#what kind of core is this. it certainly is one

[luvvyouforever]

exclusively yours - sdv harvey x reader!

-> synopsis: harvey realizes some things about himself and one of those is that he can't stand it when other people look at what's his.

-> warning: NSFW MDNI MDNI MDNI SMUT! jealous harvey mhm. a touch of dom harvey what can i say. slight shane slander nothing too mean. a bit wordy. you've been warned.

-> a/n: i hope you all enjoy! i wrote this whenever i had time free over the course of a week when i should be doing homework.

there's a rare fire in his eyes that night at the stardrop saloon. he's not sure what it is that he's feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he knows for certain that he doesn't like the way shane's eyes rake over your flower dance dress that you had been wearing since this morning when you danced with the doctor, and not shane.

he's reminding himself of the ring on your finger, the farm that you live in together, the bouquets you've gifted him, the necklace that took ages to procure because the weather had to be just right. and yet, none of that is easing the jealousy threatening to bubble up over the surface.

the lust in shane's gaze becomes even more apparent as the crowd dwindles. he's talking to you and harvey can barely make out the words coming out of his mouth, but then there's a touch to your elbow that was well-timed to come after a joke you just made, and now harvey is striding over, wrapping a tight arm around your shoulders to stare at shane.

"what was so funny?" he asks and the interested inflection in his tone is entirely fake. "i know my wife has such a keen sense of humor, doesn't she?" you don't miss the emphasis he puts on 'wife.'

shane's grown awkward now, and he shifts hsi weight from one foot to the next. he's been caught and there's nothing much he can do to salvage this situation. "yeah, uh, she just made a joke about summer. nothing serious. sorry," he stumbles out.

"mhm, yeah. so, we'll see you around?" harvey says which effectively ends the conversation and forces shane back into the booth he was originally sitting down in. with a breath of relaxation, he turns to you with a different kind of fire in his eyes. one that makes you shiver with palpable excitement. "ready to go home?"

you nod and his hand moves from your shoulder down to the small of your back to give you just a slight push away from prying eyes and out the door of the saloon.

neither of you speak on the way home and it feels like even the nature around you is holding its breath in anticipation of what will happen when the door to your farmhouse swings open. the farmhouse becomes visible in the distance and there's a sudden weakness in your legs. subconciously, both you and harvey pick up speed until you find yourself speed-walking to the front door.

he wastes no time in pulling keys from his pocket and unlocking the door and, ever the gentleman, letting you go in first.

once he shuts the door behind him, his hand immediately finds the small of your back again and you feel your body inch closer to the bedroom. anticipation grows and grows until your back is leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom and harvey's stature is looming over yours.

this is new, this is unexplored, this is uncharted territory. harvey had never once been anything other than unadulterated sweetness in the bedroom. he cared about your pleasure, your comfort, and your enjoyment more than anything. but now there was something calling to him to give into this urge building in the pit of his stomach.

harvey's hand crawls from its position by his side, up the curves of your stomach, then stops at the base of your head. a soft gesture tilts your chin upwards so you're looking directly into his brown eyes. you feel small underneath his intense gaze, but it's certainly not a bad feeling.

"you know," he begins with a breath, "i've never considered myself a jealous person." you bite your lip in anticipation, feeling warmth grow from your core and radiate outwards. "but...the way shane was looking at you tonight...i think we just need a small reminder about who you belong with."

there was so much intensity behind his words despite them coming out in a soft drawl. you could have buckled right there on the doorframe but his body was caging you in so that there was no way you'd fall.

with a breath and a swallow, your hand travels from your side to his waist. "then remind me," you tease.

harvey's eyes darken and something about this excited you to no end. his strong hands bring you close to his chest and his lips hurriedly meet yours. they intertwine in a mess, teeth clashing, tongues bumping, but it sets your entire body alight. with ease, harvey inches you away from the doorframe and to the bed where you fall down onto the soft mattress. the white dress on your body falls around your waist, revealing the underwear you had on.

then, harvey growled. like truly, really growled as if something had took over him in these few seconds. he had been suppressing this urge to be with you intensely for fear of hurting you or embarrassing himself. but he's spurred on by your moans and the heat he feels radiating from between your legs.

after making out so roughly that your lips are left feeling numb, harvey's hands travel down your body, stopping at the hem of your underwear. with a strong tug, he pulls you to the edge of the bed and sits on his knees in front of you. he'd regret placing so much pressure on his aging knees in the morning, but that didn't matter now. what mattered now was making you cum to the point that you are unable to think of another man but him.

without much warning, harvey's mouth met your core. you threw your head back to the bed, letting out a moan that made you glad you lived so far from any other person. he was like a man possessed, seeking some salvation in the wetness growing and growing in between your legs.

he pulled away, but not for long as his fingers gripped the hem of your underwear and slid them down your thighs, calfs, and off your feet. for a second, he sat on his knees, marveling at your pleasure and whispered, "you must really like this, huh?"

his voice was laced with lust and darkness. before you could even respond, his mouth met your middle again and every part of your body lurched forward, in awe of the pleasure he was giving you. there was a coil in the pit of your stomach that was growing, wounding around itself, tightening with every stroke of harvey's tongue against you.

"harv! fuck!" you managed to choke out. you could feel his lips tilt upward in a smile, and just when you thought there was no possible way it could get better than this, his finger teased at your hole before plunging in. harvey's anatomical knowledge guided his finger upward, curling up to the spot that sends you reeling.

his name was a prayer on your lips as that coil tightened till the point you think it might snap. you could no longer hold it when harvey added in a second finger, curling both upwards and creating a pressure that pulled the coil till it all fell apart. you were a mess, hair sprawled on the comforter, dress halfway up your body, wetness dripping from harvey's fingers.

he leans back on his knees, eyes blown wide with lust. his lips glisten and his carefully groomed hair and mustache are destroyed. he's breathing heavily, but he didn't stop his frenzy there. with rushed movements, he tugs off his tie, his button down, his undershirt till there was nothing adorning his body.

"need this off," he mumbles, pulling at the hem of your dress. you come out of your daze to rise up and slide the dress off your body. "jesus...," he whispers. he rises from his spot on the floor and gestures for you to scoot up to the bed. slowly, his body comes over yours and once again you become caged in his grip and his scent. "do i tell you that you're beautiful enough? because if i don't i need some sense slapped into me."

heat floods in your cheeks at his words. harvey, ever the kind gentleman, was a whole other person entirely. for a second, you wonder if you could tease more possessiveness out of him. he was already delirious with pleasure. what could a little more hurt?

"i'm glad you think so too, dr. harvey. shane really thinks i'm the best looking person in this whole town," you say with a smirk tilting your lips upward.

that fire reignites in his eyes again. in seconds, his hands come to your wrists and you feel pinned against the bed. his chest is rising and falling with intensity.

"if i hear another man's name on your lips tonight, you're getting it," he threatens.

and, because you can, you push him further. "shane. alex. sam. sebastian. lew-"

in a renewed sense of dominance, harvey clamps his hand over your mouth, effectively cutting you off. "i don't think you'll be able to talk when i'm done with you," he says, voice just slightly above a whisper.

"prove it," you whisper back.

harvey smiles with something sinister lurking beneath the service. he stands from the bed, eyes never leaving yours and tugs off his belt, then his pants. with no flourish, his length comes out, irresistibly hard from the night's activities. he climbs back on top of you, settling his center in front of yours. he's barely touching your core but it's sending you arching upwards.

"i don't think shane could manage making you feel this good, you know?" he teases your entrance. "i mean, if you'd like to try, go ahead, but you'll come back to me crying because he can't make you cum like this." slowly, he slides himself in. you let out an unearthly moan that is met with his own grunts. "you're all mine. no one else's." he fully enters you then, hitting as far back as he could manage.

he drags himself out, then slowly enters back in. it's torturous. horrible. so awfully frustrating.

"please, harv. more!" you beg. he kept up his slow pace, barely budging. "need you more." you sound just as pathetic as you feel.

"can shane make you feel this good?" he asks.

so that's what he wanted from you. "no!" you plead.

"are you all mine, then?"

"yes, all yours!"

"exclusively mine?"

"exclusively yours!"

at those final words, harvey fucks into you again with a quicker, rougher pace. this was what you needed more than air. your hands fly to his arms where your nails dig into the skin there. he would wake up with marks that remind him of the night, but maybe that was your purpose in doing so.

harvey is stretching you out in the most perfect of ways and the closeness of his body to yours sends shivers all over you. his hands are desperately clinging to every part of your exposed skin and his chest rises quickly in attempts to catch his breath. nothing could stop him from his actions right now. all he can focus on is the way you feel so tight around him, the way you're moaning his name, and the way he has to hold in his orgasm until you've came all over him.

which isn't too far away. it's building with every deep, powerful thrust he makes. he's hitting spots inside of you that he hadn't before. it's blissful, filthy, and perfect. in the middle of your ecstacy, you make a note to draw out harvey's jealous side more.

"fuck," he grunts out. it's so strange to hear such filthy language coming from your husband who balked any time you said swear words. "you're so fucking tight for me, huh?"

his dirty words pull out a loud moan from you which seemed to spur harvey on even further. his thrusts lost their rhythm and his breath became rapid. he was close and so were you. with urgent moves, you wrap your legs around his waist which sends his length inside of you as deep as it can go. your eyes meet with a silent agreement.

your moans mingle together, filling the room with lewd noises. your name is repeated over and over again until the moment you both feel that release toppling over the edge, filling your bodies head to toe with pure bliss. his body doesn't still, but instead he returns to the slow pace he began with, pumping his cum deep inside you.

after some breaths and stilled movements, he pulls out with a slick noise and falls to your side. his arms open up in a silent request for you to lay on his chest and you oblige. the bed is destroyed, your bodies are sweaty, and there's certainly something leaking out of you onto the sheets. but sheets can be washed, beds can be made, and showers can be had.

all that matters is that you were exclusively his, and shane could never make you feel like that.

#stardew valley x reader #harvey one shot #stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #harvey #harvey x reader #harvey imagine #sdv harvey #sdv harvey smut #stardew valley smut #harvey smut

[svampira]

venus

#just Venus cause I gave up on the anatomical part #uhhh do not zoom in on this one #vtm #vtmb #vampire the masquerade #artists on tumblr #tremere #who is that angel you may ask. thats just her spirit going to check on the awkward angle her evil girlfriend left her body in #< yes ik vampires dont have souls i just had a lot of empty space #/cressida #art #scarabocchi #digital art #what kind of core is this. it certainly is one #vabbe sarà mid ma hit post

[orcelito]

Honestly tho as a writer I live and breathe hurt/comfort (probably bc there's smth wrong with me lol), to the point where it's just a Given in anything I write. And I kinda assume that's gonna b the case with others too??

But then. Romcom. With some angst, but overall just relationship shenanigans. Oh the potentials that were not realized

#speculation nation #there was one point where i was like 'omg hes alluding to some vague thing that is Off but wont say what' #and 'omg this arc would be a perfect tie-in for the tragedy of his parents. is he acting off bc the anniversary is coming up?' #and. no. no it was just the relationship angst. #god i really have a love-hate relationship with this kind of genre. like it's fun and simple just. ykno. romcom! #except like 95% of the conflict is just 'he cant feel the same way i do 🥺' despite all evidence to the contrary #as a reader that is just . so frustrating lmao. probably bc i myself cant rly relate??? #ive always been an observer. getting Vibes from people. & ive never been so into someone to b blinded as to how they feel about me #it's kinda really fuckin obvious when ppl are Interested. so i just do not understand or relate to the core conflict of this. #always been the case where i prefer a mountain of angst with the core characters able to cling to each other for stability #not a 100% rule. but it's for that reason that i'll never have stupid miscommunication conflicts in my writing #miscommunication as a reasonable manifestation of Issues? sure! absolutely. #but i kinda Really hate the trope of like 'omg i heard just a part of what he was saying and jumped to conclusions that tear everything up' #not that that was present in the fic ive been reading but it's certainly not an uncommon trope. #im more exacting in my angst. digging into what really makes them Tick. what makes them Hurt. #peeling back their layers until we get to see their sad pathetic cores #and then i will patch them back up again. give them a pat on the head. as if that will fix the trauma. #relationship angst is so overdone and boring. i need me some actual relevant tangible and Dangerous angst #angst that makes you wonder if they'll make it out of this alive. now THAT'S what im all about babey

[hopeymchope]

No hardcore fandom has ever died so quickly and so completely as Veronica Mars. This is the story of its murder.

They should study Veronica Mars in Hollywood. I'm serious. It's an incredible story of how to go from "loud, passionate fanbase with its own fandom name that campaigns and advocates constantly for it" to "absolutely zero fucking interest" damn near OVERNIGHT with just ONE epically terri-bad decision.

If you weren't there, you don't understand: From 2007 to 2014, the fandom — the "Marshmallows," as they called themselves — were everywhere in the Internet's geek spaces, my friends. They routinely beat the drum about the series' three seasons and its excellence, lamented its cancellation, pushed others to give the show a try, and always - ALWAYS - proudly and loudly called for the series to be revived.

FULL DISCLOSURE/CONFESSION: I've not even watched that much Veronica Mars, frankly... ? Yeah, I'm sorry! it does seem pretty good from like the four-or-five hours I've experienced firsthand. I just never took the time to sit down with it. Regardless, I find fandoms and their dynamics — both how they operate internally and how they display to others externally — deeply fascinating. And I honestly find them easier to study from the outside than the inside. Like, if I'm IN a fandom, I'm more likely to stay in my corner and ignore places that seem negative. But being on the outside lets me just... absorb what's out there, looking into every forum without judgment. It's like studying pop-culture sociology or something? And it helps that I'm very close to some serious(-ly burnt) Marshmallows. It makes it so much easier to find and absorb the gamut of the fandom.

Besides: There is NO fandom story I've ever seen that's anything like what happened to Veronica Mars and the Marshmallows.

(Time to insert a brief explainer for the uninitiated: Veronica Mars was a TV series that aired from 2004-2007 on the now-deceased UPN network wherein Kristen Bell played the titular character, a high school girl whose single dad was a private detective in the fictional community of Neptune, California. She grew up working "unofficially" as his assistant, which meant that she herself was effectively a teenage private detective.

The three core elements of the series were: 1) Veronica investigating each week's big mystery with plenty of quips and snark, 2) Watching Veronica's various relationships develop and shift, with most of the focus given to a) her relationship to her father and b) Her romantic pursuits (which began as the Veronica/Duncan/Logan triangle before eventually becoming focused on the slow-burn, off-on Veronica/Logan love story), and 3) The gradual development of that season's "mytharc" — the overarching BIG MYSTERY that doesn't get resolved or wrapped until the season finale. So it went over the course of two seasons that took place in high school and the third, shorter season that was at the start of Veronica's collegiate career.)

Just how big and how passionate were the Marshmallows? WELL! When series creator Rob Thomas (not the Matchbox 20 guy) and star Kristen Bell announced the Kickstarter campaign for the Veronica Mars movie in March 2013, it achieved its heretofore-unprecedented goal of TWO MILLION GODDAMN DOLLARS within less than 12 hours. At that time, it was the biggest Kickstarter goal to ever succeed — and certainly the fastest to reach that kind of height. Fans fell OVER themselves to pay out for it. Hell, my own significant other was DEEP in the tank for VM at the time and invested enough to get multiple t-shirts as backer rewards as well as a disk copy of the movie when it eventually came home.

And AFTER the movie hit in 2014? It was thankfully beloved and embraced! The once-teenage characters were adults who were actually out living on their own and working for a living, but the fandom had grown up with them, so it wasn't like they were begging for them to stay young students. They embraced Adult Veronica and her new adventure. The fandom rejoiced loudly and continued to be all over the geek side of the Internet... where they, of course, still wanted more. Sure, there were new novels in the aftermath (which were written by the creator of the series), but most of the Marshmallows were calling for more movies or a streaming revival.

And then, at long last... season four was actually announced. And there was much (premature) rejoicing yet again.

Yes, Veronica Mars returned for a fourth season on Hulu in 2019. It was just eight episodes, and it was heavily centered on one season-long mystery instead of sprinkling that amongst a bunch of smaller ones, but it would still feature the same ol' Veronica. They promised a new, more "adult" mystery/investigation plus a strong focus on Veronica and Logan's love story.

New Hulu purchased the rights to the first three seasons and hyped up its presence on the platform while marketing the return for the new run. The marketing team played up the most popular quips from the show's history plus put out TONS of stuff centered on the Logan/Veronica ship to pump up the fans.

The season was dropped all at once using the classic Netflix "binge" model in July 2019. And then... afterwards?

There was a brief explosion of LOUD RAGE from the Marshmallows at what series creator Rob Thomas had to done to burn and spite the fandom and ruin his own goodwill.

SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4: See, at the end of the movie, Veronica and Logan finally entered into a long-term relationship. In season four, they've been dating for years, and Logan proposes marriage. But of course there has to be drama/obstacles: In this case, Veronica isn't sure she's ready to marry... or capable of being in a marriage. Ah, but of course she eventually realizes how much Logan means to her. The two are married, and, in the season finale... Logan is killed by a car bomb in the penultimate scene. The final scene is a flashfoward to a year later, where Veronica leaves Neptune alone.

For most fandoms, that'd be a memorable point of pain. A big ol' speed bump that ultimately throws some people off the bus, leaving only the die-hards. But the fact that fans had been invested in this relationship for literally 15 years and that Hulu (and creator Rob Thomas) had heavily marketed the new season as being a big romantic event for the ship... it was too much. Unlike the aftermath of the Star Wars sequels, there was no lingering group of die-hard fans who were open to whatever was next — at least no significant one. I did some Googling and could only find TWO people who still wanted another season.

