#enlightenment some people on here desperately need

[actual-changeling]

y'know watching a show with two people who are deeply committed to each other while ALSO having a healthy relationship, respecting boundaries, and constantly striving to communicate better really puts the absolutely clusterfuck of crowley and aziraphale into perspective.

like no offense, but to anyone who thinks that their relationship is anything except unhealthy and disastrous (with crowley being overly co-dependent and aziraphale intentionally hurtful) needs to watch some other shows for once.

the final fifteen would have been impossible and unbelievable with pretty much anyone else, meanwhile it is perfectly in-character for those two—that's how bad their relationship is.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #watching x files like wow this is what it looks like when your partner respects your boundaries #enlightenment some people on here desperately need #love is fucking unimportant. it's the actions that count

[meiieiri]

LATE NIGHT SNIPPETS [FT. JUJUTSU KAISEN]

❁—CHARACTERS: suguru geto, gojo satoru, nanami kento, megumi fushiguro

warnings: mentions of death and violence in megumi’s part ( T ^ T )

a/n: now this one got so bad it took me two days to write. ALSO, have ya’ll seen the new episode? WASN’T IT SO GOOD? like the symbolisms and the many artistic references to buddhism and enlightenment was just so GLORIOUS??? and yea, my heart hurts knowing what’s about to come. anyway so much for that. here are some new drabbles to keep us relatively happy in the meantime, prompts are open, btw!

༊*·˚ GOJO SATORU

you think it's charming to see satoru try. he's not as half-assed as people think he is when it comes to devoting his time and effort to the things close to his heart. and for better or for worse, that included you.

his hands gently rakes a hand through your hair, your back pressed to his broad chest. he stops every now and then to untangle the unruly bits with the wide-toothed comb he held between his lips as he painstakingly lathered your locks with the new shampoo he just bought for you, the same one you’ve been eyeing whenever the two of you are out on your supermarket runs.

he treats the entire affair of doting on you, bathing together, as if he were perfecting an art form, and he — a mere blushing apprentice — utterly lost and in ruin in the presence of his ethereal muse. his head drops against your shoulder where a loving kiss makes a picture perfect landing that not even the most proficient trapeze artists can achieve. he cradles you close to his naked form but there was nothing overtly lustful about the entire affair (which is unlike the both of you, by the way, satoru was normally insatiable when it comes to his sexual desires).

there was only an intimate quiet — the kind of passing moment devoid of any unnecessary words and contemplations of love or adoration because there was no need for such futile philosophical bullshit when faced with an absolute truth that needs no explaining, no theorizing, no rationalizing for satoru knew, that in this horrible world riddled with lies, his love for you extends into the limitless void.

“i love you,” he mumbles sleepily into your ear, his eyelids drooping, his breath becoming more even by the second owed to the comforting warmth of the water in the bathtub.

it doesn’t hurt to say it every now and then, though.

༊*·˚ NANAMI KENTO

the warm ambient light of the overhead lamps above you illuminates the dark space of your living room, revealing the adonis-like features of kento, the shadows only seem to accentuate the contours of his defined cheekbones, the slight outline of his perfectly-shaped lips and his masculine jaw. you don’t know how you could have caught the eye of someone so beautiful, so…otherworldly.

he was like a monarch butterfly, a warm ball of fire that danced in an evergreen meadow, so guarded and scarce in his movements in fear that he’d burn the entire valley down with just a subtle flutter of his wings. but since you so desired to burn into cinders, who was he to deny your wishes? a yelp of half-surprise and sheepish laughter slips out from your lips when he suddenly sends you into a romantic dip, catching you by surprise, your heart racing in your chest.

“kento!” you lightly slap him on the arm which only causes him to throw his head back in delighted laughter.

and to the sound of the piano’s crescendo, and the singer’s luscious alto tone, he picks you back up, righting your positions, leading you in a slow dance. he sways both your forms side to side, sometimes hoisting his arm up to allow you enough space to innocently twirl around in time to the climax of the song playing on the vinyl player and in time to the sound of his heart breaking.

oh, how he desperately depended on you and you don’t even know it.

you wouldn’t even understand it if he articulated just how mystified he was to hold your smaller hand in his larger hand, to walk beside you for a thousand miles and not even feel an ounce of fatigue, to naively dance with you like this barefoot in the kitchen at two in the morning, to be able to call you his and him yours.

the song nears its end, the bell-like notes dissipating into the air. you try to pull away, suddenly remembering the dirty dishes from dinner earlier which you so carelessly abandoned in the sink but kento only tilts your chin towards him, his breath hot against your lips, “i’ll do the dishes later. dance with me again?”

༊*·˚ GETO SUGURU

a snort of laughter escapes suguru upon hearing the latest gossip you caught wind of in the teacher’s lounge earlier today . “so, i take it kento has a girlfriend now,” his eyelids flutter close when your dainty fingers lightly massage his forehead with a cool moisturizing balm that smelled absolutely divine with the earthy undertones of tea tree balm and aloe vera.

“engaged, at least that’s what shoko told me,” you correct him and he scrunches his nose in displeasure. you smooth away any of his stray bangs, and the soothing action causes him to sigh contentedly, basking in your butterfly-like touch.

to suguru, this was home — spending the midnight hours braiding one another’s hair, chatting away about anything and everything with your silly little skincare masks on, the humidifier in your room in its maximum settings spewing out the comforting aroma of yours or suguru’s favorite essential oil depending on who wins your little match of rock-paper-scissors, chaste kisses and most of all, you. “what are you staring at?” you ask, breathless, when you notice how his raven eyes stared up at you with so much wonder.

his hand lazily comes up to cup your cheek, memorizing each crack and bump of you as if tonight would be the last time he could ever do so. maybe he was selfish — as many mortals are — to want to beg the gods for time and the stars to stop turning, halting their perpetual orbit, so that he may savor this moment just for a while longer. and a while longer. and a while longer. ‘till eternity herself, in her humiliation, feels cheated.

“my entire world.”

༊*·˚ FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

you were woken up by his shikigami, the arctic dog wagging its tail excitedly as it tries to climb up your bed. you blink away the remnants of your slumber, yawning. “what are you doing here, cutie? where’s your dad?” you affectionately pat the creature on the head and it lets out a happy bark, leaning into your touch. wait a second. if the shikigami had appeared, then, megumi must surely be up and about somewhere in the house. you pull on your silk robe to go look for him when you find only moonlight on his side of the bed.

you eventually find yourself in the living room’s main balcony which functioned as a sun room of sorts. you find megumi hunched over, watering can in hand, seemingly in a daze, he diligently waters the many potted plants you’ve collected over the years. you shake your head, beguiled at the sight, leaning against the glass door.

“your orchids were starting to wilt,” he replies when he senses your presence, a touch of sadness in his voice. he’d gotten you those orchids for your anniversary as the two of you were on your way home from a backbreaking mission in shizuoka. he’d been horrified to see it practically wasting away in the scorching summer heat. “…i…i had to do something,” he swallows thickly, a few tears pooling at the crescent of his green orbs.

you instantly understand. you walk over to him, hugging him from behind as he works. his breath stutters, his grip on the watering can slackening. it falls to the ground in an unceremonious clang! something uncoils within megumi and right then and there…he weeps, falling into the sanctuary of your arms, his tears staining the fabric of your robe, glistening like the most precious of jewels serendipitously unearthed in the forgotten mineshaft that is his heart. “shhh,” you hush him as he continues to cry.

he could have saved that little girl.

if only he’d been faster. if only he didn’t freeze up in front of that curse. if only he hadn’t been his usual second-rate mediocre self even for just a second, maybe she would have lived. “what if it had been you?” his ivy green eyes are filled with abject fear. “what if—?”

“—then, you’ll come get me,” you reply without a second thought, your voice as soft as a spring night’s dewfall, your hand comfortingly raking through his disshelved raven hair. “i know you will.”

#⚘—eiwrites #geto x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #haikyu x reader #geto fluff #geto suguru #geto x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #gojo satoru x you #nanami x you #nanami kento x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #megumi x you #megumi fushiguro #nanami kento #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x reader #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk headcanons #gojo satoru imagines #gojo satoru headcanons #jujutsu kaisen headcanons

[auspicioustidings]

The Revelation

Summary: You are pretty happy with the cult you have made for yourself, but when two newcomers show up you can't help but think how far you could go with this.

(this is a one-shot, I stg if your only comment on this is to say 'part 2' I will feed you to the tomato plants! If you like it and have brain worms about it by all means send those to me and we can bounce ideas around)

Words: 6.6k

CWs: Cult shit, dubcon (everyone is manipulating each other here), light petplay (hope you're proud of yourself Bo I am incapable of writing Ghoap without Johnny being a puppy now), smut, murder, slight allusion to cannibalism (in a round about way, just putting it here for safety), Catholicism

The Death of God happened on a gloomy Thursday afternoon. One moment he had been mowing the lawn and the next thing he had an epiphany about hating his suburban life, hating his suburban wife, hating the 2 kids and hating the lawnmower he had spent his last bonus on. 

The Revelation happened on a sunny Friday morning when you had popped up on his tiktok feed and told him that you understood him, that you were there for him. He had made his way to the commune, telling his wife it was just a visit to find himself. And he did. Which of course meant he never came home.

Truly you would consider yourself some what of a miracle working taking in this portly, charisma void of a businessman and turning him into some semblance of interesting. Well as interesting as anyone in this little slice of heaven. He had a fascination with growing tomatoes now. Good for him. 

The hundreds of little deaths of God had been great for business. When someone had a crisis, when someone thought they were broken, when someone just couldn't fucking take it anymore, that's when they were so desperate to believe in something that you could make them happy with a smile and a kind word every so often. You could keep them happy (well, what they believed was happy and wasn't that all that mattered?) by keeping them a little tired, a little hungry and occasionally a little high. Good for the soul really, that's what you always said. 

Surely you deserved to live on a steady diet of champagne, strawberries and decadence for all the good work you did. They all understood how difficult it was to be you. And despite your trials weren't you still so lovely to them? Even when they acted out you were gentle in your reminders that they needed fixing, that you were only ever there to help, that their friends and families would try and convince them otherwise because they didn't understand what it was to be broken. You opened your arms to them always, it was in their nature to err and in yours to forgive. 

Honestly you could keep this up for the rest of your life. A small group of people devoted to you, happy in their worship and happy in their toil. No violence needed to keep them compliant, just a soft touch and the occasional psychological torture as necessary. You had no aspirations to go beyond this, you had it good. No need for a death cult or to make yourself an actual God to them. You already had your champagne and strawberries after all, life was good. 

–

They were big, these two new men to your little oasis. It would be a tricky thing to half starve them you thought, but then it would also be a shame to have them lose all that bulk that you found you quite enjoyed looking at. Still, it was important for enlightenment and all that.

So you gave them a steady supply of soft smiles and reassuring touches, a diet of “yes this is an eco-living commune!” and “oh I never thought anyone would want to join me out here, I just got very lucky that so many wonderful people share the same morals.” They went easy of course, ex-military, used to structure and relying on someone above them to do the thinking. Perfect for you really, just two attack dogs that were impeccably trained.

They neglected to tell you that they hadn't been regular military, that they had been high ranked special operators in an elite task force. That would have made you suspicious after all and it was better you thought them stupid. Johnny had seen you on tiktok and wanted you and Simon never denied his boy anything, so here they were, playing you completely into their hands.

First it was getting themselves special privileges, unlimited access to food, a home right next to yours, full evenings of rest. Hadn't been hard to make you think it was your idea.

“Och it's alright lass, I ken we're naw military anymore. Dinnae need tae be a lean, mean, killing machine oot here.”

“Of course not Johnny, I'd hope you think you're very safe here.”

“Aye, feel safe with you. Ye look after us. Wish ye would let us look after you more!”

“I don't need anymore than I already have, but it's so wonderful of you to say, truly.”

Then a few days later when there had been time for that little declaration to settle in.

“Simon! How are you, I didn't see you yesterday.”

“Sorry, pulled my shoulder something awful. Felt like a right git not being able to do work properly.”

“Oh that's terrible, how did you pull it?”

“Ah just lack of training is all. Too used to being strong, retirement doesn't really lend itself to that.”

“You're still plenty strong!”

“I hope so. Some of the things I hear about what people's families think of you… if it ever came down to it, I want you to know I'd protect you with my life. Both me and Johnny would, strong or not.”

You had really been given an absolute gift here. That was something that had been making you a little paranoid. If family members escalated to violence there was really nothing you could do. You were a lover (here meaning awful con artist but that was just semantics) not a fighter. And now there was a solution right in your lap.

“How would you and Johnny feel about being security then? I'd hate to think we'd ever need it of course, but it would make people feel safer. Some of their families are terrible people I'm afraid, I don't want anyone to get hurt because someone tries something violent” you said gently, of course concerned for these innocent people being viciously abused by their awful families (these brainwashed people being taken by their loved ones to recover and live meaningful lives again, lives which did not involved maintaining your champagne and strawberry habit).

“If you ask us of course we'd never say no, it's just… would it be ok to have an hour a day to train? It's such an honour to protect this place, not looking to half arse it.”

“Of course! Come to my house with Johnny after supper and we can discuss some accommodations for your new roles.”

–

“How does that sound?” you asked, soft as silk.

You knew how it sounded, it sounded like you were the damn second coming. Giving them unrestricted food and sleep, telling them you'd have a house for them built right by your side? You knew it was working by how Johnny's eyes had went big and wet, projecting puppy-like adoration. And Simon? Oh that big, delicious man stood and walked over to you so he could kneel at your feet. Fuck you had never felt better about yourself.

“We don't deserve so much of your consideration. I-” he said, the first time you had heard him struggle to get words out through his emotion. “I want to thank you properly.”

He said it like it was a revelation and it peaked your interest. You could have squealed with delight when his cheek leant against your knee, your dress pushed by his face to let skin meet skin, eyes locked with yours as he turned to kiss your flesh. You hadn't fucked any of your followers, too messy. But these weren't regular followers anymore right? No, these were special followers. And it had been so long and he was looking at you like he was desperate to give you any pleasure he could. 

Oh Simon was desperate all right, had been thinking about getting you sloppy and pathetic for him since Johnny had excitedly shown him that bloody video of you acting like an innocent little lamb. He wanted to just barrel in, bend you over and claim you right away. It was Johnny who insisted it would be more fun to trick you, who had whined like a bitch about it until he got his way. Bloody MacTavish. He really needed to train those puppy dog eyes right out of the boy. Those had got him to indulge in all sort of risks already. Nearly fucked the whole plan right up when you had come dangerously close to catching him balls deep in Johnny in your bed, absolutely ruining him as per his own puppy dog eyed request.

For his part Johnny was positively giddy. He might give away the game if he really got to watch Simon taste you. Would he play gently with you? Oh my God would he pretend he was inexperienced to make you feel superior? Let you think you were guiding him? That might kill him dead. He tried to not fucking salivate and start panting at the thought of it. 

“Then thank me properly.”

Fuck the way his eyes lit up at that. This gorgeous man wanted you, he wanted to please you. As a hand squeezed your calf and he started to drag his mouth up your bare leg you felt the sick thrill of wondering how far they would go for you. Already people had given up families, friends, wealth. You had never pushed it beyond, horrified whenever you thought about how delicious it would be if they would die for you, kill for you and so shoving those dark thoughts to the back of your mind. 

But you didn't want Simon to die for you. You did want to see how far you could push, how deep his devotion ran. To that end you wove fingers through his hair and pulled him off of your thigh, his eyes flickering from your wet panties sticking to your cunt up to your own eyes in question. 

“I want you to kiss Johnny.”

You said it like a woman possessed. Fuck. That's exactly what you wanted. You wanted these big masculine men to fuck against their own desires but do it for you. They were dumb jocks really, probably had never fumbled around with another man before. They'd find it hard, find it wrong. You didn't really consider yourself a bad person before this moment, just a clever one. This was straying into something else, some monstrous part of you that was salivating with the thought of finally being released. 

“Will you do that for me?”

You heard a choked sort of noise and looked over to see Johnny hiding his face in his hands. Of course, big Scottish man must be scared of doing such a thing. Or rather having such a thing done to him. You imagined it would be some attack to his sense of self to have a bigger man press a kiss onto him. Fuck maybe he would tear up. Maybe he would fully cry if Simon pushed inside of him. You hoped that God really was dead because if not you were sure They'd have some stern words for you after this. 

“Oh I've never…”

Fuuuuuck. Simon's vulnerable eyes darting from Johnny to you were liable to make you cum on the fucking spot. You smiled indulgently down on him, running a hand over his face is a caress. 

“You know I only ever do what's best for you don't you? I wouldn't ever ask you to do anything that isn't for the greater good. Do you believe in me Simon?” you said, the years of practice infusing your tone with a cloying sweetness. 

“Yes” he replied, barely a breathy whisper of affirmation. 

His glazed eyes looked at you with such adoration before he nuzzled his face into your hand and left a kiss there before making his way across to where Johnny was sitting on the sofa, face still hidden in his hands. He went over on his knees, crawled. You pressed your fingers against your throbbing clit, cupping yourself to try and tell your body to calm down because there was so much more to come. 

Simon crawled between Johnny’s legs, going up on his knees and grabbing Johnny’s nape to drag his face down. He was whispering something in his ear, maybe trying to settle him, trying to assure him this was what they needed to do for you. Of course had you been aware Simon was hissing at Johnny to keep it together, to stop laughing about how easily you were falling for this, then the whole thing would really have been ruined. Luckily Johnny was still a soldier, Simon still his LT, so when he was ordered to put his game face on he did it. And luckily Johnny was still a good boy, Simon was still his master, so he knew that squeezing at his pup's nape always got that furrow in his brow to relax, got him eager to please and ready to tear up at the first little tease or overstimulation.  

It was really destiny that you would be this level of power hungry, this eager to push and see what you could make people do. He had been training Johnny to put all his eager to please energy to good use for years, had turned a feral mutt into a feral mutt with impeccable training. The chance to turn a corrupt fox into a corrupt fox whose only desire was to be stroked and pampered was making him painfully hard. Johnny had been right, tricking you was far more delicious than just forcing you into it.  

When he moved Johnny’s hands from his face it was to reveal a man looking ruined, looking liquid eyed and flushed. Simon mouthed a good boy to him before pressing a kiss to his lips. It was calculatedly shy and tentative and he kept a steadying hand on Johnny’s knee, squeezing when he felt he might lose control and start panting and licking his way into his mouth as he usually tried to do. Simon couldn’t very well punish him right now without giving the game away, so he just had to use the suggestion of a future punishment. 

After the first peck you watched a slow and decadent slide into forbidden desire. They got a little bolder with each press of lips, seemed to squirm a bit more with the struggle of it feeling good but wrong. When Simon pulled away and Johnny whined despite himself you slid your hand past your waistband, needing to touch yourself or you’d die. 

“You’d like it if Simon used his tongue wouldn’t you Johnny? Would be nice to feel it against yours. It’s important that you two are close isn’t it? To do your jobs well that is.”

Johnny would have agreed with full enthusiasm and pounced Simon to get them both on the floor so he could rut his hips down into the cock he was desperate for, but the hand at his bad knee squeezed again and the spark of pain reminded him of the mission. So instead he looked at you, teary and unsure.

“H-his tongue? I… I’m naw…”

“You’re not what Johnny?”

“It’s wrong.”

“Who told you that?”

You watched him play with the thin chain around his neck, the crucifix falling out of his shirt. Catholic. Oh this must be even more torturous for him. No matter, you had killed plenty of Gods already, you could kill his. Watch guilt eat and eat and eat at him until finally he gave in to the desire. Gave in to you. Let any other divine figure die in favour of a new God.

“Oh Johnny, do you think I would lead you into temptation? It’s ok, I would never make you. If you don’t like it that’s fine, you can both call it a night hm? Security is a tough job, I would never think less of you for not being up to the task. My fault really, I must have mistaken the potential I saw in you.”

He surged forward and shoved his tongue past Simon’s teeth and you moaned deeply, fingers so slippery that getting proper friction on your clit was a challenge now. You did not think you had ever been so wet in your life, feeling slick trickle out of you as they clumsily seemed to fight for dominance, saliva dripping down Johnny’s chin from how much he was trying to follow your instructions, how deep he was trying to pull Simon’s tongue with his into his mouth. 

When they next pulled away they both seemed dazed, like they couldn't believe they had just done that. Poor Simon turned to look at your pleadingly, legs widening so you could see he was straining against his pants. He was rock solid from making out with Johnny and you were cumming all at once, hips rolling in time with your fingers as you breathed out instructions with your cunt still clenching in waves.

“Good, so good for me. Want you both to cum, get all of that tension out. Wouldn't ever leave you wanting would I?”

They both looked needy, but the fact that they quietly waited for instructions on how to cum was possibly the most erotic thing you had ever seen. 

“It's OK, you can help each other. That's what it's all about here isn't it? Helping those in need in the community, and you're both in need. Jerk your cocks together, it'll be bonding for you to cum together like that.”

They fucking did it. Simon shoved his pants down enough to free the absolute monster of a cock he had and dragged Johnny only his lap on the floor. Johnny's cock was thick as anything and just as hard. Fuck the image of Johnny taking Simon’s cock, taking every hard inch of him in his ass. Crying about how it wouldn't fit, how it was wrong. Clutching his crucifix. You needed to make it happen soon. Maybe you could make Johnny wear a plug, say it was part of training. Get him ready to be fucked by his friend and once superior without him ever realising that's what you were doing. 

Their precum was already making the slide of it easier as Simon took the lead, big hand wrapping around both of them and slowly pumping, staring at it in fascination. You were slowly overstimulating your clit, feeling that tension start growing again already. 

“Spit on it Johnny.”

He did it without hesitation, his saliva making Simon’s jerking squelch. It didn't take long until Johnny was begging, needing to cum. You didn't even register that it wasn't you he was looking at as he begged, you were too lost in sensation, eyes locked on their cocks rubbing together.

“Go on, cum. Both of you.”

Simon sped his hand and his low grunt (the ‘s’ok pup, cum’ so low you hadn’t heard it over your pleasure) combined with Johnny's drooling and panting sent you spiralling over the edge again as they both shot ropes of sticky cum all over each other.  

Fuck. What else could you make people do?

–

Over the next few weeks life got even easier for you. Simon and Johnny were excellent right hands, earning respect from all of your followers and taking on almost all of the tasks you had (which you had made sure were as minimal as possible already, the whole point of this endeavour was to live an easy life). 

Simon was careful to make sure to be seen with you, start planting the seeds in people's minds that they were an extension of you. Johnny was rapidly losing patience which made him incredibly satisfying to fuck because he got to beat every single complaint out of him. It was him that wanted to go this route so he was going to finish what he started. It had been a long time since he had seen Johnny get so worked up over anything and he forgot how much he enjoyed him when he was like this, biting at every little bit of bait that Simon left with the express purpose of having an excuse to punish him later for it. 

Johnny needed putting down when he got this wound up, at this point Simon had taken him over his knee at least once a day, collared and leashed him most nights, fucked him silly so much that he was constantly aching and plugged to keep ready for a quickie when he needed it. Which right now was inhumanly often and with them still in the bunkhouse they were having to get very creative with the venue. Johnny was going especially feral given that you had only been alone with them once more since you had promoted them and you had acted like last time had never happened. Clever actually, Simon had to hand it to you, you were very good at playing with people. He could see the little glimmer in your eye, the delight at seeing how Johnny seemed to be vibrating with anticipation of something that never came. You were setting him up to beg, making sure that when he gave in and went directly against his God that it would be him pleading for you to let him do so.

It wasn’t like you had ever been close enough to tell, but that little cross around Johnny’s neck had SR carved into the back of it. Simon had corrupted the Roman Catholic out of this pup years ago, the cross only came out on special occasions when Johnny wanted to play coy and innocent or when Simon wanted to remind him who he belonged to (because it certainly wasn’t a God, it was his fucking lieutenant). Well and now, when they both knew the sight of it would give you such a power trip that you’d fall right into their trap. 

“I was thinking about your house” you said, the three of you standing where the foundations were already being put down. 

“Aye?”

“It just seems such a waste when I have extra bedrooms in my home.”

“It would be such an honour to stay in any of them. Would we not be intruding?”

“Of course not Simon, you are my right hand men now. It makes sense for you to stay close to me. To one another.”

You swore you could see Johnny’s ears perk up, a phantom tail flicking quickly behind him in rapt attention at that. Of course their minds would go there, just like you wanted them to. It hadn’t been too difficult for you to be patient, to play with them so that you didn’t push too far too fast. It was something you were very good at. 

“Would you… still let us build something here?”

“Oh?”

“I think a temple of sorts would be nice. Somewhere for you to relax. You work so hard for all of us and if you are taking us into your space I’d hate for you to have nowhere to go to meditate alone.”

