#WAY LONGER THAN MY ORIGINAL INTENT H
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Entanglement.
Yan Kafka x F Reader.
Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, unwanted kissing, mild not SFW implications.
Word count: 1k.
“You’re still refusing to wear the clothes I gifted you, dearest?”
A dulcet voice smoother than the finest silk coos from behind.
You don’t deviate from your original task. Just outside the window, the cold, unforgiving vacuum of space looms. A mere panel of specialized glass is the only barrier between you and infinite nothingness. The concept used to frighten you, to a paralyzing extent. It got to the point your oh-so-benevolent captor had to make adjustments. Using some technology you’re unacquainted with, the dark canvas morphed into a familiar, more palpable set piece: the scenery of your home planet.
You’ve since overcome this hurdle and no longer require the mirage’s services.
Space isn’t what you fear anymore. No, it’s the woman with the future in her eyes who holds that distinction.
“It isn’t to my taste.”
“I know,” she agrees. Her perfume is near stupefying when it invades your senses. “It's to mine.”
Kafka is either aggravatingly unassuming or laser-sharp with her intentions. You’re never given time to adjust to her fickle ways, the second you think you might understand her, she reveals just enough that you’re right back where you started.
Gloved fingers hover over your wrist, causing your hair to stand on end. As if she’s playing a glissando on the piano, her fingers slowly creep up, from your forearm to your bare shoulder. Presently, you’re wearing one of the few garments you were allowed to bring. It’s a plain, white dress that she longs to stain with her own palette.
Her arms envelop your midsection from behind. She nuzzles her nose into your neck, swaying you back and forth while she hums a haunting ballad. Can she hear the skipping of your heart? Does she consider it just another instrument to compose her hedonistic harmonies?
“Are the stars truly that interesting?” she murmurs against your skin. “Surely, they aren’t prettier than I am, hm?”
“Maybe. At least they understand the concept of personal space.”
“Oh, I do as well. I just choose to ignore it when it comes to you.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
You can feel her smile.
“You’d be lonely without me. Maddeningly so.”
“Insanity is tempting if you’re the alternative.”
She laughs, the sound low and husky, belying any offense taken, if you had the hubris to think anything you said could hurt her. Before you can register anything, she twirls you around. In this new, uncomfortable intimate position, you’re forced to look her in the eye. There’s no quality of hers that unsettles you more. They draw you in and devour you like a black hole, picking apart actions you haven’t even committed yet.
It reminds you, similar to the path she walks, that nothing you do will ever amount to any meaningful change in your circumstances.
Kafka settles her gloved pointer finger and thumb on your chin, tilting your head up. Whatever she’s thinking is as unknowable as the universe itself. Her fondness for you is an illness without a cure — even she must know how sick it is. Something tells you that if a remedy for it ever existed, she’d refuse to take it, and would instead crush the vial before your eyes.
“What a beauty you are,” she praises through lidded eyes. “There is no greater joy than knowing you feel every second we’re apart, just as I do.”
Irate, you try moving your head away, but this causes her grip to tighten. Never enough to hurt — it’s only meant to warn.
“I take it you don’t like the cosmetics I brought back, either?”
Kafka delights in asking questions she already knows the answers to. If she had anything resembling a hobby, you suppose that would be it.
The skin beneath her eyes crinkled with amusement at your abrupt vow of silence. You fight off a shiver at the look. It’s all-consuming, dangerous in a way that rouses your primal instincts. She leans down close enough that you can feel her breath fan against your face. Her head tilts in a deliberate show of faux curiosity.
“Is your tongue frozen? Should I think of a way to warm it up?”
The hand that isn’t holding your head in place toys with the strap of your dress.
Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. You know when to surrender in a losing game.
“... No.”
“No?” She repeats, mimicking the inflection of your voice. “Ah, well, that’s a shame.”
You almost sigh in relief when her hand retreats. She reaches into a pocket on the inside of her coat and pulls out a tube of lipstick. She applies the roseate pigment, maintaining smoldering eye contact with you all the while.
After what feels like an eternity, she descends upon you, her lips seeking yours in a fit of scathing passion. You freeze up at the unexpected boldness. She takes advantage of your reverie, interlocking your lips in a languid motion. There’s no urgency to the kiss, she takes her time with you, just how she likes it.
Her hand presses against your back, urging your chest to arch into hers. It isn’t until her hand starts venturing down that you return to your senses. In a fit of panic, you raise your hands to push her away. The defiance gets you nowhere — she catches your wrists with ease and holds them in place.
Fortunately, she pulls back, although she doesn’t relinquish her grip.
“I knew this color would look good on you,” Kafka sighs, almost wistful. Then, she raises your wrist and presses a lingering kiss against your pulse point. It leaves a smudged lipstick stain behind. “That leaves the issue of the outfit. Hm, what to do, what to do…”
As if hit with an epiphany, her eyes light up in microscopic supernovas. “I know. If you need my help applying makeup, then why should getting dressed be any different? Why, you should’ve said so sooner.”
Indignant, you seethe, “That isn’t…! Fine, I’ll put it on myself. Just— just turn around, okay?”
“Of course. Anything for my sweet, shy girl.”
Surprisingly, Kafka acquiesces. She pivots on her heel and covers her eyes with her hands. A teasing gesture, if you had to guess.
Just when you believe you’re regained a semblance of control over the situation, she throws in a comment that snuffs out this fledgling hope.
“I’ll give you to the count of a ten before I come and help you myself.”
#just wanted to write a little something for my Woman#kafka x reader#yandere kafka x reader#honkai star rail x reader#yandere honkai star rail x reader#yandere#yandere x reader#my stuff
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Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer NSFW Profile
Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer x fem! reader
Tw: kidnapping, non/dub-con, manipulation, I know I might break some hearts but I actually think Chrollo is very vanilla, loud sex, begging, h*nd holding, voyeurism, exhibitionism, unethical usage of a copying nen ability, masturbation, stalking, fem reader, MDNI
I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!
HABITS:
Generally speaking, sex hasn’t been a huge part of Chrollo’s life. Of course, being a man with charisma and questionable goals, he’s had his fair share of partners to woo and use for information, sneakily extracting names and facts from them as he kisses and touches them, a husky, whispered question of and where might those gemstones be exactly against his temporary lover’s lips seeming strangely erotic, though the intent is anything but.
He’s never really viewed sex as something meaningful; rather, it’s simply a tool, a means to an end for whatever it is that he wants to steal next, and thus it’s never been much of a concern. Why should it be, when Chrollo finds connections and genuine human interaction something of a chore, unless it’s towards his own Troupe members?
Sex is a means to an end, and while there’s something strangely alluring about the idea of having sex for pleasure, he’s not one to simply go out and find a hookup to relieve himself. He likes to think he’s more refined than that – besides, while he isn’t especially wearing of intimacy or touching others, he doesn’t want to touch anyone he isn’t at least needing to, for some job or another. Casual sex just isn’t his thing.
Of course, then you come along, and just with everything else in his life, you’re to blame for his sudden change in opinion, his sudden changing belief that maybe, just maybe, sexual desire and intimacy has more of a purpose than he originally believed.
It’s not instantaneous, his desires to be touching you and making you moan so prettily and feel your skin against his. He doesn’t see you and immediately imagine bending you over and fucking you until you’re sweating and panting and spent. He doesn’t immediately imagine spreading your legs and getting you gripping at his hair, your pretty slick smeared all over his lips.
It’s not immediate, but rather a culmination of his obsession with you deepening over time. It takes him a long time to develop his feelings for you, and even longer to make sense of them – he’s not particularly hostile towards them, but it takes a while for his obsession to fully set in, for him to realize that he wants you in a romantic, genuine way. It will be a solid few weeks after his obsession form for him to get to the point where he’s fantasizing not only about the way you’d smile at him and softly sigh as he reads passages of his favorite gothic poems to you, but also about the way you’d quote certain stanzas as you kiss his neck, run your fingernails against his back, tug at his hair and keen his name.
It’s slow going, and to be honest Chrollo doesn’t even really notice that it’s happening until he’s suddenly so pent up that he just can’t take it, his hand itching to reach down and quell the dull throbbing coming from between his legs.
He’s never been one to masturbate much, the act seeming tiresome and without little reward, and as a result he’s more curious than anything that you’ve managed to inspire within him such primal urges, animalistic desires to see you stuffed full of his cock, cum leaking from your spent, sore pussy, your eyes dazed and hazy as he kisses you breathlessly.
He’s impressed, more than anything, but Chrollo isn’t too surprised once he thinks about it – you’re something of a breath of fresh air to him, someone real and interesting and oh so intriguing, so why wouldn’t he want to fuck you until you’re crying?
Why wouldn’t he want to map every inch of your skin out with his lips, feel your muscles clench and stiffen up under his fingertips?
He’s mildly surprised by your ability to essentially get him horny, and while it doesn’t happen too often (maybe two or three times per week), it’s still sizeable – and so is the amount of time that he begins spending in the company of a candle, a novel, and symphonic music in the background, blending in with the airy gasps and groans of the evening.
When it comes to actually touching himself, Chrollo has a bit of a dirty secret; his nen ability (and its extensions, of course) comes in handy to the extreme in a lot of ways regarding you, but as soon as his more sexual desires towards you begin emerging, he’s suddenly so grateful for the sheer amount of nen abilities that he’s accumulated over the years.
That is, he’s particularly grateful for a certain one he picked up towards the beginning of the Phantom Troupe’s existence: an ability allowing partial recreation of an individual’s body parts, up to the whim of the wielder.
Guilt has never been something he’s given too much thought to, and so as he lights the few candles surrounding his place at the edge of the queen sized bed he's used the last few evenings, he merely closes his eyes and smiles, the aroma of a blissful, peaceful evening settling around him, the feeling of moonlight hitting his pale features and the crackling of the flames relaxing his body and preparing him for the next few events.
Chrollo is nothing if not a man of culture, and so as he carefully removes his jacket (folding it on top of the Victorian style chair in the corner of the room) along with his pants, he lets out a small sigh and grabs the book laying atop his nightstand, the golden cover with its black lettering making a small shiver run down his spine.
The book is, admittedly, a bit more graphic than his normal tastes, but there’s something about the way the narrator describes the female lead that makes his mind immediately shoot to you – something about the description of her hair, her body, her mannerisms, her everything, though Chrollo could say without a hint of hesitation that you were still better in every possible way. He’s read the novel dozens of times; it’s a classic, cliché love story of a dashing, mysterious man who swoons a sweet, traditional daughter of some nobleman, their romance dark and swift and taboo.
It reminds him a lot of his situation with you, really – he’s the handsome, dark man who comes and sweeps you off your feet, tempting you into leaving your good-girl, righteous persona and instead letting him taint you. Just the thought gets him throbbing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and wills himself to calm down, to not ruin the ambiance he’s diligently set up for the night.
He flips to the marked section towards the middle of the book, the chapter detailing the night of passion and romance that ensues between the two characters. He’s quick to begin pouring over the words, and though he’s read this multiple page passage easily hundreds of times, the image still comes together in his head as if it’s fresh – the woman pinned below the man, the collar of her silky, white nightdress pushed down to just above her breasts, collarbone exposed along with her neck, half lidded eyes staring up at the lead while she gulps and breaths a bit raggedly.
Her wrists are beside her head, her whole body open and exposed for his future pleasure, and immediately he’s imagining you in a frilly, white nightgown, the material short and sheer and making you look angelic, like something for him to ruin.
Chrollo licks his lips, eyes still rapidly scanning the page as a hand snakes down to the slowly stiffening length resting against his thigh, the tip turning a deep shade of red, the trimmed forest of black hair standing out against the pale skin surrounding. A brush of his fingertips against the sensitive base has him exhaling slowly, the fantasy of the heroine’s knee slightly rising to brush against the lead’s clothed cock making a blush rise to the back of his neck, images of the way you’d bite your lip and whisper his name making him feel hot, every nerve on fire as the excitement and anticipation of pleasure – of you – rolls through him.
He knows the passage by heart, knowing every event taking place between what he pretends to be you and himself, his own imagination even filling in the details, imagining little additions to the plot that the book doesn’t even mention – you whispering his name and tracing the tattoo across his forehead, the feeling of your soft fingers against his skin making him groan ever so lightly. And with that thought in mind, he’s gently bookmarking and placing the book back on the stand, instead taking a deep breath, black eyes appraising his throbbing cock desperate for attention and stimulation, your attention and stimulation.
He spends a moment stroking himself, the pulls of his wrist languid and slow, just barely enough stimulation to feel good – hesitant, almost, like he imagines you being. Would you be nervous, the first time you see him naked? He likes to imagine you’ve never been with a man before (though he knows it’s likely untrue), or at least that you’ve never cared so much about pleasing one, about making him feel good and pleasured and satisfied.
(He decides you would be a bit anxious – your touches small, unsure, your pretty eyes always flicking back up to his, your soft lip caught between your teeth, your thumb just barely brushing over his tip and making him murmur your name with a slightly strained voice.)
He’s quick to pull up his book of nen abilities, flipping through the pages until he finds the correct one, the familiar black lettering describing the ability making him shiver in anticipation. It’s easy to conjure up the familiar image of your face in his mind, the corresponding physical image appearing before him immediately, and as he opens his previously closed eyes, he sucks in a sharp breath at the image of you, your lashes and cheeks and pretty eyes staring up at him.
It’s perfect – a complete replica of you, down to every last mole, hair, and scar decorating your face. It’s a bit disorienting to see a version of just your head and hair floating, your eyes gorgeous yet lifeless, muscles unable to move freely on their own, but Chrollo moves past it quickly – how can he not, when you’re right there, so pliable and beautiful and for his use?
He swallows harshly as his free hand comes down to lightly run over your strands of hair, the texture familiar and pleasing to the touch, and he watches with unblinking eyes as he slowly pushes your head down, further until your unfocused eyes are level with the now pulsing erection sitting between his legs.
He bites his lip as he recalls the words of the passage, the eloquent language not diminishing the meaning behind the words. She kneeled before him, a servant to her master, lips parted and eyes appraising him as if he were a work of art, the single most valuable thing to have graced her gaze.
He imagines the way you’d stare at him, your eyes raking over his sculpted chest, the ‘v’ of his navel, your tongue flicking out over your lips as you appraise the pale length of his cock, the soft, smooth set of balls attached.
He hopes you’d be impressed, but impatience gets the better of him as he once again moves your head further forward, so that his tip brushes against your lifeless lips.
They’re cold, a stark difference to what he’s sure is an inviting, riveting, and wet mouth you possess, but he’s in no position to complain – certainly not when he remembers how the woman swallows him as if he were the most divine, succulent meal, savoring his taste as if it were her last.
It’s difficult to recreate the scene with your unresponsive mouth, but he’s carefully pulling your lower jaw down, your lips parted and tongue lolling out as he slowly, ever so fucking slowly, pushes inside, the small groan fighting its way up his throat telling of how even your cold mouth can affect him.
He shivers, the sensation climbing up his spine, and his fingers gently scrape your scalp as he gets a good grip, his head lolling back slightly and his eyes closing as he begins moving your head up and down, up and down, your cold saliva coating his length as he sighs and whispers your name under his breath.
The music in the background is soft, romantic, orchestral and something Chrollo very much imagines fucking you to. He likes to imagine the way your moans and breaths would blend in with the melodies and crescendos – though, the sounds you’d make when he’s got you creaming all over his fingers and cock would drown out any sort of background music, he’s sure.
Once again musters up more aura, conjuring up a replica of your hand that he quickly intertwines with his own, his fingers joining yours in shakily holding up his nen book. The pace is slow, soft, the moment feeling sweet yet erotic, and as he opens his eyes and stares half liddedly down at your unseeing eyes and unresponsive mouth, Chrollo curses, a small l-love, you’re so beautiful…
His fingers tighten around your hair as he comes closer, the book’s scenes flashing through his eyes as he picks up the pace of his wrist, your head coming down over his throbbing, sensitive skin quicker, the sensation climbing and climbing as his breath steadily gets harsher, soft groans tumbling past his now puffy and overbitten lips, the light flush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose almost endearing.
He’s fairly quiet, only the occasional deep groan or murmur of your name, and as he gets closer, his grip around your fingers tightens, his breathing getting more ragged and uneven. His complexion reddens, his skin shining with a light sheen of sweat, abs clenching and twitching as the pleasure grows stronger, more acute, the feeling of you and your spit and your soft skin only spurring on the twitching of his cock.
The music climbs to a crescendo, his eyes peeling open to see the way your lips suck him in again and again and again, his cock glistening with spit and his hips bucking to get even deeper inside you, the visual of him fucking your face just too much too much –
He’s coming with a strangled gasp of your name, dark eyes blowing wide as his hips start thrusting on their own, plunging forward and down your throat, untimed and uneven.
He imagines the way you’d gag, your throat tightening up and your pretty eyes dotting with tears as he shoots load after load of watery, semi-bitter cum down your throat, the thought only making his hips jerk harder, his body spurred forward by the motivation to get as much of his cum as deeply down your throat as possible, to claim you as his in the most carnal, natural way.
He’s panting by the time the feeling dies down, a few strands of his carefully gelled back hair loose and framing the pale skin of his forehead and the tattoo decorating it. Beads of sweat frame his temples, his chest heaving still, his nipples hard and pebbled in the cool air of the bedroom.
It takes a moment for him to slowly regain his composure, giving your floating facial replica a gentle, long kiss on the forehead, his eyes fluttering closed and eyebrows scrunching up as he kisses you harder, more fervently, more desperately, trying to express every ounce of love and appreciation and want he has for you, even if it’s merely a cold, carbon copy of you that he’s kissing.
Then, he’s shutting the book and watching you disappear, a cold, familiar sense of loneliness settling into his chest.
The music is still on in the background, lulling him into a relaxed state as he lays on his back, body nude while he thinks back to the way the novel describes the post-sex cuddling, soft touches and sweet, affectionate words, lulled promises of loving each other forever, claims of ownership and commitments to stay together.
He sighs softly, the faintest smile gracing his lips as he imagines the way he’d hold you, your sweaty bodies pressed against one another, cum seeping from your cunt as you clutch onto him, your hair tickling his chin and neck, your soft breaths as you drift into sleep, feeling safe and protected by him…
Occasionally, on nights where he feels particularly restless for you, where the stress of running a wanted criminal group begins to get to him, he’ll conjure up your full body, and while it’s cold, unresponsive and unable to speak or look at him, it’s enough. Cuddling you, kissing your freezing skin and running his fingers over your jawline, collarbone, your supple curves is enough to have him slowly drifting to sleep, secure in your arms and dreaming of the day when you’re finally there to enact the scenes of his romantic, smutty novels with him in person, just as you should be.
(He’ll never actually fuck your nen-conjured self, however. He feels it would be crossing the line – as if fucking your mouth isn’t – and although it wouldn’t feel nearly as good as the real you, he wants your first time together to be special, to be a true exploration of each other’s bodies and genuine reactions. So, rest assured, he doesn’t use the fuck doll he makes of you as a stand in for actual sex – he’ll just use your hand, or your mouth, or your breasts, or your thighs. Never that perfect cunt between your legs, the one that makes his mouth water and his fingers twitch.)
FAVORITE BODY PARTS:
Your Collarbone
In a lot of ways, Chrollo is a traditional man. Surely not with his profession, nor the company he keeps, and certainly not the way he feels for you – but still, some aspects of how he views intimacy are very classical.
That is, while he adores the sight of you in revealing, slutty clothing, with your tits nearly bursting out of the pathetic, stringy bralette and your pretty, puffy lips clearly visible through the sheer thong, there’s an appeal to the more sensual parts of your body that aren’t as oversexualized.
Specifically, Chrollo finds himself drawn to your chest – of course, your breasts are alluring and wonderful and fit in his hands so very perfectly, but his favorite spot of all is right above them.
