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asmosmainhoe · 6 months

Note

Hi!!! I saw ur request is opening, so i hope u don’t mind this request :3

So! I was wondering how the boys would react if the MC has a alter ego-a souless being living inside the MC’s body-who is the host (kinda like Seele from honkai impact 3rd).

Like the two have polar opposite personality, and they can exchange eachother’s places in situations, and they get on well with eachother

I hope this isn’t so confusing

Thank you! <3

I haven't played Honkai Impact, but the way you described it reminds me of Ling and Greed from Fullmetal Alchemist so I took that as inspiration🤗

Hope I got it right, love!

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MC shares their body with another soul

Gender: neutral

Warnings: heavy language

Lucifer

Diavolo has warned him about your unique situation, but Lucifer completely underestimated it

The soul you share your body with is the extreme opposite of you so when you the soul switch places it's kinda like a slap in his face

Your entire posture changes and there is a change in not only your tone, but your voice as well. For outsiders it's not as noticeable, but he's spending enough time with you to take notice the split second it happens

Lucifer wouldn't be Lucifer if he doesn't use that to his advantage. Of course he's not using you for evil schemes and such. He assigns you tasks only someone with your "ability" can complete

He respects your for carrying this burden since he can't imagine that it's something you feel fullt comfortable with. I mean you have someone with you at all times

After every switch of souls he puts his hand on your to signal that he's always right be your side

If you need someone to talk to his office is always open for you

Mammon

Fucking weirded out at first

"What the fuck, MC? What has gotten into you?"

When you explain the situation to him he will remain suspicious and cautious, but not for too long. After a while he even finds it kinda cool

"So if ya get caught stealing you can just blame it on your soul, huh?"

Ever since he said that you've been using the excuse everytime you got in trouble which fills him with pride

No one can stop your shenanigans now! The second soul proves itself to be quite useful in lots of situations. When something doesn't go according to plan you just switch

Mammon calls you his lucky coin

"Ya know, because there are two sides of you!"

"How creative."

"DON'T MOCK ME, DAMMIT!"

Leviathan

He tries so hard not to geek out over this

I mean come on! There are so many video games, books and anime shows that have a character with the exact same thing going on! How can you expect him to stay quiet?

To this day Levi is still listing up characters to you and asking questions about it. Most of them have already been asked several times to the point where you lost count

"I'm sorry! It's just so cool! It's like this guy from-"

And there he goes again

Whenever he notices that you switched with your soul he has to suppress his classic "OOOOOHHHHHHHH"

That's how cool he thinks it is

"Do you have any special powers?"

"How often do you want me to answer that?"

"I have to make sure!"

Satan

First of all: can this ability be used to harm Lucifer in any way?

If so you guys are gonna have a field trip, but it took a while to get the other soul on board with it

You soon realize how the soul gets a kick out of ticking Satan off to see when his patience and self control run out, but since you prefer not to get killed you quickly get it under control

"Do they have a problem with me?"

*nervously* "Noooo, haha, they just like to mess around."

Thankfully the both of them find a common interest which is being an inconvenience to Lucifer. If you're not into that then you can just blame it on the fact that you don't always have full control over your body, but if you do wanna help them then be my guest

Satan does some research to understand you and your situation a bit better and shares his findings with you

Asmodeus

Oh is that the reason he can't seduce you? Is it, because there is always someone in the back who isn't affected by his power? How fascinating!

He's the only one to notice ALL changes in your looks and posture when you switch since he spends so much time admiring you, but Lucifer is definitely on second place in noticing the switch

In Asmo's eyes the change is incredibly extreme which draws him in even more. Both you and the other soul are so beautiful

"It's kind of romantic when you think about it."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, love, I don't even know how to explain it to myself."

Compliments both you and the other soul whenever he gets the chance. It warms your heart a little bit to see him so open and accepting

Beelzebub

"So you have to eat twice as much?"

"No, it's after all still just one body."

He still brings you extra food just in case

Beel asks you some questions here and there, but all in all he doesn't really talk about. Since it's a thing he accepted pretty quickly he doesn't feel the need to question you about it

He still can't help himself, but get worried whenever a sudden change between you and the soul happens. Whenever you regain control over your body you look slightly worn out so he's afraid it might hurt

There is never a need for you to explain yourself. He will scoop you up in his arms and keep you close for the rest of the day

But you can assure him that you're fine. Even the smallest confirmation calms him down

Belphegor

How can we use this to make Lucifer's life as miserable as possible 2.0

Just like Satan he will try to convince you to take part in his almost deadly pranks

No one, but him knows that you and the soul switch bodies while you sleep as well. He doesn't think it's intentional though

Belphie can tell from the way your fingers twitch and he can feel it in your dreams. When he's in them while you switch it feels like the entire air is being knocked out of his lungs. It's a terrifying, but also fascinating experience

You never knew about it until he told you and you two start talking about these incidents a lot

"Why do you stay when it happens? It doesn't sound like it's fun."

"Do you seriously think that small thing will keep me away from you?"

---

Masterlist

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zarvasace · 1 month

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Agony and Lost, dark Hyrule and dark Wild :) my long descriptions and a bit more art beneath the cut.

Masterpost

Agony

Hyrule is a survivor and a healer. He's ruthless when he has to be but above all, he perseveres and he fixes things when he can. Agony is a Hyrule who gave up, gave in, and now hurts others out of selfishness. He's one of those fey that gleefully leads people to their doom just because he can. Nothing he eats will ever satiate him, and he doesn't often care to try. When he does, it's something meaty and raw and bloody, like the flesh of monsters or unfortunate travelers, and that can calm him down for a while.

Agony is probably the cruelest of these Darks, though he doesn't care for complicated schemes to cause emotional or mental anguish. (And he's not very smart, so he doesn't bother trying to be.) He's more likely to go for a knife than cutting words. He doesn't mind following orders, especially if it's Depth giving them, though he'll wander off and do something else if he doesn't find the orders interesting enough. He doesn't really plan ahead.

Agony fights like a cornered animal, with an old sword or broken glass or his nails and sharp teeth if he needs to. He has spells like Hyrule, though Agony's are generally weaker. He likes using Thunder. He's technically the group's healer, with Life, but unlike Hyrule's, Agony's healing causes even more pain. He gets some use out of Shield and Jump, but can't quite flame up his sword the way Hyrule can. He can't turn into a fairy—he's more undead than he is fey. He has a unique spell he calls Corruption: it lets him spread some of his inherent darkness out by touch. For a being of light, it is painful and dangerous. For a being of darkness, it is refreshing and rejuvenating.

As for his design: Agony has Hyrule's shape (if emaciated), but is colored much much darker, to evoke the plain black silhouette of the Dark Link enemy in The Adventure of Link. In contrast to Hyrule's warm browns and greens and golds, Agony is cool-toned and so dark you can't see his features clearly. His eyes are toxic green, as if he's absorbed some of the sickness of his world. His hands and feet are bony and lighter, both for some design contrast and to emphasize the bony structure. His hands are not healer's hands, with the long fingers and claws. Even his ears are sharp, and where many of the Darks have fangs, Agony has a full mouth of sharpened teeth.

Agony is what Hyrule would be if Hyrule stopped trying so hard to be good and ran in the other direction. Agony is one of those who will torment and murder his Light without a second thought, if he could.

Lost

Lost is dark Wild.

What has he lost, you ask? Well, unfortunately, the answer is “everything.” He’s smart, but he lost any hope. He lost his memories. He lost any friends or attachments or love he might have had. He never knows where he is, and sometimes forgets what he’s doing while he does it. He has no warmth left. (Of course, he never actually had a lot of those things in the first place. But he is born from Wild's hopelessness and despair, so he knows that part of him once had light and love. A deeper part of Lost might know exactly what he's doing.)

Lost is completely and totally an agent of the Calamity and Ganon. He's in more intimate contact with the forces of monsters and corruption than anyone else, and occasionally goes over Depth’s head to do things the darkness specifically asks him to do (if he can remember.) He takes orders without argument. The others find him very annoying to talk to, because while he's fairly quiet, he cycles through the same few topics over and over. He has to constantly be reminded where to go and what to do. Mirage is, surprisingly, the least annoyed by Lost and thus most likely to get Lost babysitting duty.

Due to his corruption, Lost has an unusual ability: he can, to an extent, control Malice. That means he can plant orders in monsters’ heads and monitor their progress, usually via those black-and-orange Malice eyes stuck on one of them. For that reason, the group can't leave him behind, much as they'd like to sometimes. He's integral to every plan they make because of the monster thing. Nobody ever asks him what he wants to do or what he cares about, because he'll forget about it anyway. If necessary, they just lie and tell him that he agreed earlier. He trusts the others a little too much, judging by how badly they treat him.

As for his design: Lost is dull and bleached of color. He has lost his zest for life and his blue eyes, replaced by those of Malice. His scars pulse with silvery Malice, and it's unclear whether it actively hurts him or not, but chances are good. He wears a necklace of teeth, but has forgotten whether they're shark teeth (implying a Zora) or just monster teeth. His tunic and cloak are the same as Wild’s, but he's forgotten what they mean. That in itself is Wild’s worst nightmare—wearing the Champion’s Tunic not because he's proud of it or because he wants to remember the others, but because it's simply a convenient piece of cloth.

Lost is a dulled, downtrodden, resentful Wild. He doesn't care about Wild at all. His purpose is survival, and he will fight for it, as best he can.

This isn't the best art but I had fun with them :)

#my art #linked universe #lu z darks au #not the best art or anything but i had tons kf #*tons of fun #so there

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lady-ashfade · 9 months

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Hi! I've taken a gander at your writing and I LOVE it! If possible, I'd like to make a request of some hcs (or a short drabble, either is fine) of Astarion x a gender neutral, autistic!Tav? Perhaps they've spent a long time masking and have been terrified of telling him about their neurodivergence, but eventually (very nervously) tell him after some time into their relationship? I'm curious to know how he might react. I've fallen head over heels for this man and it would mean a lot to me as someone who's still working to fully embrace their autism. Thank you for your time 💜 ♾🌈

Hidden Truth

This is very short so I apologize! It’s also kinda shitty because I’ve never done much about this before

Astarion x Autistic!Reader HC’s

I do not have autism, and don’t know much about it. But how ever I have seen a lot about it because I have a lot of symptoms so I looked it up to be more in depth with this. I’m so sorry if I get things wrong💓

Warnings: Poorly written autistic people, mention of people leaving for this, short explanation, over all kinds fluffy and a bit sad. Idk.

Astarion noticed that you weren’t like the others, there was just something about you. It wasn’t anything bad you just…Are very unique. And he loved it that.

The way you looked around each cave or place you visited and found something cool. Your little face lights up and starts to squeal and shake your hands around.

He loved how you got so excited over things.

Then when you looked around for a clue of what to say, you tensed up when people cried around you. Or, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time because you didn’t read the room. But, he loved to laugh about it.

Fighting was hard when there was loud sounds and he could see you flinch each time even though you had done this many times before.

At camp he noticed how you played with your hands or things in your hands. But he hated when he’d find you in a panic and never told him what was going on.

These are some of the things he noticed even if you tried so hard to hide it.

You had visited him outside of his tent with a plan to come clean, or to tell him. You loved him and wanted him to know about you, but it was so hard. You often dreamed about him calling you a “freak” and leaving you. It always made you sick to your stomach.

“Why the look? You’d think my presence would make you smile.” He’s tease and inch closer, swaying his body.

“I um- I have something I’d like to talk to you about.” The tone in your voice made him slightly worried but he didn’t show it. Only smirking and showing you to the log in front of the fire. “Anything you’d like, darling.”

You sat down next to him and began to pour your hear out to him. Explaining that you had autism and what the entailed, his confused face made it almost laughable. But he listened to your words like you have always done with him.

Each detail he could see exactly what you were taking about having witnessed you doing so.

“And, pray tell. Have you decided to tell me now?” He saw how you panicked and his eyes went slightly wide at the wrong tone he used. “I only mean..What took you so long?”

You looked away from him and avoided eye contact as it became hard. “I was afraid you’d hate me.” Hugging yourself at the memories of many doing so. “I didn’t want you to leave me.”

His heart broke and his chest felt heavy at the thought you- His darling. Were scared to tell him. So he laughed a bit.

“Oh, how cute. There isn’t much you could do for me to leave you and especially over something you can’t control.” His hand rested onto of your thigh and he scooted closer to you. “I find your traits endearing.”

His other hands reached to cup your cheek and turn your head, he was so soft. Softer then he’d ever been before. “I- I appreciate you telling me. You’d never have to worry about telling me anything,” he leaned forward and leaned his head on yours. “It’s clear to see that you have me wrapped around your finger, and my amazing self has you around mine.” His lips turned to kiss your cheek.

Astarion doesn’t really care about it much. He learns how to make you feel better and help when you get overstimulated easy.

But he’s very protective when you get stares for a tic or anything. Pulls out his weapon and threats them, glares or just straight up yells at them.

He’s with you when you need him. Over all astarion is supportive over it.

But he was confused for a period of time and acts differently until you tell him not to. He just wants to make his baby feel safe and understood.

#Astarion Ancunin x reader #Astarion Ancunin #baldur’s gate 3 astarion #yandere astarion x reader #astarion x reader #baldur’s gate 3 x reader #x autistic reader #baldur’s gate 3

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dalishious · 1 year

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The Dragon Age Fandom’s New Favourite Charming Slaver

There is nothing wrong with appreciating and enjoying villainous characters, especially when they are done so well. Everything about Rezaren Ammosine makes a him a remarkable and fascinating villain. He’s very intelligently depicted; all aspects of his character matter to how he presents in the story. His design is that of a handsome young white man. He is animated with a graceful and gentle flow, not just in how he casts spells but literally how he carries himself. His voice has a soft and soothing tone, and he uses that soft tone as part of his powerful charisma and sway he has over the people around him, like Tassia. In fact, Rezaren uses all of these characteristics for his benefit. Because just like in real life, abusers do not always wear “I’m a shithead” signs on their chest. To the outside world, they are charming and gentle people who couldn’t possibly hurt a fly, could they? But make no mistake. Rezaren Ammosine is a villain to his core. And treating him as anything other than a villain is a grossly disrespectful interpretation to fans of colour, given the nature of his villainy.

From his very introduction, we see that Rezaren is used to getting his way, and becomes easily frustrated and angered when his will is denied. When he summons a spirit of memory to interrogate about the circulum’s creation, the spirit warns him that answering too much would be unwise. Rezaren ignores these warnings and orders the spirit to continue, to the brink of turning the spirit into a pride demon. This is called back into further example when Miriam refuses his plans for her. Again, he becomes easily angered and physically lashes out, using his magic to flare up the pain in her wound. Then to solidify the power he has over her, says “You live because I will it.”

Rezaren explains to Tassia, “Her name is Miriam. She's my sister. My mother owned her. She was to be my personal spy, assassin. Whatever was needed. My left hand, as it were. But she raised us as siblings.” Except we see how Miriam and Neb were really raised in flashbacks. We see how they were beaten for Rezaren simply tripping while playing with them. We see how they were forced to do hard labour, and told they were not allowed to own anything. And we see how Rezaren’s mother sacrificed Neb so that Rezaren would not become an abomination during his Harrowing, sending the demon into Neb’s body instead. And that raising has obviously shaped how Rezaren views this so-called siblinghood, because while he may call Neb and Miriam his brother and sister, make no mistake, he still views them belonging to him. Rezaren has no respect for their autonomy. Even in death, he defiles Neb’s body by using blood magic to put a demon inside it and controlling him. And Miriam? He cannot bare to accept that she refuses to submit to slavery again, no matter how pretty a picture he paints of them being like family. But you don’t own a sibling. “Selfish bitch! You and your ungrateful brother. You were mine!” he shouts at the very end, before Miriam fatally stabs him.