It only took a few days to wear you down. You had no idea how much influence they already had with your followers, how easy it was for them to plant that idea there and have them be the ones appealing to you to please allow them to do this for you. And while that shred of morality you had left was screaming at you not to do this, not to actually Deify yourself lest it go too far, the adoration inflated your ego and drowned your conscience out. 

So they started to build your temple.

–

“Ah! Like that. That’s it, that’s what I need” you moaned out, Simon in between your legs worshipping. 

You had moved them into your home, the large house comfortable and spacious in comparison to the bunkhouse the other followers stayed in, and that night Simon had come to your room and gotten on his knees for you. How could you say no to him? 

The adoration of your followers was nothing compared to this. They loved you yes, but fuck Simon was reverant, tongue swirling around your cunt so there was more holy water for him to glut himself on. This was decadent, languid on your bed with him focusing entirely on your pleasure, expecting nothing in return. This man who was spending his days by your side, overlooking the building of a temple in your honour. You could not decide in this moment if you wanted him to fuck you on the altar when it was done or if you wanted to fuck him. 

It was a good conundrum to have because you felt that you could simply have both. You could have whatever the fuck you wanted with this man by your side. Who could stand against him and Johnny? And who would ever worship you more? You had never actually bought your own bullshit before, but if he kept this up maybe you were some sort of God because how else could you be living this deliciously?

You tugged his hair sharply to get him off of you and pushed at him until he was on his back. You would take what you wanted from him because it was your right to do so. He did not complain as you settled your cunt on his face and rode him, if anything his clever tongue worked harder to please you. You held his head and used him, and he drank you down and thanked you for the privilege after, vanishing out of your room as silently as he had arrived.

–

It only took another few weeks for Johnny to break and oh he broke so perfectly. Simon came to your room every night to pray, and Johnny must know, must have heard how Simon spilled thank yous against your cunt even as you pushed down to deprive him of oxygen, even as you smeared your slick all over his face, moving exactly as you liked with no consideration of him. You never touched him in any way meant for his pleasure, only to use him for yours.

It was not Simon who knocked lightly on the door. Simon didn’t knock at all, he always just let himself in. 

“Come in Johnny.”

He was nervous, that much was clear. You did enjoy the sight of him in only his boxers and crucifix, moonlight doing wonders in making him look incredibly edible. You wanted to knead his pecs like they were tits, wanted to sink your teeth into the meat of his neck until you tasted blood and he cried out your name instead of his God’s.

“I want…”

“Hm? You want?”

“Will ye let me please ye? I ken Si… I’m naw good enough for ye, but I want tae be. It’s just, I’ve never uh… I’m a quick study.”

And with perfect timing, in walked Simon. Couldn’t have planned it better yourself (well, actually Johnny had planned it, Simon had laughed and ruffled his hair at how eager he had been to act the part of the blushing virgin before unhooking the leash and getting him out of his collar and into his crucifix).

“Good evening Simon” you purred. 

The man didn’t really acknowledge that Johnny was in the room, instead going to his place by the foot of your bed and kneeling. It was always where you started, with him lapping at you until you ordered him onto the bed or the floor so you could take what you needed. Only you pushed him away with your foot when he tried to pull at your shorts, holding him at leg length and looking at Johnny.

“Come sit will you?”

He nervously shuffled over, sitting next to you on the bed with his eyes darting uncomfortably down to Simon kneeling pretty, your foot still holding him away from you. He swallowed and you thought it sweet how he held your gaze to avoid watching as you motioned for Simon to move and he did so without hesitation. Johnny still didn’t look at him even as you put a hand to his knee to make him spread his legs enough for Simon’s broad shoulders to fit between them. 

“If you want to learn I’d never stop you Johnny, I want you to be the best at the things you’d like. And I’m sure Simon makes a wonderful teacher.”

Simon didn’t need prompting, obedient and perfect boy that he was. He started licking up Johnny’s thick thigh the same way he would have if you were sitting there. Johnny, bless him, gripped onto your leg like it was a lifeline, fingers digging into the plush flesh hard enough that you imagined it may leave marks. You swallowed his loud whine with your mouth when Simon slipped his boxers down and took his hard cock right to the root. It almost made you laugh, if you tried to take that in your throat you would certainly be gagging and crying.

When you pulled away Johnny was a whining mess, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other still dug into the fat of your thigh. You wondered if he had ever gotten head. Certainly not from another man. Oh wouldn’t his priest be so disappointed in him. You could imagine a severe man in the robes of God, looking with disgust at the whore before him. But you were a kinder creature, letting him indulge in pleasure without telling him he couldn’t. 

Well, to a point. You pushed Simon to stop with the frankly immaculate looking blow job when it was clear from Johnny’s hips rutting that he was close. Then you swung your leg around, straddling Johnny and squeezing yourself to him, stopping him from trying to get friction from you.

“Not yet Johnny, you need to be patient hm? Simon, open him up. Tongue first, then fingers.”

Johnny was tearing up, looking at you like he didn’t understand why you were doing this while feeling horribly guilty that he liked it. He howled when Simon’s tongue started playing at his rim, his hands gripping at your hips to try and make you move against him. You put a hand to his throat and squeezed lightly.

“It’s ok, you can take it can’t you?”

“I-I cannae, please bonnie, I’m naw- I dinnae-” he whined before he choked on nothing, eyes blown wide, “h-his tongue is, fuck it’s inside.”

“I know Johnny, I know. Is it too much then? Should I tell him to stop? If you can’t take it, then at least you tried” you said, sweet as anything but putting a tiny edge of disappointment into your tone.

“I can take it! Please, I can! Dinnae make him stop, I can take whatever ye gie me!”

“Good boy.”

Oh, the reaction to those two words was worth exploring. It was like he changed from a man to some pathetic animal, eyes watery and begging, hands pawing at your hips while his own desperately tried to buck up. You felt how he froze, heard how he choked when Simon pressed a finger into him.

“Hmm that’s it, take what you’re given, you’ll be good and hold off for me hm?” you cooed, moving a hand to run fingers under his chain, all the way around until you were behind his neck and could yank, have that crucifix choking him. “Looks better like this Johnny, almost like a pretty collar for you.”

Jackpot. Even with you clamping down to give him as little room for friction as possible you felt the hot gush of his cum, him getting there from being choked, being compared to a dog to be collared. Well if he was going to be a mutt that came without your permission, the permission of his master, then he needed to learn his place no?

“Fuck pet, told you to be patient.”

“Sorry, m’sorry bonnie. Ah! M-make him stop, s’too much!”

“Make him stop? But he’s been good for me, followed everything I’ve asked, You went ahead and finished without permission. Wouldn’t make sense to punish him and reward you, I need to be fair pet.”

He was clearly overstimulated, his hips trying to rut even as he gasped at every bit of friction he got. Oh you wanted to see him fucked out and ruined. You wanted his heart on a fucking platter.

“More Simon. Johnny here is going to let you fuck him tonight, so you need to open him up properly.”

“I-I-” Johnny stuttered, bottom lip quivering and eyes wide and wet. If you weren't so high on the decadence of having these two men at your mercy you’d have questioned just how practised that was. 

“Tell me Johnny. Tell me what it is you want.”

Tell me what it is I want to hear that you want. Be a good boy, don’t disappoint me. You’d hate to disappoint me after all I’ve done for you.

“I want Simon tae fuck me tonight.”

“Good boy” you said, hammering that final nail in God’s coffin as you yanked again at the chain so hard it snapped, taking your trophy and tossing it onto your desk without ever having examined it closely.

You watched Simon ruin him at your command. You drank their praise like champagne, bit into their gratitude like strawberries bursting their juice on your chin. You were greedy in how many times you used them for your pleasure, their fingers, their tongues, the sight of them overcome with hedonistic abandon. 

You felt like a God.

–

The temple was beautiful, no effort or expense spared. The first floor was a space for everyone, for the brand new community gatherings that you occasionally led but had mostly been letting Simon and Johnny lead. Above that was two glorious floors of space only for you. The only other people permitted to set foot in here were your two right hands. It was something else, being in the luxuriant bed drinking champagne and watching the two of them play with each other for your benefit. 

You could not stop thinking about the way Johnny had writhed at the mention of a collar when you had taken his crucifix for yourself (it still sat on the desk right where you had left it). You could not stop imagining how such a thing would look around his thick neck, how your other followers would look at it and be jealous that he got to be so visibly claimed by you.

As always your wish was their command. Simon had presented you with a gorgeous necklace of sorts, almost a choker, the pendant a symbol you didn’t recognise. 

“This doesn’t look like a collar for you.”

“It’s for you. The symbol is from the cult of Venus, we thought… well we thought if you could wear it, show people, then when we wore it…”

“You want them to know you are wearing it for me.”

Perfect fucking boys weren’t they. They didn’t just want to show up in a collar, they wanted to show up in a symbol associated with you. It was pretty enough what they had chosen, delicate and clearly made with care and devotion. You turned and lifted your hair so he could put it on you and the very next community gathering was Johnny eagerly explaining the symbol to your followers. It was etched into the temple walls soon after. 

–

The realisation happened all at once. You only attended community gatherings for special occasions now and when you did they were all looking at you like you were their God made flesh. Your followers had become something else, something well beyond a little eco-living commune. That had not been your doing. 

The door was locked. You could not leave your space in the Temple. Your hand flew to the back of your necklace, realising with a startle that you couldn’t take it off. Simon and Johnny never did have collars made. Why would they? You were rapidly realising they had never intended to. You looked in the mirror, tried to find a clue. The pendant… it was only when you drew it over and over again that you figured it out. This wasn’t some symbol of an old Goddess, it was the letters S R J M twisted around to make a pretty symbol. You sat and stewed, waiting for them to get back. When they did you were sat on the bed, glowering at them.

“Aww ye figure us out bonnie?”

“You played me.”

“Like a fucking violin sweetheart” Simon cooed, walking over to flick the pendant. 

You huffed up at him. Everything was completely fucked now. You had all but ordered your followers to treat these two as your spokesmen. You had been slowly vanishing from public life, ingraining in their minds that you were a God who lived in a temple and only graced them with your presence when they had really earned it. All this after years of breaking them down so they thought nothing they ever did was good enough, so of course they would never think they had earned it. 

And you had never used violence for anything, you were soft and lived on champagne and strawberries for fuck sake, it wasn’t like you could brute force your way out of this. You were enough of a schemer to know when you had been outplayed.

“So the little shy virginal act?”

Johnny laughed and came over to nuzzle into your hair.

“Ye’d naw believe how many times Si has been in my arse hen, this isnae even the first house of God he’s bent me over in.”

You scowled and pushed his head away, but his eyes only sparkled with excitement as he bullied it right back into nuzzling you like a fucking dog. 

“Pup has been so excited about you finally figuring it out. You’ve been teasing him for months now, don’t think it’s time to give him a treat for how well behaved he’s been for you?”

It’s not like you were against the idea, it had been delicious being the dominant one all this time but there was something interesting about the idea of letting Simon take control, letting him get Johnny to fuck you the way you had let him fuck Johnny. Because that would be the case you knew now. It was so obvious knowing what you knew, you really should have figured out way sooner that Simon had always been in control. All the things you had done since he got here that you had thought your ideas weren’t yours at all, he had put them in your head. 

“So that’s it then? You keep me here and take over?”

Simon was looking at you with something deranged behind those eyes. It was dreadfully exciting. 

“You're coming to tonight's community gathering. You can decide if puppy gets a treat after that.”

–

The Birth of God happened on that brilliant Friday evening. One moment you had been fighting against your conscience, and the next you had let go. You had walked forward, no floated, and pressed a holy kiss to his head. Watching one of your followers plunge a knife into the heart of another on your altar, both with a smile on their faces, was fucking beautiful.

The Revelation happened about the same time. You dipped your fingers in the blood (the same colour as those tomatoes he so loved, the tomatoes that his body would feed and your followers would eat) and marked his murderer with your symbol, the initials of the men that had made you God. 

Puppy had more than earned his treat.

#mhairiwrites #cod #fanfic #ghoap x reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon riley x john mactavish #please read the cws #also please let me exist on champagne and strawberries because I am OVER IT #if I was not a depressed little mess and could actually write smut right now you would have gotten reader getting railed on a bloody altar #would have been great

[two-red-lungs]

I Can’t Hardly Stand It

BFF!Eddie/Fem!Reader NSFW

Summary: College guys, despite your best attempts, have been leaving you high and dry and desperate in the bedroom. Now, with you back in Hawkins for winter break? Let’s just say your six-foot-something best friend is looking like a real good way to relieve some of that long-standing sexual tension. 

That is, if you don’t ruin your friendship in the process. 

Word Count: 5.5k

How do you ask a friend to be more than a friend? To lift a foot and place it, however tentative and skittish over the well-established boundary? To enter into a realm of unknown, unfamiliar feelings that, in all likelihood, could destroy that friendship? Crumble it to dust? How the hell does one do that, exactly?

It was a question you had been turning over and over in your head for days, hoping that contemplating it enough would bring you a sudden enlightened answer. But nope. It was still the same agonizing question. You thought it, and in your mind you saw Eddie’s eyes. Big, brown, wet and wide. 

How do you ask your friend to fuck you?

When the idea first came to mind you discarded it like a deer stumbling away from a car on a highway. The thought was obscene. Way outta line. You and Eds… you went back years. Maybe a decade at this point. You and him in fifth grade, goofin’ it up out on the playground in the Indiana winter cold, play-fighting with sticks as swords. And now, him calling you once or twice a month: the connection long and expensive and only affordable if all you said was hi, how are you, that’s great, talk to you later. But NYU was your dream school. He knew that. He’d encouraged you to take the scholarship, to get the fuck out of the sleepy town that too often trapped people in little lives that went nowhere. 

And you did. You did it. Packed your shit and left, moved into a freshman dorm buzzing with excitement and academia and dirty laundry. It was fun. New York was big and loud and alive and full of cute boys to meet. Oh, meet them you did. Date after date, smiling faces, clumsy, heated kisses. 

That’s where the problem really was, see. 

You wanted it. The big sin. La petite mort. And without fucking fail, every single skinny-legged eighteen-nineteen-twenty year old you collapsed into bed with was baaaaad. Like, painfully, stupidly, unbelievably bad. Their breath stank or they sweat too much or they popped off like bottle rockets against your bare thigh after just a minute or two of naked squirming and sloppy makeouts. And that left you alone, buzzing with a deep, red hunger. Unfulfilled, day after day. Month after month. It made you realize you needed something more. Someone you could talk to, tell what to do, share information and words with without it feeling awkward or dictatorial or rude. Someone who wasn’t, by and large, a stranger. 

Your mind went to one person and now you just couldn’t fucking shake the idea. Kept seeing it in your head. Kept thinking what if.

The plane from JFK landed back in Indianapolis for winter break. Snow was high outside, brilliant diamond-white against cerulean sky, icicles trimming the roof over the pick-up zone in great crystal stalactites. Your breath was fog in the air. And, right on time, god bless him, the familiar brown-and-tan Chevy Nomad van came rolling up with tire chains that growled against the heavy ice. 

Your heart jumped directly from your chest into your mouth. Eddie rolled down the passenger window. 

“Lookin’ to hitchhike, hot stuff?” He was grinning ear-to-ear, brown eyes crinkling. Ever the comedian. When you muddled through the dirty snow and tugged on the locked handle a few times, that grin got bigger. “Gas, grass, or ass. Can’t let you ride for free.”

“You let me outta the cold right now, Munson, or I’ll have to resort to violence.”

“Oooh, scary. Fine. Get in here.”

 He’d driven three hours out to get you, through a small snowstorm and over miles of ice, and three hours back. Not a single complaint. Not a peep. No, instead, Eddie was all sunshine smiles and wicked, warm cackles, asking about your adventures in the city and pulling animated reactions. His rings winked in the cold winter light slanting through the van’s dirty windshield, and his hair was just slightly longer (and drier) than when you’d left four months ago. But he was the same old Eddie, really. Taller than you by a million miles. Soft, broad lips with a sprinkle of new-growing mustache. Bitten fingernails, long eyelashes. A voice like tire rubber and tobacco smoke, which he reeked of. 

Funny. It was easy to downplay how much you missed him when you were sequestered in the warrenous dorms at NYU. Now, with him a foot away, watching his veiny hands tap tap tap on the wheel to the rhythm of ‘Rattlehead’? There was heat in your bones. Lapping across your skin, over your cheeks when you glanced down at his narrow thighs, the way they flexed when he accelerated. You hadn’t considered the what if throughout the years of being friends with him. Now it wouldn’t leave your brain. Now that what if brought new thoughts. New need-soaked mental imagery. 

Christ, you were hopeless. A single thought about Eddie’s legs flitted through your mind and it brought that roaring wall of unfulfilled heat back with a vengeance. You needed a drink, or several. Or maybe a mallet to the head.

When the Hawkins town sign blew past on the frosted asphalt road to town and Eddie offered you a beer, you leapt at the chance. Especially when he’d enthused about his uncle already booking it to his shift at the plant by now. It wasn’t until you were stomping snow off your boots on his stoop in the late afternoon sun, walking into his shared trailer and getting hit by that unequivocally Eddie smell that you realized the error of your ways. Maybe, just maybe, hanging out alone with the guy you’d been sexually fixating on for weeks in the place you imagined him in the most at night, a hand between your thighs in the dark, wasn’t a good idea. 

Eddie popped the top off a heineken in the narrow kitchen and handed it to you. His fingers were icy from the winter chill, smooth against yours. You hid the way your hand jerked a bit by bringing the drink up to your mouth, not even bothering to set down your carry-on before taking a hefty pull. 

“Two more months and I can buy these babies on my own. Twenty-one, here I come.” He boasted warmly. His mane of hair shimmied and shook as he fought with the cap on his own bottle: it popped off, plinking against the cabinet before escaping to the linoleum ground, and he scurried after it. You got a long lecherous view of his broad, lithely muscled back under his tight Megadeth shirt before he stood up again, blowing hair away from his mouth. “Won’t even need to use the shitty fake ID ol’ Ricky had made for me.”

“It is pretty crappy.” You agreed. Your mouth was dry. God, you two were so alone right now.

“Yeah. I’m, like, genuinely surprised nobody’s called me on it yet.”

“Is Charles still manning the gas station? That guy’s ancient. He probably doesn’t have the energy to call the cops on you when you’re buying a six-pack.”

Eddie snickered and fuck, it was like liquid sunlight, all soft and good. Another thing you hadn’t realized you’d missed, its effects diminished over the phone. “That’s totally it. Hadn’t even crossed my mind.” He leaned on the counter and sipped his beer, looking down at you and tilting his head to the side. His hair followed like water. “Damn. I kinda missed you, Agatha Christie.”

You swallowed, hard. It was difficult to be under his gaze, now. Knowing the fantasies you’d had. Those brown eyes dredged up every sweaty, slick-fingered moment of imagination between your sheets. “You expect me to be surprised by that?” You replied with a plastered-on smile. “The six-hour commute and free beer kind of gave it away.”

He thunked a hand against his chest. “Foiled again. You see right through me. C’mon.” His beer bottle clinked on the fridge as he passed you, swaggering to him room like he was king of the world. “I got a new strain shipment and a ‘lil freebee along with it. You’re gonna dig it, for sure.” He turned around in his bedroom doorway with dramatic fury, a hand clutching each side. “Two words: Purple haze.”

“Lead the way, king ditchweed.”

“It’s not ditchweed!”

It wasn’t ditchweed. It was, in fact, a nice, smooth smoke. That’s what you elected to focus on, passing the blunt between you and Eddie on his bed, the window cracked just enough to circulate the air but not enough to turn his cramped, messy room into a freezer. 

He was leaned up against the headboard, all relaxed, that smile-crinkle under his eyes near-permanent. Eddie took the blunt from you and took a hit, exhaling through his nose: vapors curled up the sides of it and into his curtain of dark hair. 

You remembered your fantasy from a week ago, about the ball of that thick nose pressed hard against your clit while his broad, flat tongue punched deep into your— you cleared your throat and shifted around, working sensation back into your buzzing cross-faded limbs. 

Well, the sun's gone down, and you're uptown. And you're just out runnin' around: I can't hardly stand it, you're troublin' me! Lux Interior was whining, Elvis-esque, on the record lazily spinning on Eddie’s player. “Okay.” You conceded. “This is good.”

“The song, or the weed?” He brought up a sock-clad foot to deflect your attempt at hitting him, laughing. “What? New York mighta changed your taste in music. Mighta made you forget how good the Cramps were, and shit.”

“You know I was talking about the weed, dummy.” Soft, sentimental affection in your voice was as unmistakable as anything. You just couldn’t help it. Eddie smiled, pressing his lips together and looking away: your eyes drifted to the tendons in his long neck. Beautiful. You wondered how they’d feel under your tongue. 

“So. Tell me about the city boys.” He said after a few moments of comfortable silence. When you groaned and put your face in your hands he chortled. “Seriously! Are they cool? Do they do slam poetry? I bet they’ve got you just hooked, huh. Ridin’ the subway and shit.”

“We don’t have to talk about boys, Eds. I can’t imagine that’s entertaining for you.” 

The metalhead shrugged and took another drag. “Can you blame me for wanting to keep tabs on your bodice-ripping paperback escapades?” He cupped his face, mimicking a cherub. “That’s just how good of a friend I am.”

“Alright, alright! You ham.” You turned that what if over again in your mind. “It’s been. Weird. I’ve met a lot of guys, sure, but. I dunno. They’re not… great?”

“Define not-great. Do I need to kick someone’s ass?”

“How honest do you want me to be?”

“Uhh, mega-honest. Obviously.”

“Eddie, they’re shit in bed.”

Eddie exploded into a cacophony of coughs, thumping his chest and bending away from the headboard. Only when he was done, eyes watering, did he speak, giving a disbelieving shake of his head. “Wow, that was… honest.”

“Hey, you asked.” The ragged hem of your comfy travel shirt was looking really interesting right now. You chose to focus on it. “I’ve, uh. Been with a couple guys, now, and each time, they’re just…” You sucked on your teeth, trying to phrase it tactfully. “Selfish. Like I’m not even there. Like they don’t care at all about me. And I’m half the fucking equation in that— that goddamn horizontal tango, you know?”

“That sounds pretty frustrating.” Eddie, for once in his life, sounded serious. His voice was soft, like he cared. 

“Trust me, it is. I thought about calling it quits a couple of times, y’know? But I’m human! I got… wants. And needs, and stuff.” The silence after your words was deafening, and the record switched softly-playing tracks. The what if came back. And fuck it, you were a little high and a little tipsy and hey, if bringing this up ruined everything, you’d be on a plane to New York in a few days anyway. “You know how you used to, like… joke? When we were high? That it was just you and me, whining about being lonely, and we should just.” You struggled. “Help each other out. Let off steam.”

Eddie stared. And stared. His eyebrows lifted. For a moment you were worried he would be frozen for eternity. “Uh. Okay. I, hah.” A laugh of disbelief jumped out. He pinched his nose and shook his head. “Okay, uh. If I’m, uhh… misinterpreting this, feel free to, like, punch me. Just… full force. You, uh…” God, how many interjections could this man use? “You wanna. Have sex with me?”

“It’s so weird, I know.” Your words were a blurting, flushed, panicked tumble. You hadn’t really registered it until he said it out loud. “It’s so totally weird, and I shouldn’t have said anything, seriously, just forget it—”

“No, no.” He wetted his lips nervously, that pink tongue darting out. Eddie’s eyes were wide. “No, uh. It’s— I get it. We all, like. Get a little backed up sometimes, right? Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“God, you did not just say backed up—”

“You know what I mean!” He ran a hand down his pink-flushed face, hunched forward and cross-legged, close enough to touch. Close enough to feel his body heat. “Jesus. Jesus shitfuck.”

“Eds, let’s just pretend I didn’t say—”

“We could. We could do it.” He interjected. That tongue between his lips again, trapped, a little slice of wet, shining pink. “Um. I, uh. If it’s something you wanted to do.”

Your stupid betrayer heart was drumming double time, making your palms clammy and face red. “You don’t have to say yes because of me.”

“Hey. You’re a chick, and I’m a dude, and that’s like, basic biology 101 so… I wanna.” His gaze, skittish, like he was a timid fawn, met yours for a second and it was like steel against flintstone. It sent a zing up your spine. “It’d just be like… helpin’ each other out, and shit, right?”

“Yeah.” God, your mouth was dry. You hadn’t felt like this, shaking like a virgin, since you were sixteen. You’d laid yourself emotionally bare in front of him. Told him you needed to be touched. Loved. And he’d said yes. “Just helping.”

A beat of silence. Then another. Then another. Eddie leaned forward and then you were kissing.

It was a wet, searing thing. Like a current of electricity was passing between you, hot and bright and so, so unlike anything you’d felt at fucking NYU. He grunted against your mouth, leaning forward into you. Then there was a hand on your knee and god, fuck, fuck your life, that wasn’t supposed to feel good. That wasn’t supposed to feel like your skin was lighting up gold under his palm, and yet here you were. Illuminated by his touch like a celibate. 

