#at least the sharpening is sexy

[andromedaa-tonks]

LOKI (2021)

#lokiedit #marveledit #mcuedit #dailyloki #dailymarvelgifs #dailylokitv #mcu4 #gifmarvel #userflor #userannie #tuserkaitlyn #hiddlesedit #tuserlanie #usercroft #tusermeg #tuserlyn #userjames #usermarcy #if you hate the coloring on these dw i hate it too #at least the sharpening is sexy #mias original

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

COD Sex Bot Au - General and Character Specific Facts

Requested: Yes. By uh…..pretty much everyone. SO many people begged for something and while this isn’t exactly a part 2, I hope it will help tide you all over til I can get that completed.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Child Abuse, Adult Abuse as well, Mention of Murder, Mention of Self-Destruction (Robot Suicide), Mentions of Knives, Mention of Blood, Spice, Probably very incorrect Spanish

A/N: So! A lot of people, along with requesting a part 2, have also been begging me for Price as well. I know I’ve only done the 4 characters for all of my Cod works so far but I do want to expand the character list! That being said, I’m just not entirely comfortable with writing them yet. I am looking more into Gaz, Price, and Roach specifically and I promise to let you guys know when I feel comfortable enough to write for them! But until then, please enjoy!

✨General✨

Their eyes get this kind of colored sheen to them sometimes. Different colors for different things.

Yellow is absorbing new information

Pink is the color during sexy times

Red is malfunctioning/in need of repairs (but can also be a sign of embarrassment or shyness)

Light blue is curiosity

White (still) is powered down

White (pulsing) is powering down

White (flickering) is low power

Grey is rebooting/charging

Black is enraged

Lilac is contentment

Plum is upset/hurt

All the boys come with their uniforms on but what’s underneath depends

For Ghost’s model, simple black briefs

For Soap’s model, silly patterned boxers (think hearts or something)

For König’s model, usually some fancy lace panties since he’s very popular amongst Doms who like that sort of thing

Alejandro’s model? Absolutely nothing

Ghost

Ghost’s model was MEANT to be a scary bad guy kind of deal, to be marketed towards fans of slashers and the like. But he…..didn’t end up being that way.

At least, not your Ghost. Many of the other Ghost models are that way, but not yours. For some reason.

Granted, that programming is definitely still in him, though not exactly in the way it was meant to be.

Instead of it being just for fun rough sexy times, it’s more…….actually will kill for you. And has, in fact, killed for you.

Something that he’s NOT supposed to be able to do.

“Gee, I wonder what happened to that Barista that insulted me the other day.”

“Gee, I wonder.” *cleaning a bloody combat knife in your sink*

Speaking of knives!!! Ghost’s model does come with a lot of fun knives! Granted, they’re dulled into being just (mostly) harmless kink knives but he made quick work of making them a lot more harmless by ordering a knife sharpener.

So uh, yeah. You have received not just a sex robot, but one that borders on Yandere and will probably self-destruct if you reject him.

Have fun with that!

Fun fact: YOUR Ghost actually used to be a child bot MANY years ago, bought by a man who only wanted to be able to legally abuse a child. So he was broke down and put back together so very many times. And when they recycled and reprogrammed his AI chip, the scarring from that was still imprinted into him.

Soap

While Soap’s model is marketed more towards romantic oriented people, he’s generally seen as a Jack of all trades.

Doms, subs, romantics, first timers, just about any kind of person. He’s good with all of them, though he thrives with Romantics since that is his programming.

And also just because your Soap is so very lonely. He yearns to be loved by you, to melt under your affection.

And also just because your Soap is so very lonely. He yearns to be loved by you, to melt under your affection.

He doesn’t want to be seen as just a sexual object, he wants to be yours. And you to be his.

König

Ah yes, the gentle giant that was supposed to be marketed more towards Subs but ended up being a bit….Soft.

None of the programmers can explain it but every model of him is just inexplicably shy and quiet, thriving in an environment where he has no control.

So now he’s more marketed towards doms. Usually soft doms.

They once tried to change his model to be smaller and more petite and people started BOYCOTTING.

It affected their sales so much that they very quickly changed him back.

People still seethe when they think about it.

Probably equal parts the most loved and most abused of the different models.

Probably equal parts the most loved and most abused of the different models.

Just because of how quiet and meek his model is, how they almost never fight back when hurt.

Alejandro

Alejandro’s model is VERY popular among submissives so he’s programmed to be pretty dominant and also to have a caring nature.

Due to said caring nature, many mistake his model as good for beginners.

I can assure you, he is NOT.

So SO many of his models have been returned cause he’s brought them to tears from so much pleasure, absolutely overwhelming for any beginner.

“Cry for me, Amor. That’s it, just like that.”

His model is one of the only ones that isn’t returnable unless something is malfunctioning and even then, they’ll try just about anything to fix the model instead of just taking them back.

If you’re the type to forget meals and such (I’m not projecting, shut up) then he will literally drag you away from whatever you’re doing and make you eat.

Will set up a rewards system if you have trouble with personal upkeep as well, like household chores and stuff (again, not projecting).

How much pleasure you get throughout the day is all dependent on how well you follow the schedule he makes based on your personal life.

He can and will have you call him Papi, in and out of bed.

“Be a Good Little Cachorro and get on your knees for Papi.”

You only get called Amor when you’re good or when you’re upset. Anything else and it’s Cachorro (Puppy).

#Sex Bot Au #cod #call of duty #cod mwii #call of duty mwii #mwii #mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #Simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #König #könig x reader #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader

[callsign-rogueone]

all the small things - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x gn!reader 💌: …would you consider writing something for Garrick that explores some of the little intimate, familiar, or caring details he would do for/with the person he’s in a relationship with? words: 1.1k 🏷: no book spoilers! NSFW at the end, because it’s Garrick and I had to. just some thoughts about Gare being soft and cute (and a little sexy) with his partner. I managed to make this gender neutral. I’m trying a list format this time bc that flows better than a dozen little scraps lol

I feel like Garrick is a quiet partner, that he shows his feelings for you in a lot of little ways that you might not even notice.

He’s just always there.

If you’re studying, he’s studying with you, or working on something else quietly, sharpening his knives, etc.

While you’re chatting with a friend, he’s sitting a foot or two away, slicing a clean dagger through an apple, cutting off a small piece and extending it to you silently.

He is absolutely not afraid to use his stature and his scary reputation to his advantage when it comes to protecting you. 

Some guy made you uncomfortable in the laundry room? Well, now every Thursday night is laundry night for both of you, and he’s gonna stand behind you the whole time, brooding at anyone in the room Xaden-style and making sure they leave you alone.

Your safety is his number one priority.

We all know Dain’s philosophy — I’m going to do everything I can to keep you out of harm’s way

Garrick’s is a bit more nuanced — Harm is going to come to you no matter what, because the world is cruel and we’re literally preparing for war. While I’ll still do everything I can to protect you, I’ll also do everything I can to teach you to protect yourself.

He’s strict about keeping your training routine, giving you extra practice sparring near-daily. He knows when you can handle it and when you can’t. On days when you’re truly exhausted, injured, or at your limit, or something really upset you etc, you’ll spend training time resting — cuddles!

I know this man is an amazing cuddler. All that soft, warm muscle… big hands… strong arms to wrap around you… there’s no escape. Not that you’d ever want to leave lol

… Where were we?

He takes responsibility for your safety (as much as he can in this very dangerous school) while still letting you handle yourself.

That said, he’ll take matters into his own hands for small situations. He will not hesitate to pull you out of the way if people run by and might bump into you, etc. (plus it’s an excuse for him to hug you in the middle of the day lol)

He grabbed you by the back of your shirt once to stop you from hitting the ground when you tripped over your own shoelace — he then proceeded to set you upright and kneel down to tie said shoelace for you. 

Xaden never lets him hear the end of that. (“How come you never tie my shoes for me, Gare?”)

Big acts of service guy.

He’ll fill your water bottle in the morning, and he expects it to be empty at the end of the day or he will make you chug it because hydration is important. He ignores any eye rolls or complaints — you both know that he does this because he loves you.

He makes sure you’re eating, knows your favorite and least favorite foods, and will wordlessly move things on / off of your plate at meals, because you’re sitting directly next to him, of course. You know he wants you close and that’s a way you show love back to him. You also give him your leftovers sometimes. The boy can eat; that's half of how he put on so much muscle.

If you have long hair, he’ll keep one of your hairbands or pins etc in his pocket for whenever the need arises. He likes helping you with your hair, too. He's not the best at braiding or doing other hairstyles, but he’s trying and he’s improving! He also absolutely loves it when you sit in front of him and let him brush your hair / detangle / condition it etc.

He will always take the opportunity to wash your hair. He's super thorough with it and it feels so nice and relaxing.

As Ilya Kaminsky wrote: “Soaping together / is sacred to us / Washing each other’s shoulders. / You can fuck / anyone— but with whom can you sit / in water?”

Garrick. Garrick is whom. he loves showering with you after a long day, washing your back or places you can’t reach, being super gentle with any injuries you have, kissing every bruise and scar.

aaand this is getting nsfw, because it’s Garrick;

Don’t get me wrong though — he loves showering with you for other reasons, too. He loves seeing you naked, obviously, loves gliding soapy hands over your skin, kneading the softest parts of you, massaging gently and getting you all pliant and relaxed for him…

He’ll never pass up an offer to press you against the tiled wall and fuck you until you need to take another shower.

Speaking of fucking… Garrick fucks. 

He took his sweet time with you in the beginning, when your relationship was just starting, because he wanted to make you feel loved and safe with him of course, but also because he was studying.

He’s learned almost everything about your body. He knows what feels good for you, and recognizes all the signs that you’re about to cum — the cute sounds and expressions you make, the way your breathing changes and you grip his hand a little tighter… 

King of praise btw. The boy cannot shut up between the sheets. always telling you how pretty you are, how well you’re taking it, that you deserve to feel so good, just relax and let it out…

But it isn’t all soft and sweet. He's strong, and you’ve put that strength to the test multiple times. He's more than able to pin you down, to keep your legs spread, to hold you in all sorts of positions while he does what he does best.

Being an executive officer comes with a lot of paperwork, and he often gets stuck doing Xaden’s too (they really need to stop using that as a betting chip), but if you sit on his bed all pretty and keep quiet while he works on it, he’ll make it up to you by bending you over the desk when he’s finished.

Remember what I said about keeping you out of danger? There's gonna be consequences if you do something reckless in training or out in the field… That’s all I’ll say on the subject for now 🤭 

I got a little carried away there… Can you tell I’m currently working on three different Garrick smuts? gonna be exploring some of those things in more detail ^^ 👀

all in all, Gare is an amazing boyfriend and he loves you so much 🥺 big strong boy is just so soft for you and only you, and wants to take care of you all the time and make you feel loved and protect you from the cruelty of the world. ❤️

#garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis smut #kinda lol #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #theoretically I could tag this as #Garrick and Angel #bc this all applies to them too #mine

[wakeup01]

The Shorts, Like, Maketh The Man

The black shorts were just laying there, hanging off the empty bench. I know, I know. But I wasn’t usually the type to pick up sweaty used clothing in the street, but there was something drawing me to them. Calling out to me. They weren’t really my style even, clearly gym shorts for the sort of person who spends at least an hour a day looking in the mirror. I’d never even set foot in a gym. But still, they were…nice. The polyester material felt good in my hand. Silky. There was clearly some text on the back of them but I was too excited to bother reading it. Maybe I could have them? It didn’t seem like the owner wanted them anymore anyway. I look around for any onlookers and quietly take them, stuffing them away in my pocket.

I wanted to try them on. Needed to. Finding a secluded area, I remove my trousers and pull the smooth fabric up my unimpressive legs. They felt incredibly good around my waist, like they were made for me. There was a warmth radiating from them. Mmff. They seem to press against…all the right places. Clinging to my skin. I catch myself letting out a soft moan, my face blushing red at hearing the sound. Maybe I should take them off, it would be weird to walk home in someone else’s—someone…some..one. Mine. They were my shorts. I leave the baggy trousers behind and step out into the street, an extra boost of confidence in my step.

While I’m walking my body feels slightly off, as if my weight distribution had shifted. Each foot forward felt heavier, stronger. People start to turn and gaze at me. I catch a glimpse of my chunky arms; were they always that veiny? Huh. I see my reflection strutting in a shop window and freeze on the spot. What on earth? There was a completely different person staring back at me. He was sexy as all hell. I looked like a utter gymrat. I touch my sharp, smooth jaw and run my fingers over my harsh buzzed hair. The visage in the reflection copies my exact movements, a large, self assured smirk set on their face. Curious, I lift the hem of my t-shirt. Woah! I was completely jacked! You could sharpen a blade on these abs.

Somehow I had gained pounds of lean muscle in a matter of minutes and my skin had been tanned a luscious golden hue. Certainly, I wasn’t about to complain about this turn of events. Maybe I should pick up discarded clothes more often!

Fuck, my body was li—like, fit. Just check it out. I pull out my phone and take a selfie. Okay. Maybe several selfies. Fine, maybe it was a couple dozen. Who gives a fuck when you look this hot. I didn’t even care about the pedestrians walking past and staring. They SHOULD stare. Admire this prize. This TROPHY. I was in peak form from head to toe. The shiny shorts accentuated my thick, meaty legs perfectly.

My eyes suddenly catch the time on my phone, pulling me out of my shameless self obsession. Damn, at this rate I was gonna be late for Daddy. Wait. Daddy? That’s not right, I wasn’t…

Ugh. My mind felt all jumbled up, like a finished jigsaw puzzle suddenly dropped to the floor. Pieces scattered. It was…I needed to…Daddy! Like, of course. After all, I was just a trophy boy. HIS trophy. An accessory for him to show off. Sculpting my body just how daddy likes it; my muscles existed for his enjoyment. Not that I didn’t enjoy them too…hmm.

My head hurt. Fuck. Was that right? No, I couldn’t be just some brainless boy toy. Now it made sense why the owner abandoned these damn shorts. Shit, It was altering my mind. I was becoming…I needed to remove these—mmff. But right then I feel the shorts squeeze on my bulge. It felt incredible! I shouldn’t, but I never, like, you know, wanted it to stop. My sensitive cock pulsed, thickening while stretching across the fabric. Ahhh! I grin inanely as pre drips down my leg. Like, yeah. Da—daddy loved his boy all hard. He loved when I did as he instructed. A pretty plastic toy to pose and play with. I was so proud to be his. Yes, I was his; body and mind. Like, how did I forget? I can be such an air-headed ditz sometimes. It’s a good thing Daddy also likes his twunky boys dumb; dumb, vapid and full of cum. I was good at those things. Huhuhuh.

I turn around - biting my lip - and look at my tight rear. The shorts thin fabric was digging between the two round globes. ‘Daddy’s Trophy’ was emblazoned on the back, across my cheeks. Mmff. I give my butt a light slap and watch it jiggle. I happily let out a pleasurable moan; it made me feel nice that everyone would know what I am. Explaining it was like, soo difficult and stuff. Daddy says I shouldn’t stress my pretty little head over such complex things. Uhhh. Anyway, these shorts were his favourite, all his boys wore them. He loved watching me dutifully clean the house in them. Or working out in them. Or obediently fucking him in them. Or being fucked…bouncing on his lap.

