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moondirti · 1 year

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give peace a chance

I missed you, you want to say, but you know it’ll do nothing to change this routine. You settle on a question he’ll have a response to, for all it can do to uncover thoughts he’d want to bury deep.

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 3.4k summary: you’re always there, waiting on him warnings: size kink, blowjobs, facefucking, thigh riding, masturbation, squirting, angst, brief mentions of death, canon typical violence, mild mild gore, fluff notes: had 'Yes to Heaven' by lana del rey on loop while writing this one. out of body experience fr. anyway, i finally gave in and wrote for the boogey man. he's been occupying too much headspace for me to not.

You don’t hear him come in.

Crisp, white sheets gather in a knot at your midsection – previously pristine, wrinkles pull at its surface now. You can’t sleep, but that’s most nights.

Your curtains dance with an incoming drift, lazy gauze, sheer in the cresting moonlight. If you weren’t so absorbed in the white noise of your whirring fan, you could catch the quiet click of your backdoor. You always leave it open, just in case; people know not to dare take advantage of the liberties you exhibit. There’s the invisible threat, protection, of a shadowed mercenary over your toytown home.

His missions are incalculable. That’s the one thing he cannot promise you. Come back soon, you beg, but he leaves you with a silent kiss and nothing else.

There were once days where you’d tag along. Your chest twinges at the uncomfortable reminder. Cracked bone, spilt ichor; the bullet had barely missed your heart, lodged between the throbbing organ and a major vessel. He’d raged to get you decommissioned, incensed demands – they’d never seen him as angry.

Carpet flattens under your bare feet as you crawl out of bed, soft, like all things here. You hadn’t the luxury of comfort before, when Simon was Ghost and you were a rookie under him, but he’d granted you a life you sought only in your dreams. The first few days in paradise, you were torn over appreciation and resentment at the act, bandages wrapped around your chest – but you’d healed and found the irreversible damage etched into the hard plate of your clavicle – a rounded, discoloured scar.

You’re glad you’d left that life behind.

Padding out to the kitchen, you pour yourself a drink. The cupboard underneath your sink contains only bourbon – blended, straight, kentucky – so you fish out juice from your fridge. It’s sickly sweet, all natural sugars, your ass.

“Shouldn’t drink that stuff.” A voice cuts the tranquillity, rugged and choppy on harsh consonants – a cockney accent. You soothe the alarmed surprise racing in your gut, a gentle smile turning your cheeks.

His eyes pierce back at you, a smudge of white against an otherwise charcoal canvas. He’s sitting at the dining table, just across your kitchen island, his massive form illuminated by the warm light you’d turned on. You don’t know how you missed him, but then again, the man lives up to his name. Ghost; creeping up like the dead.

“We’re all out of milk.” You respond, your tease lilting to an affectionate whisper when it hits your tongue. Simon scoffs. “Not like whiskey’s any better.”

You pour him a glass regardless.

He’s still equipped in his tactical gear, his gun set on the chair next to him. It adds unnecessary bulk, layers on layers of insulation, conservation – impossibly, he looks bigger like this. Larger than life. Your hands run along the coarse material of his bullet proof vest; you think you can feel his muscles tense, despite the surfaces separating you. But he takes the bourbon with little fuss, wrapping a strong arm around your legs so your knees knock the side of his thigh.

“Hi,” You giggle, beaming down at him.

“Hey.” He mocks, setting the drink down.

His hard-shell mask conceals any tells you may glean. In just the balaclava, you can catch the shape of his lips, the curve of his nose, when he smiles – the painted fabric pulls taut over his features. But a skull stares back at you, and all you have are his eyes, framed with ashen lashes. They’re only enough to tell you one thing; he’s happy to be home.

You love the way they catch the light, a subtle glimmer in them.

For a while, the two of you just stand there, revelling in the weighted company of one another. His gloved hand presses circles into your flesh, just under the hem of your sleeping shorts, while yours find every bit of exposed skin you can. There’s not much – just the small stretch of neck you can reach, tucked behind his collar before the rest of him disappears. But you find it with reverence, smoothing over it, his heated body slowly easing by the minute under your ministrations. Some part of you realises the desperation you observe him with, the hurried glances at his back, his stomach, his legs. You look for darkened, sticky fabric. You look for blood.

You don’t have the courage to speak your fears into fruition.

Simon slowly begins to pull the heavier parts of his armour off. The night vision goggles on his head, the packets of ammo stuffed into available pockets. You move to help him, humming, shifting as you unbuckle the back of his plate carrier. His groans are wicked, deep waves of relief stemming from somewhere in his chest, and you hide the blush that arises at the sound, throwing the layer into an unknown corner. You remember the soreness, the knotted shoulders from days in the same kit, your spine in aching need of a good long stretch. You make a mental note to rub his back later.

You take off his gloves. There’s little give – they’re crusted in dried gore and gunpowder, the bones on their front almost entirely camouflaged. A sharp tug is what it takes to peel them off his hands. But then his skin is bared to you. You survey the grit that dusts the contours of his veins. Dirt has sunk through the fibres.

When he’s left in just his mask and underclothes, he finally slumps, posture altering from that of a soldier’s to one of a tired man. His legs spread, thick thighs filling his pants, and he reaches for his drink again, lifting the bottom of his mask and balaclava to take a large gulp. His newly revealed Adam's apple bobs with the motion.

“How many men?” You speak into the space. He pauses, his pink lips pursing at the brim of his glass. You have half a mind to regret asking, but you do this for your own solace.

“Jus’ three.” Just. To anyone else, he may sound indifferent, his tone etched in that low timbre, unwavering with the grief over lost comrades. To you, you know that his pain is cavernous, a bottomless chasm he’ll undoubtedly return to. Indicatively, he pulls his mask back down over his face. It isn’t just three men. It’s three too many – but it’s on the lower end of the casualties the 141 usually faces.

You wait for him to say the words you’re looking for.

“They’re alright.”

You nod. Al Bravo team was not amongst the fatalities. Gaz. Price. Soap. You cling onto the reassurance of your friends’ continued survival, a buoy until the next raging storm.

Simon’s hand returns to its place on your leg, tracing long lines along the back of it. You shiver, suppressing the heat that spreads up your tummy like wildfire. His steel gaze is indecipherable as he looks up at you; your emotions flit across your face erratically. You wish he’d take the mask off, get on even footing with you, but it takes a while for him to come down from his missions. For as long as he’s racked with enduring adrenaline, he’ll keep his guard up.

He’s surrounded by the safe walls of your – his – home, but he’s in over his head.

You bow down, placing a gentle kiss on the curve of his jaw. The arm wrapped around you draws you closer.

He smells like saltpetre, guncotton, hints of kerosene floating in the air between you. You push your face nearer to his, and you’re able to catch a faint whiff of his aftershave, traces of the cleanliness and cologne he leaves behind here, with you. You open your mouth to comment on it; he beats you to your cause:

“Lovely girl.” He squeezes the flesh on your upper thigh – not quite your ass, but almost.

“Mmm, Simon.” You start, capturing his eyes. They bear down on you with an intensity that makes your core ache. “Y’Can’t keep doing this to me.”

You imagine he’s smirking when he retaliates. “Can say the same for you, expectin’ me to focus out there when you look this good.” Like a giddy schoolgirl, you bite your lip at his compliment.

Stirring to kiss his jaw again, you slowly start to unzip his windbreaker. Your fingers span the front of the black hoodie underneath, tracing the hard plane of his chest, feeling it rumble with a noiseless groan. His legs spread wider. You catch a telling bulge in your peripheral.

“Need help?” You murmur, purring when he slips underneath your shorts to give your rear a feel. His callouses dig into you.

“Need you.” He says.

The hand that was on his chest inches downward now, your nails raking along. You give a half-suppressed laugh as his abdomen tightens, bracing against your ticklish assault. You want to feel it bare – to extricate the exhaustion from an uncovered torso and watch as his muscles roll, solid brawn unravelling with the slightest touch. But you’ll settle on this, you know he needs it. His mask does unspeakable things to you, anyway.

“Relax.” You encourage with a breath. Simon doesn’t listen; he still kneads your flesh with an unforgiving grip. His thumb brushes close to the soaked patch on your panties – with the appreciative grunt he gives, you know he senses the arousal emanating from you.

His cock strains his pants, taking up all the space it can. You coo, poor thing, as you cup the underside of it. He gives you a reproaching spank, and your hips buck in tandem to his. As you do, you realise now how uncomfortable of a position you’re in – your neck cramps in this angle. Really, it’s a silly thing to be hung up about, but Simon must read the subtle cringe you give, for he urges you to kneel, guiding you by your head to crawl in between his open legs.

You’re halfway under the table when you look up at him again, cheek pressed adoringly against his knee. He’s seemingly content like this, petting round your forehead to the ridge of your chin. His palm is large, dry, warm. You quickly lose trajectory as he caresses you, all droopy eyes and small smiles.

He catches when you rub your legs together, chasing a friction that will never amount to him. You can never escape his scrutiny; Simon captures everything.

He pats your cheek and pinches it before his touch leaves you. Newly awake, you perk up, perching on your haunches to lean further into him. You’re always eager, but his chuckle at your barely concealed anticipation beckons a stone to lodge itself in your throat. It’s a ball of desire, denser than most things, snowballing with every passing moment in his presence. You’re tuned in on him, rapt to every subtle thing – the deep exhales, the anchoring of his boots to hardwood floors. It’s take, take, take, an absorption of anything he’s willing to give. It tends to be like this after he comes back – was like this back on the base, when you’d known nothing but his moniker and callsign.

You recall rubbing one out to the staticky crackle of his voice over the channel, your headset pressed tight to your ears. You’d never told him that; you figure now’s a good time as any.

“Used to fantasise about you, y’know.” You sigh, ironing over his calves. You move your brushes to his hulking thighs when he begins to undo his pants, wetting your lips.

His next exhale is torn, steadiness ripped to shreds by your less-than seductive words. “Oh yeah?” He remarks, scooping into his boxers to pull his heavy cock out. “What about?”

It springs free just then, angry head flushed a deep red, blood supplied by pulsing veins that branch to the top. You keen at the precum that beads at the top, rushing to catch it with your index to slip it onto your tongue. He says nothing, merely contemplating as you wriggle with the heady taste of him.

“This,” You add after a long moment, before licking a long, wet stripe up the base of his dick. His whole body jerks unexpectedly, and he grabs onto your head to steady your impatient efforts.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

“Gone soft on me? I see.” Chortling, you play with his tip, batting it back and forth to tap your lips. He is anything but soft – regrettably, though, the rise you get from teasing him is too great to pass up.

“Shut it, pet, before I turn your insides over.” He urges you forward once he’s settled. You don’t tell him how much you’d really like him to. In due time.

Your lips wrap around the bulbous head, sides stretching to accommodate his girth. You’re familiar with the drill by now; hollow your cheeks, keep your jaw nice and loose. Use some teeth, he chokes at the pain.

His skin moves with you as you sink down , rolling your tongue over the ridges that cross your path. Your breath is hot, your mouth even hotter – sweltering, you suck him in and coat his rock-hard with a film of saliva, which aids you when you bob back up. You can’t reach the root of him, not yet – he’s way too big – so your hand wraps around the length not in your mouth.

“That’s it.” Simon rasps, now pushing you down in support. Your hum is lost in the lewd slurps, but he twitches with the vibrations it produces. A glob of drool leaks from you, seeping down to gather in his scruffy curls – you use it as slick to twist your wrist around his base.

He’s ripe with the salty taste of sweat and precum, a dizzying combination – you hope you’re subtle as you slip your free hand down your pants, pressing up into the plush of your cunt. You find where you’re most sensitive, a tight bundle of nerves, and touch yourself, all the while savouring the masculinity that engulfs you – his muscled thighs by your ears, his giant hands pressing down on your head.

A particularly loud groan sounds from above. You triple your efforts, delighted at your part in helping him unwind. At one point, his added pressure pushes you down all the way. You gag, blubbering with choked gasps, but your lips stay sealed around him, an unforgiving vacuum. His happy trail scratches your nose,

“Gonna cum, you lovely thing. Righ’ down your throat. Take it all, understand?” He asks. You’re able to discern the wobble in his abrasive voice – his balls spasm at your lips, ready to erupt at any moment. You nod, gaping at him earnestly, with wide, watery eyes. His own soften, downturning at the corners. “‘Atta girl.”

With the hazy memory of his face before he’d left, you can draw an abstraction of what he might look like right now. You trick yourself into thinking he’s smiling down at you. Gentle, caring.

You don’t have to try as hard to believe it.

Your fingers work fervently over your sopping cunt, slipping between velvet folds. Your exertion, combined with his pure fucking magnetism, is almost enough to tip you over the edge. A cluster in your gut stiffens, grows, upends. You stroke yourself impossibly faster.

Simon curls inward, his mask now directly above you. A bit of his cock drags from your mouth – your bottom teeth scrape a vein in consequence. He jolts. Then, rich, long ropes of cum shoot into your awaiting mouth, painting you with musky white. You keep jerking him as he does, urging more, more, more, milking him to spill his all into you.

A tap of your shoulder is all the evidence you need to pull off him with a pop. You didn’t cum, it doesn’t matter, you hardly feel the mounting desperation amidst the grand scheme of things. Simon’s back hits the chair, his head tilting as he takes you in.

“C’mere,” He grunts, pushing backwards to allow you space to stand. You oblige, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand – it only serves to smear the mess across your cheek. Your back brushes the table – he beckons you closer – until your bruised knees hit the edge of the chair.

When he’s satisfied, his hands run up your sides, starting at your arms, then downward, so they can hook into the waistband of your shorts. You lock onto his all-consuming stare, dark with an unspoken question, his pupils blown wide with lingering lust.

“Go ahead.” You coax.

He nods and pulls your shorts off with one, swift movement.

Cold air meets soaked cotton – you tremble, whether with goosebumps or the weight of his study, you don’t know. You’re the farthest thing from a blushing virgin, but Simon manages to propel you back into that bashful headspace. Every time with him is ruthless – stifling broken sobs while adjusting to his width, utter pleasure and the smallest bit of pain.

Perhaps you’ll forgo that this time around. He’s quickly softening against his pelvis. You understand – stamina tends to dissipate after holding out for so long. Though he’s anything but a selfish lover.

