#intent based targeting

[thursdaygrl]

morning 🫥

[daemonbrain]

"One of me is cute but two though!"

2.4k, cw: breeding kink, smut, kinda baby trapping (?), not proofread

a/n: based off Juno by Sabrina Carpenter hehe happy reading :)

Simon Riley who would go to the ends of the earth for his bird. You wanted to watch your favorite movie for the millionth time with him? Done. You were craving take out from that special spot across town in the middle of the night? He’s placing your order and grabbing his keys to go pick it up after a quick goodbye kiss. You wanted him to kill a little red-haired prick who got too close to you -grazed your arm- yesterday at 17:37 while in a crowded line when he went to the loo, with his bare hands? Fan-tastic. (He may be projecting a little)

But he was worried. He might not be the most perceptive man, but he wasn’t so thick headed he couldn’t see the signs.

The way you made googly eyes at every baby you passed by. Fuck sakes he had never seen so. many. babies. 

Little things everywhere nowadays, though it might just be he’s now paying enough attention to notice. It definitely helped the unintentional search that your grip on his arm tightened every time you saw one. Your soft coos as you turned to him to say for a third time in a row that the babe was the “cutest thing you had ever seen”.

He loved you like he loved his gun after it got him out of a tough spot (he loved you more, but he's pretty poor at putting an example on it), but there was one thing he was wholly unsure he could give you. Being a father has never been something he was sure of, his own making his childhood a living hell assuring him that it wasn’t in his genes or anywhere in his future. He came to terms with that years ago and shoved the idea out of his mind entirely. 

As you both sat down at a coffee shop while taking a break from your park walk, you just happened to get seated right next to another woman, a stroller in your direct view.

Fuckin’ great.

Biting your lip you take a peek at the chubbiest little thing in a deep sleep. Catching the gaze of the mother you smile. “She’s adorable” you chirped. 

As the mother responded with a smile of her own, Simon felt a foot gently nudging his leg as gave him the prettiest eyes. Did you even try to hide it anymore? No, you really didn’t. Eyes filled with thinly veiled intentions, eyes that said “Look how cute! Jump across this table and give me one now,” 

“Isn’t she cute Si?!”

He sighed and replied in his usual grumble, “course, ‘er little jumper is nice.” Tactics. Swiftly move out from the topic and do not let the missus see the little bows… on the jumper… he just pointed- for fucks sake you saw it.

After quite some time giggling with the mother over photos, because of course that had to be the natural progression of things, Simon observed in his characteristic shadow-like demeanor before the little one began to fuss in her sleep. The mother excused herself and the babe to nurse and it’s then you finally turn back to your silent companion with your usual beaming.

“ ‘avin fun there, yeah?” He laughed which came out more as a snort as you mockingly kicked him under the table.

“I am as a matter of fact!”

Pulling his hands into the air in surrender he looks you head on. “Okay, I get it.”

“The baby was just so- ugh! Did you see how chubby she was? Her little hair.. Gosh!” Stay on task. Do not get distracted by the target's beautiful smile or laugh. Someone had to be the voice of rationale after all.

“Like I said ‘er jumper was nice.”

When the pout came to your lips, he considered it a success (you were hot either way) and chalked the whole thing as a minor bump in the road. Whatever this baby fever was would pass.

Nonetheless, he should’ve known his bird better than that. She wasn’t a quitter, that’s for damn sure. As you cooked up dinner in that cute apron and served it plated up so nicely it dawned on him just how… domestic this all was.

It was nice, he concluded. Calm.

You remained pensive and quiet for the most part during dinner, clearly desperate to say what you had been on your mind for weeks. He could see the way your mind's gears turned, wanting to blurt it out. Like an animal going feral at the bars of its cage. Except your the animal and your cage is the inherent trust you will not go awol and chuck your birth control pills into the trash while he’s not watching.

“Simon…” 

Here it comes.

Simon grunted out his response while chewing on his food, looking up to meet your cautious gaze. Leaning across the table you gently lay your hand on his which held his fork, pushing it down.

“I’ve been thinking… a lot lately.” There you went with that look again. “Have you… ever thought of kids before? I- I know we’ve had this talk before… but-”

“C’mere.”

He outstretched his big arms and patted his lap. With quick acceptance you hurried over and let him pull you on top of him, one hand on the back of his chair and the other on your ass for support. The deep kneading of it was also for support of course. 

“You know how I feel about them. ‘Is jus not somethin I think about.” He didn’t dare look away from your eyes. If he was about to take that gleam out of your eyes he at least owed it to you to watch.

You grabbed his face with a light touch and caressed the stubble which had begun to grow with a look beginning to resemble a spot of desperation. Pressing yourself further into his body, you couldn’t help your protests.

“Si.. I just- I want one so bad.” You began to slide your hand down the side of his neck, pressing forward to gently place a kiss. Leaning your forehead in the junction between his shoulder and neck you continued before he could respond.

“Don’t you? A little baby with us all the time.”

Someone had to be the voice of reason and Simon was going to have to put his foot down on this.

“You’re not thinkin straigh��. It would be cute-” He was cut off in shock as he felt the slight rock of your hips as you cowered into his shoulder.

“Just imagine it! One of me is cute enough, but two!” The pace began to speed up as you blatantly started grinding against him. He let out a little huff. Voice of reason. Though his reason was nowhere to be found when he put his hand that was idly on the chair to your backside to encourage the movement.

You knew what came next, you had to sweeten the pot. You knew you were being mean, but you just had to! You were practically given no choice!

“Don’t you want that Si! Don’t you wanna make something together?” You all but pleaded. He looked straight past your head with a crumbling steely demeanor. Fuck.

You already began to tug at his shirt and with a final glare, Simon couldn’t help but look at his pretty bird. His pretty bird on top of the prize she coveted, heat passing between their bodies. Just one time. One time and then they could talk about this properly. 

Simon gathered you up in his arms and stood while pressing an eager kiss to your lips. It was a soft and long thing as he brought you both to the bedroom you shared. He threw you down on the bed and stripped himself as you excitedly did the same.

Smiling up at him as if you won. You did not win. This was not a win, right? You were on your birth control either way, he would pull out as needed. What harm is there in fucking his own girl.

Pushing you on to your back he parted your legs to look what lay between them. There was the prize he was most proud of. Puffy cunt at the mercy of the cool air being pushed out by the vents. You were already beginning to shine.

“You were just waiting for it weren’t you? Knew I couldn’t leave you hanging, yeah?”

With a giggle you spread your thighs further and wiggled your hips teasingly. Simon dropped to his knees and pulled your body to the edge of the bed. Throwing each of your legs on either of his shoulders he spit into your cunt, taking two thick fingers and rubbing it in, catching on to your hole lightly as he played with the slick. He could see the way your stomach tightened as he circled your clit and he winded you up further when he firmly flicked it.

“Si” you whined.

“Wha’ is it?” He grinned as he lowered his head to press a kiss down. Devolving from a kiss, he grabbed onto one of your thighs with a strong grip and began to sloppily lick while you let out your breathy little moans, sensitive to the absolute tank holding you still as he ate straight from the source.

He licked and it just kept going. Dragging his tongue around your cunt, up to your puffy clit. He harshly sucked as he latched on to it drawing a cry from your vulnerable form. Tugging at his hair, he only looks up with his eyes, refusing to pull away his mouth. 

Shaking your head with wide eyes you couldn’t help but push your fluffy little agenda.

“Si please. Please. Please, I need it! I’d never ask for anything else-” you moaned in surprise once again as he added a finger into your hole. Willing himself to pull away from you, Simon continued to fuck his finger into you as he spoke up, spittle and slick coating his mouth. He had to switch gears, use logic (and cum) to deter you.

“We’d never have time. All this?-” He added another finger into your clenching pussy “Gone. We’d be cleaning spit up instead.”

“We’d have a baby!” You exclaimed insistently.

You were practically off the edge, usually by now Simon had you fucked into your own little world. This incessant begging for a little one of your own is keeping you sharper than usual. He’d fix that.

“Please Simon” You pulled him up, the strain of his cock to be inside you encouraging him to follow your movements. He looked at you pretty tits, pretty like everything else on you. Taking a nipple between his fingers and rolling hard.

“These’d get all full.”

Fuck that backtracked his own point. His mind fighting back the onslaught of thoughts at the sight of your tits growing round and heavy because of something he could do. Would your body get all soft- NO.

Lining himself up and looking at that pleading expression, the only time he’d ever seen you so wanting of something you were willing to roll around with nothing else on your mind.

“Just one Si, just one with your eyes your nose your hair-” Your breath went short as he pushed himself in, giving shallow thrusts to feed into your aching cunt. Recomposing yourself you gripped on to his bicep, “Just do it, lock me down tonight.”

Simon couldn’t help the way he subconsciously began pushing your thighs up to give himself a deeper angle, your ankles dangling weightlessly above your head, knees to your chest. The groans which sounded through the room as his hips hammered into you in a desperate chase. 

The two of you could do nothing but stare into each other's eyes, losing yourselves in each other while your cunt squeezes him like a vice. Determined to keep him there, body obstinately stuck on one thing.

 Someone had to be the voice of reason. Someone had to object to a little one with his eyes and your personality. Someone had to be rational and not think about painting the nursery while you waddled about. Someone had to remain level-headed and not imagine the way your eyes would light up with unfettered joy.

You tossed your head back and he couldn’t help but grip your face in his hand, tugging it right back to him.

“With me bird, with me. Look at me.”

Someone had to be rational.

Nodding your head shakily you keep your eyes on the massive man pounding away at you, feeling the way your stomach bulges trying to accommodate all of him, your cunt coaxing him further into the sticky trap.

Your body begging for one thing, you looked like you needed it. Tongue lolling out of your mouth as you were fucked stupid, sweat collecting on your brow. You looked perfect. Your whining swallowed by his own mouth when he presses another kiss to your swollen lips, body enduring in hopes the fat cock ruthlessly disturbing its peace would grant it the big load it craved.

Someone had to be rational?

Maybe it was the way you sucked him in, the way he couldn’t stop thrusting into you, but it’s as if your body sent some message to the receptors in his mind. All that flashed before him images of happy and full and with his baby.

As if you could sense his thoughts, your own peak quickly overcame you white hot. The way you spasmed around him with a loud cry of pure ecstasy.

“Give it to me!” You somehow managed. His mind went blank as drunk off the pleasure as you were, the only thing he could do was thrust, unable to comprehend anything else.

 A shame Simon couldn’t be rational when it came to his bird.

With the final slam of his hips, his release went into the deepest depths of you. His grip on your hips burning from how tight it was as he kept himself flush against you.

It took a few moments to come down from the high. Simon looked at your sweaty face, hazy from lack of energy. Maybe you did win this one, but he really didn't get all this effort (not that he was complaining) if you were still on birth control.

Birth control... which he hasn't had to remind you to take for quite some time...

Out of pure curiosity at his realization, he gently pushed the two of you further up the bed while keeping you plugged up. Opening the first drawer he manages to grab the box which contained your birth control pills. Upon further inspection, he notices it remains unopened and untouched. Shaking his head with a gruff laugh he peers down at you as you shiver from the rumble.

“Dirty girl”

You just smiled.

[toastedpopsicle]

the practice of the DNI list has really done nothing but foster hostility and the construction of insular echo-boxes. all for the goal of performatively disconnecting oneself from assumed bad-actors. Like. 'bad people dni' isn't a real actionable barrier or boundary or measure of protection; it's a sigil to ward oneself from the puritanical specters of thought crime and guilt by association. You can't be bad people. Bad people can't even click on your internet words.

[daemonwaters]

One thing BG3 players may not have known about Karsus is that he wasn't trying to become a god for the hell of it. His homeland of Netheril was at war with the phaerimm, a race of extremely powerful magical aberrations. Multiple cities had already fallen to them by the time he had developed his spell Karsus's avatar.

(Side note: High Netherese civilization was located on flying mountain tops that were severed from the ground and flipped upside to serve as a base for the city. So when I say fall, I mean fall.)

Karsus developed his spell to steal the powers of a god so he could destroy the phaerimm and save his people. The spell was actually only temporary in nature (though he didn't appear to know this), and he picked Mystryl (Mystra's former incarnation) as he reasoned the powerful goddess of magic was the best target.

