#people do this willingly?? and the like it? that can’t be true

[crowcryptid]

horrors of the day are over (socializing)

different kind of horrors tomorrow (work)

[skoolweirdo]

Listen I hate true crime culture as much as the next guy but you have to admit there’s something especially evil and cruel about telling grieving parents that “there was no sign of being suicidal” is a good enough reason on its own to think that their child didn’t commit suicide

[frecklenog]

i want you all to understand this.

insulin pens are very often used by diabetic children (or their parents, but they were very easy to use during the short time i was prescribed them when i was a child myself). they’re less cumbersome, produce less waste, and are far easier than pulling insulin from a vial with a single use syringe, as syringes are much more susceptible to air bubbles, which result in the diabetic not getting enough medication. i’m explaining this part because i know that some diabetic adults do also use them, and i’m sure that that’s true of diabetic adults in palestine with such scarce resources. when it’s life or death, you can’t really be picky.

the israeli occupation is now banning insulin pens from entering gaza.

lack of insulin results in diabetic ketoacidosis — essentially a very, very dangerous version of the effects of the keto diet. insulin is a key for the sugar from one’s food (both slow and fast acting, since all food has some carbohydrates, from nuts to potatoes to table sugar) to get from their bloodstream into their cells. without insulin, the body resorts to eating through its own fat stores rather than the sugar it cannot access and tries to flush the excess glucose that is in the blood through the urine. this results in weight loss, headaches, nausea, dehydration, blurred vision, abdominal pain, impaired mental faculties, and, if left untreated, will result in a coma, and eventually death within a matter of weeks. not “can.” it will kill you if not treated, and was largely considered a lethal diagnosis until insulin was discovered in the early 1900s and made readily available in 1922.

i’ve been in dka. admittedly, i was very young and have blocked much of it out. but i do remember that it fucking sucked. i couldn’t focus on anything, i was ravenous no matter how much i ate, and the room spinning to the point i felt like i was going to throw up became an increasingly regular occurrence. i was seven years old and wasting away like i was starved. i was dying. a few more days, and i likely would’ve gone into a coma and might not be here now.

to inflict that, willingly and knowingly, on innocent people, is nothing short of a crime against humanity, and violates the geneva conventions (item 2.a.ii. torture or inhumane treatment, including biological experiments and item 2.a.iii. willfully causing great suffering or serious injury to body or health). not that the israeli occupation cares, of course, as south african prosecutors have already extensively detailed their crimes in the icj, and this one in particular has already been committed near-countless times.

this entire occupation is a genocide, and this is only one more nail in that coffin. but, as a diabetic — as a human being who has been in that state and was lucky enough to have the resources to live almost another fifteen years (with the anniversary of my own diagnosis about halfway through next month), i can’t find the words to express my disgust and rage anymore. maybe it’s selfish to be so deeply impacted by this particular blow. i don’t know. but these people have done nothing wrong but be disabled in gaza, and as someone with the same disability, i know that no one deserves this, even if they have committed a crime (which, again, these civilians, largely children, have not). i will not fucking stand for it.

we need a ceasefire. we need an end to the occupation. we need a free palestine. now.

here’s a masterpost of how you can help.

EDIT: here’s a post on how to help diabetics in gaza specifically

[packsvlog]

☕️⌇ ◜ OFFICE HOURS ◞ ⠀⠀⠀

╰⠀boss!nanami x secretary!reader where . . . nanami kento can’t let people know the reality that he, under no circumstances, belongs to them. in fact, is quite the contrarie. everyone in this job is a puppet willingly letting him pull the strings. you more than anyone. after committing the bizarre mistake of telling nanami your true intentions with him, your boss is more than eager to comply your desires and just maybe, forget he first input of no belongings.

cw. too much swearing, fingering with others present (not caught), fem!reader, reader keeps daydreaming w. nanami, slightly age gap but non-important all legal, public sex, overstimulation, they both keep failing to hide, possessiveness, love bites, he slap her thigh once, bit of blood because of self lip biting 4.9k words, english is not my first language.

an. hi, hello, i want everyone to know i’m this man wife. this is, in fact, our love story, i used to serve his coffee, now i’m serving my puss— anyways, enjoy it. FYI nanami smells like either tom ford tobacco vanille or byredo bibliothèque.

There are certain events in the workplace ── a sequence, if you may ── that serves as a warning to everyone that Mr. Nanami Kento has arrived.

Not many months ago, you were clueless to the symphony of presentation he had, even before stepping into the room. Now, though, it’s engraved in your mind. Much like he is. It is, also, a dirty secret to have that you eagerly wait for it, everyday.

Halting the tack-tack of your fingers on the keyboard, your ears pick the first signal ── rushed footsteps. All opening space so he can pass without the need to raise his eyes, hidden by sunglasses, from his cellphone. The second is the whispers and swooning. Some, more brave than others, compliment him out loud. Always about his peculiar ties, and always he smiles back. Lastly, when Nanami is in your sight of view, he is accompanied by his signature scent that greets you before he even does.

The most raw way to describe his smell is by saying that you wish you could crack him open, and lay inside of him forever. It’s comfortable and addicting and it makes you want to kiss him until it can permanently fixates on you.

In more proper synonyms, Nanami Kento smells like caramel, wood and a bit smokey. He is hot to the touch, one can admit. You don’t fall far from these thoughts, but sometimes, when you are not eye-fucking your boss, you think he smells like a cozy cabin in the woods.

Perfect place to fuck him, though.

Is easy to imagine such a thing. You can picture him with thick sweat covering his body, like a second layer, as he comes inside with a hatchet and wood for the fireplace. And you can, also easily, imagine yourself on your knees sucking him so good, as way to thank him for keeping you warm.

It’s a Kento effect. Everywhere he passes, people tend to have a heat stroke. You are no better than the others. Probably worse. He, however, does not need to know that. Nanami’s plate is already filled to the brims with people gazing him as a snack, he doesn’t need his personal assistant to do the same.

Not in front of him, anyways.

So, when he comes near your table, and stop to take whatever you have for him (work related, honey, even when you wish it was your pussy), you present the calls he need to answer with a compliment for his shoes and a black coffee with pretzels.

He adores you.

You want to fuck him senseless.

A perfect imperfect balance of clashing feelings. His are professional, yours are not even close. He only steps over the boundaries when it’s to call you “Darling” and you only do so in your head, when you think of laying on his table and letting him feast on your dripping cunt.

He is gentle and caring.

You wouldn’t mind chanting his name loud enough for everyone to understand what’s happening.

He departs ways and you share a trembling sigh with your inner turmoil of emotions. He makes you have a constant fever. In fact, with him, everything is constant. You want to fuck him everyday, you touch yourself with his voice in your mind guiding you. He gets pretty out of character in your alone mind, though.

Real Nanami is a sweetheart. Your Nanami would make you cry while on his cock.

“── and the meeting room needs to be ready by eleven, you can do all that, darling?” He asks. He asks! He is talking with you.

“I, uh, I’m sorry, Mr. Kento,” You stutter before shifting your attention from your computer screen to his charming understandable smile. “could you repeat, please?”

“Sure, darling.”

You need to put extra neurons to work when eyeing his pink lips moving gracefully. Is it the same shade as his cock? Oh, you hoped so. That would be your favorite color, would paint your nails, your hair, anything.

“Got it now?” Nanami curls his lips as he question you. You can’t lie to him, so you sign that No, you did not payed attention. He chuckles and comes closer, resting both hands in fist on your table, letting himself down so he can be face to face with you. “I need you to order mine, yours and the lunch for the usual gentleman I talk about the finances, ── you have that noted, right?” You nod, and he proceeds. “Then, I want you to decorate the meeting room, the way you always do.” You nod again, and he moves back. You want to whine. “Good girl.”

Pause.

That’s new. It’s like achieving a new item in a game. A new level. That’s a prize, the greatest form of enlightenment one could have. You feel warm in your chest and cheeks, but dare not to sway your eyes from his twinkling ones. You wonder if he knows what you are thinking, or if he knows the power he has over you ── over everyone.

That’s Nanami Kento. The man with a dazzling aura, it touches all in proximity, no one survives him. If he wants, you are his. Hooked like a worm, willingly ready to be devoured by a fish, and the thing is no one knows if Nanami is said fish or the fisherman.

The secret about his success is not only the sweet talk he does, but the way he can easily take it away. And no one wants to be away from his warmth. You’ve seen it before, how he controls people ── some more powerful than your mind can comprehend, they all are puppets for him to pull the strings. He touches and praises them when they do what he wants, but Nanami grows cold and absent when they don’t.

Everyone wants to be loved by him, so everything this enterprise does, it revolves around Nanami.

He can be a scary man when he wants, and you’ve heard the tales, from time to time. With you, fortunately, he is just your nice boss. And a part of you wish he would cradle you into his arms and play with you like a marionete. His doll. Yeah, you want to be his fucking doll.

Tempted to ruin this lunch and be ravished by his famine, you shake your deranged thoughts and focus on ordering the food. Also asking for red velvet cookies for you and Mr. Gojo, the owner of this whole enterprise.

A cocky young man, that likes to devour your physique whenever you come inside the room. He is rich and beautiful and his name is always on the newspaper with gossip mostly involved. You could fall for him, could fuck him, but he is not Nanami.

He doesn’t boss you around gently, nor he makes you crave his scent on lonely nights. He makes you shy, but not timid and horny. In fact, you don’t even think about Satoru Gojo unless you are balancing his persona with Nanami’s. That’s sad for him.

You keep doing that ── the thoughts, the sexual dreams ── while preparing the meeting room with a charming decoration. Black glasses, black plates, all with golden details. Satoru Gojo himself payed for it, not that he knows or care. You commented once, Nanami liked, and moved his toys in favor of buying the expensive kitchen utensils you wanted. He even made sure to get some for your own house.

The last part is closing the thick black curtains around the room, for privacy. Someone comes inside the second you step back from the last tapestry, and when you turn, Nanami is there.

“How’s everything?” His fingers press on the table, moving swiftly with him, closer to you. “You’ve got cookies?” There is amusement in his question.

“Mr. Gojo’s secretary, Suguru, told me he was craving something sweet.” You turn back to the table behind you, stacking the sweet in a small mountain. “He always gets fussy if he doesn’t get his daily large intake of sugar.”

You grabbed one, knowing that half of it was rightfully yours, and twisted on your heels. Nanami scared you in two sequential situations after that. The first being his looming presence right in front of you, piercing gaze on you, shifting between your eyes. He was searching for something in it, so, you tried the hardest you could to give him something back. Eyes that said “please, fuck me.”

Maybe it worked. The next thing he did, that scared you, was bending down and biting your cookie. Eyes never leaving yours. You gulped, he smirked.

“Please, fuck me.”

He chocked.

See, your eyes were supposed to be the one speaking for you, but Nanami also has this super power that no one can lie to him. He wants something, he gets it delivered in a silver plate. He knows everyone’s secret, and yours were never safe, just happened to be hidden in a line of things that weren’t priority for him. Not until now, at least. He wanted to know what you were hiding, and you gave it to him.

“I ──” The words are struck behind your teeth. Nanami eagerly waits for them. “I’m so sorry.”

And with that, you leave him.

In a perfect world, he would have grabbed you by the wrists and fucked you against Satoru’s side of the table. But it’s not, because he lets you go. He has to let you go, even if you know that’s not the end of it. He will get you later, and like a little kid in science class, he will dissect everything you said. Therefore, during the thirty minutes of freedom you are granted in the bathroom, before the meeting starts, you try and fail and try and fail to conceal your thoughts into a perfect lie.

It doesn’t work. Not even a bit. Because Nanami knows you like the back of his hand, as much as he knows everyone that works with him. He knows when you lie and when you are truthful, and thanks to that, your work relationship had always been good ── you’ve never lied to him to stroke his ego. You were too busy wanting to stroke something else. Nanami let you slide your nasty comments about others, and he would share them, granting you some of their secrets.

He was a gossiper. He knew everything. You knew right there that lying would never work with him, so you just avoided to let him reach that horny part of yours that burned for him. Give him something else to sink his attention into. Your neck, you wanted, but rather you would feed him with gossips from your college classes, or what you got from Suguru Geto, your friend and Satoru’s assistant.

Now, you had already run out of distractions. Maybe that was his plan all along. If the world is correct, and it all falls down to Nanami’s desires, then maybe he was just waiting for you to crumble and admit. You had never been subtle with your eyes, anyway. That’s why he had been so fascinated about it, staring from time to time, trying to catch a glimpse of your true self, like a wishing star in a starry night.

The stars have gone dark, burned and busted away, when you come back to the meeting room and sit down on your designed chair, by his side. Nanami is focusing at you, again, like he needs more of your secrets at this moment. You have never gave him something so largue before, he is addicted.

But you, stubborn, appalled, stoic and all, think your plate of pasta is the most interesting thing in this whole world. You don’t eat much, because your throat is filled with all the words and screams you want to let out. You fear if you so much breathe loud, it will all come flooding this room.

“Are you annotating all of this in your head?” Nanami whispers in your ear, referring to the meeting now in progress. You sign no, and he sighs. “Your mind is far away, today.”

“Sorry.”

“What should I do with you?”

Someone coughs. An old man, standing by the edge of the table. He wants Nanami’s eyes on him, the praise, the goodness. Kento grants him half a smile, and that is not enough. Never will be. Everyone always wants more.