He guides you to straddle his thigh.

You squirm, hip flexors burning with the strain of splitting over the breadth of him. He keeps you steady with his hands on your waist – you clutch onto his wrists. His sleeves have rucked up to reveal his tattooed forearm. You trace the ink, reverent, requiring as much skin-to-skin as possible. It flees the fastest, that sensation, running up behind him when he exits the door. The bruises, the bites, the cramp from hitting your cervix one too many times, on the other hand – they all endure, keeping you sated long enough so that you aren’t compelled to rejoin him. He might do that on purpose, in fact.

Your clit folds as it meets his leg – a new surge of slick spills from you.

“A-Ah! Simon, y–”

“I know, pet. Jus’ ride me, yeah, like that.”

Your bottom half ruts into him, finding purchase on the solid surface of his thigh. Your panties slide, preventing the potential for divine friction, so you push them to the side, wedging it in the crevice of a lip and your pubic bone. You stutter apologies to Simon for the mess – your natural lubricant smears onto his cargo pants, sullying the fabric. He assures that he’ll wear it proudly. You’re a prouder medal than blood.

You’re whimpering now, wailing about everything and nothing all at once with your face tucked into his neck. He embraces you – sturdiness forcing you to stunt your movements to short, hurried grinds – and says nothing.

Something terrifying begins to burn in you; promising a cataclysm. It’s him. His scent, his strength, his size, his presence. I missed you. I missed you. Your impending orgasm crawls up the tendons in your pelvis, seeping into bone and flooding like a high tide. Your pants grow shallower. Your lungs feel cramped. Something about this, here, with him, lights every synapse in you, flashing bright with colours and promises and safety. I miss you.

“I miss you,” You finally gasp, broken as you peer up at him. He stills – you keep your pace. Sweat beads at your temple.

He slowly removes the mask.

The balaclava follows soon after.

Simon then bows down, pressing his lips to your furrowed brow.

And then, everything in you compresses, fierce and tight. You wind your fingers into his hair, pulling his head back to bite the column of his neck. You do it to muffle the sob that bubbles when you erupt in searing agony atop him, back arching, toes curling. Your body goes completely rigid.

He groans with the cut of your teeth, and your cunt pulsates again, spilling down on him, your fluids draining to double your mark on the man.

“Missed you too.” Simon rustles in response. You seize his mouth with yours, uncaring for how messy it is. It’s what you need; to feel your teeth knock, to bind yourself to him.

You kiss in him the intent to never let you go. You know it won’t last, but for now, it’s enough.

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lamb-of-seven · 1 year

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Head-Canons for the Demon Brothers 4

Prompt: You Catch Them Masturbating

!!Minors and Ageless Do Not Interact!!

Content Warning: Very Suggestive. Discussions of Kinks and Sexual Fantasies. Descriptions of Masturbation.

It’s Sunday Smut-Day! So here is anouther HC of the Obey Me Demon Brothers. Enjoy!

Also I wrote this late at night and I do not feel like proof reading and editing it. I got work in the morning lol.

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Lucifer: My personal head canon is that Lucifer doesn’t often masturbate. I think he is a mix of too exhausted and too prideful to pleasure himself alone. However on the rare occasion he finds himself in the mood, I picture he primarily masturbates in the shower. To him its both more convenient and less messy, so he won’t have to waist time with clean up. Catching him in the act is nearly impossible. There is not simple, oops you walked in moment. Instead the only way you end up catching him in the act is either deliberately on his part or on your part.

One late night after a long week where Lucifer had gone on a major punishment rampage of HoL and all it’s inhabitants, some of the brothers (Satan, Belphie mostly) had dragged you into a scheme to mess with Lucifer. It started off rather innocent, after all you had to shoot down some of the brothers more dramatic plans. You were going to help by taking advantage of Lucifer while he was vulnerable and in the shower. You sneak into his room as instructed, with the devised paint bomb Satan told you to hide. While you creeped around his bedroom looking for the perfect spot to plant it, you hear Lucifers voice saying your name from the bathroom. You nearly jumped out of your skin, so sure he has sensed you somehow sneaking around his room. Before you could answer, you heard him calling your name again, more husky and deep this time, it sent shivers down your spine. It was commanding and frighting but exhilarating the same. You waited a bit now outside the bathroom door, waiting for him to appear, but he didn’t. You pressed your ear to the door and could hear the water in his shower still running. “mmh, MC, yes, just like that. Good Human. Know your place.” Your knees felt week as you listened to Lucifer’s voice moan. Is he… is he…oh god I can’t even say it in my head! You think to yourself, your face turning a bright red. You suddenly hear him grunting a bit louder and faster, knowing what was coming next. Complete shocked, aroused and a bit humiliated, you dash out of his room, still clutching the paint bomb. You ran past Satan and Belphie stuttering about how you won’t do it and locked yourself in your room.

Mammon: He’s such a Simp for MC, a partier, and some of his lines when you touch him are suggestive, no one can tell me he doesn’t jack off at least once a week. In my head cannon, Mammon prefers to masturbate in his room, but he’s greedy and impulsive so I could see him quickly pleasing himself in the Bathroom at RAD after having some naughty intrusive thoughts, especially about MC. Catching him in the act is almost too easy, and has probably happened more than once.

One night Mammon was chilling on his bed, completely nude and tossing and turning among his blankets trying to sleep. He was getting more and more frustrated as time passed, his cock semi hard and his mind racing. Ugh whatever, I’ll try jackin’ off. Maybe that will get me tired. Mammon simply laid on his back, his head resting into his plush pillows and blankets completely tossed off of him. One hand wrapped around his thick member as he slowly stroked it and rubbed the tip a bit with his thumb. His other hand scrolled threw some porno videos on his go too sight, and while they peaked some of his interest, he was struggling to get himself worked up. Mammon glanced around before bringing up a secret video/photo album on his phone. It was a collection of videos and pictures of you in poses or doing things he found erotic, like you bending over his pool table, or the time you all went to the beach together and he got to see you half naked. If you or anyone found out he had these photos he would be dead. He felt his cock start to pulsate and twitch as he watched one of his videos of you on the beach, sprawled out on the sand. He imagined what it would be like to fully undress you and tease you with his fingers tongue and cock. His strokes were becoming more erratic and his breath mixed with heavy pants and grunts. And that’s when you opened his bedroom door shouting, “Mammon, have you seen my…” You got a full view of Mammon, sweating, fully nude with his erection gripped hard in his hands. After a second that felt like a frozen eternity, Mammon shrieked, throwing his phone and covering himself with his blankets. You shriek back with multiple apologies, racing out of his room and slamming the door behind you. Mammon didn’t come out of his room for a week, which is completely not like him, even Lucifer was concerned.

Leviathan: There is no way around it, this boy is a shut in otaku who is so touches starved but too shy to ask, and wants someone to love him (and dominate him). My head canon that I think most of the Obey Me fandom can agree, he’s horny and masturbates a lot. Most likely he has a collection of Henti and toys (Not as much as Asmodeus, but a good amount).

Right in the middle of the day Levi was sitting in his gaming chair was such a throbbing boner that he couldn’t concentrate at all on his game. It was his turn to do laundry this morning, but you had left your clothing in the dryer overnight. He swears his actions were innocent. He wanted to make you happy, so he took you laundry out for you and started folding it, when he saw them. Your underwear. And not just any underwear, these were made of black silk, so soft and sexy. Since that moment Levi has not stopped picturing them on you, how they would softly pinch into your skin, making that cute slight pudge by your hips. T hey way your ass would look in them. The way the black silk would cling to your sex. He couldn’t take it. He abandoned his game and quickly pulled his pants and underwear down a bit to free his member. His cock sprung to life, the tip dripping with precum. He imagined your voice calling him a pervert. A blush formed across his face. He was so aroused that he didn’t even grab on of his toys or even any lube, instead he wrapped his fingers around his member and started to pump. His toes were up on his desk, gripping and curling, while his other hand gripped the top of the chair next to his head. He bit his lip, as he started to think about you straddling him in the underwear, calling him all kinds of nasty names, maybe even running your hands on his body, and licking him. Maybe if he was good you would let him put it in you? Maybe if he begged. Levi started to pump himself very fast now, huffing, and whining and moaning, his hips rutting into his hand as well, his orgasm approaching fast. “Hey Levi wanna play that new game you….” You entered his room without a thought since his door was unlocked. You knew you were suppose to knock and say the password but you were just so excited and now you knew why. The moment Levi’s eyes met with yours he couldn’t stop himself, his orgasm crashed down on him as his moaned/ nearly yelled your name, as ribbons of white exploded out of his cock, covering his body in his own fluids. Levi couldn’t remember the last time he had cummed so hard. However clarity settled in too fast as he screeched, sobbed and fell out of his chair trying to get his pants back on. You yelled out your apologies as you ran down the hall back to your own room. Levi was mortified. He, like Mammon, also stayed in his room, however for him it was well over a month. He couldn’t even say your name, and any attempt you made to interact would be ignored. It took him a while and a lot of work on your end for him to move past this.

Satan: Personally I don’t see him masturbating that much. I think he prefers an intimate interaction of self pleasuring, but that doesn’t mean he never does it. When he does its almost always after reading a really smutty scene in a book. I don’t think he uses any toys and prefers it to be in the comfort of his own room.

Satan had started a new book recently where the main love interest was described similarly to you. Sometimes he would even catch himself reading the characters name as your name, as the words came to life in his mind it was as if he was reading a wonderful love story between the two of you. And tonight he was reading a rather thrilling chapter where the two characters finally become intimate with each other. As Satan’s eyes hungerly read the page, he couldn’t help but notice his hips squirming, his bulge becoming more apparent, and desiring some friction. His one hand starts to rub his cock through his pants. As the chapters starts to vividly describe the characters fighting for their climax, he pictured both of you in that scenario, and the slight rubbing was not enough. He unzipped his pants, letting his cock swell in his hand and began stroking himself, never taking his eyes off his book. His breath coming out in pants as the characters get cloer like himself. He didn’t hear your knocks. You entered his room, just peaking your head in calling his name. He was reading on the couch and jumped when he heard your voice. Satan tried to loudly talk about anything while he stuffed himself back into his pants and hoped you didn’t hear him zip them back up. However when he saw your blushing face, he knew that you had caught him. It made his heart quicken and blush color his face as well. “I’m sorry, I see your busy I’ll go.” You say and quickly left his room before he could even tell you to stop. Unlike Mammon and Levi, he was only a bit embarrassed. He didn’t hide in his room at all. He actually found it a bit thrilling and erotic that you caught him.

Asmodeus: My head canon is that he purposely leaves his door unlocked or even open when he is masturbating. He is proud of his body and wants everyone too see him, sometimes hoping for someone to join in with him. Catching him is too easy. He’s the personification of lust so he uses everything and anything.

The first time you catch him is on a regular school day in the afternoon. Asmodeus was admiring himself in the mirror, his new skin care products made his skin look absolutely flawless over his entire body. As he stripped out of his uniform he couldn’t help but feel a bit aroused by the feel of his own body. His cock was already twitching and standing erect by the time his pants were off. His fingers slowly and erotically rand up and down his thighs hips and belly, sending shivers through out his body. If only MC would come join me and admire my beauty right now. His inability to charm you was a sore spot for him but thrilling to imagine that moment he wins you over. He imagines with on your knees, completely undressed for him, simply wide eyes as you marvel at his perfect body. Asmo closes his eyes and imagines all these touches come from your hands. Asmo reached for his sensual body lubricant as on of his many stimulating toys. He laid down in front of his mirror, going between glancing at himself and closing his eyes to imagine the two of you getting intimate together. His hands stroked his member sensually while the other used the toy on his most sensitive spot. He whined and moaned out. That’s when he heard a knock on the door and knew it was your knock. “Come in MC, Perfect timing.” Asmo said with a panting breath. You walk in thinking everything was normal, and let out a large gasp as you see Asmo on the floor filled with ecstasy. “I was hoping you would join me MC.” Your heart is racing and face is on fire at the sight and offer. However you reject it by stammering and leaving his room, unable to say a single cohesive sentence. Though it hurt Asmo’s ego that you didn’t stay was him, he took your cute shyness as a compliment and continued to imagine it was he climaxed. You’re the one at dinner later that night who can’t seem eat there food and was incredible distracted while Asmo kept giggling as he teased you.

Beelzebub: I feel like Beels Horniness is not that low but not that high. He’s like right in the middle. I think when he does feel aroused he typically masturbates. He’s the Himbo of the group and we love him for that, so I find he is super simple minded about things. For example, I feel hungry, so I eat. He feels horny so he jacks off. It’s just as simple as that. He likes his privacy so he will do it in places where he is alone like his room when Belphie isn’t there or the shower.

One day when Belphie was napping in the attack, Beel returned to his empty room after practice. He was already showered but still felt so achy and exhausted. He laid on his bed to take a quick nap and ended up in a very deep sleep. He was happy though because he was able to dream of you and the two of you were walking through a beautiful forest where everything was edible. You had gotten covered in rare sweet honey and allowed Beel to lick it off of you. In the dream Beel found your skin very tasty with the honey and you let him take off your clothing and cover you in more honey to lick. Beel got to kiss and lick new places on you and started to feel very excited. Even in his dream he could feel how hard and needy his cock was feeling. You had pushed Beel down and drizzled honey on his member and now you were licking him. The excitement of the dream resulted in Beel waking up from his sleep, his cock throbbing and wet with precum. Beel closed his eyes savoring in his dream as his strong hands wrapped around his thick member and pumped it to the same rhythm of your mouth in his dream. Beel let out low grunts and clenched his teeth as his continued to pleasure himself. “Oh Beel I’m glad your back I was just…” You were so used to safely walking into the twins room that you never bothered knocking. You let out of squeak when you realized when Bell was doing. Beel immediately stopped and sat up straight in bed, his face red and his words simple stutters. You both start apologizing. As you turn to leave you promise to knock next time. Beel was left to sit in bed debating if he should continue or if the moment passed and he should get a snack. I think he would have a hard time making eye contact for a good week. Until you both share a meal together and hes back to normal.

Belphegor: I fully believe he’s someone who will slowly jack off and half the time never finish before he either loses interest or falls asleep. I also thing that when he does fully masturbate, it’s if he can’t sleep and needs something to exhaust him, or he does it in his sleep when having a very vivid dream. Boy has more wet dreams than anyone. Catching him in the act is rare simply because it’s rare that he does it.

