#the spirit is willing but the flesh is not so much

[vers-1]

I paid 400$ to play and expected to get gains, but I ended up with losses

They’ve got me running all over the feild instead of as a forward where I would have to hit people which makes sense cause I’m short, but now I’m short and skinny. And like I am not a runner the tall girls get to jog at my sprinting speed and this is making me do a ton of major cardio

And all this slimming down has been eating at all the muscle mass I gained over winter. I can’t seem to balance out my stuff for working out it’s like it’s either one or the other and ahhhhhh. I’m just feeling frustrated

On one hand yea looking good, but on the other the opposing team is gonna fuck me in the ass so hard if they hit me.

[venus-state-of-mind]

oh boy, I wonder why I’ve been maintaining and not really sticking to my plan? (I haven’t been logging my food) (or drinking anywhere near enough water) (or taking my vitamins) (for 2 weeks) (I feel ravenous because I’m not getting enough nutrients) (and also because I’m severely dehydrated)

[heartxshaped-bruises]

Once this jet lag wears off, it's over for all of you...

[conkeybong]

aghghhff i want to draw so bad but every time i open up procreate or my sketchbook i lose all will to live

[dredshirtroberts]

brain scrambling for something i'm putting off/procrastinating on to be anxious about but i've finally caught up so i'm sitting here going "Oh god i really need to get [file not found] done" but since there's no task found for me to accomplish i just end up vibrating in place trying to figure out what i want to do.

[raethereptile]

Me, during the summer: I am, at heart, an spring-autumn girly

Me, when its dark when I go to work and it's dark when I leave, and the winds are howling and the rain is pissing it down and its cold enough that the wind and rain cuts like a knife: WHAT THE FUCK WAS I TALKING ABOUT

[diluc33rpm]

2/2 What's something that makes you feel vulnerable

answering directed existential questions at 4:02 pm via tumblr ask

[6esiree]

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

One, two, three, four… that’s how many times you tentatively pressed your lips against Alastor’s cheek until he finally stirred awake. It was late—about 3 AM, give or take—but you just couldn’t sleep, not after he took you out to watch a particularly frightening film earlier in celebration of Halloween. And with it being the witching hour, every creak, every groan, and every meager noise that resounded throughout the aging house your dear husband inherited from his departed mother made you all the less willing to close your eyes.

“Is something the matter, sweetheart?” Alastor eventually rasped, an apologetic smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you watched his pupils dilate to adjust to the darkness, but he couldn’t see all that well anyway. “Can’t sleep, I presume?”

With an abashed nod, you shuffled closer to him, tossing your arms around his waist and bringing your bodies flush together, your cold nose pressing against the hollow of his throat. He returned your embrace almost instinctively, his knee nestling in the space between your legs as his hands traveled past your nightgown without an ounce of shame. But it was perfect—the way he firmly squeezed your hips and melded to your smaller frame with his larger one like a puzzle piece. He was perfect.

Or so that’s what you thought.

“Pray tell, how could you allow some…” Alastor murmured into your hair, slender fingers delicately tracing the fine curvature of your body, moving up and up and up… till they arrived at the supple flesh beneath your breasts, “…silly little phobia to keep you awake?”

Your eyes fluttered shut with a breathy sigh, nails haphazardly raking up his sides in response to the tantalizing manner in which he thumbed at one your nipples. His other hand slid up the back of your neck, grasping a handful of your hair and pulling your head back ever so gently. Unbelievable—he tutted, and you would have felt even more embarrassed if he hadn’t nipped at the column of your throat… or made his arousal known to you, his hardening erection bumping against your clit oh-so perfectly.

One, two, three, four… that’s how many times Alastor nipped at you, his teeth leaving tiny bruises on your skin almost in revenge for rising him from such a peaceful slumber. And even though he thought your reason to be rather childish in nature, he wouldn’t allow you to suffer for any longer than you already had; so he pushed you down onto the mattress, a hand dipping into your panties with the intention of melting away the fear in your bones. Your lips parted in gratification—much like your legs did—hole fluttering at the delicate press of his fingers.

“It’s more of a fear of the unknown,” You admitted with a sheepishness that had Alastor chuckling, but only for a moment, his attention quickly stolen by the sticky sound of his fingers circulating your clit. “Not… knowing what… malevolent being may be lurking in the shadows, waiting for the—ha—perfect opportunity to strike.”

Hmph—that was the only thing he was able to muster as he picked up the pace; and while he couldn’t see you all that well, he could feel your cunt flutter, and he could hear the sheets rustle with every twist and turn of your body. But before you could come undone at a meager rubbing, he abandoned your clit and trailed his slick-drenched fingers down your folds, pushing past them and into your neglected hole, eliciting a pleasured cry from you. A deep groan reverberated throughout his chest as your walls enveloped three of his fingers in a warm, wet, tight embrace—and so effortlessly, too.

“Hand me my glasses, won’t you?” As soon as those words left Alastor’s mouth, you stretched an arm towards the nightstand on his side of the bed. “Anyway, there are more things that are worth fearing in this world, sweetheart. Not some invisible force such as a spirit.”

“Like the Bayou Butcher?” You innocently asked between bouts of pants, your hand desperately searching for his glasses in the darkness… all while his hand searched for that velvety spot in your walls that had you coming undone in no time. “I don’t want to end up in a gator’s stomach.”

“I suppose,” Alastor responded rather curtly, but you were far too lost in your pleasure to take notice of that, “Although, I wouldn’t fear them either,” He continued, the truth almost tumbling from his lips, “So long as I live, you don’t have to worry about a gruesome demise befalling you.”

At least that little bit he added towards the end was truthful, but because you didn’t know that, you chose to shrug it off. Your husband was a hunter, and you vividly recalled the way he effortlessly took down a stag with a singular bullet as you finally located his glasses, including the unrelenting strength he had in his muscles to carry it back on the way home. Still, you refused to believe he could keep you safe from a literal serial killer, the same one that had been tormenting New Orleans for quite some time already.

Alastor knew by the slow and tentative nod of your head as he put on his glasses that you doubted him, but he couldn’t do anything else to prove himself. So, he curled his fingers and assaulted that spot in your walls with a feverishness that had you writhing and moaning almost instantaneously, his palm moving against your swollen clit. He loomed over you almost menacingly as he fucked you with his hand, watching your back delicately arch up towards him, your hardened nipples peaking through the thin fabric of your nightgown.

But the squelching from your cunt… oh, that was what made Alastor’s self-control snap. He pulled his hand out of you before you could finish, and you would have whined at the loss if he hadn’t pulled down his pajama pants so hastily, the sound of his weeping cock smacking against his toned stomach making your hole flutter with anticipation rather than disappointment. But as he flipped you onto your stomach and pulled your slick-drenched panties to the side, exposing your cunt to the cool air, he leaned in and nosed at your shoulder with a few more words.

“I meant what I said,” His lips moved against you as he grasped the flesh of your hip with one hand, the other moving the head of his cock up and down your folds, lathering himself with your wetness. “If I can kill a stag, I can definitely kill a man… “ He continued, finally pushing into you, your face falling into the pillow with a gratified moan, “…to ensure your safety, of course.”

Your dear husband would kill a man to ensure your safety, how… nice, you thought, communicating your appreciation by pushing your hips back with a nod that was much more firm and reassuring. A deep groan caressed your ear as you forced Alastor to bottom out, his cock kissing your cervix; and while he was well aware of the fact that you didn’t doubt him any less, he held onto you with a force that would surely leave bruises come morning, pulling his cock completely out of you before slamming back into you.

And he repeated this over and over again, unconsciously taking his frustration out on your poor cunt—for waking him up over some silly little fear of ghosts, and for especially doubting his ability to take a human being’s life. However, he supposed that you would eventually find out the harrowing truth behind his late-night shifts at the radio station as he reached down to rub at your swollen clit, encouraging you to come undone alongside him. And you did, your walls clamping down around him with a long whine.

“No more horror films from now on, you hear me?” Alastor stated as he went to plant a gentle kiss on your shoulder, his cock pulsating inside of your fluttering walls, but you swiftly turned your head to the side and captured his lips. “Oh, you cheeky little thing,” He murmured, whatever frustration he previously felt completely forgotten.

[fayeraa]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑’𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓. ft. haikyuu, bnha and jjk chars.

for my smol-titties girlies out there because I don’t see enough appreciation for them <\3

reader is fem! and insecure about her chest. suggestive.

he doesn’t understand why you don’t like them.

they seem like perfection to him, no matter their size. each time he got to lay his eyes on them, he feels grateful, lucky, to have such opportunity.

it’s not given to everyone to be able to dote on such perfect assets, so soft and supple, just made to fit his hand.

its not even sexual, he does it because he knows he got the opportunity, and he won’t let it pass him by.

you could be laying on the couch, on the bar stools, in the bathtub, or anywhere really, and you would still feel a large delicate hand skimming on the smooth valley of your breasts, discovering the area like the first time.

it’s slow, burningly slow even, binding their time until snaking a thumb over your sweetness, looking at them with so much love. dumbfounded pupils peering up at you, worshipping you in your whole glory, never daring to look back.

they trail sloppy, dampening kisses from you stomach up to your ribs, caressing them so gently, before taking a handful of your right breast and kneading them tenderly, never ceasing admiring.

he doesn’t forget the left one, giving the same devotion as the previous, and keeps on smooching the warm patch of flesh, still so careful. .

they are round and silky, begging to be loved like they deserve. and he’s more than willing to give it to you tenfold.

they are bewitched.

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. . . kirishima, todoroki, shinso, tokoyami (bnha), akaashi (look at this man and DARE to tell me he wouldn’t appreciate small tits), bokuto, yamaguchi, kuroo, goshiki, suna (hq) megumi, nanami (gentleman yk yk) (jjk)

[@ fayeraa. do not copy, steal nor claim as yours, and do not translate/repost on other platforms.] reblogs appreciated <3

gotta elaborate later it’s too short 🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️ hope it lifted a girl’s spirits tho <\33

[endless-ineffabilities]

the sapphire and his sun

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Musings about Aemond Targaryen and the only one he truly needs. His one true hope and love. His beloved wife.

a/n : i had to write something after that episode! holy Aemond! This pretty much wrote itself and I could expand it in the future ~ if inspiration strikes true!

word count : <2k ▪︎ masterlist

Aemond used to think his only solace was himself.

His mother had never been much of a mother in her own right, too muddled in the web of deceit that she and Otto spin at their fancy. Criston posited as something of a father figure, but his true loyalty is to his Queen. His brother has always been a wastrel, and his sister wasting away in her own mind.

Aemond never had anyone. Not truly.

Until you.

He still remembers the day you walked into his life, a lone ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds of stormy grey. You appeared to be a frail-hearted young lady, eager to please and to be a devoted wife to her prince. All the while he saw your spirit dimmed from being offered by her House to be Prince Aemond's newly betrothed.