Funnily enough? Critics LOVED this. Hell, Vanity Fair infamously penned an editorial about how Veronica Mars had "finally grown up" with this finale. I suppose all the other murders and deaths and drug overdoses and r*pe weren't "mature" enough before now for... some... reason. (The same editorial also featured the author openly hating on Veronica ever being in a relationship because it causes "arrested development" and declaring that the movie -- which was acclaimed by both critics AND fans alike, I remind you -- was a lame dud. So. The writer must be a reeeaaaal fun person.)

But a series doesn't live based on critical acclaim, as it turns out. The fandom was murdered overnight. "Marshmallows" stopped appearing in geek spaces online entirely. No one expressed interest in seeing the next season or the next movie. The constant flow of fan AMVs on YouTube and fanfics on AO3 dried up to nothing or damn nearly so.

Since 2019 ? Nothing. Chirping crickets. An intensely dedicated fandom of 12 years was just... vaporized.

I've never seen anything like it before OR since.

That's why it's so fucking fascinating.

So what went wrong?

Creator Rob Thomas was adamant about two things: ONE, the series was intended to be a noir show, which meant there couldn't be any happiness for its protagonist. And TWO, the death of Logan was necessary to evolve and grow the series.

Thomas thought that having Veronica in a relationship would be holding her back, and that a marriage would absolutely kill the series and leave her stagnant. It never even occurred to him that marriage isn't the end of a character's life and growth. It never occurred to him that plenty of drama can be had AFTER someone is married, or that development/growth could be that the characters mature enough to be capable of maintaining a committed relationship. Thomas' view of his own universe was so myopic that he couldn't conceive of any possible way that Veronica could still be a private detective involved in life-threatening investigations AND be married at the same time. Futhermore, he felt that fans just wanted Veronica to become a pregnant housewife, which is about as far from what Marshmallows were after as you can get without straight-up killing Veronica and/or Logan. He managed to do the only thing wronger than what he wrongly thought was their insistence.

On top of the above, Rob Thomas only viewed "noir" as a vehicle for total fatalism... despite the fact that many of the most famous noir stories are cynical and full of moral ambiguity, but they still feature a positive outcome. The Big Sleep still has the protagonist get the girl. The Set-Up arguably ends with the happiest possible ending in spite of the beating the hero receives.

Perhaps most importantly? Despite Thomas own insistence that Veronica Mars was always "noir," the majority of both TV critics and fans did not think that designation ever truly applied. I suspect that's the reason why Thomas decided to go as dark and fatalistic as possible: He wanted to be noir, and he was being told that he wasn't. So he went so far into noir that he killed his own most popular property.

He was adamant that it was the only way for the series to grow. But as it turns out, it was instead the only way for the series to permanently end. Without that season four finale, a passionate group of fans would still be begging for more. With it? It's over. Nobody fucking cares now.

That's kind of amazing.

#veronica mars #rob thomas #fandom #dead fandom #marshmallows #burnt marshmallows #fandom histories #the death of veronica mars #the day veronica mars died #gifs #television gifs #tv gifs #veronica mars gifs #vmars

[fandom]

Top 23 of 2023

Have you been aching to get your hot little hands on 52 weeks of data around original posts, likes, reblogs, and searches, all weighted and ranked and tied up into categories with a nice little bow on top? Well, today’s your day! It should come as no surprise that Artists on Tumblr reign supreme: from stunning traditional art, jaw-dropping digital art, fanart, sculptures, textile art—you name it, basically—this year’s list shows that Tumblr truly is the home for art and artists. Thank you, Artists on Tumblr, for enriching our dashboards day after day. 

Rounding out the top three, we have two iconic shows: Good Omens is live-action, and The Owl House is animated, but both have a heck of a love story at their core. The second season of Good Omens blessed us with not one but two ineffably exquisite ships, while the final season of The Owl House broke and then healed fans’ hearts in equal measure. Thanks, @danaterrace! Actually, come to think of it, the Good Omens finale kinda did the same in reverse. Thanks to you, too, @neil-gaiman! We can’t wait for season 3. 

Speaking of heartbreak and healing, Our Flag Means Death’s second season offered both in droves. The entire cast gave stellar performances, and fans couldn’t have been happier to see the kinds of representation the show displayed. Last year’s #1 topic, Stranger Things, may have dropped a bit, but trust us, you wouldn’t know it from the amount of meta, fanart, and fics in the tag. And did you hear about the live-action adaptations of both The Last of Us and One Piece? They were a preeeetty big deal this year, too. Check ‘em out if you haven’t yet (lol, of course you have). And we’d be remiss not to mention the hugely dedicated fans, fanartists, and fic writers devoting their time to all things Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Y’all deserve a little pizza, as a treat.

2023 was also a year for blockbuster movies, which of course hasn’t escaped anybody’s notice here on Tumblr. Barbie smashed box offices worldwide and left us reeling with every re-watch. How can one describe Greta Gerwig’s pink-filled opus? It certainly is one of the movies of all time. Meanwhile, with its incredible animation and soundtrack, Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse introduced us to a whole new multiverse of Spider-People, opening the portal to a veritable flood of incredible OCs. And then, of course, we got a fresh perspective on an old classic when cinephiles introduced Martin Scorscese’s cinematic masterpiece, Goncharov (1973), to a new generation of film aficionados who resoundingly agree that it is, in fact, the greatest mafia movie ever made. We’re so glad this underrated film finally got the acclaim it has long deserved.

In the realms of gaming and tech, the long-anticipated Baldur’s Gate 3 has basically become everyone’s new favorite D&D/dating sim combination. Of course, the Pokémon franchise, games, shows, and Hatsune Miku collabs remain perennial favorites. Elon Musk’s purchase of Twitter, sorry, we mean of course X, made waves across the internet. Similarly, the Reddit blackout drove Redditors to new venues, and Tumblr users welcomed the folks from r/196 with open arms—we’re huge fans of your memes, y’all, and you fit right in. Welcome, we’re glad you enjoy the chaos. Here’s a fun fact: if we included post metadata in Year in Review rankings, #polls, introduced in January of 2023, would have been the #5 topic on Tumblr this year. Phenomenal. 

And, oh right. Taylor Swift had kind of a big year, what with the albums, the epic global tour, and the movie and stuff. Fantastic work, @taylorswift, the Swifties on Tumblr thank you for everything.

This is Tumblr’s Year in Review.

Artists on Tumblr

Good Omens

The Owl House

Barbie

Pokémon

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

Critical Role

Goncharov

Taylor Swift

Genshin Impact

Stranger Things

The Last of Us

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Elon Musk

196

Star Wars

Our Flag Means Death

Crowley | Good Omens

LGBTQ

Cottagecore

Baldur's Gate 3

One Piece

Aziraphale | Good Omens

#year in review #top 23 of 2023 #tumblr2023

[anantaru]

neuvillette eats pussy to distress

cw. oral (fem! receiving), you're a lil bratty, fem! reader

what comes out of your mouth are nothing more than short-planted whimpers, little, hesitant cries, and then a filthy moan of neuvillette's name, but you tell yourself that you do not want to give him that certain satisfaction he had longed for all night— and you sneakily trace along his scalp with your trembling fingers, he hisses when you tug on his roots, then whines into your pussy when you do it again, eyes growing wide at your fine-drawn pursue.

"there certainly is no need to hold yourself back for me." he suddenly claims and it has you avert your eyes, the way he had phrased it was almost a little too detached and apathetic to your own liking— almost as if he didn't take this whole thing serious and believed that he gave in, just for a second, in one of the lewd, obscene pleasures of human kind, before adding, "because you do, in fact, hide your voice."

"am i correct?"

"i don't!" sweet sweet liar, because you do, you've been blocking them out this entire time, "maybe you're not as good— fuck, as you think you are!"

the man laughs, a little aloof, and evidently, neuvillette was aware on what he was capable of doing to you and his fingers are cool and persistent in fucking in and out of your little hole, and despite it being only a digit, not even fully in, your toes curl and your legs clasp around his head when he adds his tongue, it has your sticky slick pooling between the folds of your cunt and merging with his spit, fuck, acting as if he didn't bring you unrecognizable pleasure was harder than you originally thought.

especially since he appeared to be exceptionally fatigued and certainly used your body as a way to distress from day to day work— for him, this type of work life balance was the most sufficient one.

neuvillette slides his warm tongue up and down your pussy in long swipes when you shiver at the mere sight of him doing so, feeling like everyone in the giant building can hear what's happening to you right this second, more so know who is pulling those lewd noises out of your sore throat.

your glowing eyes, in a sudden haste, spring open when you feel how he languidly spits on your cunt, once, twice— so you're wetter for him, he claims you taste better that way, lubricating you so he can drag his tongue into you faster, just like you so desperately wanted him to, yet in secret, you'd never tell him that— while, the chief justice most definitely preferred it if you're adequately messed up whenever he comes to see you, your exposed core luminous, hole clenching around his digits and you swear you can feel him smirk faintly, although he wasn't a man of great emotions, while proceeding in this particular task, he couldn't possibly suppress this feral, animalistic desire housing deep inside his chest, rumbling and aching for a possibility to escape.

the twist in your stomach builds up quickly, quicker than you initially had anticipated, "how— how, fuck!" you manage to say, "how are you so fucking good at this?" and your fingers find themselves wounding in his hair, holding onto him for your dear life when a tremor of cold shivers crossed over your figure when he groans into your pussy by the nature of your rough tugs on his scalp, his breath hot and wet when it ghosts over your soaked folds. 

"there they are." he moans into your cunt, not giving a single flying fuck if his face was slicked up in your juices, as said, he adored making a mess, "those noises i've been looking forward to."

at last, when he adds another finger into your hole and curls them up, the tightened thread in your stomach snaps in half and you shake violently while pinned down with one of his arms strongly locked over your stomach, with a cry of his name, that you originally preferred to stay hidden in your throat, your loud moans tumble and bounce from your lips to his ears as you cum all against his mouth so he could finally taste you.

but the long-rooted waves of your pleasure have not dissipated as he continues to flick his tongue over your clit, your slick by now basically coating the entire lower half of his face, his eyes fixated on nothing but your addictive, more so intoxicating expressions— you knew neuvillette wouldn't stop, there's no such thing as leaving a case half finished, he had a habit of prolonging your orgasm until you're overstimulated to the hilt, always, whenever he had you under him, it's his way of fucking you, until you're nothing but satisfied, such as he was whenever a trial ends with no complications.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

#genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut #genshin impact neuvillette x reader

[marvelsswansong]

show and tell

summary: a white rose at the train station. his hand in yours at the zoo. his mother's golden mirror. does he love you or is he simply trying to gain the public's favour and secure the Plith prize? you're unsure. and so is he, until he very much isn't.

tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, slow burn (ish), fluff, angst, technically a happy ending but quite dark, purely based off the movie but I take some creative detours, CW for violence, mentions of starvation, toxic/manipulative behaviors and a semi-dark!snow (please read at your own discretion, take care of yourself above all else :))

☆ word count: 5.6K+ words ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Coriolanus hates waiting. 

The stillness, the eerie silence of an early morning at the Capitol train station. It eats away at his core.

His mouth tastes like copper, his throat's starting to itch from the dryness and there's a brief moment of fear as he ponders if he's making a huge mistake. A sharp whistle ringing through the station signals the train's arrival, and as his eyes adjust to the billowing grey smoke and a sea of white (the peace keepers), the flower in his left hand suddenly feels heavy. As if the weight of the situation is starting to bear on his shoulders.

He wasn't supposed to be here. If all had gone to plan, he would've already been the recipient of the Plinth Prize and taken the first car back home to buy his grandma'am some chocolates and Tigris a new dress. No more worrying. No more surviving on dwindled fortunes. No more pretending to fit in with high society. 

Then, of course, the rules had to change. Viewership was down and it was of both Dean Highbottom's and Dr Gaul's opinion that what was missing was spectacle. Now, whoever the best mentor was in transforming their tribute into prime entertainment would win the prize. 

"Your role is to turn these tributes into spectacles. Not survivors." 

The silence that hung after this announcement in the Academy was heavy, but Coriolanus knew better than to show his true emotions on his face. After all, if there was one thing that he knew how to do as the star student of the Academy: it was to plan. And when he saw your... unruly introduction to the public, sneaking a snake down a woman's dress before cussing out the audience, it dawned on him that it would be a tall order to endear you to the public.

But not impossible.

The sounds of the tributes being roughly unloaded off the platform snaps him back into reality, his eyes easily landing on your figure as you jump off the train, your upper arms supported by the tribute (Jessup, Coriolanus recalls his name being) standing next to you. Pushing through the soldiers, the blonde nearly breaks into a small sprint to catch up to you as you turn your head upon hearing the sound of hurried footsteps.

"Welcome to the Capitol." the strange man in front of you says, before holding out a pristine white rose. It's a peculiar looking flower, you think, a kind of flower you've never seen before (at least, certainly not back in your home district). It looks almost artificial, you think, with how perfectly white and untouched its petals are.

The blonde assesses your cautious glance - the sunlight hitting the under color of your irises perfectly in a glistening twilight - and a fleeting thought passes by, that the tv camera didn't do your natural beauty justice. He has to suppress a smirk when you finally respond, narrowing your eyes at him with your arms crossing above your chest.

"You seem like you shouldn't be here."

He chuckles at that.

"I'm not supposed to be. And yet here I am." A pause. "But I'm your mentor. Coriolanus Snow."

That's a first, you think. Mentors for tributes. 

"And what does my mentor do except bring me roses?" you question, flicking the buds with your fingers. Coriolanus just smiles. 

"I do my best to take care of you." 

Your supposed mentor says it so sincerely, you think, and he's obviously charming with his devilishly handsome looks and low whisper. But there's something that stops you from holding out your hand and taking the rose from his fingers. You suppose he isn't lying - after all, what would be the point of it - but there's something in his eyes that you can't quite explain. 

Something that makes your stomach flutter in both excitement and dread.

"Move." the soldier behind you then barks, shoving you and Jessup forward. You decide to give your mentor one last grin and a quiet "see you later", thinking that's going to be the last you see of him for a while.

The last thing you expect is for him to jump into the back of the vehicle alongside the other tributes, drawing the eyre of a few who pin him against the moving vehicle and start taunting him with violence. 

"You look rather out of place." the tall boy pinning Coriolanus drawls.

"I'm not, I can assure you. I'm here for (Y/n). I'm her mentor." 

That puts the unwanted attention on you, as the other tributes begin to circle around you with sinister expressions twisting on their lips.

"Mentor, huh? How come little miss music gets one but not the rest of us?" a brunette girl drawls, eyeing you up and down.

The boy pinning Coriolanus down applies stronger pressure to his neck, and you rise in an attempt to intervene, but he meets your gaze discreetly and motions for you to remain seated. 

"You all have a mentor, they're just... not here." he croaks. 

"Right, and we're all supposed to believe you?" another girl, this one from district 4 you believe, taunts. "What's to say we shouldn't just kill you now?" 

The blonde shoots you a nervous look and that's when you feel pity. Just like you, he's in a foreign environment and pretending to be brave. You suppose also that he's your only ticket out, your only chance of potential success at surviving in the games.

So you intervene.

"You could kill him. But then the moment this truck stops you'll all be gathered round and killed by the peace keepers. He's clearly Capitol. And if they're willing to hang District people simply for stealing, can't imagine what killing a member of the Capitol would mean for punishment." 

That scares them off and Coriolanus sits down next to you, breathing heavily in an effort to catch his breath, before quietly thanking you.

"You really wanna thank me?" you quirk, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Start by thinking about how I can actually win." 

The truck then suddenly comes to a halt, and the next thing you know the truck is being tipped over and the doors fly open. Coriolanus grasps your arm in lightning speed, pulling you close towards him so that he'd hit the harsh ground first, absorbing most of the impact.

When you shakily stand up on your feet, you realize you're enclosed in a large metal cage akin to that of an animal enclosure. There's even an over enthusiastic TV presenter in the background, who now seems to have noticed your mentor and begins to call out to him.

"Where are we?" you breathe out, already shivering from the autumn cold.

The blonde barely shifts, only dusting off his suit in a calm manner.

"(Y/n) (L/n) from District 12, welcome to the Capitol Zoo. Would you like to meet my neighbors?" he jokes, eyes slyly shifting to the right to refer to the small audience that has now gathered around the TV presenter. 

You hesitate, but then he takes your right hand in his before leaning over to whisper in your ear.

"You want to win, right? Good. I'd like to win as well. And the first thing you'll need to do? Perform for the cameras." Coriolanus accentuates the end of his sentence by sliding the rose behind your ear, a gesture which draws an excited reaction from the crowd.

Is your mentor doing it for the cameras or for something else? You're unsure. But given your desperation to win, and the fact that he clearly knows more about the games than you do, you decide to play along.

Warm hands twisting in the cold, Coriolanus drags your enjoined hands towards the TV camera as he does what he does best. Lie, smile, and charm the audience. Even when the attention turns to you, as Lucky Flickerman (that's his name, you learn) directs questions towards you, the blonde never lets go of your hand in his.

Before he leaves, as news of his rule-breaking spreads amongst the members of the public, you grab him out of desperation one last time.

"Please get us some food, we've been starving since the Reaping."

The blonde nods, but you can't help but feel anxious: not knowing if his previous gestures of kindness were just for show. 

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

"Who's that for?"

Coriolanus had meant to sneak the sandwiches and cookies into his spare napkin discreetly, but of course Clemensia had to be two steps behind him, interrogating his every move. 

