaining to the Final Shape as a way to help me express my thoughts on how important this DLC was to me, but we will see!

Please note that these are just my loose, not fully structured thoughts and I’m yapping. My opinions are subject to change and I’d love to hear the input of others! We will be talking about subjects such as slavery, religion, black experiences, and personal experiences of mine!!! It’s very long too, so I’m sorry about that and any writing errors!!

Though I do not believe what I speak of was fully Bungie’s intentions when making the character, the implications and views you can take on the Witness do relate to what I will discuss.

I wanted to start off my return to tumblr with one of the many, many reasons why I have such a deep attachment to the Witness (Precursors and Dissenters will get a different post bc they mean the world to me too!!) , because truly, this entity owns my whole life. I think of it all the time, it lingers in my thoughts, my art, my writing, all of it. It has been so deeply intertwined with my enjoyment of Destiny since it appeared and has offered so much to my perception of the world. I do not think I will truly get over it and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t draw it every chance I get. It appears in every single thought of mine, it’s bad you guys.

I love the Witness so deeply because I have never harbored such a personal level of DISGUST for a character before. As much as I joke about it being silly and the love of my life, the very existence of the Witness revolts me to the core and the tragedies it has directly or indirectly caused squeeze my heart empty. This festering rot of an egregore SICKENS me as it is the beliefs that has robbed me and many others of family, culture, and livelihoods given form. My love for the Witness comes from how it instills in me such HATRED, and truly, we were far too kind to it in game.

For context, I am Caribbean American and have a tumultuous relationship with my heritage for many reasons, but it wasn’t until the Witness and its many victims that I felt like the religious imperialism that has affected my heritage was represented in a way that crept into my spirit.

My Caribbean mother always said to me that we are of this world, not in it. That the hearts of men are wicked and sin (cruelty) was embedded in existence itself. It is only when we give ourselves to a higher purpose that we will be free in the end from all suffering. To her, this life and everything in it did not truly matter for it was a temporary challenge to overcome in order to earn an eternity of salvation. A perfect paradise was awaiting us all if we just gave into the way and left everything else behind.

These were all convictions she held to her very core as she tried to shed away all other aspects of herself to give into this “truth”, especially her Caribbean culture.

She did not always believe this way, but to her, the island she came from did not truly matter at all. Those “wayward people” she grew up with were not worth anything and would die as nobodies on that nowhere island for their lives were not saved, even if they knew of the “truth”. In her adopted views, those people believed in false gods and practices (such as Vodou and beliefs that belonged to those taken from Africa and indigenous populations), they invited in frivolous wants of the flesh such as lust (with „improper“ attire and certain dances), and committed crimes that proved to her that they could never be anything more than what they already were (though she would be blinded to the fact that these behaviors are a result of hostile environments created by the systems established for slavery and racial subjugation). If she wanted to be fit for “walking the right path”, those people had to be left behind for they were lost causes who could not be saved unless they were delivered by the “respectable” ways of life. She had to discard her black mannerisms, hair, speech, and more to have a place amongst the truly chosen.

Religious imperialism has a long history of being heavily tied to discussions of race and colonialism as those who participated in subjugation believed themselves to be more enlightened than the people they brought devastation to, giving them an entitlement that drove them to force their way of viewing religion onto populations. After all, in their minds, they were doing the greatest good for they were setting the people they subjugated on a path for eternal paradise. There was no cost too high in this finite life for infinite salvation to colonizers and all efforts to convert populations who did not see this truth would be “necessary”. People would die or be forced into servitude in mass to support the ambitions of the “enlightened” ones, whole cultures and populations being scrubbed from the face of this Earth in an attempt to “heal what is sick”, to “break broken bones again to heal them right”. I think of all the generations lost to war, slavery, colonialism, and every other act done to deliver “purpose” onto others, all the people whose names will never be known because others used the breath needed to utter it on preaching of their own virtue, and I am left in ruin.

I think of how my mother speaks of those lost to destitute lives because of the social pillaging of the island as an unfortunate side effect of guiding them to the truth and I look at how her world view has been ruined.

My mother thought she was saving me by keeping me from my culture, my people, my family. I did not get to know the language, the customs, the land, but I did get to know how much my mother thought those were distractions. She spent my whole life trying to cement the truths given to her by the same people who left her island in such as state that she felt like she had to run from it, to ensure I would not grow into a person, but a vessel of the righteous message. After all, to be a person is to be complex, nuanced, and flawed and there was no room for that in the visions given to her. The complexities and human flaws that came with our culture would only distract us from giving our whole lives to freeing ourselves from the curse of existence.

The cruelty the Witness delivers with such gentleness as it razes civilizations, its unwavering belief that it is the objective truth and other perspectives are blind to this truth, the means it will use to get that “justified” end, its gut wrenching to me and all that has been lost throughout human history to ideologies that bear the same qualities. Its zealous, static nature that relies on circular reasoning keeps me up at night and makes me mourn what could have been if the unfamiliar and hard to understand parts of human expression were allowed to flourish instead of being eradicated for diverging from someone’s vision of what makes a life worth living. I see this big eyed vessel, incapable of growth and convinced of its own righteousness and my chest feels like it is going to cave in. I see its disciples and pawns in the faces of too many people I know and recall their stories in moments that remind me how poisonous what the Witness represents is.

The Witness is an evil that has hollowed out lives, homes, land, and futures, especially for those who come from heritages that have persevered against attempts to “rectify” them. I still grieve the empty life my mother lives and the people left to suffer the consequences of daring to create their own meaning. I look at the face of the Witness and think of the “burdens lifted off my mother’s shoulders” by those who thought themselves as witnesses of a truth that could not be contested with interpretations that could not be questioned. She prides herself on being a weapon wielded to correct the sinful hearts of men, but I just wish she prided herself on being a person because those who “delivered” her robbed people of color of personhood entirely.

The Witness is not a person, but the embodiment of these deeply rooted ideologies and concepts that affect so many. It’s horror, both in game and the parallels it has in reality, is far too grand and unfathomable for me to bear its weight on my soul and not agonize. Its very existence is monstrous, despite the understandable intentions that went into its making, and my stomach churns at the mere thought of it.

How many species in the Destiny universe will we never know about because their whole galaxy was used to get closer to the Final Shape? How many star systems were left barren because of the Witness’ ambitions? How many children, spouses, artists, philosophers, siblings, neighbors, and more, people who were something, became nothing because of eons of the Witness‘ justifications? Bile boils just thinking of it.

What the Witness represents has hung over my head my whole life and its perverse touch lingers on the whole Destiny universe, tracing many of the depraved atrocities in the game back to itself. It’s death in the Final Shape, at the hands of those it had turned into victims and left to deal with the repercussions of its influence united together, moved me in ways I do not think I could ever properly articulate. To see beloved characters I had given a decade of my life to come together from different backgrounds with different reasons to defeat such a heinous entity, I felt like I could do my part to bring others together, despite our struggles and differences, to rebuild what had been taken from us.

As a person of color from a group of people many still think are undeserving of life, seeing so many characters I have related to over the years say “I matter because I decided to and you can’t take that away from me” to an entity who thought itself so refined that it got to determine everyone’s worth strengthened my entire being. Existing as a person of color is bold in and of itself, but the defeat of the Witness at the hands of people who wanted to exist so bad they risked everything for it ignited in me a flame to be audacious. My existence and culture as a poc is unsightly and heretical, but TFS encouraged me to take on the prejudices of others by saying “Here, despite generations being molded into a “perfect” image and so many lives lost in the struggle to live personal truths, ergo sum. Ergo sum and there is nothing wrong with that”.

To me, the Witness’ death showed me that the stains left behind by social structures such as religious imperialism and colonialism can be overcome by people banding together to make the future different from the past. When we embrace the subjectivity of existence, we can create spaces for different views on life to flourish and reconnect with the nuances of this world. We can better the lives of our people, no matter who they are, not by abandoning all cultural practices and ways of life that were deemed meaningless, but by rebuilding our societies to allow for fulfilling lives and self efficacy for all.

My people no longer have to let imperial powers decide our fate for us or decide that we can be nothing other than the „nature of our race“ that they believe is inferior. Instead of looking up at others who asserted themselves as more enlightened for salvation, we can look at each other and realize there is no one truth to life, especially one worth all the devastation and cruelty placed against those who lived differently. The intricacies of life often lead people to belief systems that allow for comfort and understanding, alleviating the anxiety of possibly living an improper life that will forfeit a desirable afterlife. It is up to individuals to decide what makes their life fulfilling and what beliefs will guide their actions, for no one can make your fate but you.

My mother still likes to wear the patterns of the island and keeps paintings of island scenery in her room. She talks on the phone in patois when she doesn’t feel the pressure to be “proper”. She misses her mother because she used to make dishes from home. To relate it to Destiny, she still has the coordinates to her Lubrae in her pyramid despite convincing herself abandoning it all was for the best and there was nothing there worth keeping. I once thought reconnecting with our heritage alongside her would be a frivolous endeavor, but I hope that with time and understanding, the Witness may not have power over her anymore and she won’t look back on her disassociation with relief. Time and understanding will make our island grow and flourish, free to decide what it wants to be, not held back by preconceived notions of the worth of its existence.

Despite all the Witnesses in the world, I will persist on and try to acquaint myself with my culture without shame. The Witness is everything to me because I hope one day it desecrates nothing ever again. I hope the Witness becomes nothing at all and the cultures it has corrupted make themselves something audacious.