The lights are turned off when the projector is brought by Suguru, he comes and goes quickly, not before stealing a cookie from Satoru. That’s the first smile you present since the incident, and Nanami is back at staring at you with an intensity your heart fears but your pussy drips for. Are you scared? Petrified. And still, you are fucking horny.

He knows your secret, he is devoting his eyes to you, no matter what anyone else wants. He, in this moment, wants you. It might be because he needs to know what you meant, it might be because you are stroking his ego, finally. Or, you dare wonder, he is debating throwing you on that table and fucking you. Old men and Satoru aside, you wouldn’t mind. At all.

You take courage to look at him, and instantly you stare at his lips first, before his eyes. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. You go back at eyeing the projector. He does the same a long beat later. An even longer one, he slowly puts his hand on your exposed thigh, skirt raised since you set down.

You try to not fail in your stoic face, but you do so anyway. Because, for fuck’s sake, Nanami Kento has his hands on your thigh, his thumb in circular movements. Your lips instinctively curl up, he snorts by your side before going back to his serious demeanor.

You thought he would just keep his hands there, as if testing the water but deciding to stay near the shore. That’s not his case, though. Nanami loves to go to the beach, to swim far away beyond the waves, he likes to get damped. His hand move closer, and you open your legs absentmindedly. He wants, you give. As much as you have wanted, and now he is giving you.

When his hands are pressing against your lacy underwear, you hear a little “Fuck” coming from his mouth. You’re soaking wet.

It’s hard to keep your breathing pattern steady when he is near you. Even more harder when he has one finger slowly penetrating you. For the outsider viewer, everything is normal, and the two of you are just concentrated on the projector screen. The truth is you have no idea what’s going on, and maybe neither does him. You want to moan, and tug his hair until he groans. And you want him to replace his finger with his cock. You stare at the annotation book, empty of your handwriting, and use the opportunity of your head down to hang your mouth open and close your eyes.

Nanami shifts his eyes to you, and he drowns himself into your fucked gaze, even more so when he puts another finger. He can’t linger much, or others will notice, so he decides to keep his movements fluid and calm, and to stare at you from time to time.

He can multitask. Of-fucking-course. He asks questions, answers, he acts as if he is one hundred percent into whatever is going on. The reality is different. The truth is all about his curling fingers pressing themselves in a place inside you that will forever mark his presence there. Like a secret plaything only for him, no one, not even you, will ever reach that. It’s like he is signing it with either his name only or a “Nanami was here.”

You want him to stay, forever. Stay inside you, slow pacing, curling, sensitive.

He can’t, because what feels like hours later, turns into minutes. Everyone is raising up to leave, and he moves out of you so fast, you clench around nothing ── had you been quicker, grabbed his fingers, they all would know. You don’t give a fuck, you want them too know.

“Go to my office.” He whispers before going the opposite direction of the exit, and staying back to talk with the others. You walk without a goodbye, creating an excuse when Satoru wants some of your time.

Inside his office, you feel like breathing for the first time. It’s confusing, like your lungs are new and not fully connected to your esophagus, so it comes up weird ── in a mixture of laugh and relief, salted with a “what the actual fuck”.

You want to stop and think of what’s happening or what’s to happen, but you never had the chance. It’s a second later, and you are being pressed against his, now, locked door. His arms holding your hips, his head resting on your neck, sulking your scent much like you do with his.

“You meant it, right?” He asks, bringing his face up to yours. “You want me to fuck you. Please, darling, say you do, because I need to fuck you now, or I’ll go crazy.”

“Yes, please, please.” Midway through your desperate nod, Nanami lunged at you, catching your lips in his and conducting the rhythm, the strength.

He was so, so good. In all ways. His slow fingers had your legs shaking and his eager kiss has your mind fogged. All that he does seems to be professional, but you know deep down, this effect is all because is made by him. Just his presence alone could have you hot and bothered, but to actually be touched by him, it’s like adding the fire to your gasoline self.

You had always been meant to be burned by Nanami.

He hoist you up against the door, for a quick second his hands kept clawing your thighs, until he walked you both to his desk. He let you down on it, and at the same time, his kisses moved to your neck and shoulder. You could feel the scrape of his teeth, tempted to mark you with a significant bite ── tell them I’m yours, you thought.

He groaned against your flustered skin, because he knew he couldn’t do that. Mark you, that’s it. Fuck you? Oh, that he can, that he will do.

“I need you to be really quiet for me.” His hands are quick on his belt, dropping it with a thud against the floor. He raises your skirt to your waist, Nanami grumbled under his breath with the sight of your underwear. He had touched the elaborate details earlier, but to see it was another story. White, see through, a pink ribbon on the top. “I’m going to rip it.”

“No, you’re not!” Raising your leg, you pushed him away. Eyes still hypnotized by your clothed cunt. You removed the piece with a satisfied smirk. It had been months since you started to wear those type of under-wears, hoping one day this situation would come.

No one wants to fuck their sexy boss with granny’s pants.

The cold table coming in contact with your intimacy made you moan a bit, and Nanami’s attention was back on you. There you were, beautifully waiting for him. Fuck-me eyes, pleading mouth, hands gripping the edge of the desk. You were at his mercy, had been for a while now. And he? Well, Nanami was yours now, that’s what matter.

One of his fingers, the same one he had penetrated you earlier, came back inside you. Smearing itself with your wetness. His other hand gripped your hips, bringing you closer, and making him go deeper. There, right fucking there. He curled, and thrusted, and another two more out of nowhere.

Cruelty was not on the way he was ravishing your cunt, but the biting of your teeth on your hand. You have to be quiet, follow his orders, but Nanami seemed to want to make you scream. Let everyone know that he is fucking you. Nearly fucking you.

Combining this movements with the ones of earlier, you feel your insides getting tighter. He senses as well, and raises his peace once more. But, again, your legs push him away. Nanami doesn’t like that, he comes back quick, wet fingers anxious to reclaim their place inside you, but you sign no, and he halts. That’s it. The man that controls everyone, and he is at your mercy.

“I want to cum on your cock.” Maybe is the sweet and diabolical way you say, or the tilting of your head with a charming smile. What matters is, he complies right away. His pants fall, he takes off his blazer, and not a second later you are presented with what you’ve been craving for months.

Like a pregnant lady, you almost cry and fall on your knees, finally having your desire attended. He doesn’t want that either, instead Nanami takes a condom from his wallet. Before he puts it, his waiting fingers touch your cunt again, grabbing a bit of your liquid and smearing it on himself. You nearly ask him to throw the condom away.

Is a sinful sight. All of this. You on the desk, legs wide open. He in front of you, adjusting himself on the condom. Both groaning when he, fucking finally, align with your entrance, and slowly gets in. He is largue, and thick, and preparation might have been necessary had you not been daydreaming of this moments months ago.

Had he not been himself, that man that makes you drip with just a “good morning”, this might have hurt. Instead, it’s exhilarating to be parted by his cock. The condom does not stop you from feeling his veins tickling your walls, or his tip finally setting near your cervix. That was fucking new. Pleasant and scary, and fucking welcome as well.

“Say it again,” He asks, hands on both your hips and eyes looking over yours. Waiting for the stars to fall over the two of you. “tell me to fuck you.”

“Fuck m──” He doesn’t wait for you to end before he removes himself, and going back with a gushing sound. You nearly scream out of pleasure, but in the last second, you bite your lips strong enough to draw some blood. “Mmh, you fucking a-asshole.” He snorts at that, before slapping your thigh.

Seems that Nanami can do all the noises he wants. He groans against your skin, head hanging low to stare at the way you pussy suck his dick in and out. You have always been a good girl ── his good girl. Taking all the he gave you. Mostly work related, and now his cock. You truly were made just for him.

“You feel so fucking good, baby.” A moan scapes your hands, and he doesn’t bother spanking your leg again. He called you baby, and you’re strangling his dick perfectly. You can shout at this point, he is pussy fucked.

Removing your hands from your mouth, you decide to do something much better than guarding your pleasure. Instead, you open his button-up blue shirt. A dream come through, is what this day will be remembered as. Specially now, where he lets you do as you pleases, and you have the sight of his pecks ── bronzed from a beach trip he took last week, and glistening with sweat for your recent activities. You moaned again, before going for it, and marking him.

Nanami allowed you to do so. He only cared about holding your hips and raise your lower body, so he could make you meet his thrusts halfway. He didn’t hold a care in the world about his groaning getting louder, or the burning on his neck and chest caused by your eager mouth and teeth. Fuck that. Fuck everyone. The only thing he truly wanted was to be inside of you forever. To be planted in this moment of his life, on loop, being marked by you, having his cock milked out by your dripping cunt. That’s what his life was made for.

Nanami Kento had this aura that made everyone scramble for him and his left-overs, as a way to keep close. To say they have something that once was his. Because everyone knew that Nanami was no one’s property. This moment, this fuck, this pussy proved that statement to be contraire ── he was yours. From the first day he saw you and specially one hour ago, when he had eaten your cookie and you told him to fuck you. He knew right then that he would shift the whole balance of the world to give you what you want.

And if that’s his aching cock, fucking be it. It’s yours. You’re taking it so good, and barely paying attention to it. He keeps bruising your cervix, and you respond with little whimpers and more bites. He quicken his peace, you close your legs around his waist, as if giving him more opening.

A perfect synchrony.

“Wan’ to cum.” You mumble just right after he senses your wall get tight.

“C’mon, baby, ugh, cum f’me.”

“Mmh, fuck, ngha.”

You do right after, going limp on his arms, he slow his thrusting with a snort and laying you down on the desk. He shuffles something by your dazed-self side, before he brings a black sharpie near your cleavage. He kisses and licks and sucks on it, before opening the pen with his mouth, and signing a straight line.

“How many more can you give me, pretty?” You don’t answer in words, but with more quiet whimpers, when his thrusts go back to pounding you in a maniac pace. He holds your neck down, leaning to kiss you through your beautiful moans.

You’re sensitive, he knows. Because you keep closing more and more around his length, trying to make him cum, unknown to you that it only makes you closer to coming again. You hit your head on the desk when trying to follow his departed lips, Nanami has your neck again on his mouth, tasting your sweat and lotion, and all you can give him. It’s only when he bites it slightly, you release yourself once more.

“Mmph, fuck, fuck, argh.”

Nanami keeps jerking his hips onto yours, not even having cum once. He takes pleasure in yours, you can see. With a proud smirk, he grabs the sharpie once more, but this time, he makes a diagonal line that touches the top of the first.

“Mhm──!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, baby. Just a bit more.” He cooed at you, sweet tone diverging from his animalistic movements.

You’re not complaining, not even regretting. So you keep yourself down and let Nanami control both of yours fun. He is ruthless in his pace and fantastic with his kisses, he doesn’t mind your moaning anymore, or the fact that everyone on your floor already knows. What can they do? Stop you? Nanami will rip everyone apart and just return to your pussy. Threaten him? No one would dare. He is still their sweetheart, their most sacred prize, beautiful and shinning to look at. Never to have.

“I’m, ugh, I’m yours.” He grunts.

This time, you sense a shift in his thrusts. So methodical now sloppy, and his cock kept twitching inside of you, sending more waves of pleasure to your core. Yes, fucking finally, he was near.

“All fucking m──mine.” You agreed with his words, grabbing the back of his neck and slamming your lips together. “I’m yours, always had been.”

Nanami can’t even control himself anymore. He groans and pants as he releases himself inside you. With a mist of swearing and praises you could barely decipher. After all, his own release had triggered yours.

When you both had come back from the high, Nanami raised himself from your chest, and kissed you, tongues intertwining, teeth clashing and biting. When he parted, leaving you breathless, he had then pen in his hand again. It touched your skin, once more, connecting from the bottom of his last line, going up straight.

It’s a “N”.

“You think we can spell my name?” He asks, leaving your inside to throw his condom out. He opens a drawer, where a box with more is presented.

“That would be more 17 fucks.” You support your weight on your elbows while counting.

“It’s that a no?”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up your throat, before beckoning him closer. He does right away, kissing you hungrily once more. As if he is trying to record forever the taste of your mouth. He has your hair in his fists, pushing it back so he can go back to your, now, heavily marked neck.

“Let’s see how far can we go.” You indulge into his crazy erotic idea.

Nanami smiles triumphantly. He removes himself from your body, but doesn’t put condoms, instead, he falls on his knees, diving straight for your pussy.

Hours later, the sun beginning to set on the horizon, you leave his locked office with a smug smirk and timid eyes. Both accompanied by messy hair, flushed cheeks, marked neck and… “Nana” written on your chest.

“We’ll finish this later.” He comes behind you, closing his shirt, but letting the top buttons opened enough to catch a glimpse of your love marks on his chest. Specially the one with “Mine” marked in it.