All to secure an alliance.

There was no promise of loyalty or love. Being the prince, he is able to take into bed any whore he wishes. But one look at you - just the one - and all thought of any other lover vanished from his mind.

The first night he was supposed to take you to bed and consummate your marriage, the meek cast in your eyes had disappeared, and in its place a defiant glint he hadn't seen before.

"If I am to be used by my prince, I will do it with the remaining shred of my dignity. I will not cry, I will not beg for a life I have already lost. If all that I am now is a vessel for duty, then so be it." You looked at him, as if for the first time, and with the flames dancing across your face, Aemond would remember that moment as when his sun first shone down on him.

He felt his anger flare for but a moment, his constant fear of being betrayed taking over him. Had everything been an act? Was this to be a marriage of unpleasantry and resentment?

But it quickly dawned on him that the act - the betrayal - was that if his wife was willing to play a fool and dance under his strings like some marionette.

He preferred this. He preferred you.

"Mayhaps I will not bed you tonight, my lady wife. Not yet," he had said, your face slowly twisting in surprise. "I will let you keep more than just your dignity, for you will also possess the choice. Trust that it is only for the time being, at least, until it is imperative that I produce an heir. From this moment forward, I swear to take no else to bed as it is my oath as your husband."

He watched the minute switches in your expression. The wariness. The confusion. The relief. And he already felt it then, as silly as the notion might be, that you had recognised who he really was and that you accepted him.

Aemond was no scoundrel. He wasn't a villain in your story. He wasn't some mighty, untouchable prince.

He was a boy. He was now your husband. He had decency. He had a heart.

And you may not have yet realised, but this heart - wretched as it might have been - he was surrendering it to you.

With the turn of the moon came ill tidings - the death of his father Viserys. Although he was also not much of a father to begin with. Aemond felt numb to it all and there was no time for any emotion to take root, for the conspiracy festered like an open wound. His brother was to be made king.

"Must you go and find him?" you asked. "What if something were to happen?"

He had been blank and unfeeling, unsure of what to make his father's passing. But then, some warmth bloomed in him at your concern. His darling wife cared. He hadn't yet been allowed to indulge in the pleasures of your flesh, but your nights were filled with conversation and confiding.

He took your hands and pressed a kiss atop each one. "It is I who understands Aegon's doings, my wife. Ser Criston is in need of my aid. My brother would sooner sail away than fulfil his duty, which is why he must return at all cost."

"Let him sail away. Let him go and live as he pleases, husband. He never possessed the temperament of a king. You on the other hand... "

His father is dead. His brother could be gone. The enemy encroaches.

But gods be damned, you believed in him.

Aemond didn't know for certain what happiness felt like, he'd never had a single taste of it. And how morbid it was for him to possibly feel it then. But...

"You would make a far better ruler than anyone, and I don't just say that because I am your wife."

Happiness. How fascinating.

How utterly... simple.

For he realised that he had felt it before. Not even in grand moments, no, but in the littlest of things.

He had felt it when you once laughed in pure bliss when he first rode with you atop Vhagar.

When you would help fasten him into his training armour.

When he would watch as you read one of your stories.

His happiness was standing right in front of him. His ray of light, his sun.

And his sun persisted even when he singlehandedly cast the realm into macabre blacks and greens.

Shaken and despondent, he stumbled into your chambers to deliver the news to you first. In the passing hour, everything will change. Will you turn on him too?

"It was an accident," he confessed. "I thought I could control Vhagar, but... she is her own beast. She always has been. I admit I was angry and it was my folly to seek vengeance, but I did not mean to... " His voice broke, and he felt your finger wipe at something wet from his cheek.

He did not even notice that he was crying.

You still said nothing, so he grew frightful. What if nothing he said would ever be enough? No explanation, no apology. He can't lose his light.

"I never held any love for him," he carried on painfully, "but he was my blood. And I... I just - "

"It wasn't your fault, Aemond."

A ray of hope. A remaining strength.

You repeat, "I believe you, and it wasn't your fault."

It mattered not whether his mother would shun him, or his grandsire would frown upon his gruesome action. Rhaenyra was coming for him, as sure as dragonfire, and he would soon have to face the consequences of his actions.

But none of that worried him, not then.

He had to stay alive, however he can, so that he can protect you. It was not remiss of him to overlook that the ladywife of Lucerys' apparent murderer would also have a target on her back.

Aemond knew that the fight was inevitable, and he was going to win it. For you.

In tears, in love, in pale shades of grief, he kissed you with everything he had in him.

A solemn promise. A declaration of love.

"No one shall know the truth of it, my love."

"What do you mean?"

"They will not know, but you will. And that is all that matters. There is no stopping it now and I must face the war head on. What the realm will come to accept is that I intended to fell my nephew and that I do not regret doing so. They have to fear me. This is how I can keep you safe."

"Aemond - "

"Do you trust me?"

The only thing that mattered, the one answer that decided whether he bent or broke. The Seven Kingdoms were to be covered in gloom and shadow, its fields marred with blood and many a broken bone.

His world, however - his world still had light.

"I trust you. With everything I have, I do."

To be tagged in Aemond or Daemon fics, comment on this post !

[szkunas]

WANNA BET? ౨ৎㅤ suguru geto.

synopsis / premise ♱ㅤ when a lustful spirit comes across suguru geto’s path, the curse user must sacrifice his pride and dignity for a chance to obtain its power. but you won’t make it easy for him, will you?

featuring ♱ㅤ cursed spirit!FEM!reader X suguru geto (2017 / jjk 0 ver.)

warnings ♱ㅤ NSFW ♡︎ ㅤ spectrophilia ! monsterfucking (?) ! DEATH (not on any of them) + BLOOD ! EATING HUMAN FLESH (not cannibalism!) ! dub-con (both consent, but it involves a dangerous bet, so just to stay safe) ! sub and dom dynamics constantly changing (both switchers) but reader is usually domming ! unprotected sex + unrealistic portraits of sex ! creampie ! power dynamics ! rough sex / “hate” sex ! degradation + praise ! WORD COUNT: 4990.

author’s note ♱ㅤthank you for everyone who's enjoying and supporting my work! i love you all and i hope you like this piece as well. this is inspired by the poll i made a long while ago. the people asked, and they shall have it! despite it not being yandere character, be sure the next fics will fix that! <3

p.s — i write smut very rarely. i feel it's a little bland and ill probably avoid writing it for a little while lol. despite that, i hope you enjoy it nonetheless

BETTING WITH CURSES is always a dangerous ── not to say stupid ── idea. their conceptions are more violent and sadistic than those of humans, and they have little (or no) notion of mortality. they revel in the gushing blood, the failure, and the deadly despair that initially gave rise to them. therefore, it is uncommon for even the most experienced curse users to engage in this type of activity. but geto doesn’t know the meaning of fear. it became unfamiliar to him, like he always wished. curses are just the accumulated filth of non-sorcerers. and a god fears neither the insects beneath him nor the remains they produce.

the cult provides a good amount of spirits, with that rotten taste that is impossible to disguise. no matter how much spice or food is eaten afterward, it is always terrible, but today it goes down his throat much more easily. as much as it’s a good facade, gathering followers and getting a good reserve of curses to form the night parade of a hundred demons, it’s not enough.

all the spirits he consumes recently are mediocre grade 4s. sometimes a grade 3, or if he is extremely lucky, a grade 2. but it has become a rare occasion, and the spirits of non-sorcerers are as weak as their mediocre progenitors.

he doesn’t have enough, and if things go this way, he will have more of an amalgamation of weak and useless spirits than spirits strong enough to distract the sorcerers and help him fight his true goal. therefore, his free days, when not spent with his daughters and his fixation on crêpes, are used to hunt cursed spirits. usually, his followers help with this. the loyal sorcerers see each other as family, and are willing to work for the new world as much as he does. it doesn’t matter how much blood or sweat it takes, it doesn’t matter if he’s not alive to see it all, after all. no more being oppressed by insects. the true species must rise, and the time is coming.

patience, he tells himself. but haste is a curse of its own that affects every man at some point in his existence, making him lose himself in his tasks and concentrations. as he reclines on himself in what could be called the throne room, suguru watches as some of his fellow sorcerer help one of their own. he quickly approaches the confusion.

a woman with a flushed face and heavy breathing, one hand on her chest as if she was about to have a heart attack. sweat pours off her in a rush, as if her body is burning from the inside out. it’s rare that they don’t come back with even one spirit (as mediocre as it is, a curse is a curse, and he can’t afford to be selective at this point). then, suguru frowns. part of him genuinely cares, in a way he never could, if this woman didn’t have a technique.

“what’s the matter? i thought you were going after the spirit near shinjuku.”

“we were.” one of them answers. “but that thing is a beast. you can’t get close without feeling completely lost and attracted. it’s like a fog that enters your nose and mouth and consumes you from the inside. we nearly died. we can’t handle that, master geto. we apologize.”

he sighs, looking over at the poor woman. there’s something visibly wrong with her right now. her heart seems shaken by a powerful force, and this makes geto think that he shouldn’t underestimate this curse in question.

she looks around and practically latches onto any man she can see — even kissing a guy’s neck while he blushes and gently pulls her away. is it some kind of spirit that manipulates attraction? this is particularly dangerous for him. even though he is, well, him, suguru is still a man. the flesh is weak, and perhaps this curse will become a huge headache to deal with.

however, it could become one of his best weapons.

if a spirit like this keeps causing problems in kyoto, he will have more time to do what needs to be done in tokyo. he can already think about it — whatever form this spirit has, having sorcerers under their thumb. crushing their heads and buying him precious seconds to take care of his business. he can only imagine how the poor sorcerers will react, attracted to a beast.

“don’t worry about that anymore.” he assures the cult members, which turn their heads to him. their leader, their god. the one who’s going to make them rise to a new world. his voice is filled with the grace and confidence he usually has on his tone. but also something else.

determination. raw and pure.