“You gotta,” Eddie spoke in breaths, crowding you against the thin wall of the trailer, heat bleeding from his chest through his shirt, “tell me what you need, ‘kay? Promise?”

“More.” You replied immediately. You grabbed at him on instinct, getting a fistful of his shirt, tugging it up, up over his head: he moved with you immediately, pulling it off like it offended him, and oh. His nipples were dusky-dark pink, his pectorals small hills. The skullish demon head over his heart was staring you down. 

Eddie pressed a sloppy kiss with searing lips to your upper cheek, eyes centimeters from yours. Looking at you all gentle and needy. “Can I take your shirt off? Please, I wanna—” He swallowed and his adam’s apple bobbed. “Wanna see you.”

“Yeah.” Your voice trembled like an autumn leaf. “You can see me, Eds.”

His hands were so broad and firm. They rolled your shirt up over your head: Eddie hissed through his teeth. “God, fuck. Fuck me, man. Look at you.” That dark brown gaze was locked on your tits, the way your bra cupped them together. “Those New Yorkers have no idea what they’re missing, man.”

“Eddie.” You said softly. His gaze snapped back up to you, framed by dark curls of hair. “Touch me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can, uh. I can do that.” His lips parted as he touched you, hot palms traveling up your ribs, over your shoulders. He dipped his head, planting kiss to your collarbones: it was like you’d been shot, a slow, scalding heat spreading from that point. Eddie held one of your hips and slowly, ever so slowly, eased you onto your back. You knew he could see your jackrabbit heart racing in the veins on your neck, see the way your shallow breaths were so fucking fast. 

When you pawed between you two, sticking an arm against his burning-hot stomach to fumble with the fly of his jeans, he made a choked noise and grabbed your wrist. Eddie was breathing heavily against your face, holding himself over you with one arm braced by your head. “Wait, wait.” He took a deep breath. Hairs tickled your face. “Uh, just. Just wait.”

“I wanna touch to you too, Eds.”

He looked like the words falling from your lips were as good as head. “Jesus— not yet. Not— I don’t wanna end this too fast, and if you keep, haah—” another expletive when you pressed fingers blindly to his fly, down against his dick, “— doing that, that’s where we’re gonna end up.”

With a hum of frustration at being denied, you tilted your chin up in a demand for another kiss: he conceded without a fight, saliva-slick lips heady and addictive. You felt like you could kiss him forever, like this: the curtains drawn, early dusk darkening the room, his skin against yours sending frissons from your head to your toes. You pawed like an animal. Fingers clutching his back, feeling his shoulder blades move under his skin, his ribs expand and contract. 

When you brought a thigh out, knee bending to hook a leg around his narrow hips, he seemed to make up his mind. “Fuck, okay.” He broke the kiss again. “D’ya think— can I take your pants off?”

“Yeah. Yeah, god, Eddie, please.”

Like it was a goddamn race Eddie had your buttons undone and you were helping him shuffle your pants down and throwing them to the floor. He made another noise in the back of his throat and rested himself at your side, up on one elbow. Eddie put a hand on your sternum and slowly, agonizingly slowly, dragged it down. His face turned up to you every once in a while: checking in. Making sure you were still here with him. His fingers caught on the hem of your underwear for a second and you sucked in a breath, but he kept going. 

Feather-light pads landed on the lips of your pussy over your underwear. So light you could barely feel it. They traced up and down in slow, careful circles. Eddie looked almost hypnotized by the fact that he was even touching you: he watched his own hand like it was a magic show. 

“Tease.” You huffed out, bucking up slightly against his fingers. 

That crooked smile returned. “Nah.” He looked at you with affection. “Just tryin’ to make it good.” Those finger pads went up, up, up. Eddie tracked your expression, lips parting gently when your eyes bulged because oh, yep, that was your clit he’d caught for a second. He focused in on that little stiffening nub, snug under damp fabric, and the muscles in your stomach curled. “Ohhh, fuck. You like that, huh? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You barely eked it out. “Feels nice.”

“Bet nobody gave her any attention at your college, huh?” His words hit you like thunderbolts, and you swore you felt yourself clench around nothing. Eddie’s tongue was trapped between his teeth again. He thumbed your clit round and round in circles. 

“Eds.” Your voice was a warning, desperate though it was. “More, c’mon.”

“Tell me what you need.” Maybe with someone else the words would have come out commanding, domineering. But Eddie was looking down at you with those big wet eyes like you’d hung the moon, like he’d do anything to please you, lips parted all rosebud-soft. 

“Get inside me. Please. Just— your fingers, put them in, please.”

Still laid out long beside you, his fingers crept underneath the hem of your underwear, rasping against your trimmed bush as he slowly pulled the fabric down, down, down, till it pooled around your knees. “Fuck.” He said again, intelligently. “Fuck. Fuck. Can’t believe you’re letting me do this.” A finger ran down the parting line of your folds as he spoke and you jerked like a woman possessed. “Can’t believe you’re letting me touch you, god.”

His finger hooked at your soft, sopping, willing entrance. “Wait.” You blurted. His veiny hand froze. “Two. Two, uh, fingers, Eds.”

“Okay, yeah. Okay.” His voice shook. And then those long, calloused, beautiful fucking fingers were delving into your flesh, just thick enough for a little stretch, a little delicious addictive burn: if you weren’t so hyper turned-on by the sight you’d be embarrassed about how absolutely sopping you were. 

Your walls fluttered around his fingers and he looked like he’d died and gone to heaven. “So warm.” Was all he got out unevenly. There was no warning before he was slowly and rhythmically fucking you with his fingers, the slick squelch loud as thunder. The sight of his broad hand disappearing between your gently parted thighs was... addictive. You held his forearm tight as he fingered you, your grip moving with each slow thrust. 

This was fantasy. This was perfect fucking gratification. Sweating nearly-naked on his messy duvet, surrounded by his quintessential smell, Eddie inches away from you all laid out with a tent in his jeans so hard it looked like it hurt. This was just like your daydreams. Better, even.

You let your head fall to the side, where he was laid out all long next to you. It rested against his chest. You could feel the hum of his hummingbird heart behind the flesh and bone. “Eddie...” the word was a breathy sigh, but it earned him dropping his head over yours, pressing a wild, wet kiss to the crown of your head, leaving his mouth there. He groaned into your hair when you squirmed, thighs shifting, clenching around his fingers. 

“Shit— sorry, hold on, thing is fuckin— killin’ me, hurts so bad.” He muttered hoarsely, pulling fingers from your heat to fumble with his fly. His digits were too slick to get a grip on the zipper and oh man if that didn’t do something for you. You reached across your stomach without a second thought and pulled it open, and hello.

Eddie was so hard it looked like it ached. The head of this fat cock peeked out from the top of his briefs, so red it was nearly purple. It was shiny, smeared with drooling precum that slicked up the turtleneck skin around it. 

You thumbed the shaft over the fabric. Eddie sounded like he’d been socked in the gut. “Ohhhhkay.” He wheezed out. You crept upwards, dragging down his underwear and popping his bobbing cock out. It twitched, kissing his hair-dusted abdomen for a moment. God. You’d never wanted anything in your mouth so badly. You bet he tasted good: like salt and skin and Eddie.

The noises he made when you cupped him, running a loose grip up and down his shaft in lazy pumps, should have been illegal. They made the soft, wanton and slick heat between your legs feel like a bonfire, like an ancient calling demanding you do what humans had been doing for centuries before you. 

You wanted to swallow him to the base. Wanted to stay there for eternity, feeling him throb under your fingers and feeling his fingers in you. But poor Eds was on a timer. And you wanted as much as you could get. 

“Eds...” You trailed off, looking at him, how he held himself coiled-up tight while you touched his dick, like he was focusing so hard on not cumming. His wide eyes glittered in the low light. You kissed him again: quick and messy. “Can we...”

“Yeah.” His reply came out as a squeak and he cleared his throat. “Yeah. Please.” 

“We need a condom.” 

“Right.”

He was off the bed like a shot, shaking the mattress, flinging open bedside table drawers like a mob croney coming to collect debt money. He rifled through their contents with extreme (almost desperate) prejudice. The prize was found: a shiny gold-foil-wrapped Trojan. Seeing him stand at the foot of the bed, framed between your knees in front of you, dick twitching in the air and foil between his teeth? That was a sight that was going to be burned into your mind for the rest of your life. 

Eddie tore open the condom with his teeth and spat out the corner. He fumbled to roll it on with shaking hands. “Shit.” He hissed, the condom springing off several times. It was like someone had set him to vibrate. 

Your hand closed over his bigger one. Slowly, together, you got the condom on: shiny and off-white on his cock. 

He was still huffing like a racehorse. You couldn’t blame him: your body was alight, all active like you’d run a marathon. You didn’t know what it was: it was never like this with other guys. Little touches didn’t set you on fire. Gentle, caring fingers didn’t make you gush. 

With Eddie’s help you laid flat onto your back once more and eased your hips to the edge of the mattress. He stood between them, thighs pressed against mattress cover. His hands were warm on your thighs: kneading them, drifting up and down a few times while he looked down at you, his chest patchy with blush. 

“You sure?” He asked. There was anxiety in his voice. This wasn’t just being handsy. This was all the way. 

“Yeah. ‘M sure.” When he let his cock rest on your pelvis, hefty and scalding, you swallowed hard. “It’s you, Eds. I trust you.”

Eddie bit down on his lower lip, hard, and lined himself up with you. It was only when the head of his cock nudged your slick entrance and your pussy clenched rhythmically in reply, in excited hopefulness, that you realized how true that statement was. 

That’s why this was taking you apart. Not because it was sex. Or good sex. Because it was Eddie. 

He pushed into you slow with a hand clamped down on each thigh and it was like seeing god. The breach was fat and full, heat on heat, no resistance. You both made noises. He fit you like a goddamn glove. 

Eddie swore, over and over, when he got up to the hilt. His eyes clenched shut, face screwed up, steeling himself against the overwhelming pleasure. And for you, that was agony.

“Eds, c’mon, please, please move.” You weren’t above begging. 

“Fuuuuuck me, man.” He groaned out all high and breathless, and then he was clenching his teeth and snapping forward, hips bumping against you so hard it made the fucking bed sway. He fucked you like he was trying to keep you, like he was trying to make this the best you’d ever had: he even canted his hips up, hunting for that spot inside you that he’d read made girls go mad. 

“So good, so wet, god, so good,” Eddie rambled like a lunatic, a drop of drool falling free from his red lips. “So fucking warm, huh, aren’t you? Yeah you are. So nice and warm, warm on my dick, fuck, love how fucking soaked you are.”

You were in heaven. No, somewhere better. Somewhere where sex wasn’t a sin and you were getting your guts rearranged by your best friend, the guy who knew you the best, who saw you, the real you. “Eddieeeee.” You almost couldn’t get it out, breath punched out of you so deliciously with each thrust. “My clit, Eds, touch it.”

He brought a hand to it instantly, fingers sliding through the wet where his cock spread you open and dragging it up in rough, wild circles around your clit. You could see all his dark-eyed focus was on you: fucking you, filling you, giving it to you exactly how you had needed it for so long. Taking care of you. 

Fuck, that thought was gonna make you cum.  

“More, please,” You begged, “so close, Eds, so—”

“God, fuck me man, you— you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you cum, oh my god.” Eddie spoke like he couldn’t stop himself, all disjointed and panting over the pornographic slap of his balls on your ass. “Wanted to see it for so long, please, please, lemme see it, lemme see you—”

His begging, his disclosure, his desperation— you went careening off the edge into the abyss while he rubbed frantically at your clit, and you swore your eyes rolled up into the back of your skull.

There it was. The thing you’d been craving, bone-deep, for months. 

The perfect orgasm. 

Drifting back to earth, you had a body made of melted butter. A body made of summer sun and amber. Pure contentment radiated through every single immaculate cell. 

Eddie was still fucking you. Short, uneven thrusts, sweat beads rolling down his chest, long, wild hair sticking to his face. His brows were down in focus, lost in sensation. You lifted two shaking legs and wrapped them around his waist, locking him into your snug cunt. He looked up at you in hazy, pleasure-drunk shock, and then you squeezed down on him as hard as you could. 

“Fuck!” Was all he barked out, and then he was doubling over, staggering forward against your hips, pelvis stuttering. Gripping your thighs like lifelines. He thrust once, twice, three times more, and then Eddie— your exhausted, beanstalk-tall, wild-child Eddie— collapsed on top of you, heavy as all hell. The crown of his head was right under your nose, and you could feel his ribs against yours. 

He couldn’t see you right now. You let yourself smile fondly, satedly, into his hair. 

Together you breathed raggedly, radiating body heat. The clock in the kitchen, past the ajar door, continued to tick. The silence was no longer charged: it was honest, relaxed. Fulfilled. 

“You’re so heavy.” You said eventually. 

“Thanks. I’ve been working out.” Eddie’s voice was muffled in your tits. After a time, though, he raised his head. Propped himself up a bit on his elbows over you. Spat hair out of his mouth. “So, uh.” His lips opened and closed like a fish, awkward and unsure. “Was that, um. Good for you, or...?”

“Of course it was good, Eddie. Obviously! Don’t ask stupid questions.” You replied with mock seriousness: an age-old bit you’d always done with him. A sign that hey, no camaraderie lost, right?

He played along, looking mock wounded. “Well, I didn’t want to assume. It’s not like it went on for an hour, or ended with a squirt, or—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” You laughed. He was staring at you in that fond way again. The guitar pick on his necklace tickled your clavicle. “I mean... we have the rest of the night, right?”

He looked stunned. He blinked a few times. “I mean— yeah, like, if that’s something you want to—”

“I want to.”

Another blink. The tongue made its reappearance. “Okay. We can... okay. Yeah.” The slow grin began its climb onto his broad face. “We can totally do that. All-nighter.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

The Munson landline was a little ragged, but it worked. “Yeah, mom, I can’t wait to see you too.” You said into the phone tucked between your ear and bare shoulder as you leaned against the kitchenette counter, hand in a bag of chips. You watched Eddie fight a box of waffles for their delicious cargo and pop four into the toaster. “The snow’s just real bad right now. You know how it is. I’ll get in tomorrow, I swear.”

Eddie slowly shook his head, hands on his hips, hitting the disapproving church-mom pose. He mouthed for shame and wagged a finger. You threw a chip at him. It plunked ineffectually off his bare chest. 

“Love your too, mom. Yeah, I’ll sleep warmly tonight. Bye.”

“Oh, you’ll be sleepin’ warm, alright.” 

“I knew you were gonna say that!”

“How could you possibly know what I was gonna say?”

The two of you returned to amicability, trading jabs and scoffs and sparkling smiles: but in your mind, somewhere in the far back, you held on to what he’d divulged in the heat and fervor of the moment. That he’d wanted to see you cum. Wanted to see it for ages. 

He’d thought about you. Like you’d thought about him. You tucked that away for later. Now, though? Now you were laughing your ass off while Eddie juggled burning-hot waffles with his bare hands before dumping them onto a plate and flapping his singed palms about like a bird. 

So. How do you ask your friend to fuck you? Turns out, sometimes, you just ask.

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #my writing #if this has typos. no it doesnt. its simply so so late and i am so so sleeby

[youandtom2]

The Hunting Ground (18+)

Dom!Tom Holland x sub!bratty!Reader

Summary: How else would you get adventure back into your life than to visit a speakeasy that's definitly not a kinky-cult-sex-club? Themes: EXPLICIT, BDSM and mentions of BDM, dom/sub, knife play, breath play, unprotect p in v, oral (fem rec.), orgasm denial, overstimulation w/c: 13k oops

a/n: it's late and it's 13k so I'll probs revisit another time whoops. apologies if writing gets sloppy.

MASTERLIST

“Come on. This has got to be a joke. This is the kinkiest cult shit I’ve ever seen.” 

“Nope. Not a joke.”

“When I said I was looking for something exciting and adventurous, I didn’t mean a sex club!” You flippantly disregard the masquerade mask onto the couch, whilst your friend Danny, holds his elegantly in his hand as if it is the beholder of all his memories. 

“It isn’t a sex club. It’s…an opportunity.” Danny’s lips twist into a smirk that wavers between sweet and sinful. That alone should’ve told you that his opinion on this ‘club’ was simply that. An opinion. A biassed one at that. The other thing Danny doesn’t account for is that opinions are subjective, interchangeable and while he sees his little kinky sex club as an opportunity, you see it more of a shameless hookup with cultic motives. 

But you’re curious to hear how he can possibly sell this to you. “Oh yeah? An opportunity for what? Enlighten me.” 

Your friend coyly swivels his hips playfully, that all too familiar bashful glow emanating from his olive cheeks. He leans gayly over the edge of the couch with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, entrapped in his childlike manner and embracing his inner Princess Diaries by swinging his feet. He so desperately wants to say ‘to flirt with hot men and recklessly have sex with them with no strings attached’, but to your surprise, his answer is a little more profound and in-depth.

“To meet like-minded people who share similar interests. To embrace a community that doesn’t judge you for what you like, who…take you as you are. It’s actually very liberating.” 

“Puh-lease! You threw that innuendo in there on purpose. Look. It’s a sex club. You meet up to have sex. That’s the common ground.” 

“Oh my God, you speak about it like it’s a brothel and you couldn’t be more wrong. Okay, okay, I’ll admit, it’s a little provocative, but it’s not like some sex dungeon, it’s a speakeasy. There’s a bar, drinks, music, dancing, it’s totally chill. You don’t even need to have sex, it’s not a guarantee.”

You fold your arms, staring outwardly and chewing your lips as you mull over the possibility that it might not all be what you initially think it is. But the only way to prove otherwise is to go. Dammit you wish you weren't so curious. 

“And…what’s this place called?”

