#just the worst’ — ​fucking despise that piece of shit

[luna7822]

congradulations assholes

u all finally got that stupid ass victory that u ppl so lovingly beg for absolutely no reason other than just to find more petty excuses to boost ur ego and outright splat any other ppl from different teams on site as if any of u dont know how to play like fair for once in ur pathetic fucking life and admittingly i do feel bad for shiver too since she actually had smth that i could agree with for once (vanilla aside) and that u assholes pretty much decided to be absolute jerks throughout the whole damn thing all cuz im on her team as if splatfests and final/seasonalfests in general were never meant to be taken srsly in the first place and overall to any stupid ass stans/spawn campers out there i wish u all a very happy go fuck urself for basically never giving me a fair fucking chance for once whatsoever and for honestly being the worst fucking idol f**base to ever exist in general so yeah

[ozlices]

im like sincerely so sorry bc my most shameful flaw is that envy is one of my favorite characters in the entirety of fma which is like. listen it's genuinely irredeemable but she knew exactly what she was doing when she made envy the pinnacle of gender envy bc my non-binary ass is NOT immune to feeling the gender envy to the highest degree for that little freak

[ziracona]

It's super creepy. Pretty sure the only complimentary thing I have to say about Sebastian is that he's good looking and has a nice accent but that's where it ends. I wouldn't trust him to be within a ten foot radius of any mage, much less Bethany. She deserves so much better😣

I wouldn’t trust him in a forty foot radius of ANYONE. Have you seen the way he talks to Fenris? I mean to each their own, but he ain’t hot at all. He’s the most milktoast whiteboy of all time. Like his features are just eh neutral u know but the way he dresses haircut carries himself he looks like a L.L. Bean east coast frat boy who lives in a Vermont mansion and pledged Capa Capa Capa and is coasting on his trust fund into a Harvard degree ge thinks he earned and has had his judge daddy pay off the cops to cover up 8 felonies in his frat house he thinks were hidden for the greater good bc the bright young men have futures ahead of them and the punk they killed was trying to start something or the chick was coming onto them and they were drunk and how can you cancel a whole bright future for a poor judgement call — the lives they ruined don’t matter the same way what do you mean are /They/ coasting through a Harvard degree into old money on their trust fund?

Like he’s got one of the most boring faces of all time and dumb hair and then he went around carrying himself like a guy I’d like to hit over the head with a cinder block. Does have a fun accent tho.

[blindmagdalena]

The Drug In Me Is You

18+ 3.2k vampire!homelander x supe f!reader. dacryphilia, noncon, p-in-v, blood drinking, possessive homelander, vampire bites as an aphrodisiac, cunnilingus, fingering, kidnapping, reader is held captive, gaslighting, abuse. dead dove!

Ever since Homelander got his cold dead hands on you, you've been the answer to his every prayer. You exist solely for him, kept safe in his home, delicious to the point where he refuses any blood that isn't yours. He isn't conscious of the extent he's grown to rely on you until the day he comes home to find you gone.

written for Monsterlander Mania! thank you @staarboyyy for the incredible vamplander gif. 🖤

There are few things that Homelander despises more in this world than summer. While the heat doesn’t bother him even beneath the thick layers of his suit, the rest of the world isn’t so lucky.

The meet and greets are by far the worst; a crowded collection of sweaty bodies piling in against one another like directed cattle, stewing in their own filth just long enough to reek of their own humanity by the time they’re touching him with clammy hands.

He’s never more grateful for his suit–especially his gloves–than during these occasions.

On top of that, these sardine can buildings become an echoing cacophony of juicy, throbbing hearts, every single one of them pounding in eager anticipation. Indoor events are better for blocking out the sun, but worse for every other aspect when it comes to his senses.

By the end of the day, his skull is throbbing and his stomach is twisting itself into knots. He needs quiet. He needs home. He needs to eat.

It’s dark by the time he lands on his balcony, the hour late. While he does prefer flying at night, he doesn’t like coming home so late. He tugs off his glove to use the thumbpad, which unlocks his automatic door. Stepping inside, he then hits a switch that triggers his blackout blinds to close behind him alongside the door.

“What a fucking day,” he grouses, making his way to the kitchen. “Twelve hours of this shit. I hate summer,” he says, tossing both of his gloves onto the kitchen counter. He reaches into the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water and a dark, thick green slurry in a tall lidded cup. It’s packed full of everything he both needs and likes, but perhaps most important is the iron content.

He goes through a fair amount of that.

“But I’m glad I’m home,” he says, carrying both beverages to his bedroom. “Because it looks like someone didn’t drink their shake.”

Homelander stops dead in his tracks, staring blankly at his empty bed. Standing perfectly still, he listens for the familiar cadence of your breath. The beat of your heart. Anything to tell him where the fuck you are. When he hears nothing, he drops the drinks unceremoniously to the floor and spins on his heel, instantly tearing through the penthouse.

He doesn’t smell blood or death, but the thought of you dead seizes him anyways, hurling him instantly into a panic. He scans through every wall and ceiling, but you’re not here. He calls your name, shouting it down each hall, but he’s met only with the reverberations of his own distraught voice.

At the front door, Homelander moves to input the code to open it, but halts abruptly. The panel is green. It hasn’t locked. Pulling it open, a thin piece of plastic falls away from the mechanism. It had been blocking the lock from securing.

Wednesday is grocery day, he recalls distantly. A staff member came to restock the fridge. They must have had the door propped open, and you…

Left. 

You left.

Homelander rips the door open, nearly yanking it off the hinges, and storms down the hall, fangs bared. You must have waited until it was late and the guard presence was scarce, otherwise someone would have reported you. You can’t have gone far.

When Vought realized that the continued development of Homelander’s powers came with a particular quirk that necessitated the consumption of human blood, they began the process of ensuring he always had a steady supply to keep him from eating his adoring fans. He never really cared about where the blood came from until he tasted yours.

Yours was special. It did something no one else’s ever had; it made him feel alive. He could taste the world in ways he never could before, and if he drank enough, he swore he could feel his heart start to beat. None of the scientists knew why. It didn’t matter to him. From that point on, he wasn’t interested in drinking from anyone other than you.

That was when he decided to keep you close at hand. Cut out the middleman.

You belong to him, and you have for months. He’s taken the utmost care of you, ensuring that you could have everything you need within the confines of his penthouse. The finest foods, every form of entertainment one could dream of, exquisite service at your fingertips and most compellingly of all, the love and adoration of the world’s greatest hero.  

So why the fuck would you leave?

Homelander rips through the tower. He’s furious, wounded and hungry. Those few security guards smart enough to get out of his way evade his rampage while a couple of unlucky ones wind up with their own personal craters in various walls.

He can smell the intoxicating allure of you trailing a path through the halls, but the combination of his hunger and his rage makes following it disorienting. He’s in no condition to hunt–he’s become sickeningly complacent in your time together, more reliant on you than he ever would have admitted freely. He’s grown to love the wait, letting himself feel his hunger so that you taste all the sweeter on his tongue.

Now the churn of it in his gut burns like fire.

Nevertheless, he is relentless, and within minutes he finds you in the garden just outside the tower, locked in by looming steel gates. You aren’t even properly dressed, garbed only in the thin loungewear he keeps you in, barefoot and combing your fingers through a tall hedge full of flowers just beginning to wither, their pink petals curled and browning.

You don’t even notice him until he’s upon you, snatching your wrist and whirling you around so sharply, the hedge behind you drops its wilting petals in a flurry. He must be a fearsome sight if your expression is anything to go by, your eyes wide and panicstricken.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He hisses through his teeth, fangs fully protracted. You take a breath to speak, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He jostles you by your shoulders to cut you off, fingers biting into your arms.  “Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was?”

Your pulse is racing. He can hear it, feel it in your wrist beneath his thumb. The sound of it is nearly enough to throw him to the ground, to shred the thin veneer of humanity he wears and give in to the bloodlust. His thumbnail tilts ever so slightly, biting a crescent mark into the supple flesh of your wrist. Never have you felt more tender in his hands. Never has he come so close to tearing you apart.

One slip, and you would be spilling red all over his tongue. 

“I just–” you begin, but he pulls you sharply up into his arms, seething so furiously that he can’t stand to hear you speak. He’s too far gone. Too fucking hungry.

“We’ll talk at home,” he grits out, and with a sonic boom that rips the remaining blossoms from the hedge in a flurry, he launches into the sky, purposefully flying too fast to allow for conversation. He holds you to his chest as tightly as he dares, landing back on his balcony with a thud. He uses the thumbpad and damn near tears the door off the hinges pulling it open. 

Homelander doesn’t have time to waste. You bounce a few times with the way he drops you onto the bed. Glancing up, he catches sight of himself in the myriad of mirrors. No wonder you looked at him the way you did. He looks crazed, lips parted around his fangs, his usual bright blue eyes shining pure crimson.  

It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything will be fine after this.

You scramble up the bed, moving backwards on your hands, but he catches you by the ankle and yanks you back down it, climbing on top of you with a frustrated noise that fades off into a sigh. “Y’see what you do to me?” He asks, voice low and frayed. You yelp when he rips your shirt clean apart, exposing your top half completely.  Your skin is adorned beautifully with the history of your night.

You bruise easily for a supe. Your blood just loves to rush to the surface for him, vessels full and bursting under his grip. The memory of inflicting these marks is so intoxicating that even in his frenzy he can’t help but lean down and drag his tongue over one of the bruises that mottle the pretty skin of your chest. Under his tongue, you feel like ripe fruit yearning to be bitten into.

“Please, Homelander, stop,” you plead prettily. He can hear your tears in the tremble of your voice, practically taste the salt in the air.

Good, he thinks viciously. Cry. Regret. Never do this to me again.

“Played a dangerous game tonight, sweetheart,” he tells you, that pet name dripping with affection and venom in equal measure. He forces your legs apart and settles between them, tearing what little clothing remains on your body like paper and tossing it aside. He presses his palms down against your thighs, and the heat of you compared to the chill of his fingers nearly burns. He pushes your legs up and apart, soaking in the sweet smell of your cunt.

Sex and feeding have always gone hand in hand for Homelander. Vought tried for years to satiate him with plastic blood bags and artificial alternatives, but it never fed him the way a meal he could fuck does. Still, all of them paled in comparison to you. Your inner thighs are a mixture of both new and faded punctures that dot your body in matching pairs, scars that he hopes never fade. They mark you as his.

Neither of you will ever settle for another ever again. “I didn’t mean to make you worry, please–please let me explain,” you weep, trying to squirm out of his grasp. With a predatory growl he yanks you back into place, unwilling to listen.

The hunger is driving him to madness. He can feel your pulse like it’s his own, the sound of it thundering in his ears until it threatens to split his skull in half. His nails bite into your skin while he leans in, deaf to your begging as he closes his eyes and opens his mouth wide, sinking his fangs into the soft, succulent meat of your inner thigh.

Your blood spills into his mouth like rich ambrosia. He moans loudly, losing himself to the taste and the heat. Your blood is transcendent, going beyond nourishment. Your pulse reminds his heart to beat. The more he drinks, the more the warmth of you fills his frigid body, thawing out his sanity alongside it. Your heat courses steadily through him, the fervor of it vanishing that nauseating pound from his skull until the only throb he’s left with is the one between his legs.

He sucks in a wet breath when he breaks away from you, panting his delirious pleasure. There’s nothing in this world than the high that comes after being satiated from a frenzy. It’s like he’s floating, his tongue and throat tingling with your sweet nectar.

He isn’t the only one tingling. He can smell the heady musk of your arousal. Your fearful tears are no match for the effect his bite has on your body, how his saliva mingles with your blood and makes you ache for him.

Without his hunger deafening him to the world, he can focus again. He takes a moment to lap at where he’s bitten you, cleaning up the blood that dripped from the wounds. He trails his blood-warmed tongue inward, far from placated. 

He pins your thighs down flush to the bed and nestles into the sweet core of you, plunging his tongue eagerly into your cunt. Your body jolts, but he holds you steady, eagerly swirling his tongue, collecting the taste of you to drink down. He sucks hungrily at your clit, pulling off of it with wet little pops, kissing and licking and sucking until you’re writhing beneath him for all the right reasons.

Devouring you like this is working him back up into a different kind of frenzy. He slips one finger into you, then two, mouthing your clit while he fucks you with his fingers, coaxing more and more from you. Your walls feel so fucking soft and velvety around his fingers, and his need to feel you quivering around his cock is rapidly outpacing his hunger for the taste of your cunt. With one last deep plunge of his tongue, he lifts himself over you, reaching down to hurriedly unclasp his belt, staring down at you with lust glazed eyes.

You’re a mess. Your whole body is flushed with heat, and you’ve barely stopped moaning since he bit you. He’s heard the effects of his bite described like a fever, a delirious experience that robs you of your senses and leaves you desperate for more, for anything of him. Even so, you haven’t stopped crying. It makes you look sweet. Vulnerable. Fucking delicious.

“Mmm, you’re pretty when you cry, baby,” he says, running his tongue along his teeth, over the sharp juts of his fangs. He gets his cock free and adjusts himself between your legs, laying over you. “This your way of saying sorry? Because it’s working,” he tells you, bracing one hand on the bed next to you while he uses the other to hold the base of his cock, dragging the head of it up and down through the wet mess of your pretty pussy lips. “Show me how sorry you are, sweetheart. Be good for me,” he murmurs against your skin, nuzzling at your throat.