“i will deal with the cursed spirit in shinjuku myself. please watch over mimiko and nanako while i’m gone. i will need just a few hours.”

while humans are extremely annoying, they have their uses. somehow. spirits like you, of thunderous strength, also have thunderous desires. technically, curses don’t need to eat, sleep, or reproduce like humans do. your existence and body made of pure cursed energy coursing through your veins transcends the need for these chores. but like everything that is unnecessary, it is not necessarily impossible. that’s why, as a curse, you know how to use what you have to attract victims. legends about women who attract men with their beauty and turn on them like vipers are very common. the idea of comfort turning to horror ── resting in the arms of a beautiful goddess only to discover that she is a beast shaped like a beauty ── is something that has generated many curses. just like you.

your long tongue curls around your fingertips, trying to absorb the blood that rests there. the body of the last unlucky person who came to try to get you rests at the foot of the motel room bed. it’s not difficult to blend in with humans, and sorcerers come to you like bees looking for honey. while sucking the blood from your fingers, your eyes look up to the dim lamp in the room. the moths accumulate, beating against the light and surrounding it desperately. your body stands up and walks out of the room while arranging your kimono sloppily over your shoulders. if you turn off a light, the moths are lost, without hope. their lives are all about chasing dangerous things. they are attracted to the light of a flame, following this wonderful source of illumination without knowing that it will lead to their death. just as mortal men (and women) allow you to do.

the body stays behind, not that it’s important. the others can’t see you, which means all they know is that a man walked into a room alone, and died inside. eviscerated and devoured as if destroyed by a modern movie zombie. your steps guide you away from cheap construction, and that’s a relief. the reception smells like mold, and the employee is more focused on playing solitaire than looking at whoever enters. the cold night air hitting you would be a problem if your stomach wasn’t full and well refreshed with warm blood. and, at the entrance to the parking lot, a man approaches. so he can see you. it wouldn’t be the first time a young guy approached you, hungry for some. you try to hide the blood in your hands.

you devour the hearts of humans, just as they would like to devour you (in other senses). however, he looks… different from the usual men you see around. high energy levels, as well as clearly being a sorcerer. he doesn’t look very old, maybe in his late twenties. this means that he doesn’t have as much experience as older men, but he is no amateur at sorcery. just as you fill yourself with meat, he also consumes something. you can’t tell just by looking, and it’s as disturbing as it is interesting.

okay, you’re full. but there’s always room for another one. especially a looker like this.

“mm, hey, handsome.” you purr, smiling cutely as you rest your hand on your waist.

“spare me. i know what you are capable of and what you really want. i’m not going to be your next meal, curse.” he smirks, circling around you.

well, that’s a fascinating twist. it reminds you of how many sorcerers have said the exact same thing, and in the end it ended up just becoming your dinner. however, this man seems less— consumable than the rest, but no less attractive.

the idea of eating him saddens you, because then you would lose him forever. not being able to see that pretty face after you eat it out of spite… it would be tragic. but maybe there’s a way of having fun, while still getting something out of him.

you lick your lips at the thought.

okay, this could be the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. a tall, handsome man with a large amount of cursed energy? he’s the kind of guy you don’t let get away. after so many snacks, a careful look always captures a good and complete meal. but perhaps you can do much more than devour him. it’s the kind of chance every girl dreams of ── in your own twisted and sadistic way, of course.

“can i get your name, handsome? or do i have to keep on the petname basis?” you tease, smirking softly.

he walks around you like a shark circles tasty prey. this cat and mouse game would scare away any other curse, this sorcerer doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to play with, which makes the interest you have in him doubled. your eyes follow his every movement.

“and while we’re questioning each other, what do you want? a fight?”

“i’m suguru geto. and what i want is very simple.” he steps closer, but you don’t budge, instead raising your chin despite the attitude. that makes his eyes widen softly and suguru scoffs. was he expecting you to be intimidated? “you.”

okay, that answer itself is not unusual for you ── many others have said the same thing to answer the very same question ──, but the new dynamic and opportunity this man presents is. an idea blooms in your mind like a poisonous flower: beautiful, but lethal if touched. it doesn’t look dangerous, it looks attractive and vibrant, but it is. and you are about to apply this in the most intense way you can imagine. a new thing, a new idea.

and like every creature beyond mortality, routine is boring and boring is despising for you. new things are exciting, captivating. he’s interesting.

“why don’t we make a small bet, hm? geto.”

he raises one eyebrow, interested. “i’m listening. and, please. call me suguru.”

the motel isn’t a very suitable destination — apparently, it’s not proper to go to a place where a corpse is —, but an empty apartment that a cult sponsor bought for him will do. suguru and you walk around while pulling up casual conversation and flirtation. everything seems surprisingly chill. maybe in another life, you two could be friends. maybe even with benefits? or— perhaps something else.

he doesn’t think your personality is bad, per see, but again. you seduce and eat mortals easily. maybe you’re just tricking him into lowering his guard. maybe in another life, you’re a pretty little thing who hugs his arm and allows him to take you home with genuine, good intentions. maybe in another life, you could like him genuinely. and he could like you back.

but you two don’t live another life — only this one. so, he’ll settle.

you’re barely past the door and he feels your lips on his. he smirks, grabbing you by the hair to pull you closer. it’s supposed to be an easy tatic — seducing you. he can absorb curses of grades that are at least two lower than his, or… any curse that surrenders.

as your tongue swirls around his, suguru feels a shiver run down his spine. you taste so— unbelievably sweet. nothing like any other one he’s every tasted. the sound of kissing takes over the apartment as you stumble over your feet to the bed.

this might be harder than he initially thought.

the bet is simple, somewhat. you will compete in something, your choice. whoever wins has complete control of the loser. which means — he wins, you’ll become one of his curses. you win? he’s yours. forever. whatever that means, you made that clear. you both explained your expectations and what you wanted from the other, deciding for a biding vow.

the competition you chose was sex. basically, whoever cums first loses.

and for some reason, suguru feels like he shouldn’t lose. he’s not sure what you’ll do with him once “he’s yours”, but he feels like it wouldn’t be a very opportune time for him.

you move to kiss his cheek, jawline, and neck. suguru sighs while throwing his head back. “you’re— eager.” he murmurs with a soft hiss. “i’ve never been with something like you, so, forgive me if i’m shy.”

he can feel the way you smirk against his skin, before you start sucking down and biting. he grabs you by the hair to pull you away, relishing in your flushed expression and how your voice sounds when you yelp.

“no hickeys, no bites. i’m not yours to mark, curse.” his fingers wrap themselves around your hair tightly to get the message across. your tongue slips out, long and eagerly licking your lips as you watch him. like a lion watching a zebra, about to feast.

“yet.”

your answer just sets him off. and the way you smirk, that damned, arrogant smile that he intends to rip off your face as soon as you get into bed — adamant on being a goddamn brat. oh, you’re going to be a handful.

in a way, he likes it (although suguru prefers to bite down his tongue, rip it off and swallowing it before admitting anything to you). there are those who say that victory without effort is just a poorly deserved achievement.

dragging you by the hair, geto’s eyes are following your every movement as you stumble on your feet. you’re having fun with this, he can tell. something twitches on his chest, and — he can’t decide on anger or attraction as he gets rid of his clothes. why is his body so hot? you haven’t even done anything yet.

“keep your word if you lose, curse.” suguru mumurs, looking down at you while pushing you to bed and moving to be on top of you.

“could say the same, suguru. and don’t call me that.” you spread your legs slowly, smirking as he helps you undress. “i have a name, you know.”

the fun thing about men for you is how predictable they are. they keep denying it over and over — i don’t love you, i’m not a bad guy for cheating on my girlfriend, you’re nothing special — while they’re devouring you with their eyes. someone once said the eyes are the window to the soul. you believe that to be true — after all, no one has interest in a meal they cannot see first.

his desire is palpable in the way suguru’s hands rush, pushing away layers of fabric that’s keeping him from actually seeing you. it looks like he wants to rip the clothes off your body and see what’s underneath, because his heart needs to he. he needs it, he needs you.

the words rushing through his mind make him stop for a moment. what is this thought? he needs you… ? he breathes heavily as you grab his wrist and guide it to your chest. suguru can feel it under his fingers and palm.

the soft feeling of your skin is truly inhuman. it sparks something inside of him — he can’t remember a day where he wanted someone this much.

“you’re staring, suguru.” you tease.

“shut up.” he grits his teeth, moving down to cup your breasts, his thumbs caressing your nipples.

“you like this, don’t you? dirty whore.” geto murmurs, his hands snaking down and grabbing your hips harshly while leaning down, latching his lips to your nipple. his other hand massages your breast and pinches it, and the vibrations of his soft moans make your skin shiver.

he shouldn’t like this so much, he knows that. but the way you taste — it’s not fair. he’s rock-hard after some kissing, pinching, teasing. mere foreplay is making his cock twitch on his pants. the way you moan is divine, and your hand comes down to play with his hair as he sucks on your chest.

your legs wrap themselves around his waist, and he presses you down against the bed, hovering above you eagerly. the stupid buddhist robes he uses as a disguise are falling off his body, and all he wants to do is rip the fabric off and set it on fire because it prevents skin-to-skin contact. he bites down your nipple, and you moan, moving your hands to tug off his clothing.

“do you have condoms on you?” he asks, and you snort.

“no. i can’t be affected by mortal diseases. i don’t need those.”

suguru murmurs something against your skin, feeling himself grow addicted already. a small piece of his brain is already wishing you were his, but not to send you to battle — to get you sat on his lap all day, as he kisses and sucks on your chest. you tug at his hair, watching the black strands falling down his back gracefully as he moves to kiss down your underbust, then stomach. lower belly. his purple eyes look up at your face as his lips part. the cult leader’s hands caress your body as if yearning to memorize the flesh with each touch. here or there, he gently squeezes or pinches to see you squirm. they pass through his arms, shoulders, down his sides and finally meet under his thighs, guiding them to rest on his shoulders.

the first contact of his mouth with your pussy is messy. a bit lewd. generally, younger men like this like to act slow, a bit torturing, to be certain of what they’re doing (and mostly, they’re not). but suguru dives in as if your cunt is the last meal he’ll ever put his mouth on. his attention is mostly driven to your clit, and you gasp, playing with his hair and squeezing his head between your thighs with a smile.

he’s good. you’ve experienced sex mostly using it as a weapon — men in particular are more susceptible because they’re not expecting it, but women also don’t expect to be eviscerated while they’re pleasuring you. but sometimes, when you do enjoy sex for fun, you gained experience enough to tell this man between your legs knows what he’s doing. his hands move to grab your waist and keep you from running away as he kisses your clit. suguru’s tongue draw out and he moves is head up and down slowly, teasingly.

you enjoy the sensations, shiver trailing up your spine and the pleasure already pooling on your lower belly. your body relaxes slowly against the pillows, and you chuckle.

“mm, enjoying yourself down there?”

he doesn’t respond, instead humming against your cunt. the feeling causes your body to tingle, and your fingers curl around his strands (which tells suguru he’s doing something right). he’s finding out how heaven tastes.

you’re more determined than ever that he’s yours, and he can see it in your eyes. the fire in your eyes rivals the fire in both of your bodies.

the flavor is indescribable. geto is no amateur at sex, although he feels like one now. exposed, naked and excited, he feels about to lose the bet that will define his destiny. a lot of people have passed by his bed, and he’s already received a lot of compliments about what he can do with his mouth, but the feeling of all those people feels like a weak breeze compared to what he feels with your taste on his tongue. it is divine.

he’s never experienced anything like it, and the idea that sex could be this good makes him feel like he could do it for hours, every day, all day. it’s almost invigorating, energizing, when he experiences you. his hips move here and there, thrusting softly every now and then. the flushed tip of his cock oozes with pre, and he believes he never got so turned on before.

it’s like he’s a college kid, a desperate virgin trying out pussy for the first time. his arms move, hooking them around your thighs, trying to spread your legs as he sucks on your clit.

you tug at his hair again, hissing.