Danny smiles contentedly. “The Hunting Ground.”

~~~~~

“Do I really have to wear this?” The flimsy black ribbon of the mask trickles through your fingers. The shell is midnight black with a faint covering of silver lace, embellished with enough sparkle to catch your eye under the streetlights. Ahead of you is what looks like an ordinary bar under the false name of The Playground. The tinted windows and low purple LED lights inside is a clever ruse to fool anyone who is none the wiser to believe that the mystery is revealed when you step inside, leaving no other incentive to keep exploring. However, hidden behind the facade of an ‘ordinary bar’ as confirmed by Danny, is the speakeasy. It’s quietly genius; it’s all hidden in plain sight. 

“Yes, you have to wear it; it’s like a pass for entry into the club since it’s invitation-only. Plus, anonymity is kinda a thing here. Especially for newbies if they’re not too sure what they’re looking for. You get all types of people here. You’re bound to find someone who is yours.” 

You roll your eyes as you tie the ribbon tightly around your head with a grunt, the thick plastic mask sitting squarely on the bridge of your nose. “Anonymity, sure. These things are as good a disguise as Superman putting on his glasses and all of a sudden he’s Clark Kent and completely unrecognisable.” 

“Trust me. They do their job. Oh and one last thing.” Why is he smirking again? “Sub or Dom?” 

“Come again?” 

“What are you, Sub or Dom?”

You blink. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what that means.” 

“God, you’re so vanilla--they’re, um…types of people.” Danny vaguely explains and purses his lips, thinking as he evaluates you. “Hmm, we'll stick to sub for now. When you get inside grab a white cup.” 

“Fuck sake.” 

You follow Danny down a poorly lit, narrow staircase and you get a sense of entering a restricted area, having it not as well decorated, but then you remember; it’s supposed to be secretive and unwelcoming to any wandering stranger. The staircase is quiet compared to the floors above you and below you, giving off a feeling of limbo, neither here nor there as the pounding of the bass-heavy music distorts your sense of direction. There’s two different songs playing and they blend into each other so well that you can’t quite tell what is coming from where, but the further you descend down the staircase, the more obvious it becomes. The floor above you is phased out when you come to a stone archway, lined with plum velvet curtains hanging at either side where wisps of vapour spill from the room. A fiery red spotlight casts a shadow where the words ‘The Hunting Ground’ are projected on the wall to welcome you. Danny stops you before you enter.

“And you told me this wasn’t a sex club,” you quip, motioning to the entrance to hell.

“Remember it’s just to socialise. Nothing needs to happen, okay? After a drink or two, you’ll start to loosen up and have more fun.” 

You huff. “I’ll take your word for it.” 

You take one step into the stuffy haze and instantly you feel the change in aura, perhaps because you know what people are here to do. Danny patiently waits with you as you soak in the sights, the smells, the heat and the very suffocating atmosphere of the room in front of you. A fine mist hovers in the air, just enough to hinder your view of anything further than 10 metres in front of you - probably intentional to hide the erotic acts in the corner - and only the blacklights and the dancing neon laser lights shoot through. Unlike the bar above, the music is slower and less adrenaline pumping, perfect to fulfil its purpose of enticing its listeners to socialise rather than all-out partying, but in effect, it makes you more nervous; how do you socialise with people you’ve never met? You bump shoulders with Danny is a quiet plea to stay close.

A few people within eyesight turn their heads as you enter in your sage green dress, making their judgements on you through the narrow slits of their masks, a symbol of membership to the club, identical to the one you wear. Under the cover of darkness, the masks do actually provide a sense of anonymity and you take back an earlier thought; what the hell are these masks going to hide? Everything apparently. 

You decide not to linger around the entrance any longer for you feel that others can smell your hesitance a mile off. You make a B-line to the table adorning white cups, directly across the table that hold a much smaller number of black cups, and perpendicular to a table with grey cups. As soon as the rim of the cup touches your lips and alcohol sears your throat, you ease a little.

“God, I feel like I’ve just entered the mafia. Why is this place so stiff?”

Danny laughs inwardly. “Oh they’re stiff alright.” That earns him a swift elbow to the ribcage. “Ow!” 

“You said this place was chill and judgement free.” 

“It is--”

“Then why do I feel like I’m being victimised?”

For a fleeting moment, you catch Danny’s eyes flitting over to the white cup you hold in your hand, being quickly emptied by you. There’s obviously significance behind the white and black cups and you’re certain Danny knows why as he too picks up a white cup with conviction, but what significance they have is being purposely withheld from you.

It’s definitely a cult thing. 

“They just want to get to know you. Give them a chance. It’s all with friendly intentions, I promise.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

Like Danny said, there’s all sorts of people here; men, women, and more situated around the room whether it’s standing in small clusters around a table or sitting in smaller, more private groups in booths. Few white cups, some grey cups, but black cups hold the majority. Some are dressed more provocative than you would ever dare where some keep their secrets to themselves. Those who begin dancing are booming with confidence, sashaying their hips while others simply observe with a glass of whisky in hand. Even hours into the night, you’re still pondering over the likemindedness of such a diverse group. There must be something that ties these people together, because every hour or so you catch a glimpse of couples' escapades, hand-in-hand as they disappear through another archway with a black curtain. 

“I’ll be right back,” Danny murmurs into your ear.

“Where are you going?” 

“I’m just going to catch up with a friend. I won’t be long. You can manage your own for a bit, can’t you?”

“Don’t think I have much of a choice.” 

Danny quickly disappears into the smog and across the dancefloor, and by the time he reaches the bar, he’s out of your sight and anxiety creeps in. As ever, you find solace in the very alcoholic drink, quietly sipping away in a dark corner of the room. 

Or at least you thought you were in the corner of the room…

The solid wall behind you suddenly swings open and you lose your balance, falling backwards into the void that has just opened up. Your heart leaps to your throat and your lungs flood themselves with oxygen to prepare for what you know will be a painful fall and the loss of your dignity. Inches from disaster, a miracle happens when two hands reach out to hook underneath your arms and break your fall, leaving you hovering over the floor until the stranger finds the strength to bring you back to your feet again. Sadly, there’s nothing to be done about your drink that puddles on the floor…

With a breath of relief, you quickly compose yourself, turning around to see that indeed the wall you were standing against was actually a door, and in that doorway now stands the masked stranger that saved you from your fall. He stands just a couple of inches taller than you, dressed in a black suit (it could be navy - it’s just so damn dark in here) but replaces the standard crisp, white shirt with a baby blue one, keeping it casual with undone buttons by his collar. You want to make more guesses of his appearance but this club’s obsession with anonymity is slowly becoming a nuisance. 

“I’m so sorry, I really thought that was a wall.” 

“No worries, it’s easily done.” His words are smooth and puckish, and you feel like he genuinely believes you when he places a gentle supporting hand against your back. 

“Right? Especially with a place like this, I mean, would it hurt to turn up the lights even just a little bit?” An innocent laugh escapes you but the second you see his lips parting in what you can only assume is disbelief, you instantly feel like you might’ve crossed a line. His hand drops and sinks deep into his pocket. So much for no judgement…

“Well, we could but most members here know there’s a door here.” 

Caught. 

He doesn’t watch for your reaction as he picks up the empty white cup from the floor, long, slender fingers holding it tightly while he studies it for a moment and the corners of his lips tug a little before settling it on a nearby table. You’re still not privy to the colour codes and their meanings, and something itches inside of you when you see this stranger turn to you with a knowing smirk on his face. Because he knows. 

He folds his arms, muscles defined in the tight squeeze of his blazer and stands stoically before you. “You’re looking a little lost, newbie.” 

“I’m just waiting on my friend Danny. He’s the one who brought me here. I don’t know why to be honest. I don’t really think this is my kind of scene.”

The stranger tilts his head curiously. “How so?” 

You snort. Isn’t it obvious? “I mean the mask thing is a little weird. And the segregation of cups? What the hell is that all about? Like, I’m always down for something different but the anti-religion cult vibes just isn’t doing it for me. I haven’t been here that long and already I’ve had so many daggers from people that I just can’t tell whether they want to kill me or eat me.”

“Oh my God, you really have no idea, do you? Tell me then, if this place doesn’t suit your majesty’s preferences, why are you still here?”

This stranger doesn’t need you to take off your mask to know that there’s a scowl taking over your features. Affronted, you decide to mirror him, folding your arms and delivering his own stinking attitude back to him. 

“Cut the sass. You asked me a question and I answered it. If you listened, you would’ve heard me say that my friend brought me here. Said that if I was looking for something exciting and adventurous I should come here, but I’m not seeing either. Anyway, what does it matter to you?” 

“Careful, newbie. Some people here don’t take too kindly towards being spoken to like that. It can get you into a lot of trouble, unless you’re searching for it, in which case, Danny was right to bring you here. And tell him he should’ve put a straw in your drink too.” 

You’re so fed up with these innuendos. “I don’t even know what that means!” 

The stranger takes a step forwards and brushes your shoulder with his. You hold your breath as he leans down close to your ear and murmurs words that sound like a threat. A shiver descends down your spine. “Ask him to explain it. Tell him that Tom told him too.”

Your stance stays strong as the stranger sweeps past you in an obtrusive manner without a word to spare. Finally out of sight, you give in to the urge to roll your eyes and scoff with as much conviction until satisfied, having suppressed it in front of that stranger. You’re never one to be so outwardly rude to someone, but unless it’s warranted, then by all means, give them hell. 

The interaction has somewhat soured your mood, and considering that this place has yet to prove any of Danny’s claims of what a ‘friendly, non judgemental’ place this is, you might make the move to leave. You’ve been here long enough and you doubt that the fun has yet to come.

Not three steps towards your leave, you’re stopped by Danny emerging from the smog like a phantom. “Oh hey! You’re alive! See? I told you’d be fine.” 

“Yeah, not fine, Danny. Don’t leave me ever again.” 

“Such a drama queen. Where’s your drink?”

“Spilled it almost falling over. By the way, what do the colours on the cups mean? Some guy ‘Tom’ said that you were to tell me what they mean.”

His smile drops and hangs ajar, eyes wide as he processes the words, the name you’ve just invoked. “Tom--did you just say Tom?” 

“Yes, why? He also said that you should’ve put a straw in my drink too. Danny, for the love of God, what the fuck does that mean?” 

Annoyingly, he ignores your last question. “What did you say to him?” 

Danny devotes all of his attention to you as you recount the interaction from beginning to end, sure not to leave any details out. As your friend, all of your expectations are placed on him taking your side in it all, but with each word you spill, he cringes further and further into himself. 

“Then I told him to cut the sass--he was being so rude to me!” 

“Oh you have got to be kidding me!” You’re struggling to understand why your friend has descended into a fit of laughter, creasing over until he can no longer catch his breath. It’s great that he’s finding it so hilarious that he can’t even seem to straighten himself up to give you an answer, but what’s even better is that you can’t even begin to imagine how many people are witness to Danny descending into mania while you stand with your arms folded, a slack jaw and a look that could kill. And even if some can’t see it, they can bloody well hear it. “I cannot believe you said that to him!” 

“Danny, I don’t have time for this. If you don’t tell me at least something, I’m leaving.”

“Wait, wait, wait, sorry, I’ll tell you, okay? I’ll tell you.” After wiping the tears from his eyes, he latches onto your arms and pulls you into his side, directing you to look out at the room before you. “Okay, so you remember the question I asked you before we came in? About being a sub or a dom?” You nod. “The cups are representative of that. White for sub, black for dom. Grey if you don’t particularly have a preference. They’re sometimes called switches.” 

“Okay, but what does sub and dom actually mean?”

“They’re just abbreviations. Submissive or Dominant if you want to be proper. They define what a person likes to be in the bedroom. Dominants are usually controlling, they like to manipulate and gain pleasure from using submissives in whatever way they like. Submissives gain pleasure from being controlled, from being told what to do and will usually go through extreme measures to satisfy their doms, and in lieu, themselves. For example, see over there?” Danny points to a booth of what looks like two guys sitting on either side of a girl. They are shadowing over her, running fingertips up and down her leg whilst she sits bashfully in the middle. “Two doms and a sub.” 

You look to another area of the room and in the corner you see a woman, dressed in the tightest latex corset you could imagine, and she looks fucking amazing in it. Full of luscious curves. Her confidence is striking as she walks with her head high like she owns everything in the room. She somehow makes picking up a black cup look sexy, drinking from it until it’s empty but inexplicably doesn’t swallow. With her puffed cheeks, she grabs the face of a man who kneels beside her, opening his mouth—“Oh my God!” The words spill from your lips as you watch the woman spit her drink into the man’s mouth, swallowing with glee in his eyes.

“Anyone can be sub or dom. That’s why the cups make it so much easier to identify who’s who and cuts out all the small chat bullshit in between.” 

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. This is a fucking sex club. “But how did you know I was going to be a sub?” 

“I just guessed. It takes a certain confidence and skill to know how to be a dom, and no offence honey, but I don’t think you’d be a good dom.”

“And the straw?” 

“Signifies a bratty sub. A sub who likes to be controlled but also loves the fight against it. Anything to piss their dom off.” 

“Hold on. A brat?! Who the fuck does this Tom guy think he is? He’s talked to me for no more than five minutes and he calls me a brat?” 

“Shhh!! Shut up!!! Oh my God!!” He hurriedly ushers you away from prying ears and you feel a sort of trepidation when he looks around cautiously. “Honey, you know I love you and I care for you but you have seriously fucked up to the point where I literally cannot protect you from what’s about to happen.” 

“What? How?” 

“Tom’s the owner of this place.” He’s trying to hold in his laughter again. “And you just stood there and insulted everything about his club to him--oh my GOD you are so dead. I’m weak just thinking about it.” Had he not been squealing and bouncing on his tip-toes in a nervous but weirdly excited way, you probably would’ve taken Danny’s warning a little more seriously. In Danny’s overly-dramatic fashion, his translation of ‘dead’ just means that you’re only slightly in trouble. 

“So what, he’ll probably just kick me out.” 

“You better wish that’s what he’ll do because Tom is a capital D-O-M and is a stickler for obedience. He has everyone, sub or dom, address him as sir. It’s like one of his rules.” 

“Sir? Really? Are we back in school?” 

Your own mocking laughter is the last thing you hear before a voice creeps up behind you, settling deep into the canals of your ear and shocking you into a small but powerful fright. “We can be if you like. At least then I can teach you a lesson or two about how to respect me, newbie.” The way his voice instantly scorches everything inside you is mildly terrifying. It’s the mixer in your soup of emotions; trepidation, anxiety, curiosity, exhilaration, anticipation, swirling together in the pit of your stomach.  

You and Danny’s eyes are locked in a stupor, both of you donning guilt-ridden, colourless faces. You think it wise to follow Danny’s lead in not speaking, not moving because only he knows the repercussions that you face. Besides, if you listened to what your brain initially told you to do, you would be in a lot more trouble.

A wordless plea twinkles in your eye and your heart plummets when you see your friend respond with tightly pursed lips and a subtle shake of the head. 

“Next time you bring your friends, Danny, I would expect you to inform them on how to conduct themselves around me. You should know better.”

“Sorry, sir.” Danny’s voice wobbles. Fucking wobbles. Loud and proud Danny, centre of attention on the worst of days, always one to speak his mind and is never afraid of judgement, and now he’s…scared. 

“Now go. Justin’s waiting for you.” The unfamiliar person Danny has become swiftly brushes past you with no more than a final apologetic look and disappears further into the centre of the room. A certain desperation keeps your eyes on him for as long as you possibly can until you eventually accept your defeat, standing here alone with Tom stalking very close behind you. You notice his shadow standing just on the coast of your peripheral, lurking. 

After an excruciating silence, Tom eventually murmurs into your ear, just the edges of his mask skimming the side of your hairline.

“Follow me to my office. We need to have a chat about rules.” 

“Okay,” you breathe. 

Sure enough the door you nearly fell through enters the hallway leading to his office. It’s well lit, spotlighting the framed memorabilia on the wall and you almost choke a gasp when you see what they contain. Whips, paddles, cuffs, chains, anything of an erotic nature is framed, dated and hung on these walls in plain sight. Tom catches a glance of your awestruck eyes from over his shoulder, smirking wickedly. Little do you know that that isn’t even half of his collection. 

He enters the office first leaving you to nervously trail in behind him. 

“Sit.” 

The tickle of velvet feathers your bare thighs, knees already knocking together while Tom takes a stand behind his desk, underneath the low-intensity spotlight that shines down on him from above. Your eyes skate over his features the second he unties his mask, shadows hugging every sharp angle from the crook of his brow bone to the contour of his cheeks. Holy fuck. Your knees lock tighter together.

“Mask off.” It falls to your lap. When you look back up at him, you see that he doesn’t bother hiding how he takes in every inch of you and it makes the burn of his stare even more obvious. “What do you know already?” 

“Um, not much. Danny told me about the masks, Doms and Subs, the thing about the cups, addressing you as ‘sir’ and…” you clear your throat, a previous anger returning, “having a straw in my cup.” 

“Ah, so he explained it to you, did he?” Fuck, even his grin is perfect. 

You bite your gums, eyes averting. “Wish he didn’t.” 

A piercing whistle rings in your ear, short and sharp in the small, panelled office causing an audible wince. “Oi, eyes up here.” Did he just whistle at you? “I’m going to handle this very delicately because you’re new, but if you keep testing my patience then I won’t even give you the chance to back out.”

What the fuck. 

“Since your friend failed to explain the rules, I’ll have to do it instead. This is my private establishment and I expect anyone who enters it to follow my rules, including newbies like you. Rule number one: respect. Respect for me, respect for others, respect for the property. Simple, yes?” 

“Yes.” His eyes widened slightly, “sir.” 

Tom begins to circle around his desk, nearing you. You tuck your feet in underneath the chair as he leans against the desk a foot in front of you. “Rule number two: boundaries. Boundaries must be set by every individual and must be adhered to by every individual. That includes things they consent to and things they don’t consent to, and safe-words should be agreed to and abided by also. Yes?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And I know you know rule number three.” 

But does he know that you also hate rule number three? Grinding your teeth together, you bite back his answer. “Yes. Sir--” Before you’re able to utter another syllable from your lips, Tom has your cheeks in the pinch of his fingers, pulling you from your seat until you’re just a breath away from his own. Despite the circumstances of your racing heart and your throbbing cheeks, you come to realise that Tom has brown eyes, that his suit is really black, that he has one strand of hair that curls against the rest. Shit. You’re really dipping your toes into muddy water here. 

“See this fucking attitude of yours? Drop it. If you’re really so eager to talk, you’ll tell me what it is you want out of this. And know that before you start speaking, you’re on your last warning.” Thankfully, his grip loosens but it doesn’t disappear completely. Keeping you just as reigned in as before, his fingers sink to the curve of your chin and curl around it gently. It’s hypnotising enough that it coaxes you into spilling the truth.

“A little bit of excitement and adventure. Danny suggested I could find it here. So I came to find out for myself.” 

“And?” 

“I’m…not sure yet.” 

“We can certainly offer what you’re looking for, but it depends what kind of adventure you want to take. Do you want to explore or do you want to experience?” 

“What’s the difference?” 

Tom drinks in your curiosity, content with a quirk to his wet lips. All is silent in his sound-proof office, the beat of your own heart thundering in your ears and it’s the only thing you can tune into while the incredibly intimidating man in front of you sadistically drags out each and every second. “We can start off slow, test your endurance and your tolerances, discover your likes and dislikes, introduce new things one at a time, a soft start over a number of weeks.” 

“...Or?” 

His pupils dilate. “Everything all at once. A full session, right here, right now. Thrown in right at the deep end. No restrictions and I get full control. An experience to say the very least.”

You gasp and the breath gets stuck in your throat. As the idea is spoken into words, you can’t help but picture everything you saw in the hallway, the whips, the paddles, the chains, the ludicrousy of them ever being used as sources of pleasure and begin to feel yourself being overwhelmed. Albeit, the rebellious side of you plagues you with the mentality of saying ‘fuck it’ and trying it anyway, its voice ringing with the sound of your youth; willing to try everything, to say that you were brave enough to try it, to run away from the boring life of always saying no because you just weren’t sure. You might even find that it’s something you like…

“What do you say?” He whispers with the small coaxing of his thumb gracing over your pout. “And don’t leave it up to me. I think you know what I would prefer.” 

You take a breath, cheeks already flushing knowing what’s to come. “I…I want the experience.” 

He doesn’t move aside from his lids opening a fraction wider. “Say it again. To be sure.” 

“I want the experience.” 

A slow, salacious moan sings through his sigh, his breath crashing against your skin like a wave. “Mmmm, I was so hoping you would say that. I’ve been wanting to put this brat back in her place all…night…long. Now I can. All. Night. Long.” Warmth encircles your neck and you realise that his hand has completely captured your throat, controlling every breath you breathe. You desperately try to whimper but even then, all your sounds are clamped down by him. Sensing danger, your own hands reach for his wrist as he pushes you back against the spine of the chair and shadows over you with fire in his eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Safe word?” 

“Err…” You don’t have one. You’ll have to make one up. What did you have for dinner last night? “Pasta.” 

Tom chuckles but accepts it. “Pasta it is.” 

When your one and only chance to speak is taken, Tom quickly readjusts his grip on your throat again, closing it off until your skin is tinted red with exertion. He sinks low, invading your space until there’s nothing but him in your darkening sights, until his lips skim the tips of yours.

“I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you all night. Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep that urge at bay? So fucking hard. I knew you were a newbie, but fuck, you were so fucking rude. You know, you never even thanked me for helping you up earlier. Instead, you chose to insult my club and my customers, and when you do that, you insult me. That doesn’t fly with me and something will need to be done about that mouth of yours.” 

You gasp erratically, fighting for breath and his vendetta against you refuses to relent. Just as blackness consumes your vision, just as you're hanging on the precipice of consciousness, he finally relieves the tension and you gulp down air like it’s your drug, your lifeline. Almost simultaneously, Tom thrashes his lips against yours, seizing back whatever oxygen you just gained in a vicious attack. His tongue slips in almost too seamlessly, brushing against your own and tasting every inch he can reach.

From one method of suffocation to another. With his hand no longer occupied at the base of your throat, you find it clamped to the roots of your hair, keeping you detained as he forcefully kisses and licks every part of your mouth, barely leaving any time to breathe. It isn’t painful as such, but god damn it’s overwhelming. The small squeak of struggle easily gets swallowed up by him and he growls for more. In time, another is drawn out but this time it's the result of Tom’s other hand pulling down the neckline of your dress and finding your tits, pinching and squeezing with a passion that’s guaranteed to leave behind a bruise. To say you completely underestimated what the experience is and how little prepared you are for it, is under-statement of the fucking century.

He really isn’t shy, is he?

Minutes go by and you’re losing sensation in your swollen lips and Tom can sense that too; you become lethargic, sloppy and out of control but that’s exactly what Tom is waiting for. He can feel the plumpness of your lips as he drags them out slowly between his teeth, perfect to have wrapped around his cock. 

He stands to his tallest, your hair still tight in his grip. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

“I’m…I’m sorry, sir.”

“What else?” 

“Th-thank you for helping me up, sir.” 

“There’s actually one thing you should know about me,” he murmurs darkly. “If someone is apologising or thanking me, I expect them to show their regret or their gratitude to me. Usually on their knees. That way, I know they mean it.” 

“And if I don’t?” You are genuinely curious. 

A shadow casts over his face, eyes glowering at your words. He clenches his jaw so tightly that you have to remind yourself to unclench yours out of fear. In quiet, articulated words, he provides you with the first piece of insight of what kind of night lies ahead of you. “I will fuck you and edge you against this desk until you are spent of every piece of sanity that keeps your bratty brain together. Even if you beg, even if you are crying out for release, I will not stop until you are nothing but my cum-filled slut.” 

“Fucking hell,” you whimper quietly, but he hears it all the same. 

“I would think very carefully about your next words, newbie, or you’re going to become very familiar with my temper.” 

Hey, you said you were up for the experience…right? 

It takes just a fraction of your lips to curl into a smirk for Tom to realise your motives. Provoked by just the smallest of your smiles, he runs his tongue along the lining of his cheek. He can’t quite tell if he’s insulted or pleased, regardless, the result of either is the same; he will have you reduced to absolutely nothing if his life depends on it. After all, he doesn’t allow insults to run dry on him, he snuffs them out as soon as possible and that’s the lesson you need to learn. 

“Don’t fucking do it,” he warns one last time. How generous of him. 

The air is tight and feverish, and so very, very quiet. Until…”Fuck. You.” 

Your words trigger a pregnant pause, leaving just enough time to hear a pin drop before something sinister happens. A cacophony fills the room: the wooden scraping of the chair legs as Tom yanks you from it, the squeal and the grunt that marry together, the clutter of objects as they fall from the desk to the floor, the resounding thump as your body mercilessly collides with the wooden desk and subsequent the yelp of pain to be heard by no one other than Tom. 

The brute’s groping hands impatiently tug at your dress, whipping it up to sit around your torso and the moment your ass is exposed to him, he wastes no time to drill his hips into yours in a desperate bid to split your legs wider and keep you still. The sweltering heat of your cunt seeps onto his trousers and, even contained, his cock feels it all. The harder he pushes to force you down, the harder the edge of the desk cuts through your pelvis, and the longer you stay there, the louder your pleas become. And every second of it all is like heroin to him. This is his high. 

Tom rips your underwear from you, the thin material reduced to rags in seconds and just as quick, they become your bindings. With your hands now tied behind your back by the remains of your wet thong and your head smothered against the wooden surface, you are unequivocally oppressed. 

“Stay there, and don’t move.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t bother trying that shit with me. You’re too late. You’ve already made your decision to be a brat, so I’ll fuck you like one.” 

The recognisable sound of chain links clinking together stops your heart dead in your chest. “Wait, what are you doing?” You try to shimmy a look over your shoulder to take a peak, but you can’t see Tom crouching down behind you. 

“Extra precaution.” Cold metal tightly hugs your ankles, grinding away at your bone with every tug. There’s little room to move, you can barely bend your knee without causing yourself harm. You didn’t want to believe it, but the reality is true: he’s chaining you to his desk. 

“No fucking way.” 

“Yes way. This is what you asked for.” He leans down to leave a patronising kiss to the shell of your ear, unbinding your hands and placing them exactly where he wants them, gripped to the edge of the desk beside your head. Not chained, but the wordless warning to keep them there is evident in the squeeze to your wrists. You’re almost crucified to the desk. It’s enough to make your sweltering body shiver. “And I’ll gladly provide.” 

Without warning, he spits into your ass and stops to watch it trickle down to your clit with hunger ruining his patience. He collects it with deft fingers, spreading it through every lip of your cunt, all the way back to gloss your puckered hole. You can feel every movement of his whether feathered or anchored, following the path of his fingers from your asshole to your clit and back again, only stopping to teasingly circle your entrance. He repeats it over and over and over again until you’re leaking with your own slick, glistening underneath the singular spotlight and the fire of Tom’s eyes. It’s tantalising. Worse yet because you can’t move to stop him. You’re stuck with a burning cheek pressed against the desk and your hands trapped under what feels like Tom’s invisible reins. 

“Look over to my clock and tell me what time it is.” 

“It’s 11:57pm.” 

“Good to know.” 

By 11:59pm he has you teetering towards the edge of your first orgasm with as little as two fingers and a thumb violating your cunt. By the turn of a new day, he has you wishing you had just said sorry and meant it. 

“Such a tight little pussy.” He groans behind you, littering small kisses along the base of your spine and your ass. His two fingers enter you again, anchoring down on the spot that winds you up so perfectly, stroking it with the curl of his knuckle and just when you both sense the coil tightening, he picks up speed and power. Anxiety and excitement broil in your stomach. 

“Oh God, f-fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He already knows this. He doesn’t need you telling him. In fact, he’s familiarised himself with the quivering of your thighs, the shaking of your body and already, he knows exactly when to stop. “No! Fuck!” You grieve over the loss of your climax quietly with a small groan laced with heavy breaths. 

His gruff, irritated voice buzzes straight down your ear, vibrating with impatience. “You will take what I give you. And you will thank me for it.” 

The voice that spills from your lips is hardly recognisable. Whining, winging and moping, you don’t quite understand where the grovelling came from and how it took over, but you can’t find it in you to stop it. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

And just like that, the routine starts again and without a doubt, the result is the same. 

Muscles ache, bones shaking, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of liquifying here on his desk. Alas, Tom possesses the ability to keep you solid like no other man has, keeping you somewhat stable and conscious enough to make you feel every last drop of his torment. No matter what sweet relief you feel when he gently massages your cunt, it’s completely forgotten about the moment he slaps the back of your thighs for moving your hands one centimetre out of place. And just like that, you’re back in the room. 

When Tom painfully edges you for the sixth time, he asks you to read the time again. The digits of the numbers have blurred since the last time you checked, but you can just make them out. ��It’s 12:32am” 

He smirks. “Good to know. Fuck, look at the mess you’re making on my floor.” A flat palm smacks against your cunt, seizing at the stimulation. Your thighs beg to squeeze together, anything to build up some friction to tame the urge but the chains rattle beneath you, keeping you contained.

He tames the fire with the lick of his fingers that curl eloquently onto your clit and swivels it around in circles in the same, insatiable manner as before. At first, you think he’s going to build you up again like he has done for the last thirty-something minutes and you’re not so sure that your mind and body can take the strain, but you feel the pressure of his other hand anchoring down onto your back, pressing your stomach flat against the wooden desk and eliminating any chance you have of escaping. Not that you had any before, but Tom’s a man of guarantee rather than possibilities. 

It’s new and the prospect that he might allow to cum reignites the exhilaration in your core. 

Effortlessly, he sets your nerves on fire, plucking every one with overstimulation and you're on the cusp of the well-desired orgasm that you’ve waited for for what seems like all night. You writhe so desperately for it that your pebbled nipples are starting to chafe underneath you. 

Tom’s maniacal laugh drifts into your ears, his lips pressing soft, tender kisses against your ear and your neck. “What do you want?” 

You open your mouth and moans spill out, not the words of an answer. He continues to ruin you anyway. “I want…I want to cum. Please!” 

“So you don’t want my forgiveness? You’d rather cum instead? So fucking selfish of you.” 

He rips his fingers from you and the sensation is lost. “NO!” 

“Yessss.” 

~~~~~

You still haven’t came yet. How the fuck have you not been allowed to cum in all the pleasure Tom’s fingers and teasing words have granted you? He hasn’t allowed you to move either leaving all of your muscles, joints and sanity aching against the stiff wood as you remain prisoner to his chains. And as his prisoner, all of your self-control has been stripped from you. With your eyes closed, voice gone, mind vacant, Tom decides to finally, finally, re-evaluate the situation. 

And by re-evaluate, you mean change position. 

Now unchained, he forces you to lie on your back and you’re thankful that the desk is long enough to support your head, because when you are being punished with extremities, the littlest things can be a saving grace. 

“Tell me the time.” 

You look over, Tom catching a glint of your red cheeks and the imprints of the wooden grain etched into your skin. “It’s…it’s 1:23am.” 

He grins wickedly, licking his lips, and with a smooth wink, he replies. “Good to know.” 

“Please, Tom.” The crack is your voice is liquid gold in Tom’s ears and with his hands skating over your thighs, he hears what you have to say. “I’m so sorry about earlier. I am…so sorry. Please--I…I can’t take it anymore.” 

“What is it you want?” 

“I want your forgiveness. Please, sir.” 

He sees it. He really does; the desperation in the tear that leaves your eye, the look of absolute surrender donning your features in fear that he won’t accept your apology, and even in the way your body warms at his touch tells him that there’s nothing else that you desire. That’s the part he loves most and the main attraction for his dominant tendencies; the moment when the bad turn good. When they’re at such a loss with their original intentions that they have no other option but to surrender and submit. From brazen words to pitiful pleas. From bratty attitudes to willful compliance. From ‘fuck you’s to ‘thank you’s. When that switch is pulled, that’s when Tom knows he’s won. 