Oh right! I just remembered! I was supposed to meet him. Sir wanted to finalise our arrangement, there was one last thing to change before I could sign that dull agreement. His trophy boys were always blond. Blond and basic. Huhu. Just like I was about to be.

#brainwashing #transformation #gay #twunk

[monzamash]

me running to your ask 🏃🏻‍♀️

“do you think this is a joke?” + lando

eeee i'm in my lando feels rn so thank you!

lando norris x you (femreader) — 583 words 18+ minors dni

You could never really pinpoint the series of events that lead to you tangled up with Lando, and figuring it out all seemed too hard when it felt this good. He wasn’t stopping you and you certainly weren’t stopping him as he trailed his sharpened tongue down the side of your neck, fingers unclasping each fastened button on your shirt.

“Hello sexy bra,” He always whispered in appreciation, knowing that you’d worn it for him and couldn't wait for him to see it when you would eventually wind up half-naked in his drivers room.

His lips were like droplets, firm and fleeting as you grasped his curls between your fingers, toying with them while he enjoyed the white lace covering your flushed chest. It never went further than a steamy make out session when you were in public, time was never on your side and Lando was hyper-aware of that. At least he usually was.

“What are you doing?”

Your voice was quiet and rushed as his nimble fingers gripped the waist of your tight jeans, alerting you out of the lustful haze his lips had hypnotised you into. Lando looked up from between your breasts, tongue flat on the sensitive nub and a smirk threatening the corners of his mouth.

“I need to taste you. I can’t wait ‘til later.”

His reply shocked you, frozen in place while his needy hands moved to the front of your jeans and continued the to unbutton them, zipper already halfway down and frankly, taunting him.

A breathy scoff slipped from your throat as you gripped his curls a little tighter and tugged his head back, “You’re joking.”

Your other hand clasped around his wrist firmly but the spark of pleasure surging down your spine when Lando over-powered you had your grip loosening, the pads of his fingers sliding deliciously over your folds, separating them until a moan hitched in your throat.

A devilish smile swept across his face as he watched your eyes flutter and felt your thighs tighten together, nose ever so softly brushing against yours as he leaned in, “Do I look like I’m joking?” voice raspy, pussy tingling.

“Shit,” was the only word you could think of; speechlessly entranced by the way Lando’s fingers teased you, greedily spreading your wetness that he’d caused. Eyes rolling when he dove further, clenching around his slender middle finger as he slid inside.

“Wish that was my dick.”

Lando's whispered breath fanned across your face as he watched your forehead relax, eyes still closed from pleasure. You nodded, trying to be as quiet as a mouse while he nudged you softly to the edge; a place you knew you shouldn’t be.

“Please don’t make me come.” You begged, knowing there wasn't a chance in hell that you’d get away with this, your job meaning more to you than a quick release. And Lando respected that.

“You’re so cruel to yourself, baby.”

His smug smirk was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes, narrowed and scolding until he released you from his clutches, the emptiness causing a low groan to slip from your own dopey grin. Lando pulled back and put the finger he’d been knuckle deep inside you with in his mouth, sensually sucking on it with a pop.

“So sweet,” He teased and leaned down to capture your smirking lips, cheeks blushing from him so blatantly praising you; needing you.

“See you later later, yeah?” And with a wink he was gone.

thoughts? feelings? let me know! askbox

masterlist if you want to read more x

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #lando norris blurb #f1 imagine #f1 smut #monzamashmasterlist #spicy prompts

[kastlequill]

i. beggin' for thread

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader word count: 3.9k synopsis: your first run-in with the not-so-friendly neighborhood spider-man as the black cat of earth-928 tags: whump/angst, first meetings, strangers to enemies, restraints (and not in a sexy way), unresolved tension, size difference, hurt no comfort, black cat!reader warnings: reference of past canonical sexual assault, dealing with trauma ao3: read here next → 

Your head was pounding something fierce—this was the first and only thought that entered your mind, still a bit dazed upon only just regaining consciousness.

Despite the fact that you could hear your own heartbeat pulsating loudly in the space between your two ears, it didn’t seem likely that the dull, rhythmic thud had roused you from sleep. As you gradually became more lucid, your awareness of the other parts of your body also improved. Then, the sudden sensation of blood rushing towards your head threatened to pull you under once again. 

That’ll do it, you thought, a small groan escaping your lips. 

You were upside down. Hanging by your ankles, which were tied to the neck of a streetlamp with the thickest, stickiest, weirdest rope you’d ever fucking seen.

The force of gravity on your entire blood supply had probably signaled your nervous system to implement its fight-or-flight response, causing you to jerk awake. You didn’t know how long you’d been hanging here, but you did know that the pressure was quickly becoming unbearable. 

A wave of dizziness hit, and you clenched your teeth to keep another pained hiss from slipping out of you. 

It’d be easier to come up with an escape plan if your brain wasn’t currently being compressed into mush. 

Think, think, think. 

What had your father always said? All you’ll ever need to get yourself out of a nasty situation is one free hand, sweetheart. 

Wiggling your hands around in your restraints allowed some blood to return to them, and with the feeling in your fingers back, you used the sharpened edge of your index claw to saw away at the ties around your wrists. This material was thinner in comparison to that of the other rope that bound you to the lamppost, but at the rate you were going, you’d nonetheless be stuck for at least the next hour. 

Several minutes of silent work passed until you couldn’t contain your frustration anymore. Although it would only waste your precious energy, you thrashed about in your confines, too angry to care much for logic. After a few more seconds of struggling, you felt your body go lax, truly spent. However, while you were physically exhausted, you’d only become increasingly riled up as time had gone by, and you were ready to verbally spar whoever had decided to play this dirty trick on you. 

“Ever heard it’s impolite to leave a lady high and dry?” 

You spoke the question into the dead of night, your intonation steady and unaffected. Something gave you the impression that whoever had tied you up would be able to hear your words even if you whispered them, so you didn’t want to debase yourself by yelling or appearing as though you had lost your cool. 

But oh, were you furious.  

“Little criminals like you are exempt from that rule, or haven’t you heard?” a male voice traveled with the wind, reverberating everywhere around you. “It’s a shame that you gave in so soon, I was quite enjoying those last ten minutes. Is that all the stamina you’ve got? Que decepcionante.” 

He emerged from above and landed smoothly in front of you, feet planted, knees bent, ground trembling. When he uncoiled himself and rose to his full height, you had to swallow a gasp.  

This man was a fucking tank. 

The form-fitting navy blue and red suit he wore did nothing to hide the definition of his infinite many muscles or the planes and curves of his body. So though he technically showed no skin, only his masked face truly left something to the imagination; unlike yours, which covered just the areas that bordered your eyes, he had complete anonymity. His broad shoulders blocked light from the other lampposts across the street, outlining his silhouette in a way that should have terrified you. 

It didn’t. It really, really didn’t. 

Rather preoccupied with appraising his physique, you didn’t notice him stepping closer and closer until he was now but two feet away. This was the moment you discovered that, in addition to being built like a tank, he was a giant. 

His shadow loomed over you, painting you in darkness. Hanging from a streetlamp ten-feet tall, you resigned yourself to awkwardly staring at the navel of his stomach, while he was level with your upper thighs. 

The unfair reality of being at a height disadvantage.

“Before we continue sizing each other up,” you started to say, releasing a puff of air that sounded more like a wheeze than an exhale. “I should warn you: if I’m down here any longer, my brain will explode. Maybe it’s just me, but I sure wouldn’t want to spend my evening cleaning that up.” 

In response, the man knelt on the pavement so that you both were finally able to at least somewhat look at one another for the remainder of this hopefully-short conversation. Even kneeling, he was still tall enough to look down his nose at you, probably scrutinizing your sweat-drenched face. 

Had his mother fed him horses as a kid? Why was he so fucking huge? 

You heard his tongue click and watched him tilt his head to the side, as if he was seeing you for the first time. “Bit dramatic, aren’t we?” 

“Easy for someone rightside up to say,” you grumbled, squinting at where the red details of his mask indicated his eyes. “Is this how you flirt, big guy? Bit old to be picking on girls we find pretty, aren’t we?” 

The growl that tore itself from deep within his chest warned you to tread carefully, but you were never one to turn tail and run when things were just getting interesting. 

If he wanted to be sassy, well, you’d show him sassy. 

“How about this: you free me, then we can play fair and square. No restraints necessary.” You accompanied the suggestion with a subtle pout for good measure. Sure, curiosity killed the cat, but your desire to know the limits to which you could push this man temporarily surpassed your self-preservative instincts. To contrast how your eyes widened in mock-innocence, you adopted a low, sultry tone of voice. “Unless, of course, you’re into that.” 

Faster than you could fathom, the man stood, unsheathed his talons, and cut a seamless line through your restraints, sending you straight into his awaiting arms. What might’ve initially seemed sweet quickly turned sour as he immediately pushed you against the pole of the streetlamp. Heedless of your protests, he rewrapped you in more of that strange rope. Except, the ‘rope’ projected out from his wrists. 

Who the hell—?

In your state of confusion, you failed to anticipate him clasping a hand across the lower half of your face, preventing you from saying another word. 

“Enough games. I have questions,” he spoke directly into your ear, the sarcastic humor he had previously addressed you with now completely absent, replaced by an eerily calm inflection. The hand over your mouth moved to grab your chin, tilting it towards his own face. “And you’re going to answer them. Nod if you understand.” 

You briefly considered biting his fingers just to teach the ass a lesson, but you held back. He had tensed each and every muscle in sight, his reflexes newly primed for a possible attack, which meant that the fun stuff was over, and all that remained of this interaction was the not-so-fun stuff. 

Reluctantly, you nodded. 

At your acceptance, his hand left you altogether and relocated to grab onto the bit of pole above your head to support the weight of his body as he leaned forward. The textbook intimidation tactic to accentuate a preexisting size difference between foes, evoking the feelings of prey, like fear and defeat.

You were feeling something alright. Intimidated wasn’t exactly how you would describe it. 

“What’s your name?”

A standard first question, and yet you hadn’t expected it in the slightest. Naturally, he wasn’t asking for your civilian name, but rather for your alias; the name that corresponded with the suit. 

Compared to his fancy, high-tech, synthetic suit, your all-black spandex accented with white fur was a joke. You couldn’t be too harsh on yourself, though. This—vigilantism, petty theft, getting superglued to a lamppost by some guy—was a new world to you. It was a given that you would have an adjustment period. 

Soon, you’d have your shit figured out; a name, a better suit, a concrete idea of what you were even intending to accomplish in the long run. 

“My name,” you echoed. “Would you believe me if I told you I still haven’t decided?” 

A few seconds went by of him presumably staring into your eyes, which were actually unclouded and unguarded for once. Perhaps he was searching for something particular, and perhaps he found whatever it was, because he continued on. 

“Did someone hire you?”

“Slow down there, mister. Don’t I get to ask you a question too? I scratch your back, you scratch mine, that type of thing?” 

He mumbled a string of words to himself that you couldn’t understand, but the annoyance he injected into whatever he’d said transcended language barriers. “You’re in no position to be making demands. Besides, I don’t negotiate with criminals.” 

“Not a criminal,” you huffed, tearing your eyes away from his invisible yet penetrating gaze. Or at least, you weren’t a criminal yet. “What’s your name?”

Through the conforming material of his mask, you could tell that the question had also surprised him. The material stretched upward as his eyebrows raised then lowered again, settling into a straight line, furrowing at the middle. “I’m Spider-Man.” 

The name rang a bell. You had read a number of morning newspapers that featured him as the headline, Spider-Man typed in bold lettering to entice prospective buyers. They usually contained editorials about his impressive résumé against an array of villains and interviews with people he had saved, but the only photos of him were always blurry shots taken mid-swing.

“Spider-Man? That explains the whole hanging me upside down thing. Is this how you court all your women? For future reference, you don’t need to knock me out just to lure me into your little web. I’m not usually a booty call type of gal, but you can be my special boy.” 

“Stop that,” he—Spider-Man—snapped. 

It was your turn to raise your brows at him. “Stop what?”

“You know what.” The red markings of Spider-Man’s eyes narrowed into a glare, and his voice dripped with disapproval. “Stop trying to flirt with me.”

Oh, you’d been terribly wrong earlier; there was still much fun to be had here. 

“I’m not trying to flirt with you, silly.” You made a great show of batting your lashes, stepping into the role of a lovesick fan infatuated with the superhero in front of you. “I either am, or I’m not.” 

He inhaled sharply, and his breathing quickened. The back that had captivated your attention from the get-go hunched further into you, caving in, as if he wanted nothing more than to encase you in the breadth of him. His movements were so incremental and inadvertent that you didn’t think he was even aware of how he’d closed the gap between the two of you.

Absolutely fascinating.

“If it’s working, then I am,” you teased, donning a sly smile, nudging your lips higher to brush against his neck, gaze lifting to where a slight dip in the mask revealed the curve of his mouth. “If it’s not, well. . .”

The sound of metal crunching startled you, and an upward glance confirmed the presence of a sizable dent in the part of the pole he had been holding onto; it now resembled a crushed soda can. When you redirected your focus from the lamppost to him, you were greeted by the image of him running a hand over his masked face in frustration. Whether he was upset at you or at himself, you weren’t sure. 

It sent a shiver down your spine regardless. 

Sooner than you had predicted, Spider-Man recollected his composure and resumed towering over you. He’d assumed a more reserved stance, both hands on his hips, nowhere near you. The placement drew you to the slimness of his waist, the large expanse of his upper body tapering to a defined V-shape—

“Be a good kitty and answer the question,” he interrupted your train of thought, punctuating the command with a condescending pat on the top of your head. 

As shameful as it was to admit, the combination of the pet name and the casual contact did you in. And judging by the arrogant uptilt of his chin, he’d known just the right buttons to push. 

“Alone,” you relented. “I’m alone.” 

Spider-Man gave a noncommittal hum and started to slowly circle the pole, and therefore you, like a shark honing in on its prey after scenting blood from a distance. Within the span of a few short minutes, your sarcastic remark about being ensnared in his web had manifested your current reality: you were the poor, unfortunate fly who had strayed into the territory of an apex predator, and he was the ravenous spider who was going to capitalize on your carelessness. 

Once satisfied that you were telling the truth, he ceased pacing and finally asked the question he’d been building up to all night. 

“Why did you attempt to murder an innocent civilian tonight?” 

Time itself came to a resounding hault. This inquiry was unlike the previous two in that hearing it felt akin to having a bucket of freezing cold water dumped onto your head. You were yanked from the false sense of security into which he had lulled you through his reciprocity of your banter. 

Blindsided by the enemy. A rookie mistake. 

Never again.

Your brain, slow to recover from the disillusionment, had to pick apart the sentence so as to even begin processing its implications. 

Attempt. Murder. Innocent. Civilian. 

Innocent. 

“Innocent?” The laugh that ripped from your throat was dark and bitter. “You think that son of a bitch is innocent?” 

Spider-Man recoiled, clearly not expecting such a vehement reaction. 

