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agerefandom · 10 months

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Once Upon A Midnight Dreary

Fandom: Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Characters: adult!Henry Jekyll, regressed!Henry Jekyll, and an appearance from Edward Hyde

Words: 2,860

Summary: One of Henry Jekyll's experiments goes a bit unexpected and causes him to mentally regress to the age of four! What will Hyde have to say about this when he emerges? What chaos will Henry cause as a child?

Warnings: References to murder and claustrophobia: this is set during Dr. Jekyll's self-imposed isolation near the end of the novella. Unsafe scientific practices are a given, and there is some mild cursing as well. References to religion and hell.

For my friend Mikey, with apologies that it took me almost three years to write this story: but I'm glad your request led to a friendship! Sorry I only write you back once a week :P

The night is long, and Henry Jekyll’s eyelids are growing heavy with exhaustion. With a table covered in papers and measurements behind him, he leans over his workstation and carves a small portion of powder off a red crystal that sits on a transfer sheet. Gathering the dust, he carefully pours it into a shallow dish and drops it onto the scales beside him. His hands, Henry notices, are shaking. Whether this is from exhaustion or the extended anxiety of these past weeks, he does not know. But there is no rest from his work until the result had been attained.

What irony, that his fervent dream could become such a vivid nightmare. Henry holds his hands up and watches them tremble, relieved that they are his own familiar slim-fingered hands that are lit by the flickering candle-light. He has those half-shattered memories of different hands, moving under his control: wide-knuckled and dusted with hair, and covered in blood… covered in that poor man’s blood…

Henry does not cover his face, but only through concerted effort. His fingers are spotted with the red dust of the experiment, and the results would be skewed should it come in contact with his face or eyes before the steps were finished.

Instead he takes a deep breath to steady himself and turns to consult one of the papers on the chaotic desk behind him. Fixing the relevant measurement in his mind, he selects the correct weights and places them on the other side of the scale.

The two sides tremble for a moment, then come into balance. It is a sign of how often Henry has been working with this particular substance that he had been able to perfectly carve the amount required for the next step of the process. Any feeling of success he might have found is lost to the bone-deep exhaustion of guilt and too many sleepless nights.

He washes his hands in the basin near the stairs, dries them well, and transfers the measure of powder into a test tube, careful not to spill. This mixture is intentionally calculated to hopefully counteract the cruelty and evil that Hyde is a manifestation of: while none of this was trodden territory, Henry is desperate to find a cure. He has tried tinctures made to cancel out the original experiment, but he still finds himself changing into Hyde with no discernable trigger.

Now he is focusing on potentially bringing out a purely positive side of himself: an angel to balance the devil, as it were. It may be that the two mixtures would cancel each other out, leaving him safe from the danger of his- or Hyde’s- actions. Or this might lead to a secondary manifestation, one that could bring good things to the world in equal measure to Hyde’s evil. In his more lucid moments, Henry fears that he might lose himself entirely to these extremes: but then he reminds himself of the danger to society he has created, and knows he must take the risk.

Henry’s hands move nearly on autopilot, mixing the new experiment with the other fluids and powders he’s already prepared. At the end, he is left with a nearly purple-tinged solution, which fizzes against the glass.

He’s tested so many of these that he’s almost inured to the sour scent. Nevertheless, he takes a moment to breathe and centre himself before he forces himself to take the beaker and swallow its contents.

It burns in a familiar way, like acid on his tongue and down his throat. Nothing like the fire of alcohol: nothing like anything Henry had ever tasted before this fateful experiment began. Somewhere in his stomach, the burn dissipates as a tingling sensation spreads outwards from his core. Henry finds himself closing his eyes to focus on defining the feeling, a scientist to the end.

The tingling comes up his throat, crawling along his skin like invisible threads brushing against him, then cover his face and work up to the top of his head, and Henry

Is on the floor.

Henry opens his eyes, and finds the room around him dim. He’s lying down on a hard stone floor. Around him are papers and half-familiar equipment, like he’s in some kind of laboratory.

Curious, Henry starts to get to his feet, and immediately finds his body unfamiliar. Distracted from the scientific artifacts, he sits back on his heels and holds his hands up in front of him. It’s hard to say exactly what is wrong with them: too blocky? Too veiny? Too lined? Whatever it is, Henry is certain that these can’t be his hands: they look far too grown-up, somehow.

And Henry is only four.

Finally pushing himself to his feet, he looks down at himself and sees the clothes of an adult. They seem dirty, but definitely the long sleeves and pants that his parents would never put him in unless it was Sunday: Henry is very bad at keeping his clothes clean, which upsets his mother. Luckily, it seems that these ones have already been through a lot, so Henry doesn’t need to feel guilty about wiping his dusty hands on his trousers.

Henry runs a hand through his hair and finds it shorter than his mother usually cuts it, and greasier than he’s used to. Wrinkling his nose at the feeling, he wipes his fingers again over the leg of his trousers, then embarks to explore.

The room is full of marvellous equipment and strange mixtures, and Henry keeps his hands at his sides as he peers at them. It would probably upset their owner were he to touch them.

Once he grows bored of staring at glassware, Henry tries the door and finds it locked. Confused, he pushes the mail slot open and bends down to peer through it, which emphasizes the size of the body he’s found himself in. Through the little metal slot, he can see a dark garden, and the lights of a manor house beyond. Is he in some kind of shed?

Letting the slot close, Henry straightens up (his spine hurts a bit from bending) and notices another door, more hidden in the shadows of a bookshelf on the other side of the room. A little bit scared at the idea of being trapped in this room, Henry rushes over to the new door, barely avoiding tripping over his newly oversized feet.

Thankfully, twisting this knob lets him out of the little room with the science equipment and the fireplace. Henry finds himself in an odd little theatre, of all places!

He is at the top of one of two aisles, which lead down through the seats to a circular stage at the bottom of the room. Henry runs down the steps, curious about what he will find. This body is getting a little more familiar, and things don’t feel quite as scary as he might expect them to. Like there’s a quiet part of him that knows this space quite well, even though he can’t reach it at the moment.

And there’s little flashes of knowledge, like the pop of a photographer’s bulb. He knows the last three stairs will creak when he steps on them: he knows that the wheeled metal table to one side of the stage belonged to the person who lived here before. He doesn’t know why a person would need a metal table in a theatre, though.

Henry comes down into the circular stage, floored with stone and grout with an odd little drain in the centre of the space. He turns to the theatre of empty seats and thumbs his nose at an imaginary audience, then laughs and darts away to duck behind the table. He drags the table into the centre, the wheels rattling as they run over the stones.

The sound delights him, so he hits his hands against the metal top of the table until they sting with the impacts and his ears are ringing with the sound, like a metal drum filling the space. With a whoop of pure childish abandon, Henry runs up the stairs on the other side and continues his exploration through the second door.

There are two dusty empty closets, a door to a cellar that he shudders and closes, and a long tunnel that seems to go underground, but it’s lit by gas lights and Henry’s curiosity pushes him into it. At the end of the tunnel is another locked door. Henry finds a key on the ground, and picks it up excitedly, but it’s flattened and bent and won’t fit in the lock. Henry tosses it back into the corner of the hallway, frowning.

This means that there’s no way out of this structure, with both the doors locked and no keys in sight. Did someone trap him here? Or… did he trap himself?

Something about the thought makes his head hurt, and he can almost hear words at the edge of his mind, here and not-here in a dizzying contradiction.

Unsettled, Henry pushes the entire issue away and wanders back through the halls and the theatre to the original room. This is the only room in the building that isn’t chilly, kept warmer by a fire that burns in the fireplace. There’s a plush chair as well, which seems worn.

Henry grabs the poker and rummages in the fire a bit, happy with the sparks that fly upwards whenever he knocks over a log. Eventually, he takes another piece of firewood from the rack and adds it on top, mesmerized by the way the flames start to creep upwards and blacken the sides.

Once the log is well and truly aflame, Henry gets bored and stands up. He considers trying to kick the door, or breaking a window, but again that pressure at his temples starts aching, and he turns his attention to the glassware.

Now that Henry knows there are no adults nearby, no voices about to be raised in reproach, he visits the equipment with a smile and curious fingers. He pokes all of the powders, picks up various test tubes to sniff their contents, and plays with the metal weights on the scale for a few minutes, then uses the scale to catapult one of the smaller weights up in the air.

The metal weight comes down on the table, scattering equipment and breaking one of the empty beakers. Henry winces, then laughs. Destruction is a pleasure of the young. Remembering his mother’s harsh words, he doesn’t touch the glass shards, but carefully picks the weight out of the debris and puts it back on the scale.

Just as the plush chair is beginning to look nice for a fireside nap, Henry is overtaken by a sudden pain in the back of his neck, creeping up his spine. Trying to reach backwards, his body seizes for a moment, and then everything turns sideways and inside out and there is a moment of pure disorientation before Edward Hyde regains his footing.

Hyde only takes a moment to adjust before he starts laughing. He remembers the previous hour in a sharpness and clarity that he usually doesn’t have for the stupid doctor’s memories, but they are significantly more interesting than Jekyll’s boring day-to-day. The thought of Henry himself destroying his scientific equipment in a childish curiosity makes Hyde smile, even once he’s finished with his chuckling.

Hyde returns to the table and does the same thing that the child had done, slamming a hand onto the opposite side of the scale to send the small weight hurtling upwards. This time, it lands on the floor with a sharp cracking sound. Hyde retrieves the weight and smooths a finger over the small fissure it left in the stone.

He doesn’t feel the same childish joy in the action, but there is a certain pleasure to it that he acknowledges. The destruction is incidental: what Henry wanted was to see his actions have consequences. A child’s need to feel more powerful than they really were.

Hyde has no need for such play. He returns the weight to the table and knocks one of the test-tubes off, just to cause Jekyll a bit of trouble cleaning it. He’s perfectly aware of the fact that Jekyll’s experiments are their best chance at survival, and chooses one that doesn’t have anything important in it.

Hyde paces into the theatre, leaving the broken glassware where it lies. Being in the laboratory is nothing but frustrating. He could make a version of Jekyll’s concoction, but has no mind for the finer points of its refinement. Measurements and careful paperwork, the work of a man who seeks to put numbers on everything.

Hyde hasn’t bothered to change out of Jekyll’s clothes, and they hang loose around him. As long as he isn’t going out (which Jekyll has made certain of, damn him), he doesn’t care what he wears: their size difference isn’t so great that the sleeves get in his way once he rolls them up, and the belt is easily adjusted.

Walking past the empty seats, Hyde sits on the table in the middle of the operating theatre. It’s larger to him than it was to Henry, and his feet dangle above the ground. Hyde stares out at the missing audience, feeling the familiar anger burning in his stomach, directionless and bitter. He had been made to break the cage that Jekyll had walked into willingly, and now he had been imprisoned again: this time inside a laboratory instead of the back of Jekyll’s mind.

Hyde was not made to sit and brood. He was a creature of action, and there was nothing to do here in this dusty theatre. He envied the simple curiosity of the younger self that Jekyll had inadvertently set free. To be entertained by the simple sound of a metal table and a few hallways to explore. How little he must have seen at that age.

Hyde was harder to please, and getting ever-more demanding. He was hungry for experience, and all he received were the same four walls pressing closer. His unfulfilled appetite manifested in this frustration that warmed his stomach and made his fingers itch for something to pin and scratch and strangle.

Springing to his feet, Hyde paced the floor of the operating theatre, a well-trodden path. Damn Jekyll and his slow-moving work, damn his appearance for how it struck all who saw him and ensured his capture if he broke free of this oppressive space. If there was a way forward, Hyde’s anger was too blinding to allow him to see it.

Not wanting to take out further anger on Jekyll’s glassware, Hyde kicked the metal table across the room into the chairs in the front row. They were attached to the floor and held up remarkably well, but the resultant crash did draw a smile to Hyde’s lips. Humming one of his favourite drinking songs, he retrieved the table and pushed it back into the shadows, and returned up to the laboratory.

The warmth of the fire was almost soothing in this room. Hyde tossed two more logs on the fire and stretched himself out on the heated stone in front of the blaze. Jekyll preferred to sleep on the chair, curled into himself like he wanted to disappear, waking with sore muscles begging for their familiar bed. Hyde preferred the heat of the fireplace at his back, like a noon sun beating down.

Surrendering himself to the lazy pleasure of warmth and fatigue, Hyde drifted on the edge of his own thoughts. What would happen if he ingested the same mixture that Jekyll had? Would there be a child version of Hyde himself, or was there any distinction at all?

Being a child didn’t sound very entertaining to Hyde, but he also remembered how it had felt for Henry, how interesting the world had felt, how sharp the pleasure of exploring something that might be dangerous. He remembered similar feelings in his own time, venturing deeper into the dark areas of London, one hand on his cane and the other on his moneypurse.

Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. To be a child for a while again.

