#tortures you senselessly

[transsexualutopia]

FYI recently attended a sigil to honor aaron bushnell along with Palestinian martyrs and some military guy was holding an Israeli flag about 100 ft away in the park . Lol

[darelustt]

— ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔ —

CHOSO KAMO , YOUR HORNY EX . ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

warning/what's included: cunnilingus, fingering, dom!choso, fem!reader, (slight mention of) edging, begging, swearing, praise kink, porn with some plot, implied multiple rounds, 2-4 finger fucking, somewhat of a size kink, NSFW ⭑｡𖦹°‧

summary: you and your lingering ex, choso kamo, are both pent up after months of not fucking after you two broke up. eventually, after a couple days of seeing you at the same cafe, he decides to be bold and beg for your pussy.

BE WARNED AND ENJOY ♡

the receptionist at the cafe glances at you and the man behind you, who just so happens to be your ex. it's almost as if the receptionist knows you're his ex; the way he looks at you, he can't get enough of you. you peek at him, taking in his deep, purple eyes and silky black hair. it's not often he keeps his hair down, but the way he looks is enough to get you so fucking wet. you quickly look back towards the receptionist and hesitantly order. as you sit down at a table, you notice choso orders a black coffee. so you know he's only there to either mess with you or stare at you. 

to be quite frank, these encounters were often, but it wasn't in a creepy way. you knew he was there because this cafe reminded him of you, while you both were still dating. you pretend to scroll on your phone, crossing your legs and trying to not look at him. 

the next thing you know, you see him walking up to your table, holding your order and his in hand. “baby,” he muttered. “i need to taste you again.” you look up at him, his face full of pure lust. 

you’re taken aback. well, you knew he loved the taste of you, but to come up to you and beg for it? it turned you on so fast. 

—

“take your clothes off, now,” he states, already hard from the thought of finally touching your swollen pussy again. how you're going to clench against his rough, calloused fingers. 

he’d been waiting for so long. it was torture to him. 

your clothes slide off of you, and you're kind of.. nervous seeing him in this way after so long. it was agonizing. staying without sex, without him eating you out so messily, it was so goddamn agonizing. but when the moment finally happens, you're already fantasizing about him. the way he's going to eat you out so desperately. so fucking dirty, thinking about him fingering you right in front of him. 

you saw how hard he was. it looked huge, there's no way that it wasn't painful for him. you would love to be in control, but you both were pent up, and there was no way of fucking him until he got what he wanted.

and what he wanted? it was to fuck you, harsh, with only his fingers. he knew before he even touched you with his dick, he was going to eat you out. he would, and will, make you cum several times before he pounded you senselessly. 

it was only a split second to you before he spread your legs eagerly, gingerly touching your cunt. he squished your plush thighs and smiled, looking up at you. your face was flushed with pink, embarassed seeing him in such a position, and you in a vulnerable one as well. his pink lips were already so eager to feel, to taste, to lick you. his gentle touch created sparks flying across your body. “god, do you know what you’ve done to me?” he murmured. sinking one thick finger inside you, he rasps, "your pussy is fucking mine,"  

you cry out, the sensation arching your back. he was already pumping only finger in and out of you, and you were already so weak. for him, for sex after so long.

before you knew it, three of his fingers were sharing the feeling of your walls, and it was so overwhelming. your pleasure was his, as both of your moans and whimpering were shared. your room amplified the heat of sex and volume of his hot and heavy breathing, yet it only turned you on even more. 

right before you were about to cum, he murmured, "you deserve this,"

"cho, wha-"

he slipped his fingers out quickly, and the feeling of your orgasm was lost. you moan either way from the fast motion, your walls clenching from the emptiness. "cho— what the f-fuck..?" you mumble, your mind dizzy and your pussy wet. 

"oh, my love," the dark-haired man leered at you. "did you think i'd let you have that sweet release that easily..?" he chuckled. "not after what you've done to me. not after the fact that i knew you fingered yourself thinking about me, even after we broke up," he slid 2 fingers inside you again, making you jolt from the sudden movement. 

"fuck!" you yell, gripping the ends of the couch. 

"yeah, scream for me, just like that," he moaned, slipping his thick fingers in and out of your walls.

"you feel so good, baby," he groaned against your thighs. "i know i'm not usually in control, but i fucking love when you clench by just my fingers," 

you whined, pushing his head closer to your thighs. 

"please," you begged, "fuck me,"

"not until i suck you dry, love. you know how much i want this," 

slipping two more fingers inside you, he continues, "do you fucking know, love?" 

fuck, it's too much. a moan escapes your mouth, rolling your eyes back so far it might as well be in your cranium. 

"oh god," the pleasure was too much to even think of. your arms shook, shockwaves of just pure horniness escaping your body through your mouth. you were turned so fucking stupid, just from his fingers. "ch-cho, please, y-yes,"

he left you a whimpering mess, and you fucking loved it. 

"do you know what you've done to me? i fuck myself thinking of you. playing with yourself for me. sucking me dry. using my pigtails as fucking handlebars. and fuck, even just you fully clothed," 

"cho, please," you beg. you could barely speak at all. you only ever thought of him and how he fucked you with just his fingers. "i-i'm gonna cum, please, choso," your words shook with ecstasy. 

"oh, baby," he smiles. "go ahead," he kept sliding his fingers inside of you, gradually going faster until you shook with overwhelming euphoria of sex.

“fuck, fuck, c-choso,” you whined. “oh my g-god,” 

choso grinned, gripping your shivering thighs. "oh, love," he groaned. "fuck, you look so beautiful, so vulnerable for me. my good girl,"

it’s the way you struggled and the way your knees buckled against him was already too much for him. he knew you loved it, you craved that shit. ever since you both broke up, you were fingering yourself to the thought of him. it was so wrong, but you knew he did it too. he just admitted that shit to you. and fuck, that made you more incredibly horny than you already are. 

you just couldn’t get enough of him. 

“ch- choso, oh my god,” you moan loudly. you shook, tugging his hair closer to your cunt. he smiled against your clit, licking the walls and holding your body in place with one hand. 

“you're taking me so good, baby,” he whispered into your inner thighs. “your pussy behaves so well for me,” he whispered as he started slurping and tightly holding on to your thighs for dear life.

“oh- oh my god,” you scream. “‘m cummin’, ch-choso, mngh,”

your orgasm was world-splitting. your legs shake crazily, cumming all over your ex's face, your screams bouncing off the edge of the living room walls.

“mmm, don’t worry, baby, i’ll clean you up,” your ex began wiping the cum off his face and you with his fingers while running his tongue along your throbbing cunt. it makes you shiver with pleasure, knowing he loves the way you taste, the way you moan, the way you tug his hair in pleasure. 

“the fucking things you do to me, baby,”

𐙚⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ᡣ𐭩⋆.𐙚⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ᡣ𐭩⋆.𐙚⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ᡣ𐭩⋆.𐙚⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ᡣ𐭩⋆.𐙚⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ᡣ𐭩⋆.𐙚⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

a/n: i fucking LOVED writing dom!choso. let me know if ygs want anymore of just dom!choso i will gladly deliver :3 🩷 (also,, i mean if ur here reading this might as well like <3 love you)

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

DRABBLE: YOU'RE NOT WEARING ANY PANTIES (18+) (ONE PIECE) (For Black!Fem!Readers)

Writer's Note: I was watching One Piece & came up with this. Please enjoy! -Jazz

Warnings: Reader is mentioned as having thick thighs and ass w/ brown labia

********

LUFFY 

This man is downright confused. 

He doesn't even realize that you did this on purpose to get him riled up. Luffy was never the one to successfully be seduced though. You could stand naked in front of him and tell him to fuck you, and he’d still wouldn’t get it. When the man gets horny, it’s at the most random of times, like when you’re sunbathing with Name or reading a book. 

You figured you’d at least give it a shot though. It starts when you two are lounging in your bed in the girls’ cabins across the ship, chomping on some watermelon and honeydew as an afternoon snack. With your feet in his lap, you go to pluck the last piece of watermelon out of the bowl between you, but his whine of protest stops you. “What, Luffy?” you sigh. 

Luffy stares at you with big, pitiful eyes, begging you not to eat it. You do your best to keep your eyes on his instead of his toned upper torso and X-shaped scar that peaks beneath the flaps of his red vest. “Pleeeease, Y/N?” he whines. “It’s so good! I didn’t even eat that much!” 

You scoff, wondering if he’s serious. “Luffy, boy, you almost ate the entire bowl!” you argue. “I had to slap you on the head to stop you from eating everything!” You go to pop the watermelon into your mouth, but Luffy’s arm extending and slithering across the bed toward you stops you. 

“No, Luffy!” you protest, but you’re cut off with laughter as he begins tickling your side. The captain laughs at your torture, tickling you senselessly until you drop the watermelon on the ground.

By now, he isn’t paying attention to it though. He jumps on top of you, his fingers moving furiously across your sides and stomach much to your dismay. “L-Luffy, stop!” you gasp. “I-I can’t…b-breathe!” 

“Huh?” he teasingly asks. “Sorry, Y/N, but I can’t hear you over the sound of your laughter!” His hands then move down to tickle your legs, but he doesn’t count on accidentally flipping your sundress up to reveal your bare pussy to him. 

His fingers pause as he stares in confusion down below your stomach. You begin to grow hot with embarrassment, realizing what has happened, but also hopeful that this lighthearted moment shifts. For a minute, Luffy is completely silent and you can see the gears turning in that head. “Uh…Y/N?” he innocently questions. “Why aren't you wearing any underwear?” 

The room suddenly grows hot and heavy as you lay there on your back with your boyfriend staring down at your pussy. “Um,” you hum, “w-well–“ 

“Did you lose ‘em in the laundry room?” he interjects. “Did they end up in the sea? Why didn't you tell me? I would’ve gotten 'em for you!” 

“No, Luffy–“ 

“Or did you take ‘em off ‘cause it’s so hot today? Doesn’t that feel kinda weird? Or does it make you feel cool? Maybe I should try that too ‘cause sometimes I get–“ 

“Luffy!” you exclaim, stopping him short. “I didn’t take them off ‘cause of any of that.” He stares blankly at you, waiting for you to continue to explain the method to your madness. You clear your throat, feeling more embarrassed because of his cluelessness. “I did it to seduce you,” you softly reply.

Again, he just blinks at you. “You know,” you sigh, knowing damn well he doesn’t. “You have easy access to me now for…you know…play with me.” 

Then, finally, a lightbulb flickers in Luffy’s eyes. “Oh!” he giggles, realizing what you mean. “You mean for sex? I can fuck you without worrying about your panties now?” He practically yells this shit, by the way, which means anyone on the ship definitely heard. 

You facepalm yourself, groaning. “This was a bad idea,” you lament. Luffy is suddenly moving to hike your thighs over his shoulders, his entire demeanor changed. You squeak in surprise as he looks up at you from between your legs, a mischievous yet sexy look in his eyes. “You want me to fuck you, Y/N?” he hums. “All you had to do was tell your captain so.” 

When he finally eats your pussy and fucks you into the mattress for nearly an hour until you have four orgasms, leaving your body twitching and your pussy filled to the brim with his cum, you realize that maybe you should go without undies more often. 

ZORO 

To say he isn’t pleased isn’t enough to describe what Zoro is feeling. 

He knew something was off when he saw your asscheeks jumping a little too much when you walked around the ship today. He noticed immediately when you went into the kitchen to help Sanji with breakfast to which he eyed the blonde down for staring at you in your pretty little sundress. 

But then you bent over the counter a little too far, luckily without Sanji watching, to reach for a glass for your iced coffee. There, he saw it: a sliver of those bare cheeks that he dreams about smacking and lays on as pillows just because they’re so plump and pillowy soft. As the hem of your dress rose over your thighs, his eyes widened at your ass and the crevice of your thighs where your bare pussy lied in wait for him. 

When you finally got your glass, you peeked over your shoulder at him, your eyes meeting his. And then you laughed. You laughed. It was small, light, and sexy, but just as wicked. Zoro gripped his fork so tight that he nearly snapped it. ‘Oh, this little brat,’ he thought. You were gonna get it later. 

So when he finds you reading a book and lounging in the sun moments later while the crew is doing their own thing, he wastes no time discussing these important matters with you. He stands in front of your view of the sun, becoming a big, hunky eclipse. You stare up at him from behind your sunglasses. “Yes?” you ask innocently as if you’re not wearing panties under your dress right now. 

“You wanna tell me what the fuck you think you’re doing?” he asks, his voice barely above a growl. You stare up at him, confused. “Uh...reading and sunbathing?” you suggest as an answer. You offer your book to him, showing him. 

You don’t expect him to pluck the book from your hand and toss it to the side. “Not that,” he impatiently replies. “I mean the fact that you’re goin’ commando today.” You raise an eyebrow at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Zo,” you lightly laugh. But he sees the playfulness in your smile. You’re trying to tease him to get what you want. 

Lucky for you, he’s on your type of time today and is more than happy to give it to you. 

That’s when you find yourself in his room, bent over his bed and his thick cock stuffed deep in your wet pussy that he is quickly turning into a gushy mess with how fast and hard he is fucking you. With every slap of his balls against your clit, his hands grip your hips and your voice rings out in moans against his bedroom walls. “Z-Zoro!” you whine, your face in his pillow. “Slow down or I’m gonna cum too quick!” 

He feels you squirming about, but holds you firmly by your hips, even giving you a sharp spank on your jiggly ass. “Nah, baby,” he hoarsely says. “Stop runnin’ from me. You begged for this shit, and now you’re gonna take it, you little brat.” 

He leans over to press a chaste kiss to your ear, making you pitifully whine into his pillow as your ass bounces off of his cock. “I’m curious though,” he whispers. What made you suddenly decide to flash your pussy for all of our crew members today, huh?” His hand moves to roughly grip your ass, toying with the soft flesh. “I know you know I noticed,” he growls. “What, you want Sanji and Brooke to get an eyeful of what’s mine, huh?” 