He holds your legs dearly in his hands, your swollen cunt perched directly in front of him as he crouches to the floor. It’s red, puffy and glistening in the light, screaming out to be touched, filled and ultimately freed of the orgasm that is running ragged inside. 

He eases the slight quiver in your thighs with a grounding kiss, powerful enough to emboss just the traces of teeth marks onto your skin. 

“What a good girl you’ve become.” The same kiss is planted on your other thigh, just a hint closer to your crying cunt. “I’ll tell you another thing about me,” he whispers, feeling the softness of your skin against his lips. “I don’t just dominate and manipulate people, I manipulate pleasure too. I control it. I can stop it from happening, but sometimes I can be in the mood to make sure it never stops happening.” 

You take a breath and hold it. The anticipation of what’s about to happen savagely ruins your mind that you just can’t settle your pulse, and even if you try to slowly release that breath, you realise that it is all in vain. Your heart still positively thunders in your chest. 

“And guess what, sweetheart?” 

Traces of your voice weakly spill out. “What?” 

“I’m in that exact mood.” 

Tom doesn’t waste a second before his tongue is licking a fat, wet strip up the centre of your cunt and completely destroys your sanity. It’s slow, meticulous in its travels as it covers every inch of you from your hole to your clit and your body involuntarily searches for more. It’s like a wave, rolling over your cunt before crashing into the bundle of nerves at the end. Your cries vibrate through your body, all to be felt by Tom when his lips tightly seal around your cunt, suffocating it with the heat of his mouth and the lashings of his tongue. It’s incredibly enthralling; being constantly aware of every small minuscule change in direction. From thrusting into your hole with tenacity to swirling tightly around your clit in a frenzy, there’s no telling what he’ll do next. 

Your body drips with sweat and you can’t decide if it’s from all the involuntary squirming upon the table or if it's the fire within, being fuelled by Tom’s uncontained lust. There’s a small explosion waiting to happen inside you, and Tom holds the detonation trigger.

“Holy fuck.” 

“Mmmmm.” 

With his head buried beneath your thighs, his hands blindly roam your body. They descend down your thighs and over the valleys of your hip bones, shaping the contours of your waist before feeling the grooves of your ribcage as they expand with each pant you breathe, until he finds your tits, groping and pinching where he can. In both of your minds though, his hands are an afterthought, especially when his gorgeous mouth is massaging your pussy so rhythmically, moving against you like a ship on a wave. 

“Ohhhh my God,” you whimper, feeling the burn in your abdomen descend deeper and deeper towards your cunt. You’re so close it hurts. Your legs start to twitch closer together.

“Legs open,” he mumbles. “And look at me. Look at who’s got you shaking.” 

You cast your eyes downward, unblinking as he sucks and pulls at your cunt with his lips, making what you think to be the most salacious, delicious sounds a man could make while eating you out. 

“F-fuck. Tom, please—.” 

Tom’s dark lashes lift, lids heavy as he stares at you with such forbidden intentions that it’s enough to make you shiver. Neither of you break the connection and you think it might just be the final nail in the coffin. With a deathly snarl, he claws at the back of your thighs, lifting them until they are pressed harshly against your chest and pans all of his attention, mind, body and soul into forcing you to cum. You sob as his tongue darts out, abusing your clit in all directions and it slingshots you directly towards the climax you have been aching for. 

“Tom!”

With a final flick of his tongue, you crash into your orgasm. It immediately wreaks havoc on your system and splinters your sanity completely, so much that you can’t tell whether you're ascending or crumbling right here on his desk. Your lips part to scream, but your consciousness is shattered into a million pieces and your voice is lost. Wood creaks as your nails dig into the edge of the desk, white-knuckled and numb with a grip so tight you swear you feel your bones begin to bend under the strain. 

Like he promises, Tom doesn’t stop. Despite being trapped between your thighs, despite the wriggling and writhing, your pleas and desperate whispers, Tom doesn’t stop. Not for one second. 

Every flick of his tongue is more intimate than the last, plucking at your nerves so harshly, nerves that are already pulsing and in need of mercy. Regardless, Tom remains kneeling, feasting on you like you are his last meal, last drink, last breath he’ll ever take. 

Swimming through the pain, you come out of the other side to find another climax already waiting, just seconds from bursting as drastically as the first one. With one final pleading look to Tom, his dark eyes swallow you whole, subliminally telling you that he’s more than ready to keep this cycle going for as long as he deems necessary. 

Mercilessly, his lips seal around your cunt, tongue slithering itself straight deep into your entrance, still not yet satisfied with what he’s tasted all ready. You’re so wet, and with Tom’s constant laving and licking he only just adds to the mess that he spreads with his hands to your thighs until the glossy sheen catches your eyes. The sparkle of it makes you truly realise for yourself just how aroused he has made you, the sight so alien from your own eyes. No man has ever worn you down like this before. It’s…unnerving. Only because you’re not sure if this is supposed to be what it’s like.

As another orgasm explodes, your body shudders violently on the table, his hands digging themselves into the crooks of your knees being the only thing to keep you from completely wriggling away. Your head collapses against the desk and gives way to a desperate whimper. It isn’t cute, it isn’t coy or coquettish like what you’ve heard before in porn or films. It’s raw, painful and very, very real. 

It never seems to end. You’ve lost the ability to determine when one climax ends and when the next starts. 

By the fifth time - at least, you think - he claims yet another, an hour later, you break. 

After his torture renders you thoughtless, mindless and perhaps a tad vacant, your instincts quickly take over. Your hands whip from the silent hold he had on them and swing down to push Tom’s head full of curls away from your aching cunt while it still throbs through the orgasm. He grabs your wrists, far too quickly for your liking. Tom watches your every movement through his brows, still latched onto your clit, giving nothing away of the disapproval you know he would be demonstrating had he not been so adamant in eating every particle of you. “Please,” your hoarse voice scratches your throat, sounding nothing like you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything, please--ah, fuck--it’s too much.” 

Slowly, deathly slowly, Tom’s lips detach from you, finally granting you freedom, salvation, relief. Yet he just can’t resist recoiling every other second for just one last taste, one last swift lap of his tongue from entrance to clit in one clean strip. The moment all touch detaches from you, your thighs swing close, nursing the pulse that squeezes at your abused clit, taming the orgasm as it flickers its last flame. 

“Fucking hell,” you pant. “You truly are a sadist.” 

Tom only chuckles, deep, dark, leaking from lips soaked in your slick. It rumbles straight to your core. “Tell me the time, sweetheart.” 

Bleary eyes lazily drag themselves over to the clock and after a few blinks, the numbers sharpen. “It’s 2:38am.” 

His fingers tickle up your shin, tracing circles around your knee. “So, so good--” you gasp, darting to catch his hand before it sinks between your thighs. He smirks, “--to know.” 

Your sadist allows you just one minute, you know because he counts it, to cool down and let your body reset; a glass of water, a clean rag and a comfy seat, unshackled and dressed. He also very calmly warns you as he sheds his blazer and unbuttons his cufflinks, rolling his sleeve up his tanned, muscular arm, that although it’s very late into the night, traipsing on the verge of closing, that you still have a long night ahead of you.

A small breath narrowly slips from your lips while you hold his stare. You can’t even dwell on the gravitas of the situation, not risking spending the valuable seconds of your - likely - only cool down. So you bite your lip, sit yourself down and quietly regain your energy.

Your heart beat doesn’t slow as quickly as you want it to. The exhilaration doesn’t leave your system either, stuck in a perpetual cycle of replaying all that had just unfolded.

You force your way through a breathing exercise sitting on the chair he originally placed you in, facing forward, blocking him out behind you because you know that one look at him and he would detonate all that you had worked to subdue. Once calm, the tether between mind and body reconnects and there’s one thing that screams down the line. 

Filled with pleasure, yet still feeling empty. Yet to be fucked. 

Tom alerts you that your cool down has come to an end as he saunters out of the dark corner behind you. It felt like barely a second. He had watched you the entire time, eyes roaming your figure, how it shook, how it quivered, how you barely managed to stand on your own two feet as you jumped from the desk, body scorching with the heat from your core. You were like a new-born deer learning to walk while he was a wolf waiting in the shadows.

Sat on the chair, you spin around to complain, attitude brimming, mouth open, words at the ready and…“Hmph!” His hand clamps down hard onto your mouth, pinching your nose with the other. Not a breath slips through. 

“Here’s me thinking you had learned to know better than to talk back to me.” His body arches over your head above you, tilting your head back to catch the panic glaze over your wide eyes. You think he’s going to do something rash, something to make you regret even thinking about turning around to answer him back; a slap to the face, a tug to your roots, something as evil as his wicked voice sounds in your ear. 

So you can't exactly blame your heart for tripping over itself when, as smooth as butter, he lowers his head, lips puckering to lay a slight kiss to your forehead. It feels like air, an offering that doesn’t conceal something malice behind it. A fragile dusting of comfort to your skin, gentle like a snowflake feathering down onto the ground. Your conscience arrows towards it.

When he lifts his hands from your mouth and nose, you don’t find yourself desperately sucking in the air you lost. Rather, you inhale slowly through your nose and out through your mouth. It had to be that small, insignificant little kiss that lay your nerves to rest. 

Tom is one hell of a manipulator. 

His lips remain lingering on your skin, skating over the surface, mirroring his hands as they trickle down your cheeks and hold your jaw in their embrace. He whispers…“Do you think you can behave like my good girl again?” A small hum of confirmation buzzes at your lips. It isn’t enough for him. “Take this as your warning. If you decide to be a brat, if you decide to not listen to every word I say from now on, know that I cannot be responsible for what happens to you.” 

The severity of his caution has your eyes opening just a fraction wider, able to read the same warning that traces his words in his eyes. He means it. Really means it. Danny’s words echo around your head. ‘He’s a stickler for obedience’. What is he about to do to you that it’s imperative you listen to what he says? 

You could say no. You could invoke upon your safe word and make it stop right now. But when you delve deeper into the part of you that made you agree to this in the first place, you find that it still roars with life, telling you that your need for adventure hasn’t quite been satiated. 

You swallow, throat bobbing under his digits. “I understand.” 

He scrunches his nose in delight. “Perfect.” 

You don’t turn to follow his movements to the back of his office, your ears tell you what you need to know. A cupboard door squeaks open, old, rickety, likely an antique. Then rustling. Objects hard, soft, textured, plastic, rubber, metal. A hum of satisfaction, then the closing squeak of the door, different to the first. His footsteps near you, perching directly behind you while you feel the soft sweep of his torso brush against your hair. 

Then darkness. Soft, pillowy darkness that floods your vision. Remnants of light trapped in your irises float around like shooting stars before fading completely. It’s the only thing you can hone in on as the knot tied behind your head tightens, confirming that he has indeed blindfolded you. 

“Remember your safe word.” He breathes into your ear in earnest. Pasta. “Don’t hesitate to use it.” 

“Yes, sir.” You don’t know if he’s still expecting you to say that, but you do it anyway to stay in good graces with him. You’re not entirely sure if it will make a difference to the impending danger Tom warned you of. Even if it doesn’t, Tom’s lip still curls anyway. 

“Good,” a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth has you blushing, “now don’t move.” 

A single breath is all you have to prepare yourself before something cold eases across the skin of your arm. Insubstantial, almost weightless, it falls from the curve of your right shoulder and descends down until it reaches your hand, resting on the velvet arm. The sensation is ghostly but frigid, gliding but piercing. You can’t quite work out what it is…

The same icy coldness retraces its path back up your arm, floating and gliding along your clavicle and stops directly at the base of your throat, the pit where your collar bones meet. 

It knicks your skin. 

“Oh my God--”

“Don’t. Move.” 

Holy fuck. It’s a knife. It’s a knife. It’s a knife. It is a fucking knife.

That’s the metal object you heard. And its sharpest point is resting directly against your neck.

Your skin pales and your stomach swirls with nausea. All your efforts to stay still and keep calm drains very quickly and panic floods in. Any chills the knife aroused in its cold path is replaced by small beads of sweat, your entire body blazing, screaming danger. Surprisingly, among other things, your nipples begin pebbling, brushing harder against the silk slip of a dress that adorns your body the more the blade's sharpest edge tickles along your skin. Your heart pounds, the sound of panic-infused adrenaline thrumming in your ears, comparable to the time you went on that rickety, old roller coaster when you were younger. 

You guess the memory isn’t too dissimilar; forced to feel the thrill of having your own safety rest in someone else’s hands. You have no control here. 

It’s…intoxicating. 

A dark admission on your behalf, but you’re here for the experience, right? 

You dare not speak, dare not break his rules as the peak of the very sharp knife trails lightly up the column of your throat as its runway, bumping over your trachea, scraping the finest layer of your skin, commanding you to incline your head as it rises higher and higher. Your lungs expand and you can’t deflate them until the knife flicks off your chin. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! 

In the stone cold silence of his room, the resonating shwing of the knife rings in your ears. A small respite. 

From what you can hear, Tom moves behind you somewhere. The creak of the floorboard dances from the left to the right and back again, giving you not one hint of where he plans to strike next, subjecting you to the torment of crippling anticipation until he does.

Suddenly the blade comes into contact once more with your skin, laying its long, razor sharp edge against your neck. Your body freezes, your nails scratch the edge of the armchair. 

“Stand,” Tom commands sharply. The knife’s blade maintains the same pressure on you, even as you come to a stand, knees knocking beneath you. 

Seconds later, the chair clatters behind you, just the swiftest of touches of velvet to your calves before it crashes off to your left, and where four legs once sat now stand just two. Tom. The warmth of his breath flowing past your ear is a stark contrast to the cool blade on your throat. But it’s the low grumble bubbling against your back that plucks a chord deep in your stomach. You can feel yourself getting wetter…

“I can feel your heartbeat hammering against your ribcage, newbie. Worried?” 

Yes…

“Or is it more than that? Excitement? Anxiety? Lust? Desire? What is it? Tell me, a penny for your thoughts.” 

“Nerves. Mostly. But…exhilaration and curiosity. And confusion.” 

“About?” 

“Do people actually get off on this?” 

He chuckles at your naivety. “Lots of people do. It’s perfect for keeping any brat in their place. But you’ll find it’s mostly the sort that spend all day bossing people about. Whose jobs are to take on the burden of responsibility, leadership, authority. If it’s been a particularly long and hard day for them, they come here. This is their relief.”

“To be held at knife point?” 

“To relinquish control. To let someone else take the reins for once. To be controlled rather than being in control. The knife just adds that flare, the incentive to keep them in that headspace of receiving orders instead of being  the one to make them. It could be a gun if you’d like,” he jests. You’d shake your head, but you might slice your throat in the process.  

You take a constricted breath, feeling the weight of the knife’s edge becoming just that little bit heavier. “And…do you like it? Being the one in control?” 

He presses himself against you as if to mould the contours of your body into his, lips furrowing deep into the crook of your outstretched neck roaming where they please. His free hand anchors down onto your hip, slithering its way across the expanse of your abdomen where, if he held you long enough, would feel the flutter of butterflies wings coming from within. Alas, he spreads his fingers, sinking lower onto your pelvis, teasing the curve of your pubic bone and presses down hard, bending you into him. As if the knife he holds against your neck isn’t controlling enough. 

His erection pokes and prods at your backside. He’s so hard you release a whimper. What you would give to feel him inside you. 

Tom’s words speak directly onto your neck like he’s tattooing them onto you. “I love it.” A beat, then--“Tell me,” he says, low in tone and volume. “Your dress. Any sentimental attachment to it?” 

“No.” 

The knife’s blade glides to the strap of your dress on your shoulder and picks it up, pulling it taut. “Good.” 

One tug and the material snaps. 

A small yelp falls out and a flinch has your shoulders raising just an inch closer to your ear. The integrity of your dress now hangs precariously with just one strap holding on for dear life. If one thing is for certain, it won’t be holding on for much longer. You smother the urge to scold him for ruining your dress, your property, and lest you forget the threat of the very sharp knife he holds against you, it’s only the straps, you could tie them back together as a temporary solution. An easy fix. 

The knife repeats its actions on the other side until your dress hangs lifelessly around your hips. The cold air bites at your nipples and Tom doesn’t wait one second before he brings the tip to circle around the little bud. 

“Oh--” You can’t stop your head tilting back onto Tom’s shoulder when the slight overdose of adrenaline makes you dizzy. The tickling sensation refuses to relent, crossing over the valley between your tits to tease your other bud just as salaciously. 

Just when you find pleasure of the tip running rings around your nipples, when Tom’s hand sinks to cup your pantiless sex, when his scent rushes in through your nose, a harsh slap of the blade's flat edge to your tit whips you back to caution. It’s unexpected. Being blindfolded, every touch is. Any touch you feel, whether blade or not, makes you flinch. Quick as a bolt of lightning surging through your body. It’s torturous because in your darkness, in your paranoia, you’re permanently recoiled, shielding, flinching at nothing, waiting for the next hit.

He’ll strike. You know he will. Not knowing when is killing you. And he knows it. 

“You asked if I like what I do-” his finger sinks into you, skimming over your clit wet with your slick, “-from what I can feel, I think you like it too.” Your hips buck to gain more friction from both his fingers and from his hard cock pressed against your ass, desperate to feel that euphoria of pleasure again. A sick, twisted crack of satisfaction surges through you when you hear him moan. “Shame you’ve forgotten your manners.” 

The surface of the knife slaps you again, harsh against your nipple. “Ow! T-thank you, sir.” 

“Better. Now move.” 

A few blind steps clumsily place you facing a wall, palms resting flat against the wallpaper while Tom kicks your feet further apart. He makes sure that while he puppeteers you to never let you forget that the knife he holds is always within close proximity, that if you dare defy him, he wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Gentle scrapes, warning knicks, cold presses, even to go as far as break skin would he warn you. 

The audacity he has, though, when he takes the knife and slices his way through the remaining fabric of your dress, leaving you to stand stark naked before him. That’s going to be less easy to fix…

“You ripped my dress!” 

“Problem?” His voice is challenging, subliminally daring you to bite the bait.

“How the hell am I supposed to get home with no clothes?” 

The fiery attitude that tries to bloom inside dies the instant he presses the flat edge of the blade flush against your cunt. The cold surface lying against your heat causes a stutter in your breath. It pushes upwards, almost lifting you off from your feet and onto your tiptoes from fear that any slight movement of defiance would trigger excruciating pain. It’s dangerous, careless, and reckless, and you wish you could scream it, thrash around, push him away and yell in his face. The compulsion is overwhelming. If only you didn’t have a knife to your cunt…

“Telling me your problem isn’t going to make it my problem.” 

Your jaw slacks, away from his prying eyes and you suppose you could allow yourself just one moment of freedom. Just one moment of no restraint because releasing what you’re dying to say would just be as gratifying as the first time Tom allowed you to cum. You can easily feel the knot that’s dying to unwind, and saying what intransigent words would tease out the knot inside you, and also send him reeling. 

He wants to call you a bratty sub? Fine. That’s what he’ll get. 

“You are such a bastard, do you know that? I think you’ve spent too much time being told ‘yes, sir, of course, sir, thank you, sir’ that it’s all gotten to your head. Maybe you could do with being reminded that not everything you do deserves that.” 

Quick as a whip, the blade snaps to your neck, digging into your skin that you feel it tearing your skin. The wince is evidence of your pain, but Tom ignores it, settling on placing his focus not on the knife he holds against you, but how quickly he can undo his belt, his trousers, springing his hard cock free and lining it up with your sopping cunt. 

Without a warning, because you don’t deserve one, he thrusts into your core, holding your breath hostage under the knife. “So fucking tight,” he stutters to himself. Even for him, the sensation is immense. His next message is for you. “Cheeky little bitch. Think you’re clever? Think you’re funny? We’ll see who’s laughing when you’re begging me to stop.”

Your bodies clash as Tom begins rutting his hips against your ass, the staccato notes of skin on skin and the room swallows every snap, barely making out the door. He fills you, stretches you, and ruins you within seconds and you can’t explain how the pain you feel translates so quickly into pleasure. You feel yourself needing more of it. The stretch, the burn, the knife, it’s indescribable.

His relentless pace maintains, stopping every ten or so seconds to ensure he fills every inch of you, submerging himself to the hilt and mercilessly grinding his hips against you, rolling around your cunt. Without fail, your hands claw at the wallpaper when he does, begging for reprieve. 

“When I tell you,” he pants, lips pursed and eyes ablaze, still holding the knife firmly against your neck. “You are going to give me everything.” 

He drops himself, snatching a slab of flesh between your neck and shoulder between his teeth and bites viciously in his frustration and you howl. His thrusts only become faster and harsher.

“I need to feel you squeeze around my cock.” A hand slides between your bodies and starts toying with your clit. “I’m not going to stop until I feel you cum around me.” 

Tom effortlessly tugs at the elastic band in your stomach and you are about to snap. He overloads your senses, violating your sensitive cunt to the point where you can feel it pulse in anticipation of the orgasm that is threatening to spill. Under the knife that now trails down your body, a pressure builds and it clenches your muscles with its tight grip, and with each pounding Tom hits you with, it grows a little closer to letting go. 

Tom fucks you in phases, fast, slow, harsh, gentle, silent, loud, anything and everything thrown into his efforts to completely tear you apart. If it’s regret he’s after, he’s got it. If it’s an apology he wants, it’s there for the taking. If he desires to hear you begging, then it’s on the horizon. You’re willing to give because you’re not sure you know where your limits are, and with your legging threatening to crumble beneath you, you sense that you’re about to get a good idea. 

Tears brim your eyes only to be soaked up by the blindfold, a quiet plea for release. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please! ” Tom denies relief, keeping you squirming on his cock until his needs are satisfied. He has no care for you writhing to get away, because he can easily drag you back where he wants you with just a swift reminder of the blade that pierces your skin. You’re certain by now that you have tiny little cuts littered over your body, accidental or not. 

“Tom, stop! I can’t! It’s too much. Fuck!” He doesn’t heed your cries because to him, they are the symphonies he is waiting to hear. 

Your entire body quivers and with the flick of his deft fingers and the thrust of his cock, you come undone. There’s no holding it in anymore. The elastic band snaps and a white-hot wash of pleasure convulses through your body. Blood pumping at your core but Tom isn’t relenting. 

The squeeze of your orgasm around his cock is suffocating, but yet just as painfully pleasurable as he needs it to be for the euphoric feeling to consume him. Finally, as the walls of your cunt contract once more, he cums inside you. But by this point, you are weak and Tom can clearly see just how destroyed you are. Nevertheless, his selfishness convinces him to pull away and sink into you over and over again, slower and with purpose. 

“Don’t you have something to say to me, sweetheart?” 

“I’m s-sorry, fuck, I’m sorry!”

“Taking me so well. My little cocksleeve, aren’t you?” He peels away the blindfold to find your eyes over your shoulder, but in your pain and exhaustion you can’t focus on much else and your eyes serve a very glazed-over look. “Look at me,” he spits, you obey. “You’re mine. This pussy is mine. Remember that any time you want to act like a brat.” He thrusts into you again as a testament to his words.

“Yes,” you meekly whisper. The word comes out of your mouth before your sex-inebriated mind can comprehend what he actually said. Once it does, you gulp. 

“Yes, what?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good girl. Stay still.” Blinded by bliss, Tom pulls from you and with his size, it’s a feeling equivalent to an orgasm in itself and you hiss. Your pussy is hot, swollen, pulsing and leaking and yet somehow, as evident as it is for how sensitive it is, Tom can’t resist one more taste. The knife clatters to the ground. Salvation.