Hyde yawned widely, showing his teeth to the empty room. Reaching up, he dragged one of the chair cushions down and flipped over to let the fire warm his front. Jekyll’s shirt gaped open on him, allowing the heat easy access to his chest. Hyde tugged it further open, tearing off one of the buttons in the process. He flicked the mother-of-pearl button into the fire and watched it blacken with soot.

Maybe he should throw all of his clothes in the fire, just to watch how they burned. Wouldn’t Jekyll appreciate the irony? Naked like Adam in the garden, before the invention of sin. Hyde smiled to himself as he continued staring into the flames, waiting for his time to run out.

Perhaps Jekyll would save them both. Perhaps they were doomed to the eternal flames. Either way, Hyde was content to lie here and enjoy the warmth for the time he had.

#fandom agere #my writing #agere writing #agere fics #anon but mikey #my fics #'stella write a victorian agere fic without heavy handed symbolism' you say #'absolutely not' i say in response #'i have essays to write'#dr jekyll and mr hyde

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emacrow · 6 days

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Alfred gains an unique apprentice after his arm got fractured.

Most of the batfam has been causing a ruckus in the Wayne Manor for the past 4 months that even Alfred was feeling a bit worn out.

To the point that his personal favorite market friends suggest getting a trainee, or a ward to help him out epecially because Alfred isn't getting any younger, no matter how well he took care of his own health.

Helda got herself a ward herself, a sweet little girl, name Ellen who help her keep the lil Duckling candles shop in order especially after her hip surgery went through, and will be taking over for her considering helda had no descendents, but Ellen make her feel young again.

Alfred merely delined, but ended up getting the card still by persistented friends. A card with a purple GrandFather clock symbol and a number on it. He left it in his draw as he was not rude enough to throw away.

Then came the prank war 13 on June 15th in the Wayne Manor that Alfred accidentally ended up being targeted by pure coincidence which ended with him with a fractured arm..

Both Bruce and Alfred was majorly disappointed with how far escalated the prank war went that got immediately stop when the batfam saw Alfred gotten injured during it.

Except now Alfred is stuck for 6-10 weeks without using his right arm until his personal doctor said it ok to take the cast off then have a arm sling..

Alfred was immensely stubborn for 3 days, 3 days of trying to do all his duties.. before he gave in..

And called the number on the card, and received a lovely blue letter with a couple of oddly specific paperwork on a type of help he need, what is your age, your job occupied, have any illness or arthritis, needs in case of meta or superpower sudden surprises appear, how dangerous is your and your family lifestyle, etc

By the time he finished the paperwork and hand it sent back in the return blue letter. It was by day 5 on a Friday when he received a letter back, stating that that a ward been selected and will be coming from Amity Park to help him.

Alfred was expected a teenager, but a 7 year old boy with blaring light blue eyes, starlight like freckles, black hair with a medium space designed suitcase and a very old and worn out bearbert plush on top of it.

"Good morning, You must be Mr. Pennyworth, and I'm Danny." Danny beamed a soft smile with the eyes of wisdom and understanding. Alfred pause for a mere second before a soft smile bloomed and open the door wide for him.

"Hello there Danny, do come in. Alfred said softly as he watch danny a bit with curiosity.

Would you like a snack before we start the day?" Alfred ask as he escorted danny to the kitchen to help him with today breakfast along with a list of the breakfast dishes with ingredients.

"That ok, what would you like to help you do, cut the vegetables, stir the pot, help lift the food into the oven, or clean the dishes, because you aren't going to try and do that all with a broken arm, right?" Danny said as he look at today breakfast list, going to the sink and cleaning his hand thoroughly first before touching any fresh ingredients already put out while Alfred pick the frying pans, cups, dishes and utensils for the batfam.

Alfred notice right away that danny was floating a bit to pick the heavy large pot full of marinated food from the fridge that was supposed to be on the stove for slow brothing for later today dinner, considering alfred couldn't well take it out himself since his arm was broken..

Smiling softly to himself that it was a good idea to have a ward of his own as he teaches danny the best techniques to make a Benedict.

New post here

#dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #dp x dc #dc x dp prompt #danny is the ghost king #dcxdp #de aged danny #alfred pennyworth #Alfred get an apprentice #bruce developed the adoption gene by Alfred influence #elle phantom work for Helda in gotham #danny is well prepared for EVERYTHING #Jazz give danny BearBert for comfort since this is technically his first job out of Ghost duty

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navybrat817 · 2 months

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Anything special for Bucky's birthday?

Something small, nonnie.

For Years or for Hours

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky is the love of your life and deserves to have a peaceful birthday.

Word Count: Almost 1.2k

Warnings: Established relationship, fluff, implied explicit sexual content, being in love, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I wanted to do something more, but today got away from me. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The sun had just risen outside of Bucky’s hut in Wakanda, the rays peeking in and beckoning you to wake up and venture out into the world. You weren't ready to rise and meet the day quite yet. Not when Bucky was beside you, holding you in his sleep like you he’d lose you if he loosened his grip. You wouldn't dare disturb his slumber. Not when he more than anyone deserved to rest peacefully.

So you decided to count the freckles on his nose.

“My beautiful man,” you whispered, placing your left hand on his cheek. “Love of my life.”

The wedding band on your ring finger matched his in design, symbols of the never ending love you had for each other. Time stood still and moved all at once when you said “I do”, but forever didn’t start with your wedding day. It began the day you met. Every moment after that paved a path that entwined, neither of you having to walk alone again.

“One,” you whispered, kissing a freckle on the tip of his nose. You’d never get over the sight of him. “Two…”

You didn’t know Bucky had freckles until he was in your face during a training session, the definition of up close and personal. It was right before you shared your first kiss, which was ages ago and felt like yesterday. He rolled on top of you and pinned your arms above your head, his breathing heavy and eyes stormy as you gazed up at him. Instead of trying to break free of his strong hold, you went lax underneath him and smiled.

“Are you yielding?” He asked, releasing one of your wrists when you made no attempt to move.

“Wow. You have freckles,” you exhaled, brushing his soft brown hair back that fell in his eyes. “I never noticed them before.”

It was as if Bucky removed an invisible mask and allowed you to see his true self for the first time before he pressed his lips to yours. It sparked a flame inside of you that no one could ever put out. And if being in love with him taught you anything, it was that masks hid your true selves and built walls to keep others out. You helped each other knock them down.

He was your partner in every sense of the word.

“Mmm. Tickles,” he mumbled as you kept kissing his nose, his voice throaty and low as he opened his eyes. His broad torso rolled as he arched his back and you had to suppress a shiver when he groaned. “Were you counting my freckles again?”

“You caught me,” you whispered, pecking his nose once more and not embarrassed in the slightest. “I can’t help it. You’re so pretty.”

Amusement filled his eyes as he slid a palm down your ribs to your hip. “I thought you were the pretty one in this relationship, Mrs. Barnes.”

Your cheeks warmed at the reminder that you were his wife. “We can both be pretty, Mr. Barnes,” you teased, tilting your head back so he could brush his scruff against your neck. You joked once that people called him the White Wolf because he liked to “scent” and leave his mark on you. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

“Why should I go back to sleep, hmm?” He asked, placing an open-mouthed kiss over your racing pulse. It was enough to make you whimper when you tried to find your words. “Cat got your tongue?”

“You menace,” you moaned, tugging on his hair for good measure, which only made him let out that lustful groan you loved. “Because it’s your birthday and you deserve to sleep in, old man.”

His first birthday as a married man.

“And we won't say how old I am today,” he said, his hair falling in his eyes as he pulled back and smirked. “And I was kind of hoping I'd wake up with my cock in your mouth.”

“Bucky,” you breathed out, fighting the urge to laugh at his admission as the tingle between your thighs grew. Whatever thought was in your mind went away. It didn't matter. All you could imagine were his eyes staring down at you in wonder and ecstasy as you took him in your throat. “You know what? Fine. Your wish is my command.”

You’d please him with whichever hole he wanted to use.

“But I’m awake,” he teased, chuckling when you silenced him with your lips. He didn't let you pull away, feeling as if the hut tilted on its axis as he deepened the kiss you started. It was like your first kiss all over again. The promise of something more.

A lifetime together.

“Pretend you're asleep,” you suggested when you grudgingly pulled away from his sinful lips. “But if Steve and Sam ask, we woke up to watch the sun rise.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed when you smiled, your heart rate picking up. “Don't talk about those punks when you're about to go down on me,” he half growled.

“Yes, White Wolf,” you teased. They would no doubt message him birthday wishes, along with Natasha and a few others, once they were awake. He deserved all the love today and every day.

Before you could kiss down Bucky's body, he stopped you with a gentle grip. “Wait,” he whispered, his eyes searching your face. You didn't know a gaze could be so soft until he looked upon you. This was a man who knew your hopes, dreams, fears.

And loved you all the while.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked when he reached for your left hand.

“I just love you so much, doll,” he said, running his thumb over the ring as your eyes filled with tears. You blinked them away quickly enough to catch his tender smile. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

When you got home, you’d celebrate his special day in regular fashion. You’d take him to the new science exhibit that he mentioned wanting to see. The two of you would cuddle up to watch his favorite movie after dinner with the gang. He’d eat the cake you baked just for him. And there would be a present or two for him to open before you went to bed.

But the gift he wanted most was to have a day without a reminder of the fight. Where he could breathe in the air, take in the quiet, and feel a sense of peace with the person he loved beside him. You knew the only way to give him that was to get him out of the city and back to his hut. Even if it was only for a short time.

In his sanctuary, he’d find tranquility on his special day and you’d show him how much you loved him. Memories the two of you would carry for a lifetime. Because he gave you the world by asking you to be his and you’d spend forever making him happy. Just like he deserved.

“I love you, too, Bucky Barnes,” you promised, kissing the freckle again on the tip of his nose. “Happy birthday.”

Oh, Bucky. We love him. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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mrsshabana · 7 months

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"𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲."

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟐: 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary Your father owes a large debt to the most dangerous yakuza clan in the country. And unfortunately for you, they send their best collector to hold you for a ransom. But things get complicated, and Gyutaro can't resist the temptation to use you while he has you to himself. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, mafia au, bondage, spit kink, daddy kink, manipulation, violence, fingering, vaginal sex, rough sex, blackmail. ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 2.3k words

✧:･ﾟ→ Kinktober Masterlist

In less than 24 hours your life had changed completely. On your way home from your father’s company, a bag was placed over your head and everything turned dark. You don’t remember what happened after that, all you know is that you woke up a few hours later. Blindfolded and gagged, lying on a cold floor with your hands zip tied behind your back. At first you tried to stand up, but as soon as you put pressure on your foot you felt an unbearable pain that caused you to tumble down again. Something was wrong with your ankle. The adrenaline that filled you had distracted you from noticing it at first, but it feels broken.

“Awake are we?” A raspy, cold voice comes from across the room.

Heavy footsteps get closer until your blindfold is taken off. And before you stands a man you have never seen before. He’s very tall with long black hair. His eyes are ice blue, and his stare is just as cold. He has strange ink like spots that cover his face and body, along with a full sleeve of tattoos on both arms.

And that’s when you realize the gravity of your situation. This man has a blue spider lily tattooed on his right arm. A symbol that he belongs to the most dangerous Yakuza clan in the country, the Twelve Kizuki.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you,” he grins, showing off his crooked teeth.

The intimidating man is wearing loose fitting jeans, a black wife beater, and combat boots. His nails are painted black and in his left hand he holds a steel baseball bat.

You cry and whimper under the gag as he peers down at you.

“Don’t scream or you’ll regret it,” he says coldly as he removes the gag from your mouth.

“P-please! Let me go!” you pant and cry, “You have the wrong person!”

“No Sweetheart, I don’t think I do,” he grins and kneels beside you, “You’re Y/N L/N right? The daughter of Mr. L/N, the CEO of the biggest pharmaceutical company in the country?”

Your blood runs cold. What could the Twelve Kizuki possibly want with your father?

“I-I don’t understand… What do you want from my family?”

His expression suddenly turns serious. “Your father borrowed money from us. I was sent to collect his debt. I gave him three days to give us what we’re owed or I’d take something precious away from him,” he looks you up and down, “And that’s why you’re here, sweetheart. All because your daddy didn’t wanna pay his debt.”

Tears begin to flood your vision when you hear the reasoning for why you’re here. You remember your father talking to his accountants about some financial troubles, but he assured you that everything was fine and that there was nothing to worry about.

“My dad will come for me!” you insist, “He’d do anything to get me home safely.”

“That’s the hope,” he sighs and stands, “Name’s Gyutaro by the way. I’ll be looking after you in the meantime.” Suddenly his demeanor is less aggressive.

His name sits on the back of your tongue as you wait for hours in that room with him. Mindlessly trying to pass the time while he waits for some word that your father has paid his debt and is eagerly waiting for his daughter’s return. In the meantime, Gyutaro bandages your ankle.