Opening his mouth, Homelander bites into your neck at the same time he thrusts forward, letting out a muffled, ragged moan as he sinks into you on both fronts, shuddering with how fucking good it feels, tight and wet and hot as sin. Between that and the fresh rush of your blood down his throat, he ascends to a state of goddamn euphoria.

You make a noise somewhere between a sob and a moan. He drinks you up, savors the sound of you as much as he does the taste. He snaps his hips, wastes no time fucking you deep, holding you still with the lock of his jaw while he pounds you into the mattress.

“Oh, ffffuck,” he groans, lips bloodied. He laps at the blood on your neck, the sound of it as wet as his cock hammering your cunt with the relentlessness of a machine, utterly inhuman in the way he takes you. “So good to me, aren’t you? Feeding me, taking me. Mmm, fuck, m’close,” he says, nuzzling at your skin, enamored with the warmth of you.

With the ravenous insanity of his bloodlust fading, his thrusts become less brutal. He hikes your thigh over his hip and holds it there, sliding into a rhythm that’s something closer to making love. Your cunt quivers all around him, and by the noises you’re making he knows you’re electrified, out of your mind with the haze of pleasure that his bite induces. “M’gonna take care of you, too. You know that, don’t you? Yeah, y’do, and you won’t ever fucking leave me again. Don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he pants, mouthing at the shell of your ear.

It’s a lie. He knows what he would do. He would punish any world that dared take you from him. The thought alone would be enough to enrage him all over were he not so deeply soothed by your iron on his tongue and your soft body giving into him. If he had breath to give, it would be stolen by the way you seize up against him, orgasm taking hold of you like a possession, capturing your voice and rolling your eyes heavenward.

This is love. This undying hunger, this obsessive compulsion to keep you close. He craves you not just for the ambrosial taste of your blood, but for your soft lips against his and the timbre of your voice. He brought you into his life to satiate his bloodlust, but never could he have fathomed the greater emptiness that you would fill. Knowing you were here waiting for him has made him understand for the first time in his life what it means to come home.

He’ll ruin you before he loses you.

Homelander comes with a low, wrecked moan, kissing you fervently as he stops to empty himself into you as deeply as possible, forehead pressed to yours.

You’re panting, letting out pitchy little wisps of sound with every breath. He gently kisses them from your lips, hushing you. “S’alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, licking the salt of your tears from his lips. He cups the other side of your face and strokes it with his thumb. You’re shaking all over. He slips an arm around you to draw you close, to comfort you as you come down from your high. “Ssshhhh. Everything’s alright. M’right here, and I love you.”

That wrings a tight little sob out of you. He smiles, dazed on his own lingering ecstasy. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you,” he assures you, kissing your forehead. “Can’t imagine how scared you must’ve been, wandering alone in the dark like that,” he says, stroking your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Just happy I found you before anything happened to you.”

What if someone else had found you like that? Confused and vulnerable. He would have found you eventually, but had anyone been unlucky enough to lay their hands on you before then, they wouldn’t have hands for much longer. He kisses you again, firmer, possessive. “Don’t cry, baby. You’re safe now. You’re home.”

Gingerly, he slips from the wet heat of your body and adjusts himself, getting you both situated under the covers. He spends a while soothing you, rubbing your back while you lay in his arms, kissing the top of your head every so often.

“You alright?” He asks eventually. You aren’t shaking anymore, but you haven’t said a word. It makes him a touch… anxious.

“Yes,” you whisper. It’s not very convincing, but he wants to believe it enough that he accepts the answer anyways.

“Good,” he purrs, slipping his hand over the back of your neck. His fingertips brush your menagerie of scars, each bite a reminder of how thoroughly you have allowed him to love you. “That’s my good girl. I love you,” he says with a smile, tipping your head back to kiss your lips.

He waits.

“I love you,” he says again.

“I love you, too,” you finally respond.

His smile broadens. He draws you closer to him, listening to the lively thrum of your body. You are the warmth in his own veins, the beat of his heart.  This, too, is love. Kissed lips, bitten limbs, hungering teeth and bodies intertwined. It’s sweeter than anything he has ever known. The need in him is a monstrous thing, he knows. He hadn’t known how monstrous it was until he thought–even for a moment–that he’d lost you.

It won’t happen again.

[cinnamo6]

Friendship’s not in the field manual.

Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!reader

warning(s): angst, no comfort (yet..)

a/n: trying my hand at a new format. Not proofread/probably grammar mistakes

You’re convinced Ghost hates you. Downright despises you.

Sad? Yes. Exasperating? Most Definitely.

Hard to be at the top of your game when you’re convinced your own Lieutenant thrives off your suffering. You were the new bright eyed rookie hacker for 141. Picking up where they fell short in the technical field. And yet somehow Ghost had managed to make you feel incompetent on good days, and just plain miserable on the worst.

You’d long accepted that he’d never like you, but that didn’t mean it didn’t bother you. Every single attempt to be friends was shot down. At least he wasn’t lying when he said he had a cold heart. It was unbelievably frustrating and you were reaching your limit.

And did.

That day you felt like the world was truly against you. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. Waking up feeling just plain awful was a great start for sure. Finally finding the strength to drag yourself to the kitchen only to somehow manage to spill coffee all over yourself and your belongings, tech included. The coffee was hot enough to leave a painful burn, and there was no doubt your laptop was completely destroyed. You tried not to cry on your way to the medbay, you felt pathetic limping to and from. The walk of shame indeed.

After cleaning up the rest of the mess and at least trying to salvage the rest of your belongings that fell victim, you decided a change of clothes would do some good. Your only priority now was to Avoid. Ghost.

The last thing you needed today was his shit.

Normally you could take what he dished out, but today whatever he had in store would most definitely destroy you. Which is exactly why you froze you heard heavy foot steps approach you. You didn’t need to look to know exactly who it was.

“Sergeant.” His tone made you wince.

You’d missed the mandatory meeting. He was really gonna let you have it.

You held your breath in preparation, and stared down at the floor.

Just hold it together and break down later.

“What? Can’t even look at me? Fucking pathetic.”

Hold it together. Hold it together. Hold it togeth-

“Look at me.”

As long as you don’t look him in the eyes you’ll be fine. You can do this. You’ll get out of this in one piece.

“In the eyes, rookie.”

Christ if he wasn’t so damn scary.

You somehow worked up the nerve to finally look at him and met instant regret. His eyes held so much anger, and knowing it was directed at you was terrifying. This man must really, truly, hate you.

You couldn’t stop the tears as soon as they began. You missed the way his eyes widened, even if only by a little bit.

“Why do you hate me?” You sobbed. “I just don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.”

He saw your hands shake as you frantically wiped your eyes, in a hurry to get away from the room, from him.

“Love, I-“ he started, but you had already disappeared.

Oh he fucked up. Big time.

[joequiinn]

PREVIEW | You Can Have My Hate | B.H. x reader

summary: Unfortunately, you got stuck with Billy fucking Hargrove as your partner for your final assignment in history class. Also unfortunately, Billy discovers you have a killer body underneath all those baggy clothes…

a/n: Billy is a disgusting little man and i love him dearly. as the title says, this is a preview of something i've been working on! the fic is already at 6.5k words and still isn't done, so i decided to put out a little snippet to see if there was any interest, so please let me know if you'd like me to finish the fic!

notes & tropes: fem reader, curvy + large chest reader, foul and suggestive language, canon typical Billy bullshit, awful behavior from both Billy and reader, minor allusions to sex but nothing happens (yet)

music inspo: Closer by Nine Inch Nails

preview wc: 1.9k

You let me violate you | You let me desecrate you You let me penetrate you | You let me complicate you

“Damn, little miss straight-laced,” Billy’s hooded eyes slowly crawled down your body, the corner of his mouthing pulled back in a lecherous smirk, “is that what you’ve been hiding under all those baggy clothes?”

God, you hated Billy Hargrove. Absolutely despised him with every fiber of your being. You knew you should’ve begged your history teacher for a different partner, should’ve gotten on your knees and pleaded for literally anyone other than Billy fucking Hargrove to work on this assignment with you. An idiotic football player or a bitchy cheerleader would’ve been better than this. But no, you didn’t beg and you didn’t plead, so now you were stuck, and god if this wasn’t about to be the worst couple weeks of your life.

Ever since Billy showed up in Hawkins at the beginning of last semester, you detested him. Everything about him screamed disrespectful, hateful asshole, and so having two classes with him meant you had witnessed your fair share of this behavior. Why so many girls wanted to fuck him and why so many boys aspired to be him was a mystery to you, because you could see from the start that he was a no good piece of shit.

But, in a way, you were lucky because you were literally a nobody. And nobodies went unnoticed, which meant not having to deal with bullshit from 90% of your peers. Hell, when your history teacher was pairing everyone off and told Billy who his partner would be, his response was an amused “who?” as if he didn’t believe this person - you - even existed. He had gone the entirety of the school year not having a single clue that you existed, and damn you wish it had just gone on a little longer. You literally had one more month left of senior year, one more month until you never even had to think about Hawkins High again, and the last thing you wanted was to spend half of that month in misery while trying to put up with Billy fucking Hargrove.

This assignment shouldn’t have even been worth shit to you, considering that your grade was nearly perfect and it was your last big project before graduation, but that’s where your history teacher hooked all of you - if this assignment wasn’t completed, then you guys wouldn’t be able to receive your diplomas. Or so he said to deter kids like you from flaking on it - you didn’t know if your boring old history teacher had that kind of authority, but you weren’t about to risk finding out.

And for kids like Billy? Kids who didn’t give a shit, who were already struggling to pass? The grade on this assignment was make or break. Not that it affected you any, of course - Billy could fail his senior year for all you cared. But shockingly enough, he was the one to make a point of its importance to you, the one to emphasize that he had to pass this class and graduate. It was curious to you, since you’d never once seen Billy care about school, but perhaps he was also beginning to feel the fire under his ass to leave Hawkins.

So, for the past week now, you’d been meeting with Billy at the school library, trying your best not to rip out your hair while you did the majority of the work. Hell, you could’ve told Billy just to fuck off and let you work on your own - you’d still let him put his name on the assignment and everything. But for whatever reason, you didn’t and so now you were subjecting yourself to tolerating his bullshit.

And that’s what you were doing right now, sitting across from Billy in the library and using every fiber of your being not to lose it on him. He had been particularly difficult from the moment he sat down, his foot bouncing impatiently and his expression condescending each time you tried to talk to him. He was making it very clear that he’d rather be anywhere other than here. The warm temperature of the library combined with your frustration at Billy was causing you to feel a little toasty, so you caved and tugged your large sweater over your head, leaving you in a tight, black tank top that left little to the imagination.

And said tight, black tank top is exactly what Billy was ogling, making you sneer and immediately regret taking off your sweater.

You never liked showing off your body, never liked the attention it drew you. You wouldn’t say you were self-conscious necessarily, you didn’t hate the way you looked in the mirror or anything like that. But you were very aware of how men looked at women’s bodies, and as someone who hated most forms of attention, you weren’t going to have any of that. So you wore baggy jeans and oversized sweaters, hid your frame under clothes that were always a size or so too big. It kept eyes and hands off of you, and you preferred it that way.

But damn it, it was so hot in the library that afternoon and you weren’t thinking clearly. You couldn’t believe your own stupidity - you just had to take off your sweater in front of Billy fucking Hargrove, a boy who only ever saw women as either sex pots or prudes. His lewd gaze was making you feel even more hot under the collar, but shit did you want to put your sweater back on already despite the heat.

“Will you please focus, Hargrove?” You begged in an exacerbated tone, trying to cross your arms over your chest in a way that wasn’t obvious while looking back down to the textbook open in front of you.

“You expect me to focus now, after you whipped those out?” Billy took such obvious joy in knowing that he was making you uncomfortable. He leaned forward on the table, his eyes once again traveling a salacious path down the curves of your body, “It’s Friday night, I got a pair of double D’s sitting across from me, and you’re asking me to focus on a damn essay?”

“Shut up.” You threatened between your teeth, trying not to raise your voice and draw attention. Your eyes were dark with frustration as you stared at Billy, who simply looked back at you like he didn’t give a damn, like he was just waiting for you to cave to him.

And how the hell could he tell you wore a double D?

You sank in your seat a little while attempting to cross your arms even more aggressively in front of your chest, feeling your cheeks growing red. Billy gave you that smooth, lazy grin that you’ve seen him use before, his eyes hooded as he leaned back in his chair. The feeling of his indecent gaze on your body practically made your skin crawl.

“Fine, Hargrove,” You quickly grab up your belongings and shoot to your feet, fumbling with your bag and sweater to make sure they kept your chest covered, “if you wanna be a prick who won’t focus, we’ll do this next week.”

You started to march out of the library, to retreat to safety. You didn’t like the way Billy was looking at you - it was objectifying and disrespectful and vulgar. Billy never once gave a fuck about - or even noticed - you before, but the second you remove a stupid barrier of clothing, suddenly he’s oh so interested. He was such a pig.

But shit, why was it also… kind of hot?

No, it was not hot.

You couldn’t let yourself even entertain that thought because there sure as shit wasn’t anything hot about it. It wasn’t hot that he objectified you, it wasn’t hot that he drank your body in with impropriety, it wasn’t hot that his tongue ran slowly along his lower lip as his eyes met yours with practiced allure.

No, no, no! You could’ve kicked yourself. Nothing about that should’ve been hot, god damn it.

“Oh, come on, killjoy,” Billy grabbed your wrist, spinning you back around to face him, having followed you through the library. His grip was firm as you looked between his face and hand and back again.