Thank you guys so much for reading!! I hope you guys don’t mind the vague language, I chose to spare some details for my own sake and to make the message more applicable!! I’d love to hear the takes of other people about this bc I love hearing people’s perspectives!! And always remember, no one makes your fate but you!!! Go be audacious!!!!

[akazzzaa]

Gyutaro, Akaza, Muzan, Rui and Kokushibo reaction when Y/N says "I was born with a sick body, I die with a sick body" (it's not a fatal disease, only Reader has a lot of them that stay forever and don't can be cured)

Thank you for your ask! I enjoyed writing this! I was going to write head cannons but I accidently wrote a mini story lol

I understand that the illness is not fatal but reader is human and will die eventually I hope this clears confusion about somethings i've written : ))

Summary- Reader is ill a lot and tells them, "I was born with a sick body, I die with a sick body" Their reaction.

Genre- Angst

Warnings- Mentions of blood/ turning into a demon/ illness

Muzan

"I was born with a sick body," Y/N confessed, her voice barely more than a whisper, "and I will die with a sick body."

Muzan's expression remained impassive as he regarded Y/N. He had known about her condition from the moment they had first met, and he had grown fond of her, even though his affection for anyone was a rare occurrence. Y/N had brought a unique warmth into his otherwise cold existence.

Y/N continued, "But I don't want to die, Muzan. I want to live, to be with you forever."

Muzan's eyes narrowed, and a wicked grin crept across his face as he considered Y/N words. The thought of granting her eternal life, and ensuring that they would be together for all time, was tantalizing.

With a swift, predatory movement, Muzan closed the distance between himself and Y/N, his fingers brushing against her fragile skin. His voice, as smooth as silk but laced with a dangerous undertone, rumbled, "Are you sure, Y/N? Once I make you a demon, there's no turning back. You will lose your humanity, and you will become a demon, just like me."

Y/N nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. "I don't care, Muzan. I want to be with you, no matter the cost''

Muzan, whose very existence was built on manipulation and cruelty, found himself conflicted. For the first time in centuries, he felt a strange emotion welling up within him—an emotion he could scarcely identify as love. He leaned in and pressed his lips against Y/N forehead, leaving a mark that would burn like a brand.

In a voice filled with dark promise, Muzan murmured, "Very well, Y/N. I will grant your wish, but remember this: Once you become a demon, there's no turning back. You will belong to me for all eternity."

Y/N nodded, her heart filled with a mix of fear and devotion.

Kokushibo

Kokushibo had done everything in his power to find a cure for her, but his relentless quest had taken a toll on him, leading him deeper into darkness. Desperation weighed heavily upon him as he knelt by her bedside, his eyes filled with anguish.

"I was born with a sick body," she whispered, her voice barely more than a fragile breath, "I die with a sick body."

Kokushibo's heart ached at her words. He had exhausted every possible means to heal her, and the realization that he might lose her was unbearable. Kokushibo's hand trembled as he reached out to touch her frail fingers. "No," he pleaded, "I cannot bear to see you suffer any longer, my love. There must be a way to save you, to make you immortal, to grant you the strength and health you deserve."

Tears welled up in his eyes, and with a mixture of sorrow and determination, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. A chilling aura enveloped them both as he poured his demonic blood into her weakened body, desperately seeking a way to transform her into a demon.

The transformation began to take place. Her once fragile form contorted, her skin paling further, and her eyes now gleaming with a demonic hue. She gasped, the pain and agony of the transformation evident on her face. Kokushibo watched in a mixture of hope and despair as her body changed, an aura of darkness replacing the fragility that had marked her human existence.

Akaza

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts. She took a deep breath and finally spoke the words that had been haunting her for so long. "I was born with a sick body, Akaza," she confessed. "I will die with a sick body."

Akaza's grip on her hand tightened, and his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow. He drew her close, wrapping his strong arms around her delicate frame. "Y/N, no matter what, I love you," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I don't care about the state of your body. We will face this together, as long as we have, and cherish the time we have left."

As the moonlight bathed the two lovers in its gentle glow, Y/N was overcome with a mixture of relief and gratitude. She never thought she could be loved so deeply by a demon, and in that moment, she knew she had made the right choice in sharing her secret with Akaza. But just as they held each other, an unexpected surge of emotions coursed through Akaza. His demon instincts, usually well-contained, took over in an uncontrollable burst of rage and grief.

Y/N gasped, startled by the sudden change in Akaza. She realized that he had reacted this way not out of anger but out of love and despair. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her. Tears welled up in Akaza's golden eyes as he held Y/N close. "I won't let you go," he vowed, "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you by my side, for as long as we have."

Gyutaro

"Gyutaro," she whispered softly, her voice trembling, "I was born with a sick body, and I will die with a sick body."

Gyutaro's expression softened, a rarity for the bloodthirsty demon. He had known about her condition, but hearing her speak these words pierced his heart like a sword. He turned to her, his eyes reflecting an unusual tenderness, and said, "I don't care about your illness, my love. I only care about being with you."

Unbeknownst to them, Muzan Kibutsuji, had been watching their love story unfold. Muzan, always seeking to create powerful demons, saw an opportunity to turn Y/N into one. He couldn't resist the chance to corrupt the innocence and love that Gyutaro and Y/N shared.

Muzan, using his powers, infiltrated Gyutaro mind and corrupted Y/N's body. She began to transform into a demon, her once-kind eyes turning crimson, and her gentle smile now twisted into a sinister grin.

The night Gyutaro discovered Y/N's transformation was a nightmare he could never forget. He walked into their home to find Y/N in her demonic state, her eyes filled with malice and hunger. She lunged at him with inhuman speed, her fangs bared and claws extended.

Rui (platonic- he views you as family)

In a dimly lit room, the air was heavy with an unsettling tension. Rui, sat on a throne carved from his webs. His eyes gleamed with curiosity and intrigue as a fragile, pale-skinned human stood before him, her voice trembling with vulnerability.

"I was born with a sick body," the human confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, "and I die with a sick body."

Rui's sharp ears perked up. He had heard countless pleas and confessions over the last two decades, but there was something different about this one. The human's words were not a request for power or salvation, but a raw, unfiltered statement of their own fate.

Rui's expression softened, a rare hint of empathy flickering in his eyes. He understood how you felt for some reason. Intrigued by the human's plight, Rui rose from his throne and approached her. His presence seemed to envelop the room as he reached out a hand, his touch both cold and comforting. "I can offer you a chance," he whispered, his eyes locking onto the human's gaze. "I can make you a part of my family, a demon in your own right. With my power, you will no longer suffer alone, and you will have the strength to face your fate."

The human hesitated for a moment, fear and hope warring within her heart. In that moment, she realized she had nothing left to lose and everything to gain. With a trembling nod, she accepted Rui's offer, and the transformation began.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM A COURT OF WINGS AND RUIN *  assorted lines from the novel by sarah j. maas, adjust as necessary

only you can decide what breaks you. only you.

tonight, i want you to wear that crown to bed. only the crown.

i believe everything happens for a reason.

this could be a very bad idea.

we can make whatever rules we want.

leave a note... or tell me next time.

you have every right to question me.

i don't see you spouting poetry.

i missed you. every second. every breath.

you're my equal. and as much as that means we have each other's backs in public, it also means we grant each other the gift of honesty... of truth.

is there a purpose to your visit, or may i return to my book?

kindness can thrive even amongst cruelty.

it's a rare person to face who they are and not run from it... not be broken by it.

it's fine if you drink directly from it.

i wish i had been there to stop it. i should have been there to stop it.

my goal was bigger than revenge.

i belong to no one, but my heart belongs to you.

i hadn't realized i was a villain in your narrative.

there are many types of strength beyond the ability to wield a blade and end lives.

you are your own person, you make your own choices.

i'd like a word.

you are a better friend to me than i ever was to you.

i want to share this bed with you. i want you to hold me.

remember that you are a wolf, and you cannot be caged.

we're all a little broken in our own ways... in places no one might see.

i would have waited five hundred more years for you. a thousand years.

you are a warrior, and warriors know when to pick their fights.

they took what is ours. and we do not allow these crimes to go unpunished.

i believe that everything happened exactly the way it had to... so i could find you.

it is the family you make, not the one you are born into, that matters.

ready to be wicked?

one life may change the world.

i missed you, too.

this is war. we don't have the luxury of good ideas - only picking between the bad ones.

it is a new world, and we must decide how we are to end this old one and begin it anew.

i see all of you. and there is not one part that i do not love with everything i am.

it'll be dangerous.

i have no regrets in my life, but this.

i will find you in the next world, the next life.

what we think to be our greatest weakness can sometimes be our biggest strength.

i won't tell anyone unless you say so.

when you erupt, make sure it is felt across worlds.

you bow to no one.

leave this world a better place than how you found it.

you do not fear. you do not falter. you do not yield.

will you come with me on this adventure, and all the rest?

do not get distracted. do not linger.

it's already ended badly.

for someone who was just dead, you seem remarkably relaxed.

they're terribly cruel to me.

here's to family reunions.

i will fight with everything i have, too.

what time are we back in the training ring tomorrow?

daylight is a precious resource.

