#i should probably get off the internet for once in my life

[27-royal-teas]

pros of joining the fob fandom

everyone is super sweet and nice and likes what I have to say and they’re all creative and good writers and talented and incredible and kind to me and way too cool and have good ideas and and and

cons of joining the fob fandom

I get emotional over a picture of middle aged men smiling at each other. im not nearly mentally stable enough to feel this many emotions all the time and you fuckers feel the need to pull more emotions from out of me all the time

#fob #fall out boy #i should probably get off the internet for once in my life #and actually focus on my own music for once #I just have zero self control #also I feel like I have to write really good articulate stuff all the time for people to notice me and that’s a shitty feeling but #that’s how it is when you worm your way into a fandom #ill find my place eventually #mostly !!! i just want a lot of friends!!!!! #i love friends!!!!! #be my friend!!!! please! #toby speaks

[nathaslosthershit]

Unremarkable (LN4)

(Part 2 of the Blind Items series)

Summary: Blind Items returns again to ruin yet another happy couple's peace. This time, Lando Norris and his ‘unremarkable’ girlfriend.

“Lando, have you seen this?” his girlfriend asked, showing him the tweets. When they had soft launched, she got a small dose of what it would be like to be the WAG of Lando Norris. But even when they hadn’t known anything about her, some people still had been so mean. Now that they knew she had a ‘commoner’ job, they had started tearing her to shreds. ‘How could someone so rich and famous go for such a plain girl’ was what so many people had said. 

“Oscar showed it to me today. I am so sorry, honey, I was hoping that you wouldn’t have seen it. Those people are absolute asses, love.” He probably should have said something earlier but he knew how hard she would take it. While she had joked in the past about the differences in their jobs, especially the pay, he knew she felt insecure about it at times. 

“The thing is, I didn’t see it. Not at first. I only saw it when I heard one of my students talking about it in class today. Can you even imagine how humiliating that was for me? Hearing my own students who I have done nothing but be kind and understanding to, trying to get them to love learning, talk about how awful it is their favorite driver is dating someone as boring as a teacher.” She couldn’t stop the tears as she went on about the situation. He wouldn’t understand, he couldn’t. She knew Lando had his moments of insecurity but nothing like this. At the end of the day, he still had hundreds upon thousands of fans who loved him immensely. 

Even if he couldn’t fully understand, it still broke his heart seeing how much it hurt her. Sure, he hadn’t ever thought he would date a school teacher either, but that was mostly due to his previous lack of appreciation for school. But being with her has changed that. His girlfriend could always make things interesting. She loved to spout history facts on vacation and it always made him so deliriously happy to see how giddy she was to learn new things. 

Seeing her now though, so visibly upset made him realize this wasn’t something that could slide easily. His PR team might not love it but he wasn’t going to just sit there and let her feel terrible about herself.

“I’ll fix this, I promise.” He said quickly as he left. He shouldn’t have left her alone and crying, but he was fuming and decided he needed that anger to let his message out. 

landonorris

Liked by oscarpiastri and 153,137 others

landonorris I don’t know who this gossip page thinks they are but the last thing I will tolerate is someone hiding behind a screen telling the entire world that my girlfriend, who I love more than life itself, is ‘dull’ and ‘unremarkable’ because of her job. This is a woman who is smarter than 99% of the people I have ever interacted with, someone who spends so much of their time trying, and succeeding, to get kids to love learning. Even as someone who didn’t appreciate school as much as they should have, I would never have once thought school teachers were any of the negative things you have said. Luckily, here I am, happy with my amazing girlfriend who deserves the entire world, and I know I will spend the rest of my life trying to give it to her. 

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A few minutes later she came into the room, tears still staining her cheeks.

“Thank you Lando” she said as he motioned for her to sit on his lap. 

“I can say more if you want? I definitely think I could have cursed them out mor-” He was cut off with a kiss. The sheer force of it caused them to bump heads a little, which then caused them to break apart giggling. “I’m serious about what I said. I don’t know what I did to get someone as wonderful as you but I am not going to let some assholes on the internet make you upset over something so incredible. You should be proud of what you do and I will forever work to remind you of how amazing you are.”

“I love you, Lando” was all she replied.

“I love you more”

“Please can we not play this game you know I love-”

“Nope, la-la-la-la I can’t hear you over the sound of me loving you soooo much” He said as he covered his ears.

Such a dork, she thought.

#f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #lando x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine

[naompspsps]

How they would act when you fall asleep on their shoulder Pt. 6

Part 5 (Leona, Kalim & Ace)

Summary: You had a long morning, and you didn't even get enough sleep so now you are very tired, But sitting with them in the courtyard during lunch break, while they talk you find yourself falling asleep, your head on their shoulder.

Ft. Ortho, Deuce & Jade x GN!Reader [Seperate]

A/n: dear me i had a crisis whether i should add ortho or not, but look at me, i did it anyways! you can think of his part as romance (if you're even allowed to do that) Or platonic because its either :▶

! do not repost or translate my works anywhere. do not copy or use my works in any site, Reblogs are appreciated alot though !

Ortho

His only best efforts he can do is stay still and try not to shift positions alot. He has to ask multiple times if you are really feeling okay and not uncomfy, But since you told him you seriously won't feel anything, He decided to stay still. Probably hums you a lullaby.

As you fall asleep, He looks at you, Even scans you, Double check if you're asleep before going on using the internet just at his fingertips. Who knows, He might be texting everyone about you, positively. Afterall, He's a happi boy :]

You nod at every story he tells you all about his life. How does he know these childhood things as a robot? You will never know.. But you gotta admit, the stories are interesting. You took off your jacket, folding it into a pillow. You place the folded jacket on Ortho's shoulder. You lay the side of your head onto it, Your arms taking Ortho's arm in an embrace. Your actions made Ortho stop speaking, blankly staring at you for a few seconds. "Eh? What's wrong?" He asks. "..Keep talking, Orthy.. I'm just getting comfortable." You mutter under your breath. Ortho doesn't look pleased with your answer, Because he can tell you were lying. "You don't need to tell me." He chuckles kindly with a hint of mischief in it. Your eyes were closed but your ears were focused on him, when You suddenly hear a scanning noise which causes you to sit back up and look at him scanning you. "Hmm, You are... Tired? And stress??" He asks himself.

You grumble incoherent curses at him, Who lightly pulls your head back on his shoulder. "Well You could've just said so!" He says with pure enthusiasm. "Orthy, No.. I wanna keep listening.." You mumble sadly. Without being affected by your sulkings, Ortho shakes his head. "Nope, You listen to it later but I say you sleep!" You sigh, Yawning after that. "Fine!" You agree. Ortho helps you fall asleep easier by humming you a lullaby his brother once did to his human self. Just when you are sleeping, Ortho checks on you, Scanning you, double the better. "Asleep.." He whispers to himself, "Good- You need it badly." He sighs in relief. Thank sevens you're already sleeping, you must be so tired.. He sways his fingers in air, A magical program appearing infront of him as he uses it to wait for you to wake up.

Deuce

We all know he's trying his best to change, he was a delinquent so who's there to say that he knows what he's doing? No way he used to let people rest on him when he was a delinquent. That's just impossible mate.

He doesn't how to do this, so he just sticks with the basics. Though the more you sleep on him the more he gets used to it and start to like it. He would think it isn't really that bad anymore and get used to it. Still not knowing his next moves, but it's not like you mind, you're literally dead asleep on him.

You and Deuce are studying for the next lesson, You don't know this.. Damnit, Another all nighter. As the shade of the tree hides you both from the sun, you yawn softly. Deuce looks at you. "Sleepy?" He asks. You sigh tiredly, leaning your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes. "Hey, What are you-" He couldn't even finish what he said, because you're already asleep. He closes the book and place it beside him, thinking of what to do. He never even experienced these kinds of things, how should he do this..

Deciding to be brave, Deuce pats your head softly, only to feel his heart soften when you rub your head against his shoulder like a cat striving for attention. "Aw.." He says in a low voice. "On second thought, This actually feels good." He adds, Rubbing your head with his hand. You tug on the ends of his blazer, snoring quietly. He spots your pen, hanging on your ear. He gently takes it, putting it on the ground. Deuce still isn't aware of what he should do next, but the best he can do is just rest aswell. He closes his eyes. "Hah.. Let's just do the assignment together later.. Let's just.. Rest.." He mumbles.

Jade

Jade is that type to know your current conditions, But won't ask if you need help, instead, You'll be the one asking instead. He expects you to already ask him to be a pillow. He sees you at the hallway, almost tripping and falling, he already knows. He's just waiting for you to ask for help from him.

So the moment you ask if you can lean on his shoulder to take a short nap he'll probably let you lay on his lap. Like It might be more comfy on my lap and he was meant to do that purposely. To make you sleep on his lap, if anything he might just hypnotize you to do so.

You watch Jade read a book. You thought about telling him. He won't mind.. Right? You lean your forehead against his shoulder, his attention switches to you. "What seems to be the matter?" He asks, You can hear the excitement in his voice, probably just you. "Mm.. Let me rest on you for a while.. Please." You plead him, He expected you to ask him but he didn't expect the plead. Jade chuckles lowly. "You can, but why don't you rest on my lap? It must be uncomfortable sleeping like this."

"But you're reading something.." You slowly get back up. Jade lifts his book up to read closely. "There, You may rest on my lap now." You exhale lightly. "Fine.." You mumble, resting your head on his lap, He's smiling at you, but in the inside he's having a victory dance. You start to relax as you close your eyed and sleep. Jade runs his fingers through your hair, "Sleep well." He whispers to you.

Author's End note: Still happy I got vil :▶

! do not repost or translate my works anywhere. do not copy or use my works in any site, Reblogs are appreciated alot though !

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #gn reader #ortho shroud #deuce spade #twst deuce #twst ortho #deuce spade x reader #deuce spade x yuu #jade leech #twst jade #jade leech x reader #jade leech x yuu #twisted wonderland x yuu

[twignotstick]

Broken Brothers (and How to Fix Them)

Part 1 🧡

Note: This story is based on @cupcakeslushie 's Empyrean Weeping au. These characters are not my own, and this story is in no way canon to the main story. I wrote this as my love letter to the story and the characters. Especially April :)

(And because the au comp has made me go rabid, but that's another problem 🤡)

Tags: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, ROTTMNT, Mikey & April, Raph & April, NOT MY CHARACTERS, Empyrean Weeping AU, recovery, cooking, mental issues, talking it out because we're adults, sickness, sickfic (kinda)

Warnings (if there's anything I should add here, tell me please!): small physical injury, mention of past injury, description of scars

Words: 2,107

Summary: April was able to figure out her first brother easily. Now, she gets three more, with a couple more issues to worry about.

----------------------

In the few weeks since Mikey had come home, April had been having a blast. Don't get her wrong, she loved Raph. He was her brother. Her best friend, even. But sometimes he could be a little… overbearing? Sensitive? Thought she was dying when she got her period?

Mikey was fun. He swore like a sailor, which made Raph go crazy. He loved talking and listening, even when he wasn't really interested in April's rambling. And ever since Splinter had first shown him the kitchen, they all found out that he could cook.

According to him, he had cooked some before, when he was younger. But man, once he had access to the recipes of the internet, Mikey was an incredible chef. Every morning, he'd wake up to make breakfast for everyone. April had even made a habit of showing up to eat breakfast with the mutants.

It had all been going great! Mikey was adjusting perfectly!

And then he got sick.

April figured it was probably because of the sudden change of scenery. His body was still catching up, and coming to the surface for the first time in his life didn't help either. It was at the most a bad cold, but his nose was stuffed and his throat sounded like a clogged sink. He kept getting coughing fits and dizzy spells.

April had come down to visit. She wanted to check on Mikey, and on Raph. He had gone full protective Mama Bear mode as soon as Mikey even got the slightest hint of a sniffle. April knew that if he didn't get a moment to relax and not worry about his sick brother, he'd probably pull something and get sick himself.

When she arrived to a panicked Raph tossing around couch cushions, she knew her damage control would need to be in high gear.

“Raph?” April asked quietly, dropping her backpack off her shoulder and lowering it next to the couch. “Everything alright, big guy?”

“APRIL!” Raph dropped the pillows he had been holding and whipped around to face her. “Have you seen Mikey?! I went into his room to get him up and he wasn't there. Did you see him on your way in?!”

“Uh, no?” April stepped up and placed a hand on Raph's shoulder. “Take a second and breathe, Raph. With me. In and out.”

April guided Raph's breathing until he finally looked like he had his head on straight again. “Good job,” she whispered. “Now, you said he wasn't in his room.”

“No,” Raph said quickly. “I checked there. I looked under his sheets, I know-”

“Okay, I believe you. Did you check the bathroom?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...Raph.”

“I WAS FREAKING OUT! I'VE BEEN SCREAMING HIS NAME, HE SHOULD'VE-”

“Okay, okay, it's okay!” April held her hands out placatingly. “I get it. He's your brother, it's okay to be worried about him. Maybe all the gunk in his nose got up in his ears and he couldn't hear you.” She breathed deeply. “Listen, you go check the bathroom and the dojo. Even if you already checked, check again. I'm gonna go to the kitchen and make myself something, because school lunch sucked today and I'm starving.” April grabbed Raph's shaking hand. “We'll find him.”

Raph took a deep breath and released it, holding April's hand loosely. “Right. We'll find him. He's gonna be okay. Raph's gonna be okay, because Mikey's gonna be okay!”

“Yes, yes, that's right Raph.” April's tone shifted on a dime. “Now go. Shoo. Skedaddle. I got food to eat.”

Raph shooed away timidly. April knew that he was just trying to make sure his baby brother was okay, but jeez. Not even checking the bathroom first? If you're going to lose track of someone, at least start looking for them in a reasonable place.

April made it to the kitchen and stopped suddenly at the doorway, almost shouting out for Raph immediately.

Come on, Raph. There isn't even a door here. Mikey was in clear view of anyone passing by the kitchen.

She saw the scarred, scratched shell of Mikey standing at the counter. She hadn't ever seen the shell from this angle; looking at it straight on. She'd seen it from the side, but looking at it now, it looked 10 times as painful. The gouges were deep.

What kind of monster could have done that to a kid this young?

Why was that kid out of bed right now he's sick why is he-

Mikey turned away from the counter with a plate in his hand. His blurry eyes caught sight of April at the door. He sniffled quietly then rasped, “Hey April. You're here early… You hungry? I'm gonna make some-” he was interrupted by a cough- “s-some… something. I’unno yet.”

“Mikey?” April walked into the kitchen to investigate what he'd been doing. There was a small mixing bowl to the side of the sink and a cup of water. Not even a measuring cup, but one of the old plastic cups they kept in the lower cabinets with a worn cartoon graphic on the side, barely even there after years of washing. “Buddy, you don't need to do that. You're sick. What do you mean ‘early’? It's, like, 4:30.”

Mikey blinked slowly. “Y…yeah. 4:30.”

“P.M., Mike.”

“...oh.”

“Do you usually get up that early? That's not healthy, Mikey.” April started walking around the kitchen island and grabbed one of the stools to pull it out. “You should sit down.”

“Wh- wha? I don't… I don' need to sit down. I gotta make breakfast.” Mikey still clutched the plate in his hands, a shaky smile on his face.

“Mikey, it's almost 5 in the afternoon. You don't need to make breakfast. Sit down, I'm gonna make some food for myself anyway.”

Mikey looked like he was getting more confused by the second. His eyes were watering, but April couldn't tell if that was due to the sickness or him genuinely being upset. “B-but I need to make breakfast.” He turned back to his hodge-podge cooking setup, plate still in his right hand. “W-wait, I can figure out something to make.” He sniffled loudly, catching in his throat and causing him to cough. “I got it, y-you just go see R-Raph!”

“No, Mikey. You need to sit down. Please, I-”

April was cut off by the sound of Mikey sneezing loudly. The force of the sneeze caused Mikey's arm to flail, shattering the plate in his hand on the edge of the sink. His dazed eyes stared at the pieces as they scattered both in the sink and across the tile. April held her hand over her mouth.

Mikey started mumbling curses and apologies under his breath as he kneeled to the floor, picking up the porcelain shards with his bare hands.

“MIKEY!” April rushed over the wreckage, grabbing Mikey by the shoulders and lifting him up. His hands were slightly cut up already by the sharp edges he had grabbed, and his knees had hit some too. “What are you doing?! You are going to sit down now.”

“B-but- But I-”

“Mikey.”

“B-but I broke the-”

“Sit.”

Mikey's tears were almost spilling over, but with April's help, he was able to sit at the kitchen island. His hands and knees were bleeding slightly, but nothing bad. Nothing near as bad as he'd seen, April guessed.

“I'm going to grab the first aid kit. Raph should be here any minute, if he isn't already eavesdropping. While I'm cooking, you can talk to me. Tell me how to make the ramen good like you make it. I'll make it spicy to open up your nose, just how you like. That's what I need you to do today, okay Mikey?”

Mikey looked like he wanted to fidget with his hands, but he knew that wouldn't be good. Wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand, he whispered, “Okay, April.”

April walked to the door, only to find Raph hurriedly coming from the bathroom with the first aid kit already in hand. “Really, Raph?”

“I heard the plate break, what was I supposed to do?” Raph whined with a guilty look on his face.

“Not act like your brother broke, maybe.”

Raph sighed and kept moving past April, sitting down next to Mikey without saying a word. He held out a hand which Mikey met, letting Raph analyze the damage. “We've all broken plates before, it's alright Mike.”

Mikey just hummed, shaking up the phlegm in his throat and getting him coughing again. Raph's eyes widened wildly, but April stared him down the moment he tried moving toward Mikey. Despite the snapper's intimidating stature, he shrank under April's glare.

April smirked and grabbed a ramen pack from the pantry. “So, Angelo,” she said, grabbing a pot from the overhead rack and turning to the turtles, “where do we start?”

Taking a second to compose himself, Mikey started instructing. “If you're making it for both of us, use two packs. A-and don't use that stupid sauce pack stuff they include with it, use actual sauce. I put it up in the…”

----------------------

When it was done, it was by far the best ramen April had ever made. Not the best she had ever eaten, (that prize belonged to Mikey), but it was still really good. Mikey seemed to like it too, and his gloomy demeanor was finally lessening.

Raph left the room shortly after the two started eating. Partly because he wanted to check on his dad, partly because he wanted to rest after over exerting himself in his search for Mikey, and partly because of the look April was giving him. She wanted to have a chat with Mikey, and that was apparent. 

Now, the two sat silently, eating their noodles. April sat just around the corner of the island. She didn't want to sit opposite him, but didn't feel like sitting right next to him. This just felt right.

“You know we want you here, right?” April asked softly.

“What?” Mikey's throat had cleared up just a bit, as well as his sinuses, allowing him to speak more clearly.

“We want you here. You know that, right?”

“W… w-well, yeah! I mean, Raph and Dad literally agreed to fight in the Battle Nexus to get me out! A-and you keep showing me such cool stuff, and bringing me nice things, and-”

“And we're always going to want you here,” April pressed firmly. “You don't need to worry about making us want you here.

“...what?”

“You don't need to worry about making us food, or cleaning up a mess you can't clean up on your own. Especially when you're sick. We should be taking care of you right now.”

Mikey fiddled with his chopsticks, looking back and forth from April to his noodles.

