#like just bulges in general but this specifically

[gremlingottoosilly]

What lies within (Tentacle!Monster!Konig x fem!Reader)

It's mating season for monster hybrids. Unfortunately for you, the colonel didn't have time to dump his eggs everywhere. TW and tags: Non-con, size difference, oviposition, monster hybrids, forced breeding, belly bulging, yandere Konig, possessive Konig, tentacles, double penetration. Word count: 3278

The brave new world of opportunities for monsters.

The illustrious life for those who are not afraid of being a hunter in the billion flocks of weak, stupid prey. 

There are endless possibilities for the ones who decide to serve in the various armed forces specifically tailored to monsters. 

And loads of other bullshit that König had to endure every day on the briefs. Propaganda, advertisement, and weak attempts to make a new generation of monster hybrids abandon their old ways and join either army or contracting forces, making them glorified mercenaries. Jaided and disillusioned, the colonel long abandoned the thoughts that service can be fun, that it can bring him something other than money and occasional bullets in various places. 

“Most inclusive workplaces for monsters,” his ass. They were fed bullshit on top of other bullshit, and he is already tired of war – but there isn’t much he can do besides it. The payment is nice, he gets to eat his enemies and tears through entire units of squishy, weak humans who make perfect snacks from their useless fucking bodies. 

— So. Abandoned by your team, ja? 

Unfortunately for him, sometimes war operations meant that he was not supposed to eat prisoners – he was supposed to take them, hoard them into rounds, and send them for either ransom or whatever higher-ups wanted to do with them. Sometimes, it’s torture for information, sometimes, it’s attempts to bring them to their side if they are worth it. 

Sometimes, he just looked in the eyes of a soft, squishy little prey and just couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger. 

Well…” sometimes” is a very big word. He had never once thought about keeping the POW for himself before he met this stupidly beautiful, soft nurse with a perfect face, nice pair of legs in that ugly baggy uniform, and the most beautiful scent in the entire…

He never thought of keeping the prisoner for himself before he met you. 

It was supposed to be an easy mission for you – he can see it from your lack of normal armor. Either you had no idea that KorTac had their own plans for whatever you wanted to do here, or your contractor is extremely cheap. He likes either way – you smell like a human, and he likes dumb humans who would make perfect victims. You smell and look weak, trembling, perfect fucking pray for someone like him. König didn’t feel the need to transform for this battle. Your team ran away like a bunch of bunnies before he ever fired his first shot, but he could still feel his tentacles slowly stir under his hood. He can feel his body transforming without the need to – and he feels the pressure in his lower stomach. 

When was the last time he was able to put his eggs somewhere other that cold, unforgiving air? 

Even the bagginess of your uniform doesn’t obscure him from looking at the sway of your hips, at the perfect surface of your tummy, and feeling the smell of your ripe, fertile body. Having a strong sense of smell always came like a curse in the team of monsters where showering after a mission isn’t something that is done by many, buy König can appreciate his nose now – he can smell how perfect you are for breeding. How scared, too. 

Poor thing, probably terrified of his. König knows how he looks, even in his human form – tall, broad, bigger than any man you saw before, so much more muscular that even with your military training as a combat nurse, he could still break your spine with one hand. His size is something that made it impossible to find a partner normal ways – monsters are naturally too dominant to ever submit to him, and humans are simply too scared to deal with someone like him. He isn’t surprised, no – if anything, he understands completely. 

You sob, your voice is melting with incomprehensible pleas and little whines. You are shaking under him – a poor, dumb girl who wasn’t aware that her best shot at surviving was to try and shoot his crotch off before he pulled a gun out of your hands. 

— Pl…please, you can’t…you can’t do this! It’s a crime, I was on medical duty, it’s…

König likes humans because they are dumb. Civilian humans are even cuter – run around, thinking their lives are protected by sets of laws and rules that, in fact, don’t apply to the strong – and you, in your full half-military half-civvie glory, are fucking perfect. You whine and sib, tears running down your face when he presses you under him. Your hand hits the hard rocks of the ground, and he shifts slightly, dragging you closer to a softer patch of grass. 

He laughs when you are trying to scramble from under him, your lower half is pinned by his weight – he is surprised you can still move. You move your pelvis, trying to get out – and he moans quietly when you start rubbing your crotch against his. You freeze, fear spreading on your face – god, he missed that feeling. When was the last time he got to actually breed someone? Or even just have sex with someone as cute? 

— You really think so, Schatzen? That rules will protect you? 

He moves his crotch against yours, making you sob a bit more. You’re sweet and compliant, and he just loves breaking soft things like you – it’s a desire to break, to destroy, to make you his. He knows that, technically, forcing himself on women from enemy lines really is a war crime. He also knows that if he’d managed to breed you with his eggs, monster laws would never allow you to separate after mating. 

Besides, it's not like he is going to let you go, so you could tell on him. König never believed in love at first sight, but you would be a perfect vessel for his eggs and his tentacles – what else would he need from a wife, right? 

— You’re pretty. 

He says plainly, his hand goes to rub your chest through the fabric of your uniform. You won’t need those ugly clothes anymore – he’d make sure to buy you something nice and frail that won’t make you too uncomfortable to carry his eggs. Maybe a soft, frail dress or some of those cute maternity clothes when your body starts to change. He can’t wait to see his breasts swelling with milk – even if his unfertilized eggs won’t need it, he certainly would. Even if you’re too weak to handle his load, he’d make sure to get you a nice, firm plug and keep you on his tentacles constantly. 

You start to sob even more when you understand what he is trying to do – when he rips your pants to reveal the softness of your cunt and the fragility of your [anties, you actually manage to push your legs against his dick a good few times. He is too aroused to notice – if anything, he likes how fiery you are, your little yells and loud screams for help. No one will come to aid you – he barked the orders for his soldiers to go and fuck around somewhere else while he was busy devouring his little prize. Colonel doesn’t like having an audience – if anything, he is saving your dignity right now. If anything, he is remarkably soft when he pushes one of his long, red tendrils down your body, massaging your pussy through your panties. 

You’re moist already when his tentacle finds a way to your labia. What a slutty nurse you are – getting off the enemy colonel breeding you in the middle of the battlefield. Your tears mean nothing when he is too busy massaging and pressing and playing with your sticky, puffy folds – poor girl, so deprived of attention that even the weird texture of his extensions only fuels your desire. 

So fragile, so perfect – and so, so wet that your adorable white panties are already become transparent, sticking to your soft pussy. When he takes you home, he’d make sure to forbid you from wearing any underwear at all – you would meet him dressing in nothing but his shirts, a hand on your tummy to support the weight of your eggs. Walls of your pussy clenching on the plug he’d make to insert in you every morning. 

— Don’t…please, don’t, n…

You whine ever so sweetly, trying to close your legs so he won’t be able to touch you. It’s futile, just one of his tendrils is ten times stronger than your hands. He gets through your closed legs, buried in the moistness of your sweet, perfect pussy. You taste heavenly – just one minute enough to make him hungrier than before. König’s mating season was often postponed due to constant adrenaline rushes and things he takes to enhance his battle abilities – but he can feel eggs pressing at the inside of his body now, preparing to be released in the sweet heat of your body. But he has to prepare you first. 

— Quiet now. It won’t hurt unless you want it to. 

His tendrils are coming to moisten your pussy even more – sweet numbness filling your body from the lower stomach and right to your head. Knowing that you must feel dizzy and just a tad bit dumb, König can’t wait but chuckle. He likes you empty-headed, adorable dumbness in your eyes. He knows that he doesn’t know you, that you might even already have a boyfriend on the civil side of your life – but he doesn’t care. His mind doesn’t easily fall for just anyone,  but if he saw a perfect vessel in you, there is no escape. At least he is nice enough to be gentle. 

You whimper slightly when he pushes the first tendril inside of you. Too impatient to use his hands or tongue to make you feel a bit more at ease – after all, you are still on the battlefield, even if your friends abandoned you to get picked up by KorTac. Too impatient to soothe you with his words, he uses one of his smaller, thinner tentacles to push your pussy walls, make you squeeze him and milk for all his worth. You are wet, but not enough to take him without crying. Hot and soft, the cold texture of his extensions contrasts with your body too much – you are shaking, he can feel slight vibrations at the soft walls of yours. 

Fitting him like a glove, too perfect to exist – he just wants to take you with him, to flip you on your tummy and push all of his tentacles inside. You’re tight and warm, you make him go crazy from desire. It’s weird how a strong and mighty colonel can be so charmed by just some enemy nurse, but when you whine slightly and try to adjust your body to fit more comfortably under him, he just knows that he has to take you. That, no matter how much you are crying and praying for him to stop, you want to be used by him. Perhaps, with certain training, you would want his eggs, too. 

Second tendril caught you by surprise. Just when you started to adjust to the weird, slimy feeling of something writhing inside of you, spreading your tight walls around it and clashing with the heat of your insides, a second, bigger one started to press on your clenched folds. You wanted to beg, to ask him to stop – you’re too tight for this, too small, you would never be able to take even just one of his tentacles, you were…

But his tendrils press easily, he accesses lube spreading between your legs. You are sobbing from the feeling, and he is laughing. His hand goes to rip the upper part of your clothing, revealing your midriff. Fingers pressing on your tummy, just to feel his tentacles inside – he laughs when the skin of your stomach is tensed up, revealing the outlines of his extension. God, he can’t wait to make your body swell from him. Even though the eggs are not bearing his children, he can imagine you and a bunch of little ones – you’d look much better like this than pretending to be a nurse. Honestly, what were you even trying to do on the battlefield? 

— Stay still, ja? 

— Too much! Please, n…no more…

— Poor thing. You’ll feel so much better after I add the third one. 

He knows that he is overstepping a bit, that your body isn’t used to taking something as big as his tentacles – but König also knows that his pre-cum makes you feel dizzy warm. Acting like a natural aphrodisiac, you won't be able to resist relaxing under him. The lubricant is enough to allow his other tentacle to force himself in your ass – he isn’t going to breed that hole yet, but it doesn't mean that he can’t use it. 

He groans loudly when your asshole clenches around him – he had to stretch you quite a bit, that sweet numbness of his precum isn’t making you relaxed enough to take him whole, but he is managing, one agonizing centimeter after another. At the point you’re out of breath, with your face all flushed, he already knows he fucking won – he knows that you, poor, fragile thing, isn’t going anywhere. He would say that he feels horrible about forcing you like this – but this is the start of a new, better life for you. Being the bride of a monster of his rank is a dream for any lowly human like you. Can go as far as to say you’re lucky he ever laid his eyes on you. 

— Stop, please…’s too much. 

— You feel good, Katzen. Relax, and you’ll be even better. 

— I don’t…please, just let me go, I…

— Is this your first time with a monster? 

— Yes. 

— Gut. Would break you in for me. 

He laughs at your whimpers, his hand goes to cradle your face in an almost soft expression. He gently presses his fingers across your skin, making you all nice and warm for him – he wants to kiss you all over, but the only thing he can do in his more monstrous form is to press one of his shorter tentacles against your lips, mocking the way normal people kiss. You sob, but he presses the tip on your mouth, passing it through your teeth – you would feel better after ingesting his pre-cum, can even clench around him so more, chasing your own pleasure. 

König wants you to feel good, so he presses his hand against your face, allowing you to tremble and cry as much as you want. He wants to be nice to you, so his other hand presses on your clit, finding the tense bud and breaking the nothingness between your legs. You tremble even more when he starts to spread your folds around his fingers, both of his tentacles working to milk your holes and spread you as much as possible. 

He whispers sweet nothings in your ear when both of the tendrils working on your pussy suddenly change their direction – they start to spread your walls instead of just fucking it. You feel exposed and vulnerable, he can see the pink flesh and glossiness of your cunt. It’s embarrassing for you, and he knows it – but god, you’re too fucking perfect to pass. 

You don’t even manage to ask him what he is doing when you feel something much larger pressing against your pussy. The biggest of his tentacles – almost as thick as an arm, pushing inside of you. He had a purpose, a desire to do something with you that you could never understand – silly humans know nothing about his biological need to push his eggs somewhere, of course, but you’re just fucking perfect. Too perfect to pass on this opportunity. 

You plead and cry when he presses further, a little bump on your tummy is obvious now, with each centimeter of his tendril pushing. When he finally bottoms inside of you, pressing directly against your cervix, you are too fucked out to even think. 

It’s painful, you think. Three thick tentacles roam inside your pussy, pushing and grinding against your gummy, tight walls – and another one of his extensions in your ass, writhing and massaging your insides. 

It’s pleasurable, you feel. The tentacles are uneven, cold, each little bump makes you cry out from pleasure, the overwhelming feeling is something you could never achieve with a normal dick. He cradles your face and chuckles softly when you moan and cry at the same time when he gently presses his red tendril against your soft lips, and you part them because you don’t want to resist anymore. Because you can’t resist anymore. 

— So good for me. Such a good girl, liked being fucked by the enemy. 

— I don’t like it! He laughs at your misery, pushing his tentacles back only to fuck you harder. He can feel the tension multiply in his stomach – he feels the movement of eggs forming from inside and pushing down the biggest one of his tendrils. 

When you first feel the pressure of an egg in your pussy, you want to scream. 

You scratch on his hands like a wild cat, clenching on him like crazy. If he didn’t see horror and shock on your face, he’d think you wanted him. You are tight, tighter than you were before – your pussy is closing around him, not letting him go, and he can only smile to himself when he feels every little bump sending electric shocks right into your core when you feel his eggs traveling from the start of his tendrils down, to your soft, welcoming womb. 

God, you will look perfect, all swollen and helpless – he can bring you a fucking collar, maybe push you on his lap and parade you as his precious wife for everyone to see. His scent lingers on your body, no matter if you want it or not. Silly human, you try to fight him like you didn’t lose the moment you let him pin your body. So perfect, he thinks of where you were before he found you. How many partners do you have, and how well would you play the role of his little breeding machine.

 He massages your tummy, with each egg taking its place in your womb. Soothes tense skin and whispers sweet promises in your ear when you cry and try to push him away. So perfect, so sweet for him – he doesn’t know the fuck he lived without you. 

When the last egg takes its place, making you bulge from all the weight inside of you, he can finally calm himself down enough to bring his human form partially. When he finally retracted his tentacles from your tired, sensitive body, not forgetting to press against your clit a good few times to prolong your unwanted, exhausting orgasm, he could finally press a kiss on your lips. 

You’re a mess – torn clothes, covered in cum and thick transparent slime, trembling and crying softly. You close your pussy around every one of his eggs like a good girl, and he knows you would be a perfect mating partner – but god, you need a good shower and soft mattress so he can try to fuck you again in his human form, and steal all the hugs and silly affections he wanted. 

— Will you let me go? 

He laughs, picking you up swiftly. So fragile in his hands, he doesn’t even want to think about letting you roam freely. 

— Of course not, Schatzen. Just get used to it, ja? 

[buckleysbitch]

Hiii is it alright if I request for a College!Camgirl!Ellie x college!reader? Could I also have a specific 💐 tag for when I ask things 😭😭?

PS: I love your work so fucking much, on my knees for them 💗🙏🏻

-💐

જ⁀➴ yes angel!! thank you <3 sorry this took so long btw!! lowkey had a bender over spring break and didn’t write 🫣

warnings: 18+, squirting, pet names, service top!ellie, camgirl!ellie, consensual video recording. photo credits to @ellies.galaxy on tiktok!

reqs are open 𝜗𝜚

────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────

“you can take it baby. know my girl can.” the auburn haired girl whispered, while guiding your hips to sink fully down on her brand new strap on that sits erect on her pale lap. the aforementioned 8 inch, lavender toy was generously gifted by one of her followers, with a message attached that simply said “to break her in.”

since the moving in with ellie, you’ve gradually learned so much about her….possibly more than a roommate should. first, it was her adorable obsession with vintage video games, then the way she brings home little rocks and treasures she finds on the walk to class, then…it was finding her nude in front of a camera with your “missing” thong smothering her face.

but, you couldn’t possibly resist helping her, huh?

the video garnered tons, TONS of donations, likes, and subscriptions. her followers loved that it wasn’t a staged “getting caught” cliche, and that you fully indulged in her perverse energy. since then, she’s gotten lots of requests to keep you around in her videos, which you are more than happy to oblige.

the tip nudges against your cervix, a soft bulge appearing on your abdomen. as she shifts to zoom in on the precious sight, your long forgotten homework falls off the bed, papers sliding all across the floor.

“y’see that? how she’s fuckin swallowing me?” ellie asks the camera as she zooms in on the aforementioned “she”, being your fully stuffed cunt.

“els…please move….” you pant, digging your fingernails into her thighs as an anchor. “i…i’ll do….any-thng…” you whine desperately, dying to just rut into ellie’s hips on your own, but you know better. the first (and last) time you made that mistake, she tied you up with the vibrator on the highest setting for two hours, live-streaming the whole ordeal.

hey, at least she made over $500 off of it.

“show em how you feel, angel.” ellie coos, thrusting in and out agonizingly slow, propping the camera up on her dresser, the perfect angle to capture your doe eyes rolling effortlessly into the back of your head.

“els….ohmgd…please harder!”

without a word, ellie gets the most intriguing smirk on her face, massaging her calloused fingers into your hips for a moment….then suddenly gripping onto them, bouncing you on her cock unrelentingly. screaming her name, your legs go numb. every time your trembling hands go to grip onto her waist for support, she nudges you off, growing wetter and wetter watching you unable to stabilize yourself. a thin white ring forms around the base of her cock, that she scrambles to grab the camera and zoom in on.

“look at that…fuck.” she reaches down and thumbs on your clit, causing you to buck down into her even harder, if that’s possible at this point.

“gna…gna cum els….pleaseee…” you stare right into the camera, knowing that she’s gonna replay that moment over and over again later just to see the pathetic desperation in your eyes, your perfect pout penetrating her every thought.

“go ahead angel, cum all over this cock. show me how good it feels in you. how….how…god…how good i feel in you.”

those last words send you over the edge, collapsing into her while your entire body twitches. your tight, slick walls clench around the toy for the final time, her thumb on your clit encouraging you to drench ellie’s stomach and sheets.

“fuck…i got that shit on camera. you’re so goddamn hot.” she pans the camera down to her toned stomach, where your wetness is splattered. the euphoria hasn’t worn off yet, your eyelids heavy, vision blurry as ellie smooths down your hair delicately, throwing the camera onto her chair and cradling your head into her lap.

“such a good girl f’me…..”

[kaciidubs]

Cameras and Sweatpants

❣ Summary: Photoshoots, the gift that keeps on giving, and you welcomed it with open arms - and mouth. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 1.5k ❣ Warnings: Smut, degradation/name calling [slut], slight public sex ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: 230526 Chris [pictured], Chan is referred to as Chris and Daddy, Reader is referred to as Baby, Pretty/Dirty Girl, Slut, mention of Jisung, lightly edited, this was written almost a year ago while I was sleep deprived and horny for this specific version of Chris ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

“We have 30 minutes,” Chris whispered against the shell of your ear, his hand resting against the small of your back. 

You smirked, pace quickening ever so slightly as you walked past staff members and stylists alike - a glint of mischief shining through your lust fogged eyes. “I’ll be done in 15.”

Attending photoshoots with the boys was a rare occurrence, usually only happening when your oh-so-loving boyfriend figured a ‘little vacation’ was in order - and this was one of those times.

Even if you weren't well versed with Dispatch as a whole, you were more than aware of the speculation of idols’ private lives and, more present, promotional photoshoots and interviews.

Especially promotional photoshoots that had your boyfriend in the most relaxed yet revealing outfit you’d laid your eyes on; from the white, sleeveless shirt showing off well sculpted biceps that never failed to draw attention, to the baby blue sweatpants tied securely around his hips with holes that gave peeks into what you had the pleasure of seeing daily.

All of this, paired with the borderline bedroom eyes he was giving the camera, culminated into you tugging him off the couch the minute the director gave the call for a break to set up for the next room.

The second the changing room’s door shut and the lock clicked into place, you wasted no time in sinking to your knees in front of him - hardwood floors be damned. Your mouth watered at the prominent bulge beginning to tent the blue fabric; running your hand along the outline and earning a stifled grunt in return. 

“Baby, I’d rather not stain these pants,” Chris gritted out, trying to keep his anticipation at bay as you continued palming him, “we still have the second half to shoot.” 

You opened your mouth for a rebuttal, a tease of some sort, but the looming reminder of how much time you had made it close just as fast. 

Heeding his request, your hands slid up to the waistband of his sweats before tugging them past the swell of his ass and down the expanse of his thighs, just enough to expose his boxer-briefs.

“If we were home, this would be so much easier.” Your lips pulled into a playful pout, fingertips dipping past the branded waistband before pulling them down to meet the same fate as his sweats. “I wouldn’t have to worry about this many layers.”

He scoffed, leaning his back against the cool wooden door, “If you were patient you wouldn’t have this problem, now would you?” Cocking his head to the side, he ran his tongue across his bottom lip, “But you’re just so needy for my dick, aren’t you, baby?”

A fresh heat washed over you from his words and you had to physically fight back the whine bubbling in the back of your throat - if he was already talking like this, then you knew you weren't the only needy one here.

Spitting into your hand, you wrapped it around his length and gave a few experimental pumps, relishing in the sharp hiss of air he took above you with each pass of your fist, before leaning forward to lick a line from the base of his dick to the tip.

His lips parted with a breathless, “Fuck…”, his head falling back against the door with a low thud as he watched you with lidded eyes.

You looked up at him, the smallest hints of a smirk on your lips before parting them to take the head into your mouth, lapping languidly at the bitter-sweet precum leaking from the slit. A soft moan hummed from your throat as you sunk further, eagerly welcoming the familiar weight of him on your tongue.

 It was always an effort to take him down your throat, long as he was thick, but you continued pressing on - eyelids fluttering shut as you focused on breathing and fighting your gag reflex.

“S-Shit, baby,” Chris gasped, his hand resting on the top of your head, “can’t- ah, can’t go two hours without having your mouth stuffed, yeah?”

Your left hand gripped his thigh, either as a muted response or moral support when you finally, finally, pressed your nose against the finely trimmed patch of pubes that decorated his pelvis. Swallowing around him, earning a delicious whimper that made your pussy flutter, you tapped his thigh twice with a soft hum.

He tensed, his brain short circuiting while his heart skipped a beat so hard he felt it in his throat, “Really? Y-You don’t- fuck, you really want me to…?”

Another two taps against his thigh, and you looked up at him as best as you could from your knelt position, feeling spit start to overflow past the corners of your lips.

“Fuck- You’re gonna be the death of me, baby.”

His hand shifted to the back of your head, locking you in place as he drew his hips back, a shiver running down his spine until half of his cock remained in your mouth before thrusting forward, sending himself down your throat once again.

You squeezed your eyes shut, one hand holding onto his half while the other balled into a fist on your thigh, helping you focus on keeping your gags at bay with practiced breaths.

Chris kept a few more slow, manageable thrusts before turning up the pace; his cock leaving your mouth a little more each time before sliding its way back into your throat, ragged pants tumbling from his lips as he fucked your mouth.

It was dizzying, the way your muscles constricted around his girth while your plump lips were slicked with bubbling saliva - it wasn’t anywhere close to how your cunt felt, but it was still bringing him to his end just the same. It also didn’t help that soft moans were interspersed between your muted gags; the thought of you getting off on him using your mouth like a fleshlight making his grip tighten and his balls swell.