“Sorry sweetheart,” he snickers as he wraps the bandage around your ankle, “You were giving me trouble when I first took you, had to make sure you couldn’t run away. You’re lucky I didn’t take your toes one by one.”

You gulp, knowing that his words are true. The Twelve Kizuki are known for their violence, so you feel grateful that all you were left with was a broken ankle.

It’s been over 24 hours by now, and surprisingly Gyutaro has taken decent care of you. Getting takeout for you from your favorite restaurant and even bringing a futon into the room so you’ll be more comfortable. He stays and has small chats with you every few hours, making sure you don’t go insane with boredom. He’s a scary guy, but you never would have thought a Twelve Kizuki member would show any kindness like he has.

By now it’s been over 36 hours and you feel comfortable enough to fall asleep. But you’re awoken by a ping coming from Gyutaro’s phone. You open your eyes to see him reading a text, grinning devilishly.

Seeing his reaction gives you false hope, “Is it my father? Is he coming for me?” You say excitedly.

“Unfortunately not. It seems he’s being stingy with his money,” Gyutaro walks over to where you’re sitting on the futon, “But I have an idea.”

Your heart sinks when you hear that your father isn’t willing to pay his debt to get you back. Gyutaro can sense this vulnerability and intends to use it to his advantage.

“We gotta make your dad think something real bad is happening to you. Then maybe he’ll give up the cash,” he continues.

You instantly look at him with wide eyes, full of fear as you imagine what terrible things he is capable of doing to you.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” he coos, “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ bad to you. We just need to make him think I’m doing something bad to you. Get what I’m sayin’?”

You nod with a sniffle, “L-like what?”

“There’s nothin’ worse than a criminal taking away a young woman’s innocence by force.”

You begin to imagine what he’s implying and it makes you feel sick.

“You’d say we’ve gotten pretty close right?” he smirks, “Just have a little fun with me and I could send your father an audio clip or maybe a few photos for proof. That’ll surely send him running to us.”

Sex for your freedom? When you think of it that way, it doesn’t sound so bad. Especially since Gyutaro seems to be asking for your consent. He’s the one in control here, he could have just as easily taken you anyway. And you will admit, getting to know him over the past day and a half you have grown fond of him. Plus he has a unique appearance that you so happen to find very attractive too.

Gyutaro places a hand on your thigh, looking at you with pleading eyes as you think it over.

“Ok… we can do it,” you blush shyly as you agree to his idea.

A sinister smile spreads across his face, “Perfect. Go ahead and strip your clothes, I’ll be right back.”

He briefly exits the room and you begin taking off your clothes. He returns with a bundle of rope in his hand. Taking in your nude form for a split second as it momentarily distracts him. He can’t help but bite his bottom lip at the delicious sight of you. Coming back to sit beside you on the futon, he undoes the rope and begins tying your wrists together.

“Wait wait! I didn’t agree to this!” You panic.

“How else will it be believable? Besides, I can’t risk you trying to run away.”

His voice is deceivingly sincere so you allow him to do as he pleases. Not that you had much of a choice anyway.

After tying your wrists, he bends your legs and ties them so they stay bent, with your calf pressed against your thigh.

“You look sexy as fuck,” he grins as he takes a step back to admire you.

All you can do is blush and look away shyly, far too ashamed to admit that being tied up by him has already made you wet.

He hastily removes his shirt and leans over you, slowly pushing you down to lay beneath him. “It’s not too tight is it?” His tone is suddenly caring.

“N-no… it isn’t too tight,” you murmur, “Just please be gentle.”

He catches on to the shakiness of your voice and softly kisses you. Trailing down to your chin and then to your neck and behind your ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you enjoy it,” he whispers into your ear.

He’s careful with your injured ankle as he grabs your thighs and pushes them apart, staring down at your soaked cunt. Cursing under his breath as he feels his cock twitch under his jeans. He can’t wait any longer, the desire to fuck you has been eating at him ever since he first kidnapped you. But he’s so glad he waited, it’ll be much more fun with your willing participation.

You watch as he unbuckles and slides off his belt, the sound of it clanking to the floor makes your knees weak. Next, he unbuttons his pants and pulls them down along with his underwear to reveal his spotted cock. Fully erect and already leaking precum. It’s a lot larger than you were expecting, but deep down it makes you even more glad that you agreed to do this with him.

Giving himself a few good pumps, he positions himself above you again and moves his hand between your legs - collecting your slick on his fingers and sliding his index finger inside of you.

“Already so wet for me,” he whispers as his mouth finds its way to your breast, licking and gently sucking.

He chuckles as you moan and squirm beneath him, “Like that huh? I knew you’d be fun.”

“You’re not like the other women I’ve met,” he continues, “They act like they want me, but it’s only cuz they’re afraid. But not you… you actually like the fact that I’m a Kizuki, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you can’t muster the strength to care about your shame when he’s making you feel so good.

“Tsk,” he moves his digit along your walls, “I knew it. That’s why I liked you so much.”

“I like you too,” you say shyly, astonished that you’re admitting something like this to a dangerous criminal like him. “Please, fuck me Gyutaro.”

His eagerness shows when he quickly removes his finger from your cunt, licking your slick from his finger, and aligning his cock at your entrance.

“Beg.”

“Wh-what?”

“Beg for me to fuck you,” he grins, “Take too long and I’ll just spray you with my cum.” He begins jerking off.

“Please, please fuck me, Gyutaro!” You whine, but see that he isn’t phased by your pleas so you try again. “I want to feel you inside of me so bad! I-I’ll do anything!”

“Oh? Anything?” he smiles smugly, “Open your mouth.”

You’re so desperate that you obey his command without a second thought.

Gyutaro hovers over you and opens his mouth, a long string of saliva dripping down his tongue and into your mouth.

“Swallow,” he commands.

As soon as you’re given the order, you close your lips and swallow.

“Good girl,” he rasps, “You’ve earned it.” And with a sharp thrust, he’s shoving himself inside of you. You were so busy trying to please him that you didn’t even realize he was already prepared to slide into you.

Within seconds you’re filled to the brim, his hard cock invading every inch of your insides.

“ Fuck Y/N,” he groans, “You feel so good.”

All you can do is whimper and moan beneath him as he sets an aggressive pace. Continuously pounding into you, enjoying the way your velvet walls squeeze him.

There’s nothing you can do but make pretty noises for him. The rope around your arms and legs prevents you from moving. And he keeps a firm grip on your thigh as he abuses your cunt.

Before he gets too carried away, he pulls out his phone and starts an audio recording. Then places it beside your head.

“You like that sweetheart?” he pants, “What a shame your daddy hasn’t come for you. Maybe if he doesn’t come for you, then you could call me daddy instead?”

“Mm hm,” you nod, about to respond to him but he digs his nails into you and thrusts harder, hitting your cervix with the head of his leaking cock. Eliciting screams of pleasure to escape your lips, no longer capable of speaking sentences.

“You coulda had any guy you wanted. A gentleman with a good job and a respectable family,” he growls, picking up the pace, “But here you are being fucked by the lowest of the low. The ugliest bastard in the Twelve Kizuki. A murderer from a cursed family.”

He begins cackling maniacally as he feels your thighs tremble in his hands.

“C’mon sweetheart. Cum for me, I know you want to,” he grunts, clenching his teeth as he tries not to cum himself.

After a few harsh thrusts, you’re left screaming his name and shaking within the confines of the rope tied around your limbs. Your gummy walls tighten around him, trying to milk him for everything he has.

He can’t last much longer as the sensation of you cumming around him is too much to bear. He quickly pulls out of you and aims his cock towards your face. And with one pump from his fist, he’s shooting ropes of cum all over your face and chest. Sticky globs of hot white cling to your skin and roll down your breasts.

“ Fuck ,” he curses under his breath as he grabs his phone, stopping the recording then snaps a photo of your semen covered face.

Gyutaro grins as he looks down at you, satisfied with his work, before he pulls up his pants and cleans your face with a tissue.

After being fucked senseless you need a few minutes to recover, shaking and gasping for breath as Gyutaro cleans you up.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you,” Gyutaro sneers, “Your daddy isn’t coming for you. That text I got earlier was from him, he couldn’t give two shits about you.”

“Wh-what?” you begin sobbing, unable to believe what he’s telling you.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” his icy blue eyes glare at you, “Remember? You said I could be your new daddy from now on.”

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyuutarou #gyuutarou x reader #gyutaro smut #kny smut #demon slayer smut #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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the-art-of-ancunin · 4 months

Text

Sweetest Sin [Smutty One-Shot]

Summary: Father Astarion Ancunin is approached by a married couple within his congregation to seek out their beloved daughter and guide her back onto the path of righteousness, fearing for their child's immortal soul. Though reluctant, he agrees to do what he can to shepherd their lost little lamb back into the Lord's loving light...that is, of course, assuming he can overcome his own dark desires.

Pairing: Priest!Astarion x Female!Reader

Content Warning(s): SMUT, loss of virginity, dirty talk, religion kink, priest kink, creampie/breeding kink, corruption kink, p-in-v, unprotected sex, oral (Female receiving), fingering (Female receiving)

Please let me know if I missed anything.

Also, I did not proofread this, no beta-reader, so it might be shit. We'll find out together.

Word Count: 5.4K

The grand archway of the cathedral framed Father Astarion Ancunin, his tall figure casting a shadow against the golden light that spilled from within. Despite being a creature of darkness, he had become an integral part of the town of Emberwood, serving as their shepherd of light. His vampiric nature had initially drawn cautious glances, but the townspeople's faith in him seemed to outweigh their fear. They flocked to the cathedral and found solace in his words, a paradox that the elf would have scoffed at decades ago—a vampire spawn preaching salvation.

"Good evening, Father Astarion," Mr. Tiller called out, his voice warm as he passed by with his family. "Your sermon today was truly moving."

"Thank you," Astarion replied, his smile genuine but unable to reach the depths of his crimson eyes. "Peace be with you."

For a quiet moment, the pale elf held up the silver band on his finger to catch the light, marveling at the small miracle that allowed him to walk under the sun. This ring symbolized not just his commitment to his vows, but also to a life he never thought possible. Each day, the weight of his past sins grew lighter as he embraced his newfound purpose with tentative gratitude.

"Father?" A timid voice broke through his reverie.

"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Silverleaf." He recognized the couple instantly, their devoutness etched into every line on their faces. "What can I do for you?"

"Your words—they're a balm to our community," The man began, wringing his hat between his work-worn hands. "And…we hate to ask but…well, we've come to ask a favor, if you're willing."

"Of course. Speak freely," The priest encouraged, folding his hands before him in a gesture of openness.

"It’s our daughter... She strays further each day from the path of righteousness," Mrs. Silverleaf confided, her voice laced with worry. "She has no care for piety or decency."

"Her soul, we fear, is in peril," her husband added, his gaze pleading.

"Would you speak with her, Father?" The woman asked. "Perhaps guide her back to the ways of the faithful?"

The couple's words hung heavy in the air, a weight that Astarion couldn't quite shake off. He knew his duty was to guide and correct those who strayed from the path of righteousness, but the thought of speaking with you, their fierce and free-spirited daughter, filled him with conflicting emotions.

On one hand, he felt a sense of obligation and responsibility towards your soul, which they clearly feared was in jeopardy. But on the other hand, the memory of you tore through his mind like a stormy sea, tempting him with desires he had vowed to renounce.

The request coiled tightly around his heart. The memory of that first night that he had laid eyes upon you surged forward, unbidden and wild. It had been a chance encounter at the tavern, where he had gone to seek solitude among the clamor of tankards and low-burning hearths. You had burst through the door, a vision of ferocious vitality, your presence so startling that even the rowdy din of the establishment had hushed for a brief moment. There you had stood, cloaked in the glory of your conquest—a deer, by the looks of your spoils—and had commanded attention with the ease of one who knew their own power.

"Talia, go fetch Lorrick! And tell the cook to get his shit together, yeah? We're having fuckin' venison tonight!" you’d declared, voice rich with triumph.

Astarion couldn't help but watch you, his eyes tracing the line of sweat that made a glistening path down the column of your neck. Each droplet reflected the light from the hearth, casting a warm glow on your skin. Your soft hair cascaded messily down your back and beckoned his fingers to explore its texture. The sight of you- so raw and vibrant - was like a sharp blade to his senses, breaking through the protective walls he had built around his chastity.

"Father, will you not try?"

The distant echo of Mrs. Silverleaf's voice pulled Father Astarion back to the present, interrupting his thoughts. He nodded absently, his mind still consumed by the image of your mischievous smirk. Despite his inner turmoil, he affirmed to the couple that he would speak with their daughter, a wave of heat flushing his cheeks at the thought.

"God bless you," Mrs. Silverleaf and her husband intoned together, their sincerity in stark contrast to the hunger gnawing at Astarion's resolve.

"Peace be with you," he replied hollowly, his own words drowned out by the cacophony of conflicting emotions within him.