“And it doesn't matter what you do. We'll always want you here. You're family. Doesn't matter if you can't make breakfast, or if you break a plate-”

“Or if I eat the last slice of pizza?” Mikey asked timidly, simultaneously admitting to a most heinous crime.

“Even if you eat the last slice of pizza.” April smirked and pointed at Mikey. “But that's thin ice, bud.”

Mikey laughed for the first time April had heard all day. Sure, it was only a little giggle, and it kicked up another small coughing fit, but it didn't matter. The fun brother she had begun caring so deeply about was finally sitting in front of her again.

“Bad habits are tough to crack,” April sighed. “I'm gonna help you realize that, and it might take a while. Just please, don't forget we love you.”

Mikey nodded.

“You know,” April said, leaning back on her stool and swinging her legs up to sit criss-cross, “I really do love you like a brother already. And I really, really want you to stay. Sooo, imagine how Raph and Splints must feel. Outta this world love, right?”

Mikey's smile softened. “Guess you're right.”

“Course I am!” April stood up with her empty ramen bowl. “I'm gonna put this in the sink for me to wash later, and you're gonna put yours there too when you're done. How's watching some mindless cartoons sound for the rest of the afternoon? I bet I can get Splints to give up the TV.”

Mikey held his chopsticks close and gave the sweetest, most doe-eyed expression. “Do you think I could get one of Raph's plushies, too?”

April huffed a laugh. “Boy, if you asked him with that face, I think he'd give you his whole collection.”

Mikey's face morphed into a mischievous grin. “I'll take that challenge.”

○●○●○●○

The spirits of the tmnt au comp possessed me. I've already written a second part for this. You'll never guess who it's about 🔵🐢

Again, this is my love letter to EW! I am in no way involved with EW, I just wanted to write about how April could get along with her new brothers. Can't wait for the first round of voting in the comp!

Part 2 -> 💙

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt au #tmnt separated au #tmnt mikey #tmnt april #rottmnt #save rottmnt #unpause rottmnt #tmnt au propaganda #twig writes

[hatsunemiku-official]

ABOUT ME-KU

(+ FAQ / VOCALOID-OFFICIAL MASTERPOST)

hi! im miku and welcome to Internet! you can do lots of fun things here. like look at my blog! ok im gonna hand the mic over to the omnipotent being that watches my every move

thanks miku. here are some things to remember before you send an ask:

- I am not associated with crypton, sega, or the official miku twitter! im just a guy making funny post

- miku lives in a computer. i probably won’t answer anything referring to her doing things in the real world, since saying “I am in a computer what are you talking about” is only funny the first five times

- I use my askbox as a jumping off point for jokes! if I don’t answer your ask it’s not because I didn’t like it, I just probably couldn’t think of anything funny to respond with

- I love receiving art!!!!!!! please send me your miku art!!!!!!! you can even send me a link to your art posted on your own blog and I’ll reblog it so you still get the notes!!!! I LOVE ART!!!!!! (also the ai training toggle has been turned off for this blog so. you’re safe here.)

- there are some things you should speak to a mental health professional about ( ie “i just can’t go on��� “my life is terrible” ect) and you should not send these things to hatsune miku. i understand and empathize with you but I cannot help you and it’s very upsetting to receive things like this !

- anything written in parentheses for the most part is an ooc comment from the person running this blog (that’s me!). I don’t like doing this very often though, so if you have a question that can only really be answered ooc then please ask it off anon so I can respond privately!

- please remember I am just one person and sometimes I make mistakes! im a pretty busy person and also disabled so sometimes things slip through the cracks when im low energy. I do my best though so please let me know if you think i’ve made a mistake and i’ll do my best to fix it :]

- sometimes I like to reblog miku art from other people! please be respectful in these artists notes. I know this is a silly jokes blog but these people have not necessarily signed up to be goofed at on their posts. please be kind and keep the clowning to a minimum on posts that aren’t made by me!

- no TERFS allowed. hatsune miku loves trans women

FAQ

Q: can I make a vocaloid-official blog too???

A: yes!!!! anybody can!! please let me know if you do so I can add you to the masterpost and interact with you! I would check the masterpost first though to make sure there hasn’t already been a blog made for that character :]

Q: do you also run [insert other vocaloid-official blog]?

A: no! I can barely think of funny things to say here do you really think I could manage being funny on two blogs at once. I am friends with the people who run the teto, luka and una blogs so if our posts seem coordinated it’s because I asked them really nicely

Q: who runs this account?

A: secret

Q: miku what’s your opinion on [insert queer identity]

A: I don’t like answering these because I don’t want to open myself up to shitty comments and I can’t think of anything funny to say that wouldn’t just sound like “ally twitch streamer smiling at the camera and saying trans rights”. this blog is run by a queer person and miku is whatever you want her to be, if that helps.

Q: i made a vocaloid-official blog! how do I get added to the masterpost?

A: adding people to the masterpost has gotten really overwhelming for me so I won’t be doing it anymore. sorry! feel free to still make a vocaloid-official blog and interact with me if you want, I just won’t be updating the masterpost anymore. the current list will stay up as it is as sort of like. a memento or something.

Q: do you know anything about PJSK???

A: no <3

OFFICIAL VOCALOID-OFFICIAL MASTERPOST

these are my Official Friends! go say hi to them!!

🥖 @kasaneteto-official

🐟 @megurineluka-official

🐙 @otomachi-una-official

🍷 @hanakomeiko-official

💛 @neruakita-official

🍌 @kagaminelen-official

🍊 @kagaminerin-official

🍦@kaitoshinon-offical

🐢 @ryuto-official (RESURRECTED)

💜 @vflower-official

🥕 @gumi-official

🖤 @zatsunemiku-official

🍡 @tohokuzunko-official

🩹 @fukase-official

🔌 @utatanepiko-official

🐰 @yukari-official

🩵 @ringsuzune-official

⚓️ @oliverv3-official

🌷 @nekomurairoha-official

🥢 @vocaloidcul-official

☕️ @rukoyokune-official

🥂 @meiko-offical

👑 @galaco-official

🐱 @seeu-official

🌸 @meikahime-official

🪻 @meikamikoto-official

🍆 @gakupo-official

🎀 @utanekoe-official

🌹 @sakinemeiko-official

🔪 @mayuofficial

🛰️ @moonbase-alpha-tts-official

🍺 @yowane-haku-official

🪐 @ia-official

🎹 @namineritsu-official

☁️ @tone-rion-official

🎤 @maika-official

🌈 @kawaiine-official

🍏 @macnenana-official

🌻 @dex-official

💗 @garnetvocaloid-official

💿 @yohioloid-official

🌺 @zhizidongfang-official

🤍 @kokone-official

🐸 @vocaloidrana-official

🌟 @xingchen-official

🍎 @yuki-official

🌿 @fionetheutau-official

💫 @sfa2miki-official

[wittlesissyb4by]

"Uhh...are you supposed to interrupt me while i'm camming?" Jimmy's step-mother snapped as he timidly entered the room.

"No Mommy...I just--"

"You're lucky I just started and there aren't many people in yet." She said, annoyed, but not completely dismissing him. Terri could have abandoned Jimmy just like his father did, but she always had a strange attachment to the boy. Like a lost puppy you just had to take care of.

But there were rules. Terri didn't trust the 'men' in the house to use the toilet proper. They constantly left sprinkles on the seat, or left the seat up altogether. She decided long ago with Jimmy's father that diapers were the way to go. For both him and his 22-year old son.

Jimmy's dad hated it, but Jimmy--though reluctant at first--eventually took to them like a moth to a flame. Jimmy was always a wayward kid. Lacking direction, and not very independent. He liked having someone to tell him what to do. To care for him, even if it was in a somewhat demanding, demeaning way.

They depended on each other. They both had jobs, but it wasn't always enough to make ends meat, so Terri started up a side hustle.

"So what is it?" she asked, maintaining that testy tone. "Do you need your diaper changed? Or do you just have a stiffy situation?"

"I...I..."

"Pull down your pants."

"Nnghh no..Mommy..I...I..." he whimpered as he undid his belt buckle and pulled his pants down to his ankles, "I didn't mean to interrupt you I just--"

"Hush." She said, knowing he probably didn't have anything to say. He just needed some attention. A little direction. A little dominating. "Suck your thumb to keep you quiet. Or do you need your paci?"

He blushed, shakily putting his thumb in his mouth. It made Terri feel warm inside, seeing him obey and knowing he was secretly happy to do it, unlike his father, who she couldn't get to agree to much on anything.

"Good boy, now come here." she said, "Now come let Mommy check your diaper."

Jimmy waddled forward as much as his pulled down pants would allow.

Terri groped the front and back of Jimmy's pamper with no regard for Jimmy's personal space. He didn't seem to mind, though. Judging by the prominent throbbing coming from beneath the warm, bloated padding.

"Oh my!! Someone has quite the pamper poker in there!" she mused. Continuing to knead and rub the front of the soaking wet diaper. Jimmy blushed and whimpered, but didn't stop her. In fact, he pressed further into her.

"Awww! You poor boi! Do you need Mommy to take care of it real quick?"

Jimmy nodded harder, whining desperately.

"Ohhhhoho you do, huh?" Terri giggled. It made her melt to see him so worked up. She enjoyed being his little caregiver. It gave her a weird sense of purpose in a life where she otherwise hadn't found any. Of course the situation was bizarre, but hey, with how much Step-mom p0rn was on the internet, people didn't seem too put off by it, so why should she?

"Mmmm who's my big boi?" she asked, his diaper harder and faster now. "Are you gonna make a goo goo in your diaper for Mommy? Hmm? Are you gonna make it nice and sticky with your cummies? Do it for Mommy baybee. Cum in your diaper!"

It didn't take long. In less than 30 seconds, Jimmy was quivering and doing everything he could to keep his legs from collapsing while he busted a big, fat load into his already warm diaper.

"Good boyyy...good baybee..." Terri cooed, continuing to rub him softly while he came down from his high. Once he breathed a hefty, satisfied sigh, she tapped the front of his plump pamper dismissively.

"Off you go." she said, "Mommy has some work she has to do. Go play with your games or something. Mommy will be in in a little while to nurse you."

Jimmy nodded, thumb still in his mouth, but unable to hide a tiny smirk of glee. He didn't even pull his pants back up, just waddled back out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Terri sighed, smiling.

"Oh shit!" she exclaimed, suddenly remembering the live feed she had going. She raced to her computer. "Sorry about that!" she said, checking to see how many viewers she lost during that little episode.

But instead of dropping from the usual 80 or so viewers, the lobby had jumped to almost 2,000! The tips and comments were rolling in.

"Wish I had a step-mom like that!"

"She's sooo fine!"

"The diapers were weird at first, but now I'm kind of intrigued ngl"

"Always wanted to be a diapered dork for a beautiful woman!"

"FINALLY! Some good abdl stuff!"

"It's kinky as hell. But i'm here for it.

"New favorite channel."

"Subscribed!"

Terri couldn't believe it. The money was rolling in, the numbers were skyrocketing!

And it was right then that she realized there was about to be a very new type of Step-mother p0rn on the market.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was a weird one, I know. Not usually into this sort of relationship, but I had an idea and had to run with it.

Credit for making this wonderful pic goes to @zzk13122

Follow me here, Subscribestar, or Allmylinks to stay updated!

Another random place too: @wittle5i55ybaby Just in case.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Feitan Portor NSFW Profile

Yandere! Feitan Portor x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of non/dub-con, stalking, masturbation, kidnapping, spit, drool, lots and lots of cum, Feitan is gross and icky and comes in your conditioner I'm so sorry, seriously this one is pretty gross I apologize now, bondage, ropes, blood, period sex, consumption of period blood, Stockholm Syndrome, a few mentions of reader having pubic hair, mentions of premature ejaculation, Feitan has intimacy issues, a touch of sadomasochism, dry humping, blindfolds, begging, edging, overstimulation, there's a lot going on, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

WC: 12K (oh my god)

HABITS:

Even amongst the Troupe, Feitan is particularly emotionally stunted. 

Of course, he knows about relationships, about the intimacy that ensues - he’s never personally fucked anyone, but he knows how it goes, what it’s like (at least, in theory), how it’s supposed to feel. He’s just never wanted to - his libido is actually quite low, and although he’s spent nights tossing and turning in bed, cock throbbing and aching for attention, he’s never felt the urge to find some random woman for a fun, stress relieving night. 

Sure, he’s jerked off more times than he can count, and he’s been to more strip clubs with Phinks and Uvogin than he’d care to admit. He’s been around it his whole life, even from a young age as a child in Meteor City - so yes, he knows about sex. 

He’s just never been able to tolerate someone long enough to consider sleeping with them, much less actively wanting to sleep with them. And yet, once you step into his life, Feitan finds himself uncomfortably aroused by the idea of letting his hands wander your body, of seeing the way your pretty face would scrunch up in pleasure, of hearing your little moans and yelps when he kisses you and sinks his teeth in just a bit too hard. 

Once his obsession with you forms and he begins moving past some of those initial mental barriers, Feitan finds himself beginning to crave you intimately, physically, sexually. And, just as the rest of his feelings for you, he hates it at first. 

He hates how just a simple thought of you has his body growing hot, the collar of his jacket uncomfortably tight as he shifts his weight, trying to ignore the way blood is steadily rushing south. 

He hates how just a simple look from you, with your eyes all innocent yet sultry, makes him gulp a bit, his fingers twitching at his side. He doesn’t like how he can’t control his body’s reaction to you, but it’s not like he can help it - it’s instinctual, primal, carnal, as if his body is recognizing that you’re the chosen one for him to fornicate with, as if you’re the only one worthy of his sexual attention.

Feitan doesn’t like this change in developments much, but quickly he finds himself at a crossroads; he can spend nearly every night staring at the black of his ceiling, laying in bed and glancing down at the massive tent in the sheets centered around his crotch, or he can give in and get working, letting his hand run along the length of his cock all with you on his mind.

 He doesn’t feel guilty about masturbating to you, per se, but there is this weird sense of embarrassment that sits heavy in his chest as he exhales shakily and spreads the bead of precum along his shaft. There is this weird feeling like he’s doing something bad, something naughty, as if you’d be disgusted if you were to ever find out.

It makes him feel strange, but he almost likes it - it’s a thrill he gets, particularly to the knowledge that you’d probably be disgusted to know he wrings himself dry (often more than once at a time) nearly every night, all with the mental image of you naked, writhing and stuffing your fingers into that warm, wet, oh so fucking tight cunt of yours. 

He’d never admit, but he’d give anything to be your fingers, to feel the sensation of being inside you, even if it was only for a few moments. (That’d probably be enough to make come the first time he fucks you, anyways.)

Once he gives in to getting off with you in mind, Feitan finds himself fucking his fist frequently, frantically, his hips thrusting into his hand faster and rougher the longer he goes on, the longer the image of you crying his name and clenching down around his cock plays behind his eyelids.

He wraps his hand around his girth and immediately starts violently pumping his fist up and down, until he’s eventually stuttering your name and coming, sending spurts of cum flying up onto his chest, the white staining his pale chest. It feels good, or at least good enough to satisfy him for the moment, up until he ends up palming himself through his pants the next night. 

It’s a never ending cycle, and frankly it leaves Feitan frustrated – it’s just not enough. The thought of you is more than enough, really, to functionally get him shooting ropes of cum out of his swollen, needy tip, but there’s this part of him buried deep inside that needs more, something to make him feel like it’s really you he’s touching and fucking. 

It’s not enough to be the one touching himself, when he knows it would feel different if it was your soft hand, your warm lips, your tight walls. He needs something more, something more intimate and personal and you in order to really get himself off, to really feel connected to you in the way he craves. 

And so, Feitan makes a discovery one evening that changes everything; he has a penchant for sneaking into your room after you’ve fallen asleep, the dismal security of your apartment something he’s simultaneously grateful and irritated with you for. He likes to just watch you sleeping, those dark eyes taking in every detail about your unconscious form, all exposed for his viewing pleasure without you even knowing it. 

He always shuffles closer the longer he watches, his feet taking just a tiny step every once in a while, just because he can smell you better when he’s closer, see more detail in your skin and features, and it’s only after he’s crept his way right up to your side that he notices it. He should be disgusted, he thinks, when he sees the bit of drool slipping past your lips, your slumber deep enough that you haven’t noticed the wet pool of it against your pillow. 

He should be grimacing and scooting away, revolted by something so gross, but instead Feitan finds his eyes getting caught on the way your lips are just slightly parted, the wetness against your chin shining ever so slightly in the pale moonlight. 

He doesn’t really know why he does it, but soon his fingers are reaching out, lightly brushing against your lip, a sharp inhale audible as he feels the warm wetness of your saliva against his fingertips. He’ll retract his hand, staring with narrowed eyes, before slowly, carefully bringing his fingers to his own mouth, slipping them past his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed because he’s tasting you. 

It’s euphoric, your spit sweet and leaving the perfect tang on his tongue, and suddenly Feitan’s reaching into his jacket pockets, frantically searching for the vial he keeps on hand, just in case he needs a bit of blood from a victim or enemy. He gulps when he finally pulls it out, wiping at it to rid it of any remaining blood, before carefully bringing the glass up to your face, positioning it right below your chin so that the next bit of drool to drip out of your mouth lands in the vial rather than on your pillow. 

It’s a slow process, filling it up, but Feitan’s committed, spending every night sitting beside your bed, watching you sleep and seeing the glass slowly fill with your drool, collected all for him. And when he finally has enough? Well, it’s easy to transition from slowly dipping his fingers in the vial and letting his tongue glide over them to letting the spit cover other areas of his body, even if the mere idea makes him scoff while a blush settles over the bridge of his nose. 

It’s not until one night, though, that he finally takes the plunge, crossing a line he can never recover from. He’d been particularly pent up, his cock absolutely swollen, aching and desperate for release, and his fist was just not enough. Even as he pounded away, biting his lip and furrowing his thin brows, the pleasure just wouldn’t come. 

His eyes wander from his ceiling down to his dresser, zeroing in on the glass vial sitting so innocently, so provocatively, practically taunting him to come closer. He’s snatching up the glass before he can really think, sitting back down and tearing the top off, his fingers moving faster than he can process. 

Soon, he’s dipping them in, swirling them a bit to make sure they’re really covered, but instead of bringing them to his lips, his hands travel south - gripping onto his cock, the wet coolness making him hiss through his teeth. He brings his wrist up, your saliva slowly smearing along his shaft, leaving it wet and twitching in the cold air of his bedroom, visibly throbbing as he runs his thumb over his slit, making sure to absolutely drench himself with your spit. 

His eyes slide shut, head rolled back slightly as he moves his hand at a steady, painfully slow pace, trying to calm his heart rate because this is so very different from before. It’s different, if only because it’s you - your saliva is letting his hand move smoother, your saliva coating his skin, you helping him to get off. It makes him feel dizzy, the familiar coil in his stomach appearing embarrassingly quickly as he speeds up his fist, images of you playing behind his eyes. 

He can’t help but imagine you on your knees before him, staring up at him with those pretty eyes, all wide and glassy and yearning, with your hands tied behind your back and your lips parted, pink tongue lolled out and waiting for him to fill that tight throat of yours. He grunts, squeezing at his tip, digging his fingers back through the vial to refresh the supply of your drool, and in his mind he’s slowly tracing your lips with the head, smearing his precum along your skin as you clench your thighs together and hum, practically begging him to facefuck you. 