The library wasn’t exactly busy on a Friday afternoon, but you looked around to find that the librarian and another student both looked in your direction. It made you even more nervous to know that eyes were on you; what if you got in trouble, what if the librarian reprimands you both for being disruptive? You looked back to Billy, your brows furrowed in annoyance as you whipped your wrist out of his hold with hostility.

“I’m serious, if all you want is to slack off and look at my tits that’s your business.” You immediately clamped your mouth shut, your eyes widening slightly - that is not what you meant to say at all. Oh god, why the fuck did you say that? Shit, you should’ve just told him that you’d regroup next week, that you weren’t going to put up with him. But no, instead you said arguably the stupidest thing you could, and it was clear on Billy’s face that he was relishing in your stupid words, enjoying them even.

He looked back down at your body, luckily hidden behind your bag and sweater, “My business, huh? Sounds to me like permission to stare.”

“No.” You answered firmly; your cheeks and neck felt so fucking warm. You tried to get back on track, tried to shake off the stupid thing you said just a moment ago, “I just want to finish this project. So, go home and jack off to your Playboys all weekend, and then maybe we can actually get some work done next week.”

Despite your jabs, Billy still grinned wickedly, dipping his head a little as he took a step closer, his voice low, “So, that’s what you’re thinking about, huh? Me jacking off? You enjoying that thought?”

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to find some quick response to that, but you couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. A sound of disbelief left your throat as you gaped with loathing at Billy for a moment. God, you felt like a damn fish trying to breathe out of water. With a glare in your eyes, you clamped your mouth shut, which seemed to be a great amusement to Billy, whose smile widened as a laugh escaped him.

“God, you make it so easy.” He said, shaking his head, “You gotta lighten up, you know?”

You sigh loudly, eyes still staring at him harshly, “Whatever, Hargrove.”

You attempt to walk away once more, but yet again Billy snatches your wrist, “Wait, wait, wait…”

“Stop acting interested in me all of a sudden,” You try to shake your arm out of his hold again, but this time Billy’s grip is tighter, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Look,” his tone was firm as he instructed, “let’s go back over to the table, get some more work done, and I’ll give you a ride home.”

Your eyes narrowed into slits as you studied his face, “I don’t need a ride.”

“You don’t have a car.” He countered immediately.

“I don’t need a ride from you.”

“You don’t, but isn’t it generous that I’m offering?”

“More like devious.”

“I’ll be a total gentleman.”

You laughed right in his face, “You don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

[usedpidemo]

Knockin on heaven's door (Lee Chaeyeon)

> ​​5 minutes in heaven with chaeyeon (just something inspired by the knock mv and her being inside a wardrobe) - @idevian

——————

“God dammit.”

The worst thing about college wasn’t the outrageous student debt, nor the mountains of units and classes you needed to juggle. It was the parties. 

It was always the parties.

Not a couple of weeks passes by without some wild party hosted by some rich nepo kid. There isn’t really a reason that justifies the occasion except to celebrate for celebration's sake. An excuse to let loose and relax from the stresses of the semester; a reasonable justification—if not for the copious amount of drugs, alcohol, and sex that happens in them. Every scene plays out like a parody, an ironic twist of fate that realizes your worst assumptions and stereotypes of college after graduating high school. 

And the worst part is: no one escapes completely unscathed, not even you.

You make one thing clear: you don’t despise parties—you just didn’t want any piece of it. It stands to reason then that you usually take refuge in the many corners of the house, away from the madness and debauchery of it all. Exposure to their degeneracy proves to be near-unavoidable. You’re essentially the designated driver for your friends, who are none the wiser. Often, they’re the first ones in, last ones out. The moment they step foot inside, they basically forget your existence until dawn. They’re insufferable, but you’d otherwise remain a loner without them, for better and for worse.

In a sea of people, someone manages to spot you. It’s not the gaze of a burgeoning romance or friendship; their eyes evidently spell out drunkenness, and their zombie-like motions toward you are about as subtle as a sledgehammer to the face. A little push and pull. You suddenly find yourself being escorted to a huge circle that raises immediate red flags. Even the slightest whiff of the room laced with crack triggers your fight or flight impulses. Thankfully, it only takes the simplest and most cliche of excuses to create a path of escape.

“I need to use the bathroom.”

With their impaired judgment, you’ll soon be an afterthought to them—or at worse, a horde of makeshift zombies banging at the door. The bathroom would be too obvious. It was never the destination.

Sneaking around the crowd, you find a door conveniently tucked away from the madness and rush toward your freedom. On the other side lies complete darkness, and if not for a foot teetering on the edge of some hidden stairs, you’d be a dozen steps away from a concussion and several stitches. A hidden basement sealed away from the house, blocking most of the noise.

Finally, some peace and quiet.

As expected, the actual basement is nothing but clutters of dusty boxes and forgotten relics, with a few tiny windows hidden behind the piles. Little light peeks through the otherwise pitch black room, but a bit more exposure runs the risk of your retreat getting exposed. You’d more than happily sit here until you can weasel your way out in the morning, when everyone’s blacked out and completely fucked from party overdose, or when the rich kid’s angry parents find you sleeping on the floor. 

You’ve taken overnight shelter in far worse, unforgiving places. 

Suddenly, you feel a breath of warm air tickle through your ear and skin. “Guess I’m not the only one stuck tonight.”

It’s a ghoulish whisper that impulsively causes you to drop your phone while opening its flashlight. What little the light reveals is a hint of pale flesh and blonde strands covertly moving like a predator stalking its prey. You feel something on your shoulder, sending shivers down your spine. Clawlike nails thread through your hair, slowly entrapping you beyond escape. Your eyes tilt to the side, only to find the groove of lush dark lips forming a pretty smirk.

All it takes is another whisper. “Boo.”

“Shit!” You flail your arms panickedly, swinging them around like a child with no fighting experience. You hit nothing but air. If not for the darkness concealing you, it would be a humiliating sight, the kind that gets posted and clowned upon on social media. 

The figure grabs you by the wrists, stares so sternly it warrants attention. Its tone is just as sharp, too. “Don’t get us caught, goddammit.”

You pause, take a moment to gather yourself, then another to scan the shadowy stature, looking at you now with wary and concern. Peering through the darkness, its eyes glint with a distinct sparkle. It speaks again with a more tempered voice. “You okay now?”

A silence briefly falls. You stare back to familiarize and scan the figure. A moment of clarity comes upon you. “Wait—aren’t you—”

You recognize her face plastered on the accomplishment board, primarily under athletics and sports. It simply couldn’t be anyone else but Lee Chaeyeon, a polarizing figure within the student body. You’ve heard whispers from varying accounts. For some, she’s practically the greatest athlete to ever grace the institution, a generational talent in every department she excels in. To her teachers, she barely shows up to classes because of her athletic commitments, and a peek through the records shows she’s barely holding on in her academic obligations. 

At times, she’s felt like a myth, mainly because you’d only hear her from others. You never saw her once in a school uniform. Hell, you only knew she was around because other people claimed to have seen her, but they could have been spreading misinformation.

“What? Chaeryeong?” She raises an eyebrow, puckers her lips, partially confused and mildly annoyed, while lowering your arms before finally letting them go. She knows what you said. “That’s my little sis. She’s a lot cuter than I am. You need to get your eyes checked.”

“No, no.” Blissfully unaware, you’re quick to emphasize your point. “You’re Chaeyeon, head of the dance club and athletics division.”

“No? I’m Chaeryeong, head of the music department,” she says, sarcastic, but now with a playful smile. “No shit, I’m Chaeyeon.”

“I—I never expected to meet you here of all places,” you say, awkwardly smiling and tapping your fingers together nervously.

“I didn’t expect anyone would find this spot.” Chaeyeon turns around, brushing her long blonde locks in an alluring way that leaves you awestruck. Admittedly, it’s a little bit attractive how unabashedly sleazy she looks. Even in her clean pictures, you can tell she hates the idea of looking clean. While everyone else attends these parties at their best, only to come out a complete mess, she clearly recognizes the pointlessness in such vanity. “Great timing, too. I was gonna make a run for it.”

“So, why are you here again?” 

“Boredom.” Her reply is almost immediate, flippantly delivered, that it’s convincing. She has better things to do than hang around at random parties. “I just came for the free food.” She chuckles remembering the thought, while her eyes wander around the room, searching for something, anything.

“Just like me, huh,” you respond with blind confidence, as if it’ll give you both a common ground to share, when in reality, she doesn’t care. If anything, she only amuses you because she allowed you to entertain her, and you’re doing about as good of a job as anyone when it comes to catching her attention—a.k.a failing spectacularly. 

Chaeyeon turns around and faces you again with a curious, intimidating look. “And what do you know about that?”

Gulp. “About what?”

She tilts her head and doesn't utter another word, as if expecting you to know what she means. You clearly don’t. On her lips is a dour pout, disappointed by your impulsive tongue. None of it makes any sense, and trying to figure her out seems like a fool’s errand. 

“Thought so,” is the only thing she ends up saying, and an air of awkward silence falls on you both as she roams around the basement, presumably searching for a passage out. “You wanna be useful?” she suddenly snaps at you, her stare peering through a valley of boxes.

“What do you want me to do?”

“You wanna get out of here or what?” she spits, turning to you, gaze grimacing and tone scathing. Joining her, you both take note of a narrow hatch hidden behind even more dusty packages.

—————

Well, you may have just played the most awkward game of seven minutes in heaven in your life. 

The ride home is even more unsettling.

Chaeyeon remains dead silent, comfortably slumped back against the passenger seat of your car, keeping you at arm’s length. Occasionally glancing to your side, you’re driving, focused on the road ahead. The muted sound of radio blaring through the speakers is the only thing that keeps awkward silence from permeating throughout the vehicle. 

You can’t get her to show any form of emotion other than apathy.

Wanna have something to eat? Nothing. 

Where’s your place? Also nothing.

Where would you like me to drop you off? Still nothing.

Got any friends to meet up with? Again, nothing.

Most people would have given up by now. It’s not a good look, the kind that encourages ostracizing. Patient as you are, though, you still hope she opens up, but whenever your eyes meet, she gives you the coldest shoulder imaginable. She wants nothing to do with you. The way she stares, the tiredness peeking through her brown irises, the slow, detached gaze that examines you before lightly looking away—the very idea of interacting with people poisons her, ruins her, breaks her.

You pull off at a gas station a few blocks away from your apartment. Shutting down the engine, you gently say, “I’m gonna buy a snack. You want anything?”

She slowly turns back in your direction, very disconnected from you she can’t be bothered to look you in the eye. Her lips twist, as if ready to speak her mind, but only air ultimately comes out. As you expected by now.

“Fine,” you follow, deflecting her cold demeanor back at her. “Just wait here, then.”

After stepping out of your car, right as you’re about to enter the shop, you hear a sharp thud sound. Looking back, you find Chaeyeon, also outside, rubbing her arms from the cold air bothering her, trembling nervously. 

You call out to her, loud enough to draw anyone’s attention.

“Borrow my jacket?”

She doesn’t pay you any heed.

—————

“I seriously don’t understand you,” you murmur, as if it’ll bring her out of her shell or change anything, if your previous attempts at reaching out to her in a friendly manner are any proof. It’s late at night; you’re both casually staring at your car—the only noteworthy thing in this gas station—and you couldn’t be any more different. You’ve almost emptied your little cup of instant noodles, while she smokes through her dwindling cigarette, blowing smoke in your direction, still purposefully uncaring. The vapor doesn’t make you crack, but her coldness does. “Why did you ask me to drive for you? What’s the point? I don’t know what you want.”

It’s probably not the best time to show even the slightest frustration. Then again, she’s been deliberately dispassionate the entire time. Anyone else would have given up at this point, but there’s an allure to her, you admit, that keeps you interested, and not just because she’s a known name within the student body. Popularity was never the goal, but like everyone else, you simply wanted to know who Lee Chaeyeon is. She’s one of the biggest mysteries within the school; an all-star athlete with a peculiar aura surrounding her. From what you’ve seen so far, it’s not all that remarkable. She's sassy and apathetic, dry, sarcastic humor is her primary weapon, and she dresses like an escort. Perhaps this is all just a mix up, that this isn’t really the Chaeyeon, one of the best athletes to ever grace the university.

If not for the resemblance with her younger sister, the sweet girl from the music club, they couldn’t have been any more different. Are they really from the same family?

“Much better.” She returns her cigar to her mouth, huffs another round, then releases a new wave, thankfully not in your direction this time. Facing you, she looks you right in the eye. It’s different. There’s no apathy behind them, but instead, genuine interest. “I just wanted a free ride outta there.”

“That’s it?” is your reply, confused. Maybe you’re thinking these words through a bit too much, trying to find deeper complexity from a simple answer. You’ve met more complicated characters before, and to a certain degree, you can relate to her.

“Yeah.” Chaeyeon drags another whiff, but intentionally smokes away. “People just suck.”

In a strange, twisted way, she reads through your mind, says something that, quite frankly, leaves you even more in disarray. “Don’t think hard about it.”

Wide-eyed, you try averting your gaze in a poor attempt to feign ignorance. “Think about what?”

“You know,” she says, songful, gives you a rather taunting stare, eyebrows raised, as if expecting you to understand what she’s on about—deep down you know what that is—while flicking the ashes of her cig down on the table. Admittedly, it’s somewhat cute. Smirking, she adds, “Do I have to make it obvious to you, bird brain?”

“Fuck off.”

“There you go.” Chaeyeon leans back, chuckles, takes delight in making you look like the bad guy, that wicked, mocking grin on her lips a few inches wider than before. Only now do you perceive the true predicament; both of you secretly playing mind games, examining each other, trying to get on the other’s nerves until they eventually break. “I guess I win.”