The expanse of your collarbone is a sight that always manages to catch his eye, his dark gaze lingering on the symmetrical, pretty bones. He likes to trace them with his finger, his touch light and soft but insistent, running over the lines and pressing his thumb into the dip in the center.
It doesn’t matter if your collarbone is prominent or not – there’s just something about the intimacy of it all that makes him giddy, the fact that no one except him gets to feel this part of you making his possessiveness flare up and shivers race up his spine.
When he’s kissing you, his lips always find purchase there, traveling down your neck and the juncture of your shoulder, before settling heavily against your collarbone, soft lips pressing kisses and hickeys and biting against the skin.
When he’s pressed you up against the wall, his figure looming over you and his presence making you feel small and weak, he’ll leave a hand at the base of your throat, the heel of his palm pressing against your collarbone so that he can feel your pulse, feel the way you breath, feel you you you.
You’ll often wake up after nights of long, passionate fucking (love-making, he likes to say, though the way he loses control after his first orgasm and fucks you so hard it nearly hurts really only resembles an animal, not a man) with dark marks all over your collarbone, the entire area bruised and swollen and aching, a constant reminder of Chrollo’s presence.
When he kidnapped you, it was a very spur of the moment, rushed affair, and as a result you weren’t able to bring any of your own clothing – which means, outside of just roaming around naked (something that Chrollo certainly wouldn’t argue against), you’ll be left to dress with whatever he deems appropriate.
More often than not, that means shirts with very low necklines, off the shoulders, or with wide necks that show off your collarbone.
(It also means skirts and dresses, sheer tights or thin materials, things that show off your thighs and the curves of your legs – Chrollo’s second favorite spot on your body.)
You’ll catch him staring idly, his eyes hyperfocused on the area even when you’re speaking to him, and sometimes you can even actually see the way he zones out ever so slightly, an internal war taking place inside him because he wants to hear what you’re saying and watch your lips as you speak to him, but he just can’t stop staring at where he’d left a large, prominent hickey on the right side of your collarbone, feeling your pulse under his lips while he made you cream and squeeze and come all over his fingers, just for him.
He thinks you’re beautiful, and even if you aren’t, Chrollo finds your body to be elegant, truly a work of art, and your collarbone is the crowning jewel of said art.
So don’t be surprised when he’s forcing you to wear chokers and tight necklaces, the combination of the jewelry and the sleeveless top leaving the expanse between them open and vulnerable, perfect to suck on and kiss.
He’s just in love, and is it so wrong to find your body perfect, wonderful, so damn alluring that it drives him insane?
His fingers
From the moment his sexual urges towards you begin, his fantasies tend to revolve mostly around using his hands to please you.
Of course, he likes the idea of using his mouth on you or stuffing you full of his cock, and those fantasies are most definitely present, too.
(As are the ones where you’re pleasing him – he has to be careful with these fantasies, though, because if he’s in public, any thought of you dropping to your knees for him or pressing your pretty tits together and moving them up and down his cock gets him hard immediately, his orgasm already halfway there from just the thought of you wanting him to feel good.)
The majority of what he imagines in detail is really just him working at your body with his hands. They aren’t too terribly veiny, but they’re the perfect amount, just enough to get your gaze lingering on them, and seeing the way the tendons and muscles flex when he moves will make your throat feel dry.
Even the way his hands are connected to his forearms, veins dancing up the expanse of his pale arms can get you staring, embarrassment making your neck feel hot when he catches your gaping with a knowing look, that prideful, cocky smirk on his face making you feel hot in anger and a bit of excitement.
(He’s noticed your staring, and makes it a point to roll up the sleeves of his shirts to expose his wrists and forearms, even purposefully flexing the muscles when he sees your eyes on them, his own gaze eagerly examining your face for even a hint of awe, or attraction, or enjoyment.)
But the real draw of his hands are his fingers; they’re pale, nimble and surprisingly smooth, given his past and occupation, and they’re long. They’re always cold, the feeling making you shiver, and Chrollo has them pressed against you as often as possible.
He’s touchy, really, and while this often manifests as his hand sitting on the small of your back or your shoulder or brushing against your cheek, this habit certainly doesn’t change in the context of intimacy and sex.
When he’s got you underneath him, staring up at him with wide eyes and your lips all swollen and bruised from his harsh kisses, he’s immediately touching you, his hands coming up to rip off the shirt he’d picked out for you this morning, tearing the flouncy skirt he’d helped zip you into cleanly in half in his desperation.
He can’t control himself, really – he’s gripping at your thighs and the fat of your stomach, squeezing and kneading and wanting, and while that entertains him for a while, eventually he’ll be nudging your legs apart, fingers immediately tracing up the insides of your thigh, tickling you and making you suck in a breath as he gets closer and closer to where you need him. (Or, at least, where he thinks you need him.
He’s convinced he knows your body better than you do, though, so any amount of denying this claim will result in that same, familiar patronizing smile and a soft murmur of it’s okay, darling, your body says what your mind won’t.)
He likes to tease you, even though it ends up teasing him too, by pressing feather-light touches against your folds and sensitive clit, dark eyes flicking between your cunt and your face, eagerly taking in every expression and sound you give him.
He’ll ask you if you want more, for you articulate what you want, all because he needs to hear you say please Chrollo, I need your fingers inside, I want to feel you fuck me with your fingers! Eventually, though, his patience will snap, and he’ll push them inside, listening to your little gasps and moans as he immediately curls them, rubbing and pressing against the spots he knows make you moan and writhe.
He’s unfairly good with his fingers – he’s got the pacing and motions down perfectly, his stamina high enough to keep going throughout the entire night.
He’s always got a finger steadily working at your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles against the sensitive area until you’re coming for him, and while a lot of his desire to make you feel good genuinely comes from the place of wanting to please you, a lot of it is selfish, too.
By constantly stimulating your clit or loosening you up with his fingers, he’s making sure you’ll enjoy him, that when he’s fucking you and stuffing you with his cum, you’re wet enough and receptive enough, and god, the feeling of you coming on his cock, the constant pressure against your clit tipping you over the edge?
Well, don’t blame him when he’s gasping into your ear, a strangled sort of noise that almost sounds like your name, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you, before you feel warmth spilling into you, his black hair tickling your cheeks as he rests his face in the crook of your neck.
DRIVE:
In general, Chrollo’s libido isn’t the highest. Obviously, he desires you sexually and loves to kiss you, touch you, fuck you, make you scream his name and clutch onto him like you’ll otherwise die, but he doesn’t need to be in bed with you at all times. He doesn’t have to be making you cream and stuffing you full of his cock, fingers and cum every day.
(Every other day is ideal, or – if he’s particularly stressed or busy – maybe every two days, but that’s pushing it.)
No, Chrollo isn’t that sexually driven – though, he is that clingy, even if he’s good at not showing it. In general, there’s something about you that makes Chrollo feel, and he’s found that any sort of physical contact brings this strange, fluttering emotion in his chest, one he’s fairly sure is love – which ultimately results in the conclusion that in order to feel good, wanted, loved, touching you is something that he must do often.
The reality is that he’s never really had a partner, someone to give and receive genuine love and affection with, and the moment that he realizes how wonderful a hug can feel or how good of an experience simply locking pinkies can be, he’s hooked. Suddenly, those cliché, overt couple actions that used to intrigue him in a clinical way are much, much more interesting, the idea of wrapping his arms around your waist enticing in a way he can’t quite describe.
From pretty much the beginning of your time as his captive, Chrollo will be forcing affection onto you. It’s little things, mostly – things that make your skin crawl because they’re so innocent and sweet and pure that it makes you sick.
He’ll gently intertwine your hands with his, staring down and marveling at the sight of your fingers wrapped around his own, your smaller hand looking perfect against his.
He’ll press a kiss to your cheek or forehead after he compliments you (though, the compliments are always a bit strange – slightly threatening, or too specific, or just weird).
Of course, while this affection and surplus of physical contact is generally innocent, slowly Chrollo’s tastes and urges begin to change slightly, going from wholesome, sweet acts to more questionable touches, actions that have you slightly cocking a brow, slightly not comfortable with the implications of his behavior.
Because really, while you’ll likely be just fine with him lacing his fingers with yours (though, it’s likely that you’ll be less happy with it and more just complacent, figuring that with his criminal status and abilities, there’s far worse he could do to you), things will get a bit complicated when his hands start resting at your waist, dipping ever so slightly lower to your hip, his fingers pressing just a bit tighter against your skin than you’re comfortable with.
What starts out with a mostly tolerable chaste kiss to the cheek will turn into his lips against yours, his tongue running along your lower lip, a small groan tumbling into your mouth as he forces his tongue inside, running it along your teeth and coaxing your own tongue to participate.
What begins as a simple pair of hands resting against your shoulders will become him running them down the length of your sides, thumbs pressing circles against the area right underneath your breasts, those dark eyes seeming to shine with something that makes your breath hitch.
Because really, while Chrollo does absolutely bask in the innocent affection he can garner from you, there’s just something about you that makes his more natural urges kick into gear, the area between his legs feeling warmer, more insistent, more desperate the more he kisses you, the more he holds you and whispers to you that he loves you so much my dear, won’t you let me show you the extent of my feelings?
However, Chrollo is a smart man – when it comes to actually having sex or any sort of intimacy on the same level with you, he’s willing to be patient.
He doesn’t want to force you into anything, to make you uncomfortable or dislike him, to reverse any progress he’s made in getting you to fall utterly, completely in love with him, so he steels himself, mentally reminding himself every time he sees your plush thighs that he must wait.
He’ll chastise himself for almost losing control when you stretch, the sliver of exposed skin of your stomach and your cute little grunt nearly making him throw caution to the wind.
He has remarkable self control, and while you likely won’t know it, you’ll be seeing it in action nearly every moment he’s around you, especially when you’re already doing something affectionate, like hugging or sitting in his lap.
(He’s the one that’s forced you into these things, of course, but it doesn’t matter – if you make any sort of movement that isn’t prying him off or swatting his hands away, Chrollo considers you as being willing, happy, enjoying touching him, and the thought makes this pleasant, warm feeling bloom in his chest.)
He’s working incredibly hard to not push too far, but after some time of you not seeming to come around, not voicing any desire to go further, Chrollo decides he must resort to certain measures in order to speed up your progress.
Thus, he begins subtly trying to plant the idea in your mind, trying to tempt you into admitting that yes, you want him to reach underneath the frilly, white shirt he provided to you and cup your breasts, to roll your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, to feel you shiver and hear you sigh against his lips.
He wants to lay seeds in your mind so that you’ll come to the conclusion sooner that you want him to rest between your legs and use that talented, smooth talking mouth to make you talk, to hear you babble and cry out his name.
He’s talented at being discreet, and so as he moves his hands to rest closer to your ass, squeezing the plush of your thighs, leaving fluttering kisses against your neck, he’s hoping you’ll slowly come to the conclusion on your own, your own body and desires betraying you.
And quite honestly, while you’ll likely be uncomfortable at first, confused and a bit scared, eventually it’ll work – after all, charisma is something Chrollo possesses in mass quantities, and while you’re obviously not happy that you’ve been kidnapped, that the leader of a mass group of international criminals is holding you in his lap and nuzzling against your mouth, whispering to you that you’re so lovely, won’t you say my name darling, it’s difficult to not let the ideas form, the lack of human contact forcing you to imagine paths you rationally have no desire to.
It’ll make you feel dirty, like you’re betraying yourself and letting Chrollo win, but he’ll ultimately get exactly what he wants – he’s observant to a tee, and so once he notices the way you start clenching your thighs together ever so slightly as he tells you that he’d love to take care of you tonight, he’s inwardly smiling, pride swimming in his chest because finally, finally you’re beginning to be affected by the subtle touches and words, things that could leave you second guessing, the possibility that maybe he wants to go further unrelenting in that sweet little head of yours.
And so, as he begins probing you, asking you how you’re feeling, if you’re satisfied, if you’re feeling like I give you everything you desire, he’s waiting with baited breath for you to embarrassedly admit that you want more, that you want something only Chrollo can give to you.
He’ll goat you into admitting it, telling you to be more specific, to tell him exactly what you want, because otherwise he won’t know, and then he can’t improve, now can he?
He’s calculating, smart, analytical and damn good at getting what he wants, and so ultimately you’ll cave, admitting that you want him to fuck me please, I just – just please…
He won’t outwardly be affected, but just know that the speed with which his erection makes itself known is directly tied to you, the eagerness of his body and his movements to undress you betraying him.
And as he starts breathing a little heavier, stripping you of your clothing and his as well, it becomes hard to miss the way he’s eager, anxious, frantic to touch you.
You’ll see the signs of months of repressed sexual tension, months of desiring you but needing you to consent first, even as pressured as your admittance may be.
But in the end, does it matter?
Because when Chrollo’s hovering over you, those dark eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that’ll make you shiver, you’ll feel oh so taken care of, the small signs and subtle pushes making you insatiable for something you didn’t even know you desired.
And Chrollo will be happy to keep providing for you – what kind of lover would he be if he didn’t? Besides, no one else canmake you feel like he does – not even you – he’ll make sure of it.
You only need him.
MAIN THREE KINKS:
Loud Sex
Generally speaking, Chrollo is a quiet man. He’s polite and personable, yes, but he doesn’t bother with unnecessary chatter – when he speaks it’s purposeful, calculated, commanding, and this is true even when it comes to you.
You make him feel the closest he’s ever felt to being nervous, but he’s still not especially loud around you. He never shuts up, that’s true, always asking you questions and telling you about his day, about a flower that reminds him of you (a petal or two was missing, making him think of how you aren’t truly complete unless he’s with you), or even, on rare occasions, telling you a reason why he’s in love with you.
(It’s not as romantic as it sounds – the way he speaks about romance is too clinical, and the reasons he’ll give you are far too specific and detailed to really make you feel good.)
So yes, he speaks often, but he’s not loud.
And during sex, this stays true – the most you’ll get out of him is a low groan and a few heavy, drawn out sighs, or a few chants of your name when he’s getting close and he’s particularly pent up. He’s still not quiet though – he’s talking the whole time, dirty talk spilling from his lips about how you’re so beautiful, especially when you’re falling apart around my cock or that he loves when you moan, can you feel how I’m throbbing inside of you? It’s all for you, does it feel good to know you’re affecting me like this?
His voice is always sultry, always whispered directly into your ear, and while his particular brand of dirty talk is, more or less, mediocre (it’s always too long and makes you think too much; you’d prefer something shorter, something more explicit, something coming from anyone aside from him), Chrollo likes the concept of sex not being quiet. Specifically, he likes when you fill in the silence.
There’s something about the noises you make that make him absolutely feral – similarly to his curiosity about you in everyday life, he wants to understand you sexually. He wants to hear every sound you have to offer – he needs to understand what’s causing you to make that noise and how to keep you making it. He needs to hear every little thing, to have a mental catalogue of the different noises and cries he can pull from your pliable body.
It doesn’t matter if you’re naturally loud or quiet – he will be expecting you to put on a show for him, your body a canvas for him to create a masterpiece on, your every gasp, moan, and sigh a paint stroke that eventually comes together to form you, a piece of art Chrollo wants to keep stolen away from the world forever.
He’s not particularly shy about this desire of his, either – it’s very easy to tell that he’s striving to get you to moan for him, because you’ll feel his fingers work in that certain way, grinding and rubbing in that particular spot, those dark eyes wavering in excitement because he absolutely loves the way you sound gasping his name.
You can tell he’s aiming to get you vocal when he’s pressing his face between your legs, dark hairs tickling your thighs as he diligently works his tongue against your clit, the sensation partnered with the insistent thrusting of his fingers inside you not stopping until you groan his name, and then only getting harder, that same motion being repeated over and over because he needs to hear it again.
He’s like an addict, really – once he hears a noise he finds pleasant (every noise you make, really), he’s trying everything in his power to get you to make it again, wanting to have auditory evidence (to match the slick coating his fingers and the smell of your arousal) that you’re enjoying this, that you’re enjoying him and the way he’s touching you. It’s selfish, really, because while giving you pleasure is great and brings you a step closer to desiring him as he desires you, it quells his possessiveness.
It makes him feel good because it’s proof that he’s affecting you, that the motions and pleasure his body is bringing you is making you feel good, that your brain is mush because of him. It’s proof that your thighs are trembling and shaking because of the way he’s massaging and toying with your clit.
It’s proof that your lips are swollen and puffy and parted because of the way he’s kissing your neck and kneading at your breasts. It’s proof that he’s the only one on your mind, that your every thought is revolving around him him him, that your body and brain can only focus on Chrollo alone.
It makes him feel good, knowing that no other man could possibly be in your thoughts in moments like these, and the more he can get you moaning and screaming and sobbing in pleasure, the higher the likelihood of you focusing solely on him. So really, any time the two of you are intimate, expect your voice to be hoarse the next day – he needs you to be making noise, and he’ll even tell you as much.
He’ll tell you to show me how badly you need me inside you, moan my name and cream on my fingers and I might consider adhering to your wishes.
He’ll tell you to say his name, to tell him that he feels good, and even to narrate exactly what you’re feeling.
(That last one is a favorite of his – it’s so dirty, and it fills him with pride and arousal to hear you say that he feels s’good, your fingers are so big and it’s making me feel so full and good and fuck, Chrollo, please let me come!)
It’s an obsession, truly, one that rivals the one he holds for you – so really, just give him what he wants.
Fake the moans (but be careful, because he can normally tell – though, as he gets closer to his own orgasm, his façade slips and the true lustful, crazed man underneath his carefully constructed exterior rears its head, his snapping hips and messy hair evidence of just how much you affect him. He’s less able to tell apart your fake moans from real ones in these moments, and when he’s right on the edge, any noise from you will have him toppling over, gripping onto you and coming, filling you so fully that it leaks out, white spilling all over your thighs and dripping down his balls.)
He just wants you to be vocal, and it’s in your best interest to meet his demands – the night will be long and very, very painful if you don’t; Chrollo knows your body well enough to overstimulate you past your threshold, the pleasure melting into pain with each orgasm he tears from your body.
Begging
While Chrollo is a difficult man to decipher, one thing you’ll learn about him is that he’s very, very susceptible to your begging.
Of course, he doesn’t always give in to what you want – your escape and freedom, for example, are things he’ll never grant you, no matter how incessantly and long you beg. (And no matter how you offer your body or your fake affections or any number of things.)
He’s stringent about many things, but in the bedroom he’s more or less easy to win over – you just have to know how to do it correctly.
It takes a very specific methodology to get him to listen to your wishes, to have him do exactly what you need in order to feel good. And that methodology is mostly rooted in begging him to do what you want, what you need in order to seek the pleasure you’re wanting.
And frankly, just hearing you say his name and beg him for literally anything has his hips stuttering, arousal spiking through him because god, you must really want him, huh?
There’s something so riveting and right about the power imbalance that you begging him for pleasure sets up; he’s the one in control, giving you what he deems as the right amount of pleasure, controlling your orgasm and deciding when – and if – you’ll be allowed to come.
It’s a power trip that gets his heart racing and his cock flushing bright red, his chest swelling with pride and greed because god, every fucking inch of you belongs to him, and when you acknowledge that it makes him want to fuck you hard enough to make you scream his name.
You’ll need to beg, but even more than that, you’ll need to mix the begging with some sort of compliment. He’s good at telling when you’re lying, though, so the compliment must be somewhat genuine – tell him his fingers feel so good, oh Chrollo you’re gonna make me come, don’t stop! Tell him that he’s so big, you feel so – so big inside me, oh god, please harder, I need you harder!
If you intermix the compliments in with your begs, Chrollo is almost certain to at least consider your wishes, fucking you harder or deeper or angling his fingers just right, anything and everything to get you to keep talking, to keep paying attention to him and telling him how much you need him.