[raitonsfw]

tags: true form sukuna, two dicks, dubcon, masturbation, breeding kink, dacryphilia, rough blowjob/intercourse, curse fucking, mention of itadori’s body, and some manipulation. (tags bc it's true form sukuna and contains more than my usual thirsts)

thinking about sukuna ryōmen...

and the sheer annoyance of itadori’s body plaguing him as he fails to get himself off yet again. god, he missed his true form– two cocks lying heavily against his tummy, nearly touching his licked mouth open there and he begged to be able to someday be inside his own skin again.

he craved the desperation he used to instill in people when he’d whip them out, two of his hands folded against his hips whilst the other two held out his prized possessions. it was a real power trip for him, seeing the way their mouths bob open in an attempt to try to take both at once; only for them to ultimately fit one in their mouth. 

as he pumped himself languidly, lying dreadfully still in itadori’s dorm bed, he thought of you and what you would do if you were ever graced with his true form. would you cower in fear or would you drop to your knees before him, begs and pleads spilling pathetically from your wretched mouth? 

he imagined the latter– you’d submit to him, in more ways than one. your tiny hands wouldn’t even be able to wrap around one of his cocks, forget about the other one; could you even fit it in your mouth? he’d have to shove it in, make you take it with no remorse. one of his four palms would cup the crown of your head, keeping you pliant for him as he greedily fed you his huge cock. 

and of course you’d gag around him whilst your hand would grab at his other cock that rested against your stuffed cheek, dripping precum all over your shoulder. he imagined you’d think it was lonely, needing some relief too as the one in your mouth started to slide against your tongue. he wouldn't be nice about it either, the back of your throat would definitely be bruised by the end of the night.

if there was ever an end, because the next thing you knew– his cocks would be stretching out your tight little cunt. all of his hands would be holding you flush against him, two around your neck and the other two gripping your waist as he pounded mercilessly into you from behind, not a single ounce of regret flooding his mind. 

his hands on your waist would curve up to your breasts, fondling them as the mouths he bore on his palms opened up. they’d suckle your nipples between their teeth, reddening them as they pulled harshly and you would nearly collapse from the pleasured pain you felt– from his hands, his cocks, his entire presence that shielded you down into the pit of the mattress.

you’d whine out tiny complaints that mixed with moans, begging him to slow down as his two cocks would ram straight against your cervix, desperate to nearly break through and flood your womb and all he’d say to you was, ‘what? you humans can’t take two dicks at once? nah, you can fucking take it… c’mon, that’s it–! fucking cry for me.’

his release pressed him soon after as he watched you weep into the pillows– he needed to cum inside you and breed you, could a curse like him even impregnate you? who knew, but he’d be determined to find out as you clenched around both of his cocks with a wanton cry. as the king of curses, how wonderful it would be if he were to have an offspring to rule beside him– especially a child of your being, something so disastrously human yet so wonderfully cursed.

as sukuna imagined how you’d take his seed so fucking willingly, itadori’s uniform would be completely soiled– and itadori wouldn’t even know why as he came to.

© raitonsfw thirsts '24 • 18+ mdni • divider credit; @hitobaby

a/n: decided this needed warning tags cuz it's true form sukuna. i had a damn dream about him last night and he hasn't left my mind the entire day so this came about.

[hazard-symbols-that-fuck-hard]

Fun fact: almost all of the apples you eat are clones!

You see, apples have extraordinary variety in their phenotypes. Just like dogs, their fruit can vary so much that it’s hard to believe that they even come from the same species.

Except unlike a dog (where if you breed two boxers together, you’ll get another boxer), apple genetics have so much variety that every single seed planted will sprout into something completely new (and likely foul-tasting).

Even if you pollinate an apple tree with its own pollen, enough genetic re-combining will happen so that the resulting tree will produce fruit that is absolutely nothing like the fruit of its singular parent.

This makes apples (and other tree fruits) extremely difficult to selectively breed, so almost every single apple variety simply… isn’t selectively bred! Almost all apples, save for GMOs, were basically spontaneously generated by nature and simply propagated by humans.

But how do you propagate a set of genetics that doesn’t grow “true to seed”? Easy.

You graft.

Plants, unlike animals, are eager to accept any marginally similar flesh as their own.

You can cut off a branch of a tree (or a stem of almost any plant), affix the branch of a different tree (called a scion) over top the newly-created wound, and the base tree (called the rootstock) will heal them together and incorporate the new branch into its vasculatory system.

Not only will a tree willingly incorporate tissue of any member of its species, many trees will also take on the tissue of other species!

If it’s done while the tree is young enough, you can get a tree with very sturdy roots AND nothing but perfect apples from the waist up.

Grafting is the oldest form of cloning. It’s an agricultural practice with evidence of practice as far back as 2,000 BCE

Could you imagine if animals were like that? You could just stick something on and it would just work?

(I can’t help but wonder if ancient people ever tried grafting livestock together after seeing that it works with crops)

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Okay listen closely I'm boutta get specific.

Flirty, sarcastic villain x Kind, "pure" hero

But also when the villain flirts with the hero, villain gets flustered when it is reciprocated because they thought the hero was too pure to do it 😏

Feel free to make it spicy if you want 💅✨

“Oh noooo.” The villain’s gaze changed to something possessive, something satisfied as they circled the hero. “What a pretty bird in my trap…”

“I actually wanted to talk to you,” the hero said but the villain’s hand was on their chest immediately, pushing them back into the wall. Still bound, the hero had to gasp, almost falling but the villain caught them just in time.

They’d been sent here to recruit the villain.

A month ago, the hero would’ve laughed in the face of anyone suggesting that.

“So you walked into my trap?” The villain grabbed the hero’s jaw gently and turned their head from side to side, as if the hero was a jewel in their collection that needed inspection.

“…not willingly.” The villain smiled and let go of their prey.

But it was quite true. Everyone could tell how possessive the villain was, how stupid they could be whenever the hero was involved.

They did everything to get the hero’s attention. And they did even more to protect them.

It was mostly funny to the hero. They liked the villain.

“You know, in nature pretty birds with all their colours are easier to detect. Easier to catch,” the villain said. Their eyes followed the hero’s blue and green uniform, as if they were judging them.

For a long time, the villain had been testing waters, trying to flirt with the hero now and then, trying to throw them off their game.

But this time, the hero was prepared. Kind of.

“As long as the reproduction rate is higher than the death rate, birds will stay pretty,” the hero said. They didn’t really know what they were saying. But they liked how the villain’s gaze jumped up again.

“Oh? Are you trying to flirt with me?” the villain mused.

“A high reproduction rate is always beneficial,” the hero answered.

“Oh—”

“Just saying…” They wetted their lips. “I mean, how could I ever resist? You even saved these people last week.”

“Ah—well, oh that? That wasn’t—” The villain looked a little embarrassed. They were still so close to the hero, yearning for the touch.

“Or when you saved that kitten from the streets? It kept scratching you and you kept cursing but you wouldn’t leave it to die.”

“Wait, you remember that?” the villain asked. They smiled nervously and that little break of eye contact was enough time for the hero’s hand to slip out of their bonds and grab the villain. They pulled them close.

“You’re very sweet if you think that I haven’t been paying attention.” Now, it was the hero’s turn to look the villain up and down. “Turns out, paying attention to you is one of the most delicate activities in my life right now.”

“Oh, I didn’t—”

The hero smiled to themselves. They hadn’t had this much fun at work in a long time. The villain’s begging for attention was just as adorable as their reaction right now. They didn’t know what to say.

“Such a shame we can’t do this more often…oh, wait. You could join the agency…” the hero said, winking.

And it didn’t even take two days for the villain to switch sides.

[prettyboykatsuki]

give yourself up, my treat | h. sakura

✮ tags ; afab + fem!reader (referred to as girlfriend, descriptions of makeup and nails), implied to be shorter than sakura, omorashi, piss!!!! / wetting, humiliation, lots of crying / embarrassment, praise kink, somewhat public, femdom, depictions of subspace, d/s dynamics, like... soft loving sex as aftercare but this is honestly pure kink lol sorry, 18+

✮ wc ; 4.6k (i dont want to talk about it man)

✮ a/n ; this is piss kink. like. full stop. full stop omorashi. im warning you now that this is piss kink to the highest extent. srry sakura . finally let him top and it was after making him piss himself. rip

also!! while sakura is describing how shameful he feels he is doing this all very willingly. they have a safeword but sakura does not feel any need to use it.

✮ synopsis ; sakura lets you push his limits any way you please.

Sakura listens to everything you say. Like some kind of moron.  

Can’t help himself really, as much as it irritates him to admit. 

That’s always just been his instinct. Any time he finds himself in unfamiliar waters, he leans into that as much as possible. He’s survived a long time by trusting his intuition and a longstanding distrust of other people. It speaks a lot to someone's character usually if Sakura is even mildly inclined to trust them.  

He isn’t sure if it’s his intuition that drives him to follow your order without question, but it’s a strong enough pull he finds he can’t help himself even when he so, so badly wants to resist it.  

It’s not Sakura’s fault. It’s not really yours either.  That’s just how you’ve always been. How its always been. 

(Once, well before you and Sakura were a thing - Nirei had made an observation about you. Called you disarming. Suo laughed and agreed before adding that it felt a little misleading to describe you that way even if it was true. 

 You had just moved into the area after a disciplinary case in your hometown. You’d beat up another student who was bullying your friend, got expelled and moved out on your own after the fact. Cut ties with your family and everything.  

Despite the general air of mystery around you, there was  something about you that Sakura felt pulled him in. For some reason, you never triggered his fight or flight even when it was way easier to do it. For some reason you made him comfortable, always knowing his limits and rarely teasing him even for laughs.  

An undeniable magnetism to you appealed to him a lot more than it repulsed him. ) 

Over the years, Sakura has mulled a lot over your relationship. How you approached him at fifteen with a cool, carefree attitude that left him uselessly infatuated against his will. How you took your time in getting to know him for years. Later, how you confessed. Roped him into the relationship so seamlessly that by the time things happened for real, Sakura felt totally unnerved by how inevitable—how deliberate you were about it right from the start. Something that occurred to him too late.  

You’ve always been good at placating his many troubles too, even when you’re the cause of them. His lingering paranoia, his serious attitude, his inability to deal with compliments. You handle all of it with such grace it’s like those parts of him don’t even exist. Maybe it’s because you went through something similar to him, but you understand all of it well - though you dealt with it in the opposite way he does.  

Your carefree acceptance has proved to have a good influence on him. He’s less anxious and more relaxed around you. He always feels like listening to you, and always does - and after dating for four years, he’s rarely mad about it.  

Sakura always listens to everything you say because some part of him is conditioned too. His body does it instinctively, placing more trust in your words than he does in even himself. You’ve built that in him. 

As troublesome as you can be, you’ve yet to lead him astray.

Embarrassing as it is, a long relationship has instilled a sense of obedience  to you and his… love for you that runs deeper even than his intuition.  

That’s why, when you tell Sakura to— 

“Drink,”  

—he does it without hesitation.  

He drinks another cup of tea in one gulp before wiping the corner of his lip as you smile at him very briefly.  

He no longer feels a clear sense of how much time has passed, despite the fact he’s currently very sober.  

Cramped against the wall, Sakura’s head spins as you lean your weight against his other side and chat with Umemiya over drinks. An airy smile on your lips and gentle look in your eye. Damn you.  

His chest heaves as the thick, warm air enters his lungs and stifles his already difficult breathing further. Dim lights overhead cast shadow underneath the table and only barely illuminate the topside well enough to see the remnants of a long night. Empty glasses, canisters of beer and shochu as well as a variety of small plates cleared of everything apart from stray crumbs littering its surface.  

Around him, his loved ones part into small groups and chat amongst each other. Sakura has no idea what the topic of conversation is anymore. He hasn’t heard anything other than the sound of your voice in his head for an hour and hasn’t spoken up for the last thirty minutes. When someone tries to call him into conversation, he mumbles something before you speak for him and no one bats an eye at this for which Sakura’s fucking grateful.  

It’s so hard to think of anything when his bladder feels this painfully full.  

His head is filled with white noise, red flush crawling even further along his neck until it dusts along his nose - up to the ends of his ears. Under the table, your fingers drift subtly to his inner thigh and push inward. Sakura winces, biting back a pathetic little whimper and glaring at you weakly from the corner of his eyes.  

This is torture.  

You aimlessly draw something in his thigh with your fingers before smiling gently as you nudge another cup of lukewarm tea his way. Leaning in while your conversation partners are all distracted by ordering something else, you whisper into his ear. The light warmth of your breath makes him shake, painful pressure in his abdomen steadily increases as the liquid starts to travel down his throat. Your hand is careful as it slides underneath his black t-shirt and lightly grazes his skin. It’s dark enough to not be obvious. The dull ends of your manicured nails scratch lightly at the soft, lower swell of his belly before the pads of your fingers push hard into his core.  

His body gives into the pressure, eyes widening with fear at the sudden sensation. He barely stifles a gasp before shooting you another mean look you easily ignore.  

“Haruka,” You hand him his cup again, filled to the very brim with liquid. “Drink some more tea,”  

He grits his teeth. 

“Fucksake. I can’t—I can’t.”  

You raise an eyebrow as your hand smooth down his thighs. Your lips quirk up into a smile so smug it nearly rocks him out of his anger.  

“Is that right?”  

A test. He’s always welcome to give up. He knows that. He knows that if he does you won’t hold it against him either. You want him to do it because he wanted too, always. He hates that about you.  

Sakura grinds his teeth and takes a hold of the ceramic tea cup, knocking the lukewarm tea back in one go. Your expression morphs into something pleased and endeared from the corner of his eyes and his heart starts to flutter. He isn’t sure if he’s thankful or not for all the people around, for the environment.  

It gives you free reign to lean even further into him and whisper the words he’s been desperately aching to hear all evening.  