With no answer, he spanks you again, drawing a whine out of you. “Huh?” he bellows, his voice bouncing off of his bedroom walls. 

“No!” you sob, gripping the sheets beneath you. “No, Zorro, I promise I’m yours! I-I just wanted to tease you! I’m sorry!” The rest of your words turn into whines and sobs of pleasure as he continues to fuck you sore, plunging his cock deep into your pussy until you’re screaming for release. 

Guess you got what you wanted, right? 

SANJI 

Sanji is BIG HORNY. Don't even try to play with him like that. 

It is just a simple morning that turns into something else entirely when you wake at the crack of dawn to find your bed empty. The spot where your boyfriend once was laying is still warm, meaning he hasn’t been away all that long. 

You get up and put on an halter aquamarine-blue dress that is shows off the curve of your back and stops at the tops of your thighs, giving just a little peek of the bottom of your ass. It’s one of Sanji’s favorites. Anytime you wear it, he either has a major nosebleed or gives you a blush-worthy compliment and then has a major nosebleed. It also gives him the perfect access to your panties…only this time, you leave them in your drawer. 

With a smirk playing on your lips, you walk out of the girls’ cabin to the ship’s kitchen where you find your man and the crew’s chef cooking up some breakfast. He hums a tune as a cigarette dangles from his lips as his hands multitask between cracking an egg with one hand and flipping over some bacon in a pan with the other. Sanji has always been great with his hands. You should know––he’s used them on you many, many times. 

You come up behind him and wrap your arms around his toned body. “Good morning,” you softly say, ruining his concentration in the best possible way. He looks over his shoulder, smiling down at you. “Good morning, my love,” he coos, taking his cig out to press a kiss to your forehead. “Did I wake you, baby?” 

You lean against the counter, admiring his biceps, veiny hands, and his toned body beneath his apron and wrinkled shirt that he hastily tossed on earlier. You want him. Now. “You know I can’t sleep without you near me,” you reply, your voice airy and soft. 

Sanji doesn’t quite catch on to your tone, but presses a hand to his heart, touched at your sweetness. "Aren't you just the sweetest thing ever?” he tuts. “Well, I’ll make sure to make up for leaving your bed with an amazing breakfast from yours truly! Here, pass me the blueberries so I can make this pancake batter.” 

You turn around, looking at the carton of blueberries. “These here?” you ask. 

“Yeah, right–“ Sanji’s sentence takes an abrupt pause when you suddenly lean over the counter next to him to get the blueberries. As you do, your dress rides up, giving him an eyeful of your luscious, bare ass. You smirk at his silence, realizing that your plan to seduce him worked…as usual. It doesn’t take much to make Sanji incredibly horny. You could simply smile at him and he’s ready to eat your pussy for days. 

You turn around to face him, your dress dropping back down against your hips. “Here you go, honey,” you coo, passing him the carton. He takes it from you, eyes wide and mouth parted, his cigarette falling to the floor at his feet. You giggle, teasingly toying with the hem of your dress. “What’s the matter, honey?” you tease. “You like this?” 

Sanji’s eyes follow your hands and the hem of your dress that continues to lift up, showing him a little of your skin each time. “Uh-huh,” he dumbly answers. 

“You know, we’ve got some time until the others wake up,” you purr. “And you’ve got easier access now.” You lift your dress up the rest of the way, revealing your naked pussy to him. “Wanna take advantage?” you ask, a sexy glint in your eye. 

You swear that Sanji has never had a more violent nosebleed. That shit gushes everywhere, but luckily not on the food or on you. It drips all over his clothes, his pretty apron, and the floor below, making you squeak in shock as you jump onto a chair to avoid getting wet. When poor Luffy and Usopp enter the kitchen seconds later, they slip and slide all over the blood, knocking into each other and falling out on the floor. 

It’s hilariously embarrassing on Sanji’s part, especially when you help him mop up the floor. But you think it’s flattering that your boyfriend finds you so attractive. 

He shows you just how much hours later when the crew is eating breakfast in the other room while he has you bent over the counter and his cock stroking the walls of your pussy, nice and slow. “You’re so sexy, baby,” he groans, your soft moans filling the kitchen. “I don’t deserve you. You know that, right?” 

The only answer you can give him is clenching around his thick, curved cock and creaming all over it minutes later. 

USOPP 

Usopp is truly a special case.

You think you just about killed him when he realizes you’re completely naked under your skirt. 

You’re just fooling around in his tinkering room under the ship’s floors, dancing to his playlist that he has set specifically for his tinkering and inventing process. You twirl around in your flowery mini skirt and white crop top while your man crouches over a table, focusing on working a gear into some new contraption he’s working on. 

You hear him sigh from his post, exhaustedly so. “Y/N?” he asks. You twirl towards him, your eyes trailing along his back muscles flexing under his white white beater and brown skin tanned even more from the sun. “Hm?" you hum, still swaying to the music. 

“If you’re not gonna help me, what are you doing down here?” he asks, but not unkindly. Kind of in that way where you’re fed up with your lover’s antics, but you secretly love them. “Just to dance to my music?” 

“It’s not my fault you’ve got excellent music taste,” you giggle, moving towards him. You wrap his arms around him from the back, pressing a kiss to his broad shoulder. “C’mon, dance with me.” He groans in protest, his hands covering yours. “You know I don’t dance, sweetheart, especially when I’m in my zone.” 

You cluck your tongue indifferently. “You’ve been in your zone for hours now!” you argue. “Just to one song.” You begin to sway, forcing him to sway with you. You lay your hands flat against the hard planes of his chest, feeling his heart beating against your fingertips.

“Pwease?” you plea, making your voice soft and high-pitched. Usopp once again groans, but sways with you anyway, moving away from the table to turn his entire attention on you. You release him, allowing him to turn around and face you, a smile playing on his pink lips that you just love to kiss. 

You take his hands into yours and begin moving your feet anywhere the beat takes you, leading him towards you and back again. He begins to laugh along with you, moving his feet in his boots and his legs in those baggy, yellow overalls that you’re itching to get off. There’s just something about him being down here, so completely in his element with his skin glinting in sweat and motor oil streaks on his face. 

He surprises you by suddenly taking your hand and twirling you around, making your skirt billow around you. You giggle as you spin and come to a halt with your back to his front. You lean your head back into his chest, humming appreciatively at the feeling of his rough, calloused hands gliding down your sides to your hips and accidentally slipping under your skirt. “Oh, sorry!” he gasps. "Your skirt was still up and…” His sentence takes a pause, making you smile. 

“Everything okay, Usie?” you ask, using the pet name you gave him on him. You turn around to face him, finding him gaping down at your skirt. “Uh,” he breathes. “W-Wha…why…why aren’t you…underwear?” 

You nearly laugh at his stutters and gobsmacked expression. “You like it?” you giggle, toying with your skirt. “I figured it’d get you away from your tinkering for a minute.” 

You lift your skirt up, revealing your bare pussy and tan lines from the sun to him. His brown eyes nearly bug out of his skull at the erotic sight. The man is totally frozen, barely moving a muscle…except for the one down under which has begun to make its appearance, protruding from beneath his pants. 

“So you wanna take a break with me, Usie?” you purr, smirking up at him. You press a hand to his chest to feel him up, but as you do, Usopp teeters backwards and falls flat onto his back. “Usopp?!” you shriek, alarmed. You crouch down beside him immediately, checking for any damage. “Are you alright?” 

Usopp stares up at you, his eyes wide like he just saw the entire Grand Blue beneath your skirt. “Y-Yes,” he croaks out. “To the break, not if I’m alright.” You sigh in relief, shaking your head at your idiot boyfriend. 

But he makes up for it by fucking you silly against his tinkering table minutes later and making you cum all over his thick cock. 

SHANKS 

“You wanna get fucked?” 

That’s the question Shanks asks you when his hand slides a little too far down your backside and finds that your skin is completely smooth. Too smooth. Usually, he’d feel the rough edges of your lace panties or a thong if you’re feeling frisky. But tonight, there is nothing. 

He should’ve known something was up. When he was walking behind you tonight to go to the bar with the crew. Your ass was jumping way too much! Not that he minded because his crew and every other male in here knew better than to look at you in such a way, but he couldn’t pop a hard-on in front of his crew mates. It was quite embarrassing. 

And now you have the gall to act like you have no idea what he’s talking about. “What, boy?” you snort, shoving at his chest. “C’mon, we’re not even back at the ship or at a hotel.” 

You go to scoot over, but the booth you're sitting in only allows you to go so far. Shanks is sitting with you thigh to thigh, hip to hip, with one arm slung around the back of the booth. Something about being protective of you. Though you like it, him being so close is starting to make you hot combined with the alcohol traveling through your body. 

Like clockwork, Shanks follows you, scooting even closer to you and not allowing you any kind of personal space. You can see that he is tipsy, his cheeks and ears flushed pink and a hooded look in his eyes. “Shit, baby,” he chuckles, “all you had to do was say that. We can leave right now and go to a bed ’n breakfast right down the way.” His hand moves from your back to your knee, squeezing it. “You didn’t have to go commando tonight, though I appreciate the gesture.” 

His hand begins to scoot up to your thigh, squeezing the thick, juicy flesh there. You can feel your body temperature rising as his hand gets dangerously close to your pussy as he sneaks it underneath your skirt. “So what made you wanna lose the panties tonight, baby doll?” he whispers, his lips at your ear. He smells of whiskey and mint gum––a combo you have come to love. 

The sound of a bottle shattering and a roar of laughter makes you realize that you’re still in public. “S-Shanks,” you stutter, gulping. You go to move his hand, but he grabs your wrist, stopping you. 

“Uh-uh, baby,” he tuts. “Can’t decide you don’t want it now. You’re the one who came off the ship without your undies.” Your breath hitches as he releases your hand and goes back to scoot his up your skirt until his fingers begin sneaking between your thick thighs. “Tell me, baby doll: what was your plan tonight? To make me so hard that I bend you over this table and fuck you in front of all of the nice folks at this bar?” 

His naughty question and raspy voice in your ear makes you pathetically whimper. You then feel his fingers begin to play with your pussy lips, making you bite your lip. His other hand moves to the back of your neck to tug lightly on your hair, drawing a moan out of you. “I need an answer,” he growls. “Or I’ll make you cum right here. Don’t try me.” 

Through quivering lips and hitched breaths, you answer him. “N-No,” you whimper. “I just felt sexy tonight and I wanted to tease you.” You have to clench your teeth to avoid moaning as he begins to play with your clit, coaxing your legs open a bit to watch his fingers toy with the brown hood. 

“Well, little lady,” he chuckles, “consider me teased.” He leans in and presses a rough, whiskey-soaked kiss to your quivering lips before pulling away. “So now let me give you what you’re after.” 

That’s how you find yourself up against the wall of a bathroom stall in the bar with Shanks’ hips furiously thrusting as he pounds his cock deep into your needy, wet pussy, giving you no choice but to clench around him. Your legs are wrapped around him, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other is running through his red hair, your moans ringing out above the bar’s ruckus. 

“This is what you wanted, right?” he huffs into your ear. “You wanted to be my little slut tonight?” He fucks you harder, faster, getting you both closer and closer to your explosive orgasm of the night. “Cum for me,” he demands. “Be a good girl and cum around your captain’s cock, baby doll.” 

And you do. You don’t have a choice but to do so. And when he finally cums deep inside of you, he makes sure you give you enough so it’s dripping down your thighs when you walk out of the bathroom minutes later, Shanks laughing while you’re an embarrassed, fucked-out mess. 

ACE

“Girl, don’t play with me,” he firmly says. “I mean it.” 

You blink at him, confused for a moment. all you're doing is sitting cross-legged next to him, sipping on your cocktail, looking cute and absolutely scrumptious in your yellow mini-dress that brings out the color of your skin and the deep brown of your eyes. Ace has been telling you that you look like the prettiest sun he's ever seen ever since you stepped out to join him at the club. 

“What?” you ask. “All I’m doing is sitting here.” Ace eyes you from beneath his hat, his eyes trailing down to your thighs. “Yeah, without somethin’ underneath,” he replies. Your heartbeat jumps when you realize he’s caught on. “What?” he chuckles. “You think I wouldn’t notice when I can see that ass?” 

And he can. From his angle, he has a clear view of your bottom cheeks as you sit with your legs crossed. “Maybe I was just hot,” you argue, holding back a playful smile. “There has been a heatwave for a couple of days. Plus, it makes me cooler.” 

“Cooler, hm?” Ace scoots closer to you, his hand sliding up your bare thigh. “Don’t get too cool now, darlin’,” he whispers in your ear, his voice sending shivers up and down your spine. “I need you hot and bothered for this next part.” 

That’s when his hand begins to slide between your thighs, coaxing them open to reveal a sliver of your shaved, bare pussy to him. “Fuck,” he hisses, ogling at your sex. His reaction makes you flush, the idea of doing something so naughty in such a public place enticing you so. “So now what?” you purr. “You just gonna stare at it? As flattered as I am, I– oh, fuck!” 

A gasp escapes you as you feel your boyfriend’s fingers begin to toy with your pussy, his thumb gently rubbing your clit. Right there in the club booth! “Hm, you’re already wet for me, mama,” he appreciatively hums, watching your face intently for your reactions. “Were you this wet when you were changing earlier, thinkin’ about me doin’ this?” 

“Ace,” you whisper, your eyes leaving his to assess the club. Luckily, everyone is too busy dancing and drinking to notice your boyfriend playing with your pussy, but the idea that someone could see turns you on even more. “Don’t be shy,” he chuckles, an evil glint in his eye. “You can let that voice out more. The music is loud enough.” 

He begins to press his finger very lightly against your entrance and you’d just about cry out in pleasure if it wasn’t for his little brother dancing up to them to the reggaeton beat playing from the speakers above. “What are you guys sittin’ down for?!” Luffy yells, drunk with his hat tipped sideways and those hips moving. “C’mon and dance with me! The music is great!”