The problem that Karsus didn't realize until it was too late was that Mystryl maintained the use of all magic in the universe. As her powers were lost, all magic in the world began to fluctuate wildly and she was forced to sacrifice herself to stop Karsus, which caused all magic to briefly stop, sending Netheril and its floating cities crashing to the ground.

Karsus wasn't some megalomaniac wizard who saw godhood as his birthright and killed Mystryl to get it - he was a person with good intentions who wanted to save his home and his family but ended up causing an unimaginable amount of destruction, and in his last moments his heart broke over how he had accidentally doomed them all.

Anyways, here's an unrelated Gale quote about Lorroakan seeking godhood:

[justladders]

To everyone in the art community, please:

Tracing is effective. But only as a learning tool. Telling people "never trace" can be robbing them of methods that could have been effective to their learning process if they'd known about them.

The "art of using tracing" is a bit looked over, so I have five points:

(it's a long one)

1: AS A RULE OF THUMB, DO NOT POST/SHARE TRACED AND STOLEN ARTWORK. This is not only lying to anyone you show it to, if you're trying to come off as, "I'm so good, look at what I did," but most importantly, it's lying to yourself. You'll trick yourself into not needing to get any better, and you will stagnate if you start to rely on tracing as a form of stealing. If you come to realize that you are, you should stop using any tracing methods altogether to keep yourself from abusing it. It's a slippery slope for beginners, and a big reason why you’ll hear almost everyone echo that you just shouldn’t trace at all. The issue is that this ignores the ways that tracing can actually be good.

2: Tracing sets the stage for motor skills/hand-eye coordination. I've seen so many early-stage beginner artists get upset that the art that they make of their favorite character/oc is messy, or maybe they just don't even know what they want to draw and can’t "make themselves mindlessly doodle.” These early arists then become completely disheartened and upset, especially if they start to look at other people for comparison. Tracing over work or even over photos is a way to train your hand to hold and wield a pencil/stylus properly without you being worried about the finished product. Think of it like a way to dip your toe into learning the process of what making art feels like, without having to get overwhelmed with searching up pointers and people telling you, "10 quick tips to become a master artist!!!!!!!" (<- please ignore those) If you’re just beginning, your hand-eye coordination needs to be trained, and you shouldn't bog yourself down so much thinking about end products just yet, so if tracing is the way to get you started, go for it. If you're a bit more experienced, tracing and drawing over reference can also help you warm up without being committal or stressing your art brain too much.

3: Practice "mindful tracing." While I said the previous point was targeted more at beginners, this point is actually about something that experts in their field use. Doing "mindful tracing" over art means that you aren't worried about getting the lines "correct," you're studying why those lines are there. You're taking note of where the shadows meet the highlights based on the light source, how it shows off the forms, and how sharp or soft the lighting is; you're going over the lines of action in the piece to see how your eye is guided by the artist's intention and planning; you're seeing how characters may be stylized into shapes and the feeling that those shapes can give; you're noting how the artist uses line weight or weird blocks of color or stark breaks to split up the art or separate ideas within it; you're experiencing the flow of the poses within the artwork to grasp how that kind of thing feels; you're breaking down the overall composition like in a thumbnail sketch; and the list goes on.

"Mindful tracing" ends up looking like you've marked up an English essay: it should be messy, because the intent with it is not to copy or replicate, it's to notate. It's like how literally writing notes on things helps you remember better than if you only read it. You're acknowledging instead of just looking. And you can always learn, even from styles that you don't intend on actually using. As you get to be more experienced, you may come to realize that you can do "mindful tracing" analyses on artwork without having to literally write over top of the piece, which is great: that means you're improving your creative brain, and prepping it to be able to break down your own works in this way as you make them.

4: Trace for specific character or style studying. For this point, I want to especially stress that this is what makes everyone say, "don't trace," because this is what tracing is most commonly associated with: art theft. There's really no excusable reason to repost someone's art in this way.

I feel like you have to be a bit more experienced to properly use tracing specifically for style studies. The benefits that come with tracing a certain style is that it can quite literally teach your hand/brain to recognize the patterns that are present. You get a feel for how far apart a specific characters eyes are, how big their hands are, how the shapes of the body make up their form, how the exaggeration in the expressions feel, and when traced you know you have all of these proportions correct. This makes it so much easier to start drawing the specific character on your own if you know that you have a correct baseline (and of course you should still use reference from then on). When you study many different characters of the same style, you can start to grasp what actually makes up this style that you're studying, where -similar to point #3- you train your art brain to recognize the original artists' intentions and ideas. I would even argue that doing this is MORE IMPORTANT than using reference at the very beginning of a style study, because it makes you worry less about if you're pulling from the reference correctly and instead lets you focus on the original art by thinking through it during the process; this kind of thing is done by professionals. Although tracing can net you these benefits for studies, it is not a way to get around the rest of the learning process, which is the pitfall that normally ends up making tracing ineffective.

5: Lastly, I actually kind of lied about tracing "only being good as a learning tool." The other case where tracing gets used is within the process of making hand drawn animation, and I do mean the professional stuff. Model guides are constantly used in classic animation as reference to keep by the animator's side so that characters stay on model, but sometimes there are unnoticeable parts of a character that just get straight-up traced from either the model sheet or a different scene that's already animated. When used smartly and sparingly, this keeps the character on model, is unidentifiable to the audience, and takes up less time for the animators to work (and by "used smartly" I don't mean moments where characters blatantly have 5 seconds of reused animation). I can basically guarantee that this practice was done throughout the making of any 2D project you can think of.

In digital hand drawn art, key frames between points in an animation may get the "shift and trace" treatment, where the tween frame is just a smudged-around-version of the key frames until it looks about right, and then it get traced over. Backgrounds get traced all the time by artists in the professional field through modelling a 3D render of the space, going over it so they have the layout, and then painting on top of it. When drawing characters, people will take photos of themselves and trace the pose, then keep it to the side as reference. And this is all without even mentioning rotoscoping.

When people say, "don't trace," what they actually mean is, "don't trace as a substitute for experience."

The issue is that people blanketly state, "x thing is bad," because then people that aren't learned in the field go, "oh, okay, x thing is bad, it will always be bad, I shouldn't look into it or consider it any more, and I should correct/disgrace anyone that thinks otherwise or does x thing."

So please. Trace. Tell other people to trace. But remember: trace mindfully. :)

[fanaticsnail]

You're Angry at the Tall Men

Masterlist Here

I have two very dear mutual creators on here that are struggling with the flu. Hopefully yelling at the tall men of one-piece will help you both out: @feral-artistry & @sordidmusings

Word Count: 200-400 per gentleman: Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Corazon, Doflamingo

Warnings: anger, violence, suggestive spice for a few, angst, afab!implied but not overly mentioned, height difference.

First time writing for Cora, Croc and Doffy - mainly going off small clips and overall vibes. Apologies if I didn't do your blorbo justice.

(Apprehensive tag list: @gingernut1314, @writingmysanity)

He knows what he did to earn your wrath; your fury ignited in your eyes and the flames physically tangible and searing the room with your scorn. Your brow was furrowed, your lips curling into a snarl to bare your pearled teeth at him.

Buggy: 6’3

“Sit your tall ass down!” you roared at him. The clown shrieked back, immediately reaching his stuttering hands towards the back of a chair to unceremoniously fall back onto the wooden base. Unfortunately, as his ass barely grazes the base; his weight proceeds to fall from its intended target, plopping down onto the cement ground instead of finding comfort on the chair.

“Ah, fuck!” he cried out alongside his wince, his red nose creased as he felt the pain shoot up his coxic bone and tingle up his spine. This moment of failure breaking a small crack in your iron fury, a giggle attempting to break through your anger. He winces his beautiful teal eyes up at you, cringing through the pain and gritting his teeth in an attempt of a smile.

“You are so pathetic,” you growled at him, extending your hand out and collecting his chin within your thumb and index finger. You were held captive by his sparkling eyes beneath his lengthy blue eyelashes as he looked up at you in awe.

“It’s why you love me, right?” he whimpered at you, his crooked smile drawing you in closer to him. You stooped, pressing a small kiss against his rotund, red nose.

“Yes,” you again growled at him, pouting with your brow falling low in the center of your forehead, “but I’m still angry at you.”

“I know,” he grumbled in response, his eyes upturning and almost pleading, “but I can fix that, right?”

Shanks: 6’6

“Woah, woah, love!” he cried out, backing away from your approach with his wide smile plastered to his cheeks. He was still smiling, even when you backed him against the wall with your forearm horizontally pressing him back into the wooden banister behind him.

“You absolute stupid, ridiculous, drunken-,” one look into his loving eyes rendered you immediately defenseless to his aura. He looked at you with such love, his brown eyes holding only softness and adoration within them. He brings up his arm, choosing to caress your cheek and lace a loose strand of your hair to hook over your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into you, leaning his head down and moving his lips against your forehead to murmur into your skin, “forgive me, I didn’t mean it.” Inhaling a deep breath, you feel the rage falling away from you as he continued murmuring sweet nothings into your ear.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re angry,” he breathed his raspy voice into your ear.

“And you’re so handsome when you’re not the one making me angry,” you growled back at him.

Mihawk 6’6

“Mihawk!” your rumbled growl echoed in the high ceilings lifting the light in the large dining room. He was stooping, fingertips halting their descent to grasp the back of his dining chair. He huffed out a sigh, rotating his neck and removing his hat from his head. He placed the hat on his dining setting, and prepared himself to receive your wrath.

As soon as you saw him preparing himself to receive the scorn you were about to bear down on him, you decided to switch it up. Something about how smug he was did not satiate your fire from erupting further. You had every intention of taking him by his wrist and leading him to the impressive steps of the foyer and taking a few steps up to bring you to the appropriate height to maintain eye contact as you reprimanded him.

But his ear was right there, no longer shielded by his broad hat to halt your action. Immediately, you pressed your index and middle finger against the overly sensitive shell of his ear and began dragging him towards the archway leading to the foyer.

“Not quite so hard, dear,” he winced as his steps stuttered behind you. You allowed a sinister smirk to rise on your lips, gaining a sickening amount of joy from knowing you were paining him a little to satisfy your wrath. As your feet found the steps, you relinquished your hold on his ear and turned to face him, your eyes first glancing at the raven curls atop his head that you rarely are accustomed to seeing these days. His head was bowed, his hand drawn up to cradle his ear and sooth over the throbbing shell. At this, your anger ceased and you immediately sought out his eyes by cupping his cheeks and elevating his face.

“I’m sorry, my love. Did I hurt you, are you okay?” you hastily spoke, eyes checking over his face for any semblance of hurt or pain.

“Only my pride, dear,” he replied in a soft grumble, continuing to keep his eyes from joining with your own. You sighed in relief before shaking your head to remind yourself why you brought him here in the first place. You furrowed your brow and slunk your hands from his cheeks to fall them against his chest.

“I’m-,” you began, your angry words halted by Mihawk taking a step forward and pressing his forehead against your own.

“-I’m sorry. Forgive me,” he whispered into your face, his eyes half lidded and sorrow falling over his face, “I never meant to hurt you, and I’m willing to spend all the time it takes to make it up to you.”

Sir Crocodile 8’3

Clutching his cigar in his index and middle fingers, he flicked the ash into the glass and gold tray on his desk. He could hear the fall of your feet outside the door, his jaw falling slack in bored frustration. 

“You devious bastard,” you growled as the door to his office flung open. He inhaled deeply, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out another cigar to clench his teeth onto. As your eyes met, his brow arched while his eyelids hung half-lidded. He sat back against his armchair and uncrossed his legs from their join of the knees. Remaining wordless, he fished around in his pants for his lighter, to find nothing but his golden pocket watch and a few rolls of berry within his leatherbound wallet.

“Be a dear and find me a light,” he dismissed your anger with the wave of his hand as his eyes searched his desk for his capped lighter. This seemed to engage your fury further, making you immediately lunge at him and crawl onto his lap. You drew your claw-shaped grip up to his jaw, snarling into his face as you did so.

“You think I care about your lighter right now, you arrogant lizard,” you spat at him. His eyes widened in surprise, initially being taken off guard by your presence atop his thigh. Immediately after processing the shock, his eyes darkened as he used his large, golden hook to circle around your thigh; trapping it within the metal and drawing it closer into him. Your kneeling position atop his lap was now made ever more dangerous than it had been, not knowing how he would truly respond to your anger. Both of your tempers began to flare as he snarled at you.