[joannasteez]

almost blue (1)

pairing: cody rhodes x black reader warning: explicit descriptions of violence and sexual activity. minors please do not interact. readers eighteen and older interact only please. descriptions of alcohol consumption and the use of deadly weapons. authors note: JOHN WICK AU!!! so excited to share this! i had this sorta kinda in my back pocket for a while, while trying to build up tanks of blood, which you can find to read here. not everything in this is super true to the world of john wick but the most im using as inspo is the aesthetic anyways. also a one off mention of john wick lol. that and some of the names for certain things. italics in the beginning represent flashback perspective music inspo: almost blue by chet baker word count: 4800 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce @crxssjae

new york. the continental hotel and it's flatiron shape. september 2019. the rain, this soft unsteady pitter patter. a gentle gray coloring the sky. the air cold and biting. the city filling its brim with a sleepless droning. 

and amongst the deathly sort of decadence—gold trim and blood red carpet floors—bath water disturbs till its sloshing to overtake the tub. a messy spill against the floor. his lips working over yours. fingers kneading deep enough into skin that it stains with the print of his touch. nails tender in his hair and your body melting in till the heat of him breaks over your skin. his everything settled into the wisp and charm of your voice as his pleasure becomes whole. too great.

—but his memory tires from old moments like these, a shell of itself as it attempts in vain to restore to it's former glory. has been in a perpetual state of exhaustion for sometime. but this straining is singular. a throbbing at the forefront of his skull. a tight pulling pain at the nape of his neck till it's creeping wild at the tip of his spine. forcing him to grow ill as he works to reminisce. body wistfully undone. and what words do the men of our time say about insanity? to be in a perpetual state of trying, doing, in hopes of something new. and so on he went, flirting with this disaster, this run of nostalgia, so much so that memory has forsaken him, taking these little complexities —the new york rain and the taste of your lips— along with it. 

but cody can handle the load and reload of a glock 26 as fast as he does it well. a deft maneuvering before the barrel raises and he pulls the trigger, the recoil driving sharp. a bullet through the skull and the splattering of blood. whoever meant to kill him, now dead in his wake. 

but what cruelty this is. a traitor to his own body. living with nothing but the means to kill and tattered memory. with him still, only, all of the things left unsaid—

you'd smelt of vanilla. the yearning about his tongue deep and yet to be settled. his lips a shadow as they feathered against yours. his questions overdone with a frightening passion. "where are you ten years from now?" 

your fingers slipped over his skin, as easy as they would over porcelain. a delicate taking over wet soapy muscle till it clawed over his shoulders and against the heat of his cheeks. "somewhere warm and comfortable. retired".

where ever you were, is where he wanted to be. "am i with you?"

a reversion, just barely perceptible, but there all the same. something like fear, like hesitation, pushing against a situational sort of tenderness in your eyes. the warmth slowly but forcibly outdone by the cold. lukewarm. just like the fate of too old bath water. not enough of either extreme. lukewarm. 

"seems more like a question for you to answer".

"answer it anyways".

and he couldn't feel your lips anymore. too much air, too much distance. caution thick. woven about your words. the tones. the inflections. "ten years from now, you'll be somewhere as warm, as comfortable and retired too".

"am i with you?" 

to draw such a long length of need into the air. passions and hopes and dreams. cody knew. it would've been easier to take the sear of a bullet, the ripping tear in of a knife or the crack of something blunt and unforgiving to his skull. those things easier than the down trod of such a silence. your eyes having gained more and more distance. fear peaking soft and brown before the quick slip over of indifference. like you didn't care for his whispered words sounding too much like forever. and recovery from bullets and knives and blunt force was tedious. sewn up skin and the reformation of fine motor skill. but this. the way you suffered him to feel the drift away of your body and the simple, delicate, eager push in of your touch. something in his heart—amongst the lukewarm water—failed. this low dropping into a less lively place. 

new york. the continental hotel and its flatiron shape. june 2024. a peak of the sun amidst more grayish than white clouds against an icy pale blue sky. the air breezy with a teasing smell of rain. like a stray tendril before some great unraveling. the city as sleepless as it's ever been. 

and amongst the deathly sort of decadence—scarlet sage in bloom and the ever present air of readymade violence—cody sips at a short glass of brandy. an edgy spike to his tongue as it settles. everything of the continental he possessed now lost to time and the overwork of his sore tired memory. lost to a bout of corrosion done by words left unsaid. because he did not remember your answer after the persistence of his "am i with you?” all thats left, this great blurring. of words and the finer littler complexities. your lips and your eyes and the soft ways of your touch. and maybe it came to be this way for good reason. using such a burn to his ego to fuel the fire of his rage. revenge for memories unforgettable. around the glass of brandy, his hands feel stronger. less careful in how they hold. caution be damned. he sips again to finish. his finger buttoning his suit jacket, making way from the bar and across the communal space of the hotel. 

warmth at his ear and a twitch in his trigger finger. something like eyes resting over him. watching him.

he continues to a connecting hallway. elevators and mosaic floors. maybe the brandy wasn't the best idea, but neither was coming to such sacredly awful ground. lovers trauma and all that bullshit jazz. 

the fourteenth floor is quiet. his steps carpeted by soft wool. a second twitch in his trigger finger that leads into the sharp driving heat reminiscent of staggering gun recoil. a sweet burning in his arm, the muscles knowing, remembering. but he has nothing of use on him. nothing to snuff out and quiet that vicious call of death. his hotel room styled with a modernistic flare to it's luxury. clean and unadorned. a simple reflection of his own style thankfully, but nothing extravagant to weaponize. he would have to, if needed, to make due. a slim ball point pen, sleek and multifunctional, rests next to a complimentary bottle of wine. "enjoy your stay", in cursive. cody feels the warmth at the tip of his ear again, something greater than a simple bout of paranoia. his fingers slip the pen into his pocket, a reversing in his steps to triple check the locking function of the room doors.

and he shouldn't be so wound up should he? conducting business was, is, has always been forbidden on hotel grounds. 

his fight or flight saying otherwise. breathing over his skin overwhelmingly warm. lingering wearily. intuition always a nagging son of a bitch but never wrong. it's never failed him. 

cody showers, stands amidst the icy rain of too cold water. cody showers, because warm baths terrify something in his body. the possibility of turning stale and lukewarm. too distant and uninviting to be either extreme. like eyes and soft lips he can barely form well enough to reimagine. 

and the bed sheets are welcoming. slipping along his skin with a delicate relief. but still, something feels wrong. a heaviness to the air that precedes this faithful old tryst with life. with death. the ring of his phone working to unburden him suddenly, but for only some seconds. the number blocked. he answers, rushing to fish that ball point pen from his dress pants. sleek and multifunctional in his grip. but the urgency in his maneuvering cuts short with the slip in of something dangerously angelic. memory sore and exhausted no more, but now rushing back to him fervid and unrelenting. a tender charming tone in his ear that disrupts the stalwart build of his resolve. september 2019. june 2024. five years of an almost complete pain. icy feeling wind with the teasing of a torrential down pour. almost there but not quite. the anger and the pain never red enough. the sadness almost blue. 

"the loft in tribeca" you start. cody commits it all to memory. the words, the tones, the inflections. shuffling to rough his pants on. pen in his pocket. phone wedged to his ear as his fingers rip off the casing of a pillow. body easy as it maneuvers to protect his six o'clock, leaning against the wall. his eyes scope along the room. an over examination. waiting. "if you're not dead in the next 30 minutes, meet me there". 

the call drops. 

the slow unlocking click of his hotel room door. his muscles burn with remembrance. eyes sharp. his ears attune. the shells of them warm. cautioned steps approach the entry way of the bedroom but they fail to go unnoticed. thudding against the soft carpet. and if not for the possibility of his demise, cody would laugh. surely this was amateur hour. boots and inconspicuous were no more suited together than suede in the rain. and he'd made that rookie mistake before. back when he was a rookie. but the high table were no idiots, sending rookies to bring his head in, unless they hated him that much and felt he should feel the brunt of that hatred with some disrespect. and disrespect it was. 

cody's breath holds. his head thumping against the wall before he makes a swift crouch to his knees. a gun rounding the corner, and a bullet flying aimed for where his head had knocked in. a simple quick diversion. nothing special or particularly extravagant, but enough to give him seconds to maneuver. and oh this is disrespect in deed. dominik mysterio the source of his current heavy breathed, adrenaline rushing circumstance. cody knuckling the hold of the still upward pointed gun with a punch before another sinks into domink's abdomen. a short grunt breaking from the scrappy, ill-sophisticated, mullet wearing piece of shit. and surely dominik is more of a piece of shit when his heavy boot toughs into cody's jaw. racing for the gun. 

but cody is quick. has felt and faced harsher things. if anything, its more of an irritation he feels than a full measure of pain. it was hard maintaining good skin considering the life he led. he spits against the carpet. iron on his tongue. red staining the clean line designs. he reaches for dominik's leg just before he's in reach of the gun. pulling him near and flipping him over quickly. a rough hand in the silk of domink's mullet as he rains down punches with the other.  cody ill satisfied as he hears the sloppy singing of grunts from the younger mysterio. and as his frustration mounts, swindled by the audacity of the high table, dominik gains an advantage. his hips shifting up to propel cody, his arms lean and tight and trapping over cody's and rolling. 

"you three piece suit, hugo boss wannabe wearing motherfucker", dominik's face bloody and angry. his fists balled and quick as he comes down against cody's face. 

the impression of the pen presses into cody's thigh. memory and dexterity working like a trained muscle. amidst the  barrage of fists, cody reaches for the sleek ball point pen. clicking the tip and rushing it into dominik's side. harsh vicious stabs till the pain takes hold enough for him to hesitate. plunging the inky tip into his neck, where blood flows to gush. breaking up out of his skin. choking on air and the pain of a slow to come death. 