Feitan hunches forward slightly as his wrist moves even faster, hand flying up and down his shaft, wet noises accompanying every jerk all caused by the excessive wetness he’s coated himself with, the feeling of your spit exactly what he’d be feeling if he was actually stuffing your little mouth, dark hairs tickling your cheeks and nose as he pushes your head all the way down, so that his tip is nestled down your throat. 

He lets out a guttural groan at that, a strained noise that makes him grimace, but he can’t help it - his orgasm is approaching, and he can’t help but listen to the wet squelching noises and imagine your gags and sharp breaths accompanying them, his toes curling. It feels so good, a building warmth in his naval that only grows bigger, stronger, more insistent, and all too soon he’s imagining the way you’d present your face to him when he pulls out and strokes himself over your face, cum spurting from his tip and landing in rivulets all along your cheeks, lips, nose, even getting into your hair.

You’d look so good, all messy and out of breath and covered in him him him, just as he is you. 

He bares his teeth as he feels himself right on the edge, his fingers clutching onto the vial so tightly he nearly shatters it, his cock bobbing and throbbing, balls clenching as he curls in on himself, small chants of your name mumbled under breath and then he’s coming, cum spraying everywhere as he gasps, hips bucking involuntarily into the air, chasing after his fist with every pump, aching to be releasing inside you, where it belongs. 

He takes a moment to come down from his high, chest heaving and eyes wide, staring down at the vial in his shaking hand, the weight of his orgasm shocking him. He’d never come so hard, like every muscle in his body was spasming, the pleasure nearly overwhelming. His eyes flick over to the clock, and he splutters, seeing the time. 

3:08, meaning only three minutes had passed since he’d snatched up the vial, feeling your spit against his skin, feeling you against the sensitive skin of his cock. 

His eyes close, his breath finally evening out, before he’s carefully setting the vial aside, recapping it and laying onto his back, trying to process why the hell he’d come so fast with something as grotesque as your spit to help him. He’s not sure, but then the images return of you on your knees for him, face still covered in his release and telling him that you want more, please Feitan, will you give me more? 

He groans as he feels his softening cock suddenly begin growing once more, his hips twitching as he reaches down to lightly grope at his balls, swallowing and deciding whether to dip his fingers into the vial yet again - he only has a limited supply, after all, and he’d be needing it again tomorrow night when he inevitably lets his mind wander to thoughts of you tied up and begging for him. 

He grumbles, a strained sort of sound, before getting to work once more, spitting into his hand and letting a small, barely there smile grace his lips, the slight flush still high on his cheeks. He’d have to get some more, he decided, because this? 

Well, fucking you was surely better, but Feitan would be a food to not capitalize on this new discovery - and when he’s painting his chest with ribbons of cum again a few minutes later, he decides that he’ll never go back to not having something of yours to aid him while he gets off. 

It’s just more intimate this way, better, like you’re really there - like you’re really naked and ready to fulfill every need, desire and fantasy of his. 

Like you want him. 

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your face

In general, Feitan thinks you’re attractive. He’s hesitant to say beautiful or pretty or really anything of the sort, if only because the way he feels for you is a bit more complicated than that. 

You’re not just pretty; you’re alluring, someone that always seems to catch his eye no matter how hard he tries to stop it. 

You’re not beautiful; objectively, there’s nothing about you that he hasn’t seen in hundreds of other women, whether it be your hair, your lips, your figure, or anything else. (Except maybe your eyes, or maybe your smile - things that are just so unapologetically you, things that Feitan thinks he could recognize with his eyes closed.) 

You’re nothing particularly special, physically speaking, and yet there’s something about you that he just can’t shake, some involuntarily thing that motivates him to always have his eyes on you, his body unconsciously facing you, his senses just so very aware of you. And because Feitan spends so much time simply watching you, he’s become extremely well antiquated with your features, with your pretty face that always seems to pull him in, like a moth to a flame. 

He’s memorized the way your lips curve, the soft skin puckering and moving with every word you say, and he often finds his gaze flicking down to watch while you talk, eyes sitting there idly as he lets his mind wander to what else you can do with those lips, what other shapes they can make. 

He’s studied every slope of your nose, the shape seeming to fit your face perfectly, and he even finds himself turning his lip when he sees models or celebrities with the same nasal structure - it doesn’t look nearly as good on them as it does you. 

And of course, your eyes - he’s spent more hours than he can count looking into them, unwilling to break the eye contact as he stares, fascinated with the color, how they shine in the light, how sunlight seems to make them glow, making you glow. 

So while there’s not any particular thing Feitan can say makes you attractive, you just are - enough so that he’s found himself seeing flashing images of your face late at night, when he’s unable to sleep and polishing his weapons, letting his mind wander and inevitably stumble into thoughts of you. He’ll relive the way you look when you smile - your grin is wide, teeth exposed, the pretty skin of your lips all stretched to accommodate your joy. 

You look good like that, and all too soon his innocent thought process of you is slipping into something sinister, something dirty and risqué, because now he’s imagining the way you’d smile up at him when he’s got you underneath him, your pretty little pleas and desperate begs for him to touch you making his skin tingle and his throat feel stuffy. 

He’s imagining the way you’d lick your lips when he tells you to get on your knees, his cock mere inches from your face as he strokes  himself, the eagerness and hunger in your eyes making him rush forward and bury himself down your throat in one go.

He’s imagining the way you’d look when he’s got you creaming on his cock, face pressed against the mattress and a mixture of tears and drool slipping down your chin, the pleasure just too much, even while your hips grind back on him, wanting more more more. 

He just likes your face, finding it oddly pleasing, and when the two of you are intimate, he finds himself eagerly searching out your facial expressions as often as possible - it’s the way he knows what you like, if you’re enjoying what he’s doing to you, if he’s doing a good job. 

So really, exaggerate the expressions, make it clear exactly what you’re feeling, and Feitan will be over the fucking moon - pounding into you with a new vigor, a sudden resolve to get you coming at least twice before he’s done with you. You’re just too attractive for him to resist, and he’s only a man, after all. 

His hands 

In general, Feitan is a fan of showing his feelings rather than articulating them, and even then only to an extent. 

There’s only so far he’s willing to expose his vulnerability, and it just becomes easier and less scary to just show you, to let his actions speak louder. And despite it taking a very, very long time for him to grow comfortable enough to actually act on this philosophy, one of the first ways that he’ll settle into touching you is with his hands. 

They’re rough, the skin calloused and scarred, pale fingers just the slightest bit off in certain spots, evidence of the multitudes of times he’s broken them. His fingers are lithe, nimble, quick and dexterous, evidence of his abilities with swords and the various tools he uses for work. And so, once he turns his hands onto you, you’ll notice all these things. 

It starts small - a fleeting feeling of his fingers pressing against the small of your back, merely a ghost of a touch that leaves you wondering if you really felt anything at all. 

He’ll reach out to flick at your forehead if you do something dumb (something endearing, but dumb), glaring at you and telling you to stop it, though his fingers are tingling where they made contact with your skin. 

He’ll lightly lay his hand on your hip, or on your thigh, keeping it there for a few moments before snatching it back to his own side, his hand flexing and the muscles tightening up because god, did you like that? Did you like it when he touched you? 

He gets in his head way too much about how you react to his touch, but the truth is that Feitan is incredibly touch starved, particularly when it comes to any sort of positive or romantic touch. 

He’s a criminal and has grown up in horrible conditions, and he’s simply never cared. But now that you’re here, someone for him to live out all those cliche, stupid romantic tropes? Well, he can’t directly ask for your affection, but you’ll notice the way his hands lay on your body for just a beat too long, just enough to make you wonder whether that touch was really as innocent as he seems to think it was (it’s not, at least not as much as he wishes - every time his skin brushes yours, this spark of electricity dances up his spine, making him gulp and tense up, because while the feeling blooming in his chest is warm and good, it’s still foreign, still something he hasn’t quite gotten used to yet).

And even once he reaches the stage where he’s grown comfortable enough with the concept of being intimate with you to actually touch you, he still relies heavily on his hands. Particularly, Feitan grows an affinity for fingering you - he loves the way your cunt just seems to suck his fingers in, as if your body is begging for more and more of him, craving his touch and the pleasure only he can give you. 

He’ll experiment a lot with you at first, curling his fingers or scissoring them, dark eyes appraising your face and checking for any changes in expression that could hint at what rhythm or area you like. 

(You’ll wonder where he learned some of the motions he tries out on you - he’ll never admit to watching porn to learn some ideas, nor that he practiced them before trying them out on you, his hand sandwiched between two pillows as he diligently curled them, perfecting the ‘come hither’ motion or letting his thumb practice rubbing tight, firm circles against the cotton. No, he’d rather die than have you learn that - you can’t know how badly he wants to please you, after all.) 

He likes to watch his fingers dipping inside you, the way they emerge all wet and glistening, a ring of white sitting right above his knuckles and filling him with pride. 

(Often, he finds himself idly staring at his fingers after you’ve fallen asleep, your body sore and exhausted after the fucking he’d put you through. He’ll spread them, staring from all angles, remembering the feeling of your wet heat around them, how your walls clamped down on him, even how your lips and tongue flicked across them when he’d shoved them into your mouth earlier. He’ll bring them to his lips, idly sucking on them, trying in vain to get every last drop of you off of them, so that he can taste you for just a moment longer, just to satisfy himself for as long as he can.) 

He’s a late bloomer and it will take him a long while to reach the point of being willing to touch you sexually (though he wants to from pretty much the get-go, much to his embarrassment), but once he does, you’d better get used to the feeling of his hands against your skin - after all, he’s insistent, and you do not want to reject his touch. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just moan and sigh and tell him it feels good, because Feitan is just so much more agreeable when he’s happy - you’ll get to come that way, too.

DRIVE:

Generally speaking, Feitan’s libido has never been especially high. Sex has never been a priority for him, and even once his days as a Troupe member begin, this doesn’t change. He doesn’t see the attraction to sleeping around, to fucking random women just for a few minutes of fleeting pleasure. 

It’s just so much work to be around others, to have to communicate and hear their complaining when he doesn’t put effort into making them feel good – it’s just not fun, not something he wants to spend his time with. And so, while Feitan is certainly no saint, he doesn’t actively seek out sexual partners. And he especially doesn’t seek out touching another person, letting himself be touched, becoming vulnerable in any possible way.

So, once you step into his life, this self-inflicted celibacy doesn’t really change all that much. Of course, the idea of touching you is significantly more attractive than it would be to touch a random stranger, but Feitan is still not especially eager to fuck you once his obsession develops. 

He’s a bit of a late bloomer, taking a while to let his emotions warm up to you. In doing so, it takes a long, long time for his sexual urges towards you to appear, because Feitan prides himself on having good self control. But once he fully gives in to the fact that he wants you, in a way that’s entirely new and scary and foreign to him, the urges begin appearing. 

The idly thoughts wondering what you’re wearing, what you’re thinking about, if you’re in the mood… He’s still not as horny as some of his fellow Troupe members, but Feitan begins regularly imagining fucking you, the thoughts seemingly popping out of nowhere and completely unannounced. 

Frankly, it’s irritating; why is he imagining you without a shirt on when Phinks is telling him about the latest job Chrollo had paired them up for? (It’s a pain in the ass to hide the slowly growing tent in his trousers from the blond - he always just seems to know, and Feitan would rather die than be subjected to the never ended teasing.) 

Why is he imagining the way your lips would feel wrapped around his cock when he’s slicing off that man’s head, the cut clean and clear yet the only thing he can think of being how your cheeks would hollow as you suck? 

It’s annoying, and although he tries to fight it at first, he eventually gives up. There’s only so much he can stop himself from imagining, and as his obsession grows deeper, the perverse fantasies he holds towards you only grow more numerous, more pronounced, more longed for. He finds himself actively wanting to be intimate with you, and while he won’t act on that desire for a very long time, it’s left to quality sit, festering and brewing inside him until one day it’s all just too much, a dam bursting that forces him to finally take that last step, to let himself rest a hand on you or brush his lips against your cheek or graze his finger along your nipple. 

He doesn’t move very fast, but Feitan’s in no rush - after all, you’re stuck with him for the rest of your life, and he’ll be the only other human you’ll ever interact with. By the time he’s ready to progress your relationship forward, you’ll likely have come around, desperate enough for human contact that you’ll want him to touch you, that you’ll want to touch him back. 

Just the thought makes him gulp and flex his fingers, excitement and anxiety settling into his stomach, his cock growing half hard even as his mind winces. 

However, because he has so many issues surrounding intimacy and vulnerability, Feitan will likely never actually force you into anything. 

Because you’re likely to come around and develop Stockholm Syndrome by the time he’s ready to touch you, you’ll be more than eager to let his hand rest on your waist, or to let him stand behind you so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, the tent in his pants more than apparent. You’ll be ready, but until he’s ready, he has to find alternatives. 

Because he’s still frequently experiencing sexual urges towards you way before he’s willing to act on them, Feitan finds himself quite sexually frustrated. He has all these dirty thoughts, all these possessive, insistent feelings urging him to just take you, to stake his claim on you by stuffing you full of his cock and cum, and he has to release them somehow. 

And so, he falls back on a method that he isn’t necessarily proud of, but does find some sick, twisted sense of pride and amusement from. That is, because he’s the one supplying literally everything to you once you’re trapped under his roof, it’s not so hard to tamper with some of the ingredients of your essentials. 

Your conditioner, for instance; he buys you the brand you love (something he tells you is coincidence but most certainly isn’t), and as he opens the cap and smells it one day while you’re asleep in the next room over, he can’t help but notice how creamy it is, how thick and how white it is.

It make shim gulp, and after quickly making sure to lock the bedroom door you’re trapped behind, Feitan shakily returns to the bathroom, exhaling deeply. It’s just a coincidence that the conditioner resembles something that he produces, right? 

It’s an amusing twist of fate that your favorite conditioner (with the scent he can only describe as you) looks almost exactly like his cum, right? 

Feitan thinks so, and as his mind wanders back to the little stunt you’d pulled earlier in the day, he finds himself settling onto the closed toilet lid, reaching into his pants and pulling out his cock, already drooling precum and sensitive to the touch. 

You’d been laying on your bed, blanket barely covering your body as you slept, the skimpy pajamas you’d fallen asleep in in disarray on your figure. Your shirt had bunched up, letting one pert, supple breast slip out, your nipple on display, not even the blanket managing to cover it up. 

(He’d froze when he noticed, slowly creeping closer, licking his lips and unable to stop staring.) 

And those damn sleeping shorts, always getting moved around and never quite sitting right on your hips when you wake up, were twisted a bit, the holes for your legs angled just right so that if he looked the right way, he could see the very edge of your cunt, one lip covered with pretty pubic hairs, looking soft and warm and so fuckable. 

You were asleep, and somewhere in Feitan’s mind he knows you weren’t doing it on purpose, but it’s hard not to blame you for being so indecent, for hoping to tempt Feitan into giving in. You’re such a fucking minx, all teasing and daring to show off your assets, and how was Feitan supposed to react to this? How was he not supposed to immediately grow aroused and flustered, unable to tare his gaze from your vulnerable body?  

Eventually he’d managed to, shutting the door behind him and taking a few uneven breaths, trying desperately to not replay the image of your breast over and over in his mind. It’s no use, however, and as he splashes his face with cold water in the bathroom, that’s when his eyes land on the conditioner bottle. 

His hand moves fast as he fucks his fist, hissing under his breath over and over as he steadily gets closer, driven forward by the idea of lewd it will be to have his cum in something as personal as you conditioner. 

He can’t stop thinking about how you’d have no idea, waltzing around with his cum soaked into your pretty hair, maybe even making you smell like him - He’s groaning, the thoughts pushing him closer and closer to the edge, his orgasm hurtling forward as he imagines the way you’d lather it in your hands, humming and making sure every square inch of your hair is covered in it, covered in him. 

He imagines the way you’d bring it up to your nose and deeply inhale, sighing because it’s your favorite scent, wondering why it smells a bit more musky than you remember, but not minding. Maybe you’d even like the new scent, and just the thought of that is enough to push him over the edge, a sharp growl slipping past his lips as he aims his cock right into the bottle, cum spraying all over the conditioner, the white colors matching perfectly. 

He’s breathing hard, a seemingly never ending series of spurts coming from his swollen tip, and once he thinks he’s done, he grasping his length and lightly shaking it, lodging any loose bits of cum out, coaxing them to join the pile. Once done, he’ll gulp, letting a small smirk slip onto his lips as he closes the bottle, shutting the lid tight and shake the bottle, making sure to thoroughly mix it. 

He won’t tell you about his little ‘gift’, of course not - but you’ll know something is up when he’s standing stiff as you exit the bathroom, towel wrapped around your body and wet hair having been marinating in the special mixture he made for you, and when he’s eagerly sniffing your head every chance he gets after that, you’ll have to realize something is amiss. 

When he’s asking you if your hair feels particularly soft, you’ll have to know he’s trying to get at something, some layer underneath the surface that he’s really speaking about. 

It’s enough to satisfy him for the time being, his possessiveness over you quelling ever so slightly because even though it’s not in your cunt, where it belongs, at least he’s got his cum somewhere on you - and until he’s ready to fuck you properly, that’ll have to do. It’ll become habit, and one day you may even stumble upon him midway through the process, your conditioner bottle an inch or so from his tip as he frantically tugs and pulls. 

(He’ll freeze, unable to process that he got caught, and frankly, he’ll just try to ignore that you ever saw it, not willing to broach the topic - and you won’t be either, because what the fuck?)He just really, really desires you, and Feitan is a resourceful man - so I hope you like the smell of musk and a bit of iron, because you’ll be smelling like it for weeks.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Orgasm Control

In general, Feitan has to be in control in the bedroom. It’s not that he’s particularly onto any dominant or submissive roles between the sheets, but more because he doesn’t like the feeling of vulnerability that accompanies letting other people pleasure him. Something about being at the mercy of someone else’s touch or whims makes him nervous, an unpleasant feeling blooming in his stomach that leaves him fidgety and jumpy. 

And so, every sexual interaction with you will see him starring as the dominant role, always calling the shots, and nothing exemplifies this sentiment quite like the way he treats your orgasms. Despite not having a huge amount of sexual experience prior to his infatuation with you, he’s very obviously aware that both partners are capable of orgasming in any given sexual interaction, that it should be expected and achieved regardless of methodology. 

With other women, Feitan wouldn’t care in the least – he’s selfish by nature, and if he were to ever have sex with anyone other than you, in no way, shape or form would he pay any mind to their pleasure, only chasing after his own release. 

But with you, this sentiment is a bit different; he wants to get you off, if only because seeing the way your body responds to him, shaking and shivering and moaning and clenching, gets him harder, his breath more ragged, his palms sweatier. There’s something incredibly pleasing about seeing the way your body is sensitive to his every touch that makes him giddy, an odd mixture of power, arousal and eagerness filling him. 

He wants to make you a mess, to get you gushing and creaming and whimpering as he fingers you, as he shoves his cock inside you, even as he tongues at your clit (eating you out isn’t something that happens often, but when it does, Feitan expects you to come from it). He likes the sight of you falling apart for him, and consequently, that desperation for power and control comes hurtling back – so that he is the one in control of your orgasms. 