“T-Taking me so well,” he gritted, breaking out into a small sweat, “so needy for me you can’t even suck me off by yourself - need me to help you, huh? Need me to- fuck- to use this throat of yours like the slut you are.”

Your nails dug into his calf and he chuckled, a short, husky sound that had your pussy clenching around nothing, your panties sticking like a self-imposed punishment.

“My little slut, yeah? All mine?” Sucking in a sharp breath, his hips stuttered, “A-All mine to use - daddy’s pretty, dirty girl.”

Blinking away the tears blurring your vision, you angled your head up just enough to gaze at him through your eyelashes, and the sight you were met with had you rocking your hips in the open air - desperation taking over your rational thoughts in hopes of an odd rotation to get something to grind against your aching cunt.

Pupils blown, the ends of his hair sticking to his forehead,the glow of sweat shining down the curve of his neck, pretty pink lips parted and shimmering from the gloss the makeup artists coated them in, and brows furrowed with a focus you’d seen time and time again - he looked delectable.

“S-Shit- I’m close, baby,” panting, Chris looked down at you with worry flashing in his eyes, “Wh- Mm- Where do you want it?”

Answering his question as best you could, you squeezed his calf once before pressing your tongue to the underside of his dick, running it against a vein that never failed to make his head spin.

The grip on your head tightened as he nodded frantically, “Y-Yeah, yeah, okay - t-take it all, princess, swallow every drop j-just f’me, yeah?” A shiver ran down his spine as his rhythm began to falter, breathless whimpers falling from his lips, “‘M coming- oh fuck, fuck, ‘m gonna come-”

His dick twitched, throbbing against your tongue, and with a handful of thrusts the tip pressed against the soft flesh of the back of your throat before a rush of cum filled your mouth.

Your throat tightened with each swallow you took, gag reflex working double time with the lack of air reaching your lungs until the last of his release settled onto your tongue.

As his hold on you relaxed, you slowly pulled yourself off of his length with a lewd slurp, taking whatever final remnants remained before swallowing - almost choking on the deep breath that immediately followed suit as your lungs gratefully welcomed the unhindered rush of air.

“I’m-” Chris huffed out a breath, fully leaning against the door to save him from falling to his knees, “I’m sorry, baby, are you okay? Did I go too hard?”

“Honestly?” Clearing the rasp from your voice, you laughed lightly, “If I passed out, it would’ve been worth it.”

“Oh my god, you absolute menace!”

Eyes narrowing with mirth, you smirked, “Menace? I thought I was daddy’s little slut?”

The blush tinting his ears and neck deepened, but before he could respond a series of knocks rapped against the door, followed by Jisung’s sheepish voice.

“Uh, if you guys are done in there, can I grab my phone?”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @luvyev, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @zaethefangirl, @chxnb97, @4-chan-inpadella

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[mrrharper]

Waiting For The Roommate

Max sat in the passenger seat of his roommate's truck, waiting for Buck, who needed to quickly come back to their dorm room. As he waited he took off his tank top, it was fuckin' hot inside. He rolled down the window to get some fresh inside the car.

As he stuck his head out the window to breathe in some fresh air he saw some nerd approach him. He was wearing a dark brown button-down shirt and had a stack of papers in his hand.

"Max, is that you?" The nerd asked, looking at him. A smile appeared on his face.

"uhhhhhhhh... dude, do i know ya?" He asked, convincing himself not to call the guy a loser or a nerd. Coach said he had to get better at dealing with strangers.

"Max, it's me - Michael. We went to high school together!" The other guy replied, clearly convinced that they knew each other. High school? Max's head was covered with a fog, he couldn't conjure up any specific memories from high school.

"you sure bro?"

"Damn, Max, we had like half our classes together!" The nerd was getting a bit frustrated for some reason. "We talked about going to the same uni, and so much more! And now you say you don't know me?"

Max tried to focus. High school, friends, classes, college. It felt like his brain was fighting against him, a thick fog covering everything. His thoughts began turning towards his next workout. Damn, he'll be doing arms and chest. Yea-- Holy shit, he knew that guy!

"oh fuck, mike, yeah, of course, how are you brah?" Max extended his hand for Mike to bump, but he just awkwardly looked at it. Max ignored it.

"Oh my god, for a moment I thought you weren't joking" A half-hearted laugh escaped Mike's mouth. Max just grinned. "I'm fine, settled into college life. Found a study group--" Mike continued talking but Max didn't register another word. He was this guy's good bro - apparently - but that didn't mean he would be able to tolerate that nerd bullshit. He was made for different things than studying - like workin' out with his best bro Buck.

"Anyway" Mike looked straight at Max, whose attention came back. "How was your first year. You look... like a different person!"

"what you mean bruh?" Max asked. What did that ner-- what did Mike mean? Different? He was always a badass jock.

"I mean, you're jacked! In high school you hated gym class, and here you are, buff and all."

"dude, am like, ya know, a real bro, dude. gotta be jacked as hell" He responded and flexed his right arm, his biceps moving and bulging under his skin.

"I mean, that's quite the change. Like, we kinda lost contact after the summer, and you didn't give any sign of life, and I thought... but you're here!" Mike was clearly excited and Max smiled. Wait, what was this dude's deal? He was textin' and talkin' with a nerd like that? Nah, this didn't make sense... where the fuck was Buck where he needed him!

"huhuhuhuhuhuh, yeah bruh" Max just chuckled like the dumb jock he was, he didn't know what to say. He shifted in his seat and scratched his armpit.

"Anyway" Mike went on "how was your first year in college? Were you able to get into that engineering program you've talked about?"

Engineeri-- what? "huhuhuh bro, are you high dude, i ain't here for some weird soundin' shit like that bro. am here to get drunk, work out and crush State, fuck yeah duhuhuhuh." Oh yeah, Max remembered the last game they played, State's lame ass defence couldn't stop the brute force of their offensive line. And the look on their faces when their WR1 tore a muscle in his leg... fuckin' priceless dude!

Mike was clearly not prepared for that answer, which Max found weird, cause he thought his jacked bod was proof enough that he wasn't a stupid nerd.

"Wait, so..." He was clearly confused "if you're not doing engineering then what is your major?"

"major?" Max had no idea what that guy meant... Major... what was a major... Coach talked to him about something like that... It was something along the lines of... "uhhhhh, general ed? dunno bro, never really been a guy to focus on shit."

"What, general education?" Mike seemed shocked. "But, like... I don't understand, Max, you... You said you wanted that, so that you could do a PhD... Why did you change your mind... Like, really, why did you change so much?!"

All that talk 'bout changes made Max's head spin a little bit. Like, what changes? He's been a fuckin' bro since he came here, got a room with Buck, cause before that-- his brain again began filling with fog, his thoughts slowing down to a halt, but not before he blurted out a response.

"duuuuude, like, bro, ive been a real bruh, like, forever dude, duuuuuuuh, like i got my bro Buck, and he got me to Coach, and uhhhhhhhhh, ya know, he worked on me and huhuhuh--" and his mind went blank, a dumb grin stuck on his face.

"What do you mean? A coach 'worked on' you? That sounds... concerning, you know that, right?" Mike adjusted his glasses and looked at Max, clearly concerned.

But Max... Max's brain had shut off. He was sitting in the passenger seat of his best bro Buck's truck, chuckling like a dumb idiot and drooling slightly.

"duhuhuhuhuhuh, duuuude... fuckin' hot today brah, gotta get that pump huhuhuhuh" He flexed his arm and touched his bulging biceps.

"Jesus, did they do something to you? Did you have some traumatic head injury?" Mike leaned on the car, looking inside the vehicle to see what was happening with Max. "God, did they brainwash you? You're a completely different person... and a dumb jock!"

It took a while for Max's fog-covered brain to register what the nerd said. And before he even began formulating a response Buck approached the car.

Buck was wearing a loose tank top that revealed his broad shoulders and giant guns, while also showing off his chest. His shorts, like second skin on his thick thighs, left nothing to imagination with his bulge clearly visible. He was a jock. An alpha. Max's best bro.

"duuude, ya won't believe the chick i saw while gettin' out of the dorm--" He started speaking as he opened the door on the driver's side, but then he noticed Mike standing by Max's window. "ey bruh, who's that loser?"

"huh?" Max turned to Buck, his grin disappearing and his his brow now furrowed. "i... dunno, bro..."

Buck and Mike looked at each other for a moment, the first one annoyed, the second slightly terrified.

"get away from the car" Buck barked as he sad down in front of the steering wheel.

"Wait, please, just a moment, you know what happened to Max? Pleas i just want to--"

"Go away, you fuckin' nerd" was the response Mike got. He took a step away from the car but didn't go away. Meanwhile Max realized what was happening. Some nerd was disturbing them and not listening to Buck's commands. And that wasn't the right thing to do. He turned his head to face the nerd.

"why you starin' at me, nerd" Max growled. His mind, completely covered by the fog, was now following Buck's lead. And Buck didn't like the nerd. So Max didn't like the nerd.

"Max, what... what happened?" Terror shifted into confusion as Mike tried to comprehend Max's sudden change in mood.

"oh, just fuck off, loser" Max responded and Buck took that as a sign. He turned the engine on and drove away, leaving Michael alone in the parking lot.

"uhhhhhh, do we know this guy?" Max asked a few minutes later. "that nerd form before?"

"nah, bro, of course not. we're real jocks, we're not gonna fraternize with fuckin' losers." Buck let our a low and dumb laugh. "by the way, tomorrow we're gonna get ya to Coach for a check up, just in case"

[ozzgin]

Yandere! CoD Headcanons: König x Reader x Ghost (II)

“Sharing is caring” is likely familiar to most, though the nuances of it may sometimes differ beyond the classic expectations. You’re trapped between two jealous, possessive and feverishly infatuated men with no escape in your sight. That implies, of course, you’ve been looking for a way out of this bizarre partnership. Have you? Be honest…

TW: NSFW, obsessive behavior, size kink, violence

Tags: @223princess

[Part I]

Yet another classic rule that comes with your job is to always be ready to deal with the unexpected. Plan as well as you may, the battleground is not as generous as to stick to your schedule. Yet the same principle applies out of combat, too. It’s just…you had’t really imagined such an outcome to be possible. Your extensive training covered most scenarios, from raids, to ambushes, natural disasters, everything except, well, this. You wonder if the code of conduct might include a paragraph about work romance, specifically your teammates taking turns to fuck you shamelessly at any hour of the day.

You gaze at your reflection in the slightly fogged mirror and quickly look away, embarrassed. You can’t bear to see the markings that are peppered all over your body, betraying the depraved activities you’ve indulged in for the past weeks. How did it even come to this? You sit on the edge of the bed, drying your hair, and hesitantly replay the event in your head. Your helpless form crouched on the storage floor, looking up at the two large men gripping at each other’s throats. Behind their masks you could sense their ferocious intent to kill. How would you explain it to your superiors? You gathered up your remaining confidence and barked at them to stop at once. They were indeed taken aback by your sudden yell that could’ve put any drill sergeant to shame. You wanted to get to the bottom of the conflict and put all this bullshit behind as soon as possible. Until they offered you the honest cause of their hostile rivalry. You could only stare in disbelief.

Your first instinct was to wonder if this was some sort of elaborate prank. What the hell, were they a bunch of high schoolers learning to handle their first crush or fucking grown adults in the middle of a military operation? You were never oblivious to it: mixed gender missions always came with a lot of casual hookups to blow off steam. Not your thing, but there’s plenty of other people down to it. Your suggestion was met with angry, vehement refusal. Both Ghost and König were outraged at the insinuation they’d put their dicks in some rando, as if that’s all there was to it. As if anyone else would do. Ironically this is where they found their common ground. König had lifted you nonchalantly by the collar of your uniform and asked you if you’re playing dumb. You could only shrug, even more confused. Ghost joined him and explained, casually and matter-of-fact, that you can call it a hookup as long as you remember it’s a lifelong arrangement. You were to walk out that door with the knowledge you belong to them and they would take any necessary steps to ensure your compliance. The hunting knife that was meant to plunge into his rival was now propped under your chin, dangerously close to your throbbing artery.

Now this should’ve been your sign to nod obediently, pack your suitcase at the earliest convenience and get the hell out. And that was your honest intent, initially. You could almost visualize the documents granting your absence from duty. Then you felt your buttons pop from their seams, forcefully ripped apart by König’s large hand. It occurred to you that you were propped against the wall by two men twice your size. You could hear their now labored breaths, muffled by their masks. The Austrian man roughly readjusted your posture, having you rest against his hips and throwing your legs around his waist. You gasped quietly once you sensed a bulge pressing into you. He fumbled with his zipper, but Ghost interrupted him with an irritated scolding. “You can’t just ram it in, you fucking dumbass.” You didn’t take long to understand the meaning and shivered at the thought. Without a warning, Ghost slid his hand into your now unbuckled pants. Two fingers begun pressing circles over your underwear and an unconscious whine escaped your lips. Satisfied by your reaction, he brought himself closer and increased the pace until he felt the moisture pooling in the fabric, which was enough encouragement to gently slip his way inside of you. In an attempt to help, König lowered his head over your breasts, fondling your now sensitive nipples with his tongue. His mask draped over your skin, adding a mild tickle to the overwhelming buildup. You suddenly remembered the storage no longer had a door after König kicked it out of its hinges, so you tried to push the muscular man away. “W-what if someone comes in?” Against your will and to your surprise, the question rolled out like a prolonged moan and you blushed awkwardly. “They won’t, if you shut up.” Ghost responded curtly. He considered it for a moment, and added smugly: “Don’t worry, that pretty mouth of yours will be real busy soon.” You closed your eyes tightly and prayed you wouldn’t be caught.

And you weren’t. You got away with it. That time, and the other time, and all the other times. At this point you question whether your other teammates truly haven’t noticed or have since learned to look away. Another possibility is that the psychotic duo has threatened the others into silence. Given their cocky attitude whenever you protest about the openness or risky timing, it wouldn’t surprise you at all. Even worse, their libido seems to be increasing exponentially as a consequence to their incessant competition of owning you. They seem to be plagued by a delirious need to have you at all times, and you’re rather afraid to admit that your desire to flee is slowly being replaced by a similar addiction. Rabid dogs in heat. That’s the only analogy that comes to mind.

Last time you didn’t even get the chance to return to the base. The soldiers had exited the truck, cheering their success and marching towards the gate. König had been quiet the entire ride, not even bothering to hide his ardent stare, his eyes hooded with lust. You were about to hop off yourself when you felt his burning grip on your wrist, pulling you back in and onto his lap. Oh, how he loves fucking you like this. His toned legs are sprawled out dominantly and his calloused hands guide you over his erection. No matter how many times you do it, the start is always painful. He’s just that big. But that’s his favorite part. Seeing you wince and tear up, holding your stomach as if shielding it from the foreign object assaulting the walls of your frail body. Then the thrusts become smoother and your movements break into an erratic pleading for more. He wants to witness it all. God, you turn him into a wild animal. His fingers dig into your skin and towards the end you’re a whimpering mess, shamelessly drooling over his uniform in a daze. As you coat him with your slick cum, he grunts and barely manages to speak. “Fuck, I’m gonna lose my mind for good one of these days.” His voice is deep and reverberates against your heaving chest.

Scratch that. Last time you didn’t even make it to the truck. You were laying behind a boulder, wiping the sweat and dirt off your face. You’d just finished taking out your targets and announced your return in the headset. Ghost approaches you with a hidden smirk and squats before you, extending a hand towards you. “Need help?” You nod with gratitude and take off your helmet. You reach for his hand, hoping he’d pull you up, but instead his fingers claw around your throat and push you against the ground. “Good, I have the perfect thing for a little slut like you.” He climbs over you without letting go of your neck and undoes your jacket with ease. Hell, he’s been doing it so often he could manage even blindfolded. With the free hand he shoves one of your legs away to make space. Truth be told, he’s very much biased towards this particular arrangement. He can already feel the unbearable pressure of his member waiting to be freed. He adores being able to take all of you in. Your expression, your small body trapped under his massive frame. He can fuck you as he pleases, until you turn into a rag doll, and there’s no way out. You grit your teeth in anticipation and hold onto his arm that’s choking you once he goes in. You must’ve been molded just for him. There’s no other explanation for his feral clinginess, scratching and biting and pulling in desperate, agonizing pleasure. After the deed has been done he can admire his masterful work, gazing lovingly at your flustered, disheveled form, gasping for air and dripping with his seed.

Your shake your head and try to chase away these perverted memories. You’re still damp from the shower and continue massaging your scalp with the towel, when you hear a knock on your door. Oh, no. No. “Busy!” is all you manage to shout. The door opens nonetheless and Ghost and König waltz in, entirely indifferent to your refusal. “Can’t I have one moment to myself?” You groan, frustrated. König leans against the wall and Ghost kneels in front of you. There’s a hint of cheekiness in his voice. “Sure. Tell us to go away and we will.” You blink and ponder his words. Remembering all the past encounters has gotten you a little bit eager, that’s true, but… “Say it.” He repeats himself. You squirm and look away, a deep red spreading across your face. Your lips are pursed. König lets out a soft laugh and closes the door, then faces you. “Since you wanted to be a brat, you have to beg for it now.”

What have you gotten yourself into?

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞. 

main masterlist

pairing(s) — JAMIE DRYSDALE x reader (est. relationship) wc — 1.5k synopsis — jamie can’t keep his hands to himself, and neither can his girlfriend. (prompted on this ask)

note — title’s from summertime by bon jovi + yes, this is a re-upload from the main blog (@holy-pucks) since nothing of mine posted there shows up in the tags. if you’ve already liked or shared that post, i would really appreciate you doing the same with this new one :) thx a million in advance! xx 

specific content warnings listed below the cut.

cw — alcohol consumption/tipsy!reader x tipsy!jamie, accidental exhibitionism (jamie getting handsy at a bonfire bc he just can't resist lol), suggestive lang + innuendo, + general fluffy filth but nothing super explicit really, pretty tame for me tbh 

jamie drysdale has never been so pleased to have lost a fight in his entire life.

he didn't think it'd get cold enough to warrant lugging around an extra blanket (meaning him, not you—he's a gentleman). you thought otherwise, and pestered him until there was one neatly folded in the backseat.

objectively speaking, jamie was right; it wasn't even chilly. he was actually a little warm, if he was being honest, but that had a lot more to do with his wandering, beer-soaked mind than the weather or a superfluous layer.

—and he had a tent in his pants to prove it.

it's his own fault. he pulled you into his lap when there were more than enough lawn chairs scattered around the blazing fire, knowing full-well you fidget when you're tipsy. jamie knows you can't sit still to save your life, yet he sat you across his thighs anyway. and now he—and his raging hard-on—are paying the price.

he isn't embarrassed he's turned on, that's not the problem. that's never the problem. you've been dating for years, and anyone who's shocked by the effect you have on him has bigger problems than jamie's attraction to his own girlfriend.

it's the fact that he's about ten seconds away from pulling your suit to the side and rutting into you in the middle of a public beach with his friends not even a foot away.

someone across the half-moon crowd says something that makes you laugh—makes you wiggle. jamie's hands tighten on your hips to keep you still, but, by this point in the night, his body is too lax to be of much help. if anything, the impassioned touch eggs you on, and it isn't long before his hips are moving to match your mostly-involuntary movements.

jamie hisses through gritted teeth, jaw clenched so tight it aches. "baby, quit it—please."

fluttering half-lidded eyes meet his, clock his internal struggle, and immediately twinkle with mischief. under the guise of shifting your attention, you rub the outside of your thigh against the bulge threatening to tear his trunks.

"quit what?" you ask with a demure smile, your hands looping themselves around his neck. warm fingertips play with the feathered locks tickling his sunburnt neck, making him shiver.

"you know what," he glares. "i don't know when we'll get back home, and you're driving me insane."

"touch me here."

blinking in disbelief, he balks. "w-what?"

"touch. me. here."

each word is punctuated with a chaste peck to his ever-reddening cheek. the succinct affection bounces you in his lap, and jamie can't help but slide his hands further beneath the sandy blanket. at first, to halt the infuriating friction but, like usual, once his hands wander he just can't stop. consequences—and shyness—be damned.

"s'not a good idea." jamie nips your jaw, dotting a line of warm kisses along your neck, stopping once his nose brushes your ear. "my baby's loud as shit, and i'd rather not have an audience."

you swat his chest in offense, but giggle nonetheless. "am not!"

"are too." he smiles up at you.

"i can be quiet," you huff, determination furrowing your brow.

jamie reaches up to smooth the crease with his thumb. you catch his arm and press a sweet peck to the inside of his wrist. he shudders.

you hum into his skin, "i think you're projecting."

"that right?" your boyfriend feigns ignorance, amused.

"let me prove it," you whisper before leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. with your forehead flush to his, you try again. "please, jamie. i can't wait anymore—and i certainly can't wait until t strikes out with whoever he's obsessed with this week."

jamie snorts.

you make a solid point; it could be another ten minutes or upwards of two hours. his guess was as good as any—trevor himself included. jamie's really starting to hate that him finally fucking his own girlfriend hinges on his best friend's ability—or inability—to seal the deal.

"you make even a peep, and i stop. got it?"

what's the worst that could happen if he indulges you a bit? no one's even paying attention to either of you, anyway.

you nod, bottom lip pinched between your teeth. jamie tugs it free, fingertip dancing over the fresh indentations. your tongue slips out to tease his sun-soaked skin, and it isn't long before the digit is flush to your hot tongue.

jamie's eyes are almost black with lust as they watch your lips welcome and release his finger over and over again. your eyelids fall as he slips into a trance, mesmerized by your mouth.

"words, baby. gimme words," he prods, the words barely audible.

you surrender his hand with a faint pop, blinking down at him like you're already teetering on the precipice. "no sounds or you stop—i got it," you parrot. "now are you going to touch me?"

"needy, needy, baby," jamie teases after stealing a kiss. "i've spoiled you rotten, haven't i? can't even go a couple hours without begging me to touch you... s'alright, i can barely keep my hands of you. 'specially when i've got you sittin' all pretty in my lap like this."

"—jamie, please, just... just touch me already—need t'feel you."

chuckling to himself, jamie mercifully pushes the sodden material out of the way. he nearly moans at what he finds.

how much of it is from the evening dip you took with a couple of the other girlfriends, it's hard to tell, but he'd put good money on it being little to none. no, the damp patch growing in his lap is all you. sweet and warm, and perfectly you.

you gasp when he collects some of the escaped arousal with a few of his fingers. jamie raises a brow in your direction and you cover your mouth apologetically. he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. you're trying so hard to keep quiet, it's adorable.

"—haven't even done anything and you're already breaking your promise," he chides. "how am i supposed to give you what you want when you're already misbehaving?"

"the other one," you breathe. confused, jamie hesitates. "give me your other hand."

you fish his free hand out from between your bodies and bring it up to your mouth. his eyes bulge out of their sockets once your intentions become obvious; you mean to silence yourself by sucking on his middle and marriage as he fucks you with the other hand. your back is mostly to the group, but he's still paranoid as all hell.

yet, jamie can't bring himself to deny you—or himself.

"you're gonna be the death of me," he groans as your head dips.

too turned on to care, jamie relents and slips a gentle finger into you. your eyes pinch shut, teeth catching on his other hand, but no sound leaves you. as a reward for your good behavior, he sinks in even further, until he's knuckle-deep at both ends.

his movements are much slower than normal, but, somehow, it doesn't matter. jamie's thumb seeks out your clit, sensitive and swollen despite its neglect, and he traces lazy circles between deep, measured thrusts. all the while, he mouths at your neck with little concern for what evidence he might leave behind. jamie's sole focus is making you feel as good as he does right now with his half-naked, hot-as-hell girlfriend writhing in his lap, her pretty pussy clenching around his lucky fingers.