“Lighter first,” he growled at you, looking up into your enraged eyes as your hair cascaded down over his face, draped almost intimately over his forehead. You scoffed, flicking the hair over your shoulder and grimaced at him in response. 

“And why should I do that after what you did?” you gnashed your teeth, baring your rage in your now untested situation. The tense air now growing thick and dense as your bodies pressed closer together. He gripped your hips with his hand, his golden hook scraping over your thigh and placing your knee over his waist as he drew you closer. 

“Lighter first,” he began to snarl at you, “or I will channel your rage in another way.”

“Try me, Reptile,” you snarled at him, clenching your teeth as you stooped lower into his face. He immediately stood, his tall body hoisting you up against his hips and slamming your back atop his desk. He hovered over your body, leaning his face down and snarling into you,

“You should’ve just done what you were told,” He growled into your neck.

“You shouldn't have pissed me off,” you gnashed your teeth once more, your eyes widening as you felt his teeth bite down hard on your clavicle, soothing over the new injury with his tongue. 

Corazon 9’7

“Donquixote Rosinante!” you shouted, walking around the halls and tracking the stupor of his step. You immediately heard a thud, followed by several crashing booms reverberating within the hallway. None of these sounds halted your descent, your rage and fury propelling your steps further towards him.

When your eyes fell over his body, he was hoisting himself up from his entanglement with several cleaning products; a mop over his head and a bucket circling over his left foot. He looked ridiculous, his coat hanging limply from his shoulders over his open heart-stitched shirt.

As he rose to his feet, you were taken aback at how truly tall he was; his body towering over your own. You lost your nerve slightly at his stature, but still the edges of your body remained singed with the fires of rage within your soul.

“Cora-!” your words were halted by the man drawing such anger from you wordlessly holding up his palm to silence you. Your brows fell further down your face, your frown deepening as you watched him silently search his surroundings. His eyes widened first, before softening as he stooped down to collect the bucket that was once wrapped around his foot. He blew over the base of the bucket with a small puff of breath, placing the brim on the ground and dusting the base with the back of his hand.

He turned his painted face up to you, a tight smile pulling at his mouth as he extended his hand to you. You sucked in a breath through your nostrils, pouting as you took his hand. Stepping up onto the bucket, you still remained short to his great height. Still holding onto your hand, his smile softened as he bent at the knees to crouch in front of you, looking up into your face with eyes baring great sorrow at how angry you were with him.

Relinquishing the hold against your hand, he gestured for you to bare your soul out to him with a simple swipe of his hands. He was so willing to have you share your emotions with him, it almost made you want to cry with frustration at how truly loving he was to you. 

“You’re just going to sit back and take it? Say something, Cora. Anything!” You screamed, the sting of tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. He continued to watch on, never once rising from his crouch, nor bringing his eyes away from searching your face. It was only when a hot, frustrated tear fell from your eye down your cheek that he rose up to his full size once more. 

He wordlessly drew his palm up to claim your cheek, his thumb brushing the tear away from its descent down towards your mouth. 

“Please,” you whimpered while searching his eyes, “please say something.”

He leant forward, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, circling the other arm around your shoulders and holding your chest flush with his own. His lips found the crown of your head, pressing a soft and careful kiss against the top of your hair.

“Calm,” he uttered, the room circled around him by the spark of his devil-fruit power. You looked at him confused, your nostrils flaring at him while still expressing your anger. 

“Why use the devil-fruit powers now?” you asked him, shaking your head at him as all else in the hallway was silenced. No taps of feet, no drips of taps, nor the sounds of breeze through the trees outside the room could be heard within the silent barrier. 

“Because I want everyone to know how angry you are with me,” he uttered, his nose lovingly brushing against your own, “And I want to be able to scream how much I love you with no consequence.” He pressed his lips against your forehead, smearing his red face paint against your skin as he trailed a flurry of gentle kisses against your nose, cheek bones and the corner of your lips in an attempt to smother the flames of your anger. 

“This doesn’t make up for what you did,” you spat at him, your narrowed eyes looking at him through your eyelashes remaining dark with fury.

“I know,” he admitted, unwrapping his arm from circling your shoulders. He grazed his arm down and collected your hand once more within his, lacing your fingers together as he uttered, “I’m so sorry, my darling. I’ll never do it again.”

Doflamingo 10’

He was immediately expressing joy at how riled up he had managed to make you, his lips curling back into a sinister smile. He darted his tongue out over his mouth to dampen his chapped lip before he allowed a rumbly chuckle to exit from his chest.

“Doflamingo!” You screamed, rage and fury overcasting your usual stoic state with their venom. He rose to his feet and was almost bursting at the seams with how happy getting a rise from you was making him.

“How dare you?! How dare you do that to me?!” You roared, not halting your approach in any way. He towered over you, his lanky build condescendingly casting his feathered silhouette over your body.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he shrugged, speaking quickly with a broad grin continuing to polish his cheeks. His eyes remained hidden by his glasses, your own eyes beginning to prick at the corners with a frustrated rage.

“Wipe that horrible grin off your face before I rip it off,” you spat, your hands demonstrating how truly violent your thoughts were.

“Only if you do it with your teeth, Princess,” he bore his teeth down at you. His smile widened further up his cheeks, your urge to claw out his eyes not satisfied in the slightest. You impulsively swung your hand at his face, your wrist caught within his circled grip. His laughter erupted over his chest at this small demonstration of violence, so easily stifled by his hands.

“Ohh, you’ve got some fire in you today,” he chucked his taunt at you, leaning down further into you; his nose almost brushing against your own with how close he drew himself down to you, “What I’d give to see that demonstrated with your body wrapped around my- AHH.” You halted his words within his mouth by clamping your teeth down against his nose hard enough to draw blood. After tasting the metallic flavor roll over your tongue, you withdrew your teeth from his flesh and bore your red-tinted lips at him.

He reached up to clutch the scruff of your neck, pulling you closer into him and purring a roar of his own into you:

“Mmm, Harder.”

[tawnfawn]

intoxicated | könig

summary: you get along with everyone on your team, except for könig. you think he hates you, but his perceived distaste for you only makes you want him more. you're able to keep your composure until you're partnered up for a mission, where everything seems to go wrong...

tags: könig x fem!reader smut. cod. pure filthy, shameless smut. sex pollen. proofread. MDNI. 5k+ words

cw: dubcon (due to sex pollen but there's clear consent before and after). unprotected sex (reader IS on birth control, wrap it before you tap it), p in v, oral m!receiving, fingering, accidental drug use (sex pollen), dom!könig and sub!reader, light humiliation kink, heavy praise, size kink if you squint, overstimulation, mutual pining, violence, killing.

MDNI. NSFW BELOW THE CUT

You crept around the corner of the warehouse with your rifle, watching König’s six as you progressed. The other KorTac members were stationed on site as well, giving quick updates through comms as you progressed. Details were scarce, except that in the warehouse, a Russian terrorist group was producing a bioweapon capable of mass destruction—and anyone inside was KOS.

Of course, the bioweapon in question was…dubious, to say the least. A strong aphrodisiac, the contractor had explained, much to the astonishment of your team. During the briefing, you’d managed to keep a straight face, but not all of your teammates were as courteous.

“So let me get this straight—you want us to risk our lives for…Viagra?” Horangi had questioned, exasperated. Your lips pursed at his crudeness, but it was exactly what you were thinking too.

The scientist’s face flushed. “N-no, this is much different,” he snapped. As one of the architects of the bioweapon, he was clearly offended. “It is much, much stronger. Exposure to just one dose will cause severe arousal: heart palpitations, excessive sweating, overheating. Imagine…” He seemed to be struggling to find the words. “Imagine a brain overload, yes? Rational thinking…disappears. Victims may lose all motor control. Too long without treatment can result in heart failure, aneurysms, seizures, stroke, and sometimes death.”

“So what is the treatment?” you interrupted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Sex,” the scientist answered, shifting uncomfortably on his heels. “It was designed to be, ah… difficult.”

Your jaw clenched, and your eyes darted to König. He was staring down the scientist, narrowed eyes betraying no emotion. While everyone else struggled to keep their bafflement hidden, his sniper hood obscured any hope of reading him. Just my fucking luck, you thought when you were partnered with him.

It wasn’t that you disliked König; it was just that you found it so much more difficult to talk to him. With the rest of your teammates, you were fine. A natural people reader, you were comfortable with the rest of them, relying on body language and the details they let slip to learn more about them. In fact, you considered yourself to be pretty close with them—unsurprising, given that in your line of work, your life rested in their hands and vice versa. But König was… different. You didn’t distrust him, per say, but outside of the battlefield, he was quiet. Reclusive. No matter how many times you’d tried to get him to open up, he barely interacted with you, despite talking to the others. You’d chalked it down to being the newest on the team at first, but now that you’d served over a year and a half together, you were frustrated. Shouldn’t that be well enough time to open up at least a little bit?

You knew your thinking was illogical. Your job was to hunt targets and invade bases, not deep dive into your coworker’s soul, but you couldn’t help the way it took over your mind. Your need to understand him had become a bit of an obsession. You constantly found yourself looking at him, trying to discern any emotion his eyes betrayed. You listened intently for any of his input in person or on comms, no matter how menial it was. You studied his body language, taken note of any habits or gestures. You’d even memorized the way he reloaded his guns.

It was…embarrassing, to say the least. But could you blame yourself? He was so tall and strong and imposing that even just standing next to him made you, a normally very confident and intimidating woman, feel small. Such was the reason that you pushed yourself extra harder whenever you were paired up with him, making sure he knew you were valuable, a force to be reckoned with. Your excellent performance had made you two quite the duo, often clearing out legions of enemies in mere minutes. And you had to admit, seeing him absolutely obliterate enemy lines made you feel some type of way…

But not like that, of course. You were just…curious. When he finally opened up to you (and not if, but when), your obsession would stop, and everything would be fine. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Today, however, there were a lot less enemies than you’d expected. Sure, there were quite a few soldiers stationed around the warehouse (which your team had incapacitated quickly), but inside, save for some scientists and the occasional guard, it was eerily empty and quiet.

“It’s fucking cold,” Horangi’s voice rang out from your radio. You sighed and brought the device to your lips.

“It’s fucking Russia,” you stated. “What did you think it’d be? Beachy?”

König’s quiet chuckle sounded from in front of you, and you couldn’t help the pride that swarmed in your heart. Heat burst in your cheeks, but you tried to brush it off.

“Fuck off,” Horangi replied. “East side clear.”

“West unknown,” you said. “Standby.” You tucked the radio back into your pocket, following your teammate.

You both peeked around the corner to the last room. It was filled to the brim with lab equipment—beakers, bunsen burners, flasks, microscopes—all sitting atop of large resin tables. Bright, fluorescent lights bounced off the sterile grey walls and ceiling, creating a dull glare that was almost depressing. Neat racks of tightly sealed vials and test tubes peeked through glass cabinets on the walls, parallel to the large sinks below. Across the room was a row of unfamiliar-looking equipment, and next to that, an enormous whiteboard boasting messily scrawled notes, diagrams, and equations. A bag of what looked like takeout sat on a nearby desk next to a crumpled napkin and a perspiring styrofoam cup. It was almost exactly what you’d imagined a stereotypical laboratory to look like, albeit a bit messier and more lived in. A singular man stood working at one of the tables, frantically scribbling on a notepad with his back facing toward you. König motioned for you to stay put as he crept forward. You complied.

Then the man dropped his pen.

“Xyй,” he cursed and turned around to pick it up. Of course, when he turned around, he saw König’s gigantic form pointing a gun at him, and he screamed. You fired your suppressed pistol, but not before the scientist hurled a glass vial at König. It shattered against his tactical vest as the dead scientist crumpled to the ground, releasing a burst of lavender-colored smoke that curled into the air and quickly dissipated.

König ripped off his tactical vest, coughing violently, but it was too late—the substance had already entered his lungs, likely reaching his bloodstream by now. He stared at you, blue eyes wide with—for the first time you’d ever seen—fear. 

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and he staggered to the wall, crashing down to the floor.

“König?” You stared at him, stricken. His eyes were closed, and he was stock still—stiller than you’d ever seen him—and for a long, hard moment, you thought he might be dead. 