However on this particular night, Belphie was having such a hard time sleeping. He had been resting a lot recently since school was on break and now he was laying in his bed listening to Beel snore as time ticked on. Maybe a change of scenery would help. Belphie crept through the halls of HoL. He passed your room, noticing the door was slightly opened. He peeked in to see you soundly sleeping. He noticed half your body was uncovered, and your were sleeping in only year underwear. Belphie chuckled to himself, and closed your door. He moved on to the attic and got himself comfortable. As he closed his eyes, he noticed that the image of your near naked body wouldn’t leave his mind and his member started to twitch. Seriously Belphie whispered to himself. He tried to ignore it but he couldn’t and now he found himself fully erect. Belphie sighed and flipped onto his back. While under the covers he started to slowly pump his cock as it throbbed and tingled. Belphie bit on his covers as he started to picture you sleeping peacefully. A blush formed on his cheeks at the thought of him possibly entering your dreams and playing with your body, teasing you mercilessly. His pace quickened and he began to moan a little, his eyes shut tight. He didn’t hear your foot steps or see you enter the attack until he heard you gasp a little. He slowed his pace but never stopped and opened his eyes to see you wearing a robe. “I thought you were looking for me when you stopped by my room before ah, anyway I’m sorry I didn’t mean too..” You were a nervous mess and Belphie liked it. “You should be. This is all your fault MC.” You blush, and your stomach flutters. Belphie laughs a little as he sees your face. Your turn and run away. Now you’re the one whos too shy to make eye contact with him and avoid him and his endless teasing.

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yourlocalstranger123 · 8 months

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Hello may I request a yandere Imbibitor Lunae (From HSR) with a reader who is a writer and very lazy doesn't mind getting kidnapped as long as the reader (You could pick the gender if u could a male) can write and very flirty and openly affectionate

Take care ❤

I'm not actually sure what you meant, but I'm just guessing that you'd prefer me doing a male so ima do it <3 of course, there isn't much details/words saying out-loud the reader is male so it can still be seen as any gender!

《 I am so sorry if you just wanted full fluff and ur a minor. If you do not feel comfortable with the pictures at the end, I don't mind taking it down!! Again, IM SO SORRY IF U DO FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE (つд；*) 》

Warning!: Kidnapping?, ofc yandere theme, broken stuff, stalking, containment, blood, murder, also slight sexual themes under the 2nd set of pictures(aka the mostly sussy one)

MINORS DNI Unless you are okay seeing some slight sexual themes. It's not fully smut, so it's okay rn.

A/N: I will still put gn, female, male reader tags but if you think that the reader is too manly or smt, I'll change it. And sorry if I used wrong tags ALSO ARTIST CREDIT IS AT THE END (except for the official art bc it's og from hsr so)

Info for reader's figure: SORRY IF U DIDN'T WANT THE MALE(or any gender since it doesn't clarify that the reader is a male) READER TO BE TALLER AND IG SLIGHTLY LARGER? IM SORRY. (´д｀|||)

–◇{Imbibitor Lunae}◇–

You simply went out for groceries. Buying some decent ingredients to make food. As you were walking back to your house, you felt someone was watching you. Looking around to see no one's eyes looked at you, you simply shrugged off the feeling and walked home tiredly. (If you had a sharp eye, you would've seen horns and a tail sticking out behind a tree....suprised that no one saw him)

You put the ingredients in the fridge, not feeling like eating dinner today. Yawning as you simply flopped down onto the bed, not even bothering to change clothes. As your eyes finally close as you drift off to sleep, you feel a figure hovering over you. But of course, you didn't get up since it was soooo comfy. Who wants to get off of bed when they FINALLY get a comfortable position to sleep.

So the figure took its advantage and....held your hand-? You feel the figure holding both of their hands to hold yours. You started to feel a bit uneasy. Maybe this is just a dream! Surely it is... you felt the other side of the bed droop as the weight of the person was on it. You can feel them trying to snuggle into your embrace, hearing them hesitantly sigh in delight as they get closer in contact.

This must be a very strange but nice dream..... The next morning, you sat up and stretched out your arms, then remembering that strange "dream" you experienced. Quickly turned your head to the other side of the bed, and you found nothing. Perhaps it was just a realistic dream! Surely no one broke into your house without any traces or not even do anything bad!(yet)

You heard something crashing, quickly running out of your room. You see a bunch of shattered plates, glasses, a broken chair, and....He even dropped the books you hard-workingly wrote on! Is he serious?! You went up to the figure, seeing his eyes widen, but you didn't care. You started lightly scolding him for breaking your books! Now you have to write the whole thing again!(the book wasn't totally a fan fiction, lmao)

His face clearly showed confusion as you continued lightly scolding him. Seeing his tail slightly droop, you stopped and sighed. Forgiving him, you were about to wave him off until you felt his tail wrapping around your leg before he crossed his arms. Frowning(pouting) at you and refused to let you go. You were about to try to get out of his grasp to re-organize the books that fell, but you soon felt dizzy, passing out before you felt him hugging you.

You found yourself in a locked room(his room?) with chains that were tied onto the bed to restrict you going too far. You heard footsteps as you saw a head with horns peeking out of the doorway, then the figure finally showed himself. (why dies he have blood on him?)

You could see him hesitating but soon let himself lay his head on your lap. Tilting his head up to look at you, quietly asking what you want for breakfast. (he's quite cute even though he had blood on him, and the blood is slightly smearing on your shirt and pants) You simply ask for an apple.

He tilted his head in confusion, asking you again, what PROPER breakfast meal do you want. (Yeah, you should get a proper meal. You know who you are) You said again, an apple. He sighed and regrettably had to leave your warmth to give you an apple. (Why weren't you mad at him? Aren't you scared that he kidnapped you?)

Before he left the door, you asked him to give you a pen or pencil and a paper if he could. Which he complied and did, only sitting beside you and watching you write a story down. But as he tried to read it, you covered his face and put away the paper. He tried to move your hands, but when he did, he felt you kiss his forehead. He quickly scooted away, trying to process what had just happened. You kissed him???.....That means you love him, right? It has to be!

You could see the blush forming around his face and neck. Hearing you chuckle made him even blush more. "Oh my, you're red as a tomato!!" You said, slightly laughing. He becomes more embarrassed but so delighted because you love him! Surely, you even kissed him on his forehead! You won't go, you won't leave him or hate him.....right..? He held your hand, hoping for more affection from you. Seeking it, desiring it, needing it

Timeskip:

"Mine..." he mumbles as he snuggles against your palm. He shudders and lets out a soft sigh when you touch his horns. Rubbing the base of his horns, he watches you enjoy touching his horns as you smile. You were about to retract your hand, but he grabbed your wrist and begged for more of your affection and warmth.

Not wanting to let go of you, he wrapped his tail around your body and tightly hugged you in place. He looked so adorable when he frowns(pouts) as he looked up at you. You couldn't resist teasing him,

You held his chin and went closer to his lips. Which in return, his face becomes red as his thoughts explode and are scattered everywhere. He shuts his eyes, waiting for you to kiss him.....but you didn't. He opened his eyes after hearing you chuckle. How mean! You didn't give him a kiss :(

His face was full of shock and disappointment. He desperately tried to get a kiss from you, tugging your sleeve he politely asks for one. He was still satisfied when you smothered his face with kisses(except for the lips, sadly) he flinched when he felt your hands petting his tail. Covering his own mouth from letting out pleasurable sighs.

"You have such beautiful scales." You said, softly picking up the tail closer to your face and kissing it, making him feel flustered. You stared at the fluff on the end of his tail, so you softly pet it too. "It's quite fluffy and soft, I feel like I'm in some sort of paradise," you slightly laughed at the statement you made.

He retracts his tail, and he suddenly rips out a scale from it. He hissed at the pain but soon held both of your hands and put the scale onto it. It was a token of his love. "I would do anything for you to prove my love, even if I have to get my hands dirty, even if I have to injure myself too. So please love me back," He begs. His sanity and life are in your hands. You were still shocked and concerned as he said this. Hearing you sigh, he panicked. Did he do something wrong? He's sorry! Please forgive him, he'll try his best to fix it! :(

He becomes putty in your hands, letting you bandage his tail (although it was a bit hard since his tail was thrashing around as he was very happy for some reason.) You kissed the injury on his tail, making him tilt his head in wonder and blush....

Soon, he lets you out of the room and even outside! Of course not without him. He glares daggers into people. If his stare could kill people, the whole world wouldn't even exist. He was about to kill the merchant that touched your hand! How dare they touch you?! (Poor merchant was trying to give you a sample of food)

And he kills the people who try to flirt with you and dispose of their corpse. He comes home all bloody as you scold him. You had to take HOURS to wash the blood off of him. And it's even worse when it got on the fur of his tail! (One time, he whimpered and moaned by accident when you scrubbed his horns and tail....didn't appear for a whole week unless u were going outside)

But he becomes sooooo flustered when you flirt with him and especially in public. (He thought you were showing people that he was yours....I mean, I can't say it's not true)

He always whines and begs if you don't give him your attention and affection. And of course, all of your love within 2 minutes. And if you don't, you'll have to comfort him that you do love him because he starts over-thinking that you don't anymore or he has done something wrong.

He was getting some empty books for you to write on until he found a book with the exact same writing.....(he may or may have bought it) he definitely bought it. He read the whole context, and whenever you were near him lately, his face turned redder than red itself! (The book was about you and him love life)

Oh, how he loves you.....he wonders how you'll react when he gives you the heart of the person you hate..well, he won't do it now until marriage.

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ourfleur · 6 months

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「Who Do You Belong To?」 [Johnny Cage x Fem Reader]

Summary: Being in a relationship with someone like Johnny Cage isn’t easy, especially when they have the same reputation he does, always so much attention always on you and your relationship. But maybe you can use that to your advantage, make them all know who this A-lister belongs to.

Tags: nsfw (basically just porn with a tiny plot lmao), semi public sex, au, dom&sub, switch reader, switch johnny, jealousy, possession, pet names (mostly baby)

An: hiii so this is my first time not only writing smut but also posting anything i write lol, i hope its not shit.. i pretty much only wrote this because i had this idea and no one had written anything like it so i wrote it myself.. anywaysss enjoy :3

follow my ao3

3 months. It had been only 3 months since you started dating the “infamous” Johnny Cage. 3 months and yet you were already more famous than 99% of the population would ever be.

You were still getting used to the fame, the constant cameras flashing in your face and the constant attention. You knew so many women would kill to be where you are, in the arms of Johnny, knowing that didn’t make life any easier. Constantly, new drama would stir up, rumours about you or your boyfriend breaking up or cheating on each other. But that… that was bearable. What wasn’t bearable was Johnny's co-star on his new movie. She wasn’t shy about wanting him and when the rumours started circulating of him ditching you for her she laughed it off and played stupid. “Oh really?”, she laughed, “I cannot confirm nor deny anything, it’s up to the fans imaginations.” That bitch made you livid.

This was supposed to be a relaxing day but you spent all of your time on Johnny's yacht reading the nasty and idiotic comments from the media. It was also extremely hard to relax considering the paparazzi was so close by, it seemed no matter where you went you could not escape them. But that revelation gave you an idea.

Getting up off the lawn chair you were lounging on, you pranced your way over to your boyfriend, who was occupied with writing his own movie. Taking the notebook out of his hands as you got on top of him. He was surprised at first but then smirked, eyeing the way your little body looked in that tiny bikini.

“Johnnyyyyy…” You whined while looking at him through half lidded eyes. Slowly, you grinded yourself on his clothed dick. “I need you right now.” You smiled, seeing the way his face contorted as you moved yourself across his lap. You leaned down to whisper in his ear, “I need everyone to understand who you belong to, so do me a favour and fuck me where they all can see.” You felt him hardening underneath you at your words. “Fuck, whatever you say baby.”

You leaned into each other, mouths crashing together in an aggressive kiss. Continuing to grind on each other while making out, only breaking to release some particularly intense whimpers. His large hands running all over your tiny body. Moving your hands down his chiselled abs, you reached the prize. Palming him through his shorts, which elicited the prettiest moans from his mouth.

Finally, you took his cock out, glistening with precum. You ran your delicate hand up and down his shaft, fingers tracing his pretty little veins and squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. You raised yourself up, letting him pull your bottoms to the side. You aligned yourself with him and slowly sunk down, making you both moan. You looked out across the water, seeing the many cameras, all focused on you and him. You began moving, listening as he moaned out your name. The way his thick cock stretched you always took you over the edge. You grinded your pretty pussy on him, over and over, not even paying attention to the poor mess of a man beneath you, only staring out at the cameras. Making sure they caught every glimpse of the way you could so easily destroy this big-shot A lister.

“No one else can make you feel this way, right baby?” You purred. “Yes.. fuckkkkk baby yes only you.” You could feel him twitch inside of you while he spoke, he was close. You frowned, “Well that cunt you work with seems to think she owns you.” You pulled yourself off of him, watching him groan with annoyance, his orgasm being denied. “What the fuck? I was close.” Cursing out your name. “Well it’s no fun if we just sit here…” You said, getting off him and leading him to the edge of the boat, your body facing the paparazzi across the water. You bent down in front of him, putting on a show as you pulled down your bikini bottoms. As you did he felt his mouth go dry at the sight of your cunt. You turned back around and moved towards him, arms reaching to grab his hair, suddenly shoving him down on his knees. “Be a good boy and eat me out while your adoring fans watch, maybe then I will let you have what you want.” Your sultry tone doing indescribable things to him.

He started by slowly nibbling and biting at your thighs, hands wrapping around them with ease. You groaned, “Don’t tease me Johnny.” Eyes staring daggers down at him. “Whatever you say…” And with that, he dove right in. His tongue flicking and circling around your clit in ways that could only be described as heavenly. Your hands dug into his hair, shoving his face closer to your aching core. He then moved his mouth down, lapping like a dog at your slick, his nose lightly grazing over your clit, leaving so much more to be desired. Your moans were getting so loud at this point you wouldn't be surprised if everyone on the beach could hear you. “Fuck Johnny, I’m close, you’re doing so good… You look so good on your knees.” Your brain turning to mush as you babble random praises, your orgasm steadily approaching.