You try to move away from Ace, but his finger sinking into your pussy stops you. You have to bite your lip to keep from moaning as he begins to slowly and torturously finger fuck your cunt, gliding against the underside of your clit as he does so. “Oh, we’ll be there,” Ace reassures his brother with a smile. “Right, Y/N? You love this type of music.” 

You can barely breathe, let alone speak. Fortunately, Luffy is dancing away to join his crew on the floor, leaving you and Ace alone. You turn to him, glaring daggers at him. “I fucking hate you,” you growl. 

Ace chuckles as he starts to thumb your clit, emitting soft moans from your lips. “I love you too, mama,” he coos, kissing your neck. “I’ll treat you to a dance after I make you cum, m’kay?” 

And he does both: he makes you cum on his fingers right under the table and buys you a pretty drink to go with a pretty girl like you. 

LAW 

He is befuddled. Confused. And completely alarmed. 

Because why the fuck are you just walking around his ship with no panties on? He realizes this when you first come sauntering into his bed chambers one night and sit in his lap. He’s at his desk, looking over a map and circling some hotspots to stop at for food and supplies. “Hey,” you coo, wrapping your arms around his thick neck. 

“Shouldn’t you be sleep?” he grumbles, doing his best to not admire you in your pink mini dress with the flowers printed on it and how the hem stops at your thighs. “We pull into port come dawn.” 

You hum in acknowledgement. “I know, but you’ve been sitting here almost all day. And plus, I need you in order to sleep.” You lean in to kiss along his thick neck and shoulders, cooing softly as you do. The scent of your perfume and your soft voice in his ear are enough to make him bust, but alas, he has work to do. “Well, try,” he deadpans, giving your thigh a pinch. “Now c’mon, I have work to do. I’ll be there in a bit.” 

You whine in protest, wiggling around in his lap and causing his cock to stir. “But you said that an hour ago!” you argue with a pout of your soft, glossy lips. “Come on, Law, snuggle with me!” But when he gives you one of those stern looks, you sigh and scoot off of his lap to sit on his bed, pouty and mad. 

He’s supposed to go back to his work. Keyword: supposed to. But all of that goes out the window as he watches you lean back and open your legs in the mirror behind his desk that faces you. Your eyes stay posted to his as you do so, the hem of your dress riding up to reveal your naked thighs and ass. “Da hell?” he asks, confused. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask innocently, even as your thighs slowly move apart. Law swears he nearly has a heart attack when he realizes that there is nothing covering your pussy, revealing all of you to him. “Where the fuck are your panties?” he asks, glaring at the sight. 

“It was hot today,” you answer simply. “So I went without.” You lean back farther onto your hands, causing your dress to ride up onto your naked stomach. Law can't take his eyes off of your pussy though. It looks so pretty; so brown; so delectable.

“Were you just…walkin’ around like that all day?” he asks barely above a growl. “Without any panties?” He doesn't realize that he’s gripping the map until he hears a slight tear in the paper that makes him stop. 

You shoot him a scowl. “Why do you care?” you retort. “You weren’t payin’ any attention to me, so don’t act like you do now.” But obviously, you’re lying. You want him and you knew exactly how to get him. That’s why you made sure to skip out on wearing undies today. 

Nothing more comes out of Law except for groans and grunts of pleasure when he is on top of you minutes later, his clothes off and his hands gripping the hem of your dress as he fucks you in it. He has your legs up by your ears and his cock sunk deep into your pussy that makes such nice, squelching noises for him every time he thrusts into it.

“Now,” he huffs, staring down at your pretty face and jiggling titties, “any mouth you got for me now? Huh, little girl?” 

You don’t give him anything but a sob, your pretty face contorted in sheer pleasure as his cock strokes your insides. Law chuckles and sinks his two thick fingers into your mouth for you to suck on, right down to his knuckle tattoos.

“I didn't think so,” he groans. 

[readychilledwine]

Hellos. Could do something where the reader is azriel mate and they are kidnapped. She sacrifices her wings to save his life. And mention how az is angry that it happened and whatever u think will look good. Thank you.

👀👀👀👀 I, uh, may have a thing for shattering my own heart only to pick up the pieces. So yes. Yes, I can. Hopefully, you enjoy it, and I did it justice, dearest!

Beauty in Pain

Azriel x Illyrian reader

Warnings - not over descriptive mentions of torture and dismemberment, Azriel goes feral, depression, the usual unedited by an outside source.

Word count -2030

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

You were better trained than this. 

That reminder was echoing inside your mind like a war drum, beating senselessly into your thoughts as you were dragged down the barely lit pathway under the temple. You knew no one was coming. Faebane had blocked the mating bond, blocked your ability to call Rhys or Feyre. You'd be lucky if they found you, alive or dead.

It had started a routine mission. Head to the war camps, ask the leader for reports, speak with the females, head home to your mate.

Your mate. The one you prayed had felt the bond grow cold despite the many promises to never shut each other out. The one who'd slaughter every single male involved in this when he found out where you were, who had you, and what they planned to do or will have done.

You didn't fight as they laid you face down on the concrete block in the room. They had planned this, planned how long to keep you on a specific dose of faebane, no food, and no water. Planned the beatings used to weaken you on a cycle. You felt it and flinched as two sets of hands roughly grabbed your left wing. 

You were prepared to be clipped as a form of torture for the information they wanted. You knew it was coming. But as blinding pain left you with no choice but to scream out for your mate, for your brother, for Rhysand, you knew the plan was worse than you had imagined.

But you did not yield. You bared the pain, allowing it to try and break you until the world grew cold and dark.

—-----------

Azriel was pacing Rhysand's office. He had not slept in the 7 long days you had been overdue for, at the very least, a check in, after the missive Rhys and Cassian had received.

They have not started training the females. I will be home or rewrite soon. I promise. The three Illyrian males had trusted you to handle it. They had trusted you would be safe, unharmed, respected. 

And despite every alarm ringing in his heart, mind, and soul, Azriel had not gone to you right away. 

Rhysand's eyes glazed over, his face dropping slowly as he received whatever message he was receiving. He came back to them slowly, moving without speaking as he started grabbing weapons and tossing them to Azriel and Cassian. 

The High Lord's voice was dealthy calm as he finally spoke. "A set of wings, freshly removed, was just found outside of my mother's cabin. There's no signs of (y/n) anywhere in any of the camps the twins searched. The only thing reported to them was in the northernmost camp."

Rhysand breathed deeply. "A female was carried through the camp, unconscious with her head and body covered. That same night the camp heard screams from midnight until early into the morning."

Cassian's breath caught in his throat before he immediately grabbed Rhysand's arm. "Take me there, now." 

"How long ago," Azriel's voice had gone cold and detached. "How long ago did that happen? How long has she been sitting Mother knows where with untreated wounds or dead?"

Rhysand refused to look at Azriel, reaching to grab his brother's hand, before finally whispering. "4 days."

—------------

The rescue had turned into a bloodbath. There was zero question as a panicked shadows all but dragged the three of them to an abandoned temple.

It reeked of her blood, her sweat, her tears. 

It held an almost haunting aura as if the terror and pain of her screams had scarred the ancient stone, marking it to forever echo her agony to anyone walking inside.

Azriel didn't want to ask questions. He didn't want prisoners. He wanted payment in blood. 

He had cut through every single male that appeared in their path before Rhysand and Cassian even had a chance to interfere on his way to the dungeons his shadows were pleading with him to get to quickly. 

And now one last male stood between him and the cell she laid unconscious in. "Move or be moved," Rhysand told him coolly. "I would not push your luck." 

The male stared at a blood soaked Azriel. His shadows were curling over his shoulders like snakes waiting to strike. His wings flared wide in dominance and anger. His 7 siphons glowing. 

The young male moved, allowing Rhysand to grab him and winnow him away to the Prison before Azriel could beat him to death as well. Cassian moved quickly to the door, opening it with the key they had found, before entering the small cell containing his sister.

The anguished sob that left Cassian was the only confirmation Azriel needed. "Y/n," he heard Cassian tapping your body. "Come on, sis. Wake up."

Dying. Azriel's shadows confirmed. Infections. We cannot safely winnow her. Rhys is bringing a healing team. Need more space. 

Azriel moved into the cell, holding the scream in his throat as he was overwhelmed with the urge to run to you. Cassian had you cradled into his chest, rocking you back and forth before looking up at Azriel, eyes rimmed with tears. "We need to get her somewhere that Madja can use to work on her. Rhys is bringing her and a team of healers here." Azriel held his arms out, a silent demand in the movement. 

Cassian only nodded. Standing and carefully transferring your beaten and bleeding body into Azriel's arms, following him out of the room.

—---------------

3 long weeks of silence had passed in the House of Wind. 

No one had gone to Azriel's room.

No one had spoken to him without the male lashing out.

There was nothing they could do to comfort him but allow him to be with you.

When you first got home, while you were lying unconscious with Madja, Helion, and Lucien looking after you, Rhys had managed to get out of the male Azriel allowed to live one very simple thing. 

You let them torture you, let them completely take your wings, to force you to look into death's eyes, and you had allowed them to do it to protect Azriel. You had refused to give them his schedule to visit the camps. You refused to tell them when he'd be there alone again. You refused to tell them which pathway he flew in using or where he'd shadow-walk himself to first.

You had lost your wings to protect him. Your husband, your mate.

Azriel had lost it then, guilt eating away at him, and began beating the male to death with his bare fists as Cassian and Rhysand just watched. They knew what was echoing in his mind. She will live, Madja had said, but she will never be the same. Her wings can't be reattached or saved, no one has the ability to give her back what was taken.

You hadn't spoken to Azriel, Rhys, or Cassian when you finally woke up. You only sat in your window, staring at the sky. 

The one you'd never feel going through your hair again. The one you'd never touch again. The one you'd never taste again.

It was funny, you thought to yourself, to have been protected and trained to ensure this never happened, only for the moment it did to come 500 long years later. 

It had been a full week later when Azriel cornered you in the shower and just held your naked body for you two to speak. Another week passed before you allowed him to kiss you and hold you without him having to force the contact. You had yet to show interest in leaving the bedroom the two of you shared. 

You felt familiar scarred hands on your bare shoulders, wrapping around to your collarbones before running up the front of your neck and tilting your head back. "Dinner alone tonight or dinner with our family?" His voice was scratched from the crying you two had been doing. His eyes were swollen and red. "I already know the answer, I just need to verbally hear it."

"I wish to be alone." He nodded. Taking the cue and leaving you to your window as he sat back on the couch, head falling into his hands, as he began to cry again.

You watched his shoulders shaking, listened to his almost silenced sniffling. You knew things had forever changed in your relationship. 

There would be no more missions for you.

No more trips with Amren away from him.

No more walking Velaris alone.

There would be no more date nights spent flying.

No more jumping from high places together, allowing yourselves to fall until the last possible second, only to spread those precious wings.

There'd be no more wing play late into the early mornings, edging each other with small touches in certain places until you were both begging for relief.

But you knew deep down, more than anything, there would be a new Azriel. One that would have one more thing to hold against himself. One that would have one more moment of his life to look back on and use as an argument for how he wasn't enough.

And you couldn't have that. You would not stand for it.

You couldn't have the broken male you had spent time healing with, growing with, and struggling with. You could not have the one who blamed himself for every little thing again.

You stood on slightly unstable feet, and walked to your closet, a shadow trailing you. Rhys had immediately replaced your clothing, ensuring you would not have to go through ordering it yourself, and had the twins place the new materials into your closet. A simple black dress was what you picked. It would stop right above your knees, hug your torso beautifully. You closed the closet door, calling for Rhys silently in your mind and jumping as his hands appeared behind you. "I need help." You whispered. 

His eyes searched yours before nodding and helping you change into the dress. Allowing you to use him to balance. A kiss was placed on the back of your head as he laced it up. Gentle, but full of emotion. And he winnowed away. 

You left the closet, walking to Azriel on the couch slowly with a pair of his trousers and a black button-up shirt in hand. "I changed my mind. I'm craving that cake, the almond one with the vanilla frosting."

Azriel scoffed lightly. "I am not leaving you to go get cake. I will ask Rhysand-"

"I need you to fly me there, Az. I want to go get the cake, eat it at the Cafe with coffee, and then I want you to take me for a walk on the Sindra. And maybe go to that book store. The used book one."

He was silent before looking at you. His hazel eyes were full of question. "Y/n-"

"If my mate will not take me, I will ask my brother. I want cake, and I want my husband to take me to get it."

"I don't think you understand how heartbreaking not being able to truly fly is going to be, my heart."

You only repeated yourself, voice smaller this time. "If my mate will not take me, I will ask my brother. I want cake." You paused, eyes welling with tears. "I deserve cake and coffee. If I want cake and coffee for dinner, I expect my mate, the male who married me and bound himself to me, to take me."

Azriel nodded. Grabbing the clothing from you and he changed in silence. He stood on the balcony waiting as you took calming breaths and walked outside for the first time in many weeks.

"I am not responsible for the setback in your mental health after this." 

"No, but you are monetarily responsible for my cake and purchases. Let's go." He took you in his arms, holding you close to his chest and took off hard. 

And in that moment, you both knew something new had begun. You were laughing as he concentrated way more than usual to fly. You were smiling at how this allowed you to feel his body heat, to hear his heartbeat, to touch his face. 

You were laughing at how he began genuinely laughing at you. Not understanding where the sudden joy filling the bond and over flowing it like a faucet set to run for too long came from.

It wasn't until he paused in the sky, hovering so he could look down at your smiling face did you both realize something.

Losing your wings was just the beginning. 

[mamayan]

YANDERE! FEITAN PORTER X DARLING!

TOUCH

⚠️ This is a work of fiction with content I do not condone in reality. This is not meant to encourage or represent any type or sort of conduct. This is merely just fantasy ⚠️

MDNI•18+

Trigger warnings!