He may not show it, but he really, really wants you to enjoy sex with him, both because seeing you writhe in pleasure gives him pleasure, and also because it means you’re giving him all your focus and attention. So really, if things aren’t going quite as they should to really get you off or to make you feel good, using this master formula will often yield the results you desire – he’s a sap, even if he doesn’t show it, even if he’s not fully aware of it himself.
What he is aware of, though, is this little strategy of yours.
He’s figured it out; you’re not as smooth as you think, and although it boosts his ego and makes his heart race when you compliment him, Chrollo knows there’s an ulterior motive behind your words. And so begins a game of cat and mouse – he likes the way you beg for him, and he doesn’t want you to stop, so he’ll only slightly give in to your request.
This will, in turn, make you beg for more, a new compliment and moans slipping from your lips that get Chrollo gulping and steeling his resolve, his fingers moving slightly to the spot you want them, his pace getting slightly faster, only half-assedly doing what you’d begged for.
The cycle repeats, Chrollo managing to milk you for every last possible bit of praise and desperation for his touch, until he’s eventually giving in, doing things just as you ask for so that you’re a shaking, moaning mess for him, completely falling apart on his fingers. He’s aware of the game you’re playing, and frankly, as time passes Chrollo will begin purposefully not touching you like how he knows you like.
You like to be fingered quickly, with a certain angle and a certain rhythm? Well, he’s finger fucking you at a moderate pace, aiming for a certain spot an inch or so away from your sweet spot, the rhythm just slightly off.
It’ll be enough to get you squirming, your face scrunching up in pleasure and need, your eyes teary and watery as you beg him to go just a hair faster, because it always feels so good when you go fast, please make me feel good, Chrollo!
You’ll go through the cycle three or four times, but he’ll almost always eventually give in – with one big, glaring exception.
Chrollo really likes to bring you to orgasm, it’s true – however, he really, really likes when you beg for permission to orgasm, waiting to fully let go until he’s given you the okay to make a mess all for him.
He wants you to beg him to please let me come, please Chrollo I wanna come for you, all the while he’s holding off just a bit, not quite pushing you over the edge with his thrusts or flicks of his tongue.
He knows your body so well that he’s able to hold you right where he wants you, right on the brink of coming but not quite, just so that you’re unbearably close but needing that one final push. And he’ll milk this out of you, too – he’s unashamed with how he asks you to repeat yourself, to tell him exactly what you need, to moan his name and show him just how badly you want to come for him.
He wants you to be prickling with embarrassment at how unabashedly you shame, loving the way you get all shy and bashful when he tells you to beg me to fuck you into an orgasm, love, and then you’ll get it.
It makes him giddy to see the way you writhe and cry out his name so wantonly, your desperation to find your high trumping over any bit of self-respect you pretend to have, because ultimately you’re choosing him and the pleasure he can give you over this stupid, rebellious side of yourself that’s unwilling to accept his love.
It’s good, a step in the right direction, and by forcing you to beg him permission to orgasm (an orgasm caused by him, no less), Chrollo simultaneously gets to push you a smidge closer to willingly being his, and he also gets to feel you come for him.
(A sight that normally pushes him unbearably close to his own orgasm – just a few thrusts inside you and he’s blowing his load, cum spurting inside you as he gasps your name under his breath, the warmth settling into his stomach both a result of his orgasm and giddiness that you’re starting to come around, aren’t you?)
He just loves when you beg, and although you think you have the power in the situation, thinking you’ve got him figured out, you really, really don’t. You never do, after all, and Chrollo will always outsmart you.
So just tell him you want his cock, beg him to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, and he’ll give you just that – not without a few caveats, though.
Oral Fixation
While your collarbone may be his favorite part of your body, Chrollo really, really grows to love your mouth.
He’s always been entranced by the gentle curve of your lips, the shape playing behind his eyelids as he sleeps at night, driving him crazy when you aren’t yet by his side, making sleep – already elusive enough for him – nearly impossible to find.
(You’ll never know, but on nights where he can’t stop thinking of your lovely lips and how soft and warm and bitable they’d be, he’ll begrudgingly turn to his pillow, his own pale pink lips pressing against the silk, his eyes fluttering closed as he presses hesitant kisses against the material. As he gets more comfortable, he’ll move towards using his tongue; letting it flick out against the pillowcase, imagining it’s actually pressing into your mouth, brushing against your own and coaxing it to rub against his, to suck, his own tongue running along your teeth and reaching deeper and deeper into you until there’s not an inch of space he hasn’t touched and licked and tasted -)
He’s thought endlessly of how you might taste; would your saliva be sweet, or perhaps a nice, neutral taste? He’ll lick his lips while he contemplates, unconsciously salivating himself as he imagines how you’d taste as he kisses you, your scent and feel and everything else about you overwhelming him and making him dizzy in the best possible way.
He’s thought of the way you’d place kisses against his skin, how soft your lips would feel against the hard planes of his chest, against the firm, defined muscles of his thighs, against his neck.
He’s spent many, many nights imagining the way your mouth and lips would worship his body; he imagines you’d start with his own lips, kissing him and moaning into his mouth with fervor, your tongue slipping out to meet his, saliva and spit getting all over your chins because every time he imagines kissing you it’s messy, sloppy and earnest and dirty.
He likes to think you’d move onto his jawline next, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the sharp line, tracing it from his chin all the way back to the juncture of his jaw, leading up to kiss and lightly suck at his ear.
You’d take his lobe gently between your teeth, lightly pulling and tugging just to hear him harshly exhale, your tongue even coming up to lick at the shell of his ear, your breath warm and sensual as you breath and whisper his name.
You’d move onto his neck, next, sucking kisses and hickies against the pale skin, the perfect canvas for you to leave your artwork against. He wants you to mark him up – he may be the dominant one in the relationship, sure, and he may the one indisputably in charge of everything, but there’s something endearing about wanting to stake your claim on him. It makes him feel good, desired, possessive over you, and he’ll proudly don his coat with the dark marks all along his neck, perhaps even pulling the collar to the side a bit so that others can see that he’s yours.
Then you’ll move down to his chest; he wants to feel you press fast, quick kisses all over the plain of his chest and abdomen, your tongue tracing the lines of his abs and making him shiver. He wants to feel your lips wrapped around his nipples, sucking and running your tongue over the sensitive skin, leaving a wet pop noise as you pull back.
He wants you to kiss along his thighs, the kisses here more harsh and demanding, maybe even sinking your teeth into his skin just to get his eyes rolling to the back of his head, your sudden display of dominance (or brattiness, rather) making something primal sound from the back of his throat.
And of course, Chrollo’s fixation with your mouth extends towards your ability to suck – before you two reach a point of sexual contact, he’ll firmly trace your lips with his fingertips, only to push past them and situate his fingers against your tongue, a small smile on his lips as he sighs softly and tells you to suck, my love, I’m sure you know how.
He’ll watch with wide eyes and baited breath as you work your tongue along his digits, slipping between them and letting your lips suction, the warmth and wetness making his pants tight and his cock ache, desperation nearly sending him over the edge as precum drools from his tip. And god, when you use your mouth on his cock?
Chrollo is a fairly composed man, yes, but even he can’t keep up that image when you’re sucking on him like you’re trying to suck out his soul, your lips gliding up and down his length, the suction and feel of your tongue rubbing against that sensitive spot on the underside of his tip making his abs clench and contract, his hips getting a mind of their own as they thrust and buck and hump.
He loves when you use your mouth on him, and although he tries to let you set the pace yourself and do things at your own leisure and speed (mostly because he likes seeing what you come up with, how you think he’ll be pleased), he’ll reach a point as he nears his orgasm where he takes over, his hands grasping onto your head and physically moving it up and down, controlling the depth and pace as he groans lowly, his orgasm powerful and heady and numbing as he comes, cum spilling down your throat as he holds you tightly against his pelvis, the short black hairs sitting at his navel ticking your nose.
Another spot that makes him melt when you lick and touch is his balls.
They’re always full, heavy, swollen, aching and begging to be fondled and licked and emptied, and what better way than with your soft, pretty lips and your nimble tongue? He likes to watch the way you stroke at his shaft and move your attention to each sack, tongue coming out to lick and tease, the sensation making him suck in a shaky breath – the sound so quiet you very nearly miss it.
He wants you to take on in your mouth, the warmth making his knees feel weak, the feeling of you lightly sucking making him have to clutch onto whatever surface is nearest just to steady himself.
It’s so dirty – seeing the way your lips stretch to accommodate something so big, and by the time you’re through with them he wants his balls to be positively smothered in your spit, glistening in the light and sensitive to the touch because you’ve worked him up so well.
Of course, Chrollo enjoys when you touch him in pretty much any way, but there’s just something about your mouth that he finds himself gravitating towards, because while it’s intimate and wonderful to fuck you, when you use your mouth – something that feels more taboo, more personal, more sacred – well, that’s a different thing, isn’t it? It means you want him, you want to taste him, that you like his aftertaste of musk and cum to linger in your mouth long after you’ve finished him off.
Chrollo just likes the implications of it all – and seeing you on your knees or feeling your lips against his neck will just make him shiver, excitement and lust and love pooling in his gut, all directly at sweet, perfectly little you.
OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:
Holding your hand
It’s not really a kink, but you’ll notice quite quickly into your sexual relationship with Chrollo that he has a habit of always managing to interlock your fingers when he’s fucking you.
The first few times you’ll think it’s sweet, deciding that although it seems out of character for a mass murderer to want to hold you hand when he’s already stuffed as deeply inside of you as possible, it’s kind of endearing.
It seems like a manipulation tactic at first, honestly – you don’t trust Chrollo, not at all, and despite the fact that you’ve caved and given into your bodily desires to have him touch you and pleasure you, you don’t like him. Maybe this is some ploy to get you to fall for him – you’ve seen him reading articles and researching on ways to make women feel loved and valued during sex, his dark eyes diligently and eagerly scanning the words.
(You didn’t bring this up to him, however – the conversation that would’ve ensued would’ve been unbearable, and what would you even say? Chrollo, why do you want me to feel wanted during sex? What are you playing at? Is it not enough for you that I’ve already admitted I want you to touch me?)
The truth, actually, is none of those things – of course, he does view sex as a way to bring you closer to him and get you closer and closer to returning his feelings, but the hand holding actually isn’t something he’s meticulously planned.
The constant stimulation and attention to your clit, he’d known from the beginning – making you come feels good, yes, but he needs you to enjoy it, to realize that he can give you pleasure consistently, that he knows his way around your body. But the hand holding?
Well, the first time he fucks you, he’s genuinely gone – you can’t tell, not really, but from the moment he slips inside of you, he’s fighting to keep his composure, his hips begging him to just ruin you, to fuck into you as hard and fast as he can – even if it means spilling himself inside of you in as little as two minutes. He finds himself drifting away and getting lost in the pleasure that first time, and subconsciously his hand is finding yours, needing something to grip onto, something to ground him and keep him from coming much too early.
His cold fingers lace with your own, pressing your hand against the mattress as he continues humping his hips into yours, and he’ll squeeze your hand when the pleasure gets especially strong, his grip so tight it nearly bruises you.
He needs to hold your hand – it’s comforting, but more than that it keeps him connected to you.
It feels intimate, like something reserved only for you, because even though he’s slept with other women before, never has it been like this. Never has he actively been trying to make them feel good, and never has he actively been hoping they’ll want to fuck him again and again and again, something that he ardently, feverishly hopes you feel.
Holding your hand becomes something of a tradition; it gets easier to not immediately orgasm when he slips inside you, but still his hand moves on its own, capturing yours and squeezing, his dark eyes boring into yours and the veins on his hand standing out.
It’s romantic, he thinks, and even when he’s kissing you and throwing your legs over his shoulders, balls clapping loudly against your ass as he pants and whispers your name under his breath, his hand will stay in yours.
And his grip is tight – you can’t pull your hand out, he won’t let you. You’re not allowed to, because this makes the sex special, intimate, meaningful – it makes the two of you closer, your bodies truly united in more ways than one.
He loves you, he promises, and frankly, it’s best if you don’t mention this habit – he won’t tell you the truth, instead letting a small smile flit his lips and telling you cryptically that it helps me know if you’re feeling good.
That’s bullshit – it’s all for him, but you don’t need to know that gripping your hand like its his lifeline is the only thing keeping him sane when he fucks you – it’s the only thing keeping him from bucking into you like a wild animal, filling you full of cum like some sort of predator.
Voyeurism
Chrollo has a rather nasty habit of watching you. He’s not quite as overt as some other members of the Troupe, but it’s not hard to notice the way those dark eyes are always trained on your figure, observing, scrutinizing, staring with an intensity that makes you feel like a bug under a microscope.
He just finds you utterly fascinating, and he honestly finds himself unable to look away from you. You’re captivating in every sense of the word, and his feelings don’t change when it comes to the bedroom – he’s constantly, constantly looking at you.
The eye contact can be sexy, sometimes, in the right circumstance, but most of the time the intensity makes you nervous, embarrassment settling in your gut because you feel like he can see every inch of you, every imperfection and flaw.
He’s always looking at you while he’s fucking you, those eyes boring into yours as his hips snap into you, faster and faster and harder and harder, watching your face as you get close to coming, seeing how you fall apart for him and cry out his name.
He’s staring and breathing a bit harshly when you’re taking him down your throat, mesmerized by the way your lips slot around him, how his cock appears and disappears again and again, your little gagging noises when you take just a bit too far down making him near feral.
He’s even staring at you while he sucks on your clit, fingers curling inside you as he looks up at you from under his lashes, the eye contact making you shy away and close your thighs around his head, just wishing he'd stop staring at you like you’re some slab of meat for him to devour.
But more than anything, Chrollo likes to observe the way you look when you’re feeling good – pleasure looks good on you, and especially before you allow him to touch you in an overtly sexual way, Chrollo will have you touch yourself for him, all the while he gets a front row seat.
It’s thrilling, the way you spread yourself open on your fingers, tugging your lip between your teeth as you rub small, tight circles against your clit, your thighs trembling from both the pleasure and the weight of his gaze.
He’ll settle himself into a chair at the end of the bed, sitting with his legs crossed and his fingers digging into the armrests, his eyes trained directly on you. He’ll alternate between staring at your face and staring at your cunt, too entranced by it all to fully commit to one or the other.
He likes seeing the way you work yourself, how you flick your fingers or turn your wrist, the pace and tempo and precision of your movements.
He likes to stare at your breasts, watching them heave in time with your chest, seeing your nipples perk up and pebble up, looking hard and pinchable and suckable, like the perfect spot to rest his lips.
He’ll stare at the way your thighs tremble and jerk together occasionally, the pleasure and risqué of being Chrollo’s entertainment making everything feel heavier, stronger, more intense.
He’ll request that you finger yourself or play with your clit or touch your tits, anything and everything because he wants to see everything.
Of course, it’s nothing new to him – he’d watched you masturbate countless times before he stole you away, enjoying the vulnerability of it all, your weak, alluring form totally unaware of the eyes watching your most intimate moments.
But now, now, it’s different – you know you’re being watched now, and that adds a certain layer to your actions that makes Chrollo lick his lips, because while seeing your naked body and hearing your barely contained moans has his cock standing at attention in mere seconds, the fact that you’re reacting so strongly to knowledge that it’s Chrollo staring gets his ears feeling hot and his hands twitching, aching to reach out and touch you.
There’s something alluring about the fact that you’re acting all shy and bashful because it’s him that’s watching you like a hawk, his cock clearly hard against his stomach as he stares, obviously enjoying the sight.
He likes to know that he’s affecting you, that you’re thinking of him, that he’s on your mind as you play with yourself and make yourself come – it’s hot, frankly, and although it’s a test of his self control (one he struggles with far more than you’ll ever know), watching you bring yourself to orgasm is the best foreplay he can imagine.
Because then, he can watch himself bring you to orgasm, and isn’t that just the prettiest, loveliest sight?
Isn’t you falling apart for him, moaning and writhing and scratching down his back, the single most valuable thing on this Earth?
He’s a thief, after all, and anything valuable is his for the taking – including you.
BIGGEST FANTASY:
Chrollo is, without a doubt, extraordinarily possessive. You’re completely and utterly his, his property and under his ownership, to the point where he’ll often refer to you as such in passing with another Troupe member, no matter how demeaning and belittling his hummed response of yes, she’s my most prized possession may be.
You’re the only thing he’s ever wanted this badly, the only thing he’s ever wanted so much that it physically hurts, and he has no qualms with acting on these possessive urges, claiming you as his and only his.
However, Chrollo presents an odd juxtaposition in bed – while he absolutely does not want anyone else to ever see you in such a vulnerable, intimate position, there’s a certain allure to the idea of fucking you in public that he simply can’t shake off.
Of course, he’s thoroughly unwilling to allow you to be seen by other people, for your perfect, lovely body to be ogled by other human beings, those who are completely unworthy of being graced by your soft curves, your pretty moans, your twitching thighs and dripping hole.
You’re his to ogle and play with and make a mess of, and although the idea of another man watching you fall apart for Chrollo is appealing in its own right, he’d never be willing to stomach the idea of you seeing another man – or another man seeing you – when you’re in your most vulnerable, intimate position.
And these conflicting desires lead him to a sort of problem. On the one hand, he wants more than anything to fuck you in front of an audience, because what signifies ownership more than claiming you publicly, and what more can he do to show the world that you’re his, that he’s made his mark on you and you’ll never be loved by another?
But on the other, he can’t stand the thought of actually fucking you in public, which leads to a compromise – that is, it’s just so easy to spend a night in a bedroom high, high above the streets, the city skyline out the window and from the balcony mesmerizing, the dark night making the lights shine and the people they illuminate shine as well.
It’s not ideal, but Chrollo has found that the only way he can think of to satisfy this intense sexual fantasy with you is to simply fuck you in a space where no one can see you, but you can see everyone – thus, the window of some fancy, swanky hotel should do the trick, right?
Then everyone, whether knowingly or not, will be witnessing Chrollo claim every fucking inch of you, right?
It’s perfect, and something he’s so, so desperate to try out with you – just the thought gets his body feeling hot, his pants uncomfortably tight, and this strong, dizzying excitement brewing in his chest.
“The room is really lovely, Chrollo.” You compliment, appraising the room bathed in maroon and gold, the intricacies of the wallpaper and bed sheets catching your eye. It’s a simple one bed room, an adjoining bathroom to the side, but the real showstopping aspect of the horribly overpriced room is the set of floor to ceiling, pristine glass windows facing the night city, the various buildings too far to truly make out any specifics. It’s situated downtown, but Chrollo has made sure to secure a room on the fiftieth floor – towering above any nearby skyscrapers, thus giving him the privacy he’s been fantasizing of.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Comes his response, smooth and suave, though you think you can hear the smallest smidge of pride.
Making your way towards the windows, you stare across the sleeping city skyline, trying to memorize every detail you can, while Chrollo watches you from across the room, excitement swirling in his chest at the prospect of what’s to come.
He’s quick to join you, standing beside you and glancing towards your awed face, chuckling softly and using his thumb to trace the line of your cheekbone. “You’re staring, love.”
You blink a few times, before throwing him a playful glare. “And so are you.”
He’s silent for a moment, before he leans down to press his lips against your own, his dark eyes fluttering closed. “How could I not, when something so beautiful is standing before me?”
His words are sweet, and they have you bashful despite yourself – something Chrollo doesn’t hesitate to exploit, as he pulls you in deeper to the kiss. His hand rests snugly at your waist, the other coming up to cup the back of your neck, his lips working faster against your own, though the kiss is still softer, less insistent.
That changes quickly though, as your hand reaches out to brush against the growing bulge resting in his black slacks, a small hum pressed against your lips as Chrollo unconsciously moves closer to the action. Soon you’re unabashedly groping him, fingers idly squeezing and lightly pressing against him as he deepens the kiss, lips getting needier as the minutes fly by, small gasps and breaks for air the only sounds reverberating through the night air of the hotel room.