"Just not very hungry, that's all." he nearly grits through his teeth, forcing a fake smile.

The dark haired girl chuckles at that, shaking her head sideways.

"You don't have to lie to me, Snow. Especially me."

"... It's for (Y/n)." he quietly admits. She hums at that, picking at her own food from across the table.

"That's awfully nice of you. What, already going soft for some girl you met yesterday?" she teases, and it immediately elicits an angry refusal out of him.

"It's not like that." Coriolanus snaps, his sudden harshness making his classmate flinch in surprise. "I just... can't have her dying before the games even begin because she's not as well fed as the others." 

Clemensia scoffs, flicking the rest of her orange peel into the trash.

"Honestly, Snow, I don't know why you bother. She's clearly not going to survive. I mean, have you seen the tributes from districts 1 and 3?"

Ignoring her comments, he wordlessly slips away from the table and hails a ride down to the zoo. News of his intentions travels fast and whilst he doesn't mind Sejanus' company, it takes intense effort to force himself to look away from Arachne when she tags along and decides to taunt a caged tribute with a glass bottle. 

"You came back." you mutter, staring at the neatly wrapped napkin in disbelief. Coriolanus dislikes how surprised you sound, then hates himself more for caring about what you think. 

Why do you care what she thinks? he scolds himself. She's just a tribute you're mentoring.

"Of course I did. Can't have my tribute dying before the games even begin, now can I?" he teases, feigning nonchalant. 

The presence of academy mentors seems to have attracted a crowd, with a few photographers even pointing their lenses towards you and Coriolanus as his hand slips through the metal gates to meet yours to hand off the food. When your fingers touch his, a part of you wonders if he would've ever came back if there was no PR involved.

Too grateful and too hungry to care, you just say thank you, before breaking off a piece for Jessup and offering half a sandwich to your mentor.

"Oh no, I'm not hungry." he says out of instinct, surprised by your offering. You raise your eyebrows in response, pursing your lips.

"You sure about that? Because I could hear your stomach growl from a mile away." you retort. 

"Right. Uh, thank you." 

Biting into the soft bread, you chew, savoring every bite. A silence settles between the two of you as you both eat, right before you ask him a quiet question.

"... Did you get into a lot of trouble for what you did for me yesterday?" your eyes shine with worry, you nervously looking up at him for an answer. He finds himself again surprised by how much you seem to care. 

Yes, he wants to say. I nearly got myself disqualified as a mentor and it would've been the end of my family's future in the Capitol. But he swallows his thoughts down, alongside the dry taste of the tuna sandwich.

"Not much. Actually, I was able to convince the gamemaster, Dr Gaul, to implement a few changes to the games."

"Really, like what?"

"To let the public send you donations. That way, I could send you supplies you needed into the arena - food, water, medicine. It'd mean having to do the extra job of playing to the public and getting them to root for your survival, but with a voice like yours, the songbird of Panem -"

Your smile drops at that, your gaze turning stern at his suggestion.

"I only sing when I please for an audience I choose." your eyebrows furrow, your usually sweet expression melting into something more sour. It's oddly cute, he thinks. 

"I know, but I'm really going to need you to try. It's for your own survival. Our survival." he emphasizes, staring right into your eyes. You can't suppress your sad smile at that, crumbling the empty napkin in your hands.

"Are you sure it's not just for your survival?"

Your question haunts Coriolanus that night, alongside the sounds of broken glass and pained gasps as Arachne lies bleeding on the ground, having been stabbed in the neck by one of the tributes. When he quickly runs to his classmate, he doesn't get to see your expression, as you're ripped away by Jessup pulling you into safety in an instant and peace keepers swarm the scene in an effort to remain calm.

When he's back home and the crimson blood coating his hands have dried from where he was holding his dying classmate's wounds, he wonders if there's any truth to your answer.

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

Everything changes at the arena tour.

You've not had much sleep. You're confused, you're angry, but most of all you've been haunted by your conflicting feelings towards your mentor and the name he'd called you - songbird. A silly little songbird, you think spitefully. 

To sing and charm the very same public who had doomed her to a violent game of death. 

It was absurd, really, that he'd even ask that. It made your stomach churn and your head ache at the thought of cheapening your craft for something so juvenile.

And yet, when you spot the familiar red suit and white blonde hair in the mass of other mentors at the arena, you can't help but feel warmth in your chest and stomach. A part of you even feels lucky, given that the other mentors seem to waste their time insulting their tributes or being too afraid to talk to them. Whilst Coriolanus, on the other hand, seems to be full of ideas to ensure your survival.

"The game master liked my suggestions. So the donations system is going to be implemented, with a broadcast beforehand for the tributes to get a chance to endear themselves to the public for donations." He's speaking so fast that you almost think he enjoys explaining the games to you. "Now what this means is that assuming you get enough donations, when the bell goes off, you don't go for the weapons. You don't fight. You just run as fast as you can, hide and stay alive for as long as you can." 

"How can you even be sure I'll get enough donations for you to be able to send supplies?" you mutter, looking around at the other tributes. "A lot of these folks are a lot taller and stronger than I am. They've got a much better chance at surviving than I do."  

Coriolanus surprises you by taking both of your hands in his, squeezing your palms tight in his cold palms.

"I know, but we have something none of the others have."

You scrunch your face in confusion.

"What's that?"

"A story. A strong connection between you and me, a Capitol mentor and a District 12 tribute. Not to mention, your incredible singing and songwriting. Match that with my knack for public relations and we'll have enough donations to send you any supplies necessary for your victory in the games."

You realize then that Coriolanus is unlike anyone else you've ever met. So confident, so sure, so perceptive of other people and their secret desires and pitfalls. His unwavering commitment to his beliefs is admirable, if not almost foolish, but you keep that part to yourself.

"How're you so sure I'll even survive the first few minutes?" you push back, still unconvinced, though you don't pull away from his hold. "And, again, I don't just sing for anyone."

The blonde opens his mouth to respond, but he's interrupted when a sudden cascade of dust and fire crumbles down from the ceiling of the arena. The sound of a bomb exploding reverberates as you're both thrown off of your feet by the impact. Your head is still ringing from the chaos when Jessup pulls at your sleeves, commanding you to walk away from the wreckage. 

Rising onto shaky legs, you even spot another tribute running from the guards towards a blown out hole on the side of the building. And when your eyes meet with Coriolanus' frantic ones, his lower half trapped underneath rubble, you both recognize that you now have an unbridled chance to escape - 

But you don't.

To the blonde's complete shock, you instead shove your friend off, screaming as you lift the heavy cement column with all your strength in an effort to pry the debris off of his body. With the help of a few peace keepers, it works, but Coriolanus falls into unconsciousness quickly as he succumbs to the excruciating pain of crushed ribs and bruised limbs.

The last thing he sees before he fades into darkness is your teary eyes, a sight he so badly wants to fix by wiping away your tears with his fingers... 

When he eventually wakes, it's in a dark hospital next to his grandma'am and sister. There's a roar on the television screen as you're brought onto the broadcast, shy smile and a glittering guitar in hand. It hits him that you're actually going to sing. 

"I didn't have a chance to... uh... write a new song. But I'd like to dedicate this performance to someone very special who's recently been hurt." you say into the mike, your eyes clearly brimming with nerves and doubt. 

As you sing, there's a tight sensation in Coriolanus' chest once the lyrics settle into his mind - a small voice whispers in his mind that it's jealousy, for you singing about a boy back in your home town who broke your heart - but it's overwhelmed by the feelings of gratitude and awe that you'd ended up doing what he asked you to do. All that, after selflessly saving his life.

"A...are you okay, Coryo?" is all Tigris asks, brushing his hair back and gently guiding him back down onto bed upon seeing his expression twist into one of discomfort.

"She could've run." 

"What?"

"At the arena. The blast blew open a large opening on the side of the stadium. I saw one of the tributes actually make it out that way." he lets out a shaky breath, hating you for what you've done to him to make him feel this way. "Damn it, Tigris. She could've run. She could've-"

A single tear drops from his left eye and onto his injured palm, his weak voice giving away his true emotions.

"She could've saved herself from even having to participate in the games. But she stayed. She fucking stayed behind to lift the debris off of me."

"She saved your life." his sister finishes for him, the atmosphere turning somber as she wraps her arms around his shoulder. "I'm just so glad that you're both safe." 

As you retreat from the screen, the donation numbers only piling up higher as Lucky Flickerman closes out the broadcast, a hot fire lights up in Coriolanus' stomach. 

He has to save you.

No matter what it takes.

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

"You know he's just using you, right?"

After the broadcast, once it's revealed that you were given the largest amount of donations out of all the other tributes, Coral from District 4 corners you backstage. 

"Pardon?" you fake ignorance, a small smile playing on your lips, which only seems to aggravate the girl further. 

"Your pretty boy mentor. He's only been faking all sweet for you to get the public to send you donations. In fact, I bet he didn't even bother to try and pull himself out of the wreckage so that he could get more public sympathy.

You snap at that, all fake modesty melting away in an instant.

"You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about, Coral. Coriolanus isn't like that." you spit, but all she does is look down at you with a nasty smirk on her lips.

"Oh really? And how would you know, little songbird? Think he'd care about someone from district 12? And why do you think he wants you to win so badly? Because he's a good person?" she mocks, her face now a mere inches away from yours. "No. I reckon it's more for the prize money." 

You can't sleep that night at the zoo, tossing and turning in the dark. Your mind can't seem to rest, torn between the adrenaline and dread for the games tomorrow, alongside the constant worry over Coriolanus' wellbeing and doubts over his genuinity and trustworthiness.

Coral's just trying to get in my head. you repeat to yourself, over and over again. You're on the edge of sleep, exhausted and upset by your conflicting emotions, when you hear a familiar voice coming from the darkness. 

It sounds like Coriolanus. 

You sit up straight, and it's true: he's here, and he's whispering your name repeatedly, beckoning you towards the front of the cage and away from your sleeping competitors. Suddenly, the overwhelming exhaustion and fatigue disappears, and you find yourself gravitating towards the only person you've been thinking about for the past 24 hours.

"Coryo, you're... you're alright." you sigh out, almost overwhelmed with relief. You don't even realize you're crying until his hands reach up and brush away your tears, his warm hand a stark contrast to the freezing cold of the night.

"I am. All thanks to you, songbird." he breathes out, his fingers tracing the ripples of your cheeks. His head feels dizzy and his hands tremble as he searches his pockets for his mother's golden compact mirror. 

"Don't call me that." you weakly laugh, as he does too. "What's this?" you ask, staring at the object he’s folded gently into your hands. 

"It's for you to use in the arena. Now listen to what I say very carefully. Don't breathe this in, don't spill it on yourself, and only use it when you really need to." he slowly explains, as if he's terrified that you're going to harm yourself by merely carrying it in your pockets. 

"Is... is this allowed? For you to sneak in and give me this?" you whisper, looking around your surroundings, but it's pitch black. 

The blonde purses his lips, using every muscle in his body to keep his expression neutral.

No, it's certainly not allowed. I am risking my life, as well as my family's future, by doing this.

"That's not important. What is important is that the blast from the arena has created a hole leading out to a bunch of service tunnels. I tested it out myself, it leads towards the outside, far away from the peace keepers." 

"Wait, I don't understa-"

Desperation grabs a hold of him, and it's a foreign feeling - the crushing despair of wanting to protect someone that he can't, the burning urge to want to put someone else ahead of him for once.

"What I need you to do tomorrow, (Y/n), is to run. The moment the alarm rings, don't even think of running towards the weapons or fighting the others. Don't even hide anymore. Just… just run towards the tunnels, by yourself, and get out."

"But what about Jessup-" you hiccup. Your head's spinning, confused and horrified by your mentor's change of plans and the prospect of leaving behind your friend to die in the arena. 

"Forget about him." Coriolanus snaps. Suddenly, his eyes are cold and his voice is firm, commanding you as if you have no choice in the matter. "In there, he's as dangerous as the other tributes. You can't trust anyone, not even your supposed friends, okay? The games, they-" he chokes on his own words, and there's something again in Coriolanus' eyes that you can't quite decipher. "They bring out the worst in people. Promise me you'll run."

It makes your stomach twist in anxiety.

"I-"

"Please." 

As he begs, his face crumbles, his voice so desperate and feeble that you can't find it in yourself to say no. 

"I... I'll try." you relent, and he lets out a sigh of relief at your agreement. 

"Good. Perfect." He takes your head in his hands and softly kisses your temple. "I won't let you die in there, okay? Just like you took care of me after the explosion. I'm going to take care of you."

"I'm your mentor. I do my best to take care of you." 

Coriolanus' words from the train station echo in your head as you nod, pocketing the mirror deep inside your dress to hide it away from plain sight.

"Will I... will I be able to see you, after the games?" 

You immediately feel stupid for even asking that. Everyone knows winning the games merely allows your return to your home district. And on all logical accounts, it wouldn't make any sense for the man to give up his life in the Capitol to follow you back to 12.

But he smiles at your innocent question, only nodding whilst squeezing your hands in the dark. To your feeble heart and mind, it feels like a genuine promise.

"Of course, my songbird. I'll do whatever it takes."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." you whisper.

"I never do." 

And for the first time, you think you actually believe him wholeheartedly.

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

You can't believe it. 

You've won.

You were so sure you were going to die once the snakes had been released, eyes closing shut once the venomous snakes began to crawl up your skin, but as you continued to sing... The reptiles simply slithered by your side, remaining docile and non-threatening. And based on the snakes' sudden change of behavior and Highbottom's scowl when he announced you as the victor of the 10th Hunger Games - "consider yourself lucky, little girl, as it seems your mentor was willing to break more than a few rules for you" - your stomach churns at the realization that Coriolanus kept his promise.

He did whatever it took to get you out. 

Even cheating. 

You've only heard whispers of the punishments for cheating at the Capitol. But based on the frequent hangings of rebels in your home district, you can't imagine that the punishment would be very kind.

Weeks have passed since your victory, since the last time you've even seen Coriolanus, but it does nothing to erase him from your mind. You still see his faint silhouette in the mornings, when your eyes have barely adjusted to the morning light and there's a pile of clothes sitting on the chair beside your bed. You think you hear his voice amongst the sea of strangers’ conversations, calling out for his 'songbird'. And you swear you see his face in every crowd at the bar.

Unbeknownst to you, Coriolanus is having the same struggles on the opposite end of the country. Luckily, bearing the last name Snow meant his punishment for cheating was to be lighter than the usual hanging: mandatory military service. District 8. But he's sure to bring his last few bills to bribe the immigration officer for a transfer to 12. 

All to come find you. 

He suffers through the first week of training - grueling hours, hanging ceremonies, endless ramblings from Sejanus about making a change for the better. He pretends not to notice Sejanus establishing connections within the rebel community, until he can’t ignore it anymore. After all, Coriolanus simply can't afford his friend’s idealism and recklessness to get him killed too, and potentially you, when you're thought to be linked to the movement by mere virtue of association.

Especially not you, Coriolanus thinks.

After the games, of having to watch you bleed, sob and fight for hours on end as he stood helplessly, only able to watch: even the passing thought of your death elicits a violent reaction in him. He'll do anything for you. 

Even if that means turning in his only friend to prove his loyalty to the Capitol.

It's an unremarkable Wednesday night for you when you're singing a song at the bar, black guitar in hand and the smell of booze thick in the air, when your eyes come across a familiar face. 

It takes you a few seconds, of course. You almost think it’s a hallucination, if it wasn’t for the sea of other soldiers surrounding him, validating his presence. His fluffy white locks are gone, replaced with a clean buzz cut. He's lost a bit of weight, his shoulders more broad and rough from military training, and the lack of expensive bright fabrics draped around his figure is jarring at first. But it suits him, you think. 

The song can't finish any faster before you're slinging your guitar to the back and rushing up to Coriolanus, immediately throwing your arms around him. He stiffens in your embrace before relaxing, his arms finding your waist and squeezing you tightly. And you can't help but savor every essence of his being: he smells of sweat and coal (unlike his Capitol uniform which always smelled of florals and clean linen) and you can feel the cool metal of his dog tags press against your collarbone at this angle.

"You came back for me." you breathe out, still not believing that he's in front of you. Your ex mentor just smiles, tapping your cheeks with his hands.

"Said I'd never break a promise, now didn't I?" 

As the next performer goes up on stage, recapturing the attention of the audience, you pull him away towards the back room, far away from the bustling crowds and twinkling lights.

"I've thought of you every day, my songbird." Coriolanus whispers against your skin once you two are away from the crowds, his head falling forwards into the nape of your neck.

Your cheeks warm at his comment, your fingers coming up to play with the dog tags around his neck, before a light chuckle escapes your lips.

"What's so funny? Did you not miss me?" the blonde teases, and you shake your head sideways in denial.

"Of course I missed you. I missed you more than you could imagine."

"Then what's the chuckle for?"

You let out a short sigh, not knowing if it’d be wise to bring it up. But all he does is encouraging you, looking deep into your eyes and nodding, urging you to say what’s on your mind. You relent, shoulders sagging. 

"It's just... when I won the games, Highbottom congratulated me. But not for winning the games. But for surviving you." you awkwardly chuckle in hopes of diffusing the seriousness of your question. "Is it true, Coryo?"

"What are you getting at?" is his response, coy and low. You can't tell if he's amused, annoyed or disturbed. 

Or all three at once.

"There's rumors, you know. I heard that you... you had to kill a tribute." you whisper, as if what you’re saying is the biggest secret in the world. "Is it true?"