“Good boy,” You hum, careful and deliberate. A innocent kiss gets placed on his cheek, the lipgloss dampening his skin. “You’re being so, so strong.”  

The words him melt him unwittingly. From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, the rush of affection threads through his nerves and unwinds his sense of danger further. Enough that he might slip completely. He has to hold it until the clock hits midnight. Just until then. You’ll take a cab home and Sakura will relieve himself finally, finally. It’s seventeen more minutes until he can go home and empty his bladder. He can’t screw up now.  

This is the first time you’ve made Sakura hold in public. You’ve always been considerate enough to do it at home where the safety net of your mutual understanding and familiar bathroom are there even if he fails to keep it in. Even if he pissed himself in your living room or in your bedroom - it can be dry cleaned or tossed. Most of all there’s no one to explain it too.  

In public it’s different. He could pretend that he’s  drunk and while it wouldn’t be less fucking embarrassing  - at least it’s understandable. Sakura is sure that’s part of the reason you chose a place like this do to attempt such a public play. To give him the out, just in case.  

But regardless, the shame and humiliation of not being able to hold it in front of everyone he knows is a threat. It’s just so goddamn embarrassing. So horrible and awful. The anxiety makes his stomach churn but he can’t focus on a damn thing else.  

He has to go. He has too.  

He always whines about how much he hates this but you both know he doesn’t entirely mean it. It’s not that he likes this miserable sensation, as much as he likes how you get off on it. How sadistic it turns his unusually kind and light-hearted girlfriend.  

 You’ve always relished in Sakura’s shame like the freak you are. Pure pleasure on your face and absolute adoration as you watched Sakura break apart slowly and guide him through it with hushed whispers. Watching  the light color of his jeans or joggers stain dark from wetness or watch him be jostle around enough to almost piss but not enough to give him actual relief.  Teasing him until he trickles and makes his own boxers damp enough to be uncomfortable—to be cognizant  of the fact he’s pissed himself helplessly while not being able to take care of it on his own. Not without your explicit permission. 

You’ve done all sorts of play together. Usually, you have and indoor date and movie night where Sakura knocks back a few liters over of water over long few hours and gets increasingly desperate. And you get him hard during that, always sure to tease him until he’s just on the edge of wetting himself.  

You always shower together afterwards. Yet, you don’t hesitate to touch Sakura’s soft, piss soaked cock with reverence either way. Quick to praise him, whether or not he’s failed or succeeded in holding it. Despite how shameful the whole thing is and how much he protested it at the start  - some part of him deep, deep down can admit he sort of likes it. Or at least, he likes the pleasure he gets from you when you take the reigns.  

It feels good, though he really resents even kind of admitting that. The relief from holding and holding and holding and then finally getting to let go is just as good every time. Pissing himself always feels good in the moment.  

And you’re always so aroused by him after. He likes that way more than everything else being frank. Likes the way you get wet over his humiliation. Likes how softly you stroke and lick his cock when he’s all cleaned up, eyes lidded and full of pure love as he gets to cum too  - another reward for holding in so well. He loves the warm whispers of good boy against his neck and shoulders when you finally sink down on his length and the way you feel when he holds you in his lap and buries his face into your shoulder.  

All of that feels so much better when he does what he’s told and he likes listening to you. So even though it’s usually against his best interest in conditions like these - he bites his tongue and continues to drink until he feels like he’s sating your appetite, silently ignoring the ballooning in his bladder only getting worse with each pass of breath.  

And he drinks, and drinks, and drinks until the clock hits midnight.  

You’re deliberately brutal in the last seventeen minutes. In that time, you make Sakura down at least another half liter of liquid and continue to tease him all the way until the izakaya closes. He’s antsy by the time the night ends. His friends slowly disperse outside and go home in different directions until it’s just the two of you waiting for a taxi to come pick you up.  

Sakura is counting the fucking seconds.  

He needs to go,  but he doesn’t want to piss himself in the taxi. His legs are crossed, shifting his weight anxiously as you hold his hand and smile plainly like nothing in the world is going on. 

Another two minutes until the cab arrives, another twelve to go home. You hum to yourself as you reach your hand up and caress the back of his neck,  palm brushing the trimmed hair and sliding slowly over his rapid pulse and flush skin. With no one around, you don’t bother hiding your intentions. You slide your hand just into the waistband of his black jeans, just above his soft cock.  

His brows raise high as your eyes lock.  

And then you push at that angle - push hard enough he feels a slight trickle. Not enough to stain his light-wash jeans, but enough that the fabric of his underwear is noticeably damp. Sweat forms at his temple from a mix of stress and shame - eyes screwed closed as he curses. He’s afraid to look at you but does anyway.  

You’re smiling just as warmly as he thought you’d be. His voice cracks under the weight.  

He thinks this is the hardest it’s ever been. The pressure is so much stronger when there’s stakes and Sakura is mildly horrified. And he has to go so bad, so bad he can’t think of anything else.  

“Fucking—,” He crumbles, feeling shameful and red faced and lightheaded as he admits this to you with trembling lips and terrified eyes. “Dunno if I can make it home, I need to - “  

You stand in front of him and push up slightly to kiss him. It’s a nice distraction. Your soft, sweet lips salve his nerves just a touch. You gaze up at him lovingly.  

“It’s okay baby, promise. Home soon.”  

The words of protest die on his lips. Despite being taller than you, Sakura finds himself feeling so incredibly small. So incredibly helpless and so, so dependent on you in that moment he hardly knows what to do with himself. It usually takes him longer to get like this. You’re the only that can bat for him if he really does wet himself. He’s doing everything you say, being obedient, chasing after the familiar high of the aftermath and it’s sinking him so deep into that headspace. He feels suspended in air.  

He grips your hands a little tighter and you smile at him. His brows furrow.  

“Wanna hold me a little baby? On the way home.”  

He nods feeling as tender as ever and you nod back, kissing his temple.  

“Mm. Good boy. It’s okay.”  

He hides a whimper into your hair as he hugs you from behind, a light laugh leaving your lips when he does. Two minutes feels like two hours.  

The taxi pulls up not long after. You open the doors for him and talk to the driver, giving him your address. Something plays on the radio that gets turned up to give you and Sakura some room as the driver makes way. It’s a short, short drive over to your apartment. Just seven minutes.  

As soon as the driver steps on the gas, Sakura turns his gaze on you pleadingly. And you smile at him, shifting to lay a little against his chest. He buries his face against your shoulder in measured breaths as your other hand comes up to play with his hair.  

“You’re extra whiny today,” You whisper without any malice. A doting edge to your words. “Can’t help it can you? We’re almost home, baby.”  

Sakura bites back another whimper, mustering as much sense into his speech as he can though he hardly wants to talk. Hardly wants to think, either.  

“So close, Haruka. Just a little more and then you can go.” You nudge him with your nose “Such a good boy.”  

“So full,” The words come out hot, on a heavy breath as his hand grips your waist tighter. “Can’t—no more,”  

“Shh,” You soothe. The shared affection between you looks like normal PDA through the reflection in the drivers mirror and it makes him feel even more self-conscious. “Three more minutes, Haru. A minute or two to walk in. Two minutes in the elevator, and another two to get the door unlocked. Nine minutes. You’ve held it for so long. I know you can hold it in a little longer.”  

He grits his teeth and closes his eyes. “Tell me I’m good.”  

“So good baby.” You nuzzle against the crown of his head. “So, so good.”  

The next few minutes feel like a complete blur.  

One more light until the driver pulls into the parking lot of your complex, politely wishing you goodnight before pulling away. Sakura nearly has to lean on you as you walk into the empty elevator and take the trip upstairs. His grip on your hand is tight as you lead him through the corridor, grips even tighter as you fish your keys out from your purse and unlock the door.  

The sound of the lock undoing makes Sakura feel so relieved. You usher him in carefully, his thighs tight and knees nearly buckling from the pressure of his bladder. He’s so full it’s painful, so full it aches and it’s so much he can’t think about anything except that and how much he wants to be free from it. He's delirious and sweaty. He just needs to go so badly.

He tries to rush to the bathroom but jostling around while he walks doesn't work out well.

A looming sense of panic sets in immediately.. He knows what's coming instinctively - the uncontrollable relaxation on his muscles when his body has reached his limit. He looks up at you pleadingly, though he’s not sure what he’s even asking you for.

He can’t think.  Barely moving as something starts to unfold inside of him, crashing into him all at once.

It’s obvious that he’d start to feel the urge to piss when he's comfortable at hom, finally in his own space but— 

He shakes his head, looking at you with blown out eyes.

“I can’t,” He hiccups as he shuffles closer and closer to the living room, teary at his lashline Trying his best to get to the bathroom and failing. “Can’t make it to the—fuck, please, I can’t. It’s.—It’s gonna, I’m gonna  -“  

Your eyes widen in understanding as you crouch just at the entrance alongside him, petting his back.  

“Oh sweetheart,” Your voice is the softest, sweetest sound he’s heard all night. “Poor thing. Shh, it’s okay baby. Let go. It’s alright, I promise. You did so good.”  

Something in him...breaks. Shatters.

His eyes go wide before they blur with tears and piss leaks from between his legs unwittingly. 

Sakura is reduced down to sobbing. His whole body shudders so hard, he’s knees buckling under the weight as the pressure finally stops. He can’t help but listen, even though he’s so, so ashamed of himself.  

Fuck. Fuck, it feels so good.  

Sakura finally, finally lets go. He crumbles under his own weight, shrinking down to his knees as he feels it soak through the layers in a hot rush between his legs. His clothes dampen and drench as he lets out long breaths. You card your fingers through his hair as he sobs through the endless stream. It feels like it’s never going to stop. He can’t open his eyes to look but he can feel the puddle forming underneath him, how it soaks into his jeans and shoes and makes them wet. How ashamed and humiliated he feels being completely unable to stop himself from wetting himself. It flows and flows and flows, testament to just how much he had to drink.  

The entirety of his pant leg is soaked with his own piss and mess. Embarrassment makes him curl up as he’s unable to stop once he starts. It goes on for so long. But it feels so good to let it out. The sheer sense of relief is more of what’s making him sob than anything else.  

Piss trickles down his legs as he heaves through deep breaths and short sobs. He feels your hands cup his face as you bend in a squat, unconcerned with the way it splashes against your shoes or tights. When he finally gets his vision back as you swipe his tears away, you’re looking at him with such reverence he wants to cry all over again.  

“You did so good baby,” You praise, warming him. You kiss him on the lips first before brushing against the crown of his head. “So good. You’re so perfect. Let’s get you cleaned up, hm? Give you you your reward.” 

He sniffles as he stares at you. “You’re such a damn pervert.”  

You laugh a little. “Mm, that’s true. Sorry, baby.”  

__  

Clean-up is always less of a hassle then he expects it to be.  

Maybe because you have a routine for it now, but it doesn’t take very long at all. You do most of the heavy lifting during it which only worsens the feeling helplessness Sakura has been experiencing for the last few hours. He doesn’t make any effort to get away or out from that headspace, though it dies down with time. The promise of a reward has been the only thing keeping him level for hours now and he’d be damned to let it all go to waste after he worked so hard.  

After a long, warm shower and change of clothes  - Sakura finally gets what he wants more than anything.  

Affection and attention.  

In the safety of your bedroom, Sakura feels particularly floaty as he holds you in your lap. Lazy and worn out, he nuzzles himself against your neck as he feels your naked torso squish against his. He’s too embarrassed to tell you verbally like this that he loves you and hopes the nuzzling does the job for him. 

Your nails feel good on his scalp as you card them again through his wet hair. Your skin smells nice too, and you’re soft and warm. The mellow thump of your heartbeat soothes him as you shower him in endless praise. It’s usually impossible for you to do this. Only when he’s bone tired like this do you get the chance.  

Too embarrassing to let you do it unless he’s worked hard for it like he did today.  

Sakura feels his length slide against your pussy and lets out a soft noise. You’re always so wet during this kind of play. It makes him feel wanted in a way he finds cringeworthy and doesn’t dare voice. Still, he doesn’t mind the feeling - aimlessly sliding his hips up and against your slick folds with a huff.  

You do him the favor of moving. Copying the gesture by sliding yourself up and against his cock without penetration. His fingers tighten on your hips, cock painfully sensitive as he whimpers. Pre-cum leaks from his tip, weepy and spent and red as he humps against you even harder - lost in the sensation.  

“Wanna cum like this Haruka? Don’t need to ask permission.”  

“Nghh.”  

He nods wordlessly as you grind yourself down harder onto him. His tip passes over your clit enough times to make you sigh pleasantly, and that sound drives him over the edge. Thick ropes of white cum spills against your soft pussy as Sakura moans and shudders  violently. Despite how close you are, he can’t help but feel like it’s not close enough.  

Maybe you sense it, because you do him the favor of sliding yourself onto his half hard cock without so much as another word. It’s still not enough for him, but it sates him better than before at least. He wraps his arms around you hard and squeezes tight. Just for a little while.  

He scowls a little as he looks up at you, sobering up enough to form a sentence after spending some time hugging you. “Have you cum yet?”  

“Don’t worry about it, baby.”  

“Shut up,” He replies with no bite and a scowl. Another flush crawls across his face. “I can make you feel good too.”  

You raise your eyebrow. 

“Sounds like you’re declaring war not trying to give me an orgasm. I’m glad I made you feel good though,” You add cheekily. He flusters immediately, instinctively getting aggressive but not wanting to shove you off of him even as you break out into a fit of laughter.  