This work contains: Yandere content/intentions•NSFW•Kidnapping•Holding against will (darling)•Cursing•Mentions of abuse/torture•Stockholm Syndrome•General depravity•Obsessive tendencies•Sexual acts (consensual but darling is psychologically not sound of mind to be consenting, so somewhat dubcon)•Oral•fem darling•Somnophilia

You have been properly warned and notified of what this work contains. If anything above offends or triggers you, please do not continue reading. Don’t make me waste my time writing all this out only for someone to read and get offended when all the warning literally tell them what is in this. You reading this confirms you are 18+ years of age, meaning a consenting adult agreeing to proceed and consume this content, do not come after me or report me because you aren’t capable of managing yourself.

I appreciate support and love from anyone viewing and enjoying my content. Thank you♥️ I freakin’ love this 1999 anime artwork of Feitan!

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡. .｡.:*

Time suddenly seemed to become irrelevant.

The days passed in a mundane blur, and at some point, everything seemed worthless.

He mentioned in passing that it was November now, though you’d stopped asking the date a few months after your imprisonment. You stopped talking nearly all together these last few months. You couldn’t be entirely sure the last you’d spoken more than a word or two in response to his questions. His own speech minimal, though occasionally you’d catch a glimpse of his chattier side. Even that still couldn’t be considered talkative, more of a normal amount of speech when in a conversation. You haven’t seen that in a while either, maybe it disappeared when you’d stopped your own blubbering and whining. You didn’t ask questions at all anymore. It was pointless and had little meaning.

He sat in his usual spot.

Perched in the corner of the room, eyes sharply trained on your form as always.

His eyes used to unnerve you, riddle you with anxiety and fear of what he was planning. What he might do. What he will do.

It mattered hardly at all at this point.

You’d senselessly begged once, for it all to stop and for him to just kill you already. That’s what he must’ve had planned in the end, for what else did he want with you? An object to admire?

It seemed mad in it’s own way, that thought. Your questions of something or anything personal went unanswered and occasionally punished with weeks of isolation. It was better not to pry.

Asking for mercy and a faster death only brought a wrath you didn’t know lay inside him down upon you.

It was the first time he became physical with you, touched you more than was the bare minimum of necessity. He was surprisingly warm. Except his touch at that time was anything but the usual gentleness you now realized he used with you. His unforgiving grip on your face as he dragged you to your knees, the absolute agony of having your jaw fractured. The pain was unbearable, and even now left phantom pains radiating down your body. He’d dragged you out the front door, for the first time in what seemed to be forever.

Outside was duller than your mind remembered.

You’d been thrown into a vehicle and taken somewhere new.

You’d never wished to take back words more than you did that day. He’d dragged you to some sort of… torture facility. Chained you in a corner and left you there for hours on end. Nervous and frightened, you waited and waited. When he did return, it wasn’t alone. Someone you’d never met was dragged in, strapped down to a table.

Feitan had never really demonstrated anything so frightening before. He’d been somewhat volatile and brash, but the sadistic side never revealed itself like it did that day.

A day turned into several, and for nearly a week you were made to watch his sessions as he called them. Where he’d laugh like a maniac as he turned living humans into creatures you pitied more than yourself. He’d wipe their blood on you, smile as you trembled and begged for it to stop.

When he finally heeded your pleas, he asked a question that left you numb.

“Still want to die?”

You didn’t want to die anymore, at least not by his hand. He knew no mercy. He had no grievance tearing someone apart and from the inside out. The events that followed spanned longer than you bothered to keep track of anymore. He brought you back to your “home” where you were kept locked away. You had a bed, blankets and pillows, clothes and food, clean water and hygiene products. You’d never appreciated a bed like you did that first night back before. The softness and warmth you felt made tears roll down your cheeks and you had thanked him for returning you. It was the first genuine gratitude you’d ever shown to him.

You glanced up from the TV running a show you barely processed to catch his gaze. Those grey orbs holding emotion you couldn’t name or had never seen. He was always so still, and his porcelain features gave him the feel of a doll. For a moment, you merely held his gaze, feeling oddly calm and panicked all at once. Why you felt panicked didn’t make sense, nor why you’d feel calm in the presence of what seemed to be the Grim Reaper himself. The only movement he made to acknowledge your attention was a slight quirk to his brow. His usually ignored but always open book in his hand closing. His face mostly covered left you little to go off to how he felt. You’d gotten somewhat good at interpreting even the tiniest hint of emotion from him, but currently with your own frazzled feelings, figuring out his wasn’t working.

Your legs were pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around them as you settled into a protected fleshy ball. The blanket on your shoulders helping ground you slightly.

Only a little.

“What?” His voice was raspy, his own lack of use evident.

It didn’t sound annoyed, though you could just be misinterpreting this entire interaction.

It felt odd to speak, your mouth slightly cottony and dry, but the urge in your chest felt strangely compelled to say his name.

“Fei” You’d judged his voice, but your own was just as bad.

His eyes widened slightly, though aside from somewhat visible surprise, you were in the dark on how he’d feel about a nickname. You’d given your captor a nickname long ago, though never voiced it aloud. Feitan… Fei felt less threatening.

Feitan is darkness and fear. Feitan tore your life away from you, terrorized you, imprisoned and controlled nearly every little aspect of your life down to your very diet. Feitan is the infamous torturer of the Phantom Troupe.

Fei… well, in your own mind, Fei had become a fictional sort of character. Fei was gentle, Fei listened when you spoke or rambled, and in your dreams Fei would touch you. You hadn’t felt much of any contact in so long, and the last time had left a physically and psychologically painful memory behind. In your dreams, Fei would hold you, touch and caress, Fei was quiet but powerful. You knew it wasn’t healthy, but nothing happening to you or around you was healthy. The mental sickness and insanity most certainly was tickling around your mind.

You’d tested boundaries early with Feitan.

Screaming, kicking, fighting, escape attempts, refusal to eat or comply… were all met with isolation and revoking of privileges. Asking for death was met with nightmares and aching pain that still bothered you when it was too cold.

You’d tried manipulation and coercion, neither you excelled in though. Feitan may be quiet, and occasionally his grammar is less than exemplary, but he is no fool. All attempts ended in… nothing. He did absolutely nothing. He was like a stone wall, impenetrable. Even now, you knew nothing of his intentions. Your only guess at this point, as out of place and ridiculous as it may sound, is companionship. He likely saw you as a pet of sorts, like one might “rescue” a cat off the street. The treatment you receive is rather similar too. In his eyes, maybe you were just like a cat to him. A weak kitty he plucked off the cold streets and gave a warm home. It used to be a thought which invoked fury, but now…

You wished he’d commit to all acts of a pet owner. This included giving affection. You craved it. Missed it. Needed it. Something. A weird and warbled voice in your mind said you’d even accept the negative attention if it meant he’d put his hands on you again. It’s a suicidal thought, but even as his gaze narrowed, you couldn’t stop your body.

He’s silent as always, as you uncurl from your position you’d taken as your usual way to cope. Holding yourself helped, but it’s be better if someone else did it. He didn’t make any indication your nickname offended him.

Shaking, you stood on weak legs and began a pursuit of something you’d never thought you’d even entertain. He was across the room, and while he was by no means a big man, his presence could be suffocating when up close. Gracelessly and with little tact in your actions, you approached until you could smell him. He always smelled like mint and something metallic. For once, the thought of the underlying scent being blood didn’t bother you. He smelled nice, and while his entire body language was closed off and reserved, he still hadn’t even twitched.

He just kept observing you.

Even as you sank down to your knees in front of where he sat.

Those sharp eyes followed you the entire way. When the realization of what you wanted to do came, you weren’t bombarded with the expected humiliation or shame. There wasn’t guilt or disgust like you used to feel when these feelings would arise.

Maybe it signaled you were too far gone to save anymore.

“Fei” his name left your lips again, and for the first time, his rapt attention felt good. It felt good to have him so focused on you. You watched as his head tilted slightly, his face hidden but you could somewhat fantasize about a soft smile playing on his lips behind the fabric of his collar. His favorite jacket always a staple in his clothing collection.

“What?” The way he asked proved he wasn’t revolted at your proximity. He didn’t seem to be asking what you were doing, but rather why you called his name.

“Touch me?” Though you’d phrased it like a question, it bordered precariously on being a demand. You probably looked ridiculous, kneeling at his feet and staring up at him like a sick puppy looking for even the smallest amount of attention. You should be avoiding him, trying to get away, doing anything but this. The only thing you felt though was fear of rejection. That he’d cackle like he does on the phone occasionally, with someone named Shalnark or Phinks, or like he did when he removed the hands of an artist and found humor in the irony. He didn’t answer immediately like he normally would with a direct question. This couldn’t possibly be considered a personal question that he enjoys avoiding, it has only to do with you.

“Please…” you sounded pathetic, even to yourself. The way your bottom lip pouted out and wobbled, the way your eyes watered a little as if you’d cry at any moment, the way you trembled. You didn’t want to grab onto his pant leg, still mindful that a kick from him could easily be your undoing. You’d have to wait till given permission. A pet is what he wants, right?

You could finally be hitting that special point of breaking.

This could be another delusion you’d conjured up and you’re moments away from a lot of pain or isolation again. It’s impossible to tell. No power rested in your hands, and that small realization had tears rolling down your cheeks as you looked at the man who’d reduced you to this mess.

Begging him for measly scraps of what should be your right. Humans needed the physical contact for their health, and while he was clearly the devil, you needed it. Needed him. Needed anything.

“Fei please… I’ll be good, whatever you want, please… I need- hck!” Your sobs were cut short as your body moved faster than your mind could process. You’d nearly bitten into your tongue as you choked for breath, unable to fully comprehend exactly what happened.

The leggings and sweater you wore weren’t warm at all to you. Even blankets seemed to have a chill that seeped through them. Right now though, warmth was creeping through your clothes as mint and copper flooded your senses. He’d pulled you into his lap. The realization was shocking, but the next thought was thrown away when thin strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you into his chest.

“Oh” words died on your lips as a sensation you couldn’t name overcame you. You’d never realized how stiff you were until your body began to relax. Fully relax. “Oh…” it came out breathy and nearly excited, as you foolishly wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in the crook of it.

This was insanity.

He was all muscle unsurprisingly, but it didn’t deter you from trying to mold yourself to him. Your much softer figure held in his arms so gently it made a new wave of tears threaten to spill for all new reasons. You straddled him, front flush against his own, as you struggled to accept that you were being held right now.

“This?” His voice so close to your ear had a strange tingling sensation move from your neck down your spine. The shiver didn’t go unnoticed, as his hold tightened and pressed you further against him. It wasn’t necessarily the most pleasant way to be held, but it was many times better than nothing. You nodded against him, mumbling out a soft good as you basked in a moment of joy you hadn’t experienced in what seemed like forever. It felt good to be held.

It felt even better when his hand moved and brushed through your hair. His touch light and careful, and you could imagine how he was noting every little detail of your reactions. The shivers and little sighs you released as he continued to just pet, touch, and hold you.

For once, you dreaded him stopping.

Even as your eyes grew heavy and body went limp in his arms, you dreaded when this would end. If you could just figure a way to keep him like this, you could envision your life being bearable.

“Fei” you didn’t make any effort to move.

“Hmm” his chest vibrated a little with his hum.

“Can I sleep with you?” It didn’t take a genius to realize your question caused him to tense. His muscles tightening up and panic seeping into your system as you worry this took it too far. You both slept separately unless absolutely necessary, something you used to be grateful for and now hated. It was always freezing when you slept, no matter how warm it actually was.

You might’ve ruined his grace, overstepped if anything, but you needed to stay close to him physically. It wasn’t a want anymore but a necessity.

“Yes” his word both shocked and elated you, and with a few more gentle pats in his arms, you were asleep.

Your cunt throbbed and ached, your lower belly pulled tight inside like a string about to snap. You tried closing your legs, whining as the hot wet sensation continued despite the light struggle you began to put up. It felt good, whatever dream you were having, even as the scent of mint and soap surrounded you.

Small whimpers and gasps became heavy panting as you felt raw heavy pleasure blossom in your core. Something prodded your entrance, wiggling bit by bit till you were penetrated and stretched on something long and hard. It moved and rubbed inside you. The warm pressure on your clit only pulling you further.

It was heaven, even as a slight burn inside had you back to whining and arching your back as your cunt stretched to allow something else inside. Fingers?

The thought was gone as the pleasure radiated throughout your whole body.

It wouldn’t be the first wet dream you’d had, but it was the most realistic. The hot breath on your sensitive clit and twitching insides felt real, and the pleasure was so crisp. Your hands curled into the sheets, struggling between sleep and the impending orgasm threatening to take you.

Your eyes popped open as you came, body twisting as a sharp moan punctuated the air.

You were awake and finally realizing this wasn’t a delusion or dream. Someone was lapping at your cunt, your thighs held open and pinned by two pale hands. The sensitivity and slight bewilderment of the situation had you struggling to form a coherent thought.

“Fei-Feitan…?” If there was one thing you knew with perfect certainty, it was that he’d never leave you alone long enough for someone to find you and do this. It couldn’t be anyone else. Though the fact he was doing this was even more incomprehensible. He seemed so disgusted by touch, so detached from human emotions, it really never occurred to you that he’d have normal human urges. He was still lapping at your cunt, even as your eyes locked with his own, even darker in the barely lit room you realized was his own. You were in his bed, with his head buried between your legs, and his eyes locked on you.

“Fei!” A weaker orgasm than the first was torn from you as you came again, sensitivity skyrocketing when he still continued to lick and suck on your clit. The room was spinning slightly, and your naked body began to cool a little as you sweat. He’d stripped you. He must’ve, but things weren’t really connecting in your mind as white hot pleasure was turning mildly painful.

“Too much!” You gasped and you had to force your hands to stay tangled in the sheet to not touch him. Your eyes watered and you made a pitiful sight with your darkening cheeks and open panting mouth. As your back arched to avoid his mouth, a sharp slap to your outer thigh had you yelping in pain.

His eyes narrowed, and it wasn’t hard to see he became annoyed with your squirming.