Coriolanus pauses at that, the smirk on his face dropping for a fraction of a second before he's cupping your face and lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. His stare is so strong, so unwavering, almost to the point of unnerving you. But it's matched with such warmth and softness in his touch as he strokes your hair.

"You have to understand, darling… It was just like the snakes. If I hadn't rigged the game by getting the snakes used to your smell so they wouldn't attack you, you would've died. And if I hadn't killed the tribute charging at me when I had to sneak into the arena to rescue Sejanus-" he sighs, slow and long. He looks as if he’s thinking hard. "I had to, my songbird. I had to do it to protect you. To take care of you." he emphasizes.

You're not sure what kind of an answer you wanted, but you're unable to respond immediately, as it slowly dawns on you that this man both cheated and killed another person for you. 

His response to your silence is a swift kiss, calloused hands dropping to your waist to pull you in close, the gesture desperate and messy. Breathing heavily when he parts from you, he kisses you once more, this time a short peck which is more rough and demanding.

"I would do anything for you, (Y/n) (L/n). Anything for you."

Coriolanus chooses to keep quiet about the fact that technically, he could've just injured the tribute charging towards him instead. Or that it felt freeing to have ended the tribute’s life. Or that just a few hours ago, he tipped off the Capitol about Sejanus' rebellion. All in an effort to secure your unbridled safety. So that he doesn’t ever have to let go of you again.

"Now, where are your manners, my songbird? Aren't you going to thank me?" he whispers against your lips, smoothing out your hair.

"T-thank you, Coryo." you manage to stutter.

He smiles at that, kissing the top of your head as he sways you from side to side.

"Of course, love. Don't worry. We’re going to be just fine. In fact, everything will be fine from now on."

As you peak out from under his embrace, you're not so sure if you can believe him anymore.

a/n: leave it to a new hunger games movie and Tom Blyth playing young!Snow to make me return from my 1.5 year long writing hiatus.

I'm quite nervous about this one as it's my first time writing for a semi-dark character and also because it's been so long since I posted my writing on here... But I hope you enjoyed, please leave a comment, like, reblog, etc if you liked it. If this one is received well I might go ahead and post the other Snow fics currently sitting in my drafts!!!

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus x you #hunger games x reader #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #coriolanus snow oneshot #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #1k

[princessbrunette]

“you still mad at me?” while balls deep with rafe 😵‍💫😵‍💫.

GODDDD U ATE W THIS PROMPT 😩 like my jaw dropped

rafe was always doing this.

he’d make empty promises, plans even — talk to you all sweet with a warm hand on your back whispering suggestion of “that was the last time i’m getting involved with all that crazy shit, baby. i swear. s’just me you n’me now, you hear me?” and you being the fool, believed him.

until of course you’re catching him pulling back up to the drive on his motorcycle, yanking his helmet off with that ill-tempered expression of his that just tells you enough that somethings gone on, you know, the one where his teeth are grit, lips pressed together like they’d been sewn shut. that’s not even where it ends, because often times barry is close behind, pulling up alone side so they can debrief loudly in the living room, stinking up the place with pot. even if you were mad, you know the rules. no coming down the stairs when barry’s over.

you almost had started to enjoy the feeling of sulking when rafe would eventually skulk up the stairs after barry had left, shoulders heavy and ready to grovel. naturally, you put up quite the fight — and what might surprise you is that rafe let’s you mouth off, even if he knows you don’t understand the importance of his situation and likely never will.

“again and again rafe! how many times am i gonna have to put up with you just running off to god knows where when you promise me you’re not doing all that anymore! you were supposed to be with me today!” you nearly stomp your foot, that last sentence coming out childishly like an abandoned middle child. he nods, jaw ticking as he stares at the ground scratching his forehead, waiting for his lashing to end. once the tears start to roll, that’s his queue. like clockwork.

“come on, hey. y’know i love you, sweetheart. i’m sorry, okay?” he rushes to your side, sliding right up next to you on the bed and thumbing at the first batch of tears on your cheek, his hand so large it cups your skull at the same time. you want to preen into his touch, so elated with any affection after a day of missing him, worrying about him — but you don’t, because you’re still mad. be strong, you tell yourself.

you’re weak. you hate yourself.

not even 10 minutes of your sobbing and complaining later and he’s got your legs over his broad shoulders, balls slapping lewdly against you whilst he all but pumps you. his hands that are on your waist, using you as leverage reposition themselves so that he’s holding himself up over you more. a large hand wraps gently around your ankle as he does so, making sure your leg doesn’t slide off the strong slopes of his shoulder.

squeals and more tears are being punched out of you with each thrust, but he can see you physically relaxing, he can see you reaching out to him with a wobbling bottom lip so that you can hold onto his arms like you always do when he fucks you. it’s neutralising you.

“fuck, that’s m’girl.” he pants, mouth gaping at the way your pussy flutters around him. you’re so reactive to his voice he can’t believe it, never having met anyone who is so enamoured with everything he does. shit, maybe he should treat you better after all. he keeps talking, because he thinks you deserve to cum a whole bunch tonight, after putting up with all his shit. having a girlfriends made him gone all soft.

“you still mad at me?” he tilts his head, and you’re not sure if it’s intended to be mean or mocking, because it certainly doesn’t come out that way — his voice kind and eyes kinder, rolling the well kept muscles in his core to grind his cock against that spongey spot deep within. you don’t answer his question, clinging onto that last crumb of dignity and restraint. you pout through your whimpers, turning your head a little. he takes that opportunity to burrow down into your neck, his open mouth panting against your tepid skin as he speaks lowly again. “dont be mad at me baby. i’m only tryna look after my girl, you want that right?”

��mhm…” you reply before you permit yourself.

he slides his arms under you now, letting your legs down from his shoulders to hook around his waist instead. he’s holding your body close to his as he grinds, his pelvis smushed against your clit, making your thighs tremble and suddenly you’re so god damn close it hurts and you’ll do anything to cum.

“so good to me, baby.” he sighs and you cry out, arching your body harder to his. “i know. let it out. i’m so bad to you sweetheart s’the least i can do.” he mutters self pityingly before letting out a groan, cock pulsing inside you. you remember thinking about how right he was about that when you fell over the edge into a white hot orgasm.

#anon #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader

[urhoneycombwitch]

my baby puts his mouth on me

foreword: okay this is kind of written as a bonus scene for i know what they call you bc that version of reader deals with being quiet, too! (not necessary to read that one first but does provide a bit of context as far as interpersonal setting.) sort-of AU that ignores most s4 events. anon request can b found here 💖

wc: 2.2k

cw: discussions of college, shy!reader, oral + fingering (R receiving), R has breasts and a V, weed usage, softdom!Eddie, shifting POV a bit soz 

___

Somewhere between Eddie’s late nights at band rehearsal and your early morning diner shifts, you’ve both been too exhausted to properly fuck when you do see each other, barely time for a spare handjob in the past week. You’re crawling out of your skin by the weekend, missing and craving Eddie in equal measure.

So when your Saturday off happens to line up with his, Eddie makes an afternoon of it- picnic lunch on the shore of Lover’s Lake, lazing around in the August sun while your food settles, then stripping down to your underclothes (even though the spot Eddie scored was totally isolated, you’re still leery about skinny dipping) and cooling off with a quick dip in the lake.

You’re both sprawled out in the blanketed back of Eddie’s van, sun-warmed bodies pressed together, legs dangling out of the open rear door; smoke hangs hazy in the air from the joint being shared. 

“Almost end of summer,” Eddie says, nestling his nose into your neck, arms wrapping around your middle. He can’t look at you, dread unfurling in his stomach but needing to ask, to clear the air, to prepare in case this is one of the last times he gets to touch you like this- “Thinkin’ of going to any colleges?”

”Maybe.” One of your hands slides into Eddie’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp while the other lifts the joint to your lips for a long drag. “They love me at the diner and I make good tips, so I’ll prob’ly keep doing that. Can’t afford anything fancy, anyways- I’ll likely just go to Hawkins Community.”

You still haven’t told him the full story of the mall fire, yet- or about the underground world simmering beneath the surface. He never pushes you to share more than you’re comfortable, which you’re grateful for, but he knows something happened: something that paints your sleep with dark night terrors, something that causes you to slip in the middle of conversations, mind spiraling where he can’t follow. 

For reasons you can’t fully explain to Eddie, college is real low on your priority list- you’ve dedicated this summer to reconnecting with base instincts (weed and Pretty Boy being at the top of the list).

Meanwhile, Eddie tries to still the vibrant thrum of his heart at the news of you staying local, possibly for the next few years; he lifts his head to press his lips against your collarbone. “You should go to college. Jus’ try it out, at least. You’re certainly smart enough.”

“Mmm-” you hum around the joint, another inhale-exhale of smoke before murmuring, “So are you. For the record. We could apply to be nerds together, if you want-”

With a sharp gasp, your sentence drops out of midair when Eddie kisses over your nipple, already peaking through the thin material of your bra. In his hair, your grip tightens, and Eddie groans.

In one fluid movement, he props himself into his elbows on either side of your torso, bottom half of his weight pinning you in place, plucking the smoldering joint from your grasp to dampen it into a nearby ashtray.

“Gonna be my little student,” Eddie says, wet kisses trailing down your neck, flash of teeth making you squirm. “Get you some academic… skirts. The ones with the pleats. Maybe some stockings…”

“You’re so- oh, fuck- dirty…” It’s hard to keep the admonishment in your voice as Eddie noses between your thighs, bumping at your clit through the thin cover of high-cut cotton.

“Mm-hmm.” He seems pleased with the already-visible wet patch, your core leaking steadily as he burrows deeper, until all his senses are blacked-out with nothing but the sharp tang of your honeyed arousal- who needs weed. He could get high off your smell alone.

Eddie suckles at your throbbing clit, purring encouragement low in his throat when your hips jolt forward. “And you love it.”

He’s one deep inhale from being completely pussy-drunk, mouthing sloppily at the junction where thigh meets pelvis, nibble fingers toying at the band of your underwear. He slides them down and off your legs, and you let him, wiggling in anticipation against the pressure he’s keeping you pinned with.

“Could take an electrician course.” Well aware of how close to the wire this conversation is sliding, you let the crown of your head tip back, staring at the van’s ceiling, handfuls of the flannel floor blanket squeezed into fists as you try getting one last word in- “You’re good with your h- hands.”

Said hand is cupping your bare sex, warm and wide between the V of your legs, other hand pushing your thigh back to spread you wide, obscene and on display how Eddie likes; embarrassment blooms hot in your chest as he runs a finger through your folds, slick practically loud against the far-off backdrop of forest sounds.

“What was that about my hands?” He’s teasing now, can hear it in his voice even though you can’t see the lazy grin it’s paired with; a long middle finger breaches your entrance, wet warmth swallowing the length greedily.

Your eyes flutter shut, sighing. There will be a time for arguments again but right now, with a second finger addition and Eddie’s mouth working you up, there’s no room for speech.

On your end, at least- Eddie’s proven on multiple occasions to be a master at multitasking, talking you through it while managing your pleasure, and this afternoon is no exception. His fingers curl expertly into the gummy front wall of your cunt, mouth running every second it’s not latched on to your pulsing button, dirty talk smooth and easy in his low timbre.

“Yeah, honey, that’s it. Fuck, you’re so hot. Can feel you squeezin’ around my fingers, y’so tight, angel, shit… like that- there you go…”

Etcetera. Until he’s bullied his way completely into the cradle of your legs, lying flat on his stomach to get as close as possible; until your cunt is spasming around the push and pull of his fingers, wet dripping and pooling into his palm and down your ass to the blanket below.

There’s a familiar tightness coiling in your stomach, thighs bracing around Eddie’s ears in anticipation of the unraveling. A pleasure-soaked sob gets caught in your throat, dull whine escaping instead through clenched teeth, grip on the flannel doubling until your knuckles creak in protest.

“Hey.” 

There’s a confusing lack of authority or command in Eddie’s voice; you sift through the brain fog of arousal, propping your weight up into your elbows to look down at him.

Eddie looks crazy. Debauched. Lips pink and spit-soaked, chin shimmering, pupils blown out with lust as he presses a chaste kiss to the wiry curls at your mound. “Kinda quiet up there. Everything okay?”

His thumb sweeps a comforting path up the soft skin of your thigh, the abrupt switch from animal to gentleness making your head swim. He’s still looking at you with those puppy-brown eyes, fingers still buried to the hilt but unmoving; you stammer out an excuse.

“Um- yeah. M’sorry. It’s just been awhile, since you’ve had me… like this.”

It’s the truth; over the last busy week in your lives, time has eroded some of what Eddie’s been working on building with you, bravery at making noise faded with the lessened practice time.

“No one else out here, ‘cept you and me, sweetheart.” Eddie’s coaxing his fingers back into steady rhythm, watching your face carefully for any signs of withholding. “Can make as much noise as you want. Lemme hear. Please?”

Usually, Eddie’s not so soft- a sharp crack of palm to ass, flesh jiggling as he draws all the noises he wants from you- but here, in the back of the van, heady weed and warm sun an intoxicating mixture as he asks you to melt for him. 

You obey. Let the floor take your upper body’s weight again as you fuck yourself on his fingers, hips lifted and seeking release. His mouth seals over your clit again, tip of his tongue lashing quick and precise against it, frizz of his curls tickling the insides of your legs as he shakes his head.

The weed is certainly a help as trapped noises heave from your chest, mouth falling open, lax and pliant with moans. “Oh, my god, Eddie. Fuck. Holy shit. Hah- right there, please, don’t stop-”

As if he would. Eddie moans in tandem with you, his own hips chasing the maddening pressure of the floorboards against the hard jut of his cock, leaking through the front of his boxers as he adds a third finger, spurred on by the fountain of breathy words this pulls from you-

“Oh god, oh god- f-fuck- Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie-”

Your speech devolves into a mindless, babbling chant of his name. That coil pulls taut, has you crunching forward in a half sit-up, hands fisting at the roots of Eddie’s hair to hold him in place (perhaps harsher than you intend but based on the way his hips stutter and grind, you can safely hazard a guess that he’s into it). 

The pattern breaks when he grazes his teeth against the pulsing nub in his mouth; you have just enough time to gasp out, “I- I’m coming, Eddie, shit, m’gonna come-” before the orgasm hits you full-force.

There isn’t room in your brain to hide all the noise that threatens to suffocate, so you let them all out, muscles tightening and flexing around every bright point of pleasure that he fucks you through. High-pitched whines, panting that wracks your lungs, a moan to top it all off that feels like it comes from your toes. 

“Jesus christ.” Eddie swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, sounding wrecked himself as he climbs back over your body, silver chain necklace and dark curls swinging in front of your blissed-out face. “Fuck, princess. That was so hot.”

“Yeah?” Bashfulness hasn’t fully settled in yet, you’re still loopy from the force of your pleasure, arms slipping over the boy’s freckled shoulders as he leans down to kiss you.

His tongue has a bright tang of you, as you lick into his mouth, one hand leaving his shoulder to trail down his chest. Dark ink whorls beneath your fingertips as you reach the scratchy trail of hair just before his boxers-

“Shit.” Eddie hisses, forehead thunking into yours when you palm the hard length of him, precum soaking through the fabric, softness of your palm contrasting with the damp and rough drag of cotton. His long lashes tickle your cheek, eyes fluttering closed, soft exhale magnified by close proximity as he slowly pushes into your hand. 

You’re mildly surprised he hasn’t come, yet- usually Eddie gets off on getting you off, then uses the rest of his energy to make you both come again, together. 

What Eddie hasn’t told you yet is that he’s done some prep of his own, this week: every night you haven’t spent in his bed, his own spit-slicked fist has taken him right to the edge, stopping just short of coming with a choking grip at the base. The idea was to build up his stamina a bit, to take advantage of lonely evenings in service to a future you.

A very noble cause that is quickly being forgotten as your hand moves with more intent and pressure against his aching cock- the drug haze is almost enough to have him completely at your mercy, to tuck his nose into the curve of your neck and find sweet release by way of your pretty palm.

But he recovers. Get just enough distance from the warmth of you to clear his mind and snake his own hand down between your bodies to capture your twisting wrist. 

The protest dies on your lips when Eddie brings your hand to his mouth, sucking your middle and index finger against the pad of his tongue, saturating your digits in spit.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do.” His eyes stay locked on yours, even as he guides your newly-wet fingers back down your bodies to rest atop your cunt. “You’re gonna touch yourself until you come. Again. And if I feel like you’re holding out on me with your noises, I’m gonna make it real difficult for you to make any noise. At all.”

A thrilling shiver races up your spine, goosebumps prickling in response to the shift in Eddie’s tone. His eyes flick to your lower lip, which he bites, unable to help himself, before following the path of your hand south.

There will be time for unwinding the past, for dreaming about the future. For now, there’s a boy between your legs and the feverish glow of summer calling your name. 

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you

[gutsby]

Dead Ringer

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Weeks of separation and sexual frustration come to a head when Daryl pays you a visit in the middle of the night. Whether it's the product of your own sex-deprived subconscious or reality, you can't be sure—and you couldn't care less. Daryl is happy to fulfill the fantasy in any way that he can.

Warnings: NSFW (2.2k words of pure smut) Unprotected p-in-v, praise kink, daddy kink, breeding kink, somno, and a healthy dose of dirty talk à la dom!Daryl.

If you held on any longer you’d be seeing stars.