“Fuck off. I d-don’t feel good doing that weird shit with you. I only do it because - “ 

You interject. “Because you love me? That’s a better reason to you? How sweet Haru.”  

He frowns deeply.  

“Be quiet, you—don’t put words in my mouth, damn it.”  

“Pfft, okay. I’m sorry. I hope I’m not pushing you too much.”  

He huffs a little, pouting as he goes back to pressing his cheek to your skin. His voice is a touch softer than it was before.  

“I don’t do things for bullshit reasons. Stupid.”  

“I’m glad, then. Even so, you had a tough time today hm? So I’ll let you fuck me as much as you like. Just do whatever you feel like.”  

“I wanna…return to the favor or whatever.” He says after thinking on it. “Just… wanna make you feel good too. Like….” His voice goes small “…You make me feel. Or whatever.”  

You smile at him. He can feel it, not see it. He’s avoiding looking at your face since he’s sure you’re all goofy and loveydovey.  

“The floor is all yours. No rush though okay? I like spoiling you and we’ve got all night.”  

Sakura scowls, casting his gaze down at the bedroom floor. “….I love you.”  

You smile and press another kiss to his head. He feels so content he wants to die. Your reply comes easily anyway.  

“I love you too, Haruka.”  

[headkiss]

hi!! I have an Eddie request!😊 basically something where the new girl (super shy and nervous cause AH I love it😂) at Hawkins is trying to find a seat at lunch, and decides to go up to Eddie at his table, and he treats her like a literal princess cause no girl has ever willingly wanted to sit with Hellfire

hi ty for the request!!! i hope u like it!!! | 0.6k fluff and shy!reader

Switching schools is scary. Especially during your senior year.

It’s even scarier when you have a hard time talking to new people in the first place. It makes friends hard to find, the adjustment lonely and nerve-wracking.

Lunch is by far the worst part. Every single friendship and clique in one room. Each table is dedicated to a group. Jocks, cheerleaders, or simply friends that so clearly belong together. There’s not one empty table for you to escape to.

You scan the room slowly, standing awkwardly with your tray in hand.

Already, your heart beats faster, your palms clammy. You glance around and the first empty seat you find is at a table with a group of boys in matching shirts. You shake your head and walk over, telling yourself over and over that it’ll be fine.

The closer you get, the less the noise of the room is one big mess. You can make out the voices coming from the table, the laughter.

You wind up standing a bit behind the head of the table, a head of black curls occupying the seat. You clear your throat to try and get his attention, but you aren’t loud enough over the rest of the room. You take a deep breath and shuffle over until you’re next to the chair.

Silence falls over the group, every pair of eyes lands on you. Shit.

Eddie’s stunned when he sees you standing next to his seat, shuffling on your feet, a nervous look on the prettiest face he’s ever seen. You’re new. He knows that because there’s absolutely no way he wouldn’t have noticed you before if you weren’t.

“Can we help you?” Mike says.

“Sorry, um, I was just wondering if I could sit here?” You fiddle with the fork sitting on your tray. “The other tables seem pretty full.”

“Uh-” Mike starts to reply but Eddie kicks him under the table.

“‘Course you can,” he says. He directs his attention to Mike and Dustin, “move down.”

“What?”

“Move down.”

They do, sending Eddie two annoyed looks as they do.

“There you go,” Eddie gestures for you to sit at the corner next to him.

“Thank you so much. You won’t even know I’m here, promise.”

Eddie finds that hard to believe. He’s known you for about a minute and already he can’t stop looking at you. Nobody ever comes near the Hellfire table, and here you are, all sweet and shy and something out of a dream.

“None of that. What’s your name?” He asks.

You tell him, and he repeats it, testing it out.

“That’s pretty. I’m Eddie, nice to meet you.”

Eddie.

Eddie’s a pretty boy. Like really, really pretty. From the curls framing his face and dangling over his forehead, to the softest brown eyes, to the rings adorning his fingers. As if you weren’t nervous enough already.

The rest of the table is caught up in a new conversation, but Eddie can’t bring himself to care. He’s sure you’re more interesting anyway.

“How you liking Hawkins?” He asks.

“Um, it’s okay.”

“It’s shit, you don’t have to lie.”

“No! It’s just, everyone seems to know each other already, you know?”

“Don’t worry about that. Most of ‘em suck anyway. Besides, you know me now, so that’s something.”

He doesn’t tell you that it’s actually cause for the entire school to tease him about finally having a girl pay attention to him or some shit. Like he said, they suck. You don’t.

“I guess that’s true.”

When lunch comes to a close and you start packing up, Eddie stops you before you get up with a gentle hand on your wrist.

“You can come sit here again tomorrow, if you want to.”

“Thank you, Eddie.”

After meeting him, you think maybe a new school won’t be so bad.

[angel1010xx]

ｃｉｇａｒｅｔｔｅｓ

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Pairing: Sanji x Reader

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

You hated cigarettes.

Cigarettes were stuffy and overwhelming, the scent lingered for hours, and the smoke made your lungs feel closed up. They were complete bombardments to your senses, and genuinely? You felt as if the world would be better off without them. Smoking is a bad habit, after all. Why would anyone willingly choose to give themselves lung cancer and an early grave?

The Thousand Sunny was having a lively night. Brooks was merrily serenading the crew, while each of them were on their own missions. Zoro was drinking (to death, probably, how was his liver still functioning?), Usopp was reliving the latest battle with Luffy, Franky, and Chopper (with embellishments, of course, not that his audience would be able to detect them), and Nami and Robin were sucked into their books (they were so perfect, the crew hardly deserved the gift of their presence). That just left Sanji.

Running around, fawning over “Nami-Swan,” and lighting yet another cigarette.

Yes, he was a phenomenal chef. Yes, he was doting and chivalrous. Yes, he was charismatic and consistent, and it was so hard to find a man that to actually abide by a moral code. But God, he was perverted. He was unbearable. And he reeked like menthol.

Sighing, you crossed your wrists over each other and leaned on the railing of the ship. The Grand Line was dangerous, but it was beautiful when the moonlight reflected across the water. The sights, the wind in your face, and the freedom made all the trouble worth the adventure. You were apart from the main crowd, opting for some personal space at the front of the ship. The Straw Hat crew was your family; and true to life, everyone needs their elbow room sometimes, even from the ones they love most. 

Approaching footsteps interrupted your peace. Looking over your shoulder, you spotted Sanji walking towards you. Great, you thought. He gazed at you with a slight tension in his brow. “The fish is ready. Are you going to eat?”

“In a little bit, yes,” you responded. “I just wanted some fresh air and quiet right now.” Sanji settled in, standing beside you, mimicking your pose by also leaning against the railing. “I hope you come down soon,” he spoke in a low voice. “Our princess-warrior needs her strength just like the rest of us.” 

A smile tugged at your lips. “I’m scared, Sanji,” you whispered, choosing to open up to him. “The world is changing. I worry about my people at home. I know there’s ample resources and military force to keep them safe, but…” you trailed off, eyes shifting from focusing and losing focusing on the sea waves. Sanji let out a hum, and pulled out a cigarette and a light. You cocked your head towards him, this time with a slight lip curl. “You just had one. Do you really have to smoke another one, right here?”

He let out a puff of smoke and a chuckle. “Mon amour, we all have ways of dealing with our stress.” 

Sanji shifted to face his body towards you, but kept one arm on the railing. “You can’t sit there and worry about your people all day and night. I see it on your face every time I look at you. It practically breaks my heart,” he paused to place his free hand on his chest. He broke out into a warm smile. “Right here and now, princess, you are safe, and they are safe too.” 

You let out a deep breath, doing your best to soak in his words. “Thank you, Sanji.” He let out another hum, put out his cigarette, and brought you in for a hug. “Of course, mon amour.”

Yes, he smelled like menthol. Yes, you had a hard time breathing. But he also smelled like cologne. He was warm, and the feeling of his breath down the side of your neck made you shiver. A thought came into your mind for a split second—what would it be like to taste the cigarette, if you were to press your lips to his own?

It’s a fine line between love and hate, after all. 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Seeing that Epel and Rook used their unique magic, it makes me think everyone is gonna use their unique magic. Like imagine Kalim using his magic against his enemies or Jade use shock the heart for answers. Imagine reaching to Heartslabyul where everyone but Ace use it. This makes me think of Ace since he is a mysterious character and unclear motivation compare to the rest. What will be his dream? Will his unique magic be shown?

That’s true! Looking back, every character that is now “awake” has used their UM at least once:

Malleus uses Fae of Maleficence/Fae Maleficence to 7-37; this is the source of all our troubles in book 7 💀

Silver uses Meet in a Dream in 7-51, then again multiple times to dream hop and to wake up various students.

Lilia’s Far Cry Cradle is revealed in 7-81’s battle map via a flashback sequence. It is thanks to his UM that he understands the origins of the lone infant he finds in the ruins of Castle Wildrose. He blesses the baby and takes it under his wing as his own son… Silver.

Sebek’s Living Bolt, shown in 7-84, allows him to reach Silver and pull him out of the darkness that has swallowed him.

Idia uses Gate to (the) Underworld to open the gates to Tartarus and escape it in 7-114.

Book 7 confirms that Ortho is not capable of a UM, but is is his uniquely robotic ability to transfer his consciousness that allows him to adopt his Cerberus Gear in 7-50, infiltrate Sage’s Island, and return with valuable information to combat Malleus.

The magical glass coffin that Epel conjures with Sleep Kiss/Crimson Slumber in 7-135 protects Neige. It also (theoretically) slows the effects of Vil’s curse (the poisoned apple juice).

Rook uses I See You in 7-135 to tag Vil (who is sinking into the darkness of his dreams). This makes it easier for the gang to locate where Vil has gone.

Finally, in 7-138, Vil’s Fairest One of All allows him to poison Neige (who, up until this point, has been keeping tabs on him and preventing him from escaping the grasp of the dream) and rejoin with Yuu and co.

I guess since this is such a climactic book, the devs decided to go all out and have each boy show up and show off their own special power. This means we’ll most likely see the rest of the main NRC students using their UMs to help us out in the dreams! (Sasuga power of friendship…)

As for Ace! Now would be such an opportune time for him to develop his UM 😳 I believe the popular fan theory is still “Ace’s UM will allow him to copy others’ magic” since he mimics voices well and has a talent for quickly learning new skills (like dancing, as seen in book 5). And hey, if that’s the case then maybe Ace is the one who will be able to reverse Malleus’s magic if Malleus won’t willingly do it himself. Just spitballin’ here. Maybe Ace is frustrated that he can’t contribute in any way…? And then that feeling manifests as something?

How poetically ironic—the first student we meet ends up being the last to get their UM but also one of the final pieces of the puzzle to take OB Malleus down. It works out really well for Ace’s character too; he is the only character of the main cast who sees through the bullshit and calls people out, not caring about how influential or powerful they are.

I don’t actually think he’s that mysterious relative to other characters—we still barely know anything significant about Rook or Jade, for example (despite already diving into Rook’s dream). Rather, I think it’s more accurate to say that Ace has more simple desires. He just wants to be able to do what he wants when he wants, to not have to worry about his future plans. I don’t think his dream would really be anything that drastic; I see it as Ace living a chill life with his friends.

[solarmorrigan]

You know how cats seem to have an innate sense of when you’re about to get up, and they choose that exact moment to sit down on your lap? And no sooner have they made themselves comfortable than you realize that you have to go to the bathroom, or someone calls you over, or the phone starts ringing, and you have to shove the poor cat off your lap?

That’s basically Eddie’s sex life right now.

Well alright, no, not entirely, but – it’s a component that’s certainly starting to become an irritation.

It’s just that Steve has a wonderful lap.

At least, Eddie assumes it’s wonderful. It’s wonderfully inviting, at the very least; it’s wide enough to offer Eddie (who is not quite as generously endowed in the whole… thighs-ass department, he’ll admit) a good seat, and he’s had his hands on the area often enough to know it’s firm but with just the right amount of give to be very comfortable.

But Eddie’s never actually gotten to spend much time on it.

He doesn’t even mean that in a sexual way (although that much is also true). Every time he’s so much as tried to plop himself down on Steve’s lap to do something as innocent as watch a movie, Steve seems to remember something he needs to get up and do within just a few minutes.

For a little while, Eddie had been worried about what that meant. Did Steve not want to spend time with him? Did Steve not want Eddie near him? Did Steve not find him attractive? Did Steve just find him annoying?

But further time spent together has given Eddie more confidence. Clearly Steve enjoys spending time with him—submits to it willingly and often—and does find Eddie annoying but in a way he enjoys. Steve also most definitely finds Eddie attractive (and, in fact, has no trouble at all spending extended time on Eddie’s lap). So at this point, it’s more of a puzzle. A frustration.

It can’t be that Eddie’s too heavy for him; Eddie isn’t a small guy, really, but he isn’t huge, either. He’s seen Steve push and pull bigger people around – hell, he’s seen Steve carry Mike a good ways through the woods and back to the car after the kid had slipped and twisted his ankle when they’d been out walking (an incident which none of them are allowed to speak of ever, for varying reasons of blackmail and dignity), and he’s not too much smaller than Eddie.