"—j-jamie," you warble around his drenched hand, hips bucking into the other with what little leverage you have positioned like this. "—close, s'close."

oh, he knows. he can tell. jamie knows your body better than you do; he's a diligent student.

"are you, baby?" jamie can't resist a bit of taunting. you're too far gone to push back. "poor thing, what do you need from me? tell me what you need to get there."

you're slow to answer, overwhelmed by the sensations attacking your mind from all angles. somewhere along the line, a second finger was added... and then a third. the burning stretch aches so good your vision blurs.

jamie, jamie, jamie—the beginning, middle, and end of your thoughts—jamie, through and though. he's everywhere, but it's still not enough.

"my n-neck," you eventually gasp. "please—kiss my neck again."

your boyfriend is more than happy to oblige. lips latched to the tender spot just below your ear, jamie lets his hand take control of the pace; he's no longer content to drag this out. it's been a long day, and all he wants is to watch his pretty girlfriend fall to pieces in his lap.

your peak is ushered in by a series of pitiful little whines and whimpers, mostly muffled by his spit-stained hand, but jamie doesn't have the heart—or the sanity—to chastise you for it. if he had it his way, his mind would play those beautiful, broken sounds on a loop.

but the reverie is too good to last. it always is.

"get a room, you two!"

a chorus of laughter and vulgar remarks succeed trevor's call-out. and, hot under the collar, jamie's cheeks burn pink as he buries his face in the safety of your neck.

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[asimpwithfreetime]

Lowkey need yandereJake sex… imagine you finally get comfy enough to mate with him and he litteraly treats you like a princess the entire time constantly praising you for any action you do 😭

YASSSS GOOD YANDERE JAKE SMUTTTTTT! 💃💃💃💃

Mating time (Yandere! Jake Sully x Fem! Reader)

Content warnings: English isn’t my first language, this hasn’t been proofread yet, it is an extremely loooong one-shot.

General warning: SMUT, if you feel uncomfortable with the idea of this 3 meters tall aliens having monster cocks, please don’t read this 🤠 I have the strange idea that the queue/braid can give them orgasms, so it will be used as an overstimulating prop.

Specific tags for this smut: dirty talking, praising, Jake being a pussy eater (it is already a accepted headcanon in the fandom lol), foreplay, handjob, belly bulge (even if you are a Na’vi), overstimulation, squirting, cum eating. Soft dom! Yandere! Jake Sully. Jake Sully purring and whining. Porn without plot.

[ 3rd Person POV ]

Jake beamed at Y/n as she finished saying that she was ready to mate with him. He had waited so long, trying to not manipulate her. He wanted this to be real, for her and for him.

His tails swished with excitement as he looked at her. “Let’s do this” he said.

They went to a secluded area, Jake seemed so happy he could die. Y/n felt a little bit concerned about it.

“Baby, I am so happy” he said, pulling her towards him and roughly kissing her. His tongue explored her mouth with force, yet his hands were drawing soft and gentle patterns into her skin.

Y/n moaned and Jake could swear he saw the stars. He wanted to hear more of that. He stared peppering kisses along her neck, making her whine. He swore he got harder just for that.

He undid her loincloth rather easily, pushing aside the necklace that worked as a top. His hands traveled the inside of her thighs, not quite touching what was important. His mouth licked, sucked and kissed every patch of skin on her breasts, making the moment hot and romantic. His gentle and caring movements relaxing Y/n.

His hand pressed softly against the skin of her entrance, he caressed every spot with softness. It even seemed like he was teasing her instead of pleasing her.

“Mmmm.. MaJake” Y/n muttered, her whines and moans getting in the way “more…”. Jake smiled proudly, lowering himself until he could start eating her out. Her hands flew to his hair in an instant.

He started licking in circles around the labia, sometimes penetrating her with his tongue. Jake knew exactly what he was doing.

Once he found the clit, he started sucking, making slurping noises just to embarrass her. “Jake, oh Eywa” she moaned, her ears flattened against her skin, her moans escaping her parted lips. “Come on, sweetheart” Jake said, introducing one slender finger into her. She moaned and her back arched.

He continued to make her feel pleasure while he waited patiently for her to cum. Her breath hitched in her throat, her toes curled and for a moment her eyes rolled back. He drank her cum as she released and came down from her high.

“Ah… ahh” she said “For the love of Eywa, Jake, how do you do that?” She asked, amazed. “Do what?” He passed a finger upwards her slit, making her shiver with the tiniest overstimulation.

They began making out again, Y/n tasting herself in his mouth. Her hand began traveling downwards until she found his cock and started playing with it. Jake’s attitude changed, he became whinier and started panting as soon as she started pumping.

Jake moaned deep in his throat. Pre-cum leaked from his top while he started moving his hips to meet the movement of her hand. He didn’t stop once the kissing and he slowly started giving hickeys to her neck once they separated.

“I want to put it in you…” Jake growled as he began softly bitting one of her nipples. She nodded. “Do it” her voice close to a whisper as she continued masturbating him.

Jake steadied himself, giving Y/n one last kiss before aligning his dick on her pussy. “I am going in…” he moaned once he felt the tightness around his dick. “Is so hot I feel I could melt” he says.

Face to face, both moving at the rhythm of their moans and the sound of skin against skin. “Ah… baby” Jake sometimes moaned. He pulled it almost out completely before, without much force, turning Y/n completely around, now she was riding on a reverse cowgirl style.

He started rutting into her with speed, pulling her thoughts up and down with his strong hands. He pressed her to himself, her back against his chest. “Oh look, love” Jake said, stoping the unhuman speed humping to play with her stomach. In the lowers my point of her tummy there was a a bulge that appeared and disappeared as Jake’s cock entered and came out.

Y/n whined with shyness. “Such a beautiful sight” Jake murmured against her hair and pressed one hand against her belly. She moaned, moving her head. Jake noticed that they had just mated “human” style but their queues were yet to be connected.

He took his, nearing hers and seeing how they connected. Soon both of them felt an overwhelming feeling. They could feel their own pleasure but a ten times stronger experience.

“Ahhh… Jake, what are you doing?” Y/n moaned. The new sensation had her body’s sensitivity going over the roof. Her pleasure tingling in every muscle of her body. She felt the coil in her stomach stronger, growing closer to an orgasm.

“Ahhhh, Jake, oh Eywa, what a sensation” she moaned, her pussy clenching around his dick with such force he felt heaven. She came again, her fluids running down his cock and into his thighs. She began a trembling mess, little chills going up and down her spine.

“Ahh, I am coming” Jake said. “Where do you want it?” He asked. Suddenly Y/n turned around dumbfounded. “Where?” She asked.

“There isn’t enough time” he pulled out started immediately jacking off. As Y/n was now sitting on the floor, he got up, lowered himself and demanded “open your pretty little mouth, atta girl”.

Y/n did as ordered, opening her mouth and receiving all of Jake’s load, not letting a single drop be wasted.

[specshroom]

★~Kirara and Hakari flirting with you~★

(No actual smut but it's steamy so Read More just cus)

It starts with Kirara flirting with you to make Hakari jealous. Not anything serious, she just wanted to see what would happen.

She does this by paying more attention to you, touching you more, complementing you more and just being more flirtatious in general. Hakari knows what she's doing obviously, he does find it amusing that you don't seem to know what's going on.

So one day you're training your technique in the fight club training room and they're just watching from the side on a battered couch. Hakari pulls her onto his lap.

"You don't think I know what you're doing?" He says down at her, lazily stroking his hand up her thigh.

She pouts at him, "I don't know what you're talking about, Kin."

He scoffs and looks over at where you're trying to perfect a specific stance for your technique.

"Didn't even work, That dumbass can't take a hint." He mumbles resting his head back, still watching you.

"Well maybe I should try harder."

Kirara says, staring at the same place her boyfriend is.

"Good luck with that, Babe" he chuckles out patting her thigh.

She huffs at the condescending tone and brings all her attention back to him. "Cmon~ you never thought about it Kin?"

"bout what?" He knows what she's talking about and yes, he definitely has but he wants her to say it.

"bout the three of us..." she trails her slender fingers up his chest, looking up at him with lidded eyes, "Together."

Her fingers trails up his neck as she leaves light kisses there and he slides his hand up under the hem of her shorts to squeeze her ass. He leans back and hums for her to continue. She leans closer to his ear, "You could fuck them while they fuck me, or we could both suck you off." Her hand goes to palm the growing bulge in his pants as he smirks and closes his eyes, imagining the pretty picture she's painting for him. "Or we could fuck and have them watch, or you could both double team me, or we could-"

"OH MY GOD! COULD YOU GUYS NOT FUCK IN FRONT OF ME FOR EVEN A SECOND??!"

They both pause and turn their heads to look at you with wide eyes. You stand there, hands on your hips in your compression shirt and sweatpants. You've been trying to concentrate on your training while the lovers mumble and whisper to each other about whatever.

You've gotten used to feeling like a third wheel being around them so often, living with them, working with them. That doesn't mean it didn't bother you when you look over at them and they're half way to fucking right there!

After a second of silence they both let out light laughs. Both amused at your bothered state and the fact that they'd gotten so distracted with their shared daydream.

"Sorry, Y/n!" Kirara yells back, trying to look apologetic. Hakari grins at you and stands up, hauling Kirara in his arms as he walks out of the training room, a clear destination in mind. Kirara giggles as Hakari kisses her neck, her eyes still on you, waving goodbye as the door closes behind them.

You huff in disbelief, looking around the now empty room, definitely not imagining what your two friends are doing together in their room. You go back to training, trying to ignore the heat building in your lower regions.

After this, the couple gets a lot more touchy in front of you, even more than they already were. They also get more touchy with you. Hakari touches your waist and lower back when he's walking past you, he presses you up against the kitchen counter pretending he's trying to reach something above you. Kirara snuggles up to you on the couch and even gives you "friendly" cheek kisses. They also get much louder when they fuck, their moans and bed squeaking being very audible from your room right next door. Unknown to you, they can also hear the frustrated hushed groans coming from your side of the wall right after they fuck.

Safe to say you're pretty sexually frustrated as you sit on the couch trying to watch TV. The two menaces smirk at each other in the hallway, Hakari pats Kirara on her ass, encouraging her to prance into the living room and plop herself right next to you.

"Hey Y/n, You doing alright?"

She feigns concern, pressing up to your side, arms hugging one of yours.

"I'm fine, why?" You answer, confusion present in the tone.

"Well you just seem kinda...moody." She says leaning her cheek on your shoulder.

"Moody?" You arch a brow at her.

"Yeah, just- I dunno. You seem bothered, pent-up....tense." she starts massaging your arm before she places a hand on your thigh.

"Is there anything I can do?"

She says leaning closer to say it into your ear. That's when you realise what's actually happening.

"Uh No Kira it's alright. I'm f-" As you try to get up she pulls you down again and straddles you. Your wide eyes look into her pretty droopy ones, your hands hover in the air on either side of her waist, not sure what to do.

She runs her hands up your chest and shoulders, lowering herself until she rests her groin on yours. You sigh at the feeling and the way she's looking at you until you snap yourself out of it.

"What about Hakari?" Genuine concern very present in your hushed voice. As annoying as the couple was you didn't want to be the reason a perfectly good relationship ends.

"What about me?" A low voice hums right next to your ear, you were so caught up you didn't even notice Hakari leaning over the back of the couch. You suck in a breath, Is he mad at me? Is he mad at Kirara? Am I a homewrecker? You're so caught up in your panic that it takes you a minute to register Hakari's tone. Not one of anger but instead very amused.

Kirara giggles at your reaction and takes your hands in hers to place them on her bare waist. "Poor Y/n, so frustrated, huh Kin?" She says while softly kissing up your neck along your jaw, her cold piercings making you shiver. She slowly starts to grind down on your crotch. Hakari hums in agreement and gently places a hand around your neck to keep you from squirming away while he slowly kisses and licks down the other side of your neck to your shoulder.

"We can help with that." He says against the skin where your shoulder and neck meet before biting down.

You're soooo fucked.

[uglypastels]

Heaven and Hell // (Stranger Things) S.H. x reader x E.M. smut

requests: @ami-is-hungry -- Omgg okay- hear me out-- So, we're at a party y'know we have been dating Steve for aaa few months, and we're not really into parties like that so we invite our best friend Eddie the hot Munson. Steve gets jealous and boom threesome?? jkjk unless 😩✨

@ anon: PLEASE CAN WE GET A THREESOME W EDDIE AND STEVE!! I BEG YOU I NEED IT SO BAD

a/n: you ask and you shall receive!! I had a lot of fun writing this and thank you both for sending in the request as I really needed it to get back into the writing game- also saying that I haven´t written anything in ages and I haven´t written any ST stuff since... season 2 came out??? so I might be a bit rusty. none the less, I hope you enjoy!! Also, in my mind, Eddie´s closest friends (aka reader) call him Munchy, so yeah, that will be coming back in any other fics i write i think. Also plot might be a bit iffy, but let´s be real, no one is here for that.

Please support your local content creators with reblogs and comments &lt;3

word count: 6022

warning: jealous boyfriend!steve, female reader, drugs, drinking, smut (characters are 18+, minors DNI!) -- mmf threesome, blindfold, sex under influence, unprotected sex (no-no), oral (f/m receiving), hair pulling, one ¨slut¨, face sitting, cum stuff. no specific dom/sub dynamic but Eddie kinda takes charge, it just kind of happened.

Big black shape with eyes of fire Telling people their desire - Black Sabbath

‘Oh god, what is Munson doing here?’ Steve muttered into your ear. You sat next to your boyfriend, practically on his lap and entangled in his limbs, while sipping some stale beer from a red solo cup. Then, at the sound of your friend’s name, your head spun in the direction of the door, where you could see his uncombed mop of hair stick out above the masses of hairspray and gel. 

‘I invited him,’ you said matter-of-factly, waving Eddie over. Steve’s eyes bulged in confusion. 

‘What? You… invited Eddie the Freak Munson? Why?’ 

‘Because he’s my friend and now, besides you, the only person I can actually stand in this shithole.’ You got up from the couch to hug Eddie. His arm wrapped themselves around you in a tight and warm embrace that felt nothing but like homely comfort to you. It was a gift which he was very generous with to others.

‘I’m so happy you could make it, Munchy.’ You said mid-hug, squeezing him a little bit tighter. 

‘You know I can never say no to that gorgeous smile, M’lady. And the number of people I could score a deal with here, I’ll be able to feast for weeks!’ With his arm still around your shoulder, he looked in search of a new investment, someone looking for a good time. Then you also noticed he was carrying his, to say the least, iconic black toolbox under his arm. 

‘Alright, let’s break this up, shall we?’ Steve got up from his seat, popping his head between you and Eddie, pushing you slightly apart. ‘Let’s not get too comfortable, yeah, Munson?’ 

‘Don’t worry, Harrington, I’d never dare steal this lady from you.’ Eddie’s smirk didn’t go unnoticed by you or your boyfriend, which probably wasn’t helping the situation. You had known for a long time how jealous and overprotective Steve could get– well, you had heard about it from the girls he had dated in the past, yet never had experienced it first-hand yourself, as you had never found yourself in a situation where Steve would have felt threatened. Indeed, you had never expected this to finally happen with your best friend. The idea alone was ridiculous. 

‘Yeah, well, we’ll see about that, ok?’ Steve grabbed you in an embrace, stating his position clear to everyone, specifically Eddie. 

‘Whatever, man.’ Eddie rolled his eyes, then looked at you, ‘you’re still up for it later?’

‘Mhm, totally.’

‘Later? What’s up later?’ Steve, already feeling three steps behind, looked at you for clarity, so you explained it. 

‘Was going to go outside for a bit, smoke some of Eddie’s good stuff… you can join, of course. If you’d like to.’ 

‘Sure.’ Steve didn’t even hesitate. He glared quickly over at Eddie, who giggled behind his hand at the thought of Steve Harrington smoking a joint for, what probably would be, his first time. He told you he’s meet you out back later after he’d make some sales with the people on the part. So, already looking forward to catching some fresh air, you took Steve by the hand and led him out to the backyard. It was surprisingly empty, with most party-goers still inside the house. You found two declining garden chairs and pushed them into a far corner of the garden, where you would be less likely to be disturbed.

Steve sat down on one chair, and you were ready to sit on the other, but he grabbed you by your hips and pulled you down to sit on his lap. 

‘Hey there, sailor,’ you kissed his cheek. 

‘I’d really prefer for you to not call me that anymore.’ 

‘Hmm, I know but “sailor” is so much better than “home video man”,’ you giggled. 

‘Oh god, stop.’ Steve groaned, but you kept coming up with job titles to call him, even when he started leaving sloppy kisses across your exposed skin.

‘Rental boy?’ He kissed your neck. ‘Hmm, I can’t come up with anything better. So, sailor, it’s.’ Steve’s mouth moved down to your collarbone, which peaked out of your shirt. 

You weren’t sure how far you would have taken it on that garden chair if it wasn’t for the voice you heard behind you. 

‘Don’t mind me, you two,’ followed by a flicker of a lighter and an orange spark of light. 

‘Shit. Eddie, sorry.’ You pulled away from Steve and wanted to get up to face Eddie, but Steve had different plans, keeping you fastly seated on top of him. With his arms around you, you had nowhere to go. 

‘No, it’s fine. I had voyeurism on my try-out list anyway,’ he put a neatly rolled up joint between his lips, flicking the lighter on again. The flame lit up his face as he hid it from your vision with his hands, needing to protect it from the soft wind blowing around you. The flame caught on and burned the tip of the joint. It already had a strong smell, but the smoke that Eddie blew out only made it spread out faster and with more intensity. 

‘You’re disgusting,’ you laughed and watched Eddie let himself fall onto the other chair next to you. He then winked as he took a long drag of the joint. 

He exhaled and was finally able to speak. ‘Mmm, you know it, baby, whoo!’ The smoke came out with his words, and he cheered for the effect it already had on him. You didn’t want to miss out on any more of it and took the joint out of his hand. Steve had not said a word yet, but you felt his eyes on you as your lips touched the rolled-up paper. The smoke filled your lungs quickly, slightly painfully, with the overcoming burning sensation that you had grown to love so bitterly. 

Not wanting to let the smoke out, you couldn’t talk, just hum to get Steve’s attention. 

‘What?’ He tried to ask, but you were quicker with pressing your lips onto him. Like that, you let the smoke travel between you. Knowing it would be the only way for Steve to get high and not pester you with complaints afterwards, it was a strategy. 

‘Oh shit,’ he coughed after you let go. ‘That is disgusting.’ 

‘Just let it do its magic, Harrington,’ Eddie put his arm behind his head as he looked at the dark sky above you. The stars were mostly hidden behind even darker clouds, but some shined through. Steve coughed a little bit more. 

‘Shit, Steve, I’ll go get you some water.’ You would get up, but Steve didn’t let you go. 

‘No, I’m fine, y/n. It’s fine.’ 

‘Ok, then I’m gonna get myself some water.’ You pulled his hands away from your waist and got up, quickly striding back inside. You found some water bottles in the fridge in the kitchen, grabbed three, and walked just as quickly back. With the only two people you were interested in talking to sitting outside, you had no business staying in the room. You wanted to get out of there before some drunken asshole started to talk you up, or someone would spill their drink on you. 

You managed exactly that and got back outside to find the most unusual image. Steve and Eddie passed the joint between themselves, giggling like two school girls. 

‘What did I miss?’ you asked curiously, handing them their own ice-cold water bottle. Steve immediately started drinking his, but Eddie filled you in on the last few minutes. 

‘We were just talking.’

‘About?’ You decided to sit on the ground. The freshly cut grass smelled so much better than the grass being smoked up by the three of you. 

‘You.’ Steve said, which made you raise an eyebrow, so he added: ‘and how pretty you are.’ It really took him that fast to be out of it, huh? You couldn’t help but laugh. There was no way those two idiots had just spent the previous five minutes gushing about you. Well, maybe Steve, but why would Eddie…

‘No, it’s true,’ Eddie said, nodding lightly and handing you what was still left of the joint. ‘You’re like… insanely hot.’

‘Dude!’ Steve said, ‘that’s still my girlfriend you’re talking about.’ 

‘Yeah, believe me, I know.’ Eddie kept his head up on his knuckles. You couldn’t tell if the hazy smile came from the drugs or something else. You also started to feel that “insanely hot” comment slightly too literally as your face heated up. Hearing Steve compliment you as he does was still something you weren’t wholly grown used to, but now Eddie was sitting next to you, looking at you the way he does with those big brown eyes of his, not to mention the weed was hitting all the right spots… you were getting dizzy. 

Or maybe you had inhaled it for too long because suddenly, you were coughing. Finally, one of them unscrewed the cap of your bottle, and you downed the contents. 

‘Fuck- thanks,’ by your own voice, you had still gone a bit sore, but at least you weren’t choking on smoke any longer. 

‘Are you ok?’ It was Eddie who asked; he had come off the chair to sit on the ground next to you, his hand on your shoulder. His face was full of concern. Steve had the same expression on his features, just a few feet away. And then he registered Eddie’s position next to you, and some anger overtook him. 

‘You see she’s fine, Munson. Back off.’

‘I’m not doing anything, man.’ Eddie laughed, and his words were echoed by you: ‘he’s not doing anything, Steve. Calm down.’ 

‘I want to but it’s really hard to do when this guy wants to fuck you this bad.’ 

‘Woah! Woah! Woah! Take a step down Harrington!’ Then, as if you were burning up, Eddie jumped up and stepped back. ‘No one– there is nothing– No.’ 

‘We’re just friends.’ You went in to defend your best friend. Here it was; Steve’s jealous side was showing its true colours. 

‘I believe you, y/n.’ Steve said, ‘it’s the Freak that I don’t trust.’ 

‘Steve,’ you weren’t enjoying where this was headed and wanted to break it off before it would go too far and someone would get seriously upset. But Steve’s words didn’t have that effect on Eddie, apparently. He laughed, actually. 

‘No, it’s alright, y/n. I get it. I would be jealous too if I had a girlfriend like you, an unmatched ego without any skill to please a woman.’ 

Steve didn’t hesitate, nor did he waste a second to get up and press himself up against Eddie. They were ready to fight, you could tell as you were trying to pry yourself between them and keep whatever was happening in check. 

‘Guys–’ you tried, but it all fell on deaf ears. There was only one other thing you thought of, but it felt ridiculous to say out loud, and it had a significant chance of making things even worse than they were, but the drugs were working their natural magic on you, and your verbal filter was shut off for the moment. So, you said that slightly intrusive thought when it popped up in your brain. 

‘So prove it!’ You shouted while both of them were yelling something vague about being really good in bed. Those three words coming from your mouth were enough for them to halt their silly fight and look at you dumbfounded. 

‘What are you talking about?’ Steve asked. 

‘You’re both trying to outdo the other and you’re both saying how great you fuck, so… prove it. Both of you. Fuck me.’ 

‘No way.’ ‘Okay.’ 

They glared at each other at the sound of the other one’s answers. 

‘What do you mean, “okay”?’ Steve said. 

‘What, are you too pussy Harrington?’ Eddie was probably taking a greater enjoyment out of annoying Steve than he would have by having sex with you. He had a shit-eating grin on his face, and it only grew in size as he got under your boyfriend’s nerves. 

‘Seriously, cut it out.’ 