Chest heaving, toes curling, fingers tangled tight in a fistful of hair, you were on the cusp of your release and still scarcely breathing more than the man with his face buried between your thighs. Every lap of his tongue a gentle invitation, every moan laced with the sound of your name. A smirk, too, probably plastered on his face in satisfaction as he sensed you were close. It was relentless, as cruel and unkind a tongue-fucking as you’d ever received before, and yet, somehow so good you couldn’t help but beg for more.

Then, like clockwork, you jolted awake before climax—every fucking time.

Daryl had been gone a little more than a month, and you were starting to see him in your dreams on a near-nightly basis.

You’d wake to a set of soaked sheets and ruffled covers, hair in disarray, and find yourself searching frantically for any trace of him there, to no avail. The space between your legs left empty, the imprints of his hands on your hips little more than a figment of your imagination. You’d trail a touch down your body and swear he’d been kissing your skin just minutes ago, but no. It was nothing. He was out and about among the dead and you were here, in Alexandria, with nothing to show for your loneliness but a half empty bed and a head full of filthy thoughts.

“Damn you, Dixon,” you muttered before falling back on the mattress.

You’d lie awake for an hour or more, just counting your breaths and hoping sleep would find you sooner than another Daryl-shaped dream. But more often than not, the thoughts would win, and you’d be left with few options other than to grab the nearest pillow and shove it between your thighs. It didn’t do much to quiet your mind, but it certainly tricked part of it into thinking something was there, and eventually you’d drift off to sleep. By the third or fourth night of this, you’d grown accustomed to the routine—hardly stirring from your slumber as you reached for your stand-in Daryl and hoped the fantasy to follow would be good.

Seconds would give way to minutes, then minutes to hours, and somewhere in between came the comfort of sleep. You couldn’t tell when, or how, Daryl ever joined you there. But he always did.

All you knew was a touch on your skin in the still of darkness. Hands, as broad and calloused as they were careful, traveling the length of your body with a warmth bleeding from every fingertip. Always patient, always cool, always keen to pique your senses while he soaked in the sight of you and smiled. The thought alone sent the muscles in your legs clamping hard on that cushion, aching for relief. This was just a dream, you reminded yourself.

Fantasy man pressed a kiss to your stomach, and your eyes all but rolled back, squeezed shut in a medley of ecstasy and disbelief.

Just. a. fucking. dream.

When his lips moved back up your body, you thought you might cry. One kiss after another peppered gently down your neck, punctuated by the brush of his stubble, and you came undone, begging him to please, please let you cum this time, please.

There was a patience and an urgency together bound tight in his fingers, a kind of quiet desperation guiding them under the sheets and all over your body—almost hesitant to pry but eager to please. He slipped your shorts down your legs and your panties even faster. Slotted himself comfortably between your legs and pressed what felt a whole hell of a lot like his erection against your core. You whimpered. Without thinking, you bucked your hips against his and moaned.

And, if you hadn’t known any better, you could’ve sworn you heard a chuckle just above you. You disregarded it and continued to grind, shamelessly, for whatever modicum of relief you could get. With your eyes shuttered closed and your mouth hanging open, hips moving feverishly over the mound in Daryl’s jeans, you were sure you looked nothing short of pornographic in the moment. But you didn’t care, wouldn’t know, couldn’t even see the man in front of you, and you suspected this dream would be over long before you could, so you kept on moving.

Presently, your motions were stalled by a set of hands fumbling between your bodies, what appeared to be an attempt to unbuckle a belt and unzip a pair of jeans. Both items were discarded in a moment, so fast you hardly knew what to think, then—fuck—the thick, throbbing outline of his length pressed flush against your entrance.

You made one, final telepathic plea. Heels digging deep in his back and warmth threatening to spill down his member, you hoped, you begged, you pleaded for release—almost whined with a hunger you didn’t think was possible and pulled him in as close as you could before he’d breach the last precious inches between you. His lips caught yours, and you kissed him back as fervid and frantic as you felt. You were hot, you were sensitive, practically drenched in sweat, and—

“So fucking wet,” Daryl groaned in your ear.

You froze in your place. No sooner had the realization washed over you and your eyes snapped open that Daryl was pushing himself inside. A familiar face contorting in pleasure was the first thing to grace your vision and the only one to ground you to that bed, save for a mild sting between your legs. You glanced between his expression and the sight below, Daryl’s hips rolling softly into yours, and suddenly, it struck you that this wasn’t the work of your imagination at all. There was a living, breathing man above you with the slightest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips. It was Daryl.

He continued without a hitch, only slowing his pace to brush the hair from your face.

“That’s my girl.” Even in the dark you could tell he was beaming, eyes drinking you in.

You bounced up and down with the force of each thrust and found yourself ogling Daryl half-dumbstruck, half-cockdrunk. Searching for the words in the thick of this haze but coming up short, you sucked in a breath and settled on one simple, subtle, ‘Fuck me.’

Daryl’s face broke into a grin then, still straining with his motions below but managing to lower himself closer to you. Then reaching behind your head to thread his fingers through your hair and make you meet him eye-to-eye, he stopped. Eased himself out.

“What’s’at?” Daryl hummed as though he hadn’t heard.

You whined at the sudden loss of contact, rutting your hips in desperation. Daryl retreated even further, tightening the hold in your hair.

“Tell Daddy what you want,” he spoke through gritted teeth. Then, when you whimpered, pulled you even closer, “C’mon now, use your big girl words.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck you how?”

“Fuck me hard...a-and deep. Please.” You sounded pathetic.

Soaking the sheets with your arousal and begging for more. Daryl couldn’t have been fucking you more than a couple minutes and you were already on the brink of orgasm. After a week’s worth of edging and wildly unsuccessful pillow humping, you couldn’t help it. You sank your fingernails into the flesh of his arms and gave him one more pleading look.

But Daryl wasn’t having it. Opted instead for a shit-eating grin and a hand around his cock, dragging his member up the length of your slit and watching you squirm.

“Daryl, please.”

“Daryl what?” he snapped, pressing the head of his dick firm against your clit.

“Make me cum. Make me yours,” you begged.

With his free hand, Daryl cupped your face and made you look at him. Daryl loved to make you look.

“Yeah?” he sneered, “Gonna let Daddy cum inside?”

“Yes.”

You felt Daryl’s tip circling your entrance now, pressing between the folds and teasing you there.

“Wanna make me a Daddy?”

“Yes.”

As it was, he probably could’ve asked whether you wanted to be fed to a horde of walkers and you’d answer in the affirmative. Daryl was no stranger to the skin flushing, mind-numbing sort of frenzy that enveloped you now, and he was savoring every minute of it.

“You’ve been doin’ so good without me here, dunno if I believe you.” Taking his damn sweet time before he fed you another inch. Rolling his thumb over your bottom lip.

“I need you, Daryl. I-I’ve missed you so fucking much,” you spluttered, close to tears.

Daryl sank his finger in your mouth, fully, and waited for your lips to close around him.

“How much?”

But just as you started to answer, Daryl drove his cock deep inside you, bottoming out in a single thrust. You could scarcely let a moan slip before he pulled back and slammed into you again, and again, and again. Hurrying now, as if to make up for lost time, he fucked you fast and senseless—planting a hand on either side of your head and taking you how he needed. What little you could hear above the buzz in your ears was the sound of his balls slapping your ass and the grunts that accompanied it, hot on your skin and only getting louder.

“Tell me how ya want it,” Daryl panted in your ear, “Tell me how much you missed this cock.”

You were vacillating somewhere between Cloud 9 and your fifteenth almost-orgasm of the week, gripping his member and every last one of his ruthless thrusts like a vice, but you still managed to answer him, weakly, that you missed it more than anything.

Daryl pounded even harder and started to raise one of your legs to get you at another angle. Would’ve paid any sum of money to hear the sound you made at that new sensation a million times over.

“Daryl, I—” Your voice broke off in a moan when he nudged your leg a little higher.

Much to your surprise Daryl slowed his motions then, brow furrowing in concentration as he tried like hell to hit that spot—and keep hitting it, again and again. Knees to your chest and eyes practically glazed over in pleasure, you were scarcely more aware of Daryl kissing you on the forehead than you were of him reaching between your legs and easing a finger between your folds.

You were eye to eye again, short and ragged breaths tearing through your lungs as you both sensed you were close. This time, Daryl’s expression had softened considerably, almost as though he were watching you for the first time all over again.

“You okay?” He nudged your nose with his.

You nodded, breathlessly, and couldn’t seem to conjure up a more coherent response.

Daryl just hummed in understanding and ran a touch over your cheek. Swept a couple stray strands of hair away like he did before, only much gentler this time. When his other hand reached your bundle of nerves and your body tensed with pleasure, he helped brace your legs against his chest and take him even deeper. He’d nod and say how good you were doing, how nice you felt, how perfectly you fit his cock and stretched around him. If you whimpered again, he’d let you lean into the feeling and keep his eyes locked on yours so that you knew he was right there with you. How he managed to hold your gaze, stroke your face, and keep apace with that impossibly languid cadence of his hips was beyond your comprehension. All you knew and all you felt was him.

When Daryl found your lips again, you were practically trembling under his touch.

“Tha’s my girl,” he murmured between kisses, “Tha’s my good girl.”

Your walls clenched at his words, and you both moaned. You didn’t have to exchange another syllable from there, just folding into Daryl’s arms and taking him closer in your own. Squeezing him to you. You moved a little faster as the knot in your stomach tightened, and he rutted his hips even harder.

Daryl panted your name while you moaned his, and each of you kept your eyes on the other like an instant apart might take you away altogether. Another few seconds of him groaning and grinding and pumping inside you and you felt yourself coming apart. Waves of a new sensation struck your core that you nearly cried with pleasure, contracted around Daryl’s cock and felt him spilling inside you just moments later. It all seemed like an eternity and a half and still not long enough to have him like this, shaking and sweating above you.

When you rode out your highs and slowly sank back to Earth, your gaze stayed glued on him. Daryl was drained, barely able to hold himself up and still somehow smiling at you. You couldn’t tell him then—probably wouldn’t tell him ever—but the longer you stared, the greater relief you felt, realizing, at last, that this wasn’t just a dream.

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #smut #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon one shot #twd imagine

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi! Would you be able to do a hero x villain scene with a villain that's used to trapping their opponents socially but the hero would rather just ignore that and punch them in the face, and the villain is kind of in love and kind of murderous?

The villain staggered back at the force of the punch with a groan of pain. They cupped a hand to their bloody nose.

The villain's various soldiers and lackeys immediately moved to restrain the hero.

"No." The villain held out their other hand. "No."

The lackeys froze, uncertain.

The hero, well-prepared for the possibility of fight, paused too. They shook out their fist, shoulders squared.

"Nice left hook," the villain said, straightening slowly. When they dropped their hand, the break had already healed, leaving only the blood.

"Fuck you."

"Yes, that might help your anger issues."

The hero scoffed. "I don't have anger issues, I just don't like being backed into a corner. I told you what would happen."

"Mm. That you did." The villain's head tilted. "Bold move."

"Clear communication. Do I need to do it some more?"

The villain grinned, letting their blood drip grotesque and feral across their teeth. They took a swaggering step forward, even as they neatly adjusted their outfit and rumpled hair back to the veneer of polite society. It didn't reach their eyes. Their eyes had that wild quality too, burning bright and fierce with something that the hero couldn't quite read.

"People generally prefer me when I keep things civil," the villain said. "It's neater. Safer for everyone involved."

"You mean, people normally cave because they're scared of you?"

"And you're not."

"If there's going to blood, let there be blood. I won't be bullied. Certainly not by the likes of you."

The villain laughed, a soft and rumbling danger. They swiped their tongue across their teeth, cleaning the blood away, and closed the distance with another step.

Apparently, they hadn't learned the dangers of getting too close.

The hero swung.

That time, the villain dodged, driving their knee deep into the hero's gut.

The hero doubled over, wheezing.

The villain caught a fistful of their hair, using the grip to smash the hero's face in one startlingly deft movement, before tipping the hero's head back before the blood splattered across the floor.

The whole room had gone quiet; focused in on the two of them. Someone had cut the music.

The villain grinned again. "So pretty."

The hero spat blood at them, but the villain didn't seem to mind. In the next instant, the hero had wrenched themselves free with an expert move.

The two of them circled.

The villain did not have a reputation for violence, or at least not for getting their hands dirty. They were a sleek monster, crafted of fine clothes and the clink of glasses and clever words in the shadowy backrooms that ruled the world.

"You're right," the villain said. "I do prefer less...crude games, than this. We're a civilized species. We should know better. Do not mistake my distaste for incapability, though."

The hero snarled. "Silvered words doesn't make what you do less ugly."

"A moral high ground doesn't make you less of a brute, gorgeous."

"I'm not a brute, you condescending-"

"-temper, temper." The villain's voice was a purr. "Have I struck a nerve?"

The hero lunged.

The villain dodged.

They circled again, more evenly matched than the hero had expected. They'd thought a hard hit, the possibility of real danger, would reveal the villain's sniveling heart. The cowardice at the core of so many powerful, evil people.

"You owe me an apology," the villain said. "I was having a perfectly lovely time. If you give me one now, like a good little hero, this doesn't have to get...unpleasant."

"Your face is unpleasant. Everything about you and what you do is unpleasant. I'd rather not lie."

The villain's eyes flashed, a mix of rage and desire. Then, their power lashed out. The windows shattered. People screamed. People fell.

The hero stared around the room, horrified.

"Far be it from me to deny a guest," the villain said, drawing their power back to themselves. "Let there be blood."

The fight escalated from there.

#hero x villain #villain x hero #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #writing #short story #ficlet #enemies #I'm personally picturing Elijah Mikaelson my beloved gentleman monster

[darlingdekarios]

promise not to tell.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 5,014 content: Anakin Skywalker x f!reader, established relationship, forbidden relationship, secret relationship, nightmares, gaslighting/manipulation, porn with plot, somnophilia, dacryphilia, dubious consent, smut [fingering - receiving, oral - receiving, cockwarming, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, orgasm control], kink(s) [choking, biting, breeding, hair pulling, blood, squirting], somewhat "dead dove do not eat" please read the content tags again!, ends in fluff

Anakin needs to occupy his mind with something other than unrelenting nightmares. it's hard for you to tell him no.

A raging fire. A cloaked figure hidden by smoke and shadow, the presence enough without a face or voice to cause a primal fear - the kind that manifested in one's physicality and tightened your chest until you were certain you couldn't breathe. 

And you - the flames drawing closer as your face stared back at him, unblinking as tears streamed down your face. You were talking - whatever you were saying went unheard, your lips moving in four words repeatedly.

"It will be okay."

Until you stepped backwards, and -

It was as though he had been standing in the fire when he woke, shooting upward in bed with a thin sheen of sweat covering his overheated body, his lungs heavy as if they were full of smoke. Before he'd caught his breath he was on his feet, slipping on a robe to cover his frame before shoving his feet into boots, a destination in mind as he emerged from his door.

He was only going to your room to check on you - to put his own mind at ease of the fears that filled his mind like skeletons in a graveyard. This was the one clarity in his mind as heavy boots fell against the Temple floor, stride increasing with each step as he moved in on your room like a storm. 

From the other side of the door he could focus enough on you to know you were inside, sleeping soundly with heavy, steady breaths. This is where he'd told himself he'd stop, returning to his room to meditate until the Temple rose for the day. 

No matter what he'd intended all along, it was certainly not what he was doing now as he worked open your door as quietly as he could, stepping inside swiftly. He wasn't thinking clearly - not when he slipped his boots from his feet and walked silently to you, his unseen expression softening in the starlight glow of your room as his eyes found your bliss filled face. 

His only focus was finding the only true comfort he could in this moment, and finding it once again in you. 

What could quiet his mind better than the feeling of you responding to him even in sleep? As if it was in your very nature your body shifted backward and closer to his frame the moment he slipped into the space behind you, one of his arms snaking around you like Eden to draw you nearer. 

Had you been dreaming about fires, too? Your skin was warm, the blanket had increased your temperature enough to break you into a sweat despite the fact you wore nothing more than your underwear - a fact he was appreciative for as his hand splayed against your stomach to press you closer. As one of his thighs slipped between yours he licked his lips, the wetness pooling between your thighs now spreading to his bare skin. 

That was all he needed, the promise of your velvet walls already wet too intoxicating a thought to ignore. Pressing his thigh harder against your core he savored the heavy breath that fell from your lips, cautious enough in his movements to ensure you remained asleep. 

His hands first found your breasts, cupping and kneading the soft flesh in his hands as he leaned closer, burying his face in your neck to deeply inhale the familiarity of your natural perfume. Mind hazier than it had been earlier, the reason he was here in the first place long forgotten, one of his hands left your chest to continue downward, toward what he truly sought. 

As his prosthetic continued to gently massage your chest two long fingers ran through your folds, your arousal soaked core offering little restraint. When your walls welcomed in one finger with ease he withdrew to add a second, curling them both against a sensitive spot he often bullied for your reaction. 

From behind you his cock was throbbing in his underwear, the fabric restraining his length to a painful degree - he needed pressure and took it by grinding against you, his fingers pumping into you at a pace indicating he'd forgotten you were asleep. As you stirred awake his mouth connected to your neck, his tongue licking at a spot he often favored near your shoulder.

It was hardly the first time he'd woken you up like this, but you found each time was more dizzying than the last, his efforts and actions increasing each time this occurred. It was becoming a habit, one that had previously been restricted to starships and distant planets. 

Even in your half awake state, the thought of Anakin sneaking into your room in the Temple to defile you only added to your arousal, a quiet moan falling from your lips as your walls clenched around his fingers. You allowed yourself a moment longer before the cloudiness of sleep lifted further, the consequences of what would happen if you were discovered now coming to mind. 