As the couple disappeared from view, Father Astarion turned back to face the sacred confines of the cathedral. Its cool silence offered no refuge from the heat that still coursed through him, memories of his struggle against temptation flashing through his mind. He had whispered fervent prayers and battled against his desires for flesh and sinew that night at the tavern.

"Forgive me," he muttered to the empty pews, unsure if his words were meant for his deity or for himself. His duty was clear - to meet with the girl and guide her towards the light. But as the sunset painted the stained glass windows in fiery shades of red and gold, Astarion couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to enter a battle for which he may never be fully prepared.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and called upon every ounce of divine strength to fortify his spirit. He would offer counsel to this wayward lamb and do his best to protect her from darkness. But as he locked up the church and began to trudge his way towards your home, nestled at the far edge of town, he couldn't deny the thrill of forbidden excitement coursing through his veins, like a fire burning just beneath his skin. Though he knew that this could prove to be a rather dangerous task, one that could potentially lead him down a path of temptation and ruin...for the sake of your immortal soul, he was willing to take the risk.

The dying embers of the day cast a warm, orange hue over the town as Astarion tread softly along the dirt trail, his boots pressing into the uneven ground scattered with pebbles and twigs. The outskirts where you resided was tranquil, the only sounds were his solitary footsteps and the distant chirping of crickets. He could see your home now, a quaint cottage that seemed to be in a perpetual embrace with the encroaching forest. The air was scented with damp earth and the sweet tang of herbs that hung from an overhang, swaying gently in the evening breeze.

"Ms. Silverleaf, it's Father Astarion," he called with measured calmness, rapping knuckles against the wooden door. His voice felt strangely intrusive in the stillness. "Your mother and father bid me to speak with you."

Silence greeted him, thick and unyielding. He knocked again, a little louder, allowing authority to lace his tone. "Ms. Silverleaf, please. This is a rather important matter."

The quiet persisted, and a frown teased at the edge of his lips. 'Perhaps she is out,' he thought, but something about the soft glow from within your home suggested otherwise. He reached for the doorknob, finding it unlocked. A moment's hesitation lingered like a warning. With a breath to steady himself, he pushed open the door and stepped into the muted warmth of the interior.

"Y/N?" he ventured again, voice barely above a whisper as he closed the door behind him.

Before him, the small fire in the hearth crackled its last dance, casting flickering shadows across the room. Astarion scanned the space, noting the absence of any presence. His gaze fell on the simple furnishings, the homely touches that bespoke a life lived simply yet fully. In that moment, he felt like an intruder in your world, privy to a privacy not his own.

His ears, sharper than most, caught the faintest sound—a rustle, a breath hitched in distress. His dead heart sank. 'Might the girl have injured herself?' The concern edged his thoughts as he moved silently, his steps practiced and light. The noises grew clearer, more defined, and his pace quickened with a mix of worry and something less definable.

"Y/N," he called out softly, reaching the slightly ajar door from behind which the sounds emanated. With the utmost care, he nudged it further open, just enough to allow his eyes to seek out the source of the commotion.

He stood motionless, his hand still resting on the door, as the scene within unfolded before him.

His eyes widened, the crimson depths reflecting a scene of forbidden desire. There in the dimly lit chamber, the air thick with the scent of sweat and desperation, you writhed upon your simple bed—a vision of unbridled sensuality.

"Gods above," he murmured under his breath, unable to tear his gaze from the sight. His voice was a mere whisper, lost amidst the symphony of your pleasure.

Your small fingers danced along the slick folds of your sex, each movement deliberate and hungry. Lustful whines escaped your lips in ragged sighs and your moans pierced Astarion's heart like an arrow. You were yet unaware of his presence, lost in your own world of ecstasy.

"Y/N," he finally managed to say, louder this time, but the plea in his voice was drowned by your cries. You did not hear him, or if you did, you gave no indication, consumed as you were by your own touch.

'Stop,' he thought desperately, 'you mustn't witness this.' But his body betrayed him, rooted to the spot, drinking in the sight of you. The heat that had been kindling within him since he'd first laid eyes on you now blazed uncontrollably.

He watched, transfixed, as your back arched, your breasts rising and falling with each labored breath. The soft mounds were flushed with arousal, your nipples taut and begging for attention. Your other hand alternated between caressing your breast and pinching your rose-colored nipple, sending ripples of pleasure through your body.

"Please," you gasped, the word a prayer for release. "I need... I can't..."

Father Astarion felt a surge of protectiveness, intermingled with a darker, hungrier sensation. He knew that he, a man of the cloth, should not be standing there, should not be watching this intimate act of self-pleasure, yet he found himself entranced by your uninhibited display.

"Is this what you seek?" he asked silently, the question for himself more than you. "To be the one to push her over that edge?"

His blood roared in his ears, drowning out the remnants of piety that screamed for him to leave. There was a battle raging within him, between his vows and the yearning to step forward—to replace your hands with his own, to taste the salt on your skin, to hear his name on your lips instead of the silent gods you seemed to be reaching for.

Another whimper, more tortured than the last, pulled him from his daze. He took a half-step backward, the creak of the wooden floorboard underfoot sounding like thunder in the quiet room. Astarion’s throat was dry, his body tense with longing.

"Forgive me," he whispered, turning his face away, though his eyes betrayed him, sliding back for another glimpse that lasted far too long. "Forgive me..."

His breath hitched, a silent witness to the carnal symphony playing out before him. Shadows clung to the corners of the dimly lit chamber as the fading light of day bathed your writhing form in an ethereal glow. Your fingers, slick and unyielding, danced fervently within yourself, your movements both desperate and deliberate. The decadent chorus of your pleasure—a blend of wet, rhythmic sounds—sent involuntary tremors through his body.

"Gods... yes, just like that, please..." Your voice was broken and full of lust, a prayer for release that echoed off the walls.

He swallowed thickly, the taste of his restraint bitter on his tongue. His hands, traitorous and curious, sought the heat beneath his breeches, and he winced at the contact – a touch both foreign and achingly familiar. The sensation clawed at his resolve, tearing at the fabric of his vows.

"Ah... A-Astarion..." you moaned, your voice slowly morphing into a sinful incantation - a desperate plea to the heavens, or perhaps to the depths below. His name rolled off your lips like a sacrilegious mantra, stoking that fire within him into something unbearable.

"Gods above…," he whispered under his breath, a ghost of words lost amid the melody of your solitary passion. Envy gnawed at him, its sharp teeth sinking into his heart as you envisioned another, even if that other bore his visage.

"Please... Fuck - ruin me..." you begged the illusion, your back arching, your body tightly stretched like a bowstring. The priest within him recoiled, but the man, the primal creature lurking beneath the clerical collar, stirred from its slumber.

"Enough," He hissed to himself, his conviction giving way to carnal desire. He could no longer be a mere observer, a passive guardian of sanctity. As you called out for him, in flesh or fantasy, he felt that familiar longing within him awaken. With a growl, he shed his clerical collar and entered the room with purpose. This was no longer a soft tread of uncertainty, but the confident steps of a man who knew what he wanted. You needed him, craved him, and he... he needed this. Gods above, he needed this.

"Ms. Silverleaf," he said louder now, his voice cutting through the haze of your ecstasy.

Your eyes snapped open, bright and piercing, locking onto his deep, vermillion gaze. Your silky hair cascaded around your face as you stilled, your body drawn with anticipation. In that moment, your eyes were a tangle of fire and gold, two stars colliding and igniting a blaze that consumed you both. Your stillness was a bird poised on the edge of a branch, ready to take flight at the slightest movement. And in that moment, the question hung in the air like a forbidden fruit, tempting and dangerous: Which would it be? Salvation or damnation?

"F-Father Astarion," you breathed, a mixture of surprise, embarrassment, and something...darker. Something hungry .

The pale elf stood tall and imposing in the dimly lit room, his pastoral leash discarded and forgotten on the floor. The light streamed through the window, catching the soft curls of his silver hair and casting an intimidating glow in his intense eyes. You laid bare before him, a true vision of ethereal beauty - your pleading eyes and wild hair fanned out around you, nearly forming a halo around your glistening, desperate form.

"Tell me, my child," He began, his voice low and steady, "What manner of evil has reduced you to this? A whimpering, sodden mess baring yourself so shamelessly before a man of God?"

"Please, Father...I-I’m so sorry. Please…p-please help me," You whimpered, your voice soft as velvet.

"Of course, child," His voice was a soothing balm, yet it was wrought with an undercurrent of something depraved. "Would you have me guide you in prayer, to cleanse these wicked ideations from your soul?"

Your head shook, a silent bell tolling 'no'. His gaze never left you, sharp and probing as he began to unfasten his shirt, each button relinquishing its hold with deliberate slowness. The pale flesh beneath his priestly attire came into view - his lean, muscular body sending a sharp jolt to your needy cunt.

"Or perhaps," he continued, his tone laced with concern, "you'd prefer I summon the physician? They might concoct a remedy for your... afflictions ."

As he circled the bed, the air around you charged with unsaid words, he grazed your cheek with his knuckles, the touch feather-light yet scorching. Your skin burned under his caress, your heat evident to his discerning touch.

"Ah, you are quite warm," he murmured, almost to himself. He leaned closer, his breath fanning your face as he tenderly pushed away strands of hair that had clung to your dampened forehead. "What then, my dear, do you seek from me?"

You swallowed thickly, your body betraying your desires with a soft whimper. "I don't need a doctor, Father," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Then what?" Astarion whispered back, his proximity intoxicating.

Your breath hitched; you bit down on your lower lip, trapping it between your teeth. In a voice suffused with shame and longing, you uttered the words, "Touch me."

Astarion clicked his tongue, a reprimand and a tease all at once. "You know that is not possible. My vows..." He let the sentence hang, unfinished, yet heavy with implication.

But desire was a siren's call, relentless and seductive. As your fingers resumed their salacious dance, the soft wet sounds that they made reached his ears, sending a bolt of raw need through him. He watched, transfixed, his body responding despite his resolve.

"Is this a habit of yours?" he asked, his voice husky with restrained passion.

"No," you breathed out, your movements unabated.

"Has another taught you such pleasures?" His inquiry was both invasive and achingly tender.

"N-no. Never," you admitted, your voice tinged with innocence and discovery.

He hummed, acknowledging your confession. "There is much to learn about one's own flesh... to understand what brings pleasure, what stirs the soul."

"Please," you gasped, your plea floating between you like a fragile leaf caught in a tempest. "Help me, Father... Show me how to feel good..."

"Perhaps," he whispered, his voice a thread of silk amidst the tension, "a slight... guidance would not be deemed sacrilegious." The words felt foreign on his tongue, like a dark incantation that could unravel the very fabric of his being.

Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if absorbing the gravity of what he proposed. Your lips parted in a silent plea, your desire an unspoken prayer that beckoned him closer.

With reverent trepidation, he extended his hand, the silhouette of his fingers ghosting over the valley of your chest before descending. The heat of your skin seared his palm as he cupped your heavy breast, feeling its softness yield beneath his touch. Your sharp intake of breath was both a torment and a balm to his conflicted soul.

"Ah..." you sighed, a delicate sound that underscored the urgency of this illicit communion.

Astarion allowed himself a moment to marvel at the responsiveness of your body, the way your flesh puckered against the chilled air, inviting his thumb to graze over the tight peak of your nipple. To him, it was the first transgression – a tactile whisper that spoke volumes of forbidden pleasures yet explored.

His hand trailed lower, a painstaking journey across the landscape of your ribcage, the undulating terrain of your belly, each movement deliberate, a testament to the restraint he fought to maintain. It was an artist's touch, painting strokes of fire upon your canvas of anticipation.

"May I?" The question hung between you, laden with consequences yet to unfold. His eyes sought yours, seeking absolution in their depths. Your gaze held his, fierce and unyielding—a mirror reflecting your shared hunger.

"Please," you breathed, the single word a key turning in the lock of his resolve.

His fingers, cold and steady, grazed the small of your waist, drawing your attention away from his eyes to the point of contact. You shuddered as his touch met the sensitive skin just above your hips. His fingers traced the delicate curve of your pelvis, kneading it gently, exploring your body with the reverence of a man discovering the wonders of the world for the first time.

"You are beautiful," he whispered, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of your hip. "Sinfully so, darling. But your wants, your needs... they are only human."

Astarion's eyes lingered on the curve of your hips, tracing the silhouette of your form with his gaze. The desire within him threatened to consume him whole, promising to both destroy and purify. He knew that once he crossed this line, there would be no going back. You were both aware of the weight of your transgression, heavy like a shroud about your limbs.

But your voice broke the silence, another soft plea that cracked the veneer of control he had so meticulously constructed. "Please," you begged, your voice trembling.

His fingers found you, hesitant at first, exploring the soft folds that lay between your legs. The air was heavy with the scent of arousal and anticipation, a heady cocktail that intoxicated you both. Astarion was no stranger to the touch of a woman, but this was different. This was sacrilegious. He could feel the weight of his vows bearing down upon him, threatening to suffocate him, but he persisted.