‘I’m just following the lady’s orders, man! Can’t say no to lady!’ 

Steve looked at you, then at Eddie. Then back at you. He sighed slowly and wildly exaggerated before rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘What exactly did you have in mind, y/n?’ 

‘I– hadn’t actually thought that far ahead,’ you admitted, ‘just thought… you guys could figure it out. So play nice and fair, and all that, figure out your own problems amongst each other. 

‘And what? You would just be… doing what, exactly?’ 

‘Enjoying myself.’ you couldn’t keep back the smile on your face. How ridiculous it sounded; you kind of wanted it to happen now. Steve and Eddie were standing in front of you, looking at you with most likely very similar thoughts running through all your heads. Or, you hoped that while you were thinking of what they could do to you, they were thinking of what they would do to you. 

‘This is insane. Actually insane.’ Steve suddenly turned around and started talking to himself. ‘I can’t believe I’m— and you’re ok with this?’ he faced you and looked you dead in the eye. The lump in your throat went down slowly, but you nodded. 

‘Say it. I gotta hear you say it.’ 

‘Yes. I’m perfectly ok with it, Steve.’ You both looked at Eddie, who seemed, then confirmed, not to have a single issue with this plan. 

‘Ok,’ Steve let out another sigh. He was about to say something before changing his mind quickly. ‘Actually, no, can you give us a moment,’ he asked Eddie and then took you by the hand and led you a few feet away from where you were standing. It wasn’t the actual privacy, as Eddie could still most likely hear what you were talking about, more so the idea of privacy while you discussed everything. 

‘Right, so, seriously, what was you idea for this?’ 

‘I really had not thought you’d consider it, Steve,’ you laughed out of nerves, ‘I mostly just said it so you wouldn’t beat each other up. There’s no need for you to break your nose. Not again.’ That got a little smile out of Steve, but it faded with his next question:

‘This isn’t some weird scheme to just hook up with Eddie, is it?’

‘Now I want to punch you. No, Steve it really isn’t. I would have so many more and easier ways to hook up with him, and you wouldn’t even have had to know.’ 

‘Ok, well… wait, what?’ There had been a slight delay in Steve’s mind. You had already been walking back to the chairs when he let your words form entirely. You blew him a quick kiss.

 ‘Everything figured out there?’ Eddie asked when you came back. 

‘Mostly, I think.’ 

+++++++++

You were the first one that walked upstairs. Everyone knew Steve, and Eddie stood out in his own little way, so you were the most inconspicuous of the three of you. You looked around the upstairs corridor and searched for an unoccupied and reasonably clean room. It felt wrong to be scouting for a sex room in a stranger’s house, but the adrenaline and the weed were taking over your morals that night. 

The last room on the left had a made-up king-sized bed and a dresser in it; the unpersonal touch in the interior indicated to you that it was, in fact, a spare guest room, the best possible out of all them. 

You sat down at the edge of the bed, ignoring the nerves coming up inside. Should you get undressed or let them have that fun? Was sitting like that ok? Or maybe they expected a little show? You had no idea what to do. 

Then there was a soft knock on the other side of the room. Nervous, you jumped up to open the door yourself and, to your surprise, both men were standing in the corridor, even after you had decided it would be best for them to come in separately to not draw in any nosy bastards that were also at the party. 

‘We were thinking,’ Eddie said while stepping inside the room, already making you regret leaving the two of them alone for the second time that night. ‘And we want you to put this on.’ He showed you the bandana that he had hanging from his jeans. 

‘Don’t worry, it’s clean.’ He added and handed you the piece of material. It was soft and, indeed, looked clean.

‘What am I supposed to do with it, exactly?’ 

‘Nothing, really,’ Steve came up from behind you and took the bandana. He gently draped it in front of your eyes and tied it by the two ends behind your side. ‘It’s just for you too look pretty.’ His words send shivers down your spine. They wanted to blindfold you. Take away an entire sense for the night that would most likely end up in a lot of overstimulation. 

‘We thought this would make things a bit more fair,’ Eddie sounded much closer to you than initially, his words whispered right into your ear. ‘Besides, it would calm Harrington down knowing you’re not only with him for his boyish charm and looks.’ 

That pulled a laugh out of you that Steve probably took slightly personally. But if so, he didn’t let that be heard. His hands, for you’d recognise his touch at any time, moved over your body as he spoke. ‘We’ll undress you now, alright, sweetheart?’ 

‘O-ok.’ you didn’t know where the shake in your voice was coming from. 

‘And as we keep going, we’ll ask you how you feel, so it’s important you be honest with us, got it?’ Eddie was on your other side; you felt like your little Devil and Angel were talking to you, except both were absolutely filthy, and neither had much pureness in them planned for the night. 

‘Yes.’ 

‘Good girl. Keep it up just like this.’ 

You didn’t know if Eddie was talking about the blindfold or your willingness to give into them. Then, both of them took a step back from you. The light was dimmed in the room, so you couldn’t see anything from behind the blindfold even if you tried. With one sense taken away from you, you tried to focus on everything else, and you could hear them shuffle around a bit, but it wasn’t possible to figure out which one of them had positioned themselves on your left and which one on your right. 

A cold hand reached out for you, making you shiver from the suddenness. They moved slowly over your body before reaching for the buttons on your shirt. It was Steve’s shirt actually, an old one you borrowed before going to the party. You had been at his place, too lazy to head back to your own house to change. Never in a million years had you thought then that you would be being undressed by Steve and Eddie four hours later. The shirt was pulled off your arms, and you could hear it fall to the ground in a corner. It was thrown back there. Then either of them made a start on taking off your trousers. It was a slow, fumbly and awkward process, making you giggle as it went on, but the kisses he (whoever he in this scenario may have been) left down your leg as he pulled your jeans down made your laugh just that little bit shakier. 

You were left only in your underwear then. There were moments when you could have sworn it sounded like more clothes were coming off, but in the darkness, everything got more confusing, and you couldn’t be certain of anything. 

‘I really hope I’m not the only one getting naked,’ you asked nervously. They didn’t respond, verbally at least. Instead, they both took you by the hand and guided you forward. Then you felt it, two chests, skin soft and much warmer than the icy cold hands that had teased you earlier and were still holding on to you. But they let go soon after, leaving you to explore what was in front of you on your own. So you did; moving your hands up and down, you could feel both men had taken their shirts off. 

Your hands moved down, expecting some kind of layers, but nothing was left. A soft belly, a hip dip– ‘Oh god, I’m sorry,’ you pulled your hands away when you realised what you had just touched. 

‘It’s ok, baby,’ Steve reassured you. You took a deep breath, but it only got harder to breathe when Steve whispered his following words: ‘did you feel how hard I am for you?’ 

‘Yes,’ you whimpered. He was still standing there. Too far to actually be touching you, maybe just an inch or so, but you felt his presence near you. A warmth radiating off his body onto you. His breath on your shoulder. You wanted to look into his eyes, kiss him, but that wasn’t what the guys had planned, it seemed like, so you stayed put. 

‘Are you gonna fuck her, Harrington, or are we just gonna stand around?’ evidently, Eddie was getting restless. 

‘Way to ruin the surprise there, Munson,’ Steve groaned. Right. They didn’t want you to know who was doing what to you. That way, you’d be able to “judge” fairly. Without knowing who was doing what, you’d be able to say what felt better without feeling the need to be partial to either of them.

‘I’m sorry, was the surprise to bore your girlfriend to sleep? Is that the “freaky” shit you two are up to without me? Jesus,’ he sighed out the small curse. Then he, you assumed it was Eddie, at least, guided you over to the edge of the bed. You sat down on the mattress while the guys shuffled around a little bit, and the idea of them trying to figure out a position to stand in while naked was quite amusing to you. 

Then, Steve said from the other side of the room: ‘y/n, why don’t you lie down for us, baby.’ And so you did, already anticipating what would come next– and you could feel the anxiety through your entire body. Waiting for either of them to finally touch you. 

And one of them finally did. Soft and slow kisses on your thighs as hands kept you steady between him. He spread your legs gently but still let his lips trail over your legs, teasing you effortlessly. 

‘Please,’ you said after what felt like an eternity. ‘I need you.’ You hoped that by saying this, you would find out who your torturer was, but not a peep came out of either man. It was a confusing situation, not being able to see the man that was pleasuring you the way that “he” was. You wanted to be able to praise them, tell them properly how much you enjoyed it, and for selfish reasons, you wanted to see it happen. The image of one of those incredibly handsome men worshipping your body– but all you saw was pitch darkness. 

‘C’mon, please,’ you tried again, and it was slightly more successful this time. Your panties were pulled aside, and a little puff of air blew over your sensitive skin, hitting the nerves of your clit. And then their fingers, you still didn’t know whose fingers they were, but the feeling of them on you felt like a little piece of heaven. Maybe it was Steve, which wouldn’t surprise you– he always loved to take his time with you and use you as his little plaything– but perhaps had Eddie taken off his large rings to not give himself away too quickly. But, as much as you wanted to use logic to figure it out, it was too much. You couldn’t concentrate on figuring out who the person hovering above you was when their fingers were moving over your soaked slit. 

They moved faster, rubbing circles, then slowed down, and then moved deeper with each tender stroke until you felt him stretch out your walls. A moan escaped you, too loud for your own liking. Not ten minutes had gone by, and you were already giving them this kind of satisfaction… but how could you not when they fingerfucked you so well. He sped up with each moan you made. 

‘Oh my god,’ the heat that overtook your body could have come from plenty of reasons, but it was most likely the feeling of that perfect mouth between your legs. At this point, you didn’t even want to ruin the mystery, and instead of grabbing at their hair, you reached for a clump of the sheets to drag your nails over. 

Apparently, that disappointment in action was shared because the person taking care of you quickly reached for your hand and placed it on top of their head. Your fingers immediately rooted themselves in their soft hair. Soft, long… different from what you were used to…

‘Fuck, Eddie,’ you moaned and, being able to say his name, slightly untied the knot in your stomach. ‘I’m- ah, fuck.’ The blindfold had little effect now, so you pulled the material off your face with your free hand. The light in the room, still dim, wasn’t blinding but took a moment to get used to. But once you did, you were greeted with the gorgeous image of a pair of deep brown eyes looking up at you, his casual smirk temporarily occupied with your slit as he sucked on it, pulling another moan out of you. 

You looked around for Steve and didn’t need to search far, as he had taken a seat in the chair in the corner, his hand on his dick, and his head was thrown back. 

‘Steve,’ you called out your boyfriend’s name as casually as you could while another man was eating you out. He immediately met your gaze, surprised to see your eyes uncovered. He had probably made his way over to you in less than a second, perhaps thinking you were in pain or some other discomfort, ready to help. 

‘Babe–’ You didn’t let him finish his sentence. Instead, you opened your mouth and looked up at him as innocently as you could. 

‘You’re gonna be the death of me,’ Steve chuckled, getting on top of the bed. ‘Absolute menace.’ 

‘You know it,’ you winked, and at that moment, Eddie decided to insert his fingers back into you. You moaned, looking down at him in a bit of confusion. 

‘I’m feeling left out,’ he said with a faux pout. 

‘I’d never forget you, Eddie.’ the smile on your face was already becoming more and more sheepish, but the fire in your stomach was far from getting blown out. Precisely because of this, you got up on your knees, startling both of your men, and sat up. 

‘Something wrong?’ Eddie asked. 

‘Not at all,’ you patted the spot on the mattress next to you for him to sit, and as soon as he did, you kissed him. It felt very peculiar but not wrong in any way to kiss him. The fact that Steve was right behind you didn’t shoot any alarms either, unlike you had expected it to. It should have made you feel off that you were making out with Eddie, but the worries evaporated out of your mind once you felt Steve’s hands on you, and he started kissing your neck from behind. While you cupped Eddie’s cheek in one hand, your other moved down to stroke Steve’s length, and it didn’t take long for him to moan out against you. 

In the meantime, Eddie was growing harder by the second. Finally, when you looked down, you saw his dick against your leg, tip painfully red. 

‘Mmm, ok, how do we want to do this, boys?’ you straight up asked them, knowing they would have their own preference to what to do. Meanwhile, you just wanted that hollow feeling between your legs to go away, not really caring who would be the one to do it. 

‘I’m sure Harrington wouldn’t appreciate me using up your pussy the whole night,’ Eddie slapped his hand lightly over it, making you jump, which in turn made his smirk resurface. ‘Besides, I’ve sort of fallen in love with that mouth of yours.’ He took your lower lip between his teeth, pulling just the slightest bit before letting it go and saying, 'an’ I’m dying to find out what else it can do.’ 

You looked over at Steve, needing to be sure he was fine with it since he hadn’t said much. You made eye contact, and he smiled his lovely grin. 

‘Are you ok with this?’ He actually asked you, ignoring your unasked question to him. 

‘Absolutely.’ Your eagerness was undoubtedly high and didn’t go unnoticed. 

‘Alright, calm down there,’ Steve chuckled, slapping your ass playfully, ‘I don’t think you want to show Munson just how much of a slut you are, right of the bat.’ 

‘I think we’re way past that point,’ Eddie joined in, and you rolled your eyes at both of them, and not wanting to continue this teasing of yours, you decided to take small control of the situation. You got down on all fours without saying a word, facing Eddie. That shut them both up fairly quickly. 

Steve was the first to take action, putting his hands on your hips and aligning himself at your entrance. He loved to take his time going in, and while it usually killed you, you had a view to look at this time. The time that Steve took to tease you, you spent teasing Eddie. Fluttering your eyelashes every now and then at him with a sweet smile, biting your lip, all that dewy stuff guys drool over. You didn’t really have much experience with other guys, so you stuck your tongue out like Steve liked. It was just a bit too far to reach Eddie. Now, you would lie if you said you didn’t want him there and then, but sometimes waiting it out just a little bit could make things better. 

Eddie, in the meantime, started to clump up your hair in a makeshift ponytail. He was careful and very gentle, ensuring that he didn’t pull too hard (yet) on a loose strand of hair or didn’t lose any of it from his grip. 

‘Steve, please,’ you needed him to hurry up, already knowing that you were practically dripping for him. 

‘You heard the lady, Harrington. Get a move on.’ Eddie’s dark eyes were practically black at that moment, filled with the need for you. 

‘Don’t tell me what to do, Munson,’ Steve groaned, finally letting himself slide inside you. He did it in one swift move, stretching you out. And once that happened, he didn’t waste a second and started to move with all the strength he had in him, and through that, he managed to hit your deep spots with every thrust. His hands dug into your sides, and the way his hips met yours through his movements, you knew you’d get sore from it in the best way possible.

But Steve definitely, maybe purposefully, made it hard for you to stay up on your hands and keep your head up for Eddie.

It was like a chain reaction. First, Steve would thrust into you, and in all that ecstasy, you’d moan around Eddie’s cock, which would send all of those vibrations like electricity through his entire body. Then, either as a treat or punishment for it, he’d pull that ponytail he had worked so hard on to keep neat. He’d pull your hair, and you would tense and squeeze around his length. And just like that, in the perfect little circle of it all, Steve would respond with his pretty moans. 

‘Fuck baby, you’re doing so good,’ he panted, slowing down. Eddie, however, kept up his own rhythm. It was sloppy, and you couldn’t imagine it was attractive at how he made you drool, but he kept going, hitting the back of your throat. 

‘So… good,’ Eddie responded to Steve’s earlier statement. A tear rolled down your cheek, and he was quick to wipe it away with his thumb. He cursed under his breath when, once again, he managed to hit the back of your throat and make you gag. His grip on your hair tightened even more, and to add to it, Steve started to slow down his movements. Slow down, but he used all his energy to make you feel it with each move. Slow, but hard and precise. They were both close; you could feel it. 

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Eddie, being new to your body and limits, pulled out. 

‘It’s fine, Eds,’ you smiled at him and opened your mouth again for him. He hesitated, looked at you, then at Steve, who must have given him some kind of green light that you couldn’t see from behind you. But it wasn’t enough for Eddie, who still looked for another confirmation in you. 

‘Come on, Eddie, I know you want to do it.’ You licked his tip, and it was almost enough for him to burst. Then, while Steve pushed out his last strong thrusts, Eddie spilt inside of you. Maybe it was what Steve had been trying to hold on for, as he didn’t come much later. It was by far the dirtiest moment in your life, being filled up by your boyfriend and best friend, taking in their cum like it was made for you. 

Finally, they slowed down to a moment of halt. Some of Eddie’s cum spilt out of your mouth, and the realisation hit you that you were in a stranger’s bed, who would probably not be very excited at the image of those strains on their covers. 

‘Ah shit, wait,’ Eddie moved away and jumped off the bed in the direction of what you presumed to be the bathroom. Steve then took on his usual “caring boyfriend” role and helped you lie down comfortably. 

‘Did you cum?’ Of course, those were the first words that came out of his mouth. 

‘Steve-’ 

‘Did you?’ 

‘Honestly, I don’t know. I was too occupied with the whole “two dicks inside of me” situation.’ That was probably the dumbest way you could have phrased it, but because of that same situation, you were too tired to think and sound more poetic. 

‘You didn’t, did you?’ His eyes saddened immediately at the idea of neither him nor Eddie actually managing their goal. But as quickly as the spark disappeared, another kind of glint emerged in his eyes. ‘C’mere.’ 

‘What?’ You looked and sounded confused as he tried to pull you up. 

‘Just hold onto the frame.’ He shuffled down the mattress to lie down. ‘I’m promising you, you’re not walking out of this room until you’ve come… at least twice.’ He wanted to make it up to you, clearly. 

You sat up like Steve told you to, laughing to yourself, with your legs on either side of his face. The sound of your laugh was already plenty of fuel for him to get going again, and it all started again with a kiss to your core. Steve wanted to prove a point, and he was sure as hell gonna do it well. 

‘Round two already?’ Eddie had just walked out of the bathroom, cold and wet towel in hand just for you and the sight that greeted him was of you sitting on Steve’s face. Something he had not prepared for but now would never want to forget. You tried to reply, but Steve was much too distracting. You were mid-moan when Steve said from between your legs: 

‘This is still round one, man.’ And Eddie didn’t need to hear another word. He was just as ready to make it up to you for the rest of the night. 

The End

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[k-hotchoisan]

🔮 Divination with the Demon 🔮

Behemoth demon!San x fem witch! Reader

Synopsis: outcasted by your previous coven due to your overly sharp and dangerously specific divination readings of the fall of your coven, you were exiled to being alone for the next 562 years. Sick being in solitude and missing your deck, you summon a behemoth demon to make a new one.

Word count: 6K

Genre warnings: general Smut, San is an eldritch being so he has like a demon sized dick, ritualistic things (magic talk and lingo), demonic contract with San through unprotected sex, riding, multiple orgasms, creaming & cream pies, oral sex (f receiving) cum drinking (not a lot), bulge kink, finger pricks (only once), dry humping(?), biting and bleeding, San is a really sweet behemoth—just like the one in the game!❤️

A/n: loosely based off this wonderful game—The Cosmic Wheel, Sisterhood🔮 (please go ahead and support indie creators! ❤️). I was so inspired bc the behemoth in game is such a flirt hehehehe no please I’m down bad for enough people already. 😐

Enjoy!

“So you were exiled here due to treason within the coven, and concern of spreading panic via divination readings by the supreme”, the witch arbitrator announces as she reads out from the book. “You’ve been here for 289 years already?”

“Concerned is an overstatement”, you reply through gritted teeth. “She cursed me, banished me here for the next 562 years, and burned my deck. That’s pretty fucked up.”

The arbitrator raises an eyebrow as her gaze returns to the book. “Well I suppose I could grant you visitation at least because by the records here so far, you’ve been pretty-behaved.” Your temper cools off a little—just a little. It was a step forward, albeit a fucking tiny one. “Yes. I think that would be fine, Arbitrator. Thank you.”

She nods at you. “Behave well and I’m sure she can’t implicate anything else on you. Please take care”, she says before leaving the window on her flying stick. You stare as her figure quickly disappears into the starless night sky.

You sigh in annoyance. It was ridiculous how the supreme deemed your divination readings a threat, then subsequently accused you of treason and causing unrest within the coven, just because the other sisters had started leaning onto you for your accurate readings. Was she afraid of your prophesized dissolving of the coven, or was she simply scared of being overthrown? Whatever it was, being stuck here in solitude for 562 years, and your deck burned at the stake was not on your bingo list.

You nibble on your thumb nail, thinking of what to do. 289 years had passed since then, and all you had been doing was meditate and reflect on your actions. You had an itching to get your deck back—or least have a temporary deck or something. Your eyes flicker to your grimore lying at the bottom of your bookshelf and a lightbulb goes off in your head.

If you couldn’t get your deck back, why not make a new one? However the only issue is that a contract had to be made in order to breathe magick into the deck. You’ve never tried this ritual before but desperate times called for desperate measures—you really needed to do a reading.

You circle the wooden floor with your fingers, feeling the bumpy texture—each crease and indent. Retrieving your matchbox, you pull out the deep purple matchstick from the bundle, and began lighting the dark-coloured candles formed in a circle, and finally the incense sticks that were lodged in a miniature caldron, used for holding said sticks for your rituals.

Dabbing your your index finger with a black inky substance, you draw out a summoning rune onto the wooden surface, chants leaving your lips as you do so. It was a perfect full moon that night, just what you needed. You sit at edge of the summoning circle, with your grimore open at the side, carefully reading the spell.

Taking out a small silver needle, you prick your middle finger, letting the blood pool the size of a pinprick before letting the drop of blood splatter onto the middle of the black rune, reciting your final chant.

For a moment, the room is dead silent. Then the wind picks up, howling into the dead of the night, the flames on the candles dancing to keep burning, then being quickly extinguished one by one. Your curtains flutter violently, as you notice the full moon turning into a crimson colour. You stay seated as the wind whirls around you and the grimore’s pages flipping non stop. The rune activates, along with your blood which sinks into the black ink, and something slithers up to your window.

“Come in,” you invite, your gaze never breaking from the entity. It hisses at first before turning into a more human-sized creature as it enters your room, its feet gingerly touching the wooden floor.

The candles’ flames flicker back on, you look up at the entity standing before you. He barely looked like a behemoth demon—not like the one described in the book at all. Instead, he looked pretty fucking young—he has an appearance of a younger male actually. His eyes were silts as black and red markings smudged at the ends of his eyes. Speaking of his eyes—they were a glowing red, almost enchanting. Incantation runes were littered all over his arms and limbs, all visible since he was wearing a black vest. A third eye was present right smack in the middle of where his cleavage dived into, it’s iris a deep red as well. His hair is jet black with cream streaks and slicked back, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and facial features. His lips are stretched slightly wider than a human’s, and seemingly torn black wings extended out from his back.

He tilts his head at you in curiosity. “A witch summoned me?” he asks as he inches closer to you.

You nod, still seated. “I’ve summoned you to make a blood bind with you. I need a new deck.”

“Well, you’ve definitely summoned the right behemoth, that’s for sure. What happened to the deck you’ve been using?” he prods, his jet black fingers tapping on his chin.

“It was burned by my coven’s supreme. She banished me here because she was scared that the coven would dissolve because of my divinations”, you reply.

“Quite a bitch isn’t she?” the behemoth replies. You nod. At least someone fucking agrees.

He cracks his knuckles. “Well, you’ve definitely came to the right behemoth. They call me San”, he introduces as a smile spreads over his pretty face.

You smile. “You don’t look how what I expected you to look actually.”

And that cracks San up, his sharp fangs all visible. “I get that a lot. It’s just my secondary form I prefer to take on since the first usually can’t fit through windows.”