He wants to be the one choosing when, how, and why you’re coming, every one of your movements a result of him. 

He tends to rely heavily on edging you, enjoying the way you squirm and beg for him to keep going. He’ll have two slender, nimble fingers buried inside of you, curling and scissoring, the stretch a bit painful but in a pleasure-tinged way, making your toes curl and your bottom lip catch between your teeth. 

His thumb will rub consistent, steady circles at your clit, the little nub sore and swollen, and he’ll keep his ministrations up until you’re breathing heavier, your stomach and thighs clenching, the telltale signs that you’re nearing your high. 

(He’s very, very good at reading your body when it comes to your sexual pleasure – he’s spent so long stalking you that he’s seen you touching yourself more times than he can count, and while watching the way your cunt takes the toy is very, very difficult to tear his eyes away from, he’d made sure to study every other part of your body, too. He’s watched the way your face morphs as you get closer, your brows shooting up and your lips parting a bit, your eyes fluttering and threatening to close as the pleasurable knot in your gut grows tighter and tighter and tighter. He’s watched the way your legs shake, the muscles in your thighs visibly twitching and clenching, trying desperately to close and clench together, prompting him to imagine how they’d feel around his head, around his waist, around his cock. He’s even noticed your breathing, how you sound, the way your voice gets higher and more breathy, your moans increasing in intensity until you let out this sudden, strained gasp that gets him swallowing harshly, a thick pearl of precum dripping from his tip from the mere sound.)

He’s constantly observing you even while he's intimate with you, those dark eyes never wavering from your form, and he’ll bring you right to the edge, noticing with a tightness in his throat that your legs are starting to tremble, that your voice is climbing up, that you’re starting to get all gaspy and your abdominal muscles are clenching, and god, you’re squeezing around his fingers so damn tight – 

The confused, desperate whine you let out when he suddenly pulls his fingers out of you makes him smirk a bit, the way your watery eyes blearily blink up at him, half clouded in lust and disappointment making him reach out to pinch at your pebbled nipple. Not yet, one more time. He’ll tell you, laughing a bit as you whine and gulp, chest heaving and your fingers twitching. He’ll make you wait, maybe even reaching down and jerking himself off a bit, making a show of hissing under his breath and making sure that you can see him, hearing the wet noises as he flicks his wrist and imagines it’s your sweet little pussy wrapped around him rather than his own fingers.

He’s embarrassingly sensitive when he does this, his own touch making him buck his hips as he stares down at you, spread before him, underneath him, where you belong. He’ll make sure to give enough time that you come down from your sensitivity, before resuming his ministrations, making you gasp and bite your lip. 

He’ll keep doing this over and over and over, denying you of your orgasm some five or so times before he finally, finally decides that you’ve behaved well enough, that you deserve to feel good. (Often, what finally gets him to cave in is the fact that he too is very close, and while it’s cliché and stupid and a bit pathetic, he really likes it when you both come at the same time, your orgasms matching up so he can feel like you’re doing it together.) 

He’ll work you through it, not stopping his motions, which brings up another aspect of how Feitan likes to tease you and assert his control over you – he doesn’t like overstimulation quite as much as denial, but he’s not shy about going faster, harder, his motions seeming almost frantic as you start whining and shaking, going on about how it’s too much, Feitan it’s too much I can’t! 

He’ll just growl and shut you down, slapping (not too hard) your clit and seeing you way you jerk, telling you to shut up and take it, you’ve done it before. He likes seeing your eyes get all teary, your body spasming and shaking even harder, the overstimulation making you cry out his name with a renewed fervor. 

(He’d never admit it, but that’s one of his favorite parts – he never pegged himself to be a fan of loud moans, but there’s something about the way that you do it, when it’s his name you’re moaning, that makes him throb, his cock twitching without any stimulation. You sound so destroyed, so wrecked and utterly desperate for him that it makes his head spin, his chest filling with pride and lust and satisfaction because you do need him, and your body is just proving that.) 

He’s cruel, often pulling three or four orgasms from you every time he touches you, those dark eyes staring unblinking down at you, almost studying you as you fall apart on his cock, on his fingers, on anything he chooses. It makes him feel good to know that he’s in full control, that he can choose when you come – it shows his place above you, helping him to justify the fact that he’s pleasuring you, that he’s taking the time and effort to make you feel good when he really doesn’t need to. 

He’s just being generous – you should be grateful he even cares about your pleasure at all. 

(Say thank you to him as you orgasm and he’s gone – cum is dripping down your skin or out of your pretty hole before you can process what’s even happening, the man above you gasping and heaving, trying desperately to make sure you don’t see the slight red staining his cheeks.) 

He wants you to follow his commands, so just let him do as he pleases – you’ll come eventually, most of the time.

Bondage

Tying into his preferences for holding control in the bedroom, Feitan has a certain affinity for seeing you restrained. 

There’s something about the way your body is presented to him when you’re all tied up that gets him feeling hot, his hands twitching and yearning to reach out and touch you. He’s not picky about what he uses to bind you – the tried and true rope is never displeasing, and the variety of pretty knots and positions he can force you into this way leave him nearly drooling at all the different sexual fantasies he can carry out with you. 

He’s particularly fond of tying you up in ways that are just the slightest bit humiliating, positions that make your neck and cheeks feel hot, embarrassment eating away at you because god, everything is exposed. 

He likes when your legs are spread, a bit of rope keeping your calves firmly pressed to your thighs while your pussy is exposed to open air, the perfect amount of space between your legs for him to slip into. He likes when your breasts are free, jiggling and bouncing with every thrust, the rope digging into your sternum or ribcage as you moan and writhe. 

(He also likes when the rope crisscrosses over your chest, digging into your nipple and making you whine in pain and pleasure, and when he undoes the ropes, he loves the way your nipples are so sore and swollen, a much darker color than they normally are and practically begging to be pinched at, to be twisted and pulled on until you’re a sniffly, moaning mess.) 

He’ll often tie your wrists together behind your back, rope connecting from your waist to the back of your knees, keeping your legs bent while he forces your ass into the air, mounting you from behind and absolutely destroying you. 

Rope is his favorite, if only because there’s something so familiar, so comforting in using it – of course, he never desires to fuck any of his victims, but he knows how to manipulate the material in order to get you bent the way he wants you to be. 

And while he has no desire to do anything to you that he would to those he tortures, there’s something oddly sexy and taboo about the fact that he’s using the same kind of rope on you as he did to the man the other day. It’s dirty, sinful, if only because this is as close as he can come to mixing two of the things he loves most – you, and his job. 

You’re safe this way, not liable to be cut or maimed or anything of the sort, but you’re still utterly at his hands, vulnerable to every whim or desire he wishes to enact on you. He likes how helpless you are when you’re tied up, unable to reach out or take control of your own pleasure, entirely reliant on him to do everything for you – something as big as stretching you out on his cock, or as small as pushing away a stray piece of hair in your face as he fucks your throat. 

The power trip is insane, and while he won’t hurt you, just the knowledge that he could makes him harder than he’s ever been. He’s a fan of other alternatives to rope, too – handcuffs are fine, a bit too mainstream for him to use regularly, but in a bind it’ll do. 

(Especially if he’s grown more comfortable with you, willing to show a more vulnerable side, because handcuffs give him less control and allow you to actively participate in your pleasure, letting you grind back against him or wrap your legs around his waist or any number of other things that can signal that you want him too.) 

Silk ties are fine, and on days where he’s feeling a bit more sentimental or emotional, he’ll prefer to use these because there’s less chance of you bruising or getting any burns or rashes. (Plus, there’s something so fitting about you being shrouded in silk – you, who’s so weak and soft and dainty, matching perfectly with the fabric. It makes him snort a bit, because you always look like such an angel when you’re all tied up for him in this way – like a beautiful, naïve little angel just begging to be destroyed and tainted by his hands, a feat he’s more eager and impatient to accomplish than he’d care to admit.) 

He’s even willing to use clothing to get you restricted – maybe the shirt you’d been wearing (his shirt, one he let you borrow, the one he finds adorable on you even if he’d never tell you) will get tied around your wrists, keeping them firmly above your chest as he sinks into you and squeezes his eyes shut, biting back the moan that threatens to tumble at his lips because you’re just so damn tight. 

He’ll use your panties as a gag, though he doesn’t do this often because he really does like hearing your sounds – especially when they’re any sort of praise or his name. 

(Often, after he’s stuffed the panties you’d been wearing past your lips, he’ll steal them back afterwards, sneakily storing them somewhere for later, for late at night when he’s standing over your sleeping form and breathing shakily, staring at you and rubbing the material – wet with both your spit and your slick – all over his cock.) 

His preference is always to have you restrained in some manner, and it’ll only be once he feels as comfortable as possible with you that he won’t tie you up. To have you free means letting himself be vulnerable to your touches, and even your rejection of his touch, and just the thought is enough to get him nervous, having to wipe his slightly sweaty hands onto his jacket. 

He’s had fantasies about fucking you without any restraints separating you before, but the moment it happens, you’ll notice that he’s oddly sensitive, his breath coming out harsher and more labored at touches that would normally leave him largely unaffected. It’s just so emotional for him, so scary and frightening, and he’ll stay inside you much longer than normal after he’s come, relishing in the warmth and wetness of you while your fingers maybe brush over his shoulders, maybe even running through his hair. It’s the sort of fantasy he’ll never, ever tell you about, though – and for now, he’ll stick with tying you up so that you’re easily accessible, provoking and arousing to stare at, and in no position to argue when he manhandles you into doing exactly what he wants.

Dry humping

While he has sexual, lewd thoughts about you from pretty much the moment he truly accepts his feelings for you, Feitan takes a very long time to begin acting on those feelings. 

Even more, it takes him a long time to get comfortable enough to be naked in front of you, much less actually fuck you. And so, while this hesitancy persists, he finds himself using other routes to sate his growing desire to be intimate with you – routes that are less invasive, less opportune for embarrassing accidents (like coming too fast, or facing your rejection). 

And while it still feels awfully pathetic, Feitan finds that the simple act of grinding on you is enough to satisfy his desires, at least for the time being – there’s just something oddly enticing about it, something arousing and the pleasure just dull enough to thwart him from coming within three or four minutes of touching you. 

He doesn’t like initiating it, though, finding it a bit too pathetic, even for him, even for the way he feels for you. Instead, he holds his breath, hoping that every time you brush against him (normally by accident, your whole body freezing up the moment you realize what you’ve done) that you’ll do it again, because even just a single bit of friction between your (fully clothed) bodies is enough to get his neck feeling warm, the ghost of an erection springing to life in his pants. 

He’s just so, so touch starved, and so as time goes on, he’ll start subtly trying to get into positions where you might accidentally grind on him, sometimes without you even realizing. He’ll make you pick something up off the ground, then choose the exact moment that you’re bent over and your ass is in the air to walk behind you, letting his hips just barely graze against you.

He’ll manage to hold back the little strained noise he makes, but at some point you’ll notice that it’s happening much too often to be a coincidence, and you’ll eventually realize that the strange hardness you feel when he does this is actually him. 

He won’t ever just grab you and rut into you, but god does he want to, especially when he sees your hips swaying, or when you’re sitting down, the fat of your thighs splayed out and your hips looking wide and full and perfect to grab onto. 

He’s embarrassed by his own thoughts, but eventually you’ll probably realize what it is that he wants – you’ve felt the way he tries to subtly make it happen, and while you were at first confused and shocked (you’d had no idea Feitan wanted anything sexual with you, as he’d never made a mention of it or acted in a way that would suggest it), you eventually start getting a bit brave, too. 

You don’t love Feitan, far from it, but you’ve been trapped with him for enough months to start craving any form of human contact, and so you’ll pounce – Feitan can’t help but sharply inhale when you grind back against him one day while you’re bent over, the feeling of your ass moving against his cock making him struggle to breath. 

He’s not sure what you’re trying to do, too pessimistic to let himself believe that you’re the one grinding on him, but one day you’ll find yourself sitting next to him on the raggedy old couch, the TV playing some mindless horror movie that Feitan had thrown on, and your hand will just sort of move on its own, slowly, carefully placing itself very lightly over his thigh. He’ll tense up at the sensation, dark eyes flicking between your hand and your face, your own gaze nervously set on the TV in front of you. 

It’s silent for a moment, but when he doesn’t move your hand, you’ll get braver, turning to look at him and asking in a soft, unsure voice if you can sit in his lap. Feitan doesn’t know how to respond, simply staring at you with narrowed eyes, wondering if this is some sort of trick – but eventually he’ll nod, telling you to be careful, don’t try anything. 

You’ll position yourself so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, his thighs on either side of your hips, but you don’t lean back, even when you hear Feitan inhale slightly, having leaned forward to smell your hair. It’s a good twenty or so minutes later when you begin moving your hips slowly, nervously, listening to hear for any displeased noises or harsh commands for you to stop your movements. 

Feitan is frozen behind you, staring at your hips and trying to understand what you’re doing – he likes it, but he doesn’t like the way his body is reacting, blood slowly starting to head south at the slight friction, at the way you’re so damn close to him, at the way he can smell you and can feel the heat radiating off your body. 

It’s all too much, and suddenly he’s telling you to get off me, before quickly storming out of the room and locking himself in his bedroom. 

His cock is in his hand within minutes, memories of how you’d felt against him, even with layers of clothes separating you still fresh in his mind. You’ll be left to believe he didn’t like it, that you’d totally misinterpreted his actions, ashamed and a bit afraid for how he’d respond moving forward. 

Except, there’s no grand punishment, no mocking you for your actions – instead, the next night he turns on a new movie (still horror, gory and full of screaming and killing) and looks over at you expectantly. 

His legs are spread this time, leaving a space between them, and for a moment you’re confused, unsure of what he wants. He just raises a brow at you, unwilling to articulate what he’s wanting, hoping you’ll understand it without him needing to say it. 

You’ll shuffle closer, still staring at him, but soon he’ll just grumble, a hand reaching out and pulling you down to sit between his legs before you can even realize what’s happening. You’re stiff and unsure, unwilling to relax, and Feitan doesn’t like this. He wants you to move like you did last night, and after a few minutes of you sitting stone still, he’ll hiss into your ear do it again. 

You’ll start slow, testing the waters, and you nearly jump when you feel Feitan’s hand ghost over your waist, setting his fingers against your shirt as if wanting to fully touch you, but not quite letting himself. He’ll occasionally tell you to go faster, the movie still playing in the background, the feeling of his cock digging into your tailbone making you a confusing mix of scared and aroused. 

Eventually, he’ll let out this strange, unusual little sound, something like a grunt but much higher and strained, and you’ll feel something warm and wet pressing against you. Don’t mention anything, because Feitan doesn’t want you to say a damn word, not wanting to admit that the feeling of you grinding on him for roughly seven minutes has him coming in his pants, cum covering his cock and getting him all sticky. 

He’s embarrassed, but it will become something of a ritual between the two of you – every time he turns on a movie, it’s your place to sit in his lap (eventually you actually will sit in his lap, fully on his lap, not just pressed against him, though this takes some time) and to gyrate your hips at that certain rhythm he likes, all up until you feel him tense up beneath you, seeing his fingers clutching at the couch cushions at your sides. 

It’s a slow buildup into any sort of sexual activity between the two of you, but Feitan likes this, something about the intimacy making him extra sensitive, the feeling of you actually touching him (even peripherally, with clothes separating the two of you) making him feel lightheaded and airy. He likes it, and this will be the jumping off point for him to begin getting bolder, to begin letting himself actually fuck you, to finally do what he’s been craving for months. 

And once you become aware that he likes it, please start imitating it – give him look and ask if you can um, sit in your lap? 

He’ll almost always say yes, even if he’s in the middle of doing something, even if there’s not even a chair or couch nearby – he'll rush (not running, but very, very nearly) to the nearest surface, swallowing hard and staring at you, growing impatient when you don’t move fast enough for him. 

Often, he’ll already be half hard, and while he prefers when your back is facing him, if you were to climb into his lap so that you were straddling him? Well, Feitan finds it much harder to look you in the eye, because now it’s your cunt grinding down on him rather than just your ass, and that’s much different, isn’t it? 

Even once he’s progressed to stage of actually being willing to touch you, of being willing to let you touch him, Feitan still enjoys when you hump at him. And he particularly enjoys humping you, though he’s only willing to do this in the dead of night, when you’re fast asleep, your body ripe and vulnerable for him to touch, to explore, to use. 

He doesn’t want you to be awake and see the way he crumbles when he drags his cock along the curve of your ass, if only because he doesn’t want you to see how pink his cheeks get, how he starts mumbling under his breath, how his every muscle is flexing and straining because he wants to go faster, needs to go faster, but he can’t risk waking you up. 

It’s his dirty little secret, so you’d better start working on your stamina for grinding onto him – sure, he doesn’t last long, but he expects it often, and you can’t exactly refuse him. 

Or else.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Begging

Feitan likes knowing that you want him. He feels so inferior and weak for having developed such strong, scarily dependent feelings for you, and it makes him feel good, satisfied, justified when you beg for him, all whiny and desperate for his touch, for his body, for his cock. 

While he’s not particularly vocal between the sheets, he likes when you are - your voice is sultry when it gets all airy and gaspy, your little praises and pleas for him to go faster or please don’t stop making him double down and go harder, his desperation to please you driving him forward. 

He won’t ever explicitly ask you to beg for anything, but you’ll be able to tell that he likes it. 

You’ll see the way his eyes widen just a hair, the way his dark bangs settle over his forehead as he dips his head down, the exertion of moving his hips or wrist faster making him squeeze his eyes shut. 

You’ll feel the way his thrusts get more insistent, hips slapping against yours while his balls clap against your ass, the sound lewd and only getting faster the more you beg. 

You’ll be able to hear it in the way his breathing starts getting ragged, no amount of stamina adequate for hearing you beg for him, for him to touch you and pleasure you. 

He wants to feel needed in the context of your sexual pleasure, as if you can’t get off without his help, as if you’re incapable of bringing yourself to orgasm when he so easily manages it. It’s unrealistic and he knows it, but he’s able to immerse himself in the fantasy of you wanting him when you’re begging him, able to delude himself into believing, if only for a bit, that you’re just as frantic for his love and affection as he is yours. 

If you really want to get him going, a surefire way to have his cock springing to life and his heart lurching into his throat is to praise him a bit, then following it up with a plea for him to keep going. Tell him that it’s s’good, you feel so good Feitan, please don’t stop, just like that, fuck! 

Tell him that you belong to him, that you’re his, that your cunt is his cunt, that you want him to come inside, that you need more more more. He might tell you that you’re greedy, grunting out something about you being a greedy slut, but the twitching of his cock inside you and the way his fingers tighten their hold on you will show you that he isn’t as unaffected by your words as he’d like to pretend. 

He really just likes knowing that sex affects you just as much as it affects him, so please, please beg him - he’ll almost always do exactly what you want, almost like it’s a reward.

(After all, just getting to touch you is reward enough for him.)

Sensory deprivation

Because it takes Feitan so long to grow comfortable with letting himself be truly vulnerable with you (especially in the context of sex), he finds ways to get around this mental roadblock, so that he can experience everything he wants to without giving up any of his control. 