Then his eyes snapped open. His pupils were dilated and blown, a sea of black barely tinged by blue irises. He stared at you, unmoving, before letting out a groan and bringing his hand over his face.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You grabbed your radio. “M-man down!” you stammered into it. “König’s been exposed. West side clear. Requesting med evac in thirty minutes. Going dark.” You turned it off, not bothering to listen to any input. The rest of your team knew what this meant. As did you.

In the time you’d been on the radio, König had torn off all of his other gear, leaving himself in just his shirt, pants, and boots. He was panting, his chest heaving with each breath, ungloved hand still hiding his masked face as he cursed in German.

You crossed the room in seconds and kneeled at his side. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, König, just breathe—”

“No,” he breathed. His voice was deeper, raspier than normal, and the unbridled heat in it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands were clenched into fists, body tensed as he fought the invisible infection. “Go. Now.”

“You know I can’t leave—”

His hand fell to his side, letting his eyes meeting yours for a split second. “Please,” he groaned, starting to tremble as you drew closer. “I—I can’t—”

His gaze strayed lower, and you followed it to the growing bulge in his pants. You gulped, unmoving, and he grabbed your arm. The force of it was enough to make you still.

“Go,” he insisted, his accent even thicker than usual. “I’m not—I cannot control myself.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here!” you argued, swatting his hand away. “You’re my teammate. You could die.”

“I will hurt you,” he retorted. All the muscles in his body were tensed, clearly on overdrive. Even his eyes were watering. “Please, maus. I am not gentle.”

Something inside about his statement made your thighs clench together, but you tried to ignore it. Tentatively, you brought your hand to his chin, pulling his face towards you. His skin was feverish, and your heart twisted in sympathy. “Let me help you,” you pleaded, and he inhaled sharply.

“It feels like I’m burning,” he hissed, and you frowned. His black compression shirt was nearly soaked with sweat, and you grabbed the fabric, pulling it up. He pawed at your arm weakly, but you shushed him.

“You’re overheating. Take it off,” you ordered, and finally, he let you pull it over his head, sagging back against the wall as you threw it to the side.

You’d seen him without a shirt before—it was hard not to with this kind of job, what with donning injuries all the time—but this was different. His head was thrown back as he panted, toned chest heaving with each breath, and you could see all of the muscles in his chiseled abdomen clenched, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. It was… erotic. Just looking at him made you feel dirty. You felt the thrum of something other than worry in your abdomen, and you swallowed.

“Leave me,” König growled, but it sounded more desperate than commanding. You shook your head at him.

“Not letting you die, König.” You began to rip off your gear, tugging off your tactical vest and discarding your weapons. 

König grabbed your wrist. “What are you…?”

“Wanna help you, okay?” you said softly, trying to catch his eyes as they darted over your face. “Are you gonna let me?”

He took in a deep breath, his other hand in a death grip on his thigh. “I-I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated, but it was starting to lose its original harshness. He was fading, and fast.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. You placed your hand on his bare chest, feeling the way his heartbeat stuttered and stammered under your touch. He cursed in response, the hand on your wrist twitching, clearly fighting the urge to touch you. In a split-second decision, you swung your right leg over his lap and straddled him, careful not to grind against him, waiting for an answer first. He let out a choked noise and grabbed you by the hips, his tight grip making you gasp. “Yes or no?” you breathed.

“Ahhh, maus.” The low groan he let out was nearly animalistic. “Yes,” he begged, and that was all you needed to hear.

You started grinding on his lap gently, trying to restrain yourself from going further. You wanted to be mindful of his sensitivity, but König simply huffed in annoyance and used his tight grip on your hips to tug you all the way down into his lap—allowing you to feel everything. The imprint of his hard, throbbing cock made you dizzy; you couldn’t resist pressing against it, moaning softly at the delicious friction it granted your clit.

“Scheiße,” König murmured, his thighs twitching underneath you. You felt bad, knowing he was probably dying for some real contact, so you decided to give it to him.

Your heart raced as you reached for his waistband, unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants to his knees. His cock was straining against his briefs, a wet patch forming from precum, and you quickly removed those as well, watching his hardened cock spring up and then fall slightly, its weight making it unable to reach his stomach. Your mouth went dry. Fuck, he was huge. You supposed it made sense: as an exceptionally large man, it was logical to have a proportionally large cock, but the sight of it still shocked you.

“Maus,” he whispered, breaking you out of your trance. He stared at you apprehensively, and you wrapped your much smaller hands around his cock, hearing him suck in a breath. You took a moment to marvel at the sheer size of him—your normally average-sized fingers looked miniature in contrast, unable to even fully wrap around his length. You felt your own arousal seep into your underwear, and you leaned down to kiss his tip.

The moan he let out turned you on even more than before, and you wasted no time teasing him, spitting into your hand and pumping his cock a few times before bringing the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the slit before pushing him further down your throat. His cock was so large that you had to fight not to scrape your teeth against it, flattening your tongue under the base of it.

His hand fisted into your hair, pulling slightly every time you moved your lips up and down his shaft, twisting your hand in tandem. Your other hand gripped onto one of his thick thighs, feeling his leg twitch as he struggled not to buck his hips up into your mouth. Each strained noise and curse you coaxed from him only encouraged you more, your own whimpers muffled against his cock as you did your best to fit him down your throat.

After only a few minutes, you felt him twitching in your hand and sped up your pace, determined to pleasure him as much as possible. Curses fell from his lips as he finished, hot spurts of his release shooting down your throat. You swallowed it quickly, continuing to pump your hand up and down his still rock-hard shaft.

König, however, pulled you off quickly, eyes wide and dark with an almost fearful desperation as he stared at you. “The poison. It’s still…”

You looked back down to see his cock still twitching in your hand. “It’s okay,” you said, starting to lean back down, “I’ll just—”

“No!” He pulled you back up by the neck. You blinked at him in shock, and he stared back, pupils blown wide like black moons. There was a fiery hunger in his eyes as he looked at you, one you’d never seen before. The sheer want in his gaze sent a cold shiver down your spine. No one had ever looked at you like this before—like you were prey.

“König?” you asked nervously.

Instead of answering, he began to unbuckle your belt, and you gasped as his hand reached under your waistband to cup your clothed core, index finger tracing lightly over your clit. You fought back a mewl, chest seizing as you shut your eyes from the pleasure.

“So wet,” he marveled. He pushed your underwear to the side, smearing your arousal over your soaked folds as you whimpered, bucking your hips into his hand. “Just from sucking my cock?”

His switch in demeanor startled you, and you moaned as one of his large fingers pressed into your weeping hole, curling inside you with precision. His hands were so much bigger than yours; the stretch was making your knees weak. He quickly found your G-spot, taking care to press against it as you arched into him. “Oh, oh, fuck, König,” you whimpered, coaxing a dark chuckle from him that made you clench around him.

Your thighs clenched around his hand, but he pried them apart with ease, forcing you to straddle him and rendering you helpless to his ministrations as he slowly dragged another finger in and out of you. With each achingly slow push into your dripping hole, he made sure to curl them just right, long fingers able to reach that sensitive spongy spot inside you effortlessly. His palm laid flat against your clit as he stroked your walls, letting you sloppily grind into his hand as he murmured praise into your ear.

“Does that feel good, liebling?” he asked, drinking in each of your breathy, pleasured noises with satisfaction. “You like making a mess on my fingers, mm?”

You simply whimpered, too embarrassed of your flustered state to form a real response. He seemed to pick up the hint, giving you a cocky smirk through his mask. “Ohh, it’s okay, maus,” he cooed, but his soft words were laced with a smug condescension that made your cheeks burn. “You look so pretty like this, all dumb on my fingers. I wish I could’ve seen it earlier.”

You whined again, desperately grinding down on his palm for more friction. His slow pace was torturous, giving you just enough to feel pleasure but not enough to build it. It was mean. It was twisted. It was agonizing. You were eating it up.

“Please,” you tried, teary eyes boring into his. “Can you—can you please—”

“Can I what, maus?” He cocked his head, darkened eyes twinkling with mirth. “Tell me, or I can’t help you.”

You know what I want, you wanted to shout at him, but you knew that wouldn’t work. “Please,” you begged, “I need more."

“What more do you need, maus?” he asked again. “You have a mouth. Use it.”

“Need you to—” You whimpered pitifully, dropping your head into his shoulder. “Please, need you to go—go harder.” You nearly sobbed out the words, desperation winning out over your embarrassment. You were mortified at your teary, shaking voice, but he seemed to revel in it, squeezing your thigh in appreciation.

“Oh, is that what you wanted?” he teased, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “You could have just said so.”

He set a steady pace with his fingers, bullying them inside of you hard enough to make you squirm against him. With each thrust, he curled them just right, sending your eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in heavy pants as you mewled into his shoulder. You were grateful to be spared of his intense gaze; you didn’t think you could look at him in the state you were in. It was mortifying just hearing the sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your gushing cunt.

“Oh, maus,” he cooed into your ear as you trembled, keening at the stretch of his fingers. “You’re just so beautiful like this, you know. So fucking desperate and pathetic. I wish I could see you like this all the time.”

Would I like him to finger me like this all the time? Hell yes, you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him, only able to whine and nod vigorously into his shoulder, lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you. You could feel yourself starting to reach the edge of your climax, grinding harder and harder into his palm and gasping with each spark of pleasure it gave your throbbing clit. You were so wet that you were starting to wonder if you’d been infected, too; each time he hit your g-spot just right, you felt more and more slick dribbling out of you and down your thighs. It was driving you insane.

“K-König!” You managed a cry of his name right before you came, clenching around his fingers as you bucked your hips into his hand. Breathy whines fell from your lips, your thighs shaking and seizing as you squirmed in his hold, feeling an almost overwhelming wave of pleasure wash over your body. The feeling was so intense it was almost painful; you hadn’t had an orgasm in so long, and the effect was palpable. His arms held you tight, keeping you grounded while you shuddered in his grasp, his big fingers determined to prolong your ecstasy.

When you finally came down from your high, you couldn’t look at him, mortified at your messy state. His fingers were still knuckle-deep in your arousal, and you could feel more of your slick dripping down your thighs, wet and uncomfortable. You kept your head buried in his chest shyly while your happy cunt stayed spasming in his hand.

“Okay, schatz?” he asked softly, using his free hand to tilt your head towards him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You stared up at him, mouth open. There were practically hearts in your eyes; your adoration was clear to him, and he laughed at your expression, cradling your cheek with his hand. “Aww, schatz.” He clicked his tongue, a smile audible in his voice. “You’re so sweet.”

Your cheeks burned red at the words, and you blinked rapidly, unable to look away. His piercing blue eyes stayed trained on yours, but there was a warmth in them that soothed you. He petted your cheek, lifting his hood to press a kiss to your forehead.

Your mind felt fuzzy. All you could think about was your need to be filled by him, and you pawed at his hard cock, wrapping your fingers around the base of it. A hiss of pleasure escaped him, and you kept your eyes on his, wide and pleading. “Please fuck me,” you whispered, still trembling in his grasp.

König’s eyes darkened, and he tugged off the rest of your bottoms quickly. His strong hands lifted you to hover you over his cock, and you shuddered with anticipation, head spinning. He rubbed the tip through your dripping folds, coaxing out a gasp as it brushed over your swollen clit. You tried to push him inside, squirming, but his tight grip on the bottoms of your thighs kept you in place, and you whined his name, hoping he would take pity on you.

“Bitte, König,” you begged, and he practically growled at the words, mercifully allowing you to sink onto the tip of his cock and drawing out a desperate mewl. Even with how wet you were, he was so, so big that he was practically tearing you in half.

“K-König—”

“Hush, liebling,” he soothed, and you moaned as your core clenched around him, beacons of pleasure ripping through you from just the feel of him. He waited for you to relax and then pushed in farther as you gasped at his length.

“Mmph! König—” You keened as he continued to push himself into you, waiting each time to make sure you were okay. You could feel his hard cock twitch with each thrust, and you knew it must be difficult for him not to go straight into fucking you, that he was holding himself back to be more gentle. The thought only made you moan louder.

Tears slipped down your cheeks when he finally bottomed out, and he wiped them away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, maus,” he groaned, no doubt feeling the way you clenched around him. “You’re just—so tight—”

You wanted to tell him to it was okay, but from your already fucked out mind, all that came out was a dumb whimper of his name. In response, he pulled up his sniper hood to kiss your forehead, to which you whined and chased his lips with your mouth. This made him chuckle, and he guided your lips to his, coaxing out a soft moan as his tongue met yours. He tasted wonderful, and you mewled into his mouth, feeling even more worked up from the way he kissed you: hot and desperate and sweet, like the world was ending and you were the last ones in it.