You surprise your laughter, amused at how casual this behemoth is being. “You’re pretty casual for a behemoth actually,” you point out.

San nods. “Well, I am an eldritch nonetheless, and I’ve been here since these universes were born—I’ve watched them be born and destroyed countless of times. I don’t really feel the need to be intimidating since I’ve been around for too long. You’re the first to have summoned me since the past 3 centuries.”

You nod in interest. “Must have been pretty fucking boring out there, huh?” San only smiles, and that slightly gets you. You look away and shut the grimore before turning back to him.

“So walk me through the process, San” you request. San moves forward and he sits across you, his boney wings tapping against the window panes at how wide they were.

“Well, you know the basics, but we’ll go through it together—the elements—fire, air, earth and water are always the building foundations of any deck. You get that, right?”

You nod.

He continues, “then we go onto the elements of each card—the Arcana—which will determine how you read and interpret the cards.”

Pretty basic deck stuff, but it was great that he was taking the time to refresh your memory since it had been way too long.

“I will go through each element with you per day—you’re basically going back to magick school again. Then once the final element is sealed, that’s when I’ll bind myself to you, through another ritual”, he concludes. “Any questions?”

“What’s the other ritual? Do I need to prepare anything?” You ask. San shakes his head. “The only thing you need to prepare is your consent.”

“Yeah, sure of course.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Get some rest y/n.”

Day one: Air

Sure enough, at the same timing as the previous night, San slithers into your open window, his serpent-like tail splitting into two, long legs as he climbs into your room.

“Good evening to the lovely behemoth”, you greet. San exposes his fanged grin. “I see you’re already prepared for the first lesson.” He glances at the empty deck of cards piled up on the small wooden table. Scattered around are more candles, another stick of incense, crystals and a bowl of ink for rune casting, and finally, a small crystal sword right by the plate.

He begins. “The element air represents the ability to reflect, communicate, to be aware and to perceive. Let that flow through your veins as you charge the card.”

You gingerly placed an empty card onto the selenite plate, and San sits across you, as usual as his fingertips touch yours, where he ends up linking his fingers with yours.

“It’s time to seal the card. Tell me,” San asks, “what do you crave for the most? Power? Love? Knowledge of the universe?”

You pause to think about your answer. And you tell him once you’re ready. He nods in agreement. “You seem like the type.” You roll your eyes.

“We literally just met yesterday, San” you joke. He shrugs, “feels like I’ve known you for an eternity.”

“Lying ass,” you poke. “But you did mention that the last time you did this was, what, three centuries ago?”

San nods. “It definitely has been awhile. To be fairly honest, I had an inkling we would meet soon, just not this soon.”

“And the universe brought you to me”, you hum. “Okay. Back to the Air ritual.”

He gestures you to shut your eyes and you do, so he follows shortly after.

It doesn’t take long for the magick to activate. You feel your energy getting sucked off by San and it feels though as if your body was about to be ripped into a million pieces. San throws his head back in pleasure as a low, manic cackle rumbles through his vocal chords.

“Yes, that’s lovely. Pour in all that energy into me, master”, he sings. He soon lets go of you, and you gasp for air, beads of perspiration clinging onto your forehead and temples. Your hands had slipped out his and you clutch your chest, taking slow breaths.

“Fuck, San, is it supposed to hurt so much?” You heave, eyebrows furrowed. How in Astaroth’s name will you be able to pull through the next three elements if Air is already leaving you clutching for your fucking life? Granted, witches are immortal, they cannot die, but they can still be gravely wounded.

San turns to you and pats your back gently. “I’m sorry my master, it is part of the blood contract. If it makes you feel better, you only have to go through this once per element.”

You stare at him in disbelief, unsure if you should be concerned or relieved. San materialises a silk handkerchief and dabs the sweat off your skin, and your heart flutters slightly at the gesture. Also, since when did he start calling you ‘Master’?

“Your first air card is ready”, he reminds you. “Now you can create more air elemental cards. Be proud of yourself, my master.” He points to the glowing card on the selenite plate. You reach over and flip the card, and sure enough—what you had envisioned on the card was imprinted onto the once empty card. It glimmers a gorgeous white at its accents. You feel the light and airy feeling surging through your hands as you touch the card, and your heart is racing at how many air cards you can begin creating.

He intertwines his fingers with yours, to steady yourself, and you notice that the third eye on his chest was white now. Your breathing has stabled now and you lie onto your bed where San hums you to sleep, telling you to get some rest.

Day 2: Water

“Are you feeling better?” San asks as he hops into your room. You nod, feeling a strange surge of energy after a night’s rest. The sky was always the same—dark and starless.

“We can start with today’s element”, you say, prepared for the class.

San smiles and nods, as always, he takes a seat across you, and you can’t help but get lost in his crimson eyes.

“Water is all about flow, dealing with emotions, fluidity, spirituality. It is a passive element, often linked with healing and love. However, most witches tend to forget that the calmest elements can be the most deadly when used right.”

Undoubtedly, water was always of both opposite spectrums—extremely calm or extremely malevolent if it wanted to be. Today, you had a small chalice decorated in jewels on the body, filled with moon-charged water. You take another empty card, and begin sketching out the rune you want, with your first water card in your head, clear as day before settling it onto the plate. Once you were done, San’s fingers snake in between yours, and you’re starting to get used to this feeling already.

“Now, the Water seal. Tell me; who or what do you hold closest to your heart? You family? Your intelligence? The coven?

It takes you awhile to think of an answer but then you’re confident when it comes to you. San nods as he lets the answer sink in. “I was kind of hoping you’d stray and say my name, yknow,” he teases. You laugh and slap his palm lightly. “It very well could be. It’s kind of hard to pick though honestly. Maybe I just want to feel something again.”

San cocks an eyebrow, quite touched by your passion. “May this lift any heaviness you feel then”, he says, drawing circles into your palm. Your heart only flutters even more.

“Take a deep breath, master. The element will be sealed soon.”

Just like the previous time, the magick activates, and again, you feel a sharp pain, as if struggling against rough tides of water, your breath sucked out of you. San, humming as he absorbs your energy again, his eyes glowing a pale shade of blue this time. You exhale to get a hold of yourself as the feeling washes over as quickly as it came, clutching the edge of your table. You take deep breaths, your vision focusing on the blue glowing card on the selenite plate. You flip the card over, the serotonin boost seeing how gorgeous the water card was—metallic blue covering the borders of the card and the elements within the card at perfect places.

“I should give you a reading for fun”, you suggest, your fingertips tracing the edges of the card. San’s eyes light up at the idea. “We should do one when you’ve got all four elements. I’d love that.”

You slip the card above the Air element card, clearing out the table, preparing to get some rest as San accompanies you through the night.

Day three: Earth

“Now, Earth is known to be an element of grounding, practically, foundation and stability. It reminds you of who you are at the present moment and gives you a place to stand on”, San explains, flicking the coins on the table. “Just like the ground, it is reliable because it is strong enough to hold you up. The only thing is that it’s hard on you as you are hard on yourself.”

“Tell me; what do you tend to harbour the most? Grudges? The past? Emotions?” He asks again. You tap against your lips, wondering about the answer, and then you tell him once you were ready. He nods in acknowledgement. “Interesting answer, as always from you. You’d probably have a lot you held in, especially in the past hundreds years in solitude.”

“Meditation can only get you so far, when you remember that you were exiled for telling the truth”, you say quietly, staring at the moon, which had turned into a shade of ivory. “My sisters were everything to me.”

San knew that very well. Witches treated each other closer than what a conventional family did. A coven was supposed to protect and bond the sisters, not outcast them.

“But do you still have sisters that you want to see?”

You nod, your eyes twinkling at the thought of two precious sisters who had been there through everything. And you yearned to see them again, now even possible that the arbitrator had granted visitation rights. Maybe you’d send a falcon to them once you were done with your deck creation.

“Now, shall we begin? You’d best prepare yourself, master,” San says as he takes your hand in his. You feel your hands moulding into his automatically, nothing but comfort being offered.

Again, San begins extracting your energy and this time was no different from the previous—it stung, it hurt and a wave of nausea hits you this time. Through the ringing in your ears, you hear San’s laughter as the magick seems to tickle him if anything. And then, it was over.

You tilt your head backwards, trying to get some cool air, trying to let the nausea leave your system.

You feel a warm hand pat your back, then rubbing circles.

“You know, most witches would immediately throw up after this round. You’re holding up really well.”

“Guess I’m one of the best witches then?” You find the strength to joke a little. San laughs and replies, “one of my favourites too.”

The nausea soon goes away and colour starts returning to your cheeks. By then, you were already holding the Earth element card up against the moonlight, admiring the sand-coloured decals lined across the card, as well as the border.

Day four: Fire

San looks rather chirpy tonight, there was a bounce in his steps as he settles himself onto the lavender carpet. “Someone’s excited,” you smirk, putting one of your spell books away.

“Of course! Fire’s my favourite element”, he exclaims, playing around with your unfinished deck. You’ve had created a handful of elemental cards already, 12 of each element, while San was both in and out of your room. All there was left was the Fire element and the deck could almost be complete—you could already taste it. You already did a couple of readings as a warm up with San and you found out a couple of things through the divination readings.

One, his true purpose—other than aiding in the creation of divination decks—was to destroy other universes and guide the dead stars to the recreation of a new one.

Two, despite his chirpy demeanour, the cards revealed that there was some kind of loneliness he harbours, being detached and left to watch over the cosmos for millenniums.

Three, you sort of deduce that he was summoned also to seduce you in some sort of way—and he finds that amusing, and he doesn’t deny it.

Needless to say, San is greatly impressed by your divination skills and offhandedly mentions that he’s in love with the cosmos for bringing him to someone like you.

Soon enough, the both of you were back to business—sitting across each other, a wooden wand splayed across the table this time round.

He begins.

“Fire—the element of willpower, ambition and energy. Those who are able to wield this, wield it well, those who can’t—it takes them awhile. Fire is for inspiration, drive, passion. One of the most beautiful yet difficult elements to control. In the beginning, mankind was the first and the only mammals to be able to manipulate fire.”

“No wonder you like this element so much”, you point out as you scribble the rune onto the empty card.

“If you’re able to handle earth, fire might be a level up in intensity. Don’t push yourself if you can alright?” San reminds you, and you could spot the excitement glinting in his eyes. “Now for the seal; who would you sacrifice to the cosomos for your divination deck? Your immortality? Your coven? Or your family?”

That question weighs heavily in your mind and San gives you the time to answer as he plays with your fingers. You finally give him your answer, and he nods in understanding. “You’re willing to let that go?” You nod.

He smiles, “as long as you know it’s the right choice for you. Let’s begin.”

The ritual starts as usual—the swirl of flames from the candles, the howl of the winds. You prep yourself for the burn and it comes—albeit painfully. San’s eyes are fully engulfed in crimson red now, glowing as he feeds into your energy.

“Beautiful! Your essence is beautiful master! I’ve never felt such extraordinary energy from a witch!” He cries out as red fluid leaks down from his eyes. The runes and symbols on his limbs start glowing and his wings expand, filtering the moonlight. That is all you could remember before your mind buzzes, your ears ring and your head pounds as you black out.

Day ??

Your eyes flutter open, and something is different—you feel it. All the pain you’ve felt has faded, as if it never happened. In fact, energy was surging through you—so much energy. You slowly sit up as you look around the room. Everything looks the same as when you finished the fourth ritual. Perfectly at that moment, San emerges from the darkness and appears slightly different—his hair was slightly longer, his eyes had red smudges, which for some reason made him look even more attractive, and the third eye on his chest was a bright red.

“Hey, you’re awake”, he exclaims as he levitates over to you.

“Was it successful?” You ask. San furrows his eyebrows.

“My master, you were out cold for a couple of days, and the only thing you’re worried about is if the Fire ritual was successful? Care for yourself a little more would you?” San pouts as he pulls a cup of cold water into your arms with his magic.

You thank him softly as you take small sips.

“I was out for a few days from the ritual?” You ask again. San nods. Apparently you blacked out just right after San had finished feeding you, and he had caught you in time before you hit the floor.

“How are you feeling though? Any pain?” He asks, concerned as he brushes his fingers across your forehead. You shake your head and tell him you feel a little more different—more powerful or something. San pulls out the beautiful Fire card, reminding you of your craft. You break into a smile as you take the card off his hands and embrace him into a hug.

Now there was only one ritual left—whatever it was. San hasn’t told you yet and you were too engrossed with creating your cards that it slipped your mind.

“The last ritual,” you say, and you notice slight red tinting his cheeks and your curiosity peaks.

“The last ritual, is to bind us together”, he pauses, “through sex.”

Your jaw drops. “Holy fucking shit. Are you serious?”

San nods. “Yeah I am a behemoth in contract after all. That’s why I uh, said the only thing you needed to prepare for for the final ritual was your consent.”

It wasn’t about that. It was about you being fucked by a demon. You haven’t had physical contact with a human for years, let alone a whole ass demon.

“It might hurt compared to a mortal’s but I’ll try my best to be gentle”, he continues. But you see his confidence slowly dwindle the more you stay silent. “I need to consume your blood through biting as well in order for the pact to be bonded by blood.”

You never thought this would be how the contract would finish. Butterflies filled your stomach as you realise how attracted you were to this behemoth who, despite existing since the birth of the cosmos, was gentle and a soft, even a flirt. If anything, it was almost an honour to be one with him.

“Please, San. We can start the ritual. I wouldn’t ask for anyone else to do it with,” you confess as you leave yourself vulnerable for him. That sealed your consent, and the markings on his limbs start glowing again. San held an expression of relief and affection. He reaches out to you and traps you on the bed, in between his arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so happy to hear that”, San confesses next, and his eyes glow a soft, dark red hue. You could see he was trying to hold back.

He leans in slowly and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. He is lips are soft and there was a slight burn as you kissed him, but it only drives you to want to indulge in him even more. Only behemoth demons could taste this good. Maybe only San.

You feel his appendage hardening above you and your heart races. He wasn’t kidding—he was way bigger than any of your previous mortal partners. No way was he gonna fit in you. But at the same time, the challenge of trying to take him was exhilarating to think about.

As the kiss continues to deepen, San pulls off his vest, revealing it bare, and you realise that only his limbs were covered in symbols. He peels off your top and tosses it onto the floor as he continues to kiss down to your chin then to your neck. You exhale in pleasure as your fingers find locks of his hair. His tongue licks your neck and it drives you crazy from the slight pricks.

Your bare tits are out for him to gawk at and he dives into them, licking and squeezing them, only pooling the arousal in between your legs.

Your grip on his hair tightens as your soft moans increase in pitch.

“Does that feel good, master?” San asks as he shifts forward to give you a kiss.

You trace some of the runes on his muscled arm, recognising a few of it. “You’ll look even prettier when my rune is engraved onto you, San”, you flirt, and you feel his cock harden even more, pressing against your cunt. “Of course, only for you, master,” he hums as he rubs you against him, and your mind starts getting lost in the pleasure. He peppers kisses down from your nipples, to your abdomen, then your pelvis and finally to your pulsating pussy.

He spreads your legs, glancing up at you before licking your clitoris, the small barbed edges of his tongue causing your hips to jerk upwards. He dives in deeper, wanting to turn you into a mess.

San slowly plunges two fingers into your wet cunt, swallowing hard at how tight your pussy was, imagining how his cock would definitely fucking stretch you out perfectly. He glances up again, looking at you for a reaction before continuing to pump his fingers. Your moans fill the room as he finger fucks you in bliss, hitting the perfect spot. He adds another and your hips lift from the pleasure. It takes a while for you to adjust, and he pulls out his fingers, soaked in your essence. He gives his fingers a good suck.

“Witches tend to have good tasting essences, and yours just happens to taste the best.” Red creeps across your cheeks.

He removes his pants and underwear, revealing a girthy cock, red and angry, spilling with precum. You had to touch the sides of your lips to make sure you weren’t drooling too much. Fuck, how are you gonna take that in you?

“You’re gonna be fine”, San assures. “Tell me if it’s too much for you okay?”

You nod and San presses his tip at your entrance, and pushes in. Your eyes roll back as he pushes another inch in. Fuck, even the heavens could never compete with this feeling of pleasure. San pauses for second and your eyes flicker to his face, which is contorted in pleasure. He seemed like he was about to explode—and he wasn’t even fully in you yet.

“Y/n, you’re so tight. Gods, you’re squeezing me so good”, he pants, his grip tightening against the sheets beside you.

You decide to be a tease, and you shift your cunt deeper into your cock, and San fucking loses it. His eyes were flickering from crimson red to a lighter shade of red. “My master,” he pants in between. “If you’re gonna do it like that, the heavens won’t know what I’d do if I lost control.”

And that provokes you to tease him even more as you push yourself deeper, at the same time bringing your pleasure to almost a fever pitch. San groans as he pushes the rest of him into you.

“Fuck, San, you feel so amazing. If I knew you’d feel this good, I would have summoned you way earlier”, you cry out as he barely pulls out fully before rutting back into you.

San doesn’t forget to pamper you with kisses. It stings, definitely, but the pleasure is definitely overriding the pain. In fact, the pain was probably egging the pleasure even more.

His fingers trace the bulge at where his cock lies in you. “We fit so well, Master. Don’t you think so?”

You were starting to feel to fucked out to form any rational thought, but you nod, staring at him through hooded lids. He fucks into you a couple more times before you stop him. San’s face switches to an expression of concern immediately.

“I want to ride you. I want to feel your cock fully in me, San”, you barely say, rubbing his face gently with your thumb. He sighs in relief as he pulls out of you, causing you to cry in pleasure again, a string of precum connecting his cock to your pussy.

He takes your hand and guides you to his lap as the both of you get comfortable on his lap.

You adjust yourself to sit on his cock and you start grinding against him, the mix of his and your precum reducing the friction and enhancing the pleasure. You made sure you move forwards to reach the tip of his cock and grind backwards. San throws his head back, crying from pleasure as more precum leaks from his sensitive tip. Grinding up on his cock was making you even more soaking wet, sparking even more pleasure as your clit rubs against his wet cock. You continue to swerve your hips on his cock, loving the slight friction that tingles your core. It builds up from the previous time he ate you out, and when he fucked you in missionary.

“How does that feel, Master?” San asks, half lidded. He was starting to get lost in the pleasure every time you grind up to his tip.

“It feels amazing. I think I’m gonna cum-“ you fight to finish the sentence as you speed up, feeling your orgasm approaching sooner than you expected. You cry out in bliss, your orgasm flooding you as your pussy pulses against San’s twitching cock. San is doing everything in his power not to just lift you and fuck you like this, seeing how soaked you were in pleasure with him.

You feel his hands trail up to your ass as he lifts you up gently, angling his cock at your entrance, and slowly lets you go. Your hands press hard against his naked chest as tears start pooling at the corners of your eyes, while drool starts pooling at the corners of your lips as you sink onto his cock.

“You can take me, Master. I know you can”, he whispers into your ears. You sink in deeper to his length and your fingers dig into San’s broad shoulders. His hands snake to your thighs and he cheekily pushes you down and you scream from the fullness of his cock.

“There you go. There’s my good Master. I love how your pussy feels around my cock”, San encourages. He lifts your ass and drops you back into his cock. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

You nod. “So good it’s almost sinful”, you mange out. San snickers. “Nothing too sinful if a behemoth is fucking you so well.”

You lean in for a kiss, and this surprises San but he immediately reciprocates, deepening the kiss quickly.

Soon enough, you are just mindlessly bouncing in his cock, every thrust sending you closer to the edge. San struggles to keep it together as well, as you feel him rutting his hips up.

“Master, I’m gonna cum”, San says, with an expression of desperation and desire.

“Go ahead. You’ve been doing so well”, you reply as you comb his hair back. He leans in, lips attached to your neck as he continues to fuck into you desperately. He bares his fangs and bites into you as his cock spurts into your cunt, filling you up to the brim. Blood pools at the base of your neck, and you cry from the simultaneous pain and pleasure, your second orgasm hitting you right at that point as you cream all over San’s cock.

San licks up the blood on your neck, and the skin heals almost as quickly as it broke just mere seconds ago, and he’s still fucking cumming in your pussy, his lower abdomen twitching.

He removes his lips from your neck and blood stains pool at the corner of his lips. You lift yourself off his cock, his cum just dripping out of your pussy. San holds you gently as he uses his free hand to collect the mixture of fluids on his fingers. He pushes his cum-covered fingers to you and you take it eagerly, savouring the taste albeit it being salty. He takes his turn to lick his hands.

“The contract has been sealed, master”, San confirms, and his eyes glow a bright red.

“That’s lovely. I wouldn’t ask for anyone else, San”, you smile as you plant a kiss on his lips, which takes him by surprise, but he seems nothing less of satisfied.

As the planet begins to shift from the blood pact being created, it shakes the universe. You don’t know what’s about to happen, nor do you care. A burst of energy enters you as you levitate into the air, feeling the energy of the cosmos, as well as elements of the deck. Your cards shuffle, and float around you, and you see all of your creations in its glory. Your own divination deck, bonded to you by blood.

You take a deep breath in, as you settle back onto the bed, your cards shuffling back into its deck, onto the selenite plate. Something catches your attention, and you walk over to the full length mirror leaning against the wall. Something is glowing. You gasp, looking at the behemoth’s rune engraved into your skin, a beautiful crimson red as the glow fades. San, right behind you, tracing over your rune fondly. You look up to him and you notice he has the same rune engraved into this skin—and the only rune around his chest.

“Now we’re official bonded. You did so well, my master,” he compliments, stroking your hair gently, understanding how taxing the rituals must have been, still admiring the shared runes you both had on your bodies. “I will make you happy, I promise.” Your heart skips at beat at his words.

“San”, you call out, even though he’s standing right by you. He hums in attention, his eyes now on you.

“Do you think we could do this more often? Like the fucking?”

San is stunned for a moment as he processes the question. No one had asked him that before. Usually the binding rituals were solely to bind the energies of the witch and behemoth, and it is never done again. He’s confused but he agrees, seemingly happy that you enjoyed the ritual with him.

And that’s what you drown yourself in—doing divination readings for others and San as well, and taking his cock whenever you felt like it. It was too good to pass on. Not to mention he was so good at aftercare—making sure you were alright after every session. Undoubtedly, San, himself, was really starting to enjoy having sex with you as well.

You couldn’t think of wanting anything else.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Breeding Bitch

Yandere dog-man x Gender neutral reader (CW: Violent/painful noncon, gender neutral reader, non-human genitals, knotting, breeding, musk, piss marking, biting, stalking, kidnapping, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 2.3k (This is a lot more graphic than my normal content, but I talked to the requester privately and they specifically wanted a more violent noncon scene, I know that is not for everyone, so I just wanted to be clear on what this fic has.)

