#literal shit-slinging

[gav-san]

A Vintage Bouquet: 4

Main Masterlist Here

One Piece Masterlist

A Vintage Bouquet Masterlist

Pictures

Chapter Title: How to Win Friends and Influence Mandrills Length: 2 K+

Previous/Next

You found the fertilizer first.

Or rather, it found you.

It started with a shriek from the tree line, sharp and guttural, like nature had decided to file a complaint. You barely had time to blink before something steaming and horrifying thudded at your feet in a splat so wet, so immediate, that your soul briefly tried to leave your body.

You stared at it.

Another came.

Then another.

As the barrage intensified, you dove behind a half-shattered wheelbarrow, clutching your compost bucket like a shield. You’d seen war zones with better air quality. And then you saw them.

Looming in the trees—massive, moss-colored mandrills. Bigger than any primate you’d seen in the Blue. Muscles like stone. Faces like judgmental grandmothers. And expressions that made it very clear you were not welcome.

Your first thought was, “That bastard husband didn’t mention this.”

Your second was: “I swear if I survive this, I’m making wine so strong it’ll kill joy.”

They didn’t attack. Just jeered, hooted, and flung more steaming insults through the air like wild performance art. One even seemed to shrug at you. Or wink. Which, frankly, was worse.

That’s when it clicked: Mihawk had told them.

Not much. But just enough.

You weren’t prey.

You were just… unfortunate.

Honestly, this was the most affection he’d shown since handing you the servant’s room and vanishing like a cryptid.

By the end of the week, you were collecting their “gifts” into barrels, mixing them with ash and whatever compost you could scrounge. It smelled like death’s armpit. Your eyes watered daily. Your boots had to be burned. But your seeds needed it. The earth needed it. And you needed something to fight.

You rigged a rain catchment system out of snapped gutters, shattered wine casks, and an overturned stone basin you yanked from the ruins of the chapel. It took two days, a pulled shoulder, and a yelling match with a squirrel, but when the first storm came, you stood in the garden, soaking wet, watching brown water swirl into barrels like salvation.

You raised your arms to the heavens and hissed, “Victory,” through a mouthful of hair.

But the real triumph came later.

You were digging behind the old stables, wrist-deep in ash and hope, when your trowel struck warmth. Not heat. Not light.

Warmth.

You clawed into it barehanded, heart hammering, and sank your fingers into something you hadn’t dared to believe was real—rich, black, living soil. Volcanic.

You froze.

Then brought it to your nose. Inhaled.

And laughed.

And cried.

And nearly kissed it.

Because this cursed island—the same one that threw poop at you, hissed at night, and possibly hated joy—had volcanic bedrock.

You collapsed to your knees, stained in rot, spite, and old hope, and wept soft, stunned tears—not out of sadness, not from defeat.

But because you’d found it.

Life.

This place could grow vines.

Good ones.

Wine-worthy ones.

The kind that would ruin a sommelier’s day and make Mihawk choke on his regret.

You laughed again—sharp and cracked, the sound of a woman on the verge of reinvention or arson. Possibly both.

You’d clawed through haunted halls, fungal walls, mandrill diplomacy, and a haunted toilet room. You’d slept with a knife, cleaned with vinegar, and used broken altar pieces as shelving. You didn’t need lace. You didn’t need vows.

You had soil.

And vengeance.

It takes six months.

Six long, bloody-knuckled, wind-scoured, fungus-bitten, near-starved months.

The kind that chew you up and spit you back out with worse posture and an attitude problem. The kind where you stop wondering if Mihawk abandoned you and start hoping he did—because if he walks through that gate now, you’ll need bail money.

But the vineyard grows.

It starts like most miracles do: pitiful and unimpressive. Three green shoots barely clinging to volcanic soil, fed on composted insults and sheer, undiluted rage. But they live. They thrive. The ash works. The janky rain catchment groans like a dying beast but does its job. The monsters keep their distance—likely due to your signature scent: “Rotting Hope.”

And you?

You don’t just survive. You build.

Trellises rise again. Lopsided. A little cursed. One’s held together with wire and an old spoon. But they stand. The vines follow your hands like they know who you are. Like they’re choosing you.

The garden stops hating you. Mostly. It even gives up a few squat tomatoes, resentful beans, and bitter greens so angry they bite back unless you boil them into submission. You eat them anyway. Victory has a flavor, and it’s aggressive.

But the real breakthrough comes at dusk.

You’re mid-harvest, covered in dirt and dried mandrill piss, holding a bucket of radishes and muttering death threats to a slug, when you feel it—a presence.

You look up.

And see it.

A creature. Massive. Fur like waterlogged hay. Teeth, like some god gave up halfway through making them. It doesn’t growl. Doesn’t charge. It stares at you from the edge of the vineyard, glowing eyes fixed like it’s deciding whether you’re worth the trouble.