“not fair, jerk. we need to compete in a way both of us can lose. quit it.”

he would deny it, but denying it would make it obvious geto could cum untouched just from eating you out. he complies, leaning back, your juices making his lips and chin glisten under the room’s lights. “alright, curse.” you tug at his hair again, and he groans. “stop that.”

“you need to get used to it. i’ll do it all the time once you’re mine. i'm going to make you eat me out everyday, like the good boy i know you are.”

he moves up, kissing your stomach and between your breasts while looking up. “don’t claim victory before it’s time.” his voice murmurs, pressing his lips against yours and hugging your waist. “lay back.”

you smirk. “no.”

you grab his shoulders, using your unnatural strength to surprise suguru. changing the positions, you get him to be under you, throwing each of your legs to the sides of his body. his hands move to grab your waist, and his eyes narrow as he frowns.

such a handsome, tall man — even when he frowns. once he’s yours, you promise yourself, you have a lot of fun.

“what are you doing?” he hisses, moving to sit up. your palm lays against his chest, pushing him down again as you raise your hips to rub your wet cunt against him. “fuck, fuck— you slut, what are you doing?”

both of you moan softly at the contact, and you lift your body with spread legs and a smirk that tells him: you’re going all in to win this bet. this is worrying.

once you sink, slowly and surely, he throws his head back with his eyes narrowing. a groan escapes his lips, and his muscles clench. geto’s fingers curl around your waist, sinking his nails to your skin desperately, leaving small, red half-moon marks that heal immediately.

if heaven exists, this is what it feels like — his mind is sure of that. your pussy clenching around him, the pure warmth and tightness from your hole, it drives him insane, speechless. his eyes almost fill with water, and the urge to explode is immediate.

he gasps, holding you down and trying to breathe properly. the sew attempt proves futile, deadly and failed. it’s like the air can’t reach his lungs properly, and for a second he thinks he’s going to die in this pure bliss and smiles to himself. but the charm disappears when he remembers the bet. it was a very, very close call that he didn’t came as soon as he felt you around him.

the want awaken in his body is primal. dirty and impure, there’s no other word for it besides carnal. he wants to grab you and pin you down, thrust into you and cum inside until he dies from exhaustion. this power is — dangerous. it scares him and pleases him in equal measure, being under such a powerful spirit. suguru’s concentration is split, divided, and growing weaker as you speak again.

“what’s wrong, suguru? i can feel you twitch.” you giggle softly, leaning in over him.

your next move throws him off guard. the sadism and fire in your gaze makes him raise an eyebrow, and before he can react, his hips move. down and then up, just to slam back down. it knocks the air off his lungs, and he moans loudly.

“oh, god.”

“no, baby, it’s just me.” you chuckle, staring to set a pace as you lean back. “mmm, sugu. you feel really good, you know? so hard and nice to ride. and so good for me.”

instead of resting against his chest, your hands grab his knees. your stunning, divine body that makes his insides curl and melt is leaned back, exposed in all your glory, and he forgets you’re a curse for a moment. convinced you’re an angel, he grabs your hips to help you ride, thrusting up against your movements.

suguru smiles softly to himself as he hears your soft moans. the sounds is delicious, drowning every worry out of him. he only remembers you’re a curse two minutes seconds later, when your tongue slips out your mouth to lick your lips, as if you’re enjoying a meal.

he feels like an animal, capable of thinking about only one thing: copulating. having sex and reproduce and if he fails in the latter, have sex again until every drop of semen is squeezed out of his body.

he tenses up, groaning. god be kind, he has no idea how he managed to hold on for so long.

“what’s your deal?” another moan quickly scratches his throat, and the heat is almost becoming unbearable. pooling in his lower belly, making his abs and muscles clench as he grinds against you, desperate.

“what are you talking about?” you chuckle, leaning in again and moving your hands up to play with your nipples. slowly — both to tease him and to avoid you cum too early and lose. softly.

“stop— smirking like that. it pisses me off.”

you lean in, playing with a strand of his hair and tugging on it gently. suguru tries to sit up, but you throw him back down, not willing to guv up your advantage. he’s close. you can feel it, see it, you can enjoy the way the head of his cock hits your g-spot sweetly.

the only surprise you feel is when a hand that’s not your creeps and settles between your legs. his thumb moves in small, fast circles against your clit, earning a moan out of you and making your chest inflate as you breathe in heavily.

there was a chance you might lose. if you weren’t you, you might’ve lost.

you pick up your pace, and his heavy breathing mix to yours. it’s fun, you think, you only breathe as heavily as mortals when you’re engaging on sex. it’s cute, it makes them think you’re like them. human. weak-willed, like the man twitching inside of you, urging for release.

but you can’t blame him. his touch drives you insane, you light up like a keg of gunpowder being ignited by flames. he needs to explode. he needs to. you’re settled by that.

suguru starts grunting, his thrusts into your warm, inviting cunt growing more eager and erratic. he thumbs at your clit, looking up at your expression. you smile, moaning his name lewdly.

“suguru.”

and— he feels it. rising so quickly his body has no reaction against it. his orgasm is hard, harder than he ever had it with any warm body or his desperate hand, alone on a corner. he sighs, pausing in between breaths to groan and moan. his eyes close, and his browns furrow up as he stares at the ceiling, gasping softly. his abs clench, he grunts

perhaps this is the true feeling of nirvana, of ascending. suguru believed he and the other sorcerers were true gods walking among earth. that sorcery was the only and true path to the ascension of humanity as a species and as individuals. but this? the feeling of thrusting his cum into your warm, wet velvety walls is the closest he ever felt to a god.

he breathes heavily, scratching your hips as reaction to pain — the overstimulation is hitting him as hard as a truck when you don’t stop moving your hips, eager for your own orgasm as you notice your victory. he grunts again, watching you fall apart on his cock as your turn finally arrives.

riding off your high, you enjoy yourself using him as a toy and personal dildo, you stop slowly to get off him. some of his cum spills out your cunt, fat drops falling to his abdomen.

suguru’s breathing calms down slowly, but his eyes widen in realization. he uses his elbows to prop himself and sit up, murmuring — his voice weakened and a bit desperate. a hint of fear creeps into his tone.

“wait. no, wait.”

you grab him by the neck, and he hesitates, looking up at you. his skin burns and a sinister chill runs through his body while his arms seem to be on fire, next to his neck. stunned by the intensity of his orgasm and what it means, he doesn’t even act while you help him rest his head against your chest. suguru stares at himself, shaking as he notices new marks on his forearms.

black, strong and serpentine, these marks against the skin form quickly, marking him now and forever. like tattoos he can never remove. he looks up, and you twirl a strand of his black hair around your index finger.

“you lost, suguru.” your voice coos sweetly, as if you pity him. but you don’t. you don’t have that mercy on you. “and you know what that means?”

you giggle, and he shivers again as he feels your lips gluing to his ear. you murmur lovingly, as if you’re not deciding his fate.

“you’re mine.”

thank you for reading <3

[tinydefector]

TFP Shockwave with a pet human who he's come to be rather affectionate with absent mindedly and has become more interactive with them outside of experiments even. One day human goes missing / isn't in usual spot and Shockwave is trying to figure out wtf is going on but then a con makes a cruel joke (anyone of choosing I thought arachnid or starscream) that they fell out of their cage and got caught underfoot whoopsies . how does Shockwave react before the human comes out from their hiding spot where they were resting??? O_O

Out of Reach

Shockwave x human

Warning: none

Word count: 1k

Shockwave masterlist

_________________________

Shockwave grew increasingly troubled as his thorough search of the lab turned up no sign of his human companion. They were always precisely where he expected upon his arrival, yet this cycle they were nowhere to be found. A nagging unease arose within the Decepticon scientist, though he remained outwardly calm as he searched.

Shockwave diligently swept across the laboratory once more, searching for any trace or clue that could indicate the human's whereabouts or condition. This simply made no logical sense. They had never hidden from him, something must have happened. Had something interfered with the lab's systems without triggering alerts? No breaches were indicated. Shockwave did not appreciate unexplained variables in his work.The sooner this small mystery was solved, the better.

Arachnid watches with a smirk on her lips as Shockwave walks through the halls checking different areas and in hopes that his little companion was just hiding. "Missing something Shockwave?" She inquires with a raised optic brow, not looking rather interested.

Shockwave paused in his meticulous vent searches to regard the inquisitive Arachnid. She took far too much pleasure in others' losses, however minor.

"My human subject is absent from their Enclosure without explanation," he stated flatly. No sense indulging her obvious gloating. "Their whereabouts remain unknown." Her smirk only widened. "And you thought you had everything so neatly ordered. Surprises happen, even to our beloved scientist." Her tone held thinly veiled mockery. "Perhaps a fleshling has more spirit than you gave it credit for."

Shockwave disregarded her taunting for now. "If you possess any data that could aid my investigation, speak. Else your presence here serves no purpose." His patience for games was nonexistent. She lets out a huff as she turns away. "Last I saw them Starscream was rambling about discarding the little pest, I would much rather have added them to my collection, but no use once they are squished" she replies amusement flicking in her optics. It makes Shockwave's spark go cold at the thought.

Starscream, interfering in his work yet again... but to harm the human? It made no sense. "Elaborate. What precisely did Starscream say?" Starscream's actions often lacked reason, but there had to be a thread of logic here. The thought of harm coming to his research subject was. displeasing.

His optic narrowed on Arachnid, another smile graced her lips. "If my memory serves correctly, starscream stepped on them when he was in your laboratory last, and decided it was easier to discard them before they made a mess with all their bloo " she teases. She was going to see just how far Shockwave was willing to go for the little flesh bag.

Something akin to anger flashed through Shockwave's circuits at Arachnid's vague 'memory' and obvious game. Starscream would pay dearly for damaging laboratory property and disrupting critical research. His optic burned into hers. "Show me. Now."

Starscream looks up from his data pad when the sound of Shockwave's shadow forms over him. Arachnid gives him a little wave before stalking off, leaving Shockwave with him. "What can I do for you, Shockwave, as you can see I am rather busy" he states, wings flickering in annoyance at being interrupted.

"You will explain the human's current status and your role in their disappearance, Starscream," he stated calmly. Too calmly, given the swirling calculations within his processor. "Arachnid insinuated you were involved with deactivating them."