Eddie is nothing if not a direct sort of guy, though – if he’s thinking something, he’s going to say it. This is mostly because he has very little brain-to-mouth filter, but he’s learned to make it part of his image. He’s pretty sure it works for him.

All of this to say that one afternoon, as they make out on Steve’s couch, Eddie freshly settled on Steve’s lap, Eddie decides to just… ask.

He waits until he can feel Steve’s hands sliding down around his thighs—not groping, but with the intent to move him—before he pulls back to say anything.

“Hey,” he says—gasps, really, still a little breathless with his attempt to seize the opportunity, “question.”

Steve blinks up at him, startled. “Uh. Shoot.”

“Do you not like it, when I sit on your lap? Because it kinda seems like you find other places to be when I try to make that happen.”

If Steve had been startled before, that’s nothing on how he looks now. He covers it in an instant, but Eddie’s seen it; Steve’s good, he’s very good, but Eddie is literally right in his face.

“What?” Steve pulls back, brows drawn in confusion. “No. Why would I have a problem with you being in my lap?”

Eddie shrugs. “Not a damn clue. That’s why I figured I’d ask. It’s just that whenever I get myself settled here, you suddenly remember you have to get up.”

“I don’t do that,” Steve scoffs, throwing in a good-natured eye roll.

“You kinda do, babe,” Eddie says, keeping it light; this isn’t an argument, nor an accusation – it’s literally just a question, and he doesn’t want to scare Steve off.

“So you’re saying, that every time I have my boyfriend on my lap – a guy I find insanely hot, by the way,” Steve’s hand slide back up Eddie’s thighs, edging towards his ass, and this time he’s groping, “you’re saying I don’t want him there, is that right?”

Eddie’s resolve almost breaks as Steve stares up at him with his ridiculous, pretty eyes (he’s good, he’s very good, Eddie will give him that) and tugs him closer with his ridiculous, strong hands, but he knows Steve is lying. He knows it.

He just doesn’t know why.

And isn’t that interesting? Eddie wouldn’t exactly call Steve an open book, but they know each other pretty well by now; Eddie can usually read Steve, but he has no idea what he’s thinking just at the moment.

So he decides to allow it.

He’ll see where it goes.

“Hm,” Eddie hums, as if he’s thinking. “That does sound a little silly, if you put it like that.”

“Completely silly.” Steve grins up at him, but there’s a thread of very genuine sincerity in what he says next. “Of course I want you here.”

And Eddie’s not sure what to say to that, so he leans back in to kiss Steve again.

And for a while, it’s fine. Great, even. Steve is a very good kisser, after all, and Eddie likes to think he’s no slouch himself, and a good time is being had by all, except before too long Eddie can feel Steve starting to tense up under him.

Once again, Eddie doesn’t mean this in a sexual way.

It’s not the fun, anticipatory kind of tensing, but the ready to run or punch something kind of tensing. The kind of tension that comes from a threat, not from having your boyfriend on your lap.

Eddie waits to see if Steve will do anything, say anything, but he does nothing. His kisses grow more distracted, quicker and shallower, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t push Eddie away.

It’s when Steve starts shaking that Eddie gives up.

“Okay,” Eddie pulls away, shifting himself to the side so he doesn’t have more than an ankle draped over Steve’s legs, “what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean, what’s wrong? You’re the one who pulled away,” Steve snaps.

“Yeah, because it feels like you don’t want me up there,” Eddie shoots back.

Steve rolls his eyes again, irritated this time. “What, you don’t like it if I don’t let you sit on my lap, you don’t like it if I do let you sit on my lap– What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Maybe just the goddamn truth.”

Whatever Eddie expects, it isn’t for Steve to just… stare at him.

He stares at Eddie for a good five seconds in full silence before shaking his head. “No,” he says quietly, “you don’t want that.”

His sudden reticence only sparks Eddie’s irritation. “Don’t tell me what I do or don’t want, Steve. You don’t want to tell me, that’s on you, but don’t decide for me what I don’t want to know.”

“Well what do you think you’re going to hear, Eddie, huh?” Steve barks. “What do you want to hear? You wanna hear how Billy Hargrove sat on me – pinned me down while he beat me unconscious? Or you wanna hear how it felt to be handcuffed to a fucking chair while some Russians– while they– how it felt to be held down and not be able to stop them from doing anything?”

Steve has stood up now, pacing in front of Eddie, and Eddie wishes he could do anything other than fucking stare while his boyfriend has some kind of breakdown that he started.

“Or – or how about how I ruined multiple dates, or hookups, or whatevers when someone tried to sit themselves down on top of me and I damn near shoved them off onto the floor and then had to make up some dumb fucking excuse and run out on them before I had some kind of fucking panic attack? You wanna hear all that?” Steve demands, rounding back on Eddie. “No! You don’t… you don’t want to hear that.”

“Steve… no, I don’t wanna hear all that,” Eddie says, and hurries on when he can see Steve practically crumple in on himself, “I don’t want to hear that all that horrible shit has happened to you, but I need to.”

“Wh– what?”

“You don’t… I mean, you don’t have to give me specifics if you don’t want, but I need to know what might set you off so I don’t accidentally do it, okay?” Eddie says. “It fucking terrifies me that you went through all that, and I know I can’t do anything about it, but I’m at least not going to be one more thing that makes you hurt. I’m gonna make damn sure of that.”

“…Oh.”

It’s clearly not what Steve was expecting to hear, and for a moment he shifts uncertainly in front of Eddie. He wraps his arms around himself before seeming to think better of it and crossing them over his chest instead. Eddie wants nothing more than to draw him close and hold him, but Steve’s not quite ready yet.

“I’m not… I didn’t want to say anything. I don’t want it to be an issue,” Steve finally says.

I don’t want you to treat me differently, he doesn’t say.

“Then we won’t make it an issue.” Eddie shrugs. “You got some kind of trauma associated with sitting on other people, or can you come back over here to me?”

Steve blinks at Eddie, startled, before he gives in to a little huff of laughter, slowly crossing back over to the couch.

“You’re an ass,” he says, all fondness.

“Mm, so I’ve been told,” Eddie says, aiming a smug smile up at Steve as Steve settles himself right over Eddie’s lap. “And yet, here you are.”

“Yeah…” Steve leans in, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth, quirking a little smile as he pulls away. “Here I am.”

[eternaldemise]

TOUGH LOVE. (Itoshi Rin, angst)

The boy who doesn’t know how to properly communicate and only focuses on what truly matters to him, getting annoyed at anything and anyone who gets in his way. That same blunt and standoff boy who has a hostile relationship with his brother and unknowingly chooses to believe it’s complicated yet healthy.

Did you seriously think he’d be able to love properly? He can’t even differentiate between complication and dysfunctionality.

Don’t blame him when he suddenly distances himself, claiming you’ve been a pain, distracting him from what lies ahead. He’s not even aware his words are bane. He’ll only find out they’re damaging when it gets brought up by one of his teammates in the locker rooms after practice.

“Treating your girl like shit..” is what he hears one of them say, continuously repeating in his head afterwards. They’re just meddling in the relationship, he thinks. He doesn’t think it’s bad; it’s just unfamiliar to them.

He finally comprehends what they’re saying is true and not out of complete envy when he realizes you’re not your usual self anymore. You’ve slowly stopped initiating conversations or even asking him how he slept. You don’t spend much time in the same room with him alone or hold his hand at random. You don’t even brush through his hair when the wind’s messed it up anymore.

He feels terrible. Sure, there are many girls who would do anything to even get a conversation out of him, but you’re the only person who has willingly done everything to understand him as best as possible; acknowledging his efforts and supporting him through it all.

None of those other girls compare to you, and he’s aware of that. People around you two are aware of that. He can’t afford to lose you, not when you’ve seen him in his lowest and most vulnerable state.

The thing is, he’s not sure how to fix it. He doesn’t know how to tell you he didn’t mean to dull your light; it’d sound like idiocy on his end. He genuinely believed it was tough love, something foreign to other people.

Perhaps Itoshi Rin — the boy who has a rigid view on relationships — isn’t ready for love. Maybe he’s never been ready because he can’t give you the love you deserve. He can try and change, but nothing will make up for that wounding behavior.

[moremaybank]

EYES ON US — r.c

pairing dark!rafe cameron x dark!fem!reader

summary the man you've been having an affair with enlists you in a devious and downright evil plan to get back at your husband. the husband that owes him a million dollars.

warnings 18+, dark!rafe & dark!reader. read at your own risk! violence/use of force, use of guns, kidnapping, being held at gunpoint, mentions of murder but it isn't actually depicted (all pertaining to reader's husband), unprotected sex, blow job turned to face-fucking, spanking, creampie, overstimulation, squirting, voyeurism, revenge sex, i think that's it ???

author's note this is my first dark fic ever so please take it easy on me LOL. i hope you like itttt

rafe masterlist

It was nightfall, and the air was cold and crisp, with a cloud of fog blanketing the island's heights. It was dark, almost pitch black, barring the dim street lamps, and deafeningly silent, adding to the already ominous theme of the night. It acted as a guarantee that he could make his escape. Flee the island quietly without fearing being sought out by the deadliest man in the Outer Banks.

So, there he was, your husband, Warren, traipsing through a back alley with a duffel bag full of his belongings. The town was eerily quiet, and everything seemed too good to be true. 

Could it be this easy? Warren thought. Will I make it out of this thing alive?

He found his answer when he heard the screech of tires in front of him as he reached the end of the alleyway. A shiver ran up his spine, and his eyes widened, watching three men unloaded from the black SUV. They all instantly made a beeline toward him, and Warren’s steps came to a halt. 

One of the men stepped into the faint, spotlight-like halo, revealing himself to your poor, and not to mention screwed, husband. 

Rafe Cameron. 

Rafe was the most powerful man on the island. He was well-respected and well-feared with equal measure, and rightfully so. With the snap of his fingers, one’s life could be swiped from them without a word or a trace. 

The stories constantly circulated throughout the town, the ones of him and his ruthless men taking action and retaliating moves when needed. 

No one would ever dare to cross Rafe or anyone he still held specks of love for in his cold, nearly-dead heart. They would also do well to avoid getting between him and his money. 

Your husband, however? Not so lucky. 

“You got my money, Warren?”

“Well, actually…it seems I’ve encountered some complications. I don’t have your money, not right now, but I made some wise investments, and I’m just waiting for the cash to come in. You’ll have your money by tomorrow, Mr. Cameron. Every last penny, I swear,” he spoke, attempting to reassure the authoritative man in front of him. 

A wry chuckle left Rafe’s lips in response as he moved closer to your husband. He wasn’t stupid; he knew precisely what Warren looked like when avoiding the truth. 

“See, I’d believe you, except you’ve been spewing the same lies for weeks now, and I still don’t have it. I’d also like to take the time to point out the getaway bag stashed in your hand.” Rafe stepped closer still, “You didn’t think you could hide from me, did you?”

Warren swallowed thickly. “So…what happens next?”

“I like to think I’m a nice guy, Warren. But I do have friends that aren’t so nice. So, I’ll give you a choice; you can either get into the car willingly, or my men here will use force to get you inside themselves,” Rafe responded, motioning back toward the two men who accompanied him. “I think the answer is pretty clear.”

“You don’t have to do this, Mr. Cameron. We’re just two people having a civil conversation. We’re talking, that’s it.” 

It was easy to note the fear in Warren’s eyes and tone, and Rafe relished that he could bring out the fear in people without even lifting a finger. 

“I’m all talked out, Warren. Get in the car, or my men won’t make this easy for you.” 

Warren shook his head, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cameron. I can’t.” He dropped the duffel bag, but before he could make a break for it, the two gentlemen on each side of his rival stalked toward him. They grabbed him, gripping his biceps tightly in their hold and dragging him toward Rafe. He tried to put up a fight, kicking his legs and floundering about, but he was quieted in an instant when Rafe’s gun knocked him on the side of his head.

-

About thirty minutes later, your husband woke in a cold, isolated cellar. He found himself alone with the same two men that had aided Rafe in getting him there. 

Warren moved to raise his hand but soon realized that his wrists were bound with thick ropes, as well as his ankles, and both were secured to the metal chair he sat on. He tried to budge, but the tight ropes combined with his head pounding gave him little to no strength or energy to follow through. He hissed as the left side of his head throbbed in pain, and he could feel the remnants of blood still dripping down his temple. 

Breaking the silence, Rafe knocked on the door and entered the room. He went over to Warren calmly and raised his hand to remove the tape from his victim’s mouth.

“I’d apologize for the rough tactics used to get you here, but I had no choice. I wasn’t about to let you run from me. Can’t have people thinking I’m getting soft, Warren. My empire would implode.”

“…Dare I ask what the plan is?” Warren mutters in response, eyes focused on Rafe pacing back and forth all too calmly.

“Well, my good friend, to be quite honest, I was just going to have you killed, you know? Lights out,” he snaps, “just like that. But then I thought, how can I make this better? And, shit, I think I’ve really outdone myself this time.” Rafe crouched down in front of Warren, their faces now levelled. “I have a very special treat for you, Warren.” 

One of his men opened the door again, and you walked, draped in designer from head to toe. Your dress clung to your curves with ease, and your heels clicked against the pavement of the cellar as you made your way over to Warren and Rafe. 

“Hi, baby,” you greeted with a smile, the glimmer in your eyes as bright as ever. 

Warren assumed you were speaking to him, but he wondered why you would be grinning from ear to ear when your husband was about to face his impending death.