“Shut up.” His tone was low, no room for arguing or protest as you bit your lip to do as you were told. Trembling under him as he raised up to stare down at you between your spread legs. He looked gorgeous, something you hated to admit. His dark hair mildly tussled and pale skin a little flushed, his signature jacket gone. This wasn’t the first you’d seen his naked chest, but it was certainly a rare occasion. His pants were still on but unbuttoned. His lips were the most sinful aspect, still glossy from your release. It was agonizing to be silent.

You should cry and beg for him to stop.

Instead you found your legs spreading just a bit wider as you looked up at him like he was your personal deity.

Debauched.

His slow and condescending smirk only made your breathing harder, chest tightening with anticipation and lust. He snorted, hand moving to spread your cunt open as he spit on it. You were panting now, barely following his order to stay quiet. It was difficult when you wanted to beg, for more, for him, to be touched.

“This what you wanted? Whore.” His crude words didn’t make this any less arousing, especially as he unzipped his pants and pulled his cock free. He was larger than you’d have ever expected, though it hardly mattered as he lined himself up and began pushing into your unused hole. Despite the wetness and prep, it was slightly painful as he filled you. The heaviness inside coupled with the burn was delicious as your hips moved to take more of him, deeper. You couldn’t help the moan, the way your body shook and hands finally moved to touch him.

He was fast in securing both your wrists in one hand to pin above your head, his hips finally kissing the back of your thighs. You felt him twitch inside you, and it drove you wild.

“Please Fei, oh-!” His hand came down on your thigh again, before he pulled his hips back and slammed into you. Your head goes back as you arch into him and moan louder, as he begins a brutal pace that has your chest moving in rhythm with his thrusts. His tip kissing your cervix has you unwinding into a submissive mess of whining and pleas. You didn’t even know what you were begging for.

You either annoyed or aroused him further when he sneered and used his free hand to grip your jaw, thankfully not roughly as it ached nonetheless, forcing you to open wide before spitting into your mouth. He laughed when you clenched down harder, feeling the coil in your stomach tightening again as the pleasure increased.

“Pretty slut likes being my bitch.” He hardly seemed out of breath despite how hard you were panting. You felt a bit unfair at how unfazed he seemed, but similarly proud at how he gazed down at you. Like you made him pleased. His gaze wasn’t sharp, even bordering on warm despite how roughly he was fucking into you. All you could do was moan his name and beg.

Like a good little pet.

You could feel your orgasm coming again, and you’d meant to tell him, but his lips against yours shocked you silly. You didn’t even bother closing your mouth, Feitan easily slipping his tongue inside and kissing you so sensually it had you coming on his cock. You could only whine into his mouth as his speed picked up and you became overwhelmed.

He pulled away as a string of saliva connected you two for a moment before breaking. He licked his lips before focusing on where the two of you were joined. Watching his cock disappear in your sopping wet little cunt. It was filthy and erotic.

“Pathetic” his words were cruel but he looked beyond pleased as he looked at your fucked out expression. Unable to even form words as he continued to bully your poor pussy. It was laughable to him, how sweet you are now, how obedient and submissive you’ve finally become. All that fight and control gone, and in its place you lay now.

He’d never tell you out loud how perfect you are. How absolutely precious he finds your attempts to run away from all the pleasure he’s giving you.

His training has been worth while, making you everything he wants and more. Though he’d hated the power you held over him, having you now, moaning as he drills your cunt and begging for more, takes away the shame. You were his weren’t you? Then anything he wanted to do was fine, it wasn’t shameful to fuck his toy. Especially when she whined and arched her back up to take him in even deeper, when she cried and came again around him.

Feitan saw you as much more than a measly pet. Those were replaceable. No, you were just his, whatever he wants you to be, but still his. That’s why when he wraps his hand around your pretty neck and squeezes, he’s beyond thrilled at how you relax. You throw caution to the wind and give him everything. He’s not cutting off oxygen, but enough blood flow and air to keep you light headed and disoriented.

“Who do you belong to?” He knows you can hardly tell up from down right now. He knows how good he’s fucking you. Reducing you to this beautiful mess of feeling only. He’s still him though, and it brings him only pleasure to add in another few painful smacks to your bruising thighs. “Answer slut” he asks again, being thrown for a power trip as you choke out, “You!” to him.

His balls tightening signal he’s close, and the thought alone is enough to amuse him.

“Going to cum inside.” His words don’t register immediately to you, he can tell, but it seems all reality isn’t gone from you when your eyes widen.

“I-I- pregnant! I’ll get-“ he cuts you off with a chuckle, hand squeezing your throat enough to shut you up as he savors the sounds of wet squelching echoing in tune with his thrusts.

“My personal cock sleeve doesn’t get to talk.” The struggle you put up is worthless, but entertaining as he really does cum inside you, a soft grunt his only indication of release and overwhelming pleasure. Emptying himself inside and filling you with him. Marking you, painting you inside, signally you belong to him in every way now.

You lay exhausted and sore in his bed, cold as the various liquids dry on your skin and Feitan leaves.

Where he goes it doesn’t matter. You let yourself lay for a little longer before deciding it’s best not to anger him by staying in his space. You move to sit up, wincing as your intimate areas ache, but pushing forward nonetheless to get cleaned up and change his sheets and any mess left behind.

You hate the hollow ache in your chest the most. You look at your thighs to see his cum leaking out of you, and a sliver of dread echoes in your mind that you truly could become pregnant. The possibilities too much for you to handle right now, as you shakily slide off the bed to stand on wobbly legs. He could be back any moment, and it’s best you get to work early. You work on removing the sheets, just as the bedroom door opens to reveal a fresh Feitan, his signature jacket in place as he holds a glass of water.

“What are you doing?” His question is asked in a slightly lower tone that usual, and you quickly freeze in place.

“I-I’m cleaning up…?” You don’t mean to sound hesitant, but this situation is new and will require months of careful inquisition to avoid punishment under his hand. You knew better than to continue any task without his go ahead though.

You stand in silence as he observes you with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Come here” his order is curt, and while it terrifies you, you are quick to stumble over to him despite still being naked and filthy. You hate how badly you must look, barely able to walk while he is up and about his usual day as if nothing even happened. To him maybe nothing did happen, this being just the same as making a sandwich, and you wished the thought didn’t hurt. Maybe this would just be a new pain to live with, and the sooner you accepted that, the better your pathetic existence would be.

You stand just before him, fingers twisting around each other as you stay with your head bowed to stare at his feet while you concentrated on staying upright despite how difficult it felt for your hips and legs to support you.

“Not hard enough?” His words confused you, as you peaked up beneath your lashes to look at him curiously.

“I-I don’t understand…”

“Didn’t fuck you hard enough?” You froze in shock and slight fear, because what did that mean? He fucked you too hard in your personal opinion, and your poor slit agreed.

“Y-you did though…?” You were unsure of what was happening, his gaze not giving anything away.

“Get back on the bed. I didn’t say I was done with you.” Your eyes widened, taking a moment too long to register what he said before his foot took a step closer to you and you scrambled back onto the sheet-less bed in a panic. He paused, observing you again, before tilting his head.

“Next time I’m done with you, don’t move” he’s undoing his pants again, and moving towards you.

“I’ll fuck you good this time.” His words menacing and mean, and you’re left with little wiggle room as he closes in.

It’s his job after all to clean you up and piece you back together, and if you can fix yourself when he’s done, he clearly didn’t a good job the first round.

[toshidou]

taskforce 141 - favourite positions . . .

Characters // Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" Mactavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Captain John Price

Tags // 18+ ONLY, afab reader, creampie, biting, squirting, smoking, dominant Price.

AN // don't ask me why the price one was so long, because the only answer you're going to get is "excruciating brainrot"

(if you don't know any of the positions, don't be afraid to get on with some googling. i promise it'll be totally worth the bug-eyed stare you'll be getting from your assigned FBI agent.)

Simon “Ghost” Riley - Doggy style

He knows it’s cliché as fuck, but there’s something about being able to hold your hips as he loses himself in you that just drives him fucking wild. 

Especially when he fucks you so good, your arms give out, your back arched so perfectly before him. You look like the definition of ‘face down, ass up', so much so that the sight alone has his eyes rolling straight to the back of his head. 

He’ll make you hold that position for as long as possible, veins popping in his arms as he holds your hips up for you, cock drilling near torturously against your fluttering walls, clenching each time his balls slap against your throbbing clit.

It's addictive, being able to watch how well you take his cock, blackened eyes locked on the way your pussy takes every thick inch of him, strong fingers prying apart the reddened globes of your ass to get a better look at how prettily your cunt spasms around his shaft, at how your velvet walls desperately attempt to suck him in to the hilt.

And it always takes every ounce of strength within him not to cum on the spot when he glances up and sees your face tilted to the side from where it's pressed against a drool soaked pillow; lidded, molten eyes pinned on him from under your lashes, perfectly pink lips stretched open, leaking endless breathy whines and soft moans of his name that have him turning near fucking feral.

When he's getting close, he'll plaster his chest to your back, hands coming down harshly, planted either side of your head, low grunts and harsh breaths panted against the shell of your ear, "that's it, sweetheart, takin' my cock like you were fuckin' made for it, made just for me."

Anytime he has your skin within reach of his mouth, he never hesitates to bite down, adorning every inch of your skin with teeth indentations that bruise, semi-permanent reminders that you're his (the knowledge that you wear his marks when he's away are sometimes the only thing that get's him through).

He'll lean back up before he climaxes, not afraid to admit he has an addiction to watching the way his cum dribbles in thick rivulets down your thighs, unable to stop himself from dragging his spent cock up your sweat and cum slicked skin, gathering his seed on the reddened tip, only to lazily push it back right back into you.

(Sometimes that alone has the blood rushing right back to his dick, fucking you straight into round two, no breaks required. That's the effect you have on him.)

John “Soap” Mactavish - G-Whiz

No matter how it starts, you will always end up in this position, your legs thrown over Johnny's shoulders, his hands gripping your outer thighs so hard you know he's left bruises, again.

Not that either of you are complaining, not when you know just how wild having you like this drives him, frenzied eyes darting constantly up the length of your body, from your fucked out face, down to the way your tits bounce with every aggressive cant of his hips against your ass, finally landing on the piece de résistance, your perfect little hole, stretched so beautifully around him.

There are many reasons this is favourite way to fuck you senseless, almost too many to name. Whether it be the way he can drag his fingers up your quivering legs, holding your knees from where they hook over thick, built shoulders, using them as a leverage to fuck into your pussy harder, harder, harder, just like you're senselessly begging him for between hiccupped breaths.

Or maybe because he knows that when he's away, the only thing you'll be thinking about as you frantically grind your core against his pillow will be this. The perfect way he rolls his hips, hitting the angle that has you screaming his name every single fucking time without fail. Thick, rough fingers rubbing harsh circles against your abused clit as you squirt around his cock, shaking hands forming an ironclad grip on his wrist that lets him know that you're teetering on the edge of insanity, body unable to work out whether it wants him to stop, or if it needs more.

He knows it's always the latter.

"C'mon hen, I know you can gimme more, show me how pretty you look when I fuckin' ruin ya."

When he's finally done with you, his cockhead buried against your cervix, pumping you full of every drop of cum he has to offer, he'll litter the side of your thighs with feather-light kisses and gentle praises, all uttered against your skin with a giddy smile that won't leave his lips for hours afterwards.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick - Pretzel Dip

Without a doubt, there's nothing that Gaz could say he loves more than eye contact. The intimacy he feels from keeping his gaze locked to yours as you fall apart on his cock has kept him awake on more nights that he cares to admit whenever you're apart.

Plagued by the image of you half leant on your side, head lolling as your energy dips, all consumed by the pleasure that rolls through your nervous system in continuous, agonising waves. Haunted by the memories of one of his thighs sandwiched betwixt both of yours, clenching around him in unison with the walls of your pussy as he drags his cock against it in torturously slow, deep thrusts.

He saves fucking you like this for when he's finally reunited with you, uses it as one of his many motivations to return home safe, because when you're finally cradled in his arms once more, it's only a matter of minutes before he has you just the way he wants you: on your side and shaking. It works for you as well, unable to prevent the wetness that gathers between your thighs when you learn that Kyle is mere hours from returning, knowing what will inevitably come the second he walks through the door.

He doesn't let his eyes leave yours for a second, barely remembers to fucking blink, because he knows how flustered you get when he looks at you like this, like a man starved and the only thing that could ever satiate him is you.

He'll keep the pace languid, if only to watch the way soft gasps turn to keening pleas, adorable little begs falling from your mouth when the contentedness of his return transforms into unbridled desperation, not a single thought residing in your mind other than the all consuming need to cum.

He'll only begins to really fuck you when he feels the coil in his gut start to wind, unable to hold back the animalistic urge to pound you into the mattress, his gaze turning from soft, to predatory in mere seconds. It's the only hint you get before he's splitting you in half, watching you with wild eyes as you grip onto the bedsheets in a last ditch attempt to find purchase, to keep you somewhat anchored as his cock slams into you at near inhuman speed.

Neither of you last much longer after that, frenzied hips stuttering to a standstill as the coil finally snaps, lidded eyes still remain fixed to yours, only closing when he leans down and captures your lips with his, cradling your tired neck with such care, it has you preening into his touch.

"God, I've missed you, gorgeous."

"Missed me, or my pussy?"

"Am I not allowed to say both? I feel like I'm not allowed to say both."

"... I mean I missed your dick. Can't say as much about the rest of you -oof- no! No hickies, I have work tomorrow you fucking heathen—"

John Price - Cowgirl

There aren't many things John can say he loves more than watching you ride his cock. Of course, he loves his cigars, and will never pass up a glass of whiskey after a long night. But this? Nothing comes fucking close.

No, none of those things are a patch on the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock, hands much daintier than his could ever be planted squarely against his chest, wisps of curled hair peaking from between spread fingers as you use his torso as leverage to bounce harder, faster on his twitching length.

He lets you do all the work, lidded, relaxed eyes languidly taking in the way your face twists in frustration, eyebrows pinched together, annoyed little humphs exhaled past downturned lips as your energy rapidly depletes, thigh muscles burning from overexertion battling against the need to please, to wipe the smug, cocky smirk from the Captain's lips and leave him breathless instead.