“Mein maus,” he growled, suddenly thrusting up into you and making your eyes roll back. His hips snapped against yours, setting a pace that sent your thoughts reeling. “Taking me so well, doing so good for me, hm? Du bist mein schatz, ja?”

“Yes, fuck—yes,” you babbled, barely able to understand what he was saying. His unusually rough tone was fogging up your dumbed-out mind, the contrast between his sweet words and punishing pace reducing you to nothing but a crying, creaming mess. You’d never been this wet for someone before. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m yours, please—”

“Good girl,” he moaned, pushing you up and down his cock with dizzying strength. Your legs tightened around his waist as he thrust up into you, high-pitched and pitiful noises falling from your lips at a shameful volume. He was using you like a toy, you thought, and the notion of it made your pleasured cries even louder.

“Mmm, yeah? Mmm?” He mimicked your breathy moans, and you could hear the grin in his voice. Normally, you’d be mortified, likely retorting with some witty insult, but now? Now with the way he was fucking you, all you could do was whine in pitiful response.

“So needy for me,” he groaned, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. The sheer force of him made your eyes roll back, and you felt that tight coil in your belly close to snapping.

“Fuck, König—” You panted heavily, your legs starting to give out. “K-König, oh my God, I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he cooed, pulling you closer to his chest so your clit could find purchase on his toned abs. “Doing so good for me, schatz. Such a good girl, getting off on me like this. Like the way I feel, mm?”

His sweet praise became your tipping point, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You cried his name, mouth falling open in shock as your legs kicked out, your cunt weeping and convulsing around him as you keened. You gasped for air as your orgasm rocked through you, the pleasure suddenly becoming all too much as he continued to drill himself into your gushing cunt.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed from the overstimulation, but he didn’t let up his pace, pressing chaste kisses to your lips to soothe you. “Wonder how many orgasms I can get from you,” he murmured. You could hear the smile in his voice as he panted. “How many more, mein schatz?”

“I—I don’t know!” you cried as his pelvis dragged against your clit, sending shocks of electricity through you. “I don’t—I can’t—”

He groaned as you trembled in his hold, pretty blue eyes boring into yours. “You can do it for me,” he replied. “I know you can. Isn’t that right, liebling?”

“Ahh—König—” The juxtaposition of his soft kisses and brutal pace was making your head spin. Too overwhelmed to answer, you just clutched onto his shoulders tighter, crying out every time his skin brushed against your puffy, overstimulated clit. It was painful. It was overwhelming. It felt so fucking good.

“Hush, mein schatz,” he coaxed, holding you closer as you clenched around his cock, babbling incoherently as he fucked up into you. “You’re doing so good, I promise.”

The answer was two. Two more earth-shattering orgasms before he finally went soft, coming inside of you twice before either (1), his dick just gave out, or (2), the poison wore off. Either way, by the end of it, you were exhausted and fucked out, still recovering from your cock-drunk state as he cleaned you up.

“I’m sorry, maus,” he apologized, sounding genuinely remorseful as he gently wiped your soaked thighs with a clean cloth he had found in the room. “I’m so sorry, I don’t—I don’t know what came over me.”

“Drugs,” you supplied, staring at the ceiling in exhaustion. “Really bad drugs.”

“Yes, drugs,” he agreed, carefully mopping your folds as you sighed. “But still—I am sorry. I was…overzealous. I hope I did not hurt you too bad.”

“I’ll be a little sore,” you admitted, glancing at the bruises his fingers had left on your waist and hips. “But I’ll be fine, trust me.”

He sighed, somehow managing to look resigned even with the sniper hood. “I should not have been so hard on you. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly?” you murmured, blinking at him sleepily. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He froze for a moment. “What?” 

“Not that I’ve had a lot of sex,” you said quickly. “But still, that was the best I’ve ever had. Probably will ever have, now that I think about it. You must be very experienced. Oh God, I should not have said that out loud. I am—I am so sorry.”

Even with his sniper hood on, you could tell he was blushing. “Oh, um—it’s okay, maus.” You could hear the shyness in his voice. “I do not consider that to be my best performance, but I will take it as a compliment.”

“Your best performance?” You stared at him, mind running through everything that had just happened. You’d had sex before, but that—that was a whole ass experience. You’d never even dreamed about anything that good. “Christ, what’s your best performance, then?”

“Well,” he replied, sliding your soaked underwear back up your legs for you, “I would have taken you out on a date first, at the very least. That would be the proper way to court you.”

“Court me?” you repeated, sitting up straight. “I didn’t know you were so well-mannered, König.”

He looked away from you, shifting awkwardly from his spot on the floor. “I try to be courteous before sticking my dick in people.”

It took you a moment to realize he was joking, and you laughed—actually really laughed out loud. His awkward humor was charming you, and you felt warmth swell in your chest as you listened to him speak. You grinned at him, his eyes crinkling in a smile back.

König still smiled, but a hint of sadness pervaded his gaze. “Ah, schatz.” He hesitated. “I would have liked to make love to you,” he sighed, “but I did not imagine these would be the circumstances. I was hoping to take you on a date first, get to know you better.”

“You wanted to what?” Your eyes widened, and you blinked in confusion. “But…I thought you didn’t like me.”

König practically jolted in place. It was like you’d electrocuted him. He stared at you. “Why would you ever think that?”

“You talk to everyone but me,” you said softly. “I thought you didn’t trust me. Thought you hated me.”

“Hated—?” He shook his head vigorously. “No, I wanted to speak to you. You just…made me nervous. The others do not.”

“I made you nervous?” The words fell from your lips with shock, your eyebrows furrowing. “How would I—how did I ever make you nervous? You’re like three times the size of me!”

König shrugged, sheepish. “You’re very pretty. And you seemed…kind, and well-connected with the others. I have trouble finding that connection. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing to you and fuck it up.”

“So you said nothing at all.” You were quiet for a moment, turning over the information in your mind. “Wow. I was way off.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but it is okay. I’m sorry for making you think I disliked you, schatz.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. You ran a hand through your hair, beyond shocked at everything happening. You couldn’t believe you’d fucked your colleague, the one you’d had a crush on for who knows long, and also discovered that he didn’t, in fact, hate you. “At least I know now.”

“Next time, I will be better,” König vowed, helping you tug on your pants. “More gentle. I will do things right, I promise.”

“Next time?” You hesitated, biting your lip. “There will be a next time?”

“Of course there will,” he answered, adjusting his tactical gloves. “Did you not hear what I said earlier?”

“Um…which one?” He’d said a lot of things earlier.

He helped you to your feet, towering over you as he cupped his large hand under your jaw. Your heart stopped in your chest as you looked up into his eyes, his large frame dwarfing yours beyond comparison. “Du bist mein schatz, ja?” he repeated, gloved thumb tracing over your bottom lip. His very soul seemed to ooze confidence. “That’s what I said, no?’

With the way he was making you feel right now, you didn’t think it was even possible to say the word no. “Y-yes,” you stammered, adoration clear in your eyes as you gazed up at him.

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “So there will be a next time. Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

“N-no, no, no, I definitely want!” you said quickly. You stumbled over your words in your eagerness, and your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I would like that a lot.”

“Good,” he said, patting the top of your head. Normally, you’d be furious at such an action, but considering his height, it seemed more practical than condescending. “Now come, schatz,” he said, adjusting his vest. “Time to deny everything to the rest of the team.”

Oh, fuck. You sighed. “Yeah…I forgot about that.”

[waepenwifestre]

Let's Talk About Security Culture: Why Keeping Secrets is Cool and Sexy

It's a natural impulse -- if you love crime -- to want to talk about how great it is. And if you hate America, it's only natural to want to share your dreams for its future with the rest of tumblr dot com. It can feel brave and transgressive. And there is a drive to share your soul with the world at the heart of social media. Surely I should be posting the most concrete implications of my politics, right? This is the poster's curse.

Security Culture refers to a set of "best practices" developed over the past several decades, largely (in a US context) coming out of radical environmental groups as they faced intense state repression, infiltration and entrapment. If you're not familiar, there's some fascinating crimethinc write ups to give you a window into that world:

Much of it boils down to: don't talk about crimes, past or forthcoming with people who don't need to know about them, and be mindful of the possibility of surveillance and infiltration. And, we can support each other as a community in minimizing risks, with an eye towards enabling bold action rather than getting bogged down in fears and anxieties. The guidelines that make sense for AG-based trouble-makers are different from the guidelines that make sense for posters, but plenty of common principles apply. To speak briefly to our position here as posters:

First, it bears saying that long term anonymity is nearly impossible to maintain. Unless you've never accessed Tumblr without a vpn, and avoided connections with other ppl who can be associated with you/your location, and never shared pictures without scrubbing metadata, and a bunch of other 100% consistent steps, it's trivial for the state to know who you are.

Second, just because something isn't actively being prosecuted now doesn't mean it can't be prosecuted later. The priorities of the state change and a shift in power towards the right or a growth in radical action from the left can suddenly make it a priority to destroy anarchist networks or just find a few ppl to prosecute as examples (who probably weren't that plugged into larger networks before getting arrested). Advocating for specific anti-government crimes or declarations of intent to commit such crimes are likely prosecutable, and even if charges don't stick, they're an easy vector for legal harassment.

Third, it's worth thinking about heat as separate from prosecutability. There are modes of engagement that may not be directly criminalized but signal that you are someone worth watching. Some people choose to be public in ways that make heat unavoidable. But it's worth noting that heat isn't strictly individualized, that it persists over time but also is going to shrink over time.

It's easy on here, ime, to see yourself as a proud member of the crime fandom but not much of a content creator. And it's easy to feel like you've generated an amount of heat where you're locked into that role. But heat you generated 10 years ago is probably pretty well gone. Heat you generated 5 years ago has faded substantially. It's worth thinking about how the world might shift in the coming years and what doors you want to keep open.

The non-individualized nature of heat also means that leaning into the spiciest of anti-state positions will make it a bad idea for people who are acting out those positions end up tied to you. Loudly talking about how "more people should be doing [X/Y/Z]" unfortunately sets you up to remain distant from people who might be doing or thinking about doing such things.

Which brings me back to: keeping secrets is sexy. Not spelling everything out builds intrigue. You can lay out a theoretical position and leave working out the practical implications of that as an exercise for the reader. There's value in opacity. The poster's curse and the drive to confess are extremely convenient for the state, but we can resist them. We can hold dreams in our hearts that we refuse to offer up to the posting spectacle.

[vicholas]

July 26, 2024

(...)With the Paris Games starting on July 26, Israel's killing of athletes and players in Gaza, along with its destruction of the enclave's sports facilities, has triggered mounting demands to disqualify Israel from the tournament as activists and spectators question the legitimacy of its participation.

Palestinian writers and sports commentators contend that Israel's Gaza onslaught, which has killed nearly 40,000 Palestinians, also represents an attempt to eliminate sports and athletic achievement.

"It's a genocide ... ethnic cleansing of the Palestinian people, and the attacks on athletes and sports in particular in the Gaza Strip are all very systematic attacks to obliterate and erase sports in the territory," Abubaker Abed, a Gaza-based sports journalist told Anadolu.

Israel's intentions go further than eliminating Gaza's current athletic capacity, according to writer and lecturer Abdaljawad Omar, who held that it was part of a concerted effort by Tel Aviv to undermine Palestinians' achievements in all areas, with sports being no exception.

"Israel systemically seeks to ensure that Palestinian accomplishments and potential in all realms remain dampened and always dwarfed by its own achievements.

"This applies to political, intellectual, economic, and literary fields, where historically, many talented and highly accomplished Palestinians have been targeted. Sports is no exception in this sense," he explained.  

The situation is "extremely worse" for athletes in Gaza, according to football journalist Abed, adding that many players have been killed in the territory.

According to the Palestinian Olympic Committee and Palestine Football Association, about 400 athletes have been killed since Oct. 7, with the football association noting that the war has claimed 245 players in that sport alone, including 69 children and 176 young men.

Some 33 scouts and 70 members of sports unions have also been killed.

According to the association, Israeli forces have also detained players, including 12 in the occupied West Bank.