So, Rezaren is a villainous slaver. Why is it, then, that people are writing reviews praising his character while calling Miriam and her party the real baddies? Why are people saying he “deserved” a redemption arc? The only assumption I can come to is simply that people are so not used to the white guy being the one to lose in the fantasy genre, that they’re willing to bend over backwards to try and paint the only white person in the show as a victim of the #mean brown woman. Think about it. How many stories are out there where the hero is a white man? White people are conditioned to always be the centre of attention, so when they’re not for a change, they need to seek it out by shining a spotlight on whatever white man they can find. This is of course nothing unique to the Dragon Age fandom, but rather a disease found in fandom spaces as a whole. Hell, look at the Star Wars sequels, and how the bizarre love for and babygirlification of Kylo Ren was so strong it led to ruining the second and third films. This is why it’s such a relief to me that Rezaren dies in the end of Absolution, because otherwise it would truly end up a fear to me that the writers would try the same with him.

When you’re pushing Rezaren into the spotlight, you are pushing Miriam out of it. And Miriam is such a treasure of a character, it’s a crying shame to see her get so much disrespect. I have nothing against people who like Rezaren, but if your like for him goes to the extent of putting down Miriam in order to put him up, then we have a problem.

#dragon age #da absolution #rezaren ammosine #meta #fandom bs

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obsolescent · 10 months

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Talkin’ Foolish

Pairing: Leon x AFAB!GN!Reader

Summary: You reminisce on some memorable moments with Leon

Content Warnings: AFAB reader, adult themes, mentions of sex and sex toys, no gendered language, pure corniness and Leon being awkward and goofy as hell.

Author’s Note: This is so…I don’t know what this is but I wanted to have a break between the angst I’ve been writing. This is inspired by things my fiancée has said/done to me, lmao. I hope you enjoy it!

Words: 1,022

Read on Ao3

You’re used to it by now. Well…Maybe not.

There’s still some things that Leon says that makes your brain feel like it’s buffering, dial up tone and all, stuck on a loading screen as you try to catch up to what he’s said. You’re still surprised at what his mind conjures up.

He’s always had some cheesy, corny jokes he likes to use, but sometimes there’s some outta pocket, off the wall, quirky phrases and sentences he’s strung together, that you wonder how anyone could think of. Though you quickly realized it’s best not to underestimate Leon and his beautiful, unique mind.

There’s a few times that stick out more so than others.

Like one time, it’s late at night. You’ve eaten dinner, cleaned up the kitchen. Cookware, plates, utensils all put up. You’ve both settled down on the couch to watch whatever’s on, finding a movie you’ve both settled on.

You’re snacking on some candy, a sour kind, ones with those sugar crystals. Unfortunately, a few of those crystals stick in the back of your throat, causing a coughing fit. You’re quick to get it under control, sipping on some water until it starts to die down. Leon leaned towards you, patting your back. “Sorry, just got something in my throat,” You tell him, able to finally get the words out. Now that he knows you’re out of harm’s way, Leon’s concerned expression turns into a smirk. You raised an eyebrow at the change, a silent question. “Damn, baby…Would love to be in your throat.” Your jaw drops, cheeks turning redder than they did while you were catching your breath. “Excuse me?” You splutter, trying hard not to show that you did, in fact, find the joke funny. He throws his head back and guffaws, tears forming in his eyes. “Sorry honey, I couldn’t resist!” He gets out, before pulling you into a hug, kissing your scarlet cheeks.

Another time, it’s when you two are bare in bed, his hands exploring every inch of your body. You’re on top, pussy rubbing against his cock, from base to tip. Your head is thrown back, enjoying the sensation until he suddenly grabs your hips and lets out a pained grunt. Snapping your head upright, you look at him with concern and ask, “Everything okay, darling?” “F-fuck. It’s…Everything’s alright, baby, keep moving for me.” You raise an eyebrow, but do as he says, continuing your movements. Falling back into the feeling, you begin to moan and grab your chest, while involuntarily clenching down on Leon’s cock. “Damn, baby!” He chokes out, grabbing your hips again, this time lifting you up from his lap. “Grippin’ my shit like Loctite!” You just stare at him for a breadth of time, wide eyed, before cackling with laughter. He soon joins in, both falling into a laughing fit.

You’re thankful for times like these during sex, being able to laugh whenever a mishap or something comical occurs.

Another moment you can recall, you had received a package, a new sex toy. A vibrator you had been eyeing for some time, waiting for a sale to occur since it was quite pricey. Finally purchasing it, you were eager to get it out of its packaging and see it in person, excited for the time ahead where you would be using it. Pulling out and plugging the charger into the wall, setting the toy on your nightstand to charge. At this time Leon decides to enter the room, curious about the box, himself. Looking at your form bent over the nightstand, he comes up behind you, seeing you fiddle with the toy. “Ah, I see you finally got that cooter buzzer you’d been looking at.” “A what?!” You shrieked. Spinning around, mouth agape with face ablaze. “What? Don’t like the name I’ve given your toys?” He asks, smirking. “You are not calling them that!” You retort, jabbing a finger into his chest to emphasize. He grabs your wrist and pulls it up towards his face, kissing your knuckles. “Well…Can I call them whatever I want as long as I use them on you?” He questions, grinning now. “N-no! I mean…Maybe…” You stutter out, wondering how he can be so awkward and yet so seductive at the same time.

Now, the last thing that comes to your mind isn’t really something he said, but did.

You had grabbed some dirty laundry out of the hamper, taking it to the laundry room to begin a load for washing. You toss the pile into the washing machine, going to check the bin in the bathroom for any more clothing. That’s when you noticed you had dropped a shirt in the hallway, the piece falling out of the rather large pile you held. Bending down to pick up the article, Leon walks into the hallway. “Heh, my turn,” he says, thinking about earlier that day when you had swatted him on his ass as he bent over to grab a pan from the cabinet. His hand pulls back, giving you a firm smack on the behind. You squeal, the momentum from his slap tipping you forward, causing you to lose balance and topple over. “Leon!” You screech, trying to find purchase albeit none around. Leon tries to catch you before you fall over completely, unfortunately, he isn’t fast enough.

“Oh shit, baby! I’m sorry!” He says as he’s pulling you up from the ground. “Are you hurt?” He asks, moving your hair from your face to search for any abrasions. Your eyes like daggers, you glare at him, gritting out, “No…But you’re about to be!” “Oh, fuck.” He mutters, before escaping and dashing off, you hot on his tail. A chase ensues, ending with him turning around and grabbing you. He picks you up and takes you to your shared room, you squealing over his shoulder. Tossing you onto the bed, tickling you until you’re both laughing and panting for breath. He sighs, leaning down to give you a kiss. “Love you, you little rascal,” he says. “Love you too, rapscallion.” You chortle, kissing him back.

There’s never a dull moment in your house.

#o fics #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x gn!reader #leon s kennedy x gn!reader #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy drabble #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil fanfic #resident evil x you #leon kennedy x you #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy fanfic

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levi-ackerman-ds · 4 months

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Protectiveness- Levi Ackerman defends you.

Levi Ackerman's eyes narrow as he watches an altercation unfold between you and an irate merchant in the market square. You were innocently browsing through the wares when you accidentally bump into a stand knocking a few items over. The merchant of the stall launches into a furious tirade at you over the scattered items. Face red with anger, he closes a fist and tries to strike you hard across your chin. You manage to flinch back just enough that the blow was only glancing.

With a sigh Levi steps forward. "Well, well, looks like we've stumbled upon the fight of the century. Who knew a disgruntled merchant could be such a formidable opponent?"

The merchant turns towards Levi, his face scowling. "Stay out of this, Captain! This is between me and your incompetent partner!"

Levi's eyes glint with annoyance as he takes a step closer. "Incompetent, huh? You don't want to test my patience, merchant. I have a particular knack for dealing with obnoxious pests like you." Without warning, Levi swiftly closes the distance between them, his lightning-fast reflexes coming into play. With a precise and well-placed strike, he hits the merchant, causing the man to stumble to the ground.

"Now, let's clear up the misunderstanding, shall we?" Levi's voice is cold and controlled, but there is a flicker of underlying protectiveness. He stands as a shield between you and the enraged merchant. He knows you can take care of yourself but nothing infuriates him more than someone hitting you.

Levi turns to you, his eyes scanning you for any signs of injury. "You alright?" he asks. His tone is firm yet there is genuine concern in his voice. His gaze lingers on you as if cataloging every inch of you, ensuring your safety. You nod, shaken but unharmed. The glancing blow only mildly aches.

"Well, you stumbled upon an idiot with anger management issues. Just be careful next time, okay? We don't need you getting hurt over some incompetent merchant's misplaced pride." With the altercation resolved, Levi turns his attention back to the disgruntled merchant.

"Consider yourself lucky that's all you're getting. Now, leave before I decide to give you a lesson in manners." The merchant cowed by Levi's formidable presence scurries away, leaving the market square in haste.

Levi turns back to you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Idiots like him are a dime a dozen. Don't let their ignorance ruin your day. Next time, let me have the pleasure of dealing with them more harshly." You can’t help but chuckle, your tension alleviated by Levi's unique blend of sarcasm and concern. You know that despite his biting words, Levi has your back, ready to defend and protect you from any harm that may come your way.

#attack on titan #levi ackerman #shingeki no kyojin #levi aot #levi attack on titan #levi shingeki no kyojin #levi snk #aot #headcanon #gender neutral #fanfic

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mariaxxxxx · 4 months

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Fantasize (Namor x Black!Reader)

Summary: Fantasy can be sweet compared to reality.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, size difference, smut, soft!dom!, slight degradation, unprotected sex (don't do that wrap this thing), aftercare, curse words, breeding kink.

A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.

Work count: 4.113

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

K'uk'ulkan is a man who earned his position as leader of Talokan through hard work and iron-fisted leadership. Considered by his people as a God and by his enemies as an executioner, admired by many for having the good characteristics that make a king and a physical appearance as divine as paradise. He wasn't the kind of guy to start a small conversation, but he knew exactly how to persuade a person with his words. There were also social subtleties involved, which You found adorable, the man was gallant and imposing and this made people respect him more. His father thought he was arrogant and proud. You agreed with him, but chose to describe that man differently; he was a bit of a jerk, a bit of a romantic, and incredibly powerful. These are really unique characteristics.

You look up as he enters Wakanda's council room. You open your mouth to greet him, knowing it's a bad idea. Luckily for You, a loud scoff from his father makes You both focus on the conversation going on in the room. He sits, next to his father, a place fit for a royal guest.

“The situation with the Americans is under control.” His father is speaking to the leader of Talokan with a loud tone of voice, an annoying trait of his. “As agreed, our borders have been strengthened.”

“We cannot relax if we take into account the persistence of the colonizers.” As the river tribe leader speaks You watch K'uk'ulkan's eyebrows arch upward.

K'uk'ulkan is the type of man who is interested in subjects that disrespect his nation and enjoys strategic conversations to keep the colonizers' curiosity at bay. He likes to hear what his allies have to say, although he almost never agrees with the decisions made. He was a violent man indeed. He always responded to violence with more violence.

“The late king’s decision to open Wakanda’s borders brought dilemmas that needed to be resolved.” Says K'uk'ulkan with his apathetic face, but You can detect a small gleam in his eyes. You know how much he always has to fight not to reveal his dissatisfaction with being so far from home. “It is not enough to close the borders again, more brutal measures need to be carried out.”

Oh! There it was. The flame of war shining in his pupils. Two years ago Talokan went to war with Wakanda. A dispute that caused losses for both sides. It was still difficult for many to overcome the death of Queen Ramonda and the departure of the legitimate heir out of the country, leaving Wakanda once again without its protector. Black Panther chose to step aside, indefinitely, to deal with his grief. The decision was respected and accepted by the council, but the people did not look favorably on it; after all, Black Panther was the warrior spirit sent by Bast to protect us.

After the ascension to the throne of his father, King Jabari, diplomatic programs were created to formalize the ceasefire and the union of both nations to deal with attempts to steal Vibranium. His father chose to return to old policies; close Wakanda's borders and suspend metal extraction. Such an attitude made Talokan, the people and the council happy, but not the colonists who demanded the sharing of Vibranium.

The conversation went on for a long time; they talked about metal, about borders, bonds of friendship, trade routes... At some point, you disconnected and sank into the chair with your eyes fixed on the floor, shaking your head every time someone said something. Meetings were tedious for a young man like You with so much energy to burn.

“So, have we reached a decision?” Your father says suddenly, snapping You out of your thoughts. You look at everyone in the room and notice when everyone exclaims a resounding Yes. Only one says nothing. You notice K'uk'ulkan's fingers turn a little too white, as if he's gripping the arms of his chair. A clear sign of irritation and denial.

You're not surprised to see him get up and leave, but no one comments on it before your father says,

“At least he didn’t fondle us again.”

(...)

That night, You escaped the palace walls, all ready to go the moment the clock struck eleven. When this happens, you hide from the Dora Milaje. After all, it wasn't safe for a new little princess to walk the streets late at night. The big doors open and you walk out into the night. You knew the way with your eyes closed; Behind the palace, surrounded by large trees, there was a saltwater river little known to the inhabitants.

On the riverbank there was a rustic wooden cabin with opaque glass windows and a large oak door. You didn't know who built this place, but in the last two years it had become yours and his. Little by little you redecorated the place, filling it with luxurious furniture and yellow lights.

You silently enter the place, turning on the lights and observe the mess you and he made on your last date. You put on shabby clothes, tie your hair up and start working as if you were being paid to do so. You start by arranging the cushions on the couch, then clean all the dishes, counters and general surfaces. You finish by vacuuming all the sand from the place and mopping the floor with a cloth dampened with scented water. You don't care about the room. After all, he was always so tidy. Your lover would rather take You in the living room, or on the balcony, or by the river under the starlight; very few times did you use that bed.

When you finish your cleaning marathon, your watch beeps informing you that it was already midnight and he would be here soon. You take a break and run to the bathroom. After a shower, perfumed your skin and touched up your makeup, you put on a thigh-length dress made of transparent fabric. The dress leaves your breasts and intimacy exposed, so you minimize this fact by placing a padless lace bra and thin panties under the dress. You looked beautiful, like the Goddess Isis waiting for her Osiris.

You return to the kitchen to start preparing something to eat. There are just a few minutes left before the food is ready when the cabin door opens and you hear a familiar voice.

"My love, I'm here." K'uk'ulkan breaks the silence that has hung over the environment since You arrived. You don't bother shouting, you never do. You would do it in person in seconds instead of yelling at each other in different rooms. The last time you dared to perform such a vulgar act, K'uk'ulkan gave you slaps on the ass to educate you correctly. A good wife greets her husband when he walks through the door, he said as he slapped her behind. You loved being punished like that, but you hated spending three whole days without being able to sit down.

You leave the kitchen and go to him, with a big smile on your lips. You find him in the room wearing fancy clothes richly decorated with gold and jade. He keeps his shorts green with black embroidered details. You extend your arms and circle them around his neck. You give him a kiss on the lips in greeting. He returns the kiss, pressing your body against his.

"Hello my dear." You pull away from his lips and turn your head to give him a kiss on the cheek. "How was your day?"

“Stressful, but I managed to escape to be with my wife.” He smiles and plays with a strand of your hair. “Knowing that You are here to care for me fills my heart with joy.”