Things became apparent as you stepped into the arms of Rafe, right in front of him, pressing a long and deep kiss to his lips before pulling back with a giggle. You turned your attention toward your husband, whose expression was gobsmacked. Your eyes landed on the ropes that kept him tied up. 

“Ooh,” you mused, “kinky.”

“I thought so too,” Rafe grinned, kissing your temple as his hands stroked your upper arms.

“What the fuck is going on? Why are you with him, Y/N? Why are you kissing him?” 

Fury bled through your husband’s tone, and you could see his brows creasing as he let the emotion take over him entirely. 

“Aw, come on, sweetie. You had to know I’d leave you eventually,” you replied. 

“What?” He whispered, swearing he could feel a crack in his heart threatening to split through it completely. 

“You’re broke, Warren. You owe Rafe nearly a million dollars, yet everything you’ve done to get it back has failed. You told me it would all work out, but there you were just half an hour ago, ready to make your escape and not bothering to care about the circumstances you would leave me in. Broke and completely alone.” You crouched down just as Rafe had earlier, “I don’t like being lied to, Warren.”

“You’ve been lying to me for some time, too. You’re a hypocrite. And a two-timing whore.”

Rafe was quick to punch your bad-mouthing husband square in the jaw. “Watch what the fuck you say to her, or I’ll make this worse for you. You got that?” 

You both watched as Warren glared at him silently, spitting the blood pooling in his mouth onto the floor beneath him. Then, you stepped directly in front of your husband, tilting his face up to look at you with your index finger. Looking him right in the eye, you started to explain your reasoning. 

“It was for a good cause. Rafe can give me everything, all the things you never could. Like good sex, for example. A woman needs her orgasms, my love, and you were doing a very lousy job providing me with them.”

Warren tore his gaze from yours in embarrassment, and it was hard not to bask in it. The taste of revenge was sweet on your tongue, and the fun hadn’t even begun yet. 

“So, what, your evil plan was to reveal your little affair to me? Congrats. Can you kill me now?” 

Rafe chuckled mockingly, shaking his head. “You underestimate me, man. You should know who I am by now.” Taking hold of Warren’s jaw, he bent to his level and placed the tape back on his lips. “You’re going to watch me fuck her. And believe me; it’s going to be one hell of a show.”

Rafe looked back to you over his shoulder, “Take off your dress for me, baby. Leave the heels on.” 

You nodded gleefully, moving to unzip your dress. You shimmied it down the length of your body and let it hit the floor. Your bare breasts and pussy were left in plain sight, having chosen to skip undergarments altogether. 

Rafe smirked at you, “No panties? Naughty girl.” He walked over to you, his hand clasping around your throat and drawing your face to his. He then kissed you, letting his tongue slip into your mouth and tangle with yours. 

When Rafe broke the kiss, he looked back at his men. “Make sure Warren is facing us at all times. I don’t want him to miss a single second of this.” His men both nodded and began to make their way to Warren’s chair. They stood on either side of him, caging him in — not that he would’ve been able to break free.

Rafe’s attention returned to you. His thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, “How do you wanna do this, baby?” 

You pondered dramatically, tapping your pointer finger against your jaw. When you cooked up your answer, you beamed widely. “Why don’t you fuck me in doggy?” Your eyes met Warren’s, “Your favourite. Right, hun?”

“Fucking his wife in his favourite position? That sounds fucking fantastic to me,” Rafe stated proudly. His hand grasped your wrist, about to lead you to the other side of the table. Before he could, you stopped him. 

“Wait,” you say. “I wanna suck you off first.”

That stung. You barely ever offered to do so for your husband. You’d always been the girl that got off on pleasing her man. You sucked dick for your pleasure. But you’d grown bored with Warren so long ago; he couldn’t even fathom the last time you had. 

With him, that is. 

After turning so that Warren could view you from the side, you sank to the floor, your fingers working to free him from the confines of his dress slacks. You palmed and rubbed his cock, waking it up through his briefs. Your eyes peered up and caught Rafe biting his lower lip in response to your touch. You drew his cock out from the fabric before spitting onto your palm. Your dainty hand circled Rafe’s girth and began to stroke him slowly. Your tongue dragged up his length and swirled around his yearning tip before taking him into your mouth entirely. 

With ease, you quickly began to bob your head. Your lips created an air-tight suction around it, taking his cock to the back of your throat each time. You twisted and jerked and lapped at his cock with determination, and Warren’s hateful gaze only goaded you further. 

“Such a perfect goddamn mouth. You love taking my cock down your throat, don’t you?” Rafe spoke, threading a hand into your hair as you worked at him.

It was hard not to smile when you released his cock from your mouth. You spat on it, watching your saliva coat him and make him more slippery. You continued to stroke him while your moistened lips dragged over his balls gently. Rafe leaned his hand backward, bracing it on the table and holding himself up when your thumb ran over his slit. You’ve always known that it was one of his weaknesses, and you were damn sure to use that to your advantage. Your tongue slithered over the remainder of pre-cum still seeping out of him. You teased the small hole, almost making Rafe’s knees buckle.

“I love how hard you get for me when I lick you like this, baby.” Your eyes wandered toward Warren again, “Love this perfect cock so much.” 

You sucked Rafe into your mouth again, your tongue paying special attention to his sensitive tip. It spiralled around the head and slid down his shaft when you practically swallowed him whole. One of your hands fondled his balls and massaged them between your slippery fingers, and Rafe was quick to snap. 

“Fuck, stay right there. Let me use you,” he ordered, taking your head in both his hands now and holding your face in place. Your hands held onto his thighs, and Rafe started roughly fucking himself down your throat. You moaned around him, sending vibrations through him as he chased his high. His cock twitched between the seam of your lips, and his cum spurted out. You swallowed the hot substance, and Rafe groaned when he felt your throat close around him. 

Rafe pulled out, panting heavily as his eyes roamed over to your husband, and he smirked proudly when he saw his eyes about to pop out of his head.

“How’d it feel, Warren? Watching your wife swallow my kids? Hurt, didn’t it?”

Warren shuffled around as best he could, trying to move toward Rafe, but the guards held the chair back, restraining his movements. You and Rafe couldn’t hold back your amused laughs.

“If you think that’s bad, just wait ’til I fill her pussy up. You’ll be fuming.”

“Enough talking. Let’s show him instead,” you said. 

Your hand grabbed Rafe’s as you led him around the table to face Warren. You leaned forward, and your hands braced onto the surface. You arched your back, allowing Rafe full access to your backside. You felt his hands run down the length of your back to your ass, and he squeezed both cheeks before smacking one side. His fingers slid through your folds, feeling the pool of slick leaking from your hole. He sucked on them, tasting your sweetness. 

“Hold on tight, baby. I’m going to make this hurt.” 

Rafe pushed his way into your pussy, filling you up wholly. The air disappeared from your lungs, and you felt his balls against your clit. You instinctually arched further and tossed your head back, now practically bent in half. 

“So big, Rafe. Fuck,” you gasped. 

“Yeah?” Rafe asked, starting to move. “Bigger than him?”

You looked right at your prying-eyed husband. “Way bigger. He doesn’t compare."

Rafe grinned at your response, and his hips began to smack against your ass. His hands curled over either side of your neck, bringing you back against his cock roughly. He wasted no time picking up a ferocious pace, punishing your pussy and taking out all his Warren-related revenge on it. 

“Oh my god, yes,” you mewled. Your hands slid closer to the other side of the table, and your fingers hooked over the edge as you sought out some leverage. “Right fucking there. Shit.”

Rafe’s hand smacked your ass again, pulling a yelp from you, and he felt the heat rising onto your skin at the harsh contact. 

“You never deserved this perfect pussy, Warren. You didn’t even know what to do with it,” Rafe growled as he slammed deep into your hot, slick walls. You encased him so tightly; it was like he was fucking you for the first time again. Rafe never thought it’d get any better than feeling your pussy gripping him like it never wanted to let go, but that was knocked off its pedestal when he watched the rage on his victim’s face.

Warren’s cap was about to blow off. Each time he tried to look away, one of the guards would grip his jaw tightly and force his gaze back onto the two of you. Closing his eyes didn’t help either because he could still hear you calling another man’s name and begging him for more. It was a cruel reminder of how deadly silent you were with him when he gave you your so-called pleasure. 

It was killing him. You were killing him.

Noticing Warren’s shut eyes, Rafe nodded to the guards without stopping, and the two freed their handguns and pressed the muzzles of the guns to each of Warren’s temples.

“Eyes on us, Warren, or they’ll shoot.”

Angrily, your husband forced himself to watch the two of you, having no choice but to endure his suffering.

“‘M gonna cum, Daddy,” you babbled, already fucked into a stupor without finishing yet. “Please, make me cum.” 

Rafe’s eyes found your husband’s once more as he spoke through gritted teeth. 

“This is what it looks like when you can actually satisfy your girl. Can you hear how soaked she is? How loud she’s screaming for me?” Turning his attention back to you, one of his hands slipped into your hair, gaining an unrelenting grip on your strands. “Cum for me, baby. Cum for me and tell him who fucks you this dumb.”

Your tits pressed against the cold metal of the table beneath them, bulging them out and perking up your sensitive nipples as you all but screamed. “You, Rafe! Only y-you!” 

A loud shriek escaped your lips as you came hard, your knees buckling under waves of pleasure. Your body sagged against the table, your hands releasing their grip on it, and you essentially became his fuck doll as Rafe still fought for his orgasm. Your walls would not — could not stop clamping down on him, bringing him closer and closer to cumming.

“I’m going to fill this pussy to the brim. Maybe even let Warren taste it afterward,” he mused through a grunt. “Fuck, princess. So goddamn tight.” 

Rafe reached his high again, letting his cum spurt inside of you. He pulled out in a flash and scooped you up in his arms so he could carry you. He demanded help from one of his guards, having him bring the other chair in front of Warren. He sat down and hovered you over his cock. He tugged you downward, letting your cunt swallow his cock once more. You whimpered, leaning back against your lover’s chest. 

“Spread those legs nice and wide, baby. Need him to see everything he’s missing.”

Though he told you what he wanted you to do, he did you the kindness of helping you out by using his large palms to stretch you out and give Warren a close-up view of his enemy’s cock inside his wife. Your feet braced themselves upon Rafe’s knees, keeping you open for him, and your hands pressed flat against his thighs.

Rafe placed his own hands on the chair, his fingers curling over the edges as he fucked his cock up into you. Your head immediately fell against Rafe’s broad shoulder as you allowed him to pummel into you. 

Your pussy was already sore, but the sting was too satisfying to let go of. The thrill of your husband watching your affair spurred you on as well. There was no adrenaline rush quite like making your disappointment of a husband watch you fall apart on someone else’s cock.

To rub it in (no pun intended), your hand found its way to your clit, and you began to massage it tirelessly. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” You cursed, going harder as you burned for more. Your cunt started to spasm, contracting around Rafe’s shaft, and you knew you were close when your legs trembled. “Rafe!”

“Oh, shit. You going to squirt for us, baby?” Rafe questioned, the pride washing over him. You nodded desperately, and he kissed your shoulder. “Go ahead. Make a spectacle of it. Be my good girl and soak ‘em.”

You squealed when you let go, falling over the edge and letting the euphoria consume you. Your juices squirted out of you, drenching the three men in front of you and the man responsible for making you do so. 

“Bet you’ve never gotten her to do that, huh?” Rafe bragged, free of remorse. 

He fucked you harder, triggering his orgasm as he slipped in and out of you vigorously. You both rode out your climaxes, your legs feeling like jello as you tried to stay upright. Rafe then lifted you off of him carefully before standing up himself. He readjusted his clothing, bringing his briefs and slacks to his hips. 

Your releases oozed from your pussy and started to run down your thighs, and Rafe scooped it up with his fingers. Leisurely stepping right in front of your husband, he removed the duct tape from his lips again. Then, Rafe smeared the cum on his fingers over the seam of your spouse’s lips, looking smug as ever.

“This counts as your last meal, right?” 

Rafe pats Warren’s cheek twice with an evil smile before walking over to you and wrapping his arm over your shoulders. “Say bye, baby.”

“Bye, Warren. I hope you enjoyed the show,” you winked. 

The two of you made it to the door, and Rafe opened it. He turned back to the guards before leaving. “Kill him.”

All that could be heard as you two left the building were pleading screams and a single gunshot. 

Boom.

rafe tag list [added a few people who wanted to read this fic (join here!)]: @pankowperfection @oncasette @taintedxkisses @goldenroutledge @penny4yourthoughts @bmo-bri @hemogloban @princessbetsy123-blog @slytherhoes @whoisdrewstarkey @vigilanteshitposting @dreamingwithrafe @twelfthmortalofcrimsonpalace @wildflwrdarlin @saturnband @adoreyouusugar @rosie-cameron @f4ll-for-you @rafesdirtyslut @tell-me-when-ur-ready @bbycowboi @venomwh0re @cecesrings @indigoreccs @cumbuckett @jjmaybankisbae @enhypens-hoe @loverofdrewstarkey @insanelycrazyanddelusional @blueicequeen19 @mvybanks @countryclubkook @veescorneroftheworld @unmistakablyunknown @achromatopcia @chibijusstuff @earth2starkey @angelofcigs @glen-powells @papillonoirsworld @belcalis9503 @em0-b0ysworld @koalalafications @aerangi @cantstoptherecs @ykitsher

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Devil Worshipping Cultists Steve & Eddie x Virgin Sacrifice Fem!Reader

ADVISORY: This story contains dark content. Relevant tags are posted below the cut. Proceed only if you’re comfortable consuming content with intense themes and violent imagery. The canon is essentially flipped upside down (no pun intended) with Eddie and Steve behaving as villains in this story.