“Win? We’re not playing games.”

“I got you to drop the nice guy act. I won.” 

Another huff, another smoke.

“That doesn’t mean much.”

“That’s what every loser says. Remember what I said? People suck.”

“We just met a few hours ago, and you’re telling me I suck?” Your volume grows slightly louder.  “After giving you a free ride out of that party?” 

“And who got you out of there first? Hmm?” Chaeyeon’s driving you mad, but now for a completely different reason. “Let me make it clear: I knew about the secret passage even if you hadn’t stumbled your way inside that basement. You were just lucky to find me at the right time.”

“Forget about the basement!” You find yourself slowly unraveling, slowly coming undone, your screws on the brink of loosening. She licks her lips, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

It’s sudden, it’s loud, it’s sharp. The words reverberate around the shop resoundingly that in any other setting, it’s what incites a public incident, gets both of you expelled and shamed in school. Maybe just you, knowing there’s a high likelihood of preferential bias the faculty may have for one of their most accomplished pupils. Regardless, you find yourself covering your mouth, as if you’ve just spoken some unspeakable destruction into existence. Even she ends up speechless.

The next moment is even more destructive: Chaeyeon’s lips suddenly cover yours.

—————

“Fuck, that’s good,” mutters Chaeyeon, between a shower of seemingly endless kisses on your lips, shoving you against the wall of the bathroom beside the convenience store. The doors are locked, with not a single soul’s around to interrupt you. Either way, she proves to be too much—too much to fight, with both words and actions, that you quickly give in, much sooner than she expected.

It’s not that you never considered the thought of kissing Chaeyeon—at times, they were a little tempting if not for the fact that she’s a smoker—but rather how delectable her lips are, even with the tainted scent of smoke etched on them. She passionately makes out with you, drives her tongue between yours, drives the wedge that seemingly kept you both apart, and no amount of self-righteous character can bury that want, that craving for affection—and sex.

“You do this with every man you meet?” You forcefully rip yourself from the kiss, only to find your lips dragged back in almost immediately. She knows it’s a futile effort to gain control, something you never had right from the start. 

“Fuck no,” she mouths between even more pecks. “Consider yourself incredibly lucky.”

She’s tugging on opposite ends of your shirt, threatening to rip them apart, something you recognize. Even as you continue to make out, with your hands exploring and marking new territory in the form of her divine figure, you make time for her, letting her freely own you by lifting the obstructive clothing over your head before she promptly tosses it aside in return. Her lips gradually slide down and make themselves familiar with you; your neck first, then your collarbones, smiling to herself as she marks each part as hers with her teeth, while creating more friction by palming your bare chest.

“Finally, someone who’s actually hot,” she quietly mouths to herself, though you can hear her loud and clear. You’ve got a response, a retaliation, but you choose to bask in the moment, acknowledge how good she already makes you feel in the form of a light groan.

Her hands slide down the steep hill that is your torso, until they find more difficult fabric. Locking eyes with yours, she works on your pants, keeping you suspended as she figures out how to claim her rightful prize. Behind those brown pupils is a burning lust, a raging flame consuming her from within, eager to take what she wants; it’s not the same cold stare from before. 

“How long have you wanted me?” she asks, followed by the gentle whir of your zipper as she slides down your pants and boxers in one swing. Before you can formulate a reply, you suddenly release an airy gasp—your only response—caught unaware by her deft, silky hand pressing on your balls and your raging cock. Her smirk widens, amused and absorbed by your electric reaction. 

She continues to fiddle with your cock, giving it one slow, but delicate pump after another, as you fall under her dizzying spell. Forget about the question; the answer is quite clear, based on the stickiness slowly building up between her hand and your cock. Pleasure begins to spike all over your body, and almost single handedly ends you, if not for her other hand keeping you steady against the wall. It’s a little too soon—a little too much for your brain to comprehend.

Her gaze lingers on yours, watching you gradually crumble in real-time; you’re no better than anyone else in this situation. It’s amusing, gets cute, sweet, playful looks that seemingly brighten her day after what seemed to be an absolute disaster. She knows what she’s doing and she loves it. Your hands cling to shoulders, feel the softness of her skin, and it sparks a fire in her eyes, quick to spread and consume.

“Tell me how long you’ve wanted me,” she repeats herself, the bright glint in her eyes and her grin more mischievous than serious. Determined to get the answer out of you, she tightly cups your balls, drawing out a deep groan. “I know you’ve been staring at me since we met.”

She’s not entirely wrong. Even in the darkness of that desolate basement, you knew she was drop-dead gorgeous. It became clear under the pale moonlight that she was even hotter: a black crop that teased the subtlest of cleavage, exposed her toned midriff, and jeans that accentuated her shapely ass. Yes, even when you thought she wasn’t interested, she knew your stare never departed. 

“Since always.” Not the best answer; you both literally just encountered each other earlier that night, but it’s the most logical. Not a single girl in college made you hot and heavy like this. Sure, some of them were cute, her sister included, but none of them had that appeal, that love at first sight attraction that Chaeyeon carried. 

Her free arm reaches up to the zipper of her shirt, presses her cleavage together a little. There’s amusement on her features watching in your eagerness to watch them slip. She contemplates the thought, painfully stalling the inevitable by a few precious seconds, then she unzips her top down. One side of the sleeve slides down her shoulders, then the other, until only a matching black bra remains. 

It promptly joins the other clothes on the opposite end of the bathroom, completely irrelevant. 

You and Chaeyeon make quick work of her jeans before you’re quickly drawn together like magnets, feeling each other’s hot, sweaty skin, entangled like a complete puzzle making out against the walls. It’s an intense back and forth, a tug of war as you both desire complete ownership of the other’s body. Each torrid kiss screams of desperation, not intimacy, to be used, to be consumed. 

Spacious as the bathroom is, you can’t seem to find common ground. One moment you’ve got her pinned against the furthest stall, the next she has you fastened in another, until you eventually acquaint yourselves with all three cubicles. Both of you know where this is going and where it should lead; you just don’t know how you can get there. There’s plenty of distractions in front of you, mainly Chaeyeon’s perfect naked figure, a leg wrapped around your hip, and the gleam in her eyes wanting and yearning. It’s dangerous; temptation lurks everywhere you look. If not for the arms wrapped around your neck, occasionally dictating that you only look at her lust-filled face between kisses, the rest of her body would earn your worship. 

Chaeyeon moans, writhes in your grasp, slowly relinquishing control over to you. From her bottom lip, you slip them down to her neck, and she trembles, clings tighter, feeling weak. Her hands pinch the back of your hair, mouth mumbling airy, faint words. It’s passionate, sinful, and tender—something you never expected with an otherwise rough woman like her.

“God, you’re so hot—” you hiss, gasping as her touch arouses you. “Mmm—”

She suddenly regains composure, stops you a breath away from her chest, then pulls you back toward her face. Another deep kiss. “Enough. I’m not in the mood for love making tonight.”

Regretfully, she removes herself from your clutch, pulling you by the hand instead to lead you to the bathroom sink. Every time she kisses you, her lips smell of alcohol and lipstick, and it never gets old. You wonder if she simply likes kissing or if she’s conveying some kind of message that you somehow have to decipher. She notices the curious expression on your face, lets out this droll laugh that gives off the assumption you’re onto something, when really, she’s as unpredictable as ever.

There’s nothing funny, nor is it supposed to be, but it makes no sense, perfectly in line with her character.

Before the awkwardness looms over you again, she grabs you by the waist, pushes you forward to impale her. Her back arches against the sink, perfectly spaced between her torso and legs. She spins around, flaunts her shapely curves that immediately capture your attention—and your hands. Ignore her steely glare that pierces through your reflection in the mirror; her flesh melts, molds comfortably in your grasp, as if they were tailor made for you. 

She grunts, loses control again, but it’s only momentarily. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Even though you’ve seen her look vulnerable, her sharp attitude keeps you on edge, stops you from committing a sinful act. Your cock is in the perfect position to ruin her, break the facade and the space between you, but it’s not a fight worth contending, especially when she follows up with a dagger that almost pierces your heart. “Keep it between my legs.”

You immediately knew what she meant. To be quite honest, it’s a little disappointing. All that preamble, pleasantry, the tease of something more, only to be shot down before it even starts—it’s almost disheartening. Of course, you had no room to complain, not when she’s splayed out in her barest, practically giving you free reign over every other part of her, but something feels—off, incomplete.

Chaeyeon spreads her legs wide, gracious to space your cock right in its center. Her cunt is on full display, ripe and ready to be used, to be fucked. Unfortunately, you won’t get to have any piece of it without her word. It’s near-impossible to look away, spellbinding you with an unforgettable mental image. The thought of—or the lack thereof—filling her pussy torments you. Even as her smooth, perfect thighs sandwich your cock, the notion poisons your mind, leaves you wandering and aimless, until the perfect amount of friction strikes and—

“Fuck.”

It’s smooth, suffocating, devastating. Now you truly have nothing to whine about, except to whine about how tight her legs feel around your cock, rubbing and stroking yourself between her thick thighs. Barely hanging on, you press your hands on her shoulders, losing yourself in the pleasure quickly. Thanks to the little flecks of precum from before, sliding between her heat proves to be much easier. 

Slowly but surely, you grow accustomed to her asphyxiating warmth, unable to process anything beyond the slickness and powerful sensations around her flesh. Eyes closed, you moan in prolonged, deep spurts, resting your head beside hers. Her feelings don’t matter at this moment, only yours. You don’t realize her hand is gripped to your thigh, only that it amplifies the surge of pleasure coursing throughout your body. A possible reminder to keep your cock away from her cunt, but you didn’t need it anymore—her thighs are more than enough.

“Yeah. Fucking enjoy it, horny bitch.” Chaeyeon’s tone and expression seemingly derives no enjoyment from watching you lose it, as if it’s only an obligation and not something both of you share pleasure in. She moans, but it’s faint and weak. “That feels good, right?”

“It does,” you blurt, trapped in the heavenly bliss between her legs, loving every little motion. “So good, Chaen, holy fuck—”

She sees you visibly struggling and helplessly trying to gather air, smiles and laughs at your predicament. It’s a mess; it’s her schadenfreude. Delightful, she thinks to herself, now playing along with her lewd expressions plastered on the mirror. Unconvincing, if not a bit too much leaning towards parody. She’s waiting for the opportunity to get the edge over you, the killing blow. 

Tightening her grip around your cock, her toned legs collapse, and you can feel the fire in your loins gradually building and hurling toward a calamitous explosion. There’s nothing you can do to stop—not that you ever want to, watching your cock slide in and out her thighs at a perfect rhythm is its own reward—only praying that the moment lingers a bit longer. You’ve got both hands pinched to her taut nipples, thankfully unresisted, kissing around her collarbone and ear, trying in vain to stifle the endless string of curses and moans leaving your lips.

It doesn’t help that her voice is seductive, downright merciless, repeatedly goading you into submission, staring at your reflection expectantly. “That’s it. Cum for me, bitch. You won’t ever get this kind of opportunity with anyone else but with me. No one else will ever make you feel this good. Just cum, and cum, and cum—”

The word rings in your head, hypnotic, borderline leaning toward brainwashing. It isn’t gaslighting when she has a point; she feels so fucking incredible, so tight and hot and suffocating—no one else can possibly compare. Then again, ecstasy is the only thing running through your head, clouding your better judgment. You’ve got a hand digging through her endless sea of blonde locks, pumping between her thighs, each thrust sorer than the last, like you’ll regret the action in the morning. 

“I’m so close, Chaen. I’m going to cum,” you say desperately. 

There’s that familiar twinkle in her eyes, and a mischievous grin forming on her lips. Troubling. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you say, your cock aching painfully between her wet, toned thighs. 

“Please.” 

“Please!” you shout, teetering dangerously close to the edge, threatens you and Chaeyeon. Again, slowing down proves to be impossible. You’re so far gone.

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum! Please let me cum, Chaen, oh God.”

“That’s it. Cum—”

As soon as she lets that word out, the lights immediately turn green. Releasing all your inhibitions, your eyes widen, pumping your cock hurling to that oh-so deserved orgasm between her legs. Her thighs receive every last shot, every single drop. You both moan into each other’s ear, with Chaeyeon finding comfort and satisfaction from feeling the warmth you’ve given her. 

She throws her head back, cranes her neck, brushes a hand around your hair while you pump through your climax. Eventually, your cock slips, winds down to a complete halt. You find your lips returning to her collarbones, taking solace on her sensitive flesh as you remain intimately attached together for a little while longer.

“Shit.” You look down, past the curves of her chest, see the puddles and drops of slick on the floor. She mirrors your gesture, checks the damage between her legs, and it’s a disaster: her thighs are dripping with cum down to her feet, with two noticeable blots parallel to the other. 

“So needy.” Chaeyeon says with a laugh, caressing your cheek, her voice a temptation in your ear, goading you for more. “Not lucky with the ladies, hmm?”

Wistfully, you reply, “Yeah.”

Chaeyeon slowly releases your chin from her hand, slips from your clutch to grab a stream of tissue rolls to clean herself up. You cling to the sink with wobbly legs, staring down at the basin, overcome by a wave of both regret and exhaustion. Unwelcome thoughts creep in. A lack of protection, a return of her dour persona, and your reputations at stake—you’ll entertain them all in the morning, when the honeymoon period ends.