Israel's attacks have killed several Olympians as well. Sixty-nine have been killed during Israel's ongoing assault, says the Palestinian Campaign for the Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel, launched in 2004.  

Besides athletes, sports facilities also have not been spared. Dozens, including gyms, training halls, fields, and stadiums, have been damaged or destroyed since Oct. 7.

A total of 42 facilities have been leveled in Gaza, while seven were destroyed in the West Bank, says the Palestinian Football Association.

Abed pointed out how Israel has destroyed football schools, including the Al-Wahda Academy and the Champions Academy, which "was one of the most promising football projects" in Gaza.

He pointed out how Israel has eradicated talent in football, the most popular sport among Gaza's residents, leaving only one stadium, the Al-Dorra stadium, intact out of the enclave's 10.

Israeli forces have been seizing stadiums in Gaza and turning them into detention centers.

Human rights monitor Euro-Med highlights that the Israeli army turned the Yarmouk Stadium in Gaza City into a detention center "to hold and humiliate hundreds of Palestinians, including children, shown naked and stripped of their clothes in footage published by the Israeli media in December 2023."

A report by the group published in May indicates that facilities bulldozed and destroyed include "300 five-a-side courts, 22 swimming courts, 12 covered sports halls for basketball, volleyball, and handball, and six tennis stadiums.

"Twenty-eight sports and fitness centers have been targeted, damaged, and destroyed."  

Israel's offensive has also caused the death of prominent players in Gaza.

This includes Palestine's first-ever Olympian and flagbearer, Majed Abu Maraheel, who died due to kidney failure in a refugee camp in June.

The 61-year-old Olympic distance runner died as Israel's ongoing blockade of humanitarian assistance left many, including Maraheel, lacking medical treatment and facilities.

Maraheel had competed in the men's 10,000-meter race at the 1996 Atlanta Olympic Games.

In January, the Palestinian Olympic football team's coach Hani Al-Mossader was killed in an Israeli airstrike.

The same month, Nagham Abu Samra, a karate champion who was set to participate in the Paris Olympics, died in a hospital in Egypt after succumbing to her injuries.

She had been severely wounded by an Israeli attack that left her with head injuries and led to the amputation of one of her legs.

(...)With hours left until the Paris 2024 Games' opening ceremony, experts are still questioning the International Olympic Committee's (IOC) decision to keep Israel in the tournament.

"Athletes, whether footballers ... whatever the sport is, they don't belong to political factions ... they are targeted and are illegitimate targets for Israeli forces, and this is absolutely prohibited by all international laws and all FIFA regulations," says Abed.

He argued that Israel's actions show that it lacks the Olympic values of peace, tolerance, forgiveness, love, and sportsmanship.

"So, how could Israel even participate in the Olympics?" he asked.

Russia, meanwhile, has been banned from Olympic and FIFA tournaments after it launched its war on Ukraine in 2022, noted Abed, who maintained that Moscow's actions in that conflict were mild compared to the devastation Israel has caused in Gaza.

This "disgraceful stance," he asserts, revealed the hypocrisy of the IOC, as well as the world governing body for football.

The organizers of this year's Olympics have said their decision to keep Israel in the Games while upholding the ban on Russia and Belarus is due to Moscow's annexation of Ukrainian territory, while Tel Aviv has not formally seized territory in Gaza.

Fadi Quran, senior director at US-based rights group Avaaz, said the Olympics and the IOC's current leadership will be remembered for "turning a blind eye to a country committing what the ICJ ruled is a plausible genocide, and said is apartheid."

He was referring to a preliminary ruling by the International Court of Justice that recognized genocide as a plausible risk in Gaza. Israel stands accused of genocide at the top UN court, which in its latest ruling has ordered Tel Aviv to immediately halt its operation in the southern city of Rafah, where over a million Palestinians had sought refuge from the war before it was invaded on May 6.

Quran expects that athletes will protest Israel's presence at the Olympics and fans will boycott events where the Israeli flag is raised.

"Now that the IOC has refused to ban Israel, activists across the world will take action to ensure that the Paris Olympics are branded as the 'Apartheid Olympics,' or 'War Crime Olympics'," he said.

According to Abed, it will take a decade to revive sports in the Gaza Strip.

"The war on Gaza has changed everything. The war on Gaza has killed the dreams of many."

[contemplatingoutlander]

All the Americans who died in WWII fighting fascism would be appalled by JD Vance's speech in Munich and his later meeting with the a neofascist AfD leader.

Vice President JD Vance urged European leaders on Friday to end the isolation of far-right parties across the continent, an extraordinary embrace of a once-fringe political movement with which the Trump administration shares a common approach on migration, identity and internet speech. [...] The vice president singled out his German hosts, telling them to drop their objections to working with a party that has often reveled in banned Nazi slogans and has been shunned from government as a result. He did not mention the party, the Alternative for Germany, or AfD, by name, but directly referred to the longstanding agreement by mainstream German politicians to freeze out the group, parts of which have been formally classified as extremist by German intelligence. “There is no room for firewalls,” Mr. Vance said, bringing some gasps in the hall. He punctuated the message by meeting on Friday with Alice Weidel, the AfD’s candidate for chancellor in this month’s election, as well as other German leaders. [...] Mr. Vance aggressively challenged the diplomats in the hall in Munich, telling them that their biggest security threat was not from China or Russia, but “the enemy within” — what he called their suppression of abortion protests and other forms of free speech.

It was breathtakingly hypocritical for Vance to scold Europe for not being true to its democratic ideals--much less to do so in a speech delivered in Germany, which in the mid-20th century had lost its democratic institutions because some Germans allowed Nazis to get a foothold in their government.

If you give fascists an inch, they will take a mile.

In his speech, Vance was indignant that Europe has erected "firewalls" against far-right political parties. Ignoring the fact that fascism took over Germany through a democratic, legal process. Specifically, once he became prime minister, it only took Hitler and his Nazi cronies 53 days to destroy the Weimar Republic through legal, constitutional means.

Germany in particular KNOWS if they give fascists an inch, they will take a mile.

It doesn't help Vance's case that in less than a month's time, Trump, Musk, and MAGA Republicans have taken a sledgehammer in the U.S. to the law and the Constitution, and appear to be trying to establish an autocratic if not downright neofascist state.

No politician has a "mandate" if they were elected because of disinformation and lies.

Vance clutched his pearls that the Romanian government just nullified an election because it was proven that there was a deep Russian disinformation campaign to propel a far-right party into power.

Besides the fact that Vance hypocritically works for Trump who attempted "coup" to overturn a fair election, Vance wants the world to ignore the fact that any political candidate who is elected into power based on lies and disinformation is in fact NOT a representative of the will of the people because they were elected fraudulently (i.e., if they had told the truth, they might not have been elected).

Consider Trump. If he had not lied and distanced himself from the deeply unpopular Project 2025, but had instead said he planned on using it as a blueprint for his second term, how many of those swing state voters would have actually voted for him?

Therefore, Trump has NO mandate that reflects the "will of the people" not only because he was NOT elected by a majority of the voters (just a plurality) but because he lied about his true intentions for a second administration during his campaign.

[See more about how Vance hypocritically turns "free speech" on its head below the cut.]

Vance turns "free speech" on its head.

Vance took hypocrisy to a new level in his Munich remarks, when he talked about "free speech":

Just as the Biden administration seemed desperate to silence people for speaking their minds, so the Trump administration will do precisely the opposite, and I hope that we can work together on that. [...] You cannot win a democratic mandate by censoring your opponents or putting them in jail, whether that’s the leader of the opposition, a humble Christian praying in her own home, or a journalist trying to report the news. [emphasis added]

Well, what Vance said is laughable given that Trump, Musk & their cronies have been fully behind censorship of not only speech, but of ideas, which they have demonstrated by:

Purging federal departments of anything related to DEI, including any "words" such as "gender" or "diversity," and any personnel who have promoted those ideas, or who have even attended one diversity training years ago.

Threatening to prosecute private businesses that promote DEI or provide diversity training to their employees.

Purging the study of or mention of "climate change" from government websites.

Withholding government funds for public schools and even universities that teach subjects related to racism, sexism, and gender studies and (in the case of K-12 schools) who choose NOT to teach a whitewashed "patriotic history."

Threatening to go after the mainstream press if they criticize Trump or his policies too much. (Already he has cut access to the White House for the AP's refusal to call the Gulf of Mexico, the Gulf of America, and has kicked important news media like The New York Times from their offices in the Pentagon, replacing them instead with right-wing media outlets.

Threatening to use the DOJ to go after the "enemy within" (i.e., politicians who do not support what Trump is doing, regardless of political party).

And lets not forget Trump's purge of civil servants who have different political views, and who will not pledge loyalty to Trump over the Constitution.

Through all of the above, Trump, Vance, and other MAGA GOP have shown us that they have no problems stepping all over the freedom of speech/of the press protections of the First Amendment over and over again.

I could go on and on about the hypocrisy of that speech, but the bottom line is that JD Vance embarrassed our nation by what he said in Munich. He also presented the Trump administration as being firmly on the side of the far-right/neofascist political parties in Europe.

At this point, many europeans must see very little difference between the US under Trump and Russia under Putin.

How far we have fallen as a nation in less than one month.

_______________ Image sources (before edits/captions): WWII meme photo source; "Inch" gif video source; "No mandate" photo source; "Freedom of speech" image source.

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “ let me love you darkly, slowly ” : 

﹙ top outlaw male x bttm male aristrocrat reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 9819 alessio x male reader !! 🍒 : ﹙  outlaw  ˖ serial killer ˖ inhuman illusionist  ﹚

the infamous aristrocrat serial killer has your family on his hit list. but it would seem that you are different. will you take his hand and run with him? so that he may love you darkly, slowly.

﹙ cws ﹚: dark romance ˖ explicit content at end ˖ mentions of parental abuse ( towards reader ) ˖ violence ˖ death ˖ penetrative sex ˖ hand job ˖ rough sex ˖ multiple orgasms ˖ alessio uses clones of himself in sex | wc : 0.7k

﹙ receipts ﹚: a dark little piece for our favourite outlaw <3

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

Usually, the infamous ace of spades’ knives are always willing and ready to sink into the vulnerable flesh of his next political victims. You were no different, until you were. A precious dove to fly into his life, that he had thought a hawk at first sight, judging by the image of your family across the city.

The youngest son of a famous aristocrat. Whom Alessio had pursued with intent of seduction before death. Yet your heart was made of something more beautiful than gold. Nothing like your father’s. Each smile that graced your lips was a blessing to him, he’d been ashamed of targeting you.

One may wonder why he went for you first and not the man that brought you into this world. Well, the very reason for that is that your entire family were on his list of undertaking, and he decided to go one by one, random pick. And you so happened to be the one the wheel landed on.

Your name was quickly wiped from it, with the blood of your mother splattering the paper. The note he left on her desk wrote:

“Farewell, to the two-faced wench, who advocated hiking medicare prices.” The pencil scratched across her signature, then got stamped with the ace of spades in Alessio’s quick escape.

He’d taken you with him that night. Held your hand tight in his as you ran away from the burning estate. Perhaps it was the unhealthy amount of childhood discipline and reprimanding you had earned as you grew up. You did not really care for the deaths of your family. Your father beat you bloodied and bruised, and your mother tormented you at any possible moment she could.

Your siblings were none the better than them, growing into their toxic behaviour and mannerisms. You refused to let your soul sour the way theirs had. It wasn’t hard to tell right or wrong. It wasn’t hard to really understand what the man you were running away with was doing.

It was no secret, you should have been long gone by now. And you were announced so by the public after the burning of the cold place you called home. With no trace of the family found below the rubble.

Instead, you now occupied yourself with the people of the lower city, aiding the poor and funding your saviour’s organisation with all of the money you had inherited. How they got a hold of it, you weren’t so sure. You didn’t bother questioning.

You found yourself falling for the man that was your executioner turned saviour. A part of you questioned your own morality.

But what was morality when compared to his kisses? What was the meaning or black and white when his hands fixed to your waist and held you so tight against him? Right and wrong be damned. It felt all the same in his arms.

By night, you often found yourself in Alessio’s bed. The air getting knocked out of you when he fucked you from behind. His hand squeezing away at the base of your dick to pump ferally at it. His dick pounding your pretty ass open and eager for him.

“That’s it—” You gasp out in unison to the grunt in your ear, hole and walls fluttering around him. While his arms cage you against the dark bedsheets.