"bulletproof three piece suits asshole", cody roughs out. kicking dominik for satisfaction. 

if you're not dead in the next 30 minutes, meet me there

the loft is the same. unadorned by that uncanny but natural weathering of time and neglect. warm homely autumn inspired tones with splashes of green and hand carved wooden furniture. cody ever the horrendous sucker for hand carved shit. an intimate union of labor and passion. ever the reflection of a once lively relationship. carefully cultivated, ending poorer than a bastard dying with his eyes wide open. because when you go that way, you deserve it. but cody? his passions didn't deserve that violent abrupt end. and yet here he is, creeping past the entrance. a painful stuttering of footfalls as he goes. muscles sore and his skin on fire. 

dominik mysterio was a warm up. a warning even. the call must've went out. a bounty worth enough for people to try him. the train ride to tribeca interestingly violent. a woman with a knife, a man with a gun and another thinking his bare hands were some great unstoppable force. and no, cody did not make quick work of them. not as quickly as he would've liked. but he managed. and at the very least, he'd suffered a slitting cut to his cheek and a laceration to his chest. that piece of shit running the blade right through his tattoo. some maybe secondary bruising and a bad headache. but he's not dead. not like the idiots that tried and failed to kill him. 

the loft, much like the continental hotel, is agreed upon neutral ground. a place for trysts and the sharing of information. or rather, thats what it used to be. now, cody isn't so sure. 

and his limping is pathetically loud. shoes a heavy clack against the floor. makes him bristle annoyed. you stand just behind the kitchen island. wine bottle opened. a glass in hand as you sip. more beautiful than he remembers. soft looking still, your eyes casting over the rim as you sip, undeniably deceptive. 

a gun lays easy on the coffee table sat between two couches. too easy. but his displeasure gets the best of him. he shifts for it quickly. a swift up of his hands positioned about the gun, aiming for your face. 

you knew his whereabouts. so much so that you knew the whereabouts of the people trying to kill him. taking the chance to trust could cost him his life. and cody quite likes his life. 

"you had me scared a little bit". a gentle float of words. a finger dancing along the rim of the wine glass. a daring stare down the barrel of the gun. "i thought you got bested by a second rate mysterio". and when cody doesn't move, captured by pain, caution and the mystique of your presence, your eyes roll. his form fixed and perfected. trigger finger cool, but his heart unsure. "cut the melodrama. put the gun down cody". 

"you knew i was being followed", he clips. jaw tight. 

"i mean...duh...", you give. dry and teasing. finishing your wine. "half of that was me, and lets not be silly", covering the length of distance between your bodies slowly. a stalking patience. a fierce feline approach. "you shot a bullet through the skull of one of thee most important men. finding out don't come cheap when you fuck with the high table". 

"everybody seems to forget I had to bury my father", the barrel of the gun kept high with perfect aim as you near closer. "killing that sack of shit was just me evening the score". 

"i didn't kill your father cody". 

was that sincerity? empathy? a sudden waft in of warmth after years in the cold. it felt unreal. true but unreal. and he was sure it wouldn't last. 

"obviously", cody bites out. 

your forehead nestles against the barrel of the gun. his memory overwrought. his senses in a frenzy. a horrible mixture in his skin of pain and elation. steeped with the fear of having to endure another sudden vanishing. angry that such an endurance was his portion in the first place. 

"so then why is the gun still pointed at me?"

his fixed form eases. your hand slipping the gun from his hold gently. fire over his skin as you touch him for the first time in five years. a deft maneuvering about the cold heavy metal to expose the contents of the magazine. amusement coloring your eyes and spreading over your mouth for a teasing little smile. 

"they're blanks anyways", emptying the magazine as the faux bullets fall to the floor. your hand settling down the gun and its magazine on the coffee table. leaving him in an exasperated awe as you head toward the kitchen. "just wanted to see how thin your patience has worn". 

your chin jutting over to the couch. hands full of medical supplies as you pad over to him softly. his body aching and slow as it rests into the tender leather seating, but moving without delay still. always under the gentle charm of your voice, his being falling under this servile sort of subjection. making him bristle silently within himself. all that time and distance amounting to nothing for his resolve. 

cody surrenders. mind over matter no longer needed. succumbing to the full weight of his pain. hair messy with red droppings of other peoples blood. his muscles sore and the hammering about his skull diligent and taunting. 

"my pain has always been a funny little joke to you". 

you pull the coffee table closer to the wide spread of cody's legs. your own slipping over to straddle the strength of one of his thighs. your body warm and comforting against his skin. an old feeling blooming in his chest. you were doing this on purpose. he's sure of it. to see him waver and yield to the charm of your presence. gentle touch dabbing to rid his cheek of dried blood before you went about cleaning the wound. his fingers itching to form to your body, desperate to push dull nails into your skin again. to form in and caress with the intent to renew his memory. 

your eyes flit to his crotch. "its a lot more than little. give yourself some credit", you muse. applying butterfly stitches. 

the air is thick. forces him to maintain a steady breath. memory overwrought once more. a mighty rushing in that heats him whole. your hands working his button up open. the lax take of your palm to his belly forcing a throb to the crux of his thighs. the closing in of the distance makes for easy intimacy. a registration of the lesser noticeable, more complex things. the prick of your nails telling familiar stories, as they work to rid him of the shirt all together. tender and caring, similar to how they used to be. your eyes roaming and thinly glazed over. he spares a glance at the wine bottle. halfway done. your ministrations functional but indulgent of the moment. of his skin.

a quicksand sort of state of affairs. if he doesn't pull himself together now, he would fall into you. full consumption. and he can't possibly risk his life because he's half hard and overdone with sentiment. 

"how long have you been following me?"

you apply something like a salve after cleaning the nasty chest wound. an anesthetic. how sweet of you. to suddenly take his pain into consideration.

"a few months". 

"why am i not dead?"

your body adjusts a top of him. somehow closer. your knee nearly running into his crotch. "yet", you give. beginning the process of suturing. "the question everyone wants to know is why is cody rhodes not dead yet". breaking shortly to peer over him. a full examination it seems. heat rising in his cheeks. "cause he's no john fuckin wick. so why is he still here". pressure of the needle feeding into his skin. your lip tucking under your teeth in full concentration. "people don't know resilience is the bane of even your own existence. a little meat puppet made to take push pins". 

he scoffs. "this doesn't feel like a compliment if it is". 

you finish off the suture. a hesitant but delicate maneuvering off his thigh to rid of the medical supplies. the heat of you gone in an instant. "its an observation". the uncorking pop of that half drunken wine bottle. a generous crimson pour that you sip at. 

"on what basis exactly?" 

a whipping swing of kitchen cabinet doors. a bottle of brandy and a short glass. for him it seems. and the pained parts of him grow excited at the possibility of a simple taste. anything for a temporary fix. something to numb the burn in his bones. 

"very close encounters".

and no you don't dip into the leather to sit beside him when you return. you assume a much more compromising position. a full straddle of his legs as you gift him his little amber colored remedy. and if at any moment he ever thought he needed it and actually didn't, let this be the moment where that edgy spike to his tongue becomes essential. something to help him as he searches for a secure hold at control. and of course he drinks it all. an easy burning slip against the back of his throat as he feels the heat of you settling back into him. once dormant urges awakening in his fingers. supple thighs lined up over his kevlar woven dress pants. the baggy button up you'd decided was good enough for his visit thin and something like revealing. the other details left to his imagination. and God was that prone to running at any moment. tripping and falling away from him well enough till his crotch became to uncomfortable to bare the perfect fit of his pants. your empty hand returning to where it'd been. roaming tenderly against slow but steady bruising skin. his nose picking up the sweet wine on your breath. the glaze about your eyes. thighs over him, clenching slightly. 

"you were always a little too indulgent with the wine", cody gives. 

your eyes flitting to his crotch again. bulge more prominent. the teasing of your nails inching over past his navel. your throat humming. "and you with me". 

"don't think much of it". an attempt made in vain he thinks. feeling the hard throb of himself as soon as the words leave him. "it tends to happen. adrenaline from almost dying multiple times", his thigh knocking up into yours to grab at your attention. tipsy eyes drifting to the cold blue of his. "now spill. why am i still breathing?"

"because the number isn't high enough yet". another sip of wine before turning to rest it at the table. your hands free to run over the muscle of him. about his shoulders till your thumbs are caressing at his nape and the hard cut of his jaw. and that nearly drives him to insanity. the weight of you resting right where he pulses with life. "i take your head now, i'd be settling. and the game of it all ain't that fun right now anyways. its too amateur hour-ish for me. i wanna battle it out with the adults". 

"im flattered", cody deadpans. 

you smile. thumb soothing over his lip. "as you should be". 

"why else", the pulse about his blood wild. an unadulterated beating that coaxes to life the run off of his imagination. his touch a staggering grip at your jaw. pulling your eyes to him. lowly sat pretty brown eyes with a penchant for doing him inexplicably dirty. but they draw him in all the same. his stomach empty. filled with nothing but the slosh of brandy. cody feeds into the daze of it. the possibility of a buzz. your lips a breath from his. desire on your tongue by way of the sweet smell of wine. "talk".

your hips shift over him. a rut into the fabric. friction to appease the ache, he's sure of it. thin panties and the desperate curl in of your nails. running into his scalp. trying to persuade him with tender touches and the charm of such wanton need. and its working. fuck, itsworking well. had worked some time ago and doing well now just the same. because cody, despite such deadly skill, was not immune to this type of torture. could not battle it with stalwart patience or dapper precision. and as you rut against him again, mind clouded by wine and your own intent, his fingers burn to touch you more. not so simple and plain but disgustingly greedy. his lips smooth against the seam of yours. amber brandy and red wine a near perfect melding together. 