The kisses didn't stop as he spoke and You were struggling to remember the stew that was boiling on the stove.

“Fuck” You don’t think about the curse until a hand squeezes your hip. A subtle warning of how such verbiage was not allowed in that environment.

“Such a beautiful girl with such a dirty mouth.” He mutters. His lips brush your ear, and you have to concentrate to push him away.

“I need to go to the kitchen.”

“Just focus on me, my love.” You can feel in his tone he wants to break You, break the character You play. Like a dizzy duck You fall into his trap.

“K’uk’ulkan” You whine. "Is very fast! Our dinner will burn and it will be a disaster.”

You scream when you feel a sharp slap on your ass. His hand makes a circular movement at the impact site, easing the pain a little. This was her punishment for being so petulant towards her man.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” His voice is lower, a little dark.

"Sorry my love."

"Good girl." He removes his arms from your waist and signals you to go to the kitchen. You mumble a simple thank you and rush over to find the food boiling furiously over medium heat. You hang up and return to the room, to him.

“Now I’m all yours, my love.”

“What have You done to us?” He says it like he doesn't know. As if he hadn't instructed her what to cook.

“A stew with vegetables accompanied by cornbread.”

It was a rule established by both of you that you would do your best to please him. No easy or quick foods, no fatty foods with added sugar and pesticides. K'uk'ulkan didn't take care of himself, in his opinion. He woke up early to govern, stayed late in meetings and would certainly forget to eat if You didn't prepare something. You remembered how he claimed not to eat much, a phrase that made you want to care for this man who cared for others and neglected himself. Not that this was a surprise, however. K'uk'ulkan was born with a crown on his head, so difficulty taking time away from work and taking care of himself became commonplace.

There was also the pleasure of serving and being served. He was excited by the idea of having a wife ready to serve him at the end of the day, with the effort made by You to please him in every way. It excited both of you, knowing that you worked hard without complaining to please him. In addition to carnal pleasure, there was cuddling; although you and he never talked to define exactly what this relationship was, nights of cuddling and talking on the sidelines were not uncommon. He liked to please too, it would not be uncommon for him to give you gifts ranging from fabrics with gold thread to jewelry; You hid them in the back of your closet to avoid questions.

His hand snakes down your hips to your butt, he gives it a squeeze making you moan with a little discomfort at having your sore flesh being touched like that.

"Adorable." The words vibrate in you. His hands suddenly caress your body. The hand pauses, pulls back, and spanks her ass afterwards. “What do you say after being praised, my love?”

You stabilize yourself with the force of the blow, fight back a groan, smile at him and mutter a loud:

"Thanks."

“You’re such a good little girl” he reflects, pressing your body against his so you can feel the hardness that was forming between your legs. “You love this, don’t you? You love it when I discipline you.”

You don't answer because you think it's a rhetorical question, but a warm hand moves his hair away and thick fingers grab the back of his neck.

"Yes my love. Thank you for taking care of me and teaching me how to be a good woman.” You fight back a bratty response about how you could take care of yourself.

“Such a good queen to me.”

Your mind lights up at the word queen being expelled from his mouth. You're insecure about the current agreement to never discuss these things, so you just smile, and kiss him passionately, pretending that being called his queen hasn't affected you in every way possible.

You allow his tongue into your mouth savoring the feeling of him touching you so softly. His skin burns red hot from the hot trail his hands leave as they roam your body. A hand tangles in his hair and pulls his head back enough for You to feel the pressure on your scalp. K'uk'ulkan attacks his neck, distributing wet kisses while you moan and encourage him to continue.

“K’uk’ulkan” You moan shamelessly when he sucks on the sensitive skin of your neck. He walks away, leaving you a mess, the damn thing had the power to make you go crazy with so little.

"Let's play a game." He suggests. A part of You is disappointed by this, but You knew how he liked to prolong the night. He moves away from you, sitting on the navy blue sofa; You narrow your eyes, finding this attitude strange, but his smug smile prepares you for what comes next. “Take off your panties and climb up my thigh. Now."

You don't wait long and you're soon getting rid of your panties, straddling his thigh after doing so. The cool, bare skin damps beneath You which is clearly visible when K'uk'ulkan pushes you back to check, You gasp when you realize how wet you were. His face burns with embarrassment, so you cover him in a cute reaction. You can't meet his gaze when he grabs his hand and pulls them away so you opt to kiss him for a minute to hide the embarrassment. Until he pulls away and puts his hands on your hips.

“I barely touched you and you’re already wet.” His hands are firmly on your hips, he uses them to pull you against him causing friction. “I know how desperate You are for this. Keep your moans low. Anyway, good girls never act like whores.”

He was right about how much You needed this, of course. The bastard knew her like the back of his hand. He leans his torso against the couch, giving him a privileged view of the movements of his hips. You bite your bottom lip to keep from moaning loudly when a specific movement increases contact with your swollen clit. You can barely concentrate between your low sighs and the warm hand that snakes across your belly and over your breasts, the feeling of his hand drives you crazy and without you realizing it a loud moan escapes your mouth when one of your breasts are tight.

You come out of your little world of pleasure to be met with K'uk'ulkan's intense gaze. He arches an eyebrow and squeezes your hips when you try to seek more friction.

"Sorry." His breath catches with the need to be forgiven, your hands tighten on his shoulders and you, once again, try to move your hips only to have your plans thwarted.

"Stand up." He commands and You obey. “It looks like my beautiful girl is having trouble following my orders. What a shame!"

"Sorry my love." You falter when you see the expression on his face.

“We need to solve this problem” You can see the cruel smile and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Take off your dress and come onto my lap.”

You take everything off and stand naked in front of him. Hesitantly, you walk over to him and settle into his lap. K'uk'ulkan rests one hand on your upper back and squeezes your shoulder. Care before everything happens You understand. You arch into his lap due to the hard slap he gives your ass.

“Tell and be thankful.” He orders.

"To thank?" His question is rewarded with another hard slap on his ass. "Sorry. Thank you for the lesson my love.”

"Good girl. Too bad this one didn't count. I didn’t hear any numbers.” You can see his smile in your mind. "Count."

"Yes." You speak breathlessly, one hand gripping his leg to anchor yourself. A slap. "One. Thank you my love"

"Higher." Another slap.

"Two. Thank you my love."

You hear a chuckle and his hand covers your ass, rubbing it creating momentary relief.

“Behave and you won’t be punished again.”

The blow comes harder this time, catching You off guard enough to scream.

"Three. Thanks." You say breathlessly.

“I said it without groaning.” The slap is even stronger than the previous one, you bite your lip to keep from screaming. “Thank me and I’ll think about whether I’ll fuck you with my cock.”

“Thank you for punishing me, K’uk’ulkan” You lick your lips to moisten them. “Please fuck me with your cock.”

He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you up, the quick movement makes you slide off the couch and fall on your knees between his legs. You look up only to find the obsidian orbs watching you with intensity. This man has too much power over You, and You can't care about it. You were about to beg to suck his dick, but K'uk'ulkan grabs your jaw with his fingers and caresses your lips with his thumb, You suck it devotedly without looking away.

“I will be benevolent today.”

You are internally grateful for the decision. K'uk'ulkan had been teasing you for a long time and your pussy was throbbing, and you had never been so ready to be fucked in your life. He tightens the grip on your jaw, a reminder for you to thank him.

"Thanks." You say. “Fuck me with your divine cock, K'uk'ulkan”

“My good girl, so good to me.” He caresses his cheek with his fingertips. “Lie down on the mat and spread your legs.”

You find yourself crawling onto the carpet a moment later, laying your head on a cushion. You look at K'uk'ulkan, his body sculpted by gods, he worked to rid himself of the jewelry and green trunks.

“Eat me feathered serpent.” You say, making no move to hide the way you look at him.

K'uk'ulkan lets out a rough, savage growl, and you notice how hard and rigid his cock is begging for attention. Your pussy moistens even more at the knowledge of how thirsty he was.

“I'm going to fuck you soon, my love. I want to get You ready for me.”

He moves his body until he is on top of you and kisses you. You feel his cock in your belly, dripping with your juices, and you feel divine for provoking such a reaction in that man. You feel a finger slide through your intimate area, playing with your swollen clitoris and then being inserted into your vaginal canal. You groan at the intrusion. You kiss him harder when a second finger is introduced and then the third.

“K'uk'ulkan, You are stretching me. I cannot stand." You say only to receive a raised eyebrow before he goes back to doing what he was doing. With his thumb, he circles your clitoris in circular movements to the point that you see stars.

“You’re my good girl, you can take it.” He leans in, and the predatory tone of his voice when he speaks makes you squirm beneath him. “Cum on my fingers and I’ll give you my cock.

Her folds tighten tightly on the edge of a powerful orgasm. You try to beg, but only disjointed sounds come out of your mouth. You feel his thumb tease your clitoris with movements oscillating between slow and fast, in a sneaky movement he removes his thumb only to press it harder immediately afterwards. His orgasm hits you like a truck. You arch your back and scream for him when you feel your spirit leave your body and return shortly afterwards.

“K'uk'ulkan, I'm...”

“You’re going to cum again.” He says as he aligns his cock with your pussy, You moan when he purposely rubs against your hard and sensitive clit. “This time, it will be on my dick.”

He pushes hard. You're wet and open enough, but he was pretty big and the pain of penetration was inevitable, but it was a good pain. Every time You loved feeling his cock tearing your wet pussy. He supports himself on his elbows which give him the possibility to fuck you hard and he does so.

"Cum." You blurt out as he beats you mercilessly.

Above You, K'uk'ulkan ate you like a flesh-hungry beast. The dull touch of his skin hitting yours fills you with anxiety, and makes you think about the bruises that will appear. He grabs her waist with one hand just to stretch her a little and thrust her with more force.

“My perfect wife, good girl, my good good queen.” He babbled helplessly as he thrust hard into her pussy that was clenching around him, a clear sign of a new orgasm approaching. “I will spill my semen inside You. Filling Your womb with a baby will make You my queen and take them away.”

“Put a baby in me, K’uk’ulkan” You beg him. The hand squeezes his waist again as he attacks with a series of swear words in his mother tongue.

With a powerful thrust You cum again, screaming his name shamelessly. Your inner folds contract, squeezing his cock inside You, K'uk'ulkan tries to resist it, but it was a losing battle. He comes grunting like an animal spilling drop by drop of his seed inside You. He still gives a few more thrusts as if to ensure that You received every drop of his sperm. He collapses on top of you, with his cock still inside your pussy.

It stays inside You until You are uncomfortable. K'uk'ulkan Pulls away, pulling his softening cock out of You, a moan escaping when You feel the emptiness that was left. Your walls were sensitive and stained with his release; satisfaction filled every molecule of your body at this feat. K'uk'ulkan lies down next to him; you turn your head to him and smile, place a chaste kiss on his lips and sigh softly:

"Thank you my love."

To then be pulled closer and wrapped in a comforting hug.

“We need to eat.” You say snuggling into his chest, he pulls You into him.

“I already ate.” He says with his eyes closed. "I am very satisfied."

“You made me cook for nothing.” You speak of false indignation. “I’ll leave You hungry next time.”

“I will make it up to you later for cooking. Now, let's rest. Soon the sun will rise.”

Silence settles in the room, a sign that K'uk'ulkan was sleeping. You were not left behind, falling into a deep sleep with pleasant dreams.

The sun was rising when You awoke from your sleep. It wasn't a surprise to discover that you were alone. You never woke up next to him. As the leader of a nation he needed to return to his nation and, as painful as it was, he knew the implications that his affair with K'uk'ulkan could bring if he didn't go underwater. Hatred for surface dwellers was sown centuries ago and it would be difficult for a Talokanil's relationship with a surface dweller to be accepted.

You shook your head to dismiss such frivolous thoughts. I knew this was salt in the wound, a long time ago. You had already convinced yourself that you were nothing more than a concubine; You accepted this position with flying colors, although a little voice in your head always begged you to demand more. Being his queen, the mother of his children seemed like an impossible dream, so for the sake of your sanity You accepted the role to be played; sex is necessary and affection when requested. One day, this would end; You would marry a nobleman or some promising scientist and have his children, K'uk'ulkan would be nothing more than a youthful fling.

“Fuck” You cursed as you realized where your thoughts were taking you downs a dangerous path again.

After all, you and he would stay in this fantasy a thousand times if necessary. Until reality knocked on the door and took us back to the harsh reality. For now, you could be content with pretending he was yours; pretend he would come back every night as her husband to love her and possess her body under the starlight. You sigh as you realize how your reality wasn't as pleasant as your expectations. You snuggle on the rug, deciding to sleep a little longer until you return to the palace, your father would definitely be upset and question your disappearance, but you could deal with that later. Now, You just wanted to close your eyes and dream of a reality where You and K'uk'ulkan would be happy surrounded by children. Fantasy could be sweet compared to reality.

#namor x reader #black panther #namor x you #talokan #namor of talokan #namor the sub mariner #wakanda forever #namor x y/n #namor smut #namor #namor x black reader #black panther wakanda forever #wakandans #mcu

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vashatxt · 10 months

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anonymous asked: Can you… write Blade getting hor knee for Kafka when he’s Mara-struck?

i absolutely can <3

there is no obligation to send any tips but if you feel like passing on a good deed, my kofi is https://ko-fi.com/idolelysia

cw: nsfw

"Bladie," Kafka's eyes are wide, and she's trying her best not to let on that she's enjoying this. "Your strength surprises me more every day."

He's different. Usually, she can gain control over him with just the slightest command, her spirit whisper only giving him the push over the edge that he needs before he comes back to himself, but this... Blade is resisting that pull. And he's taking that energy out on Kafka, and she sure as hell isn't going to strain herself to put a stop to it. It's not her fault that she enjoyed the feeling of the rough, scarred hands that once belonged to a uniquely talented crafter of weapons on her shoulders. Blade shoving her against the wall and pinning her there, his eyes darkening, a smirk spreading across his face as he pressed his crotch against Kafka's thigh and heard her gasp at the feeling of his cock, hard, throbbing - he's hungry. He needs her.

"Do. Your. Worst."

She punctuates each word with a pause, her lips parted, running her tongue along them and watching as Blade's gaze followed it. "Submit to me, Kafka," he says.

It's a risk. But she has enough faith in her abilities to know she'll be able to regain control over him and soothe the ill effects of the mara once they're done - she's just cocky enough to not feel fear.

"Please, Bladie," she blinks, shrugging her shoulders so that he can release his grip just long enough for her to let her coat fall to the ground. "Make me yours."

A switch is flipped; Blade grabs her and buries his face into her neck, sucking and biting, intent on leaving his mark, on finding out how loud he could make her scream. It's new for Kafka, to not be in control, but she wants this - so, in a way, she still is. She leans her head back and gives him what he needs, the more she yelps and moans his name and digs her nails into his back; the harder he goes in on her.

His hands trail to her button-down shirt, and he pulls away from her now purple and red neck to watch as he rips it open, his strength popping each plastic fastener and sending them flying. Blade can feel himself begin to salivate, like an animal hunting its prey, at the sight of Kafka's chest, her tits pushed up by a translucent maroon bra. He cups them through the fabric first, and Kafka looks down, too, burning the image of his gorgeous hands on her into her mind.

Impatient as she is, Kafka then reaches behind her to unclasp the bra, and while she does, Blade follows the curve of her waist to her hips and her ass, where he can help her rid of her shorts.

"There's still a barrier," Kafka points out, once she's standing in front of him in nothing but fishnet tights.