And when it hit you were a mess. Moaning out curses and his name, legs turning to jelly. The only thing to stop you from collapsing was his hands, which were glued to your hips. After you finally regained the ability to stand on your own Johnny stood up. Licking the left behind slick on his lips with his tongue. You were about to bark another command at him before he interrupted you. “Agh fuck this. I can't take this anymore.” You were about to question him before he grabbed you, turning you around so he can bend you over on the edge of the boat. He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Im fucking tired of this, it’s my turn to ruin you, sound good baby?” His voice sent chills down your spine. You nodded, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. He leaned back and soon you felt his cock between your thighs, gliding along your folds. Then, suddenly, the feeling was gone. You turned back to face johnny only to see him walking towards his chair. He grabbed his phone and then winked at you. “For safekeeping yknow?” He finally was back behind you, stroking himself a bit before finally easing himself into you. He groaned your name, taking you fully. You could hardly contain your whimpers when he started moving.

“You look so good on camera, fuck, you should star in one of my films.” He laughed, now moving at a pace all too slow. “I’ll only star in it if I get to fuck you in it.” You responded, releasing a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a moan. He took his free hand and moved it to your clit, rough fingers circling it at an insane pace. The combination of him pounding into you and hitting that special spot inside if you and him rubbing your clit had you seeing stars. With the way you were moaning and the way your cunt was tightening around his cock he could tell you were close. “You’re so beautiful when you’re whining around my cock.” He chuckled. “F-fuck.. Johnny please I'm so close.” You stuttered out. Suddenly he grabbed you by your hair, pulling you back into his chest. He held the phone out in front of the 2 of you while beginning a relentless pace. “Smile for the camera while you come undone babe. This is your glamour shot.” You could barely focus on what he was saying due to the pleasure that was shooting through your body. He moved his hand from your hair to your neck and squeezed a little. “I said smile.” His tone was stern and that was the last straw. The knot in your stomach snapped and you came, making sure to look into the camera and smile, per his request. Your moans were near pornographic as you shook from your orgasm, falling back onto the edge of the yacht. He pulled out of you and you couldn’t help notice, he still hadn’t cummed. You turned around and glanced down to his still-hard cock and then to his face.

“You gonna come over here and fix this or what?” He questioned, smirking while he spoke. “I guess it’s only fair… you have been so good to me today Johnny.” You turned, falling to your knees. Now eye level with his length. You moved your hands to it, gently stroking your boyfriends dick, trying to see what reactions and noises you could get to come out of his pretty face. You brought your mouth to his tip, doing short kitten licks to his slit. You moved your tongue all over his cock, licking and tenderly tracing every vein with your tongue. “Come on.. don’t punish me more than you already have..” He begged, looking down at you with those puppy dog eyes you just couldn’t resist. “Grab your phone Johnny, let’s see if that whore will understand who you belong to after this.” He was taken aback by your request but nonetheless complied. The moment he started recording you were ready to put on the performance of a lifetime.

Never taking your eyes off the camera, you stuffed his cock into your mouth. Johnny quietly whimpered at the feeling of you taking him in his mouth but before he could savour it, you pulled his dick out of your mouth with a ‘pop’. “Don’t try and quiet those moans Johnny, I need to make sure everyone knows that you’re mine.” He nodded and you eased your mouth back onto him. Johnny had never seen something more beautiful than you choking on his cock. The way your mouth worked had him sure he was in heaven. His breathing sped up and he grabbed your hair. “Fuck i’m so close, let me fuck this pretty face.” You nodded and he gripped your hair tighter. He was so rough, whimpering and crying out with pleasure while shoving his dick as far down your throat as he could. His thrusts started to become sloppy and before you knew it he was painting your throat white and releasing the hottest groans and praises. He pulled his cock out of your mouth and bent down to inspect his work. “You are so gorgeous, I can never get enough of seeing your little mouth filled with my cum.” He smiled, ending the video and throwing his phone to the side while you swallowed.

Safe to say that the internet was going wild for a few months after the paparazzi released those pictures… and safe to say that his stupid co-star didn’t do shit like that again.

#mortal kombat #johnny cage #mortal kombat 1 #johnny cage fanfiction #smut #mk1 smut #mortal kombat johnny cage #mk1 #mk1 2023 #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage smut #mortal kombat fandom

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theaveragepsychoticbitch · 9 months

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Submissive!Poseidon, Jataka, Odin, and Buddha x GN!Reader. I wrote mostly with Amab reader in mind(save for Jataka's), but you can interpret it as a strap. Features cum swallowing(reader), fingering, hand jobs, masturbation, face fucking, penetration, and riding. Tags are overall in order. Kinda proofread

You love a man with the makings of a whore. And gods if Poseidon didn't fit the bill.

The murderous look in his eyes only fueled the speed of your fingers further, three cum-covered digits fucking his tight, pink hole. Merciless in the way you pound his prostate, sadistic in how you watch the pleasure make his legs tremble and twitch. He's panting, biting his lips raw even as you encourage him to let it all out. Cum covers his chest, and when you lean over him to run your tongue through it, he can't help the way his eyes roll back.

Sweat pours by the bullets from the exertion; still, you didn't let up, didn't stop pumping his sensitive dick, or sucking at its leaking, red tip. When you noticed how he'd clench when you nipped his nipples or tore at the sheets when you ran your teeth across his neck, you took advantage.

You couldn't help but adore him. He doesn't even realize how perfect of a slut he is.

His back arches, a perfect curve that you latch onto twice as tight, nails digging into his waist as he groans at the loss of contact on his cock.

You bend down and wrap your lips around it fully, hollowing your cheeks as your tongue made quick work of the beading precum there. You don't take your eyes off his pretty face once, and thank the gods you didn't.

His eyebrows knit, eyelashes fluttering over clouded blue eyes rolled to the whites as his mouth opened wide, a sound more addictive than siren song meeting your ears.

In your mouth, it throbbed once, twice, then-

Poseidon cries out, angry tears filling his eyes as you finger him through his nth orgasm of the night.

It was funny, watching how his face heated as you touched yourself in front of him. Moaning his name, keeping your legs wide so he could get an eyeful. He said he wanted to experience true happiness- you were just showing him.

"Look at me, Jataka. Watch, and see how happy you make me- how happy I could make you."

He inhales sharply, untouched cock twitching hard at your words. He looks so innocent, all flustered and twitchy, unable to make proper eye contact. His hands float around, restless as if they didn't know what to touch first, or even if they should.

You take your hand, the one you used, and grasp his chin, gentle though firm.

The pad of your thumb is fixed against his bottom lip- pillow soft. You can't resist the urge to reach in deeper, give him a taste of joy.

And he, oh, he can taste it all on his tongue one tentative lick later. It's sweet and salty, a perfect mix that has him sucking on your thumb in search for more.

And more you give him. Fucking his pretty face, grinding on his eager tongue. As you approached your climax, pride swelled in your heart and your groin as his big hands wrapped nervously around his own cock.

Odin is quite a formidable figure. But little does the world know, he's your bitch.

"It's not even all the way in yet. Were you always this pathetic?"

He groans, and you roll your eyes. His hands are tied above his head, but there was truly no need for any bondings- he'd hold his hands in place all by himself if you told him to.

You stroke his thighs, false disappointment apparent in your sigh. "Look at yourself. On the verge of cumming untouched long before I can even fuck you in true. Maybe I should shorten the foreplay next tim-"

"No."

"No?"

"Please. No. I can take it." You smirk, amusement sparkling in your eyes as you take him in. He was never an expressive God, even in the bedroom, his facial expression rarely had any big changes, and he was one hell of a silent soldier save for a few grunts.

But finally, fucking finally, you've gone and done it. You flipped the script on him- touched and stroked and fucked on him, and you can't get enough of all the sounds he makes. The way his muscles flex when you bend him every which way, how sweat travels down his forehead when he's struggling to take you, how his eyes roll back when he cums hard.

He doesn't break eye contact as he takes your arms in his hands, pulling you closer, trying to pull you deeper. "I can take it. Move."

You chuckle, grabbing his waist. "Never one to shy away from what you want, ey love?"

He doesn't get to answer as you bury yourself deep in one thrust right after.

Buddha was made for this. He finds he's experienced no greater freedom than when under your control.

"Fuck."

The cocky bastard smirks above you, riding you hard with his hand gripping your shoulder even harder. The other is on the headboard, claws puncturing the wood. You moan, and his lips are quick to swoop down and swallow it, never faltering his speed. The kiss is excited, feverish, and you dig blunt nails into the soft skin of his ass. The clap of skin on skin is hypnotic, and you start to think, 'I'd let him fuck me like this forever,'

And there it is. He's fucking you. What, were you gonna kiss his toes next? Who's the boss here, you... or him?

You, of course. And you were finally gonna act like it.

You trail your fingers along his raised arm, replacing the headboard with your hand. You clasp his tight, kissing his knuckles. You do the same with the other hand, and in the confusion of your changed intensity, he slows down. In the same second, you flip him over and capture him in a kiss. Your tongue traces his sharp canines, brushing sensually over his own tongue. You can taste candy on it still. Raspberry flavored.

Your hips snap forward, and he moans into the kiss. It doesn't end when you pull away; mouths wide, your tongues intertwine, sucking and tasting each other. It's heaven to your senses, pleasure overriding every coherent thought.

You set a brutal pace, fucking him hard into the mattress. And good fuck, he's smiling about it. Full on grinning as spit leaks down the side of his mouth and his dick bounces between you. You move your grip to encompass both his wrists.

As your hand wraps around his dick, he laughs. It's a beautiful sound, accompanied by his walls choking your cock and him throwing his head back as he cums, pearly white ropes coating both your chests.

Yet, you keep going. You fuck him hard, and smile when laughter turns to sobs.

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok x reader #poseidon snv #poseidon x reader #buddha ror #buddha snv #buddha x reader #poseidon smut #buddha smut #snv odin #snv odin x reader #odin x reader #jataka snv #jataka #jataka smut #the psychotics writing

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magpie-to-the-morning · 1 year

Text

Close - An Insatiable Extra

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Frankie Morales x Reader

Word count: 2k

Tags: Edging, bondage, orgasm denial, Mean!Dom Santi vibes, a bit of inspection kink, choking if you squint, fingering, oral sex, PiV sex, fluff

Author’s Note: This oneshot only exists because of @radiowallet. My love. My pumpkin wife. Thank you for bringing me back to my boys. I genuinely wasn’t sure if I’d ever write for them again. 🥹

And a huge thank you to @acrossthesestars for beta-reading this filth, much of which I wrote in a haze at 4am 😅

Missed Part One? You can read it here. Which, if you’re not familiar with the worldbuilding and relationships in Insatiable, you may want to check out! This one does mostly stand on its own, other than a few references to the three of them being mates.

“Deseito, please.”

You lean into him, a half smile teasing your lips. “Please what, Frankie?”

Leather creaks as he leans helplessly towards you, his brown eyes large and pleading.

“Let me touch you.”

You almost weaken at the sight of him straining against his bonds to get to you. It’s hard to resist him like this - his arms pinioned above him, his brow shining with sweat, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he drags his hungry gaze down your naked form. He’s mostly bare himself, only a rumpled sheet half-covering his lap. When his cock twitches beneath it, you groan and move towards him - only to be caught around the waist by a pair of strong arms.

“What did I tell you, leoncita?”

A whimper catches in your throat. “But Santi, he’s so pretty when he begs.” You barely recognize your own voice, rasping with need and ending on a whine. His answering chuckle curls around you like smoke as you lean back against his chest, eyes locked on Frankie’s as they widen in desperation.

Santi’s lips trail down the side of your neck, making you shiver in his hold. When his teeth sink into the sensitive spot that meets your shoulder, you gasp and arch your back, one hand fisting in his wild curls. Frankie moans as your peaked nipples arch almost close enough for him to get his mouth on. You lean forward, encouraging him, craving him, but Santi draws you back with a smirk at the last moment.

“You two need to learn how to behave.”

He’s been edging the two of you for hours. It started as a game between him and Frankie - to see who could bring you closest to the edge without pushing you over. Santi hadn’t counted on how easily his partner caved to your pleas for release. If he hadn’t grabbed the other man by the jaw and hauled him from between your legs, Frankie would have made you cum on his tongue ages ago. But Santi, the competitive bastard, hadn’t wanted the game to end so soon. He’d lashed Frankie to the bed and given you both a choice. Stay in line and only cum at his say so, and he’d make your pleasure last for hours. Or, give in to temptation, cum quickly, and call it a night.

It hadn’t been a choice at all.

Still, he’s got the two of you wound tight enough to burst. Slick drips down your thighs and you press them together in a desperate search for friction. Frankie’s cock is swollen and aching, and both of you are breathing hard, half-dazed with desire and torn between need and obedience.

Santi knows it, too. Takes full advantage of how worked up the two of you are for him. He gets off on it - his two loves, following him to the razor’s edge and trusting him to keep them there. The enormity of that trust staggers him - but it doesn’t stop him being an absolute menace when he’s riled.

His fingers dip between your legs, a lazy inspection of your velvet heat. He nudges your legs wider, putting on a show while Frankie looks hungrily on. You tip your head back and roll your hips, driving yourself against Santi’s hand. You know it won’t last, that Santi is only pouring fuel on the fire, but you let yourself savor it while you can, loving the feeling of his thick fingers gliding in slow, lingering circles, the effortless way he cups your sex, his fingertips just beginning to breach your dripping center.

“She’s so wet, Frank,” he murmurs. “You gotta feel this.”

The ferocity of the glare Frankie turns on him makes the other man sigh and relent. “Fine.” He rocks back on his heels, releasing you from his hold.

You whine when his hand slips away, chasing his touch. Frankie moans and strains toward you. There’s a creaking noise as he moves and even the solid headboard starts to lean. The thought of him being so close but still so far out of reach makes you whimper.

“Shh, baby,” Santi soothes. “Go give our mate some love before he breaks something.”

“Asshole,” Frankie mutters, even as his mouth quirks up and he relaxes a fraction.