The sight of your bodies intermingled, dimly lit, with a sheen layer of sweat covering your skin, flutters your tumm, as a hand reaches down to direct your face upwards. Helping you watch what he’s doing to you.

“This pretty ass ‘s all mine— All fucking mine-” Rough hands split your legs apart and images of him begin to appear all around you, to touch you, praise you, kiss you.

His powers are incredible in bed. Your head gets loopy by the feel of one of his clones sucking down hard at your throbbing tip. You barely get to process that he yanks yet another orgasm out of you. Cum squirts out on his hand which he brings up to lick away at.

“My pretty little dove,” he groans from above you. Swarming your blissed out face with rough hands to cup your cheeks. His movements hardly halt. Long, hard strokes shake your trembling body.

This. This feels right. Him inside. Him on top of you. All over you. To hell with wrong. You’d take the grey if it meant his warm hands. His intoxicating lips.

“Please.” You quiver.

Alessio can all but grin. His pretty little aristocrat. Now all his.

“Say it again baby,” he hums. “Beg. It suits you far better.”

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[startheskelaton]

Okay so since we know that a TFP version of Sparkplug exists…that got my inner Prime fan, brain thinking, and I sudden had some questions regarding Sparkplug Prime.

So like how did the bots even discover her, like was she really dramatically unveiled by Megs? Or was it more of an accident, and they found her during a big fight? Cause she was still fairly young into of the images we saw her, while her more mature, form seems to be hinting at her future.

Plus did the bits really take her back to their base? Cause if Acree is comparing her stare with one of her dads, then I assume Team Prime does ‘capture’ her, and brings her back to outpost omega one. But that raises even more questions…

Like how do the rest of the hits react to her? I assume Acree is going to be very protective of her seeing how she’s the one holding her? What are the Kids and Folwer(and by extension his bosses the U.S government) reactions cause the bots can’t exactly hide a Sparkling meant to be the ultimate Optimus killer.

Plus since we know that Sparkplug is a member of a trio, does that mean a version of her friend’s Soundblaster, and Nightflyer exits?

Someone wanted to know more about her, and I felt like drawing her so why not. I image she ended up in the hands of the autobots because of Starscream. He saw how much Megatron fussed over her and immediately knew his ass was about to be replaced. Seeing an easy target to dispatch, he literally just kicked her out the ship during a battle and said the autobots must’ve dispatched her.

Megatron is obviously heartbroken and Starscream uses this to get a little bit more control for the time being.

Meanwhile, Arcee finds this little sparking in the middle of nowhere and due to survivors guilt, takes her back to the base.

Due to her intense power, they decide to take her in and hopefully raise her to be kind. This all being while Megatron still tries to look for her (I image he takes her when Megatron steals Optimus prime). She ends up getting rather attached to Jack’s mom, as well as Ratchet. This Sparkplug actually wants to be a medic and does her best to help… even if she’s a little destructive.

Miko loves her, seeing her as a little destructive creature with good intentions. Jack is more upset that he’s getting suck with babysitting duties. And Raph is happy to not be the youngest anymore.

I image her older version would appear in “Robots in disguise”, showing up to glare at bumblebee and force him to get his shit together instead of Optimus. (My version Optimus stays gone because we want Bee to have proper character development)

Nightflyer would probably be one of the animal themed deceptions that trained under Starscream, starting in his predicon form.

Soundblaster would probably still be a attempt to make another Soundwave since he’s still trapped in the fucking shadow realm

[matchatarot]

Did you miss me, Bunny? I felt through this reading that while I’ve been away, you’ve been working on your shadow work and manifestations. You can be proud of yourself! Let’s take a look at the positive things you’re currently manifesting. To pick a pile, don’t overthink it; choose the one that draws you in the most while thinking about the reading’s intent. Only take what resonates!

Love, Matcha ♡

☆ masterlist

1 ₊˚.༄

You might feel the energy shift in your gut, but I doubt you’re seeing the grandiosity of what’s coming next for you in the material world just yet. You began putting the effort into your manifestations a long time ago. It was a mental effort, related to your self-respect and values. You’ve been fiercely true to yourself by protecting what you stand for. You’ve learned to protect yourself from the evil eye, making decisions based on your deepest desires and aspirations. Some people have been trying to dim your light for years! It seems like family members and past friends were jealous of your ambition and tried to make you doubt yourself. You might have had a group of girls (or gossipy guys) that you thought were your best friends, but were talking behind your back about how they don’t believe in you every time you try something new. They simply lacked the mental capacity to visualize their own path to success, so they made you the target of their insecurities. I am so proud of you for continuing to put in the effort, Bunny.

You’re manifesting so much abundance! You’ve laid the perfect foundation for it, and now it’s coming fast. I see that right now you might be standing at a crossroad, a little reluctant to take action because you have no idea what’s next, however, as soon as you take that leap of faith, it’ll all start to come in! You’re manifesting a total restructuring of your life. You’re manifesting a lifestyle based on your desires and values, one where your manifestations will always come easily, a space in which you feel seen and loved. You’re manifesting a divine counterpart! For some people reading, it’s a love interest, for some, it’s a new empowering group of friends, but for most of you, it’s both! Not only are you manifesting the person you’re going to marry, but you’re also manifesting your potential bridesmaids and groomsmen. A soulmate and a soul tribe. They’ve been manifesting you for a long time as well! You’ll recognize them because of how funny and smart they are! They’re interesting to talk to, and they’ll always push you to follow your heart and take action! You’re manifesting new adventures and travel! If you’ve had the funds to book a trip but didn’t because you want to save money, book the ticket. I see this trip unlocking a lot of beautiful new opportunities for you, it’s an action that‘ll attract your spiritual counterparts in your life!

Keep standing firm on your beliefs! Keep indulging in what feels in your heart like your soul’s true purpose. You’re manifesting love and divine union, Bunny.

222, bear, feathers, snow, violin

↳ book a personal reading with me on ko-fi ★

2 ⊹˚˖ ☆

Bunny, I am so proud of you for walking away from what wasn’t aligned with your highest path. You’ve always been an ambitious dreamer; you know you’re destined for a life of abundance. In the past, you’ve put effort into so many projects, most didn’t bear any fruit. You’ve sacrificed your old way of thinking for a new one, this shift is what’s bringing you your manifestations. You’ve entered a totally new era, you’ve looked back at the past and assessed your mistakes. Now, you move differently. You’ve let go. You trust the universe, you’re more flexible with your wishes, the energy flows effortlessly, and you’re more than ever consciously co-creating your future with the universe. You’re consistent and committed to your abundance mindset. Lack mentality was responsible for most of your past failures. You’re now understanding that to walk your highest path, you need to tune yourself to the highest vibration. There’s no space for doubting your potential.

You’re the star, Bunny, and you’re manifesting whatever you want. Honestly, you have a profusion of options. You’re stepping into a powerful frequency that’ll attract all kinds of new opportunities to you. It’s as if wealth, love and new experiences are manifesting you instead of the opposite. If you’ve been using manifestation mantras, they’re working. It’s funny because in the past you’ve been yearning for all these options, but it might feel a bit overwhelming when it comes, to be honest. Tune into your intuition and allow yourself to be more precise with what you want for the future so that decisions will be easier to make.

You’re manifesting a love union, or an highest form of commitment in your relationship, if you feel like you’re already with your soulmate. For the ones that haven’t met this person yet, they’re someone you either dreamed about at night or wished for while looking at the sky, maybe you saw a shooting star or an eclipse and thought of them. They’re searching for you right now, either consciously or subconsciously, either way, life is bringing you two together. If you’re already in a relationship, outside factors that are negatively impacting the dynamic will disappear. For example, if they’re always working on the days you’re off, the schedule will change and allow more time together. Your relationships with people will generally become easier and more balanced. You might lose some friends because there’s this purging of your old life going on right now, but the ones that will remain and the ones that will come in will be as loving to you as you are to them. The relationships you’ll have in the future will be ones where love and effort are reciprocated.

Keep treating yourself as the main character of your life and dreaming big. You’re manifesting so much more than you wished for!

646, 777, four leaf clover, sunflower, swan

↳ book a personal reading with me on ko-fi ★

3 ‧₊˚ ♡

After taking time to connect with your intuition, deepening your spiritual knowledge and studying your passions, you’ve decided that it is time to take the lead in your own life. You’ve always had beautiful intentions and interesting ideas, but now you realize that it’s time for you to connect with your masculine energy and take definitive action towards your goals. You don’t care about ruffling feathers, you’re willing to take the necessary steps for your potential to flourish. You’ve been underestimated in the past, the ones that have doubted you are in for a show, Bunny.

Wealth and fame are rushing towards you! You’ll bask in glory! You’ve made the perfect moves. Your mind is so mysterious, you’re such a spiritual being. You’ll manifest this abundance in a very peculiar and different way. Technology or social media will take an important role in your ascension. You might work in digital marketing, or you’ll become an influencer, something in that vein. You’ll become successful suddenly, and your life will shift to something you’ve only seen in your fantasies. Sometimes, it’ll even feel like a dream. It’ll feel like you’re in another dimension, negative memories of your past will fade, and you’ll soon be living a totally new reality. You’ll finally feel whole. Your success will come from something that now seems insignificant, but your vision will define its success.

In the past, you’ve been treated horribly by people pretending to be your friends or even members of your family. They’ve made fun of you for being different, lacking in areas they glorified for some egotistical and superficial reason. This storyline is giving the trope of the nerd that’s made fun of in high school for their geek hobbies that end up being the boss of their past classmates and become insanely rich because they started a tech company. Anyways, your haters are gonna be shocked, ahah! They’re gonna be speechless, so jealous! I love it, they’re getting their karma, they’ve really been nasty to you. They’ll watch you closely and resent you for the rest of their life. Don’t feel bad about it, they’re putting themselves through it. If you’ve been manifesting a specific car, you’ll be able to get it! For some of you, it’s multiple. If you’ve been postponing getting your license, you’ll end up getting it in a moment of your life where life feels so easy you might as well! You’ll have the control over your life you’ve been craving.

Keep taking confident action and introspecting, Bunny! You’re the powerful leader you think you are, and the life of your dreams is just around the corner.

396hz, air, blue agate, Hecate

↳ book a personal reading with me on ko-fi ★

decks used: oracle of heaven and hell by Travis McHenry, art oracles by Katya Tylevich, modern witch tarot deck by Lisa Steele, les vampires oracle by Lucy Cavendish, art oracles by Katya Tylevich

★ photo credits go to their rightful owner

[vellihor]

unspoken. chapter 1.

cw: sylus x non-mc reader, idiots in love, mute reader, knives, blood, violence, gore, trauma, angst, fluff, reader is painfully oblivious! (in the beginning at least), SLOW BURN, intentional lowercase, inspiration from og LADS lore but may contain altered versions :)

word count -> 2410

italics mean reader’s thoughts

bold italics are sound effects

quotes are for phone texts

“normal text in quotes are speech”

“italicised text in quotes are signed speech”

author's note: so i was feeling like writing angst for sylus :) and i ended up with an insane fic... i may have let it get out of hand but hey free will!