"fuck", you relent. your nose knocking soft into his. laughing with a wry sort of amusement. "it would stroke your ego to a nice little finish if i did say it wouldn't it?"

cody hums. slips his hold till its anchored about your neck. measured in its pressure. his tongue licking to wet his lips. the slight of it forcing a tremble into your body. 

maybe his suffering isn't a lonely one after all. 

you whimper. taking a hard swallow. 

"vindicate me", cody rasps. 

your struggle is apparent. surfaces with a tear that stains your cheek. body undone by the defeat of such an intimate admission. 

"i miss you", fragile and nearly unclear. 

he smiles mirthless against the soft ways of your skin. his nose buried into the dip of your neck. "i don't trust your sentiment".

"it's true cody". 

"she says, after admitting she wants to kill me".

"better me than someone else". your fingers abandoning him to grip into the leather of the couch. a tight take to it that fastens your body into him. your mouth lax as your lips slip over his. the tease of a kiss filled with too much tension to bare. "touch me", you give. a plea and a command all the same. 

his fingers working in swiftly, a firm obedience, cupping your cheeks to steady the wild go of your tongue as it snakes to slip at his. a frail whimper singing from your chest and the return of your sharp nails. digging against his scalp to bring him impossibly closer. nearly suckling his tongue whole as your hips rut at him again. a less cautious shifting as you look for harsher friction. the pain of a murderous sort of labor and the pleasure of touching you again warring over the tenderness of his skin. coaxing him to groan and wince. strong, tired fingers forcing your hips to rock over him. an easy, stable grind along the hard bulge of his cock that leaves you living without the proper brilliance of words. reduced to the struggle of too pleasured moans. 

your teeth prickling and sharp as they snag against his lip. fingers deft, undoing his zipper. the heat of him hard and throbbing dangerous. his headache out done by more pressing matters, hazy and his senses going numb with lust. palms persistent, sinking into supple flesh. and fuck does it feel good. even better when his patience thins. fingers stretching the fabric of your panties till they tear. the slick way of your arousal making for an easier pace. a sweet teasing slip through your slit. his imagination wild and unfettered. even the thought of slipping in to have his full way with you enough to twist the base of his belly. groaning into your mouth.  

fire in his fingers as they pull against the fat of your ass. sweltered skin sweet in his palms. forming with every push and spread and pry that he gives. 

your mouths depart. a hesitant slipping away. breaths heavy. your face hiding in the dip of his neck. your pussy messy. bewitching even as you grind mindless into him. an undulating heat over his skin. "cody", a mantra as it travels to slight the beating of his pulse. 

the tell tale trembling in your body. a breath away from bliss. and he can feel the build in his bones. the return of an ache thats been transformed. throbbing and restless. an urgency he works to relieve. and with it so does your mouth. less desperate to consume him. melting to linger at his lips. breathy and stuttered. 

"right there angel", he gives. a whisper against your lips. corralling the last bits of resolve to break. your hips stuttering but caressing faithful still. coming undone. rutting greedily to grasp at the last bits of pleasure.

and here he finds that charming sort of relief. an unfurling warmth about his skin. snatching your body into him as he strokes against you and throbs, coming undone. release pooling and spurting against the baggy button up you'd worn to tease him with. 

your lips finding his again. needy still. and he accepts without wait. ready and willing. your moaning along his tongue delicate and wispy. reminiscent of a memory once forgotten. new york. september 2019. cody cups your face again. thumbs dusting over the apple of your cheeks. on a mission to stain himself with this moment. sweet red wine mixed with aged brandy. 

she was getting to be a lil too long so i had to break her up! but how do we feel about our little hitman?

[ruskaroma]

First time with John Wick plssssssssssssssssssss

I truly think that the first time with John would be loving yet rough. I’m sorry, but that’s just how I paint him out to be.

He’s a killer, so it’s no surprise that his hands are naturally heavy and rough. He would touch your body with those large, dangerous hands, forever tainting it with his cruelty and brutality, making you submit yourself to his mercy.

For a man with few words, John sure does have his ways to make you shake and crumble under his touch while he says the most filthy, diabolical shit that could make even the devil blush. For some reason, he just finds you so beautiful wrecked and fucked that he can’t keep his words to himself.

The first time the two of you had sex, it was because he was jealous. You knew he was jealous but he didn’t admit that he was, and that was enough answer for you to get fucked as soon as the two of you arrived at your apartment.

It was a miracle that you managed to make him come with you to a company party even though all he did all night was stand beside you like he’s your bodyguard. Well, in a sense, he was your bodyguard, but his particular outfit that night got your co-workers wondering how the hell you were able to afford one.

John had kept his hand on the small of your back the majority of the night, like that was enough to show everybody that he was not only your bodyguard but also your very loving boyfriend who tolerated everyone in that room just for you.

But when he left to go to the bathroom and came back to a sight of another man being too friendly to you, John only realized that the whole “hand on the back” wasn’t enough to shoo those motherfuckers away.

John settled himself beside you again, but this time, he made sure to wrap his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to his warmth, pretending like the other man beside you wasn’t there, because John could really not bother to care.

“Have I left you for too long?” 

“What?” You furrowed your brows, confused.

John didn’t answer after that, but he did glance at the man who was already staring at him and his actions the moment he arrived. He also didn’t introduce himself, the man simply didn’t deserve it.

“Uh, is he your boyfriend?” The man interjected, and you felt John’s fingers twitch gripping your waist.

“Oh–uh, yeah, he is,” you replied sheepishly, then turning your head to smile tightly at John who was just raising a brow at you. “You probably thought he was my bodyguard, eh? Everyone’s been saying that the moment we arrived.”

“Yeah, I thought that, too,” he laughed awkwardly.

The conversation soon died out. Maybe it had something to do with the man just feeling really awkward because he truly didn’t know John was your boyfriend, or maybe it had something to do with the fact that John had been staring at him dead in the eyes threateningly while you weren’t looking.

When the two of you were on your way home, John had been dead silent with his hand on your thigh the only thing indicating that he’s not as mad as he made himself out to be and he was just really jealous. You know a jealous man when you see one, you just didn’t think you’d see John being jealous first hand.

“Come on, babe, you really not going to speak?” You whined from your seat, grabbing his rough hand to your softer ones as you placed a kiss on the back of it. When you didn’t get a reaction, you pouted childishly. “Jooohhnnnn. Babeeeeee. Babyyyyy.”

John still didn’t react. He kept his eyes on the road.

“You’re for real ignoring me because you’re jealous? Really, John? Bit childish, isn’t it?”

Then, his eyes narrowed as he ripped his focus on the road and onto yours. “I’m not jealous.”

“So that gets you talking?”

“Because I’m not jealous.”

“Sure, sure.” You nodded your head like you’re convinced, and you saw John turned his attention back on the road again. You took this opportunity to continue poking at him. “I mean, it was kinda your fault that he assumed I was single.”

John hit the brakes too hard than usual at the red light, and that was enough to prove your theory that he was, in fact, jealous.

He looked at you offended, and it was kinda hard to believe that you were getting to see that expression on his face first hand considering he rarely ever shows any emotions.

“You know I’m not very big on PDA,” he grumbled under his breath. “I thought my hand on your back was enough. Clearly he didn’t get the memo.”

“So you are jealous?”

Again, he didn’t respond. For a very dangerous well known assassin, John was sure as hell a bit childish when it came to you, but you liked that about him. That only meant he trusted you enough to feel vulnerable around you, show you a side of him he never showed to any one else.

John parked his car in the parking lot and the two of you walked in comfortable silence. You had your arm tangled with his, walking side by side until you reached the elevator. It was only then you had felt the touch of his hand on your ass.

“Well, well, well… Is John Wick finally making the first move?”

Maybe teasing him was a bad idea, because your smirk was immediately wiped off when you’re thrown against the wall and creating a loud bang.

“John, holy shit, I don’t wanna pay for the damage–”

“Shut up,” he growled under his breath, ducking his face down and inhaling your scent, opening his mouth to suck the skin, his sharp teeth bruising your neck that you yelped and wrapped your arms around his broad back. 

“J–John, please don’t fuck me here–I wanna get fu–fucked on a real bed for our first time–”

Before he could even answer, the elevator’s door opened and he hauled himself off you in a matter of seconds. An old woman walked in, not bothering to look at the two of you as she pressed on the button to go up. You’re one floor above, you and John were just sharing side glances the entire ride.

When you reached your floor, John was the one to grip your wrist and pull you out of the elevator, already getting your keys in his suit pocket while you trip and giggle following behind him.

“I’m so excited–”

“I’m glad you find this amusing.”

“Are you kidding? I’m about to get fucked by my boyfriend for the first time in our relationship, of course I’m excited.”

Once John opened the door, he pushed you inside in no time and slammed it behind him. “Who said anything about fucking you?”

“What?” You pouted, growing confused. 

“What if I don’t want to? What if I think you don’t deserve my cock?”

And instantly, you flushed at the words that came out of his mouth that you couldn’t reply anything other than a gasp when he launched himself forward and pressed his lips to you. His beard tickled your chin as his hands went behind your thighs, lifting you off the floor and wrapped your legs around his body.

“I was holding myself back for so long, I was doing so well, I was waiting for the moment to fuck you in a bed of roses like you deserve, but that guy just had to come in and ruin all my self control,” John said against your mouth, pressing his hard cock in his pants against your already wet cunt as he slammed you against the wall.