Almost sensing your body's reluctance his prosthetic hand slipped downward to press into your waist, holding you tight against him as he pumped his fingers into you faster.

"Anakin..."

"Shhhh," he cooed, abandoning his attention on your neck to lean his mouth closer to your ear, whispering delicately in a tone that didn't match the ferocity at which he was now driving his fingers into you. Now that you were awake, there was no point in him holding himself back from playing with you how he wanted. "It's me."

"Shouldn't be in here, what're you..."

"Just shush," it was subtle, but you could hear the hint of annoyance in his voice, why you would question him at this point in your relationship always a baffling thing for him. He had never failed to make you feel good before, and if you would shut up and let him, he'd make sure you got better sleep than you would've before. "It's just me, I've got you."

"But if s-someone...hears," you whimpered, the noise coaxed from your throat by the perfect curl of his fingers, the digits rubbing against the perfect spot that started to unravel your anxieties into forgotten thoughts.

"Then I guess you should be quiet then," he cooed, his voice smug as he nipped at the skin beneath your ear. "I couldn't sleep, I needed your help."

"Anakin..."

"Shhhh...just let me take care of you...of us."

His prosthetic hand left your chest to cup over your mouth gently, slowing the pace he was pumping his fingers into you to stroke along your walls slowly, his lips trailing heavy kisses along your neck. 

"I'm sorry...I just...couldn't help myself when I saw how beautiful you looked," his breath was hot and heavy against your neck and you noted the subtle shake to his words, a familiar desperation to his movements and tone. He removed his fingers from you, smiling against your skin when it pulled a whine from your chest, his mocking laugh muffled.

Agonizingly slow he ran his fingers through your folds again, spreading the excess of arousal he was creating from your abandoned hole to your swollen clit. His fingers rubbed a slow circle, ego basking in the way your waist bucked toward him. 

"And you were already so wet..." 

Gently, slowly he slipped one finger into you again, giving you enough to feel desperate for more and not nearly enough to push you closer to the release you were now chasing. He was whispering lowly in your ear, his voice caressing your mind into ease and submission, his tone too honey sweet to deny.

To offer your encouragement you pressed back into him, the thick outline of his cock pressed firmly between your bodies as you turned your head in a desperate attempt to ask him for a kiss. Amused by your shameless display of neediness Anakin taunted you by kissing the back of his hand over your lips, eyes gazing deeply into yours with the intensity of twin suns. 

He shushed you against his hand, waiting for you to nod your understanding until he took his hand away, pushing two fingers into you as he happily pressed his lips to yours in a rough kiss. It was always a bit clumsy, desperate when the two of you found yourself clamoring for one another in the night like this, and now was no exception - tongues overly ambitious and territorial, teeth knocking several times before you figured it out. 

Life didn't award the two of you many opportunities to rehearse this dance, but thankfully you had become part of one another's muscle memory, and it never took long to fall into the perfect synchrony. 

He spread his fingers inside you, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hand grasped the back of your head, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure from twisting your neck. You moaned against his lips, perfectly quiet for the situation you were in. He thanked you with his teeth against your bottom lip, a low hum rumbling in his chest. 

"It's been too long...you're so tight."

He encouraged you to return your head forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek before burrowing his face in your neck again, his fingers pumping in and out of you at the perfect pace to draw you nearer to the edge. You took it upon yourself to silence your moans by burying your face into the pillow, your sounds of pleasure only loud enough for his ears.

"Good girl," he was kissing your neck again and maker was it a wonder how he knew the exact pressure with which to press a kiss to each spot, having long since memorized his favorite parts of your skin. "If you come for me we can go back to sleep, I just...need to feel you come."

He felt you tighten around his fingers the moment he mentioned your release, choosing then to connect a metal thumb to your clit and circle slowly, the cold searing against your burning skin in a way that set the nerves ablaze. Your walls fluttered again, your hips squirming as you reached one hand back to grip at his hair, begging him for what you needed without ruining your perfect silence. 

But he held you there, slowly his movements and breathing heavily against your skin until he could hear your breathing turn impatient, your waist pushing back into his as you tugged at his hair to beg. Slipping two fingers into you again he curled them, pressing firmly against the sensitive patch you needed him most as he rolled your clit in his fingers. 

"Go ahead."

He continued fucking his fingers into you as you muffled your moan into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut as you were taken over by euphoria, certain even when you'd been amongst the stars you hadn't felt this high. He continued to lazily pump his digits until your walls unclenched, continuing to stroke gently through your folds. 

In your blissful state your mind shrouded his actions in fog, his movements hardly registering until you felt the leaking head of his cock rubbing between your folds. Though he wanted to, he didn't push into your velvet channel, instead barely teasing the tip just barely into you. Even that was enough to cause your hips to buck forward and away from him, the sensitivity overwhelming your actions. He only pulled you back into him with a firm hand, grinding his length against your core again. 

"I'm sorry..." he breathed out, lips pressing to the back of your neck gently before he nipped his teeth into your skin again. Dragging his length back and forth through your folds filled the room with the audibly lewd reminder of how wet you were. "I know I said just one orgasm but...I just. I just need you, okay...listen to how wet you are..."

"Anakin..." you whimpered, your tone unconvincingly serious as you shifted your waist toward his further. His fingers twitched at your hip, digging into your skin further to hold you tighter, sucking dark evidence of your time together onto your neck. "We can't...not here..."

"I won't move, I just want to feel close to you," he promised, his tone too sweet and convincing to resist. "I need to be close to you, angel..."

"Okay."

You could feel his lips curve into a wicked smile the moment you relented, your body relaxing in his arms. He reached between your bodies to grasp his cock, giving the throbbing length several pumps before he inserted only the tip, pulling you down onto inch by inch with a hand on your hip until he was fully sheathed inside you. 

"That's my girl," he breathed out, his free hand finding its way to your chest to grip one of your breasts. "Kriff...s-so tight."

"Missed you," you whimpered quietly, trying to steady yourself as to not spur him forward but well aware of the fresh rush of slick that was leaking from you and soaking his pelvis. He released his bruising hold on your hip to wrap his arm fully across your stomach, holding you to him. 

His hold was crushing - you couldn't move if you wanted to. Right now, you couldn't decide.

"Missed...maker...missed feeling you," he managed out, swallowing hard midway through to gather himself, his forehead now resting against your back. His hips rolled, pulling a delicious moan from you that you barely managed to muffle in the pillow. "I'm sorry, I just...I need more."

"Ani..." you whimpered, one of your hands reaching behind to push at his waist gently. It was a feeble attempt...he couldn't help the quiet laugh that rumbled against your back through his chest because of it. "Y-you said..."

"You just make me feel so good, I'm sorry...s-sorry, I can't help it," he had raised his head again to whisper in your ear, pressing reassuring kisses to the sensitive skin beneath it. "You feel too good...promise we can go to sleep soon I just...just need to come."

He was moving then and maker, there was little to complain about when you were reunited with Anakin like this after months of being denied. A blissful sigh slipped past your lips at the next slow roll of his hips, an appreciative groan falling from his lips at the feeling of his length dragging inside your walls. 

Slowly he withdrew from you, forcing himself to wait a moment before pushing back into you, repeating the motion until he'd set a pace he knew you loved. For what it was worth, he was managing to stay gentle with you, hoping you'd come around to the risk of coming together in the Temple the more tenderly he approached.

"A-Anakin, you... feel so good," you whimpered out when his tip rubbed against the sensitive spot in your walls, hands grasping at the sheets in desperation for something to hold onto. Thankfully, he was more than perceptive when it came to your body's response to him. 

With appallingly little effort he had you on your back, his arms moving to press your knees to your chest. Arrogant - there was no other word for the smile that passed his features as his cock pressed impossibly deeper into you, leaning downward so he could claim your lips in a heavy kiss again, the momentary lull in his movements quickly shattered with a harsh snap of his hips. 

You could already feel the bruises forming under his fingertips on your legs where he held you, pounding into you repeatedly at a pace that would make it hard to cover the discomfort you'd feel in training tomorrow. You knew that for him, seeing you struggle to stand would be just as satisfying as it was to put you in that position in the first place.

Instead of thinking about the future, though, you focused instead on now - on him. He was talking against your lips between kisses, his teeth catching your bottom lip between them so frequently you could feel the swell to them. He was beautiful - you were fortunate to be able to see him this way, almost seeming to glow and sparkle as the moon and stars glistened off of his sweat covered skin. 

You reached for him with one hand, leaving the other to rest on his stomach, fingers pushing back his soaked curls before running down the side of his face. The emotion, the tenderness...the physical manifestation of your love for him in every gentle touch - it only made him want you more, a fact that he proved by angling you into the perfect position, your release approaching suddenly and with ferocity as his cock entered you deep - almost too deep, one of his hands now pressing against your stomach. 

He could feel you clenching him, walls fluttering as your eyes rolled back, biting your bottom lip between your own teeth to stifle your moan. With a particularly hard thrust and squeeze from your cunt he replaced your lips with his, surprised to taste the familiar metal of blood. His tongue apologized for the pain, swiping against your lip before he kissed you again, one hand pressing to your stomach. 

Your second orgasm washed over you violently, legs shaking between your bodies as he continued to take what he needed from you, using your lips to muffle moans of his own as your walls choked his cock, squeezing him so tightly he could hardly bring himself to pull out.

"Gonna fill you up."

The warning was barely audible, only moments later you felt the wet heat of his seed filling you, the excess combining with your own release and leaking out from around his cock. The promise of a sight like that pulled him from you, using one of his hands to hold your legs to your chest still as he leaned back. 

You were lost in a haze, not wholly certain you weren't floating amongst the stars, hardly registering the predatory look on his face and the way his eyes darkened as he gazed upon your leaking hole. "Look how pretty..."

Two of his cold metal fingers pushing the liquid back into you started to bring you back to your body, just enough to take in the sight of him licking his lips - his intentions written plainly on his features.

Taking, with no intention to stop.

"I'm sorry, angel, you just...look so good."

He leaned forward, flattening his tongue against your cunt and licking through your folds slowly, gathering as much of the combined spend on his tongue before swallowing it down greedily, his groan vibrating through you. He sucked your swollen, pulsating clit harshly before returning his tongue to your freshly fucked hole, pushing the muscle into you greedily.

Your fingers tangled into his hair, the only movement you could manage, pulling roughly to hold him closer to your core with all of your strength. He was drinking from you - far too busy to concern himself with how hard you were pulling on him. The noise the two of you were creating was forgotten, Anakin's mouth slurping and smacking against your cunt as he moaned in unison with you. 

"Need you to come again, angel..."

His head would stay between your thighs until you did, you knew that. But after two, you weren't certain how much more you could offer.

"'s too much..."

Disappointed in your response he turned his head to nip at your inner thigh, a bruise forming in the wake of his teeth. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head briefly before kissing the mark, eyes flickering up toward your face. Disapproval flooded his eyes.

"Don't say that," he snapped, taking a deep breath into his lungs to steady himself again. When he continued his voice was calmer, much more seductive, his lips pressing to your clit briefly again. "You know it's not, you can take it. Give me one more."

"I can't..."

He growled, his frustration clear as he huffed out a breath, withdrawing from you. You whined at the loss, a contrast to the reluctance of your words, to which he laughed short and harsh, muttering about how he knew what you needed. 

As he moved to his back he grasped you, pulling you to kneel over him and swatting at your ass to encourage you to crawl forward. Your shaking legs nearly failed you as you did as you were instructed - you wouldn't *dare* deny him what he needed - crawling toward his face until you were kneeling over it. 

His eyes said everything - you may have been hovering over him, but he was still in control. They continued to burn into yours as he pulled you downward, connecting his lips to your clit and slipping two waiting fingers into your cunt with ease. It didn't take long for his wants to click in your mind, his end goal becoming more and more obvious as he relentlessly continued to suck and lick your throbbing clit, eventually adding a third finger into your channel.

The pressure was becoming too much, too blinding, all of your senses overwhelmed and your body seemingly on fire, finding it within yourself to grind against his face despite your increasingly weak legs.

"Ani, I...fuck, I..."

He only nodded, perfectly timed with the rush of fluid that squirted from you, your vision blinded and mind free of all thought as this orgasm wracked through you violently. Anakin's mouth was open and waiting, eagerly lapping at the fluid after you'd finished, drinking from you like it sustained him, unwilling to waste a single drop of what he'd earned - of what he'd known you could give him. 

He caught you when you nearly collapsed, helping you lay back against the mattress again, gazing at you lovingly. The overstimulation had brought tears to your eyes, your face a complete wreck now - crocodile tears on your cheeks, a split lip from where you'd bitten yourself, several marks of his covering your neck. 

This is where he found true beauty. 

He leaned forward, licking one of the tears that had reached your lips before smiling and kissing you again, nestling back between your thighs. From between you his cock twitched again, harder than even before now that you'd gushed on him. His hands were bending you back again, forcing your knees back to your chest again, a hand immediately slipping to your throat when you were positioned exactly how he wanted you.

His free hand was waiting to grasp your hip when you jerked at the feeling of his cock teasing at your entrance again, holding you in place as he rutted against you slowly. You could hear his cock as it slipped back and forth through your folds, your body willing to give into him further even if you felt you couldn't.

"Still wet..."

You opened your mouth to argue but it went unheard as he just barely applied more physical pressure to your neck, combining it with additional pressure from the Force to make it feel much tighter. Your eyes stayed on his, wide and glimmering, universes reflected in them as you surrendered yourself to him. 

"Shhh..." he cooed, slipping his free hand between the two of you to grasp his cock, pumping the throbbing length in clumsy, desperate motions as he gazed into your blissful face. "I know you wouldn't want me to wake up in pain..."

You barely managed to shake your head, relenting once again, his hand replaced with your cunt as he drove forward into you again. The noise your cunt welcomed him home with was lewd - responded to with a groan from him. 

"I know," he breathed out, leaning down to capture your lips in a loving kiss again. You winced, lips swollen and bottom one split, something he showed little regard for as he bit at the soft flesh again. "You'd never want to hurt me, angel..."

Your walls squeezed him tighter, the overstimulation completely clouding your mind and rendering you into one purpose - his pleasure. You felt more tears coming on your cheeks as he began to pound into your over sensitive hole, eyes begging for anything he wanted to give. Content with your devotion he released his hold on your throat, a moan bursting from your mouth which he quickly silenced with a hard kiss.

Thankfully, it was obvious from the sloppiness of his thrusts that he wouldn't last long this round with you - his hips sputtering against yours each time his sack hit against your skin. His thumb found your clit again, pinching the bud roughly and swallowing the wail that came from your mouth. 

"You can take it," he whispered against your lips, forehead dripping sweat now with his hair completely slick against it. "I know...y-you've got one more."

How long had the two of you been going? Long enough now to the point where you were so cock drunk all you could manage was to nod up at him, eyes still wide with tears streaming on your cheek. Each time your bodies came together with pornographic noises he hoped would replace the nightmares echoed, joined by moans and sobs of pleasure from you, thanked with grunts and groans from him.

"Gotta...fill you again," he promised, lips now on your neck as he licked at your skin, picking a completely new spot on your shoulder to bite into. He wondered what you might do if he bit hard enough to scar you with a print that was uniquely his own - a thought for another time, perhaps. "Make sure...it works. Want everyone to know who you...who you belong to."

As his thrusts became impossibly harder and he pressed a hand against your stomach again he lowered his head further, suckling one of your breasts into his mouth and swirling his tongue around your nipple. It occurred to him that your chest had gone unfortunately neglected in his actions tonight - something he'd happily remedy in the morning. 

He could feel your body begging for release, his cock railing into you repeatedly, the tip slamming into your most sensitive spot with each thrust, his hand pressing hard against your stomach while cool metal fingers played with your clit. As he pulled away from suckling your breast he bit your nipple, the wicked grin you love flashing on his features before he made his way to your face again.

"Again," he instructed simply, leaving no room for disagreement. To accentuate his point he ground his waist into yours agonizingly slowly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth that contrasted how rough he was being. His breath was heavy, hot against your skin - you thought you might burst into flames any moment. "You know what I want."

You did, but you weren't certain you could give it to him - until he picked up the pace between his hips and fingers more, using the Force to replace the pressure on your stomach when he removed his hand from it. Grabbing your jaw he forced you to roll your head forward from the pillow again, demanding eye contact. 

Taking advantage of your open mouth he spit into it, watching as you swallowed it down gratefully. The moment he kissed you again both of your dams burst - you gushed around him again, clear fluid reaching his abdomen and creating even more noise as he groaned out, spilling another load in your womb. 

He continued to thrust through both of your orgasms, lazily pressing kisses to your lips, cheek, nose and forehead...anywhere he could reach until he was certain your cunt had taken in every drop he offered. 

It was serenity in moments like this, his mood effortlessly shifting from greed and selfishness and into something much softer, much more in control of himself. When he pulled himself free of you with a groan he leaned downward to press a silent kiss to your forehead, withdrawing to the attached bathroom to retrieve a towel, wetting it in the sink with warm water before returning to your side. 

As he gently cleaned your core he pressed his forehead into yours, eyes closed as he muttered quiet apologies and words of appreciation. When he left again it was brief, movements spurred along by the quiet whine that left your throat. 

Tenderly shushing you now as he slipped into the bed beside you, arms wrapping around your middle to anchor you to him. Happily, with no shred of hesitance your head found its favorite resting place against his chest, your frame melding into his much as it had earlier. 

This time, however, he only held you, his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

"Y'had another nightmare, didn't you?"