When you look up, you see Chaeyeon in the mirror, almost finished dressing up, fixing her cleavage before zipping up her crop top. She stares back, grinning. “You know you still have to drive me home. So when you’re done pining over not cumming in my pussy—”

“Where? Where's home?”

“Yours.”

—————

(A/N: Finally got to one of the four selected requests! I'm sorry this one took a lot longer than expected, but what can you expect from me XD I still have PCD as I write this down and no amount of copium can help me recover haha. I loved the request as it gave me the perfect excuse to write Chaeyeon again; she's an underrated hottie and I'm glad she (1) quit Queendom Puzzle instead of pushing through and (2) Knock became a surprise hit. It's only a matter of time before her star rises even further. Thank you for reading!)

[mooningningg]

"𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛 𝐲𝐨𝐮."

Flirty enemies to lovers with jjk men.

gojo, sukuna, and megumi, (f).

genres, warnings, trope. fluff! | cursing ig! | enemies to lovers! |

notes i. I'd be happy to see my request and submission box filled rn, pls.

⋆.ೃ࿔*Gojo.

•you hate gojo, he hates you. Oh boy, just the thought of his white hair irritates your whole being, shakes your bones in anger, his name ever so leaves a bitter taste right on your tongue. It was serious both of you didn't like each other, oh so you thought was the case.

•you see, to gojo. When he sees something he's interested in, he likes to get their attention, well that's exactly what he's doing with you.

•being an annoying piece of shit = your attention.

•you really had no idea why he even started to bother you at some point but it grew to the point that you came to a final choice that you hated the man, absolutely despised him!

•but if you did... Why was it you found yourself enjoying his lips devouring yours.

The sound of sloppy kisses bounces off of the walls as gojo pushed you further more onto the wall behind you in an empty classroom if it was even possible, it was like your lips were the only thing presented to a starved man, which gojo played as at that moment. He was needy, so desperate, his hands roamed all over you, not leaving a spot untouched.

You couldn't believe yourself, absolutely unbelievable. You were arguing him at first and not even a second after you found your lips against his, and surprisingly, his lips felt like heaven when it was shut and only moved against you.

"I hate you so much." You mumbled in between the kisses and he replies, "you're the worst person on the face of the earth." "You suck." "You suck more." "Literally want to kill you." "Already planning your funeral."

˚ ༘♡Sukuna.

•Oh boy(2), being enemies with him if that's what you call is such a pain in the ass, istg. This man will NEVER stop bothering you, he likes to see you stressed out and angry, but he lowkey thinks it's cute that's why he likes to piss you off.

•his playboy, rebellious antics, is the reason why you hated him, he was bad news, always a troublemaker. He liked to break the rules and well... You liked to go by them not break them, but sukuna found himself interested more on breaking you.

•you intrigued him at some point though, when he started bother you he was legit hating on you but as time flew by, he somehow liked your attention on him.

•and now, these days he started flirting with you, but still a mix with being a pain in the ass, and you were confused wether you liked it or not, because he was... Charming, indeed, but a delinquent.

You placed the book right on the spot on the shelf you took it from back, after reading the title and summary you found no interest to read it for the day, you continued your search in the library, fingers brushing on every books spine, trying to find something interesting to say the least.

And when you did, you took it from the shelf and smiled slightly at your accomplishment, turning around to head to the safest place to read said by you.

Unfortunately, you were met by a big chest in front of you, the familiar scent of his perfume meets your nose and as if on time you rolled your eyes just like that.

"Move, jerk." You harshly bite, glancing up at him to look him in the eye and he stared down at you with that usual smirk of his that you wanted to slap off of him more than ever "and why would I." The pink haired replies, not flustered at all he brings his hand to place on the shelf right beside your head, he leans down to have his head leveled to yours.

"Because you're in the way, are you dumb." You say in a more demanding tone, meaning what you had said, he chuckles mischievously at your statement, "if you weren't so pretty you'd be six feet under the ground, you just piss me off, so fucking bad. The way you run your mouth all the time like, jesus christ woman do you never shut up." He suddenly rants in your face, saying all that with a smirk.

"You think I'm pretty?"

*ೃ༄Megumi.

•he was mean, not really. He was just brutally honest, serious and you kind of did not like that about him because he was mean to people, he was totes not your type. He was just straight up blank, not a single smile ever can be seen on his face and you found it annoying how someone can look and feel so miserable.

•it was mutual, he found you annoying also. Always running your mouth, like you can never shut up, he was annoyed with people that were loud but you, oh he was annoyed on another level. You go on over and over, over a topic that made no literal sense and the next you were over another topic.

•but maybe the things you found annoying about each other was overcomed by the liking you two had for each other also, and you may never guess what happened next but that's right. You both are officially secretly dating no body knew what or how it happened. The transition was... Complicated, ehe.

"HEY GUMI HAVE YOU SEEN MY SHAMPOO I CANT FIND IT ANYWHERE." Yuuji literally yells as he barges into the bathroom with which he assumed only megumi behind the shower curtain, "Yuuji..." Megumi calmly tries to get his attention but no, the pink haired was rather easily distracted that explains why he was unfocused about what megumi was trying to say, he only focused on finding his shampoo, "like I thought it was here, because I literally remember putting it here but i-" "Yuuji, I'm not exactly alone in here..." Megumi was too shy to say, "huh what?" And just like that you peeped through the shower curtains with an innocent smile as if you weren't butt naked inside the shower with your significant other, which turned out to be yuuji's roommate.

"Hey, yuu." You say with a sweet smile, yuuji instantly became flustered and as he was taking his steps back towards the door but still looking at you, " oh uh hi I'll just..." Knocks multiple things over, "...leave you two alone." Knocks more things over, "also I think your shampoo is over there." You pointed right at it but yuuji didn't even take a glance, "um thanks Y/n, I'll just.." *awkward finger guns*.

notes ii. this isn't proofread btw :).

[poetsconstellation]

ALRIGHT PEOPLE I JUST HAD ONE OF THE BEST IDEIAS IVE EVER HAD, HEAR ME OUT

Modern AU, fanfic writers Todd and Neil, who absolutely DESPISE each other.

Todd thinks Neil’s writing style is TERRIBLE and Neil hates Todd’s tropes.

They dedicate fanfics for each other “this is for you @averagetheatrekid, so you can learn how to write properly 💗” and “this is dedicated to my biggest fan, @deadpoetbynoon”

AND THEN, after one dedication is really rough, Neil messages Todd privately “WHO TF DO YOU THINK YOU ARE???? YOU CANT BE SAYING SHIT LIKE THAT AFTER WRITING THE WORST PIECE OF MEDIA THIS FANDOM HAS EVER SEEN”

And they become enemies.

Well, not really

They end up texting 24/7 (insults, ofc), but then, out of the blue, Neil starts flirting??

Todd gets even more angry bc wtf is this guy doing

It gets confusing for a few days when Todd decides “fuck this, im flirting back” AND HE DOES

And then they officially become lovers and the dedications are more like “for @averagetheatrekid, I disagree with the fighting scene, but since you loved it so much, here it is” and “for my dearest @deadpoetsbynoon, I knew you’d realize how much you love me eventually”

(I’m so writing this, be prepared)

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Leonidas with Yoriichi Tsugikuni!fem!reader platonic headcanons

Warning(s): RoR manga spoilers up to ch. 78, historical references, violence, KNY anime spoilers, established relationship, strong language from Leonidas, ooc.

Collab work with @deathmetalunicorn1. Special thanks to @enryegotrip and @themoonisrising for their feedback in the drafting phrase!

Before reading this piece, however, I strongly recommend you read this story, as it acts as a part two. The link will be here.

With that being said guys, sit back, relax, and enjoy the chaos that is about to unfold :)

King Leonidas knew the gods existed and he hated them. Apollo, the arrogant little shit who was worshiped in Delphi all those centuries ago, is the god whom he despised the most. His men knew why but they were wise enough to never speak about the patriot of the arts in front of him. He did not, however, know that demons existed in Valhalla too…until that fateful night. 

He and his men were settling in their campsite, bellies full and ready to resume their training or take the first watch and make sure no one tried to sneak past them…but someone did.  It had been an old man, whimpering and cowering with a large lump on his head and wearing tattered clothes. Just when a soldier barked at him to leave or die where he stood, brandishing a spear in his direction…the old man’s body split in half, then half again until four young men began attacking the campsite. All hell broke loose, and Leonidas had no idea what the fuck was going on or how to kill them.

Guns didn’t work on the winged one because he was too fast in the air, the swords and spears of his men snapped in half when making contact with the bodies of the blue-eyed one before he impaled them with a halberd. The one wearing red robes possessed a staff that could create lightning within a seven foot radius, and the green one used a fan to blow away his men with a single swing. He used his shield when the latter and the winged one attacked, but it could only do so much against a sonic wave attack. 

When shit looked like it was about to go sideways in the worst way possible, she showed up seemingly out of nowhere. She zigzagged across the field, dodging the winged one’s attacks and swiftly decapitating the halberd-wielding bastard, his head flying off and landing in the mud with a ‘thud’. That was when King Leonidas noticed something odd about the opponents…no, it wasn’t odd. These sons of bitches knew who exactly you were and they were afraid. 

The horned demon in red raised his staff in the air, preparing for another lightning strike when she appeared in front of him. She inhaled sharply through her mouth and raised her sword above her head, the blade becoming ignited in crimson flames before striking him down, his body splitting in half. It was after taking this monster down that she addressed him. 

“My lord….there is a fifth demon…heading northeast. That is the demon’s main body. If it is destroyed, then the other four will cease to exist. My comrades…they are on their way. They will be here soon, and provide aid.” She then looked him straight in the eye, calm and level-headed as if this wasn’t the first time she had fought against these things. “Normal weapons cannot penetrate a demon’s body…but seeing that you are carrying firearms, use this.” She pulled out three cartridges of ammunition from her  robes and handed them to him. “Aim for the head. I must go…before the main body gets too far away.” 

She then darted away from the campsite, disappearing into the darkness of the forest. Leonidas is a proud man, but even he knew not to look at a gift in the horse’s mouth. He unclipped the magazine in his pistol and loaded in the new ammo, opening fire but making sure that these bullets would not be wasted. 

Just as the woman said, reinforcements arrived. All wearing robes and carrying swords, moving across the battlefield as if they were dancing and not fighting against these creatures. 

Spartans are bred for battle and will die for battle. Never give up, never surrender. That is in their blood. However, a smart Spartan realizes the difference between an ally and an enemy, and that the flow of time constantly changes in the mortal realm. From politics to fighting techniques, if it can be used to take down an enemy, King Leonidas doesn’t give a flying fuck about anything else. 

When his second magazine was on the last bullet, all of the demons disintegrated into ash. The soldiers shouted in Grecian, raising their bloodied spears in the air and smiling victoriously. Their mysterious comrades either relished in the moment or simply walked away from the battlefield, sheathing their swords with a grimace. A little while later she returned to the campsite, expressionless and covered in blood that was not her own. 

She  bowed deeply to him. “I apologize…my lord. If I had been sooner…there would not have been so much damage…and you would not have lost so many men.” 

Leonidas just shook his head. His men were prepared to die in battle if it meant glory and victory in the name of Sparta, they trained to go up against even the most powerful of opponents. But what he could not stand is not knowing what he and his army are fighting…so what the hell were those monsters? He wanted information, and he wanted it now. 

To his surprise, she was more than compliant to sit and talk with him. One of her associates, a tall brat with a large sword strapped on his back, barked at her, saying that it's against the rules to share confidential information with an ‘outsider’ but the woman replied that he has a right to know. He is the commander of these men; would it not be better to tell him and prevent this situation from happening again? 

Furthermore, she is an unofficial member of the organization, so the rules do not affect her as much as it does to him or the others. When her associate turned away with a scoff, she asked him what he liked to know. 

“Everything.” He snapped. 

She nodded. “Of course.”

As the men cleared the debris and buried their dead, Leonidas fired question after question at the swordswoman, whose name he learned was [First Name] [Last Name]. Demons were nocturnal in nature, and consumed human flesh to gain strength. Their bodies were extremely durable; normal weapons cannot harm them, and they can only be killed by decapitation. Her sword, a nichirin blade, forged from Scarlet Iron Sand and Scarlet Ore, both of which can be found in high mountains that perpetually bathed in sunlight all year around. 

Sunlight was the only thing that could kill a demon for good. The bullets she gave him were created from the same materials, designed for a Hashira that preferred guns to swords.  A Hashira is a very strong Demon Slayer, and she is one herself: the Sun Hashira, which is why her blade ignited upon attacking the demons. The Breathing Style is…difficult to explain and to learn, but it is effective. 

The Demon Slayer Corps had existed for over a thousand years, and it was revived in Valhalla under Lord Hades’ command. Another human soul, Nostradamus, destroyed the Bifrost and demons have been crawling their way into Valhalla ever since. The one he and his men came in contact with is Hantengu, a powerful demon who once served under Muzan Kibutsuji. 

Muzan was the original creator of the demon race, and she had encountered him once many years ago. 

“I wish I could tell you more my lord,” She bowed her head to him. “The only thing I can offer is to give you the name of the person who can create these bullets, though I must ask that you keep his identity a secret. Muzan might have perished all of those years ago, but seeing one of the Upper Moons here in Valhalla and still possess their powers…the possibility that he might have regenerated in Helheim cannot be ruled out. If he still wishes to destroy the Demon Slayers, he will make another attempt to kill the craftsman who creates the weapons that can destroy him and the other Upper Moons under his command.”