You stare back, because what the hell else are you going to do?

Then, without ceremony, you toss it a carrot.

It catches it midair. Crunches twice. Spits out the greens. Then turns and leaves without fanfare, like a bad date.

It returns the next day.

You offer turnips.

It accepts.

No screaming. No hurling.

A win.

You name it Rude Bastard, because frankly, it earns it. By the third visit, it comes when you whistle. You don’t pet him. You’re not suicidal. But the fact that he doesn’t try to end you? That’s basically love around here.

And when some other abomination—something with too many legs and teeth in deeply incorrect places—slithers near your compost, Rude Bastard obliterates it. No warning. Just violence. Efficient. Beautiful.

You give him a squash that night. A big one. No questions asked.

By now, your vines reach your hips. The garden feeds you. The wine ferments in the cellar, each barrel cataloged, cleaned, blessed with the salt of your labor and the judgment of your ancestors.

You are sunburned. Bruised. Your knuckles bleed weekly. You talk to walls. You sing to radishes. You haven’t screamed at a ghost in three days. Progress.

And when Mihawk returns—if he returns—you’ll be ready.

Not grateful. Not humbled. Not interested in praise.

You’ll be waiting with a bottle marked yours, poured into the finest dusty cup you can find. You won’t say a word. You’ll just sit by the hearth you rebuilt, in the castle you tamed, and hand that man a glass.

Because if he’s stupid enough to ask how you’ve fared?

The wine will answer.

And it will say:

“You left a wife.

You came back to a problem.”

By the end of the first year, you had stopped screaming when something growled behind you.

You were crouched low in the dirt, whispering threats and compliments to a struggling vine like a deranged horticulturalist, when a deep snort puffed warm air across the back of your neck. You froze mid-pep-talk.

Rude Bastard had returned.

With company.

Three of them—two larger, one smaller, all bristling, fanged, and far too intelligent. Their eyes tracked you the way a bored noblewoman tracked gossip—sharp, hungry, and waiting to be offended. They didn’t charge, but they didn’t leave either.

Still crouched, you slid your eyes toward your bucket of produce and whispered, very gently:

“I’ll share. Just don’t fling anything this time.”

They didn’t. The largest female took the bucket and dumped it out like a toddler with opinions. It was, by monstrous jungle-creature etiquette, a declaration of truce.

By the end of the week, you had four unwilling gardening assistants.

They didn’t know what spacing was. They didn’t prune. They did, however, chase crows, throw rocks at shrieking bats, and carry full barrels like gravity had personally insulted them.

They weren’t obedient, but they responded to tone—and more importantly, bribes.

Sweet potatoes? Worship.

Boiled pumpkin? Vanished.

Rotten vegetables? Hurled directly at your face, with disturbing accuracy.

Rude Bastard—your original tormentor, now the unofficial foreman—took up position near the south trellis like an angry lawn ornament. He occasionally helped by ripping out invasive roots with the same tenderness one might use on an enemy’s spine.

You gave up trying to understand their boundaries. Instead, you made a system:

Offer food at dawn.

Never interrupt their sunbathing.

If they hiss at a shadow, you hiss too. Don’t ask questions.

Don’t garden without permission. Ever.

One time, you forgot to feed them first? They unionized. Refused to move the compost barrel. Made a show of lying down dramatically in the mud until you apologized with parsnips.

They weren’t pets. They weren’t servants.

They were colleagues.

Ill-tempered, unsanitary, terrifying colleagues.

But when the vines finally began to climb—when the leaves turned that impossibly decadent green, full of volcanic promise and stubborn will, you stand at the edge of your patch of miracle and rot and beam.

This is working.

You.

The mandrills.

The shit and ash and bribes and broken bones of your pride—

It was working.

Two weeks later, another crate of insult rations crashed onto the dock.

Before you could sigh, one of the younger mandrills ambled over, picked through the beans, and chucked a fistful of dried lentils at the skiff with a guttural screech of disapproval.

You didn’t stop him.

You folded your arms. Smiled. And said, “Good boy.”

That night, you made a stew.

With your own onions. Your own herbs. Your own bitter little carrots that had survived locusts, salt winds, and your wrath.

You fed yourself.

You fed Rude Bastard.

You fed his judgmental crew.

You took a bite. Swallowed and closed your eyes.

And whispered:

“Come home, Mihawk.”

“Come see what your not-quite-wife did with your haunted little death trap.”

“Come and see what happens when you don’t kill something—”

You stirred the pot.

Smiled.

“—and it refuses to be forgotten.”

The duel was nearing its third hour. Salt wind stung their coats, and the sea below roared its applause. Their blades clashed and sparked, steel on steel, skill on skill—until Shanks pulled back just long enough to smirk.