“Let me tell you this, Spider-Man,” you said his name like a curse. The direction he had decided to lead this conversation extinguished whatever fascination he’d initially sparked. “That trash deserves a fate worse than death, but seeing as he’s managed to avoid every punishment the universe has thrown at him thus far, death will have to do.”

“Who is he?” 

“A fucking rapist, that’s who he is. Another man who can’t take no for an answer, who thinks he’s entitled to a woman’s body. He—” 

The reflexive constriction of your airways forced you to pause and compose yourself before persevering. 

“There was a girl a few years ago. She trusted him to never hurt her, and he—” You couldn’t even say it. “The legal system failed that girl, has failed so many girls just like her. But I can get them their justice, I can bring them a bit of peace in knowing that the men who hurt them are no longer on this godforsaken earth. That those scum can walk among us freely, can go about the rest of their lives without consequence—it makes me sick.”

Acid coated your tongue, and the taste of your own venom inflicted further pain upon you. That was the thing about hate: it gradually poisoned its cultivator in addition to its target. Nevertheless, you would gladly sacrifice your health if it meant you could wield this double-edged sword and find comfort in its damage until the very end. 

“So no, me killing that maggot piece of shit isn’t murder. It’s what I’m owed,” you spat. The effects of adrenaline had faded, and an awful ache was spreading throughout your fatigued leg muscles as a result of the night’s physically-intensive events. Its searing throb reminded you of the fact that you were still tied up, at the mercy of this so-called superhero. “Though I suspect you don’t understand, and you probably never will. You men are all the same.” 

Spider-Man had ignited within you the familiar burn of betrayal; you had lowered your guard, and then he had aimed for where you were most vulnerable. Of course, he hadn’t been aware of your history with the target, but he had chosen words that would hurt you just the same. 

A sudden realization threatened to incapacitate you entirely:

Attempt. 

Spider-Man had said attempt.

“My turn.” Your voice was hoarse from the strain of choking back tears. “Did I get him?”

The most important question yet; you were at a fork in the road, and his response would determine which path you walked. Should it be the case that you had succeeded in your objective, then there was a glimmer of hope for you to have a normal, law-abiding life. On the other hand, if you failed to exterminate that vermin, this personal quest for revenge would morph into something much bigger and badder.  

The latter scenario would allow you plenty of chances to show Spider-Man why he shouldn't interfere with a kill that was rightfully yours. 

At some point, he had opted to give you your space by distancing himself from the lamppost that bound you. Not once had he spoken since asking you who and why; no reactions or comments, only intent, quiet listening. And though you had now posed him a question of your own, his masked features offered no hints as to what his thoughts contained. 

That just wouldn’t do. You needed an answer. 

“Spider-Man, did I get him? Tell me I got him. Please, tell me I killed him.” 

If there was anything you despised more than feeling helpless, it was groveling. However, despite the humiliation that blanketed you and brought heat to your cheeks, you were not above begging when necessary. 

This specific scrap of information was well worth the bruised ego. 

He inhaled deeply, held the air inside his lungs for longer than was normal, then exhaled. This process was repeated several times as evidenced by the rise and fall of his chest. Therapy had taught you that the intentional regulation of breathing helped clear the mind, so you speculated this was a method of meditation for him too as he mulled over whether or not to answer your pleas.  

“You got him. Already dead when I arrived.”

The confirmation triggered your shoulders to slump forward and collapse in relief now that they were relieved of carrying the weight of the world upon them. 

I got him. I got him. 

The sobs building in your core could no longer be silenced, and years of repressed emotions finally poured out of you, wave after wave. First was anger, then came sadness, then relief, and ultimately emptiness. Incrementally, each wave subsided, giving way to its successor; this final wave, however, mounted into a tsunami of insurmountable height, seeking to drown you in its depths. 

For the past many years, you had funneled the sum of your waking hours into the sole task of securing this kill. So who were you supposed to be now that the work was done? Where were you to go, what were you to do? 

Hollow of life, drained of energy, devoid of meaning. 

This was who you had become. 

Through vision blurred by tears, you noticed something sharp glinting in the moonlight—talons. They were all you could focus on as he stalked closer to the streetlamp and extended them towards you. 

You stiffened, readying yourself for the possibility of a fight, but Spider-Man continued to surprise you.  

He trailed the back of his hand along the side of your face, one talon wiping away a lone tear from your cheek, another catching on the skin at the edge of your jaw, nicking it. The cut stung, and Spider-Man pressed down on it with his thumb, either because he was a sadist who wished to witness you wince in discomfort, or because he found the sight of your blood troubling. Ironic, considering he’d been the one to spill it. 

Or maybe that was exactly why it troubled him. 

After ensuring the injury was superficial, his taloned fingers continued their exploration of you, traveling south to skim the base of your neck. There was nothing you could do to stop him from delivering your death then and there, and yet he didn’t seize the opportunity. Still, you couldn’t be certain that he had no plans to at last put an end to this dangerous game, of which you both had undeniably been active, willing participants. 

Except, rather than striking a killing blow, he sliced through your bondages with a solitary swipe then retracted his talons. 

“Go home,” Spider-Man ordered softly as he walked a few paces backward, his masked stare never straying from you. “Next time, I won’t let you off so easy.” 

Without another glance, he slung away into the night, leaving you to your own devices. But although Spider-Man was gone, the ghost of his touch lingered. 

You hated that you didn’t want your skin to forget his hands, wishing instead that he’d stay. You hated that you were glad to have met him, circumstances be damned. You hated that he had more of an effect on you than you on him. You hated that you wondered how things would be different between you if he weren’t Spider-Man, if you weren’t you. 

Most of all, you loathed that Spider-Man had witnessed you come undone. 

Everything culminated into a single, guttural scream, the kind that made you double over at the sheer force of it and dig your nails into your chest. It echoed, bouncing off the sides of nearby buildings and returning to you, its source. 

Unable to support the heft of your own body anymore, your shaky legs gave out from beneath you. Unlike earlier, no Spider was around to catch you in his arms, so your knees hit the ground, hard and unforgiving. Your already-sore joints protested upon impact, but that didn’t matter. 

I got him. I killed him. Years of training and preparing have led me to this moment; I can finally rest. 

Yet the emptiness and the hatred remained, latching onto you like a wound that had festered for too long and was now forever etched into your flesh. A scar that hurt when prodded despite having ceased to bleed ages ago. 

The pain refused to be erased. 

There on the concrete pavement of a random alley, you knew that your crusade was far from over. As soon as you recovered from the ramifications of tonight, to the streets you would return, prepared to take on the worst this city had to offer. And maybe you’d also make some money on the side by putting to good use the feline art of burglarizing, like your father had always hoped you would. 

Crossing paths with the Spider-Man again was inevitable. He’d warned you to stay clear of crime, but he had disappeared before you could warn him that, the next time he got in your way, you’d claw his heart out. 

tbc.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman x reader #my fic #marvel #spiderman #fic: beggin' for thread #series: cursed from the start

[arvandus]

Closet Space - Mammon x F!Reader

AGELESS BLOGS AND MINORS DNI! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!

This is a birthday gift for @silverrings-n-prettythings (happy birthday, you fabulous bitch!) and takes place during the OM! 2023 Halloween event (loosely based, creative license was very much utilized...).  Also, disclaimer that I have NOT completed the original game yet (I’m on Chapter 29).  Therefore, discrepancies may abound.

Content warnings:  18+ NSFW content; fem!reader, female!reader; reader is dressed as a sexy nun (for the birthday girl 💚); oral (f receiving), fingering, finger sucking; reader gets lifted up, held, and carried by Mammon (he’s a demon, okay?); rough(ish) sex; some dirty talk; the L-word is dropped cuz this man is canonically a simp.

“RUNNNN!!!”

You stared wide-eyed as Mammon ran full speed at you.  He closed the distance within seconds and before you could even respond, he grabbed your hand and started pulling you with him.

And just in time, too; behind him was a mummy in hot pursuit, its eyes gleaming red, its crooked fingers outstretched and leathery mouth gaping.

You instantly fell into step next to him, your hands still linked, the high heels of your knee-high black boots clicking on the floor.

“What the hell happened?!” you demanded.

“I don’t know!” he replied.  “We were all working at the café, and suddenly they all went apeshit!”

You struggled to stay level-headed, especially considering Mammon was the one who was so scared of monsters.  But you couldn’t help the fear that tightened your spine and sharpened your senses.  The short, tight dress of your sexy nun costume threatened to hike up dangerously high as you tried to hold it down with a free hand, and your boots were killing your toes as you prayed you wouldn’t twist an ankle.  This was not the outfit you should be wearing while getting chased by a monster.

Mammon glanced down at your feet, his cheeks flushed. “How the hell can you run in those?!”

“I can’t!” you retorted.

You knew you were slowing him down, and you glanced back to see the mummy was quickly closing the distance.

“Mammoooonnnn!!!” you warned.

He glanced back and yelped, the mummy’s reaching hands inches from your backs.

“C’mon, slowpoke!” he yelled.

He yanked your hand, making you lose your balance and fall into him.  In a matter of seconds, he scooped you up in his arms and burst into a full run down the deserted hall of RAD.  The mummy behind you roared in anger, and you stared with wide eyes as the gap between you began to widen.

Mammon turned the corner and entered the main hall where the double staircase twisted up to the second floor, the black iron balcony high above.

“Hold on!” he ordered.

“What??”

Suddenly you were flying, buoyant in the air.  Or at least it felt that way, with the way the floor shrank beneath you. You watched as your nun’s hat blew off the top of your head and drifted down, down below you.  You yelped and clung to his neck, burying your face into his shoulder.

It was brief, lasting mere seconds, then suddenly you felt the impact of his boots against something hard.  You opened your eyes just in time to see his thin bat wings fold and vanish, his demon form once again tucked away. You looked down and realized he was perched on the balcony railing like a bird of prey.

“Wait, did you just fly?” you asked.

“With these skinny ass wings?? Nah, I jumped. The wings helped with balance and gliding.” Mammon replied as he hopped down with you cradled in his arms.

He set you down, his hand once again holding yours tightly.  “Demon, remember?”

“Like I ever forget,” you teased.

You both looked down below to see the mummy had made its way to the base of the stairs.

“Damn, he’s persistent...” you commented.

“Shit, shit, shit, let’s go!”

And then you were running again, but apparently not fast enough for Mammon, because he once again scooped you up in his arms, his hands hot against your bare thighs.

As he ran, his face lit up. “I have an idea.”

“NO,” you said immediately.

But he didn’t listen.  He bolted with purpose down the hall until he reached the double doors of the cafeteria.  He kicked his way through and made his way to the kitchens as you watched the double doors swing back and forth behind you.  It was dark, the cafeteria closed for the evening.  But even so, the doors were loud, and it took them forever to stop their swinging.

“Where the hell are you going??” you demanded.  “Those doors don’t even lock! He’s just gonna follow us!”

“Quit yer yappin’!” he scoffed as he pushed past another door.  He was in the kitchens now, rows and rows of counters, ovens, and stoves surrounding you. The only light in the space was the furnaces still burning low, keeping the coals hot for tomorrow’s breakfast.  It cast an eerie muted warm glow throughout the room.

You looked at where he was going, and then you realized.

“The pantry?! Seriously?!”

But before you could stop him, he opened the door and stuffed the two of you inside.

It was pitch black, and you both stumbled against each other.  Your hands reached out and found all four walls easily within a half a step’s distance.

“What?? What is this? Why is this pantry so small??” You asked.

“It connects to the larger storage room, but they lock it up with magic because they know Beel would clean it out if they didn’t,” Mammon muttered.  “There’s like... ten of these and they call connect to the same room.”

He was close to you, really close. Close enough to feel his warm breath against your hair.  Your hand found his chest, your fingers brushing against the fabric wraps of his mummy costume that he wore. You heard him inhale sharply at the contact.

“Hey—” he started.

But his words were cut short by the sound of a deep bellowing howl.  The mummy had finally reached the top of the stairs.

You both froze.

“Mammon... does this pantry door lock from the inside?” you asked around a tight throat as you began to fumble for some sort of latch.  “Like to keep Beel out?”

“Don’tcha worry.  I worked in the kitchens before to pay off some debt and learned the spell to get in the storage room.  Once we’re in, the magic will hide it again. I just gotta say the incantation.”

“Well, get to it then!” you whispered harshly.

“Yeah, yeah! Don’t rush me!” he snipped back.  “Okay, okay.... let’s see...”

He muttered the words, and you waited. And waited. The magic pulled, shuddered.

Nothing happened.

“Well that did a whole lotta nothing,” you commented dryly.

“Shaddup! Lemme try again.” He muttered the incantation again, his voice a little louder, a little firmer, his palms pressed against the shelves.

Again, nothing happened.

“What?? I don’t understand! Why isn’t it working??” he said.

“Mammon, are you sure you even remember the spell correctly?” you replied.

“Tch, of course I do!” he replied, his voice rich with indignation.

“Is it possible that they changed it?  Like changing a password or something?”

“Wait... hang on a sec...” he muttered.  You felt him moving next to you, his arms outstretched, and you could feel his hands touching the objects on the shelves. It was the sound of glassware clinking, bags rustling.  It was nearly pitch black, and you didn’t dare turn on the light, lest it shine beneath the door and give away your hiding place.

Mammon’s hand bumped something, and it fell to the floor with a loud, shattering crash.  You both flinched against the noise and waited with bated breath as you both listened.  A moment later, the unmistakable sound of a monstrous growl and the double doors slamming open resounded, and you both jumped.

Your breaths were coming in faster now.  “It’s here....” you whispered.  You clutched the sleeve of his jacket in a death grip.  “Mammon!”

The scent of spices began to hit your nose, drifting up from the broken container at your feet.

“Wait... “he muttered. He bent down and touched the powder with his fingers and sniffed.  “No...”  He stood up and opened another container and sniffed it, and then other.  “Shit! No, no, noooo....” he muttered.  He laid his head against the closed door.  “This is the wrong one.”

You felt the blood drain from your face.  “What?”

“It’s the wrong pantry! This one is just spices!”

“So?? What does that even mean?”

“It means it’s not connected to the storage room!”

“Why the hell not??”

“I don’t know, that’s just how they designed it! Ask Barbatos, he probably knows!”

“Mammon!!!” you whispered harshly.

“Hey, it’s not my fault!” he protested.

“Yes, it is!!”

“No, it’s not! I was distracted!”

“By what??”

“By the damn mummy chasing us!” he retorted.  “And you, dressed like that...”

You did a double take.  “Excuse me??”

The sound of something hard scraping against the cafeteria floor snagged both of your attention.

“Why did you have to be a sexy nun?? With that tight dress, and those boots...” Mammon muttered to himself.  “It’s okay, it’s okay... we just gotta think of... something.” Mammon let out an excited gasp.  “Hey! You’re an apprentice now, right?? You know any good spells?”

Your brain was still stuck on the ‘sexy nun’ comment.  Another scrape of noise, the sound of one of the cafeteria tables being bumped, regained your focus.

“Me?? What about you?? You’re thousands of years older than me!!”

“Yeah, do you think I’m spending all that precious time staring at spell books when I can be out there earning cold hard Grimm??”

“Ugh,” you groaned.