Santi leans around you to slap him affectionately on the thigh. “Watch it,” he warns, “Or I’ll fuck her right here and leave you out of it.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” You toss him a smile over your shoulder, your heart skipping a beat at Santi’s roguish wink and the sight of him licking the taste of you from his fingers. It’s impossible to say which is hotter - that, or Frankie licking his lips in anticipation at your approach, and for the thousandth time, you feel a wave of gratitude for never having to choose between them. The three of you are a unit, the bond between you only growing stronger the longer you’re together.

Throwing a leg over that same spot that Santi had smacked, you lower yourself slowly onto Frankie’s thigh, taking pleasure in his sharp intake of breath as you do so. He’s so warm and solid beneath you, his muscles flexing at your touch, the movement bringing you into even more intimate contact with him. Hands on his shoulders, you grind down against him, savoring his heat and strength.

“Hey, baby,” he grins up at you.

“Hey, love.” And then you’re kissing him. Unable to hold you, he hitches his thigh to draw you closer. His kisses are hungry, insistent, all tongue and teeth and ragged panting into your open mouth. You melt into him, one arm wound around his neck, the other dropping between you to grasp his cock. Frankie hisses at your touch, his swollen length twitching against your palm.

“Fuck,” he groans, his forehead pressed to yours as he rolls his hips and fucks your fist. “You feel so fucking good.”

“You too,” you gasp, your slick folds dragging against him. “Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t.

You could finish this way. Skin to skin and mouth to mouth, shuddering and gasping as you roll together. Frankie knows it too. Feels it, that moment when your hips begin to stutter, your movements turning sloppy, desperate. His brows draw together and he starts to swear in low, rapid Spanish. You only catch a few words, a string of muttered pleas, or possibly curses. It’s sacred. Profane. Saints and sinners, heaven and hell, blood and soul.

It’s everything.

Santi’s at your back once more, his hands on your hips and a wicked smile pursing his lips. “You’ve got a hell of a mouth on you, Fish. Need me to fill it up?”

He lifts you up just far enough to push his cock between your sex and Frankie’s thigh. It’s slick and obscene and you think you could cum just from the sight of his swollen cock jutting between your thighs. You grind down, riding both of them, grip tightening around Frankie as his brows pinch at the sight, his tether clearly about to snap.

Santi sees it too.

“That’s enough.” When neither of you slow, he hauls you bodily apart. “Don’t make me tell you again.” Stern amusement tinges his voice but you know he means it.

“God damn it, Santi!” Every part of your body crackles with frustrated energy. You feel like a live wire casting off sparks, any one of them capable of setting off the wildfire building beneath your skin.

Frankie’s no better off. He’s fighting for control, unwilling to let either of you down, despite how badly he needs to cum.

You’re not sure how much longer either of you can take this.

This time, Santi doesn’t make you wait for his next move. He puts you where he wants you - on your knees in front of him, your ass in the air, eye level with Frankie’s cock. This time you don��t wait for permission, not from Santi. You lower your mouth onto Frankie, swallowing him eagerly, and nodding encouragement when his hips buck.

“Baby,” he groans. You hum and swirl your tongue around his blunt tip. Salt and musk lay heavy on your tongue and when he bumps the back of your throat, you drool contentedly around him.

Santi wraps a hand around your hip, steadying you as he pushes into your slick heat with a low moan. He chuckles approvingly when you push back against him.

“This what you needed?”

“Mmf-hmmm,” you mumble around Frankie’s cock, your nods pushing him even deeper down your throat. He gives a strangled groan and his hips jerk.

“Shit, I’m so close.”

Your skin feels tight, tingling, as you hang suspended between them, filled to the brim and so close to the bright edge of release. You can feel it barreling towards you as they move in tandem, white-hot pleasure building deep inside and threatening to burst behind your eyes.

When your inner walls begin to flutter, Santi wraps a hand around your throat and growls “don’t you do it.”

You close your eyes and breathe deeply not to cum just from that.

It’s only when you wrestle back control that you realize they’ve both gone still. Santi to prolong your torment, and Frankie because he knows if he so much as twitches, he’ll cum straight down your throat. Your cunt is throbbing with need and tears prick behind your eyes. You’re at the end of your rope, and Frankie’s fraying fast.

Carefully, you ease back and off of him and turn pleading eyes to your other mate.

“Santi, I love you, but if you don’t let us cum we might actually die.”

He lays one hand on your cheek, eyes softening when you lean into his touch. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

Leaning in, he kisses you soft and slow, then nods towards Frankie’s bound hands. “Go on, then.”

Before you can even reach for the belt, Frankie twists himself free, as if it weren’t leather restraining him, but only Santi’s word. He’s on you in a rush, scooping you onto his lap in grasping Santi’s shoulder to pull him closer in the same rough movement.

They fuck you between them, their cocks gliding in and out and together until you writhe as one in an eager, desperate rhythm. Your kisses grow sloppy as you gasp and cling, one set of teeth scraping over your jaw while another tongue plunders your open mouth. It’s slick and needy and then -

And then your breath catches, pleasure spiraling to a molten pinpoint, then exploding like a star. You shake and tremble in their arms, only their sweat-slick limbs propping your liquid body up as you dissolve between them. Frankie groans, nearly undone, and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, a look of martyred focus on his face, but Santi grasps the back of his head, keeping the other man’s gaze fixed on his.

“Do it,” he orders, eyes burning like coals. “Fucking cum.”

As if from a great distance, you feel Frankie’s hold tighten as his spine stiffens, then a hot, pulsing rush as he cums. Even as his lips part on a ragged moan, his furrowed brow smooths, relief flooding him even as he fills you.

Only when both of you sag, finally, finally sated, does Santi find his own end, burying himself inside you with a satisfied grunt and spilling deep inside.

The next several minutes pass in a haze. Frankie’s fingers intertwining with yours. Santi’s forehead dropping to your shoulder. Your lips brushing over their brows, noses, eyelids. Lingering, affectionate touches, meant to soothe and ground. Muscles trembling, and with breathy chuckles at your baby-deer limbs, the three of you somehow lower yourselves onto the mattress, legs still tangled and bodies draped over each other, unwilling or unable to let go just yet.

Or maybe ever.

#Frankie Morales x Reader #Santiago Garcia x Reader #Frankie Morales x You #Santiago Garcia x You #Santiago Garcia x Frankie Morales #Triple Frontier fic #Insatiable #Fic #My fic

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imaginewarehouse · 7 months

Text

Human!Sheriff x Reader x Human!Doc Hudson || Drabble

Plot: Flo's diner on Friday Night's is always a lot of fun- there's good food and drink (Which is not out of the ordinary, admittedly), good company (The whole town ends up there at some point in the night), and theirs dancing. You're determined to get the hot old men to dance with you.

Warnings: Age difference I guess but its not a focus point.

I have had this fic in my drafts, finished and all, for years. Since like, 2019-2020, but since I wrote it just for me (Also the reason for the fist person perspective), I had never bothered to edit it- well I finally did and I think its kinda cute ^^

🔆🔆🔆

“What are you two doing just sitting around and drinking over here for?” I ask Doc and the Sheriff, as I sweep off the dancefloor in exhaustion and rest in the chair beside Doc (The material of his blazer grazes my bare arm and I get a little jolt from the innocent touch). Mater’s a sweetie pie, and a great dancer but… boy, does he have more endurance than I do. After I take a second to gather my exhaustion and banish it, I turn to the two men and flash them a smile. “It’s fun out there!”

“Hmm, your exhaustion and the sweat completely bucketing off of you is especially encouraging.” Doc rolls his eyes, and turns to look back at the dancers. Ramone and Flo are dancing smoothly in the middle, like they’re practised, like they do it at home because they just love each other like that- unsurprisingly. Then Sally and Lightning are there, too, Mater’s found a new partner in Guido while Luigi laughs at his friend’s expense off to the side, and Lizzie's talking on happily to Red off to the side. A soft smile rests on my lips, until I turn away from the scene and back to the two men I’m sitting with. Sheriff’s already looking at me, which makes me smile wider.

“Being tired and sweaty is a good sign!” I exclaim, winking. “Sheriff, what about you? Fancy a round with me?” How many innuendos can I make with these men and get away with it? How many until they get it and take me? I’m not saying take advantage… because neither of them would do that- but at least recognise what I’m trying to get at here and ask me about it!!

He chuckles, moving in his bar stool chair to be more comfortable. “That’s a lovely offer, darlin’, but I’m afraid I’d probably just slow you down. I’m not as young as I used to be!”

At this, an opportunistic light switches on behind Doc’s calculating eyes, swivelling on his stool ever so slightly in order to turn that piercing stare on the sheriff. “Yes, he’s missed his last 3 check-ups, Y/N. Anything could be wrong with him.” Sheriff bristles and his expression dissolves into guilt, as he refuses to look at Doc who’s smirking. “Damn hot rods not allowing you a single day off to visit the office, right Sheriff?”

“Uhuh, ri-right.” Sheriff quickly clears his throat, straightening in his chair now to look around at anything other than Doc. As he does that, Dr Hudson glances to me with a quiet, conspiratorial look before taking another drink from his mug, making me giggle quietly.

In a moment, I raise my eyebrows at him. “Why don’t you take a dance with me, then? You must be at the height of health, ey Doc?”

A grunt is his response, as the amusement leaves his blue eyes and he looks away again.

“Come on, one of you? Both of you? I’m not picky- I’m desperate! Mater’s got a new partner and… “I risk a glance at the tow-truck owner and can’t stop a laugh from bubbling up to the surface. “Guido’s a hard act to beat! He’ll never want me back. I’m dying to get back on the floor, though!”

“Guido’s seemed to have transformed miraculously into a sack of potatoes.” Doc states in that slow, gravelly drawl, assessing the dancing couples as well. And it’s true, making me really chuckle this time at his analogy. Mater is just swinging the little Italian around at this point, with absolutely zero help from Guido himself. Guido’s toupee keeps bopping around and slipping out of place.

I stop my chuckling by biting my bottom lip, and scraping it through my teeth as I turn back to them. Sheriff’s stopped avoiding Docs gaze now and is looking at me with him like they’ve won- like together they can ward me off- Oh, ho, ho, though. These two think they’re so clever and victorious. But they haven’t gotten out of this. No, no. I’m determined; I’ll get one of them to dance with me tonight, even if it takes begging!

“You’re right.” I admit, then lean closer into the table pleadingly. “But I don’t want to dance with Mater, I want you two! Come onnnn,” I whine, looking as pleadingly as possible to them.

Doc sets me with a firm, straight lipped look. “And you’ll continue to want me.”

Well, that’s that then.

I turn from him, to Sheriff. When Doc’s mind is set, he usually will never change it. Sheriff, though… he’s a bit more lenient. A softie. A sweetheart. That’s one of the things I really love about him, in contrast to what I really love about Doc; his cleverness, his sternness. Unbelievably sexy qualities.

And I’m right, too. The Sheriff’s looking at me a with worried frown under that moustache and thoughtful deep, dark blue eyes. Oh lord, these men and their blue eyes. They had me my first day here in Radiator Springs.

I offer my hand across the table to him, and up the ante with my cute pleading look, which I hadn’t even known was possible. I do so by adding a little pout, and it does the trick. Sheriff heaves a great sigh and drops his large hand into mine, getting out of his chair. He rolls his eyes. “Hot damn… “He mutters something about the lord saving him, as I get up from my seat with the biggest beam on my face and springing into place next to him like a slightly overexcited puppy, before returning his gaze to me. “Remember what I said, I’m not as springy as I once was. And, I was never a very good dancer in the first place, so- “

“Let’s go!” Now that I’ve got him up, I’m not about stand here and listen to him talk himself out of this again, so I take us off to a spot on the floor. When I turn back to him and let go of his hand, I flash him a bright grin and think out loud in anticipation as the song ends and we wait for the next one to play. “Besides, the point of this is not to look good, it’s to have fun! Wanna have fun with me, Sheriff?” Okay, so I might have gone a little far with that last comment as the poor, sweet man goes a little pink, but I pretend not to notice that and just listen out for the first few beats of the next song. Before I can make the first move and pick up his hands again, as the song’s a bit boppy and perfect for twirling, he takes up mine first and then, before I know it he’s dancing with me. It’s so much fun!, he’s not half bad at dancing like he let on- there’s a little bit of funk and we slip out of time every now and then but that just makes us laugh. And he twirls me!! He twirls me!!! I’m also starting to think he was just being modest, with all that ‘I’m not as springy as I once was’, crap. Sheriff’s in shape! We’ve been dancing for the past 8 songs and he has not once needed a break or looked like he would be needing one any time soon.

It’s so much fun that I nearly forget to want a drink, or a break myself. The music is so hillbilly it’s fun, the laughter is elating, and the company is addictive. Every time a song ends, he’ll dip me and I’m not afraid that he’ll drop me; he’s strong, and his grip on me is firm. I laugh quite a bit when he does that, and when I get to twirl, and at some point he throws his hat off to Doc, and I’m surprised there’s still a Ford-Pines-Tom-Sellick-level head of hair there. Man, does this place know how to grow ‘em…

We go on like this for a few more songs, until he reminds me to get a drink and a rest for a moment and see how Doc is doing. “Hey Doc, I don’t think you should be worried about Sheriffs health, he’s fitter than me!” I exclaim elatedly as I collapse back into my seat beside him, exasperated but not really. Tired, yes, but annoyed, not at all.

“Hmmm,”

“Still don’t wanna get a dance in before the night’s over Doc? It really is fun!” Sheriff pours us both some water from the jug Doc ordered for us, laughing a bit because of the left-over endorphins, and I nod along intently.

“Yes, the offer’s still on the table until the last song ends. So, keep that in mind.”

“Sure.”

I giggle, widening my eyes exasperatedly at Sheriff over my cup as I take a sip, before Doc starts up a conversation about Chick’s latest Lightning slander in the news.

6 songs later, and the night’s about to end, sadly. I watch, quietly and honestly tired, as Ramone goes up to Red and requests a certain song, quietly. I guess it’s something special between him and Flow, but as the slow song starts to play, Sally and Lightning dance too- and I’m actually perfectly content and happy in just sitting by and watching, when a shift beside me catches my attention and I look to see Doc getting off his stool and stretching his back. “Ah… this is much more my speed. Y/N?” He raises his hand in front of my face without looking back from the dance floor, and I raise an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“You said the offer to dance was on the table until the last song. I believe this- is the last song.” A slow grin spreads across my face, and I cautiously, tiredly hop off my own stool, taking his hand in the process.