“I d–don’t want a bed of roses anyways,” you breathed, moaning at the feeling of his hot, throbbing crotch against your own, wanting nothing but to just pull it out and shove it inside you and ride him all night long, but it seemed like John had another idea of how the night would go. “Please, John, just–just fuck me, come on, I know you want to–”

“I don’t like how that guy was looking at you earlier. Like you were some piece of meat,” he nipped at your neck, you felt another wave of wetness drip out of you just from his voice. “Just want to mark you up, bruise your neck and body just so everyone would know you’re fucking mine–”

“Oh god–”

And that’s how you found yourself with legs spread on the bed with John between them. His right hand was around your throat, his other was gripping your hair hard, and his cock was pounding in and out of you like there was no tomorrow.

He’s so fucking big – so huge, so large, Jesus Christ – and you swore you were squealing like a pig. Your cunt was so sloppy and wet, the sound of your wetness squelching around John’s cock was making you so dizzy and lightheaded, not to mention when he was tightening the hand around your throat every few seconds, you were keening and moaning like a whore as you rambled all your dirty thoughts.

“Oh god–oh god, John, please–please, you feel s–so good–” you moaned, nails digging at his back as the bedpost slammed against the wall with each thrust. “Wanted–wanted this for s–so long. So big and huge and–fuck, I’m gonna–”

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” John commented, letting his eyes wander between your bodies as he watched his thick cock plummeling inside your tight little cunt, clit puffy and sore from him sloppily eating you out earlier and he couldn’t be any more proud. You were so sensitive and reactive, every touch delivered a noise out of you. “Cum on my cock, princess. Make a mess all over my dick and I’ll fill you up so deep you’ll feel me until the next week.”

That was the line that threw you over the edge. Head thrown back and screaming, you held onto his back as you came around his cock, knowing the night was only just beginning.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Ignorant Cruelty

HEADCANON

PAIRING: Mean!Chubby!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Wife!Reader

WORDS: 1,895.

SUMMARY [Requested by Anon]: “Omg can you do and mean chubby eagon plsss🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽❤️”

WARNINGS: cruel!Aegon ii, mentions of objectifying women, mentions of p in v sex, degradation kink, size kink, food play, breeding kink, lactation kink, humiliation kink, stomach/thigh riding, jealous/possessive!Aegon ii, swearing. 

A/N - my mind is a little all over the place, so sorry if I'm taking forever to do your requests, just too many horny thots in such little time. so I've got a few WIPs and trying to smash out all the "simpler" ones xxxxx I WILL eventually get to the requests sent, promise x 

Despite his social stance and political advantage in the realm, Aegon had a notorious reputation of being cruel and imposing.

As a young boy, he was quite the handsome kind, as his endearing Valyrian features accentuated a rare beauty unforeseen in the realm.

However, his unkept and gluttonous habits led the boy to grow in size: larger than his brothers combined respectively, many had grown a distaste for his appearance [although dared not to utter a word directly to his face, in fear of the Prince's wrath].

Aegon was either ignorant to his weight gain or simply was not phased by it, nor its implications. He found enjoyment in his food, and paid no mind to the judgement of others, as he gorged himself during feasts. 

Nonetheless, Aegon sought to the comfort of whores and ladies of the night, in which his wealth could grant him the company of multiple women at once. 

He developed the wicked habit as many inconsiderate men of the realm did, not viewing women as human counterparts, although rather objectifying them and their "assets": many argued the Prince did so, as means to raise his own ego and esteem.

Regardless, whoever his betrothed was to be, was often deemed as doomed: for many noble, highborn maidens of the realm, from powerful families, were reluctant to present themselves as candidates.

From gossip and whisper, it was told that Aegon himself, was hesitant to allow his family the authority to choose and rather, he himself, settle the decision.

That's when you came into his life. You were a meek, shy girl [only because the rumours of your husband to be, made you fearful of the man's capability].

Seeing Aegon in the flesh, did not help either... He was above average height [taller than yourself], wide and formidable, his waist line was extended and round, arms bulky and fleshy, his thighs were stocky and seemed sturdy.

You could not deny, a deeply rooted part of you inside was aroused by the sight of him.

Why he chose you, no one could explain. Whether it was based on pure attraction, you could not decipher either, for Aegon was demeaning, often belittling you and your family.

At first you assumed, it was his attempt at "small talk", misplacing his manners, and yet he remained consistent in his taunting jabs.

As taught by the Septas you'd grown with, you remained silent and obedient to his every word, through till the marriage, and the night of consummation.

Aegon pestered you with gruelling comments on how inexperienced and useless you would be in bed, unable to "satisfy him" like the whores he often pursued.

You'd reached breaking point and retaliated furiously, leaving Aegon stunned as you spat your venom.

"Mayhaps I am no whore that can sate your spoiled, fat cock, but I am a women of virtue. Do well to remember that, husband. Need I remind you, you chose me. You have no one else to blame for your inept decision making in a wife, than yourself."

His stoic, unmoving gaze remained fixated on you, and the fear began to stir inside, despite having initially felt relief with your abrupt confrontation.

Aegon slowly approached you, his stern gaze firmly fixated on you, like a predator hunting prey, until you were cornered between him and the bed frame.

Using his stronger, dominant mass, he'd shove you down onto the bed, as he pins your arms down, his heavy weight you could not find the almighty strength to break free from.

"Has my fat cock been on your mind? A woman of virtue ends tonight, once I fuck you senseless, you'll be begging for more, as the whores do... My very own obedient, little whore."

“You spoke beyond your limit, little one. I’m going to punish you for that.”

Aegon goes feral on you that night and for all the intimate nights to come: rarely speaking to you, other than to give commands and instructions when you fuck, he initially remains oblivious to your emotional needs. Until, he overhears a conversation between you and a fellow maid/sibling, regarding how lonesome you feel.

He understands that feeling all to well, and the guilt begins to stir, as much as he insists on denying it.

Thus, the poor attempts at small talk begins, and you find that he not only attempts to sate himself, however, you also in the process.

The size difference between you two, is incomparable. During the first few times, a maester was sent to tend to your aches and pains: Aegon being the one to send them up, which you liked to presume was his way of caring. 

Yet, as discrete as he may be, he relishes in the idea that he has tainted you so, and often comments on how pathetic and weak you are against him. Immensely fuelling his ego.

Food play to the max: he relishes in his two favourite things: you and desserts. Often arranging for the kitchen to bring up his favourite dishes and wine. Eating cake off your tits, dribbling honey on your ass cheeks and cunt as he licks it clean off you.

He tends to dismiss the power of his own strength, how strapping his grip can be on you, although he does not mean to intentionally inflict it: a whimper or hurt look on your face, he immediately refrains from hurting you further.

Nonetheless, he loves manhandling you: how effortlessly he can pick you up, carry you, swivel you around, until your in just the right position for him.

His cock, [as correct as you were that it was fat] was impressive: seeing it the first time and onwards, you could never acclimate, physically nor mentally. It's girthy circumference, the thick veins that travelled down its mass, gave it this hungry, eager look. Its tip blush red, often glistening with a white, clear film that would ooze fervently at the sight of you.

Undoubtedly, it hurt unlike anything else: yet it was a pleasurable, almost addictive sort of torment.

Aegon had long forgotten the sensation of a maiden's tight, contracting cunt, how your walls clenched for his cock, often commenting how "needy" you were for him.

"Who could sate you like I do? A lean knight, perhaps a slim nobleman, with a needle for a cock... Look at how desperate I've made you for me."

He also gets you to ride his thighs and stomach, always fantasising about it, he forces you to do so, which much to his pleasure, you get off of easily. 

Aegon had grown quite possessive of you, despite struggling to show his affections for you. You'd come to understand that it was his approach to appreciating you.

If he felt that a lord was greedily occupying your time in conversation, he'd lazily send for a servant to fetch you and have you hand-feed him treats and bites of his meal, even a pint of his wine.

He’d publicly scold and torture the culprit later, and punish you in the confinement of your private chambers. 

“Think you can get away with seducing other men like that in front of me, woman. I saw the way you’d laugh at their shit jokes, and what was it having to cop a feel of Lord Stark’s arm. Need I remind you, who the fuck I am. The Prince, the King to be. In fact, I ought to punish you till I’m certain you’ve learnt your fucking lesson, insolent girl...”

The only time he'd grant you the opportunity of any public displays of affection, came with an intent of showing you off as his, having you comfortably seated on his meaty, broad thighs [which you could not deny, was actually quite snug].

Once Aegon was crowned King, it became a habit to have you seated on his lap as he sat atop the Iron Throne. Publicly demeaning you in front of his liege and serving subjects, commenting on how clingy and deprived you were, unable to be without him.

Especially once King, he rather enjoys fucking you in public, risqué areas where a passerby may hear or witness the deed being done. Seeing the fear of humiliation stirring across your face [even though he knows no one will dare to argue against him, as King], he praises your innocence. 

“Terrified? Don’t want your fellow subjects to think the worst of their Queen, how aroused I make you, how easily you submit yourself to me? Look at you, a whimpering, wet mess. Shameful...What would they think of you now?”

You did not mind [despite encouraging Aegon to tone it down initially], for his promiscuous habits of seeking out to sneaky rendezvous with the eager prostitutes that filled the Street of Silk, had come to a long-awaited end.

You had not openly discussed it with him, however he began to notice the sadness in your eyes, at the sheer thought that whenever he left you in the night [even if it was to attend some late council meeting, or to fetch a midnight treat] that your mind pondered over awful, scandalous thoughts.

He would open the conversation one late night, before you'd drift off to sleep, after an exhausting, strenuous round of fucking: he made the promise to you, that his loyalty remained with you.

"I may not be able to erase the disgrace that haunts your mind from my actions, although I vow that you are the only one, Y/N... Since I made the decision, it was only ever you."  