Starscream shifted uneasily under that baleful optical lens. “How dare you accuse me!” he snarls as his optics glare at the scientist. Shockwave cut him off. "The human. Where is it? I will have answers, one way or another. Do not test me further, Starscream."

"You babbling Moron I haven't been anywhere near your Lab nor near that disgusting little creature you adore!I'm Sure Arachnid would just love to add them to her collection of prizes and is using this time to hunt them" Starscream snarls out wings flickering even more as Shockwave threatens him.

The moment those words leave Starscream, Shockwave turned on a heel strut and departed, optic aglow with sheer anger. When Shockwave stalks back into his laboratory Arachnid isn't paying attention as she looks through the vents eager to try and find the human before Shockwave's return.A faint whirring was Shockwave's only warning before his blaster cannon trained directly on Arachnid's backstrut. "Cease your prowling immediately, My companion is off limits as is instructed by Lord Megatron" he commanded, weapon charged and ready.

She froze at the sound of his calm yet irrefutable voice. “Such a shame, yet you still have found your precious little pet, perhaps they have finally abandoned you” she sneers back at him. His optic narrowed to a slit. He took a measured step forward. "The human. Where have you hidden or disposed of them, Arachnid?" A hiss escaped her in mingled frustration and wary respect. Lying to Shockwave was never wise. Slowly, delicately, she extracted herself away from the vent. "I have no idea."

Movement catches Shockwave optics from over on his bench, it makes both Decepticons helms snap to the moment. "What time is it?" the little human asked while rubbing their eyes as they pulled the large cloth around their body. walking out of the unoccupied crate that originally held Shockwave's energon cube rations. Arachnid snarls as she pushes Shockwave off before stalking out of the lab. "What was that about?" They mumble tiredly.

Shockwave's cannon whirred down as he took in the dishevelled yet apparently unharmed human, "It is roughly mid-cycle," he replied calmly, his servo moving across their frame taking in their appearance making sure they are not injured. all traces of anger leave his processes.

"You appear undamaged. How did you get to be within the energon container? Arachnid led me to believe you'd been.harmed." he questioned, Relief pulsed through his lines, though he showed no outward emotion.

"I fell asleep in there last night while you were working, sorry I didn't mean to cause any issues" they state as he lifts them up. Shockwave processed this new information and he cursed himself for not checking the crate. "You have nothing for which to apologise for " he replied calmly, holding the human against his chassis. “I ask that you alert me as to your wear about before recharge for your own safety” he states before setting down with them in his servos.

______________

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[thewordfortheday]

"Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

— Matthew 26:41

Jesus had a simple request for Peter, James, and John in the Garden of Gethsemane, and that was to watch and pray. But they were sleeping instead of praying.

I think the disciples' lack of prayer was because up until that moment everything was going well for them. Think about it: When do we usually pray? We pray when we are in trouble. If things are going reasonably well, if there are no problems on the horizon—we may not pray all that much. But when a crisis hits, when problems come, we storm heaven. 

Jesus knew that a crisis was coming. He wanted them to pray with Him. Especially because He didn't want them to fall into temptation. 

All Jesus was asking from Peter, James, "Just watch and pray." But twice when Jesus went back to check on them, they were sleeping.

Prayerlessness is something many Christians struggle with.  

l Thessalonians 5:17 says, "Pray without ceasing."

Has your prayer life been lacking lately? Would you ask the Lord to help you in this area?

Pray: Lord, I want to pray more, I need your help. Please help me to fix my eyes on You and pray without ceasing, as You have commanded me to, not just when I am in need, but always. In Jesus' name, Amen.

[elsecrytt]

masochist gojo. gojo who's in love with pain, so much that it feels like pleasure, he can barely distinguish between the two anymore.

gojo who's so starved for touch. who's had an infinite space between himself and the whole world for so long, for so many years, every day in and day out.

gojo who's survived off glancing presses when a barista hands him a coffee, the rare hug from his students (who are mostly orphans) that he can't bring himself to decline.

gojo who craves more but can't bring himself to accept it except in fleeting moments with strangers or students.

his hands that long to be held. he wants it so bad that he teases a cursed spirit, laces his fingers with its own, right before he utterly crushes the being in battle, untouchable all over again.

gojo whose skin is hungry for someone else's. he hasn't felt the warmth of a hand in his own in so long. not since - since his youth.

gojo who sometimes wishes he could get hit. who sees the impact of curse techniques on his infinity and feels a wild, strange desire for them to go straight through and strike him.

he imagines it, vividly, being impaled by a long spear (inverted spear) that goes straight through him. how it would lance his flesh so cleanly.

being struck so hard, across the face, in the stomach, enough to knock the wind out of him.

enough to feel it with his whole body.

gojo who wants to be touched so bad he doesn't even care if it hurts anymore. infinity couldn't protect him from geto's betrayal.

gojo who keeps infinity up not because he doesn't want to get hit, but because he's terrified of what he might do when it happens.

gojo who got hard whenever geto sparred with him. he still doesn't know if it was because of geto, or because he had no infinity back then, no way to block the strikes.

he dreams of his youth. bruises littering his pale, pretty form like kisses, proof that he was human, there, that there was someone who could reach him.

dark purple things that turned pretty colors as they healed. he remembers pressing into them, relishing the hurt, feeling like he was getting hit (touched, reached, connected) all over again.

nothing ever touches him again. not like that. not like anything.

he never feels it. he never feels anything.

satoru gojo who wants, so very very badly, to feel something.

pain is a choice for him, always a choice. he alone has the privilege of deciding whether or not anything can touch him.

he could try to let more strangers touch him. one night stands, discreet arrangements. he had a pretty face and a body to match. there was no shortage of willing partners.

he lets them touch him, lets them hurt him. lets them drool over his body and use it at their leisure. they tell him he's beautiful, and he believes them.

white hair, blue eyes, sprawled out with a lean, unmarred body full of bare flesh for them to bite and scratch and bruise. he finds people who will do it, do it hard, fuck him up until he's lost entirely in the feeling of being touched, having someone against him, with him, above him.

it makes him feel like a piece of meat. it makes him feel good.

or he thinks it does, anyways.

sometimes, when he's gone particularly long without sleep, when his partner has gone particularly hard, he gets a real rush.

heart racing out of his chest. a cold sweat that overwhelms him. breaths coming in labored gasps. he can heal himself, he's physically fine, so this must all be in his head.

he acknowledges that information, distantly, like it's not happening to him. it doesn't help.

it feels like part of his body has been ripped away from him, something vital and important, and it's about to get up and run away.

always, always, it happens when his partner is no longer touching him. when he lays alone in the sheets, by his own volition, because of course these partners are not meant to be attachments.

love is not a privilege, though, not for the strongest sorcerer. it's a curse.

it's the only curse which infinity cannot protect him from.

so gojo stays untouchable. distant.

but the hunger doesn't go away. never.

he likes to imagine that suguru swallowed this one last curse before he died. something sweet and bitter, like losses at the arcade, sunny days at the beach, walking together with shoko, nanami, haibara.

but even suguru couldn't have absorbed this curse. it's in his bones, deep, longing and wanting even after he's dead and gone.

gojo is hungry. he is so, so hungry. and he has nothing to eat that will not leave him just as empty as before.

touch-starved. love-starved. pain-craving.

if someone could hurt him then it wouldn't matter that he was terrified of attachment. they could latch onto him, into his heart, under his skin. bury themselves in his chest like they belonged.

they could kill a hundred and twelve people and it wouldn't matter, because he wouldn't be able to kill them.

gojo is hungry, so hungry.

please feed him.

[nebulaafterdark]

Do you think you could write something with Aegon x velaryon or targ reader and it’s their wedding night? Plz and thank youuuuu

Yes! Here we go.

Sweet Girl

Aegon x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI unprotected sex, loss of virginity, Targcest, soft!Aegon.

This is it. Y/N fidgets restless at the foot of Aegon’s mattress. Her uncle, her nemesis, her husband.

Aegon approaches with two cups in hand.

“No,” Y/N puts a hand out, pushing back against the gauntlet lightly. “Thank you.”

“You’re shaking.” Aegon says, pointedly. “Trust me, a drink or two always takes the edge off.”

“You don’t have to be nice to me now.”

“That’s not entirely true.” He frowns. “I have no desire to face the wrath of your mother, stepfather or the King.”

“You think my mother would be angry?” Y/N scoffs, “if Rhaenyra cared she would not have been so willing to let us marry.”

Aegon tosses back his drink. “You are her heir after all, there’s bound to be sacrifice required to pave your way. If it makes you feel any better, this was my mother’s doing as well.”

Y/N looks up at him, still standing over her with the cup.

“It is not poison, I swear.”

The brunette smirks, taking the offering in hand and chugging the liquid. It burns its way down her throat, much stronger than wine. “What is that?” She chokes out.

Aegon takes the seat beside her, the mattress shifting under his weight as he claps the princess once on the back. “Only the best for my wife.”

Y/N allows the cup to tumble from her hand and clatter to the floor. The effects of the concoction hit her fast.

“Would you like another?” Aegon asks.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s a good idea. Unless you prefer me unconscious.” Y/N muses, “on second thought-” she makes for the chalice.

“Oh no,” Aegon chuckles, catching her around the waist. “If I have to be awake for this, so do you.”

“Let us get on with it then.” Y/N tosses herself backwards onto the coverlet.

“You’re just going to lie there?”

“Mhm,” Y/N closes both eyes.

“Am I truly so awful?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“How are you meant to see anything with your eyes closed?”

Y/N peeks at him, through a slit in one eye.

Aegon moves over her slowly, leaning on his elbows. Keeping most of his weight off of her. “I’ll be good to you.”

She sighs, taking in his face above her, in full. Aegon is beautiful, she’ll give him that. And when he’s not being a twat, he can be kind. “Swear it?”

“I do.”

In a spirit induced state of willful negligence, she reaches a hand up to cup his cheek. “Could you ever love me?”

“Love,” he laughs. “What is love but a frivolous endeavor which breeds eternal suffering?”

Y/N lifts a shoulder, “I suppose you’re right. But there must also be benefits. Think of all those who live and die for it.”

Aegon shifts against her, making himself at home with his chest to hers. “I have never known love. However, lust and I are dear companions. You will find pleasure each time we lie together.”

“And when we are finished I’ll leave?”

“If that is your desire.”

“What if I stay?”

“That is my desire.”

“Then you do crave affection?”

“Among other things, yes.” He admits. “From you, as my wife, I crave affection above all.”

“I’ve never…been with anyone. I can’t say if I’ll be good at it.” Her eyes search his for reassurance.

“We could learn together.” Aegon leans in a bit closer, their breath mingling. “Conquer love and rule the Seven Kingdoms.”

Y/N pushes slightly off the bedding, capturing his lips with hers. “You’ll have to conquer me first.”