 You had lived on the Space Station Gamma-3 for all of your adult life, you loved your life there. It was absolutely colossal and served as the most important intergalactic space terminal in existence. It offered every possible service a space traveler could possibly need or want. The obvious ones were fuel, food, and drinks, but it also boasted several resorts, cheaper hotels, restaurants serving food originating from many of the different species in the galaxy, and an entire market where traders could peddle various goods.  You worked as a bartender at one of the many establishments. You enjoyed meeting new people, hearing their stories, learning tidbits about different cultures, some of which you had never even heard about before, and occasionally getting dicked down by an interesting traveler with an interesting alien schlong.  That’s how you had met Fynn, a humanoid canid type alien. He looked mostly human, but instead of typical human ears he had cute triangular dog ears that flopped over at the tips slightly growing from the top of his head. He also had a furry blonde tail that matched the color of his curly mop of hair and stood well over 7 feet tall.  Fynn was staying aboard the station for a few months from outside The Milky Way. He had felt like traveling a little bit and this was his last stop before he took his small ship and headed back home.  The first couple of weeks that he was on the station you kept seeing him pop up all around you and show up at the bar that you worked at, especially during the slower hours. It started to seem like you couldn’t go anywhere without almost literally bumping into him. Finally he struck up a conversation, though he was sweating nervously. Over the course of the next few days you got to know him fairly well, and you found his awkward attempts at flirting to be quite charming.  Eventually he built up enough courage to just outright ask if you were looking to mate. He was very sweet towards you and you found his eager but shy attitude endearing, not to mention he was the definition of attractive. Those curly blonde locks, beautiful verdant eyes, tanned skin, cute canine features, and he was quite tall and muscular.  Who wouldn’t want to hookup with that?  The sex was hot and a bit sloppy, once again he was very eager and was determined to please you above all else. He was also careful not to let his dog-like dick knot up inside you as that probably would have hurt and tied you two together for a bit according to him. Even without the knot his cock bulged out your stomach so much that you could see the outline of it when he thrust forward. It left you unable to walk for a good hour or two so you just lay on top of him with your head nuzzled into his neck.  All in all it was a pretty fun one night stand. You had thought.  After all was said and done he kept coming back to your room wanting more and you had to think of excuses to shoo him away, he began popping up even more frequently than he had previously. You constantly felt as though you were being followed, even when you could find no one else around.  When he showed up at your job he constantly asked when he could see you again, always wagging his tail excitedly when he talked to you. You figured he just was not going to take the hint so you laid it out for him as clearly as possible, it was fun and you liked him, but it was just a one time thing. He seemed more than a bit confused by that.  “B-but… we mated… that means you’re my mate…” His tail and ears both drooped making for quite a sad sight. Your heart twinged a bit, he was just a bit mixed up on how humans worked, you would have to explain to him.  “For humans sometimes sex is just sex, I’m sorry, I did not mean to give you the wrong impression.”  Fynn nodded as if he understood and slowly walked away, his heart broken. He had found such a nice human, one that smelled lovely and was so small and sweet to him, surely they had to be his partner. It just made no sense to him.  Then he remembered that humans sometimes do a thing called “playing hard to get” so he just had to court you more and then really make you see he was a good strong mate to have, it was so obvious that’s what you wanted. His tail wagged with this new realization. Silly humans with their odd courting ways, but if you wanted to play hard to get he would respect your desires.  That is when things really got out of hand for you.  One night you came into your quarters after a day of hard work to discover that someone had somehow gotten in and covered every inch of your bed with cute plushies. And another time you went to work to find several bouquets of your favorite flowers waiting for you. But the last straw came when you arrived home one night to find that someone had seemingly urinated on the sides of your door.  You decided you had had enough, clearly this dog brain was not getting the memo and did not understand the casual nature of sex for some humans. You knew just the perfect way to teach him a little lesson.  When you were at the bar the next night, when there were only a few customers and you were SURE Fynn was watching you you put your plan into motion. There was a big brawny Elreldian bull man named Eldum that had been showing up regularly after tending to his market stall everyday at this time for the past few weeks and you had noticed him checking you out and both flirted a bit with one another.  You decided to flirt a bit more loudly and be a bit more handsy as well right as Fynn was watching. You laughed at all the Eldum’s jokes, put your hands on his muscular arms, and exaggerated your fascination with his horns.  When Fynn went to do his little nightly ritual of watching you from across the bar he entered to find your hands on an Elreldian male. You chanced a quick look over in his direction to see his face in a snarl and you are pretty sure you heard a low growl as he stormed out. Mission accomplished.  Fynn was hurt and confused now more than ever. What was his mate doing all over that other man? You mated with him, you were his mate, and he would not have you just throwing yourself at someone like that. Enough of playing this hard to get game he could no longer take chances. He was going to breed and mark you in every way possible until there was all of zero chance that you, or anyone else, could doubt that you belonged to him.  The dog man broke into your room yet again, he found that it was so easy to slip in, if some part of you truly did not want to be his then why did you make it so easy for him to get into your home?  Fynn waited patiently for you to get off work, silently laying under your bed as he sniffed a pair of your underwear. The scent drove him wild and only spurred him on to do what he had come here to do. He was tempted to attend to his hard member, but he wanted to save each and every drop of his potent musky seed to bury into you.  When you entered your home and then your room you found nothing amiss and you had not seen hide nor hair of Fynn since you made sure he caught you flirting so heavily with Eldum. You were convinced that your plan had gone off without a hitch.  But there was a hitch, and it waited until you were sound asleep snoring before creeping out from under your bed and hovering over you to appreciate your sleeping form before grabbing you roughly, stuffing your mouth with a gag before you could scream, and ripping your clothes off you. It had all happened so fast, you tried to cry out for someone but your voice was muffled by Fynn’s musk drenched underwear. You tried struggling, but you found that you could not move at all with the dog man’s strong arms pinning you.  When you saw his angry, red, fully erect cock you knew what was about to happen. Tears filled your eyes as you looked up pleadingly, it was obvious even through the gag that you were trying to beg to be let go.  “Now, why would I let my little bitch go just so some other man can come sniffing around what’s mine?? I am gonna breed you, give you all my seed, make every atom reek of me!” Even in the low light you could see the crazed look in his formerly sweet eyes.  True to his word he straddled your chest and the first thing he did was rub his huge nuts all over your face until you were covered in his smell, and the second thing he did was begin pissing all over your head and hair, soaking you in his smelly urine. You tried to move your head out of the way but it was pointless.  Fynn sniffed the air.  “Mm, perfect, now everyone will know you’re my fucking property. Just have to mark your insides~”  Your renewed muffled sobs and struggles did nothing to dissuade him. He easily flipped you over and started fingering your hole a bit, but that was the only preparation he offered before lining up his warm moist canine prick with your hole and jamming in all at once.  Even the gag could not fully muffle the shriek you let out as his massive cock invaded you so abruptly. Unfortunately for you the room was completely soundproof anyway.  Once more his cock was bulging out your stomach, this time with excruciating pain, but he did not start thrusting into you yet, he decided that your warm insides were a really nice place to finish up emptying his bladder. Your stomach began swelling not just with the outline of his huge cock but with the piss he was emptying into you to mark your deepest most intimate place as his property and his alone.  You were sobbing and shaking from the pain of it all, and then he began thrusting. He held your hips painfully tight, leaving bruises where his fingers had been as he began going back and forth into your poor abused hole.  The sex was not pleasurable for you and it did not become pleasurable for you, but after a while your insides did mercifully adjust to his size and the pain somewhat diminished. He gave no concern to your comfort at all, in stark contrast to how he had been when he fucked you before. After all, he was not making love this time, he was claiming property.  Fynn plowed into you relentlessly as you continued crying silently, you could feel his large knot brushing against your insides as he railed you. He bit your neck and growled fiercely to keep you submissive and still as he ramped up the pace, he did not need to though, you had gone limp, resigned to be his cumdump after all your struggles had proven so pathetically useless. Finally he came in you with considerable force, swelling your belly painfully with even more fluid.  He draped his body over yours, being careful not to put his wait on you, and licked your neck and cheek happily as his tail began to wag. His demeanor instantly shifted back to his previous sweetness.  “There we go, now you’re my sweet breeding bitch and you can’t deny it! No more playing hard to get okay? You’re my mate and I got you fair and square!” He went back to licking you happily and nuzzling into your neck as he waited for his knot to go down.  When it finally did he slowly slid his prick out of you making you wince in pain. The mixture of cum and piss poured out all over the place. You were crying, in pain, and smelled awful. You just wanted it to end.  “I am sorry I was so rough with you, but I had to prove to you that you were mine and keep other guys away from my territory!” He picked you up and took you to the tub where he gently placed you in some water and cleaned off your lower half, but he did not touch your face, he still wanted his scent mark on you.  Fynn kept the gag in, though it would not have mattered at this point anyway, even if the walls were not soundproof you did not have the strength left to scream anyway, you were utterly broken and defeated. You flinched as he carefully cleaned your hole, but it was raw and bleeding a bit from the rough treatment it had been made to endure.  Once you were clean from the neck down Fynn took you and dressed you and put his clothes back on as well, except for the salty underwear that still gagged your mouth. It was the dead of night and he knew absolutely no one would be up and moving around between here and his ship so he picked you up and hauled you back to it.  Fynn sat you down next to him and wrapped his arm around you, holding you close to his side. He couldn’t wait to show everyone back home his beloved little breeding bitch.

[ultram0th]

31 Days of Derek Hale

Day 16: Himbo

Info │ 01 │ 02 │ 03 │ 04 │ 05 │ 06 │ 07 │ 08 │ 09 │ 10 │ 11 │ 12 │ 13 │ 14 │ 15 │ 16

Derek Hale sat in the corner of the bar, brooding over life in general. The sourwolf had a deep frown set onto his face, scowling at nothing specifically— his foul mood creating a dark aura about him.

He finished his whiskey on the rocks and was about to ask for another one, when the bartender (some peppy guy with dyed blue hair) set down a large glass of beer in front of him. The golden drink must’ve been extra-carbonated because tons of tiny bubbles floated around like crazy in it.

Derek cocked his eyebrow up at the bartender. “I didn’t—”

“It’s on the house,” the bartender interrupted him. “It’s a new brand called ‘Bubbly Beer’.”

“‘Bubbly Beer’?” Derek repeated incredulously, almost scoffing at the stupid sounding name. The tough alpha wouldn’t be caught dead drinking such a ridiculous drink. 

Still, free was free.

Shrugging his shoulders, Derek brought the glass to his lips and took a tentative sip of the bubble-filled beer. It was sickeningly sweet and the carbonation made the drink more akin to soda than actual beer.

Derek grimaced at the drink, nearly gagging. He hated sweets.

However, the alcohol content must’ve been high, because after that singular sip of beer, Derek could already feel a slight buzz. His brain felt a little foggy and it actually seemed to dull his angst.

“Meh,” he hummed. “Does the trick, I guess.”

Derek took another sip.

The fog settled in deeper, and a dazed grin formed on Derek’s face. He leaned back further into his chair, unaware of the knowing smirk from the bartender. He struggled to think back to what was bothering him in the first place.

He happily brought the glass back up to his lips, but this time he took a couple gulps of the beer.

Derek’s smile grew a little larger, but it almost subsided when he started to feel a little warm. Like a sudden total wave of heat crashing upon him, Derek suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable. His white button down shirt was suddenly a bit too thick for his liking, and having it buttoned up all the way made him feel awkward, almost like he was wearing a large tent. 

In an attempt to gain some sort of ease, Derek reached up and undid the top four buttons of his shirt.

“That’s soooooo much better,” he sighed, his goofy grin coming back full force once he wasn’t completely covered. His toned pecs were slightly exposed to the cool air of the bar.

Derek took a few more gulps of the beer.

The legs of the chair groaned loudly as Derek squirmed around. His chest felt heavier and his arms kept colliding with his sides in a way that they hadn’t before… right?

Derek’s heart raced in his beefy chest for a moment, but he quickly shrugged his anxiety away as he glanced down at his meaty muscletits. His massive pecs were barely covered by the button down shirt that they strained against, his nubby nipples poking teasingly against the fabric. His large biceps bulged out of his straining sleeves, constantly bumping against pecs and lats, hindering each one of Derek’s movements. And lastly, the werewolf rocked back and forth on his humongous bubblebutt that strained his jeans to bursting, the big ass making it look like Derek was sitting on a bunch of cushions.

Derek caught a nerdy guy sneak a peek at him from across the bar, and he couldn’t resist lifting one of his big arms to flex a powerful bicep.

The nerd’s jaw dropped, yet he quickly recomposed himself and stood up, slowly heading over towards Derek.

Derek finished off the last of the bubbly beer, setting the empty glass onto the bar.

“Um, h-hey,” the small nerdy guy smiled at Derek. “What brings you here all alone?”

Derek smiled back full force at the other guy, his cock rocketing to life. The ten inch monster snaked down his pant leg noticeably, looking like he was stuffing a summer sausage down his pants.

“Oh y’know,” Derek chirped back, “I’m just, like, totally out here looking for cute guys!” He giggled at the end of his statement, biting down on his lower lip as he ran his eyes up and down hungrily over the nerd’s body.

The nerd smiled back nervously, nearly drooling over Derek’s bulbous muscletits. “Well,” he said, “I’m about to ditch this place, if you wanna come with?”

“Sure!” Derek quickly said, practically hopping out of his chair. He snatched a tight hold of the smaller guy’s hand and began to walk towards the exit.

Derek paused for a brief second, feeling as if something was wrong. His gait was thrown off by the constant jiggling of his bubblebutt behind him, and he had to arch his back slightly to account for his huge pecs. Plus, his head felt so slow.

And he was so painfully horny! 

Despite himself, all he seemed to be able to focus on was cock and getting his big butt stuffed full with the nerd’s. His lust took over and that foggy sensation clouded over his brain again, effectively silencing that alarm bell. 

“Like, this is totally gonna be the best night ever!” Derek cheered as he wiggled his hips, causing his big butt to bounce wildly, loving the lustful look in the nerd’s eyes.

[ofmermaidstories]

You are five when your Quirk manifests for the first time, with Rinchan.

‼️📍 content warnings: implied major character death, death in general, in a myriad of ways (falling, head trauma, old age, drowning, suicide), im a little graphic for emphasis, grief and mourning. there’s also some light smut and implied underage sex.

Rinchan. Rinchan who watches you while your mother goes to work. Rinchan with her big, soft, crepe-paper arms; who holds you in them for as long as you want, singing you songs as she shells peas into a metal bowl—you clinging to her, placid as a koala, your legs dangling over her lap. Rinchan who is probably your most favourite person in the entire world—the entire world being your neighbourhood and your school and the nearby park, overgrown, and the overwhelming shopping centre a car ride away.

Rinchan. Rinchan. Rinchan who, when you are five, starts appearing before you naked and wet, her face covered in blood.

The first time it happens she’s still alive; the sizzle of her cooking coming from the kitchen just behind you as you sit on the floor with a pile of milk-chews in front of you, staring in frozen horror at this other her—shining with water, her mouth stretched open in a startled O, everything about her soft and sagging.

You make a tiny noise—fear, caught in your throat, a baby mouse curled up—and then Rinchan, your Rinchan, Rinchan alive and warm and dry, calls out, “Are you okay, Baby?”

The Other Rinchan’s mouth stretches open further, like it recognises her—like it’s trying to say something back and you—

You wail in answer, scrabbling at Rinchan (living, alive) when she flys in, concerned, asking, “What? What? What is it? What’s wrong?” her soft crepe-paper arms around you tight as you sob into her neck.

She’s bewildered and a little frightened herself; but she hums as she rocks you, a warm hand stroking your back, soothing you both until your sobs are little more than wet snuffling, your hand curling into the fabric of her dress.

You loved her. You love her, still, after all this time. But that love doesn’t save either of you, and you are haunted by the other Rinchan for the rest of that awful summer: in the park, with your friends, Rinchan watching, mouth agape, from the bushes. Walking home, hand-in-hand with your mother, Rinchan behind you. Alone in your bedroom, at night, Rinchan standing over you as you watch the water drip down her skin. You start wetting yourself with the fear, whenever it happens—a response that quickly loses you those parkside friends and worries your mother and living Rinchan sick, the pair of them whispering about you when they think you can’t hear, their fear—your fear—condemning you to pull-ups, like a giant baby.

It doesn’t stop the end from coming.

Rin dies just before Halloween, when the shops are filled with green-faced witches and plastic skeletons that rattle and can’t frighten you, anymore. She dies alone, at night. A fall in the shower, your mother tells you in a whisper a couple of days later, red-eyed. You knew enough by then to be able to picture it: Rin, shining with water, her mouth stretched open in a startled O—her face covered in blood.

Your mother holds your hand at her funeral, too tight, and you cling back and say nothing.

The other Rinchan never comes back. Rin never comes back—cannot come back, no matter how much you love her.

Others do, though.

It’s a parade of the dead, shuffling forward to a dirge only you can hear. You learn, over time, that it’s specific to people you either know or will come to know—people you have some kind of tie to, some bond, good or bad. When you are fifteen it’s your homeroom teacher Miss Aoki: her head and shoulder caved in, her right eye bulging out at you, unseeing. You’d been drinking a bottle of milk-tea when she arrived, the blood stark and jewel-like in the daylight. You do not touch milk-tea for ages, afterwards.

You no longer wet yourself in fear, but you cannot look your teacher in the eye for weeks—it ruins everything. You stop pausing after homeroom to talk to her, stop sharing the music that brought you together, unable to face her, unable to face the bemusement and then the tiny flashes of hurt.

You cannot warn her. What would you warn her about? The trauma to her head could’ve been a fall, or some kind of rock—an accident or murder. And even if you knew, even if you could pinpoint it, she would not believe you. You know that because you had tried, with the ghost after Rinchan—with Yochan. Yochan, a boy from your neighbourhood and once, once before your Quirk had come, a boy you had followed around like a guiding star. You and all the other kids, faithful to him above all. But when your Quirk came and you got weird, he got mean.

“You’re a stupid piss-baby!” He’d shout at you, cackling. The other kids hung back, unsure of how to treat you—and this was how you saw him, the other him, standing behind the others with a swollen, awful face, his Endeavour shirt stained with a creamsicle, his eyes disappeared under the red, weeping slits of an allergic reaction.

You tried. You tried.

“Yochan,” you’d whisper, “please—”

His face would twist in disgust though, any time you came near him. “Freak!” he’d hiss. “Piss-baby! Get lost!”

He’d run away, then, laughing to himself and telling everyone that you had threatened him (“Piss Baby wants me dead!”)—and you had shut into yourself more, haunted by the agonised version of him that only you could see, that would stand there in your bedroom and twitch, the last throes of death.

It came for him, eventually. More than half a year later, during a game of softball where he’d knocked over a wasp nest and stomped over to it, the others too scared.

(The teacher explains it in class the following week and you sit there, in your seat by the window, untouched by the light. Empty.

Miss Aoki dies during the war, caught in the shadow of a collapsing building. You go to her service without your mother to hold your hand, and pray for forgiveness.)

You can map your life by the bodies that follow you. A year after after Miss Aoki it’s Hiroe: the tiny, fierce old woman down the street who grumbles at you every morning. When her doppleganger appears across the street from the pair of you, thin and wan and gasping as the hospital gown slips off her shoulders, the living her angrily talking about her carnations, the only thing you feel is relief. She’ll be in hospital—someone will be with her. It won’t be alone in a shower, or sprawled out on her kitchen floor, blood pooling under her. It’ll be death, still, leeching the life out of a woman who pertly tells you that the colour of your coat doesn’t suit you, but it’ll better than some of the lonely things you’ve seen, you live with.

(But it’s not better at all. Hiroe’s son works too hard, his hours too long in the aftermath of the war, helping the restoration. You visit her after school, bright flowers in hand and some of the colour returns to her face as she complains that you’re already dressing her altar, but her son is never there—and she dies alone, during the night, gasping for breath.)

You’re cursed, you think; cursed to see death everywhere you go, in everyone you know. And then you meet Kouki and realise that your curse smears over your future, too.

Kouki. Kouki with his brilliant red hair, like autumn leaves in the sunlight. Kouki who laughed easily, who would evenutally come to keep his pocket full of those old-fashioned milk-chews, just for you. Kouki, who, before you meet him alive, you meet dead—floating mid-air before you during your walk home one night, his hair dancing around his face, his eyes unseeing as his mouth opens and closes, gulping for air that isn’t there.

You are seventeen by this stage. It had been a hard couple of years with Miss Aoki, with the war, with Hiroe. Kouki appears before you under a streetlamp and you drop your schoolbag, your throat siezing.

“Don’t,” you say to this corpse of a boy you haven’t met, yet. “Don’t—don’t you dare do this to me.”

He opens his mouth; a tiny silver fish darts out and you burst into tears, overwhelmed, your new ghost lingering with you as you sob on the street, alone in the night. You don’t even know him. You don’t even know him.

He transfers to your senior class at the end of the month.

By then you had gotten used to the vision of him, numbly, the drowned boy following you around like a harmless stray—keeping you company on your walks home from your part-time job. You had sat with him as he floated, you solidly on the ledge of a park, unwrapping milk-chews and staring out at the dark before you, undaunted and unafraid, the most haunted thing there as his tiny fish flittered about him, again and again, on loop.

And then he walks into class that first day, and you are—you are frozen, even as he grins at you, bright and undaunted and alive.

“Hey,” he says after class, too interested and too friendly. “You look a little frightened—you good?”

Considering you had woken up that morning to his vestige floating at the foot of your bed, you most certainly were not good. What you say instead though is a curt, “I’m fine,” which proves to be mistake.

His eyes—big and blue—brighten at the challenge, and he grins.

“Fujita Kouki,” he introduces himself. “What’s your name?”

In the daylight, the light of the living where he can soak in the sun and return it, Kouki’s—Fujita’s—eyes are warm, not the milky colour you’ve been haunted with. You should walk away, you think desperately, wavering; you should retreat immediately. But the daylight is seductive. You are seventeen and it has a been a hard year and you are tired of being afraid.

Your lips part, even as you hesitate. But when you give him your name, his smile widens, and it almost—almost—chases the ghosts away.

Kouki quickly becomes your best friend.

Best friend is not the right term; it’s not fair to him and what you know about him. It doesn’t capture the horror of seeing him walk into your classroom that first day, nor the fear that follows you when he’s late to meeting up, or stays home from school because of a cold, because he’s bored. But—

He’s easy going. Refreshing, like cold, sparkling lemonade in the hot sun. He’s friendly and quickly becomes popular with so many of the others in your class and he wants to—he wants to hang out with you, walk you home. With Kouki you’re not the Silent Weirdo that never interacts with anyone. With Kouki you laugh—all the time, like all he wants to do is make you happy. He fills his pockets with those milk-chews and walks with you in the evenings, pushing his bike alongside you, telling you about the way his little brother terrorises his parents and how his father has been wanting to go on a vacation for years, now—and you let him. You let him become apart of your life, you let him walk you home. You let him sink into everything you know, into your pores, the fabric of who you are. He’s the good morning lets gooo texts before you meet up for school. He’s the warmth against you as you sit side-by-side on your park ledge, no longer the most haunted thing in the dark but what you should have always been: just a kid, sitting with a friend. Being with Kouki is easy, too easy. You no longer see the ghost of him—suspended in midair, his silver fish. You just see him, have him—Kouki, alive, chuckling to himself as he hands you another milk-chew.

“My dad’s finally free,” he tells you one night. You’re sitting on your ledge, mouth full of the creamy chews—Kouki (living) before you, lingering close.

“Mmph?” You question, unable to quite pry your jaw open enough for real words.

Kouki laughs like you had said something funny, and despite yourself your stomach flips, pleased to hear it. He’d been subdued; unusually quiet, had been since lunch that day, when Keichan had confessed her feelings to him in front of everyone. Keichan was pretty, effervescent—she laughed like he did, easily and among others who sparkled with her attention. On paper they were a perfect match and you almost wanted it—you wanted Kouki to be happy, however it happened. For as long as he could be.

But he had said no. You, sitting on the edges of the yard and picking at the grass, had been unable to help but watch in the same horrified, fascinated fear as everyone else, all of you silent. Keichan’s pretty face—shocked. Kouki’s red hair shinning brilliantly like fire, as he shook his head.