Lenoidas nodded. Makes sense, He thought. Keeping a supplier safe is crucial in war. The less an enemy knows who or how their opponent is getting their weapons, the better. Cut off the supplier and supply route, these people wouldn’t have the swords or bullets needed to destroy the demons. Still…

“Is it possible to meet the guy who made these?” He asked, holding up the empty cartridge. “I know that’s asking a lot from a stranger like myself, trust me, but just having the basic info on an opponent won’t help me or my army be prepared if this situation happens again. You said you’re an unofficial member of this organization.”

“...I am. However, to meet the creator of the bullets…I would need to speak to Lord Ubuyashiki first. He is…very protective of us all, like we are his children. The secret location of the swordsmiths had been exposed once before, when the organization had been on the decline in the Taisho era. You may have to speak and present your case to him as to why you wish to know the suppliers.” 

“How soon can that be?”

“When I return to headquarters, I will go straight to him myself…though I am sure no one will want that. He has…not been well as of late.” [First Name] looked to the side, blinking at the large crow perched on her shoulder. “I will send you a message through this little one, should he allow this meeting. Is that acceptable?”

Momentarily surprised that such a large bird suddenly appeared out of nowhere, Leonidas cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s fine. I look forward to hearing from you…through your bird.” 

The Demon Slayer nodded, bowing to him before she left the campsite as quickly as she had appeared, stunning the war general with her agility. Huh…were women soldiers in the Demon Slayer Corps always so sneaky? He’ll have to ask next time. Right now, he had to direct his mind and think about his next move. For now, it seemed going north would be the best choice; there was a Greecian military base there, so his men could rest until they were called to the next war. He’ll also need to let his wife, Gorgo, know what happened as well. 

Gorgo remained Queen of Sparta when he was away at battle, in life and in death. She had just as much authority and political power as he did, so he knew their home in Valhalla would be well-protected in his absence. If he hadn’t known that these demons existed until now…could he truly say that their home is fortified against every single threat? No. And she deserved to be aware of the situation. 

They were husband and wife for fuck’s sake. 

A week flew by until the army reached the base, and another when the messenger crow flew through the window in his study one sunny afternoon, a scroll tied around its neck. Hoisting himself up from his hammock, Lenoidas marked his spot in the book he’d been reading and set it down on the floor. He walked towards the window and untied the rope around the crow’s neck, unfurling the parchment to scan the contents. 

The meeting will take place in four days. A member of the organization, a kakushi, will personally escort him to the lord of the manor on the morning of the meeting. To ensure everyone’s safety, he must wear a blindfold the entire time until he is given permission to remove it. 

Lenoidas’ brow twitched. You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me. He thought, annoyed, before he sighed deeply. [First Name] had promised him that she will try to persuade the clan head to speak to him in regards to the suppliers. This would be his first and only chance to negotiate peacefully. 

He couldn’t allow the Sun Hashira’s hard work to go to waste…so he’ll play along. 

Time passed quickly as he made the necessary preparations. Before he knew it, a fellow dressed from head to toe in black with a cloth concealing his face waited at the city’s gates. The kakushi  blindfolded the king of Sparta, and then they departed. 

But it wasn’t just one kakushi that escorted him…there were many of them, each with a different voice and mannerisms, switching him off at a designated post. Some were polite, curt. Others were skittish, can’t really blame them honestly. When he’d been granted permission to remove the blindfold, Leonidas was…surprised to see a young man smiling serenely at him, dressed in white and purple robes. He was flanked by two small children, and a woman sat behind him. 

Safe assumption that these were his heirs and wife, but the Spartan general kept his comments to himself as he observed the lord. His eyes were clouded, unfocused. Blind. Probably caused by the rotten skin that’s spreading on his face. 

The man and his family bowed their heads to him. “Welcome to our humble home, Lord Lenoidas of the Spartan Army.” He said softly. “[First Name] has spoken highly of you since her return. A courageous leader who remained calm in such a dire and unexpected situation…though you wish to meet the ones who have supplied my children with the necessary weapons to protect themselves and others from the demons who prowl at night. May I inquire why you wish to have access to our resources? How can I be sure that you will not spread this information to others?”

This was it. One chance to either get the information he seeked…or to lose it all, and his men would go back into battle unprepared. Leonidas inhaled a deep breath, and spoke. 

He didn’t sugarcoat his intentions, plainly and respectfully to Lord Ubuyashiki. To his surprise, this brat didn’t get pissed off or talked down to him. Instead, the young lord understood where he was coming from. There have been more reports of sporadic ruptures in the Bifrost; try as they might, the Demon Slayer Corps cannot be everywhere and protect everyone. Lenoidas’ armies were the largest within the Grecian district, rivaling only that to Chinese militia, so it would be beneficial to supply the war general with the necessary anti-demon artillery, but only to his armies. 

Right now, he was the only human leader outside of the organization who knew about the demons’ existence. As much as he wanted to help everyone, there were too many cons rather than pros to take another gamble with the supplier’s secret location should anyone else be aware that there were weapons that can kill demons. 

As much as Leonidas wanted to protest…the brat had a point. The less people knew, the better. No good in causing a panic among the public. The gods could go fuck themselves, of course. The war general wasn’t too concerned about them so much as his fellow mortal comrades. 

Then the meeting was settled. He along with the Sun Hashira would be escorted to the swordsmans’ village to meet the bullet crafter, and talk about business as needed. Lenoidas thanked the lord for his time…and politely asked to give his regards to [First Name]. 

That was the last time Leonidas saw Ubuyashiki. Within the following week, he and the Sun Hashira embarked on a journey to the suppliers alongside the secretive kakushi.  He saw how the bullets were created, negotiated the amount needed to a fair price, and things propelled from there. 

He also came to enjoy [First Name]’s company. She wasn’t a talkative person, though she had proven herself to be insightful and open-minded when they spoke on the way back to Sparta. She had agreed to go with him and his men on an expedition  under the condition that she would teach them everything she knew about demon extermination. She warned him she was not good at explaining more complex Breathing Styles, and it might not be suitable for his men. There might also be questions that even she cannot answer fully, though she will do her best. 

Leonidas said he was well aware but at this point, he was willing to take a chance with the Sun Hashira; these men were under his command, so he knew them like the back of his hand. Whatever Breathing Styles or demon exterminating techniques she knew and was willingly to teach would be appreciated. Hell, if there was a way to implement it in his army’s battle formations and even his own fighting style, Leonidas will take it for what it’s worth. 

Leonidas grinned as he watched [First Name] training his men from the rim of his book. She had proven early in their journey that she was not to be underestimated or her lessons to be taken for granted. She’d saved their asses, helped them secure a supplier for a fair fee, and showed them how to combat against lower-level demons if they ever came across them at night. Didn’t even complain about the long hours spent walking or hiding up the mountains. 

The only downside to this arrangement is that when it was time to restock their weapons with anti-demon bullets, spears, or shields, Leonidas had to go get everything himself. 

Pain in the ass, but worth it in the end. 

The war general wondered if he should consult Gorgo about adding women who can fight to the army’s ranks would be more beneficial and boost morale, or would just make things worse, when a scout shouted that a god was approaching the campsite. Lenoidas narrowed his eyes, getting himself out of his hammock again because shit was about to go down. Once he grabbed his spear and shield, he darted towards the enemy with [First Name] following close behind. The men were already in the phalanx formation, acting as a barrier around the campsite to prevent the intruder from taking another step further. 

Lenonidas stared at the god. Tall, muscular, couldn’t be more than seven or seven and a half feet tall. Black tank-top with a weird ass rabbit on the front, orange robes tied around his waist and hands. Sunglasses, long blonde hair, light blue orbs…is that a fucking lollipop in his mouth? 

Who is this punk?

“Buddha?” [First Name] said. 

Lenonidas blinked once, then twice before he swiveled his head over his shoulder to glance at the slightly stunned swordswoman. “You know him?” She gave him a brief nod, then looked straight ahead with a confused frown. The war general followed her gaze and saw the son of a bitch standing right in front of him, his shadow almost towering over his own. The god blinked, munching on the lollipop with his oversized canines. 

“Yo. You’re that war general from Sparta, right? Nice to meet ya. Soo…sorry for the sudden visit, but I’m takin’ the Sun Hashira back with me. Ya dig?”

“And what gives you the right to treat her like an object, shithead?” Leonidas growled. “This is why I can’t fuckin’ stand the likes of you or any others in the pantheons.”

The god stared at him. “Old man…I respect that you wanna protect her, but you should know more than anyone that she’s more than capable of defending herself. You’ve seen her in action, right? That’s how she met ya. And why she decided to go with ya on this trip. However, she’s been away from home for far too long.”

Buddha then walked  past him and gathered up the swordswoman in his arms, with one hand under her legs and the other around her shoulders. “C’mon sunshine, we’re headin’ back to paradise.”

[First Name] blinked. “We are? But the men still need more time to be properly trained - ”

“Six months.”

“Hm?”

“You haven’t been home in six months, and ya had the guts to leave your husband all alone in a cold bed.” He puffed up his cheeks in annoyance. “I might enjoy hangin’ around the bodhi tree when you’re not around, but I wanna cuddle with my wife more than once before she suddenly heads off on a mission without sayin’ good-bye! You could’ve woken me up before ya left so I know were you’re goin’, you silly rabbit!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ya should be! I almost had to call Kintoki and ask him to track ya down if your crow didn’t drop off a message beforehand! Think things through before you run off into action, darlin’!”

“Okay.”

Lenoidas and the army stared at the pair with slackened jaws at the sight of a god pouting like a child as he scolded the Sun Hashira, who has identified himself as her husband. She was married to a god, and didn’t say anything to them?!? 

[First Name] looked over Buddha’s shoulder, waving her hand at him. “I’ll be going home, Lord Lenonidas. I’m sorry this trip has to be cut short, but feel free to send a message to my residence or Lord Ubuyashiki’s if you have any questions or concerns.” 

The war general felt a headache coming on. “Yeah…sure. Don’t worry about it or the training, we can handle it from here. Just go home to your…husband.” He muttered. “And don’t  be a stranger either, all right? You’re always welcomed in Spartan territory. If any of ‘em give you a hard time, I’ll knock some sense into them.” 

She nodded, offering the barest hint of a smile before she looped her arms around Buddha’s neck. The god looked back at him and inclined his head. In an instant, the pair were gone, returning to wherever it is that they called ‘home’. 

Bonus Content:

Soon as Lenoidas received word that the Sun Hashira had come to pay him and his family a visit as she promised she would, the war general invited her to sit at his table for dinner.

 Gorgo was delighted to finally meet the swordswoman who had earned her husband’s trust and saved the men’s lives. It is rare to meet a skilled warrior who is not a goddess and is humble.

Leonidas received the second shock since meeting [First Name] when she quietly revealed that she is, in fact, a divine being. Well, not exactly. More like a mortal soul who had received the blessing of a god. 

She had met Buddha shortly after ascending to Valhalla. They were good friends for a long time before marrying almost two decades ago, though the enlightened one mentioned he should have done so sooner. 

Something about rivals for her affection? 

When his wife pressed on what [First Name] meant, the swordswoman’s calm face briefly pinched into an uncomfortable expression. Inhaling a deep breath, she answered Gorgo. 

The Grecian representative of the Sun, Apollo, had approached her on the pretense that they were a perfect match because they were affiliated with the same celestial orb: bright, warm, and influential. In his mind, he believed Fate brought them together. [First Name] did not, and politely declined his proposal of a courtship.

Apollo did not give up. He was persistent in the coming days, and Buddha had almost intervened on her behalf. But it had been her own mess. So in the context of Buddha’s “lingo”, she “wiped the floor” with him. 

Leonidas had trouble breathing as he howled in laughter. That fuckin’ shithead had actually gotten his ass beaten by a divine being who used to be a mortal. 

Good. The prick deserved it. 

Taglist:

@themoonisrising

@onecantsimply

@praisethesuuun

@enryegotrip

@sarah22447

@sarcastic-cookie

@zebralover

@screechingfatdragon

@mortemorii

@myrisan-melodies

@moonreaper25

@nunezs-stuff

@diamondzoey

@dance-till-the-death

@thatstrangesheep

@puffy-bangs

@justamegafan

@zodiacs-web

@seii-fantasy

@rukia-writes

[amourane]

Hi Yves, thank you for writing such great fics for us! I noticed you haven’t written anything for Blaise so is it ok to request for him?

Blaise and y/n are aurors and “rivals” bcs they think they’re better than e/o. They had to go to a mission tgt and she got hurt/almost got hurt but tried to play it cool while Blaise was so protective (swooning rn).

If you’re uncomfy writing Blaise you can also make it as Theo.

Much love xx

hexed hearts

pairing: blaise zabini x gn!reader

genre: fluff, aurors au, post hogwarts

w/c: 1.6k

summary: hate was a very strong word and it was the word you would use to describe blaise zabini perfectly.

warnings: swearing, you get hit with a hex and you bleed, nothing too graphic

a/n: tysm for requesting this anon!! i'm so happy you enjoy my writing and ofc you can request for blaise, this is my gift to you <3

Hate was a strong word. It was something that everyone said. Arguably it was a word most people used often without truly knowing just how strong the connotations were. No, you didn’t hate Blaize Zabini. You despised him with every single cell in your being. Not only was he a cocky asshole he was also determined to surpass you in everything. 

The two of you had been in the same year in Hogwarts and though you had only met when the both of you were 11 hatred had already been brewing. He was conceited and arrogant and snarky. All the things you hated. The rivalry between the both of you had only grown throughout the years, the tension pulling tighter and tighter.

Now, the both of you were aurors and no one got a wink of peace when the both of you were around.