“No, no, no, no, it’s too much, Tom, please, I’m begging you.” The words drip with a desperation you don’t recognise. He simply hushes you, kneels behind you, splits you apart and continues to savour the taste of your arousal, meticulously circling his tongue around the small bundle of nerves once again. The warm, wet muscle glides from entrance to clit, cleaning you up of your wetness and replacing it with his own. For as excruciating as it is to endure so soon after an orgasm, you find yourself melting into the feeling and dizziness envelopes you in a warm hug. 

~~~~

“Tell me the time,” he murmurs, turning you around. 

Your eyes peer to the clock. “Fuck, it’s…it’s 4:29am. When does this place close?” 

Tom sniggers, floating over you with a smirk. “It closed an hour and a half ago.”

“What?! Why am I still here?” 

“I’m the owner of this place. I decide who gets to stay and I promised you an experience did I not?” 

“You did,” you agree quietly. The slight stickiness between your thighs bears a reminder of the experience and suddenly you’re burning again. You bite your lip, trying to contain the coy giggle like a teenager with a crush. “Some experience that was.” 

“Sweetheart, that was child’s play,” he laughs.

“What?”

He pulls you close, skin to skin, soothing out your muscles in a gentle massage. “You didn’t actually think I was going to show you everything, did you?” 

Would it be stupid of you to admit that you did? “I don’t know, you did say--”

“That I would give you an experience. Something new, something outside your comfort zone, something you hadn’t done before, an adventure.”

“But--” But the paddles, the chains, the whips, all the things you saw outside…

Not another word lets slip before he cups your cheeks, holding your stare and wordlessly silencing you. “If I had shown you everything, there would be no incentive for you to come back again now would there?” You shake your head. “While you may think I’m a sadist, there are some things within BDSM that newbies like you just can’t be thrown into. Trust me. I wouldn’t put you through that. At least, not yet.”

“Like what? Tell me, I wanna know.”

Tom’s lip curls. He’ll definitely be seeing you around here soon enough given you’re so invested. “Voyeurism, roleplay, flogging, bondage, anal, wax play, primal, orgies, consensual non-consent--”

Your brain fumbles over his words. “Wait what? What’s that?” 

The way his eyes lit up so brightly. He brings you closer to brush his nose against yours. “Consensual non-consent or CNC. A fetish where people enjoy being either the victim with the extreme lack of control or the predator with extreme control. Sometimes called rape play--” your eyes widen, “--but it is thoroughly negotiated beforehand and varies from scene to scene. Consent, as well as safe words, are vital. But for some people, verbally communicating consent takes away from the mood. To overcome that, they assign consent to an object. It would be agreed beforehand, could be a red scrunchie that you tie in your hair. If you came here one night wearing a red scrunchie, I would know that you would consent to me taking control over you. Perhaps drag you away against your will, take you somewhere where no one would see, make you get on your knees, suck my cock…” his voice reduces to a whisper and lets you feel his words on your lips. “Would do things to you…”

“Oh…”

Tom sighs, pulling away and composing himself. “For another time.” He winks. “But for now, you need to clean up. There’s a bathroom through that door. Feel free.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” 

~~~~

You don’t emerge from your bedroom until early afternoon the next day. In your true stubborn nature, you do anything you can to prolong the confrontation with Danny. He knows what prevailed between you and Tom, and munching away at a bowl of cereal, you find him smirking at the breakfast bar. All because he knows he was right, he knows that bringing you to the Hunting Ground was the ideal thing for you. You can’t deny him of it.

His eyes find the bite mark on your neck first, bruised and marked. Then to the large T-shirt that he’s certain isn’t yours. The memory of Tom dressing you in it last night has your heart thrashing against your ribs. 

“So how did the kinky-cultish-sex club turn out for you?” He grins, a smile stolen from the Cheshire cat. 

You click your tongue, deliberating the two ways you could go about this. Against your better character, you grin back at him, colour rushing to your cheeks. 

“When can we go back?” 

#ive been reading a lot of spicy books recently so this is why this exists #this is foul #knife play??? who am i #truly foul #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #smut #dom!tom holland #sub!bratty!reader #tom holland x you #the hunting ground #peter parker #dark!tom holland

[monsterpr3y]

The first draft of The Lab

Lying on the floor of my cell, filled and covered with cum, I began to reflect on how I got here. Go on an adventure, I thought. See the world and find yourself, I planned. Well, I did a little bit of that. in the end, it was finding myself that lead me here. I found that I got a rush from stealing and cheating people. That sneaking in the shadows and liberating someone's purse gave me such a thrill. The richer the mark, the more exhilaration in taking their most prized possessions. I once stole a whole ass tapestry from the wall of a manor while the owner watched me. 

That way of life caught up with me. 

As you probably suspect by now, I stole from the wrong person. A mad scientist is going to have cool shit, so when I heard rumors of one living in a secluded tower all by himself I knew I had to hit it. 

This man was devious. And I mean that in all ways. Before I even got inside he'd clocked me, magic or some invention alerting him to my presence and went completely unnoticed. Then there were the booby traps (in one case literal) everywhere, so cleverly hidden that the master thief I'd become caught maybe one in five. I didn't even notice the one that drugged me, as it was through skin contact and brushed my face. I'd like to think that without that I wouldn't have walked right into thin wires that constricted on my arms and legs, but also onto my breast's, like it was waiting for a female to walk into it.

Everything went dark after that. When I came to, I was on a cold metal table, naked, and restrained, staring up into the oversized eyes of the scientist examining me with some vision magnifying contraption.

“Wonderful, you're awake! I am so glad you came to join us!” He hustles off the stool he'd been standing on and somehow I was taken down by a scrawny halfling? I'd never live this down with the other adventurers if they found out.

“I'm sorry for trying to sneak in, but I'd heard rumors about your lab and couldn't resist wanting to take a peek” maybe if I flatter his scientific ego he'll let me go.

“Oh my dear you're about to have the best seat in the house when it comes to my experiments!” 

I didn't like the sound of that. I needed to get free, but none of my skull with lock picking would help when my hands were restrained above my head, and whatever was holding them to the table was below the table. I could barely even wiggle my fingers.

“The only intruders I've had to date were men, and they just won't do for the experiments. Their primary motivation seems to be procreation, and they are smart and can tell a human male from a female. Watching them be torn apart in the arena was enlightening however!” 

“Excuse me! You plan to do what with me? Let me go right now!” I'm finally starting to struggle, as I realize my predicament. What the hell does he mean procreation? I thought I was naked on this table because he was going to play with me, which as a female adventurer is nothing new to me. Whatever he's talking about sounds a whole lot worse.

“Oh, but you're never leaving. Who knows, maybe they'll break you so badly you enjoy it” and he's out a side door. I struggle almost manically, desperate to get away of whatever hell hole I've fallen into, but he knows what he's doing with these restraints. I would almost be excited to be restrained and taken by the scientist, bondage always made sex hotter for me, regardless of my level of willingness.

The table begins to move, but it's not just a table. It lifts so I'm in a standing position and then it begins to retract in multiple pieces, leaving me bound with my arms and legs spread in an X in the middle of the room.

“Now I'm going to start you off with just one, so I can gage what you can handle” the scientist shouts down to me from a platform about 20 feet above me, where he's sitting cross legged holding a notebook and pencil in one hand, and the other is about to pull on a rope.

Metal grates and a chain clanks behind me, but I don't have enough slack to turn and see what's coming for me. I hear a slithering coming upon me, but slimier somehow. Thrashing against my bonds I realize that his experiments are monstrosities, and he's unleashing one to fuck me. 

My inner thigh is stroked by a slimy… appendage? I can't see what it is but it's not a finger or hand, and it's joined by another and another, until 8 or more are stroking my legs and torso, the slime on them oozing and coating my skin. Without warning 2 of the appendages find what they are searching for and my cunt and ass are both invaded. I scream and struggle harder, but there's still no wiggle room in my restraints. I begin to sob as the creature moves below me, and I see a Catacomb Slug take shape, the tentacles on its bulbous head now using my holes.

I get a brief respite as it moves far enough past me that the tentacles no longer reach me, but now I can see what's coming for me, and I've never wished to be blindfolded more ardently in my life as I see it's mouth open. 

“We need to lower you by increments for the next parts” the scientist is entirely way to enthusiastic about this, completely deaf to my sobs and pleading. I lower by about 2 feet, right above the grotesque mouth with its jagged teeth, and I'm sure I'm about to die… tho death would probably be better than whatever comes next.

It's tongue inches out of its mouth, long and rough looking, with even more slime dripping from it. I will never feel clean after this. As it extends it splits in 2, as if it's been forked, as I've never seen one do that.

“Now you get to see where the experimentation has come in. It's fascinating really, I've had this pet since it was a baby, it was actually cute back then, but I wanted to see what would happen if I introduced other DNA to it while it was still in its egg sac. I didn't know what I was doing as well back then, so it was a cocktail of things and he got the forked tongue of a snake, am amphibious nature from the frog, but also that DNA mutated it's slime. Instead of having a hallucinogenic property like the frog, it first numbs it's prey, and then it begins to tingle on the skin, and as it absorbs it creates a euphoric effect”

The tingling had already begun, tho I wished I'd stayed numb. It builds and builds, somehow centering on my clit, and I am breathing heavier than I should be for how little I'm able to struggle. But then a glorious detached feeling occurs, and my mind feels released from my body as pleasure courses through all my veins. 

At that moment the 2 tongues begin to probe my holes, a glorious friction from the rough texture they have, and between that and the tingling I know I'd be soaked even without the slime. A low moan escapes me, and suddenly I no longer want to fight back. No man's cock has felt this good, no finger has elicited such pleasure as the sensations building in my clit as I'm fucked thoroughly and my first orgasm builds so intensely that my screams reverberate off the walls.

“Interesting, the subject has a much stronger response than expected. I anticipate great fun in witnessing my creatures break her.”

As my orgasm subsides I begin to lower again and the slug moves forward, its tail right below me. It lifts it up and it's cock emerges from the tip, and I suddenly am glad for any numbing and euphoria, as it's bigger than even the tongues, and knotted all along its length. 

“And now we see the results of the werewolf DNA that was added in. Surprising result really, that it's cock was the only part affected, I do hope that it doesn't break you before we're barely started, but he's never gotten a chance to use it and I feel sorry for the poor lad”

It slams it into my cunt up to the first knot, filling me so full, but feeling good so far. The first knot pops inside me, and now I'm stretched and I'm sure would be screaming if it's slime hadn't prepped me. It stays at this length and roughly fucks me, my body in pain but the slime still working on the pleasure. Faster and faster he pumps into me, a mewling sound emitting from it, and just before it cums, a secondary cock emerges and slams into my ass, just as the second knot enters my cunt, and both absolutely explode with cum, my stomach bulging from the pressure of how much has been secreted into my body. Both cocks slip out of me, and it curls up in the corner ready for a nap.

“Not even any bleeding, fantastic, excellent! You'll do wonderfully my dear” the scientist says as my bonds loosen, and he enters the room again, putting a collar and nipple clamps on me and using a chain attached to all of them to pull me from the room and lead me to the cell where I'm now laying and reminiscing, covered in the cum of multiple monsters, and replete from all the orgasms they gave me in the process.

#monster fucker #monster fantasy #monster smut #monsterfuck

[worriedvision]

Emotional constipation (Part 2) - Gepard

Gender neutral reader, part 1 here. More of a round off of the previous part, life keeps getting in when I'm about to write oops. Still no happy ending oops, Sampo gets karma in the form of Gepard for his contribution to part 1

--

Serval was surprised to see you coming along with your set of Gepards house keys, clearly struggling to keep it together. She wants to ask you what happened, but she knows better than to ruin her friendship with you by prying in too soon. Instead, she spends some time just the two of you, making sure you don't forget you'll always have a premium seat to her concerts. You, of course, tell her you'll still keep in touch with her.

Gepard, on the other hand, was a different case. You decided to block him after your conversation with Serval, you saw he opened your message, and it had been enough time for him to reply or show up at Servals place in the duration of the time. It hurt to realise it, but you couldn't bear to be tempted to send him a message telling him you're happy with being his, even if you weren't happy with the lack of touch and he was happy with holding someone else.

It wasn't until a few days later that Gepard was able to get back from work, and he was only then able to act.

--

Sampo had been chasing up this customer of his, who had yet to cough up their shields for payment. As much as he was a businessman, the idea of ruining a relationship he could tell was being built healthily weighed on him. The fact he didn't get the shields from his anonymous requester revealed to him that, perhaps, he was wrong to show you the sight of Gepard with someone else. He didn't even ask for the purchasers motive, but that was usually not a problem on him.

After he realises this person wasn't going to cough up the shields he needed for his services, he decides to tell Gepard about his actions.

--

"I was as surprised as you were, Geppy." Serval protests, Gepard gawking at her as she hands him your copy of his keys. "I didn't want to pry, and they looked like they were holding back their emotions."

"Why couldn't you have stalled for long enough for me to come? You know how my work is." Gepard Huff's, Serval frowning in disapproval at how long that would take.

"Look, they were fragile at the time. I haven't been told anything, and I'm waiting for them to tell me what happened in their own time." Serval states, Gepard shaking his head.

"Nothing was going wrong, I was hoping you'd have some clues." Gepard pouts, crossing his arms.

"...What did they send you?" Serval asks, Gepard handing the phone over. When she gets scolded for giggling at the cute nicknames, Serval apologises. "From what I'm seeing...perhaps they misinterpreted something."

"I'm going home, I need some time alone." Gepard sighs, leaving his sisters shop.

--

Upon returning home, he spots Sampo waiting at his front door. That was never a good thing, and unfortunately this was no exception.

"Hey, the man of the hour! Boy do I have the best offer for you. Sampo Koski can enlighten...you." Sampo trails off, Gepard failing to hold back his frustration.

"You might as well tell me this 'enlightenment'." Gepard yawns, Sampo clearing his throat.

"Well, a dear customer who is anonymous requested for me to lead _ to you when you were receiving affection from-" Sampo begins, only to get caught off-guard by Gepard punching him in the face.

"Leave." Gepard grumbles. "Maybe you'll think twice before meddling in people's love life."

The door clicks shut, and Gepard sends Serval a message informing her that Sampo was paid to break you two up, along with the explanation Sampo gave.

Serval had to tell Gepard that, after some soil searching, you informed Serval that you couldn't bear to be in a relationship and not get the physical affection you wanted to desperately. She explained that Gepard really does love you, yet that only made you feel even more guilty for trying to push him - only for him to love you even now.

#gender neutral reader #angst #Gepard #gepard x gender neutral reader #gepard x reader #sampo #serval

[the-fiction-witch]

Baby Mama

Media Queens Gambit

Character Benny Watts

Couple Benny X Reader

Rating Sweet Af

Concept Pregnancy

I woke up again and checked the clock on the bedside table. It's not even nine am yet. I moved Benny's arm off me and had to bolt out of the bedroom, across the dark apartment and into the bathroom, quickly moving to my knees before I hurled into the toilet. God damn it! Every day with this! I don't know how long I sat wrenching on the toilet floor. But I had a moment of respite, leaning my head on the soft toilet roll in the holder on the wall, and I saw the light flick on. I glanced back and saw Benny leaning on the door in his kimono and black boxers.

"Again?" He asks

"Yep" I sighed

"Nine days?"

"Two weeks"

"There is no way in hell that it's still that pizza y/n," he says "It should be well out of your system by now, it's well out of mine," he says crossing his arms over his chest

"You didn't have it as bad"

"True. You're going to the doctor"

"Benny no"

"Don't argue with me I'm calling them now"

"No!"

"Alright. I won't call them, if you get up walk into the kitchen and eat some cheese without being sick"

And the word was enough for me to once again hurl into the toilet

"I'm calling them" he sighed going to the phone and all I could do was lean my head on the toilet seat trying desperately to stop my stomach from killing itself.

I sighed sitting in the vile-smelling waiting room that had a putrid scent in the air of sickness and bleach, people around the room coughing, sneezing and wheezing. I had now been back and forth to the doctor four times for various tests and finally today they called and told us they knew what was wrong and that we needed to come in as soon as possible. "Couldn't they just tell us over the phone" I complained tugging my little white glove up my wrist so less skin contacted the arm of the chair,

"Well it's probably serious," Benny answered beside me with one of his chess books on hand to pass the time "What do you have against doctors anyway? Every time you come here I've had to drag you kicking and screaming" he chuckled "A couple of times literally"

"I don't enjoy being poked and prodded"

"Knowone likes it y/n, but there is something wrong with you else it wouldn't have taken so many tests" he says flicking to the next page

"I think it's a poorly tummy"

"They wouldn't call you in for that y/n it's something serious and you know it"

"Maybe it's food poisoning"

"Maybe"

"What do you think?"

"I have my theory"

"Ohh enlighten me then chess boy?" He didn't answer me simply looked at me I looked back questionably and he glanced at my stomach "I'm not pregnant Benny"

"How do you know?" He chuckled going back to his book

"Because I'm just not I know I'm not"

"How do you know that?"

"Because I'd know if I was pregnant, I'd like to feel it in my womb or something"

"You have your theory I have mine"

"Theory requires evidence"

"Go on then, what's your evidence for a now going on three-week tummy ache?"

"We had that really bad takeaway pizza when we got home from Austin, it made you sick and it's made me sick it's just affected me worse than you" I explained, "what do you think is your evidence?"

"We had sex in Austin. A Lot of it."

"We've had sex a lot of places benny, doesn't mean I'm pregnant"

"I still think it's suspicious we had a boatload of fun hotel room sex in Austin and as soon as we get home you start waking up early to throw up."

"I still don't think so"

"Will you be upset, If you are?"

"But I'm not"

"But if you are. We haven't talked about kids"

"I mean I'll be mad at you"

"But will you be upset?"

"... I guess not. I mean natural progression I suppose, we dated, we got engaged, we got married, it makes sense to have some babies" I explained, "how would you feel if I was pregnant?" I asked uncontrollably feeling my stomach

He smiled taking my hand and giving it a soft kiss beside my wedding and engagement ring "I'd be thrilled if you got pregnant."

"Really?"

"Of course, it'll be fun to have some little Watts running around"

"If I'm pregnant"

"I'm pretty damn sure you're pregnant hun, and if you're not I'll make sure you are when we get home" he winked before returning to his book

"If I'm not pregnant you owe me three months of dishes"

"Deal, if your pregnant you owe me a blow job"

"deal" I rolled my eyes a little

They soon called me so I got myself up with my bag

"You want me to come with you?"

"I'll be okay"

"Alright good luck" he smiled kissing me so I headed in to see the doctor he explained the situation giving me a whole booklet of information and a few pamphlets to go over at home I headed back out where I found Benny still deep in his book

"Let's go"

"I'm coming" he answered with a sly smile, shutting his book up and smirking in his usual way as he followed me "So?"

"Shut up" I sighed handing over my information from the doctor as I made the next appointment with the front desk all with a smirking proud Benny beside me.

Once it was all booked she gave me the card I quickly went out to the car pouting as I took my seat and he only smirked more "Shut up"

"I haven't said a word"

"You don't need to I can hear your ego inflating from here"

He smiled and kissed my cheek even if I immediately wiped it off as I was mad at him and clearly to annoy me more he then kissed my stomach before starting the car up

"I hate you"

"Love you too mama"

"Don't you even start" I warn

"Somebody owes me when we get home"

"How did you know?"

"Honestly? Lucky guess."

"I'm pregnant." I said rubbing my stomach uncontrollably "There's a tiny you inside me"

"Aw baby jr" he smirked stroking my leg

"Why did I let you impregnate me?"

"Cause you love me"

"I do love you,"

I sat reading my new notes from the doctor, all the information about this new trimester and all the rules I was still having to live by.

"Eat your soup," Benny told me as he started a new game

"I'm not hungry"

"You don't eat it you have to have more supplements, it's up to you"

"I'm reading"

"About?"

"The thing developing inside me"

"I'd prefer you not call our child a thing y/n"

"I'm not calling it Jr"

"I think it's cute"

I rolled my eyes a moment forcing down the gross healthy soup until nothing was left and he smiled as he finished his game

"Good girl," he says kissing my temple and taking the bowl to the sink

"We still have that grapefruit in the fridge"

"Yeah, you want a slice?"

"No, bring it here"

"Why?"

"Don't ask the pregnant lady questions just do it"

He did as I asked, bringing the whole grapefruit over to me. "There you are, my baby mama." He smiled and I again rolled my eyes, holding the grapefruit in my hand for a while inspecting everything about it "Are you going to eat it?"

"No"

"...then why did you want it?'

"Hold it" I told him and he took it holding it in his hands a little confused

"Right"

"Feel it's size and weight"

"Okay... kinda heavy I guess, Very round"

"That is the size of our child"

"Really?"

"Yep, twenty-two weeks grapefruit"

"Hu, I feel bad about wanting to eat some now"

"Why?"

"Because it's... it's like our little one"

"Benny it's a fruit"

"Are you sure you're at Grapefruit?"

"That's what the doctor says"

He simply sat the fruit against my stomach noticing how much bigger my stomach was

"Well there's fluid and placenta and all my organs" I began but he simply moved the fruit to another part of my stomach where it had enough space to sit without contacting the space the fruit was in before "No."

"Maybe?"

"No, Benny." I warned snatching the grapefruit back and cutting it open to prevent this discussion but he only smirked "Don't even start"

"What's next?" He asks taking some grapefruit

"Corn"

"What is a whole cob of corn?"

"Yep"

"That's a jump isn't it?"

"Babies grow fast benny, a month ago he was a pear"

"What will it be after corn?"

"Eggplant"

"Oooh babies jumping up fast. You want me to get some corn next week so you can compare?'

"No, anything bigger than this is just going to make me panic"

"Why?"

"Because something that size is inside me and it's one way out is a whole that you struggled to get in when we first got married"

"Good point, what is it when the baby comes?"

"A watermelon or pumpkin" I sighed checking my list

"Ohh shit."

"I'm gonna die"

"You're not gonna die, your body is built for this Hun"

"Yeah, but it's not built to do it... comfortably" I complained "Why can't we reproduce like penguins just poop out an egg and walk around with it between my legs for a while if I get annoyed or for stuff to do you can look after it between your legs"

"I know," he laughed. "Would it make you feel better if I went to the store for another grapefruit and wore it under my shirt the rest of this week?"

"Aw no, but that's very sweet Benny" I smiled moving to sit on his thigh and nuzzling into his shirt

"Are you crying?"

"Kinda"

"Aww it's okay, your hormones are all messed up, you're crying a lot these days"

"I can't help it!"

"I know, I know, I didn't mean to be so sweet I made you cry," he Cooes "just like I'm sure that dog yesterday didn't mean to be so cute"

"He was too cute he had such small legs" I cried

"I know Hun I know, his legs were too tiny for his body"

"He waddles everywhere he goes"

"He sure does" he smiled stroking my stomach "Come on Jr stop making your mother all emotional. I've only just learnt how to deal with her she when's not an emotional hormonal wreck"

"Benny!"

"What? I'm reasoning with him"

"Don't be mean to your pregnant wife?" I told him poking him with each word

"Oww oww okay okay, would a bubble bath help?"

"Yes please"

"Alright, I'll run it for you"

I sat listening to some records absentmindedly bringing handfuls of popcorn to my mouth from the bowl resting on my stomach. But I put my hand in and found only an empty bowl so I went to get up to refill it but Benny grabbed my arm from his chair and forced me back down onto the ottoman

"Stop"

"What?"

"You are not refilling that bowl again"

"What? I'm hungry"

"Y/n I have been sitting here with you since you brought your first bowl full of popcorn I haven't finished one chapter in my book and you just finished your fourth bowl"

"I'm hungry for popcorn"

"That's not even a normal serving-size bowl, that's the bowl we use for Halloween candy and Christmas cookies. Please stop, it's terrifying. I feel like I just watched an alien swallow a human"

"But baby wants popcorn"

"I can tell, you don't even like stove-top popcorn."

"I do"

"No, you don't, you used to hate it and said it tasted like cardboard. Why all of a sudden now you're pregnant you wanna eat buckets full of it?"

"I don't know baby likes it" I pouted stroking my stomach

"Does he now?" He sighed returning to his book

"Baby also likes cherry slushies"

"Humm?"

"And chicken nuggets"

"That's nice"

"And chocolate and coconut"

He sighed putting his book down and getting up

"What?"

"I can take a hint" he sighed going and getting his shoes and jacket on coming back to grab his wallet from the table and to give my lips and my stomach kisses "You be good Jr," he told my stomach "No more popcorn and I'll bring my baby mama her cravings"

"Ummm thank you Benny" I smiled "Maybe bring a hot dog too?"

"Maybe we'll see. Be good or I'll bring you nachos with cheese"

"Oohh" I gulped immediately stopping myself from hurling

"You loved cheese before you got pregnant"

"Don't. Use. That. Word. Benjamin" I warn

"Alright back soon," he says before heading out I just relaxed often glancing at the corner of the apartment Benny was slowly turning into the nursery even if most of it was still in pieces soon enough he returned given he was only going to the 24hr convenience down the street

"Yay! Daddy's home"

"Daddy brought mummy some nice things that hopefully will make Jr very happy" he chuckled kicking his shoes off hanging his jacket and bringing the bag to the small living room table slowly unpacking it "Extra large cherry slush, two boxes of the chicken nuggets, a freshly cooked hot dog he made it special because I told him you wanted one, some coconut and chocolate candy bars, some of that lime gum I know you didn't say it but you'll want it later and another stove top popcorn but you're not having this till next week" he warns

"Ummm thank you Benny" I smiled, giving him a hug and a kiss, quickly grabbing a nugget or two "How'd you get a fresh hot dog?" I asked sipping my slushie

"I'm getting to know the guy in there now, never really used to go there. Except for the odd emergency now I seem to be going every other day. And I've told him your pregnant so he likes to make sure you get a fresh hot dog and the good nuggets" he explained grabbing something else from the bag

"Hey? You got wings?"

"I had to walk there I got something for myself too"

"I'll trade you two nuggets for a wing"

"No. There the spicy ones you don't like them"

"That was intentional wasn't it?"

"Yes, y/n you're heavily pregnant you eat everything. The only thing I've been able to have to myself is... the unmentionable cow product and that's only because the smell, taste or mention of it makes you retch. I want something that's just for me"

"Sorry Benny"

"It's fine Hun, Baby likes to sample lots of foods" he smiled so we sat and ate "Slow down you're going to make yourself sick"

"But I'm hungry"

"I know just slow" he reminds "Did... did you just dip a nugget in your slushie?'