“Sorry,” he’d said, not sounding the least bit contrite. “I just—I don’t want that.”

In the evening gloom, he nudges your knee.

“The old man’s finally got that time off he wanted,” Kouki explains. You nod, swallowing your chews and trying to ignore how he moves forward—bracketing you, where you sit. “He wants to go fishing.”

“Oh,” you say, a little uselessly. Kouki’s hands are either side of you, distracting—the space between you warm, as he dips his head in closer.

You still. He’s always crowded your space but tonight in the silver light his face—normally so open, light—is afraid.

“You never tell me what you’re thinking,” he says, low, and you shake your head, emptied of words. It wasn’t true—you told him about the books you read, the songs you heard. The way you liked cupping sunlight in your hands because it made them glow, made you feel like you had a different Quirk entirely. You had never told anyone else that.

Kouki’s eyebrows tighten; pull. Frustrated, maybe, even as his hand balls itself into your skirt.

It pulls you closer to him, just a little. Your hand comes up between you—your fingers tracing the fold of his jacket pocket.

“You smell like those milkchews,” he whispers, and your heart is in your throat even as your lips part, his parting in echo as he watches them—

—and you don’t know who pulls who in first but then you are kissing, a hand cupping your face, anchoring you to the moment, to him as your fist tightens into his jacket. You sigh into the cool of his mouth and can almost taste the way he smiles before he presses in harder, hungry.

He pulls away after a moment; only to press more kisses, soft and careful, against your mouth, your nose, your cheek, laughing when you make a tiny, annoyed noise.

“You’re dumb,” he tells you, low, pressing another kiss against your hair, and then another. “And I’m gonna take you out and watch you eat those dumb sweets and make you tell me everything you’re thinking, forever. Until you’re sick of me.”

Your heart lurches. Forever.

“I could never be sick of you,” you tell him, the ache reopening inside of you.

Kouki grins, pleased and so, so alive; his brilliance softening to a glow as he dips his face close again, tracing your nose with his.

“I mean it,” he says, quiet. Promising. “You’re gonna have to chase me off.”

You try to stay in the warmth of him, the light and life, clutching at him, letting him kiss you again, soft.

But there’s a sob in your throat. And when you open your eyes, breathing in as Kouki kisses your jaw, your neck, his spectre is there—mouth gaping open, as a tiny, silver fish darts out.

(You beg him not to go, when his father announces the boat he’s rented, for his fishing trip. The man’s never been out on one before. Kouki has never seen your desperation, your fear, not like this and he almost stays, brows furrowed—but his little brother is excited. His father too. He buys all three of them matching fishing hats.

“It’s okay,” he whispers against the back of your neck, when you’re curled up together in your tiny, childhood bed. The house is quiet; you have it to yourselves, the sunlight dappling in your room, filtered through the tree outside. “I’m a good swimmer. Don’t worry.”

He presses a kiss against your shoulder, his fingers slow, tracing figures in the wet touch of your underwear. You breathe him in and to reassure yourself he’s right, that he will be okay, that you will always have this.

He’s gone by the following week. A storm. Kouki was right—he was a good swimmer. But his little brother wasn’t, and the love that made him go in the first place was the same love that made him search for him, endlessly, after their boat was capsized.

You go to the joint service. Kouki, his father, his little brother. His mother is held together by an older woman, desolate. In a row in front Keichan cries silent tears but you—

You stand there and you stare at Kouki’s portrait, his smiling face. He will never again soak in the sunlight and reflect it He will never again wait for you, his pockets filled with your favourite sweets. He will never again kiss you, with the cool press of his lips, the taste of his laugh behind them.

Fujita Kouki is gone. He is gone, slipping away—taking the you who believed in hope and a future where you could be happy with him.)

The years slip away. One, then two, then three and then four and then five. You move to a bigger city; and then you move again. You work in offices, department stores, a warehouse once, washing carrots—anything that will pay you, pay the bills. You keep to yourself and your coworkers lose interest in trying to keep up small talk with you and you don’t form any kind of tie, good or bad, that could manifest before you, rattling in death.

Kouki would never forgive you for this bleak existence, you think, if he could see it. But wherever he is it’s not with you, not on this plane, and so you keep your head down and when one of your ghosts does come to you, you grit your teeth and ignore it.

Even in isolation, they find a way to haunt you. You start seeing the clerk from the 7/11 you stop in to and from work, his neck snapped, and you avoid the store for three weeks before telling yourself it was stupid of you, that maybe you could say something—only to find someone else there, when you walk in, the guy already replaced.

The new hire at the office you work at starts appearing before you, swinging, his throat and face mottled as hands claw at a rope that’s not there and you—you thank him when he brings you a coffee, and try to be a little kinder, try to watch as he blends in with the others, laughs among them, the crack underneath his smile not showing.

He bungles a client, six months into working there. Your boss chews him out in front of everyone, the guy taking it with a silent, shame-faced nod, and when you try to say, “You worked hard, mistakes can happen to anyone—” he only bows hurriedly, already backing away.

(he doesn’t come back, and two weeks later his desk is cleared.)

Head down, keep to yourself. Another year passes. And then another. And then your curse rears its ugly head one final, terrible time.

You are waiting for the lights to change in the middle of a busy street, on a cold, bright afternoon, when you first see him.

You’re not paying attention; staring into the crowd on the other side of the street, thinking about what you had in the fridge at home and then he’s there, in your line of sight, his face twisting in fury, in grief, as he reaches out, shouting something—

And then there’s a flash of light, blinding and sharp and he is gone, startling you even as the crosswalk starts to sing, people moving around you like water around a stone as your heart races.

No, you think weakly. No. Not again.

He doesn’t return and you stand there, in the same spot, even as the crosswalk blinks back to red.

All your life, your Quirk has worked one way: showing you the death of someone you already knew, for better or for worse. Not someone famous, not a stranger. Kouki had been an—anomaly, you thought, desperate. Some freak tie. Japan had gone through so much in those years during and after the war: reports of abnormal adolescent Quirk growth had spiked, at its worse. You had always thought that maybe yours had been apart of that, that that’s what Kouki’s ghost had been. A result of stress, or your loneliness. Something, anything. And you’d only grown more sure of it when it didn’t repeat—

Until now.

You get home that night and in a fit of anger tear through everything, up end it all. Your clothes, out from the wardrobe or the basket, strewn along the floor. Your pots, clattering thunderously throughout your kitchen. You scream, pitching book after book across the room at your couch, the covers bending, pages tearing. You wouldn’t go through it again, you wouldn’t—

You curl up against your kitchen island, sobbing. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t do this. Not again. Not ever again.

(But your heart’s already sinking. Already tender with the hurt, remembered and preemptive. His hair had been golden in the light—like winter sun.

When your hiccups calm, you look up—and he is standing over you, his face twisting again. You shut your eyes but the flash is bright, even then. Nuclear.

When you open them, he’s gone.

“Please,” you whisper to your empty apartment. “Please don’t do this to me.”

But it’s only the silence that answers you, the absence of mercy or comfort and you shudder, your tears nothing but salt in your mouth.)

Your plan, eventually, is simple: just ignore your newest ghost, when you finally meet him.

It should be easy. Even though he was a Pro-Hero he was also a famous one—and how often did you run into famous Pro-Heroes? They always had something to defend, always had someone to save. You just had to keep living your life, squarely and safe and you would be fine. You would skirt past each other and he would live or die just however a Pro Hero should.

A month passes. And then another. You begin to think maybe you’re safe; and then you’re not.

“If everyone can line up, then that’ll make everything go smoother,” your boss calls out, echoed throughout the office. Below on the street is the firetruck—overseeing the drill. You peer over the ledge of the window in worry, trying to count the firefighters out: seven that you could see. If you saw anymore than that while out on the street you were just going to close your eyes and wait it out.

Your boss calls your name—and when you glance to him, startled, he gestures with his megaphone, sheepish.

“Can you run and grab my laptop case for me?” he asks, already half out the door. “You’re closer, and I have a feeling we’ll be down there for a while.”

“Yeah,” you say, already standing. You leave your own things at your desk—as you’re meant to—and dart to his office, partitioned by glass. When you turn around, the case in hand, the office is empty—your boss’s megaphone calling out down the hall, down the stairway, leaving you alone in the wake of it.

You go to the window again, to count the firefighters. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven—

You freeze. There’s an eighth figure there, standing solidly with them, talking, his arms crossed. A Pro Hero—dressed in black, with bright orange details.

Your ghost, you think in alarm.

He looks up at the window and you jerk away, startled. He shouldn’t be able to see—the glass was tinted—but his face is suspicious and you clutch your boss’s case to you tighter, heart thumping.

Don’t give him a reason to single you out, you think desperately—you hurry to join the others but they have left you on an empty floor, already making their way down the three flights quickly, leaving you and your noisy footfall as you race down the emergency stairs—only to have the door to the lobby thrown open roughly before you could even reach it.

It bangs against the wall; leaving you to stare in silence as he fills the doorway fully, glowering, stopping you in your tracks.

“The hell?” He asks you, roughly. Under his mask his eyes flicker over you, over the case in your hands, unimpressed. “Why didn’t you evacuate with the others?”

You can only shake your head, tucking your hands around the case tighter. Even having his spectre repeat and repeat in front of you—it doesn’t compare to the space and heat of him in the flesh, taking up a doorway. He’s more solid now, more real and when he shifts, just a fraction, you step back in fright.

Something his eyes—ink red under his mask—don’t miss, narrowing.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and mercifully your voice is calm. “I had to grab something.”

“You ain’t meant to take anything,” he points out, barely civil, and you duck your head into a nod—his jaw tightening in response.

You’d rather this, you think, wincing. The brittle patience, barely hiding his rippling irritation. Anything was better than the despair that’d been playing over and over in front of you.

Pro Hero Dynamight—Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight—scowls at you, jerking behind him. “The extra with the megaphone is doin’ roll call.”

He means your boss. You look at him, curious, and his mouth tightens. It doesn’t thin the curve of his lips, though, and when you realise you’ve noticed that—

You hold your boss’s laptop closer. “Okay,” you say, meaninglessly.

Dynamight only moves out of the way when you go to squeeze past him, your jacket catching against his suit as he grunts.

“Wait,” he commands, annoyed. You stare ahead and will everything within your mind to empty as he pulls you free from the catch of one of his grenades—you mutter a thank-you and don’t look back as you hurry to the glass doors, the light, the open outside away from him and the heat of his space.

(You hide behind your coworkers as your boss commends everyone for their examplumery speed and when one of the firefighters steps forward to walk everyone through the basic dangers of an office building fire it’s Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight who stands behind him, solid and real and flinty eyed, as he stares everyone down. Someone in front of you giggles; he glares at her until she stops, bowing her head in shame and letting him look directly at—

You. Standing at the back.

His mask moves; his eyebrow raised. You lift yours in a helpless, silent, question. He frowns, like you’re speaking two different languages and morosely you think to yourself, so much for not giving him a reason to single you out.)

It’s just one off-chance meeting, you tell yourself. Just a weird little moment to establish something there, and make you feel a little guilty when you hear about his death on the news.

Only—

Only it keeps happening.

Perhaps it’s your karma, for never saying anything to the ghosts that had followed you. Or maybe it’s one last laugh from Kouki, his evil delight in teasing you manifested. Maybe it’s just plain old bad luck—but whatever it was, it meant you kept running into Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight over and over again, humiliation on repeat.

He’s—there, in his Pro-Hero gear, at the konbini you get your morning coffee, scowling as the cashier stammers through the burglary you’d only just missed. He’s—crouching amid a group of excitable kids, his grin for them sudden and sharp and bright, distracting even in the middle of a busy street. He’s—walking past you as you startle, safely tucked away into a coffee shop as he patrols past, barely sparing the café window a glance.

He is everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. And in turn his ghost is too: the blinding flash in your mirror, as you try to brush your teeth, squinting. The nuclear eruption that startles you awake, in the darkness of your room. The silent twist of his face as he reaches out to you, over your counter as you eat your cereal.

It’s worse than it was with Kouki, you think bitterly. When Kouki the living appeared in your life, Kouki the ghost receded. Now you were just being haunted on both ends, both versions just as fleeting as the other.

Your only consolation is that you are, truly, a nobody to him. Just another face amid a city full of them. For all the tiny run-ins, the awful timing, you manage to wriggle away quickly, without attention—or so you’d thought.

You’re walking home under the city dusk: a universe of lights below you as you trek up the winding path that leads home. Work had been awful. You’d seen your vision of Dynamight no less than three seperate times that day, the furious twist of his face, his silent shouting—his disappearing. He was taking you with him, you thought in despair. No other ghost of yours had been so persistent. Distracted, you’d bought a supermarket bento for dinner—some nectarines, for dessert. As you walked the bag swung low and slow, too flimsy; when it splits everything in it splatters, and tumbles.

You swear, skidding as you try to chase the fruit, rolling away as they gain speed—

Stopped by a black boot, it’s orange detailing almost glowing as it scuffs along the ground, blocking them.

Everything within you settles; flattens as you straighten.

Under his mask, Dynamight arches in an eyebrow.

“You good?” He asks.

You shrug, and hold up the remnants of your plastic bag—drifting like a bride’s veil, between you.

The Pro-Hero tsks, crouching, picking up your nectarines. “Weak crap.”

In the twilight the black of his uniform makes him a dark void—until he stands again, holding out your fruit to you. You frown, and watch him mirror it, his wide mouth turning down, unhappily.

“You afraid of me, or somethin’?” He asks, rough. His face is pinched—it makes him look like a little kid, trying to tough out a pout and your stomach squeezes with the guilt. The last anyone would see of him would be a flash of light—and then Japan’s dynamite, Japan’s explosive anger, would be gone forever.

And here you were—making him feel bad in what could, quite possibly, be his last days.

“No,” you admit, opening your handbag to take back the nectarines. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He squints at you, disbelieving.

“Yeah?” He asks. “Then why do you keep runnin’ away like you’ve shit yourself?”

Oh, you think, he’s disgusting.

“I do not,” you say instead, crossly, dropping to the ground grab the remains of your bento.

Dynamight grunts in dismissal. “Yeah you do. Every time I’m walkin’ down a street, or I have to drop into some shitty little place—you’re there, turning tail. If you ain’t on laxatives and you ain’t afraid, then what is it?”

“I’m prejudiced against all Pro-Heroes,” you tell him, stoutly. “And you keep foiling my plans for world domination. Why do you notice, anyway? Why are you here?”

His boots scrape against the path, suddenly loud between you, as he moves in closer.

“‘M on patrol,” he tells you. “It’s my job on patrol to notice weirdoes—and you’ve been the weirdest.”

“Congratulations!” you tell him sourly, skittering around the solid wall of his presence to a nearby trash can. It’s already overflowing, but you squeeze your own rubbish in and turn back to the Pro, as much apart of the world around you as the dark undergrowth of the pathway, or the city lights behind him.

He’s so real, you think angrily. And in days, weeks—maybe months, if he was lucky—he’d be gone, just like that.

“Now what?” You ask him, ask yourself. “What happens now?”

Below, a train screeches past. Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight shrugs, indifferent.

“Depends,” he says. “You gonna keep being weird?”

You almost laugh. You don’t, though, holding your handbag with your nectarines closer. You are standing in the last, dark moments of a twilight world with a man who will die, God knew when—weird was probably the least you could be.

“Maybe,” you say instead. “I haven’t decided yet.”

The Pro-Hero shrugs again. “Then I do my job, and keep an eye on ya.”

He’s not looking at you when he says it, shifting awkwardly like a school boy and you—

You let your shoulders sag. You are an adult, no longer seventeen—but has been a hard life, and you are tired. Tired of being afraid. Of always being at the edges of your own life.

“Okay,” you tell him, tell yourself. Tell your ghosts, wherever they’re gathered. “I surrender.”

Dynamight snorts, kicking out a loose gravel and when he glances back to you his face has softened from its suspicion—waiting, instead.

A new pattern starts.

He walks past the coffee shop when you’re there and squints at you—acknowledgement you return with the ugliest face you can manage, the woman at the table across from you snorting into her mug.

You walk past him one weekend, surrounded by fans, and he looks up and sees you—bright eyes flickering over the fizzing orange juice in your hand, your wide sunhat, not hiding the startled surprise on your face—and grunts at the kids around him, holding up his hand as he tries to squeeze out, to you.

“Your hat makes you look like a frilly grandma,” he complains, loudly, as the fans follow him, encircling you both.

“I like your hat!” One girl says, brightly. She’s wearing a GEMG:D shirt with his scowling face under his title scrawl; you touch the brim of your hat, self-consciously.

“Thanks,” you say, self-conscious. She beams at you, even as Dynamight starts jabbing at you, trying to get you to move.

“I gotta get grandma home,” he tells everyone, as the group groans. “S’gotta have that nanna nap.”

You let him bully you. You let him pick you out, every time you cross paths. You don’t fight it—and when you start seeing him out of his Pro-Hero gear, his weaponry, your heart tightens in on itself in warning.

“You hungry?” He asks you, one evening. You’d been walking together, the pair of you having finished work at the same time; you in your neat, office wear, your leather handbag. Dynamight in sweats, a loose shirt, a dufflebag over his shoulder.

The sky above you is pink, the moon a silver crescent. A manga moon, you think to yourself; overlooking a love story.

“Yeah,” you answer him, eventually. “I’m starving.”

He nods, resolutely not looking at you—though when you glance at him his jaw tightens, head turning away.

“Denimhead introduced me to a place near here,” he says, gruffly. “They’re decent, ain’t wankers. And they’re cheap. Private.”

He should be doing this with anyone else, you thought to yourself, desperately, watching your shoes. Anyone. Someone who wouldn’t be counting down the days, the weeks, the months.

“I’d like that,” you say instead, softer. “I’d like to go.”

He doesn’t risk looking at you but his smooth face reddens, even as he passes a large hand over the back of his neck, like he could rub the colour out.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Let’s go then.”

It’s a bistro; a tiny pocket of a place only marked by a single, hanging sign of a smiling cow, the sizzle of steak permeating the alleyway. Inside the lights are low—Dynamight stands back to let you sit at the bar first, watching hawkishly, before he follows, the bartender smiling at you both.

“They gotta menu,” he says, nodding to the mirror behind the bar, where a sparse few dishes are written. “Otherwise if ya trust me I can—I can suggest shit.”

His gaze flickers over your face as you watch him in turn. He was so—here. Alive. With every tiny movement—the draw back of his elbow, the flex of his hand—you feel it, too aware.

“I trust you,” you tell him.

He grins—sudden and pointed and startling a smile out of you too, even as you try to bite it back.

(He orders blistered tomatoes, the size of doll heads, dressed in olive oil and a sweet fig vinegar, a soft cheese that bursts over them. There’s toasted baguette—slathered with bone marrow, garlic butter. There’s steak cut like it’s been shared among cavemen, several inches thick and still on the bone, bleeding even as it sizzles. The bartender puts down a little plate of fine, perfectly ruffled pasta in front of you; dressed in pesto, charred greens, tiny flowers and you have to share it with your Pro-Hero, who’s nose wrinkles when you try to offer him a speared garnish.

He is warm and he is close and he smells like the char of a grill and soap and a sweet wood layered over warm skin and neither of you move to touch each other—

But his leg presses against yours, and stays. Your hand slips over his by accident as you move to help yourself to dessert, a soft creamy dish with fruit—and he turns his palm up, catching it. Squeezing your fingers for a brief moment before letting them go, unmooring you only to anchor you again when you walk side-by-side, back to the train station, the warmth of him reassuring, and inescapable.)

Days. Weeks. Months.

You walk together, have dinner sometimes, lunch others. He complains about the other Heroes he works with; you listen, side-eyeing him when he then mentions feeding them, making meals at the agency because everyone was useless—

He doesn’t poke at you to talk, but you start sharing anyway. The book in your handbag; the gossip the others at the office always had.

“Tell ‘em to either deal with it or shut up,” he suggests, and you laugh despite yourself.

Days. Weeks. Months.

He goes away on a mission across the country—after a villain the news was calling Hazard. He’d been responsible for the complete destruction, the levelling, of a factory, a shopping centre, slipping away before anyone could scramble through the rumble and detain him. It rains the entire time Dynamight is gone, leaving you to walk home alone, an umbrella over you, as the news loops over about flood warnings.

(When he comes back it’s an overcast day; finally dry. He’s waiting for you at your usual crossroad, now, and when you see him you smile, his eyes following the curve of it before flickering over you.

“You good?” He asks.

“Better now that you’re back,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

You were. You had stayed up every night he was gone, on your phone—watching the news, the tags, waiting for his name to appear, footage of the flash that would take him. There’d been nothing; no arrests, no collision.

But your Pro-Hero’s face softens, just slight, and you realise that he’d read something else in it when he says, low, “Yeah. I get it.”

Days, weeks, months. Your heart thumps to it, reminding you and nervously, you shift away.

“Are you hungry?” You ask, wanting to fill the space between you with anything else.

He watches you skitter away, trying to encourage him to move; his eyes ruby.

“Yeah,” he repeats and in relief you turn away, all too aware of his stare, at the back of your head.)

Days. Weeks. When you finally kiss it’s at his table, in his home; empty plates in front of you.

“I think this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” you tell him honestly, quietly, the smears of your tiramisu the only remains as you stand, to take your plate to the kitchen.

“You’re always tryna—dart away,” he says suddenly, still sitting.

You startle at the look on his face—serious, soft mouth trying not to pout.

“I just—I just want to help with the dishes,” you say, but his brow furrows, pinched, and when he stands it’s carefully, slow, the coiled draw of a bow that shivers, waiting.

“I can’t get a read on you,” he admits to the quiet, his knuckles against the table. “Can’t—guess at whatever’s goin’ on in that squirrelly head of yours.”

You swallow, and run your hand across your forearm, too aware of the soft edges of your sleeves, of your Pro-Hero following your fingers.

“There’s nothing,” you whisper, and he snorts; boyish, disbelieving. It makes him less of a threat and more of a man—real, living, breathing, with his own thoughts and his own feelings.

“Like hell there is,” he swears, stepping closer. It brings his warmth in; the smell of coffee, of his cologne, aniseed sweet. “Whatever you’ve got spinnin’ around in there keeps you worlds away from this one. And I ain’t—”

He stops himself, his mouth parted around the rest of his words as his eyes flicker over your face, your lips; the way you can’t breathe for his nearness, hesitating in the space between you.

“—I ain’t gonna let you disappear,” he finishes, low. For a moment he traces your nose with his, and when your lashes flutter he sucks his breath in, tight; his mouth on yours, warm and sudden. A press. And then another. And then another and then the kiss is deepening and you tilt your head as hands fist themselves in your hair, keeping you close even as he pulls away, tiny, to pant against your lips. “Hah—”

You kiss him back. You take him back. Your hands are tight in his shirt, too flimsy to hold him and you whine and you can feel him snarl—or smile?—against you, his teeth hard against the corner of your mouth, scraping your jaw as he nips at your neck.

The plates on the table rattle as you both slide to the floor. You gasp as his mouth meets the bare skin of your thigh, then again as his thumbs hook under your underwear, the cool of his floor a shock. He moans, muffled; free of your ass your underwear drapes, wet and warm against you and he mouths at it, a heavy kiss as you gasp again at his tongue through cotton. He kisses deeper—you gasp again, and again, until you’re panting, tiny ah, ah, ahs that have him squeezing your hip, nosing the wet slop of your underwear out of the way so that his mouth meets your skin and you both moan.