“Sure is!”

“Now, Doc, I’d’a thought you’d be up for something faster!” The Sheriff teases after us, with laughing eyes as he sits comfortably still in his seat.

A tiny smile graces Doc’s face, making me feel squirmy like it always does. “Yes, but my physical ability extends only to the minimum of what a driver’s required to be. Dear, now shall we?”

“Mhm, yeah, we shall!” I agree, grinning cheekily at him and waiving quickly to the Sheriff as Doc walks me onto the floor and swings me around to face him. The song, slow and easy, plays on around us as he fixes his hands carefully on the okay zone around my waist and mine find his shoulders. As we sway around the floor, I wonder; Will I ever get to do this with them as my men? Go out dancing as a date?.. Will these two ever realise how much I really like them?

When Doc grins again I wonder, if he actually already does know.

#Sheriff x Reader x Doc Hudson Drabble #Sheriff x Reader Drabble #Doc Hudson x Reader Drabble #Sheriff x Reader #Doc Hudson x Reader #Sheriff (Cars)#Cars Sheriff #Doc Hudson #Drabble #Cars x Reader Excerpt #Cars x Reader

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akariamai · 1 year

Text

Forgiveness

Part 1, Part 3

Pairing: Ex!Matt Murdock x Writer!reader

Word Count: 1627

As the poor college student you once were, whose heart was crushed in one of the worst ways possible, you’d had no clue what was awaiting ahead to surprise you. The dream which seemed unreachable at the time. There was a bright future shining over you. The book you wrote a few years after you graduated from Columbia University slowly gained attraction. Suddenly your life has become a whirlwind of good news. You were rising to become a well-known author. Your books began appearing on the shelves of your favorite book stores. Your childhood dream was gradually becoming a reality. You were ecstatic, truly.

You were currently planning a new mystery thriller series in your condo. A giant cork board covering your wall as each piece of the mystery hangs. The cork board contained the entire timeline of your mystery. Red string showcases how they all connect. At first glance, many would’ve chalked it up as a mess. To you, it was your ongoing masterpiece. Notebooks and lone sticky notes covered your work space. A cup of steaming hot coffee was held close to your lips as you looked at the chaos you’ve established. It was your chaos and you treasured it.

Your show of appreciation was disrupted when your phone rang. You very rarely kept the sound on. Writing was hard enough without distractions and while your multitasking had gotten better, it was not that advanced where you could listen to the television while working on the backbones of your series and having your phone on standby. Your friends understood and rarely messaged you with the occasional meme or invitation to go out which you greatly appreciated. They were the best and you loved them dearly.

You walked toward your charging phone, checking the name before answering, “Hello beautiful.” You already knew the reason for this call. It was a reminder to get ready to go out. “I just want to let you know I did not work today.” Lie. “But I did admire my work with a cup of coffee.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” Their voice echoed a scanty teasing tone. It supported the mental image, that you created in your mind, of them tilting their head before placing their pointing finger on the lower side of their check. Unintentionally, you were called out on your bullshit. “Maybe because you're a workaholic and refuse to rest your mind and soul.”

You rubbed your forehead gingerly before rushing to grab suitable clothing, “There’s nothing wrong with getting ahead of work. My deadline might seem long but you never know when that pesky writer’s block comes to bite me in the ass.”

They laughed as you searched through your closest. “One night won’t make a difference.”

“How would you know? I could have a revelation at the bar with no paper or pen and forget about when I get home. A true tragedy for my fans.” You were being dramatic and for good reason. It was simply fun to annoy friends. They loved you no matter how annoying you can be and the good ones stick till the end. “Taking advantage of this abnormal desire to write seems to be a hell of a way to spend my night.”

“Which you have last night and the night before that and the night before that. I don’t want you to burn out and feel uninspired. I know how you get when you're pressed for time.” It was not pretty. You basically have a complete and utter meltdown. Scurrying to finish to reach the deadline while also not disappointing your fans or doing such a disservice to your characters.