Another scrape, closer this time, followed by the sound of one of the stacked chairs clattering to the ground. Mammon’s arms were around your waist in an instant, holding you tight against him.

“Shit, shit, shit... hurry!” he whispered into your ear.

“Okay, okay, just... shut up and let me focus,” you muttered.

His hands released you, and you felt along the edges of the door, tested the shape of the door handle.  A binding spell, or a weaving spell? Which would be better?

“Okay, I think I got it...” you whispered.

You placed your hands on the door and began to chant.  As you chanted, your hands began to move, following the seams and leaving a trail of faint, pale light before vanishing like ripples on a pond.  You did the doorknob last, weaving the binding spell thick and taut.

“That should do it.”

The door to the kitchen banged open and you both jumped.  Mammon yelped, and you covered his mouth with your hand.  Once he was quiet, you removed your hand and you both waited and listened.

One, two....

Three.

Then you heard it.  The sound of scraping, dragging footsteps and raspy breath. It was getting closer, closer...

Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, your palms sweating.

But it was Mammon who was really starting to lose it.

“No, no, no, no.... he’s gonna find us!” he whispered.

“Mammon!” you whispered back.

You heard a loud bang, the sound of a door being thrown open. Then the shuffling of footsteps, and another bang.  The mummy was checking all of the closed doors.

“No, it’s too late! He’s gonna find us! I’m too young to diiieeee,” he whimpered.

You could feel your eyes roll into the back of your head.  “You’re a demon! You’re not gonna die!”

But he didn’t hear you; his breaths were coming heavy and fast now, and your frustration was starting to morph into genuine concern.

“Mammon...” you tried again, your hand against his chest.

You could feel the movement of his body, could tell he was shaking his head in the darkness.  You covered his mouth with your hand just as the shuffling footsteps stopped right outside the door.  Then you heard it.  The jiggling of the doorknob.

It didn’t open. Your spell held, the knob giving off a faint glow as the magic activated.  With it, you caught a glimpse of Mammon’s terrified eyes as he stared at the door. The dim light faded as soon as the hand released the knob on the other side, once again plunging you into darkness.

It happened again, the shaking of the knob harder this time. But again, the magic held, the light shining slightly brighter than before.  Mammon whimpered against your palm, his arms finding your waist again as he clung to you.

“Mammon, pleeeease...” you begged in the faintest whisper against his ear.

The light dimmed again.  There was a long pause.  Just when you thought the mummy had left, a loud series of bangs resounded against the sealed door.  The edges glowed, the framing illuminating the small pantry space.  Mammon yelped into your palm, and your heart nearly tore out of your chest with how quickly it was pounding.

If the mummy heard him... if he learned that you were both in here...

You had to shut Mammon up.  You had to distract him.

You grabbed the thick collars of his jacket and yanked him down into a kiss.

His mouth crashed against yours, lips warm.  He froze, eyes wide in the darkness, lit against the pale glow as the mummy tried to the doorknob one more time.

The doorknob stopped jiggling and the light disappeared, once again plunging you into darkness.  One breath, two, you counted as you kept Mammon’s lips pressed against yours.  Just as he began to overcome his shock and wrap his arms around you, you heard the shuffling of the monster’s feet as he trudged away.  You pulled away, your body hot and sensitive.

You waited a couple more minutes with your ear to the door before finally braving a whisper.  “I... I think he’s gone... maybe he went to go find someone else?”

Mammon was uncharacteristically quiet.  You cast a lighting spell, and a small orb of orange light lit up the small pantry.  You tossed it up gently and it floated over your heads.

“There, that’s better...” you muttered as your eyes began to take stock of everything. 

The shelves were well stocked with various questionable devildom ingredients.  Mammon was right; it was the spices pantry, rows upon rows of glass containers with various labels on them. Eye of newt, ghost garlic, howling peppers.  You noticed the broken container on the floor, red powder scattered with Mammon-sized footprints pressed into it.  On the higher shelves sat various pickled ingredients: rabbit feet, bat wings, toad eyes...

But your attention to the pantry space was overshadowed by the heavy stillness that lingered behind you in the form of one unusually quiet greed demon.  Mammon’s silence was becoming torturous, and finally, knowing you could no longer avoid what’d happened, you turned and looked at him.

It was enough to snap him out of his stunned state.

“What the hell was that??” he demanded.

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? You kissed me!”

“Well, yeah, you were starting to lose it and I had to shut you up!” you retorted.

“With a kiss? Here? Now??”

You couldn’t suppress the grin that blossomed across your face.  “Are you telling me you didn’t like it?”

“Wha- No, I didn’t say that...” he muttered as he scratched at the back of his head, his eyes looking away.

You stared at him for a long moment, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Mammon...”

“Hm?”

“You know I like you, right?”

His eyes snapped back to you, his mouth open as he tried to find words.

“Y... you do?” he finally said.  But then a lopsided grin curled up on one side and he straightened up pridefully.  “I mean, of course you do.  I’m the Great Mammon, Avatar of Greed.”

You laughed, rich and light with amusement.  You grabbed him by the wrapped bandages of his costume. “C’mere.”

Mammon’s grin was full now, his eyes gleaming in the warm light.  “You gonna kiss me again?”

“Yes,” you replied as you pulled him closer.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you against him. The scent of his expensive cologne surrounded you, and you fought the urge to bury your face into his neck and inhale.

“But I’m not scared anymore,” he teased.

“Oh,” you replied. You placed your finger to your chin thoughtfully.  “You’re right.  So maybe you should kiss me instead. As a thank you.”

“You want me to kiss ya?” He began to dip his head down, his eyes staring at your lips.  “ Y’know I won’t be able to stop when I start, right?”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

His lips were close enough to brush yours, feather soft.  “Because I’m greedy.”

“So am I,” you grinned.

A small scoff escaped his upturned lips, the warmth of his breath fanning yours for a split second before he kissed you.  Warmth spread throughout your body and you held his face in your hands.

He pulled back for just a fraction of a second to take in your dazed eyes and parted, open mouth.  Then he kissed you again, harder, as his body pressed you up against the sealed door. Your mouth opened for him instantly and Mammon took advantage of it, his tongue meeting yours hungrily. His hand came up to cup the back of your neck while his other held tightly to your waist.  Over and over you kissed, his warm tongue swiping against yours as his hands began to roam, caressing your body with a selfish touch.

You nibbled on his lip and he groaned as his body pressed harder against you, his leg taking up residence between your parted thighs.  You could already feel his hard cock pressed against your leg from within his pants, twitching eagerly against the restraining fabric.

“Your costume has been driving me fucking crazy all night,” he growled as his hands palmed at your breasts.  His body forced your legs open even wider to make room for him as he stood between them. “Especially these,” he commented, as his fingers tugged playfully on the edge of the knee-high black boots.

You glanced down at your costume with a giggle.  The short skirt was hiked up to your waist thanks to the way he had you spread for him.  It left your panties exposed, pretty and enticing.

Mammon wasted no time once he saw them, his palm cupping the shape of you through the thin fabric as he rolled and pressed his fingertips. You sucked air in through your teeth as sharp jolts of pleasure radiated.

“You better’ve put these on for me and no one else,” he growled.

Your breath shuddered from your chest as you struggled not to buckle under his firm touch.

  “Only you,” you replied.

“Good,” he whispered, and then he kissed you again, his tongue stealing your mouth.

His fingers continued to rub circles through your underwear, your wetness causing the fabric to glide easily across your sensitive skin as it soaked through, hot and slick.  You moaned into his mouth, and it spurred him on, his fingers pulling the panties aside and dipping into your wet heat.

Your body was more than ready, your walls slick and welcoming as he pushed one finger in, curled it, and then followed it quickly with a second, pushing deep into you until his knuckles were pressed against your folds. His other hand tugged the edge of your top down just enough to expose your breast, your nipple captured between his thumb and forefinger.

You gasped, your lungs filling hungrily with air as your nerves sang.  Then you exhaled, the breath carried on a wanton moan as he curled his fingers against your soft walls while his other hand rolled and pinched.

“Fuuuck,” he muttered against your lips, his breath hot. “You’re so fuckin’ hot...”

He kissed you.  Then Mammon pulled his fingers out slowly and pushed them back in.  Your eyes rolled and your mouth moaned. 

“I’ve thought about this so fuckin’ much,” he murmured as he watched you intently, “...fisted my cock every damn night to the thought of havin’ you just like this.”

Mammon pulled his fingers out again and then pushed back into you swiftly, harder, his palm grinding against your clit.  You yelped, your spine straightening as your head fell back against the hard wood of the door.  He stared in rapture and did it again.  Your fingers clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his jacket.

It was everything Mammon had hoped for, everything he’d wanted.  Every whine and moan, every gasp and spasm were like little gifts of worship that you left on his golden altar.  It only spurred him on, eager to hear more, see more, take more. 

He began a steady, hard pace with his fingers, curling his tips on their retreat and grinding your clit on his return.  Your yelps turned into breathy whines, his name on the tip of your wet tongue and swollen lips.

He grinned devilishly. “You like that, huh? You like when I fuck your pretty pussy with my fingers?”

You were too enraptured by the sensations he was stroking in you to respond, your mind going dumb against the rapid onslaught of pleasure, and he chuckled.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby... gonna spoil ya, treat you the way you deserve.”

Mammon was everywhere; his fingers deep in you, the scent of his cologne surrounding you, his hot breath painting your lips.  He stole wet kisses from you with his tongue before trailing his mouth down your jawline.  He sucked on your neck harshly, pulling at the sensitive skin where your pulse fluttered wildly. It ached, sharp and rich, and you knew the mark would linger for weeks, and somewhere in your dazed mind, you thanked him.

But then he was moving further down, his teething grazing your collarbone and down your cleavage until he found your nipple. He took it into his mouth and bit it between his pearly white teeth with a growl.  Your body jolted, your hands pushing against his shoulders instinctually, but he did not relent.  Instead, his tongue lathed over the tender flesh and he began to suckle.

“M-Mammonnn...” you begged as you finally found your voice.

He released your nipple and continued to crouch lower and lower, until his face was level with your exposed, needy cunt.  His fingers still worked you, but they slowed considerably, causing you to whine.

He stared up at you, his blue-gold eyes dark with hunger.  “You haven’t been with any of my brothers, right?”

You vision focused, the seriousness of his tone forcing you to concentrate on him. “No,” you replied. “I p-promise. No one else...”

“I’ll be your first,” he said firmly.  “And I’ll be your last.  No one else is allowed to have you, ya got that?”

“You’ve always been my first,” you confessed. “I don’t want anyone else.”

He smiled at that, lips pulled into the sexy grin that you loved so much.

Then his mouth was on you, tongue dragging mercilessly across your swollen clit.  You gasped, deep and rich as your fingers tangled into his white locks and tightened on his roots.  He moaned against you, his voice reverberating into your core.  Mammon removed his fingers from you and in a single swift motion, he grabbed both of your thighs and put your legs over his shoulders.  You yelped as your body weight shifted against the door, but between his shoulders his hands gripping your ass, and the hard wood at your back, you were held steady.

The shift in your position forced your cunt harder against his face, and his tongue dived into your folds as his nose nudged your clit.  He licked and sucked, moaning like a starving man as he devoured you.  He relinquished your ass cheek with one hand, trusting in his shoulders and the door behind you to hold your weight as he pushed his wet fingers back into you, pumping them in a steady rhythm.  Your hips began to roll and buck, your fingers clenched into fists upon his head as you grinded yourself against him.  It built rapidly, faster than you could manage.

“Mammon!” you cried in warning.

You came hard, your body wracked with wave after wave of hot euphoria.  It rolled through you in shudder after shudder, the pleasure pushed out on decorated moans.   Your cunt throbbed needily around his tongue, his fingers, aching for more, more...

Your orgasm hadn’t even fully finished before he was removing his fingers from you and setting you back down on shaking, weak legs.  He came back up to face you, his mouth capturing yours in a hungry kiss as you whimpered against him.

You were torn between the aftermath of pleasure and the lingering sensation of feeling incomplete.  God, you wanted more of him, needed to feel him in you, hitting you deep and filling you up...

Before you could even so much as speak, his fingers were in your mouth, drenched in your arousal.

“Suck,” he ordered.

Your lips closed automatically, swallowing your juices off his long digits as they pressed against your tongue.

He laughed, breathy and light, as his eyes drank in the ruined sight of you.  “Look at ya, so fuckin’ greedy... I knew you were perfect for me...”

As you sucked his fingers clean, his other hand was quickly undoing his belt buckle and then his pants.  He’d barely gotten his cock free before he was lining himself up with your sopping, messy hole and pushing himself into you.  You moaned around his fingers, your eyes rolling back into your head as the filthy sounds of profanity fell from Mammon’s lips like prayers and promises.

His free hand lifted your thigh up against his hip as his body, hot and sweaty, pinned you against the door. You took every inch, every centimeter, your walls stretched and burning at the size of him, reigniting the nerves that hadn’t even had the chance to mellow before he began to fuck you.

Your legs were already weak from before, your heels making it difficult to stand.  Mammon removed his fingers from your mouth and hooked his forearms behind your knees and lifted you with ease, pinning you against the door with your knees drawn up on either side of you.  It rendered you helpless, the shift in the angle allowing him to hit you deeper until you were seeing stars.

Mammon fucked you harder, his hips pistoning his hard cock into you at a relentless place.  You clung to his shoulders as your whines and pleas grew louder, higher.  It was too much, the pleasure too rich, too sharp, it felt like wildfire...

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he moaned between his heavy panting.  He kissed you, hard and sloppy, his mouth conquering yours as if he were searching for the residual taste of your cunt on your tongue. “I love you. I love you, I love you...” he chanted.

He adjusted his hold on your thighs slightly and his pace shifted, his cock pounding, faster, deeper, a greedy pursuit of a high he’d longed for ever since he first laid eyes on you.  It hit your sweet spot over and over until it ached, throbbed, and finally you were shattering, your second orgasm ripping through you, harder than before.  You cried out, and Mammon laughed, thrilled at the sound of your pleasure.

“Yeah, let ‘em here ya baby, fuck.  Let ‘em know who you belong to.”

But then his own words fell away, and he burst with a groan, loud and heavy as he buried his face into the crook for your neck.  His cum was hot, like fire, and it filled you up, and still he fucked you through it, savoring, reveling, until it oozed down his cock and soaked his balls, his pants. 

With a final thrust, deep and hard, his cock spasmed the last drops and he moaned low in satisfaction.

Your world spun, dizzy and tumbling with lightheadedness as you gasped heavily for air.  Mammon was still for a long moment, his sweaty forehead pressed against your collarbone as his hot breaths coated your chest.

Slowly, he lowered your legs until you could wrap them around his waist.  Then, with you still held in his arms, you both slowly slid down the door until you were sitting in his lap, his softening cock still tucked snuggly in you.

You stared up at the ceiling, dazed, as the orange orb glowed and hovered, flickering like a candle.  The air was hot and stuffy, rich with the smell of sex and spices.

You tangled your fingers into his hair at the back of his head and scratched along his scalp tenderly, and he groaned contentedly.

“I love you too,” you finally rasped around tired lungs.

Mammon sat up finally and looked at you, his arms still around your waist.  “Do ya?”