Sometimes, if he's really looking to rile you up, he'll reach his hands down towards your waist, savouring the way your eyes light up, only to see that optimism snuffed out the second he reaches for his trouser pocket, hanging just below his hips, and pulls out a fresh cigar and his favourite lighter, the one you bought him. A purchase you sincerely regret every time it's used to taunt you.

He'll hang the rolled tobacco between self-satisfied lips, maintaining steady eye contact as he flicks open the cap of the stainless steel lighter, and sparks up. No matter how hard you try to keep your reactions at bay, they always slip through, fingernails biting into his skin, inking red crescents into his chest, rising to the challenge he sets, even if you know you're giving him exactly what he wants.

The taunting will only get worse, every drop in your pace has him smirking, fingers that remain attached to the cigar pull it from his lips, letting smoke billow from his open mouth, watching as it curls in playful tendrils, caressing your face as they pass by. Always followed by words that aim to goad, rasped out in a low, intoxicating tone so condescending that it has your knees shaking.

"Need help already, sweetheart?"

"Look at how much your thighs are shaking. Is that from exhaustion, or my cock?"

"Come on now, thought I taught you how to ride dick better than this, love."

And like clockwork, you snap, fingers plucking the lit cigar from his mouth and stamping it out against his discarded shirt. There are many ways you've fired him up enough to finally fuck you. But for a second you fear that the line may have been well and truly crossed.

"Now now, pet, I think you might live to regret that."

You'd get little other warning before rough hands come to grip the plush of your waist, lifting you enough to allow him to plant his feet against the bed and fuck up into you so hard you have little other choice than to collapse against his chest, fingernails leaving biting red lines across skin as you feel his cock hammer against the convulsing walls of your cunt, somehow deeper than you knew possible, dragging against pleasure points you didn't know existed until Price had come along and effectively ruined you for any other man.

It wouldn't take much to send you careening off the edge, pussy clamping down on his cock hard enough he can't help but follow, rough, deep groans reverberate through his chest, where your head is still firmly planted, exhaustion creeping through every aching muscle as you whimper pathetically into red, welted skin, finding comfort in the soft tickle of his chest hair against your tear splotched cheeks.

"Did so well for me, love, always make me feel so fuckin' good."

Because no matter how much Price loves to provoke you, he'll always be there to soothe you afterwards, with soft caresses and consuming kisses.

A pause— 

"Can't believe you put out my fuckin' cigar, and on my favourite shirt, no less."

"It was the least you deserved, John, and you know it."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crash and Burn 8

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Tony Stark

Summary: a powerful man comes crashing into your life. Literally.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

It feels like hours since it began. The night assures you of the passing time as each second stretches into eternity. You’re weak as you lay on the floor, sprawled and twitching, as your nerves continue to torture you from the inside.  

A coat of sweat covers every pore and your hair is damp with the endless struggle between hot and cold. You claw at your cheeks and neck as if you can rip open your own flesh like a coat. You just want to be free. You want it to stop. 

You moan senselessly as another thrum builds. Your insides squirm and that knot begins to tie around itself. You heave and curl up in a ball as you bite down on your lip. Right as you’re about to climax, the tide ebbs and leaves you dried out. 

“Please,” you sob, “Tony, please... I can’t...” you rasp as you try to sit up, only to fall back onto your side, “please...” 

“What’sa matter, sweetheart? You need some help?” He taunts as his footsteps echo around the room. 

“Yessss,” you whine. 

“Mm, and how can I help you?” He tisks. 

“Please...” 

“Tell me. Tell me what you want me to do to help you, sweetheart,” he stops, his shadow looming over you like a wraith. “Say it nice and clear for me.” 

You groan and wipe your forehead, a sheen slathering your knuckles. 

“Tony, please--” 

“Say it, baby, because I’m a bit confused here. You said you didn’t want me but you’re sending mixed signals--” 

“Just!” You screech and force yourself flat, your body vibrating. “Please, Tony, fuck me. Just do it. End it. I need... I need to cum. It hurts.” 

“Ah, I know it hurts. You know what else hurts? Words. You called me disgusting,” he scoffs. 

You growl and writhe. He hasn’t exactly proven you wrong but you can’t think straight enough to argue. You can’t think at all. 

“Please, you’re not—I--” 

“Tell me you want me, sweetheart.” 

You pout and your eyes well with tears, “I want you. Please.” 

“And how do you want me?” He kneels down, hovering by your head as he holds a finger over his watch. 

“I... any way? I don’t care--” 

“Tell me how you want me,” he demands. 

You groan and clutch at your chest, “inside me. Er, oh...” you drone, “from behind?” 

“Oh, kinky girl? You got a nice peach, don’t ya?” He reaches to tickle your thigh and you babble as you bite your lip. Just a touch and you’re on fire. 

He pulls his hand away from his watch. The buzz inside of you remains tepid but still there, just enough to keep you uncomfortable. He grabs you by your arm and stands, hauling you up to your feet. Your legs wobble dangerously under you. 

He wraps his arm around your back and turns you to face the cityscape outside the tower. He walks you across the room and leads you before the window. He shifts to stand behind you and guides your hands to the glass pane. You brace it desperately as you fight to keep from collapsing. 

The sharp cut of his zipper rises in the air and you whimper. Your palms smear on the window as he lets his pants fall to his ankles with a rustle that sends a breeze up your back. You shiver as he traces the curves of your sides and frames your hips. He brings your feet back so you stand at a slight angle. He kicks your heels apart with his leather shoe. 

You can’t help but arch in expectation. Desperation. You just need it to end. You need the release. Your panting breaths fog up the glass as the city sparkles back at you. 

He keeps a hand on your hip as his other flutters up your ass. You moan and he snickers. He steps closer and pulls his thumb back to press his tip down between your cheeks. You groan and lean back, begging silently. 

He rubs himself up and down your crack, teasing you, taunting you. Your thighs quiver and your fingertips stick to the glass, squeaking loudly. You stand on your toes and push against him. 

He trails down and presses his tip along your entrance. You whine and stick your tongue. You purr around it and slap the window. You wish he would just put it in! 

As if he can read your thoughts, he dips into you. You gurgle and put your forehead to the glass pane. You growl as he bottoms out and drags his hand up to your neck. He pins you as you are and thrusts. The panel shakes but you don’t have the sense to care. 

He slides back and you reach to latch onto him. You pull him back into you and dig your nails into him. He slaps his hand over yours and bucks. You grunt and huff. 

“Fucking more,” you demand. 

“Hey, sweetheart, don’t get snappy with me.” 

He rams again and you squeal. 

“Fuck, yeah,” you sigh. “Fuck.” 

“Mmm, I like you like this,” he ruts again. “Clinging onto me for dear life.” 

He flicks his wrist oddly and suddenly, the pane slides away and you’re left with only air before you. You flail out with one arm as you hang onto him with your other. He keeps you balance as he snakes his arm around you and rolls his hips. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he snarls as he bends to nuzzles your shoulder. “I got ya.” 

[niko-sasaki-dbd]

Can we just stop for a second and think about Charles attending his own funeral?

I can’t stop picturing him—still not used to being dead—playing a sickening version of hide and seek, just him and his fears. He’s still a kid, hidden in a dark corner, watching his mother’s tears shed over a casket that will shortly be buried six feet under. Rotting.

He is the uninvited guest, observing her from the shadows. He doesn’t find a trace of the silent tears in her eyes—the ones he had seen a thousand times before—but there’s desperation instead. A violent tremble shakes her shoulders, her sobs are stealing the air from her lungs. There’s pain running down her cheeks, the sort of torturing agony that can only be driven by guilt, and loss, and grief.

He sees people around, unknown voices trying to calm her down. He sees blurred faces, question marks, beating hearts but blind eyes. They don’t know anything about her, and they will never know anything about him.

He wants to get closer, but he doesn’t know how. He wants to never see her again. He wants to scream; he wants to tell her that he would have never chosen to leave her if he had been granted the choice. He wants her to look at him; he wants her to hold him as she’s holding onto that inert wooden box.

But she never will.

Just one more time, he looks at her intently.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart.”

Just one more time, he takes one step closer.

“I promise…”

Just one more—

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Rowland.”

It's cold again. He retreats to the shadows and looks ahead. There's no one, not a single person, who shows less kindness than his own father.

He stays three steps away from his mother, with a hardened expression that never changes. They may think he's stoic, but Charles knows better; he is looking at him—at the lifeless body that once was him—with so much contained rage. It looks like home, the unwelcoming preamble to another beating, and Charles believes he is selfish for feeling relieved, for finding solace in his own death.

There is no one around to judge him for it, yet he still worries so much; he's safe, but somehow, he's still crying on the floor inside his mind, and the bruises keep blooming, and the pain feels so real.

"Charles?"

How can he explain that he wants to be alive, but he doesn't want his life back? It's just a plight he would rather avoid because he fears that if he keeps thinking about it, the water would come back, and this time, he wouldn't be able to find a way out. He would be trapped forever, fighting senselessly against the freezing cold, suffocating within the walls of his own nightmare.

Alone.

"Are you alright?"

He doesn't want to stay and haunt this place; he doesn't want to be remembered like this. He would rather pray for his mother to let him go, and for the violence to let go of her.

"Would you prefer me to wait for you outside?"

He doesn't want to feel fragile, he doesn't want to be useless, he doesn't want to be angry. He would rather bury his own aching body along with all his losses, but he would remember his father's eyes, just in case.

For now, he needs to put himself together because there's someone looking for him—hide and seek, but it's not scary anymore—maybe he will have to leave his hideout soon, but is it losing when you want to be found?

"No,"

Cold colors seem warmer when the light comes in.

Don't leave me.

"I'll go with you."

[taintedcigs]

eddie and steve live together & steve is completely in love with reader but she’s with eddie.

he comes home one day and shes standing in the kitchen making lunch in the tightest yoga pants and he is literally gonna implode. he can’t handle it anymore 🥺

to the edge — s.h.

a/n: wrote this while listening to deftones and omfg this idea is KILLING ME nonnie!!! did not proof-read pls ignore all mistakes!! im sorry i made this soso pervy but i swear i held myself back lmao!! also idk if this is what u wanted but hope u enjoy bb <33

warnings: perv!steve,18+ only, minors dni!!!!! kinda dark but not rlly ??, male m*sturbation, steve j*rking off to ur picture, degrading nicknames but also praising kind of! just filthy idk what is going thru my head im sick. (wc: 1.5k+)

Steve didn't know how much longer he could handle this.

How much longer could he hide this from you? Or even more importantly, how much longer could he hide this from Eddie?

His breath strained the moment he came home from work, he was already worked up, going through hours and hours of paper work, and now he was beyond frustrated.

Because there you stood with the prettiest smile adorning your face as you greeted him, he couldn't help but let his eyes wander off to your body when you wore the tightest fucking yoga pants that he had ever seen.

Showing all of your curves in the best possible way, the way your breasts juggled as you skipped over to give him a greeting hug.

He felt... so fucking perverted about his thoughts of you, the way his entire body froze when your breasts squeezed over his chest, the way his hands lingered on your waist when all he wanted to do was lower them further, cupping your ass while you squealed, hitting his chest with those pretty giggles escaping your lips.

"Can you help me out?" You asked with those doe-eyes. Steve was sure he would do anything you asked if you gave him that look. Any fucking thing.

He nodded breathlessly, no words able to push past his lips as he watched you in awe.

Eddie was nowhere to be seen, probably still stuck at work and Steve felt horrible. He felt horrible by how he eyed you, he felt horrible by how his mind framed you beneath him, whimpering for more until he pounded into you senselessly.

And he was doing every fucking thing he could to keep it in his pants, it was truly torture. But he seemed to be doing fine. Until you decided to brush past him in an attempt to reach the knife next to him.

It wasn't intentional, you probably thought nothing of it. But the way your curves molded into him, the way your ass grazed against his boner was a whole new territory that Steve wasn't ready for yet.

In his mind, you two might as well have been naked. And he knew he was fucked. Because all Steve could think about now was fucking you from behind, seeing that pretty view of your ass while you melted into him, pretty lips opening slightly to mewl at him for more, his hips relentlessly pounding into you, his veiny cock stretching that perfect little cunt he always dreamed about.

Fucking you senselessly until your mind was filled with nothing but Steve, and his cock. He wanted to have you drooling for him, begging for him to let you cum, begging for more...

Shit.

Steve looked down at the bulge in his pants, it was very fucking visible as his cock strained against his zipper, even the wet patch from his pre-cum was starting to form and he knew if he didn't do something about it he was going to explode.

"I—I'm just so... tired." He fake yawned, and you looked up at him.

"Oh! It's okay, I'll just finish up here, there isn't much left anyway." You gave him a small smile.

"You... uh— you sure?" He asked, hand perfectly placed to cover up his boner.

"Yes, yes... I'll let you know when the dinner is ready, Stevie." You giggled, waving him off.

Stevie.

He didn't even know how he made it to his bedroom, heaving a breath of relief as soon as he locked the door.

Stevie. He was sure you were trying to fucking kill him.

Steve was quick to take off his pants, almost juggling over them by how fast he was being.

Jesus fucking Christ

He shouldn't do this, he can't fucking do this.

He tried to reason, but the memories of you flashed through his mind faster than he could comprehend, the way those tight yoga pants framed your curves in the best way possible, the way you licked your lips as you concentrated on cutting those damn vegetables.

He could turn every memory of you into something sexual, he could picture those lips wrapped around his throbbing cock, your delicate tongue lapping up his pre-cum as your mouth struggled to take all of his length, and you stared up at him with those doe eyes.

Fuckfuckfuck.

He couldn't hold it off as he climbed into bed, trying his best to stifle his grunts when he wrenched his cock from his boxers. His cock pulsed harder as he swiped his thumb along the tip, hissing as he spread the bead of pre-cum that collected at his pink tip.

A low groan rose in his throat, as he closed his eyes. Shaky hands stroking up his lengthy cock. So slowly.