And one of his favorite ways to do that is to limit your senses - specifically, Feitan loves to blindfold you. He doesn’t really want you to be looking at him during sex, too nervous and awkward and embarrassed, because once he gets inside you, his control over his facial expressions, his bodily responses, his everything is severely limited. 

It takes all his will power to stop himself from coming prematurely, especially towards the beginning of his sexual relationship with you, and he’ll be damned if he lets you see the way his face crumples when he slips inside your wet heat, his dark brows drawing together and lips parting, eyes squeezing shut while he wills himself to calm down, to take deep breaths and not let himself get carried away. 

He doesn’t want you to be able to look at him, but he wants to be able to see you - he wants full viewing pleasure of your body, and while this method does block seeing your eyes get all glassy and pleasured, it’s better this way. 

This way, he gets to stare at the way your tits bounce as he fucks you, the soft fat jiggling and practically begging to be groped and squeezed at. 

This way, he can stare at your ass he pounds into it, grabbing a handful of cheek in each hand and kneading the fat, spreading them apart and taking a peek at your pert, cute little asshole, seeing the curve and arch of your back. 

He can let himself relax more this way, allowing his face to present every emotions and sensation he’s feeling, and he can let himself indulge in some of his more embarrassing urges - like reaching out to cup your hips when your bodies are facing each other, his fingers never quite brushing your skin but awfully close. 

He’ll lean in close as if to kiss you, letting his breath fan over your lips but never actually closing the distance, just indulging in the smell of you and the idea of kissing you. He’s still very reserved, but this way he can do all the things he fantasizes about when he’s alone at night, his mind wandering to you and his body growing cold and lonely. 

Plus, Feitan gains a certain amount of control this way - he gets to choose what happens to you, and because you can’t see anything, you’ll have no idea what’s coming next. 

Will it be his hands, a vibrator, his cock? 

You won’t know, and Feitan likes it that way - he wants to keep you guessing, to leave you unsure and awaiting his next move with baited breath. 

He just likes how dependent you are when he’s got the black blindfold tied around your eyes, so you’d better get used to it - he’s not good at compromising, after all. 

BIGGEST FANTASY:

While Feitan doesn’t harbor any desire to hurt you, there’s a certain allure that blood holds for him. 

Of course, he doesn’t want to actually draw blood from you (the thought of you being in pain because of him makes any boner of his die immediately), but he discovers - by accident - that there’s a solution to mixing the two. 

There’s a way to combine the two things that turn him on most - you, of course, and the slightest bit of blood - in a way that is safe for you yet still arousing, still enough to get him panting and his trousers feeling uncomfortably tight. 

That is, Feitan discovers that he absolutely loves getting intimate with you while you’re on your period. It doesn’t matter if you get horrible cramps, mood swings, or are even totally unaffected - you’re sensitive, body needy and practically begging to be mounted and fucked, and who is Feitan to deny you?

Once he grows comfortable with intimacy, you’ll never be able to pull him away from you once the blood shows up in your panties. He’s obsessive, tracking your period for you, making sure that he knows the exact days that you’ll be starting and stopping. 

He likes the way you respond to his touch so easily, your pretty pussy all messy and red and puffy, even the slightest touch making you buck your hips and gasp his name. 

It’s euphoric, and when he slips inside you it becomes incredibly difficult to not immediately orgasm - you’re just so wet, so warm and wonderfully lubricated, and the sight of blood staining his cock when he pulls back to thrust back in makes his head spin. 

You’re perfect when you’re menstruating, and you’ll notice he’ll be in a much better mood once you shyly report that it started, could you pick up some more pads for me? (He toys with the idea of actually collecting your blood, investing in one of those menstrual cups that you can remove once it’s full, just because the concept of drinking it is enough to make him fidget, the thought taboo and dirty and so very enticing.) 

You can’t really say no to him normally, but you especially can’t deny him when it’s your time of the month - you will be getting fingered, fucked, even facefucked, if only because Feitan needs you, your pretty blood and pretty body making him go crazy in a way he didn’t think possible. 

You make him go crazy in ways he didn’t think possible.

“Feitan, I - we can’t, not tonight.” You tell him, averting your gaze away from his as his hands grab at the old t-shirt and short you’re wearing. Unconsciously, your hand travels to your stomach, laying idly and making Feitan’s eyes narrow. 

“Why not?” He asks, his voice clipped and suspicious. You didn’t often tell him no, and although there’s a bit of doubt swimming in his chest, he wants to know why you’re suddenly not welcoming his touch. You’ve reached the point of leaning into his cold, harsh hands, so why’re you suddenly being so standoffish? He doesn’t like it, and his hands stay idly resting on your shirt hem. 

You’re embarrassed, he can tell, but he doesn’t drop the issue. Instead, he lets the silence sit heavily over the two of you, waiting for you to fill in the space. 

“Well, um, you see…” You start, before squeezing your eyes shut and squeaking out, “My period started yesterday and it’s too messy.”

Feitan blinks at you, unsure what to say. Your period? You were bleeding?

“Okay, and?” 

Your eyes peel open, daring to sneak a glance at your captor, who only stares at you, unimpressed. “Well, I mean, it’s going to be messy and gross and it probably smells bad and -”

“Shut up, we’re doing it.” He cuts you off, hand yanking at your shirt to bring it over your head. You grimace, already nervous for him to take off your shorts, because although you’re sure he knows what a period is, you’re sure he’s never actually been around a woman menstruating. Or at least, not sexually. 

Actually, you’re pretty sure he’s never been with a woman sexually in any capacity. 

He’s yanking at your shorts next, pulling down the material even as you voice your protests, but one scowl from him has you shutting up, embarrassment pricking up your spine as he grabs your thighs and manually spreads them, the scratchy blanket covering the bed biting into your ass. 

He’s staring, dark eyes a bit wider than normal, and you feel yourself shrinking in on yourself, the embarrassment eating you alive. Why was he staring? Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Feitan..?” You mumble, biting your lip and letting your arms cover your bloated stomach. He doesn’t respond, but you feel his grip on your thighs tighten, to the point where you think you might see bruises tomorrow. 

His eyes slowly, painstakingly, drag up from your exposed cunt to meet your face, and to your surprise you see the slightest dusting of a blush on his cheeks, as if he too was embarrassed. But before you can say anything, he’s rushing forward, lips pressing against yours in a messy, clumsy kiss, full of teeth knocking against teeth and too much spit. You’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but just as soon as he rushed in he’s pulling back, instead moving to bring his face level with your leaking hole. 

Feitan can’t stop staring - there’s blood everywhere, and while he’d normally be thrown into a state of panic at seeing so much of your own blood staining your skin, somehow this is different. Somehow the sight of it staining your pussy, the red color all along your inner thighs and part of your asscheek making his mouth water, his cock already painfully hard. It’s so pretty - red against your skin, your lips visibly swollen, your little clit engorged and peaking out. You look good, like something he wants to taste, and before he knows what’s happening he’s diving forward, tongue licking a long stripe up your slit. 

You taste like iron and musk and something oddly sweet, and immediately he’s diving in to taste more, tongue lapping at you like some dog in heat as he keeps his fingers firmly digging into your thighs. He can barely hear your sound of shock at his actions, too overwhelmed by your taste and your scent. 

“F-feitan, stop!” You manage to force out, eyes squeezed shut as your hips shake and stutter. “It’s too much, I’m too sensitive, I can’t!”

Feitan stops at that, pulling away from your body with blood smeared all over his lips, chin and nose, staring at you with a look in those wide, dark eyes that makes you shiver. He looks like an animal like this, something primal and carnal - and when your eyes peek down to see his cock - throbbing, bright red and stiff against his stomach - you can’t help but feel as if you’re some sort of prey caught in his jaws. 

“Not too much, you will survive.” Is all he says, before he’s resuming his actions, bringing a finger up to prod inside your walls while his tongue gets to work on your clit. His fingers curl and rub, but you’re so damn tight, your walls impossibly clenched, and it makes Feitan grunt against you. You’re even wetter inside than normal, the blood practically running down his hands in copious amounts, making it remarkably easy to slide his fingers in and out. Almost too easy, it would seem. 

You’re blabbering his name, the stimulation hurtling you towards your orgasm much quicker than normal, your heightened sensitivity and emotions turning you into a moaning, whimpering mess. And Feitan loves it - those dark eyes are peering up at you from over the crest of your pelvic bone, blood tinging his cheeks and visible to you. 

When he angles his fingers to press against the spongey, sensitive spot he knows you love, you suddenly gasp, a hand flying to tangle into his hair, the other gently pinching and rolling at your nipple. 

“Feitan, oh fuck Feitan ‘m gonna, I’m gonna come-!” You’re squealing, something that makes Feitan cock a brow, the pure desperation in your body as you squirm under his touch making him feral, his hips beginning to rut against the bed before he can even think about it. You just look so sexy like this, with your nipples swollen and sensitive, your cunt all warm and wet and sweet, and he’ll watch with wide eyes as you orgasm around him, your walls clenching down so hard that they force his fingers out, his tongue and the circles he’s drawing on your clit the only thing grounding you. Your back arches fully up off the bed, tits thrust out into the air, and Feitan bites back a groan as his own pleasure hits a peak, the blanket ruined as cum oozes from his tip and seeps into the fabric. 

You’re shaking, literally fucking shaking, and Feitan finds himself trembling too, his hands not as steady against your skin. If he’d known you would taste like this, how sensitive you’d be, how easy it is to get you orgasming while on your period, he would’ve done this long ago. 

You’re out of it, blinking up at the ceiling and heaving uneven breaths, but even as sensitive as he is from his last orgasm, Feitan is quickly shuffling to his knees, grabbing the base of his cock and sinking into you, face contorting into something between a grimace and a gasp. You’re so damn warm, and he groans lowly as he sees the way his cock has pink slick all over it when he pulls back, a mix of your blood, your slick and his cum decorating his length. 

Fucking you is heaven, the way you clutch at him and writhe, nearly screaming his name as you come on his cock, and Feitan can only grit his teeth and go harder, spurred on by the way your walls are caressing his length, massaging and gripping like a fucking vice. 

It feels good, and by the time he’s emptied himself inside you, he’s already made a mental note to mark down when your next period will be - just so he can get ready, so that he can get prepared. So that he can prepare you, too, because you won’t simply be allowed rest after the first night. 

God no, not if you’re like this the whole time.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere feitan #yandere feitan portor #hxh smut #_lee's profiles #_hxh #_feitan portor

[pineapplequencher]

five stars ੈ✩‧₊˚

wherein surfer portgas d. ace tries his hand at snowboarding. he fails, but he's pretty sure he's met the love of his life.

surfer!ace, snowboarder!mc, afab reader, unedited, sfw, 3.6k words

tw: blood mention

a/n: this is my entrance exam into floptropica university (i also suck and snowboarding and avoid it. im a surfing girl. sorry if i got osmething wrong)

Should be easy enough, Ace thinks. I surf, so this’ll probably be easy. Besides, what’s the difference between snowboarding and surfing? He’s totally gonna shred regardless. 

But the gear is heavy, and the boots are clunky, and the helmet looks ridiculous. He’s used to the autonomy of having no shirt on, with sun on his back and wind through his hair. The air here is frosty and unkind, the sun is hidden behind a blanket of clouds, and the other people in the gondola line look mean.

As he approaches the gondola to take him up the mountain, a worker with green hair and goggles barks at someone else before he turns to Ace. Ace hefts the heavy board under his arm and gives the worker a cheeky grin. “Hey.”

The worker’s name tag sports chipped letters—Zoro—and the worker himself gives Ace a tight line of a smile. 

“Hey, uh, after I get on this thing”—Ace motions to the swinging carriages supported by the lines that stretch to the high, white peak—“which way do I go to get to the bunny hill?” Zoro’s lips twitch, as if in an effort to hold back a laugh. Ace, a bit insecure now, adds, “My brothers went up before me, and I’m new to the area.”

Zoro glances at the mountain, then back to Ace. He checks his clipboard and readjusts the goggles over his eyes. Ace is sure those aren’t prescription-based, but Zoro’s voice is confident. “Sounds like you’re headed for Drum Island Hill. I think you take a right, and then a left. Should be right there.”

“Thanks, man,” Ace replies coolly.

“Yeah,” Zoro says. He turns back to his busywork. “You should probably strap a boot in before you go up. Okay, stand there, and the ski lift will take you up.”

Ace does so and waddles to the area. He flops his bulky body on the bench. This is his first time doing a winter sport, and he didn’t want to pay the hefty fee of lessons. The ski lift gains traction and lifts him into the air. 

When he reaches the top, he stumbles off the bench. He’s not used to his foot directly strapped onto his board. It gives him no leeway. He balances poorly and dismisses the worker that’s about to help him.

“I got it,” Ace says. “I’m good.”

Now, what did that guy below say? Ace peeks down the mountain. This is way higher than he thought. This is where the bunny hill is, right? He looked online at the review, and it said that this place is good for beginners. He’s starting to doubt the Internet’s honesty. 

Ace traverses across the hard, thick snow. He sludges his strapped boot behind him, copying the fellow snowboarders, and takes his steps with utmost carefulness. A right and a left. Should be easy enough, Ace consoles himself again. 

Having another board strapped to his foot feels like cheating on his surfboard at home, though.

After he drags his body to the right, he makes his way past a few wooden cabins with skis perched outside. He must be headed the right direction. A few skiers chat and laugh as they leave the cabin, Modelos in hand. Ace doesn’t feel that safe here anymore, but he has to meet Luffy and Sabo. And master this craft. He paid good money to rent the snowboard and gear. Can’t let it go to waste.

Once Ace reaches a thick collective of white-tipped evergreens, Ace scratches his head. This is a good spot to turn left. He navigates through the forest until he notices a sign: Black Diamond. That doesn’t sound like Drum Hill Island, but the names of these mountains go hard. Maybe they’re synonymous.

There’s very few people here—only two besides Ace—and one measly cabin. It looks closed. One of the snowboarders nods their head at the other and tightens the goggles. Then, they disappear down the snow. Ace’s gaze follows them.

Um, Ace thinks.

The road is steep, with bumps and swirls that slither down the mountain. The skinny trail is fenced off by the forest, and rocks jut out sporadically. The snowboarder slides and turns around the rocks and flips off of a mound. They hoot.

Ace turns. There’s no Luffy. There’s no Sabo. Maybe they’ve begun to make their way down as well. The second snowboarder here pats Ace’s back. “Hey, man, you from around here? You look nervous.”

“I’m not,” Ace says. “First time.”

“First time here? Oh, dude, this path is hella fun. Mind the giant rock when you’re around thirty feet in, though. It’ll trip you up, and it’s for sure accident prone,” the snowboarder replies. Then, they flip their snow goggles over their eyes. “See you down there.”

Then, Ace’s last bit of company is gone.

Alone in the desolate snow, Ace fantasizes about his surfboard. Whatever. Everyone’s a beginner at whatever they do. Luffy and Sabo probably had so much fun without Ace already. That alone fuels Ace’s FOMO into transmission. He will surf this mountain, or whatever they say.

Ace shakes away his nerves. He fixes the goggles over his eyes and knocks on his helmet for good luck. Then, he fastens his other boot onto the board. This doesn’t feel right, but that’s just his muscle memory. Ace feebly totters to the edge of the path. The wind whistles in his ears, further emphasizing how alone he is at the top.

Before Ace could hype himself up more, his balance shifts, careening his board, and suddenly he’s plummeting down the mountain. Ace screams. 

He holds his arms out in an attempt to position himself better, but the speed at which he’s shredding this mountain makes it impossible for Ace to maintain himself. He swears the other boarders weren’t going as fast as he was. They were skidding and sliding alongside the mounds of snow. Ace is just skidding.

Ace wobbles on his board. It’s so skimpy and malleable compared to a surfboard. Every small adjustment he makes essentially carves his path down here. Somehow, Ace sees himself not making it out of here alive. He has to choose how he wants to go out. 

He sees how this could be fun to an experienced snowboarder. He’s not that guy.

A bump in the path sends Ace into the sky. Falling on his back sounds bad. Falling on his face sounds worse. With how thick the snow is, he could fall headfirst into the snow and never be seen again. Ace channels his energy into twisting his body so that he lands on his butt. A busted tailbone is an easy fix. 

He curls his body and braces for impact.

Once he hits the snow, he hits it hard. The ocean waves are much kinder when it comes to falling off. The back of his helmet slams against the harsh snow, and his ears ring in pain. His tailbone takes a direct hit against the sleet of snow and ice, and rapid throbs of pain follow. His head is dizzy, and momentarily his legs lose feeling. The weight of his snowboard tugs him further down. Ace flails his arms to hold himself in the snow. 

Ace unbuckles one of his boots, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He’s alive, that’s for sure, and it hurts. Ass planted in the snow, Ace stretches his limbs and decides to wait a few minutes before he creates an action plan. The snow did a number on him. He can’t think. He might throw up. He’s the perfect bait for a bear. He’s going to die. He can’t even push himself out of his ass-created hole in the snow.

The high altitude of the mountain allows for the wind to whip Ace’s helmeted head around. His heavy head lolls around his shoulders. He can’t breathe. Ace fumbles to undo the clip, and he sloughs his helmet off next to him. 

His black locks are damp on his forehead. Ace shakes the sweat from his head, but the rapid movement causes him to groan. His snowy, cold glove grasps his forehead. This biting pain is uncomfortable. He might have to wait for help.

Ace tosses his helmet to the side and sighs, waiting for the pain to subside. What he tripped on must have been the rock in the road the other snowboarder informed him about. Just his luck.

Then, a giant shadow crosses the sky. Ace looks up. 

It’s another snowboarder flying above him. His mouth is open. He should shout for help, right?

Their form is impeccable—it’s something you see on a YouTube video. Their hand is gripped on the edge of the board, their knees tucked, and their other arm splayed out. Ace would give a lot to see a GoPro video of this person shredding snow.

He doesn’t need to shout for help; the snowboarder notices Ace. The snowboarder is distracted long enough for them to release their hold on the board and tumble into the snow. Ace hears a crunch and winces.

Ace watches the other snowboarder tumble into the snow. So that’s how you fall, he notes. The snowboarder’s gloves grasps against the mountain snow. They’re quick to unbuckle their boots and check their limbs and ankles. After they do a windmill with their arms, they pick up their snowboard and use it to hike their way to Ace. Snow cascades down their covered shoulders.

Although the helmet and goggles conceal their expression, Ace has a feeling that this person is mad.

Since he’s stuck, he lets the angry snowboarder approach him. He gulps. The slow, steady, and experienced stomps of the snowboarder alongside the harsh pikes of their snowboard against the mountain lets Ace know that there’s more pain bound his way.

Once the snowboarder is close enough, they peel back their goggles to reveal their face and shed the helmet entirely. They tuck it under their arm and stake their snowboard into the snow.

Fuck, Ace thinks. Why’d it have to be a pretty girl?

Similar to Ace, her hair is damp against her forehead and is frizzy from the tight hold of the helmet. Her lashes fan over her cheeks when she blinks, and her nose is scrunched. The sun behind the woman infuses her with a brilliant glow, which causes Ace’s breath to hitch, and her rainbow-hued goggles glint. Her brows create a pinch in her glabella, and a sneer is plastered against her face. Forget the GoPro, Ace would give a lot to see this woman’s smile.