You smiled at him.  “Yeah.  I do.”

He kissed you tenderly, his gentleness returning now that his lust had finally been satiated... for now.

“Good,” he replied. “Cuz I meant it when I said it.  I love ya more than anything.”

You smiled and kissed him back.  “I know,” you replied.

You leaned your head back against the door and closed your eyes.  Mammon laid his head against your chest as he snuggled you.

“Mine,” he muttered.

You giggled and ran your fingers through his hair.  “Yours,” you replied.

After a few long minutes of silence, you finally spoke.

“Mammon...”

“Hm...?”

“I have a confession.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“I don’t know how to undo the binding spell on the door.”

“..... WHAT?”

#mammon x reader #mammon x mc #mammon x you #mammon x y/n #obey me! #obey me mammon #mammon obey me #om mammon #om! Halloween 2023

[prolix-yuy]

Helllo!! I’m so excited for your bangathon! I love your work so much! I can’t wait to read the drabbles!

I did spin the wheel and got the mermaid position. I was having a hard time deciding which boy to pick but I can see Frankie and his wife trying a new position to spice things up. I can see it being equal parts silly and sexy. 😂😂

Thank you so much!

Oh my god, you need to know that this exact position in this exact circumstance is EXACTLY why I wanted to do the bangathon in the first place!

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Wife Reader

Position: Mermaid

Word Count: 804

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, PiV sex, allusion to cumming on someone, so much silliness.

Notes: I love silliness in sex, and this was a perfect excuse to play with that. Plus Frankie can use a little lighthearted fun!

“Are you sure this is how it works?”

Frankie leans over to peer at the iPad propped up on the table next to you, which only tips you back into giggles as he squints with his mouth half-open.

“Your glasses are…”

“I can see it.”

You swallow back another laugh as Frankie helps scoot you a little closer to the edge of the dining room table, the only available surface that lines you and your husband up just right. He’s already snug inside your welcoming cunt, stomach twitching against the back of your thighs every time you feel another giggle threaten to take over. 

“Okay, then we do this…” he murmurs, bringing your legs up against his chest so your ankles frame his flushed face. 

“And it’s called the mermaid?” you ask, flat on your back in a way that pulls your hamstrings taught. It’s a little bit of a strain on your calves, nothing you can’t handle. Frankie’s attention comes back to you, broad shoulders firm under your heels. He strokes those big hands you love up your legs, a steady pull out and press back in testing the position. 

“Maybe this is your tail?” he says, a boyish smile crinkling his eyes.

“Best fish you ever caught,” you shoot back, arching your back a little to look more alluring.

“Only one in the sea for me,” he replies, pressing a kiss to your ankle. The playful groan changes to a real one as Frankie begins a firm pace, the creak of the kitchen table growing louder as he rocks into you. 

It’s…not bad. There were other positions you liked better in your quest to knock out the kama sutra. It’s just sort of…dull. Your mind wanders, admiring your husband’s dewy skin, the line of a farmer’s tan faint along his bicep. The way his curls bounce as he pants, eyes roaming your curves before making it back to your face. When your eyes meet his gaze sharpens.

“Not doing much for you?” he asks, slowing to a stop and stroking long paths up and down your thighs. You chew the inside of your cheek, contemplating.

“If I knew I was going to be looking at my feet so much, I would have gotten a pedicure.”

Frankie’s eyebrows shoot right up into those gorgeous curls, then his whole face scrunches up as he snorts and laughs into your calf. You tumble over with him, egging each other on until the laughter is uncontrollable and you’re both out of breath and half-crying. 

“My god, woman, you’re going to kill me with that mouth of yours,” Frankie gasps, leaning back to catch his breath.

“But really, come on, why would you put the least attractive part of my body right next to my favorite part of yours?” you say, your heart fluttering when Frankie’s smile softens. 

“I like your feet, they’re cute,” he rebuts, placing a too-ticklish kiss right in the arch to makes you squeal.

“I like you, you’re cute,” you reply, and the laughter smooths and melts into the glow of love that always seems to surround Frankie when he looks at you. You could live in his adoration for the rest of your life. 

“Okay, I saw another version, let’s try that,” Frankie finally says, shifting your legs so both are pressed against the same shoulder. Pressing your thighs together, Frankie’s hand splays across your stomach, thumb sliding into the slick folds of your pussy. Caressing your clit, he plants his other hand and bends forward just enough to start bringing your knees to your chest. Another circle of his thumb and your body zings with arousal.

“Oh,” you gasp, hands scrabbling to clutch at his bulging biceps.

“There?” 

“Yeah, there.”

“That’s good?”

“Fuck, yes, Frankie.”

Frankie’s pace speeds up, rocking his hips into the spot he’s mapped in every way you’ll let him take you. His thumb presses firmer in, rough pad dipping into the slick and smearing your clit into greater and greater pleasure. Tossing your head back, you let every noise spill from your chest, Frankie’s half-growls and panted praise your reward. The kitchen table protests but neither of you pay it mind, especially when a gush of your arousal drives Frankie to pound into you, the perfect roughness and power to topple you over the edge with his name tearing from your lips. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful,” he groans, pulling out once your aftershocks subside. He rounds the other side of the table, cock and fingers milky with your cum. You tilt your chin to accept the ravenous kiss, limbs splayed and weak against the hardwood. 

“Gonna give this mermaid a pearl necklace?” you ask, his thumb rubbing along your swollen lips.

“God, I love you, baby,” he husks. You smile up at him.

“Love you too.”

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

#francisco catfish morales x f reader #francisco morales x f!reader #francisco morales x you #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fic #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales fanfiction #frankie catfish morales x reader #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfictions #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction

[daenysthedreamer101]

Youngest Original ~ TVDU

Mikaelson!OC headcanons

Kassandra's personal style

TVD Masterlist

Obviously, Kassie has lived through many fashion eras/periods but I'll be focusing on her current 21st-century style aka what she wears in her day-to-day life

Office Siren/Sexy librarian vibes

think Gisele Bundchen in 'Devil Wears Prada'

Unlike Rebekah, she has lived through most of the 20th century so she's not as shocked by 21st century fashion.

After 900 years of having to wear skirts/dresses, Kassie was more than pleased when it became socially acceptable for women to wear pants

As she was daggered back in the mid-90s, most of her clothes are from that era.

VESTS VESTS VESTS

Dress pants, dress shirts - think corporate business wear but make it sexy

Heels, boots, heeled boots

clean lines, structured pieces - it helps elongate her figure

mostly neutral colors like brown, grey, white, and black, + a pop of dark red, dark blue, and dark purple

ofc sometimes she switches it up and comes out in a full girly pink outfit (it depends on how she's feeling)

Blazers when she wants to emulate Elijah lol

speaking of him, she's often compared to him, not just because of their similar personalities but also the way they present themselves

Obviously owns suits herself, only a few (ok more like a dozen lol)

She's just very inspired by her big brother and wants to be like him

Elijah finds it very endearing actually ☺

When it comes to hair and makeup Kassie sticks to what works best for her

Makeup is very 'clean/professional' looking

loves a bold lip, loves it

has at least 10 different lip glosses

think 90s brown lip + white/blue eyeshadow combo

thin eyebrows lol though she has grown them back

Her hair is her pride and joy so she takes great care of it

in the 90s had the classic 90s blowout/Rachel from Friends cut

has naturally curly hair but straightens it when she's lazy

dyed her hair blonde in the 90s because she missed Bekah (she was always lowkey envious of Bekah's blonde hair)

loves headbands and bows, owns a bunch of them (think Blair Waldorf)

hates when people mess her hair up *cough, Kol, cough*

actually choke-slammed him once against a wall and almost staked him for it

Elijah intervened at the last second

Rebekah and Klaus were laughing in the corner of the room

Finn was very confused/too scared to say anything and Freya was kinda of freaked out by her newfound family lol

Hayley almost had a heart attack

When it comes to accessories, she mostly wears rings and earrings

has collected hundreds of rings/earrings over the centuries

the most important one is obviously her golden daylight ring

prefers silver jewelry

isn't that big of a fan of necklaces/bracelets

there is one necklace she wears religiously

for her 100th birthday, her brothers got her a beautiful silver necklace with a small opal (her birthstone) in the center

the other super important ring to her is a simple heart-shaped ring

She and Bekah bought a matching pair in the 1800s and have worn them ever since. Hers is silver and Bekah's is golden

Totally owns a pair of Bayonetta glasses

Does she need them? Of course not.

Does she wear them as an accessory? Absolutely.

She loves painting her nails and takes great care of her hands/nails

Mostly sticks with red/black/brown or any darker color

But as previously stated, can switch it up and paint her nails in a glittery pink

Likes her nails to be long and extra sharp

Can often be found sharpening her nails with a nail file

"Bloody hell, you could gouge someone's eyes with those things!" Kol once commented as he noticed Kassie filing her nails in the living room

"That is the point, dear brother" Kassie responded with a pointed glare

Kol quickly excused himself from the room, not wanting to be used as a practice dummy

#moodboard #the vampire diaries #vampire diaries #tvdu #headcanon #my original characters #my oc stuff #kassandra mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #finn mikaelson #the originals #the originals fanfiction #tvd fanfiction #tvd headcanons #the mikaelsons #mikaelson family #the originals headcanons #mikaelson headcanons #tvd universe #freya mikaelson #office siren

[radiant-reid]

Any chance you do a hc where reader and Spencer get spicy on different surfaces of their apartment? And like how they would rate their experience on said surfaces.

oo i love this idea, you're fantastic !

kitchen countertop- 8/10

perfect for a quick, rough spur-of-the-moment fuck

a little bit of an awkward height, thank god he's so tall

good if he's on his knees to eat something other than food

slightly uncomfortable because it's hard marble and can be cold but it's okay because it's usually not a marathon event

his desk- 8.5/10

a better height than the kitchen countertop

but the wood can still be a little cold

and he can be messy so sometimes a freshly sharpened pencil will poke you

also, when he's at his desk he's much more likely to have a case epiphany

but it's also fucking hot

and sometimes some sexy lingerie can be the only way to get him to stop working

shower- 6/10

in theory, a 10/10, especially on a cold winter morning

however, spencer likes the water just a few degrees too cold

so you're either slightly cold or he's burning hot

also, very slippery, and he's clumsy anyway so there's always a voice in your head telling you he's about to drop you

and it requires some pre-planning because your hair always gets wet so you know you'll have to wash it

which you have to do when you kick him out afterward

but you keep doing it anyway

couch- 7.5/10

good if you're riding him

not so good if it's missionary

mostly because he basically fucks you into the leather seats hard enough it hurts

and leather really can hurt your ass after a while

but you still like to do it because then you can whisper in his ear when the team is over and remind him of what happened exactly where Hotch is sitting

stairs- 2/10

okay, you had both had a little too much

and spencer was smart enough to know he wouldn't make it up the stairs and be able to have sex with you but he needed to fuck you

so the uncomfortable stairs it was

that carpet burn was no joke

but you were satisfied for the moment

and too drunk to remember how awkward the angles were

floor- 3/10

at least it was carpet, right ? and vacuumed carpet, at that

but it happens when you've just moved in

and you're sweaty after moving things and it shouldn't be so hot to spencer, but it is so he has to have you

but you're bed isn't there and there's stuff on the countertop

so, the floor it has gotta be

you're a bit more careful about the whole carpet burn factor but it's still not comfortable

kitchen table 8.5/10

it was his fault for fingering you at dinner...

rating so high because of how hot the concept is

like eventually people are going to eat there which makes it kinda dirty and exciting

good height and slightly more comfortable because there's a tablecloth

but other than that it's pretty similar to the bench of desk options

pool 8/10

as long as there's some lube around, y'all are good

and it's sorta easier because you're both lighter

it basically happens every time you wear a little bikini to tan because he just cannot keep his hands off you

and he looks very hot with wet hair

plus it's super hot to do at night

laundry room 9/10

uhh, do i need to say more than the spin cycle ??

but anyway, some additional stimulation is great

and it gives you something to do while the laundry is being done

and it always smells nice afterward because of the washing powder

backyard hammock- 1/10

seemed like a fun idea in theory

especially because he looks so hot reading

far too difficult because it's so shaky

and it almost ends up with the two of you horny in the emergency room when Spencer falls out of it and onto his ass

so you don't try that one again

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut

[see-arcane]

If in your opinion Jonathan is bi who do you think among the guys would he be most possibly attracted to? Surely not Dracula!

Dracula and the Brides/Stoker's vampires in general seem to have an automatic Voluptuous 'You Find Me Attractive Despite Being Creeped Out' trick going on with them, so any spontaneous feelings of 'ooh~ vampire sexy~' throughout the novel have to be taken with a grain of salt. Especially with Dracula, considering...you know. The everything.

Regrettably, I do have to give the undead bastard some points for charisma when he's actually trying to put the effort in. Jonathan did seem genuinely interested in Old Man Dracula's storytelling even after alarm bells started ringing. But any twinges he might have felt were way too tainted with artificial attraction to count as real sparks, period.*

*Though I do think the vampires' sexy spell is only effective on those whose sexualities/preferences are open to said attraction in the first place. Dracula couldn't have left Jonathan ~all in a sea of wonders~ if he wasn't into men in general. But moving on.

As to who among the Suitors Three Jonathan might find appealing, Quincey is the best bet. They were knife buds! Violent vengeance pals! Jonathan probably spent whatever time he wasn't with Mina or sharpening the kukri getting some manfully mansome sparring time in with Mr. Morris. Much to Jack's lasting distress.

However, my money for the guy he might have had a proper 😳 reaction to doesn't even get to show up in the novel! He got cut from the main story with "Dracula's Guest," and didn't even get a name! A petty officer among soldiers coming to the rescue:

[Insert an already 👀 scene with Dracula the Wolf laying on top of Jonathan and licking his neck after saving his ass from a village of vampires here.]

The soldiers come to take him back to civilization. A trigger happy fellow pulls the trigger too soon, almost shoots Jonathan, but...

I saw one of the horsemen (soldiers by their caps and their long military cloaks) raise his carbine and take aim. A companion knocked up his arm, and I heard the ball whizz over my head.

Always felt this implied said companion was the PO. So, rescue number one.

As they drew nearer I tried to move, but was powerless, although I could see and hear all that went on around me. Two or three of the soldiers jumped from their horses and knelt beside me. One of them raised my head, and placed his hand over my heart.

“Good news, comrades!” he cried. “His heart still beats!”

2. Fellas...

Most of the soldiers start panicking, rightly suspecting vampire business. They fret about whether Jonathan might turn, but:

“There was blood on the broken marble,” another said after a pause—“the lightning never brought that there. And for him—is he safe? Look at his throat! See, comrades, the wolf has been lying on him and keeping his blood warm.”

The officer looked at my throat and replied:

“He is all right; the skin is not pierced. What does it all mean? We should never have found him but for the yelping of the wolf.”

3. Our guy the Petty Officer is covering for him from minute one. Yes, covering. There is absolutely a mark--if a near imperceptible one. (Like Lucy's 'pinprick.') And he's too blood-loss woozy for a drink not to have happened.

The soldiers are understandably still antsy. Not the PO, though.