Eddie and Steve are the villains this story. They are depicted as the kind of devil-worshiping deviants the people of Hawkins accuse Eddie of being. In this story, ‘Hellfire,’ lives up to its name, with Eddie and Steve as a pair of friends who use their ‘devotion,’ to Satan as an excuse to carry out sinister actions.

Additional content warnings: words like bitch and cunt are used as insults against reader. Reader is touched against her will and a knife appears briefly. Reader’s virginity is mocked, as well as her desire to abstain from sex. She is threatened with assault. Misogyny, men being bastards, religious themes (Satan, a church, devil worship). And in the end, the bastards pay…

Eddie Munson’s eyes lick over you sinisterly. “She’s pretty and she’s a virgin?” he huffs, obviously pleased with your ‘credentials.’ “Looks like you hit the jackpot with this one, Steve.”

You hear Steve Harrington, your ‘boyfriend,’ chuckle softly behind you. You’re tempted to turn and face him, but you refuse. He has betrayed you, completely. After three months of dating who you thought was a normal, nice young man, Steve allowed his true personality to emerge. He and his twisted friend Eddie have brought you to a remote location against your will…an abandoned, decaying church. You can’t say for certain what their plans for you are, but it’s obvious they intend to harm you.

Eddie slides a fingertip under your chin, tilting your face upward. Dying sunlight streams through a window on the ceiling. Its rose-tinted glass casts a haunting glow over the room. “See that?” Eddie asks, pointing to the window. “Up there? That’s the only way out of this room-.” He glances mischievously at Steve. “-For her, anyway,” he laughs, then to you, “So unless you’ve got a set of wings I don’t know about...” Eddie moves behind you and abruptly tugs the collar of your shirt downward, splitting the fabric down your back. “…Nope, no wings,” he confirms. Eddie’s eyes feel like snakes slithering over your exposed skin. “…I guess that means you’re dying tonight,” he concludes.

As quickly as it appeared, Eddie’s dark expression turns crudely joyful, a maniacal laughter bursting from inside him. “M’just fucking with you, sweetheart!” he clarifies, but it does nothing to tame the tension in the room. “Something in you is going to die tonight,” Eddie adds, his voice a taunting lilt. “That much is true…”

Steve’s hands close over your shoulders, a familiar touch that had once felt protective. Now, you realize that every gesture of softness, every gentle word from him, has been a lie. Steve’s voice is chillingly calm as he explains: “Your innocence is dying, tonight.” You force yourself to willingly look at Steve. His hazel eyes are filled with a false sincerity. He never cared for you, at all.

Assuming you don’t understand what’s being implied, Eddie chimes in. “We’re taking your virginity tonight, (y/n).” You shake your head at Steve, whose flat expression betrays any sense of remorse. “Why?” you ask, your voice breaking. “Is this because I made you wait?? Because I’m saving that experience…having sex…for my wedding night??”

Eddie laughs out loud at your words; he finds your standards of morality equal parts hilarious and pathetic.

“Christ, Steve!” he chortles. “Where’d you find this one? Behind a pulpit??”

“Trust me (y/n),” Steve tells you. “Eddie and I aren’t doing this because you wouldn’t sleep with me the whole time we were dating. I could have taken what I wanted from you anytime during those three months.” Steve’s lips pout down at you; he’s mocking you now, just like Eddie. “Besides,” Steve continues. “It’s not like I wasn’t fucking around with other bitches the whole time, (y/n). Girls who didn’t have one damn problem spreading their legs for me…”

Eddie slaps Steve’s back in a toxic, macho sort of congratulation. “That’s my boy,” he sings. “Now, let’s get to the best part, Steve.”

Eddie reaches for the front of your shirt and yanks it down, revealing your breasts blooming over a push-up bra. “Well how about that??” he balks. “What kind of virgin wears sexy shit like that under her clothes?”

You glare at Eddie. “Believe it or not, women wear clothes for themselves,” you bite back. “Not everything’s for men and especially not you, asshole!”

Eddie shudders, pretending to be intimidated. “My apologies, y-your highness, your l-ladyship,” he stutters, holding his palms in front of him in surrender. “You got me. I’ll change my ways, I swear.”

Eddie’s open hands close suddenly over your breasts, clutching them firmly, pulling a shocked gasp from your lips. “…But not today,” he grins smugly, continuing to grope you. “Now tell me, did Stevie here at least make it to second base?”

Steve blows a drawn-out raspberry. “Not a chance,” he jeers. “This bitch is as uptight as they come. Barely let me put my tongue in her fuckin’ mouth.” Steve cups your cheek in his hand, making you flinch. “Isn’t that right, baby?” he murmurs, closing the space between you, the tip of his nose nuzzling yours. “You and those fucking standards of yours…But I guess in the end, all your stupid morals made you the best sacrifice of all…”

You lurch back from Steve, right into Eddie’s arms, unfortunately. He spins you around to face him, a sadistic glimmer in his eyes when he speaks. “That’s right (y/n), we’re sacrificing your purity tonight,” Eddie explains. “And the fact that you’re a goody-two shoes little cunt actually makes it all the better.”

“What are you talking about?” you snap. “Sacrificing my purity? Who the hell talks like that? Fucking weirdos-”

“DON’T-,” Eddie shouts, shoving a finger at you. “-DISRESPECT…the RITUAL.” His eyes are like fire; Eddie is seething. “DON’T-disrespect-HIM…”

The sunlight has faded completely by this point. The only illumination in the room is coming from Eddie’s lighter, a thin flame twitching in his unsteady grip.

You stare stone-faced at Steve, your Judas Iscariot, your betrayer, the man whose lies outshine even his beauty. The window blinks above you, lightning flashing nearby.

“Satan,” Steve utters in a low, reverent tone. As if on cue in a cheesy horror movie, thunder rumbles outside the church.

You roll your eyes at Steve, earning you an even harsher glare from Eddie. “Satan?” you parrot back at Steve. “As in, the Devil? Are you serious?”

“-Is this fucking serious enough for you?” Eddie shouts. He pulls a pocket knife from his pants and juts its tip against your throat. “This is how it has to happen. We prayed to Satan, and He told us.”

“Told you what?” you sneer. “That if you fucked a virgin in the sanctuary of an old church, the Devil will give you magic powers or something? You really believe in that kind of shit?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, tugging your arm towards him. “Because it’s real. And you’re about to find out how real it is.”

He yanks you by the wrist, ordering you onto the ground . A bolt of lightning crackles outside, close enough that it makes Steve and Eddie jump. The brief pulse of light illuminates the three of you, and maybe Eddie’s imagining it, but he could swear your eyes look…different. Darker, somehow.

He assumes it’s just a shadow, a trick of the light, and tries to ignore it. Steve pulls at your arm again, trying to force you onto the floor. But you won’t budge. He can’t understand how you’re fighting him; he’s clearly stronger than you are. Thunder shakes the ground beneath your feet, a low hum bellowing from below as if the earth itself is groaning.

“You hear that?” Eddie asks excitedly, his pulse racing. “It’s Him, Steve. It’s fucking Him!”

Wind whips around the old church, its wooden beams creaking like tired bones. Eddie’s lighter begins to flicker in and out; he curses and smacks it against his palm, trying again.

When the flame ignites, its amber glow illuminates only Steve and Eddie’s faces. You appear to have vanished.

“Where the fuck did she go?? She was right-”

“-Well you were the one holding her fucking arm, Steve-how should I-.”

“HEY!” you call from behind the pulpit. Both men whip their bodies to face you, another burst of lightning revealing their wide eyes gazing up at yours.

“H-how did you do that?” Steve asks, his voice wavering. Eddie shakes the bewilderment from his mind, now even more determined to see his plan through. “You little bitch,” he growls. “I don’t know how you did that, how you got up there that fast, but you’re still ours, and we’re still in control!”

Eddie starts for the podium, but finds himself frozen, unable to move an inch. His eyes go wide as saucers, fear washing over his face.

“You both look so small from up here,” you tell them, leaning over the pulpit, your breasts pressed against it. “Small and weak. Pathetic, actually.”

Eddie smacks Steve’s shoulder, telling him to grab you; but try as he might, Steve is frozen in place as well.

The glow from Eddie’s lighter flicks in and out as his hand shakes uncontrollably. “What the hell is this?” Steve asks in a small, timid voice. But Eddie has no answer to give him.

“All those hours the two of you spent praying,” you speculate, getting high on their fear. “I wonder who you were actually praying to? Because it certainly wasn’t me…”

Steve’s jaw goes slack, sweat dripping from his hairline. Eddie wants to know…has to know, if what you’re implying is true. “L…Lord,” he begins tentatively, his voice trembling. “I had no idea-we-had no idea, it was You-.”

“SILENCE,” you order, and Eddie’s lips seal shut. “Bow to your Master, if it’s Satan you praise. Or can you not bring yourself to kneel at the feet of a woman?” A dry laughter rumbles from your chest, filling the room with heat, rattling the church’s bony frame.

Steve and Eddie tremble beneath you. Lightning strikes above the church; you watch its glare in the ceiling window, how it floods the terrified faces of the men at your feet. A tall tree beside the church is struck; it catches fire immediately.

“You bastards would need a taste of Hell, to understand how sick you are,” you tell Steve and Eddie. “Therefore, it’s what I’ll give you.”

The tree collapses against the roof of the church, setting it ablaze. Eddie and Steve whirl their heads to see it, but their feet are still stuck in place.

You remain calm, as if the decrepit old building isn’t going up like a box of matchsticks around you. “Legend says,” you preach to the men. “That the Devil wears a suit and tie…” You lean forward against the pulpit, your black eyes glaring down at them. “…But sometimes, She wears a push-up bra…”

A beam of rotting wood detaches from the ceiling, falling directly in front of Steve and Eddie, blowing dust and smoke into their eyes. As they cough and sputter and try to make out the shape of you behind the pulpit, they realize you’ve vanished. Panic seizes them both as flames draw closer and closer to the place their feet are locked, immovable. Sweat pours down their faces, eyes wide with tears that evaporate as soon as they form. The heat is suffocating, clogging their throats, smoke filling their lungs to bursting…

…And just as the first touch of fire licks at their skin, it STOPS.

Eddie and Steve are laying in the field outside the church, their backs burning, bits of clothing singed off around them. They gulp the fresh air into their mouths, weeping tears that can finally fall, drinking in the rain as it begins to cascade above them.

They watch the church, as the last of its pillars and beams are consumed by fire, brought down to its foundation. Rain puts out the flames remaining, as darkness swallows the area once more. Smoke rises like a prayer to Heaven, along with the tearful utterances of two men forever changed in one night, asking God to forgive them, two sinners grateful to still be breathing…

[accio-victuuri]

i was supposedly gonna address this by end of month and with my april candy round up but i think might as well do it now. only because it is being shared primarily on international platforms and i feel the need to put out this reminder. i wouldn’t even dream about controlling how one chooses to participate in this fandom but sometimes people need a wake up call.

so, there has been a video going around of GG filming Legend of Zanghai and there is a staff there that people are saying is WYB. it showed this person talking to GG while he is on standby and shooting etc. first of all, these two are notoriously good at hiding and being professional in their workplace. especially now. i doubt they will flaunt each other on set with one acting like a PA for the other. not only that, they both hate to cause any disturbance on set or have unnecessary eyes on them — much worse, gossip, so this is a no.

and in the very low chance that it is WYB or that whatever rumor we have of XX visiting XXX on set is true, the last person who should be outing their secret meetings shouldn’t be turtles. if there is one thing i really miss from the beginnings of this fandom is how much people protected them. even if at times we became obnoxious, you know that the reason is because we wanted to keep them safe. nowadays, i feel like more turtles don’t even care at all. they will show off anything to prove a point. but at what cost? seriously, how far would you go? how much disregard for their rights as human beings will you allow?

which leads me to the main problem here: sharing leaks. i personally sometimes can’t avoid it, especially on weibo cause it depends on who you follow, it will come up. or worse, the leaked videos/photos goes on hot search. xz has been very vocal against proxy shooting for this project so idk why some turtles continue to disrespect his wishes. it’s one thing to see it accidentally, but for international fans to share it and then make it out to be this “scandalous” video proof is so questionable. what makes them different from professional weibo paparazzis who out celebrity couples? who follow them in their homes and even their parents? how are they different from ss who put trackers on their cars and obsess over their personal itinerary? it’s so sus to call yourself a fan who care about them but applaud this kind of behavior. these kind of fans honestly don’t see xz and wyb as people. leave them the fuck alone. i don’t think i can stress that enough. let’s speculate all we want from the materials they willingly give us and try not to make it harder for them to live their personal lives.

i understand how material like that can make someone happy and affirmed but think about them first.

and if you are someone who needs solid video proof to support the boys and be on the bjyxszd train, then please leave this fandom now. i can tolerate alot of behaviors but never ones that endanger them like this. this need for constant validation is dangerous. it’s their relationship, not ours. they are real people and not fictional characters.