Aegon grins against her mouth, “gently the first round, then without mercy.”

Y/N inhales deeply, feeling his tongue invade her mouth. Lapping against her own, tasting her thoroughly.

As he suspected, she is sweet. Aegon relishes in this for a long moment, until her hips begin canting up against his. His finger tips grazing along the silhouette of her torso through the material of her nightgown. Squeezing the flesh of her hip, past her rib cage to the outskirts of her breasts. Cupping her soft mounds, nipples pebbling against his palm.

Y/N gasps, pressure building between her thighs. She rocks her hips against Aegon for relief, gasping at the feel of him, rock solid.

“Could you come undone like this, sweetheart?”

“I- I don’t know.”

Aegon hums, trailing kisses away from her lips, over her cheek, the corner of her panting mouth, sucking lightly at the pulse point on her neck. Rolling her peaks between his thumb and forefinger. “So responsive, I think you could.”

Y/N whines, looking for some relief from her aching core. “Aegon, please.”

“May I take this off?” He tugs at her gown, lightly.

She nods, staring up at him with glossy eyes. Following his lead, until nothing is left between them. Catching a glimpse of his length, she quickly moves her gaze away.

“You can look.” Aegon offers her a lopsided grin.

“Does it hurt,” Y/N motions to his cock, hard and pink at the tip.

Aegon kneels down between her legs, parting her thighs farther and finding her bundle of nerves. Y/N squeals, gripping his shoulders for purchase. “It wants attention, but it’s not painful yet.”

“I want you inside me.” Y/N rides his hand unabashedly.

Aegon groans, “need you to peak first, while my fingers fuck open your perfect little cunt.”

She whimpers.

“Lie back for me, dearest.” He purrs, still on his knees between her trembling limbs. He pecks a kiss to her knee. “Relax.”

Y/N’s muscles are taut in anticipation of his next move, bowing off the bed when his thumbs part her lips, making room for his mouth to connect with her pearl. He teases the swollen bud with his tongue.

“Gods, Aegon.” She cries out, desperately fisting his hair in hand. Unsure if she wants to pull him closer or push him away.

Aegon hums his approval. Sweetest cunt he’s ever had. Slipping a single finger carefully into her tight heat. Feeling her walls clench at the intrusion.

The feeling is foreign to Y/N, her husband allows her to get accustomed to it before adding a second. Curling them up to coax release from her.

He laps at her cunt as she thrashes above him. Overwhelmed with sensation. Calling out for him desperately. Three digits is a stretch and Y/N does whine a bit at the intrusion but Aegon keeps her attention on his lips. Closed around her pearl and sucking until she peaks. Hugging his fingers so tightly even Aegon moans.

Y/N nudges at his head, coming down from her high, “too much.” She cries when Aegon attempts to keep her in place.

He chuckles, licking a firm strip up her slit before slinking up her boneless form. “You alright?”

“I think so,” she pants, shuttering at the lightest touch.

Aegon steals a kiss from her lips, then the tip of her nose.

“I want you.” She repeats.

The prince has been a lot of things in his life, wanted is hardly one of them.

“There might still be a bit of pain from your maidenhead,” he warns.

“Do it all at once.” Y/N encourages, feeling the tip of him nudging at her entrance.

“Tell me if it’s too much, we’ll stop.”

Y/N nods, bracing herself.

Aegon takes her mouth once more, waiting until she is fully at ease, contented in their kiss before sliding into her. There is little resistance as he bottoms out in her warmth.

“Ah.” She whimpers, it burns.

“Such a good girl,” Aegon praises, nuzzling against her cheek.

“Aegon.” Y/N paws restlessly at his back.

“Shhh,” he slides an arm behind her shoulder blades, holding her fast against the crook of his neck. Fighting to stay still.

They remain like this for a long moment before Y/N experimentally bucks her hips upward. There is still a bit of pain from the stretch, but nothing unbearable.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” Aegon admonishes, “be still until you are ready. Do not tempt me.”

“Move,” Y/N murmurs, against the shell of his ear.

He pulls out, until only the tip of him remains, thrusting back in softly. “Alright?”

Y/N nods, her head cradled against him as he begins fucking her in earnest. All the breath leaving her lungs in short puffs.

“So tight,” Aegon grunts out. “Not leaving this room until you’ve reached your peak draped over every piece of furniture. Against every wall.”

“Please.”

“Would you like that, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” Y/N is drawing near the edge again, the nip of pain from their coupling only serves to heighten the experience.

“I’ll fill you to the brim with my seed so that you might be with child on the morrow.” Aegon promises, clenching and unclenching his fingers in her dark hair. Feeling the quickening throughout his entire body. “Come apart once more for me.”

“I need you to touch me…the way you did before.” She pleads, so close to the precipice.

Allowing not an inch of space between them, Aegon snakes his free hand down to her pearl. Letting her rock against his fingers for friction.

“Fuck,” Y/N sobs, clamping down hard around his cock.

“That’s my girl,” Aegon all but growls between gritted teeth as his orgasm washes over him. “My good fucking girl.”

Y/N continues milking his length, even harder at his words. Riding out their shared high until Aegon flops down beside her, spent. He smirks devilishly; reaching down to collect the bit of his release trickling from her and forcing it back into her warmth.

He has conquered her. Or perhaps they have conquered each other.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Razzmatazz.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader x Yan(?) Hisoka.

[Ultraviolet Catalouge.]

Synopsis: You are a dancer with no stage and no audience. Hisoka’s carrot and stick may just fix that.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, dub-con, cigarette usage, manipulation, mentions of body transformation, religious imagery, mentions of minor character death, humiliation, voyerism, oral (male receiving), masturbation, orgasm denial, the start of Stockholm Syndrome(?), and mentions of past stalking.

Word Count: 5.6k.

Can be considered to be within the Hier Encore universe.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Rich Girl by Gwen Stefani (feat. Eve)

Always Forever by Cults

So Beautiful by DPR IAN

Décolleté by Kenshi Yonezu

Introitus by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Villainous Thing by Shayfer James

La petite fille de la mer - Remastered by Vangelis

Tonight You Belong To Me by Patience & Prudence

Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge 

A Little Death by The Neighbourhood 

*~*~*~*

i. “Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” (Matthew 26:41)

A dead leaf is pressed against the balcony window. 

“Dearest? Why are you awake so early?” 

The storm outside must be getting worse. The lightning is so bright, despite the sky itself being so dark. The thunder is getting louder too, and more frequent. Your senses choose to blissfully ignore the devil behind you to enjoy the scene ahead. This apartment is so high up that the tempest feels closer than it would if you were on the ground. A cup of tea is in your right hand. Your left is limp and stuck to your side. 

“Dearest? Dearest?”

The drink is a pleasant shade of light brown, with an even more pleasant vanilla and bergamot aroma tickling your nostrils. After much consideration from Chrollo, you were given fresh tea leaves that came from some expensive store that has locations all over Yorknew. The cost for a measly ten tea bags was ten thousand Jenny. 

Chrollo said it could not be helped to get only the best for you.

It couldn’t be helped, like everything else he had ever done. It couldn’t be helped, like how you escaped nearly two and a half years ago.

It couldn’t be helped, like how Hisoka betrayed you and left you to rot.

Or to burn.

You wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted both to happen to you.

Chrollo’s hands are slow to touch your neck, but his front was already pressed against you a while ago. They feel cold–dead, almost.

His right hand lingers just above your collarbone, while the left pinches your chin gently. His lips kiss your nape, and you resist shivering. While it would not show you are cold, it would show your cowardice. The only way to tolerate Chrollo is to ignore him as best as you can without him getting unbearable. It’s your new strategy, as the old one from back then is now dead.

There are no new sounds. Only the rainfall and Chrollo’s sighs. Then from the distance, you could have sworn you heard a knock. But you choose to ignore that too.

“Come back to bed.” 

“I wanted to see the first spring shower.”

His hands lower. You let him do that. You make him do that. 

“You made tea this early?”

“Yes.”

Chrollo’s chin rests on your shoulder as he looks down at his kneading hands.

“May I try some please?”

Before you can answer, he tips his head further down, expecting a reward for attempting to be a gentleman. You lift your right hand and he takes a few sips. His hands don’t hold the cup. He lets you–no, makes you–do that for him.

“It’s delicious.”

The clock above the living room television reads 01:01. 

The sky lights up as it is forcibly torn apart. The clouds have yet to show the dawn’s colors, and you suspect Chrollo would like it to be that way forever.

“It’s good… very good,” The praises fall from his forked tongue like morning dew dripping from a single blade of grass. “As soon as the cup is emptied, please lay to rest up for what is to come. I would hate to see my darling exhausted. Please…”

You feel three separate sensations behind you. They do not all come at once.

“Let me grant your request fully on my end, and you shall fulfill it on yours as well.”

The first is the feeling of the pain of pleasure. It came with the start of more pecks on the back of your neck. They trace the dark spots Chrollo had left, the ones that have yet to fade. 

The second is the pain of nothingness. It takes the form of a wall to remind you what he is and what you are.

The third is the pain of having company.

It exists as a reaction to the erection pressing against your lower back.

ii. “When the devil had finished all this tempting, he left him until an opportune time.” (Luke 4:13)

You started wanting to smoke again. 

A few days after you were brought back here, the craving for pitch-black smoke arrived due to no Sebaste being here to keep it at bay. He was not your only source of light, but he was the brightest one. Bedside lamps, the lit windows of buildings up high, the moon… nothing compares to someone long since withered away. You can still see, but not as good. Even the cigarette lighter from the night you met, the last memento you have of him, pales in comparison. 

The path ahead you still know, but just barely. You have no plan, no map, no route for what is to come. You are not acting like a rabbit running from a wolf, fearful and skittish, but you are alone nonetheless. You have more desires than just to live, though. You don’t let yourself be caught, but you still sneak into the hunter’s lodge to eat whatever scraps you can find. 

You refuse to let yourself fall into ruin but tempt the thought that your captor will. 

You tempt him like forbidden fruit so you can reap whatever rewards come next.

*~*~*~*

Shadows cover the better half of Hisoka’s body, but even then you know it is him. “Hello, princess. Fancy seeing you here.”

The edges of your mouth move downward, but you hold in what you want to say.

The grip on your shoulder does not cease entirely, but enough for you to slip away for a moment. The smell of grass and pollen is fresh as petals dance in the air.

Your skirt flows with the wind as you walk slowly, carefully, towards the familiar stranger. This country is known for having what is known as “The Eternal Solstice”, and so your white dress is the perfect last addition to this perfect painting. You’ll send the artist your regards soon enough, he is right in front of you after all. 

“Number Four.” Your voice is not cracked so much that Hisoka would not be able to hear you, but still enough for you to attempt to clear your throat after those two words are spoken. “What are you doing here?”