"....no"

"That one of those weird cravings again? Like when you insisted I put honey on your fried eggs, or when I caught you stirring your tea with a banana?"

"Maybe"

"Let me try"

"No"

"Let me try I'm curious"

I sighed but took a nugget and gave it a good dunk in the slushie before handing it over and he took a fairly brave bite

"Oh my god, that's disgusting. What is wrong with Jr that he wants to eat this?"

"I don't know, but I didn't hear you complaining when I was craving just the cookie part of Oreos."

"No, because I got to eat like six boxes worth of Oreo cream without a single cookie in my way. One of the best days of my life" he says and I glared "After our wedding of course" he smiled "What are you doing?"

"Melting the candy bar"

"Why?'

"I wanna put the chocolate and coconut on my hot dog"

"...Jr I am so so sorry for this, your baby mama has lost it"

"He wants it" I argued

I hummed to myself as I shuffled around the concrete floor in my fluffy slippers, my body covered in the only thing I was able to wear anymore, my small sleeveless boatneck white and black mini dress. The fabric is just black with white flowers across it. I hated the dress. I felt like it looked like curtains or a tablecloth but it was the only fabric I could find at the store good enough to use for my maternity dress pattern. My stomach caused the dress to look very tent-like as it pressed against the fabric. I passed around slightly humming to myself one hand stroking my bump and the other holding my biscuit as I nibbled at it slowly.

"Y/n, the doctor said you should get exercise. I'm not sure he meant pace around the apartment all day" Benny spoke as he sat up at the table in his usual jeans black shirt and green button down the calendar beside him and a pile of mail on the other side as he slowly went through everything giving me that look.

"How about you take me someplace then," I said back finishing my biscuit and brushing some crumbs off my dress

"I try, every time I take you anywhere all you do is complain" he sighed "My feet are swollen, my back hurts, and I'm gonna throw up"

"My feet are swollen" I complained "and my back does hurt"

"You gonna throw up?"

"No, but give it time I just had a biscuit"

"I thought you could eat them without being sick?"

"So did I" I sighed

He sighed a moment getting up and coming to try and cuddle me, however, my bump prevented us from having much of a cuddle as it was like trying to hug with a watermelon between us "You're causing your mother problems you know that Jr?" He says stroking my bump I smiled a little seeing how excited benny got stroking my stomach leaning back a little with my hands on my waist so he could enjoy it for while and immediately after he spoke up the baby started kicking I did my best to grit my teeth and just bare it, I know people always describe a baby's kick as a beautiful cute thing but it hurts, the only thing that made it better was seeing Benny's wide smile as he always got so excited whenever he got to feel the baby kicking

"He'll cause even more problems when he's born. At least for now, he's quiet"

"aww, I know kiddo, just calm down a little bit okay? For daddy?" He asked and the kicking died down a little "Good boy" he smiled, kissing my bump and then my forehead "You think you can keep down tea?"

"I hope so, can't I have a coffee?"

"No coffee, doctors orders remember," he says going to make us some tea "ooh almost out of milk" he says

And the second I heard those words I felt it was "uhhhh Benjamin!" I yelled making him jump looking at me and realizing his mistake

"Ohh shit. Sorry Hun It just kinda slipped out"

"Bring me some kitchen towel" I sighed and he happily brought me over some kitchen towel so I could clean up and then stuff my bra to prevent any future leaks, "uh he's stretching those legs today" I sighed as I felt moving and pushing inside me

"Maybe he's got a cramp? Can imagine it's getting a little stuffy in there for him"

"Like to see you say that when it's your internal organs he's playing kickball with"

"Come here" he smiled going behind me

"What are you up to?"

"A surprise"

"I don't know last time you were behind me and gave me a surprise I ended up pregnant"

"Have a bit of faith in me"

"No"

"Trust me as a husband" he laughs so I sighed and allowed whatever it is he wanted to do his hands came around my waist and for a moment I was convinced he wanted at my boobs again as he had found quite a love for them since I got pregnant, but he moved his hands down gently cupping my stomach from below and lifting it gently and slowly for a few moments taking the weight off my stomach and of the baby off my back and my hips holding the weight in his hands

"Aah that's nice" I smiled leaning in his chest a little and moving my arm back to play with his hair

"That feel good?"

"Very good"

"That makes my baby mama feel better?" He asks and I nodded "Okay, I can hold the baby as long as you want me to"

"Umm thank you, Benny"

"You're welcome" he smiled kissing my head

"Where did you learn this?"

"Pregnancy magazine"

"You read them?"

"When you have little naps yeah? I need to know, don't I?"

"I suppose so, I didn't think you cared"

"Of course, I care, you're my wife, that's our baby," he laughs "Of course I care, I'm just not great socially and pregnant ladies are even harder you randomly cry and leak and god knows what else it makes things hard and confusing when your me"

"It's okay Benny, it's still a really sweet thought. You're gonna make a really good daddy"

"You think so?"

"I'm sure of it"

"I know you're going to be an amazing mother" he smiled "You ready for me to let go?"

"Five more minutes?"

"Absolutely" 

#thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagine #tbs imagines #thomas sangster #tbs smut #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster #tbs #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster smut #benny imagine #benny watts #benny x reader #benny smut #benny fanfic #benny #bennywattssmut

[ouroborosorder]

I just saw the Secret Conditional Dialogue at the true ending of Void Stranger, some massive spoiler thoughts behind the read more:

So, if you have 1024 Karma / Justice at the fusion segment at the end of DIS, (which is AN INSANE AMOUNT. NO ONE SHOULD EVER DO THAT. DON'T GRIND FOR IT. JESUS CHRIST,) there's some special dialogue based on if you're playing as Lillie or Gray. And I honestly find this dialogue really really compelling.

Lillie, the whole time, is the exact opposite of everything every character is. Every other character in Void Stranger is desperate, trying to achieve a dream that they know they cannot reach, but they need to try anyway. "We are without hope, and yet we live in longing." Yet to contrast that, Lillie herself is without any strong conviction. She turns into an Egg at the end of her playthrough, she explicitly was not in the Void by choice, she's just another lost soul with no objective.

So I find it compelling that Gray's line about light becoming endless mirrors Cif's dialogue during her bossfight to such a strong degree. Add's dream was, we can extrapolate, to become human, a goal that they tried to accomplish when creating Cif - creating an artificial Manusya capable of Enlightenment. Cif, however, couldn't understand the idea of a dream or of striving for something greater. Cif was without dreams, and the desire to understand why someone would desire became her truest desire. They both dream of reaching beyond the bounds of their demon-ity, and achieving something greater, achieving something human. But in the end, Cif dies as a maggot, and Gray's light fades out.

But Lillie... doesn't get such a sad ending. She doesn't have a desire, going in. She just wants to be here, in this moment, because she loves her mothers. She doesn't have to live without achieving her dream, because she didn't have a dream to begin with. She's happy to live in this moment, to be with the people she loves one last time. But she dies, conscripted into someone else's war, never to spend the time with her mother she could have had in another timeline where Add didn't play their hand.

It's compelling in how Void Stranger plays with the themes of buddhism and desire that Zeroranger establishes, but plays with them much more purposefully and intentionally in this finale. Because I think all these endings are tragic. Those with a desire are destined to fail, but those without cast aside their humanity and become an inert object. It very much feels like Void Stranger is a game about the failure of "desire is the root of suffering." To lack desire and passion is to strive for nothing, to dream of nothing but the past's regrets. But to only look to the future is to reach for the stars, dreaming of an endless light that can only ever fade.

...But... I'd much rather look to the stars, anyway. I would much rather try to make my voice heard than not. Because... when I was asked if I could hear them... I felt... a desire to reply in kind.

#void stranger #void stranger spoilers #critical analysis #that's right baby my first critical analysis post on void stranger let's GOOO #this will not be the last

[another-clive-blog]

au where clive runs for prime minister just to try one-upping b*ll h*wks

Anon, I want you to know this may be my favorite ask so far. The AU itself is amazing, but the censoring Bill Hawks' name ? Priceless. I feel like Socrates himself has come to enlighten me with incomparable wiseness-

Alright so sketches and writing under the cut ! =) No trigger warnings for this one. I had fun, I'd love to do more about this AU whenever I get the time !!

When you didn't think things through 😔 Which leads us to the fanfic-

"Professor, look !!"

Hershel Layton put down his cup of tea, anticipating the moment his apprentice would shove his newspaper in his face. With a patient smile, he took the paper in his hands and let Luke point out what piece of news had caused such excitement.

"'Clive Dove as the new prime minister' ?" Layton read out loud.

The article was front page and there was more about it in the following pages : it only made sense, with the agitation this news had caused. Bill Hawks had been prime minister before, and was the favorite candidate for this next mandate : him losing was quite surprising- quite surprising indeed.

"He doesn't look too happy," Luke said, tiptoeing to see over the professor's arm.

Layton looked at the picture in the middle of the page. On it, a shockingly young man was visibly upset, turned away from the journalists : he seemed to be yelling at someone on the side, cut off from the photo. "That is one way to put it." Layton hummed, his eyes staring at the young man a moment longer, before going to read the actual article.

"I'd be happy, I think, if I had just won the elections," Luke mused out loud. He couldn't even imagine it happening, actually : running for Prime Minister was so much work on its own !! Always giving speeches, moving around, discussing boring things- oh, and it must cost so much money too !! It must be so difficult just being a candidate.

Yeah, he'd probably be happy if he won after all that. This Dove guy was just weird.

"Say, Professor, don't you think he looks like me ? Maybe this is a sign I'll be Prime Minister some day !"

The professor didn't answer, focused solely on the paper in his hands.

-_-_-_-

"I am not doing it," Clive Dove said firmly. "I am not running this country. I quit."

John, his new personal assistant, a guy here just to listen to his every word and give him the attention Bill Hawks was desperate to get, protested loudly. "No offence Sir, but you have been prime minister for 47 minutes. The people want you as head of the country and you therefore deserve this post, especially after all the hard work and money you invested to get it."

"I don't care about the money or the people," Clive snapped. "I don't actually want this stupid job."

John was quiet for a moment, and Clive hated how unsurprised he looked. He didn't even seem disappointed or concerned, simply... irritated. It made sense for a government official : they only ever cared about things going smoothly, not making any disruptions, following the protocol.

Too bad, because Clive only cared about making their lives as difficult as they had made his.

"Well," John finally sighed, "you can always resign if you really wish to."

"Great." The faster he got out of this agonizing office, the better it would be. Clive took his coat in one hand, pushing the chair back with the other. He had no time to waste, because he was supposed to give his first speech as the new Prime Minister in about fifteen minutes.

He therefore only had fifteen minutes to leave this pathetic building and get as far away from this despicable life as possible.

Clive had his hand on the door handle when John spoke up again. "If you go through with your resignation, you'll need to sign the official declaration first."

Clive let out an exasperated sigh. Why were there declarations for everything ? Would he need a declaration to slam the door on his way out ?! "I'm leaving, what more is there to say ?!"

John was still facing the office, rearranging the files Clive had left behind : he seemed oddly calm for someone who'd have to announce both the nomination and resignation of the new prime minister. "Plenty, actually. But the more important part, the one we should focus on, is naming your successor."

Clive scoffed. "Why do I have a say in this ?"

"You don't," John simply answered. "But you'll have to confirm your official resignation, therefore leaving this post to the next best candidate. I believe Bill Hawks was the people's second choice."

Clive froze. That scum would actually get the job ? After everything he had done to keep him from it ?

Clive didn't want to rule the country- he had only run for the job to keep Bill Hawks from getting it. And he had succeeded ! But quitting now would give Hawks both the job and the pride to come out on top.

He couldn't do that. He didn't want to run the country, wasn't fit for it. He had no idea how to do it and he didn't want to learn. He hated this government, never cared about its people.

John was still rearranging the papers on the office, a peaceful smile on his face. He knew he had won, because winning was all that these miserable people cared about.

Well, Clive wouldn't let any of them win- not as long as he was head of this country. "Come on," he said, putting his coat on. "I have a speech to give."

#I actually headcanon that Clive could be a decent leader if he really tried to =) #But it would only be by accident ahah #Like he'd make a terrible decision NO ONE would have gone with and it turns out fine but it doesn't go the way he thought it would #People hate him as a person but as a leader he's passable. So it's all good really =) #clive dove #professor layton and the unwound future #professor layton and the lost future #My art #My writing #Ask

[cockdestroyer32]

some plans...

tangerine x fem!reader

word count: 2k

tags: SFW, bickering, violence, murder (they are assassins after all), tension, drinking, rivals to (not really) lovers

summary: after reluctantly teaming up in order to survive, you and tangerine disagree about what would be the best plan to use, leading to you having to save him.

authors note: I have a really specific taste in fics and couldn't find too many that fit those strict requirements so I just decided to write one and post it lol. english is not my first language so if some things aren't correct, I apologize. anyway I love this man so much I'm abt to repeat his name three times in the mirror at 3am to see if he shows up in my room cuz I need him

The bar area was washed by the neon green light descending from the ceiling. Due to the lack of people in the room, the compartment was mainly quiet, with only the sounds of distant passengers chatting and the speeding train to fulfill that tranquility. You stood in front of the bar countertop, one elbow leaning on it, supporting the weight of your body, impatient. When you got particularly bored, you took a sip of the champagne you gave yourself the liberty of pouring. You usually didn’t allow yourself to drink on the job, but due to recent circumstances, you decided alcohol was a much-needed aid. Tangerine was “recent circumstances” of course. 

You did not, in any way, plan on teaming up with each other, but when the briefcase ended up being stolen by a third party, you found your goals aligning and decided to join forces for better chances of survival. But you truly did not expect Tangerine to be this much of a pain in the ass. You had always chosen to work alone, having control over jobs and only worrying about yourself had always been important, which is why this was so hard. Plus the fact that Tangerine was just incredibly difficult. Mainly that. Now you waited for him to return so you could continue on your little mission, and hopefully get off this train in one piece. 

You finally saw the man walking in your direction, he approached you and leaned his elbow on the countertop, mirroring you.

“Six men. Two guarding the first door, two the middle, and two the last door.” He said, looking at the passing city in the window.

“And that’s not counting the guys in the surveillance compartment?”

“No, only two there.”

“Alright. I got the 6.” You take a sip of your champagne.

“Now hold on there, darlin’ I can get the 6 guys.”

“Okay, well, so can I.”

“Well no offense love, but I can get this done way fuckin’ quicker than you.” 

You sigh. Here we go.

“Then what is your plan exactly?”

“What’d ya mean a fuckin’ plan? What do I need a goddamn plan for? Just get in there and take them on.”

“Really? That’s your plan?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He took your glass of champagne, allowing himself to take a sip, much to your displeasure.

“No offense, Tangerine, but going into a fight guns blazing isn’t exactly a tactic that works with six people, no matter how skilled you think you are.”

“Well, what is your brilliant fuckin’ plan? Enlighten me.”

“When you’re dealing with six highly trained guards all at once, your best course of action is to play a little pretend game, be obnoxious and separate a few from the rest of the group, therefore improving your odds.” You explained like an increasingly frustrated teacher on their 5th attempt at schooling a young child.

He then set your glass of champagne back on the countertop and slid it over to your side, as if saying ‘Mine, now…yours.’ “Oh so you’re gonna do some bloody theatrics is that right?”

“Yes. And they’re much more likely to believe the desperate young woman rather than the ‘Oi, now that’s bloody brilliant innit’ dude.” You mocked his accent.

“I don’t fuckin’ sound like that.”

“Beg to differ.” You mutter into your glass of champagne.

“Listen, we can stay here all night discussing what’s the best tactic to use but we are on a time crunch, and unless you let me do my fuckin’ part neither one of us is leaving this goddamn train because our corpses will be too busy being shoved inside some fuckin’ suitcases by some braindead White Death lackey.” 

He’s not wrong, you could stay here arguing all night, but you know the fucker isn’t gonna back down and there is no time, so…this time he’s gonna be having it his way. You sigh, now leaning with both elbows on the bar countertop, facing away from Tangerine, giving him no reply. He notices this quiet surrender, which of course, amuses him thoroughly. “Don’t worry love,” He continued with a smile on display. You take yet another sip of your champagne, apparently smudging your red lipstick. “Some plans…” He brushes his thumb over the corner of your mouth, cleaning it. “…are just better than others.” Then gives you the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen in your life. This little shit.

-

You made your way to the surveillance compartment with determination and poise, holding the big champagne bottle you “borrowed” from the bar, which you grievously emptied in the sink. This was going to be over quickly, and hopefully so would Tangerine’s fight. You did not have time and the necessity for a dead Tangerine on this train, you could use all the help you could get, even if that help came in the form of an incredibly irritating man with a thick mustache and a somewhat funny British accent. You couldn’t fight the six men together in case one team decided to radio the other, if no one radioed back and they noticed something sketchy was going on, they could call for backup, the last thing you fucking needed. 

“Excuse me.” You calmly announced yourself to the soon-to-be-dead men in the compartment. The room wasn’t very big, with only a small desk and a few shelves to the back and left side of the room— understandable, given all they had to do was sit and watch the security camera footage of the different parts of the train, primarily the dividing compartment, the one Tangerine was soon to be in.

“Ma’am, you cannot be in this area.” The shorter one snapped. 

“Just give me one-second sir,” You requested, holding up your finger. You set the champagne bottle down on the floor to your left, and took off your low heels, setting them down neatly to your right. The men waited in confusion, most likely assuming you were just some drunk. You picked up the bottle with your right hand.

“Okay. Let’s go.” You launched the bottle on one of the man’s faces with as much force as you could muster, then ran to the second man, wrapping your legs around his head and leaning forward, dropping you both to the ground then punched the back of his head. You kick the ankle of the champagne-bottle-struck man who falls to his knees, then kick him again in his bleeding face, knocking him out. The man you were on top of pushes you off of him, leaving you lying face up, he gets a punch in, then proceeds to strangle you. You stick your fingers inside his eyeballs causing him to loosen his grip around your neck, you push him off of you, then roll your body on the ground positioning your legs so they’ll be next to his head, proceeding to strangle him with your thighs. You hold him in a tight grip until you hear his neck snap. 

You get up off the ground and analyze the two men. Champagne bottle man was knocked out, still very much alive, so you pick up one of the glass shards from the shattered drink and stab him in the heart. Good, you’re done. You brush off your pants, adjusting them, and the screen gets your attention. It’s Tangerine, and he’s getting his fucking ass kicked. Whenever he tried to get a punch in, someone else behind him managed to strike him first. You sigh. Bloody theatrics. Those bloody theatrics could have saved you from this trouble. The men then take him to a compartment right after theirs, forcing him to sit down. The men talked a bit amongst themselves, and left him, thankfully, alive. Two men stayed back in his compartment to watch him. That’s your cue to go save this damn stubborn man.

-

“Hello? Please, please help me!” You sobbed. I mean seriously, you were actually sobbing— tears were streaming down your face, your voice was cracking…you could win a fucking Emmy with just how good your goddamn performance was right now. This was about to be the best bloody theatrics Tangerine has ever seen in his life.

“Ma’am you can’t be in here!”

“Please, please help me I’m begging you! There’s an insane British man chasing me and I think he’s trying to kill me!” The, now four, men exchanged glances with each other, knowing exactly who you were talking about and wondering what the fuck they would do with you now. “Please! I think he’s coming and I really need help, please!” You wailed, getting louder, they’re going to have to help whether they want to or not.

“Okay! okay lady, we’re going to hide and protect you okay?” One of the men seethed.

“Thank you, thank you!” You cried some more. The man took you to a tiny bathroom next to the room you were in and shut the door.

“Alright ma’am, you’re gonna need to calm down a bit, then we’re going have to find another place you can hide in alright?” He stated, not even bothering to try and sound the least bit empathetic. Now expressionless, you turn to him, smudged black makeup under your eyes making you look even more deranged. His face drops and he doesn’t have time to react to the ceramic soap dispenser you strike him in the face with. It hits him with strength, so his head bounces back hitting the wall and he falls to the ground, causing a loud thud. You get his gun, which thankfully has a silencer.

“Hey! Is everything good in there?” Our number one out of three knocks on the door. You turn the handle slowly, then open the door as fast as possible, twirling Number One around and using him as a human shield. You shoot Number Two, then Number One who you throw in front of Three to block his view, when that’s done you also shoot him. You finish off the man in the bathroom before positioning your back against the wall, waiting for one of the men who were on Tangerine-watch to come out. When he does, you kick his knee, hit his head with the gun, then shoot him in the head. You hear Tangerine wrestle with the other man who was left with him. The fight quiets down, and you take a peek— Tangerine was, expectedly, the winner.

Now, you were the one with the shit-eating grin, not bothering to hide your smugness, and wearing your pride like a badge instead.

“Don’t fucking give me that look alright? If it wasn’t for the little shit hiding behind me every time I tried to make a move I would’ve won the fight.” He stated, seemingly trying to convince himself more than you. He was way more disheveled than the last time you saw him at the bar, his face sweaty and hair untidy, with wild curls falling in front of his face, much different than the slicked-back look he had beforehand.

“Mm, I don’t think so.”

“I’m a good fuckin’ fighter okay?”

“Oh I believe you, but like I said, it’s not about the fight, but the plan— my plan, which was better, and ended up saving your ass at the end of the day.” 

“Okay fine, yeah. Your plan was much better and we should have gone with it from fuckin’ the beginning, is that what you want me to say, love?”

“Thank you, and you’re welcome, now you know you should actually listen to me,” You slowly approached him. He stood with his hands on his hips, knowing he couldn’t give you any reply that would successfully defend him from this. “But hey, don’t worry about it, ‘cuz sometimes some plans…” You take another step towards him and tuck one of his loose curls behind his ear with your finger, tracing it down the side of his face, then letting it linger on his jawline. “…are just better than others.” You smile and give him two taps with the palm of your hand. Now you can both continue on your mission, and this time you’d do it with a smile on your face, knowing you proved Tangerine wrong. You are definitely not letting him forget about this. Ever.

#bullet train #tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x y/n #tangerine x you #tangerine x fem!reader #bullet train fanfic #aaron taylor johnson

[stunning-eclipse]

A rant on Emperor Nefarious’ signs of BPD

So, you’ve heard me rambling about this for a while, and I’ve been super ecstatic to begin talking about this. 

Let me preface this by saying... I also happen to have BPD. If you don’t already know, BPD is Borderline Personality Disorder, and it impacts every faucet of reality in your life. The way you see yourself, others, the world as a whole. Hopefully not only will this make more people understand BPD, but also help others understand why the Emperor is such a special character to me.

SO! Let’s get on with it. Let’s start with the most obvious thing about him and go on from there...

PART ONE: HIS NEED FOR AFFECTION AND OBSESSION WITH HIS IMAGE.

In the entirety of Rift Apart, there is one thing that the Emperor will NOT let you forget... and it’s that he is flawless and deserves to be loved. Now, while yes, part of this can be attributed to narcissism (which I will touch upon later in this little essay), part of it can also lead back to the fact... one of the key things that causes BPD is a childhood lack of affection. It can lead us to crave affection much more than any regular member of society, and due to that, we may do odd things to gain said affection. One of the more common methods is dubbed “love bombing”, where, in order to receive affection, we will show affection first. In more toxic faucets, we will love bomb those we don’t even relatively like or care about, we just need the affection. That leads me back to the Emperor... “Do not fear that sensation of cold scrutiny washing over your body. It is only our Emperor’s unyielding love for you.”

There are several instances of the Emperor love bombing his citizens, albeit very falsely. His personal assistant’s promises of how much he loves them all, how he spoils them with parties and music all in his image. After all, if he shows them love... he deserves it in return, yes? And if his love fails to be returned, it’s been shown he does not take that lightly. 

When love bombing fails for someone with BPD and we do not receive what we deem “adequate” affection back, we can sometimes get rather irrational. We’ll either start to believe we aren’t loved back, or perhaps you hate us? Our thoughts can spiral easily into the worst, leading us to shut people out or even cut people out entirely over things like this... and here is the Emperor, cutting people out of the equation the moment they don’t show affection back. 

If he was merely narcissistic, he would not show that “love” back.

“I REFUSE to be a footnote in history. I-- I AM history!”

Another point is his undying need to keep his image intact. And no, I’m not meaning his physical image. I mean his status. He can’t bear lose importance, and he will stop at nothing to stay special to everyone.

“They all love me... YOU all LOVE me! I am the destined Emperor of this dimension-- of EVERY dimension!”

He needs that love and importance. Without it, one can only imagine how insignificant he must feel. That’s another factor of BPD that a lot of us struggle with... the fact that, if something ever happens or goes wrong, perhaps we make one small mistake. Or one bad thing is said about us from someone who happens to dislike us... immediately, we begin to panic. It’s the end for us, we’ll lose everything. Our entire image is fouled, soiled, ruined. So in a desperate panic, we do all we can to regain that status, that image, we “lost”, even if no one sees us differently... 