Your body tensed at his touch, the resistance only serving to heighten his desire. As he continued to explore you, he whispered softly into your ear, "You are allowed to feel pleasure, sweet girl. It's alright..."

Your breath hitched as his fingers delved deeper, your body arching against him in response. He could feel the heat radiating from your core, the pulsing life within you behind the delicate tissue that covered your being. He had never felt anything so alive, so vital, so right.

His fingers continued their exploration, sliding gently against your skin, tracing the pathways of your desire. Every touch was a caress, a promise, a confirmation that you were real, that you were there, and that he was not alone in this sin.

As his fingers continued their journey, he felt a surge of pure lust wash over him. He knew that he could not resist any longer. He needed to feel you, to possess you. He needed to experience the fullness of your passion and the sinful pleasures that awaited him.

He could feel your heart racing, your breaths becoming short and ragged as he touched you. Every touch, every brush of his fingers against your skin sent electricity coursing through his veins.

"Gods," you keened, your voice a desperate plea for release as he slowly sunk his middle and ring finger into your tight channel. Your body trembled, and you pressed yourself against him, urging him to continue.

Astarion released a long, shuddering breath. This was madness, this transgression. But the need was far too strong, too powerful.

His pale skin almost seemed to shimmer as he shifted his position on the bed. His scarlet eyes, usually so intense and piercing when preaching from the pulpit, were now dark with lust as they focused on your form laid out before him. The contrast between you was stark—him, the embodiment of forbidden restraint, and you, the very image of uninhibited desire.

"Father," you panted, your voice a sultry melody that tugged at the most carnal parts of him, "please..."

He slid his fingers deeper, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. The sight of your pleasure, the way you arched beneath his touch, drew a low groan from Astarion's throat. He was no longer the vampiric preacher who had given his life to God and vowed celibacy; he was a man, flesh and blood, driven by primal urges he could no longer deny. Your scent filled his senses, intoxicatingly sweet, and it sparked a curiosity that overshadowed all rational thought.

"Gods, I shouldn't..." He murmured, more to himself than to you, but the words died in his mouth as his tongue dared to taste the honeyed sweetness of your center. The flavor burst upon his senses—a delectable mix of sin and innocence—and his groan vibrated against your sensitive skin. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated need.

"M-more...please..don't stop," You encouraged breathlessly, your eyes half-closed, hands finding their way into his silver curls, urging him closer.

Astarion complied, his once-hesitant licks becoming more insistent, delving into your folds with fervor. The holy man within him screamed for repentance, for restraint, but he was drowned out by the carnal beast that had been awakened. With each stroke of his tongue and curl of his fingers, he mapped out every contour of your dripping cunt, committing your responses to memory like sacred scripture.

"Ah, Astarion," you moaned, a symphony to his ears.

"Y/N," he whispered against you, his voice husky with passion, "you taste positively divine ."

As he continued to worship at the altar of your body, the church bells of propriety and oath rang distant, irrelevant. In this moment, there was only you and the undeniable truth that you were bound by something far stronger than doctrine. The friction of his fingers inside of you, coupled with the relentless pursuit of his tongue, stoked a flame within you that threatened to consume you both.

"Father," you gasped, your plea a beautiful litany, "Aah - Gods, yes.."

Your hips bucked beneath him, the fierce desire in your eyes melting into a tempest of ecstasy. The supple flesh of your sex clenched around his fingers, and the sight of it, the feel of it, sent a shiver down his spine. The moments of hesitation were a blur in the past, all that remained was the hunger between you, the natural dance of bodies, the silent pleas for release.

He felt that familiar throb of anticipation, the prelude to a world of pleasure and sin. It would be a fall from grace, a transgression of the utmost magnitude. But he knew, deep down, that his heart would break if he denied you the satisfaction you so desperately craved.

He could feel the tension within your body, the resistance slowly fading away as you came closer to the edge. Your breaths, once short and gasping, now deep and labored as you allowed yourself to fully succumb to sinful bliss.

His fingers, still buried inside of you, crescendoed their rhythm, matching the tempo of your heartbeat. He traced the swell of your clitoris with his thumb and lapped at the nectar that spilled from you, staining his lips with its sweetness.

"Astarion," you whispered, your voice a low, sultry moan. "Please, I need more."

He understood. He needed more, too. He plunged his fingers deep within you once more, eliciting a scream of unadulterated pleasure. The supple flesh of your sex clenched and spasmed around him, and the sight of it, the feel of it, drew a deep growl from within his chest.

His breath was a harsh rasp, his every sense alight with the raw scent of desire that rose from your flushed skin. Withdrawing his hand and mouth from your quivering, wet warmth, he couldn't help but admire the sheen of arousal that coated him, a decadent gloss that marked his sin as much as it did his yearning. He gazed upon you, reclined and panting, through eyes hazed with lust, finding you all the more enchanting for the sweat that painted your delicious curves.

"Look at you," he murmured, voice laced with both reproof and undeniable affection, "such a greedy little thing."

His fingers, still trembling with the remnants of your pleasure, worked at the ties of his breeches with a deftness born of necessity—this shedding of his final vestment felt like the peeling away of his last vow. The fabric fell away, pooling around his knees before he kicked them off, discarding the cloth and constraint alike into a forgotten pile on the floor.

Bare now before you, the dying light cast shadows across his lean form, playing over the muscles that tensed with anticipation. His heavy, aching cock stood proud, a testament to their forbidden ardor, twitching as though it had a life of its own, the tip shining with evidence of his need.

"Can you handle more?" he asked, his voice a low growl that vibrated in the charged air between you. It wasn't just a question of your endurance; it was a challenge to his self-control, a plea for absolution for the hot sin you were about to commit.

Your response was caught in your throat, your eyes wide as you drank in the sight of him. In your gaze, Astarion saw the war between lust and trepidation—yet when you swallowed, it not only discarded your fears but also his lingering doubts.

"Please," you whispered, your voice thick with want. "Take me... I want to be yours."

The words crashed into him like a wave, sweeping away the last of his restraint. A part of him—the man who had clung to his faith amidst a sea of past temptations—whispered that this was the point of no return. But another part, deeper, more primal, rejoiced in the offering you presented.

"Then mine you shall be," he vowed, his mind afire with images of your union, of how he would fill you, stretch you, consume your essence until there was no distinguishing where one ended and the other began.

As he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick heat, he felt the weight of years of celibacy poised on the brink of oblivion. His heavy balls tightened, aching with the promise of release, the need to claim and be claimed overwhelming him.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Yes," came your breathless reply.

And with that single word, Astarion surrendered, gently pushing forward and guiding himself into your tight warmth with a slow, deliberate thrust.

You gasped as his girth split your virgin pussy, your body writhing beneath him, a silent plea for more. Astarion pushed in deeper, sinking slowly into you…inch by agonizing inch until you felt his balls press against the tender flesh of your ass. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever experienced, a divine mix of pain and pleasure that sent shivers down your spine.

"Ohh, Gods above ...you're so tight, little one" he whispered, pulling back just enough to tease your entrance and admire the pink ring of your ruined maidenhood around his shaft before plunging himself into your core once more.

You moaned, your hands clawing at his back, urging him on. “Mmf! Ahh…d-don't stop, please..."

Astarion groaned, his hips bucking urgently against you. He wanted to savor this moment, to take his time, but the beast within him demanded satisfaction. He shifted his angle, his cock rubbing at that sweetest spot inside of you just right as his crown pressed rough kisses against your cervix over and over again, and you cried out in pleasure and pain.

"Ahhh - fuck ," you cried, your voice a mixture of ecstasy and anguish, "Gods, it's too much...I can't-”

"Yes you can," Astarion whispered reassuringly, his breath hot against your ear. He thrust faster, harder, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound. "You're taking me so well, sweet girl. Being so very good for me..."

Your body arched beneath him, your nails digging into his back as you climaxed hard, your orgasm hitting you like a whirlwind of bliss and agony.

Astarion felt your muscles clench around him, a vice-like grip that threatened to pull him under. His release was imminent, and he knew that once it came, there would be no turning back.

His thrusts became more frantic, the need to conquer your petite body overtaking him. Each movement was a battle, each thrust a plea, each twitch of his manhood a promise. He could feel the sweat dripping from his forehead.

"Forgive me," he grunted, his voice strained, his voice echoing your pleas from earlier. "I just can't control myself around you..."

You let out a needy, lustful whimper as your overstimulated body trembled beneath him, matching his rhythm as you reached once more for the edge of a new kind of bliss you had never known.

"I don't want you to control yourself," you huffed. "I want to feel every bit of you inside me."

Astarion groaned, his eyes rolling back as he plunged into you with reckless abandon, his cock twitching and pulsing within your snug hole. He felt your walls tighten around him, milking him for everything he had to offer. This was it; this was the moment. He knew that once he emptied himself inside of you, he would be lost in you forever. With a desperate cry, he buried himself to the hilt inside of your molten core, stuffing you completely with his thick, neglected manhood as his seed flooded and filled you, a substantial overflow seeping from where you remained joined - a testament to your sinful union.

As he collapsed onto you, his breathing came in ragged gasps. You lay beneath him, your eyes closed, face flushed with the afterglow of your lovemaking. You felt his cock twitching inside of you, still wrapped around him in a tight grip from your shared ecstasy.

He could feel your heart racing beneath him. This was not merely sex or desire; this was something forever altered, indelible in your souls. As your bodies calmed from their fervor, he found himself still nestled within your warmth, where he belonged.

He knew that to stay burrowed within you would be to invite temptation's final caress, but he could not make himself retreat. Not now, not ever. You were his now, and he was yours; there was no turning back...

A/N: If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this lil one-shot. If so, it would be super lovely of you to like this post, reblog, or send me a message to lemme know your thoughts. I love hearing from you guys - it makes my little depraved heart so very happy! XoXo

#astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #baldur’s gate astarion #astarion smut #baldur's gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 astarion #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x you #astarion x reader

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brimleysbears · 2 months

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(Featured media: Burl Ives and Rock Hudson - from The Spiral Road, 1962)

"Fan" fiction erotica - "Hollywood Confessions: My Date With Big Daddy"

Post 4 of 4

Epilogue:

A Horny Old Bull

To conclude, I was in fact on the pill, after all, it was 1963; therefore no, I didn’t begat a cute little chubby Ives child, although sometimes I wish I had. Although that man could be a bit of a creep at times, like most men I suppose, I’ll never forget that night with Big Daddy. In fact, as much as it was embarrassing, there were other reasons why I kept that story to myself after all these years. I admit, that was the most fun I’ve ever had with a man. Sometimes I question whether I was head over heels in love with that big old brute.

As much as I wanted to see him again, I found out soon afterwards that he had actually scheduled all of those men to see him that night with the intention of not telling me, while planning on having sex with me, in order for the meetings to coincide with his coitus. I never found out exactly why he did that, and if it was his intention to use me or not. I was angry for a season and never wanted to see him again after that, but looking back, I regret not seeing him more times. I would have liked to get all of his seed in me and looked at him face to face the entire time that he had his climax. I would have liked to try other things with him, and maybe even be his mistress when he was working in Hollywood. The more I learned about what probably did happen, was that he was proud to seduce a young dancer like myself, and although I don’t like to be someone’s ‘bragging rights’, in a way I felt honored. One of the older ladies at the Manhattan cocktail party said, “sounds to me like he was just trying to get those businessmen off his back and find ways to taunt them.”

As I spoke to my girlfriends late that night, finishing my story, one of the women remarked that, perhaps that lonely old man being away from home needed a special companion, and not another ‘high-profile figure’ like himself? As we talked, one of the more educated ‘uptown’ ladies said, “if you ask me, like a lot of men in show business those days, he was desperate to try to prove that he was a heterosexual; in a similar way they constantly had to deliver proof they were not some kind of communist as well. After all, Mr. Ives worked closely with a lot of queers like Tennessee Williams and was even filmed naked along side a half-naked raging fag, Rock Hudson, just a year or so before your ‘encounter’. Although I might say there’s probably a little pink in his blanket, Big Daddy sounds like a man who was not ‘light on his feet’, in fact, quite heavy handed like your story implied, which I found to be most intriguing. I think you’ve not only made a believer out of all of us in the room, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of us are going to start chasing after men like Sebastian Cabot – you’ve certainly piqued my curiosity about a kind of man I would have not previously considered and for that, I am indeed charmed.”

But it was another lady who might have had the best explanation: “did you ever consider the fact that although Big Daddy was a bit of a sex symbol in the 50’s, that Burl Ives in the 60’s was starting to get typecast too much in children’s and family shows to the point where the public was referring to him as asexual? If I were him, I’d want to prove to my collogues that I was a fully functioning sexual person with sexual needs and abilities. After a while, no matter what he said, chances are, his peers didn’t believe him until he found a way to show proof that he had a thriving sex life.” Maybe they were all correct. Maybe he was just another creep. Maybe he was someone really special. I do cherish those memories, and I still keep his private calling card with me in my purse all these years.