And all he can imagine was you.

He wanted you so badly that it ached, his cock in his grip was almost hot to touch, pulsating with need.

He wanted— no, he needed you. He needed you trembling under him, eager to fill all of your holes, he wanted you pleading for him, he wanted to sheath himself inside of you, as he told you how much he loved you.

He wanted to fill you to the brim, not stopping until he made sure that you were stuffed with his cum, not stopping until he made sure he painted your velvety walls white.

He fisted his cock feverishly at his thoughts, so roughly that his knuckles turned white. But he didn't care, pictures of you etched into his brain were enough to get him over the edge.

Steve was sure he had never felt this way before, he felt out of his mind, hooked on you. You were like a drug he couldn't get enough of, and it was killing him.

He tried to keep his moans stifled—but it was so hard when his dirty mind was filled with X-rated images of you.

You with your mouth hung open, tongue sticking out as you begged to taste his cum, to feel his load shooting down your throat.

"Fuck—fucking slut." He let out before he could stop himself. Tugging harder at his abused cock. "Such—such a pretty baby for me, yea?" He praised envisioning you.

He didn't hesitate to grab his bedside picture when he felt himself closer to release. He examined the picture carefully, curses slipping past his lips. There you stood next to him, and there was Eddie.

His veins throbbed with rage at the sight of him, he knew it was wrong, so fucking wrong. But every inch of him resented Eddie for getting to have you.

His thumb was quick to cover Eddie's face, he gripped harder on the picture as he focused on you.

God, did you look pretty.

Your hands were wrapped around his waist as you leaned toward him, you looked so fucking happy.

You wore the smallest fucking skirt, and your tits were pressed up against your tiny top, and it was driving Steve crazy.

He stroked his cock harder and harder as he imagined you naked, squirming under him. "Please, Stevie." You mewled, the nickname clinging to his mind.

"Cum inside of me, Stevie. Please, baby... please—need your cum." He imagined you whimpering, batting your lashes at him as tears threatened to spill from those innocent eyes.

And Steve reveled in the thought, of having you begging for his cum, his desire to get you full of him, the visual of his cum leaking out of your cunt pulled a guttural groan out of him.

"Please, Stevie, wanna be filled with your load."

He tugged at his cock harder, the thought of you begging for him, the thought of you begging to be his flooded his mind. "'M gonna make you mine, honey." He promised.

"Shit—gonna fuck my load into you, yeah, baby?"

"Gonna make you my personal fuckin' cock sleeve." He cursed as he stroked harder, gripping the picture in his hand.

"Make you my fuckin' cum dump." He groaned, the desire to have you jolted every inch of him.

"'M yours, Stevie." He envisioned you mewling for him.

And that thought finally sent him over the edge, he spurted his warm cum all over the picture in his hand. Most of it spilling on your frame as he let out loud groans, not even able to hide or stifle them anymore.

He grunted as the last of his load dripped from his softened tip onto your lips and all over your face on the picture. He couldn't help the satisfied smile on his face as he admired it.

You looked so fucking gorgeous with his cum spurted all over your pretty little face.

"Stevie!" You called out for his name and Steve froze immediately.

He panicked and covered himself up as soon as you knocked on the door.

Did you fucking hear him?

Did you know about his disgusting thoughts?

"Y—yeah?" He replied, voice filled with shame.

Thankfully, you didn't open the door as you just yelled. "Dinner is ready!" He heaved a sigh of relief quickly.

You were going to be the death of him.

[mesetacadre]

Half-doubting if this anon was even a good idea to begin with but, am I a bad communist for being actively hostile against any form of authoritarian concentration of power?

I just don't think any single person could embody the revolution much less serve it on a system built entirely on personalism where we worship the leader instead of the workers themselves. The only role individual people should have on communism is that of thinkers and philosophers, not of absolute rulers.

This may be drawn from a personal bias though, my country was destroyed by a dictatorship that would have gladly shot me and hid my body for being a lesbian and I have developed animosity towards authoritarians that is perhaps unhealthy.

Where do we draw the line to avoid becoming a red painted tyranny? Or am I just not a good communist for my intransigence?

Thank you for your time

I'll break this down into two parts, authority and idolatry

Authority is a value-neutral, metaphysical concept. It is the use of some kind of force to impose a will on others. If you consider yourself a communist, then how do you intend to overthrow capitalism without exerting authority? Engels said it best: «A revolution is certainly the most authoritarian thing there is; it is the act whereby one part of the population imposes its will upon the other part by means of rifles, bayonets and cannon — authoritarian means, if such there be at all». We must come to terms with this, as revolutionary marxists. If we refuse the concept of authority all-together, then all that can happen is that authority is applied against our entire class, for the rest of time. I also live in a first-world country that used to have a fascist dictatorship, and the ~150,000 thousand killed for political reasons, 30,000 disappeared, 500,000 interned in concentration camps, more than 100,000 summary trials, tens of thousands of slaves and the thousands tortured up to the very end can speak to its destructiveness. But it wasn't as simple as "they used authority, therefore all authority (abstractly) is bad". Franco's dictatorship responded to a series of needs that the Spanish and European bourgeoisie had, by the time of their sponsored coup d'etat in 1936, Spain was at the forefront of organization of the working class in Europe, the communist party had hundreds of thousand members if you include their youth wing, and the biggest unions reached the millions, in a country of just under 25 million. Italy, Germany, Austria and Portugal found themselves in a similar resurgence when their fascists took power, in every case financed by their biggest capitalists, national and foreign.

The point I'm getting at is that, if you want to understand class society, you have to go beyond the black-and-white, metaphysical liberal philosophy. Violence can be exerted by multiple classes through their own class organizations, and the character, context and sense of that violence changes accordingly. I'm not saying that all violence committed by workers without exception is wholly good. I'm saying that the relationship each class has with class society modifies the very reasoning and effect of that violence. And no example of violence in history can be really described as senseless. My country's dictatorship did not kill, torture and repress that many people for no reason, the holocaust did not happen because Hitler was an evil entity, and the various proletarian states, past and present, have not exerted their authority senselessly.

In marxist theory there are two very important concepts: the dictatorship of the bourgeoisie (DotB), and the dictatorship of the proletariat (DotP). The DotB is a catch-all term for any state of any form that serves capitalist interests. This is useful because, whether it's a liberal democracy with a strong welfare system, or Pinochet's Chile, they both ultimately serve to protect and expand the interest of the capitalist class. Put another way, the capitalist economy sustains the state and other entities like the media, the military, the government (what we call the suprastructure), while the capitalist economy underneath it all (what we call the infrastructure) maintains its existence. It is a dictatorship because it is one class enacting their own will in their own interests. The DotP is the same concept, but turned on its head. After our class has taken power and has began to build socialism-communism, it is actively enacting their sole will in their own interests. Why would the formerly exploited listen to what their former exploiters want? The proletariat must be able to repress the extant capitalist elements within and the permanently hostile capitalist class without. Dwell on this for a moment. While a DotP fosters democratic mechanisms for its class, the social majority (as all DotP in history have done), it simultaneously exerts its authority on those extraneous to the working class. If you live in a capitalist state, the very same thing is happening, just reversed. The managers of capitalism, i.e. the representatives in liberal democracy, govern for the capitalist class, even representing various sections of that class, while simultaneously repressing or preventing any organization of the working class.

I did not mention Chile as an example for no reason beforehand. When the working class of Chile attempted to build socialism through non-violent means, after the election of Allende (there were many tendencies within Allende's party and among his entire support base but that's beyond this post), they were met with an intervention that did not have any qualms about using violence, kickstarting Pinochet's 17 year long dictatorship, backed by Chilean and USAmerican capitalists, atop the corpses of at least 40,000 executed and/or tortured. Look up the massacre of Estadio Nacional if you're interested, it's where Victor Jara was murdered.

"Authority" in DotP is never as widespread nor as violent, firstly because it doesn't aim to repress the social majority, but rather the small but resourceful capitalist class, and secondly because its "repression" more often than not manifests in our actual goals, which is to build a socialist economy, which would necessarily eliminate the social basis for a capitalist class to exist in the first place. In the USSR, for example, the rich landowner peasants disappeared first an foremost because the structure of land ownership was completely changed, eliminating the source of their power. Any instances of actual violence were mostly against saboteurs during collectivization or during the grain seizures to curb the mass starvation that happened in the cities during the civil war, since no grain made it there. Capitalist authority is meant to keep the mass of working people subservient and exploited, proletarian authority is meant to protect the project of socialism-communism against attacks. It has never been about killing all the rich people, it has been about abolishing the capitalist mode of production and building a new one, one which does not need the oppression of any kind of people to keep functioning.

I recommend the following books if you're interested in sources about "authority" and democracy in DotPs:

The Soviets Expected It, Anna Louise Strong (1941). It is focused on the USSR's lead-up to the fascist invasion, but it contains a few examples from ALS' own, unsupervised, experience with soviet democracy and the general attitude of working people

In North Korea: First Eyewitness Reports, Anna Louise Strong (1949). Same as the previous one, it has a few examples of ALS' unsupervised travels through North Korea before the Korean War that talk about how democracy was set up.

The Triumph of Evil, Austin Murphy (2002). I've said a lot how this author is very annoying about keeping to this useless good vs evil dichotomy when talking about socialism and capitalism, but apart from those sporadic remarks, it's incredibly well researched. It focuses on economic aspects, but chapters 1, 2, especially 3, and 7 all contain analyses on the actual mechanisms of authority that DotP use, taking East Germany as an example. Again though, the author is very annoying as soon as he begins to give his personal opinions on morality.

Stasi State or Socialist Paradise? The German Democratic Republic and What Became of It, Bruni de la Motte and John Green (2015). Pretty self explanatory title, this one goes into more detail about the security apparatus of East Germany. I haven't read this one in full, but it has a dedicated chapter on democracy and the state security service.

Onto idolatry. I promise this part will be shorter.

I've written more in detail about this, but while personality worship is a problem, I don't agree that it leads to the problems you outline. It's undeniable that there have been elements of individual idolatry, but that's neither a reflection of actual power concentration or ever a substitution for the elevation of workers. Leadership in any communist party is always collective, and if it follows Leninist principles of organization even partially, then internal democracy is always guaranteed save for the most extreme of situations. Stalin might have been a popular figure, but the Central Committee he was a part of was not below him, and the periodical Congresses had more authority than the CC or any individual person. ALS mentions how, for example, the 1936 constitution was made. It was a wholly democratic process, more than a hundred thousand suggestions were all recieved and considered by the organs in charge. It was the most progressive constitution in its time, it guaranteed rights many of us still do not have. And that process supposedly happened while the "worship" of Stalin was in full force. Every position in DotPs has some mechanism of recall and accountability, everything is elected and ratified. Can you start a process of recall for any specific member of the state administration in your DotB? In one instance, as ALS says, in the region of Crimea up to half of the elected officials were all recalled in one year.

I keep using the USSR as an example because it's the system I'm most familiar with, but any other DotP you can think of has similar mechanisms and limitations to power. Once again, was there a certain amount of idolatry towards a few individuals? Yes. Was this a harmful vice which created unchecked concentration of power and undue oppression? Most certainly not. Besides this, we're materialists, and we understand that human psychology is largely molded by the underlying material conditions. Focusing on individuals when it comes to these sorts of things is almost inevitable for large groups of people because of how the exploitative economic conditions modify psychological tendencies. It is a remain of liberal ideology for the most part, and it should be fought against. But you can't expect millions of people to change how they view certain processes, changes like those take a lot of time, generations, and education.

I've spent essentially all of my political life within a party structure not very dissimilar from that of Cuba's, the USSR's, China's, the DPRK's, etc, and I can say with full confidence that it is the most democratic and simultaneously productive set of principles you can have in political activity. Compared to liberal democracy, and compared to horizontalist/non-centralized structures, even those employed by anarchists, which I have also experienced, it is still far more democratic and effective at taking into account all input without devolving into a glorified debate club.

I don't think you're a bad communist, having these doubts and talking to other people about it is a very good habit to have. If you still have doubts or want to keep talking about this, feel free to shoot me another ask or a private message :)

[misskuromichan]

Hi! You thought I was finished? Nope, not at all. Here's your reminder that we've reached day 106 of the genocide in Palestine. We should NOT be reaching 100+ days of a LITERAL MASSACRE. Therefore, I'm not going to let y'all live this down, because NOBODY should be okay with what's going on. Once again: Men, women, and children are being brutally tortured, mocked, and massacred by IOF soldiers. Gaza has gone without Internet for a week, and god forbid more are being killed without anyone's knowledge. How can anyone sit here and not be disgusted by the fact that tens of thousands of Palestinians have been killed for existing, yet these colonizing monsters aren't being punished for being inhumane including the US and UK, who are definitely contributors to this?? The occupation NEEDS to stop. No person on this earth deserves to be wiped out so senselessly.

Another thing: If, for some godforsaken reason, the world has the audacity to make this evil genocide go on for 365 days, I will be SO GODDAMN PISSED. I am once again asking for you all to STOP ABANDONING YOUR HUMANITY AND RAISE YOUR VOICES. SCREAM IF YOU HAVE TO. WE NEED TO BE WASPS IN THE EARS OF OUR REPS. ESPECIALLY THOSE WHO LIVE IN COMPLICIT COUNTRIES. I'm sick of seeing people's lives be cut short, all because some can't be bothered to care. I'm standing with Palestine and doing the best I can to help. You should be too, it's your obligation and your right as a human to care about them. No more dead children. No more dead civilians. No more mocking the innocent. No more famine. No more displacement. No more erasure of culture. Free Palestine, Free Palestine, Free Palestine 🇵🇸

P.S.: Pay attention to other genocides as well, like in Sudan and the Congo. Keep your eyes on all the countries that are forced to survive a genocide, because they need their freedom too. Everybody needs and deserves to be freed from oppression. Keep talking about everything! To everyone who's going through these genocides, I love and care about you. I'm proud of you for perservering, and I want y'all to get your land back. Stay safe, be careful, and always know that there are people fighting for you all and your freedom. You shouldn't have to prove that you're worthy of living a life free of occupation and cruelty: you were already worthy the second you were conceived. You are not just numbers and statistics. Your lives, cultures, families, and experiences are just as essential as anyone else's, and deserve to be kept alive and remembered.