As you could not win in this playful argument, you relented. “See you there.”

~~~

The glass bottle clanked when they were slightly tapped against one another and you and your friend cheered for good fortune. The place your friend had chosen was, to the untrained mind, a dump but places like these were the best. The tap water however cannot be trusted. While it looked ghastly, it kept so many memories within its walls. A secret only the building will know when everyone ceases to exist and more memories continue to be harbored. Tonight you will be one of those secrets. Another body the bar sheltered and one that will soon leave when the night is replaced by day.

You didn’t notice them. Two old faces sitting in the same bar astonished you were so close yet in an entirely different universe. One watching with fond eyes, the other unable to do the same. One was ecstatic to see you once again, grown into the person you were meant to be, and the other, filled with guilt for how things ended. There was another with them, an unfamiliar face, and witnessing the jolting glances they sent to you.

“[Reader].” One whispered so lowly the others didn’t hear. The sound of your heart beat once again gracing his ears. He missed you. Once the tinted frames of Elektra were smashed away, he realized the devastating aftermath left in her wake. The relationship that was once wondrous and blissful was gone. Ruined and tarnished by his inability to not decimate his own happiness.

There was always one thing he wanted to say, after he freed himself from his own blindness, if he was ever granted the chance, was to apologize. His mishandling of the situation caused you so much unnecessary harm and there was only him to blame. He fell for Elektra charm and her assertions of being cut from the same cloth. Still there was no excuse for what he did.

“I’ll be right back.” He assured Foggy, who knew of his intentions, and Karen, who remained confused. Foggy remembered those late night talks after the whole Elektra situation detonated. Matt mourned the loss of a healthy relationship and shame remained to haunt him. If Foggy was being honest, he missed you. He loved to hang out with you and Matt despite the lovey-dovey gestures you’d paraded around him. It felt like a glimpse of what real love was.

Matt reached your table before asking, “[Reader]?” You had never known of his powers and yet always treated him like an able-bodied person. With the occasional but completely harmless quips surrounding his blindness. After all these years, he wondered of all the moments you would’ve shared together had he not doomed your love. He wondered if you laid awake flustered at the thought of his lips.

“Matt?” He looked different yet the same. The years have gone easy on him since the last time you’d spoken. He matured like fine wine. “What are you doing here?” Not in the bar. You wanted to add. Here by me.

He straightened his posture, “I wanted to speak with you.” And apologize. “Alone if that’s alright with you.” The conversation he hoped to have should not be for anyone other than yourself. At least for this specific moment. He knew friends (Foggy) would want an update.

Your friend gave you a look before you assured them that you would be fine. They walked away, too far to listen but not so much they’d lose sight of you. Matt took over the now empty seat and the two of you sat in silence. The agonizing tension striking the two of you like a club or, in this case, a cane.

“What did you want to talk about?” The relationship you once had was short-lived but memorable. Your first taste of what love should’ve been until it was spiked with poison. You had plenty of time to reflect upon your brief passion towards one another but you were still left with questions. Maybe they can finally be answered.

“I was - I’m sorry.” His head faced the stained table as if he was ashamed of himself and granted he should be. “I know we didn’t end off on the right foot and it was my fault. I should’ve handled it better but my naive younger self was thoughtless of the pain and anguish I’d caused you. There are no words to describe how embarrassed and ashamed I am for not apologizing sooner.”

There it was. The apology you’ve been missing for years and now you had it. Apologies are never enough, however, it is merely words seeking for an ounce of forgiveness. Forgiveness is a fickle matter to you. It is, in your mind, unnecessary when burying the hatchet of the past. Forgiveness is not for you but the person who hurt you. Moving on does not require forgiveness. Moving on, in its true form, is reflecting on what was done and finding a semblance of peace.

You found yourself only able to mutter a simple thank you and the tension heightened. There was nothing more to say. Nothing that truly mattered in this moment. “I’d like to make it up to you.” He offered, “A redo of sorts. We can go to that diner we've loved.”

The thought almost made you laugh. A redo. At the place where it all began and ended. Moving on was one thing but the memories will always linger. The pain never truly vanishes. It merely blooms in a different form.

Shaking your head, “No.” The word spilled out of your lips with such sternness. Matt tensed when they reached his ears. “I don’t think so. While I do appreciate your apology, I’d rather not exhume what once was. Our love, no matter how short, is and will forever always remain six feet under.” You couldn’t fathom his train of thought. How ridiculously seeming it was. “I’d rather leave the past where it belongs and I suggest you do the same. Do, however, say hi to Foggy. I have missed him.”

Masterlist

#matt murdock #matt murdock one shot #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x reader #foggy nelson #karen page #netflix daredevil #elektra #elektra natchios #daredevil x you #daredevil angst #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x you

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dejablonde · 3 months

Text

So I had to write a personal narrative for composition class. I wrote about post-ritual depression leading to a career change, and I thought ghumblr might enjoy. It's only 763 words (after padding it out with some extra academic phrasing) but I don't want to clog your feeds too much so it's below the cut.

"Have you ever like something so much that it rewired your brain?"

Have you ever liked something so much that it rewired your brain? I can’t pinpoint exactly when I first heard the band called “Ghost,” but it was most likely sometime in 2022. I think the first video (from whichever of the dozen algorithms we get our content from today) pushed to my feed was their performance on Jimmy Kimmel, where they played their song Call Me Little Sunshine. I was taken aback by their theatrical look and sound. I listened to a few more songs, became a casual listener, and even bought their latest album when I came across it at Josey Records. What I can pinpoint, however, is the day I turned feral: April 9, 2023, Easter Sunday.

Being only a casual listener still, I was curious as to what was going on when I saw that Ghost was trending on Tumblr. As I scrolled through the tag, it became more and more clear that, not only had they had dropped new music, but a new music video to match, almost entirely without warning: a cover of Phil Collins’ Jesus He Knows Me. Of course, I had to listen. From the driving intro into the first verse, to the poppy chorus, to the lyrics addressing hypocrisy from the church and its leaders, it was almost like twenty-eight years of religious trauma were healed in four minutes and five seconds, as if it were that easy. I wasn’t cured, but they certainly made a dent. I listened to it on repeat and branched into the rest of their discography. After two weeks, I finally caved and bought myself a pit ticket to their upcoming Dallas tour date.

When the day finally came, five months later, I could barely contain myself. I felt if I could leap hard enough, I would jump right out of my skin. I had taken advantage of the fact that I had the previous day off from work and pretended that I was taking a small trip for Labor Day. This allowed me the day off for the concert. My employers already think I’m strange enough; I didn’t see any need to make it worse by asking for time off to line up for a concert by a Satanic rock band hours early on a Tuesday. Despite the 103-degree weather that day, I made it to the general admission line around noon. I chatted with my new line buddies over the next several hours about the band, how we got into them, and a little bit about our lives in general over the water that the venue security provided. For the first time in a while, I was surrounded by people like me.

They say that concerts can be a religious experience. I’m not sure I agree, but they’re not exactly wrong. It really is overwhelming, or at least can be. Many aspects are similar, if not the same. Between the community and camaraderie with your fellow “congregants” and the feeling of the music all the way down to your bones, there’s certainly something that happens internally. This concert (or ritual, as Ghost fans lovingly call them) was no exception. After all, when you’re a stone’s throw away from your obsession, bathed in light and confetti, you can’t help but feel a little changed.

Post-concert depression is a very real and powerful force. It’s even stronger when you come back to work after finally feeling happy and rested only to be met with snideness not even fifteen minutes into the day. I was already dealing with years of declining morale. I wanted to be happy again, like I was the night before. I started looking at job postings immediately. I nearly got one in the same field but interviewed poorly. Eventually, I decided to make up for lost time and try to make a move into what my high-school-aged-self wanted. Or at least something close. Unfortunately, even though apprenticeship-type situations are common in the music industry, it’s very hard to break in without any kind of provable experience. I looked into some recording technology schools but didn’t really feel the need to go into debt on a loan for them. I was about to lose hope, but then I had a lightbulb moment and found that Dallas College has a program for Recording Technology. My application and registration were late in the game, but I was able to squeeze in before the start of this semester. Now, I’m finally doing something I want to do, and it’s all thanks to a funky little Swede in black and white makeup.

#the band ghost #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus i #nameless ghouls #nameless ghoulettes #tobias forge #toblerone fudge #tender father #post-concert depression #DejaBlonde #my writing

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mariacallous · 5 months

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In the late 1990s and early 2000s Christopher Hitchens was the most famous journalist in the English-speaking world. I loved him and was proud to count him as a friend. Yet after his death, it is hard to know what to make of his writing. You can gasp at his learning and his style – he loved the English language and it loved him back. But as a source of inspiration? History has not, apparently, been kind to Hitch.

For readers to know where they stand, writers must be consistent. George Orwell, whom Christopher idolised, was a revolutionary socialist in the 1930s when he served with the POUM militia in the Spanish civil war. He had moderated to become a supporter of the Labour party by the time he wrote Animal Farm and 1984 in the 1940s.But he remained a left-winger. An English nationalist version of a left-winger, to be sure, but a man of the left nevertheless.

By contrast, Hitch was all over the place. In his youth he was a Marxist revolutionary, in theory at any rate. He was a comrade of Perry Anderson, Tariq Ali and other upper-class Marxists who gathered around Verso Books and the New Left Review. He clearly believed in his version of Trotskyist socialism, but remained the strangest Marxist I have met. He had no interest in the economics of socialism. Instead, he was in love with the anti-Stalinist dissident tradition in communism that Leon Trotsky exemplified, and the Soviet state persecuted. Like so many of the 1968 generation it never seemed to occur to him that Trotsky would have been as terrible a dictator as Stalin if he had ever taken power.

In the 1990s he abandoned socialism and reconciled himself with the neoliberal order, as so many did. After 9/11, he became a neo-conservative and was convinced that radical Islam was the gravest threat to the West. His former comrades on the far left, who were themselves taking up the Islamist agenda, denounced him as an apostate. The venom was extraordinary even by the standards of the far left. After his premature death at the age of just 62 in December 2011, his publishers Verso published a book-length attack on its own writer. As I said at the time, “the publishing house has done something I have not seen since the passing of communism: denounced its dead author for his ideological deviations.”

But with the advantage of hindsight, the people who had the most right to shrug their shoulders and forget Christopher were standard supporters of moderate left-wing politics. As I have been guilty of Christopher’s faults myself, let me spell them out.

For the Marxist half of his life Christopher was denouncing the Labour party in the UK and the Democrats in the US as sellouts. Once Labour is back in power you will see hundreds of imitators on the UK left, who will never match Christopher’s range and gusto, do the same. Like me, Hitchens was from an English journalistic culture, which is rarely comfortable with the Labour party. The Guardian’s politics vary from liberal to post-communist, but the paper has few authentic Labour voices. It’s hardly alone in that. Not one highbrow publication, not the New Statesman or the London Review of Books, is authentically Labour. If a foreigner were to arrive and ask to be shown the UK paper that reflects Labour thinking, you would be hard pressed to offer one.

In the US, Hitchens’ most famous polemic was a dissection of the Democrat president Bill Clinton, which earned him many friends on the right. He hated Hilary Clinton with a passion and was never happier than when exposing the hypocrisies of progressives.

So what, you might say, writers must call it the way they see it, and progressive hypocrisy provides an endless source of material.

But then Christopher turned on his head and became a neo-conservative and attacked the moderate centre-left with the same venom from the right. Once again, he was saying what he believed, as all writers must. But look at Hitchens work from the point of view of the people defending moderate leftish policies in the Democrats or Labour. One minute he’s attacking the centre-left from the far-left, the next from the neo-conservative right. His position changes, his dislike of the centre-left remains.

The problem for anyone trying to assess his work in our age is not only keeping up with his U-turns. It ought to be perfectly clear that the boring centre left he despised all his life is the last best hope of Anglo-Saxon democracies. The Republican party under Trump is a threat to the American republic. Only the Democrats can save it. Meanwhile, I dare anyone to deny that the Conservative party has destroyed the UK with austerity, Brexit and Truss, and that a moderate Labour party offers our only conceivable redemption.

We have learned the hard way that our most urgent task is defensive. We need to embrace any compromise for the greater good of keeping conservatives from power. And Christopher despised compromise.

Christopher died in 2011, and could not have predicted the world of Trump and Brexit. Yet you can make the case that he offers little help to those of us trying to resist it.

Matt Yglesias said on Twitter that he thought Hitchens would have supported Trump. It was a ridiculous accusation but I think I know where it came from. Christopher was a great essayist and newspaper columnist. British comment journalism loves writers who strike an unexpected stance. The roots of the contrarianism Hitchens championed lie in the commercial calculations of cynical newspaper editors that the best way to grab readers’ attention is by shocking them.

The result is it seems today that Hitchens has few heirs among leftwing journalists. His followers are among right-wing and increasingly far-right controversialists, whose fellow travelling with Trump will destroy them as surely as the fellow travelling with Stalin destroyed the leftists of the 20th century that Orwell and Hitchens opposed.

To contest this bleak memorial for an old friend and to mark the anniversary of Christopher’s death, I interviewed Christopher’s defender, Matt Johnson, the author of the marvellous How Hitchens Can Save the Left: Rediscovering Fearless Liberalism in an Age of Counter-Enlightenment

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sixosix · 4 months

Note

Kicking down the door not to talk about the magic man but the deadman himself.

I- I adore how you wrote aether! He’s so straight forward and to the point that I think even the most dense reader would be able to put it together. And the fact this man held a flame for reader for FIVE whole nations? Wild, look at the pining and adoration of this man. He was in Fontaine and came all the way to mondstat JUST to be taken care of by what was at the time his crush (since there was no accepting yet). The guts of this man.

But also like- the vulnerability of him asking reader to stay. He already lost his sister right in front of him. Of course he doesn’t want to lose someone else. And ‘I’m staying for you?’ Sushdyrheus- my heart. It gone.

The fact that reader’s reasoning as well to not accept due to the fact that the traveler is gonna just leave one day also makes so much sense. Maybe I’m just bad at finding them but I don’t see that touched often. Man travels to different worlds, the only reason he met reader was because he is stuck in Teyvat. I can absolutely see the logic.

Of course, that only makes the fact that aether would stay just for the reader all the sweeter. Man would give up his old way of life for love.

-deadman aether

YES OH MY GOD i want to point out the "the only reason aether met reader was because he got stuck in teyvat" !!! that was what started that little fic. im not sure but i think this is the first time the twins got trapped in a world and to me that gave aether the perspective of exploring a world without the intention of leaving right away. and that kinda opened up his view on having feelings for someone in that world (ahem mc) with the intention of staying this time!!! im surprised u caught that one and pointed it out

and tysm <333 i love writing aether like this bc to me its so very much canon. we see glimpses of his personality through ingame dialogue and his voicelines w paimon -- and i take advantage of those all the time. to me he has such an AMAZING personality in a way that seems like he's so done all the time. and do u guys know the amount of flirting aether/lumine do to npcs?? ... bro. i cant find the one im thinking of atm but every time they do it i crack up so hard

#TYSM <333 #i love love ur asks #they make my day #606:inbox #606: deadmanaether anon #<3

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harufluff · 1 year

Text

Haru's Recs!!

ok guys it's time for another fic rec!! all credit goes to the writers. i just wrote the little snippet of what to expect. none of these are super long, but man do they hit hard. lol ok please enjoy and give feedback to the writers!! warnings are below.

say it right - @beomsight

yeonjun x reader, best friend!taehyun, angst

your relationship with yeonjun started out like a dream. along with your best friend, taehyun being there to support you. but things get complicated when yeonjun starts ignoring you. thankfully taehyun is always there for you.

a/n - no hate to the writer, but just as a warning, @beomsight is an nsfw account. this fic came into my for you feed so its fine. minors please do not interact with 18+ account.

he's not my boyfriend, but he's still mine - @wons-garden

niki x gn!reader, best friends to lovers au, fluff, angst

niki, your best friend, being the popular student he is, naturally has a few admirers. one of which having enough confidence to tell him in front of many people of her crush. sadly you see the scene go down as well. what will happen to your relationship?

whipped! - @dokiyeom

camp counselor!sunghoon x camp counselor!fem!reader, fluff, secret relationship au

you and sunghoon are counselors watching over your group of kids, when their imaginations start acting up concerning you and your fellow counselors relationship. will the kids ever find out your true feelings for eachother?

untitled - @minvho

soobin x reader, fluff, established relationship au

seemingly innocent actions do not always translate the same way to soobin. these small things done only for the purpose of getting attention is exactly why he loves you. but maybe flustering your boyfriend is just a given in these sweet deeds.

your highness - @piakae

guard!sunghoon x royal!fem!reader, fluff, royal au

guards must always do as their told by the royal family. this being in order to protect them and let them live their lives to the fullest of happiness. but can royals take advantage of this power? yes. yes they can. what happens when a protective guard cannot say no to his princess?

a/n - yea ik another sunghoon one but please its soooo good and it makes me happy

other than words - @impuritywritings

taehyun x reader, fluff, comfort, established relationship au

at times being alone in sadness isn't the best thing. sometimes being in the warmth of a loved one is all that is needed. taehyun is one of the people that you can be with quietly and that being all you need.

8:41 - @jjuniehao

wonwoo x reader, established relationship au, fluff, comfort

if only being too interested in a book wasn't a burden. reading a book ahead of your boyfriend, in his head is punishable. date activities are postponed until wonwoo catches up, but maybe a broken heart is more important.

#* ˚ haru's stuff ˚ *#txt taehyun #taehyun fluff #riki fluff #niki fluff #enhypen niki #niki angst #wonwoo fluff #svt wonwoo #sunghoon fluff #enhypen sunghoon #yeonjun angst #txt yeonjun #soobin fluff #txt soobin

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compacflt · 10 months

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hey! seeing your post about iceman and hamilton reminded me of the 1812 au that you had posted about previously - do you mind sharing any of your thoughts on that, specifically Ice & Mav's reactions to the politics of war back then, before the US military and Navy were such huge institutions (in today's standards)? EDTS Ice & Mav are decidedly anti-war (more Ice than Mav I think), but would that same sentiment be true for them back then & how would Ice feel about war hawks like Calhoun & Clay? there's obviously a pretty big role that war plays in forming national identity, especially in early US history, and with external forces like impressment & embargoes & all of the international relations nightmares that came w/ early state building, I'm really interested in how that may have an impact on how Ice and Mav view military service and duty. I would love to read this fic if you're still planning on writing it (really I love to read everything that you write tbh) - also hope you are doing well!! 😊😊

hiya!! i hope you are also doing well!! I am not sure if im ever going to post the 1812 au to be honest—i would really love to but i think it would be so long it would have to be my first priority for a few months, and I’m not sure when I’d have time to do that. but i have it all planned out at least, so maybe we can compare notes.

So here are my notes.