The End.

Feel free to share posts, however please copy only with permission, thanks, BB

Part 1

https://www.tumblr.com/brimleysbears/743973229412106240/featured-media-burl-ives-from-the-spiral-road?source=share

Part 2

https://www.tumblr.com/brimleysbears/743962348439666688/featured-media-burl-ives-from-the-spiral-road?source=share

Part 3

https://www.tumblr.com/brimleysbears/743868840199536640/featured-media-burl-ives-from-the-spiral-road?source=share

Part 4

https://www.tumblr.com/brimleysbears/743867190420307968/featured-media-burl-ives-from-the-spiral-road?source=share

#burl ives

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 5 months

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Symbols I would be making sure were present (or adding) if I were producing the Six of Crows TV show

(Btw I’ve been writing my own script for a bit of fun since the cancellation news so if anyone wants to see that I’ll tag you, and the save S&B petition is also on my page if anyone wants the link)

EDIT: Sorry I should’ve put this I forgot; SA reference warning for the second point, nothing explicit but in talking about Inej’s experiences and the experiences of women in Greek mythology 🖤

FLOWERS. I want geraniums on the Exchange balcony from chapter 2 and I want reference to the geraniums at 19 Burstradt, I want Matthias the big brooding yellow tulip contrasted with the red tulips laid on his chest and in the water after his death, I want crocuses at the Hoede manor, I want jurda blossoms in Jesper’s flashbacks and maybe Kaz’s too (and probably crocuses in his), I want geraniums hidden all over the caravan and circus tent in Inej’s flashbacks, I want wild flowers in Wylan’s hands on the way to St Hilde’s that get discarded in the lobby, I want wisteria growing outside St Hilde’s, I want blue tulips painted on the floor tiles at St Hilde’s, I want white roses all over Nina’s room in Ketterdam and I want to hear the comment about how all the flowers at the White Rose are perfumed by hand, I want a cascade of geraniums falling all over Kaz and Inej as they tumble of Goedmed Bridge, I want lavish flower arrangements at the Menagerie accented by peacock feathers, I COULD TALK ABOUT THE FLOWER SYMBOLISM IN THESE BOOKS FOR YEARS I WANT IT NOTICED LET’S GO

BIRDS. I want crows, I want pigeons, I want nightingales (that one’s my personal addition but oh boy do I have reasons; Nightingales are a symbol of immortality in literature and could be painted on the tiles at St Hilde behind the wisteria for all the same symbolic reasons the wisteria’s there; in Greek mythology Philomela prayed to the gods to escape her Tereus, who had raped her and intended to kill her, and they turned her into a nightingale, representing freedom and imprisonment at the same time because she’d lost who she was so this wasn’t true freedom DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW BADLY I NEED A NIGHTINGALE TO CROSS THE SCREEN WHILST INEJ CONTEMPLATES HAVING COMMITTED MURDER AND HER PERSONAL MORAL AND RELIGIOUS IMPLICATIONS OF THAT!!?? I’m going crazy), I want more emphasis on the bird cage in Heleen’s office because in its three seconds of screen time in season one I was SOLD on how genius it was, I want peacocks EVERYWHERE, I want to be so committed to the birds vibe that we can start throwing in a whole load of new birds for other symbolism!! Let’s have owl symbolism around Wylan and Jesper, let’s have heavy emphasis on Nina as the little red bird, let’s talk about the nightingale again because I’m obsessed

KOMEDIE BRUTE. I have talked before about how I think the costumes each character wears are symbolic and directly linked to their arc but it was a long time ago and I updated it a few times based on replies so if anyone wants a full updated version of my thoughts on that lemme know, I also wrote a thing about how I think Mr Crimson could possibly be an omen of death so again if anyone’s interested let me know - I’ll either tag you or write a post fully involving all my Komedie Brute thoughts. I want Nina as the lost bride, Wylan and Inej in matching grey imp costumes, Kaz in the madman’s mask, Jesper and Matthias as Mr Crimson, all of them as Mr Crimson with a black tear in their masks, silver coins thrown all over the staves, costume shops on Ketterdam streets. I want Jackal masks and Drüskelle “costumes” in plain view on market stalls and in shop windows, and as an add on to that I want references to Nina’s fake Kefta being Kerch-made and uncomfortable to wear.

PURPLE. I want purple stadwatch uniforms, I want purple kruge notes, I want purple decor in the Geldrenner, I want purple silks in Inej’s flashbacks.

TREES. I want so many reminders that trees are sacred to Fjerdans!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This has already been done really well in the show but I would want to maintain it; I want to see Matthias praying when Wylan fells the tree before the Ice Court heist, I want his indignation over the relevance of the sacred ash tree, I want to see the look on Nina’s face when she realises Brum has walked her all the way around the sacred ash instead of crossing underneath it (at the time she thinks it’s because she’s pretending to be a prostitute but later we understand it’s because she’s Grisha and I know we couldn’t have had Nina’s internal thoughts in this scene even though I wish we could have but we can still have hints!!!)

SEALS AND STAMPS. I want to see a blue wax seal with a peacock feather pattern, a black seal with a crow, a pale green stamp for the bank, a purple stamp for government correspondence, I want a stack of letters with unbroken red seals with a laurel wreath crest hidden under Wylan’s mattress.

RELIGIOUS SYMBOLS. Ok there’s loads we could say here but specifically I want “rich as saints in crowns of gold” contrasted with “if it was worth anything Heleen would have taken it. But this is just a simple token of faith that my mother stitched”, I want the imagery of Ghezen contrasting the imagery of the Saints contrasting the imagery of Djel, and I so so badly want “Djel is the god of life, not death”

#someone save this show and then hire meeeeee #I have too many ideas #save shadow and bone #save six of crows #grishaverse #six of crows #crooked kingdom #leigh bardugo #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #nina zenik #jesper fahey #matthias helvar #wylan van eck #kanej #wesper #helnik

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jmdbjk · 6 months

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Praise and worship

I finally figured out the meaning of the Standing Next to You MV!!

But first, did Kookie wax his pits or does he always have that landing strip of hair there?

Anyway, sorry for the immediate digression but you know it is imperative to dissect everything, even pit hair.

Back to the MV...

The opening scenes include this very non-inclusive sign:

Only limos, no sportscars, SUVs, pick up trucks, family sedans or mopeds welcome here. They are keeping the riff-raff out. ONLY LIMOS THEY SAID CAN'T YOU READ THE SIGN?

Obviously makes sense when we see this dystopian scene where less than a dozen people are walking around inside some sort of derelict compound. A FORTRESS FOR ONLY THE STRETCH LIMO PREFERRING POPULATION!

Incidentally, stretch limos represent 1 percent of the options available from limo companies in the U.S. (I googled it).

Amazing that they found this many in Budapest.

What was once a sign of affluence has now fallen on hard times... hence the decrepit dystopia pictured above.

Enter our female antagonist. Who does she represent? I'll get to that later...

Our antagonist is antagonizing beautifully throughout but starts off antagonistically in her leather coatdress and 1980's heavy black eyeliner and bobbed hair. After all, the song is a throwback to that era of the late 70's/early 80's. All she is missing is the peach blush in the hollows of her cheeks. Hand me a Maybelline Blooming Colors Blush Palette and I'll fix it.

Then the dark angel makes his appearance. Ah, yes, sweet angel, come closer.

I think he has come down or up from where ever dark angels habitate in order to correct an injustice... the injustice being the duck-billed cups of this atrociously antagonistic dress our antagonist is made to wear:

For real... they couldn't find a better fitting dress? At least grab a roll of toilet paper and stuff those titty cups to fill them out? They are so sad and droopy looking... props to her Maybelline Expert Eyes Turquoise eye shadow though.

I suppose the stacked pancakes... I mean bra cups... could have meant to be an homage to another 80's icon: Madonna and her cone shaped bra... but ... nah... try again. They look like hamburgers. Now I can't unsee it. So, so sad.

We do a lil spin and our protagonist spins himself up into a jewel encrusted, crotch grabbing, finger pointing master of his game.

I think he's here to conduct a worship service.

It's time to be churched:

Stretch limos (because no riff-raff remember?) enter the opening in a temple-of-Petra-like giant wall emblazoned with JK's sacred heart logo. Very symbolic.

In they go to gather for worship. Others sit in theatre seats while Ms. Antagonist sits on the car like a hood ornament.

So... who is she and what's going on here?

No clue. She sits haughtily and antagonistically on her outdated stretch limo, while her little minions sit in the rows watching the object of their desire preaching the holy choreography.

However, Mr. Protagonist is about to really lay down the religion.

But first, gratuitous shot of Kookie prancing in heeled chelsea boots.

Back to religion... the religion of Bangtan dance... one of these is not like the other.

(*covers Hobi-hyung's eyes* Don't look its too painful.)

Did they not monitor this mess?

I don't meant to be disrespectful and I know these guys are some of the best dancers in the industry but next to Jungkook, they look like a herd of elephants. Just sayin'.

Anyway, Protagonist proceeds to become angry at the sloppy choreo and all the limo drivers gather for a gang-brawl in the middle of the church. Probably arguing over the spelling of chauffeur. I couldn't find an urban slang reference for limo, limousine or limo driver. I'm sure some exist but being the innocent thing I am, I don't know what they are.

Mr. Protagonist brings down the wrath and puts the fear of Hobi into his crew:

Then the climax of the whole darn thing: a dance break. Holy communion commences with serious thrusting into crotch grabs (some are enjoying it more than others):

Service concludes and I wonder how many takes before they got one where Kookie didn't bust out laughing with his bunny giggle?

But seriously, the MV does seem to be an homage to an era where Michael Jackson thrilled us with his brilliant music and dancing. Jungkook is continuing to pull us and BTS as a group along, forging new paths for them in the music industry. Like Kookie, I am anxious for them to reunite and get back on that stage together. And like Yoongi, I too believe they will devour the world.

(It's humor, y'all.)

#worship at the altar of jungkook #its humor #sarcasm #parody #its not serious #i apologize if i offended anyone #however Bangtan Church of Choreography is very serious #standing next to you #jungkook golden #looking forward to a choreo performance mv please

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miraclesabound · 9 months

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Spoiler-Heavy Review/Thoughts on "The Last Voyage of the Demeter"

The crowd at the theater grew to about 15, so still pretty quiet.

Short version is that I enjoyed this movie thoroughly, but it is truly gruesome. The entry will start below the cut with spoilery warnings, because even having read the book, there were some things that caught me off guard.

Warnings for this film include:

trafficking of a young woman as a blood bag/bride for Dracula

Use of racial slurs against both a Black and a Romani character

deaths of all animals on board, including livestock and a young boy's beloved dog - shown with full gore

death of three crew members by burning in the sun after vampiric possession, including the young boy (the captain's grandson)

One of those three choosing sunlight as their method of suicide rather than allowing themselves to fully turn into a beat.

In fact, no one dies peacefully - this version of Dracula is emphasized as truly beastly, relishing the fear of his victims.

I know we've all been rooting for the Captain (named Captain Elliot in this version), but the true protagonist is Mr. Clemens, played by Corey Hawkins. We never get his first name, but we learn that he's a Black English doctor making his way home from Bulgaria/Romania, and he offers his services to Captain Elliot when a previously hired hand refuses to touch anything marked with Dracula's symbol - the stamp of a black dragon.

Other characters include: Captain Elliot and his young grandson Toby, Anna, the young woman given to Dracula as a captive by her village, and the men of the crew, all of whom have sailed with Captain Elliot before.

Then of course, there's Dracula himself. I saw some reviews saying he's shown far too early in the movie - but it worked for me. We find out that Anna was locked in his coffin with him and was meant to sustain him for the whole voyage - so when we see Dracula, he's weak and wracked with hunger for losing his food supply when Clemens finds Anna and starts treating her. Since we see him like that early, there's room for him to grow to almost full power as he burns through the animals and then the crew.

I enjoyed just about every performance in the film, but Corey Hawkins (Clemens), Javier Botet (Dracula), and Woody Norman (Toby) were particular highlights. Clemens is your classic cynical scientist with a heart of gold, Dracula speaks less than you would expect but still has that taunting air, and Toby doesn't read as older than he's supposed to be.

As story beats go, I think I appreciated Anna's the most. I've said in my reread of Dracula that I wish modern adaptations did more with the people of Transylvania hating Dracula, and this version presented that in Anna's character. She's lived under Dracula's shadow as long as she can remember, even before her village elders handed her over, and once she's freed and recovered some of her strength, she's finally able to fight back. I'm a sucker for a character who knows they're doomed but still tries to do the right thing, and Anna is that in spades.