"Not really," his voice is deep and hoarse, a darker tone to it than usual. "They're pretty easy...,"

His fingers drag down to her thick thighs. "...to...,"

They hook into the web of thread between them, and Kafka feels a shiver down her spine.

"... adjust," Blade spits the last word, which accompany another rip - Kafka spends a hell of a lot of money on her clothes, but she doesn't give a shit today - creating a perfectly positioned gap in coverage, just in the crotch of the tights.

"Beg me," he's taking enjoyment in it, Kafka moans his name as he grabs at her cunt, like it's a toy, something of his own to rough around. He then lifts his hand to his mouth, just to taste her slick that now coated his fingertips. "Come on, Kafka. Beg me."

"Please - please, Bladie," she allows the desperation to come through, her breath hitched, blinking at him like an innocent girl. "I need - I need you to f-fuck me...,"

He scoffs, then undoes his zipper, letting his pants fall to his ankles. Kafka doesn't waste time, she wraps her arms around his neck and allows him to hoist her up against the wall, holding her around the waist, her thighs spread and grinding against his cock, slowly bouncing up and down. "You want me inside you?" he whispers. "You gonna show me how loud you are for me? You fucking cock whore?"

"Please, pleaseeee," she moans. "I need... I need...,"

"If you need me to destroy your cunt, Kafka, then you're in luck."

He thrusts inside of her, and it feels different than all the other time's they've fucked, the times she's sat on his dick and spilled dirty words from her mouth while the pathetic, pretty little boy who looked at her like she was a goddess tried his hardest not to cum too quickly. This is an entirely different Blade. The Mara... it made him different. He's relentless, she can feel his thrusts all through the body, not just the familiar burning desire in her tummy to be filled up. Blade doesn't pause or take a breath, even as Kafka's eyes well with tears and her nails begin to draw little trickles of blood because of how hard she's clinging on to him, her body weak and limbs like jelly. He feels so big, her cunt tight. He kisses her while she screams and bites her bottom lip hard, until it swells and a metallic taste fills her mouth. "Bladie...,"

"You sure you can fucking take me? Or do you want me to pull out and let you fall to the ground, discard you like a piece of trash who doesn't even deserve the chance to do so?"

Kafka can feel her cheeks burning, her entire body is ablaze, she clings on tighter - "I can take you, I can, I can....,"

They cum at the same time; he spills his load into her as the pressure against Kafka's clit sends her over the edge, she's dizzy and so, so messy down there, Blade saying her name, weaker and softer each time, draining his balls with each final thrust. Kafka can feel her own cum as well as his leaking out while Blade slowly pulls out.

"Good boy," she soothes him, snapping back to reality and regaining control with her spirit whisper before the Mara can hurt him. "Thank you, Bladie."

He slumps to the ground, and Kafka follows suit. "It's okay, sweetie. You made me feel so good. We can rest here, if you need."

Blade is exhausted; she feels almost bad. But his hand reaches out for hers and their fingers intertwine; they lie down together on the concrete floor and he cuddles up on her chest without ever letting go. Maybe they both needed that. Maybe he was finally figuring out what she already knew: that he loved her, that he was weak for her and only her.

#kafblade #blafka #hsr fanfic #blade smut #kafka x blade #kafblade fanfic #hsr smut #kafblade smut #*#mara.txt

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masonshmason · 7 months

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Thoughts on the latest Helluva Boss episode as a 35+ gremlin

I wanted to talk about something that people who are under 30 may not realize about Fizz's struggles this episode. While Fizz's experiences as a celebrity are sadly very common across all famous people, there's another level of nuance that I feel is unique to his age bracket.

(Essay under the cut)

If Fizz and Blitz are close in age, and Blitz is 30-35, then Fizz is about the same age. I'm not gonna lie. I'm leaning towards 40 now but being in my 30s is a wild time. It's a great time, don't get me wrong. I've been the happiest I've been in my entire life. But here's the thing about your 30s: you can tell when your body is slumping into middle age. And unlike Goetia and other higher demons, imps are implied to be able to age at a rate very similar to humans. Blitz mentions "when I get old and die" at the end of S1E8, so it's very likely that imps are not near immortal powerful beings like other demons.

When you start feeling your age, It's a little harder to get out of bed, aches and pains take a little longer to recover from, your metabolism starts to slow, your skin starts to lose elasticity, and your muscle tone starts to soften. There's nothing inherently wrong with this. This is how life is. What is wrong though, is society's view of you changes. You are considered one foot in the grave, which is ridiculous because the average lifespan is late 70s to early 80s. The emphasis changes from "you have your whole life ahead of you" to "wow you're already half dead, shouldn't you go away and hide or do something about it? Here's a cream, here's a chemical peel, now stop looking like an old person". This is especially hard on celebrities, ESPECIALLY female celebrities.

But it's also difficult on Fizz.

Fizz is terrified of being replaced now that he's gotten older. He flat out says to Ozzie that this is his "last chance". He wakes up with a very clear blemish over his eye--now this could definitely be his scars, but considering it wasn't there during his morning routine last episode, we can assume it's a recent development. Mammon puts him down by calling him fat, which is not only hypocrisy but Mammon knows full damn well that imps grow old, and he criticizes Fizz for something that is outside of his control and part of the natural aging process, mirroring how Hollywood and the fashion industry use up people in their twenties and drop them if they allow the natural aging process to continue instead of investing a ton of money into skincare and plastic surgery.

But on the bright side of all of this is the fact that Asmodeus does not care that Fizz is capable of growing older. This powerful, immortal being who has been around since Hell started and has nothing but time loves a mortal creature so dearly that he does not fucking care that the time they have together is so short, just that they spend that time together. He doesn't care about the blemishes, or the scars, or Fizz's broken horns. He cares about what makes Fizz the person that he is instead of the body that he has.

And I think that's beautiful.

#helluva boss #helluva boss spoilers #fizzarolli #ozzarolli #fizzarolli x asmodeus #fizzarozzie

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pop-punklouis · 2 years

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By: @pop-punklouis

It’s half-past nine, and the air is thick with murmurs of anticipation. Your shoes cling to the sticky, liquor-stained floors as you bump shoulders with someone close to you. A fervent spirit zings throughout the room; the crowd moves in unison toward the stage as the lights flicker. A charming familiarity washes over you while glancing at all the faces who have come to hear the same music as you — to experience this show alongside you. The ringing echo of chants and buzzing chatter bounce off the ceiling. The thrum of the bass sends electricity through your body. Everyone’s energy shifting as smoke from the stage forms clouds that envelop the room, creating an intimate world between the crowd and the band, even if just for a little while. That is the unique thrill live music holds. The elasticity of passion that fuels live music is infectious and all-encompassing, and the visceral sensation it brings causes you to keep coming back time and time again for another taste. To bottle up that feeling is how it feels to listen to the enduring power of Louis Tomlinson’s energetic sophomore album Faith in the Future.

Two years after the release of his debut record Walls, with a year of high-spirited touring under his belt, and after leaving the big machine of corporate record labels, Tomlinson’s sophomore effort, Faith in the Future, is a departure from the slick, pop-leaning production that took root on much of his first album. Instead, the listener is brought into Tomlinson’s musical mind, which takes influence from grittier, more experimental genres. As one dives into Faith in the Future, the album shuffles through indie-rock, pop-punk, laidback grunge, and even a glittery electronic feel alongside fuzzed-out pop familiarity. Unlike other artists that might fumble while juggling several genres in one project, Tomlinson doesn’t flinch as his edged-out vocals, evocative lyricism, and passion for these sonic spaces and how he wants to tackle them blends seamlessly throughout the record’s runtime. This isn’t an artist who has stumbled into these choices but has been waiting to hone his craft and show off his versatility in sounds that feel most authentic to him.

Allowing Tomlinson the control to paint himself as the artist he wants to be moving forward, Faith in the Future’s feverish momentum, optimistic undertaking, and nostalgic identity is a pleasant shock to the system. The album begins with an anthemic opener, “The Greatest.” Feeding off the energy of tour, the sonically ambitious track is hard to imagine not acting as a blazing introduction to his live shows. The stadium rock verve builds to its powerful chorus that is meant to be chanted back overtop its rousing drums. It only acts as a taste of the heat to come as the full throttle of tracks like “Written All Over Your Face,” “Face the Music,” and “Out of My System” enter territories of early 2000’s neon-rock and pop-punk — something that Tomlinson has played with in the past but never fully committed to.

The sass-punk edge of “Written All Over Your Face” is a standout on the record. Its rowdy rough energy rattles about with an air of confidence both in sound and vocal tone. Leaning on the sticky disco-rock feel, influences from the likes of the early works of Arctic Monkeys give this track its bite. Tomlinson knows what he’s doing here, and he executes it well. The heat only grows as one slips into “Face the Music” which is heavily influenced by early pop-punk/alt-rock scenes but tighter in production. The melodic tone alongside fast guitars allows the track to have a pop-rocks type sizzle akin to the likes of Yellowcard and Something Corporate. “Out of My System” follows suit with a haphazard, darker punk soundscape with harsh drums, snarling guitars, and a grittier vocal.

Taking a sharp turn, even the shimmery elements of the dance-inspired tracks don’t feel out of place between the darker rock that surrounds them. Instead, Tomlinson’s confidence rides these mellow tracks, offering a nice pop reprieve. The DMA’s drenched “All This Time” and “She is Beauty We Are World Class” are perfect for downing drinks and throwing shapes in a club or lying in your bed late at night with whispers of self-exploration in the dark.

Yet, it’s in the indie-rock-infused moments on Faith in the Future where Tomlinson truly shines. This genre is clearly his wheelhouse and is a perfect place for him to explore his artistry due to the softer lilt of indie-rock’s edges that flesh out his lyrical identity and strength as a vocalist. He allows himself the freedom to navigate between more electric indie-rock and its hazier counterpart throughout the album. “Silver Tongues” and “Chicago” are built from that electric space. The former, based around the feel-good energy of nights out with friends and those you love, is an indie-rock romp with twinkling keys and an infectious chorus. It has a coming-of-age spirit while evoking the same warm sensation songs like Man Overboard’s “Love Your Friends, Die Laughing” evoke, maybe not in sound but in overall mood. The latter, a wistful remembrance of a past relationship, allows Tomlinson to showcase his range as his emotional performance alongside swelling guitars leaves a lasting impression.

In fuzzier arenas are tracks like “Lucky Again,” “Saturdays,” and “Angels Fly” which all linger with softer elements. “Saturdays,” an ode to bitter nostalgia, is a sweeping ballad that has a soaring quality to it with melancholic undertones while both “Lucky Again” and “Angels Fly” hold hazier blips of reassurance and warmth designed to feel like the sun on your face on an evening drive. And, although closing track “That’s the Way Love Goes” doesn’t hold enough weight to be a perfect closer, its stripped-back feel as a heartfelt albeit saucy conversation with a friend about their relationship woes is endearing and winds the album down by tying it all together, nicely.

When it comes to the departure from Tomlinson’s debut Walls, Faith in the Future feels more deconstructed. It isn’t slick. It isn’t perfectly packaged. The colors are meant to bleed, the scissor lines purposefully jagged, and the lyrics raw. It doesn’t stand out for its polished appeal as Walls does. it stands out for being everything opposite- everything eclectic and anthemic yet self-reflective. It’s an album crafted around the unrefined dopamine of live music. Whether you’re shouting the lyrics from the top of your lungs with your closest friends in a packed out crowd or navigating nights full of the people, places, and memories that reflect who you’ve grown to be, the record is a nice world to get lost in for a little while. Chin up and arm outstretched, Faith in the Future is a reintroduction to who Louis Tomlinson is as a solo artist and has always been, both personally and artistically. So, take its hand and enjoy the ride because the future is only brighter from here.

would really mean a lot to RT my publications post about it to help out a little indie pub that could! 🤍✨

#my writings #here it isssss #louis tomlinson #faith in the future

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killerbananas · 17 days

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Longing

Miche has his way with you in the firelight of soft snuggling turned filth.

🔞 mdni | masterlist | 1,421 wc | afab!reader x Miche x (light) Erwin

Warnings: smut; frottage, clit banging, nipple play, Dom sub tones, xxx 📼 in the background, hair pulling, facial, come play, creampie, rough sex, group sex, exhibitionism/voyeurism tones, teasing, size

AN: Repost from my old account.

The movie flashes blend bright whites and saturated contrasts across your skin with the warm tones of the fire casting you in glow. Miche’s eyes have no interest in the television, just the star curled in his lap, clad in only a long knit sweater and your shared blanket. The soft fabric of the piece you’re wearing is both comfortingly insulated and in excess, pooling around the natural curves of your body pleasantly, engulfing your breasts, but pressed to clearly outline your budding nipples perfectly.

Distractingly, from Miche’s perspective. He has to exercise more self-control than he’d admit to keep his hands to himself. You’re snuggled into the crook where his arm meets his chest along the couch, fairly focused on the screen. It’s not until a suspiciously lewd moan that he questions the source of hits his preoccupied mind that he takes more stock in his surroundings; the movie, which also may explain your nipples. The fire was almost too hot from where Miche was lounging. Then again, stars ran hot, didn’t they?

“Did we choose an adult film for movie night without realizing it?”

You giggle in the way he finds adorable and unique to your personality. It’s got him grinning and shamelessly grinding his burgeoning hardness into your heated core. Not a drop of shame taints his actions, which only increases the collecting arousal flooding your pussy instead. He nuzzles your neck, tickling you with his facial hair and fine threadspun musculature of his visage twining with his smirk and exhale.

Your fingers comb the densely thatched, dirty blonde hair whirling across his chest and you bite your lip as you conjure your sincerest bedroom eyes to pair with a silly eyebrow wiggle and pout. Your chest vibrates with his baritone musings that rumble gently from his own. You could listen to his voice and smile for an obscene amount of time. He knows and uses it to his advantage, which you couldn’t hate if you tried. It’s too consuming.

He’s snuck himself out of his pants with a flick of his wrist. He’s so hard, the opening of his shorts glide off his cock like dripping silks along heated velvet-firm glory. Your mouth waters at the brush of his skin against yours, rasping crisp cotton whispering in the crackling atmosphere of the fire. Once positioned right, all he has to do is slip against your labia, rutting lapping thrusts against your smoothness, stimulating his swollen cock as it properly shows, peaking from the pillowy skin of your thighs, flushed head dewy with pearling precome.

It sends pangs of longing, showing his love and enamoration with your body physically, erotically intimate with your apex. It’s also lovely that he’s slowly managed to spread your wetness to combine with his and cross both your eyes stupid when that fat head rubs against your puffy clit, playing your pussy like a lewd violin with his rod, a sonnet of whimpers harmoniously lilting from your mewling pout. Eyebrows scrunching and tiny points on your expression knitting pairs intoxicatingly well with the blossoming blush canvasing your delicate cheekbones.

Miche’s hands squeeze your breasts roughly with the sounds, then route beneath your sensitive underarms before lifting you from his lap. He gets you on your back on the coffee table, sweater spread over your body as if a gift to open how he pleases. He is kind tonight.

Your upsidedown vision engages with the scene on the television as the air hits your unveiling skin. The fire has been warm, but your body is beginning to spiral into overwhelming arousal that tenses muscles and encourages you to buck emphatically into Miche’s mouth when he gets on his knees to worship your pussy at the same time as the scene unfolds to your brain on the screen. A truly embarrassing and ungodly, carnal sound leaves your throat unbidden, but Miche knows how to soak up every sense with you. Your reaction tugs groans from his connection point to you. He’s absolutely glued to your pussy, licking sucking inhaling caressing laving loving you with his imploring tongue, insistent mouth, invasive respiration, invoking desperation, as if to haze his being on your supple cunt.