It was the most words you'd said in a single sentence since he'd stolen his way into your room, and he was appreciative for your delicate tone - for the way you knew how to approach him in ways others were too intimidated to. He savored the way your arms wrapped around him, hands resting on his lower back to offer him some comfort. 

"The same one," he knew that you'd understand from just that, thankful much more needn't be said, his preference on keeping the images locked in his mind showing strong. "I'm sorry, I didn't...I couldn't help myself, I just..."

"Needed me."

The apology he offered went responded to no further, a verbal confirmation of your forgiveness unnecessary. Instead, you focused what little energy remained in your body to brush your fingertips lightly on his back, your affections reciprocated as one of his hands raised to hold the back of your head, silently asking you to stay closer. 

"I love you, angel."

The words he said so little that you craved to hear more than any other, welcoming you back into sleep.

masterlist. star wars masterlist.

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker smut #star wars smut

[yuujispinkhair]

It's weird but was thinking at the fact that Sukuna is can**bal and then was thinking that he would not eat only reader because he loves her (I'm delulu lol)

Then just to make it more "realistic" and a little "less delulu" this scene came to my mind: Sukuna is convinced he wants to eat reader but the moment he closes up the distance with her he realizes for the first time in his life that's an other type of hunger🤭

Oooh yes I love that!! I am thinking about a story set in the Heian era. Trueform!Sukuna x Reader (female). Warnings: 18+, mentions of smut, mentions of cannibalism. Minors don't interact.

Sukuna, The King of Curses, runs into a regular peasant girl and is instantly absolutely mesmerized by your scent. It gives him a strange fluttery feeling in his stomach and causes his veins to fill with a weird buzzing. He assumes it must mean you are a special delicacy.

Usually, the great Sukuna-sama doesn't hand-pick his meals. He trusts Uraume with that task. But you are standing right in front of him, and you smell so magical to him that it makes his head spin. And Sukuna is a gourmet, and he always takes what he desires, so he decides to take you with him.

But since you seem to be such a special treat, Sukuna wants to wait. He wants to make sure to get the best out of you. He tells Uraume to give you a room with a soft bed, feed you well, and make sure you get your daily massages and the best oils for your baths, so your flesh and skin will be tender and juicy when the time comes for you to become Sukuna's special delicacy.

But his hunger for you becomes a constant distraction. Anytime Sukuna catches a glimpse of you, he feels like his heart wants to burst out of his chest. And it's not just that. Sukuna has always seen eating as a form of carnal desire, but it never made him feel aroused to such an extent.

He even thinks about you when he hasn't seen you for days. It bothers him. It makes him wonder and try to come up with an explanation. But he doesn't find one.

A big festivity is held in Sukuna's honor, and he decides this will be the day he finally eats his special delicacy. And since you are so special, Sukuna tells Uraume that he wants to be one who slashes your throat. Maybe even take a bite from you while you are still living and breathing.

But he cannot do it. He stares at you with wide eyes while a voice inside his head screams at him not to kill you. It's so confusing because, at the same time, he feels this hunger again, even stronger than before now that he is so close to you. And why does his gaze seem glued to your lips? Why do his arms twitch with the desire to wrap around you?

At that moment, Sukuna realizes that he was very wrong. It makes him laugh softly and shake his head, amused by his mistake. Oh, this is certainly a kind of hunger he feels, but he knows now that he doesn't want to eat you.

He wants to consume you in other ways. He wants to feel your pretty lips on his and drink your spit while he kisses you. He wants to bite your shoulder in a passionate moment and lick up the small droplets of blood. He wants to bury his face between your thighs and drink the sweet arousal from your core. He wants to keep you on his cocks and fill you with his seed, mixing your essences with each other.

#tw cannibalism #sukuna x reader #sukuna #tw dark content

[silkscream]

HEAVEN SURROUNDS US

ੈ✩ summary: gojo likes that you make him feel human. admittedly, he also likes that sometimes, you make him feel like a god. ੈ✩ warnings: smut (18+), fingering, unprotected sex, slight dacryphilia, begging, soft dom!gojo, kind of mean gojo lol, workplace relations, reader can see curses but that's it, gojo has a god complex, dirty talk, not proofread bc i do not give a fuck ੈ✩ wc: 3.1k ੈ✩ a/n: i am having intense gojo brainrot. i was thinking about 'i'm your man' by mitski the entire time i was writing this btw. ALSO I LITERALLY HAD A GRAPHIC AND DIVIDERS FOR THIS BUT EVERY TIME I INCLUDE THEM this shit doesn't show up in the tags. i've given up!

Gojo Satoru has the smell of death burned into his senses to the point of complete apathy. He’s sure that Shoko feels similarly, though as a healer and a doctor, she’s often only met with the aftermath – the quiet decaying, the dried blood.

Gojo has encountered it all. The stench, the last pleas for salvation, the battered and torn-apart limbs. Even when the dying beings are cursed spirits suffering from the carnage created beneath Gojo’s hands, sometimes he wonders if an angel is nearby that weeps for them.

He has held grief inside his core to use as a weapon ever since he lost Geto. Nothing fazes him anymore. After the tragedies of his late teens, Gojo chooses to devote himself to his students rather than ruminating in sanctimonious thought loops. Gojo Satoru knows he isn’t a god, but sometimes, when he levitates in the sky with blood on his hands, he certainly feels like one. It’s safe to say that he may be the closest thing to one in the world of Jujutsu sorcery. It’s nothing that he despises – he’s known since his powers took shape in the awkwardness of his child-body.

Gojo likes to think he isn’t as cruel and indifferent as a god should be because of how protective he is. The warmth he’s had in his heart for Megumi alone confirms this as such, and now for Yuuji. Despite toying with the idea of divinity, he likes to remember that he’s human.

You are the only thing that reminds him of this.

Ever since Gojo had laid his eyes on you, he figured you were a delicate thing. He’s not completely wrong – although you can see curses, you lack any techniques. After becoming an assistant at Jujutsu Tech, he had taken more than a liking to you, more than he would be willing to admit to anyone else. He also never thought that the girl who was so quick to sardonic banter with him would be so vulnerable. 

When you’re underneath him, maybe he does consider himself a god, just for a second. And then he feels the silky touch of your skin and he can’t help but wish for a life of mundanity with you until the earth stops spinning. 

He likes that he can feel how fast your heart is beating. He likes that you become so pliant just from having his hand on your thigh.

It’s not like he exploits the little affair you have. It’s not that he wants to exploit you either, but the power trip that surges through him when you preen to his touch feels better than winning any battle. It’s those big eyes of yours. It’s a miracle you had reciprocated your attraction to him – he doesn’t know what he’d do to any other man who happened to pursue you. The thought of that kind of violence doesn’t make him feel any guilt. He’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant that he could have you forever, unconditionally.

Within the few months you’ve been working at Jujutsu Tech, you learn a few things about Gojo Satoru. He has an incredible sweet tooth. He cares about his students. He likes the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair. Lives for it, even, but he could never tell you that.

That’s how you ended up here, you suppose. Writhing and wet and oh so obedient for him. 

You like that a man that is worshipped by all enjoys worshipping you.

“Satoru,” you whisper. The sound of your voice makes him fucking melt. 

God, it’s so much worse when you beg. Satoru wants to be gentle with you, careful, because he knows that if all of his morals were thrown out the window, he would devour you completely, leaving bruises in your wake. But he waits, titillatingly, smirking as his long fingers grasp the flesh above your hips.

“Please,” you whine. Your lower half bucks up into him, squirming just a little, but he grounds you with his large hands once again. 

Satoru knows better than to toy with his prey, but the flush on your cheeks is so fucking cute that he wonders what you would look like with tears rolling down the soft blush of your skin.

“Be patient, baby,” he rasps. “Just like lookin’ at you.”

“You look at me all day.”

“Someone’s got quite the attitude.”

You’re about to protest until you feel his knuckle brush against the peak of your clit, teasingly. A nasty grin spreads across his face as he grazes his fingertips along your slit, marveling at how wet you are when he’d barely touched you.

“So pretty for me,” he muses, mostly to himself. 

“Should see how pretty I am when you’re inside me.”

Satoru scoffs. Despite being so human, you have quite the mouth, so much confidence in the way you move and speak that he often forgets how easy it would be to lose you. To break you. Though, of course, that privilege is for him and him only. 

He kisses you to shut you up, but not nearly for long enough. You can’t even get your tongue inside his mouth. You whine pitifully as he pulls back. 

“Poor baby,” he coos. “So on edge today. What’s got you so desperate like this, huh?”

“Just want you,” your voice is meek, which is an anomaly. The honey-sweet cadence of your words is barely above a whisper.

“You have me.” Unbeknownst to you, you always will, whether you tire of him or not.

He makes his point by circling the pad of his thumb to your clit while his other hand claws at your chest underneath your dress shirt. The sound of your gasp has him reeling already, has his cock rock-hard in his slacks. 

“More,”  you whimper. “S-Satoru, please.”

You’re surprised when you feel the palm of his hand over your mouth. You whine against his hand, soft gasps dissipating underneath his touch as your eyes roll back. You feel two fingers enter your sopping cunt and it renders you brainless, docile just how he likes you. 

The rhythmic ministrations of his fingers touch upon the spot inside your core that makes your legs shake. You like being smothered by him despite your personality. You don’t even have to tell him – he knows already, he’s known ever since he noticed your reactions to him touching you casually during the working day.

The more you crave his touch, the more you become dependent on him, even when you don’t realize it. You always pride yourself on being an independent soul, refusing his insistence to pay for your meals, the way you express to him quietly that you want to be able to fight back one day. You could perfect a certain violence in between your fingers just like he can if you put your mind to it. But you have too much dignity to request his guidance as a mentor or teacher. 

He thinks about it now as he touches you. The idea of him training you to use cursed techniques. The idea of him making you in his image, shaping you like he had created you himself.

If anyone truly knew the extent of how you are the object of Satoru’s affection, of his obsession, one would render him pathetic. But he knows he’s too powerful. He knows it’s easy to make you seem like the pathetic one. You’re already begging for his cock, after all. 

“I‘m gonna… I’m–”

There’s a squelching sound when he retracts. His fingers are wet with your slick and you’re on the verge of tears when you feel the loss. You’re already falling apart without his touch. It doesn’t help when you watch him lick your wetness off of his own fingers.

“Why are you being so mean to me today?”

“‘m not,” Satoru purrs, licking a stripe from your collarbone to your earlobe. You try to kiss him since his face is so close to yours, but again, he restricts you. His long, slender fingers squeeze the base of your neck. “I could be a lot meaner to you, y’know. You’re lucky. This is mild compared to what I’ve thought about doing to you.”

“Wanna cum,” you whisper. You don’t even realize that there are tears falling because you’re too focused on Satoru. It isn’t fair, the way he’s toying with you. The moment he relinquishes his grip, just barely, you reach over to palm his cheek. He lets you pull the blindfold from his eyes.

“Dunno if I can let you. You’re being so greedy. Such a selfish fucking girl.” He pinches your nipple as he says it. His voice is smooth, dripping like honey, dulcet in the way his words manage to make your eyelashes flutter despite how filthy the subject matter is. He’d ruin you if he could. Perhaps, he’d ruined you the moment he touched you.

He’s touching your clit again, but not rhythmically. You feel a sense of loss every few seconds. He’s fucking teasing you now, but you’re smart enough to not snap at him despite how much you want to. 

So you say his name instead. Like a hymn or a prayer. Like it’s the sweetest thing to come from your tongue. From the way your voice sounds, Satoru is convinced that his own name is a blessing just because it comes from your lips. He can’t get enough of it.

You make Satoru feel human, but the way you react to him at the moment makes him want to pretend he’s a god.

“S-Sat–Satoru. Oh.”

“You cryin’ already, baby? Thought you liked it when I played with you.”

His voice is low, raspy. Almost cruel. 

Your brain is so foggy that it feels like he’s been doing this to you for hours. You can’t even form words, can’t bitch to him or dominate him the way you often attempt to. There’s a secret part of you, deep inside, that is unlocked by the way Satoru handles you. As much as he loves control, he still doesn’t know the extent of what you would let him do to you. How you wished he’d wrap a silk ribbon around your neck and collar you like a puppy. How you think you would do anything for him if he asked.

You don’t even know that he would do the exact same for you.

Now, you’re at your peak again. Your legs are wobbly, senses so heightened by the way he plays with your pussy that it takes you a few moments to notice that his cock is prodding against you, bare and pink and fucking leaking. 

Maybe if you tell him you’re close, he’ll stop. You can’t stand the thought of it. So, naturally, you cry instead, and the sight makes him want to keep you for as long as he’s alive. Satoru would make sure nothing slights you, and that nothing out of his control could possibly vex you. This desire usually scares him. At the moment, it doesn’t. At the moment, he feels drunk with it. 

He knows when you cum because he has you memorized. It’s a little death, truly, because when your legs tremble and your moans fade into a sharp gasp, Satoru knows for sure that your brain has turned to mush. Your body melts against his. Maybe you’d melt right into his mattress if he didn’t have more energy to play with you. 

Gojo Satoru does not believe in a higher power, but he thinks that if one existed, one that was more powerful than him, he would thank them. He would thank them for you, the creation of you, the very essence of you living and breathing in the same wretched world as him. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, you were made just for him. 

You recover in a succession of exhales. Blinking rapidly through blurry vision as you feel Satoru’s face nuzzling your neck, almost too domestic and sweet to bear. You had never thought of anything serious with him because of his reputation, but every time he has you like this, underneath him, you often wish that he would reassure you that he wants to keep you.

And he does. He is devoted to you in a way that feels holy. He just doesn’t know how to tell you that. Satoru hopes you can figure it out just from the way he touches you. 

And maybe, like him, you’re just above human. An angel, he thinks. A set of wings would suit you. 

“I– I– please–” you strain. You feel embarrassed from the tears, but Satoru cherishes you. He kisses and licks them right off your face.

“I know, baby. I won’t make you beg any more than you have,” he sneers. 

You’re fucking doe-eyed, angelic when he enters you. Just the tip, for now, just so he can see how you react. It isn’t the first time but you are certainly acting the part from the way your whole face screws up. Your perfect mouth parts and he touches your bottom lip with his thumb.

You whimper like a wounded thing. Like you should be begging for mercy. He hasn’t dipped too far into his God-complex yet to coax that reaction for you.

And without a warning, he pushes himself into you completely, bottoming out. He groans at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. So warm. So fucking wet.

“Fucked you enough to mold the shape of your pussy to my cock, huh? Feels so fucking– fuck,” he exhales, rutting into you with eyes shut. 

You whine his name, clutching at him, scraping your nails across his pale back. He loves the way you need him. He wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything else in the world.

Made for me. God made you for me.

You slur your words against his neck and his chest as he thrusts into you – cries of his name, of begging for more, of your usual expletives. He grins like a predator. He bends you in half and thinks briefly about breaking your limbs for the sake of his pleasure. (He doesn’t. You’re too delicate, too human.)

In reality, you’re sarcastic and sometimes brash. When Satoru has you writhing underneath him, you’re a little more shy. He wants to tease the desire from you, whatever filth that permeates in your brain. 

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want– I want– aah!”

“Feels so good for you, I know. Use your words for me. I know you can,” Satoru taunts.

“Want you to make me cum on your cock. Please,” you beg. “Need it deeper, ‘Toru. Need you.”

“Need me, don’t you? Say it again so I can hear it.”

“Nngh– Need– Fuck, I can’t–”

He slows the speed of his thrusts and rubs the length of your jaw softly with his palm. His other hand rubs your clit gently, making your body spasm. He tucks the hair sticking to your forehead behind your ear so he can see all of you. You and your swollen mouth and glassy eyes.

“Don’t do that,” you whine.

“Do what, baby?”

“Teasing me like this. Wan’ it rough.”

“What else?” he breathes into your neck, palming your breast as he thrusts into you deeper.

“Want everything. Want it to hurt.”

And with that, he gives it to you. He gives you all of it. 

You drape your arms around his body so that you’re closer than ever, both of your bodies ready to mesh into one if they could. Satoru pushes your legs up, knees bent and ankles near your ears, and he basks in the sound of your pathetic mewls. 

“Such a good… fucking girl,” he groans. “‘m so close.”

“Me too,” you reply in a hushed tone. “Right– right there.”

Satoru has fucked you plenty of times. He’s called you a slut, a greedy whore – but he can’t bring himself to degrade you like that even though he knows you like it. You’re splayed out for him, limbs limp and grateful for his embrace. You’re too fucking precious for him.

You’re too dazed to think about the moral implications of your affair. It's a miracle you can't enter his mind so deeply when you're fucked out like this. Where his thoughts flash from lecherous to monstrous, yours are rendered sluggish. There’s almost nothing in your brain, save for him and his blue eyes and the feeling of his cock. It consumes the best of you. You welcome it with open arms.

Another kiss. It’s mostly Satoru working his tongue into your mouth and you dissolving under his tongue. He tastes so sweet, so fresh all the time. His lips are so fucking soft it drives you insane.

“Pleasemakemecum,” you cry out in a jagged mumble. “Please. Need it so bad. Please!”

He groans in response. You’re begging more than usual. You are frantic and desperate and welcoming his hand to shape you in his image. 

The way he grinds into your cunt becomes more aggressive, which is easy for him. There’s no resistance – your pussy is so fucking wet for him in that way. The cloying heat in his pelvis spreads to the rest of his body, warmth enveloping him like hot water in a bath.

You whine his name again and it dissipates into his mouth.

“Cum with me, fuck, I can feel you–” he moans. Both of you reach your peak in the way he grasps your body, calloused hands worshipping the length of your waist until his fingertips bruise your thighs. 