As Aegon's waist line had grown noticeably, his infatuation with you had grown exponentially too.

The primal urge to to drench you in his cum, drowning in his hot, potent seed was a must whenever granted the chance.

"To see you swell as I have, with my babe in your belly. Tits full of sweet milk... Gods be good, we will populate the Red Keep if we must."

Once you do fall pregnant, best believe Aegon would be an absolute pest when it comes to your lactation: eager to taste you, he'd become addicted and persistent in asking to drink from your tit, seeing how sensitive and tense they get from the fullness, you have no choice although to trust in him relieving you.

Actually causes him to gain even more weight from the quality nutrition: milk dribbling from his plump lips, drooling down his soft, blurred jawline, as he becomes ‘milk drunk’ from you.

He loves the feeling of your swollen stomach against his soft, plush one: having you ride him one top, as he kneads at your breast, some milk oozing from your sensitive nipple, he'd lick it off his pudgy fingers.  

Aegon however remains vexed with utilising words to express his affections for you: often sought to spoiling you with opulent gifts from across the realm, rare gems and luscious silk gowns and intimacy between a man and his wife.

He whispers an “I love you” thinking you are dead asleep in the night, embraced in his warm, bulky arms, causing you to smile, hidden beneath the dark.  

Regardless, you are more in tune with your thoughts and words: often expressing your admiration for Aegon, which he savours, always eager for your attention.

Nonetheless, you are content with your lives together, ignorant to the judgement of others, you remain committed to each other. 

general taglist - @evenstaris @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @rafesbarbiegirl @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylas-the-grim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea​

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit

[6lostgirl6]

I’m having a bit of bill skarsgård brain rot, lmaooo. Can you do a yandere alphabet for the marquis from John wick

Yandere Alphabet - Vincent de Gramont

TW: Yandere themes, Mentions of Torture, Mentions of Arguments, Stalking, Kidnapping, Forced-Marriage, Spankings as Punishment, Overprotective Vincent, Controlling Vincent

A/N: Please inform me if I did not tag something correctly. Please know the difference between fictional and reality. While fictional, these types of relationships are extremely toxic, especially in real-life. If your relationship is showcasing these toxic behaviors, please seek help from someone to get out safely. Reblogs are heavily appreciated!!

Gif Credit: @mndvx

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

Vincent's love languages are gift giving and acts of service. He's used to money and connections being the answer for everything and that includes how he shows his affections for you. It would be very intense, he would practically shower you in riches if you allowed him. Whatever you wanted was yours and he has the means of making it happen.

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

Vincent is all about efficiency. Whatever directly concerns his darling, he would need it to be handled immediately with little to no waste, effort, or energy. He would have his men handle it or deal with it himself, it depends on the situation. He dislikes messes, however, if someone were to kidnap you, harm you, or touch you, it would be a different story.

If you were harmed, he would return it ten-fold. Remember the scene between him and Nobody with a knife to the hand? Yes, he's willing to get messy for that. If his men are handling it, he would watch and enjoy it.

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

Once abducted, he would treat you like royality, since you're his sweet darling. No, he wouldn't mock you because that's childish in his eyes. He understands it is a difficult situation, but he would expect you to adapt sooner rather than later. He can only be patient for so long.

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

There are many things he wouldn't allow you to do with the sole purpose of protecting you. You'll have to ask for his permission for many of these things, but he isn't unreasonable. If you want to go shopping, take a walk, there's must always be someone with you. You'll either be escorted by him or his men when he's busy. Your privacy will become nonexistent.

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

Vincent would be closed off in the beginning, he would need to trust you completely before he can open his heart to his darling. However, once he trusts his darling completely, he will open up about many things, however he will keep things from you. For instance, he wouldn't want his darling involved with his "occupation" and the things he's done. His vulnerability is strong when he completely trusts you, he's not against telling you his feelings.

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

Vincent can be patient and might even find his darling fighting back amusing. However, that patience can slip away very easily if the fighting persists. He would feel somewhat betrayed from his darling's behavior. He risked your safety to have you in his life and home and this is how you repay him?

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

No, this is not a game to him and he takes it very seriously. Again, he risked your safety to have you in his life, the risk of someone using you against him. He may find his darling trying to escape humorous during the first few attempts, but it would be in your best interest to quit. He won't find it humorous anymore.

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

His darling's worst experiences with him would be his outbursts and controlling behavior. Vincent's patience only goes a certain way until he explodes. Fighting against him would result in him yelling at you angrily and breaking things. For example, when Vincent broke his phone after speaking with Nobody. I believe that Vincent would break things when he's angry or overstimulated enough.

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

Vincent wants to experience everything with his darling. His darling is his significant other, therefore he envisions marrying his darling and having children to continue the next generation. He'll force you to marry him if he has to.

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

He can be extremely jealous, however it is not because of insecurity. He doesn't like anyone thinking they have a chance with his darling without going through him first. He doesn't need to cope being the Marquis, he can have that person killed if he wanted and it will happen. Yes, he will lash out in his own way.

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

He's extremely protective and affectionate with his darling. He can be charming when he wants, hand kisses, arm around the waist, gentle caresses, he will do it all for his darling. His darling always has his attention, even if he's busy. If you're on his good side, it's all romantic.

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

Vincent would do things behind the scenes, make his darling think they have a secret admirer, which is true. He would secretly send you romantic letters and expensive gifts. He would have his men secretly follow you around and get information to bring back to him. He wants to learn everything about you and prepare before abducting you.

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

Absolutely, Vincent would be completely different with others compared to his darling. His darling is the only one that gets the sweet side of him while he remains aloof with others.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

He would take away rights everytime you go against him. For instance, you would no longer be allowed to leave the mansion anymore, no matter how many times you try to appease him. He would need to see improvement first. Plus, he's not against putting his darling over his knee and spanking you until you're red.

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

He would take away some rights from his darling and his darling would need to have his approval for things. For instance, you're not allowed in the kitchens or leaving the mansion without him or a bodyguard and your personal belongings are always monitored. For your protection of course ❤️

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Well, he would have a little more patience with his darling than with others. He'll let his darling off easily the first few times, but it would quickly change because he would assume that his darling is being ungrateful and disrespecting him and his wishes.

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

Absolutely not. Vincent would never be able to move on if something happened to you. If you died, he would remain heartbroken for the rest of his life. If you escape, that'd a different story, you will return to him.

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

He would never feel guilty for kidnapping his darling and it never crossed his mind that what he did was wrong. He has individuals killed for a living, kidnapping his darling wouldn't be any different. He would simply try to make you understand that what he did was necessary. He would never let his darling go, you would have to kill him first.

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

I would assume his childhood and the things he deals with as the Marquis. He's used to having everything he wants, call him spoiled.

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

Vincent would feel disappointed about your behavior, especially when this is a reoccurring problem. However, he still loves you and would want to fix this as soon as possible. He would try to comfort you as much as he knew how. If you were upset about being restrained to the mansion, he'll take you outside. He would explain to you that this was only for your protection and he only wanted the best for you.

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

Vincent isn't sadistic, at least towards his darling and values their feelings. He actually likes communication, you can be open with him about anything because he prefers your honesty than lying and disobeying him.

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

He's used to getting what he wanted and gaining his complete trust would give his darling advantages. He would let his darling have more privileges and his darling can use that in an effort to escape. However, his trust is a long process so you'll need to play the waiting game. Be obedient and docile and you'll have him eating from your palm.

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

No.

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

He absolutely loves his darling and willing to do anything for them. He'll buy anything you want if it meant gaining your affections. He has money and connections, he'll make it happen.

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

He'll pine for his darling for a few months, gaining information on them and preparing his home for his darling's arrival before he snaps. Whenever he wants something, he has to have it soon or now. Again, he's spoiled.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Yes, he would.

Spam Liking w/o Reblogging = Blocked

Taglist: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed @britany1997 @rottent33th @slaasherslut @bloodywickedvamp @daddy-issues-99 @kirishimasfiance @bigcreatorwombatdreamer

[chvoswxtch]

hi court i would like to order an espresso over ice (from barista reid) with the lyrics from espresso lol thank youu

“Oh, he looks so cute wrapped around my finger

My twisted humor, make him laugh so often…

…Walked in and dream came trued it for ya

Soft skin and I perfumed it for ya

I know I Mountain Dew it for ya

That morning coffee, brewed it for ya

One touch and I brand newed it for ya

Now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh

Is it that sweet? I guess so

Say you can't sleep, baby, I know

That's that me, espresso”

this song has been stuck in my head since I first heard it & at this point it's probably gonna be on my spotify wrapped but anyway thank you for your genius idea of pairing it with spencer

as usual I got carried away & could've gone on with it forever but pls enjoy :)

as a reminder, over ice means it's spicy! (minors dni)

drabble below the cut

order for spencer with an extra shot of espresso (over ice)

oh he looks so cute / wrapped around my finger

Spencer’s insomnia had been more rampant than usual the last few weeks, and the only cure he seemed to be able to find was you. When the two of you went on dates, he begged you to come home with him, or let him come stay with you. The second the jet landed after a long case, no matter what time it was, his first call was always to you, pleading for refuge in your bed.

Only your touch could drown out all that white noise in his brain that never seemed to stop working.

He didn’t even bother hiding how desperate he was for you, or just how badly he needed this. Spencer’s large hands slid up the soft skin of your thighs, gripping at your hips greedily while you rode him, moving your hips at a languid pace that had him whimpering beneath you.

“You needed this so badly, didn’t you?”