Then, he notices her bloody, bruised lip. 

“What—the fuck”—her voices comes out in angered pants—“is wrong—with you?” She pokes a gloved finger against Ace’s chest, and he throws his hands up in surrender. “You’re a hazard, hello? At least get out of the path.”

“Sorry,” Ace replies meekly. “Um, sorry about your lip, too.”

“You have a lot to be sorry for,” the woman hisses. “Where’s your etiquette?”

“I’m new here.”

She doesn’t let her bottom lip stop her from chastising Ace. In fact, blood drips onto the white snow, fresh and bright. “New to the area, or new to snowboarding?”

“New to snowboarding…” Ace lowers his arms. 

The woman’s hand flies up to her head. Her visible rage has yet to leave. “This is a Black Diamond path, AKA what they use to categorize the most dangerous paths, AKA where only pros go, AKA metrosexuals like you shouldn’t be here.”

He still has time to look suave in front of her. He brushes his hair back and says, “I figured. What’s your na—”

“You should be at Drum Hill Island. This is Skypiea.”

“Okay.”

“Did you not see the experts only sign?” 

“I saw the Black Diamond sign,” Ace offers, but he must’ve added fuel to the fire since the woman plants a hand on her hip, unimpressed. “I—I didn’t know what that meant. I said I was a beginner.”

The woman sighs. “Give me a second.”

Ace watches her plod into the forest. She takes a moment to drop her helmet, unglove a hand, and check her phone in her pocket. She holds her phone close to her lip to see the damage. Then, she pockets her phone, fits her glove back onto her hand, and screams.

A flock of birds fly into the sky.

After she’s done, the woman grabs her helmet and slogs back to where Ace sits, still ass-down in the snow. Her blood begins to drip down her chin, a red trail is left behind in her wake. She’s too angry to pay attention to it, and Ace would rather not upset her more.

“You stuck?” she asks, her tone gentler than before, yet it still has an icy edge to it. 

“Yeah,” he admits.

The woman kneels down to unbuckle Ace’s foot free. She takes his snowboard and plants it into the ground next to him. She stands and dusts the snow from her knees, then she holds her hands out expectantly. Ace takes them, and she pulls him out of the snow. 

The force of it pushes her back—he’s a heavy, muscled guy, you know—and Ace trips over her. They land on the snow. Their faces are inches away from kissing, and Ace might’ve gone for it if she weren’t mad at him already, if her lip wasn’t bloody, and if he had some liquid courage. Both of their breaths come out in wispy tendrils of fog, and the woman’s face is studying Ace. He’s unsure if she’s incredulous or captured by his good looks.

He decides it’s the former when the woman says, “Can you get off.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he murmurs and pries himself away. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says as she sits upright. “Rough landing. I’m used to it, though. Anyway, you’re lucky I know a way out of here.” She stands up, plucks her helmet from the ground, and holds the edge of her snowboard. “Just get your stuff and follow me. You’ll be fine, if you have no other injuries.”

“I’m okay,” Ace says. He might have a concussion. This woman really is pretty.

“That’s good. No need for a rescue helicopter, then.”

Ace chuckles. “Yeah, that might be too much.”

The woman’s eyes crinkle. She must be trying to smile, since her lips wobble and her brows are raised. Obviously, her new wound makes it impossible. Ace is kind of proud of himself, and then his confidence is lowered because it’s his fault she busted her lip open.

Without another word, the woman goes into the forest, leaving Ace to frantically gather his gear and stumble behind her. He jogs—and nearly slips—until he’s next to her. The woman says nothing to him as he catches glances at her. 

It isn’t until the woman stops to free her hand from her glove does Ace say, “I’m really sorry, by the way.”

The woman looks at him as she raises her careful hand to her bloody lip. She wipes some of it away and hisses at the pain. She looks at the red on her finger and wipes it on her snow pants. “It happens.”

They continue their journey. Granted, she has every right to be upset. Ace clears his throat. “Do you come here often?”

“Yeah, I do,” she says. “Whenever I’m on break, I make the trip up here.”

“From what I saw, you’re pretty good.”

The woman smiles, this time with great care, in consideration of her lip. “Thanks. Lots of practice. But I never had the audacity to try a Black Diamond on my first try.”

“I followed instructions, I swear,” Ace insists. “There was this guy down there—Zoro, or whatever—and he told me to take a right, then a left to get to the bunny hill. I literally did that and ended up here.”

“Oh, that guy’s working today. No wonder,” the woman says. “He’s shit at directions.”

“He convinced me. He sounded so confident.”

The woman’s eyes meet Ace’s. She quickly refocuses on the slow shuffle of her feet. “I wouldn’t be surprised if other beginners are at Skypiea, too, but they wouldn’t have the audacity to actually ski or board it.”

She’s back to jabbing at him. He’ll take it. Ace shrugs. “Yeah, yeah, I’m full of myself.”

“So you do get that a lot.”

“I get it more often than I should,” Ace says. “Hey, once you get to know me, you’ll find that I’m a humble guy.”

The woman snorts and shoves Ace. “Humble people don’t say that.”

“And you would know that because you’re humble, huh,” Ace retorts.

“Yeah, once you get to know me, you’ll find that I’m a humble girl.”

“Okay, calm down.” 

After that, she doesn’t respond. Ace struggles to find a conversation topic. She might not want to talk because of her lip, but it seems she’s not exactly opposed to it. 

“Do you usually come with friends? I noticed you were alone,” he points out. Yep. He’s good. That’s good. Casual and smart.

The woman sighs. “Sometimes. I came with a college friend this week, but he sprained his ankle yesterday doing Skypiea. Did you come here with anyone?”

“Yeah, my younger brothers! They should be at the kiddie hill. I was tryna look for them before this happened…”

Ace wishes they met under better circumstances. If he had his iconic orange cowboy hat, he would have taken it off, held it to his chest, and asked for her name with a smile. He’d do that cheesy thing where he bows a bit and kisses her knuckles. Then, he’d impress her with a trip to the beach and show her how well he surfs. She’d ask him to teach her, probably, and he’d get to—

“Hello?” the woman says.

“Sorry?” Ace is saying sorry a lot today. It’s fine. This woman deserves it. 

“Your name? Excuse me?” the woman asks. “I’ve been asking.”

“It’s Ace,” he replies. “Sorry, your lip must hurt a lot. Um, what’s yours—”

“Oh! We’re here!” the woman chirps, and she points to a ski lift, buried in the clearing of the forest. Around the lift is a populated area, with plenty of children and families. Settled in the valley of the mountain, there are smaller slopes and neon netting to prevent accidents. There are lessons held with snowboarders and skiers alike in blue uniforms, watching the people work their way around the snow.

Ace’s shoulders droop. “Oh. We’re here.”

“Go ahead and find your brothers.” The woman gives him a dismissive wave. “I’ll check in with the infirmary about my lip. I might need stitches.”

Here’s his chance. “Yeah, I’m really sorry. If—If it costs anything, I can give you my number, and you can let me know about the cost. I’ll pay.”

The woman hesitates. Ace crosses his fingers discreetly. Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes please say yes please say yes. She fishes a hand in her pocket and waves her phone in front of him. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Ace takes it. He remembers he has gloves on. He sheepishly sheds them off and tosses them to the side as quick as he can. “Oops. Um. Let me see…” Ace’s hands shake as he types his name in, and then his phone number. He double-checks the digits. He triple-checks it even. He makes sure it’s right. He really wants her to reach out. 

“Hey,” the woman prods.

“Here you go,” Ace says and hands her phone back. “Call me. Or text me. Do whatever you want. Do whatever’s comfortable for you.”

“Okay… I will,” she replies, and Ace takes it as a promise.

Again, he watches her maneuver through the people in the area until she reaches an information desk. She rings the bell, and a worker comes out. The woman motions to her lips, and the worker freaks. Ace watches the woman laugh, throw her head back, and wave her hands.

Damn. Ace wants to make her laugh like that. He’ll wait for the text. He’ll cook up something good. Something that’ll make her kick her feet and giggle.

Behind him, a familiar voice says, “Looks like you made it.”

Ace turns around. It’s Zoro, the freak from the bottom of the ski lift. It looks like his goggles are still for show because he has them strapped around his eyes with no helmet. Ace wants to yell at this guy for making him look like a loser in front of a pretty girl, but he finds that he’ll settle for a nasty Google review.

“I did,” Ace says through gritted teeth. He then points to the woman. “What’s her name, by the way?”

Zoro whistles. “This is a place to snowboard and ski, not pick up chicks.”

Never mind. Ace is ticked. “Yeah, well, your directions actually led me to something called a Black Diamond Skypiea thing, and she helped me out. I just wanna know her name, dude.”

Zoro laughs.

Ace waits. 

Once Zoro’s maniacal laughter is over, Zoro says, “That’s [Name]. You got lucky by meeting her. Wow. This is crazy. Sanji’s been trying to get his contact in her phone for ages. Good luck.”

Smug, Ace can’t hide the growing smile on his cheeks. That Sanji guy must be butt-ugly and not worth [Name]’s time at all. Ace’ll show her what a real man can do. Well, he would, but the ball’s in [Name]’s court. All Ace has to do is wait for the hospital bill to come in. 

Ace pats Zoro on the back. “Thanks, man. I mean it.”

✭✭✭✭✩ decent place to ski and snowboard. personal faves are skypiea and wano. i've done alabasta too but i've heard things about it being artifical snow and you know what i can tell it's artifical... read more - [name]

✭✭✩✩✩ Gyatt damn is all i gotta say. Nami is fine as hell i want her 😍 I also broke my skull doing thriller bark they need to fix that shit asap - brookhardboner

✭✭✭✭✭ Would’ve given this place 1 star but Im pretty sure I met the love of my life today - firefistace

#portgas d ace #portgas d. ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #ace x reader #portgas ace x you #portgas ace x reader #one piece oneshots #one piece x you #one piece ace

[seat-safety-switch]

It’s funny what you remember from childhood. A perfect spring day. A trip to the zoo. A thoughtful gift from a loved one. Me? Oh, just the usual: I’m dogged, every waking hour, by images of the old parking garage at the mall.

Now, I should do some qualification for all this. I didn’t actually like going to the mall (unless it was to buy toy cars; the satisfaction was short-lived, however, because they always looked suspiciously new and shiny once the package was opened.) What I enjoyed was the experience of being pulled off the street, into a building that you could drive through. The steeply angled ramps, which they’d try their best to de-ice in the winter. The flickering pillars. The beautiful red canopy on the top storey. The awkwardly long hallway to and from the mall that felt like a trip on its own.

Those of you who are too young to remember malls may now be horrified at how a place of capitalist worship has burned itself permanently into my memory. This is understandable: studies have shown that kids raised on the internet now identify most closely with abstract geometric solids and specific kinds of wait cursor. I hope you really have fond memories that fill you with joy of “flickering purple square” in 20 years. I cannot, for the life of me, remember anything about the interior of the mall. If I strain really hard, I can imagine the awkward chairs at the food court. That’s it. The parking garage is where it began and ended for me as an impressionable youth.

Nowadays, I can’t resist a good parking garage. Unfortunately, a lot of them charge a lot of cash to enter, or at least to leave. This is because the operators of these garages are solely in “the parking business.” They’re not interested in why you’re there, they just want to trap your car in money jail. As a result, I rarely get to do full-throttle rips around spiral ramps anymore, unless I’m volunteering for court-ordered community service, escorting the elderly or otherwise un-car-able around town. That childhood parking garage has long since been destroyed, but it lives on in my memory and probably that of like four other freaks, who are also a menace to society.

[junktastic]

I had a drawing months back that went kinda viral I guess, and it getting out of my normal sphere of followers meant that I got to observe how folks far outside of my twitter sphere interact with twitter and others. For reference, I am talking about this image:

The context, besides getting to draw my friend Jenny, was that I saw a picture that was of an anime girl that said "lets be in our early 30s together" and I was like "haha, I will make my own version of this." Part of it was also that I think aging is fine, and we need to stop stressing so much over staying young. "Lets be in our mid-thirties together" is not a joke, I sincerely wanted this image to be warm and inviting, to maybe give people hope that there will be friends and people who love you once you get to that age. I never thought I was going to make it to 30, and I just turned 35 this year, and I'm the happiest I've ever been.

Some responses were obviously teens/early 20s people saying they don't want to get that old, which is whatever. When you're that young the dirty thirty sounds so ugly. No one cool is in their 30s! Well, if you ignore the people who make all the things they like. These responses I waved these off.

I saw the typical twitter experience replies of "this doesn't apply to me?" Ok bitch! Go make your own like I did! And show me when you do, I'd love to see it!

There was a handful of people who were saying "retweet to scare a twink" which I felt was kind of rude. Not to me, but to the twinks out there. Aging doesn't make you less of a twink.

Lots of people were sending it to their significant others or saying they hope to find someone to be in their mid-thirties with, which I love. :3 It makes me happy!

The one kind of response which is what I made this post for and I'm so sorry that I've been rambling, that I found weird was the people who will reply to just you. The OP. As if they are replying to everyone in the thread. I'm not talking about in QRTs, just straight in the replies. "Don't forget how tired she looks in this." Brother I drew the picture. I know. And ever since then I feel like, as someone who loves to read the replies on other people's tweets, I notice this a lot more often. Who are they talking to? Is this what people are referring to when they say "Main Character Syndrome?" Or should I be lumping these together with the "why isn't this about my exact personal life situation" people?

My fiancé says I'm thinking about this too hard (I got engaged last month btw), and he's probably right. I can't help but be curious about how other people choose to interact with the internet and images and people on it. And, I guess, am I supposed to reply? How should I feel about these. I guess I have to decide that on my own.

For the record, you are all very normal/understandable when it comes to what you guys tag my stuff with. That you love the girls (same!), that they're very gender (love this), or wow is this [insert fetish](not my intention but that's the internet). I feel like the slime girls get the "gender" comment the most and you are all so right for that. Every time I see people reblog my ocs I think "Thank you for loving [name]."

That's all! This was a pointless post but I'm unemployed right now so I have too much time to overthink things for no reason. How do YOU feel about how people interact with your posts? Are they weird? Or are they normal about it.

#bro what do i even tag this

[inkskinned]

i. so 2 days ago, i think i almost got kidnapped.

ii. there's this line in mitski - okay, so i'm a stereotype but - she says i've been big and small. sometimes i think she means physically. and sometimes i think she means like how it feels small to be alone in a grocery store.

iii. i'm babysitting my brother's dog. my dog is much bigger than his; goblin's 70 pounds and comes up to my hip. but his dog (an australian shepherd) - she's tiny. like 30 pounds or something.

iv. i called my sister before i called the cops. it felt like a big move to call the cops. i didn't like doing it, either. i felt like, embarrassed this happened.

v. it was getting dark, right. and the rain had really started in earnest. and we were coming off a trail we'd seen a guy on, deep in the woods. this white unmarked panel van was just sitting there, at the trailhead, lights on, engine on. i had to squeeze past it to get to my car. i kept telling myself - this is fucking stupid to be freaked out by. it's just a guy. it's just a van. it's not a movie. move along.

vi. sometimes i think about those chain emails that used to go around. you know, the ones with "survival tips for women" in them. in the age of the internet, where did all of those go? where is the masterlist of holding your keys in your fist? did anyone print that up and put it on their wall. do they sleep beside it.

vii. the van started to move while i put the dogs in the car. very slowly, he turned and backed up so he was blocking me in. i felt my heart racing. the rain was in my eyes. he opened his front door, just stuck a foot out. my brother's dog immediately freaked out. i had to physically restrain her. he closed his door. i got into the car with the dog, through the passenger side. i locked everything. the van stayed behind me for a little bit. when he finally left, i found him parked at the edge of the road. he waited for me to turn, and then followed me for a few intersections.

iix. i just couldn't stop thinking - this isn't real. this isn't something that happens. you're making this a bigger issue than it needs to be. this is the way it would play out if you were on tv. i didn't want to be that person, you know? jumping at shadows. freaked out about nothing. you know, a hysterical woman.

ix. my friends and i joke over dinner that i would be the first to die in a horror movie. then we go around and assign death warrants - who dies first, who is the serial killer. there are times in my life i have been jokingly folded to fit into the trunk of a car. every time someone picks me up, even in a friendly way, i have the sudden, horrible thought: oh. i couldn't really stop this from happening if things got too far. that feels small and big all-at-once. like breathing in glass particles.

x. i didn't get the license plate. the cops were not helpful. i didn't really expect them to be, but i didn't want anyone else to get hurt, just-in-case something bad would have happened. not that i get to assume something bad would have happened. it feels small and stupid. i feel like an idiot. what if calling the cops causes more hurt than good? maybe calling them was foolish. the first thing i said when they picked up was - uh, so i don't really know if this is a big deal or not but i think something weird just happened.

xi. in the last 48 hours i have gone to work and done my laundry and walked the dogs some more. i didn't even bring it up with my therapist. on the phone with the police officer, she said - you're actually being very calm about this. it is just something that can happen, i guess. i think i'm probably not the only person walking around with something that should-be-big rattling around inside of them. since nothing did happen, i don't really get to be upset. bad things have happened to me. i am statistically speaking extremely lucky.

xii. sometimes i think about all the diary pages that exist. and all the places where people hide the things that are too horrible to look at, even if it's a memory. it feels big-and-small to know that my diary knows the worst of me. it feels big to know someone else probably has the same diary. like - ha! same trauma. how endearing. i told my sister - well this is just part of being femme presenting isn't it.

xiii. on wednesday i saw a bunch of warblers and last night i had a dream about a girl with red hair. that felt big. that felt poetic. it's thursday today. i almost got kidnapped on a tuesday. in between the rest of me, i have no idea where to fit that moment.

poem where everything is true unless it makes you uncomfortable and then of course it's all made up for attention // r.i.d

#whatever this is #poetry #prose #warm up

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

The Princess and The Duke Chapter 1 - Homecoming

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact. 

Specific Warnings: Daddy Kink, Sex Work, Cam work, Infidelity, Step-Cest, Dave York(he always needs his own warning), Men being sexist dicks on the internet, masturbation (m and f), mutual masturbation(unknowing). Let me know if I missed anything!

Graphic made by me, does not convey shape, race, or hair colour of reader, the panties just looked so good, no use of Y/N.

Thank you to @pastelnap and @wannab-urs for beta-ing for me, ilu so much.

Please consider checking out my ko-fi or patreon if you want to support me.

Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

She’s late. 

You’re hardly surprised, your mom has never been what anyone could ever describe as punctual, but you are annoyed. Is this punishment for quitting your lucrative position at the law firm? For not telling her, only so she could find out on the rumour mill? No, your mom is petty, but this would be low even for her. She’s probably just drunk and forgot. Even if it is only two in the afternoon.

You sigh as you open the Uber app on your phone, the estimated wait is another twenty minutes. You sigh as you book one anyway, looking around for somewhere to sit. You look up to see a vaguely familiar man exit a flashy looking Mustang, the dark textured racing stripes on cherry red catching your attention as he races into the arrivals short-stay bay. 

He’s dressed in dark grey slacks and a pale dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks like an investment banker, or some other scummy Wall Street type. The handsome man scans the crowd with purpose. His broad, tense, shoulders flex as he moves, his brow is deeply furrowed as he turns to you. His eyes are impossibly dark, deep amber bleeding into black. You blink rapidly as you hear your name roll from his plush lips and you cock your head to the side with a confused grimace on your face. 