IF i were to complete my 1812 AU… It would not be about Ice at all. Which is how I’d be able to stomach writing about Ice’s death. AND the characters would be very very different from the characters i wrote about in EDTS (i.e. confessed their love for each other way back in the 1770s). And what I want to tackle in this AU is exactly what your ask is about—duty to your fledgling country! Im interested in a version of TGM maverick who had to be away from the love of his life, on his deathbed, to serve the national interests of his country. *questionable* national interests, in TGM’s case, or *forgettable* national interests in the War of 1812’s case. The War of 1812 is sort of America’s forgotten war—its causes were nebulous & hard to rally around/understand today, and there were no real heroes until the end, unless if you count Andrew Jackson as a hero (i really try not to). So this would be a direct attack on the heroism we are presented with in TGM: what is mavericks mission really accomplishing in the grand scheme of things? Using the 1812 war, itself forgotten and largely irrelevant, as a meta backdrop for that question of heroism.

So—this version of Ice & Mav are: actual factual war heroes. Revolutionary war heroes who were genuinely educated & truly believed in the American experiment of representation & freedom from tyranny. Fighting the British 36 years apart. (Something i really really like & will take advantage of… the 36 years between 1776 and 1812 exactly equaling the 36 years between 1986 and 2022… it was meant to be.) They’ve spent their whole lives together in the romantic sense, in a world where they couldn’t live openly together but at a time when sexuality was also understood completely differently. But they have to be apart when Ice is dying because Maverick has been handed a mission, a duty, by the USG that he has to take care of. (Part of the reason I’m stalling on this project is because I don’t really know what that mission would be… something something naval warfare, something something Captain of the “USS Dagger…” but im a better romance writer than an action writer… idk how to come up with those plots at all. And I’m not super well-versed in EARLY naval warfare [I prefer wwii navy stuff] so idk how ships like sailed clippers & schooners etc actually work. That’s a completely different wheelhouse for me & is integral to a story like this, and fundamentally im kind of a lazy person who doesn’t put a lot of effort into research if I don’t have to)

the AU would be written in two parts—the warm summer of youth vs cold winter of old age. Confronting my own fear as an author of getting old & dying, tbh. What does it mean to be a hero and die of old age? Shouldn’t you want to die WHILE being a hero? Part one: 1776-1782 is… ice & maverick falling in love and dealing with goose’s death together and cementing their hero status in American naval history (like they do in the original top gun). Then part 2; 1812/1813… ice is retired from being the first USN commodore/secretary, but he’s dying and maverick has to choose between being with his de facto husband in his last days VERSUS being out at sea, serving his country, but for a war that he (a bit metaphysically, to serve my metaphorical aims) knows will be forgotten. He can be a hero or he can be there for the love of his life but he can’t do both. Duty & sacrifice. Ice persuades him it’s time to let go, maverick goes out to sea, and then ice dies while he’s at sea. & the 1812 war was kind of forgotten, and their love will never be known by history because they were two men, so what was that sacrifice really for? Shouldn’t he have been home with ice?

Which leads me to: I am also slightly interested in an interpretation of the TGM mission as a possible su*cide attempt on mav’s part, post-ice’s death. Trying to die a hero. So, there’s that. That would be in it as well.

Some issues: that’s pretty simple & i submitted a 4k short story with this exact premise (1776 war hero has to choose between one last shot at heroism in 1812 vs staying with his male lover at the end of his life) to one of my writing workshops last semester and they loved it. But, by god, does it get 10x more complicated once you add Bradley to the mix. It’s ALWAYS made it more complicated & it’s why I’ve had so much pain trying to edit EDTS over the last 8 months (as you know). Because LETS PLEASE BE REAL TGM did NOT give me much to go on there. Like the emotional turn that is I think SUPPOSED to happen in the scene where ice and mav talk in TGM—I don’t understand it & I think that scene was only written for fanservice because it serves no purpose in the story and I’m not sure what emotion we’re supposed to take away from it. Maverick says “please send me ice, don’t ask me to send someone else to die,” (is he asking ice’s permission??) and ice DOESNT actually answer that request, doesn’t even acknowledge it; he says, in a COMPLETE AND UTTER NON SEQUITUR, “It’s time to let go.” Maverick says, “yeah I know,” so what does that actually mean? Who is he letting go??? Bradley??? Goose??? ice himself??? Is ice giving mav permission to go or not???? It’s so vague it means absolutely nothing, and i have no idea what ice’s emotional/story purpose in TGM is except to bail mav out of sticky situations and nostalgia purposes, and don’t even get me STARTED on how out-of-character it was for MAVERICK (guy who hates having his papers pulled from the Academy) to pull Bradley’s papers from the Academy in TGM, both of which are why ive struggled so much trying to fit Ice into the mav/Bradley narrative of betrayal & loss etc. And in a two-shot piece where all those years in between are kind of skipped over… idk. I feel like I would sort of have to sacrifice the Bradley storyline for the overarching icemav duty-sacrifice-heroism theme. With WWGATTAI, i was KIND of able to do both, but only after MULTIPLE rounds of very very intense editing & like 50k words of rewrites and even then it’s kind of awkward so… idk. For a quick two-shot like this I’d have to pick. I don’t have the energy to write another 50-100k reinterpreting that story all over again lol

So to answer your question it would be way less about the actual weird politics of the 1812 war and more about providing a place for me to get into mav’s emotions dealing with ice’s death and the historical implications of a mission like that, kind of glossed over in the movie … though this ice & mav are veterans of the XYZ affair / battles with the Tripoli pirates, so that probably affects how they see things… but mostly, duty is still duty & orders are still orders, but sometimes following orders means sacrificing what little time left you have with your family… following the TGM timeline where ice only has about 2 weeks left to live from Mach 9.

So, pros of the 1812 au: lots of the purple prose poetic writing i shamefully really like. Icemav open and honest with each other from the very start ❤️. Dealing with the themes and emotional consequences of ice’s death finally. Focusing only on mav instead of only on ice. Penny & sarah in a lesbian relationship. Some discussion of the cyclical nature of queer history (i.e. we’ve always been here making history and we always will be). Mav finding reasons to live after ice is gone.

Cons of the 1812 au and why I’m hesitant to really get invested in writing it: don’t know much about pre-diesel naval warfare so can’t come up with the technical action elements of the plot & too lazy to do that much research. I have a sailing license, so I know like… knots and rigging and mainsail vs jib/genoa/spinnaker and sloop vs schooner etc, but i do NOT know anything about THAT kind of sailing. Warship sailing, tactics, “dogfighting” equivalents, etc. Also: would probably have to sacrifice the whole “getting Bradley kicked out of the academy-equivalent” storyline, just to make the story less complicated. Not sure how much of the original ice and maverick the story would retain as a result. Also: i know wayyy more about the early national period (1776-1800) than anything after about 1808, but even then the last time i was really into this period of history was my freshman year of high school, so i can’t necessarily claim to know what im talking about when it comes to the intricacies of the early American state (as i think is pretty obvious here). Also too lazy to do that much research.

But, here are some notes/snippets etc if you would like. they’re solidly 6 months old now & unedited & largely unresearched, just throwing words on the wall in writing phase one, but whatever

#oooo that’s a lot of words to just say ‘im lazy & self-conscious of the fact i don’t know what im talking about’#thanks for the ask ily ❤️🥺#i think you know more about This period of history than i do so honestly we should chat #OMG ice saying i love you & maverick hasn’t even died yet whoa #ice goes to yale instead of the academy. yale guy. ☹️#pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #top gun #top gun maverick #icemav #asks #top gun fanfiction #if someone wants to pick up this idea & do it please do #not feeling very articulate with my not-fiction words today; sorry if this post is incomprehensible

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muffinwoozi · 5 months

Note

ooh maybe something where wonwoo keeps treating chan out for dinner and slowly he's becoming bigger and more demanding with how much he's getting to eat and wonwoo, being the way he is, is going to completely give into chan's ways but it culminates in him breaking out of his clothes and like pinning wonwoo to a wall with his weight cause he realizes how much they both like it

i've gotta be honest i had no idea how much i liked the concept of being pinned to a wall til i wrote this lol you've awoken something within me

also! this gets ~slightly~ nsfw towards the end. no full-blown smut, but there's a smidge of dirty talk which i hope you're okay with. enjoy! 🩷

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Kabedon

It started out innocently enough, as Valentine’s Day dinners tend to do.

Truthfully, Wonwoo hadn’t taken Chan out to his favourite restaurant with any intention beside wanting to treat his boyfriend to a nice, lavish meal to celebrate their first Valentine’s Day together. It just so happened that for this particular occasion, the restaurant had decided to shelf their typical menu-based service and instead host an all-you-can-eat buffet, which sported increased portion sizes and brand new dishes specially introduced to celebrate the holiday. Hand over heart, Wonwoo had been none the wiser.

Chan loved every second of it. Wonwoo did too, of course, but he hadn’t gone to town on the food the way his boyfriend had. He’d floated between the buffet table and their booth at least five times that evening, his plate coming back fuller and fuller each time. At first, Wonwoo was a little taken aback - Chan was a dancer, a toned, fit dancer who usually watched his diet plan like a hawk. He wasn’t used to seeing him eat so much in one sitting. By the fifth plate, Chan did show some signs of defeat, and by the time the clock struck eight, he was whining for Wonwoo to carry him back to their car, unable to move because his stomach was too tightly packed.

The only thing more unexpected than Chan’s food bender that night was how aroused Wonwoo felt as he watched Chan play with his bloated stomach when they got home. He felt himself grow hard as Chan poked his tummy curiously, admiring its new softness with wide, excited eyes. From there, he’d decided to dip his toes into researching the weird and wonderful world of feedism and weight-related kink, a fascination he’d largely kept to his laptop’s private browser but would soon manifest itself as a palpable, tangible element of their relationship in the real world. Soon enough, they were going out for dinner dates a lot more frequently and, with time, Chan’s obsession with going to the gym and staying slim melted away alongside his fast metabolism.

It was like a domino effect. Chan’s appetite grew exponentially over the course of a year, which inevitably caused him to pack on the pounds quicker than he could count. When he reached 150, he decided cutting back on dance to focus on trying out all the restaurants their city had to offer was the more beneficial route for him to take. By 200, he’d packed in dance altogether. By 250, he was struggling to find new restaurants within reasonable travelling distance for them to visit. By 300, he’d lost interest in venturing outside the house, instead opting to take advantage of the takeout options all his favourite spots offered.

Now, Chan’s at a steady 325 and counting, sitting on the couch with his legs spread to make room for his huge belly as he waits for Wonwoo unbox the three pizzas he’d ordered from the small family-owned pizzeria he’d nearly broken a chair at last year. He cradles his growling stomach tenderly as he surfs through the channels on their TV, a supersized packet of Doritos by his side to tide him over until he can truly dig in.

“You wanted three pepperonis, right, babe?” Wonwoo asks from the kitchen island. Funnily enough, Chan is the only one who’s dived head-first into their newfound love of gaining weight; Wonwoo is still as skinny as ever.

“Yeah,” Chan confirms, licking the dust off his fingers and wiping them on his t-shirt. Damn, it’s getting really small. They’re gonna have to go clothes shopping again at some point. “The best kind. Now get your ass over here, I don’t know how much longer I can go without food. I’ll starve, hyung.”

“You literally just finished eating a huge bag of Doritos.”

Chan scoffs and crinkles up the packet in his hammy fist like it’s personally wronged him. “This is barely food!” He argues. “It was just a light snack. I’m waiting for you to feed me the real food. I don’t know what I need more, you or the pizza.”

Wonwoo sighs as he makes his way over to the couch, but he’s smiling nonetheless. Aside from his weight, one of the biggest changes in their relationship that’s occurred in the past year has been the way Chan speaks to him. When they first started dating, Chan wouldn’t even think of ordering his dear hyung around or overly demanding anything from him. He’d pester him and bat his eyelashes coquettishly until Wonwoo would give into his desires, sure, but he would never boss him around or snap his fingers at him. Times have changed, though, and it seems like with every pound Chan gains, the more spoiled he becomes. Wonwoo has grown accustomed to being treated like Chan’s little maid, buying him food and hand-feeding him and touching him whenever he pleases. Thankfully, they’re both incredibly into it.

The evening unfolds like any other, with Wonwoo feeding Chan and giving him the occasional belly rub and Chan demanding he stuff him faster and faster, and oh, would he be a dear and grab him a can of Sprite from the fridge? It’s as Wonwoo is massaging Chan’s huge belly in efforts to relieve some of the pressure that he realises how truly big he’s gotten. It’s no secret that his boyfriend is teetering on the edge of obesity, he knows that, but sometimes he forgets just how large he is. Half an hour ago Chan’s shirt was snug under his belly button, but now, three pizzas and a tub of ice cream later, it’s rode up to cup his moobs perfectly, displaying the expanse of his belly fully. Wonwoo feels his shorts tent at the sight.

“I’m done, hyung,” Chan declares as he licks the spoon clean. He leans back and runs his chubby hands up and down his swollen body, eyes sparkling. “Need you to touch me, now. Need it so bad.”

Wonwoo grins. “I think I can manage that.” He launches himself on top of Chan, cock throbbing against the fabric of his shorts as it presses against Chan’s stomach. Chan moans to the touch and kisses him deeply, wrapping his fat arms around Wonwoo’s itty-bitty waist and pulling him closer. He tastes like cheese and bread and cookie dough, and Wonwoo can’t get enough, can never get enough.

Eventually, Chan pulls back and spreads his legs even wider, slapping the top of his inner thigh with a suggestive wink. Wonwoo’s eyes trail to his crotch, and he sees that beneath his belly, Chan is almost as hard as he is.

“You gonna fill me up, hyung?” Chan asks wistfully.

Wonwoo nods jerkily. “The lube’s in the drawer over by the ornaments. Go be a good boy and get it for me.” When you have a boyfriend who looks like Chan who spends a majority of his time on the couch, you learn to keep your inventory in some unconventional places.

Chan pulls a face at being told what to do, but follows his boyfriend’s command regardless. He builds up momentum by swinging his legs back and forth before hoisting himself up, fat jiggling all over as he waddles over to the drawer to hunt for their favourite watermelon flavoured lube. He bends down with some difficulty to retrieve it, and before Wonwoo can even think of a teasing comment to taunt him with, the hem of Chan’s sweatpants burst wide open, his fat surging forward.

If Wonwoo wasn’t rock-hard before, he’s sporting a fucking canyon by now.

“Wow, baby,” Wonwoo practically growls. “I knew those pants were getting a little tight but I didn’t think you’d pop out of them today. Here, you look like you could use some help getting them off.” Chan whimpers as Wonwoo jumps off the couch and pulls his sweatpants off for him, the fabric uncomfortably tight and sweaty around the parts of his legs they’re still clinging to. When they’re finally tossed onto the floorboards, he lets out a huge sigh of relief and reaches out to wrap Wonwoo up in his embrace. It seems as though he’d severely underestimated the sheer mass of his body, though, because instead of smooshing into his boyfriend gently like he plans to, he slams him into the wall, pinning him up against the wallpaper with nothing but his belly.

For a while, it feels like neither of them can breathe.

“Hyung, are you okay? I didn’t mean to do that, I’m so sorr-”

“This might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever done to me,” Wonwoo interrupts, eyes wide and glazed over. His whole face is tinged pink, and when Chan attempts to roll off him, Wonwoo seizes two fistfuls of his hips and pulls him right back in. Chan squeaks, half in surprise, half in pleasure.

“You’ve got to do that on purpose sometime,” Wonwoo groans dazedly.

#muffinwoozi writes #svt feederism #svt weight gain #feeder!wonwoo #feedee!chan #kpop feederism

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kingedmundsroyalmurder · 5 months

Text

Content warning for abelism, both in the language used to refer to a disabled character and also in how said character is treated. Content warning also for Eric being a creep.

Eric returns to the orchard and, now that he has unlocked her backstory, Kilmeny is here! And she doesn't run away this time! He immediately takes advantage of this by invading her personal space!

"Seeing this, he walked slowly towards her, and when he was so close to her that he could hear the nervous flutter of her breath over her parted, trembling lips, he said very gently,

“Do not be afraid of me. I am a friend, and I do not wish to disturb or annoy you in any way.”

She seemed to hesitate a moment. Then she lifted a little slate that hung at her belt, wrote something on it rapidly, and held it out to him. He read, in a small distinctive handwriting,

“I am not afraid of you now. Mother told me that all strange men were very wicked and dangerous, but I do not think you can be. I have thought a great deal about you, and I am sorry I ran away the other night."

Look, this is trying its very hardest to be a meet-cute. Eric is blushing and gentle, Kilmeny is hesitant but interested. Maud is trying so hard to make this chemistry happen.

It is not happening. It is not happening because, as I said before, Eric's charm is entirely ruined by the fact that we are in his head. If we were seeing this through a 3rd party? Could maybe be cute! I mean probably not, because of the aforementioned personal space violation and also the fact that he didn't apologize for scaring her, but it could be if you worked at it hard enough! But Eric's inner monologue is not cute. Eric's inner monologue is consistently condescending at best. We know he doesn't feel bad for scaring her, he feels annoyed at her for being scared. Not cute.

This is cemented by Eric's habit of asking her questions that are actually orders. "Won’t you play for me?" "And now won’t you give me some flowers?" Definitely not cute, sorry.

There is one brief moment where he realizes how not cute this could all get, even if he can only express it via ableism: "The next moment he was angry with himself for his folly. She was, after all, nothing but a child—and a child set apart from her fellow creatures by her sad defect. He must not let himself think nonsense." I would like to think that this is Eric recognizing the power difference between them. I fear it is actually Eric just going, 'she's just a kid, can't marry a kid, not good enough to be a wife yet.'

“Yes, but what I mean is, would you like me better if I could speak like other people?”

My heart is officially broken for Kilmeny and she's only had like three lines. I want to whisk her away from her family and give her some friends who don't tell her she's less than human and fully undesirable because she can't speak.

“No, it does not make any difference in that way, Kilmeny. By the way, do you mind my calling you Kilmeny?”

And Eric is back to being almost charming! I really think that if he'd been whacked on the head by Anne Shirley or equivalent as a kid he would have been redeemable! He's only 24, there's still time to grow as a person! It's just that he really should have done that growing before meeting Kilmeny, for her sake.

"Eric told her of his life, and the life in the great outer world, in which she was girlishly and eagerly interested. She asked him many questions about it—direct and incisive questions which showed that she had already formed decided opinions and views about it. Yet it was plain to be seen that she did not regard it as anything she might ever share herself. Hers was the dispassionate interest with which she might have listened to a tale of the land of fairy or of some great empire long passed away from earth."

So in the Kilmeny poem, one of the things Kilmeny does in fairy land is she observes great dramas being played out in other worlds. She sees a queen brought to her knees by a treacherous lover and she sees great wars and battles. I think this passage is a direct callback to that part of the poem. Kilmeny Gordon is trapped in fairy land, watching mortal dramas play out before her without any ability to interact with them.

Kilmeny vehemently does not want to go out into the world. This makes me question Eric's interpretation of her music earlier. While I know narratively what's going to happen is that under her fear and trauma she really does want to leave and the music was unconsciously expressing that, I would very much like it if Eric had actually just been wrong. She was playing a song and he read into it something that wasn't there. That would be nice.

I don't think we're going to get nice things, alas.

Especially not when we end with this: "Unconsciously and involuntarily he infused so much triumph into the simple monosyllable that even old Robert felt it. Mrs. Williamson, who was cutting bread at the end of the table, laid down her knife and loaf, and looked at the young man with a softly troubled expression in her eyes. She wondered if he had been back to the Connors orchard—and if he could have seen Kilmeny Gordon again." Triumph, is it Eric? You've met the woman your heart yearns for, had a long conversation with her, promised to meet her again tomorrow, and the emotion you are feeling is triumph. That bodes poorly.

#kilmeny of the orchard #kilmeny readalong #how do i put kilmeny gordon and cecilia gay into the same room?

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