Insistent hands grasp onto the hem of your shirt, pulling upwards and exposing the expanse of your stomach, the soft skin immediately felt and caressed by the man before you, his fingertips oddly soft for his line of work. He pulls back slightly from the kiss, dark eyes slowly opening to meet your hazy gaze, a small smile quirking on his lips as he moves forward to your ear, breath ghosting against the sensitive skin.
“Undress for me, darling.” His words are sin, his voice smoother than silk, the timbre making a shiver race up your spine as you gulp and follow his instructions, peeling each layer of cloth separating your body from his wandering touch. Chrollo’s dark eyes take every movement in, excitement burning in his chest as your body is slowly revealed to him, your skin soft and supple and touchable.
His fingers twitch.
He’s quick to follow suit, sliding off his jacket, pants and undergarments, leaving him nude in all his glory, prompting you to rake your eyes across his sculpted chest, the lines of his biceps, the sharp ‘v’ of his navel, and of course, the eager, flushed cock pressing harshly against his lower stomach, practically begging for your attention and touch.
“You’re beautiful, my dear,” He starts, approaching you and bringing a thumb up to trace your cheekbone, that same small smile decorating his lips. His lashes are long, easy to see from this distance, and as your lips part to respond, he cuts you off with his thumb placed against your tongue, his eyes shining brighter.
“Why don’t we show the world just how beautiful you really are?” His voice is oddly uneven, the excitement dancing in those dark depths of his gaze making you arch your brows slightly, confusion lacing your features as Chrollo gently pushes your shoulders. The glass hitting your backside is cold, the smooth surface alien against you as you squeak slightly.
“What – what do you mean?” You ask, voice small as he sharply inhales, his other hand coming down to run along your side as his eyes trail along your lips and down to your breasts. He smiles as he takes in your nipples, the skin puckering.
“Wouldn’t it be such a shame to keep a beauty like you hidden from the world? Don’t you want everyone to know,” he starts, leaning into your neck before kissing down until he reaches the juncture of your shoulder. “That you belong to me?”
He bites down, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to get you gasping out and throwing your head back slightly, the glass cold against your scalp.
“Would you like that? Do you want the world to know how much you crave me?” He asks, his voice low and husky.
You bite your lip and nod, murmuring out an agreement.
“Can’t hear you darling, try again.”
Embarrassment creeps up your neck as you tell him in a louder voice, “Yes Chrollo, please, want everyone to know that my body was made for you, please!”
He shivers against you, his bare skin against yours making your head spin. His eyes are wide as he stares down at you. “Good, because I’m going to fuck you hard enough that no one will question who owns you.”
And with that, he’s spinning you around so that you’re face to face with the glass. The material is cold, your nipples rubbing against it and making your thighs rub together at the strange sensation. A sea of lights fall before you, the city glowing from so many meters in the air.
His hands settle at your waist, squeezing slightly before sliding down over your hips, the smooth breath he exhales by your air making you shiver. Every sense feels heightened, and although you know no one can see you from so far below, it still sends a thrill through you at the idea that someone could, if they tried hard enough. Eventually his hands lightly pull at your hips, pulling your ass back towards his pelvis and making you bend over slightly, so that your cunt is poised out for him while your breasts still press against the cold glass.
Chrollo hums from behind you, a finger tracing down your spine and ending up right over your fluttering hole, slipping inside carefully and feeling the way you clench down on him, the sharp little gasp you give him only making another bead of precum drool from his tip, his groin throbbing and pulsing with the need to bury himself inside you, to thoroughly fuck the tight, warm cunt he’s feeling around his fingers.
He pulls them out abruptdly, making you whine a bit and wiggle your hips, the sight forcing Chrollo to tightly shut his eyes, grappling for control over himself. “Now love, in order to let everyone know just who you belong to, you’ll have to be loud enough to hear, yes?”
You nod, muttering something in agreement, but Chrollo cuts you off with a wide smile, his eyes flashing as he grips his cock and lines himself up. “Scream for me.”
And with that he’s pushing himself inside, not pausing for a moment to let you adjust. He’s thrusting into you with force, the sheer strength making you rock forward with each pulse of his hips. Your hands press against the glass, your cheek smooshed against the cold material as you moan and cry out his name, the angle hitting you deep and the eroticism of the whole situation making your head swim.
Chrollo leans in close behind you, his breath already a bit heavy and ragged. “Do you like – ngh, do you like this love? Getting fucked while so many people could be watching?”
You moan out a yes in response, gasping and feeling your whole body shake as his fingers snake between your legs and begin working at your clit.
He laughs breathlessly behind you, his chest pressing against your back. His lips brush against your ear, his breath hot and heavy, and you feel him twitch inside you, his orgasm looming near.
“Let’s give them a good show, yes?”
And when he pulls out a few minutes later, turning you around and letting his cum spraying from his tip and landing on your chest and stomach in ropes, he can only flutter his eyes closed and mutter your name, before peeling them open and exhaling shakily.
He’ll push you right back up against the window, a knee forcing itself between your legs to open you back up again, his cock still hard and insistent and aching to finish inside you this time. Meanwhile, his cum smears against your skin and the glass, leaving a film that makes you shiver – the glass is cold but his cum is hot. You moan as he forces himself back inside you, immediately continuing with the brutal, rough pace he’d taken earlier, determined to let the whole city see how prettily you take his cum inside you this time.
And when you’re done, some forty five minutes later, with two loads of warm, runny cum spilling from between your legs, the smears of his first orgasm all over the glass and your tits will only make him lick his lips, arousal once again simmering in his gut.
Maybe this time the city would like to see how pretty you look when you squirt.
#yandere hxh#yandere hunter x hunter#_chrollo lucilfer#_lee's profiles#yandere chrollo#yandere chrollo lucilfer#hxh smut#_hxh
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THE SUPERMAN STARTER READING LIST
SO – you want to read Superman comics, but you’re intimidated by the near-century of history this character has. Or, you’ve read a few comics with him, but you want to go back to the basics to understand his character and the mythology surrounding him. There are so many continuities, origin stories, and standalones – where do you start? Well…
[Image ID: a cropped edit of the Superman ‘78 #3 variant cover by Lee Weeks, showing Lois Lane sitting on the letters of the Daily Planet globe, and Clark flying above her in his Superman costume, reaching out to take her hand. Hand-written next to them is: "THE SUPERMAN STARTER READING LIST", and hand-written in the bottom right corner is: "by MYTHIC / superfam.tumblr.com". End ID.]
This list isn’t intended to be a full, comprehensive guide to Superman’s decades of history, but a curated taster of Clark Kent in the comics medium. It aims to show you a variety of interpretations from different authors of different contexts, but with the broad goal of helping newcomers understand the heart of the character. Not every comic is able to sum up all aspects of Superman, and some could be argued to miss certain points, but each one has been selected for this list for the goal of conveying the history and breadth of his interpretations.
It’s intended to be accessible to both long-dedicated comics fans and people who are new to the DC universe, or even the medium as a whole. As such, new fans are welcome to enjoy each story as a standalone interpretation.
Please understand that this list is built from my own experience with the character, and I don’t claim it to be better or worse than any other – it’s just one way to approach his history. Essentially, I’m attempting to create the sort of list I wish I had access to when first reading Superman comics. I highly encourage the reader to form their own interpretations of each work.
With all that out of the way, please enjoy!
[Image ID: An edit of Gary Frank's artwork from Superman: Secret Origin. A slightly battered Clark in his Superman outfit embraces Jimmy with his right arm and Lois with his left. All three are smiling. The background, which depicts a disaster scene and a defeated Lex Luthor chained to a building, is covered in a translucent blue overlay. Hand-written next to Clark is: "ORIGINS". End ID.]
SUPERMAN: SECRET ORIGIN #1-6 (2009-2010)
Geoff Johns & Gary Frank
Just a couple years before the 2011 reboot of the DC Universe, a new definitive origin story was created for a Superman post-Infinite Crisis (a major event which had changed the status quo of the multiverse).
Secret Origin is only six issues long, and a great, efficient introduction to Clark Kent and Superman. It focuses on telling Clark’s origins from his own perspective, as a hero but also simply as a person. It also does a good job of setting up important supporting characters including Lois, Jimmy, Perry, and Lex.
SUPERMAN: BIRTHRIGHT #1-12 (2003-2004)
Mark Waid, Leinil Francis Yu & Gerry Alanguilan
Though replaced by Secret Origin only a few years later, Birthright was written as the definitive origin story to overwrite Byrne’s 1986 reboot of the character. It was intended to bring Superman into the new century, and be more consistent with his modern interpretations. It is also influenced by the popularity of the TV series Smallville.
Birthright is longer and covers aspects of the Superman mythos in further depth, including dynamics between Clark, Lex, and the city of Metropolis, kryptonite, and Krypton in general. Due to its extended length, it also covers more on Clark’s relationship with his powers and heritage.
I highly recommend reading both modern preboot origins to experience different interpretations with different influences and intentions, even only a few years apart.
[Image ID: An edit of Tim Sale's artwork from Superman: For All Seasons. On the right, Clark lies on his bed, looking to the left with a wistful expression and with a hand on his dog curled up next to him. The background, which is his cluttered bedroom in Smallville, is overlaid with translucent grey. Hand-written to the left of Clark is: "INTROSPECTION". End ID.]
SUPERMAN SMASHES THE KLAN #1-3 (2019)
Gene Luen Yang & Gurihiru
This standalone story is set in 1946, and primarily draws upon the Golden and Silver Ages as inspiration. It’s an adaptation of an episode of The Adventures of Superman radio series, “The Clan of the Fiery Cross”, which famously dealt a major hit to the KKK’s operations in America by influencing public perceptions.
The story follows Clark as well as siblings Roberta and Tommy, two Chinese-American kids who have recently moved to the Metropolis suburbs, as they uncover and fight a local chapter of the KKK. The story explores themes of immigrant identity and self-acceptance in Clark and the kids’ narratives – it presents important concepts from Superman’s history, straight from the heart of his character, in a really effective way.
SUPERMAN: FOR ALL SEASONS #1-4 (1998)
Jeph Loeb & Tim Sale
This miniseries has four issues, each corresponding to a season and narrated by an important person in Clark’s life (in order: Jonathan ‘Pa’ Kent, Lois Lane, Lex Luthor, Lana Lang). Tim Sale’s beautifully detailed and expressive art captures the complex emotions drawn out by having your life touched by Clark Kent, which works really well with the personal, confessional style of the narration. It’s a very intimate work.
It’s a great insight into both the triumphs and very personal struggles of Clark through the inner voices of some of the most important people in his life, and captures what makes his character work really well.
FOR THE MAN WHO HAS EVERYTHING (SUPERMAN (1939) ANNUAL #11) (1985)
Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons
This is a single-issue annual from right before the DC universe was rebooted, and (unsurprisingly for Moore) explores some philosophical and ideological questions regarding the Man of Steel. On his ‘birthday’, Superman falls prey to an alien organism called The Black Mercy, which feeds on its victims while keeping them complacent with vivid hallucinations of their greatest desires. Clark hallucinates a still-living Krypton, which he is a part of – but perhaps not everything is perfect.
SUPERMAN: BRAINIAC (ACTION COMICS #866-870) (2008)
Geoff Johns & Gary Frank
Before retelling Superman’s beginnings in Secret Origin, Johns and Frank collaborated on this story arc which massively changes the status quo, partially by reintroducing a variety of pre-Crisis concepts including the original Brainiac and the bottled city Kandor. If you liked Secret Origin, you’ll probably like this one.
As this is our first story arc rather than self-contained story, it has more references to the ongoing continuity but is still easy enough to understand without that context. This story also prominently features Kara Zor-El as Supergirl and expands on some cosmic lore and Krypton in general.
SUPERMAN: UP IN THE SKY #1-6 (2019-2020)
Tom King & Andy Kubert
This is an accessible, self-contained exploration of the extent of Superman’s moral fibre, following Clark as he attempts to save a single girl who was abducted from Earth and taken into space. It’s quite abstract at points with the questions it asks about themes of compassion and commitment, which I think is conveyed particularly well in the panelling and artwork.
[Image ID: An edit of Frank Quitely's artwork from All Star Superman. Clark in his Superman outfit is flying with his arms outstretched. The top half of his face is cut off. The background is an abstract depiction of the heart of the sun, and has been overlaid with a translucent orange. Handwritten beneath Clark is: "INTERPRETING AND RE-INTERPRETING". End ID.]
THE K-METAL FROM KRYPTON (drafted 1940, restored 2004-2011)
Jerry Siegel & Joe Shuster Studio
The K-Metal from Krypton is an unpublished and unfinished comic from 1940, written by Superman creator Jerry Siegel, and drafted by the studio of the other Superman creator, Joe Shuster. After being lost for decades, the story has slowly been recovered and restored by Superman fans.
Though this one is much more unconventional than the other items on the list, I think it’s extremely important to Superman’s history and generally understanding him as a character. It comes from a time when creative control of their character was being taken from Siegel and Shuster, and though it is unknown why this story was unpublished, that’s a major point of context to keep in mind.
This draft sets up the predecessor to kryptonite in the Superman comics – “K-Metal” – and also contains a scene where Clark reveals his identity to Lois, and they agree to be partners in helping others. This is a major departure from the status quo of Clark keeping his secret from Lois as she tries to uncover it, which would continue for the rest of the Golden and Silver Ages.
The restoration effort can be read online: http://theages.superman.nu/k-metal/splash.php
THE MAN OF STEEL #1-6 (1986)
John Byrne & Dick Giordano
This limited series is the immediate post-Crisis origin story and reinvention of Superman. It wasn’t put in the Origins section because I think from a modern perspective it shouldn’t be an introduction to Clark, but rather something you read to understand the history of his character.
It originated major changes in the Superman mythology, some of which have become instilled in it (such as Lex Luthor and Lois Lane’s modern characterisations), and others which have been forgotten or discarded.
One major thing is the great effort this origin made to make Clark American over being Kryptonian… Byrne has expressed great distaste of portrayals of Superman which emphasise his immigrant identity, and that should be kept in mind while critically reading this work.
ALL-STAR SUPERMAN #1-12 (2005-2008)
Grant Morrison & Frank Quitely
Arguably the most critically acclaimed Superman comic, this has been saved for late in the list as I believe it’s enhanced with more context of and experience with Clark. This is a series which explores the nature of storytelling and legacy, which was created with the aim of creating a timeless Superman story.
When Superman learns he will soon die, what does he reflect on? What does he change? This is heavily inspired by, and is a love letter to, Silver Age Superman.
WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE MAN OF TOMORROW? (SUPERMAN #423 & ACTION COMICS #583) (1986)
Alan Moore, Curt Swan & George Pérez
Written in the wake of Crisis on Infinite Earths, this is another story about Superman ‘dying’, and is essentially a great mediation on and send-off to the Silver Age incarnation of the character. It refers to itself as an “imaginary” story, and can be seen as one concrete ending for this version of Clark Kent and the rest of the Superman characters, in a medium with few.
It can be found in a collection with For the Man Who Has Everything.
SUPERMAN: RED AND BLUE #1-6 (2021)
Various
To finish off our starter reading list, let’s move from Superman’s end to his future. This is an anthology of short stories from various authors and artists, exploring a spread of visions of the Man of Tomorrow.
I think it’s an appropriate end for this starter exploration of Clark Kent’s many interpretations! As with all anthologies, it has its ups and downs in quality, but as a whole I truly believe it captures the heart of this character.
Thank you for reading all this way. I really hope this reading list helps you delve into the character of Superman and inspires you to read further beyond what I’ve suggested here.
Most of all, I hope it helps at least some people grow to love Clark Kent as much as I have.
A PDF version of this reading list is available here.
#it is finally here#my stupid 1600 word reading list#if you requested suggestions then this is your fault lmao#i put all my love of clark into this#i hope its useful#and feel free to send asks with any questions i will be happy to expand#took a long time to edit my ramblings down to this stage lmao#original#reading list#supers#kal#my writing#clark kent#superman#dc#dc reading list#superman reading list#the superman starter reading list
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Let's be better about Shourtney/Shartney
Borrowing this Shourtney/Shartney rant from my IG! I originally made this when the evidence got super clear, and I was scared the ship was about to explode in popularity and people were gonna freak out 😬 that hasn't necessarily happened (yet), but I still want the advice out there:
This is kind of a semi-rant and word of caution about the shipping of Shayne and Courtney. Tumblr and IG are pretty much the only two places to talk about this.
So if you've been following the Shourtney hashtag on IG, or have seen evidence here on Tumblr, it's becoming increasingly clear that Shayne and Courtney are dating. With what's been brought to light, it's fairly certain.
I'm the first to admit that I've shipped these two for a while and that I was always curiously looking for proof. There wasn't much evidence prior to 2021, so that's likely around when they started actually dating. Even as the evidence was really pouring in and some of it was kinda stalkerish, I was still morbidly curious, and I know a lot of you did the same. Guilty as charged, I'm a lonely hoe... 😔
I'll start by saying the evidence is NOT from videos. I know a lot of you have tried to use their gazes and interactions in Smosh videos as "proof" for years, but body language is not evidence. There's a million ways to interpret a "gaze" or how they talk to and interact with each other. Courtney especially has that type of aura about her where she's very comforting and has great chemistry with others, so what people interpret as "flirting" is just her normal friendly behavior (it's very reminiscent of how men will sometimes misinterpret women just being nice to them as "flirting"). And despite the fact that they're likely in a relationship, nothing about how they interact now is tangibly different than previous years. They're professionals, they're actors, and Smosh is very self-aware that Shourtney drives up viewer engagement, so there's no doubt they've played it up at times.
But... regardless of how little evidence there is in videos, there's other stuff out there which makes it safe to say they're dating. Look for it yourself, I'll no longer be sharing that info.
To me, it appears like it's more of an "open secret" at this point, like a "if you know, you know" type thing. Courtney is more comfortable posting pictures in Shayne's clothes, Courtney's vlogging in their apartment now... I feel like they're at least at peace with the fact that SOME of us know, especially because the Shourtney fandom is still pretty underground and not a lot of people have seen the harder evidence.
Some might be asking, then, why don't they just go public and get it over with??? Damaige did, so why not them???
Why WOULD they, is the real question?
Public relationships are so complicated. All semblance of real privacy vanishes. Everyone suddenly has some opinion on your relationship. People still analyze the shit out of your body language. People still attribute the woman or fem-presenting person's success to the man. People become entitled to personal information. If you guys breakup, people make wild assumptions and take sides. It becomes a breeding ground for the worst aspects of parasocial behavior. Public relationships sound like a complete nightmare. Having to ignore all of the problematic comments while constantly looking over your shoulder sounds like a complete nightmare. People wanna live their lives privately and be known for their personal accomplishments and skills, not their relationship. Shayne and Courtney are both talented individuals BY THEMSELVES.
They have both expressed in videos and podcasts that neither want to have public relationships. They almost always go bad.
But the unfortunate reality is that their relationship being "exposed", even if it's at a relatively small scale, has been seemingly against their will. While Courtney said in a recent Q&A what she posts is intentional, that might not be the case for friends who accidentally exposed Shourtney. It must suck to have to be so careful about what you post and with who, especially at large parties and whatnot. So much is out of your control. Like, who the fuck wants to closely analyze reflections in windows and shit? Or have to tell someone you might barely know not to post a picture of you two?
Maybe they'll address it at some point. Maybe they won't. Making the comparison to Damien and Saige was always completely unfair because Damaige going public was their own personal decision. Shayne and Courtney are completely different people and may have a different line of thinking on the matter. That's not to mention, Saige has expressed a few times on her Twitch that she regrets going public with her relationship and it only made weird incels attribute her successes to Damien even more.
So what should the fans do???