He drinks, inspirates his fill and then some like a greedy boy.

The actress in the film receives a smack from a man dominating her, popping sound making your eyes flare wide and then roll with Miche sinking two fingers into your softness, splaying to massage you open to his knuckle. He’s so tender and considerate of his size and strength, the care suffusing heady passion in your soul, as he takes his time just letting you open up around his curling appendages and grunting his choral contentment.

The smacking of pounding hips degrades Miche’s patience and control in equal heaving, dignity-robbing shoves that have his shorts non-existent in milliseconds and his cockhead resting on your clit again. He suckles the sweetness off his fingers as he breathes deeply of your scent, dragging his cock down slowly to part your folds like a Smith parting smelting molten cream with his own unbreakable length.

A sinful gasp marks the moment his pelvis hits your petals and jars a whole lungful of air from you. Miche watches your body ripple like passion incarnated into kinetic energy when he finally sinks in as deep as he can, which is far, considering he’s got your legs over his shoulder, letting his hips angle down into your rich pitch of lust.

“Fuck, take his load, you dirty cockslut.”

You couldn’t help it if you tried. So, you don’t. Your pussy clenches unbearably tightly around Miche’s filling member; it interrupts his rhythm. He looks up to see two men standing over a sweating woman, one curled over and fucking his seed into her cunt while the other busts his load across her face. He can’t help the flex he gets at the scene either. So, he doesn’t.

You both make eye-contact and blush, almost concerned.

“Miss him, huh? Maybe if we get you down on your knees, you can pray for him, angel. I know you both get so needy being apart like this.”

He encourages your arms to cling up around his neck, places kisses along your throat, letting you hold onto his body while he places you on the blanket that crashed onto the soft rug. You cannot bear the stillness and begin to writhe against his lean torso before he even gets situated, letting your walls cling to him, stroking him like he’s home inside you. If it feels so physically good to you, it simply must touch something as deep and meaningful in him as the searing pleasure hums in your nerve endings like buzzing aphrodisia. Indeed, he finds, it does.

“Legs.”

He’s still tender with his touch until he has you where he wants you. He’d caught the text blinking on his phone’s lock screen, thinking himself daringly sneaky to find just the position to drive all of you-

“Fuck!”

Oops, he might’ve pulled a little too much there, but your body is still giving him every indication that it only turns you on more. He’s got you facing the door, tits arched forward, kissed by the firelight, cock stuffed as far as physically possible on instinct to combine the pull of all of you downward onto him with the tug on your hair. It’s the second your body crashes like a crumbling tower of coursing sensory overload onto the rumpled blanket balled beneath your hips from Miche’s fingertips tapping rhythmic madness on your clit, that the Devil himself walks in. It’s orchestrated to the movement of Miche dragging your throat to bare it upward, meeting your eye as he fucks you through your orgasm stutteringly hard, mounted to get fucked into the floor. You end up stuck on his still thriving member, milking him fruitlessly, eyebrows laced with confused arousal that exacerbates the spasm of your climax harshly. It draws your lips into the perfect circle for Erwin to fuck his cock into once he can rip open his fly.

Miche does not stop thrusting as he greets the new guest.

“You’re here awful early, Commander.”

He always arrives two hours before he originally says because he’s needier than one might guess.

“It looks like I’m just in time from where I’m standing and she’s panting. How hard did he work you, poor thing?”

“Just fucking right so far to warm her up for us.”

“Hm, I’ll be the judge of that.”

Taglist: @aotwarriorsimp @alexpro-nwn @animediplomat @antoxsmith @armoredpotato @aviinnit @beffjurky @blondeboyfriend @casuallyck @cherrxs @dearbaji @erwinsbaby @eyesucket @fairypiku @fandomficsobsession @fujoneshi @holographicceo @hinasakuino @interfectio-mortales @kenryug @koulakoukoula2003 @kxkyuu-main @lavenderdaisyhoney @mybadluckshouldmakemefamous @chaotic-nick @nathalunalune @notgoodforlife @arsonszn @pockcock @poursomesunaonme @scouts-stuff @seychellse @shigarakiapologist @downbadpie @soaringmirror @sparklekitteh @stigandr-the-cat @syrma-sensei @reiners-milkbiddies @tiffanyy-21 @theinariakuma @tonaken @torapologist @touyyes @we-are-so-close @witchycamisado

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blueparadis · 1 year

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❝ REFLECTIONS ❞ + ( kishou arima, kaneki ken, uta, ayato kirishima, juuzou suzuya, amon koutarou )

+. CWs —» gn!reader, $mut,oral acts, s&d dynamics, bd$m elements, $ex toys, overstimulation, orgasm control ; specific details for respective characters utc!

+. PRECIS —» n$fw headcanons “ he hit it so hard that I saw my reflections in his eyes ”

+. NOTES —» i renovated my blog, used tokyo ghoul mangacaps and this was the result :> reblogs are appreciated; find more of my works here ( tag index ).

KISHOU ARIMA [ fingering + praise k!nk ]

KISHOU likes to finger you a lot. The moment you sit on his lip his hands keep slipping inside your underwear even if you are repeatedly shoving them away. Whether your back is pressed against his chest or you are sitting on one of his thighs or you are sprawled out on bed with your legs spread apart, he is swift enough to thin out your control with sloppy and messy kisses, until he hears you, moaning, “please touch me more.” And the moment he sees the lovesick glossy look in your eyes through his glasses he gives you exactly what you want. Having his fingers rashly moving in and out while he occasionally shuts you up with kisses leaving you breathless is one of his favorite things to do when you are alone with him. You could see his cock grow hard yet you are so needy, so eager to chase your high that you forget, he can stop anytime. And he does. He does it with so much precision that your toes curl, and palms form into fists but you never beg since you are painfully aware of how beautifully insatiable he looks while licking his fingers that are soaked with your arousal before he finger-fucks you again and again till you cum on his hands, staining his pants and sheets. “You did better than the last time, babe. good job.”, he is not easily impressed but when he is he does not hesitate to show you.

KANEKI KEN [ blood play ( blood k!nk ) + scent marking]

KANEKI is a great fan of back-shots, of all the positions he prefers you to be on all fours while his cock is sheathed inside you. He thrusts his hips slow yet strong picks up his pace and then drops it because you have the prettiest moans or so he claims. He considers you, a lot actually and that is why he never leaves marks where on your body that people can see otherwise he loves to see his hard work all over you when he is in the bath with you or ready to hit the shower; rather he uses his kagune. Having such a unique kagune sometimes comes in handy. His toned muscular arms wrap around your collar bones as his teeth dig into the nook of your shoulders as he hits your g-spot with deep calculated thrusts, your eyes rolling white chasing the high while he empties his balls in you. And when he is done he does not pull out, instead, he waits, he waits for you to catch your breath while he places soft kisses on your back till you tilt your head to kiss him, his blood-smeared lips so as to have a tasted what he is so addicted to.

UTA [ thigh riding + use of vibrator ]

UTA likes it when he can see you while you moan. Your facial contours when you are just about to cum and all because of his hard work. W Hence, he prefers sex toys, sometimes, when he has to leave for work yet all he wants to do is to see you beg and cry for a release. Sometimes it backfires, sometimes it does not. Whether you are fingering yourself or thigh-riding him he wants to see your pretty face. Having your hands on his shoulder as you glide against his thighs makes his head all dizzy. At first, slow and steady but he can be a bit restless. So, he holds a Hitachi wand at the core of your groin to make you lose your sanity just like him. He has perfected this so much that he does not mind touching himself while you ride his thighs, completely giving in to your lustful urges. “Finally I've your eyes on me.”, he blurts followed by a cheeky grin as you manage to lock eyes with him while cumming on his thighs. “so proud of you baby”, he adds as your sweaty body slumps over his and his hands rubbing your back to soothe your breathing.

AYATO KIRISHIMA [ cockwarming +branding ]

AYATO loves it when you take the lead and hates it when you avert his advances. On some days, when he is tired , tired enough to fuck you he lets you blow him just because he likes when you are so drunk on his cock, sucking him with so much groaning and gagging that tears start to stream down your face. But if he was in charge he would rather have you cockwarm him. Just cockwarming, no fucking only sitting on his lap with his cock inside you as his back grazes yours. He likes to play with your nipples while something is the tv is on, sucking and licking a trail up your neck and deliberately refuses to put his teeth to use. And just that, no movements just having you still while he tests the limits of your patience. But it is different when you are facing him, he rubs and massages your ass cheeks so soothe the ache in your numbing muscles but can not really say no when you touch your body all over glistening with sweat, making small movements so that you do not end up bobbing on his cock in an animalistic way. “Oh!c’mon, do something more, something to impress me.”,he says as you plead to him,ask for his permission to fuck him but he clearly loses his calm when you jock down to suckle on his nipple when he demands more show.

JUUZOU SUZUYA [ hand bondage + nipple play ]

SUZUYA prepares you all full and well before having the pleasure of fucking you. He eats you until you cum at least three to four times on his tongue so that he can push his cock easily without having to hurt you, with having you pleading for his cock. He ties your hands so that he can eat you without any interruption, without you distracting him with soft strokes through his hair only relishing the feeling of your soft inner thighs that fold in and out everytime he lays flat his tongue and laps over your juices. And when he is done, his lips and chin soaked with your slick he towers above you, his cock hard and strong laying over your flat belly as he takes your tied-hands to place over his nape. With that closeness, with that intimacy and his cock buried inside you he cums within a few minutes and all into you, filling his insatiable hunger and you to the brim.

AMON KOUTAROU [ 69 + impact play ]

Amon eats you as you eat him, no other way. That is how he prepares you. It is the fastest way or so he claims. He does not like to waste time but whenever he is eating you out he just cannot help but land some slaps on your ass. His slaps are hard and strong, as he expected, yet they are very unpredictable. You never know when he is gonna slap you next, his grip on you grows stronger when laps all of your cum and asks you if he can cum in his mouth beforehand, might you do otherwise he keeps slapping your ass and denying your orgasm until you apologize. He is not asking for much, is he now? Just that you cum only in his mouth and only when he asks you to. You are free to have fun with his fat cock while he specifically demands his share of pleasure. “why I must discipline you every time?”, he remarks before placing a kiss on your ass. He gets a little soft when you are not being a brat and obeys his commands like a good practical subordinate should.

—

@tokyometronetwork

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casualavocados · 1 year

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for zero dollars i am going to talk about the boys’ individual singing talents now because im stuck on their performances at prom night ok here we go

to start, let me clarify by saying that i myself am a singer. i come from a family (multiple generations) of singers and musicians. my mom taught voice, violin, piano, and guitar in my home growing up. it’s just ingrained in my dna, ok, but this aint about me. just know that I know what im talking about as i get into this

im really only gonna touch on the four main singers (fourth, gem, ford, and satang) but all of them have their own unique qualities and im super impressed by their live performances. singing live is HARD. singing while dancing??? HARDER. and they held up for four hours, two nights in a row. i don’t. i cant - WOW ok

so of the main four, satang, ford, and fourth lean tenor, and gemini has a bass voice (more later). let me start with satang.

THIS BOY SINGS. RIGHT. IN. HIS CRACKING RANGE. HALF THE TIME. listen, okay, there is a difference between singing in full voice and switching to falsetto sometimes than singing in your cracking range. satang has to switch between full voice and falsetto almost every other note. that is HARD. it takes serious work and practice, and slip-ups are near impossible to avoid. he also has a soft voice, and in his case, when in this cracking range he does his best when he sings low and quiet, and is more likely to crack or slide the louder he gets (fourth is exactly the opposite of this and it makes me nuts in a good way. more later). satang also has very good vibrato, and the way he uses it helps him keep control of his voice and can even disguise the cracks and slides he does have. all this being said, you have to seriously appreciate the work he has done to sing so well at the concert. please watch his part in “healing” and go insane with me. when satang is in his full voice range he does his best singing loud, but this is what i wanted to focus on bc i am so proud of him because of how tough it is.

ford also has a soft voice, but his control comes when he sings loudly. lower pitches are more difficult for him because he has to sing softer in order to hit them, and sometimes, when singing live, that means he can get too quiet to hear. but when he’s in his range and singing full voice? ohhhh my god he kills it. he rarely misses a note. just watch his performance of “come closer”, that’s all you need to know. his vibrato isn’t as good as satang’s but he has a good ear and that makes him so fucking good at harmonizing!! ford also has a very strong and clear tone when singing in falsetto (this line in “stand” showcases it perfectly) - whereas gemini’s falsetto is softer (but just as strong).

GEMINI. first of all, this guy has so much control over his voice it actually pisses me off. i hate him (i LOVE him and im DELIGHTED by the way this live show was able to give his voice the spotlight it deserves). okay so earlier i said gemini has a bass voice, and that’s true - while talking. he has a stellar tenor singing voice, and his voice is very soft, but very clear and strong on those lower notes (thank you “you’re blushing”). and because he has that low range, his falsetto actually becomes better, bc it means when he sings high notes, he is far far away from his cracking range. it's barely noticeable when he switches between full voice and falsetto. his vibrato aint the best live when it’s unpracticed, but he rarely slides (unless it’s on purpose). he can blend with anyone, he’s very good at harmonizing, and damn he just has a sweet sweet falsetto (featured here and in. basically every song he sings. note that gem sings "hook" mostly in falsetto and fourth does it in his full voice, alongside each other; linked below)

FOURTH. let me start by saying i am the most impressed by his live performance. i am now obsessed with his voice in a lot more ways than i was before. so i mentioned earlier that he’s the opposite of satang, in the sense that he is more likely to crack, slide, or miss hitting a pitch when he’s singing quietly. but he’s also the opposite to all three of them, because where satang, ford, and gemini all have soft voices, fourth’s voice has a very clear tone right off the bat. this makes his approach to singing vastly different from the others. his falsetto is good, but when fourth sings loud? HE DOES NOT MISS A SINGLE NOTE. this boy can BELT it out in his full voice, and that includes both high and low notes. oh my god it is insane. LISTEN. TO. THESE. RIGHT. NOW. OK? please drink some water boy ilysm.

the fact that fourth spent those four hours, two nights in a row, singing in mainly his full voice, and absolutely kill. ing. it. the whole time is THE most impressive thing to me. do you know how much energy it takes to sing in your full voice for a long time? can you imagine how much MORE energy it must take to do that WHILE DANCING? do you know how much control over his breaths he has to have for that??!?!?! AND TO STILL SOUND THAT STRONG AT THE END OF THE SECOND NIGHT. i dont care. he’s everything to me.

honestly they all are. this is getting long so im gonna wrap it up but i have never enjoyed a live performance more in my life. these boys are so talented it's insane and gmmtv is lucky to have them.

#my school president #msp prom night #my school president prom night live on stage #satang kittiphop #ford arun #gemini norawit #fourth nattawat #julian watches msp #long post #I COULDNT HELP MYSELF IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THEM NONSTOP.#OOH OOH shortpplfedup's tags about fourth EXACTLY #mid-range baritone IS the best way to describe it you are so right #listen tinn was right to make gun go jogging to work on his singing ITS THE CARDIO.#THE ENDURANCE IT TAKES FOR THE KIND OF SINGING FOURTH DOES.#*adds another link to fourth's list bc i cant be stopped*#OH MY GOD LISTEN TO THAT LAST ONE IT CHANGES KEYS MULTIPLE TIMES AND HE NEVER FUCKS UP #msp bts #me in the corner holding a camera up to the msp cast: youre doing amazing sweetie #another song that really suits fords falsetto is healing #and in that last link of gem's he actually sings both the high note harmonies and the low note harmonies #depending on what part of the song you're at

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misslavenderlady · 1 year

Note

Could you do more Marko X Reader fics? You can make it as filthy as possible. I live reading your work <3

Teacher's Pet 📏

Marko/GN!Reader

Summary: Marko has a new, fun game in mind for you. One that will test your vampire knowledge and your tolerance for pain. You show him all the hard things you can take~

Thank you @american-idiot-jpg for the request! I appreciate your patience and I hope you enjoy this! Also big thank you to @ghoulgeousimmaculate for helping pull me out of my writing funk and put this together!!