Nobody's free until EVERYONE is free.

[checkertrains]

I WANT TO HEAR MORE ABOUT CHARLIE IN YOUR AU, she’s so interesting, please??!!

Omg I did not see the notification for this at all SO sorry for making ya wait so long 😭😭, I’m so glad you like her!! There’s a lot of stuffs I had planned for her in this au, and I am planning on making a fic for it in the future!

I could give ya some fun fact about lil Char char in this Au!

-as it has been written in the pic, she is a lot more confident and got most of her act together compare to our normal Charlie, she’s been raised without much shelter, and she does know Heaven isn’t exactly a well balanced place, but she still think it’s better to redeem people than just killing them senselessly. She is also working on a way to kill them that doesn’t erase them from existence, and instead make it so that when kill they can reincarnates and basically have a fresh start at life. She haven’t made much progress cause humans souls are complicated and dealing with them in bigger numbers is even more of a pain in the ass lol

-KOH Charlie is well trained when it comes to beating people ass, and unlike our normal Charlie, Hell doesn’t ridiculous her at every chance they get. Because she does not stand being disrespected like that and would make it known who she is (often with a little scare, she still doesn’t like to resort to violence), and also mostly cause Adam and Luci would probably skin and torture each one that does dare disrespect her (much to Charlie annoyance)

-Charlie knows Vaggie (or Agatha in this Au) is a exorcist from the beginning, and still she lend her hand and bring the injured Angel home regardless, an injured person is still a injured person after all. And it took an embarrassing amount of time for the two of them to realized they have feelings for each other lol, it all work out in the end, not without some bumps in the road of course but yeah. Charlie and Agatha is literally a match made in Hell❤️ Agatha is the brain and the thinker in the relationship, she’s a lot more cool down compare to when she was still a exorcist, Charlie is the heart and soul in the relationship, she make sure both of them don’t push themselves too far (even tho she’s a hypocrite about it sometime LMAO) and she provides the emotions sides to Agatha plans and ideas.

I’m still brainstorming a design for Agatha but hopefully I’ll be able to give her one that fit, I’m still debating on what to do for the other residents of the hotel too agh….once again I’m so happy you’re interested in my lil au 😭😭🙏🙏‼️‼️💚💚

[ravel-puzzlewell]

can we talk about shadowheart tho. her writing absolutely baffles me. like. when she admits she's shar's cleric, she gives u a speech about how shar is misunderstood and that like she's all about exposing bad ppl, toppling corrupt governments, using shady methods to get shit done, etc.

cool, so she believes that shar achieves good goals, so like. to me it seemed that her arc would be about realizing how it's not true, becoming disillusioned in shar, cue good old thats me in the corner losing my religion etc etc

and it just never happens? like we see a lot of evil shit shar has done all over the place and shadowheart never questions it, never even tries to rationalize the answers to keep her faith, its like she just doesn't care. and we as a player can't confront her either, we can't say shadowheart do you think shar successfully utilized girlpower when she cursed entire region with radioactive shadows and split it's spirit in half? instead we find like. shar's torture device secret chamber and shadowheart goes awww i wanna be a dark justiciar so baaaaaad

and then. then at culmination, at scene where she's deciding to kill aasimar or not, you can't give her arguments. you can't be like look at everything that shar has done all over this place, do you still believe this is for greater good? what greater good can justify this? what higher purpose is there in senselessly killing a prisoner again and again?

no you can only say like. you can't allow your goddess to control you! what do you meeean. like??? this isn't how faith works. clerics supposed to like. BELIEVE in the same things their god does. so far shadowheart was pro-everything shar-related she saw. she's like. enthusiastically into it. even if she's brainwashed, she still very much WANTED to be dark justiciar. and now it's all - oh, its shar "controlling" her. like. Shadowheart even said that shar's head nun or whatever told her that she isn't ready to become dark justiciar. This is very much shadowheart's own initiative. Why is it framed around like listening to yourself, instead of changing BELIEFS?

and THEN. after she doesn't kill. aasimar says. "Don't you find it oh so curious you would spurn your Dark lady? Perhaps you feel a stirring of the truth already" and then later reveal that shadowheart was like. selunite kidnapped by shar ppl. and this is why she didn't kill aasimar. WHICH??

like apparently shadowheart is the first to show mercy in a century not because she had a chance to live outside of cult for a while, meet and befriend new people and broaden her worldview, realizing her cults doctrine is false. no no no. she did it bc she's just INHERENTELY a good person. she just like. had intrusive thoughts urging her to be good. she just needed listen to herself. bc she's actually a selunite and not sharran. and like, all other dark justiciar apparently are just inherently evil and it was never possible for them to choose not to kill.

like how do you take a perfectly serviceable narrative about cult member escaping brainwashing due to being able to socialize outsife of her cult and instead make it about Selunite essentialism.

[sublimebabydoll]

I love the idea of being tortured into diaper dependency. the thought of being tied up, paci-gagged, helpless in bed, and being spanked and slapped senselessly all while daddy coos "you're just a little girl, who can't control her bladder, especially when you're feeling big feelings. as soon as you go tinkies daddy will stop. he just needs to train you to be okay going tinkles anytime, anywhere." then, my silly baby bladder can't take the abuse, and finally let's go, warm tinkles spreading down my leg, stinging my fresh cuts.

I then imagine being given a sweet and tender bath all over my fragile broken body, as I'm told what a sweet and docile girl I've been, and how quickly I've taken to diaper training. then being wrapped up in a big fluffy blanket and changed into a big, thick diapie and jammies to protect my achey lil bum.

[rillils]

“You’re worth a lot more than this, Buck,”

SAM JUST SAID THIS TO BUCKY. AND HE LAUGHED. BUCKY LAUGHED.

he doesnt believe him, because if he really is worth a lot more than this, he thinks, then why did steve leave him

But of course, endgame isnt real

IM CRYING RILS. MY CHILD. LORD PLEASE. JUST LET HIM BE SOFT. AND LET HIM BE STEVE'S

of COURSE endgame isn't real, sweetheart, you're absolutely right!!! and bucky means SO MUCH to steve!!!! in fact, i was gonna say--

Bucky can’t get drunk.

He discovered that new, unsavory reality pretty early on, by leading quite a few misery-fueled experiments on his own, whenever war granted him the respite and the solitude to do so. Eventually, he had no choice but to accept that, try as he might, the pleasant buzz and the grief-dulling fumes would no longer be accessible to him.

But when Steve makes love to him like this, the intoxicating warmth spreading low in Bucky’s belly feels all too familiar.

When Steve lays him out on their softest sheets, like a feast to be savored one generous mouthful at a time. When Steve holds his gaze as he sinks between Bucky’s thighs, graceful as a cat and hungry as a wolf, pleasure dancing in his eyes as his lips wrap red and shiny around Bucky’s cock, and he holds it on his tongue as though it were cotton candy melting against the roof of his mouth.

When he spends long, honey-gold forevers working Bucky open with skilled fingers, chasing Bucky’s sweet spot over and over until it’s Bucky himself, breathless and mad with pleasure, who reaches down for him and tugs him up by the underarms, pulling Steve’s gorgeous weight on top of him; his hips cinched between Bucky’s legs, where they ought to have been a whole, torturous eternity ago.

When Steve gives in, and slides home with a shuddering gasp, his mouth slack and his eyes half-lidded, and his name rises from Bucky’s lips with the helpless pitch of ecstasy.

It feels just like that. Like he remembers it feeling the last time he got nice and tipsy, enough so that the world had started to blur around the edges. That simmering heat curling in his belly and reaching out to his limbs, pouring into every nook and cranny of him, singing in his arms, in his legs, pulsing in the tips of his fingers like a heartbeat. Burning him up from within like a fever; flushing his cheeks, welling up in his glossy eyes, filling up the back of his throat.

That time, the last time he remembers getting drunk, Steve was with him.

Of course he was, Bucky thinks senselessly, his back arching off the rumpled sheets. Of course, of course, of course he was there. How else would they have explored the world and all its countless facts, if not by testing them all together?

Steve’s eyes seek him, devouring him inch by inch. His nose and his gasping mouth, and the cleft of his chin. The sweat beading over Bucky’s brow, darkening his hair at his temples, teasing it into damp curls.

Consumed, is how Bucky feels; eaten to the white of his bones, stripped clean of every part, and yet more whole than he’s ever been before.

“Do you know,” Steve pants, one hand planted on the mattress by Bucky’s metal shoulder, the other skating down along Bucky’s flank, searching, needy. “Do you know what you are to me?”

He thrusts in, slow and deep and full of purpose, and Bucky loses himself to the feeling for a moment, blind and deaf to anything that isn’t the slick press of Steve’s cock filling him, satiating him for a few precious seconds only to leave him hungry and wanting again, over and over.

“Steve,” he moans, gripping Steve’s shoulders almost blindly, desperate to find an anchor in this sweet, raging storm. “Please, please–”

Steve’s hand slips under him, fingers splayed as wide as they’ll go, lifting Bucky’s hips off the bed to press him closer.

“You’re my whole world,” Steve rasps, his voice hoarse, tight with passion, like a muscle pulled taut. Bucky can’t help but look up at him, soak up the sight of him.

Steve, moving above him, lovely and beautiful beyond words. His mouth bitten red with kisses, the apples of his cheeks burning pink above the dirty gold of his beard, hot under Bucky’s touch. His broad shoulders, boxing Bucky in. The sheen of sweat gleaming on his skin, dancing with his every move, catching the morning light with the flitting of Steve’s muscles, all grace and subtle power.

Mine, says the pulp of Bucky’s heart, beating frantically in his chest. Mine, and he’d scream it proudly from each rooftop, climb to the top of the world and above to scream it joyfully to the heavens, so that even the stars would know.

“You’re my everything,” Steve breathes out, leaning down until their bodies are flush together; his heaving chest pressed to Bucky’s own, and Bucky’s cock trapped, snug and aching, between their bellies. “D’ya hear that, honey? My everything,” Steve says, eyes never leaving Bucky’s face.

Bucky nods, out of breath. His heart will stop here and now, he’s sure of it. Stop, or burst into a thousand white-hot sparks inside his ribcage, the measure of his love too big for any heart to contain.

Steve’s mouth grazes his own, soft and wet.

“Tell me,” he all but gasps against Bucky’s lips, and the leisurely rocking of his hips picks up a new rhythm, more urgent now. “Tell me what you are to me, Buck.”

It’s like a fire, blazing with bright, vibrant pleasure up Bucky’s spine, blinding him.

“I’m–”

They’re mouth to mouth, both parted; too slack to kiss, too desperate to stray any farther than that. The air is thick between them, damp with their hot breaths, and Bucky, Bucky’s not drunk, he knows now–

“Yours, I’m yours, your–”

–he’s in bliss, molten gold and sun-bright halo, gripped by an ecstasy that threatens to spill over with every stroke of Steve’s fevered cock inside him – that has him trembling at the notion of his own body, parting like soft butter for him, greedy for nothing but him.

“I’m your– your everything, your–”

And when it does spill over, pouring hotly between their bodies, and Steve’s whispering breathless praise against his lips, Bucky knows he wouldn’t need the kiss of alcohol even if he could get drunk, after all.

[xerith-42]

Hmgngmhn dialogue idea between Travis and Aphmau that I can't be bothered to make into a proper scene yet but I'm very proud of

"Aphmau, are you a reader of ancient mythos?"

"I can't say I am. Laurance always has some comparison to make to their plays though."

"Hm. Guess I'll have to tell him this some time."

"Tell him what?"

"There's an old myth about a man named Sisyphus. I've thought about it a lot."

"Care to tell me what's on your mind?"

"The finer details don't really matter, what's important is that Sisyphus was punished by the gods. As a punishment for his ambitions, he was cursed to eternal torture. Push a boulder up a hill, and then push it back down."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Does it accomplish anything?"

"Nothing."

"That's awful."

"It's how I felt on that island. For a while, every single day was the same thing. Wake up, fight off the Demon Warlock, get yelled at for fighting off the Demon Warlock, go to bed. Then you wake up and do it all again."

"Up the hill..."

"...Down the hill. It's maddening."

"Strangely enough, I think I can relate to that."

"Really?"

"Not exactly, but a similar concept. Being a lord can feel like that sometimes. Wake up, check in on everyone, address problems in the village, start a new project, go to bed. Then you wake up and do it all again."

"But you like being a lord."

"I love it. And I would never call it a punishment."

"So it's not really the same."

"Why not? Who's to say Sisyph-- Sisy-- That guy! wasn't able to eventually love that boulder!"

"Wh-What??"

"Or maybe he loves the hill. But he has to love something, otherwise why would he keep going?"

"Well, the gods also cursed him with immortality so he couldn't die."

"You said the finer details don't matter!"

"Okay, but that's not a finer detail!"

"Then why didn't you say it before?! You said--"

"I know what I said--"

"No! No, you specifically said "finer details don't matter." You didn't say Sisy-whoever was immortal, so it's counted in those finer details!"

"Oh my Irene. I said that in regards to things like his family, and why he was punished."

"Are you saying that someone's family doesn't matter in their story? That they should only be known for their most miserable moment?"

"...It sounds awful when you say it like that."

"Then tell me the full story."

"Fine. Sisyphus was a tyrant, who slaughtered so senselessly that the gods sought to punish him. In response, Sisyphus attempted to cheat death. He used his own wife and risked her life while doing so. As recompense he was given the immortal life he craved, but burdened with the punishment of his boulder and his hill. An endless task with no meaning, no purpose, no respite. Endless solitude, endless repetition."

"Oh."

"I'm... still trying to figure out what it means."

"Why did he do it?"

"I don't know. I don't know why he did any of what he did. And quite frankly... I don't know if he deserved his punishment."

"I... Don't either."