Not be fucking assholes and creeps. Not be misogynistic. Call out assholish, creepy, misogynistic behavior. Not make wild speculations, or become entitled to their personal lives. Don't send Shayne or Courtney (or anyone they know) weird DM's about it. That type of thing. Keep it chill, talk among us Shourtney stans if you must, and live your fucking life, man. Find your own relationship 😅
I know most of the Shourtney stans have been pretty respectful, all things considered. A few bad apples, stalkers, etc. But whatever weird shit that happened on that (now shutdown) Shourtney Discord server should stay in digital hell.
Shayne and Courtney are gonna share what they wanna share. I make this post foreseeing that they may eventually feel the need to say something, but if I'm wrong and they say absolutely nothing, so be it. They've both said shipping is okay because it's content and mostly harmless, but clearly there's a line. And if you see someone crossing it, call them out!
That's all 🙏 I probably won't post much Shourtney content from here on out, but I'll be around. Feel free to discuss it or ask me stuff. ☺️
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Le Journal de Paris, 7 August 1785
This is a translation of the text from Le Journal de Paris 7 August 1785. A bystander reports the scene of Herault giving his last speech at the Chatelet before moving on to the Parlement.
You can find the original here.
Allow me, gentlemen, to share with the Public, by way of your Journal, a scene which I have just witnessed, and which still moves my soul: the scene took place at the Chatelet; it was a trial, a hearing, a plea; but these objects, of which we no longer know the interest, sometimes regain their full empire over us: fortunate circumstances prove to give more brilliance to the just functions of justice; and the virtues of the Magistrates who have grown old by making the laws speak every day, and the virtues of the young Magistrates who, in the age of passions, are already a fervent organ to the wisdom of the centuries, will always form a touching picture for society. They watch over our rest, our happiness; it must be sweet to know your guardians and your fathers.
It is very rare that I go to either the Palais or the Chatelet, and I say what the forum Ovide said, as frivolous as we are: I go there little and I stay there little. Yesterday, however, while passing in front of the Chatelet, I saw a large crowd of people; without quite knowing why, I followed the crowd, and I found myself carried by it into the middle of the audience. a moment later, a young magistrate, placed on a high platform, spoke; the eyes and attention of the Public and the Magistrates were fixed on him: it was Mr. Herault de Sechelles, Avocat du Roi. While he was speaking, I heard that it was the last time he was speaking at the Chatelet and that he had been appointed Advocate General in Parliament.
I did not know the case which had already been pleaded by the lawyers. Mr. Herault had barely spoken for a minute or two before I knew it completely. It was a question of three donations made in favor of the poor of the Parish of St. Sulpice by a man who had poor relatives and to whom he had left nothing. These donations, dictated by a sentiment of unenlightened humanity, were not covered by the forms of the law; this was established and demonstrated in M. Herault's speech, who helped to annul the donations, and whose conclusions were followed by the Chatelet.
The young Magistrate's speech had no eloquent ambition; his style was calm and tranquil like that of the law: he had something of that rest of the passions, so necessary for the mind to find the truth. The urge and the light issued softly and by degrees from his words; without any apparatus of reasoning, without any of those forms of syllogism which are not reason and which offend taste; by the sole sequence, by the sole reason of the facts, the texts of the laws and the precise development of them all, he arrived at his conclusions always preceded by persuasion and by evidence. He could have almost dispensed with the need for closure. We had heard his conclusions in the laws whose intentions and wisdom he had so well demonstrated. Witness to the universal interest he inspired, I enjoyed witnessing how much power reason has over men, how many charms it has for them, when it speaks with precision, with clarity, with order; when it is bright.
This is what, Gentlemen, all those who heard the young Magistrate speak, experienced yesterday. He knew how to temper with wisdom the tone of his eloquence to the nature of his cause. While he was being applauded, he seemed to want to deflect the homage and applause of the public towards the speakers who had spoken before him. Never does talent have more grace than when it forgets itself to show the brilliance of others' talents. All the tributes paid to them by Mr. Herault seemed deserved; but we have especially distinguished those of which Mr. de Seze was the object. Mr. de Seze, I was told, son of a very famous lawyer from the Parliament of Bordeaux, showed early on, in the same Parliament, all the talents of his father; and, still young, he came to enrich the Bar of the Capital. It is a destiny of talents on which we base the hope of seeing the good days of this Bar perpetuate, and the just praise of Mr. Herault only expresses public opinion before the Public itself.
All these circumstances added a new interest and a new brilliance to the speech we heard, and when we heard that it was the last that Mr. Herault would deliver at the Chatelet, we feared even more that it would end. The young Orator of the Laws seemed to fear it himself, and this sentiment, so natural, so touching, is the one whose expression began the farewells he made to the Magistrates, and to the Tribunal from which he parted; then the speaker changed his tone and eloquence and his farewells were only outpourings of his soul. When addressing the venerable Chef who presided over the Tribunal, [Herault] called him Father, he wept, the Bar, the Public shared all his emotion; and the respected Magistrate who received such a sweet name shed, in the Court of Laws, tears of which justice itself allowed him to taste the sweetness. He responded from the Tribunal, and the noble, sensitive response was truly that of a father. This respectable father was so tender, and all the Magistrates, when they descended from the seat, embraced M. Herault to the sound of applause from the Public; the Public itself, filled with all the emotions it had seen and shared, accompanied Mr. Herault to his vehicle. I would have liked, Gentlemen, to preserve these impressions to reproduce them in my Letter: but I believed that it was the duty of a good citizen to relate at least what I heard, and what I saw in a scene so interesting for the Public.
I have the honor of being, etc.
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Someone told me a story about Barras following Robespierre because he was worried for him. They didn't remember the whole story, but Robespierre wasn't pleased to be followed at night. Do you know what it might refer to?
The story originates from Barras’ memoirs:
At a time when the Convention was already in a high state of alarm there circulated a list of five or six deputies. It was rumored that Robespierre intended to have them arrested as a little treat to himself, alleging their immorality as the motive of this proposed act of severity. Robespierre, informed of what was being imputed to him, asserted that such an idea was foreign to him, and, desirous of hurling it back at its authors, he maintained that it had originated with the majority of the Committee, which, he alleged, had pushed its cruelty so far as to seek to include thirty-two deputies in its latest proscription list. In vain did those who spoke in defence of Robespierre's innocence of the idea and his humanity protest that it was he who had opposed this more than rigorous measure, that he had torn up the list with his own hands and, apostrophizing the Committee, had said: "You are seeking to still further decimate the Convention; I will not give my support to such action." Robespierre had indeed spoken these words just as, making an attempt to leave the Committee, he had opened the door with the intention of being heard by the deputies and a large number of citizens, who, attracted by the noise of a quarrel in the bosom of the Committee, were waiting in the antechamber for the purpose of gratifying their curiosity thus aroused. Collot d'Herbois, furious at such hypocrisy, had sprung after Robespierre, seized him by his coat, and, dragging him towards him in order to bring him back into the room, exclaimed in his resounding voice, which, the door remaining ajar, was heard by all, both the Committee and the people outside: "Robespierre is an infamous scoundrel, a hypocrite; he seeks to impute to us that of which he alone is capable. We love all our colleagues; we carry all patriots in our hearts. There stands the man who seeks to butcher them one and all!" Thus vociferating, Collot d'Herbois still retained his hold on Robespierre's coat-collar. As I had at that very moment left the Convention, on my way to the Committee, I became a chance spectator of this fearful scene, whose violence was still not the greatest crime in my eyes. Behind it stood revealed the plot of premeditated vengeance, far worse than a mere outburst of anger. I was among those who compelled Collot d'Herbois to release his hold of Robespierre, who thereupon declared that he could no longer sit with his enemies, styling them a party of septemvirs, whom he would unmask and fight in the body of the Convention. He then took his departure, in spite of the entreaties of the Committee, which, having been unable to conquer, sought to retain him in its midst. "Let him go his way," I said to those surrounding him. All my interest in him lay in the fact that I did not wish to see him strangled on the spot by a stronger man, and one perhaps as wicked as himself. I followed him for a short distance in order to see him safely home; he was trembling as he walked along. Noticing that I was following him closely, he gave me an uncertain look, seeming at one and the same time to thank me for having rescued him but a few moments before, while reproaching me with the humiliating position in which I had seen him. I could just make out from a few sentences he ejaculated the words "Jacobins" and "Cordeliers: we shall see." I left him at the door of his house and returned to the Convention, where I told in confidence what had taken place.
Memoirs should in themselves always be treated with caution, and those of Barras are absolutely no exception. According to the article Barras au neuf thermidor (1977) by H. Monteagle, these memoirs were first and foremost not written by Barras himself, but by Alexandre Rousselin (another former Convention deputy) who based them on notes left by Barras. Here is the note describing the same incident, but as can be seen, it doesn’t actually mention Barras following Robespierre home after it…:
This fight between Robespierre and Collot is recounted in more detail in another autograph note by Barras. After Robespierre opposed a new measure of proscription, saying: "You are decimating the National Convention, you are arresting citizens whose republican energy you fear," the boor Collot d'Herbois threw himself on him and seized him. He was about to throw Robespierre out the window when the latter's friends freed him. This scene was followed by discussions. Robespierre observed that he could no longer sit with executioners, that he was retiring and that he would report to the Convention. The committee which foresaw his fall then opposed the exit of Robespierre. The proscription list was torn up in his presence. The hypocritical Carnot and the bland Couthon told him that Collot's outburst of anger was disavowed by the Committee, that the publicity of what had just happened would ruin the government committees and the Republic. He was urged to make the sacrifice of all resentment, that this proof of patriotism was expected from him. A furious Collot apostrophized the two mediators, complained of the weakness of his colleagues and left the session. Very affected Robespierre alternately observed his adversaries. He said to them on leaving: “You would have made me look mad. If the abortive plan to throw me through the window had taken place... I see here beings more atrocious than the one who was to execute it; he walked out ashamed of having accepted this assassination.” Robespierre retired and did not reappear for two months on the committee. Robespierre was a sober republican, austere in his morals, but with a pride that could not stand rivalry...
According to Monteagle, Rousselin did take big liberties with the notes Barras left him, so perhaps the story of B following R is one of them? Looking at Barras’ wikipedia page it would also appear there exists three different versions of his memoirs (the two extracts above come from separate memoirs) so it all seems a bit messy to me… My bottom line would at least be to treat that anecdote with caution.
#paul barras#robespierre#ask#the fact that the collot trying to throw robespierre through a window story actually originates from barras himself though…
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Idk if I've already said this before, but H/L is like- if you look at just the surface-level concept of it, it seems fine and like it could possibly be good rep.
Interracial bi x pan couple with a plus size girl, where she's powerful and her bf is magicless, and he's genuinely amazed by her power and doesn't feel emasculated by it? That sounds cute.
But the second you actually zoom in and look at their *canon* personalities and dynamic, it doesn't work.
There's no chemistry between them, and their dynamic hadn't gotten any development since the episode where they met (half a season ago) until FtF decided to be bad fanfiction made canon and pretended like their relationship is developed enough to justify giving nods to the ship (which led to a lot of fans considering it canon), despite it getting no focus at all until then.
Plus neither of their orientations are actually shown in the writing the way Luz and Eda's are, defeating that representation point. With Hunter there's at least that one blink-and-you'll-miss-it flag (which is not good rep, sorry, at least have him wear it for a good chunk of the episode like Luz did), but with Willow there's literally nothing indicating orientation.
And the ship took away screen time from more important things that could've been focused on, like showing more of Hunter's dynamic with Luz and Camila, or having Amity be the one to reassure Willow during her breakdown, since she started the "half a witch" nickname, and it would've been much more fitting and meaningful for *her* to be the one to end it. Or it could've been Gus! He's been Willow's friend for years, much longer than the others, and I just don't buy that Hunter developed a more deep and meaningful relationship with her over a couple months than Gus had over years. (Or it could've been both Amity *and* Gus)
Plus there's everything you've talked about with how the foundation of this relationship isn't healthy, particularly in the common interpretation of it as something that happened during seasons 2 & 3 and not during the timeskip.
[I mention the surface-level ideas (interracial bi x pan ship with a plus size girl, magicless x powerful, etc) in part because I realized I have a pair in my original stuff that fits the surface-level descriptors, but their personalities are different, and I'm aiming to have them actually have chemistry. It works better at least in part because it's *my* idea and not something other people shoved into my world that I had no intention of writing. The pair is even technically "straight passing", though the girl is a transfem enby (they/she). They're also both in their late 20s/early 30s, so they're not teens]
It really does sound great barebones until you realize Willow has barely spoken to Hunter more than a few times, Hunter has been out of character flustered around her for no reason in really weird and out of place scenes, and Willow hasn’t showed any interest in a relationship with anyone the entire season, always making a point to focus on her own self-growth rather than looking for outside affirmation. For hunt//low to be even worthy of being considered a well-written and developed ship, the characters’ relationship to each other would have had to been actually developed lmao. There’s no background to the entire plot of FtF between the two of them other than being sort of friends for the last few episodes. They barely know each other, and with how badly Hunter is still shown to have PTSD and trauma from his very recent past it makes it very OOC for any of FtF to happen the way it did.
And unfortunately, you’re right about the lack of representation from them. Okay, you can say as much as you want that Hunter is bi rep and Willow is pan rep, but unless it’s actually shown in the show it doesn’t mean fuck all. Okay, Hunter has a patch. That’s it. Willow doesn’t even show interest in a romantic relationship the entire length of the series, so I’d even be more inclined to call that an implication of her being aroace if I really wanted to be a stickler about it. Our two canon relationships, lumity and raeda, have both Luz showing interest in guy and girls as well as Eda showing interest in guys while having been in a relationship with a nonbinary person in the past (and currently, now). That’s what representation is- it being shown in the actual piece of media rather than tacked on as trivia after the fact. Plus, Dana literally said that everything she said after the show ended was her headcanon and should only be taken as headcanon and not canon as the media technically doesn’t even belong to her anymore 🙃 She said that unless it is explicitly stated in the show, it is not actually canon, and unless I’m losing my mind hunt//low was never canonized in the show before, during, or even after the series :-) If you want to believe their orientations are canon, then fine. But that imo shows poorly on TOH for not actually showing them as representation and barely sneaking in one patch for Hunter in a half a second scene.
And the fact that their bullshit scenes in FtF take up time where we could’ve gotten more plot related content will never stop pissing me off. I hadn’t thought about the concept of Amity helping Willow, but now that you’ve brought it up I actually think that would’ve made the conclusions to Willow’s arc far more satisfying and meaningful. Amity and Willow rebuilding their friendship has always had way more of an impact on the story than Hunter and Willow’s “friendship” “developing”. In fact, I’d consider it a MAJOR point in her arc, something that colors her character’s place in the story and what helps her to overcome part of her struggles even. There was no reason to waste that space on Hunter, and would’ve got rid of the dumb, uncomfortably written Boscha mess with Amity. And in doing that, they could’ve used that time to wrap up Hunter’s arc in any sense, rather than tabling his entire storyline to be Willow’s savior. They should’ve scrapped any Hunter and Willow storyline out of the third season all together, being as they clearly didn’t have the proper time to develop it in any way other than coming off as bad fanfiction written by a 12 year old.
The concept for the relationship really is a good and interesting one, but the story of TOH clearly wasn’t built for that to work and any nods to it came off as a toddler trying to shove a square block into a round hole. Your original work already sounds far more developed and well rounded just from a few sentences in comparison to an entire ask-long essay about hunt//low’s actual scenes/interactions in the show. And the worst part is, they’d have to tweak Willow’s entire personality to get it to work.
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MUMMY TYPES
left image is cleo, nefera, and their father. right image is cleo with some of her servants.
disclaimer: this just be a mish mash of various generations to create my own classifications. these are prone to changing with new ideas, thoughts, realizations, etc.
the are three classes of mummies.
the generic.
these are the type you see in movies as the pretty mindless, minion sort. they're almost akin to zombies and come about in the same way... ancient magics resurrecting them after death through strange and unusual means. they're generally physically limited, causing the jerky and stiff movements they're known for, they have to remain bandaged, and very rarely can they vocalize beyond groans and moans. their dialect is similar to zombie and is partially why cleo is able to speak zombie alongside other languages she's learned. they're the lower class, but it doesn't make them inefficient, stupid, or incapable. their limitations just make it harder for them to progress in even the monster world.
though they're not ( as far as i've found ) depicted in the cartoon series, they're alluded to on occasion. they're not in abundance, but they're the more common of the mummy types in general. in the live action, we only see them serving cleo or background characters... most likely because creating the anubis character-servants for the live action to mimic the original show would have been more graphically involved.
the post-death revival.
...not the best term but what i'm sticking with for now. these type are extremely rare. to the point there so far are none known outside of ramses himself. mostly because he is a very unusual circumstance. prior to him and his daughters, the generic mummies were the only type to appear within the monster world. ramses, cleo, and nerfera changed that.
when ramses learned of the coup against his family, he worked with his closest allies in an effort to save them all. egyptian artifacts were crafted and obtained, and special wrappings were developed, imbued with extreme magical effects. it was using these that he was able to mummify both his daughters while they were still alive. preserving their hearts separate and then binding their bodies. tucking them away in tombs with the intention they would sleep until things were safe again.
he was intended to follow suit, but the coup managed to break in. his aides were slaughtered and then he was struck down himself. ramses, though despise by those that eliminated him, was still given a burial alongside his daughters... wrapped in the same magical bindings without his enemies knowing what they did.
when the daughters awoke, so did he.
what keeps him apart from the generic mummies is the wrappings he was bound in. they give him more "life" in his return as a monster. but at a cost. while he can move, speak, and behave almost as he did when alive, he cannot severe himself from the bandages. they are essentially his flesh now. this impacts his power to a degree, and puts him at a risk around fire. due to these differences, it is why he puts so much stress and expectations on his daughters... because they are in the stronger position than him in the longer run.
mummied alive.
....again, no one's saying my naming is great lol.
these types of mummies are also extremely rare, but they are actually more abundant that the sort that ramses is. once the wrappings' secrets were leaked, other powerful and wealthy egyptian families got ahold of them, and crafted their demises to come back stronger. as monsters. thus, pretty much every mummy outside of the generic kind are wealthy and upper class, because those are the only beings who could obtain the magic and knowledge.
cleo and nefera are both this type of mummy. for these sorts of develop, they must go through an intense ritual that mummifies them while still alive. generally the heart is removed. other organs also can be, but most are untouched for fear of damaging the body too heavily and making the return to "life" more of a struggle. they are then bound in the magic wrappings and placed into their tombs until the power awakens them. these undead mummies can appear, act, and seem perfectly human in ways, but are attached to egyptian energies, magic, and monster development.
i'll be making another headcanon post diving further into these sorts of mummy powers, abilities, facts, etc. since such knowledge will apply to how i will portray cleo ( and sometimes nefera if she is needed )
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Hinipan / 3: Dalamhati
Sitting across from her were two world-renowned boyband members...
Venti, the leader and main vocalist, and Kazuha, the guitarist and lyricist. In comparison to the (h/c)-haired girl, they were much more successful than she was in all her lifetimes combined, not to mention they were quite attractive and absolute gentlemen. That being so, it was no surprise that the moment they prepared to have a serious conversation, there was only an awkward silence in the air.
“Well so…”
“I’m truly sorry, once again!” (Y/n) blurts out, hands clasped together as she kept her head down, “I had no intentions to take over your manager’s body, much less take a person’s fiance away from them!”
“It’s alright, (Y/n).” Kazuha chuckles, his bangs shaking at the motion. For some reason, the littlest things he did were emphasized in (Y/n)’s brain.
‘Holy… he is so beautiful—’ (Y/n) thought to herself, ‘Wait, no… that isn’t what I should be thinking about right now.’ If she could, she would’ve slapped both her cheeks as a punishment for straying off the original topic.
“Yeah, it isn’t really your fault.” Venti shrugs, leaning back on the chair with his arms behind his head, “Though…. How do we know you aren’t lying?”