“What became of it?” asked the man who was holding up my head, and who seemed the least panic-stricken of the party, for his hands were steady and without tremor. On his sleeve was the chevron of a petty officer.

“It went to its home,” answered the man, whose long face was pallid, and who actually shook with terror as he glanced around him fearfully. “There are graves enough there in which it may lie. Come, comrades—come quickly! Let us leave this cursed spot.”

The officer raised me to a sitting posture, as he uttered a word of command; then several men placed me upon a horse. He sprang to the saddle behind me, took me in his arms, gave the word to advance; and, turning our faces away from the cypresses, we rode away in swift, military order.

4. F-Fellas...fellas is it--

As yet my tongue refused its office, and I was perforce silent. I must have fallen asleep; for the next thing I remembered was finding myself standing up, supported by a soldier on each side of me. It was almost broad daylight, and to the north a red streak of sunlight was reflected, like a path of blood, over the waste of snow. The officer was telling the men to say nothing of what they had seen, except that they found an English stranger, guarded by a large dog.

5. Fellas is it gay to fall asleep in the arms of your rescuer while riding horseback and then waking up to hear him ordering his buddies to cover for you and say you definitely weren't getting tasted by a vampire to keep you out of trouble, asking for a friend--

“Dog! that was no dog,” cut in the man who had exhibited such fear. “I think I know a wolf when I see one.”

The young officer answered calmly: “I said a dog.”

“Dog!” reiterated the other ironically. It was evident that his courage was rising with the sun; and, pointing to me, he said, “Look at his throat. Is that the work of a dog, master?”

Instinctively I raised my hand to my throat, and as I touched it I cried out in pain. The men crowded round to look, some stooping down from their saddles; and again there came the calm voice of the young officer:

“A dog, as I said. If aught else were said we should only be laughed at.”

6. Petty Officer Be-Chill still covering for this pretty stray Englishman who clearly got vamp-snacked. For reasons.

I was then mounted behind a trooper, and we rode on into the suburbs of Munich. Here we came across a stray carriage, into which I was lifted, and it was driven off to the Quatre Saisons—the young officer accompanying me, whilst a trooper followed with his horse, and the others rode off to their barracks.

7. Nameless PO, probably: Do not worry swooning solicitor vampire bait man, I will accompany you back to your lodgings. Do you need help getting over the threshold? I could lift you again.

Fast forward to the hotel, and...Jonathan. Buddy.

The officer saluted me and was turning to withdraw, when I recognised his purpose, and insisted that he should come to my rooms. Over a glass of wine I warmly thanked him and his brave comrades for saving me. He replied simply that he was more than glad, and that Herr Delbrück had at the first taken steps to make all the searching party pleased; at which ambiguous utterance the maître d’hôtel smiled, while the officer pleaded duty and withdrew.

8. Jonathan, inviting his rescuer to his room for wine and gratitude: Thank you c:

Nameless PO: No problem. ...So is there a Mrs. Solicitor--

Herr Delbrück, mood killer extraordinaire, apparently invited himself into Jonathan's room to watch these guys drink wine together: ;) ;) ;)

Nameless PO, ducking out of the room: oh hey wow look at the time need to go do soldier things bye

Jonathan: :c ?

Oh, Nameless Petty Officer. What fun the speculation would have been if you were thrown to the Dracula Daily crowd from the start. As it stands, he exists outside of the 'official' start of Jonathan's travel journal entries, so he lives in a limbo outside the book/only in Jonathan's potential memory.

(But then, all of the above is moot anyway, as Jonathan is more Mina-romantic/Mina-sexual than anything else. Even if someone he found hot did want to take things further, Jonathan is a Mina First, Foremost, and Always kind of guy. No permission from her = No exploring his English countryside, The End.)

#all that said #the character of the Petty Officer has stuck in my head #and we'll be seeing him again in Barking Harker with some secrets of his own #jonathan harker #biromantic #demisexual #dracula #dracula daily #dracula's guest

[leoascendente]

PAC // Harvest moon 🌙

Hi my loves! Welcome to this new PAC 🥰. We'll see today what brings you this full moon in Pisces, known as well as the Harvest moon. This time I'll be only writting the tarot cards and the oracles I have in english, many of my oracles are in spanish and trying to translate the cards is terrible for me and loose a lot of meaning in the translation. So I hope you don't mind, thank you, babes. This spread is also shorter because I'm exhausted af, sorry babes, will compensate the next week 💞

Decks used: Work your light oracle, Ethereal visions tarot, Moonology oracle and Goddess guidance oracle.

As always take a deep breath before choosing your pile and take only what resonates with you.

Pics are from pinterest, credits to their owners.

Pile 1:

- What are you attracting?

Joy and happiness will be the major gifts this moon will bring you, you are attracting a massive glow up babe! You'll be more confident about yourself but also about your life path, you'll be gaining trust in destiny and what it has in store for you. There's a huge healing energy around you through this full moon but also the week previous and the week after, wear green clothes, paint your nails green or whatever you prefer that involves the green color, also you can light a green candle to amplify the healing energy. After this moon you'll feel released from a heavy weight you were carrying and this will allow you to enjoy your life in a more plenty way being aligned with yourself.

- Your havest:

(Cards: 5 of wands rev; The Devil; 10 of swords rev; Ace of swords / Bod: 4 of swords)

It's all about healing and progress, relief from conflicts and dramas and being more focused in yourself and what you want for your current life and your future. You'll see yourself with more loving eyes, also I see you'll be feeling very sexy or at least more in tune with your sexuality (you might be working your natal lilith or with your dark femenine and babe, is giving ressults!). Insecurities and self doubts you were dealing with will disolve making you more sure and aware of yourself and your life. Take time to rest and meditate, this will help you clear your thoughts and sharpen your mind to lead you to where you want to be.

- After the moon:

(Cards: Full moon eclipse/ Full moon in Pisces)

A solution you've been waiting for finally arrives, if you have been dealing with stagnacy or delay those moments will end pretty soon and in a very peaceful way. Everything will get into place after a long time of uncertainess, flow and allow the Divine intervention help and comfort you through this moon and meanwhile keep doing whatever you are doing, working, studying, making sport... because pretty soon after this moon you'll recieve an awesome new.

- Divine guide:

Set healthy boundaries, my love, say "no" when you don't feel in the mood, no matter who gets mad you have to respect your boundaries and energy levels. Give yourself the time and space to tune with your inner peace, spend time in nature and enjoy your beautiful company, so things by yourself just for you, to make you happy. You can also take advantage of the full moon to reforce your intuition and psychic gifts with meditation or any witchy activity you feel attracted to.

Pile 2:

- What are you attracting?:

Alignment and stability. You might have been feeling like walking on air instead of solid ground, like everything around you was completely out of your control, don't worry anymore sweetheart because this moon will give you grounding and peace. A wish you had and have been waiting for to manifest is approaching you very fast, your life is going to change to be filled by light and joy, after a period of darkness you are finally reaching the light at the end of the tunnel. Congratulations love! 😊

- Your harvest:

(Cards: Queen of pentacles; Page of swords; 5 of swords; 8 of cups; 8 of swords rev; King of cups // bod: The Chariot)

Wow pile 2, I've got a lot of cards for you! You are entering into a new chapter of your life completely different of what you used to know, you'll see the ressults of hard work manifesting really soon. I see you happy and motivated, you want to move forwards and the obstacles in your way that looked like mountains are now little rocks in the road. You've been doing your work silently to protect it, I see also an internal work or deep healing you have been through, you have evolved and left behind a hard time of your life, you are releasing chains you didn't knew you had and it's giving you new opportunities. There's something related to money too, like you are getting a more paid job, a promotion idk what it is but money is on your way. There's also a love opportunity very close if you haven't met this new person already, this person entering your life is bringing positive changes and has long term intentions, they are emotionally mature, they know what they want in love and will see in you the chance of fulfill all of their love wishes.

- After the moon:

(Cards: New moon in Taurus // Full moon in Aries)

Get ready for abundance and prosperity love because it's very close! Money and success in whatever you are working in will give it's fruits and it's going to be explossive (in the positove way, of course 😅), I don't have much to say about this, it's all about happiness, abundance and love. I just can say, your hard work was worth the wait (and the pain) and your dreams are becoming a reality, I am so so happy for you 💞

- Divine guide:

(Cards: Aphrodite; inner goddess / Abundantia; prosperity / Lakshmi; bright future)

(I wasn't going to write the cards from this oracle but the message is so beautiful that I wanted you to read it by yourself as well) Paper yourself babe, you deserve it! Treat yourself like the Divine creature you are, live and enjoy babe because there's nothing stopping you. You'll have the money you needed and also good news related to your future, so do something you've been wanting to do for a long time and you left aside to give priority to responsabilities, everything will be better than fine! 🥰

Pile 3:

- What are you attracting?:

You release fear and insecurity. You were dealing with a karmic blockage, something that kept you moving in the shadows. You might think you've been stagnant but not, my love, you've been moving forward on the inside. You are attracting the solution to your karmic blockage (it might be related to your south node), you've been building a new mindset and perspective about life, maybe you had a lack mentality and you are seeing how it was keeping you stuck. Don't worry babe, this time was needed to reflect and meditate about your personal journey, you have learnt your lessons and soon you will be getting more confidece about your knowledge and wisdom. You needed to change the mindset or an unhealthy habit by getting introspection, you did it great even if you are not giving the proper value to what you have achieved internally. You are attracting a new view in your horizon, remember that the mountains within us are the hardest to clim and you have done it😊

- Your harvest:

(Cards: 7 of wands; 2 of wands; The Fool; The Chariot // bod: 8 of cups)

A new direction in your life with more prosperity awaiting for you, a complete new chapter of your life, confidence in yourself and your path (read pile 1 if ypu felt drawn to). Here is a deep transformation babe so also give yourself some time to recharge energies, you've been dealing with an inner war fighting with your darkness to give it light. It's the end of a karmic cicle that was holding you back, you'll have new great ideas and opportunities for your future, mostly related to your passion, work or studies. Your roads are now open babe, enjoy it and jump into what life is about to bring you, leave behind what no longer serves you and step into the unknown

- After the moon:

(Cards: North node / First quarter moon / New moon in Gemini)

You'll be aligning with your soul purpose and your guides will prove your commitment with your desired goals. If you want something you have to go after it and leave the fear behind, if you have any project in mind you also have to protect it and be constant to reach the outcome you are looking for. This might be related to communication or at least communication will play at your favor, balance your throat chakra and write your goals, this will help you express more clearly and remind yourself what you want for your life.

- Divine guide:

(Cards: Cordelia; go outside / Coventina; purification / Isis; past life)

Your energies need to be refreshed, do things to help you release negativity and purify yourself. Take salt baths or light an incense in your home, whatever is helpful for you to release negative energies. In times of drastic changes, and even more when a karmic cicle is closing we are more vulnerable to recieve negativity so help yourself in the most useful way for you. Cordelia also invites you to spend time in nature or outside your home more often, you could take a walk or make some kind of outdoors excersice to relax.

Happy full moon 💕

- With love; Bela💋

#witchblr #divination witch #leoascendente #tarot #tarotonline #tarotblr #pick a pile #pac tarot #pac reading #full moon

[yallemagne]

EDIT: I am NOT condoning Vampire Mina. I think it’s bad. I don’t like the role it forces Mina into in the story, and I wish Bram had done something else.

Something I've found with my post about Jonathan’s white hair is that people are way more into the idea of vampire Jonathan than vampire Mina. Like everyone (including me, to be honest) is pointing and gasping: “HE’S NOT HUMAN!!” meanwhile Mina is right next to him and turning into a vampire. 

There’s numerous explanations for it, my personal reason for not liking Vampire Mina is that Mina hates the idea, and I’m completely against anything Mina is against (unless Jonathan’s for it because I’m a simp). Not only that, the method by which she’s being turned means she’ll become the Count’s slave when she turns and Jonathan would presumably have free will (at least as much as you could have as a vampire). 

And honestly, Jonathan’s doing cooler tricks as a non-human entity. His hair is going white, his hands are going cold, he’s sharpening his weapon with death in his eyes, he’s climbing walls and slashing at Dracula. He’s closed himself off to the rest of the men, and they find it intense and manly, nothing to be concerned about. 

Mina can get some information about the Count (though most of it is “he’s asleep on a boat... he’s still asleep on the boat”), but that same ability makes it so the rest of them can’t talk to her, and it really bums them out. It’s sexist in a way. They’re like “dammit, we brought Mina along, and she’s not even cheering us up like a good woman should, and on top of that she might die if we fuck up, this sucks :/”. 

The threat of Mina’s vampirism is a plot device used to get the boys off their asses to save a damsel in distress, but the threat of Jonathan’s vampirism has a through line, it is a side effect of the months of abuse he endured at the start of the book... and it kind of makes him more hot. 

The book’s reaction to Mina is “oh no, woman hurt :(((” and our reaction is “FUCKING FIX THIS”. And the reaction to Jonathan from both sides is “mmm angsty badass with white hair and big knife,,, sexy, don’t fix it”.

#if y'all are gonna keep liking and reblogging that post #then I'm gonna psychoanalyze you #Mina suffering/dying is a tragedy but Jonathan suffering/dying is heroic #why aren't both viewed as a tragedy #dracula daily #dracula #jonathan harker #mina harker #mina murray

[emjiroki]

Zoro and Ace for the alphabet game, please. C, F, K, and W. I love both of them.

AAHHH MY SEXY PIRATE BOYFRIENDS?! YES YES and YES!

gonna put it under a cut so I don't clog the dash

ZORO

C- Cum

Other than cumming inside of you, cumming on your face is a favorite. It's the possessive urge he just has to itch. Zoro's not a jealous guy or even really insecure at all but something about his cum dripping off your cheeks and watching as you desperately try to get as much as you can on your tongue to taste him always has him hard and ready to go again.

F- Favorite Postion

Either Mating press or Doggy. Loves to spank your ass and watch his hand prints come up on your skin. But he can never get over sounds you make when he has your knees up by your ears and he's so deep there's a belly bulge. Fucked out so dumb you've got drool on your lips that he's happy to kiss away.

K- Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Exhibitionism!

okay I've said before that Zoro is pretty private when it comes to your intimate time together BUT the first time you two have drunk sex out on the front deck of the sunny in full view of everyone something awakens in him. It might not always be full on fucking but he for sure is groping you and/or making you cum on his fingers when the crew is in ear shot or can plainly see you.

W- Wild Card (random headcanon of my choice)

Watching him sharpen his swords and train always turned you on and he knows it, loves watching the goosebumps raise on your skin when he runs the blunt side of the blade against your belly or the skin of your shoulder blades. the glinting of the metal against your skin was just so pretty, how could he not get hard with a little blade play?

ACE

C- Cum

Wants no NEEDs to cum on your chest. The sight of your breasts shining and dripping with cum makes his cheeks flush.

F- Favorite Postion

Missionary. DONT SAY ITS BORING. It's sweet boys favorite because he can press kisses all over your face and tell you how much he loves you. Will tug your legs around his waist and lay you back on the bed to just grind against each other and savor being close and whisper sweet things about how beautiful you are and how perfect you take him

K-Kink

Rope Play. Doesn't do it often but when you allow him he's over the moon. Loves the feeling of the soft material in his hands and loves even more the sight of it bringing up marks against your skin. He knows he's in love with you when you buy a new bright red rope for him to use on you. Want's to tie you up like a pretty little present and gift you to himself for the night.