His hips stutter as he indulges in his pleasure. In the sound of your hushed whimpers. In the way your nails claw across his back. 

Both of your labored breaths fill the silence. Even in the dark, you admire the brightness of his blue eyes. They could replace the divinity of the stars themselves, you muse. 

Both of you are hazy, intoxicated on the touch of each others’ skin. You shiver in your skin. You’re only soothed when he buries his face into your neck, long limbs splayed over your smaller frame.

“I should fuckin’ marry you,” he breathes into your skin.

“What was that?” you raise a brow.

He clears his throat. Despite the daze, he’s able to give you one of his signature cocky grins. Something flashes in his blue eyes, you think.

“I think I wanna keep you.”

If he was god, you were his seraphim, he’s decided. He almost tells this to you, out loud, because your big eyes drink him in. He knows better.

“You have me,” you reply softly, echoing him from earlier in the night. The way he smiles reminds you of the sun. 

Gojo Satoru knows it’s an affirmation from you, maybe even pillow talk. But he knows that sentiment to be truer than anything he’s ever known. He is yours and you are his.

For now, you don’t know the half of it. Maybe someday you will.

#gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jjk

[txttletale]

Can you elaborate on what you think would be the minimal needed changes to fix what you see as an issue in Civ? Civ has done fairly large shifts in some mechanics before, and "civ like" is still an interesting game space that can scratch certain itches

yeah i mean as i said, the baked-in racism arises from a certain set of core assumptions that i think lock it into that position, which are that civ is a

1) symmetrical

2) 4X

game about

3) 'real world civilizations' (deeply loaded terms ofc but that's how civ envisions them)

4) trying to 'win the game'

5) with a global

6) and transhistorical

scope

so, in its role as a symmetrical (1) game with victory conditions (4), civ as a text has to take positions on what constitutes a 'successful civilization'. as a (2) 4X game this definition also has to include some variation on the profoundly loaded eponymous Xs, 'explore, expand, exploit, and exterminate'. furthermore, as a (1) symmetrical game with a global, transhistorical (5, 6) scope, it has to necessarily create a model of what 'a civilization' looks like and apply it to every 'civilization' it wants to include, at all points in their history.

this all kind of naturally leads into civ being a game in which the colonial european imperialist powers are the default 'civilizations' and all other cultures are basically just like them -- a game where technology progresses linearly and innovations are made in the order they were in european imperial history -- a game where all cultures fundamentally work in the same way and hold similar values, a game where all religions are based on christianity (i mean, just look at civ vi's system, where every religion has a 'prophet', 'apostles', 'missionaries' and 'inquisitors'), a game where not only do cultures have teleological overarching 'goals' but where these goals are shared and these goals are fundamentally based on imperialist visions of 'victory'.

to drill into some specific examples: you can't play a game of civilization without founding cities. you will constantly be founding cities. when you're playing as 'the mongols' or 'the cree' or 'scythia', this makes no sense! these were peoples who historically had rich culture, science, arts, and certainly a notable military history, but were (to varying degrees, at varying times in their history, i don't mean to create a new and similarly heterogenous absolutist category here) nomadic!

similarly, to advance in civilization you must invent 'the wheel'. 'the wheel' is necessary to many later innovations, while of course the andean peoples represented by the playable 'inca' never made significant use of the wheel because the lack of suitable pack animals and environmental factors meant that it did not, in fact, prove a suitable tool for transporting large quantities of heavy goods. for an even more glaring example, a lot of early military technology is locked behind 'horses', which is pretty absurd considering that several of the game's playable civilizations, in the real world, developed plenty of military technology despite living on a continent without any horses!

so having established what i mean by 'the issue', which is that the game's core assumptions lock it into imposing a eurocentric, imperialist vision of 'civilization' onto cultures where it doesn't make sense, here's a few different jenga blocks you could pull out to resolve it:

SID MEIER'S EUROPE

the pillar you knock out here is #5. keep the game engine and core assumptions just as founded on eurocentric imperialist societies as they are now, and just make it about european empires doing imperialism. now, i think we can immediately spot some problems in there -- how are we going to represent the rest of the world? after all, this kind of just creates a situation where, either as NPC factions or as outright exclusions, all other cultures in the world are deprived of any meaningful agency in "history". this one just kind of gives you a new problem and also from a gameplay standpoint results in a game that just Has Less Stuff On It. i think this is a bad one

SID MEIER'S ELYSIUM

now here's one you can get if you knock out pillar #3. keep the same assumptions and gameplay and transhistorical global narrative scale, but remove the 'real-world' aspects. you can get real silly with it and add fantasy stuff to it, or you can be a relatively grounded 'our-world-but-to-the-left' situation. now to some extent this already matches a lot of the features already in civ games: after all, unless you specifically load in a 'true start location earth' map, you're usually playing on a strange parallel world with semiplausible but wholly original continents! now, you also need to get some fucking Nerds and Geeks working at your company to build out your fictional world, or you'll just end having pointlessly pallette swapped a bunch of factions that are now just Schmance, Schmina, and the Schoman Schempire, and not really have avoided the issue. but if you do that, and invent a deep and rich fictional history to riff on, then you could create something really cool and incorporate alt-tech or fantasy or retrofuturistic elements or all sorts of cool shit.

the downside of this is that it makes your game less accessible and appealing to a lot of people. a big part of (at least the initial) appeal of civilization is pointing at the screen and saying 'hey i recognize that thing!'. it is instantly more accessible to someone who isn't super invested in strategy or fantasy dork shit to say to them 'you can be BRAZIL and nuke FRANCE while at war with CHINA and allied to BABYLON'.

more importantly than that, i think some parts of the historical theming (because let's be honest, it is ultimately theming, i don't think civ is interested in 'history' in any serious way) serve a pretty load-bearing role in the game's information economy. it's a pretty tall order to ask a player to remember the unique abilities of dozens of factions and unique wonders, and the historical background makes it a lot easier. e.g., it is a lot easier for a player looking at wonders to remember 'the pyramids need to be built on desert' or 'broadway will help me make more culture' than it would be for them to remember the requirements/effects of 'under-eusapia' or the 'wompty dompty dom center'. i think this is one of the number one things that, if subtracted, would meaningfully create something that is no longer 'sid meier's civilization'.

SID MEIER'S ALPHA CENTAURI

now if you cut out #3 and #5 and #6 on the other hand... sid meier's alpha centauri is not technically an entry in the civilization franchise, but i think most people correctly consider it one. it has similar 4X gameplay to the series, and its (very bad) spiritual successor beyond earth was an official entry. instead of 'civilizations', the playable factions are splinters from a colony ship that fell into civil war as soon as it landed, each one representing a distinct ideology. now, y'know, this doesn't mean it's free from Some Problems (the portrayal of the Human Hive in particular is some of the worst apects of 90s orientalism all piled together) but i think they're problems it's not at all locked into by its design!

SID MEIER'S THERMOPILAE

by cutting out #5 and #6 -- making a civ game about a particular time and place in history you could achieve something much more richly detailed in mecahnics while also being able to handwave a lot more homogeny into it. giving the same basic mechanics to, say, every greek city-state in the peloponnesian war is far less ideologically loaded than giving them to every 'historical civilization' someone who watched a few history channel documentaries once can think of. it also lets you get really into the weeds and introduce era-and-place-specific mechanics.

the scale needs to be smaller conceptually but it doesn't really have to be smaller in terms of gameplay -- just make maps and tech trees and building more granular, less large-scale and more local and parochial and specific. this also gives you the advantage of being able to do the opposite of the last two options and really lean hard into the historical theming.

if this sounds like a good idea to you, then good news -- old world does something pretty similar, and it's pretty good! worth checking out.

SID MEIER'S LOVE AND PEACE ON PLANET EARTH

what if we take an axe to #2 and #4? instead of putting all these civilizations into a zero-sum game of violent expansion, make it possible for several civilization to win, for victory goals to not inherently involve 'defeating' or 'beating' other factions. now, that doesn't mean that the game should be a confictless city-builder -- after all, if you've decided to be super niceys and just try and make your society a pleasant place to live, that doesn't mean that the guy next to you isn't going to be going down the militarist-expansionist path. hell, even if all you want to do is provide for your citizens, a finite map with finite resources is going to drive you into conflict of some kind with your neighbours in the long run.

to make this work you'd have to add a bunch of new metrics -- 'quality of life', for example, as a more granular and contextual version of the 'happiness' mechanics a few games have had, or 'equality', game metrics that you could pursue to try to build an egalitarian, economically and socially just society where everyone is provided for. after all, why shouldn't that be a goal to strive for just as much as going to mars or being elected super world president or whatever?

SID MEIER'S DIVERSE HISTORICAL CONTEXTS

ultimately, all cards on the table, if i was made god-empress of The Next Civ Game, this is the option i'd go for: jettison #1 as much as practically possible, introduce as much asymmetry into the game as you can. some civilizations keep the established settler-city model -- others are nomadic, building their units in movable 'camps' -- maybe the 'colonial' civilizations, your USA and Brazil and so on, can be like the alien factions from the alpha centauri DLC, only showing as NPCs at the appropriate point in the timeline when other civs are colonizing other continents, or putting you into an accelerated-forward version of the game if you choose to play as one.

you could combine this with a more interesting version of humankind's civ-choosing system, where you lock certain civilization choices behind specific gameplay events. this would let you do crazy shit with the balancing -- imagine an ostrogothic kindgom civ with crazy strong abilities and units that you could only choose to play as if your capital is overrun by barbarians, or a hungarian civ that requires you to have started as a nomadic civ and invaded somewhere, or a soviet union civ that requires you to lose a revolution, or a usamerican civ that requires you to split off all cities on a foreign continent from your original civ -- you could add so much variety and so many new and bizarre strategies into the game with this!

as for the universal aspects of tech and the narratives of linear progression contained within, there are lots of approaches that already solve this! stuff like stellaris' semi-random branching tech paths, or endless space 2's circular tech web, could allow civilizations to take tech paths that make sense for them, rather than imposing one single model of 'technological progress' on the wole world.

obviously there's limits to this, right -- civilization isn't going to be a detailed historical materialism simulator any time soon. but i think abandoning the idea that every faction has to play fundamentally the same and introducing some severe asymmetry as well as choices that you can make after starting the game would work wonders to wash out some of the racist and colonialist assumptions built into the game's foundation, while also (imo) creating a more fun and interesting game.

#ask

[aluciahaz]

Omfggg ur writing is SO unbelievably good i love it sm 😭🙏🙏

I got kind of a prompt for a sub!vox x gn (maybe afab) reader ✨ Okay so what if, since we all know vox is OBVIOUSLY a bratty bottom, the reader fucks the brattiness out of him? And he goes from trying to be a dom, to resistant bottom, to bratty bottom, to just begging to come with all his life, maybe even crying cuz the reader won’t let him

TYSM!!!! im glad you think my writing’s good ❤️ALSO FINALLY A VOX REQ AGHH

i have like 50094949 drafts for like all of the other stuff in my inbox but i just have to write this vox fic first ok im self indulgent i apologize 😭

—vox x gn!reader

—includes : sub!vox, dom!reader, light bondage, edging

vox is so obvious.

he clearly has a thing for control. a need, a desire. it was practically his core personality trait. yet, he’s most certainly not made to wield it.

sure, he can try and sweet talk you, saying sultry things and bragging about his power in order to get you to feel below his level. but you know how frail that persona is. a single slip up, and it would all come crashing down into deafening static.

which, was almost impressively easy to do.

his claw-like fingers runs up your neck, one of them stopping at your cheek as he smirked. if he wasn’t careful, he could fuck up and draw blood. he was tip-toeing the small line here.

a small line that if he crossed, you’d switch up this silly little game immediately, taking the control of the show and making him the contestant.

live only for you.

but, you entertain his farce of dominance, a smile playing on your lips as you see what he has in store…if he had anything, that is.

“you’ve been waiting for me all day, haven’t you?” he asks, clearly rhetorical as he caresses your cheek gently, his voice steady as he speaks. he leads you down to the bed with teeth raking your neck as he crawls over you. there’s something fun about watching him try and fluster you, to get you to say the things he wants. but you were no people pleaser.

“perhaps. unfortunately i can’t say the same for you,” you respond, your smile forming into more of a smirk at the ends of your lips as your hands snake around his delicate waist, tightening around it like a corset.

you can already see the hesitation in his eyes, the brief moment of surprise at your sudden grasp. it was too easy to surprise this man. it’s a wonder he hasn’t exploded yet.

“what do you mean by that?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing in both nervousness and curiosity, almost like he didn’t want to know. the fingers on your cheek seem to barely just get too rough as he looked at you.

“don’t act like i didn’t hear you in the office this morning, moaning my name like some prayer,” you mock, your knee slotting between his legs with ease. vox keels over at the sudden feeling, a sharp gasp getting punched out of his system with little effort.

“impatient.”

“what’s the big deal? am i not allowed to jerk off anymore?” he complains, bringing himself back up to his hand and knees over you as he glares with indignation.

“i told you to wait.”

“and i don’t remember needing to!” vox snarled, the grasp on your face tightening until you saw him pull it away, a droplet of blood adorning his finger.

simply unacceptable.

instantly, with a loud yelp of complaint and confusion, he hits the mattress with a thud, cursing in annoyance as he looks up at you. his face, once filled with irritation, shifted into one of almost astonished fear as he gazed upon your expression, cold and unforgiving.

“i’ll make you remember.”

his screen flickers before going back to normal, his face scrunched up in anger as he spat out his unwise words.

“i’d like to see you try.”

so, try you did.

his hands were cuffed with plush handcuffs to the bed-frame—you know he wouldn’t be able to handle real ones—and of course since he was never good with self-control, he had a cock ring on as a ‘treat’.

you’re delighted by how much of a fight he puts up though. considering how fragile his ego is, you were sure that he’d melt into your hands the moment you bound him to the bed.

“this is your plan?” vox rolled his eyes, watching you pour lubricant on your fingers with an unimpressed look. “not very impressive. you’ll need more—ngh! shit! give a guy some warning—!”

“beggars can’t be choosers.”

“i don’t fucking beg—!”

“you will.”

there was no mercy from that point forth. one finger after the other, shocks of electricity would course through his veins, mouth agape as your quick hand inside kept making him feel sparks of pleasure through his entire body.

“let me—cum! ass—zz—hole!” he shouted, tugging at the handcuffs to no avail. he wanted to touch himself so bad, yet you were adamant.

“if you ask nicely, maybe,” you tell him, circling your fingers before pressing deep onto that electric spot again, making him cry out in frustration and enjoyment.

all he could do was shoot you a disgusted look before yelling once more, kicking the blanket underneath him in exasperation. his anguish crackled through his veins like a current, trying to fight the urge to just submit.

but it was all too much. he was weak, even if he convinces all of hell that he’s not, he wouldn’t be able to fool you. the bucks of your fingers were replaced with the movement of your hips, making him wail for more.

an hour had passed, and his indignant claims of “i don’t feel anything!” or “you’ll never get me to beg!” shifted into more pleasant glitching screams of “don’t stop!” and “please, more!”

finally, he was using his manners.

“let me cum—ple—zz—se! i c-can’t—!” vox cried out as you quicken the pace, thrashing underneath you with his legs now wrapped around your waist, holding for dear life as you drive into him.

“i—hic—mm! ‘m s—zz—sorry! ‘msorry-AH! sorry!” his back curves off the bed as he squirms, crying in earnest now. tears fell his face with broken pixels blinking in and out underneath, his screen cutting at random points to an error warning from the overstimulation.

“pathetic,” you spit out, your hands digging into his hips as you practically manhandled the man, making him move once he lost all the energy to match your movements. “you listen to me. you do what i say, and you don’t talk back.”

you hear him shriek desperately as you grab his cock, red and weeping as you overwhelm him with pleasure, but never letting him over the edge.

“do you understand? you’re mine.”

you run your finger underneath his tip, and you see him glitch out into an expression you truly loved.

his screen was tear stained and his were graphics broken, yet it was clear enough to see the hypnotizing hearts that pulsated in his eyes as he yelled in defeat, small whimpers leaving his ruined throat as he babbled on and on.

“yours! your—yours! ngh—! please! pl—let me cum! plea—zz—oh, FUCK!”

his whole body trembles from need like electricity burned his skin. his legs fall from your waist, too weak to hold them around you anymore, yet you catch them, pushing the underside of his thighs until he was folded in half.

“cum for me then.”

instantly, vox does as you say as you slip the cock ring off of him, his wails loud enough to shake the room as he finds his release. his screen completely blanks out for a second as a shock flitters around his wrists, frying the cuffs and making them break into two before slumping back down to the bed.

you can’t even scold him for letting his powers go rampant before he pulls you over him, wrapping his arms around you as he sniffles into your ear.

“thank you—hic—thank…thank…”

this big baby. you sigh, rubbing your hands on his sides gently as you kiss his cheek. “yeah, yeah. just remember this the next time you think about acting out, okay?” you said quietly, feeling him nod into your shoulder as he starts to slowly relax.

but as per usual, he apparently forgets what you taught him in the next week.

fortunately, you’re a patient teacher. and you’ll remind him again and again about the lessons he foolishly dismisses.

sorry that this is shit 💀 i tried my best but the writing juices arent flowing this week😭 hopefully this weekend i wont have writer’s block and will blast through all yall’s reqs!! trust me, im working on them <3

tags: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @drlucichen @mvskedxrtist

#hazbin hotel #dom reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel dom reader #sub hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #bottom vox #sub vox