“The same reason you and the boss are here.” Between the index and middle finger on his left hand, two cards are stuck. The Queen of Hearts and the Ace of Diamonds.

“You’re lying.” The response is more immediate than you would have liked, but your anger overtakes your want to be cordial unconsciously. 

“Am I?” Hisoka asks, putting the two cards on his palm and pressing his hands together. In an instant, they are gone. “Why else would I be here then?”

“You want to mock me.” You hiss, gripping onto your skirt so tightly that the delicate fabric may break. “After everything I told you, after everything I did… you stabbed me in the back.”

A sigh. “And here I thought you would hear me out. Sad, really.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“Oh? Is it?” You choke on your words in an instant when you see a familiar silver cube no bigger than the length of your pinky in Hisoka’s right hand. “Remember this?”

Your eyes don’t possess as much rage now, and their gaze lingers elsewhere. The clown chuckles.

“That’s my girl.” He uses his thumb to open the lighter and then uses the same finger to amit a weak flame from it. “Come closer.”

You do what he says like a puppet on a string.

“Put out your hand, lovely.” You obey. When Hisoka’s own approaches with your treasure, your eyes light up. 

…

It is only one word that stops you from moving entirely.

“Cigarettes.”

iii. “And give no opportunity to the devil.” (Ephesians 4:27)

Like church bells, Hisoka’s offer rings in your ear longer than you would have liked. The words said are worse than a parasite, clinging onto a body long after both are dead.

They refuse to exit. They simply sit and stay. No matter how much you attempt to kick them out, they always come back.

“What do you think of the deal, my love?”

Ah. Should you make your real feelings known? Or simply play pretend?

In Chrollo’s world, though, all his mirrors are shattered, while yours remain whole.

Everyone lies, but only you are figured out one way or another, sooner or later.

“I think we should accept.”

iv. “When you ask, you do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, that you may spend what you get on your pleasures.” (James 4:3)

“Ladies first.”

You follow the scent of candles and the temptation of a past where you were not content, but happy.

The start of the path is the bedroom’s doorway.

Something else drags you to the bed. Something foreign, but just something as well known to you as unbuttoning the front of your dress. It waits. It is patient. It is alive and here and oh so very excited.

Lust. It gathers from Hisoka and Chrollo… and you. It is the weapon you used to use against everyone to further your own goals, but now the sword’s blade is pointed at you.

You feel the sensation of Hisoka’s hand on your ass, and it stays there.

“Get moving, princess.”

Something looms over the bed. A shadow darker than the night’s sky itself. It stares at you with a singular eye–the orb brighter than the full moon outside. You blink, and then it disappears.

You then sit at the very corner of the bed in wait, crossing one leg over the other. Your movements aren’t as robotic anymore–they feel… raw, animalistic almost–and you hate that, but love it. 

The shadow lingers over you once more.

Love it? Have you truly fallen this far?

You, who has lost it all. You, whose soul is now stained with the blood of those you despised and adored. You… loving this feeling?

This isn’t you.

This is wrong, you tell yourself. Your entire life has been all about self-preservation. After being kidnapped, that want only grew and grew.

Has being on the run for two years made you this soft? This pliable?

Disgusting. This is disgusting. You are disgusting.

“Just do what you two normally do,” Hisoka says, crossing his arms as he sits beside you. “I’m all for it.”

Chrollo’s hands lower as his back bends forward, and you raise your hands.

He’s gentle as usual, kissing the air around your left earlobe to ease you further into this.

Button after button, the black dress gets a bit looser. The dress is put above your face like that of a bride’s wedding veil. Wait, you think, it is more like the attire of someone attending a funeral. You like this idea more after pondering on it. It ensures for at least some time you still have hate in your body. So, you love the touches no further. Your posture goes back to that of a statue.

Chrollo is the first to say something about it as soon as the dress is fully off, allowing him to see your facial expression and body language. You aren’t looking into his eyes anymore. Your legs are no longer crossed. Sebaste really made you vulnerable, didn’t he? He posed no threat to you then, but he does now. He does now. His palms no longer caress your cold heart, but his ghost curses it with warmth only found within hell’s flames.

“Are you thinking about him again?” Your eyebrows cast downward as you look at his feet. The heels of them connect and then spread out. It reminds you of a flower, in a way. “Well?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Chrollo knows this line well. Every time he mentions that man, you recite it like a preacher or an actor.

You want to believe the lie that you speak of all the same. You want to delude yourself so you regress into the calculating being you once were.

You don’t want to get hurt again. He can understand that. So he keeps himself from mentioning Sebaste any further for the night. As a bonus, Hisoka’s fun won’t be ruined.

You really have bloomed, he thinks. All it takes is a bit more time to see you at your most beautiful.

Not that you never were beautiful, of course.

“Ah, my apologies.”

He steps to your left side and grasps at the clasps of your bra. He treats each one delicately like they are gifts from the divine. Would he betray them, if they existed and he believed? You would ask, but you’re unsure as to if you would like the answer he responds with.

“You’re forgiven.” You nearly huffed.

Hisoka thinks that reaction is adorable. Unlike what the rest of the Troupe may think of you, you are just a small child in an adult’s body. Your wants are simple, and so are your tantrums when you don’t get what you want.

“Careful,” He says, his smirk wide.

“I know,” Chrollo responds, his eyes only on you. “You wouldn’t let me go anymore if I didn’t apologize here and now.”

So he’s being ignored now?

“Get it over with,” You almost hiss, looking back at both of them. “Usually you’re much rougher than this.”

Hmm? A facade?

Hisoka considered this when he asked for Chrollo’s consent. Chrollo has no real identity, he knows that well. So because of that, he isn’t surprised.

“You know why I’m taking this nice and slow, don’t you?”

You don’t say anything for a while after that.

Your arms are no longer raised when Chrollo pulls your bra off of you. Your midriff’s rolls coil into one another as your spine proceeds to move further down until you are at eye level with Chrollo’s pant’s zipper. Hisoka stifles the urge to laugh when he hears something akin to a pig’s snort coming out of you. You’re cute.

Quite cute.

Revulsion is something most things have experienced, and you are no exception. It’s bitter, like the blackest coffee, but also sweet and sour like a whole lime was cubed and boiled in a pot with it for hours until it turned into a blob of horrid distaste. After all, unveiling your captor’s erect cock was not for the faint of heart. Hisoka really cannot blame you for everything you have ever done to get away from Chrollo.

Perhaps he should join in on the action, just to feel some of the poison’s effects.

Chrollo takes off his shirt and throws it to you. That’s the signal Hisoka needed before undressing too. Even though he will not be touching you, he will have to be careful to not be too pushy with you two.

“Have you heard Magcub got a new girlfriend?” Hisoka crushes a speck of dust between his sharp nails. “Apparently she’s a veteran. Must have taken a bit of force to get her under control.”

“Why exactly did you agree to this?” You ask, grasping onto Chrollo’s forearms and having your nails dig into his pale skin. He doesn’t seem to mind, as he is more focused on already kissing your neck. 

Hisoka doesn’t know if this is a form of rebellion or pettiness, but either way, he cares as much as Chrollo does–which is not at all.

There is a dark red lipstick on the vanity, still open and no longer having any edge. In fact, it looks like there are only a few more days worth of use left in the tube. You must use it quite often. When neither of you looks, Hisoka points with his Nen in effect. It flies into his hand like a domesticated bird. 

He stores it in one of the pockets of the pants he so eagerly discarded from his person. For a moment he expected Chrollo to turn and demand for him to give it back, but instead, there was still no reaction whatsoever. 

“You don’t let me smoke at all, so why?”

Chrollo sits down next to you, sliding his hand up and down your thigh. “To be completely honest, I see this as a mutually beneficial situation. All parties involved get rewarded for their sacrifices, no matter how small.” He brushes some of your hair with his fingers. “You get your cigarettes, Hisoka gets his… delight, and I… I get to feel heaven once more.”

Heaven? Well, if your voice can be seen as an angelic choir, who can stop him from praying at your altar? Hisoka certainly cannot. Chrollo is the only one who can choose to no longer claim to have sanctuary there. 

You don’t have the power to strike either of them down.

“Tch. If I were a seraph, I would have never let darkness like you thrive in this world. Never.” Chrollo looks up at you and touches the bridge of your nose with his finger. “That I promise.”

“Hmm,” He murmurs. Then, a shake of the head. “You don’t mean that, my love.”

“I do.”

Your hands are trembling. Your mouth feels dry. Your head hurts.

“Why do you enjoy hurting me?”

“Can you hurry?”

His head turns to the side. The gesture can be seen as a heartfelt one by many. “Are you feeling less prudent this evening, darling?”

“You’re being quite ungrateful, you know.”

“No.”

Chrollo’s expression doesn’t change. For what feels like forever, his lips are so close to yours that you can smell the mint in his breath. But for a moment, you could have sworn it was smoke instead.

Your brain must be playing another trick on you.

“Am I the only thief to have ever indulged with and in you?”

You don’t answer then, either.

Hisoka starts to stroke his cock–it’s covered in green veins with the end getting pinker and pinker by the second. His hands then rest on the part of the bed neither of you chose to take, the left side. He bends backward as he looks down at himself, proud. He groans.

“You’re pushing the bed.” You glare at Hisoka as you spur out angered words without a second thought.

You’re avoiding talking about your feelings again. Hisoka knew that you refused to even when you were with Sebaste. He considers bringing you to an aquarium when Chrollo is busy, but then he buries the idea. Perhaps that would be too cruel. As much as you hate Hisoka, Hisoka enjoys your company too much–and he doesn’t want Chrollo to take you away.

Not yet. Not now. Not ever. While he could have not ratted you out much, much later, after you and Sebaste married, perhaps, Hisoka wanted to see you more strung up.

As a bonus, Chrollo was very pleased with him, further cementing his reputation among the other Spiders.

Hisoka decided not to kill you to enrage Chrollo, so it was the safest option in all aspects.

“Fix it.” You demand. With your lips busy, Chrollo decides to kiss your neck instead.

Hisoka puts his arms up with a mockingly innocent expression on his face. “Very well, princess.”

Your nose wrinkles again.

“Eyes on me,” Chrollo whispers as he pecks softly.

Hisoka isn’t sure if you heard the man, because as he moves the bedframe back to its original position, you continue to seethe.

Your wrists are grabbed and dragged above your head. That quickly gets your attention. You look at Chrollo wide-eyed, but not surprised.

The vow isn’t sealed with the sudden kiss, but it is a start. With your mind hazy from everything, you kiss back.

I don’t want him, your brain almost screams before it goes unconscious. [First] [Last], the woman who has led many people to their demise by being selfish, wanting to be ravished by the very man she abhors? Pull yourself together, and call off the deal.