W- Wild Card

Has the prettiest moans and whines. Especially when you've turned the tables and have his wrists tied to the headboard. Begs you let him touch you and whines when you tell him no, that he has to wait and earn the privilege of his hands back. You'll pull at least two orgasms from him and have his stomach covered in cum before he gets fed up and burns right through his restraints. He can only take so much teasing.

#AAAHHHH this one had me screaming and creaming thinking about them #zoro x reader #ace x reader #one piece smut #em talks 👄 #em writes ✍

[darklydeliciousdesires]

From Hell - An EZ Reyes/Reader One Shot Story.

The spooky smut continues, besties! This time with demon EZ :D This one got away from me a little, too. Warning, it’s smutty as hell. Pun intended. 

Words - 3,058

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

The night is quiet, other than the chirping of cicadas and the crunching of the loose stones and gravel upon the quiet, country road beneath your feet, the light from the full moon overhead illuminating your path towards the crossroads ahead. Your purpose tonight begins with arriving there, and will end in you summoning a demon.  

You aren’t venturing there to sell your soul in exchange for what the demon can conjure for your gain. No. The purpose of your visit could be seen as a little more dangerous than that, an excursion definitely not for the faint of heart.  

The thrill you seek? To have sex with a demon. And there is one whom your fellow witch friends assure you can be summoned for that very purpose. Usually, demons have little interest in pleasures of the flesh, but some still crave it. They are few and far between, so the name of the intended must be spoken, once the container of ritual items has been buried for the correct one to come forth. You have a brief outline of what you’re looking for. Tall, well built, Latino and very, very sexy.  

Arriving in the middle of the crossroads, you pick up a small rock from the side of the road, using the sharpened end to dig out a small hole in the centre, taking the little box from your pocket, within it a picture of yourself, a black cat bone and a handful of graveyard dirt. Taking a breath as your heart somersaults, you pause from covering the hole, gulping hard, having a little slither of worry tug at your insides. Suddenly, doubt pools in your tummy.

What if you’re about to make a dreadful mistake?  

‘That demon, he made me feel things I didn’t think possible. He might be dark and soulless, but he lit me up like a bonfire.’ Those words, the statement of recommendation from your friend rings through your head, prompting you to take another deep breath, covering the box with the dirt, patting it level and throwing the stone behind you, before speaking his name.  

“Ezekiel.”  

Straightening up, you begin to slowly pace in a circle, eyes darting around, searching the depths of the shadows for the one whom you have called upon. One tour of the crossroads, and you’re still alone, your heart beginning to escalate with anxiety, until suddenly, a scent drifts under your nose. Sulphur.  

“You witches and your continual invoking of me. I’d be annoyed if I didn’t find it flattering.” You turn to face him, to the spot where he appeared... you’d like to say from nowhere, but you know where. From hell. Tall, well built, Latino and very, very sexy. There’s absolutely no mistaking him, though, had you not have been given a description. Demons are the only creatures with completely coal black eyes, as his are. “Well, at least you’re pretty.”  

He speaks with complete apathy, but he views you favourably, his eyes taking a tour of you a few times, the corner of his mouth hitching a smirk. You blink, and he’s right before you, your body twitching slightly, unnerved. “Nervous, huh?”  

“Well, you are something hell literally spat up,” you begin, lifting your chin. “But I think I’ll feel better when I start taking off your clothes.” You eye him in the same way as he did you, the way his biceps fight against the sleeves of his t shirt making your pulse quicken, those thick, veiny arms sinfully pleasing to your eyes.  

“Hmm.” He reaches for you, his fingers beneath your chin tilting your head a little further back, his breath almost burningly hot against your neck as his lips ghost your throat. “Then let’s go.” He looks down at you, a grin curling his lips into a wide smile, the full toothed display reminding you of a shark, Ezekiel clicking his fingers. Within a blink, you’re standing within your bedroom with him, the demon waving his hand, all the candles within lighting of their own accord. You raise a questioning eyebrow.  

He shrugs, his fingers pushing beneath the straps of your dress. “I’m all about the ambience. Besides, the flames remind me of home.” You tremble with anticipation as he lowers your dress, the fabric puddling at your ankles, his eyes wandering over you before he clutches your waist, pulling you to him roughly. The heat of him... it’s like he brought a little of the smouldering blazes of hell with him, the demon burying his mouth at your neck with a groan, his hands tearing your underwear off before your mouths meet in kisses of blazing, fervent need.  

You paw at his clothes with impatient greed, needing to feel that unnaturally hot skin against yours, stripping him as if you’re unwrapping a gift, wondering to yourself how on earth pure evil can feel this good. He lays you back on the bed, the greed now all his as his hands paw at you, squeezing your breasts, the heat of his body pressing against yours beyond scintillating, his flesh almost burning hot.  

You feel the heat growing between your thighs, a slow spread that winds gently, Ezekiel’s mouth closing over your nipple, a wet suck of pure magmatic heat. He is overwhelming, encompassing, the rigidity of his cock firm at your hip, his slight shift sending him to your apex, the ridged length of him dragging through your soaked folds in tease. He’s burning against you, breath stollen from your lungs as you pant, grinding yourself into him, little shocks of pleasure skittering up your spine as you both purl against one another, his mouth back on yours.  

Your tongues swirl, your teeth grazing his lip as you feel the head of his cock skating over your clit, a firm push sending it against your entrance, the demon growling, a beastly rumble that causes your cunt to puddle against him as he stretches you, chuckling eerily. “Oh no. You don’t get it yet.” He slips from within the grip of your arms, kissing between your breasts, tongue circling your navel, sprinkling kisses over your hip before he settles at your apex, thumbs spreading the petals of your cunt. “Mmhmm, I definitely want this in my mouth before I fuck it senseless.”  

The near boiling drag of his tongue through your folds hitches the breath in your throat, your back arching, Ezekiel’s onyx eyes fixing upon you in an unblinking stare as he laves at you thirstily, sucking, kissing your tender nub, tongue flicking over you, your nails trawling his scalp as he gives you the complete unbridled focus of his mouth.  

“Mmmm, you taste sweet, little human.” he growls, arms winding beneath your thighs, gripping them, wrenching them further apart with a sharp tug, treating your aqueous slit to long, firm licks, evoking quivers that shiver you from head to toe. He grants no clemency from the hypnotic beat of his tongue over your bud, tasting your hot, pink folds with swirls and flickers as you gush onto his lips, his short beard wet with your nectar as he sucks a mouthful of your cunt, your nails dragging over his shoulders as you feel the coil within you tightening.  

You throb against each lick, each carefully administered swirl of his hungry tongue, your hands gripping his thick shoulders, your hips keening against the utter glory of what his mouth conjures. He draws curses from you as you pant, your body spasming so hard as he begins to suck your bud that you’re unsure if your response is of pulling away or shunting closer, crying out as you’re eaten with ruinous gusto.  

He has you beginning to spark against each well-placed lick, his mouth making you tighten, your walls in full clench, only sated by the arrival of his fingers into your slick, raking firmly, a smile playing his lips as he watches you writhe.  

“That’s it, you sweet little thing. Come apart on my tongue.” The heat of his mouth has you literally melting for him, the demon panting against your dewy pink folds as he assails your clit with firm circles, driving out pleasure from the very root of you, skittering through you as your hips purl and flex, the waves of your release washing over you ceaselessly, leaving you a panting, shaking wreck.  

Pulling his head from between your legs, you fight for breath, Ezekiel leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses up your body until he reaches your mouth. “Mmmm, I think it’s your turn.”  

He looks at you thoughtfully, cocking his head slightly, a small frown creasing between his eyebrows before moving to straddle your chest, his hand sliding to the back of your head, tilting it up while grasping your hair in a tight fist. “Yes, it is.” He pushes himself between your lips, touching the back of your throat, watching your eyes bulge slightly as you try and accustom yourself to his size, the wide girth straining the confines of your mouth. “You’re gonna take it, every last inch in that pretty mouth, like the slutty, demon fucking little witch that you are.”  

You moan around him as he begins to fuck your throat, his grasp at your hair stinging your scalp, hips jerking forth, shunting as you tighten your lips eagerly, your eyes fixed on his, your hands wandering over his chiselled muscles as he shunts back and forth, his groans all smoke and salt at the filthy indulgence of forcing you to swallow his cock.  

A trail of saliva exits your mouth, your eyes blinking tears, the demon watching you with the most twisted of grins, his intense stare making your nerve endings bounce, as the danger of the moment, the fact you are at the mercy of an entity that could kill you within a blink, collides with the soaring arousal. He grits against the wet clutch of your mouth, speeding up, the sounds of his arousal filling the air, inhuman growls making your heart quicken with nerves, knowing that what holds you down and penetrates your mouth with violent vigour is truly more beast than man.  

He trembles, abs juddering, trails of sweat streaking his perfect skin before lets out a roar of inhuman proportions, the back of your throat flooded with his release, so hot, you feel it scorch as you swallow it greedily, watching as he pulls out, leaving you gasping, thumbing your lips. “Mmm, good girl.” Sliding down your body, he kneels between your legs, fingers stroking at the petals of your cunt before plunging within. “I suppose somewhat of a reward is due.”

He drags at your soft, wet warmth, circling, nudging spots that have tingles glimmering through you, your soft little cries filling the air, the muscles in his arm tensing, veins bulging, pounding into you savagely as he trawls you so thoroughly, you drip for him.

“Such a needy little pussy, honey,” he hums, feeling you flex around his fingers. “You dying for my cock yet?”

“Yeah, oh, fuck yes, I am,” you confess, watching him grin, loving that he has you completely at his mercy. And you know, since he’s a demon, he will show you absolutely none.  

“Mmm, yes you are. Fucking desperate little girl, needing to feel my cock fill her up and stretch her out. Tell me how desperate you are.”  

“You know already, you can feel it.” His hand suddenly moves to your throat, clutching hard, too hard, a wave of panic rippling through you, the demon staring down at you, black eyes boring into you like two dark beacons.  

When he speaks, his voice is guttural, inhuman, eerier than anything you’ve ever heard. “I said tell me, mortal.”  

You gulp, your tummy tremoring in fear. “I’m desperate for you, I need you like I’ve never needed another. Please, Ezekiel. I’m begging you. Fuck me.”  

The stony, baleful look melts away, a grin creeping across his face again, your nerves calming a little. You’d forgotten for a short while, that it was pure evil you’d willingly invited between your legs, but you cannot deny that the frightening reminder was somewhat exhilarating. His grip loosens a little, but you are still pinned beneath the press of his hand, the fingers inside you crooking as he begins to rake at your sweet spots again, leaning to suck your nipples in turn, watching you falling apart for him.  

“Hmmm, should I be good to you? It’d be being good to me, really, to feel this wet little hole drenching my cock.” He doesn’t wait on a reply, shifting to spear himself inside you, arrowing your soaking plush with a carnivorous grunt.  

You’re skewered on him, feeling boneless against his bulk as his mouth buries at your neck. The pressure and power of him within is like taking an entire hell storm inside you, his hips rutting eagerly as he reaches your summit, bottoming out and dragging back, your cunt hugging him greedily in desperation for him to do it again, fill you wantonly and make you whole.  

The noise he emits as repeats this action suddenly sounds more human than demon, an almost helpless moan, making you realise he is somewhat at the mercy of what sheathes him so snugly. Your womanhood has him entranced as he cuts through your slick with long, powerful thrusts, a slight rotation of his hips making you feel entire constellations explode through your groin.  

You hang onto him as he spears you so deep your stomach shudders, legs and arms clinging on around his bulk as he begins to quicken, his mouth back on yours as his fingers graze your scalp and comb through your hair.  

He lifts himself up, fingers trailing your cheek, his thumb forcing into your mouth, his chuckle deep, black eyes glittering in an unflinching, unbreakable stare.  

“What a good little demon fuck puppet she is. This sweet little human body takes me so well,” he praises you with, sharp snaps of his hips sending his cock into you deeper, pleasure tinged with a little pain, grinning sinisterly at your wails. “Awww, baby. Did that hurt?”

“A little,” you gasp, Ezekiel’s chuckles continuing.

“Mmmm, good. Can’t have you enjoy it too much, although I think you liked it, didn’t you? You liked my cock making you ache. Tell me you did.” You can’t to begin with, his thumb pulled from your mouth, replaced with his tongue, kissing you primally.  

“I did, I liked it,” you confirm. “You hurt so good, Ezekiel.”  

His eyebrow flutters, his grin spreading. “You might not by the time I’m done with you.”  

There it is again, a sharp tinge of fear slicing at your insides, a soft whimper escaping your mouth as you feel him hit you deep repeatedly, hooking his arms under your legs, levering them forward until your knees touch your shoulders, sending him deeper. Your slick walls pulse around him, and he falters, the need to let his darkness flow blocked by a greater desire to let the edges of his evil singe with the pleasure you evoke within him.

He takes your face in a tight clutch at your jaw, offering his mouth back to yours, exhaling with a lustful moan as he kisses you deeply. The feel of him rutting against you, dragging wetness from your cunt with every thrust, your dew bathing his cock entirely, your tense body finally relents, slackening and relaxing, moving fluidly against him as you pant, his mouth finding yours and stealing hot kisses from your lips.  

He is tight and heavy within you, imposing and unimaginable in size and prowess, the power and rhythm of his fuck making you dizzy and drunk on him, his big hands grasping your face as your tongues entwine, his teeth then grazing your lower lip.  A grumbled groan wells in his throat, hips jerking and sending him deeper, your walls clenching around him instinctively, a whimper fluttering over your lips as he drags sparks through you, pleasure taking root and coiling around the base of your spine like a vine about to ascend.  

You feel completely floored by the desire that pours from him, his tongue running up your cheek, inky eyes staring down at you intensely. “You are fucking gorgeous, little witch. You’d better summon me again in the future, or maybe, I could just drag you back to hell with me.”

That baleful statement is delivered with him beginning to pound into you with unhinged vigour and boundless determination, syrupy bliss stirred in your loins as well as shocks of pain, your hands running down his chest and delighting in the feel of every rise and fall of his chiselled, bulky muscles, drinking him in, savouring him while you have him there, relentless between your thighs. He is as scary as he is sexy, and you have never experienced anything quite like such contrast.    

His voracious dominance overwhelms you entirely, your body once again tensing around him as you chase your release, wanting to drag the same from him into you, your bodies colliding wildly as you pant and groan like animals in heat, everything frenzied and fervid, his dark lust the shadow that casts across your body entirely, your muscles tensing, sweat trailing over your skin, the heat of him makes you soar. He has you climbing to your peak, tumbling over with a series of soft cries, the thick intrusion of him sending lightning to strike home at the base of your spine, his thrusts staccato as he fills you with thick ribbons of cum.  

And when he does, he stares at you, his black eyes roaring with flames, his entire being shimmering with embers, the demon pulling from you and standing. “Until next time, mortal.” His body glitters, before sinking down through the floorboards, an eerie chorus of wails flooding the room, his descent back into hell welcomed by the song of those he shares it with.  