“Venti…” Kazuha shot him a glare.
“Okay, okay, chill!” Venti raised his hands up in surrender, “But can you blame me for doubting this whole reincarnation thing?”
“No, I can’t. It’s not logical, yes, but imagine how she feels.” Kazuha crossed his arms.
The white-haired boy turns to the girl, his eyes softening at her guilty expression. He placed a hand on her head and gently ruffled her hair, “Cheer up, we’ll find a way to resolve this once our other friends return, okay?”
(Y/n) looked up at him and nodded, not entirely convinced but comforted enough to feel a little better.
“So, tell us your story.” He smiled, “What happened before you got transmigrated here?”
“I…” (Y/n) lowered her head again, “I lived a pointless life… this is all I can say… and I never really anticipated this whole reincarnation thing. If there’s anything I can do to make this hopefully temporary stay bearable for you all, please tell me.”
“You being you is enough, really.” Venti shrugs, “Our (Y/n) was reallyyyy strict, so like—”
“Venti.” This time Kazuha really hits the back of his head, “I will not tolerate you dissing (Y/n) in front of another version of her.”
“You know how weird that already sounds, right?”
“I’m aware.” Kazuha deadpanned, “Look… just lay off Kunikuzushi and (Y/n) for now, alright?”
“... You know I’m older than you, right?” Venti grimaced, “But fine.” He shrugged and got up, “Time to go have a sip of my wonderful Domaine de la Romanee-Conti~”
Kazuha sighed in relief at his departure, glad that he could finally have a word with the (h/c)-haired girl without interruptions.
“Listen… there isn’t anything you have to do, but—”
“(Y/n).” A deep and impatient voice came, Kunikuzushi appearing by the door frame with his hands in his pocket, “We’re going to have a talk. Let’s go.” He beckoned her to come over.
Kazuha grumbled under his breath at the interruption, “Kunikuzushi, how about you wait till later?”
“I know you’ve had feelings for her for some time now, Kazuha, but she’s no longer (Y/n).” Kunikuzushi said bitterly, “No point in you standing up for her like that.”
“(Y/n).” He repeated firmly, “Come.”
Kazuha looked at (Y/n) with uncertainty with his eyes, but he knew that in the end, the choice was hers to make.
“I’ll come back.” (Y/n) smiled softly, patting his back before she got up.
The moonlight shone brightly on the two engaged couples, the balcony they stood on overlooking a beautiful, luxurious backyard. Despite being a boyband, the place they resided in looked more of a palace than anything. One could tell that it had the touch of true artists rather than your conventional architects.
The atmosphere and romantic, however, what lay in both (Y/n) and Kunikuzushi’s minds couldn’t be farther from the truth.
“You can’t replace her.” Kunikuzushi said as he leaned against the balcony railing, “So give up already.”
“P-Pardon?” (Y/n) spoke meekly, “I never had the intention to—”
“You did.” Kunikuzushi snapped, “Anyone can tell that you made some deal with the gods to have you switch. You’re a fan of ours, aren’t you? You plan to seduce one of us, or even worse, all of us? You’re trying to live your little romance novel dream in exchange for my lover’s life.”
“I’m not! I promise—”
“No,” Kunikuzushi interjected, “We don’t need you making empty promises.”
He straightened up before pinning her to the railing, “I won’t listen to any of your trashy reasoning. I hate you and I always will so stop trying while you can, got it? Don’t talk to us. Don’t try to get close to us. Just. Don’t. Try.”
The look he gave her was firm and a clear declaration that she shouldn't try and change his mind.
She was stunned, but she knew that he was clearly hurting and she couldn’t bring herself to object to his demand. So she simply nodded, “Okay.”
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(Table of Contents)
Taglist (tag me in the comments to be added!) - @mc-park, @beriiov, @mxrossweisse
#Hinipan#6reeze#4nemo#5wirl#genshin impact#genshin#xiao#aether#kazuha#heizou#scaramouche#venti#modern au#idol au#genshin idol au#x reader#reader insert#reincarnation au#reincarnation
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Just finished "Bel-Air" (2022) and LOVED it!
I loved that it didn't try to be the original, but instead went a completely different direction while still remaining true to the soul and intentions of the original.
More detailed analysis and spoilers under the cut.
Not only was the premise of the show the same, but the premise for most of the characters was the same.
Will, of course, an unapologetically Black kid from West Philly who got in a fight and was sent to live with his auntie and uncle in Bel Air
Carlton, a black kid surrounded by mostly white kids and because of that, has either lost touch with his culture or was never connected to it in the first place
Uncle Phil, Will's rich surrogate father uncle who has lost touch with the Black community after having been in a position of power for so long (although this version of Uncle Phil is definitely more out of touch than in the original)
Aunt Viv, a woman who set aside some of her dreams for the sake of her family (she changed the most from all the characters, but I think it works)
Hillary, a charismatic but not academically minded young woman being pushed out of the nest and trying to have it all
Ashley, the little cousin trying to figure out who she is and being a little rebellious in doing so
Geoffrey, the hired help who's more like family
Lisa, the spunky love interest
Jazz, the annoying friend
And then they took a lot of these characters and went TOTALLY different directions with them.
Will actually stayed pretty much the same as in the original, just rode the struggle bus a bit longer
In the original, Carlton dealt with being "racially isolated" (I don’t know if there's an actual word for that) by being the best student, son, and brother he could be and was unapologetically himself (except for that one episode lol) It really wasn't much of an issue. In "Bel-Air", Carlton struggles a LOT. He suffers from pretty severe anxiety, struggles with the pressure to be perfect, does drugs to cope with it, and puts up with his racist "friends'" bullshit. This Carlton is an exploration of what could have happened. I love both Carltons equally for different reasons and I'll fight anyone who disses them.
(Sorry for the rant, Carlton is my favorite character in both shows)
Uncle Phil is more ambitious and frankly, more selfish than in the original. His character development is just *chef's kiss* beautiful though.
Aunt Viv, again, is very different from her 90's counterpart(s) but is a fantastically complex character. Instead of just seeing her as "Mom", we see her as a woman with hopes, dreams, needs, and insecurities. (I loved her too)
Hillary is a LOT more capable (not that that's saying much) and instead of wanting to stay at home and live off of daddy's money forever, she's looking for her own way forward on her own terms
Ashley is also very different. She's queer (obviously) and not as naïve which is fitting as children, girls especially, enter the political world much sooner nowadays thanks to social media
Geoffrey... damn! 007 is right. Instead of a goofy butler he's a sexy "say the word and he's dead, Sir" kinda guy! Really hope we get to see his son next season.
I'm not a huge Lisa fan but she was definitely more sympathetic and real in this version
I like Jazz a lot better in this version. He's more charismatic than he is annoying and honestly, I really ship him and Hillary now.
What I hope we see in season 2
I want Carlton to have an anxiety relapse now that he's trying to quit (because I love angst). Maybe he starts the drugs up again and his family finds out. Maybe he takes it too far and accidentally OD's (which would be another nice callback to the original). Whatever happens, he and his parents need to talk about all the pressure they've been putting him under.
I want to see what happens with Hillary and Ivy and the influencer house. They set it up pretty blatantly so I'm not too worried about it.
Phil dealing with being a house-husband for a little while. I literally can't think of a SINGLE TIME I've seen that on TV
I wanna see Ashley come out. I don't think it would be a really big thing because everyone's cool with it, but it would be cool
I also want to see her first romance so I can live vicariously through her
Hillary and Jazz are going to have to tell Phil about their relationship eventually and I think that would be a perfect time for a callback (AAAGGGHHHHH)
#bel-air tv show#fresh prince of bel air#will smith#carlton banks#philip banks#vivian banks#hillary banks#ashley banks#jazz#90s tv shows#can't wait for season 2#did i mention carlton's my favorite?
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Once upon a time, in what seems like another lifetime now, I was a student of music. It's likely I inherited my interest from my great grandfather, who played violin in the orchestra as a student at my high school decades before I was born.
I studied: History, Theory, Composition, Vocal Performance, Piano, and even wrote a comparative essay in high school on Chinese and Japanese stringed instruments. I've successfully played: beginner guitar, clarinet, and violin, and can even tune water goblets. I have sung at numerous competitions in: French, Italian, Spanish and English, with one disastrous attempt at German (which is hysterical since I am strongly of German descent.) There is a special place in my heart reserved for the appreciation of pipe organ and glass [h]armonica music, as well as Gregorian chant.
I was accepted into both a private and public music school for Music Therapy at the private university and Music Education at the public university, and performed as a first Soprano in the public school and would've been a second Soprano in the private school if I'd lasted longer than a week.
In my studies, I learned that music has the power to heal, and although I would not have been emotionally prepared to work with the patients at St. Jude using music to assist with their treatment the way I had dreamed of doing, nearly 2 decades later I still believe in the healing power of music. I've even started using sound therapy to work through some of my own healing.
One of the other things I learned as a music school student was that it is rumored (and still under debate today) that many of the most popular religious hymns and even the religious music now lost to time was originally performed by patrons of the local taverns after work in the evenings. The local churches, seeking to increase attendance, changed up the lyrics, added some seriously powerful backing music, and suddenly their seats were full. This in addition to overwriting Pagan holidays and practices, among other things.
Since I was privileged to have had family members who broke away from the traditional Catholicism and attended Unitarian services instead, I became comfortable with the concept of then taking existing religious hymns and reworking them to be secular and aligned with the intention of bettering the world for the good of humanity.
One of my grandmothers once told me my voice was a gift, and I would feel uncomfortable choosing to keep my feminine singing voice and then not doing anything with it.
One of my struggles since starting to practice Wicca is that I feel like singing ALL THE TIME. If I'm singing, you'll be able to tell what I'm thinking or feeling by what I'm singing, and aside from my cooking or baking, it's the strongest tool I have at my disposal for affecting positive emotional changes. However: the last thing I ever want to do is trigger someone's religious trauma without warning.
So what I figured out is:
1. Most religious hymns are public domain, so finding accompaniment and backing vocals shouldn't be difficult. I also have a Twitch account for recording videos and several YouTube accounts I can choose from to post them on and then share links in posts here. In a pinch, there's SingSnap, or I own a piano I should probably be playing more often anyway.
2. I can rewrite the lyrics to the songs and post them here, listing the source for the original songwriter/composer, with a link to listen to me performing each song as I've written it. If I find a version that already exists, I'll post with credit to whoever wrote it.
3. In addition, I can also provide information about each song and composer/writer, as well as which deity(ies) came to mind during the process, or even a random snippet relating to music history.
3.1. I'm already getting vibes from Ares that the theme songs for each of the Armed Forces may be a good place to start.
4. The Unitarian Church has already taken great strides in undertaking a project of this nature, and I wouldn't be opposed to working with my local UC on some of these recordings.
Sources:
Wikipedia
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Church_music#:~:text=During%20the%20first%20two%20or,it%20absorbed%20other%20musical%20influences.
The Enjoyment of Music, Ninth Edition Chronological Version by Machlis and Forney, 1997
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Hello it's me again~ may I... Ask for a cute little one shot thing for Ashe and Hubert. I'm weak for them....
,HI!! I MEANT TO GET TO THIS A L O T SOONER SKJFHFKJ I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND HOW LONG IT TOOK ;W;
And also, Modern AU for this one!! and...a lot more (attempted) humor than I originally intended lol - as well as a switch from my usual format!!
....aaand a lot...longer...than I thought...i know you said little but i kinda went off woops
--------------------
Hubert was going to die. That’s it. He was going to perish in just a few moments and the one person he thought would have his back was currently trying not to laugh at him.
Correction. Was laughing at him.
“Edelgard please, this is a serious matter...” Hubert grumbled, though that only succeeded in making her laugh harder...for some reason.
“I’m sorry Hubert,” Edelgard said as she wiped away the tears in her eyes - liar, she wasn’t actually sorry, Hubert could tell - and sighed. “But truly...how could you expect me to not laugh?”
“Maybe out of respect for a childhood friend?” Hubert buried his head under his arms, trying to figure a way out of this situation while his traitor of a friend simply laughed.
“Hubert, honestly, how did you expect me to not laugh? What you’ve told me is, pardon my bluntness, absolutely hysterical,” chuckling as she spoke. Perhaps Hubert would have to reconsider helping her get those tickets Dorothea’s new play if this was how she was going to treat him.
What was the matter, exactly? According to Edelgard, something hysterical. That something being the fact that, after what might have been a year or two of stewing in his feelings for a young man named Ashe Ubert, and decided to take the plunge and attempt to confess.
By writing him a letter. With the intent to gift it in person, since he knew that he would not be able to say the words aloud, having not bothered to sign it. And then leaving said letter in front of his dorm room because he was an idiot and a fool who panicked as soon as he knocked on the door, dropping the letter and booking it.
Do you understand Hubert’s dilemma now?
And thus he had come to Edelgard, hoping for sympathy and maybe advice on how to get the letter back if not apologize, only to be met with laughter on her end. The absolute traitor.
“In any case...I don’t believe you have any reason to worry.” Edelgard took a sip from the coffee she had been nursing when Hubert initially asked if they could meet. Thankfully the shop had been quiet when he arrived, with very few patrons aside from himself and Edelgard...
...and yet, with how much she was laughing, Hubert almost would’ve preferred if there were more patrons - if only to have some distraction from his embarrassment.
“I believe I have every reason to worry. I made a fool out of myself,” Hubert lifted his head, only to hold it in his hands. Goddess, the amount of embarrassment he felt from this whole situation was immeasurable - and it was all his own fault! He really had no one to blame here but himself.
And yet...truthfully, he couldn’t find any true regret in this situation. Well, of course he regretted leaving behind the letter, and he defnitely regretted running away like a coward even more, but he couldn’t find himself regretting falling for Ashe. In fact, he found himself struggling just trying to picture a world where he did not fall for Ashe. After all, Ashe was practically a ball of sunshine incarnated as a person - if opposites really did attract, well, that would explain quite a bit.
There were a million and one reasons as to why and how he realized he’d fallen (including but not limited to the time Hubert had quite literally tripped into Ashe’s arms)...and apparently, he had found it fit to include it all in the letter.
Perhaps if he asked nicely enough, Edelgard’s step-brother would be willing to put him out of his misery.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Ashe hadn’t known what to expect when he first found the letter in front of his dorm room after hearing a knock on the door. He’d reached down to pick it up, but when he looked up to see who left it there, all he’d seen was a flash of black rounding the corner. Maybe he should have given chase, but at the time, he had been distracted by the letter that was now in his hands.
So he had gone back into his dorm room, carefully opened the letter, and began to read.
And within the first few sentences, felt his entire face burn.
Whoever it was that wrote this letter - and actually wrote it, in very neat (and almost familiar) handwriting - was very, very much in love with him. And very detailed about said love. No, there wasn’t anything gross or creepy in the letter, but with how hot Ashe’s face felt, there might as well be.
It’s just...he’s never felt so flattered in his entire life? It was almost uncomfortable, with how hot his dorm room seemed all of a sudden when they mentioned how much they adored his cooking, and the way he gushed about his favorite books, and how his eyes apparently lit up whenever getting particularly passionate, and...
Well, you get the gist. The point was, Ashe was definitely flustered. There were just a couple of problems.
First of all, whoever had written the letter had not signed their name. Sure, they had handwritten the entire letter, but Ashe didn’t think comparing the handwriting of every student on the campus would be feasible in any way (although, looking at it again, it did look rather familiar...).
Second of all...Ashe already had someone he was in love with. So whoever had sent this letter, he was flattered, really, but his heart was already set on one person.
That person being Hubert von Vestra. Maybe it was surprising (Ashe could almost hear Sylvain’s shocked sputtering if he were to ever find out), but Ashe found himself falling head over heels with this man. Perhaps he was rather intimidating when you first meet him, and maybe he seemed far too dark and broody for someone like Ashe to fall for, but that was the thing.
Hubert was more than just some dark and broody forensic science major (though he wouldn’t blame people for thinking otherwise). At his core, Hubert was a truly kind person, despite it only being to people he deemed worthy of it. He was loyal to a fault, and just as protective - Ashe almost giggled remembering the time someone had tried to trip Ashe and ended up getting their own legs swept out from underneath them. There was also the fact that Hubert was fond of cats - Ashe had caught him, on multiple occasions, petting and even feeding the stray cats around their university.
It also didn’t hurt that Hubert was very attractive. Very, very attractive,
Look, point was, Ashe had to find whoever wrote this letter and tell them that he was awfully sorry, but his heart was already set on someone else, and he couldn’t find himself returning their feelings when he was already in love with another. That would just be cruel of him.
So he had headed out, letter in hand, hoping to maybe find Hubert and asked him if he could help him figure this out. No, this wasn’t just an ulterior motive to spend more time with Hubert - though that certainly didn’t hurt - he just knew that if anyone could figure out who wrote it, it would be Hubert. After all, Hubert was extremely smart, almost scarily so.
Luckily, he didn’t have to look for too long. He spotted Hubert sitting with Edelgard at the university’s coffee shop - though for whatever reason, Edelgard seemed to be laughing as Hubert buried his head in his hands. Did something happen?
“Hey, Hubert!” Ashe called out as he walked over, holding the letter tight. Hubert’s head whipped around to look at him, with a strangely panicked look in his eyes as Edelgard’s simply twinkled with what Ashe guessed was amusement.
“H-Hello Ashe,” Hubert said in a strained voice once Ashe had reached their table, with Ashe tilting his head at hearing the strained tone.
“Are you feeling alright? If you aren’t, I can always come back later-” Ashe began saying, though he was cut off. Surprisingly enough, by Edelgard - somehow, she just didn’t seem like the type.
“No, it’s quite alright. I’m certain we would both love to hear what you had to say,” Edelgard said, giving Hubert an odd look.
“A-Alright, if you say so.” Ashe looked between them, a bit concerned, but he supposed Edelgard would know if Hubert was alright or not. “I got this letter earlier today, and I was wondering-”
Hubert suddenly seemed to choke on nothing, coughing hard. Was Edelgard sure that he was alright? Hubert was turning horribly red...although, Edelgard herself didn’t seem too concerned. In fact, she seemed almost amused.
“Well? Go on,” she prompted.
“...I was simply wondering if Hubert could maybe help me find out who wrote it,” Ashe finished almost weakly.
Hubert’s face seemed to be warring between various shades of red and turning completely pale. He muttered something, so quietly that Ashe couldn’t hear it.
“Did you say something? I’m afraid I couldn’t quite hear you...” Ashe watched as Hubert gave an almost helpless look to Edelgard, as Edelgard simply gestured for him to go on.
Hubert coughed again, and without looking Ashe in the eyes, he spoke. “It...It was me.”
Ashe stared at him for a few moments, completely silent as his mind processed what Hubert had said.
Then...
“WHAT?!”
(Edelgard, admittedly, was having far too much fun watching the both of them stumbling over their words as they both admitted to having at least a year’s worth of feelings for one another. She was glad that they finally managed to get together, even if it was in one of the more ridiculous ways Edelgard had thought of.
Well, she’s definitely seen worse. That worse being her professor’s first attempt at romancing the dean of the school...his fault for taking Sylvain’s advice to heart. At least it worked out between them.
She almost wished she had recorded this. Dorothea would be having a field day with this entire situation.)
#fe3h#fe16#fe hubert#fe edelgard#fe ashe#hubert von vestra#edelgard von hrevsleg#ashe ubert#huashe#ashebert#cookingshadow#THIS TURNED OUT#WAY LONGER THAN MY ORIGINAL INTENT H#SJKHJD I HOPE YALL DONT MIND THE MASSIVE BLOCK OF TEXT#fic#askbox prompt#this was definitely a lot more humorous than what I usually write jsdfkjsfd#lou-rosa-gautier
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Page Turner
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader
Summary: Y/N becomes a little impatient while Spencer is reading...