Once we become important to others, we can’t stand the possibility of losing said importance. If someone becomes more important to someone we’re closed to, we can view that person as an enemy of ours, a rival of sorts. We get over it eventually of course, but our judgement can become clouded for a while, especially around the ones that “ruined our image”.

PART TWO: HIS MOOD SWINGS. DEAR GOD HIS MOOD SWINGS. OH, AND PERSONALITY SHIFTS.

“That’s it...? Where’s the joy, the bliss...? The murderous enlightenment? Why don’t I feel any different?”

Now this is something that certainly doesn’t need much explaining, now does it? The Emperor certainly has some mood swings if I’ve ever seen them. And boy, is it just as bad with BPD. Say one wrong thing, and we will go from happy and chipper to dreading every second with you. Sometimes, you don’t even have to say something. Anything can throw us down into a spiral... and anything can also throw us into a chipper, upbeat mood.  “What could you possibly know about success, you-... That’s it! I haven’t really won yet! There is still so many other dimensions waiting to be conquered!”

Our own thoughts can shift our mood significantly. There need not be a trigger to any of our moods, merely a simple thought can swing our emotions entirely. Must I really go in depth any further? 

“Ahh... Oh NO! The thankless, uninspiring dimensions are collapsing?! Oh, how COULD I?!”

I’ll go ahead and throw in the goal shifts in here as well. The mere fact that, during a clear meltdown his entire goal shifted from ruling all dimensions to destroying all dimensions is yet another small sign but really its more attributed to the whole personality shift issue for me. But I do understand that he could’ve also been having a slight personality shift issue as well, as his entire persona was thrown out the window during that latter half of the fight.

PART THREE: HIS “FAVORITE PERSON”, DOCTOR NEFARIOUS (HEAR ME OUT ON THIS.)

“Sargasso needs to Sargass-GO.”

“AAHAHAHAHA- ahem... aahhahhaha...!”

Now, I’m not going to act like the two had a good relationship. They certainly did not. But a good relationship is not what defines a favorite person. A favorite person is more so the one you are obsessed with, the one you can’t stand being away from you, the one you both trust the most... and trust the least. You’ll love them, then question if you want them around. They’ll see your best, and they’ll see your worst... they’ll be there for you during your bad moments and be there during your best... And that’s what the Doctor was for the Emperor.

The mere fact that he kept the Doctor around for as long as he did, and right beside him? How he genuinely lost it at one of his jokes, at how he actually opened up about his obvious depression he was feeling despite having “eliminated his allies”? There’s so much evidence at Doctor being genuinely important to him, despite clearly also hating his guts. He’s obsessed with having him around and doesn’t want him away, or else he would have either killed him or shoved him away to do his dirty work just as he does with his personal assisstant. 

“Rivet? You... are no longer in exile?! What has gotten INTO you lately?! Ha! I was so used to you being dull!”

The only other person he’s shown a genuine obsession for is funnily enough... Rivet. He made armor for her, clearly in hopes of her joining his side someday. Also, the fact he genuinely seems to know her better than any of the other rebels is interesting as well. Clearly they are rivals, but I do believe he genuinely wants her on his side. Either for the fact she has obvious potential, or perhaps he wanted a genuine friendship of sorts, though I... highly doubt that. Most likely, she was just seen as an asset, a valuable potential one at that.

And...

Last but CERTAINLY not least...

PART FOUR: NARCISSISM.

“And boy I’m so freakin’ hot!”

“You’re scalding...”

Believe it or not, narcissism is not a trait only found in NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder), but it is also most certainly found in BPD as well. Although less common, some of us certainly struggle with it. While I struggled with it much more when I was younger and didn’t quite have a grip on my disorder yet, it’s definitely an issue that I struggle with on some occasions. This is one of the odd portions of the disorder that, if had, can make diagnosing whether someone has NPD or BPD harder. 

I don’t necessarily think I need to explain the Emperor’s narcissism. He loves himself. A LOT. Perhaps (definitely) too much. Statues of him across the city, his music playing everywhere, a club named after him, etc etc. The man has an ego the size of his own city, and yet it crumbles just as easily as his mental state seems to. What differentiates his narcissism from NPD and BPD is all the other signs of BPD. People with NPD fail to show affection and, while the Emperor certainly doesn’t show it adequately, he certainly love bombs like one would with BPD. Also, the clear favoritism with Doctor and Rivet, as well as his need for affection... That’s the other big one. People with NPD are less obsessed with needing affection, yet the Emperor cannot handle a mere few moments without being praised by his people. 

PART FIVE: WRAPPING THIS ESSAY UP.

Basically, what the goal was in this was to show that the Emperor is a much more three-dimensional (haha... get it-) character than some may have been led to believe. He’s a character I related with a lot due to my own struggles, so I immediately felt connected with him. Oh, and I’m sure I missed a point or two, so if I forgot something I’ll either add it later, or feel free to ask me to address other things you may have questions about!!! I love explaining more about the disorders I struggle with, especially since people with BPD are largely misunderstood sadly enough. While we may handle a lot of toxic traits, we do typically get a strong grip on them. The Emperor just hasn’t-

I will also admit that I am basing these off of my own experiences with BPD, and each experience is different. While some with BPD don’t struggle with narcissism at all, some do. While some might not struggle with needing affection, some do. All people with disorders have varying experiences, and that is an important distinction. In the end, all I really have to say is if you struggle with any of these issues, definitely reach out to someone you trust or a therapist and they will help you as much as they can <3 it’s hard having BPD, but a happy life is achievable. It may not be easy, but with enough dedication and determination, it’s possible.

#mental health #mental illness #bpd #borderline personality disorder #npd #narcissistic personality disorder #ratchet and clank #ratchet & clank #rac #r&c #ratchet and clank rift apart #ratchet & clank rift apart #emperor nefarious #nefarious #doctor nefarious #rivet #dr nefarious #dr. nefarious #sorry for how long this is wow #i went on for a LONG time huh #ive been writing this for 2 hours now and ive been planning it for like. a week #hope you guys enjoyed :)

[tanetime]

I wanted to make bios for Wyneer's masks WEEKS ago to formally introduce them but I've had no time. So, here's the ref sheets I've been using for Art Fight for all of the masks who have portrait art so far.

I hope this helps people who hadn't been introduced them yet understand them a bit better! (And if it doesn't - ask me about them!)

Don't think about Wyneer's masks as alternate personalities. Think of them more as his OCs that he spontaneously manifested into existence via his masks.

I'll talk about each one a little more under the cut.

Fright is the first mask Wyneer made, and acts appropriately scuffed. Constantly throttled by adrenaline, he spends his time having non-stop panic attacks and sobbing his way through awkward social interactions. He chills out when Enlightened... but not by very much. He often wonders if Wyneer made him poorly as a joke.

Lay is just a normal hardworking guy from the South, which begs the question of how he got here, or why he can't remember his name or where he comes from, or what happened to him that he's like this. His stoic and workaholic nature belies an anxious mind that is desperately trying to remember itself... or wonder if there's truly anything to remember at all.

Brave is a tactician who hails from a distant time. Though he looks fierce, he is affable towards fellow Survivors and is very easy to impress. While he is intelligent, there are some things that elude his archiac understanding of the world. He rarely talks, but his speech tends to be poetic when he does. The markings Wyneer drew on his mask bear little significance to him personally.

Boutey was designed to be a leader, and accomplishes it via manipulation. Though he puts on a front of ditzy, cutesy helplessness, he is extremely intelligent and narcissistic. He believes all people are as 'fake' as he is and rarely trusts others. If he becomes fond of an intensely trusting person, he can sometimes become protective of them, fearing others will take advantage of them.

Crimson is loud, dim-witted, obnoxious, and incredibly vain... but loves with his whole heart and is unfailingly supportive to his friends. He is good to vent to if you need metaphorical advice that doesn't make a whole lot of sense. His pyrokinetic powers are tied to his emotions, so Wyneer made him mostly unable to feel anger; something that privately leaves Crimson weirded out.

Azure routinely sets himself on fire to keep others warm. He worries extensively about the wellbeing of those around him, and despises people who are bullies. He tends to bottle up his emotions and lash out when pushed to his limit. He speaks with a Minnesotan accent, but does not remember where he comes from. He considers the other gem masks to be his family and is often apologising for their behaviour.

Blake is lost in his own little world. The arrangement of gems on his mask has caused him to become attuned to an incomprensible garble of otherworldly noise that he claims is the voice of his gods. He is rarely emotive (when not jubilliant), fears nothing, has no grasp of personal space, and often speaks in complete nonsense with the impassioned maner of a preacher. He cares for no one but Wyneer - whom he refers to as his 'host.' He has an uncomfortably clingy fascination with people who work with shadow or lunar magic. Whoever Blake was when Wyneer first made him has been gone for a very long time.

Saffron's mask was created by Blake during an attempt at refining Wyneer's designs. Saffron's magical abilities are more refined, but his body suffers heavily as a result. He is constantly charged with magic from his gems and is extremely irritable and restless if not worn out. He cares strongly about his self-image and will not allow himself to fail, and is similarly critical of others. He is kind towards younger or more anxious Survivors however, and has a playful side - especially when 'playfully' antagonising his friends... He and Blake do not get along. Not that Blake cares about him to begin with.

#tane t art #tane t illu #my ocs #don't starve #don't starve oc #dst oc #dst #wyneer #fright n flight mask #laborious mask #brave face #about face #crimson mask #azure mask #blake #jet black mask #saffron mask #SO MANY TAGS IM SORRRYYYYYY

[saltygilmores]

THOUGHTS WHILE WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS: S3/EP6: AKA LORELAI GILMORE HAS FINALLY LOST HER FEW REMAINING MARBLES (PART 5)

This is going to be a short one because I need as much room as possible for the next scene (if you don't know what it is, you'll know soon) so let's get this out of the way. Lorelai begins to stew in a jealous rage over Sherry and Crusty's Relation-Shit. . So she escapes to the bathroom, where she opens Sherry's medicine cabinet, tilts her picture frames and yanks some towels off the wall.

Okay Lorelai but that was the only thing Sherry got right about the little scheme she hatched to kidnap Rory (again).

A custody battle has broken out out between Sherry and Lorelai as they fight over who gets custody of Rory on weekends, like she's 4 years old or the class hamster. ( as if Rory isn't 18 years old and as if this Creepy Sherry person has any say in absolutely anything ever on Earth). Mini Lorelai Jr. here is a pathological people pleaser and it's pretty much 95% Lorelai Senior's fault she ended up this way, that's why she agrees to everything. Wait, why is Lorelai suddenly taking her anger out on Rory? What is happening? But on the other hand, please, Rory... GROW A SPINE. I'm begging you.

Okay, NOW what crazy nonsense baloney are you on about, woman? Please. Enlighten us on why you wished this unborn child who is not biologically related to you in any way and holds aboslutely no fucking signifiance in your life should have been a boy.

Jesus Christ, Lor. Rory: She couldn't choose the sex of her baby. Lorelai: Well if Ms Mani Pedi can schedule her birth then she could do that! In 2002 the year of our Lord Lorelai has never heard of scheduled c-sections. But "I have to do GiGi at 5" is still one of the great unexpected one liners of this season that got a genuine laugh out of me, figures it would have to come from someone so unimportant as Creepy Sherry. I'm just going to quickly summarize Lorelai's break from reality (which she only had an extremely tenuous grasp on to begin with before this point) and why she's mad at Sherry: -Sherry's baby is a girl -Sherry's baby is a scheduled c-section -Sherry enjoys manicures and pedicures (something that is hardly out of reach for middle class peasants like Lorelai, you can even get a manicure at Walmart for Pete’s sake) -Rory and GiGi sound "identical" (Ror-Ee/ Gee-Gee) so Sherry is stealing her baby’s name from 18 years ago -Sherry referred to Gigi as a "ballerina" -Sherry has a personal preference for the color green instead of pink for her infant girl --Lorelai hates the jazz music being played at the baby shower; she's also upset imainging that Sherry is forcing her poor Crusty to listen to boring jazz against his will, tainting his apparently perfect taste in CrustyMusic (and I wish Sherry would force Crusty listen to so much boring jazz that he falls asleep and starts sleepwalking and walks through a plate glass window, but we can't always get what we want can we Lorelai) -Sherry had the unmitigated gall to pick up Crusty's cd collection from piles on the floor and organize the cds neatly onto a shelf (this one really upset her) -Lorelai is laboring under not one but two simulatenous insane delusions, one being that Sherry is desperate to copy her right down to her (ADULT) child's (not choose-able) sex and name, but at the same time Sherry is also sticking her nose up at Lorelai’s unremarkable middle class-ish motherhood with her trim pregnancy figure, fancy scheduled birth, organized home, sophisticated taste in music and pedicures -Lorelai wants to "mess up her bed" and "rearrange her whole house" and "un color coordinate her sheets" as if poor Sherry's bed hasn't already been tainted by having sex with Crusty on those sheets -Lorelai wasted her day because she could have been out shoe shopping instead of attending this baby shower (who's fault is this? I thought Rory had a driver's license? What ever happened to that? Why couldn't Rory drive up to Boston alone? You offered to take her). -Lorelai asks Rory if she could set Sherry's house on fire.

#gilmore girls #denise rewatches gilmore #tdde #take the deviled eggs #gilmore girls season 3 #rory gilmore #lorelai gilmore #insanity #creepy sherry

[halucygeno]

Pacifism in “Hard to Be a God”

[Minor spoilers for the book - discussion of overarching themes with a few minor plot points as examples. There’ll be another warning for MAJOR SPOILERS hidden under “Keep reading”, just before the conclusion.]

(All quotes are from the 1973 translation by Wendayne Ackerman.)

One thing I adore about “Hard to Be a God” is that its protagonist, Anton, is a genuinely nuanced, thought-provoking depiction of a pacifist character.

Some media with this kind of protagonist falls into the trap of implying that the hero has some sort of innate kindness or softness to them. And because they are, individually, “such a compassionate person”, they can do the whole enlightened “forgive and forget, love thy enemy, everyone can be redeemed” shtick. The writer implicitly rewards this “kind nature” by giving the hero overpowered abilities which vindicate their beliefs, and let them continue displaying their kindness (see: Naruto, Steven Universe).

In “Hard to Be a God”, this is inverted. The main reason Anton can resolve fights without bloodshed is because:

A) He was raised by a much more advanced civilisation which imparted onto him their humanistic philosophy. His job literally demands him to be a passive observer who avoids conflict. B) He has access to modern combat techniques and technology (extra-durable chainmail, fast-acting medicine, a helicopter and the ability to generate gold) which give him a significant advantage (both in direct confrontations and in negotiation). C) [speculation] Other Noon Universe novels such as “The Inhabited Island” and “The Waves Extinguish the Wind” suggest that Earth’s scouts are genetically modified, giving them greater strength and survivability (though I’m not sure whether this is the case in “Hard to Be a God”, as it takes place much earlier in the timeline).

Anton’s privilege and power are not implied to be a reward for his goodness; it’s the opposite. The fact that he has privilege and power is what gives him the opportunity to be good. This is explicitly drawn attention to when he says things like:

“Remember that they do not know what they are doing; and that they are almost all free of guilt. And that is why you must have the patience of Job, patience, patience [...]”

The general doctrine of Earth’s scouts is not to judge the locals’ moral depravity, because the latter weren’t brought up in the same favourable social conditions as the former.

But ok, even with the deck stacked so heavily in Anton’s favour, he still struggles to be a pacifist. After spending so much time in a world that he sees as backwards - full of filthy brutes and meek, complicit peasants - he has to repress his contempt for these people. He has to manage his emotions, snapping himself out of anger fits:

"And I almost tore them to pieces, he suddenly realized. If they hadn’t run inside I would have killed them! He remembered the bet he had recently made, how he had taken a dummy clad in a double Soanian suit of armor and split it from head to toe with his sword—cold shivers ran down his back at the thought. They might now be lying here in a pool of their own blood, like stuck pigs, and he would be standing here, sword in hand, not knowing what to do ��� A fine god you are! You’ve become a beast …”

And here’s another important aspect of this: he is deeply ambivalent about this “no killing” rule. On one hand, he takes it as a moral imperative, and is revolted at the thought that he’d be capable of such savagery. On the other hand, he is angry at his own impotence. He doesn’t see his pacifism as bravery, but as passivity - a cowardly refusal to take decisive action when it is desperately needed.

After all, just being an individual saint is not enough to fix a rotten society. What good is Anton’s pacifism if everyone else is gleefully murdering each other? He can’t be everywhere at once, saving people and resolving conflicts diplomatically.

What Anton really wants is to overthrow Arkanar’s cruel leaders; he often fantasizes about staging a full-blown revolution. It’s only his pragmatism that keeps him in check. He reasons that, with how society is structured there, killing a dictator would just create a power vacuum which competing factions would try to fill by slaughtering each other and whoever else happens to be in the way, Anton included.

But, most importantly, Anton is not rewarded for his pacifism. It doesn’t make him feel good - the opposite, it makes him miserable. Nobody (outside of a very small circle of his closest friends) is “inspired by” or respects his morals. They see them as a weird idiosyncrasy which handicaps him.

[MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING FROM HERE ON, WATCH OUT!]

And in the end, after losing Kira, the person closest to him in all of Arkanar, he can no longer restrain himself. He goes on a rampage, and is punished for it - he accomplishes nothing, and his superiors immediately withdraw him from the mission. Back at home, when his old friend, Anka, hears of his exploits, she starts to fear him. The final lines of the novel are heart-breaking:

“'Anka,' he said tenderly. 'Anka, my little friend …' He held his long arms out to her. Timidly she leaned forward, then quickly jumped back a step. On his fingers … But it was not blood, only the stain of strawberries.“

The implication is clear. Anton has been tainted. He has shown to be capable of incredible cruelty and, no matter how justifiably angry he felt at the time, the people he killed are a permanent stain on his conscience. Metaphorically, the blood is still on his hands.

In this assessment, pacifism and goodness are not exceptional qualities (at least by the standards of futuristic space communists). They’re an expected baseline. Losing your self-restraint and killing, even in extreme circumstances, is a failure.

And I mean, it makes sense. If you have the power to avoid causing bloodshed, it seems like a given that you should use it. Nobody is framed as “heroic” for keeping to this basic standard.

To me, this was so refreshing about about “Hard to Be a God”. It ticks off some of the same tropes as other pacifist protagonists (overpowered abilities and exceptional moral purity relative to their environment) but with none of the aggrandisement and hero worship. Instead of being celebrated and vindicated for doing the right thing, Anton’s only rewards are agonising moral dilemmas and the constant fear that his passivity is enabling things to get worse.

The crucial takeaway is this: PACIFISM IS HARD. Helping people in times of crisis is hard. Making society better is hard. You will have to get your hands dirty, make personal sacrifices, compromise yourself. You won’t feel all fine and dandy as you preach your pacifism from a place of comfort and moral superiority. It really takes a bit of a masochistic, martyr mentality to get anywhere with it.

(Side note: This is only loosely related, but another character that embodies this ideal is Dr. Rieux from “The Plague” by Albert Camus. He loses almost everything while working tirelessly to help his patients, but is not celebrated as a hero. He himself doesn’t view his actions as “heroic”, but simply as “common decency”.)

I think more optimistic stories about pacifism are afraid of this idea. They want to encourage kindness by framing it as simple and uncontroversial - not effortless per-se, but not too challenging either. And they also aggrandise it by framing kind individuals as exceptionally wonderful.

And I don’t know, this irks me. Aren’t we setting the bar very low for humanity, if just being a decent person is so praise-worthy? Isn’t it cynical and contradictory to imply that we’ll be rewarded for our “selflessness” with admiration, and our actions will be vindicated by success? Doesn’t it inflate expectations and set people up for disappointment when we portray kindness as easy, flowing naturally from some innate “good nature” within us?

I know, I’m rambling at this point. But that’s kind of why I love sci-fi - it thrives in this ambiguity and existential dread. It doesn’t give me reassuring narratives about heroism, but asks hard questions and trails off with no satisfying conclusion.

God, this book is so good. The Strugatskys are so good.

I really need to finish that Roadside Picnic essay.

(Huge thanks to Wendayne Ackerman and later Olena Bormashenko for translating the book into English, Irena Piotrowska, into Polish, and Simeon Vladimirov, into Bulgarian.)

#Hard to Be a God #Strugatsky brothers #essay #book analysis #Трудно быть богом #Братья Стругацкие

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME ⟶ THE WOMBATS / B - Z Sides ( PART TWO ) always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse.

"I watch repeated wildlife shows to keep my mind ticking."

"I bought a book of Churchill quotes and I thought it might be interesting."

"At least it diverts attention from the things that we all know we should say."

"What a wonderful distraction you are."

"Our friends keep vanishing for their jobs in the city, then reappear as vacant ghosts with titles that no one understands."

"I hope my thoughts don't stray off topic again."

"Keep your feet grounded."

"This is not the time for grandiose."

"Something's not right here."

"The paint watches me as I dry here."

"The pain watches me as I waltz through this black hole."

"I don't feel violent."

"I feel somewhat enlightened."

"The best of us always seem to have the most downfalls."

"When did we get addicted to the cure?"

"Sometimes I get aggravated with my concept of time."

"I am still withdrawing from you."

"Our heads tell us to stop as our chests scream out for more."

"I can see an avalanche rushing towards me."

"Something's making that snow look so inviting."

"I miss the safety of home, but perhaps this is what I need."

"We're young, we're free."

"We're ultimately in denial."

"What's left to lose?"

"We never get what we want without hard work and big compromise."

"I'm not bitter all the time."

"It's not the sociopaths that scare me."

"I'll never get rid of this false endeavor."

"You're so infuriating."

"Was I that infuriating?"

"It's not the Illuminati that scares me, it's the people further down the ranks."

"The creatures like you that are so controlling."

"Rest assured, I'll be on my little-caped crusade."

"God knows that I don't hate you."

"My hand hovers over a button of self-destruct."

"I've lost something that was an integral part of me."

"How can I ignore someone that makes me so happy?"

"It's not impeccable wit that makes me smile."

"She had said something that made me fall to my knees."

"You were always the emo type."

"I don't care much for fashion or socialites."

"The nihilists always get my vote."

"All she ever wanted was a little direction."

"All she ever made where the worst impressions."

"I'm a robot like you."

"I'm a maze of coiling wires held together with glue."

"I'm an artificial man with some artificial plans."

"Instead I pondered my fate."

"I know there's something wrong deep inside."

"She's gonna try and suck my blood tonight."

"What are you gonna do to me?"

"Don't strip me of my dignity."

"Let's steer from trouble just as far as we can."

"Just look at what you've done to me."

"You've stripped my of my dignity."

"You've made a monster out of me."

"I'll wear a smile as she starts draining me of life."

"Just grant me one last request."

"I wanna go where the action is."

"What a beautiful night to be an unexploded bomb."

"Let's not apologize for who we are or what we've done."

"The worst battle is not the one fought."

"Let's hope there's no mirrors in the toilets tonight so we don't have to see what's really going on in our eyes."

"It's now cool to read fairytales as long as you rip out the end."

"Something unwelcome is moving in."

"You described me as a charming nowhere man."

"You must be sick of these rhyming metaphors."

"I've begged all that I can."

"You're a firing squad."

"Despair has its own calms."

"I remember those good old days, happily lost in my charmless nowhere place."

"The greatest fears stem from mum and dad."

"I just do the best with whatever I have."

"Don't resort to violence."

"There's more powerful tools to be found in silence."

"When did peace and love become police and handcuffs?"

"When push comes to shove, you've got to man up."

"I'm the mosquito on your wall and the doubt in your mind."

"Desperation does as desperation feels."

"You used to be my shelter from the storm."

"You were the only book to ever put me in a trance."

"I have more fun when I'm alone."

"This is relentless."

"You must think I'm a fool."

"Why the wandering eye?"

"Don't you know that it's not okay to be a narcissist."

"It's not okay to let me down like this."

"I'm her mosquito, she's my killer bee."

"Together we're something alone we can't be."

"Instead of going home, why don't you just come close."

"Let's see how far we can go."

"Let's see how lost we could be."

"I yearn to detox but I'm retoxing again."

"Don't compare me to them."

"I'd do anything for an easy life."

"Sense didn't help, sense left me blind."

"Fear and coconut water will always be my favorite blend of drink."

"Happy hour must end just as our darkest hours."

"Twist your knife deep into me."

"We're different creatures with similar needs."

"If we can't be kamikaze lovers, then we can never be friends."

"Now we're much too close to be driven apart."

"Why would I shake your hand when I can shake your bed?"

"Sometimes I dream of your sweet demise."

"Always playing the victim."

"You're a tormentor."

"You don't play well with others."

#rp memes #meme #memes #starter sentences #sentence starters #starter meme #rp starters #roleplay meme #roleplay