The only trace of him ever being there is the scorched mark his exit left upon the floor, while you catch your breath in the wake of his departure, unsure for a few moments if you could ever withstand another encounter. Could you feel his sin set you ablaze again?  

Ten days later, and you find yourself walking towards the desolate crossroads once more.  

#ez reyes #ez reyes x female reader #ez reyes x you #ez reyes smut #ez reyes imagine #kinktober #ez reyes fanfiction #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc smut #mayans mc fanfiction

[cosmictapestry]

C7 and B16? The Agonies spa service combo

C7. bathing together

and

B16. massage

enough sexiness. Horrors and Agonies ahoy. and some sexiness. and the single saddest most Unwell entity to have ever existed. amen

@pratchettfan87 says that there are hot springs outside the castle and i say hell yeah there are

prompt list + fills here

The pressures of Lord Morpheus's position are harder on him now than they were before his imprisonment.

At first Lucienne hoped he just needed to readjust to managing his storm and his realm all at once, and that once he did the vacant exhaustion in his eyes would become less common. This has not been the case. Instead he seems to grow wearier, more distant when he drifts.

He talks to her, at least. He holds her hand in quiet stolen moments, loves her well in their shared chambers, comes to her when her own dreamscape runs dark. She wants to think she's helping. But though he becomes softer with her, more honest and forthcoming, his wounded existence drains him, leaves him spread thin and so, so tired.

She finds him in his throne room, staring up at the shifting stained glass windows. They seem cloudy today, the shapes indistinct and the light dim. His upturned face is bathed in the opaque gold cast from the jagged image of a star who had gone mad. He turns his head to look at her, and he blinks several times before he recognizes her. "Lucienne."

Today Lucienne is lonely, and she is stressed from the noise and the bustle of her rebuilt realm, and she is tense in mind and body, and she trusts him when she trusts nothing else. He frowns and his eyes flicker over her face, and he doesn't move, but his focus sharpens. "How can I help?"

"I've not been to the hot springs since you rebuilt them," she says.

Lord Morpheus stands there awkwardly still, and he looks away from her. "You deserve to rest, Lucienne," he says softly. "You certainly don't need my permission."

Instead of answering, she holds her hand out to him from across the expanse of the throne room. He stares at it, and he appears conflicted, and sad, and scared, and like he is as close to collapsing as he is to accepting any offer to bridge the gap between himself and someone who loves him. She waits for him to make his choice.

Finally he takes a step that echoes through his great hall, and then another, approaching her with all the caution of some once-bitten prey animal. She has bitten him before, to be fair. He stops in front of her and he stares down at her hand, impassive marble expression running with fault lines. His hand shakes when he raises it to hers.

Lucienne clasps that shaking hand in both her own and watches his jaw shift and his eyes brim with tears. His shoulders shake, too, his black cloak shivering with the motion. "I apologize," he whispers. "You do not want my company today."

She dips her head, tries to catch his gaze as it drifts from her. "You've decided that, have you?" she teases, her thumb tracing the sharp ridges of his knuckles. "I don't get a say?"

He flinches. "I didn't say that," too quickly, breath rapid, shivering intensifying, his eyes snap to hers. "I did not—you misunderstand—"

"Dream," she interrupts, startled, squeezing that ice-cold hand. "A joke, my lord."

He does not respond, he just stares, wide-eyed and terrified of her, of harming her or being harmed by her or something he is seeing that is not her at all. "My lord," Lucienne whispers. "My lord, come with me. Rest with me. I want you to. I am asking you to."

She watches as this calms him, steadies him, and he breathes, and the panic slowly drains from him, leaves him bowed and yielding. She holds his hand until he nods his head almost imperceptibly.

She closes her eyes, and when she opens them they are no longer in the throne room—they are in a cavernous grotto, its granite walls silvery pink and sparkling by the light of the sun gleaming through the open roof of the cave. Mosses and flowers and ferns bloom over the cliff face and cascade down to obscure the edges of a clear blue pool.

Lucienne and her lord stand at the bank of the pool, soft sand sloping down to the water's edge. Sweet-smelling steam rises in curls from the pool and the flowers that take root around it bow inward and sway languidly in its swirling eddies.

He leans into her now, the privacy or the heat or her patience cutting through his resistance. His forehead bumps hers, his hand cradled close to her chest, his shivers palpable in her own bones. There's an undercurrent of desperation in this soft moment, his eager acceptance of distraction, her need to set aside the past hundred years like they never happened. "May I take your clothes?"

Lucienne raises one hand to his face, pets his cheek, and he leans into it. "You may." Her garments melt away into silky sand and then into nothing. His free hand spreads across her lower back, holding her close to him. "Will you be able to undress?"

He thinks about it, and she kisses him to tell him it's alright, that he doesn't have to answer or know or make a decision if he can't. "Not right now," he manages eventually, when her lips have left his red and slick. "Later, perhaps." He swallows hard, breathes heavy between them. "I want to touch you. You feel real."

She does not know what it means for him that something might feel real. He is the king of all that is not real. And he is mad with it. "Touch me, then," and she moves his hand in her grasp to her breast and feels it trembling there. "As much as you need. I'm here."

His arm wraps around her back and he pulls her to his chest, embraces her, crushes her close, breathes harsh and unsteady in her ear. She' wishes he wouldn't wait until he is hanging by a thread to ask for a hug. She breathes in the scent of his skin, presses herself all along the line of his body, lets him stay there and shake—and she feels better, at least, because her home is solid in her arms and they are together.

Lord Morpheus pulls away before he's warmed, his eyes downcast, his expression drawn and uncertain until she kisses him again. "Whatever you need," she whispers against his lips. "Tell me, love."

He finds it easier to show her, as he often does, and he helps her to sit on a fluffy towel he's manifested under her feet, and he disappears momentarily from her view. She is left gazing at the sunlit haze above the water, obscuring blue water amongst pale pink stone and dark green foliage. She feels his hand on her shoulder, then the back of her neck, and finally she feels him sit behind her on the rise, his legs politely crossed.

His hands when they touch her are cold and trembling, but the oil on them is warm, and it smells sharp and sweet, and he pauses with the softest pressure on her shoulder blades. "Is this alright?"

All at once Lucienne is painfully aware of the tension in her back and neck and the grinding clench of her jaw. His thumbs rub smooth circles either side of her spine. "Not quite what I came to you for," she teases as though she isn't close to melting just from what he's giving her.

"You came to me because you feel alone." He leans forward and presses his lips to the back of her head. "Alone and weary from the burdens I've saddled you with."

"You misremember," she tells him gently, patiently, when her irritation fizzles as quickly as it kindles. "I have chosen every burden I've ever known. You have not."

This is not something Lord Morpheus can acknowledge if he hopes to remain in control of everything inside him, and so he ignores it. His hands shake harder. "Regardless," he whispers. "Let me help you. Please."

Lucienne would be a fool to argue when his clever hands begin to knead her shoulders, softly unwinding her tension, making her head drop forward in bliss. His palms run down either side of her spine, his long fingers sink into the plushness of her hips, draw back up and then down again, working softness into her frame. The strain in her back melts away under his attention.

The air is warm and wet and the sweat that gathers on her skin mingles with the oil, eases his movements, makes even the deepest pressure on her shoulders and lower back glide sweet and smooth, and she feels like she's floating in the pool already.

She realizes she's making some fairly obscene noises when he makes a sound in response, a comforting little shush that seems to jolt through her. Gods, his hands—on her neck now, then her upper arms, pulling her back against his chest so he can kiss her temple, stroking down her biceps. He shifts behind her, and he stills, again uncertain, and she guesses what the problem is, and she scoots back into him until she feels him hard against her arse.

With the unspoken permission he uncurls his legs, straightens them out on either side of her to accommodate the spread of her hips, pressed close to him. He does not move against her, just resumes his attentions, though without access to her back he's just stroking her now, feeling her skin, breathing hot on her ear. That's fine—she doesn't think she could feel much more jellylike than she does.

Lucienne tips her head back on his shoulder, exposing her throat for him. He kisses along the underside of her jaw, and his hands roam back to where she put them in the first place, cupping her breasts all slick and soft and cool, thumbing over her nipples, and Lucienne glances down to see the way her flesh spills between his fingers, the rich darkness of her skin worshiped by the pale of his own. Her head falls back again, and he gives her an approving groan, lavving his tongue over the hinge of her jaw.

She lifts an arm up behind her to wind through his hair, stroke it while he mouths over her hot skin. She is boneless, slouched, weak against her lord, sighing and whispering moans to him, encouraging him to pinch and grip at her until her spine is arching, hips pitching up, legs rubbing together in luxuriant delight, asking for his hands somewhere else in all but words.

"There you are," Lord Morpheus whispers, and his left hand abandons her breast, runs down the length of her body to touch between her legs. Lucienne sighs and stretches and mumbles lax encouragement that he takes in stride. He rubs her clit with three slick fingers, draws those fingers down, slips the middle inside her. "You are so beautiful," he tells her, choked, his teeth on her shoulder now. "Lucienne. My Lucienne."

She's practically purring, rocking up into his hand, fingers clenched in his hair. He buries his face against her neck now, mouthing up her throat, right hand tweaking her nipple in time with the drag of his finger inside her, the others tapping her folds, palm grinding on her clit. She is disembodied, wholly so, reduced to the warmth of her structureless frame held together by his hands.

He draws it out, doesn't give her more than that one finger—and it seems like he's just feeling her, inside and out, stroking where she's softest and warmest, and she's feeling him too, every slow deliberate slide building her up to a slow, burning orgasm that leaves her utterly nerveless in his arms.

Her lord kisses her face and pets her shaking thighs while she comes down, sweet approving hums and praise from his soft lips. She is still not quite in her body, and it takes long moments for her to return. She notices that his shivering has died down to a faint tremor, and his chest has warmed, and his erection prods her arse.

She endures it for several minutes more, relishing in his hands and the warmth of their realm, the release and the affirmation she's been seeking that has now encompassed her entirely. Then she sits up, and he makes a protesting noise as she stands, hands steadying her legs when she immediately stumbles.

As soon as she's stable Lucienne holds her hands out, pulls him to his feet, then stretches up to kiss him. "Help me wash up?"

Lord Morpheus glances over her shoulder at the spring, then back to her, and down to his clothes, soft black trousers and long-sleeved shirt since they left the throne room. His feet are bare, white toes buried in the pink sand, black-painted nails peeking through. "You don't need to undress," Lucienne reminds him.

Her lord swallows several times, and there's a crease on his brow that means he is going to be extraordinarily honest with her about something that is confusing him. These things are usually difficult for him to articulate and painful for her to hear. "I fantasized about this, when I was imprisoned," he says, and he cannot look at her, or at her face at all. "Hot water and being touched. It was my most desperate fantasy, the most pleasant feeling I could imagine, when not feeling became unbearable. It was all I thought about for months at a time. It was all I wanted."

Lucienne does not say anything because she is preoccupied trying to conceptualize that, the depths of the torment he's alluding to, the absence of anything at all but memory of pleasant sensation. Her silence makes him flinch and begin to pull away, though he allows himself to be held fast by her hands squeezing his. "I apologize," he says quickly, "I know it is—strange—"

"It is not strange," Lucienne interrupts with more fire than she anticipates. "Please do not think it is strange."

He stares at her now, wide-eyed, bewildered, but something on her face must ensnare him, because he tilts his head and doesn't try to pull away again.

"Let me give it to you," Lucienne says, and she runs her hands up his sleeves, feels him shiver in the wake of her touch. She searches his eyes and all the fractured glass of his expression, weariness and terror and confusion anchored to his bones. "You can have it now, my lord. You can have your bath and, and someone to hold you." His eyes well with tears. "You are home and you are safe and you are with me. You can have this."

Lord Morpheus is silent, and his throat works, and his eyes dart like he's fighting for his life inside his own head—too accurate a turn of phrase, and for her own sanity Lucienne resolves not to use it again. His shirt melts away all at once under her hands, leaves her touching soft skin that trembles, very nearly crawls, and he flinches. Lucienne is still, and she is silent, and he breathes, and his trousers disappear too, and he is bare and beautiful before her.

She takes his hands. She pulls him with her, her eyes on his all the while, and the first touch of hot water on her heel is so shocking she gasps a little. She ducks her head to watch the clear blue swirling around her ankles with her next step, and it feels better than she imagined it would. There was no hot water in all her lord's long absence. It brings tears to her eyes, and she smiles up at him, and he stares at her.

One more step back brings his toes to the water's edge. He is shaking quite violently again, and he is soft against his thigh, and a shudder runs through him at the first touch on his skin. "Good," Lucienne whispers, and she squeezes his hands, and she draws him forward into the water.

Lord Morpheus is crying by the time they are waist-deep, silent tears running down pale cheeks that have begun to pink in the heat. "Wait," he tugs on her hands to still her. "A moment, please."

Her thumbs stroke his knuckles. "How do you feel?"

"It's good," his voice is low, hoarse, his shoulders hunched high and stiff.

Lucienne knows him well, and she knows he didn't have to ask her to know she wanted what she always wants from him in their encounters—she wants him to feel as though his body of dreamstuff were mortal, and so he does. "Too good?"

"A moment, please," he confirms, and his eyes slip closed, and they stand there together in the water, and they breathe until he is calm, and then she leads him deeper.

At the far end of the pool the water laps at the top of Lucienne's breasts. She sinks down, submerges herself to the neck, and he follows, like he has lost the wherewithal to do anything but follow her lead, the way he always gets when his function is especially cruel and her hand is especially soft. His hazy eyes drift shut, and his breath heaves out of him, and he does not look like he's enjoying himself at all.

Lucienne pets his cheek, wipes his tears away with the hot water, cups his face while he fights for control of his overwhelm. "It's only water," she teases him to feel his breath, hot and wet on a tearful laugh. "You're alright, my lord."

"Safe with you," he mumbles, and Lucienne gasps, and she kisses him, and the hand not on his face wraps around the back of his neck, pulls him close. Her fingers twine up through his hair, tug it until his mouth opens to her and everywhere they touch is hot and wet. He moans with the slide of her tongue, shivers and keens when she moves to mouth at his jawline. "Lucienne."

"Relax, love," Lucienne whispers. "You're allowed to have this."

Lord Morpheus sobs, and he trembles, and he relaxes all at once, strings cut, resistance shattered. He curls into her, his head falling against hers, one hand deep in his hair, the other stroking broad circles over his back. That is all she does—she touches him, the way that melts him, soft pressure, no intention to harm him or leave him or trick him or humiliate him or anything he might convince himself she wants to do.

Through the almost-pain he clings to her, the rapture of his own fulfilled fantasy forced through the pinhole of what he allows himself. "Thank you," he whispers as though she's doing anything at all, as though he is not her lover asking her for the simplest of intimacies. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Lucienne shushes him, and she cries for him the way he hates, but he does not notice.

#it's so so so long i couldn't find where i wanted to stop #anyway. ouch and fuck and argh #cause of death: trying to be thematically consistent in my fucking smut drabbles #the sandman #dream of the endless #lucienne the librarian #lucid dreaming #morphienne #minors dni #x