(You are unravelled, on the floor—your clothes pooling, your breasts freed, your legs splayed. His hold is firm and warm and you are heavy-eyed, even as you gasp again, under him. You want to drift away—you want to stay, hissing as his blunt nails claw along the meat of your ass.

He lifts himself to meet you for a kiss—his mouth and chin shiny, his eyes glimmering as his shoulders ripple, panther-lithe as he leans over you.

His mouth is warm. You hum into it as he curses, tasting him—coffee, sex, you—as hot hands smooth the small of your back, the slip of him inside of you so, so easy and wet.

Even in the rut, the thrust, you are safe. You arch off of the floor like you’re trying to escape it, escape into the solid wall of him, waiting with another kiss, long and hard as he thrusts in deeper, deeper still.

You curl your legs against him, your heel in his ass. He grunts, then bites at your chin and your laugh is broken off into a moan as he ruts in hard.

Days. Weeks. When you come it’s sudden, starflash hot; you gasp for a final time and your hero is there to nose against your wet skin, to kiss you, his own undoing a groan, a sigh into your mouth.

There are no ghosts, lingering afterwards. Only him, panting; only you, your legs slipping together, your lips parting. Only him, only you.

He presses a kiss against the side of your head, almost forcefully.

“Wasn’t too shit,” he says, gruff, and you laugh around your breathlessness, anchored and alive.)

Days, weeks. Days.

Your Hero asks you stay over; you do, waking up in sheets that smell like him, that smell like sex, like you. You give yourself the moments—let yourself kiss his shoulder in hello, when he’s brushing his teeth. Lean into his touch, when his hand smooths up and down your waist.

“The others wanna meet ya,” he says one night, grumpily. “Said something about a lunch—I told ‘em s’up to you.”

At the counter, you hesitate. Who knew what you’d see, around them, the country’s frontliners. And it would only make this death, the one you were waiting on, worse—

But your Hero is determinedly not looking at you, his face pink, and you realise—he wants it. He wants you to meet them. Them to meet you.

Oh, you think, stricken. This was going to hurt.

“Okay,” you say. “I’d—I’d like that. Let’s do that.”

When he grins it twists his whole face into childlike brightness. You smile back with a wobble, looking at him and only him—ignoring his ghost behind him, shouting at you before the flash.

Days. Day. It’s a bright Saturday and you were meant to be meeting his friends, at last, the city busy as you hurry to the department store. There was a store in the food hall that sold small, perfectly round cream cakes, with glossy coatings and made to look like fruit—you wanted a tray of them, to take.

The sales clerk is handing you the bag, sealed with a ribbon when the shouting starts.

“RUN!” Someone screams, a flash from the back of the store blinding you. It’s the call, the break through the spell. Everyone panics, shouting as people start to bolt for the stairs to the street outside.

You’re almost torn away from the store—the girl serving you yelping as people barrel past, the force of them moving you, too, until the girl shrieks—trapped behind the counter.

“Wait!” You say, but a man almost shoves you aside and you drop your bag, your cakes, pushing against the others that follow him until there’s a gap. The sales clark is wincing, behind her case, but there’s a ominous rattling above you and you scream, “Come on!” at her, your hand held out as everyone on the floor screams.

She sobs as someone smashes into her counter, shoved up by a crowd and you wedge yourself out of the way and scream again, “We have to go! Now!”

You’re almost blind in your panic, wheezing as your elbowed in someone else’s desperation—but then she’s scrambling with the hatch, reaching out to you too and when her hand is in yours you run, following the crowd.

You’re separated in the push—there’s more screams, as more and more flashes fill the room and someone, an older man, almost claws at your face to get in front of you.

Outside there’s a wail of sirens; someone on a megaphone, shouting for surrender.

The explosion is small. It doesn’t feel like it—everyone tumbles to the ground with the shock wave, the smoke quickly filling the space and trying to tunnel out the same way and someone grabs your elbow and tugs, begging you to move—

You follow them. Her, the girl from the cake stand, her face puffy and bruised. The pair of you crawl over people, stand, and when you break out of the glass doors and into the daylight it’s almost a relief—until you see the ring of Pro-Heroes, police officers, all tense.

Your stomach swoops. The Pros, the cops closest to you are ashen-faced—looking beyond you, to whoever is now holding you in place with a calm, heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Just put your hands up,” one of the cops calls out, over the megaphone. “And surrender. There’s no need for hostages.”

Behind you, broken glass shifts. The hand on your shoulder squeezes tighter, a warning, and you stare out at the crowd, trying to empty your mind even as the clerk, still next you, sobs.

Day. Moments.

Beyond the crowd you can hear his sharp voice, his shouting and you squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to know, not wanting to see—

But everything within you is attuned to him. The world falls away into white noise and all you can hear is your name, being screamed furiously, and you have to look.

You blink away your tears, and he’s there, two other Pros trying to hold him back as he swears, elbowing out at them; his face twisting in fury, in grief. Your eyes meet—and he surges forward again, shouting something to you as he reaches out, an officer barrelling into him as nails dig into your shoulder—

And then there is a flash of light. Blinding and sharp.

And you are gone.

[beautification-tales]

The Twig

This is the 3rd installment of “Getting Fit”

As Courtney stepped into the gym, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and intimidation. The loud music, the clanging of weights, and the bodybuilders grunting as they lifted impossibly heavy loads filled the air with a palpable energy. It was a far cry from the sterile, oppressive halls of her school, where she was constantly bullied. She had built up enough confidence to go to the gym. She was sick and tired of being pushed around and wanted to stand up for herself.

Courtney scowled as she had a flashback of yesterday. Britney had pushed her into a locker and called her a “twig”. Britney was the stereotypical blonde cheerleader that found joy in belittling Courtney for her tiny frame. Courtney fantasized about turning the tables and having the power to put Britney in her place.

“First time at the gym?” Courtney was jolted from her daydream as she realized a person was in front of her. She was a tall gorgeous woman with a svelte figure yet still amazingly toned. The light shone on her long brown hair as her blue leotard clinched to her body.

“Um hi…I was asking if this is your first time here?”

Courtney realized she had been staring and didn’t even answer her question. She gulped and finally answered her. “Yeah, I guess I give out that vibe.” She giggled nervously.

The woman smiled warmly and offered her hand. Courtney hesitantly shook it. “Well my name is Julie and trust me when I started here… I had the same lost look.” Courtney smiled back, feeling a bit more at ease. “I’m .. Courtney nice to meet you” she stammered. Julie continued, "Now, what brought you to the gym? Was it something specific you're hoping to achieve or just a general desire to get stronger?"

Courtney took a deep breath, hesitating before answering. "It's actually because I'm being bullied at school. The other day this girl pushed me into a locker and called me a 'twig.' It's been happening a lot and I just want to stand up for myself." Julie's expression turned serious as she listened.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Bullying is never okay. I've been there too, when I first started coming to the gym. I wanted to prove to myself, and to them, that I could change. And I did." Courtney nodded, feeling a spark of determination ignite within her. "Once you find your power Courtney its life changing trust me. How about you check in with our self defense teacher. She’s right over there.” Julie pointed at another woman who was currently doing squats with an amazing amount of weight on her shoulders. An attractive hunk of a man was behind her spotting her.

Courtney’s jaw opened wide as she looked in awe of the woman’s strength as she grunted lifting the weights. The man was cheering her on but was trying his best to cover his bulge in his workout shorts. “I remember when she first came to the gym too. She was a shy lost girl too but now look at her.” Julie said as she walked over to the woman at the squat rack. Courtney followed quietly as they approached the woman.

The woman turned around and flashed a smile at them. Her teeth were perfectly white and her eyes were a bright shade of blue. She had bright blue hair that caught the eye as well a few well placed tattoos. Courtney felt envy as she wanted a body like this woman possessed. “Hey Julie, did you find someone to join my class? I’ve been chomping at the bit to mentor someone.” The woman's voice was confident and firm. She toweled herself off as the man clearly bit his lip eyeing her backside. “Yes I did! Courtney meet Tara!” Julie introduced them.

Courtney nodded and extended her hand. Tara grinned, revealing a set of perfectly straight white teeth and accepted it. Her grip was surprisingly firm. "Nice to meet you, Courtney. Can I whip you into shape?” She winked. Courtney laughed nervously, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. "I hope so."

“Well I’ll leave you ladies to it. Mark come help me with my cool down stretches please.” Julie sauntered away as Mark followed eagerly.

An hour later Courtney was sitting on the mat exhausted with her workout attire drenched. Tara came over and sat beside her, offering her a towel. Courtney smiled gratefully as she took it. "Thanks again for this Tara. I never thought I could do that."

Tara smiled back, her expression softening. "Can I tell you a secret Courtney? I was this overweight nobody when I first came in this gym. Julie told me her secret to success and now I want to trust you with it.” Courtney leaned in closer, her curiosity peaked. "The secret to our success is an experimental supplement ." Tara whispered. "It's this injection you take only once." Courtney's eyes widened in excitement. "Really? Can I try it?" Tara handed her a small vial with a clear liquid inside. "You can try it, but you have to promise me one thing." Courtney nodded eagerly. "Anything." Tara's expression turned serious. "You have to promise me that when you do reach your highest potential that you will pass it on to a girl in need too." Courtney hesitated for a moment before taking the vial.

Courtney looked at the vial on her table at home. She thought on how gullible she was to listen to Tara. It was like she was hypnotized by her beauty and strength but now away from the gym her common sense returned. The foreign supplement could easily be some sort of addictive drug that Tara was trying to get her hooked on. However, when she thought of how small she felt when Britney called her a “twig” she knew any risk would be worth changing her life.

She swallowed her doubts and injected the liquid into her arm. Nothing happened at first, but as the minutes passed, she felt a strange energy coursing through her veins. It was as if she could run a marathon without getting tired or lift weights that were too heavy for her. She felt unstoppable. It reached a point where it felt as if her heart would burst from her chest. The heat she felt in her veins burned yet felt exhilarating. As sweat flowed from her pores she felt her senses heightened as her vision became blurry. She removed her glasses and smiled when she realized her vision had corrected itself.

She looked at her arms as she felt them lengthen before her eyes. She sensed a similar sensation in her legs as she knew her diminutive stature was finally changing. She felt a warm sensation in her stomach that felt like butterflies but more intense. The feeling intensified to the point Courtney’s mouth opened as she let out a sound she never had before. Her now melodious voice sounded more mature than her previous nasal tone. She fell to her knees as the feeling continued. Courtney finally gave in as she realized the sensations were sexual in nature. Her face matured as her cheekbones raised and filled up as well as her lips. She bucked her hips as she leaned into the feeling as her moans got louder. Curves deepened as her ass expanded into a bubble butt of power. Her mosquito bites became oranges then melons as she placed her hands on them she felt her nipples stiffen as they overflowed her grasp. One hand slipped down and felt her wet sex as her waist burst to amazing proportions. “Yes…. Ungh fuck. I want it! I want power” Courtney gasped as her longer arms and legs filled out with elegant amazing feminine muscle. Abs formed on her abdomen as she grunted loudly as her body shivered in euphoria.

Courtney couldn’t sleep that night as she examined her body in her mirror for what seemed like hours. Her reflection showed a new her, a confident woman with curves in all the right places. Her skin glowed with health, her eyes sparkled with determination, and her voice was as smooth as silk. She had to admit, she felt incredible. But there was something else too, something deep down that her new power was hungry to do.

She found out what it was when she returned to school next day and found Britney flirting with Jack the Football quarterback by the bleachers.

Courtney filled with confidence in her revealing top and tight leggings decided to push Britney‘s buttons.

“Hey Jack, great game the other day.” She cooed as she sauntered over to them, her hips swaying seductively.

Britney's eyes narrowed in annoyance, but Jack didn't seem to mind the attention.

"Thanks," he said with a grin. "But do I know you?” Courtney smirked as she stood tall, her muscles flexing subtly.

"Oh, you haven't met me yet," she purred, making sure to stand close enough that Jack could feel her warmth. "But I think we're going to be really good friends." And with that, she placed a hand on his shoulder, letting her strength and confidence flow through her touch. Jack gulped as he adjusted his pants.

Britney's face turned red with anger, but there was nothing she could do or say. Courtney smiled as she walked away knowing Jack was staring at her ass. She felt powerful, confident, and in control. It was a feeling she never thought she'd have, but now she knew it was hers for the taking.

“Hey who the fuck do you think you are?” Britney screamed to her. Courtney turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Jack is my man, got it new girl?” Courtney chuckled. “ Good luck keeping him Britney, he is probably going to go home and stroke his cock thinking about all of this.” Courtney caressed her body flaunting it.

Britney’s red face exposed her rage as she wound up to hit Courtney. She was ready this time and blocked it with ease and grabbed Britney’s wrist and flung her to the ground. Britney felt the wind knocked out of her lungs as she winced in pain on the floor. “Wow, that was so easy too. Maybe you should be the one thinking about your place. You are so easy to push around like a little “twig.” I think I’m going to find Jack and show him what a real woman can do.” Courtney got wet belittling Britney. Tears began to fill Britney’s eyes as she realized she was the little one now.

“Well what happened next?” Tara and Julie asked Courtney as they worked out together. “Well I found Jack and asked for a ride home….then I rode him” the girls all laughed together. “Damn Courtney you’re bad!” Julie stated as she continued to stretch.

“Well I’m glad Britney learned her lesson but are you ready for your next lesson Courtney?” Tara asked. “Most definitely but telling that story just gets me soo.” Tara and Julie looked at each other and smiled. “Oooh Mark!” Tara called out. “Can you help Courtney with her warm up stretching? She’s really stiff.”

Mark stopped curling and looked at the 3 fitness models stretching On the mat as they smiled at him.

“Damn I love coming to the gym” he whispered.

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

ok im not going to tag this but i need you guys to know that my endgame ships for eridan and karkat are

eridan ♦️ karkat

eridan ♥️ roxy

roxy ♦️ calliope

eridan ♠️ calliope

karkat ♥️ calliope

i call it "the polycule only a blood player could love" and although it manages to be perfectly healthy, from the outside, everyone looks like they're cheating on everyone else. nepeta is staring at it going ":33 < dodged a fucking bullet!!!"

Eridan ♦️ Karkat

the ship with the most canon backing. this ship needs to be true before all other ships can be true because it keeps the two of them normal enough to have a shot at romancing anybody else. nobody realized they were pale for each other for an embarrasingly long time because their regular day to day conversations feature slurs and death threats. sometimes looks pitch or flushed from the outside because karkat is a mess who can't stop yelling at people he's trying to romance in the red quads, and because eridan gets really needy sometimes.

Eridan ♥️ Roxy

They get together within five minutes of knowing each other and, despite Rose's protests, never ever break up. Eridan is into cute, pink, bubbly, nice girls, and Roxy is into eccentric troubled princes. Not to mention she fucking loves wizards, and Eridan is a wizard, and that they're both hipsters who use rifles. Also Eridan is weird as hell and Roxy thinks he's hilarious for it. Despite the fact that he puts on this unpleasant, nasty act, he'll pretty much do anything Roxy tells him to, and she likes that. She thinks he has himbo energy. Everyone else thinks she's deranged. Like girl that guy is an insane murderer. Girl he will not stop saying slurs

also their specific abilities are diametrically opposed in an interesting way? prince of hope = can destroy anything he believes he can destroy, rogue of void = can create anything by stealing away its nonexistence. neat!

Roxy ♦️ Calliope

since they aren't trolls and don't need to calm each other down, it's not really a proper moirallegiance, but they're bffffffs and the kinds of silly fun-loving gals who would call their friendship a moirallegiance even if it doesn't have the biological components or serve the social function of one. Two girls that just love each other.

Eridan ♠️ Calliope

biologically, cherubs only engage in pitch romances and are attracted to other cherubs that remind them of the other half they lost in predomination. what i'm saying is that calliope - unfortunately for her - has brother issues. initially put off by eridan's superficial similarities to caliborn - his bluster, his riflekind, his insane logic and thick skull, and how damn often he talks about murder - as they get to know each other, the feeling becomes mutual. eridan is generally totally ok with outright hostility, but calliope's faux-nice smugness when taunting an opponent would drive him nuts, as would the earnestness with which she approaches magic (what kind of POSER needs to RELOAD their WAND), and in general, i think he'd take her genuine well-wishes toward other people as a personal affront, a la "i didn't ever need anybody to look after me!"

they somehow have a 50/50 win ratio at the board games they play, which drives calliope nuts. "believing in your pieces" is not a valid chess strategy!!!!!!!!!

also i think it's fun and thematic, the angel killer and the cherub, whose adult form features hope-shaped wings.

Karkat ♥️ Calliope

We know two things from his crush on terezi: the first is that karkat is into clever, cunning gals, and the second is that he's really fucking messy, the kind of guy who would tell his flushed crush to "set the table on his bone bulge for their candle light hate date." Fortunately, or unfortunately??? for calliope, the fact that he will scream obscenities at her is kind of what she's into. everybody, please, a moment of silence for calliope, who somehow manages to have worse taste in men than roxy.

but yeah more seriously, karkat has a big and loving heart, and so does calliope, while calliope maintains a cleverness and intellect that karkat would be into.

normally, it would be a huge problem for your moirail to be pitch for your matesprit, and we have that both ways here. however, a few factors are mitigating that here. first, eridan will always prioritize karkat or roxy over calliope when they're around. this actually does kind of piss her off, although she feels annoyed that it does. second, calliope is generally mature enough to compartmentalize. third, karkat WILL auspicetize if they aren't careful, and nobody wants that. and fourth, everybody wants to keep roxy happy.

but yeah everyone else watching it is like. are you guys okay? blink if you need help

ofc ship what you want to ship this is not at all me telling you what you should be into. im just saying that these ships have been calculated for Maximum Funnyness, which as we know, is the only objective measure for what makes a good homestuck ship

[majimasleftasscheek]

'The Majima Dilemma' Anon here, looking for some feedback on how would one write Goro Majima's other half Goromi so that it doesn't sound offensive or cringe-worthy. I have the basics - like some stuff noted from the game, but would like to hear someone's idea on Goromi-chan - how she acts around Kiryu or other people etc.

ohoho so I think that the best way to write her (subjectively of course) is to treat her sincerely. of course there's the elephant in the room depending on how you interpret her - I'm going to be viewing her as genderfluid cuz that's my thing so for my purposes, she's an amab dude in a dress. as such, I don't point out said elephant unless the point of my story is to talk about that specifically and with it often comes discussion of gender, etc etc. if I'm not talking about that, I talk about her as if she's any other woman doing her thang.

example: if I had a basic scene where she's putting on lipstick, I'm not going to write her as if she's struggling or being incompetent "because man unga bunga." I'd just have her put on lipstick. that same scene could change depending on the "when" too. maybe early Goromi did struggle but! it's important to portray that struggle with sincerity. write her being anxious, clumsy, etc. don't try to make it comedic tho as it'd be inappropriate imo. if there is anything funny, it shouldn't be at her expense.

so, the game treats the Goromi encounter like a joke, basically just a reason for Kiryu to fight her on the basis of "haha man in dress doesn't that just piss you off." so if you take anything from the game, the conversation they have in the minigame is where it's at, in regards to how Kiryu feels himself around her, how he doesn't have to put on airs, how Goromi's genuinely surprised, things like that. with such a short encounter, you really have to rely on your own imagination to expand upon it but even just that lil bit of exchange is a good base. beyond that, I wouldn't take away from the game that much tbh.

I write Goromi pretty much how I write Majima, with all the usual vulgarities and mannerisms since the way I see Goromi is that she's still very much the same person but with a femme flair. I know some do like to write her significantly different as a personality of her own so that too is an option if that's your thing. I project a lot of my genderfluid experience onto her so when I'm personally feeling flip floppy, I'm not really anyone new, but the way I act, the way I carry myself does differ to varying degrees.

so when Goromi's around Kiryu, for example, she's still up to kicking his ass and being a rude lil shit but she'll carry herself a bit more refined, generically ladylike but surface level - some of it being playing the stereotype of a woman, another part her actively trying to be someone else or "removed from being a typical man." for example, if I wrote Kiryu flirting with Majima, I'd make him get embarrassed but in a sort of aloof way with performative confidence typical of Majima. flirting with Goromi tho is different as she's being very vulnerable, very open about herself and when you love her, you love a part of Majima that he may feel self conscious about.

speaking of the previous mentioned elephant, if you wanna talk about Goromi being a dude, I think that's fine tbh if done with tact. I make it a point in my art to portray her as masculine because for me, the cis part of being genderfluid is just as important as everything else. so I like to see Goromi with her beard and muscles and dick bulge cuz fuck it. I don't shy away from that stuff but I don't make fun of it either. one of my best friends is a transwoman and respecting her as a woman no matter how passing she is, is very important to me. but it's not sunshine n rainbows either. if you do talk about that sorta thing, it does come with baggage and handling that doesn't always have the most right or the most appropriate answer. comes down to respecting people as people imo and I think with common sense and empathy, you can certainly write something well intentioned.

interaction-wise, I think she would try to act the part around most people, maybe being at odds with herself because she's not ignorant to how to she looks or behaves so she tries to be more elegant, more ladylike in order to be likeable, acceptable. but at the same time she's still very much Majima and that crassness doesn't just bleed but hemorrhages out of her. it's a battle within herself to decide how to behave so when people are being genuinely nice, she fumbles. I think it'd be normal even around people she's close to cuz even tho she knows she has their respect, it's almost unreal and she gets very flustered 😌 to an extent, I like to think she even rejects some of that kindness cuz her self doubt makes her think she doesn't deserve it or that people are being dubious to get on her good side.

she's good at faking it too. if you need her to be a perfect lil peach or put up with a lotta crap, she can do it. she'd more so do this if the situation required it so I can see her being polite around those of a higher status or if she was in a situation where she shouldn't be a goblin. she'd be pleasant but cold towards strangers, cautious you can call it, until she can place their vibes. there's an RGGO story (idk if you know what that is but it's basically yakuza gatcha on mobile) where Goromi (before Kiryu ever gets to Club Shine) very seriously plays the part of a hostess and wildly excels so she can very much be a totally different person if need be.

whenever I write an upset Goromi, I like to make her revert to tough guy Majima strats where she'll do her damnedest to not let anything get under her skin but it never goes well, especially if it's personal. if she's not crumbling under depression, she'll be snappy then pissy, handling anything with a fight over pouring her heart out. she's prone to spiraling and holding grudges, preferring to suffer in silence alone which is very much how I'd write Majima normally.

a happy Goromi is bombastic, moreso than Majima if that's even possible. and depending on the context, very very sincere. because the theater in my brain never stops replaying the same scenes over and over, I always have this mental picture that Kiryu says something sweet about Goromi and she's just on the quiet side smiling in a sad sort of way like she can't even believe he actually means what he says. and he looks at her worried like he said something stupid and she has to reassure him she's just happy to be so lucky and that tough exterior opens up just a lil more each time. Majima is a big softie and as Goromi, I feel he can explore that a lil more freely if hesitantly.

I hope this stuff helps! it's my own thoughts so of course take things totally subjectively. I think writing Goromi sincerely does rely on taking considerations of femininity, especially in regards to how a man would approach them and how society would view that. it's a lotta reactionary stuff and I think if you can empathize with that, you can write her well enough. Goromi is a divisive topic for people so you're not going to please everyone but trying to write her in order to please everyone wouldn't be sincere imo. she's a mixed bag of things, some good some ugly, so write her in ways you feel good about while also being considerate/respectful of course.