Category: SMUT (18+)
Content: Thigh riding, thigh fucking, cum play
Word Count : 2.5k
MASTERLSIT
NOTE: this is just FILTH FILTH FILLLTHHHHH, and it was supposed to be a blurb but i got kinda carried away so it’s a little longer than that... so enjoy your porn with no plot 😊😂
And shoutout to @broken-stardust for beta-ing this for me!! we originally talked about the idea for this fic months ago, so i’m glad you finally got to see it ❤
———
She was in the mood for a little trouble.
Well, it was more like she was in the mood for a good fuck, but at the moment, with Spencer's strong desire to finish this incredibly long book series he'd just discovered, the mood for trouble came as more of a... fun little footnote that would most certainly add to the experience she was looking for.
So she strode up to Spencer, who was sitting comfortably on the couch with his book open and his glasses perched cutely on the tip of his nose, and straddled herself on his right leg wearing nothing but a pair of thin cotton underwear and a t-shirt.
"Hey," she said, low and seductive as she planted a wet kiss into his neck. Her hands clutched his shirt, willing herself to be closer and with every intention of him putting the book down and paying her some attention.
Either he truly wasn’t in the mood, or he was teasing her.
"Hey," is all he responded with, clipped and distant. His eyes scanned the pages, albeit slower than usual due to the woman clinging herself to him and begging for attention.
"You've been reading all weekend," Y/N half-whined, pressing herself into him and attaching her lips to his neck again. "Can't you at least take a little break?"
"It won't take me long to finish this book, and then we can, okay?"
She knew it was fair. It was more than fair, actually, but that didn't help the fact that she was still incredibly horny, and if she took care of it herself, it wouldn't have been enough. Maybe that was selfish, but she didn't care.
So she whined for real this time, more like a disappointed child, as she gripped his shirt and pulled herself closer to him. "Spencer..."
She expected him to warn her, to tell her to wait or something—anything—but instead he opted for the exact opposite.
He did nothing.
Y/N promptly decided that wasn't the correct response and rolled her hips, grinding down on his leg for friction. Her tongue drew a messy line up the side of his neck as she circled her hips and sought out the stimulation she so desperately wanted. And at the way his body tensed under her, obviously wanting the same things but holding out in favor of restraint, she knew her plan was close to working.
So she let out a long, content sigh and tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging it gently and continued to ride his thigh, moving quicker and harder with each second as she felt her body start to unravel. Her lips attached to his neck and mumbled all sorts of little noises that should have gotten him to fucking do something...
And still, even as she felt herself cling to him and her body recover from a short (and quite frankly unsatisfying) orgasm, Spencer remained in his position, still flipping pages in that godforsaken book.
"Spencer," Y/N grunted. She was exasperated, and strongly hoping that she wasn't giving him any satisfaction in her need for attention.
However, instead he seemed a little defensive. "Wh—You're distracting me! I can't finish the book as quickly if you're distracting me..."
"Fine," she sighed, peeling herself away from him and trying one last thing to get him to submit.
Y/N slid the underwear off her legs and tossed it gently at his face, watching it fall into his lap in front of the book.
Still nothing. His eyes roamed the pages, and he was clearly highly invested in whatever story was written on them. And god damn it if he still wasn't the cutest thing she'd ever seen.
So she slunk back to the bedroom and plopped herself down on the bed with only a t-shirt, laying down and crossing one leg over the other. And when she tossed her head to the side with a sigh, she noticed the other books in Spencer's current interest scattered along his side of the bed.
Well, I'm not particularly in the mood anymore, and there's really nothing else to do...
"Why the fuck not," Y/N sighed, reaching out and fishing for the book that had the number 1 printed on the spine.
***
With the final paragraphs of the story swimming through his brain, the book settled closed and neatly on the cushion beside him, Spencer looked down at his lap and noticed the bundle of cotton sitting there, next to a small damp spot on his pants where his girlfriend had been just under a half hour earlier.
He felt bad, ignoring her like that. It was hard resisting her when she was literally there, in his lap and getting herself off on his leg. And while he could practically hear Morgan in the back of his mind, telling him with disappointment in his voice, "It doesn't matter how important you think something is, that is always gonna be the most important thing,"... Spencer really couldn't help it. The book was so good he couldn't put it down. Not even for sex.
And now that he'd finished, he was focusing on what his brain decided it couldn't handle before, remembering her wet, hot breath on his neck and her fingers tangled in his hair as she rode his thigh, begging him for attention.
He was feeling guilty.
And he was going to spend the whole rest of the weekend making it up to her. He swore it, no matter who called, no matter what came up, he wasn't going to pay any attention to it unless it was his girlfriend's limbs tangled with his.
His hand reached for the book so he could return it with the others, but he thought better of it, wondering if Y/N would say anything. Instead, he figured walking in empty-handed and announcing how he was ready to give her his undivided attention for the rest of eternity if she'd let him would be a better option.
Spencer was feeling good about his decision, but when he opened the bedroom door and saw her, he felt even worse about ignoring her.
Because there she was, one foot pressed flat into the mattress and the other crossed over her knee, exposing her bare cunt to the world as she held a book in her hands. She looked statuesque and absolutely delectable, and he'd turned her down for a book he could have easily finished tomorrow morning.
Oh, he was definitely going to make it up to her...
"H—Hey, babe," he got out, trying to get her attention like she hadn't already heard the squeaky door open.
"Hey," she responded, similar in tone to how he'd answered the same greeting earlier, and it made his stomach turn.
Was she doing it on purpose?
Spencer took cautious steps towards her, stepping around the bed and clearing off the books scrambled on his side so he could take their place. "What are you reading?"
Rather than speaking, she tilted the book so he could see the cover and then returned to her position, eyes scanning the pages, and he couldn't tell if she was doing it to mess with him or if she was truly invested.
"Okay... Well, um... I'm finished now, i—if you wanted to, um..."
When Y/N finally took her eyes off the pages, she looked at him up and down as he sat on the bed... She took in his apologetic eyes, the slight pout on his lips that she could never resist...
And then she resisted him. Sort of.
"Eh, sure. Just let me finish this chapter first."
She sounded utterly bored.
And once again, Spencer wasn't sure if it was genuine or if she was just doing it to get back at him. But either way, it made him feel bad about before. He wanted to respect her wishes, grant her the time to finish reading just as she'd granted it to him... But he also wanted to make sure she knew just how sorry he was.
"Oh... Okay." He laid down next to her and watched her face as she read, her eyes occasionally blinking, mimicking the butterflies in his stomach at the sight before him. Even if she was mad at him, she was still absolutely stunning, and he was never going to take it for granted.
His fingers reached out to brush some of the hair from her eyes so he could see her better, and despite herself, she smiled a little, gently leaning into his touch.
That's my way in...
"I'm really sorry, Y/N... For ignoring you. I was just really caught up in the book and I—"
"Babe, it's fine," she dismissed, like it wasn't ever a big deal in the first place. "Trust me, I totally get it now. This is so good..."
As soon as she finished speaking, her eyes were roaming the words again, her bottom lip tucking gently between her teeth as she turned a page.
Oh... so she wasn't just messing with me, then...
Spencer's eyebrows raised and he sighed a little, truly unsure where to go from here. "Oh... Well... I'm glad you like it?"
She hummed, barely acknowledging him, and it amused him to his very core. So much so that he couldn't help but lean forward to kiss her cheek out of habit. And when she scrunched her nose, barely brushing off his touch, he started feeling a bit more devious. So he kissed her again, this time on the jaw, and then again and again trailing down her neck. And he stayed there, sucking small marks into her skin while she remained in her position.
He remembered what he saw when he opened the door, and the thoughts swirling around in his head begged him to utilize it.
He really wanted to be polite and let her finish reading... But also...
Spencer shifted, leaving the bed only to return on the other end, with no pants as he crawled up in between her legs on his knees. Seeing as she wasn't going to move her legs at all, he settled for running his hands gently over them, tracing every dip and curve they took, all the way down to the back of her thigh, which was out and exposed as it was aiding in resting her ankle over her other knee.
When he got close to her exposed pussy, she shivered a little. "You're distracting me..."
The obvious teasing that laced her words sent a smile to his lips. He couldn't see her face for a moment, but then she angled the book down and peered over it, giving him eyes that challenged, Do it and see what happens...
So, without breaking eye contact, Spencer gently ran his finger along the opening of her wet cunt and watched as she flung the book back up to her face, hiding it from view. He played with her clit for a while, circling it gently with his thumb while his middle finger slowly slipped in and out of her.
Y/N whined. "That's not fair... At least when I was interrupting you, I didn't try to give you a handjob..."
Spencer hummed in agreement, removing his fingers from her and bringing them to his lips. "Hmm, I suppose you're right..."
So how am I going to make it even...
He took his dick out of his underwear then, holding it in his hand and resisting the urge to slip it inside of her. Instead, he settled for the small gap between her thighs, a whine escaping him once he realized it was nowhere near the amount of stimulation he'd get from anything else.
His hips snapped forward urgently as he chased some form of release, frustrated at how it felt good, but not nearly good enough.
"Not so fun, is it?" Y/N sang, flipping a page amusedly once he'd let out another exasperated whine.
"What's to stop me from just fucking you?" he hissed, gripping her legs and trying his hardest to be patient.
"You won't... Because you won't learn your lesson otherwise."
Now she was messing with him. She was punishing him for ignoring her, and he breathed a laugh, knowing he should have seen it coming. But he wasn't going to argue with her, not when he was well and truly aware that he deserved this.
Still, it didn't make it any easier.
Spencer's whimpering increased tenfold, though, once she took a little pity on him and squeezed her legs tighter, giving him more friction and bringing him closer to the edge.
"O—oh my g—od..."
It happened so fast. One second he was relieved at this new wave of pleasure and the next he was pulled underneath it, his lower half tensing, pulsing, and burning hot. God, she was warm... And wet, and tight, but in a completely different way than normal, and it all was too much.
Her thighs and lower stomach were covered in cum, and that thought alone was enough to keep him going. He was overstimulated and probably should have refrained, but the silky, warm skin of her thighs just felt so good gliding over his dick, he just couldn't.
By now, Y/N had completely tossed the book aside, watching in awe as Spencer seemed unaware of her actions. His eyes were shut tightly, so focused on coming again, and the head of his cock peeked out through the gap in her thighs with every thrust forward, glistening and nearly red...
And then he was coming again, and she watched as the milky substance spilled out over her skin. A strand of it dripped slowly down the front of her left thigh, and the sight made her whine.
Spencer opened his eyes then, an overwhelming kernel of love and adoration blooming through his chest as he watched her watch him.
And then everything slowed.
He shoved the book off the bed and laid down beside her, looking down to admire his work.
"Fuck," is all he said, in one huff.
He was clearly pleased with himself, a fact which made Y/N beam. "Oh, you like that, huh?"
With a vigorous nod, he reached a hand out to spread some of the mess around, his fingers gliding slowly and softly over the planes and curves of her still-crossed legs.
"We have to do that again... Though, I could do without the 'you punishing me' part..."
Y/N let out a laugh, grabbing his wrist and bringing his fingers to her mouth. She darted her tongue out to taste, slowly dragging the tip along the underside of his middle finger before taking it fully in her mouth.
"Don't give me a reason to punish you, then," she quipped back after letting his finger go with a soft pop and tilting her head to look at him.
That look in her eyes, the one that always gave him butterflies, elicited another heavy nod.
"Deal."
———
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#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x reader smut#spencer reid smut#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds smut
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The filming scene In part 1 of pornstar!tom where he’s tied up and you take the blindfold off and his eyes are all blurry and unfocused go me thinking:
Imagine the video went viral and people started asking for more sub!tom so they get you to do it again but with more edging, so you’re sitting there, tom is tied up and gaged and you’ve been edging him for the past half hour but he’s not used to being the sub so he’s crying cuz he just wants to cum so bad and everyone thinks he’s just really good at acting but you know he’s crying for real. So when the scene is done you untie him and remove the gag, and the directors are telling you to come see how good it looks but you’re too busy making sure Tom is okay, and he’s so tired that he’s falling asleep on you😍🤤
i am such a submissive person this was genuinely difficult for me to write, but i think i got somewhere 😅possibly not even a request, but i was inspired and wanted to challenge myself
read switch here!
cry baby | t.holland
{pornstar!tom x pornstar!reader}
word count: 2,254
warnings: smut ofc
warnings: sub!tom, oral (m receiving), bondage, blindfold, spit play, edging/orgasm denial
You never thought you’d have ended up here again. But, your video with Tom had reached heights you’d never achieved before, and the fans were eating it up. They wanted more—and to your surprise, so did Tom.
Now, as he laid in much the same position he had in the original video, you were starting to understand why. He was flat on his back with all four limbs stretched out and fastened to the bedposts with thick black rope. His chest was heaving, his lips parted in fast paced pants as he watched you with intrigue—he knew what was to come.
“Are you ready, baby boy?” you cooed, stroking his cheek with your thumb. Tom’s eyes fluttered at the caress, brown irises blown wide with lust and desperation, and he whined airily. The black blindfold shielded you from his longing stares, and he lifted his head a little too eagerly so that you could slip the strap around his head.
Already he had suffered through the torture of your hands, his body flushed from agonizing minutes spent with your hands stroking his cock hard and fast just to rip his orgasm away from him. The sound of his pleas and cries still echoed in your ears, a familiar pang throbbing in your core as you remembered the way he sobbed your name on the third denial. For being such a dominant man, Tom was incredibly good at being submissive.
This time, though, you were skipping the gag. You wanted to hear all the little noises Tom could make, to hear all the words that spilled from his lips as he yearned so achingly for your touch. Trailing your fingers down his chest, you murmured, “What do you want, hm? Want my hands again?”
He shivered, a stuttered gasp escaping his mouth as you swirled your thumb around his nipple. The little bud hardened instantly, standing tall and stiff from the stimulation. “I—I want your mouth, Miss.” he whispered, and you smiled.
“You know what you have to do,” you tutted.
Tom’s lips were trembling as you crawled onto the bed, perching on your knees between his thighs, and he pleaded weakly, “P-please! I want your mouth, Miss, want it so bad.” His hips bucked wildly as your hands delicately caressed the skin of his inner thighs, and you admired the trail of goosebumps that erupted in their path. He was always so reactive, and it made your belly twist up in knots.
Seeing him there, entire body physically quivering for you to just do something, the world around you faded away. No longer did you care about the cameras trained upon you, and the faint sounds created by the crew vanished into white noise—it was just you and Tom. His legs were straining against the rope that tied them down, flexing and tensing as he tried his hardest to chase the hands that touched them.
Humming, your hands dragged up his thighs to rest on his hips. Thumbs dipping into the rippled lines of muscle that descended from his abdomen to his center, the length of his cock was reddened and leaking as it rested on his heaving stomach. Tom’s breathing picked up a notch as you teased the skin with a feather light touch, the area bare and smooth; he liked to keep things groomed for filming.
“Do you think you deserve my mouth, baby?”
Tom gasped when your hand closed around his length, stroking soft and slow pumps with almost no pressure at all. “Yes, I’ve been a good boy, Miss! I’ll—I’ll be so good for you!” he pleaded, voice hoarse, and you smirked at the way his head rolled around helplessly. “Please, Miss!”
Pulling at his length with more conviction, you relished in the strangled cry of relief he gave. “Don’t cum until I say so, understand?” you commanded, tone heavy with warning, and he nodded with a choked moan.
The sounds Tom made when your lips finally wrapped around his tip, lapping greedily at the pre-cum that was beaded on his slit, were purely animalistic. Carnal shouts of ecstasy and relief, his mouth hanging wide as he tugged relentlessly on his restraints. Each noise, each cry and plea for you to take him further, spurred you on. Your lips wrapped around him tighter, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked harder, and you flattened your tongue to take more of him.
Tears welled in your eyes when you pushed the tip of your nose into his pelvis, his length buried deep in your throat and choking you. “Oh, fuck!” he cried out, hips bucking wildly off the bed, and you gagged roughly around him. The noise of your wet, sloppy cough around his length paired with the sensation of your throat constricting had him trembling beneath you.
“Miss, ‘m gonna cum,” Tom panted. His voice was broken and cracked, his throat undoubtedly worn out from the guttural sounds that had ripped it apart. You hummed around him before pulling away with a grin, loving the way his hips chased after you sloppily. “I—why did you stop?” he groaned, lips puffing up in a tiny pout.
You tutted, swirling your thumb lazily around his tip and licking the vein that ran along his shaft. There was nothing more you wanted in that moment than to strip your costume off and slide into his lap, but the video didn’t call for that. This time around the focus was all on Tom, endless edging and denial for the panting man on the bed.
As his breathing finally slowed, the erratic rise and fall of his chest deepening with his steadier inhales and exhales, you dipped closer once more. Almost instantaneously he stiffened, cock twitching in your hand expectantly, and you smirked at how needy he was. Now, after all the times you and Tom had slept together, it made you feel good to finally be in control. It felt good to be the one delving out the excruciating push and pull, dangling him right at the precipice of ecstasy only to drag him away before he could fall.
So, maybe you were being a little vindictive when you sucked his weeping tip between your lips and curled your tongue around it just like you knew he loved. When Tom was in control he rarely gave you the chance to truly treat him well; most often he’d be holding your head and choking the life out of you as he thrust to his heart’s content. But now? Now you were setting the pace, calling the shots, and damn if you weren’t going to make him fucking cry.
Already he was whimpering pathetically, his breathing jagged and voice hoarse as he continually vocalized his need for you. His entire body was glistening with a light sheen of sweat and oil, the latter courtesy of Marlena the makeup artist, and he looked ethereal. He looked like a classical painting or sculpture, all artistically harsh edges colliding with soft flesh. The ridges of his muscle flexed and strained against his tender, slightly flushed skin, and it made your mouth water.
You pushed him to that cliff twice more, each time forcing more and more aggressive pleas from his pretty, pink lips. Tom was growing frustrated—angry, even—and the thought of it made you excited. His jaw was tensed and ticking with every grind of his teeth, and if you’d removed the blindfold you’d surely have been met with dark, swirling pools of rage in his eyes. If there was one thing he hated, it was to be teased.
Swirling your tongue around the broad, blazing red tip of his length, you giggled when a guttural cry burst straight from his chest. There it was, you were finally getting somewhere. His body was trembling all over, knees quaking and fingers quivering, and the sound of his desperation had finally reached its peak.
“Do you want to cum, baby boy?” you murmured, lips ghosting over the ridge beneath his tip eliciting a breathy whine, “Tell me how bad you want it.”
He jerked against the restraints, snarling madly. “I’ve been so good, Miss!” he choked out, “I’ve been a good boy, please, please, please, let me—oh!”
Your nose buried in the soft flesh of his pelvis, eyes watering and throat aching as he stretched your throat out. In the blurry edges of your vision you could just barely make out the way his hands stretched against their bonds, fingers straining and clawing through the air as he fought to grasp your head like he always did. You knew he wanted to move you, to thrust in and out of you at whatever pace he desired, but you had no intentions of moving.
How long could you stay like that? Face buried in his abdomen, eyes dripping tears, saliva trailing down your chin as you strained around him? You wanted to find out, and a part of you also longed to know if you could push him over the edge just like this. Not moving, just letting the erratic twitch of your throat as you gagged stimulate him.
In the end, you caved first. He was muttering unintelligibly, lips moving in a flurry of words you couldn’t make out that wavered in pitch dramatically. You wished to keep going, but the persistent ache in your jaw and lungs told you that you needed to stop. You needed air, and if you tried to push through it you’d either suffocate or instinctively clamp your jaw around the intrusion—that certainly wouldn’t have been good.
As you pulled off of him again, breathing heavily and wheezing slightly as you stretched your jaw, you wondered if he remembered this was the end. The script called for you to leave him begging, pleading his life to release only to be left unfulfilled. He was still whining to himself, and you could just barely make out the hoarse whisper, “I’ll fucking die if you don’t let me cum, please, Miss.”