THE LIGHTING IN THIS MOVIE WAS ACTUALLY EFFECTIVE!!!! The daytime scenes were vibrant, and all the nights scenes are lit by an enormous full moon and several stars. It makes the shadow work less muddied than you might see in a more modern-style horror movie.

The movie ends with Clemens technically surviving, but still deeply traumatized and literally scarred - he and Anna scuttle the ship and jump overboard, but not until after Dracula has drunk enough from Anna to curse her and he's badly hurt Clemens' neck. Anna gives herself over to the sun so that Clemens can get to shore, and the closing scene is clearly a sequel hook as he hunts for Dracula in London - or perhaps the Count has already realized that Clemens is on his tail. This worked for me because the film stuck with Clemens. I kept expecting him to run into one of the core Dracula characters, and I'm not sure I would have liked that.

This is all a very long-winded way of saying that this was a film I truly enjoyed, and it is a LOVE LETTER to the book's thesis - the supernatural may have come out of hiding, but if we band together, evil may be halted - even for a little while.

Rating: 8.5/10

#dracula daily #the last voyage of the demeter #last voyage of the demeter

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coolcoolcoolbutwtf · 2 months

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Now presenting Danny the impy jester and his co henchmen joker junior!

Getting knocked down from the warehouse ceiling rafters and landing painfully face first on the very hard floor was decidedly not something Trixter, formerly known as Danny Fenton had ever wanted to experience again.

Hearing you boss's tiny duplicate kidnapped torture kinda son get thrown into the discarded pile of mattress with a loud "uff" was also something he didn't want to hear but for a entirely different reason. Joker didn't like failure.

Failure hurts. Well, his pre beating by way of concrete floor would probably be enough of a lesson until he got busted from juvi, again.

It's just his luck, the one time they fight at the back of an absolutely packed mattress store warehouse and he gets to land on the one spot on the concrete floor without any mattress or padding whatsoever!

Trixter groaned lifting his head from the floor up while using his right hand to lift his glove checking the time. The watch unlike Danny didn't groan while seeing the time. Didn't either when the feeling of blood slightly dripping to his lips started and definitely did not when his nose furiously started gushing.

Trixter did groan loudly when the realization came thundering back into focus.

Both of them, him and joker junior just lost, both of them failed at keeping Batman busy long enough while joker and Harley set up five streets away.

The boss always gets so mad whenever they fail at keeping the bat busy long enough and getting caught on top of that? He's always so pissed at having his goons busy busting his henchmen out from prison.

Won't be long now before that bat and his annoying sense of justice sends his black and white jester butt back to arkham's juvi for the mentally unstable, again. This would be the first time Junior got caught since joining the official joker 'family'.

Trixter shudders slightly his breathing forming clouds ears suddenly feeling cold from the wind. Wait, full stop, wind, cold wind? It's summer and it can't be that cold now and Mr. Freeze is locked up tight in Arkham since last week's ice sculpture incident so how?

Movement from the mattress pile junior landed in alerted Trixter to swirl his to the left. Missing when the glow from the floor below himself started to stretch into patterns the cold wind now making frost form on the walls and windows. Dark green symbols forming on every wall its green glow growing in intensity.

Batman's dark silhouette landed a few meters away from the pile of mattresses turning his head around alert.

Trixter sneaked his way over to the pile using just the tinyest amount of ghost power for help. Blood was still rapidly dripping from his nose when he started giving junior a rough shake. The tiny joker had apparently passed out when he landed or maybe Batman knocked him out. Whichever it was didn't matter what did matter was junior needing to wake up right now. Batman was distracted if they could just sneak away long enough for the joker and Harley to finish.

A loud ticking sound started to echo. Joker couldn't have set it off here right now could he!?

No that wasn't right. The sound was to clear the ticking sounded from right above them! But it being so close was impossible he would have heard it with his heightened senses and not to mention see it with how close it sounded. Ugh! Where was all this green light coming from! Wasn't it supposed to be a laughing gas bomb in the park? This sounded like a normal bomb timer not one of the joker's laughing ones!

The green glow became blinding Danny Trixter gripped junior Tim shoulder tighter. A muffled cry of a NO was echoed!

Trixter woke up to sand in his face and the burning heat of fire licking his back. The thick smell and feel of smoke hanging heavy and low in the air. Green dyed hair scruffed his chin. Danny sighed letting out a breath of relief he didn't know he was holding. Trixter turned his head confused looking over his shoulder back at a large building. Was it a warehouse on fire?

Where ware they? This Is not, can't be anywhere in Gotham. Sure a building aflame was a common enough site but. There is like sand everywhere, it's not like it's dirty no it's, fudge bread sticks are they in the desert?

Wait a moment. Flaming warehouse in a desert? Oh, oh fuck. That's just their luck, fuck. Trixter has heard enough bragging from the joker to know where they are. Those lights, green glow ugh this is just his fucking luck isn't it?

Danny had a history with "history time travel portals" e.i alternative universe travel.

"Squeak!" Trixter cursed he may have died before but he ain't taking any chances with Batman now. Trixter shock his head the cap and bells on his head cling-klanged loudly. Too loudly it appeared if the Batman pointy eared shaped figure in the short distance away quick motions was anything to go by.

Butter biscuits!

Trixter knew his jester demon thing disguise worked great in case of scaring people or tricking someone into believing he was an actual demon. Better demon than ghost but in this case he didn't think it would matter. Batman hadn't been scared, shocked, spooked or even very surprised

It was rather insulting actually.

An angry Batman could probably beat a half ghost and former Robin electrocute into a mini joker. Danny looked down quickly then up again, mini joker, joker just blew up Batmans Robin, junior currently looks like a mini copy of joker and Trixter a fucked up black and white Harley.

It's not like Trixter could even really explain! He wouldn't even have a chance to try explaining. Unless Batman knew cursed jester squeak's speak both junior and him were in for a world of trouble.

God, should he maybe try and make junior not look so joker-esk? Maybe try and smudge his makeup off? Yes definitely do that and hide the flower, wait just take the hole jacket!

Trixter could definitely hide most of juniors joker looking clothes in his chest cavity! His chest has a portal space in It, one of the reasons why joker even brings him out on heist! Trixter might even have some normal-ish clothes for a change or makeup remover.

"Jason! Jason is that you?" The shape was much more Batman shaped then before was approaching fast but with all the smoke it would be hard, was from the way Batman was calling out. Jason was that the name of the second Robin? Did Batman think Trixter was him? Danny looked back down to where his gloved hands were still smudging juniors makeup. His palm and fingers staind red from lipstick and pink from the white paint mixing. Tim Let out a loud groan.

"Jason!" The smoke was thick Batman couldn't see well but was steadily making his way towards them. Trixter fought himself. He could maybe fly away for a bit with junior but his only way of flying in this form required him to grow wings. He wouldn't be able to take them away without cutting them off. It hurts so bad but if Batman sees them. A twitch from junior made Trixter steal himself.

He.

"Jason?" Trixter looked up alarmed a squeak escaping him how was Batman so close!

#dpxdc #jester #Danny the jester demon #he goes by Trixter now #ghost boy is cursed #Danny is cursed #he can only speak in squeak's and ghost chirps #feral tim drake #joker junior #warehouse #work in progress #Danny hiding as a Trixter demon/ imp #inspired by this old unfinished fanfiction on fanfiction.net where Danny started working with the joker and Harley #unsure about some stuff but I'll try and find it #i accidentally postaded this instead of saving it #smoked Jason #Trixter the jester fic #im working on the second part not finished yet

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feartoxinjelloshot · 3 months

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more mr freeze, including his ice gun this time! the gun's design did not really change from my first incarnation of it. i've always liked the idea of it being a bigger shoulder-mounted weapon instead of a one-handed pistol. i feel like a lot of symbolic mileage can be gotten out of the fact that the gun is heavy and unwieldy and generally very difficult (and even painful) for him to use. violence is not his natural inclination but he will push himself to extremes to do what he feels he needs to.

#scribbles #clipsverse #victor fries #mr freeze #batman rogues

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nullsleepy · 1 year

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Hero to None, Savior to All

Maribat BioDad!Batman

“Oh, like you’re any better, father! Or should I say Batman?” Ladybug whirled around, staring the man in the eyes.

“Mari, I-” Bruce kept his face blank, looking down at her. What was she doing? Playing hero?

“Oh don’t ‘Mari’ me! I am, and will always be, Marinette DUPAIN-CHENG to you, Wayne!” She spat at him, taking a step forward towards him.

“Marinette…”

“I am the LADYBUG, savior of Paris, savior of France, savior of this entire FUCKING WORLD! And you think you can just show up and change that?” Marinette heaved, rage burning in her eyes.

“Ma-”

“OH DON'T YOU INTERRUPT ME NOW, MR WAYNE! YOU’VE HAD FIFTEEN YEARS TO SPEAK UP SO IT’S MY TURN!” She snarled, her mouth straining at the ends from how wide she had to open her mouth to scream.

“…” Bruce swallowed, facing the girl. He could hear the pain in her voice.

“I have tried, AND TRIED, to reach out to you, to anyone! But none of you supposed heroes want to get your heads out of your asses long enough to listen! So I did your job, every single one of you all’s job, and SAVED THIS PLANET, THIS GALAXY! HELL, I’VE SAVED THIS TIMELINE MORE TIMES THAN YOU’VE BREATHED IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE THREE TIMES OVER!” Tears streamed down Marinette’s face, leaving red ugly lines when she wiped them away. “So go ahead, tell me what I’ve done wrong! Tell me I’m just a kid in an adult’s costume! Won’t be the first time I’ve heard, nor will it be the last! But you will not erase all of the pain my citizens have gone through, nor will you erase everything I’ve done! I am Marinette FUCKING Dupain-Cheng, savior of all that exist and don’t exist! I am the champion of PARIS!”

“….” Bruce’s eyes softened, watching the trembling girl- no, the trembling hero. Her stare told stories of tragic losses and unwavering pain. She wasn’t a kid, no, she had long since lost that title. She was someone who had faced more than anyone could handle, but here she was, still standing. She was a symbol of hope.

“WELL? Is that all you got to say now? ‘Cuz you were quite chatty EARLIER!” Marinette pointed a finger at the man, stabbing at his chest. She was breathing heavily, anger the only thing filling her movements.

“…..” He lowered his gaze, unable to stand looking at the once child. Reaching forward, he took hold of her hand.

“Oi! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU-” Bruce yanked her forward, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “LET GO!”

“….” Bruce held her tighter, silently crying his own tears for her.

“I SAID LET GO! LET GO OF ME!” She struggled against his hold, slamming her fists against his shoulders.

“LET GO!” She continued, using every last bit of strength she had left to try to claw out of his hold. “I SAID LET GO.. let go of me…let.. go..”

Marinette could feel as her body went limp, weighing down heavily on her very bones. Her strength left her completely, her muscles going slack. She couldn’t even control her tears from staining her face.

“…et go…” Her eyelids grew heavy as her legs shook, giving way to the weight of her body. All she could hear was her own whimpers as everything blurred together.

As her eyes closed, a pink splash of light over took her body, leaving her in her civilian clothes. Bruce looked over the unconscious body of his daughter, able to see the scars covering her body more clearly. He didn’t even hold back his small gasp at her injuries. His little girl… could he even call her that anymore? She was so different from before, from the pictures and videos he was sent. She was so small, but so large. She had the presence of someone who would do anything to save those she loved. She was…

His little girl was a hero.

#maribat #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #mlb x batman #maribat biodad au #angst #just a little #Mari finally getting to rant #we stan an angry tired queen #I wrote this to just try to get some inspiration and omg #I love it I stan #angry mari for the win #should I write more idk but I love #anyways pls help me get inspo guys #I will take any prompt rn

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melodygatesauthor · 11 months

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Hi love, I've been reading your writings and I really liked them 💓, I would like to ask you something about a reader with piercings (more specifically in the nipples, only if you feel comfortable writing about them) and the moonboys discover them, and if you can finish it in smut, much better. Thankssss <3

Hi bb ❤️ thanks for waiting almost LITERALLY forever for me to get to this. I did it as headcanons cause I feel like that fit the best. I don’t personally have any nipple rings so I hope I portrayed this well hehe.

NSFW, nipple play, reader has nipple piercings, titty-fucking, cum eating, generally dirty smut stuff.

Word Count: 615 Words

——

You have your nipples pierced, and the boys discover them for the first time.

Marc

Marc first notices when you’re wearing a thin shirt and you’re out in public.

Has to do a double take because he thinks that maybe it’s just exceptionally cold in the store.

Stares at them for too long and gets embarrassed when you notice him looking.

When you get back to his apartment he says, “so uh…was it…are you,” he clears his throat, “was it cold today?”

You chuckle and say, “if you wanna see what’s under my shirt, Spector, all you gotta do is ask.”

He gulps when you take your shirt off and looks at you like a little boy excited about a present he’s about to receive.

After that all bets are off.