“Can you not be an insufferable piece of shit for two seconds?” You snarled at his direction and when you see him sporting the same devilish smirk it only fuels your anger further.

“One. Two.” He holds his fingers up as he counts the seconds, mocking your emotions even more. “There, done. I know that you love me Y/n but you can’t even stay away from me for two seconds, that’s adorable.”

You lunged at him, anger bubbling over the top, ready to pounce on him and hex him into oblivion. Blaise was so annoying, so irritating and yet he was also so brain-numbingly handsome and smooth. You felt someone grab your shoulder stopping you just in time before you pummelled the man’s face in. 

“C’mon Y/n I can’t be the one cleaning up after the both of you again.” Harry sighed as he held you back. You watched as Blaise’s smug grin only widened as he leaned back into his chair. “The both of you are going to have to get along, there’s a mission for both of you.”

“But-”

“No buts Y/n, this one came from the guys above. You know how they are so you and Zabini are going to have to get along.” 

Harry didn’t say anything more as he left you standing there in disbelief. You didn’t even have a chance to refuse or even beg to not go. Blaise let out a low whistle as soon as the other auror left. He got up from his seat and made his way towards you, the shit-eating grin on his face only irritating you further. You scowled as he stopped just a few inches in front of you.

“Don’t be a pussy L/n, I’m sure you can resist my charms for a few hours.” He threw you a wink and you felt your skin crawl with disgust. Blaise was attractive, yes, but merlin how you wanted to just punch that annoying expression right off his face.

“You better not fuck this up Zabini or I swear to merlin-”

He cut you off before you could finish and rolled his eyes at the words you spat out. “I know, I know.” He shrugged his shoulders back before glancing at you again. Your glare met his eyes and you found yourself getting lost in his dark gaze. “You should know by now I don’t fuck anything up.”

With that, he snapped you out of your hazy thoughts. Your glare hardened and you scoffed at his arrogant statement. That was the last thing he said before disappearing behind you, leaving you to stew in your own anger. You had just been put together with your worst enemy on a mission. This was unbelievable.

//

The mission was a standard recon, yet the tension between you and Blaise made it anything but. Sneaking through the dense forest, you tried to focus on the task at hand and not the infuriating presence beside you. Blaise, for once, seemed focused, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger.

It wasn’t meant to be a hard mission, the both of you were skilled enough to handle any of the attacks that were hurled your way. Yet, everything happened so fast. One minute you were shouting hexes, pointing your wand at the danger before you. Blaise was beside you, his movements fluid and precise, something you had always envied. 

In the chaos, you didn’t see the hex coming. It hit you square in the chest, sending you sprawling to the ground, pain searing through your body. It hurt, it hurt a lot but you couldn’t let that stop you. This was a mission and every mission was treated with the utmost importance. There was no way that you were going to give up so easily. You gritted your teeth, trying your best to push yourself up and carry on. 

“I’m fine.” You muttered through clenched teeth as you struggled to stand. The pain only seemed to increase, spreading throughout your body quicker. “Just a scratch.”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at you, his expression shifting from annoyance to something you couldn’t quite place. “Bullshit, Y/N. You’re hurt.”

“I said I’m fine.” You insisted, ignoring the throbbing pain in your side. “Let’s just finish this.”

But Blaise wasn’t having it. He grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not painful. “We need to get you out of here.”

“I don’t need your help, Zabini.” You snapped, trying to pull away, but your strength was waning.

“Stop being stubborn.” He growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re not dying on my watch.”

His words stunned you into silence. Before you could protest further, Blaise lifted you into his arms, carrying you with surprising gentleness. You could feel his heart pounding against your back, the adrenaline of the fight still coursing through him. Your own heart was beating just as fast and you tried to steady your laboured breathing. Despite your protests, you couldn’t help but lean into him, exhaustion and pain overcoming your pride. 

As the two of you reached a safer area, he set you down gently, his hands lingering on your shoulders as he checked your wound. You winced when he pressed at your side and you turned to shoot him a glare but apologies were already tumbling from his lips. The concern in his eyes was undeniable, and it confused you. This was the same Blaise Zabini who had always been your rival, your nemesis.

“You’re going to be okay.” He said quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. He muttered a spell you assumed was to calm the bleeding that was seeping through your clothes. “Just hang in there.”

“Thanks.” You mumbled, not sure what else to say.

“Don’t mention it.” He replied, his usual smirk returning. “Just try not to get yourself killed next time. It’s a lot of paperwork.”

You rolled your eyes at his snarky remark, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the pain. “You wish.”

As the adrenaline wore off you found yourself more in tune with the pain as well as the lingering touches that Blaise left as he helped you. The forest was eerily quiet and you knew that the danger was no longer there yet the silence only made it more awkward between the both of you. Every once in a while you would meet his eyes and your eyes would lock with his for a second before he turned away.

It was weird.

You winced as you shifted, the pain in your side sharp and persistent. Blaise noticed immediately, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Let me see.”

You debated whether to refuse his request before giving in. “Fine.”

He knelt beside you, gently lifting your bloodied shirt to inspect the wound. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. The wound was deep, and the sight of it made you grimace.

“You’re lucky.” He murmured, his voice oddly tender. “A bit higher and it could have been much worse.”

“Guess I’ll have to thank you for that.”

Blaise looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the usual antagonism was absent, replaced by something softer, more intense. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. Just… try to be more careful.”

He was so close, his breath warm on your skin. Your heart kept the fast pace it had despite the fact all your adrenaline had already dissipated. He leaned closer towards you, fingertips grazing your wound and his touch somehow soothed the ache you felt.

“I mean it.” He whispered, his voice barely audible. “I hate watching you get hurt.”

“Blaise-” The words die in your throat and you can’t continue the sentence you so desperately wanted to say. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. This was the same Blaise who had driven you crazy for years, yet here he was, showing a side of himself that left you breathless.

Before you could open your mouth to respond he had already closed the distance between the two of you. His lips brushed against yours for a tentative kiss. His lips were soft and you found yourself clinging onto him, desperate for the sweet sensation that he filled you with. It was gentle at first before it increased with intensity. The pain you felt disappeared and all you could focus on was the beautiful man in front of you.

When he finally pulled back the both of you were breathless. His eyes searched yours as if he was looking for confirmation if he had read the situation correctly. You took a shaky breath, your mind reeling from the intensity of the kiss.

“Maybe we don’t hate each other as much as we thought.” Your voice was soft, a small smile playing on your lips as your hands loop around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

Blaise’s expression softened, his thumb tracing your jawline. “Maybe not.”

Silence enveloped you once again and this time it felt comforting. Blaise’s arms felt right around you, his warmth radiating off his body making you feel that much more safe. There was no longer the crackling animosity between the two of you.

“Told you you couldn’t resist my charm.”

“Shut the fuck up Zabini.”

[morn1e]

thank u 4 the 1like on that post. here r my dude headcanons that r mainly set 4 my au bcuz i am feeling nice&ok 2 share. do know that this is just how i personally interpret him. u can see him however u want, i am just but a random guy on the internet&he is a fictional guy made out of pixels.

- prepare 4 the real name of the century bcuz this is fucking stupid ermm what the sigma. ok so his real name is tanner parkley dude jr. .yeah his surname is genuinely dude. nickname “the postaI dude” derives from highschool where he worked as a postal worker during the summers(&was mocked 4)&since nobody liked him they gave him the name. was mainly called TP or dude by few that were friends bcuz he really hated the names tanner or parkley.

- born on feb 29th bcuz he does not deserve 2 have a bday every year🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕

- not schizophrenic but is mentally unstable 2 some degree bcuz he does deal w very violent&intrusive thoughts on which he acts out on sometimes&has anger issues

- physically wise has struggled w chronic migraine since a young teen. his 20s were his worst years bcuz the migraines were @ their worst/most frequent+the fact he was a drug addict&did not properly take care of himself as he should+the ex wife nagging constantly did not help whatsoever. now that he is nearly 40+medicated they have greatly decreased but attacks still occur bcuz he still does not look after himself enough as he should

- was born in florida but the family moved around a lot(bcuz they could not b bothered 2 pay rent). eventually settled down in utah but moved 2 arizona 2 live in paradise

- am set on thinking he was a middle child. 3 sons in the family. is not in contact w any1 bcuz despises them all bcuz they were a nightmare growing up. 2 brothers sort of turned out like dude(substance abusers&broke). mom is still around but he does not dare talk 2 her bcuz she always was over religious&turned a blind eye 2 dads abuse

- only family he is in contact w is uncle dave! only guy who was genuinely there 4 dude growing up. dudes father really despised him hanging out w dave bcuz he was sorta known as a scummy scammer. dude as a teen helped out dave w his various schemes&whatever so much so 2 the point it costed a permanent offense on his record where it hindered dude from barely being able 2 finish high school+absolutely NO hope of getting into college bcuz nobody wanted him there. i think this is also a factor why he has a hard time holding a job(main factor is that he is just. a piece of low value shit)

- met the bitch through her sister bcuz he was dating her sister 1st. thought bitch was hotter than her sister so chose her. got married in las vegas in 1 of those cheesy stupid wedding chapels

- dude genuinely did love the bitch @ 1 point but in the end they were incompatible&they were both pieces of shit 2 each other. w age they just drifted away completely where they just Could Not stand each other. i believe sole reason they stayed 2gether was bcuz of tax benefit&could not afford a divorce or smth

- champ came into his life randomly 1 day while he was still in utah&champ as a stray came up 2 his trailer randomly. he got fed&bcame dudes companion from then <:)

- in my au dude is mainly clean off of crack bcuz when he moved into paradise got so pissed @ the crack dealer prices that out of sheer petty&principle said 2 himself he would Not smoke that shit b4 butchering most of the dealers. still has relapses but mostly manages. has turned 2 weed mostly

- has cried 2 nickelback @ least 3 times

- thinks too much pepper is genuinely considered spicy bcuz he is so white guy&cannot handle spice whatsoever

- fav desserts r smth like bread w butter&sugar or graham crackers w milk bcuz he grew up dirt poor&these were the only desserts they could afford

- does not rly have a fav alcoholic drink bcuz will drink abt anything just so it gets him fucked up as fast as possible. but if dude had 2 choose would like whiskey+coke or vodka+tonic cocktails. does not like red wine bcuz of how it tastes+it triggers a migraine

- knows how 2 cook meats like briskets&ribs&steaks&shit where they turn out rather really nice <:)knows how 2 cook overall but gets take out most of the time bcuz cannot b bothered 2 cook as the process is tedious as shit

- genuinely knows how 2 program&just has quite a lot of computer knowledge in general<:) if he was not dead set on not listening 2 any1&cared enough 2 b like every1 else in society dude could make a fine living off of developing websites 4 ppl on the web

- oh em gee now abt marnie❤️ the way they met is that he socked her in the face @ a concert in some crappy bar in paradise&after seeing how unbothered she seemed from the blow instantly knew she was different❤️yay❤️

- b4 him&marnie were official marnie was his mistress bcuz by the time they grew closer dude was still married. still cheating but by that time his&bitch’s marriage was in literal shambles that they just did not care abt the other having lovers

- got 2gether w marnie bcuz the sex was awesome&she makes 200k yearly from being a general surgeon, stayed bcuz she was his person all along.♡

[hadesisqueer]

I think people don't understand that Adam is literally the worst “freedom fighter” ever made because he was not really a freedom fighter.

Adam hated Humanity. Honestly, he couldn't be blamed for that, after what was done to him; he didn't deserve to be abused, he didn't deserve to be branded, and I really hope the people who did that to him ended up as badly as Cinder's abusers—Jacques at least did—. The problem is that he joined and forcefully took over an organization that one way or another (with Sienna and Ghira, in different ways) seeked to support Faunus and help achieve equality when he didn't care about any of that.

This is the same guy who took part in the Fall of Beacon. There's a difference between attacking Jacques and the SDC and other racist pieces of shit like Sienna did and this. Think about this for a second: according to Velvet in After the Fall, despite not being perfect, Vale is probably the best kingdom for Faunus to live in—along with Vacuo, though not perfect as well—. There are many Faunus in Vale. Regular Faunus who live regular lives with regular jobs and regular families, and who also depend on the protection Beacon and the other academies provide with their Huntsmen and Huntresses, a bunch of them also Faunus. Now you tell me why the fuck would you think destroying Beacon and provoking a Grimm attack in Vale that kills hundreds of people—many of them probably Faunus—will make the situation better for your kind in any way? Because it won't, it will only make everyone in there fucking despise you and your organization, including Faunus themselves.

It's literally what Sienna told him, and he killed her because he wanted to become leader and destroy another goddamn academy and make things even worse. And then, in there, seeing himself cornered, he tried to blow up everyone in Haven—nevermind that the people opposing him were Faunus too. And then when the remaining White Fang members called him out on his bullshit, he didn't think twice about killing them all, either.

Like Blake said, he was consumed by spite. Adam had charisma to make everyone believe he could be a great leader who could get results. And maybe he could have been if he actually cared about making things better for the Faunus, but he didn't. Adam always put his hate against humans before his people's needs. He did everything he did because he wanted to fuck over humans, even if it meant fucking over his own kind and organization, too, and he had no qualms about killing Faunus if they tried to stop him from fucking everyone including them over.

That's actually the reason why I hated him—and I loved to hate him, he was a good villain—, because he claimed to be a freedom fighter when actually he couldn't give less of a fuck about his people, he just wanted his revenge. That and because he was a creep who groomed a preteen girl when he was over 18 and then proceeded to abuse her and then stalk her and try to kill her and her new love interest because he was petty she left him, of course, but that's a different thing.