WARNINGS: Nsfw/Smut/18+ Readers Only, Professor/Student Roleplay, Costumes, Teasing, Flirting, Dom/Sub, Spanking, Fingering, Punishment/Reward, Sex on a desk, Bent over, Rough Sex, Praise, Affection, Blood Drinking, No specific genitalia/pronouns used

Marko was a sneaky little thing. Though he had a very chaotic energy to him, he was actually quite methodical. Whenever he was in the mood to play one of his devious little games, he was sure to set up everything exactly how he wanted it.

So when you found a particularly lewd costume laid across your bed, you knew he was ready to play with you.

It wasn't much material to wear. A small, white crop top that tied in the front, a red, plaid-patterned tie, some matching shorts, and a pair of black knee-high socks to go with some plain loafers. Before you even put it on you knew that the outfit wasn't going to leave much to the imagination.

You knew better than to complain though. Marko always got what he wanted, and if he desired to see you dressed like his own personal plaything, then so be it. With your body barely covered, you wandered through the cave taverns to find the play area Marko loved so much. You only hoped none of the other vampires would see you and make vulgar comments on your appearance.

Marko's special room was blocked off by a thick, red, velvet curtain. This time around there was a unique addition. A small sign pinned to one of the sides.

Professor Marko

Subtle as a flying mallet, that one. At least you had all the clues you needed to play along with his game. As you pushed the curtain aside, you only hoped he'd play nice with you.

"Come in."

Marko's voice was surprisingly serious in tone. You thought about how unlike him it was until you got a look at what he was wearing.

His usual leather chaps and elaborate jacket had been traded for a button-down shirt and khakis. His hair was tied back and on the bridge of his nose sat a pair of reading glasses. While he leaned up against an antique writing desk he glanced down at a book in his hand. It was almost like looking at a version of Marko from an alternate universe. One where he was a strict, studious guy and not a vampire hoodlum.

Still, even with his getup, a familiar, wild look was burning in his eyes when he caught sight of you.

“Have a seat, dear,” Marko ordered. “We don’t have time to dawdle. Your exam is in a week, and we don’t want to fail, do we?”

You gulped audibly as he pulled up a plain, wooden chair for you to sit in. He really did have the stage set for this little performance you two were going to put on. It made your heart race with fear and anticipation. Not wanting to keep him waiting, you nodded and made your way over to him, sitting down immediately.

Now you felt even more vulnerable. Your shorts were riding up a bit, showing off the length of your legs and thighs. Sitting down allowed Marko to drink in more of you, gazing with pure authority and power in his eyes. He truly was in control.

Marko enjoyed watching you squirm. The rapid thrum of your heart sounded so lovely in his ears. He kept his gaze trained on you as he strolled over to the antique black chalkboard and picked up the dusty white stalk.

“Our subject matter is lore,” he informed as he began scrawling on the panel, “in relation to vampirism…so tell me, how does one become a vampire?” He asked with his hands clasped behind his back. He stared at you, patiently awaiting your answer.

You had to admit, you were impressed. He really did think of everything. Probably went by the local thrift shop for his props. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. You knew everything about vampires considering you had been the mate of one for so long now. With your posture straightening up a bit, you confidently answered his question.

“There are two different ways to become a vampire, Sir,” you explained. “The first is by drinking a vampire's blood and completing a first feed and kill of a human. The second is by getting a direct bite and having your bloodstream corrupted.”

Marko jotted your answer on the board, smirking at the inflection of confidence that appeared in your voice. He could tell you thought you had this in the bag, being his mate for years now, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve. He wanted you to get cocky so that he could cut you down at just the right time.

“Very good! I’m pleased you remember that core piece of information, but tell me, what’s the relevance of religious objects to a vampire?”

“Religious objects are dangerous to vampires. Holy water burns the skin in small doses and melts it in large ones. The sign of the cross does nothing, but an actual cross will hurt a vampire. If you’re invited in somewhere, then they do no damage, but otherwise, they’re deadly.”

You wondered what other questions Marko had in store. Maybe this whole teacher scenario was a way to praise you and make you feel extra good. Perhaps the sadistic vampire was feeling a little generous this time around. Of course, that was an incredibly naive thought to have. You had no idea what deviant thoughts were circling around in that head of his.

Marko stifled a chuckle, jotting down the answer to your second question. He turned to face you, leaning against his desk once more as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Excellent work!” He praised. “You appear to be an expert. Perhaps you can answer this question for me—true or false, according to the Ancient Greeks, vampires can cross salt water.”

In a mere moment, your confidence was drained. Your smile fell and your eyes widened as panic overtook your brain. Marko and the boys hadn’t ever mentioned anything about salt water. This had to be a trick question.

All five of you lived by the ocean, meaning they were around salt water all the time. Surely they wouldn’t live in a seaside city if they were at risk of not getting around properly. The power of flight wouldn’t be stopped by a mere body of water….right?

“Um….it’s….true?”

Marko smirked, his Cheshire grin widening as his stern expression cracked.

“It’s false.” Marko tutted as he strolled towards you. “Water is an interesting topic in vampire lore. The Ancient Greeks believed vampires couldn’t cross running water. In a legend, all vampires were banished to an island, to be trapped for eternity. The Romani believed vampires couldn’t pass over water in general. In Transylvania, a common funeral practice was to walk the deceased through a river or stream to prevent the soul from following living so reanimation could not occur.”

You had no idea Marko was so versatile in different vampire lore from all over the world. From the moment you stepped into the ‘classroom’ you assumed it would all be a test on actual vampire facts. There was so much you didn’t know about cultural beliefs on the monsters you had gotten to know personally.

“I didn’t know. I….I’m sorry…” you said, feeling somewhat dumb now. What would your mate do since you got the answer wrong? You were already trembling in your skimpy little uniform.

“Let’s play a game, dear,” Marko proposed. “Studies say that learning through play is a highly effective strategy. I will continue to quiz you on your knowledge of vampirism and lore, and for every question that’s correct, you’ll receive a reward. But—” He paused for dramatic effect. “For every question that’s incorrect, you’ll receive a spanking. So if you’ll please, assume the position,” he ordered, gesturing to his desk.

If your heart wasn’t racing before, it certainly was now. Marko was acting like the sneaky little thing you knew and loved. You squeezed your thighs together, rubbing them as you felt the beginning hints of arousal rush through your body. The idea of being bent over and punished by his hand was as exciting as it was scary.

You would play along with this game, and do your best with each question. Whatever he wanted to do with your body depended on how well you did. With a needy, innocent look in your eyes, you nodded in acceptance.

“Y-Yes…Sir…”

Marko hummed as he watched you cross the room and lean over his desk, his eyes on your ass and thighs. The pants he had worn for his costume were already feeling quite tight in the front.

“That’s it, little one,” he cooed. “I’ll make a model student out of you, yet…bend over and spread ‘em wide…” He glided to his desk, grabbing a 36-inch long wooden yardstick along the way. He stood behind you, slapping the yardstick over his palm to get a reaction. He chuckled heartily when he saw you flinch.

“Now, next question,” Marko purred as he ran the wooden tool up the inside of your leg, enjoying the sight of you shivering in fear. “True or False, decapitation is an effective way of slaying a vampire.”

It was incredibly difficult to think straight when the massive stick was running along your bare skin. Corporal punishment was most certainly not in schools anymore, but Marko didn’t seem to care. If he had the opportunity to mix pain and pleasure with you, he would take the chance without a second thought.

You took a shaky breath as you tried your best to focus. This was a more of something you knew. The boys told stories about vampires they knew that had met an unfortunate demise. If there was no head, that meant the body was no longer any danger. Surely this question was straightforward with the answer.

“T-True!”

Marko chuckled, leaning forward to whisper into your ear. “Neither.”

“What?”

“It is neither true nor false. In fiction, decapitation is a suitable method for dispatching a vampire. In life, a few of our friends had died in the very same way, but in folklore, decapitation is merely a part of the process. An additional precaution after staking or other methods of dispatch. Take Lucy Westerna in Dracula, for example. The poor maiden was killed after being staked in the heart, but Van Helsing removed her head to be safe.”

“Another example,” Marko continued, “is a shoemaker in sixteen century Poland, formerly known as Breslau. The man committed suicide, but after burial, the townspeople were plagued by his presence. He appeared to them at night, assaulting them in their beds. When his body was exhumed, they saw that after having been buried for over seven months, his body had not decayed. They reburied him, thinking that would resolve the issue, but he still appeared to them at night. He stopped haunting his hometown only after his head and limbs were removed.”

“So…that means you’re wrong, little one.” Marko giggled, jutting his arm back to strike you on your bottom. He lingered in the air a few moments to watch your squirm before bringing the wood down with a thwack!

Your body jolted when the stick hit your skin. The flimsy pair of shorts were not protecting you from any pain at all, meaning you felt the full force of the impact. The flesh of your ass jiggled from the hit, giving Marko a very pleasant sight while you were dealing with the pain. It was so sharp and rough. If this was awaited you with every wrong question, you were going to have to step up your game.

“I-I’m sorry, Sir!” you whimpered. “I’ll do better, I promise!”

Sadistic chuckling greeted your ears. Even with the pain, you felt yourself rubbing your thighs together again. Marko really knew how to put your body through intense sensations.

“I forgive you,” Marko crooned as he rubbed your bottom with his palm. “But if you want to pass this exam, you must focus.”

You nodded, quietly muttering your agreement. Marko stepped back, perching himself in your chair. He crossed his legs, taking in the glorious view of your ass hiked in the air over his desk. He would love to fuck you over the antique cherrywood. But he’d save that for later.

“Next question,” Marko cooed as he tapped the yardstick against the leg of his chair. “True or False, vampires must sleep in coffins.”

Relief washed over you with that question. You watched the boys sleep every day. You KNEW this one, and you weren’t going to let Marko punish you again for something so obvious.

“False! They can hang from the ceiling much like bats,” you answered, trying your best to sound confident. “So long as it’s somewhere dark where the sunlight won’t harm them during the day.”

Your body was trembling terribly as Marko taunted you with the tapping of his stick. Even if you knew the answer was correct, you still mentally prepared for the slap against your ass again if this was another trick question.

The tapping ceased and you froze, keening your head to the side to listen for his movements. But you heard nothing, the vampire moving with a speed and grace left you terrified and confused. You didn’t know where he was or whether you were right or wrong until you felt his hands on your body.

You yelped, nearly jumping out of your skin when you felt his hands on legs. He gave your ass a slap, but it was playful not punitive. You jiggled and Marko snickered. His titter was light hearted and free from sadism. You had a feeling that you were in the clear, but with Marko’s unpredictability, you weren’t sure.

“Good job, little one,” Marko praised as his fingers grabbed the hem of your shorts. “You are correct…looks like you earned a treat.”

He pulled your pants down, exposing your bottom to the crisp air of the cave’s alcove. Prodding at your cheeks, Marko explored your body until he found your orifice. His fingers were slick with something warm and wet, no doubt his favorite brand of lube being used. That warmth teased you more as he began to slip a finger inside of you.

"O-Oh!" you gasped. Marko softly chuckled at your reaction. He knew your body better than anybody in the world, and he proved it as such when he crooked his finger to massage your insides. Your muscles relaxed and your voice let out a sigh as he touched you. He practically had you purring like a kitten.

“There’s my good baby~” he praised you. “My devoted little pupil. If you keep it up with the next question, I’ll be more than happy to give you more of this good touch.”

This time you didn’t answer him with your voice. You simply nodded, ready for more of what he had to offer. Whether the test would be hard or easy, you didn’t care in the slightest. You were just going to give it your all and chase that sweet high of pleasure some more.

Marko smiled as you cooed and sighed from his ministrations. He enjoyed toying with your body, feeling you pulse around him. The only thing that delighted him more was tearing into a throbbing vein or artery.

“Next question,” Marko continued with your quiz. “True or False, vampires are compelled to count millet when spilled?”

Another easy one. You thought such an idea was laughable. Getting vampires to start counting as a way to stop an attack. But you bit back your giggle in favor of another moan. The power of his fingers was just too strong.

"Mmmn…false, Sir~"

You arched your back as you pressed your hips closer to your 'professor'. If he kept this up you were going to be a happy little teacher's pet.

“Very good, my dear,” Marko praised. “You’re on your way to an A plus. Now, let’s see if you can answer this one,” he questioned as he pumped his fingers. “Is Count Von Count from Sesame Street based on the the piece of folklore we just discussed?”

You paused, thinking deeply about the question. You weren’t too sure about this one, but if you used context clues in relation to the name and the concept, it seemed obvious that is was.

“Y-yes?” You replied hesitantly.

Marko tutted, ceasing his movements and removing his hand. You whined audibly. Your insides feeling empty and neglect from his retreat.

“Sadly, the answer is ‘No,’” Marko replied with a sigh before stuffing his fingers in his mouth. He lapped away the edible lube, savoring the strawberry taste mixed with your signature flavor before carelessly wiping his hand on his khakis. Leaning forward, he retrieved the yardstick from his desk and raised it into the air.

“The Count is based on Bela Lugosi’s design and performance, but it’s never been explicitly said on screen that he was a vampire. The Count’s compulsion with counting and numbers is also purely coincidence.”

Your body tensed in preparation for impact. Of course Marko would pull the rug under you with that obvious trap or a question. You would hit yourself in frustration if your mate wasn't about to do it for you.

"And speaking of counting," Marko remarked, still holding the stick to keep your anticipation high. "If you count these next spanks out for me like a good little student, I'll skip ahead to the bonus question."

Knowing Marko, that could mean DOZENS of spanks. You were shaking terribly on top of the desk, wanting nothing more than to get this torture over with.

"B-Bonus question?"

"Yes, darling. It determines how I'm gonna fuck you. Sweet and giving or…"

Smack!

The yardstick hit your ass with a mighty strike. A yipe fell from your mouth from the fright of both the sound and sensation.

"Hard and rough," Marko finished his sentence, voice dripping with wickedness. "So get to counting, my little pupil~"

“Y-yes, Sir!” You muttered into the wood, eager and prepared to please despite your fear.

Marko raised the yardstick again and swiftly brought the thick piece of wood down with a hefty Smack!

“Aah! One!” You replied immediately, grunting your answer through the stinging pain.

He raised his arm one more and delivered another blow, forcing another moan from your lips. “Ugh! Two!”

Marko worked you over, punishing you with a twinkle of sadistic glee in his eyes. You counted, crying out in pain in between each delivery. But like a good student, you completed your task, the experience ending with you panting into the wood. Your bottom was tender and flushed, with thick welts forming on the surface.

You were in great pain, but as you rubbed your thighs together, you felt pleasure. A lust for him to take you. You couldn’t go on like this. Whether he fucked you or made love to you, you needed him inside you.

“Final question. Where did the idea that vampires did not hold a reflection first come from?

It was hard enough catching your breath after crying out for Marko with each spank. Now you had to get your brain to cooperate with you so that this final question could be answered. You forced yourself to relax. Focus. Really think about this.