< previous chapter next chapter >

you had been sylus’ right-hand for seven years. helping him collect intel, carrying out the hits he put out on his enemies. all that entails being part of THE criminal enterprise in the N109 zone. you were his shadows in the dark, the silent blade — the name makes cold sweat drip down people’s forehead at the mention. its partially literal, given how you were mute. also, because unlike sylus, you preferred the sharps rather than guns.

tonight, you were staking out in one of the clubs sylus owned. making sure to blend in with the crowd while keeping tabs on your target for the night. markus, a protocore weapons dealer that had managed to steal a few shipments of protocores from onychinus. sylus had had enough of this man parading the protocores as theirs. hence, your mission for the night. just as markus enters one of the vip rooms, you manage to slink behind him into the room before the doors closed. your evol enveloping you in a blanket that renders you invisible. “mr. price! the goods are all squared away and ready for your taking. i assume you have come to let me know of your decision?” markus clasps his hands politely, addressing the fur-cloaked man sitting on the sofa. your breath hitches when you realise who he is. the scar across his left eye. there he is. the man who killed your family seven years ago. your world swirls and you black out.

when you come to again, you are standing in the middle of a puddle of blood and slumped bodies. knife dripping with blood. ears ringing. heart pounding. breath uneven. adrenaline pumping through your veins. the door slams open and you pull your evol to cloak yourself. only to drop it when you see sylus at the door. his eyes sweep the room and a look of understanding passes between you and him. he scans you up and down for wounds, eyes landing on your knuckles white with the deathly grip you have on the handle of your knife. he gently pries it from your hand. the ride back to the base was silent and a blur.

the next thing you know, you are in the base’s kitchen. sitting at the countertop with a cup of camomile tea in your hands. “hey, what’s going on in your pretty head?” sylus rasps, trying to get your attention. you grab your phone and type out a response. sarcasm would serve me well.

oh was i pretty? i never knew.

you showed him the screen, with a smirk on your face. he lets out a laugh and shakes his head. “darling, how is that the thing that caught your attention?” he moves to stand opposite you from the countertop. you can't help but patronize his concern as a coping mechanism. he knows well. so then you deflect.

i'm fine. i'll have the intel collected on your table tomorrow morning.

sylus raises his eyebrow. “you know that's not what i'm asking about” you shrug and slip off your chair, walking towards the doors with your mug in hand. “where are you going” he calls out. "rooftop", you sign back at him. its one of the words he knows in sign language.

as you settled down on the sofa, the glass door slides open and here he is again. what for? you had no idea. it wasn’t uncommon for you to kill. he took his place next to you. the silence stretched on for forever before you snuck a glance at him and he was just staring out over the railings into the city view. fine by me. i couldn’t bother to type right now.

just when you had fallen into a false sense of peace, sylus opened his mouth. you couldn’t help but inwardly groan. “you remember when we first met?” you snort at his question. as if i would ever forget. you turn to him and give him a questioning look. he chuckles, “relax, i'll talk and you listen.” you reposition yourself to face him as he recounts the day he met you and you are taken back to when you were 16.

it was a normal day for you. a day out with your family — dad, mom, younger brother. you had just returned home from your trip to the theme park. unaware of the thugs that were waiting in your living room. when your family entered the door, it was a mess in the living room. furniture tossed, books on the floor, glass shattered. your brother instinctively shielded you behind him, your evol flaring and hiding you from plain sight. it was chaotic. screams from your mother still rang in your head every time you recalled the memory. blood everywhere. you were rooted to your spot, eyes unblinking as you watched everything unfold. three dead bodies on the floor. a man in a fur coat pacing around the living room, livid. demanding something to be found. frightened, you tried to move backwards and away from the house, pushing a vase off the countertop in the process. as the vase shattered, all movement in the living room seized. the man stalked across the room in three strides and swung his fist where you stood. the impact released your grip on your evol. as he bent down to grab you, your fist closed around a glass shard. his grip on your neck bruising and depriving you of air, you swung your fist at his face. blood pouring out of the gash across his left eye. it loosened the hold he had on your neck so you scrambled for the door, running into the streets barefooted. pulling your evol close to you, you didn’t dare to look behind. until you ran into a silver-haired man. “not very smart of you. running while leaving a trail.” you finally look behind and see blood trail from where the glass cut your hand.

“at that time, i didn’t know what happened. you lost your voice with all the damage to your throat. luke and kieran later found out and told me about it.” sylus unceremoniously swipes your camomile tea for a big sip. you stare at him dumbfounded. “what? my throat is dry from all that talking.” you prompt him for more. he stayed silent. to which you responded by pulling out your phone.

why did you keep me around?

he sighed. “i was- ahem am looking for someone. i thought you could help me but…”

i can’t talk?

“no. its… personal.” you raise your eyebrows, intrigued. he had never mentioned anything before. you wanted to help him with something, to repay the kindness he had shown you. you lean forward to show your interest. sylus senses that you are keen to help and unwilling to budge. “i shouldn’t have mentioned it… sigh its a hunter from the hunters’ association.” you blanch at the reveal. a hunter? why?

“i will tell you more when that intel hits my table tomorrow.” he gets up and looks back at me. “sleep well, kitten. you did well tonight.”

-

you entered the kitchen, yawning. freezing when you feel three pairs of eyes on you. sylus is still asleep at this time. so who else is here? “morning missus! we have a guest today!” luke cheerfully greets you. you turn to the dining table and see another man sitting at the table with luke and kieran. your confused look prompts kieran to explain the man. “boss invited him to craft weapons for us. a reward of sorts. new guns for me and luke… new knives for you!” you realise its just philip. you offer a wave and move to get your morning coffee before heading to sylus’ office.

placing the intel on his desk, you notice a thick leather bound book with a sticky note on its cover. for your peruse -sy. you smile as you flip the pages. intricate calligraphy and elaborate drawings of dragons etched on the pages. you doubt sylus meant for you to read through all of it in five minutes so you hefted the book onto your hip and made your way back to your room where you spent the rest of the day reading through the book. at first glance, it seemed like mythology or a fantasy story. an age where dragons and magic coexisted. until you realized the striking resemblance between the human-dragon and sylus. no way. nuh-uh there’s not a fucking way. this was eons ago. nah this can’t be sylus. he would be hella old… eh, could be just perks of being a dragon. huh? your eyes focus in on a drawing. a female holding a claymore, driving it into the chest of the dragon. a curse. huh. this must be a joke. he must have placed the sticky note on this book by mistake. unless…? you look out the window and realize the sun is setting. perfect. sylus would be awake now.

you bound down the steps to find sylus heading to the kitchen. you cock your head to the side, questioning. “i just went to the garage to find something i left in the car last night”, sylus says while taking his seat at the head of the dining table. you take a seat opposite luke and kieran. you showed sylus text on your phone.

so i read the book.

you side-eye him, trying to gauge his reaction. “mhm, what do you think of it?” so it wasn’t a mistake.

you are finding your soulmate?

that gets him. he chokes on his food. wiping his mouth, taking gulps of water. that also piqued luke and kieran’s interest. “missus, what are you talking about?” luke snickers, wanting to get in on the tea. you smile and turn your phone towards him. before it got snatched up by sylus. “I SAW THE WORD SOULMATE” “ARE YOU GUYS FINALLY DATING??” luke and kieran are suddenly out of their chairs dancing. giving wild high fives to each other. you furrow your brows in confusion and all it took was a stern look from sylus for them to settle back down in their seats. you tried to hold in your laugh, looking at sylus fuming. nothing would have happened if you just let them see the text. you pointed to your phone. he sighed and passed your phone back to you. you finally let the twins see the text. question marks start flying around. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN FIND-” luke is silenced by kieran slapping a hand over his mouth. the rest of dinner is spent in silence. you could barely contain your smile as you ate dinner. you enjoyed the small moments when the four of you felt like a normal family.

-

some time after midnight, you were in the armoury maintaining your weapons. hearing the door open, you don’t turn to see who it is. you already know its sylus. he doesn’t move or speak. you wait patiently for him to say something as you wipe down your knives. suddenly, the familiar tang of iron hits your nose. you whip around to see sylus sitting on the floor against the wall clutching a wound in his chest. you rush to his side and lightly smack his face trying to prevent him from losing consciousness. his head lolls against the wall, forehead sticky with sweat. a gunshot wound. why is he not healing? where did he go after dinner? you run to the first aid kit and yank out the dressings and press it into his chest, earning a pained groan from him. serves you right for not bringing me along. you gently lean him forward to check if the wound is a through wound. its a through wound, this ought to be easier to deal with. why the flying fuck is he not healing??? you put a dressing against his back and lean your knee against his chest to put pressure while you get your phone out to get luke and kieran to come.

gsw @ armoury

within a minute, the twins burst into the armoury with a gurney. they lift sylus up onto it and start dashing towards the infirmary. when the resident doctor takes over, the three of you are forced to wait outside. bloody hands on hips, you turn to the twins and they instantly lower their heads. you know they went out with sylus after dinner but you never ask about missions you weren’t briefed on, knowing there was probably a reason for it.

“im sorry-”

“we are sorry-”

“we didn’t-”

“boss was not-”

the twins stumbled over their words, talking over each other in a frenzy. you hold your hand up and the twins were silenced. you point to kieran, asking him to explain. he visibly gulped.

“boss made us keep it a secret. he will tell you when he wakes up.”

you let out a scoff, feeling frustrated. “you better tell me now before i put both of you six feet underground” the twins shift uneasily, exchanging glances before everything came tumbling out.

-

sylus had already put out bait for miss hunter and tonight she was at the nest so he brought luke and kieran to… scare her? huh? isn’t she his soulmate? why is he acting like a terrorist? so he gave her a gun and asked her to shoot him through the heart. except he fucking forgot an evol restricting bullet was in the magazine. what the fuck is going on? so why ask me to help when he already knows her whereabouts?? and not bring me along for this???? why ask his soulmate to shoot him in the chest?

thoughts fly around in your head as you wait by sylus’ bed after his surgery. you glance at the clock. its four in the morning. you were about to stand up to hand over the shift to luke when sylus stirred. you help him sit up as he winces. you know the bullet’s effects were not going to wear off any time soon. serves him right. for the second time. your anger won and you turn to leave the room. but sylus’ hand finds your wrist, pulling you back. even when wounded, you still have insane strength. you turn and he sees the anger on your face, instantly regret is all over his face. “i-” he stops as soon as he starts. a beat passes and the most insane sentence imaginable comes out of his mouth.

“i brought her back to the base. she's in my room”

< previous chapter next chapter >

[colorlessjay]

Here's a Destiel prompt based on a doodle I did but also Chappell Roan:

Dean Winchester is your average picture perfect American boy. Tall, blonde, football team quarterback, Kansas sweetheart with a little brother he's way too over protective of, and a southern drawl he swears he doesn't exaggerate. He's brash and rude, his confidence making him an easy target for over excited crowds and the occasion fights. The girls at school want him when he gives them a wink and a smile, and most guys envy him. Wish they were him.

But Dean had his eyes set on the unattainable

Castiel Novak. the Student body vice president who seems to fly through school like he was above it all. But not in the obnoxious 'I'm better than you' way in most teen movies. No, Castiel radiates an energy. One of pure intent, kindness, and joy that makes people fall for his hypnotic blue eyes

People like Dean, Castiel's best friend, and the guy he confides in more often than not

And Dean hates that he does. Because Castiel,for all his intelligence, was as clueless as they come

So whenever Castiel asks him to wingman for him

It's months worth of heartache and fake smiles as he watches Castiel pull every trick Dean taught him

Because Dean Winchester? He's the practice boy

-----

Castiel, wanting to the full college experience, asks his best friend Dean to help on how to date/seduce girls (Since Dean is really good at it and has been in relationships before. But only to distract from his massive crush on Cas)

And Dean, being a good friend, walks Cas through every step regardless of how much it hurts to flirt with Cas, only for Cas to use those same words and actions on girls

And one day, Cas asks Dean how to kiss. If he'll be a good kisser. Castiel's self conscious about it. Self deprecating and confused cause his lips are always chapped and his hair always a mess. And he's scared he won't close his eyes

And Dean just goes on about how those can be good things. How they're attractive. Blurting out stuff he personally feels about kissing Cas

"Your hair's perfect for kissing, short and soft and perfect to hold"

"If she doesn't like your eyes when you kiss, then she's blind as a bat!"

"Your lips look chapped but I'll bet my Baby they're as soft as the look you get when you see a bee"

"hell! Given the chance, I'd kiss you and I'd be the one left breathless"

And of course, they practice kissing

And Dean was right. It leaves him breathless

Leaves him heartbroken too when he finds Cas kissing Meg the same way a week later

-------

"I can't take it anymore, Cas! I'm so fucking tired of being your goddamn practice dummy!" Dean turns around, finally facing Castiel after he storming off "Yeah, I asked for it. It was fucking stupid to even suggest it, but you can't be so goddamn blind to not see that everything I've said, everything I've taught you, was more then just a shitty flirting lesson to me!"

Castiel stops in his chase, staring at Dean wide eyed as the rain picks up

Dean powers on, pacing and flailing "Fuck me for thinking the way you kissed me meant something then just practice" he laughs humorlessly then lets out a sob

"Fuck, Cas…" Dean looks up. his hand coming down to clutch at his wet shirt. Tears and rain running down his face "It meant something to me… you saying it otherwise doesn't change that… it just makes it hurt"

Castiel stared wide eyed and frozen. His mind flashes back to every interaction, every little touch, every word said between them

And all he could muster up was

"Dean…"