“Do I know you?” 

The near-stranger’s face contorts as he hurries over to you.

“I’m Dave, your mom’s husband? Weren’t you at the wedding?” 

“Oh shit. Yeah hi, sorry I’m really jetlagged and some kid was kicking my seat the whole flight.” You scramble, horrified that you clearly forgot what your new stepdad was called, let alone what he looks like. It feels weird, using such a term at your age, surely the idea of stepparents was well beyond you, but here you are. 

“It’s no problem, let me take your bags.” 

He doesn’t wait for you to answer, grabbing your two enormous suitcases before you can move, leaving you with your carryon and rucksack. You follow Dave, intrigued by the strangely friendly nature of your mother’s current husband. 

“I could have got those.” 

You say as you round the vehicle, dumping your bags in the oddly spacious trunk. Dave looks at you with a grimace as he runs his hand through his short hair. You don’t know why but he’s tense. You try not to let it get to you as you brush past him to reach the passenger side door. You slide in without a word as you watch Dave manoeuvre into his seat. 

“It’s nothing, least I could do seeing as I’m late.” 

You try and ignore the way your eyes rove over his body, he’s way too hot for your mom, and fuck, he can’t be a day over forty, ten years older than you at best. The engine roars to life and you hear the distortion from the exhaust, telling you the car has been modded.

“What exhaust did you get added in?” 

Dave doesn’t take his eyes off the road but you note the twitch of his plush lips as he smiles. 

“You know cars?” 

“Maybe,” You shrug as you watch the freeway peel around you at the speed Dave is driving, “Just know that drone,” You gesture over your shoulder with a smile, “Happens when you take too many silencers out. You compensating for something Dave?” 

He exhales through his nose in a short huffing noise, something like a laugh; and your chest flutters at the look he gives you through the rear-view mirror. His eyes crinkle a little at the corners and his dark eyes dance with light as his lips twitch upwards into a smile that makes his cheeks dimple. 

“Your mom warned me about that smart mouth of yours, just didn’t expect such a sharp tongue.” 

You don’t know why but the light scolding from your stepfather makes your pussy clench. You break eye contact and opt to stare out of the window for the rest of the drive. You put it down to jet lag, or sleep deprivation, but every time you catch a whiff of his cologne mixed with his fresh perspiration it sends your mind into overdrive. 

You catch glimpses of him, his thick forearms as he changes gears, as he pulls in and out of traffic and you cannot believe that this man is married to your mother of all people. You pull out your phone and start looking at your schedule for the week, you’re going to be giving your viewers a show tonight, even if you didn’t have a livestream booked in, you think you can make an exception tonight. 

~*~

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the way Dave is also sneaking looks at you, taking you in. And all the while he’s trying to expel the thoughts of you from his mind. But one thing he can’t ignore, that already has him transfixed, is the way you’re clearly the polar opposite of your mother. You’re smart, worldly, and interested in something more than yoga, mani-pedis, or the bottom of a wine bottle. 

He keeps telling himself that he’s stealing glances to size you up, get a feel for the kind of person you are. As if he’s analysing you like a hit. He didn’t miss the way your pupils dilated as he scolded you, nor the way your chest heaved as your breathing picked up. The app on your phone looked identical to the one he uses to organise his work schedule. He couldn’t get a clear look, but it surprised him to see that you weren’t scrolling through social media or texting friends. He files that away for later as he forces himself to stop looking at you. 

With every passing second his gaze is less analytical and there’s a hunger to the way his eyes travel over your body. He tries to quash the selfish desire roiling in his belly as he focuses back on the road. 

~*~

You must have fallen asleep at some point, the rumble of the V8 engine somehow lulling you off to sleep. A broad hand jostles your bare shoulder, and you hum softly as you come around. You look up to see Dave’s dark eyes staring into your own. His jaw is tight, and his plush lips pursed as his palm lingers on the swell of your shoulder. 

“We’re here.” 

Is all he says before he slides out of the seat, slamming the door behind him as he makes his way to the trunk. He grabs all of your bags this time, not giving you a chance to protest as he exits the garage through a side door you can only assume leads into the house. 

The garage is huge, bigger than your entire apartment in New York and you raise an eyebrow at the meticulous organisation of the space. The floors are swept and polished, the dark linoleum flooring practically shining in contrast to the bright white walls. Tool benches and cabinets line the far wall, sandwiching a large work bench between them. 

You notice that your mom’s escalade is absent from the garage, she must be out as she would never park on the driveway. You hear Dave call your name from inside the house and hurry through the door. 

You recognise the marble countertops and wood floors from the many video calls with your mom when she’s drunk and feeling sentimental. What you hadn’t realised is how goddamn big the kitchen was. 

“Fu-uck.” 

Dave looks at you with a raised brow for a mere second before he realises you’re marvelling at his kitchen. He winces a little before his right hand rubs against the back of his neck as he tries to find the right thing to say. 

“It’s a lot, right?” 

There’s a nervous chuckle lacing his tone and you look up with an equally stunned expression as you realise he’s humble. The thought is jarring as you see the bashful flush across his cheeks. 

“’Sounds like you didn’t have much of a choice in it?” 

You volley back at him, still in minor-shock from the utter opulence of the house. You knew Dave had money, but this was something else. 

“Your mom picked the house; I just paid the bill.” 

He laughs, but it sounds hollow, rehearsed even. 

“Didn’t think mom had it in her.” You mutter under your breath as you remorsefully commend your mother for landing someone with looks and money. 

“Have what in her?” Dave asks as he scoffs before leaning against one of the marble countertops. 

“Nothing, sorry I’m just exhausted could you show me where I’ll be staying?” 

“Follow me.” Dave shrugs, the whimsy leaving his face in a flash as he seems to shake himself mentally. 

You do as you’re told and traipse after him. The whole house is a shade of beige, white, or wood textures. It reeks of your mom and her obsession for everything Scandinavian or minimalist. 

Sad beige houses for sad beige housewives.

You think to yourself, imagining Werner Herzog speaking the words like in that TikTok video about sad beige children. 

Dave shows you to your room and leaves you to unpack and get comfortable. The room is huge, you look around at the sad beige interior design choices and immediately get out your iPad, jotting down notes and making a vague floor plan of the room. 

The furniture, though boring, is low priority, clearly never used. The desk to the right of the door lines up perfectly with the base of the bed, perfect. There are two doors on the far-right wall, and you hum to yourself with curiosity as you open the first door. You gawp at the huge ensuite, there’s a walk-in shower big enough for an orgy, with a bench built into the one wall. A rainfall shower head is fixed to the wall opposite the bench and a detachable showerhead hangs above the bench. 

“Shit, this is unreal.” 

You mutter to yourself as you note the freestanding modern tub in the centre of the room and the double marble countertop sink, all glossy creams and greys. You let out a low whistle as you re-enter the bedroom to open the other door. 

You laugh maniacally as you see a full walk-in wardrobe, with a display stand and shoe rack in the middle. You don’t think you even own enough clothes to fill the space. 

“I should have given up the lawyer gig sooner.” 

You busy yourself with unpacking and getting your filming setup working. Your tower PC and dual monitors set up like a gaming streamer, the perfect cover for any prying eyes. You stow away your box of props under the bed. Multiple masquerade masks, whips, flails, dildos and butt plugs of all shapes and sizes. 

Once you’re settled in, you take a few test videos, not happy with the way the light bleeds through the thin blinds. You make a note to add blackout curtains to the list of changes you want to make to the room. You weren’t planning on staying more than a few weeks, but something about the move, the fatigue of crossing the country to settle here in Texas makes you weary. You don’t want to have to move again so soon, so you might as well make the most of this new found opulence. 

And it doesn’t hurt that your stepdad is hot. 

The thought comes to you and you feel like you should be grossed out, or ashamed for thinking such things, but you realise it has the opposite effect. Thinking about Dave like that is taboo, forbidden, and that only makes it all that more arousing. 

~*~

Dave locks the door behind him as he retreats into the basement room he calls his office. The computer desk wedged against the wall to the right, his double bed freshly made from the morning. He strips off his dress shirt and slacks, pulling on an old green USMC hoodie and grey sweatpants. Your mother hates it when he dresses like this, calling it ghetto, or some other derogatory term. But she’s clearly out with her flavour of the month boytoy, Bryce. Dave knows that’s where she goes on nights like this. 

If it weren’t the need to keep his cover, he would have left her months ago. Now, he’s faced with the very obvious problem of you. 

He slumps down at his desk and turns on his VPN before logging in to his Cam Dolls account. His favourite streamer doesn’t go live on Fridays but he’s sure he can find someone else to scratch the itch. 

He’s three pages in, bored by the other prospects, about to give up and just watch standard porn on another site when the notification pops up much to his delight. 

Princess Luna has started a live stream. 

“Fucking A.” Dave grunts to himself as he shimmies down his sweatpants, already half-hard just at the thought of seeing Luna. But he’s left disappointed, the screen is blank as he clicks through onto the stream. 

Other men, he guesses they’re all men, are bombarding the comments on the stream with angry little messages. 

Badboy78!:  Cockteasing whore, where are you? 

GoliathBalls: So what, you just milking us for cash without even showing your tits? Lame. 

RedMask$2: Come on Luna, get that pretty little cunt out to play. 

The messages keep coming as Luna’s voice lilts through Dave’s speakers and he groans as he squeezes his foreskin over his weeping tip at the sound. 

“Aww boys I’m sorry, I’m having some technical difficulties tonight, but I was just way too horny not to come online and speak with my favourite boys.” 

Luna takes the whole thing in her stride, her sultry purr seemingly disaffected by the abusive comments. 

But it makes Dave furious, he hates the entitlement of the bastards that frequent this site. He pauses in his ministrations on his cock to click through the tip interface. Usually, he keeps it to a modest fifty dollars, enough to be generous but not feel like he’s buying Princess Luna’s attention. It’s delusional he knows, but he usually wants to keep some illusion of decency about his consumption of her work. 

Anonymous user left a tip. 

Flashes up in the chat box as an excited squeal plays through the speakers and Dave’s cock twitches at the sound of Luna’s exclamation. 

“Which one of you boys was so kind as to leave such a generous tip? Don’t be shy, I won’t bite, unless you want me to.” 

Dave remains silent as the desperate men in the comments clamber over one another to claim the tip. The schadenfreude of it all only brings Dave closer to the edge as he starts jacking off in earnest. Thinking about being cuckolded by your mother with that pathetic waif of a man Bryce. 

“Oh baby I’m going to treat myself to something pretty to wear for you, whoever you are, thank you so much.” 

Soft huffs echo through the speakers as Luna starts to put on a show, there’s something intimate about it that has Dave flustered. 

“Touching my little pussy thinking about you baby, rolling my aching clit between my fingers as I imagine you here with me.” 

“Yeah, fuck yeah that’s it.” Dave grunts under his breath as he closes his eyes, the sound of wet squelching as Luna fingers herself echoing around the room. He’s incensed, uncaring about how the sound might carry if you happened to step out of your room. 

Little does he know there’s no risk of that at all. You’re spread across the foot of your bed, fucking yourself with your fingers as you make sure your microphone is positioned just right so your lewd, wet sounds are broadcast over the stream. 

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna come, wishing you were here, wishing it were your thick meaty fingers stuffed up in my pretty little pussy.”  

“Same baby, wanna treat you right, fuck my come deep inside you until it spills out.” Dave whispers as he feels his balls tighten, he’s going to come any second. 

“Yes, that’s it, daddy yes!” 

Dave practically roars as the word daddy spills from Luna’s lips, he comes in thick, milky ropes across his fist as he breathes heavily through his nose. His hoodie is covered in it and he huffs out a short chuckle as he hears Luna whine and moan as her release finds her. 

“Thanks boys, that was exactly what I needed, I’ll see you on Sunday.” 

The stream ends and Dave sits there with a pleased grin on his face as he feels his spend cooling on his hand. His mind drifts to you, and how the little gasp you made in the car won’t stop playing on repeat in his mind. 

This could be a problem.

He thinks to himself as his dick twitches at the memory, already getting hard again at just the thought of you.

A real fucking problem. 

He reiterates as he coaxes his cock back up with his come smeared fist before imagining you bouncing on his lap. 

~*~

You roll awake with a sated smile on your lips, you’d kept going after the stream ended, making yourself come all over your sheets until you whimpered and trembled from overstimulation. You may have even breathed Dave’s name a few times, but you won’t admit that to yourself, not in the bright light of day in Southern Texas. 

You take a long shower, making sure to scrub all evidence of your marathon orgasm session from your body before lathering copious amounts of expensive coconut body butter over your skin and fixing your hair up and out of the way. 

You pick up your purse and make sure you have everything you need before practically skipping down the stairs. 

“Morning.” 

You yelp as you round the corner into the kitchen to see Dave reading a newspaper, coffee in one hand and fork in the other as he looks at you with a raised eyebrow. He looks glorious and you try and ignore the painful ache that rocks through your core. He’s in a navy blue hoodie with bold white lettering spelling out “USMC” on it. The sleeves are pushed up to reveal a simple silver watch and his tan forearms. 

There’s a plate of eggs and bacon, as well as a pot of coffee and a white mug placed opposite him on the breakfast island. There’s sugar, honey, and milk set to the side and you feel heat bloom in your chest from the thoughtfulness he’d shown. 

“Morning, mom not home yet?” 

You ask as you round to sit, you pour the coffee, adding nothing to it and you groan as the rich liquid coats your tongue. You note the small twitch of Dave’s lips as he silently approves of how you take your coffee.  

“Nah she’ll probably be out tonight too.” 

You tilt your head as you chew your food slowly, trying to decipher the look on Dave’s face. It’s closed off, but not cold, like he’s hiding something. But you don’t press, it’s none of your damn business. 

“I see, was hoping to borrow her car.” 

You drain your coffee before filling it up again, gesturing with the pot to ask Dave if he wants a refill. He nods and pushes his mug over for you to reach. It’s oddly domestic but natural as you play house with your stepdad. 

“Can borrow mine, I’m going to be home all day so don’t need it.” 

Your eyes go wide as your mouth hangs open at the offer. Excitement humming through your veins at the prospect of driving the Mustang. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, just don’t wrap her round a tree, but I bet you can handle her.” 

“I’ll be good to her, I promise!” 

You down the rest of your coffee just in time for Dave to throw the key fob at you. You catch it with ease and grin at him. 

“Alright, I’ll be back just after noon, you want me to pick up anything for lunch?” 

“Sure, surprise me.” 

You get up from the stool and clear the plates, loading up the dish washer as you hum happily to yourself. You’re about to head out when Dave calls your name over your shoulder. 

“Oh no vegan food, I ain’t no rabbit.” 

“Alright Dave, your secret’s safe with me.” You roll your eyes at him playfully before heading out, extensive shopping list in hand as you finally feel some optimism for staying here. You text your mom before pulling out of the garage. You don’t expect a response for some time, seeing as she hadn’t bothered to even check you made it to Dave’s house, her house, in one piece. 

You roar down the drive, giving it some gas as you turn onto the main street. You panic for a second as the back end flies out, but you correct the steering with ease and the grin plastered on your face makes your cheeks burn. 

Little did you know Dave watched the whole thing, and his smile was a perfect mirror of your own. He leans against the sofa in the front room as you race off into the city, you really are going to be a problem, but if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t care. 

And that terrifies him. 

Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

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[nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius]

TBB Incorrect Quotes, Part 13

Crosshair: *sighs* Wrecker: You bored? Crosshair: Yeah. Wrecker: Wanna start drama for no reason? Crosshair: I thought you’d never ask.

Tech: Phee and I are no longer dating. Phee: Tech, that’s a horrible way of telling people we’re married.

Omega: This is a safety pin. *cuts off end* Omega: It is now a danger pin.

Echo: *trying to get five seconds of sleep* Tech, poking Echo’s arm: Echo. Echo. Echo. Echo. Echo: WHAT? Tech: …We’re out of Capri Suns—

Hunter: I didn’t know that air fryers are a real thing. Used to think that they were made up by the internet as a funny joke and that their purpose was to “fry air”. Omega: WAIT, BUT IT FRIES THE AIR TO FRY THE FOOD?? Hunter: I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS A KITCHEN APPLIANCE, MY FIRST ASSUMPTION WAS SOMETHING AKIN TO AN AIR CONDITIONER! Crosshair: IT’S NOT LIKE AN AIR CONDITIONER???? Tech: You guys clearly don’t own an air fryer.

Crosshair: If I say yes am I joining a cult? Tech: Possibly. Crosshair: I’m in.

*the Squad cleaning up* Tech: Pick up the nearest piece of trash and throw it away. Echo, to Crosshair: Aight, which bin do you wanna go in—

Wrecker: *hiding something in his coat* I think we should adopt another kid! Hunter: No. Wrecker: Why not? Hunter: Because when you say “kid”, you mean “cat”, and we already have fifteen of those. Wrecker: *unzips coat* Sixteen.

Tech: Okay. Hypothetically speaking, how mad would you be if I burned a hot pocket so badly it could probably fall off a ten-story building and be completely fine? Hunter: Tech, what did you do? Tech: Take a guess.

Crosshair: PEASANT. I REQUIRE SUSTENANCE. Echo: You know there are other ways to say you want McDonalds. Crosshair: FOUL PLEBEIAN. YOU DARE SPEAK AGAINST ME— Echo: *sigh* What do you want? Crosshair: Chicken nuggets please.

Omega: Tech, what if there are monsters? Tech: Don’t worry, we’re top of the food chain. Much later… Omega, lying awake at night: I am the monster.

Omega: Wow, I really think I would’ve gotten along with young Crosshair! Crosshair: I know. That’s why I decided to change everything about my life.

Crosshair: *clicks pen* Tech: *clicks pen in response*  Hunter: Stop that. Crosshair: Stop what? Hunter: You’re talking about me in Morse code! Crosshair: Yes, that’s what we doing. In our very limited time, we took a class on a very outdated, very unnecessary form of communication just so we could talk about you in front of you. Congrats, you figured us out! *later* Tech, to Echo: That’s actually exactly what we were doing.

Crosshair: It's not like I try to blow things up, exactly. It just sort of happens. You've got to admit though, fire is fascinating.

Hunter: Can I stay with you tonight? Wrecker: Sure. What happened? Hunter: Well, Crosshair and I got into a fight, and now he's been watching “How to Get Away with Murder” ever since. Wrecker: … Hunter: … Wrecker: … Hunter: I don’t feel safe anymore. 

Wrecker: I want a bf. Tech: Do you mean best friend, boyfriend or bread feast? Because you’re being really vague here.

Echo: According to the footage here, you shook the vending machine and when the shake alarm went off, you punched the glass and broke it. Wrecker: …I was hungry.

Tech: *venting endlessly to Crosshair about his week* Crosshair, every once in a while: *in a monotone* Wow, that is so wild.

Crosshair: People always shoot down my ideas and I’m sick of it. Two sentences in and everyone’s always shouting “what the fuck? that’s illegal!” and “you can’t do that!”. Like, c'mon, let me talk!

Wrecker: No problemo! Wrecker, internally: But it was all problemo.