[meownotgood]

ghost. / hayakawa aki x gn!reader, 18+, smut, sub aki, handjob, bondage, begging, choking, using the ghost devil power to pleasure aki

this work contains explicit content intended for 18+ individuals. please read the tags and do not interact if you are a minor.

"S-Shit, please, not so tight..."

Aki inhales a sharp breath of air when your knuckles clench, and subsequently, so does the hand of the Ghost Devil. Its grip tightens on his thigh, squeezing the muscle. With a simple twist of your wrist, the devil's arm moves, and Aki's leg is spread open further.

The position he's in is so obscene. One ghostly hand gripping his right thigh, another holding his left, guiding him to spread them open wider and wider. An arm is wrapped snugly around his neck, and when all he can do is uselessly grab at the empty space where the Ghost Devil exists, but can't be touched, he's left to just sit there and squirm.

The devil's arm wraps harder around his neck, and Aki's jaw clenches; his protests turn into meager sputters and gasps for air as it chokes him. You flick a single finger, guiding another hand to appear from thin air and drift between his open legs. It glides over his inner thigh, making his whole body shiver, before its ghostly palm begins toying with the tent in his slacks.

"You're enjoying this."

Aki's eyes go wide, and his cheeks flush a deep shade of red. "No, I'm..." His bottom lip trembles, so he draws it between his teeth, biting down.

He can deny it all he wants. He can claim he doesn't enjoy this, say he hates how a fucking devil is touching him, despises how you're teasing and manhandling him. But the prominent bulge in his slacks, and how damn hard he is says otherwise.

You guide the ghost's hand to rub the thick outline of his cock, gripping and squeezing it through his slacks, and Aki whines, his eyelashes fluttering shut. He reaches down instinctively, but when his hands yet again pass through nothing, he settles with pressing his palms flat to the ground in an attempt to keep himself steady.

Aki's breath comes out harder and harder, his heart hammering in his chest. His bangs stick to his forehead, strands of hair getting in his eyes, and he can feel droplets of sweat dripping down his face. He can't help but squirm his hips as the ghost's hand gropes his dick, sending precum oozing out to dirty his briefs. But when he shifts too much, you simply force the devil to grip his thighs harder in response, until there's no chance of him moving even a muscle.

You bring up your other hand, then, and direct the Ghost Devil to shove another, fourth hand to Aki's back. It presses him forwards, arching his back, while the arm around his neck keeps him firmly in place.

Now this, this is obscene. This is completely disgusting. Here Aki is, compromised by his own subordinate, and by a piece of trash devil. Here he is, one of the most respected devil hunters in his division, restrained with his legs spread as wide as they can manage, his back arched, his chest heaving. And the worst part? He's getting off to it.

Aki's cock throbs incessantly in his pants, aching, dying to be touched — And when the ghost's hand rubs the sensitive tip, even through the layers of fabric, it feels like heaven. Aki's eyes threaten to roll into the back of his head, and he desperately moans, "Oh, f-fuck." He needs more, hell, he needs to beg for more.

"God, please." Aki brings his gaze onto you. He stares at you with such a pathetic look, his eyes glazed over with lust, and his pupils blown, swallowing the deep blue of his iris. When he tries to speak again, he can barely utter the words; his normally resolute voice wavers, threatening to break, his gasps high-pitched. "S-Stop, I- let me... Oh-"

He cuts himself off with a whine when the ghost's hand grips his cock hard. You tilt your head, quietly scoffing, "Tsk, stop whining. Or do I have to gag you, too?"

After a shaky breath in, and a shuddery exhale out, Aki hastily shakes his head. "Sorry- I'm sorry." He swallows, his throat feeling dry and strained, his Adam's apple bobbing. The arm around his neck holds him a little tighter, sending blood rushing to his head. "Just, just please. Touch me."

"Oh? Is this not good enough for you? Maybe I should stop altogether."

"No! No... don't-" Aki shakes his head again, and his hands reach up towards his neck in another feeble attempt to grab the phantom that lingers there, only to leave him gripping at nothing but air. "I just, I-I can't. I want you. Need you to touch it."

You take a step forward, but your strong control on the Ghost Devil remains steadfast. "Yeah? You want me to get you off, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, yes..." Aki's panting now, his mouth parted, his eyelashes fluttering, "You've got to, you have to, I need it-" Your grip clenches — The ghost's hand grabs his thick cock through his slacks and roughly strokes it, eliciting a sharp, needy whine from his lips. "Oh, G-God, please."

With your hand still clenched, you kneel down beside him. Aki never takes his eyes off of you, although his vision is beginning to blur, his head growing hazy. Carefully, and agonizingly slowly, you use your free hand to unbuckle his belt, pulling it out of the loops. Aki can hear every pound of his heart in his ears, he can feel his cock throb as your fingertips grow closer and closer to what he wants and —

"Hands behind your back."

The haze consuming his mind nearly drowns out the sound of your voice. Aki complies as soon as your command registers, his arms shaking when he brings them around his back, just as you asked. You give him the tiniest bit of relief, loosening the ghost's hold so you can secure his hands behind his back at his wrists, bound by his own belt.

You pop the button on his slacks next, then grasp the zipper and drag it down. You instruct Aki to lift his hips, which he does, and then, you're tugging his pants and his briefs down to his thighs.

Your free hand wraps around the base of his pretty cock, squeezing, causing wet precum to leak from his slit, dripping down the length. It's so sensitive, so fucking hard; he must have been dying to be touched by you. Aki groans quietly, his eyes darting down to watch what you're doing. He stares in anticipation as you pump him once with a loose grip, finally giving him a taste of what he's wanted.

You rub the sensitive tip of his cock with your fingertip, echoing a soft, wet sound, and Aki gasps. "Ah, Aki," You coo, "You've been so good for me, haven't you? You deserve this."

"Uh-huh, mhmm," Aki nods, and he tries to buck his hips up into your touch, searching for more relief, but the invisible hands still gripping and spreading his legs prevent him. "I'm soooooo good for you, so good, r-really good. A-Ah, fuck-"

"Ghost, choke him."

The Ghost Devil obliges: a hand comes to wrap around Aki's neck, squeezing firmly, sending tingles over his shoulders, electricity twisting up his spine. His muscles relax, his body slumps, fully submitting to you.

You jerk him off slow at first, squeezing his cock to coax more precum from his tip, until your knuckles are sticky, and his shaft is smeared and soaked. It feels so good, and with the way you have him restrained, with the way the ghost is choking him, making his head feel fuzzy, everything is fuzzy — All Aki can do is focus on the feeling, on the overwhelming pleasure. All he can do is stay still and let you touch him however you please, and God, he fucking loves it, he loves being at your mercy like this. He's drowning in just how good it feels, in how amazing your soft palm feels when you stroke his aching cock.

"Ghost, touch him here. Be gentle."

Then, you're stroking him faster, faster, while a rough hand comes to fondle his balls, squeezing and groping. The contrast between your soft palm and the ghost's calloused grip, the way you toy with every part of him — It has him fucking reeling, and Aki quickly can't contain his whimpers and sputters.

Aki feels pressure begin to build in his chest, settling in the pit of his stomach, warm and enveloping. Fuck, you've hardly been touching him for long, but it's so much, it's too much. It already feels like he's gonna cum, no, like he needs to cum. His moans grow louder and louder, he's practically gasping for air, and he rubs his wrists together restlessly, uselessly struggling against his restraints.

The ghost's grip loosens on his neck and his thighs, letting Aki breathe again, allowing his legs to begin to tremble.

"Does it feel good? Tell me." You ask, twisting your hand when you stroke up the length of his cock.

Aki stutters through breathless pants, "It feels so good, so g-good. I'm... I'm gonna... g-gonna..."

"You wanna cum all over yourself for me?"

Aki cries out, and with nothing holding him down, his hips buck up shamelessly into your grip, fucking himself into your hand. "Yeah, yeah, I want to so fucking bad, you're gonna... gonna make me cum..."

You lean in close to him, and your breath is hot when you whisper into the shell of his ear, your voice low, "Go ahead. I wanna see you make a mess."

Aki's heart skips a beat in his chest. The pleasure builds and builds and builds, and when it boils over, he's whining and chanting your name, his eyes screwed shut, brows tightly furrowed. His cum spills from his cock, dripping down his shaft, down his thighs. Thick globs of white stain the fabric of his crisp, black suit jacket. So much of his cum, such a huge mess.

As he comes down, he catches his breath, and his body slumps once you command the Ghost Devil to finally release him. His muscles feel sore, his throat feels hoarse, his legs won't stop shaking. Drool leaks from the corner of his mouth, and his bangs hide the fucked-out look in his eyes when his head dips.

"Good job, really good job." You praise. You reach down to tug his slacks back up his hips for him, rubbing your filthy hand off on his pant leg. "Let's go back to work. The next time you want me to use my devil on you, all you've got to do is ask."

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

like i will never forget that dream made a joke about vikkstar raping tubbos sister and then had the gall to deny it bc like. i have seen that vod! he's fucking lying about it being out of context- the whole context is that lani mentioned she was in vikkstars bed. there’s no reason to question that in gameplay and vikkstar wasn’t even on the server when she played so it’d make no sense to ask about something gameplay related, and outside of gameplay… what else could you be implying? a thirteen year old says they’re sleeping in someone’s bed and you joke about having to talk to them. it’s a paedophilic rape joke he's too cowardly to admit to but he made the SAME EXACT JOKE a few years later except he was joking about raping kids and I don’t believe his shallow apology for five fucking seconds because he has a PATTERN of sexual jokes towards minors. HE GOT A MINOR TO TELL HIM HE LOVED HIM IN PRIVATE DMS. no amount of arguing it’s platonic makes it okay if your sixteen year old told you a grown ass man said that they had to say they loved him in DMs to keep their friend's minecraft farms YOU WOULD CALL THE FUCKING COPS BECAUSE THAT IS LITERALLY COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE FOR AN ADULT TO DO IN ANY CIRCUMSTANCES WITH A MINOR. plus his “i can totally know what a complete stranger wants without asking her (and I’m definitely not going to always assume she wants it bc i feel entitled to her body)” and his fucking hasty backtracking about it being with an ex like bro you were talking about hookups it’s such a pathetic save. every time i think about how much of a pathetic misogynist he is and how much he thinks children being raped is prime comedy I get so mad like legit i always try to take things in good faith and the best I can come up with is that he's a misogynistic creep bc THAT IS THE BEST FAITH INTERPRETATION OF MULTIPLE TIMES MAKING JOKES OUT OF CHILD RAPE INCLUDING HIMSELF BEING A PAEDOPHILIC GROOMER. he's at best a piece of shit and at worst a fucking paedophile and like don’t come at me with the allegations bro if you think raping kids is funny and edgy youre at best a creep and at worst a nonce. he's genuinely such a piece of shit. and this isn’t even getting into the constant racism, ableism, scamming, throwing random people under the bus for kicks, bullying, ect. he's an utterly awful person but he’s decent enough at hiding it that it’s not obvious until you have a full timeline of events. bc it makes it clear he NEVER stopped thinking rape was funny and that women are inherently lesser than him and that he can do whatever he wants to people as long as he adds a just kidding disclaimer and pretends to be a feminist when he obviously despises women. he’s a sick man and a manipulative scumbag and this is the BEST reading of him possible if you actually know what he’s fucking done and dig through the burying of it and outright lies he’s told.

[cuntyglam]

One Piece characters that i never wanna see again

very similar to my “characters i desperately need more of,” i’ve chosen one character from (almost) every arc that i never want to see again and despise. not much else to say, so let get into it !! :)

Kumate Tribe

technically, they’re not one character, they’re multiple, but still. this tribe as characterized as a “savage” cannibalistic tribe that tries to eat buggy’s crew and it actually drives me insane. oda redeems himself with the shandians, but these guys are super racist. as a native guy i just can’t let them slide.

Miss Goldenweek

i think her real name is marianne. she. she drove me insane. i remember being so annoyed during her arc. looking back, her hypnosis functioned a lot like persona’s ghosts, in the way that she debilitated anyone she targeted through emotions. that being said, the way it was executed was less funny like it was with perona, and more frustrating and annoying. luffy kept fighting her without knowing her power, and it got repetitive really quick :/

Enel

he is the worst actually. he’s a colonial genocidal freak that is the physical embodiment of cultural appropriation. every time he talked it literally drove me insane. i was waiting for luffy to kick the shit outta him and took way too long 💀 imagine being a colonizer and having stretched ears. LAME !!

Spandam

this man is so unnecessarily violent and disgusting. the way he treated robin made me want to vomit. it was honestly so hard for me to watch. i don’t even remember what happens to him but i hope he dies like 1000 times. i hope he goes to super hell.

Absalom

filth. absolute scum of the earth. the most wretched awful man ever. he is disgusting. i will never forgive him for what he did to robin, and what he did to nami ?!?? despicable. i feel like i need a thesaurus just so i can call him every vile word in the world. what piece of shit.

Vander Decken

an actual pedophile. he is so disgusting. probably the most morally fucked one piece character i have met so far, and caesar clown drugs babies. if this man came to my house i would beat the shit out of him so hard. he’s the reason i made this damn list.

Wet-Haired Caribou

greasy. slimey. LITERALLY MADE OF SWAMPY MUD. disgusting. his tongue thing never fails to gross me out, i can’t stand him. he’s also like a terrible guy. he kidnaps a bunch of women for human trafficking. he’s so freaky in the worst ways possible.