Your near-dead heart beats once more when Chrollo touches you, though.

I feel alive.

His tongue is an intruder in only name. It swipes across your teeth and picks up tiny pieces of fruit with every crevice it overtakes. Before it dies, your skull demands you to bite. Spit. Run. But you want to be here, so you don’t do any of those things. 

Not like you could have, anyway.

“How beautiful,” Chrollo murmurs as his tongue collides with yours. “How soft.”

You aren’t pleased with his teasing. “Just make it happen.”

“Oh, how you have thawed,” His mouth retreats upward to your ear, hissing and rattling away. “You’re so eager now, dearest.”

His fingers let go of your wrists, wandering down to your stomach, your hips, and then your ass. He squeezes the flesh as he takes your greedy tongue yet again. His hands move up slightly as he pushes you onto his lap. Your knees sink into the bed with a slight creek of the mattress. Must be the coils. Or the bottom of the frame.

Or… was it you, somehow?

“Careful you don’t fall, princess.”

Hisoka is now facing away from you two, his chin in between the only two pillows you use. Perhaps he knows that, either from the smell they give off or how they are both one of your favorite colors.

But somehow, someway, he knew what you two were doing, in typical Hisoka fashion.

Well…

It’s not like either of your actions are vague.

“Chrollo…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can… you hold my back?”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow as he nods his head. “Of course.”

His left hand caresses your spine as you bend backward. Has all that ballet training stuck with you, even after these few years? Chrollo has the answer already in his smiling brain.

Two fingers on the free hand coil up, while the middle, the pointer, and the thumb remain as straight as a line. Two tips enter and curl while the third strokes up and down and side to side. Your clit follows your heart, accepting the guests with open arms. The lips clench, not wanting to let go.

“You always took them well,” He chuckles. 

Shut up. 

Shut it.

But your mouth is nothing without its brain, so it continues to moan while your heart continues to live for the chase.

“Don’t… Don’t stop,”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Hisoka hasn’t said anything else for some time, and you all know you hope it continues to be that way. He continues to sniff the pillows as he rubs himself against the mattress. You make a mental note to ask for cleaning service tomorrow, or maybe if Chrollo is in a good mood he will do it.

“I… I’m close, I’m so close, I…”

“Not now.”

You fool. You should have never made that deal.

“Don’t be upset. I’ll let you eventually.”

“Please…”

You squirm as you close your eyes, in a desperate attempt to hide what you have become. A prideless harlot bouncing on her captor’s lap. Can you really fall further into hell now? You are already so below that the morning’s star is nearly invisible to your eyes.

“Patience is a virtue, darling.” He says as if that would change anything about this situation.

When Chrollo lets go of your back, you almost crash onto the floor below. 

“Careful now,” Hisoka teases, still not looking back. “I told you so.”

The words aren’t noticed, because now you are busy rubbing your inner thighs together for some sort of pleasure.

Chrollo shakes your hands off his shoulders, and then you collapse.

For the first time in a while, you feel physical pain. You don’t feel your heart dropping or your mind going hazy or both being tempted by unimaginable things. No.

For that reason, though, it only hurts for a moment.

Then…

Then, it is gone.

Now only pursuit remains. You’re on your knees in an instant and attempt to stand. A hand plays with your hair and keeps you where it wants you to be. On the ground. Desperate for a single note of sweetness in a flavorless black sea.

Bitterness as well.

Then, the need to pursue leaves your body as it knows what is going to happen next.

Bliss.

Warmth.

Harmony.

…Self-destruction.

How unfortunate for you, that that the last thing is all your heart wants.

You open your mouth not for the first time or the last time this evening. Your imagination envisions all the desserts and drinks you have downed using the same tongue, and the same lips. Half of you is disgusted at the thought. The other half does not care in the slightest.

The member slides in like it belongs there–like it is part of you; somehow, someway. It’s as salty as the sea, not having the taste you wanted in the slightest, but you allow it to continue pressing against your hard palate. 

He thrusts up and down. Precum pools below your tongue and stays until you can’t breathe. You swallow it down in mere moments.

It’s thicker than syrup would be, but it is just as sugary. The smell is pungent like chlorine, but not as irritating. 

“Simply lovely,” Chrollo looks up at the ceiling, a light pink blush on his pale cheeks. “You always took me so well.”

A few minutes pass.

But… to you, it feels like just a second or maybe three.

Chrollo groans one more time as he orgasms, warm liquid running down your throat as his cock plunges in and out of the dark at least ten more times.

Then it exits, signaling the end of the fourth act.

Chrollo pats his thigh and finally allows you to stand up. The mattress sinks again as you climb on top of him. Once more Hisoka hears the creak sound. The source of the sound is still unknown to him.

“You’re so wet already, darling.”

Chrollo moves his hands to your legs as he pulls them apart and sees the sweet pleasure point in between. 

His thumb goes up and down, playing with the tiny tip as you spread yourself further on his lap. 

But… But…

But Chrollo doesn’t lift his hips to connect you two? But Hisoka is still fucking your pillows to his heart’s content? But you still haven’t seen any proof of either of them bringing the cigarettes? But Chrollo hasn’t made reservations to that restaurant you wanted to go to? Or…

You don’t know where you were going with that thought, that “but”.

It fades like morning’s dew falling from the grass into wet soil. It is so miniscule. So insignificant. Its destiny was made from the start. It has no use in this world; it is just a sign of something that has already happened.

You grip onto Chrollo’s shoulders for dear life, like you will fall into the depths of hell should you lose the embrace. Should… you lose yourself here, on this bed, it will mean the death of you.

“Your hands are cold.” The only thing that moves is Chrollo’s eyelids moving up and down.

“Why did you stop?”

“Hm?”

“Why… did you stop, Chrollo?”

“I did nothing of the sort.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Isn’t it normal to take breaks before resuming sexual activities?”

He’s lying; you can tell by the way he smiles and looks up at the ceiling again.

But… you don’t tell him you know.

You. Don’t Say. Anything.

“Calm yourself, dearest.”

His voice is as sweet as ever, you think.

Sometimes, when you are good, it takes all the bad feelings away…

Oh. Oh. You didn’t realize you were crying. You didn’t realize panting, hyperventilating.

“What… How long will it be?”

“Don’t worry,” Chrollo whispers, leaning close to your ear. “Only a moment longer.”

When he finally enters after what feels like an eternity, your eyes roll to the top of your head.

v. “Do not let your heart turn to her ways or stray into her paths. Many are the victims she has brought down; her slain are a mighty throng.” (Proverbs 7:25-26)

The clock above the bed frame reads 23:03.

You hug your pillow as you turn your body to the right.

Hisoka is no longer here, but the pressurized point on the mattress is still warm when your fingertips graze the middle of it.

A pair of arms caress your torso in a sort of hug, gently dragging you backward. A recognizable tongue slithers up and down the back of your neck. The bruises there don’t hurt anymore, but you are certain they will be harder to cover up than the others. You can see from the corner of your eye that the bathroom light is on and that the bathroom’s door is wide open. 

“What is he doing?” You mumble, putting your face further into your pillow.

You already know the answer, however–as much as you attempt to forget the obvious fact and the burden of your imagination. Then, you hear them both moan at the same time. At least you think so. You could have just thought up Hisoka’s since he is farther away, but Chrollo is right behind you.

“You did good…” Chrollo whispers, pecking your left shoulder.

“Of course I did.” You huff. “I never let down people who keep their word.”

You then hear the shower’s water running.

“He’s going to waste all the good water,” You grumble, rolling your eyes. “I wanted to take a bath.”

“You could always join me,” Hisoka says, his voice nearing exclamation.

You sigh. Of course he can hear you.

“I’ll pass.”

“A shame.”

The door then closes.

You sit up from the bed and pull up the blanket just enough to cover your privates. “He isn’t staying for the night, is he?”

The man beside you balances his head with his right arm, looking up at you.

“...Is he? No?” You ask. Chrollo’s only response is to pull the blanket back down. “Yes?”

“No.” He finally responds, laying on his back. “Knowing him, it’s safe to assume that he’ll be gone by midnight. Unless you ask him to stay, though I highly doubt you would. But he does have a soft spot for you, you know.”

“Mmhmm,” You groan. “If you say so.”

The front of your head suddenly aches. You rub your temple, scowling.

“What’s wrong?” Chrollo’s head tilts, and for a moment you can see something akin to concern on his face. It’s close to the real thing–too close for your liking. When looked at at just the right angle, all its flawlessness fades and only the uncanny characteristics remain. 

Your response is nothing less and nothing more than the slight creak of the bed frame as you turn to your bedside table.

Cigarettes. At least twenty of them. There couldn’t be more than thirty, though. But they are real cigarettes. Not the fake ones Chrollo attempts to place between your teeth whenever you ask to smoke. Not the bubblegum he gives you after a particularly heavy meal whenever you ask to go outside and sit somewhere near a person using a cigar or cretek. 

No, they’re real and here and they’re yours.

“Nothing,” You answer, sighing again.

You feel the part of the mattress that is behind you dig deeper. Chrollo inches closer and closer until the little bit of distance between you is a mere dip. Then it turns into a line so small not even the tip of your pinky finger can fit. The hug is more unbearable than it was before.

But then the discomfort goes away. Something in the back of your mind realizes that this, everything that this is, is horrifying. Nothing hurts you anymore, but everything can be much worse now.

Everything can be so, so much worse now. Dead anchovies piled up high in fishing markets will remind you of Sebastian's last moments, his unblinking eye still staring into you.

Smoke made of nicotine will remind you of Hisoka now, and not the beach where you met the love of your life. 

Train tracks, yams, calamari, roses, wine, lipstick, bookmarks, purses, wallets. Lighters, phones, card games, video games, computers, scarves, sunglasses. Being grasped from behind and being pushed and slapped around.

“It’s been forty-five minutes.” You say nonchalantly, almost bored, after a while, after looking up and behind you to the clock. 

Chrollo doesn’t respond–he doesn’t have to. You already have enough pieces to put the puzzle together on your own.

“He wants to stay,” You close your eyes. You don’t take deep breaths or quick breaths, just hardly notable ones. “Doesn’t he?”

Silence.

You know if Chrollo did respond, it wouldn’t be anything as nice as a “no” or a “yes”.

“Fine,” Your heart rate slows, but you attempt to not show it. “Don’t tell me.”

The silence isn’t as eerie as Hisoka’s laughter, but it still grasps around your neck just enough for you not to breathe normally. 

You don’t say “good night” to people anymore–that right is only reserved for those long since taken by death.

You hope it will be at your beck and call too, one day.

Something already is.

It is only a matter of time before you know what it is.

One day, when you either eat or be eaten.

One day, when all of your patience finally comes to fruition.

One day, when this play’s final act plays out in front of an unwilling audience.

One day.