Crosshair: We’ll get back into there or die trying. Hunter: No one’s dying. Crosshair: Not with that attitude.

Omega, over radio: Testing. Testing. Tech, can you hear me? Tech, standing next to Omega: I’m standing right here. Omega: You’re coming through good and loud. Tech: ‘Cause I’m standing right here.

Hunter: Are you packed for the trip? Wrecker: Yup. Hunter: Then where are your bags? Wrecker: All I’m bringing is a good attitude and a sense of adventure. Hunter: A change of underwear might be nice.

Crosshair: All of your existences are confusing. The Squad: How so? Crosshair: Your presence is annoying, but the thought of anything bad happening to any of you upsets me.

Crosshair: BE A BETTER PERSON! Hunter: WHY?! Crosshair: BECAUSE SOMEONE NEEDS TO HAVE MORALS IN THIS FAMILY, AND IT SURE AS FUCK AIN'T GONNA BE ME, SWEETHEART!

Crosshair: My life is a mess. Echo: Go get a beer. Crosshair: I don’t want a beer. Echo: Who said it was for you?

Omega: I believe in you, Tech! Tech, to himself: God, I must suck. The nicest thing Omega can think to say to me is that she doesn't doubt my existence.

Echo: Do you see yourself as a glass half-full or glass half-empty kind of person? Hunter: Half-full, definitely. Hunter: Half-full and constantly rising. Hunter: Soon the water will escape its container and consume us all.

Hunter: So we're gathered here today for a very special reason and I think you'll all agree with me here. Hunter: And if you don't well then fuck you. Hunter: I'm looking at you, Crosshair, you jealous mop.

Echo: working in a flower shop and minding his own business Crosshair, storming into the store and slapping $20 on the counter: HOW DO I PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVELY SAY “FUCK YOU” IN FLOWER???

Wrecker: Can I borrow five dollars? Echo: If you’re only borrowing it, does that mean you’ll pay me back? Wrecker: Of course. Wrecker: Not directly, but with my love and affection. Echo: So that’s a no.

Omega: Is Crosshair always like this when he loses? Tech: Oh, yes. You should've been there for the Great Jenga Tantrum of 22 BBY. Crosshair: You bumped that table and you know it!

Crosshair: You don’t deserve me. Hunter: At your worst or your best? Tech: I don’t have a worst. Tech: Because you’re already at your worst?

*out grocery shopping* Wrecker: *takes a free sample twice* Wrecker: Robbery and Fraud. I am a Rebel.

Crosshair: If you don't stop talking, I'm going to jump out of that window. Wrecker ...We're on the ground floor. Crosshair: I know but I want a dramatic exit.

Omega: Okay, two person huddle. Echo: You can't huddle with two people. This is just a hug.

Echo: Is he stupid? Crosshair: Yes, but he prefers to be called Hunter.

Wrecker: Can we get a birthday cake? Hunter: It’s not your birthday. Wrecker: The cake won’t know!

Echo: I'm a nice person, but I'm about to start throwing rocks at people.

Echo: We all have our demons. Hunter, grabbing Crosshair: This one’s mine!

#tbb incorrect quotes #incorrect bad batch quotes #the bad batch #tbb #star wars #incorrect quotes #techphee

[mammons-hubby]

Nsfw!

The Obey Me brothers and the kinks I believe they enjoy/have!

18+

(I wrote this once and because of my internet didn't save... fml.)

Warnings: Non gendered Mc. Both dom/sub and top/bottom Mc. The brothers are all vers and switches. Bdsm talk in some of these.

Master/slave dynamic. He loves to dominate you, but he would also not mind being the dominated, as we have seen in the iconic moment where he says "Master, give me an order"

Lucifer

Spanking: Probably more into doing the spanking than receiving it. Picture him using a fancy riding crop.

Whipping, can picture him both being whipped and doing it himself.

Shoe licking, again, it goes both ways whether he is feeling in a more dominant role or a more submissive one.

Stepping on genitals.

Humiliation. Threaten to show the whole Devildom how much of a whore he is, in his nervousness there will be tingles of arousal.

Bondage, he would love to tie his lover to the bed and have complete control over them.

Mammon

Marking, cover him in marks or let yourself be kissed and bitten, either way he will love it.

Petplay, we see him in canon take characteristics of a dog, even barking, so I think putting him in collars and calling him a good boy would do wonders for him.

Speaking of good boy, praising is probably very high on his list. He gets reprimended and insulted all the time, so he wants to feel loved every once in a while.

Hair pulling, pull this good boy's hair, he will melt.

As it is mentioned in canon, he is a masochist. Slap him, spank him, hit him, he will like it. But be sure to pamper him after all is done.

A little bit of degrading, but not too much, or he will cry.

Cosplay and roleplay. Dress yourself as a bunny girl, nurse, dominatrix or in the other hand make him wear the tiniest dress you can find! He will love it.

Leviathan

Degradation, it's canon he likes to be insulted, so call him your slut and good for nothing, he'll probably melt.

Humiliation, same as the previous one, make him do stuff to turn him red such as licking your shoes or masturbating in front of you.

Watersports. Force him to pee himself by pressing against his bladder. Call him dirty and tell him you'll tell everyone, he will be extremely embarassed (and aroused)

Monster Dildos. Especially those where you can put eggs inside (Ovoposition) or those that are tentacle shaped!

Overstimulation. He wants you to play with him so much it hurts, in a delicious way. Make him drool and cry, he likes it.

Petplay, he loves when you dress up with kitty ears and a tail plug, but don't get it wrong, if you ever ask he would dress himself as one too and even meow and purr for you. Be sure to take pics.

Satan

Vibrators, he likes to challenge you to see how much you can stand while using one, whether it be at home or outside. If you ask nicely, he may wear one too, he has more stamina but it still affects him quite a bit, so when you see eachother again be ready for some action.

Spanking, either receiving or giving. He is much softer than Lucifer, as the romantic he is. He loves seeing your behind red and puffy from all the love.

Roleplay. He likes to bring his fantasies from books to life, be it you role-playing as a librarian punishing him, or some soft love making representing a scene from an erotic love book.

Exhibitionism, he believes he is a work of art everyone should admire. He caught everyone's attention and lust, and he knows it.

Asmodeous

Public Sex, he can't keep his hands to himself and off you, he needs to do you everywhere and everytime you guys are able to. If someone catches you, he will be sure they never say anything, but remember the ocassion for the rest of their lives.

Orgy, he wants everyone to love him and show him sexual affection, but when you're involved he keeps you only to himself.

Sex toys, he has an enormous collection, of all the colors, shapes and sizes imaginable! Hidden in an interdimentional closet so he can have as many as he likes in his room. He will use them on you and on himself, and in both of you at the same time if possible.

Chastity cage, as a fashion statement and as to give you control over himself. If you have a dick, he may even plead for you to use one too.

Breeding, receiving and giving. While receiving he loves to think of you and him having a big family, even if you're not able to get pregnant or don't really want to. When receiving he loves the feeling of being full and he may also fantasize on carrying your children, even if you don't have a dick and use an ejaculative strap, he likes to think about it.

Beelzebub

Size difference, he is quite big and it's quite possible you'd be at least a head smaller than him. He likes to compare hand sizes and grab your waist, manhandling you with love, and groping everywhere he is able to. In the strange case you're taller than him? He would love for you to use him and bend him in whatever position you desire.

Food play, this man is the avatar of gluttony, so it makes sense for food to also be involved in his sex life. Let him lick honey off your stomach or cream off your nipples. He mostly gives in this, because otherwise his stomach would be grumbling all the time.

Stuffing, same as the other, but in this case receiving, he loves the feeling of being full and even more if you're the one feeding him. It tastes even sweeter when the food comes from your hands.

Marking, he likes to give soft bites on your plump skin tissue, and gets quite happy when he sees the love nibbles on your skin. He doesn't mind if you mark him either.

Somnophilia, as the avatar of sloth, there is nothing he likes most than you playing with him while he is asleep. Tease him, fuck him, whatever you do will get him hard and panting while he dreams.

Belphegor

Brat domming, let's be honest, he is a total brat and shows it all the time. Dominate him with all your might, be mean and rough with him and bring him to tears. He will fight, but he loves when you break him apart.

Milking, he gets extremely tired, but loves the painful feeling on his cock after being totally drained.

Nipple play, his nipples are very sensitive and can even lactate a bit. If you pull and bite them he will be a whining mess in no time.

Overstimulation, this plays alongside the domming aspect. Make him cry and writhe in pain, he may fall asleep on you, but even then you can keep going, he won't be too mad.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #Obey me lucifer #Obey me mammon #Obey me leviathan #Obey me satan #Obey me Asmodeous #Obey me beelzebub #Obey me belphegor #Nsft #Obey me nsft #Sub reader #Dom reader #Top reader #Bottom reader

[mr2swap]

"hocus pocus"

-Old man!! I've been looking everywhere for you! What the fuck did you do to my phone or why can't you answer one of my fucking calls? Fuck! and you even blocked me from Instagram!-

I was finally going to get rid of this from my grandfather Jackson's body, it was the longest week of my life! Two weeks ago I was cursed by that fucking witch who fucked me when I was drunk at a college party, I'll never have more than one girlfriend in my entire life! I'll be a single guy for a while!

For a couple of years, I'm living with my grandfather, when I started university I had to move in with him my parents couldn't afford an apartment for me so my grandfather offered to stay in my dad's old room, that would be great I didn't I would have to pay nothing and I could dedicate myself to going to the gym full time! I won a football scholarship! And the semester hadn't started in a long time, for me every day was amazing, well I was doing bad in most of my classes but besides that everything was great in my life before I got cursed by that bitch!

She met my grandfather once I brought her home to fuck her in my room, in fact, he was there too when he threw his "hocus pocus" on me and my grandfather, finally, I will stop being a bag of farts! after begging him every day to return to my body he finally agreed to change us back!

Hey Josh! You came at the right time! I was about to get out of the water- my grandfather slowly got out of the pool and stretched out his long legs to remove the rest of the chlorine from the collection as he modeled some pretty flashy blue shorts that I would swear are brand new I would never wear something that small!

-Get changed quickly in the car, we're going to go to Jessica's house so she can reverse this and finally get everything back to normal.- Before drying off with the small towel I had on the edge of the pool I grab what used to be my phone, text for 2 minutes, and completely ignore myself.

-sorry for screwing you at first! This is the best thing that could have happened in my life

My grandfather pulled those tiny shorts down to his knees and with the same towel began to dry between my balls and on my butt. After he threw that same towel my face slowly dressed in my black pants AND that new jacket he wears everywhere.

-I'm not going to waste any more time with this lie, I'm not going back to that garbage bag I used to call a body, don't worry about college I'm out of that shit anyway with your GPA you were probably going to fail the whole year! -

-Whatever! We can talk about it in the car but I really need you to get in right now!-He finished getting dressed and looked up and down in the mirror on my cell phone to fix his hair and I suspect take some pictures.

-I know you'll do well! you know my credit card number and the government sends me my pension every day, forgive me for the last charge of the motorcycle, I will send you money as soon as I settle in another city.-

I had almost forgotten what it was like to be young and not overweight and over 70 years old, now I saw the slim and muscular body and a lot of lustful thoughts invaded my mind.

I should be angry but the curse fucks my mind more every day. I couldn't take my eyes off his chest and abs sticking out of his jacket as he got on the parked motorcycle.

-I know that now I'm not very smart but one of my new admirers says that I could earn a lot of money on the internet and that I could even leave all this shit behind, don't worry I'll be the one to contact you.-

-I know that in all aspects my body is shit! But I hope you enjoy your little dick as much as you can, I know it can be very sensitive if you touch it in the right place, believe me, you'll like it- I couldn't answer him because after saying that he started the motorcycle.

What am I supposed to do now? Well… Probably the first thing I should do is take this towel to a more private place, I'm sure it still has a bit of the smell on it!

Hey! You can support me to continue creating stories, see similar stories on my patreon, you can also join my discord if you are interested in role-playing about bodyswap, possession and transformation, m2m!

#body swap #male body swap #body switch #bodyswap #male transformation

[laduenadelswing]

Love Game Vox fan fiction

Chapter 4

“Let’s do more trust exercises.” Charlie exclaimed, shockingly, no one was excited about that. “Can't we do something fun?” Angle asked. “You want to become a better person or not?” Vaggie spat back. Her eyes glancing at Angle before fixating on you. Something is wrong with her, Isabel thought. So they obeyed Charlies demand and did some trust exercises. After that Angle went back to his “workplace” Whatever that is, Isabel was too afraid to ask.

Husked kept an eye on Nifti who was cleaning the hotel. Pentious and you didn’t have any work to do and decided to help Alastor. Even though Alastor could probably do all the work better if they left him alone, she still enjoyed the company. “Vaggie wants to share the TV Spot we made a couple of weeks ago.” He kept on smiling. “Sounds like a plan.” Isabel replied, thinking about last night, did he really want to kiss her or was she just projecting her desires? “What a show. Now that’s entertainment.” Alastor laughed. “How do you want to get it into TV?” Angle asked. Isabel could ask Vox, but that’s no option right now. “Vox ain't an option.” Angle's accent underlined their precarious situation. Sir Pentious shivered, “Oh no, don't. No Vox, please.” He exclaimed with a dramatic undertone. Angle rolled his eyes, his spider like arms held Pentious. “The almighty V’s will kill me next time.” Pentious couldn’t stop shivering, even his egg boys hid behind him. “Who?” Isabel asked confused.

“The V’s, Vox, Valentino, and Velvet. Together they rule of media, technology, and communication. Valentino employed every whore around town and has a temper. Velvet a producer and social media expert is a young overlord but with her knowledge and the internet she managed to join them, she is a handful. Vox is the working force behind it, controlling the media, he is a businessman like no one has ever seen. Together, they almost bet Alastor seven years ago.” In this second radio noises appeared and Alastor glitched “Vox could never beat me.” He explained with a dark undertone, his stature changed and became increasingly more intimidating, his eyes tinted red. “Also… Vox told Pentious to kill himself when he couldn’t manage to be an undercover spy.” Isabel couldn’t believe what Husk told her. Was Vox really so bad? I mean, he is in hell after all, Isabel thought. “So, you say that Vox is the worst of them?” She asked. “No definitely Valentino, his boy toy, Vox cares too much about his public image. Business is business, after all.” Isabel nodded, “I can understand that, once you're in the public eye no one cares that you're normal. They want absolute perfection or drama. There is no place for normality.” She explained. The demons gave a confused look. “Sorry, my life was very public until I came here. It's refreshing to be relatively unknown.” “Don’t tell me you're also a porn star.” Angle asked sassy as always. Alastor looked at her amused. “No, no.  I was a bit of everything but mostly a singer.” A porn star? That’s hilarious, Isabel thought. “Pentious, I am very sorry. That guy probably just jabbered. Your great.” Isabel winked at the snake like demon. His slimy arms wrapped around her body. “Thank you.” He whispered, as guilt began to crawl up inside her. The hours continued, and the guilt grew bigger every second. At night, she left the hotel. Maybe they're wrong, she should talk to Vox.

As soon as she put some distance between her and the hotel, Vox appeared. “Isabel, nice to see you.” He smiled as she looked to the floor. Vox noticed that something was off. Possibly he shouldn’t let her back to the hotel. They went into his flat. Vox was incredibly nervous in her present, afraid of losing his shot. She was really quite all the time, not her usual self. “I really don't know what's going on with you today. You look sad.” He asked her, they sat on a huge couch, she stared at the popcorn in front of her. “Is Valentino your boy toy? Did you tell Pentious to kill himself?” She whispered and couldn't look at the screen. He raised a brow. “Do you really care about stuff like that, HAHA!” He put on his best PR smile. She looked back, the sadness in her eyes was visible. “ Val and I have the same goals and a very tumultuous past. I admit that I am attracted to demons of any Gender. But Val's obsession with Angle dust ruins any chance to have a relationship.” Isabel still wasn’t convinced. “You have seen him. I really can't handle his erratic behavior in a serious relationship.” She raised a brow. “ I don't see what you see in Valentino, he seems like a lot. But the things you said to Pentious are worse.” Vox was confused. “ You really care about those demons? They are scum, trash on the street.” Vox's voice glitched and deepened.

“Oh really? They seem really nice and hardworking! They let me stay without any hesitation. Yes, they are a handful, but they have good hearts. ” A hint of anger tinted her voice. “ That’s all you found out?” He asked, on the one hand he was a little annoyed that his plan wasn’t working out as he expected, on the other hand he wanted to keep her around. She was his latest obsession, his everything. “That’s all. Maybe I stop spying on them. There is nothing going on.” She was boiling, still quite but boiling. If Vox was more like Valentino, he would have killed her for her rebellion. Vox couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her. “Maybe I should go.” She whispered, looked back.  “Don’t please. I know, hearing that is shitty, and I want to tell you that I am not like that. But I said it and can't take it back.” Isabel sighted. "I know Vox. So sad to hear. They are great. I know you hate Alastor, but this has nothing to do with the rest of them.” She explained.

“Oh really? They are demons, they are here for a reason.” Vox explained calmly. Confusion crawled over her face. “You’re here too, actually, you don’t seem bad after all.” She gave him a small smile which made his heart jump. It's so refreshing to see someone believe in him. “The real Vox behind the public mask isn’t so bad, he is a pretty likeable guy, just like Pentious.” She poked him with her shoulder. “Wouldn’t hurt apologizing. Or do something nice for them.” She mumbled. “I think I need some time and sleep.” Vox took her to the hotel defeated, planning how he could make things right.

Making things right for a human? A small little toy? Vox, you're pathetic, Vox thought.

When the hotel door closed she expected to see someone but no one was there. She went to her room, all the emotions overwhelmed her until she was crying. A knocking on the door helped her get back into reality,  “Dear. Please, what's going on?” It was Alastor. She opened the door. His smile lid up the room for a second. “What makes you so sad?” He asked. Today must have been the day of plot twist. Isabel never expected Alastor to be compassionate. “Had a hard day, and you? A friend treated some other friends poorly, I miss home and do not know what to do?” She sopped and turned her face away. “Oh dear, let's go outside, I give you a tour, and you will feel better afterward.” He smiled and confused her even more. She followed him, they went through the city, and you couldn’t help feeling watched. She felt secure in his presence. Some demons performed on the street. They watched them amused. “Are you a singer?” Alastor asked her directly. “I used to sing a lot.” Isabel confessed. Demons kept dancing in the street, as Alastor took her arm and spun her around, she began laughing. “Sing for us.” Alastor asked as his voice deepened, and he watched her with a dark, predatory hint in his facial expression. “Promise me that no one except those souls will see it? “Alastor nodded and gave her his microphone. Vox couldn't believe the images he saw on the screens, he was very angry until he heard her singing. He had never heard something as beautiful. She was greater than god, you could question god but questioning her talent was impossible.

It was the most beautiful thing he ever heard in his mortal and immortal life. He threw one of his mugs into the screen. Vox wanted to resist the temptation but spawned close by the scene. Alastor who couldn't hide his excitement for this entertainment also couldn’t ignore the presence of his old pal.

Author's note: Thank you so much for reading. I hope you liked it. I feel very bad lately, this keeps me happy/ busy.

#hazbin vox #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #vox x reader #smut #vox #hazbin hotel vox #vizziepop