You were still stroking him slowly with your hand as you sat up, your back aching slightly at the stretch. “Don’t be so dramatic,” you teased, and he growled under his breathe, “I don’t like your attitude right now, baby boy.”
He bared his teeth in a feral grimace, jaw tight and unwavering as he jerked against the ropes violently. “I want to cum!” he whined, voice cracking and slurred despite his demanding tone.
“Is that so?” you pouted, teasing the small slit of his tip playfully, “Well, it’s too bad I don’t really care what you want.”
With that, you got up and climbed off the bed as his length fell back onto his stomach with a dull smack. He hissed at the loss of contact and fought hard to chase after you, only to growl when he remained stuck. You admired the slick sheen that coated his body and the way his cock had gone a deeper shade of red, probably throbbing to the point of near agony from all of your edging.
“Cut!”
You swallowed down the swelling lump in your throat as you approached Tom timidly. The cameras were no longer rolling, his time playing the role of a submissive man over, and already you were shivering over what you’d certainly be facing later that night. What you hadn’t expected, though, was to find genuine tears streaming down his cheeks as you removed the blindfold.
The black garment was soaked with them, and you gaped at the red rim of his eyes and the inflamed ring around his nostrils. His brown eyes were unfocused and dazed as he looked at you, still watering as he blinked up at the sudden light, and your heart thudded pitifully against your ribcage. He was crying.
He was crying, and you didn’t know whether to feel guilty or scared. “Tommy?” you whispered, chewing on your lower lip as you stroked his sweaty curls from his face, “Are you okay?”
Tom’s head lulled into your touch, and he sniffled as he blinked up at you. “Yeah, ‘m good,” he croaked, “but you won’t be later.” His threat wasn’t all that intimidating as his eyes drooped, brown eyes clouded with exhaustion and lingering remnants of desperation. You brushed aside the feelings of nervous anticipation that stirred in the pit of your belly—that could wait.
All you cared about was untying Tom and maybe finishing what you’d started in your dressing room, though you were pretty sure he was too tired to go on. His eyelashes were fluttering as he fought to keep them open, and the sight was so heartwarmingly adorable that you couldn’t help but to coo at him. He pouted when you kissed his cheek, smacking his lips at you, “You missed, darling.” Rolling your eyes with a giggle, you pecked his lips and smiled at the pleased sigh that fanned your face.
All around you, you could hear the crew mumbling words of praise, all raving over Tom’s impeccable acting. “Damn, he should be in movies or something!” one man gaped, “(Y/N), come have a look!”
“Later,” you called back, “I’m busy.” Tom murmured sleepily, his head rolling deeper into the pillows, and you pondered to yourself how you were going to get him off the bed. A quiet snore perked your ears and you shook your head—for a man with so much stamina in the bedroom, he sure was beat from a little edging.
#tom holland smut#tom holland blurb#tom holland au#tom holland imagine#tom holland fluff#tom holland x reader#tom holland series#tom holland x y/n#tom holland x you#tom holland fic#tom holland angst#tom holland fanfic#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland oneshot
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Hello Inscryption fans it's me, an Inscryption fan!!
This fandom is still pretty new, but uh
Stupid writers gotta be stupid writers, so i have something for you all! Its the first part/chapter of a fic!
It's an AU, but real quick we just gonna say the entire games gonna be spoiled here, so if you haven't finished Inscryption, please do so before reading this.
Also might post this on a03 if y'all like it? I know my own follower base is p small but hey, uh, why not? Also, for those of you on computers, I'm sorry if the formatting is wack, I'm on mobile.
Also I'm calling this AU playtester AU for a reason you will all see later.
Currently tw for: swearing
Okay!! I'll stop rambling, here's the fic!
Next
[Recovery process initiated]
Luke's head had never hurt this bad before. He could probably count the number of major injuries he had in his life on one hand, so there wasn't much competition, but this was definitely the worst pain he'd ever been in.
The pressure seemed to push on his eyes, somehow, like the aching pain bouncing around his skull was pushing out everything in its way of escape. He put the palm of his hands against his eyes, rubbing until the pain behind them dissipated enough to put his hand on his forehead, blinking away the static-like spots that clouded his vision, his headache fading slowly.
Which, unfortunately, brought Luke to another question - where the fuck was he? As his eyes adjusted to the low light, he could tell there were trees around him, though it wasn't a part of the forest he was familiar with. They seemed to have a pattern, a subtle rhythm to the woods that only fueled his headache. Worse than that, though, was the darkness, stretching around him.
Luke staggered to his feet, hoping to see his beloved camera around him - no dice. He was quick to turn to his pockets, but found them empty. Letting out a heavy sigh, he muttered to dead air "great, well this is just incredible. Guess I'm going to run into a bear out here and die or something."
His words, of course, garnered no response, but with enough talking to a camera, that's something you get used to. Without any idea where he was going, Luke set off, trying to search his scraps of memory to figure out how the hell he could have gotten this deep into the woods.
It had been last night he had finished Inscryption the game, watching the game files delete them in front of his face. He expected most people would call bullshit, but he had the entire thing recorded on his camera. Luke had every intention on putting the entire playthrough everywhere, as well as suing the hell out of GameFuna. There was something wrong with that game, sure, but knocking on his door day after day? Breaking into his house? What the hell kind of company does that, on top of having a game that openly controlled your computer?!? He would make sure it all went public, and..
Luke was startled out of his thoughts by the loud cracking of a stick breaking under his shoes. His head snapped upwards, and he could see the clear outline of a path in the woods. It stretched out quite far, but at the end, he could see the light shining from a small cabin. Finally, some hint of civilization, took long enough. Luke was just about ready to put a call into the police department, get home, and get something done to these fucking people at GameFuna.
The trail stretched much longer than it originally looked as he walked it, the creatures of the forest buzzing and calling in the night. The sounds felt familiar and safe, and Luke found the melody of the forest soothing him as he tried to offset the strange, building feeling that he'd seen this cabin somewhere before. And yet, the more he stared, the more Luke knew he'd never been to this part of the woods, and he'd never faced a cabin such as this himself. At least, outside of horror movies and games, it was quite stereotypical looking in that sense.
Finally, after what seemed to be far too long, he reached the front of the cabin. To the left, he could see a small river trickling through the land, a stone bridge reaching over. To the right, he could see a path leading to a lake, the moon reflecting off the watery surface.
The cabin itself wasn't much to look at, worn down wood stretching around the exterior, with old fashioned curtains blocking his view of the inside. A chimney reached into the sky, nothing billowing out of it. The door was as old and wooden as the rest of the cabin, and he worried that knocking itself might damage the old thing. However, Luke's desire to go home was greater than that of preserving an old door, so he reached his hand up to knock anyways.
...
No one replied. After a couple of seconds, he tried again, calling, "hello?" Into the night. Once again, no one responded.
Luke sighed. "Oh, shit.. come on, someone answer the door." He growled at no one, trying once again to knock. No reply to his knocks came, though. And after a few minutes, Luke knew that for the time being, at least, he was stuck out here.
"Might as well make the most of it." He muttered to dead air, heading to the small stream on the left, wondering if there could possibly be anything worth checking out in the area. However, he didn't get far before a loud growl froze him in place.
To his right, a mangy mutt glared at Luke, teeth bared. It's growl was low, full of anger and intent. Without a doubt, this thing could tear Luke apart.
"Now, now puppy.." he didn't appreciate how his voice shook, stepping backwards. "It's okay,, I'm not here to hurt you, hey.." His words only caused the hound to let out an ear splitting, guttural bark, Luke defensively raising his arms to block an attack.
"Damn gunnit you old mutt, down!" A voice called, a thud sounding not far from Luke's feet. Opening one eye, he could see the dog was now contently munching on a bone, an angry looking man with a pickaxe storming towards the pair. Luke stepped back, taking a bit of a defensive stance as this man carried something that could definitely split Luke's head open, despite the man's smaller stature.
"Now, what are ye doin' here?" The other man raised the butt his pickaxe to Luke's face. "Ye don't look like a challenger!"
Oh, this was probably the cabin owner.. that made more sense. Luke let out a small sign of relief.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to trespass, I'm just lost. Would you happen to have a phone I could use to call for some help?"
He shook his head with a chuckle. "This place ain't mine, but If I were ye, I wouldn't rely on Leshy bein' awake! Sleeps like a rock!"
Luke felt his heart skip a beat, trying to rationalize what he'd just heard. It was probably nothing, he had to be logical.
"Well, uh, do you happen to have a phone, or know a way into the cabin."
"Oh, door's unlocked!" The man replied with a chuckle. "Jus walk right in, he won't mind!"
Luke nodded. Though breaking and entering wasn't a personal passtime of his, guess you've gotta adopt new hobbies every now and again.
"I see, thank you." Luke tried to keep his tone even, despite his heart beating out of his chest. "I'll be doing that now."
The other man nodded. "If 'e complains, jus say the prospector let ya inside!" And with that, the prospector walked off.
That did not help Luke's heart rate.
The door creaked on old hinges as Luke quietly swung it open. The interior of the cabin wasn't well lit, and Luke found himself wishing once again he had woken up with a flashlight.
A small candlestick was by the door, only one candle on its two prongs lit. Luke took it in his hand, admittedly afraid of surveying the room. However, a grunting sound alerted him to the figure in the corner before he even had a chance to look around.
The candlestick slipped from Luke's fingers.
Staring back at Luke were two spiraling pupils, eyes incomplete and enticing at the same time. It felt like all time froze, Luke's feet glued in place as the candlestick fell to the floor with a loud clang, extinguishing itself.
Neither spoke for what felt like hours, until finally Luke found his voice once again.
"You aren't real." Was the only thing that came into his head. This couldn't be real, not in a million years. And yet, those familiar eyes stared back at him.
That seemed to get a laugh out of the old photographer, a bit of a broken one. "I'm quite real, as far as I'm concerned. Are you?"
Luke felt a weight on his chest seemingly lift, and he laughed. This situation was ridiculous, impossible, unfathomable. And yet, the eyes on him didn't waver, and didn't laugh along.
"I'm not sure anymore, honestly. Man, what the *fuck*?!" The answer was honest, a bit brutally so. Luke felt tears tugging at his eyes, his mind begging for a logical explanation to why he was facing a character he'd seen in the game he'd dug up in the ground, the game that took over his PC, the game that knew his name, the horrible, cursed disk.
Leshy didn't have a response to his laughter, rather, when Luke was done laughing, he spoke up with an invitation.
"Would you like to play a game?"
Luke wiped the tears forming at his eyes.
"You know, why the hell not?"
#inscryption#inscryption au#writing#writers on tumblr#inscryption fic#inscryption fanfiction#playtester au#inscryption playtester au#Luke Carder#Leshy#the prospector#inscryption spoilers#the scribes#fanfic#fanfiction#sam writes#hooo boy here we go#normally I would write out my whole fic first in case i make some radical changes to the story#but fuck it#this fandom needs some comtent#hopefully you all like it tho!
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Between the devil and the deep blue sea (Yakuza!Josuke x Reader x Don Giorno)
If you're looking for cinnamon bun Josuke and cinnamon roll Giorno this is NOT it. The reader is a courtesan in this instance, and the Duwang gang (heh) are actually a branch of the Yakuza. (Just a darker, criminal Jojo AU)
This request took way too long, @rubyninja1 here you go love, I hope this is what you were envisioning.
All characters are aged up as this occurs many years after Giorno becomes Don.
TW: Very OOC, yandere behavior if you squint, yakuza x mafia au, suggestive content.
Word Count: 1.7k
Minors please DNI with this post and block the n/sfw tag
You stared at your reflection in the misty mirror, wiping off the steam in one swipe. You had a very important engagement to get ready for, and for the first time since you entered this business, you were nervous. Ever since Giorno became the Don of Passione, the drug trade came to a grinding halt. The rules were adapted to suit his ideals and keep Italy’s youth safe from drugs. But there remained one problem- the activities of the former execution squad… at the best of times, the income brought in was meagre, not really being enough to support all of the assassins, and with the new regime, even those jobs had all but dried up. You had to get creative to generate a livable income, and after many conversations and playing to the Don’s affections for you, you were able to persuade him to allow you and an elite group of escorts to run your business while still being under the protection of Passione.
Under normal circumstances, Giorno would not have allowed you to do something like this, but you had asked him to give you just one month to prove that you would be able to protect yourself while doing the line of work you had proposed, him hoping silently that you would grow tired of that life in favor of a more mundane activity, however, in that short amount of time, not only had you established your business, but you had become the most requested companion, which meant you could accept and deny requests at will- suddenly money was no longer your motivation. It was an intoxicating feeling… being that desired, it was altogether euphoric watching them crumble at your sweet rejections. It was fair game for any man, deciding your rules according to your latest whims, although, one man was above all of those games, being in a superior league all on his own. There was no waiting, or appraising when your presence was requested by Don Giovanna. Most times he would request for you to entertain his associates, close to him so he could keep an eye on you- one of many guardians that you had collected over the years.
Moving into your adjoining room you put on the beautiful silken embroidered outfit and hair ornaments sent to you by Giorno- tonight was a special night as the Don wasn’t just hosting any old Mafiosi, these guests were his esteemed associates from Japan. Over and above the usual treatment doled out to those who met with the don, this visit was more important than most. The head of the visiting group was a relative of Giorno’s, so there was no room for error. You wondered about his convoluted bloodline, hearing murmurs about his origins, but nothing was ever confirmed or denied other than the fact that his mother is Japanese, and nobody dared to push further for answers, not that it mattered in any case, by this time, Giorno had rearranged the entire structure of Passione, and for all intents and purposes it worked, sustainably generating copious amounts of money with minimal bloodshed.
Right, mascara and I’ll be done you mused as you applied the finishing touches to your makeup. No sooner had you finished primping your lashes did you hear a knock on your door.
“It’s open…” you called out from the seat in front of your mirror.
“(y/n), they’re ready with the car downstairs, whenever you’re ready to go…”
“Thank you Ris…” the words left your carefully painted lips, barely acknowledged by your capo when he turned to leave. Well, referring to him as Capo was now redundant seeing that you were an entity in your own right, but old habits die hard, and you still respected him in the same way. He always worried before you set out on these types of missions, remembering a time when you used to be sent out on missions by him. Nonetheless, those days were over now, and you had a new role to fulfil.
There was nobody downstairs when you left, so you exited quietly and steeled your mind on the drive to the private cigar lounge.
“Fugo, I’ll be in my study, please alert me when Higashikata and his associates are here. Also confirm with Risotto if (y/n) is on board for this evening,”
“Of course Giogio, excuse me, I’ll also follow up with Mista on the status of the Capos he’s in charge of- I’ll have feedback for you in an hour,” with a small nod of acknowledgement Fugo took his leave and Giorno went back to examining the documents sent to him beforehand about the strange occurrences in Morioh, Washington, and now Naples. This was the start of something ominous, having a nagging feeling that this wasn’t the last time he would have to meet Josuke. It’s highly unusual for organisations like Passione and the Gokudo to interact in this manner, but this situation was exceptional, and when Jotaro had made contact with Giorno explaining the situation, he couldn’t turn a blind eye, and as such, Josuke was sent in his stead to meet with the young Don.
“Giogio, we should leave now if we want to get there before Higashikata’s group, Mista will meet us there,” with that, the Don and his consigliere had left to receive their guests.
Scents of old leather, expensive tobacco, and even more expensive cologne filled the air when you sauntered in. A handsome man with a pompadour, donning a designer suit, shirt opened a few buttons too low displaying the elaborate patterns adorning his chest offered you a wicked grin from across the room. Just next to him, another ruggedly good looking man with scars across his face nursed a drink while emphatically making conversation with a white haired young man who had a beautiful raven-haired woman draped over him.
“Ah, (y/n), there you are, come on, take this to Don Giovanna and Mr Higashikata,” Maria the head hostess, pushed a bottle of cognac into your hands, the Mafiosi already having gone through a couple of rounds before your arrival.
You approached the rowdy table, offering apologies for the delay, nestling yourself between Giorno and Josuke with a flirtatious giggle.
“Well dollface, it seems good things come to those who wait, so I’ll overlook it… this time,” You were surprised with the fluency at which Josuke spoke Italian- perfect Neapolitan dialect.
“Your Italian is impeccable Higashikata-sama,” you commented, remembering the honorifics you read about. Josuke looked impressed, cocking an eyebrow, taking a sip of the expensive liquor that remained in his glass, readying himself for you to pour him another drink. Watching the exchange, Giorno downed the rest of his drink as well, and took care of the formal introductions, not that it mattered in any case. You were being pulled in all to quickly by the magnetism exuded by the young man, being lulled by the dulcet tones of his voice. I guess this runs in the family you thought to yourself, recalling your first encounter with the don. Giorno continued his conversations with the rest of Josuke’s associates, discussing the occurrences that had brought them all the way to Naples, but kept one eye on you at all times. He wasn’t sure if it was Josuke’s brazen attitude, or your fawning, but the entire situation had annoyed him, which didn’t make sense even to him seeing that you were acting on his instruction… although by this point, you weren’t really acting.
“So Higash…”
“Please, call me Josuke,”
“Okay, Josuke, those are some interesting tattoos you have…” you say, delicately tracing the patterns on his chest with a manicured finger.
“Wanna see the rest of it?” not really waiting for an answer, Josuke unbuttons the rest of his shirt to show you the elaborate design on his back, a large stunning dragon sprawled menacingly across the taut skin, stopping just shy of star-shaped marking on his shoulder.
“Hey, that looks like the same mark on the don’s shoulder…” the young man pulled his shirt and coat back on and eyed Giorno knowingly, to which the don wordlessly replied with a smirk as he raised his glass. Giorno wasn’t always that condescending, but he had the urge to make it known that hewas the one who had been acquainted with you first. Not that any of that had bothered Josuke, he wasn’t one to fall for minor acts of derision when he had set his sights on something he wanted, and right now, that was you. Missing that entire interaction as you refreshed everyone else’s drinks, you returned to the table, however Josuke wanted to take your conversation to another location, somewhere quieter.
You lead him to one of the private meeting rooms, slowly sliding the door shut. Turning around to face him, you noticed the look on Josuke’s face changed, eyes darker, expression demanding your attention, which you were unable to avert regardless of your efforts. This feeling was exhilarating to you, for so long you had mostly been in charge of your encounters, only ever yielding control to Giorno when you were with him.
“Y’know, your don was doing his best to make it known that he’d been here first… I don’t much care for the conquest or doing things first, all that matters is doing it right…” inching closer towards you, a pair of strong arms placed you on the table, hungry lips captured your own, your hands attempting to go into his hair when you were gently reprimanded. As much as this was a job for you, evidence of your excitement pooled in your lingerie and left your lips in muted moans as deft hands and lips skillfully worshipped your body, bringing you to the precipice of ecstasy so many times before allowing you to fall in.
“Good girl… look at you, barely able to think…” Josuke spoke into your shoulder, resting his head there while he waited for you ride out your climax.
Outside your little slice of heaven, your absence was obvious, Giorno having concluded his business, had started to take his leave, not before catching a glimpse of your slightly disheveled form exiting the room. You didn’t see him watching you with a scowl, already having set in motion a plan for your future in both his life and the organization… for now the moment though it seemed ignorance truly was bliss.
#josuke x reader#josuke x y/n#josuke higashikata#jjba giorno#giorno x reader#giorno giovanna x reader#yandere giorno giovanna#n/sfw#josuke 4#duwang gang#don giorno#don giovanna#jjba giorno giovanna#yandere giogio#out of character#yandere x reader#jojo x reader#jojo x you#jjba josuke#giorno giovanna#giorno#jjba#vento aureo#jojo's bizarre adventure#golden wind#giogio#jojo no kimyou na bouken#jojo no kimyō na bōken#diamond is unbreakable
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