There’s no cruelty in your sensual voice, but Spencer’s half-hooded eyes don’t miss the wicked smirk that graces your soft lips. He wants you to go faster, to ride him harder, to free fall into that realm of pure gratification. But it also feels so fucking good the way you tease him, rolling your hips slowly, feeling his cock stroke along the warmth of your tight cunt in a delectable way. When you drag it out like this, forcing Spencer to let his orgasm build gradually until he’s on the brink of insanity, it always makes him come hard to the point of knocking the breath out of his lungs and promptly puts him to sleep.

“P-Please-”

“Shh…I know baby, I know. Just be a good boy for me a little bit longer…”

Your fingertips tracing his kiss bitten lips immediately causes them to part, and he’s staring up at you as though he’s finally found a deity he believes in. That genius IQ of his gets watered down to basic primal desire when you fuck him slowly like this, rendering him a whimpering and moaning mess. But he doesn’t care how needy he comes off as, and you certainly don’t mind.

Not when he looks this good at your mercy.

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

Kinktober Day 11 (Humiliation)

Kevin Moskowitz (The Deep) x Reader (NSFW)

(1,127 Words)

Summary: the one where you peg him

Warnings/Tags: 18+, gender neutral reader, strap-on, oral (on the strap), humiliation (duh), degradation, dom/sub, dom!reader, hair pulling, premature orgasm, pegging

Notes: I love bullying him LMAO this can be read as a sequel to this or a standalone, anyway enjoy the fic!!!

-

“God, you’re so fucking pathetic.” You grit out. Your words are cruel and disgusted, but your mind certainly feels the opposite way. In front of you is a beautiful sight: The Deep- Kevin, on his knees taking your strap in his mouth. He sucks on the artificial cock throughly, gingerly sucking just past the tip. “Make sure you suck it real good,” you grip his hair firmly, “get it all nice and wet, since you’re the one who’s going to be taking it up the ass.”

You can hear his pitiful whimpering around the silicone cock. His oceanic eyes slam shut as he swallows the strap further down his throat. He’s slow with it, but that’s to be expected. As he gets further down the base, you can hear him gag around you. Barking out a spiteful laugh, your hands continue to grip at his chestnut hair.

“Good job, Kevin!” You praise, voice laced with a mocking cruelty. “Make sure you really get every, single…” you thrust into his mouth, causing a mixture of a moan and a gag to erupt from his throat. “…Inch.” You chuckle as The Deep writhes below you. Saliva trickles down the corner of his mouth.

Looking down, you spy his massive cock, erect and practically aching through the spandex of his supe costume. It was utterly gratifying to Kevin in a position as compromising as this. In the public eye, he could talk the talk, but behind clothes doors? He was nothing but talk, and in your mind, someone who talks should probably be putting their mouth to other uses; especially when the mouth they have spouts arrogant and douchey remarks.

“Please,” Kevin asks imploringly, “can we just, um, rip off the band aid?” You roll your eyes, deciding to play dumb.

“What do you mean, Kevin?” You ask, playfully. “There is no band aid.”

“Oh come on!” He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “You know what I mean.” It was almost embarrassing to see how badly The Deep wanted you to fuck him. Unfortunately for him, you didn’t want to give him that satisfaction so easily.

“I know, but I want you to say it.”

“God,” he sighs, “this is so-”

“Humiliating? Yeah that’s kinda the point, you fucking idiot.” You grin, sadism dripping from your voice.

Kevin lets out a defeated sigh. His eyes refuse to meet yours as he mumbles his wish.

“Can you, p-please…”

“What was that, Kevin?” You reply, thoroughly enjoying his torment. “I don’t think I caught that.”

The Deep says nothing in reply.

“Aw Kevin, that really is a shame,” you pout mockingly. “I thought you would be more confident in your sexuality, you know, since you didn’t have a problem with humiliating those women.” You jab venomously. “But really?” You make your way around him, bringing a hand to pat on his shoulder, where The Deep tenses almost immediately. “Is it because you have no control?”

“Okay, now wait a-”

“It’s because of those, huh?” Your head is in the crook of his neck, staring at his gills. “Are you really that insecure of them, that you feel the need to have so much control?” You turn your head to Kevin’s, staring intensely, waiting for a reply.

Kevin stammers, completely taken aback. A bewildered expression is splashed across his face when he realizes that you’re right. Swallowing his pride, the sweet words you’ve been waiting to hear finally make their way out of his lips with a grunt of desperation.

“Please just fuck me already.”

You clap your hands together, with a wicked chuckle. The Deep stands there, stupidly and full of anticipation.

“Oh wow,” you push him forward onto the bed. He flips himself around, leaning on his arms to face you, reverently. “If only I knew that’s all it took.” Your eyes glaze up and down Kevin’s chiseled body, practically eye-fucking his gills. Clearing your throat, you lift the strap for emphasis. “Ass up, Kevin.”

He obeys quickly. Pulling down the bottom half of his spandex and tossing it to the side, Kevin is nude, bending over to give you access to his ass. Giving it a quick slap, he flinches. You snicker before easing the strap inside of him. He lets out a guttural exhale as you begin thrusting into him at a steady pace.

As he gets used to the feeling of being fucked in the ass, you decided to test ho much more he can take. Raising an arm to steady yourself on him, Kevin arches his back so he can feel the strap with every thrust.

“God, look at you,” you chuckle barbarously. Shameless moans erupt from Kevin’s throat. “Taking me like the bitch that you are.”

“I-I, please…” is all that he manages to stammer out in his amorous state.

“C’mon, you can get the words out,” you drawl, voice tarnished with cruelty, as you push into him harder, making it more difficult for him to get the words out.

“Please… I want, I-”

“You can do it, Kevin,” you taunt in his ear. “Tell me what you want or you’re only gonna make it worse for yourself.”

“I w-want to come, so f-fucking bad,” he groans wantonly.

“You do?” You ask playfully. You bring your mouth to his neck, biting gently. He whimpers in reply. “You can come when I tell you to.”

“F-fuck, you,” he mutters.

“What was that?” You ask, voice dripping poisonously.

“Nothing, I-”

“No, no I heard you,” your hand snakes it’s way through The Deep’s hair, and like a serpent, you strike, grabbing a fistful of it to pull him back. “No way you’re that fucking stupid, talking back to me. I think this behavior is deserving of a punishment, don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Not wanting to make it worse by defying you, Kevin whimpers pathetically. You can’t tell if it was out of fear or pleasure, but you continue with your threat.

“I swear to you,” you continue thrusting roughly, “I’m going to make your life a living hell, fucking you so stupid, so rough, you won’t even be able to-”

You soon get your answer to Kevin’s response as he finishes all over the bed, coming in thick white ropes. You pull out and pull back, shocked. He turns around in shame, eyes doe-like. Your anger soon dissipates into a sadistic chuckle and evolves into uproarious laughter.

“Holy shit, looks like you couldn’t hold it all together, huh?” you giggle venomously, putting your hands on your hips. “Oh well, looks like we’re gonna have to train up this little pain slut before any real damage can be done, right?” Kevin says nothing, breathing heavily. He’s embarrassed, utterly exhausted. He sighs, ready to face the music.

“Right.”

[dailyadventureprompts]

I want a low level adventure for investigating an old abandoned (why) temple/jail? Why they have been asked to go in is the adventure but as a plot hook for a future adventure they will find a locked up vampire (how) who they can leave, attempt to kill or let go. The key thing is he will offer something if they do the latter pertainent to a later adventure.

Dungeon: The Bargain At Barrowfort

A grim history and rumours of haunting keep people away from the old fortress, Once the domain of a wicked count who was all too fond of brutality and torture as a means of keeping his power. Though it has been many years since a heroic rebellion ousted the count and his patrons from power, time has yet to banish the shadow that has come to dwell behind it's battlements.

Adventure Hooks:

Using the area's foreboding reputation to avoid detection, a band of outlaws has claimed the Barrowfort as their base, striking out at caravans and small settlements with weapons salvaged from it's old armouries. When the party eventually raids the crumbling fortress, the scent of ensuing death will awaken a long slumbering hunger; the Barrowfort's ghoulish final garrison, starved out by besieging rebels and driven to unspeakable acts that cursed them with undeath.

Local lore has it that the fortress was built on the burial mound of an ancient queen, who's tomb-curse doomed the original builders and all those who laid claim to the fort in subsequent generations. Due to a quirk of inheritance, an ailing relative of one of the PCs has left them a deed in their will, and the party best get to the root of the curse (and claim their sick new base) before it brings doom upon them.

In the dungeon's deepest vault resides the last victim of the Count's cruelty: Before his capture Ser Karagol was a ruby knight of Wee Jas, goddess of death, passion, and magic. Ser Karagol was a vampire, but he was also a dutiful and pious man, living his life according to a code that restrained his appetites and directed his long centuries of unlife to the goddess's service. The count hoped to force the vampire into sharing the "gift" of immortality, binding him with holy chains and starving him for months at a time in an attempt to break him down. Decades after being forgotten in the dungeons, Karagol is in a sorry state, slipping between lucidity and feral hunger as he struggles against his bindings. Deliberation and mercy in rehabbing the vamp can earn the party a powerful ally in both the knight and his church, but a slip of awareness might result in one of them becoming gravely hurt.

Repeated acts of cruelty and deprivation have stained the Barrowfort to it's very foundations, marking it for Yeenoghu: demon lord of insatiable hunger. Some time in the future, whether the party is holding a feast in their new hall, or when an ambitious occultist claims the ruins for their own, a portal will open and allow minions of the gnawing god to steal through.

Art