Reflections. The boys didn’t have reflections in places they weren’t invited. When they were invited and they could blend in as humans, then the reflections appeared. That was a fact, but Marko wanted to test you on the lore of it. God, you wished you had done more reading in your freetime.

Thinking back to when you and the boys watched the iconic Bela Lugosi film for movie night, you thought about Dracula’s powers and weaknesses. In one scene, he slapped a box out of Van Helsing’s hand because it contained a mirror that showed no reflection. If that happened in the book it was based on, then that meant Bram Stoker originally created the idea.

It was a total shot in the dark. You had no idea if other writers or cultures had proposed such an idea earlier in history. Better give it the old college try.

“B-Bram Stoker…” you whimpered, shutting your eyes tight and waiting for Marko to tell you whether you passed or failed.

Marko pursed his lips as he eyed your trembling form. He was a little salty that you were holding your own. He was hoping you’d bomb miserably so he could have his way with you. He wasn’t in the mood for tenderness even though that was one of your options. So he decided to exploit a little loophole…

“Mirrors are an interesting thing in vampire lore,” Marko mused. “The first documented instance of vampires not casting a reflection does in fact appear in Dracula. But there are some folk tales that predate Bram Stoker that relate vampires to mirrors.”

“Mirrors don’t just reflect our physical visage, little one,” Marko continued. “Many cultures relate the mirror to superstition and the human soul—which is why it is common for the mirror to be covered after a loved one passes. In Romani culture, it’s believed that a corpse could turn into a vampire if a mirror is present. But nothing is explicitly said about the reflection. So, the mirror appears in lore before Dracula was published, but Draculal solidified it as a rule.”

“You’re both correct and incorrect.”

“What does that even mean?!” You gasped in confusion.

“That means we both get what we want~”

Before you even had a moment to process his answer, Marko had his hands on you. His fingers grabbed at your hips, pulling you backward so you were pressed up against his body. Long, thick claws sliced into your shorts, tearing away the fabric so that you were completely exposed to him.

Marko was positively insatiable. His long tongue licked across his lips in hunger while his eyes drank in your delicious-looking ass. He couldn’t stop himself from kneading the flesh. You whimpered softly when you felt his erection rub up against your body.

“You seem to do well with praise, my little one. But you need discipline to become the star pupil I know you can be~”

The vampire unzipped his pants with one hand while squeezing at your ass with the other. A lustful moan fell from his lips as his hard, aching cock was freed. He had been aching to take you all night, and now he was going to get what he desired most. Though he was gentle slipping himself inside your lubed hole, that was the extent to the tenderness of his physical actions.

“If you can take this, then I know you can take on anything~” he purred before slamming his hips into you. You let out a yipe, not prepared to go so fast so soon. Without thinking, you grabbed hold onto the sides of the desk, and gripped as hard as you could.

Marko ruthlessly pistoned his hips into you, demonic growls of pleasure falling from his fanged lips. If you could see his face, you would tremble. The vampire’s visage was nightmarish. Marko’s mouth was contorted into a wicked smile while his eyes blazed brighter than any jack-o-lantern.

He wasn’t Marko, your boyfriend, or even Marko the sadist. He was Marko, the monster and you were his plaything for the evening.

But despite channeling his inner beast, he cooed the sweetest words as he ravaged you. Things romantics would whisper to their lovers in the throes of passion. It wasn’t completely odd to you though. Marko found beauty and passion in things that people would label barbaric.

“That’s it, love,” Marko crooned. “You look so beautiful like this…my perfect human~”

“Oh!! Ooooh!!” you cried out for him.

Marko was a tough lover in every way imaginable. You would never fully get used to all the toys, roleplay and domination he loved to use on you. He was a viscious creature with decades of experience. It would take quite some time before you were caught up to even half his level.

And even so, you took it all eagerly. You let him do to your body as he wished. Whatever games he wanted to play would be taken on. He could control you from the inside out and always crave more. As long as you had his heart in return, you accepted him for who he was.

“My darling little one….fuck…my precious love…soooo perfect~” he purred.

His sweet nothings didn’t match his movements though. Certainly not when he grabbed a fistfull of your hair and pulled it hard. You cried out as he forced you upward more, wanting you nice and close as he fucked your brains out.

”I adore every little thought in that head, amore mio~”

Another yank to your hair was given, tugging sideways so your bare neck was exposed for the vampire. An eerie chuckle greeted your ears as he ran his inhuman tongue over your flesh, teasing the veins underneath.

“Let me cherish you. WORSHIP you. I’d perish without you~”

Marko sank fangs into your throat. His pearly white sharpened canines punctured your tender flesh, freeing thick rivulets of crimson that ran down your shoulder. You mewled in pain, but your whine quickly shifted into a sultry moan as Marko snapped his hips. He massaged a tender spot deep inside you. One engorged ridge that made you see stars.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your mouth hung slack. Marko fed from you, pulling your life’s nectar from your body. You swayed on your feet as a high hit you. The sense that you were floating set in. That sensation coupled with the ministrations of Marko’s brutal pace nudged you closer to the edge. That peak where you’d tip over into the abyss.

“F-FUCK! Master…~” You whined as you sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, holding the pouty flesh hostage in between your teeth.

Feeling your body get closer and closer to the release was enough to push Marko towards his own. He unlatched himself from your neck and lapped at the last drops of blood as he kept railing you into the desk.

"Gonna cum for me, little one? Cum for your teacher and show me what devoted student you are?" he cooed. You nodded feverishly, causing him to smile so wickedly.

"I knew you were a good pupil. Come on, little love. Cum with me! Do it!!"

His command hit you like a goddamn truck. Your back arched against his chest and your head fell backwards. All of your limbs tensed up and your stomach contracted as the rush of orgasm consumed you. Pathetic cries mixed with his low moans. It was a truly beautiful sight.

"M-Marko!! Ooh my god~!!" you whimpered. The sweetness of your orgasm was already making quite the mess on the desk below you. It only turned Marko on more.

“If I could stay inside you for eternity, I would,” Marko cooed as he eyed the mess. “I love the masterpieces you make….”

Marko bucked into you one last time. He exploded inside you, his release bathing your insides with a flood of warmth in your lower belly. You whined as he twitched inside you, the writhing of both of your bodies making beautiful art together.

When the high of your pleasure finally subsided, you slumped over the desk again. You were completely spent, both from blood loss and Marko’s perfect cock. Either way, he was more than satisfied with how you looked underneath him. He was careful slipping out of you, knowing you had enough roughness for one day.

“There’s a good mate~” he cooed as he helped turn you over onto your back. You smiled sheepishly from how he stared at you with such intensitiy. “God, I’m a fuckin’ genius for getting you this costume.”

“You look pretty sexy yourself in that getup~”

Marko raised an eyebrow, amused by that statement. He slipping off the glasses with one hand and toyed with the buttons on his shirt with the other.

“What about what’s underneath this?”

Your shy smile morphed into a sly smirk at that question. The two of you kept the sultry gaze going while you wrapped your legs around his hips and tugged him closer again.

“Why don’t you show me, Sir?”

Marko liked that answer quite a bit. After all, as your teacher, he still had plenty of fun lessons to go over with you. He would be incredibly diligent with such an eager learner~

Tag List: @britany1997 @6lostgirl6 @legal-lost-boy @michael-after-hours @bloodywickedvamp @oceansrose2002

#The lost boys #tlb #marko the lost boys #writing request #smut #nsft #gn reader

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genuine-wrestleboy · 7 months

Text

the attraction (4/5)

((here on ao3))

this chapter starts with a read more trust me

"You know," drawls Springtrap, teasing your clit in idle circles. He doesn't finish the thought, and you shudder and writhe beneath him, the attention bordering on overstimulation. You've already come once on his fingers, grasping between moans for coherent thought as he grilled you on everything you'd learned from Mike. You can't remember any specifics of what you'd told him, only that you'd answered every question without hesitation.

Now, every touch is a bellows to the embers in your belly, fanning a steadily rebuilding heat. Your limbs feel languid and loose, heavy with syrupy pleasure.

"What do I know?" Your cheek is chafed from the seat and tacky with your own drool, and you grin into it like an idiot.

“Do you know, I think you must be the only person to have gone through that tasteless little place with no idea of what a springlock is?”

“Really?” Your friends had known, but they were into this sort of thing. To be honest, right now you’re a little more interested in why his hand has stopped moving. You roll your hips, seeking friction, but he doesn’t react, even when he bends over you, even when you feel the thick, blunt shape of him at your entrance.

“Do you want to know?” asks Springtrap. Something about his tone sends an unexpected prickle of fear along your nerves. “I could show you. I’d bet you none of them have ever seen one.”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, the cold cobweb of fear on your palms. Your heart gutters under your ribs.

"Oh but you've been so good for me. It's the least I could do."

The praise catches on the rising tide of unease in your chest, blunting the sharpest edges and flooding you with warmth. You whimper pitifully into the upholstery of your backseat, your pussy clenching on empty air.

Springrap laughs. He ruts forward, and you feel the hot curving length of him slide against you, thick as four of your fingers and slick with shared arousal. A moan stutters up from your stomach and tumbles through your lips as you press back into his touch.

Then, without warning, a hand slams down next to you, filling your line of sight. You startle, flinching away, but there's nowhere for you to go. Springtrap cages you in, heavy and huge and reeking—a sharp, burnt chemical smell; damp, moldering rot. The hand by your face twitches, sinks its fingers into the seat, and you stare in open horror.

Sad, scorched remnants of greenish fur, the sleeve of the suit hanging in ruined tatters. Exposed, a mangle of flesh and steel, raw red muscle trellising a frame of blackened metal and yellow bone. Wires knit through the carnage like veins, frayed beyond function.

Part of the suit, you remember with a thrill. Your heart is pounding so fast and hard you can no longer tell where fear ends and excitement begins.

That line has always been thin for you, anyway.

"Do you see?" Springtrap twists his arm, and the light catches several slats of steel that bite sideways through the bone like broad flat teeth.

"Yes—oh, oh, yes."

All the breath in your body leaves you all at once, a gasping, begging syllable of sound. Springtrap’s cock breaches your hole, sudden and sweet, and you feel your body immediately fight to pull him in deeper. A deep, snarling sound rolls through him, control clung to by the sharp points of his fingers.

He thrusts once, shallow and slow. Your skin feels like it's on fire.

"Please," you beg, "please, god, please," and even as he ruts another shallow thrust into you he gives no indication of having heard.

"This is no ordinary mascot costume, you understand. Its design is almost perfectly unique, both suit and animatronic as the occasion requires."

As he speaks, he presses forward, fucking you open with agonizing, unhurried deliberation. You whimper helplessly, overwhelmed by the stretch, the fullness. He feels huge inside you, carving himself indelibly into your body like something you'll never really recover from.

"An impressive trick, I think you'll agree. When the animatronic is in use, it uses a sophisticated endoskeleton for support. Naturally, while the endoskeleton is in place, there's no way for it to function as a suit."

Springtrap's hips bite into you as he bottoms out, the pinch of metal joints, tiny pricks of pain fading into harmony with the pleasure.

"Fuck," you gasp, forgetting yourself.

A tsk of disapproval. Without missing a beat, Springtrap rears back to swat a sharp blow on your ass. Without the skin on skin contact, it lacks the sting of a spank, but the intention comes across clearly enough.

"One of these days," he tells you, sweet as rotten fruit, "I'm going to have to teach you a lesson about that mouth of yours."

He pets your neck in little circles with his thumb, coarse fur catching your skin. You press back into the touch like it doesn’t choke you. Leaning forward, Springtrap picks up speed, finding a heady, relentless rhythm, grinding against your ass with every thrust. Slick wet heat paints your thighs and pulses through your core, wave after wave, wringing a string of high, thin keens from your throat. Thank god for the middle of nowhere, because if you ever had a head for how loud you’re being, it’s long gone now.

"Now, where was I?” wonders Springtrap aloud. “Ah, yes. When the costume is ready to be worn, the endoskeleton isn't taken out—no, you see, it's wound aside and locked in place at the sides of the suit by a complex series of springs specially designed to hold its component parts in place. I imagine you can tell where this is headed, now, can't you? Can't you?" he adds when you fail to respond, the grip on your neck tightening.

"Yes, sir," you insist emphatically, though you could not for the life of you guess where this is headed.

Springtrap hums, pleased.

"It's not a foolproof process," he admits, "though heaven knows fools have attempted it. The springlocks can be…fickle, for those without the proper hand to use them."

He leans further forward, enough weight on your neck to send your vision swimming at the edges. Growling low and gravel-addled in his throat, he pulls back, then slams himself home, hitting something inside you that sends a shock of pleasure up your spine. You feel your pussy throb around him, and he lets out a harsh, scraping breath, hips stuttering.

"Good," he praises breathlessly. “You're taking me so well. How does my cock feel in that tight little hole?"

"God,” you gasp, “so good, it feels—ha!—please, you feel so good."

"That's right, darling," he soothes. "You understand, don't you?"

You choke out a moan and grope, thick-fingered, through your thoughts, but any sense of promised understanding eludes you. All you find is static—hazy, airless pleasure, the merciless pace of Springtrap’s thrusts shaking your mind to useless grey slurry. You can barely think past the drive of his hips, the sweet spreading ache of his cock filling you until there’s no room anywhere inside you for anything else. It's him, and him, and him like thick rising smoke, coiling through your body as you burn.

"I am so much more than I was, and not yet even all I could be. Look."

The pressure on your neck eases, and you pull in a breath that feels like glass in your lungs. Bruise for bruise, Springtrap fists his hand in your hair instead, and you gasp at the sudden pull of pain, the shiver of pleasure that comes with it.

“Look,” he repeats fiercely.

Your eyes flutter open to gristle and steel, that vivid, bloodless gore, as impossible as it is inescapable. The stringy muscle remnants flex and relax as Springtrap fucks you roughly into the seat, his breath fraying quickly at the edges. His cock feels like it’s pulling you apart, unspooling you with the ease of something dissolving out into a warm bath.

"That is total springlock failure, the compressive power of a hundred kilos of steel versus the infinitely fallible human form. It is a death sentence.”

He snarls it directly into your ear, a hungry, panting pride that throbs in the warm clutch of your core. His teeth scrape your shoulder, the harsh hiss of his breath drawing gooseflesh down your neck.

“And I have survived it twice."

He bottoms out, and your thighs clamp, trembling, shut as your orgasm rockets through you white-hot and screaming. Springtrap groans, low and loose, his pace unslowing but erratic, dragging you through the dregs of shuddering aftermath until you’re sobbing from pleasure.

"Still my sweet little slut," he hisses affectionately. "You just want to be filled, don't you?”

“Yes." Fuck, you have never wanted anything so badly. "Yes, sir, please, yes, I need it, please."

Weak, desperate tension coils in your belly, snapping suddenly free as you feel him start to come inside you. Springtrap pumps himself once, twice, hands snapping to your hips with fierce, unrelenting strength as he pulls you flush against him and holds you there. With a ragged moan, he empties himself into your needy hole, thick spurts of pooling heat. You whimper breathlessly at the sensation, too overcome to do more than lay there and take it.

Maybe you'll never have to move again. Maybe the rest of your life can be this single, blissed-out moment, facedown in the backseat of your car, sated and spent.

"What do we say?" prompts Springtrap, his voice still returning to itself.

"Thank you, sir," you manage in return, and he hums and runs an appreciative hand up your thigh.

"Good."

It hurts most when he pulls out, the bruisey tenderness between your legs causing your breath to hitch. Springtrap runs a knuckle through your folds, over your sensitive clit and up again. Discomfort blooms; you feel him press his spend back inside you with two thick fingers, twitching with the simultaneous urges to rock back and jerk away.