He’s got them in his mouth a lot, especially while he’s fucking you senseless.

Likes flicking them with his tongue and hearing how responsive your moans are.

Starts demanding that you wear either a more padded bra in public or that you wear more layers. They’re too distracting.

Likes to look at them randomly while at home. Will frequently pull your shirt out for a peek, as if to make sure they’re still there.

Takes a serious liking to boobjobs and having your tits pressed tightly together and slick with spit as he fucks the space between them.

“Your tits look so fucking pretty honey, all dressed up like that, fuck…”

Steven

Doesn’t notice them until you’re having a heavy makeout session and his hands are wandering.

He pulls away from the kiss and his mouth is stuck open and he’s staring at your face.

“L-love what…what is that…what’s goin’ do you have…are your…”

You pull your shirt over your head, showing him your pierced nipples.

Steven comes untouched the first time he gets his mouth on them.

Mr. Oral Fixation always has his mouth on them after that, even during non-sexual moments.

Watching a movie? Steven’s idly rolling his tongue around them whenever he can, lifting up your shirt and sticking his head under there.

He also thinks that they’re very pretty.

Likes going shopping for new ones with you and enjoys picking them out. If they have sparkles he seems to like those ones the best.

His favorite position with you is for him to be seated at the foot of the bed with you straddling him, and his face between your breasts while you ride him.

Alternates between each nipple when sucking on them so one doesn’t feel “left out” over the other.

Jake

Jake knows you have them immediately just by looking at you, so he doesn’t “discover” them necessarily, but he does make it his personal mission to see them with his own eyes.

When he finally does see them, he’s in awe, literally salivating he wants to suck on them so bad.

Has you wear a chain that connects them.

Enjoys using said chain to command you in the bedroom, gently tugging to get you to behave when he wants you to be more obedient.

Sucks them until both your nipples and his lips are red, puffy and raw.

Puts the chain between his teeth while he fucks you just for fun.

Only wants you to wear thin shirts and bras so he can see them at all times.

Starts taking you to nude beaches to show them off as though you having them is some kind of status symbol.

Like Steven, wants to help you pick them out when you buy new ones. He likes the ones that have dangling pieces the best.

Wants you to get other piercings and considers getting a few of his own.

——

Moon Knight Headcanons

Moon Knight Masterlist

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outlook-hater · 5 months

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My Demon Ep 8 Spoilers

PD-nim just might be off everyone's list today but he's definitely onto the "grab hands to recharge" theory. Creepy grandson seems to have more layered motives than we expected - even though he's the one in contact with the neck rash guy, he clearly hates his dad and has a third set of motives for whatever he is doing.

While I do appreciate Jin Star's concern for Gu-won, it's really coming off as a one-dimensional ML obsessed character who'd throw hands with the FL to get the guy. Girl need therapy for all her daddy issues, like yesterday.

The Wild Dogs are hilarious lololol and they seem useful too, based on the preview for the next episode. Looking forward to seeing how Gu-won fully gives in to his human side or something else happens. WIsh they'd be a little bit more consistent with the past lives reveal. It's like they forgot all about it in this episode.

Nok Suk-min's wife is giving Gwyneth Paltrow. Idk why. Does the daughter purely exist to whine and bitch about Do-hee?

Madame Ju most certainly had something to do with Do-hee's parents' death. They've been throwing some heavy-handed hints in there about that and everyone around Do-hee dying. Also - someone well-versed in Korean language and culture please advise - is Do Do Hee's name having two repetitive characters symbolic of something?

Do-hee and Gu-won's outfits continue to SLAY. They're clearly coordinating with each other every morning.

Coming to the romance subplot. When both Mr. Park and Secretary Shin swooned when he said "being near you is treatment" that was me. And the hugging in bed! Too cute! AND THEY FINALLY KISSED (it wasn't a fish kiss y'all! we won!) HE HAS ACCEPTED SHE'S HIS FATE!

#my demon #my demon kdrama

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malebodyexhibit · 1 year

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Pygmalion (a Next Door Boy tale)

You’ve been hearing a lot about the Next Door Boy agency. It’s was a sleeper hit with traction having only been among the wealthy. Now more terms and conditions are being laid on with the public gaining more and more interest in its services. I managed to ride the coat tails during its debut. In fact, I was one of the first hundred clients to try it out. I was a 63-year old business man who had a large amount of capital, even after my divorce and child support. When I was selected as to premier the service, I was ecstatic. But the wait for the actual service date was torture. You see, they had to find consenting adults to be the talent. Finding attractive, young men to be hosts to an older clientele would be hard. Whenever they found one for me, then I’d be able to try it.

But I had particular taste in who I wanted to be. I offered to help find talent and the company agreed. When you offer the amount of money desperate old men would pay to be a young fuckable hunk, it was easy to find Owen. Owen was an 18-year-old high school graduate. He had high dreams of becoming a Chaturbate star or OnlyFans model. He really worked that body of his. In my chats with him, he really detailed his workout routine, his diet, and his hygiene. It was important to him that others found him hot and sexy. I assured him that with his body, he was certainly a prize, but that he could make more money with this new company.

He signed on. He hardly needed to be persuaded! I spoke with Owen a great deal. In fact I knew him while he was a football player. I’d cheer for him during home games. My own son idolized him. My son went on to college while Owen stayed and worked out, trying to be that sex symbol. In my talks with Owen, I asked him what he wanted to do with his life. Owen said again the OnlyFans stuff, but when I pushed him further, he was at a loss.

“I’m not gonna let myself get old, Mr. [Redacted],” Owen said. He flashed me a cocky smile, running his hand through his curly hair. “I’m gonna settled down with someone and retire on the beach.”

I gave a pained smile.

Owen underwent the procedure to install the implant. He just wanted the money and didn’t really want to discuss the conditions of our deal. Finally we settled that I would co-inhabitate him for a half-a-year with me taking control every two days a month. He agreed to be placed in suspension due to not wanting a temporary body (which is basically being a roommate in someone’s mind with other displaced consciousnesses) or being in my old, out-of-shape body. I would spent two days living his life, enjoying his youth. As you imagined, I spent the first few times working his cock raw, playing with my abs, and trying to flirt with his straight friends.

Things really progressed slowly. Adjusting to the disorientation took a lot of time, so when the half year was up, we spoke again about new conditions. He really liked the money, but I felt bored in his small life. There was working out, hanging out with friends, and nothing else. I decided to offer him a place at my home in a larger city. There he could enroll in college courses or take up a job. He tried to tell me he wasn’t interested in those things, but I practically begged him that I was interested and wanted to experience those things as him. He didn’t have to go there. It would only be when I was him. So our new conditions were set up. I would be him for two days a week. He made sure I stuck to a strict diet and workout routine while I was him. I agreed. I started to enjoy his grind for a perfect body.

While I possessed him, I went to classes. I chose art courses for Owen because it was something I didn’t have a chance to do in my life, and it wasn’t heavy on studying or reading. Jobs for college students are usually pretty light so I got a gig at the school. The job I chose for Owen was a Math tutor on the days I possessed Owen. I knew math pretty as I was an accountant, so it didn’t feel out of place for me. My life felt so much better now that I could do something other than working out. I actually made plenty of art friends. I also had the benefit of ‘running into’ my son.

I chose the same college as my son, Levi. At first I assumed I chose it because it was convenient. But subconsciously, maybe I wanted to be closer to him. He always idolized Owen. Maybe I could show him a better Owen to idolize. When I ran into Levi, he almost didn’t recognize me. While possessing him, I usually kept Owen’s bro fashion sense: gray sweatpants, an Underarmor compression shirt, and briefs. I felt it made me unique among the hipster types in the art classes. But sometimes I decide to try something more risqué (think crop top tees, or tight jeans that show the outline of a jock strap). That’s when I ran into Levi. My lower abs peeking from a crop top tee. I was free balling in sweatpants with my dick outline obvious to the eyes. We were awkward at first, but we started talking about high school. I was able to flip through Owen’s memories and be convincing. We went out to eat dinner (I was stuck to getting something high protein for the diet condition) and walked in the park. As a couple months went by, Levi mentioned wanting to go on a camping trip with me and his friends. His dad used to take him camping before he divorced his mother. He missed those days. (Oh.) I was excited and realized that there were another three months before new terms could be made. I apologized to Levi that I couldn’t but maybe the next year.

We didn’t make much contact after that. But in my old body, I found Levi visited more often. It was I who offered a camping trip. Escaping into Owen the past months had calmed me. I had been livid with Levi’s mother during and after the divorce. We disagreed about everything even though we had a good few years. Things gotten strained when I couldn’t continue to live a life of lies. Now that I calmed, I actually managed to strike a comfortable friendship with his mother. And with her agreement, we decided to surprise Levi with a… goodbye camping trip of sorts. A goodbye to those bad memories and the old marriage. His mother didn’t like camping much, so it was more of a backyard camping situation with his mother sleeping in a cabin while he and I slept in tents a stone’s throw away. It was remarkably peaceful. The trip was about 8 days and I missed the possession session with Owen.

Owen continued his thing while I was away. He stay at my house was secret. He was usually out of the way, but whenever Levi came over, he had to be out of sight. He did want to reconnect with his old friend, but Levi finding his dad living with his old high school friend would be super weird. Owen usually busied himself cam whoring or working out in his private gym.

When the time came for new set of conditions, Owen actually declined to continue. He had saved up enough money and wanted to live his own life. I didn’t want that. I managed to convince him to stay. There’d be no easier money than this.

I wanted more of Owen’s time. I wanted to go camping with Levi as his friend. I wanted to get more serious with his education and career. I offered a suggestion. It was the one of the first serious suggestions of the time of this nature. Others have made similar serious suggestions, but quickly backed off when there was pushback from the company and host. I pushed forward, particularly because I managed to talk Owen into it.

I wanted to live a quarter of a year as Owen entirely. I didn’t want to do the six days possessed then one day normal type deal. I wanted to sleep and wake as Owen. Of course the company altered this as much as they could. I would co-exist with Owen. We’d switch off who was in control. This would be so that Owen wouldn’t be in a sleep-type purgatory for months since he vehemently disagreed with being me. The company couldn’t offer a temporary host for that long. Also, the company wanted to test this type of set up. It could open new doors for business.

It started really well. Owen would wake while I watched his life. He’d make his breakfast, work out, masturbate, etc. I’d take over and head to class. It was so mundane like putting on a suit for work. Sometimes he’d have me do the workout and masturbation while he would listen to lectures (well, we both listened to the lectures; I was just in the backseat). Eventually we’d argue in our head about what to do. I masturbate to men; he masturbates to women. I want to suck cock; he wants to fuck pussy. Most of our arguments were about sex. To get back at him, I remember just hooking up with guys as often as I could. When I was in control, was when I was in some guy’s hole. I think that was what caused the error. Whenever one of us was in the backseat of our mind, we could still observe and feel what was happening to our body, but when there was a repugnant or painful stimulation, we sometimes involuntarily dissociated ourselves. It’s a bit freaky. One minute you’re helplessly watching yourself fall, preparing for hitting the ground, then the next second, an hour went by. I think that happened to Owen. In the backseat of our mind, he watched helplessly as I sucked cock with his mouth and got fucked in his ass by another guy. I could sense him still, but he was quiet. Over time, it grew dimmer and dimmer until I felt I was utterly alone.

Next Door Boy reacted… curiously. It wasn’t that they were excited or upset, but they just wanted all the information on what happened. They decided to remove me from the host to see if Owen would recover. A week had gone by. Owen’s body still lived. It was sustained by an automatic response to breathe, but it needed to be fed and taken care of.

It seemed to be a lawsuit in the works, but they seemed to find a practical solution.

They stuck me back in Owen’s body. Now my body. My old body was on ‘vacation’ and would only occasionally come back. I tried to keep up the appearances of Owen and myself before it got to cumbersome. And my life truly was in Owen.

By that time, Levi and I as Owen went our camping trip. We had a blast with our friends. I felt Levi and I grow closer, and while it felt strange to feel this way towards Levi, I reminded myself I wasn’t his father anymore.

My old body would leave some money for Levi and his mother. The rest would be funneled secretly to Owen’s body. I would still have some measure of wealth and a younger, youthful body.

It’s been over half a decade and I graduated college with a dual major in Art and Accounting. I’m able to pursue an art career. I entered into a loving relationship with my husband.

The circumstances with Owen and Next Door Boy might’ve inspired the universal conditions that aim to protect the host, but I’m not at liberty to discuss it. I no longer use those services, in fact Levi and I laughed as we read the stories of middle aged men using young men to fulfill their sex lives. “How desperate do you have to be?” Levi asked me.

“I don’t know,” I said, truly not sure how desperate I had been. “But I’m glad we have each other.”

#possession #male possession #body possession #male body possession #male takeover #gay male story #male body exhibit #a next door boy tale #next door boy #male body swap #straight to gay #old to young #college #father and son

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