“What a remarkable thing you are,” he says quietly, almost to himself.

The space around your heart lights up, and you laugh, a little fuckdrunk. “You don’t have to butter me up, I’m a sure thing.”

“I’ve noticed.” Springtrap sounds thoughtful. He’s silent for a moment, and then the car lurches and shifts as he lifts himself out. Without the weight of him, without his hands on you, you feel shapeless and small, a crushed insect bleeding out on the sidewalk. Gingerly, you roll onto your side, catching your breath properly for the first time in what feels like hours.

When you trust your body to support its own weight again, you haul yourself into a seated position and reach for the nearest tshirt to clean yourself up a little. A beat passes, and then another, but Springtrap doesn’t come back.

Alone with the vacuum of his absence, your spinning thoughts spit out the possibility that maybe you’ve done something you shouldn’t have.

Then you hear the susurrus of heavy returning footfall through the leaves, and a palpable relief leans with him through the open door.

“Come here,” says Springtrap, holding out a hand. You rest your chin obediently in the crook of his palm, and he lifts your face up and to the side, examining the bruises on your neck with an air of delight. A lick of fear rises and dies in your stomach, and you realize you’re half waiting for the prick of fangs.

Things would be so much simpler, you think, if he was only after your blood.

“What do you want from me?” Your voice is soft with fear and sandpaper-sore, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Springtrap’s head tilt to one side.

"Everything," he replies, as though it should be obvious. He turns your face, forcing the two of you eye-to-eye, and you squirm self-consciously under the silver spotlight of his stare. "You're mine. Would you offer me less?"

"No," you assure him, and mean it, "no, of course not, I just—"

Springtrap nods, all sympathy. "You're still afraid of me—no, I like it. You should be."

You don't know how to respond to that. You are afraid of him, but you sense it might not be entirely in the way that you should be. It’s a keen-cut gem of a feeling, something bright and gleaming you could turn and turn in your hands and never really see the true shape of, shadows thrown from every flickering facet. Something that could cut you straight to bone with one wrong move. You look at Springtrap and imagine blood in your palms, your mouth. There’s a question on your tongue that has its iron taste, and you don’t know how else to get it off but to ask it.

"What happened to your daughter?"

Springtrap freezes. Tension tightens the hand on your face.

"My daughter." His displeasure is a palpable thing, creeping and cold, and you rush to fill the silence as if you could ward it back with the right words.

“Mike said—”

Springtrap scoffs. “I’m sure he did.”

You can feel the narrow-eyed scrutiny he levels at you. He starts to pull his hand away, and you clutch at his wrist with both of your own to stop him. The open joint catches painfully on the web between your thumb and forefinger, but you don't let go.

The scrutiny shifts, sharpens into a long look of appraisal that simmers under your skin. Then, slowly, Springtrap pulls his hulking frame along the seat until he’s crowding you against the opposite door. His shadow swallows you whole, the pad of his thumb pressing gently against the seam of your lips.

"Listen to me. It was a terrible tragedy, what happened to Elizabeth. Not a day goes by that I don't regret it. But when I realized what she had become—how could I have stood aside and let her death go to waste?”

“What she had become?” you ask thinly.

“Hmm,” he says, almost disappointed. “I take it Michael didn’t tell you about that?”

"He said you were keeping her prisoner,” you reply, and Springtrap bites out a sharp, frustrated sound.

"I was keeping her safe. Children so rarely appreciate the difference. Did Michael tell you that I killed her?”

“He, um, sort of implied it,” you confirm.

"Predictable,” he sneers. “He's always had such a talent for martyrdom.”

Springtrap pauses, head to one side, then adds, “Did he tell you what he did to his brother?”

"His—?” Something cold stirs at the back of your chest.

A tsk. "Neglected that particular detail, did he? Shame, it's quite a story.”

You'd honestly feel less scrambled if he put you in a bottle and shook you at this point. You’re still trying to process the last three minutes of this conversation, flinging your brain in a dozen different directions just to keep it all up in the air. This new information feels like suddenly having a knife tossed into your already precarious juggling act.

“Will you tell me?” you ask hopefully.

His eyes find yours, sharp and bright. “No, I rather think you should ask him yourself. You’ve been here a while, he must be worrying.”

“He thinks you want to hurt me,” you say, guilt rankling in your gut.

"I don't suppose you've done anything to disabuse him of that notion, hm?"

Embarrassed heat floods your face. "I—no," you admit. “I haven’t.”

Springtrap strokes your cheek with his thumb, the metal warmed by its long proximity to your skin. “I wonder, does Michael think that I wouldn’t go through him to get to you? Or is he relying on the opposite?”

"I don't—you think he's using me as bait?"

“Does that surprise you?” asks Springtrap. “Why? You can hardly know him well enough.”

“I—right.” The idea sits sideways in you, but it does, horribly, make you feel a little better about lying to Mike. If neither of you were completely honest, then you’re sort of even. You force a laugh, a harsh huff of air. “Some bait I turned out to be.”

“Nothing is over yet,” says Springtrap. You can hear the grin in his voice.

Nerves prickle along your skin. “What do you mean?”

The muzzle of the mask follows the path of his hands, butting up along your jaw, grazing your cheek. Tension fizzles out of your muscles everywhere he touches, leaving behind a pleasant, pliant warmth. When he nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder, you melt against him, scritching a hand up to rest between his ears. Springtrap touches you gently under the chin, turns your face to his.

“You didn’t lure me to Michael,” he says, “but you can still lure Michael to me.”

His fur leaves a black residue on your hands, ash and grit and grease.

“You want me to bring him back here?” Damn it. Maybe you’re a soft touch, but you like Mike. Decency pours off the guy in waves; it can’t all be put on. “You aren’t going to hurt him, are you?”

Springtrap turns to ice in your arms. “He tried to burn me alive.”

You have no idea what to say to that. Part of you still wants to defend Mike, but part of you also wants to flick yourself in the back of the head.

Springtrap sits back, holding your face with both huge hands and studying it with knifelike precision, as if his eyes could peel back the layers of skin and watch the muscles that make your expressions.

“Perhaps it's too much to ask." He shakes his head. "This is a family matter. Michael should never have involved you.”

But it’s too late for that, isn't it? You're as involved as it gets. You reach out, touching the hinge of Springtrap’s jaw with hesitant fingertips. The suit is burnt here, too, fresh dark gashes where fur has curled away from the metal beneath—and beneath that, a glimpse of bone, punctured by steel and half-obscured by papery purpled skin. Fascination holds you with a fist, scarcely letting you breathe.

“I’ll do it,” you hear yourself say, and you watch with rapt attention through a tangle of loose wires as the corner of his lipless mouth curves up over his teeth.

“My sweet thing. I knew I could rely on you.” He makes a sort of aborted nodding gesture, muzzle scraping your skin, then jerks away with a bitten-off snarl.

“Meet me at Fazbear’s. Try not to keep me waiting.”

The car creaks and sags again under his shifting weight, and it isn’t until he’s gone, slouching away through the rapidly darkening trees, that you realize he’d just tried to kiss you.

You stand barefoot in the dirt by your car for a long time, your heart doing cartwheels while your stomach sinks into your heels.

The drive to Mike’s takes twice as long as it should, partially because you can barely concentrate on the road, but mostly because your phone has vanished into the bowels of your car, and making your way back by memory is a feat that doesn’t exactly play to your strengths. By the time you pull into the lot, you're shaking with exhaustion and half-nauseous with the anxiety churning in your stomach. You can feel your heartbeat in your teeth.

God, what are you even doing here? How did it come to this? Caught between the wolves and the cliff, an unwitting participant in the plans of two immortal men trying to kill each other. Mike was apparently willing to risk your safety to keep his parts moving smoothly, but you don't want him to die for it, do you? You don’t know—there’s so much you don’t know. What happened here? Death and Remnant and secrets and accidents and you with your hands full of questions with no answers. It’s like trying to put together a puzzle in the dark, feeling your way along the edges in the mad hope that things will eventually start to fit together.

Only, you know what you want that picture to look like, don't you? The moment flashes again through your mind, piercing silver eyes and mitted palms cradling your face, metal hips pinning you down and your heart in your throat. Considering…everything, it's ridiculous to be this hung up on something so small, a kiss that didn't even happen, but here you are, grinning into your hand hard enough to make your cheeks ache.

A knock on the window startles you out of your reverie, and your elbow jabs the car horn as you jolt away. On the other side of the glass, Mike raises a hand, wincing apologetically. A twinge of guilt tests its cold teeth on your insides.

"Hey!" you say shakily. "Hold on, I'll—"

You fumble, suddenly clumsy, and all but fall out of your seat, biting down on whatever you can muster of a smile. Mike's forehead creases in concern, which you pretend not to notice.

"You weren't answering your phone," he says, slightly out of breath.

"Oh," you say, "sorry, I sort of lost it. Did something happen?"

He straightens, tugging at the brim of his hat. "Nothing important. How was the hospital?"

"Fine," you lie. "My friends were already gone, but that nurse from last time found me. We talked for a while, I must’ve lost track of time.”

“Nurse Gruesome,” confirms Mike. “I remember."

"Yeah, she really hates your guts," you tell him, and he laughs.

"I did get that impression. I’m sorry you missed your friends.”

You shrug. “I’ll see them eventually.”

The moment hangs awkwardly in the air between you, a strange sort of tension that reminds you, abruptly, that you and Mike are still technically strangers. You can tell that he’s looking at you, his eyes unreadable in the dim streetlights that buzz overhead, his shoulders set stiff and both hands shoved down into his pockets.

“I’m just gonna—” you begin, gesturing towards your bags in the backseat.

Mike lets out a breath. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

That catches you off-guard. “I—yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

He studies you for another wordless moment, the hair prickling on the back of your neck, your heartbeat in your ears and a brief, seeping certainty that he knows. He knows and—what? What do you think he’d do? Should you be afraid? Maybe it’s to your own detriment, but you can’t imagine being afraid of Mike. You can barely imagine him angry.

“Do I not seem alright?” you press, your voice pulled taut as catgut.

“You seem tired,” says Mike finally, and there’s no lie at all in your response.

“I guess I am. Today was, uh. It took a lot more out of me than I was expecting it to.”

He nods, scratching idly at the side of his bandaged neck. “Would you like a hand bringing anything in?”

An unexpected surge of tears roars up the back of your throat, your whole face suddenly tight and hot. You turn back towards your car to hide it, blinking rapidly and scrubbing a casual hand across your face.

“That would be great, thank you,” you reply thickly.

Mike takes the bag you pass him without comment, slinging it over his shoulder and glancing away politely. Your backpack got itself wedged under the seat during…previous activities, and as you yank it free, something falls from one of the flaps and clatters to the pavement with a horribly familiar cracking sound.

“Oh hell,” you mutter.

“Was that your phone?”

"Sure was." Hopefully it still is; you stoop to assess the damage, but aside from a new crack in the corner of the screen, it seems otherwise unharmed. The lock screen informs you that you have a couple missed calls and unopened texts, both from Mike, and from the looks of it also a dozen accidental pictures of the inside of your pocket. At least, they're probably just of the inside of your pocket, but you refrain from checking any of them in front of Mike, just in case.

"She's alive," you announce cheerfully, waving the phone in celebration.

Mike offers a smattering of congenial applause, his bandaged hands muffling the sound, and you take a little bow. Something in your chest starts to loosen, comfort settling back in through the cracks of unease.

"Ready?" asks Mike.

"Lead the way." You hitch up your backpack and follow him inside. “So what have you been up to while I was gone? Anything fun?”

Mike gives you a sort of bemused look. “I don’t know if I would call it fun. I’ve been checking local news sites for the most part. A few of them have reported on the fire, but nobody seems to have noticed anything strange about it. Which is good for arson purposes,” he muses, “but it doesn’t exactly do much for me otherwise.”

You chew the inside of your cheek and make interested noises and think it would be so easy. He wants to find Springtrap, all you would have to do is point him in the right direction.

The opportunity comes, and it passes, and you don't say anything. In the end, it doesn't matter either way. You get inside, and Mike flicks on the lights, and the double-take he does when he catches a proper look at you would almost be funny under different circumstances.

“Shit—shit, what happened?” He extends a hand like he’s about to touch you, fingers curling in on themselves. “I thought you said you were alright?”

"I look that bad?" You'd given yourself a cursory once-over in your car window, but your reflection had been mostly obscured by the coming dark. Still, you can feel the scrapes and bruises he’s seeing now, even if the worst of them are hidden by your clothes. The sting of déjà vu makes it hard to meet his eyes.

Maybe Mike feels it too; maybe it’s something else that gives you away. He sways on his feet, the bright pinpricks of his pupils slicing you neatly down to the bone. The déjà vu of that is another thing entirely.

“He found you.”

“He didn’t hurt me,” you say, maybe too quickly. “I know how it looks, I—it’s complicated.”

“It always is, with him.” Even with the mask, you can see Mike’s expression slam shut, his knuckles whitening on the strap of your bag. He says your name, and it isn't angry, it isn't even disappointed, it's just sad. “Have you been helping him?”

“No—I don’t know.” Does fucking him qualify as helping? He’s really only asked you for one thing, and you’re struggling to do even that.

“You can’t trust him,” Mike tells you softly. “He’d say anything if he thought it would get him what he wanted. If you believe nothing else I’ve told you, please, believe that.”

“I don’t want to,” you admit. Anger flares, ugly and sharp, but it goes as quickly as it comes. You’re too tired to maintain it.If Mike is asking you to pick sides, he’s not going to like your answer, but you can’t really harbor any ill will towards him.

He pulls in a quick, tight breath and glances away, his eyes glassy and dark. “Right. I think we should talk about this, but I sense I may be alone in that.” He pauses, like he’s giving you the chance to contradict him. You don’t.

“He’s at Fazbear’s Fright,” you hear yourself say. It’s like you’re looking at your emotions through a thin sheet of ice, a cold, distant distortion that numbs your fingers when you try to touch it.

Mike’s eyes snap back to you. You stare down at your hands.

“I’m sorry, I need a moment to think.” His voice is a thousand miles away. “Would you–?”

“Yeah,” you say, “sure, I need to clean up anyway.”

“Thank you.”

You slink off towards the bathroom with your tail between your legs. As soon as the door is shut behind you, you fling your backpack at the wall as hard as you can, leaving a scuff on the beige paint. Two grey, threadbare towels hang by the shower, and you all but stuff one into your mouth and scream. Your poor abused throat gives up quickly, abandoning you to hoarse hyperventilating and a taste like cheap soap on your tongue. You try to imagine the smell of rust, of smoke, sucking them down into your lungs like water until you’re in over your head, cradled in comfort, swimming and still.

You emerge some time later with your face washed and your clothes changed, every new injury scrubbed and stinging. Your bag is on the couch, but Mike isn’t. From where you stand, you can see enough to tell that he’s not in the kitchen either. The only other room in the tiny apartment is the bedroom, and you don’t want to go barging in on him if he still wants to be alone, but the door is hanging open far enough that it feels like an invitation.

“Mike?” Your knuckles meet the flimsy plywood hesitantly, barely a knock. “Mike, I can talk now, if you still want to?”

There’s no response. You open the door by degrees, ready for him to stop you at any second, but no word of protest comes. Peeking around the door, you’re met by a very small, very dark, very empty room. Mike is gone.

Tires screech out in the parking lot, and understanding yanks you by the scruff into motion.

#springtrap #springtrap x reader #springtrap fnaf #my fic

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