“So,” He said, feigning lazily, “how’s the murder mansion?”

Mihawk didn’t answer. Parry. Slash. Silence.

Shanks tilted his head. “Still brooding on your scenic little death island? Lotta ghosts, not much conversation?”

Mihawk’s eye twitched. “Peaceful.”

“Right, right. Peaceful.” Shanks grinned. “Y’know, someone at port mentioned your region’s been really lively lately. Said the monsters on your island have stopped attacking passing boats. Even heard talk of a garden.”

Mihawk struck harder. Just once. Shanks danced back, laughing.

“I’m serious! Garden beds, new trellises, and some scarecrow thing that bites. Thought maybe you got a dog.”

“I didn’t.”

Shanks grinned wider. “Maybe I should stop by. Check it out myself.”

“No.”

The word came too fast.

Shanks raised a brow. “That so?”

“You’re not invited.”

Mihawk’s brutal next swing only makes Shanks smile more.

“Oh, I’m never invited. Doesn’t stop me. Besides, that's not the only thing I’ve heard.”

Mihawk exhaled slowly through his nose. His parries got sharper.

“I mean,” Shanks continued, casually circling, “I did hear a funny little rumor. Some Celestial asshole losing their powdered wig over a missing bride. Vanished right around the time a pirate with a bad attitude was spotted near a certain convent.”

No response.

Shanks doubled down.

“And word is she didn’t vanish alone. Something about a pirate. Dangerous. Miserable. Bit of a recluse. Carries a really big sword.”

Mihawk didn’t look up. “Rumors are untrustworthy.”

Shanks let the silence hang a beat longer. “Yeah, but they’re fun.”

Another clash. Mihawk nearly took his ear off. Shanks only grinned harder.

“Tell you what,” Shanks said. “If I swing by and find some barefoot nun, I’ll just assume I’m trespassing, yeah?”

“You are trespassing regardless.”

“Oh, I know,” Shanks said brightly, “But at least I didn’t abandon a wife in a haunted house full of cryptids and bad kitchenware.”

Mihawk lunged with lethal intent.

“Hit a nerve, did I?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I am. And yet you keep sparring with me,” Shanks said, fending off a particularly vicious blow. “Almost like you missed me.”

Mihawk’s blade rang against his with a force that would’ve snapped lesser steel. “I didn’t.”

“Sure. Just like you didn’t accidentally marry a woman and forget to mention it.”

“I didn’t.”

“Uh-huh.” Shanks snorted. “Guess I’ll go find out for myself. Bring wine.”

“If you set foot on that island—”

“You’ll what? Scowl at me harder? Send your little wife after me?”

There was a pause.

Mihawk said nothing.

“So it’s true!” Shanks cried, delighted.

[phierecycled]

oh to have been in the theatre when michael rupert marvin threw furniture around on the stage at the end of the chess game

[milquetoad]

just took two of the greatest Ls of all time on the back porch

[anitalianfrie]

[wemlygust]

Call me crazy, but I think that just makes them hypocrits also. You either truly love a being, or you eat its babies. If you eat the animals you raised (or its babies) while claiming to love them, if you "carry their young for miles on [your] own back" but then eat those young, then that just makes you, from their perspective, one of those faux-kindly horror monsters. The Promised Neverland anime is the closest media comparison I can think of atm, but it also seems not unlike the witch who lures Hansel and Gretel with kindness and candy while intending to eat them, or like the real-life people who claim to love big wild animals, like bears, and yet keep them confined in tiny cages in their homes. Or like circus owners who claimed to love their circus animals even as they abused them for profit in their circus. Is love only the feeling experienced by the lover, or is it the choices and actions you take to demonstrate it? If a man beats his children, then cries a lot and takes them out to ice cream and swears up and down never to do it again, and then does it again, and again: does he love his children? If someone cares for and protects and hugs their spouse and family for a decade or more, and attends all the ball games, and pays for their kids' college, and then one day snaps and murders their entire family: was their love real? If there is ever love of some kind mixed in to relationships like these, I don't think it counts for much.

Even when the "inevitable" betraying slaughter is so culturally normalized (from the human perspective anyways) in human and farm animal relationships. But, to be fair, this admittedly isn't dissimilar to how I feel about God as described in the Old Testament. Claims to love humans, but creates their nature and their environment and sets up a situation in which they will inevitably 'sin', then blames them for it. Often punishes everyone collectively for the actions of others, where "punishment" can be slaughtering all the babies of Egypt or genociding the entire world via flood. And so on... So, I suppose the comparison to God does make a kind of sense, I just don't see either shepherd or God as morally righteous in this kind of scenario.

I have been a sheep caretaker for like two days and already I'm like. Wow. I get it.

I get why these were some of the earliest mammals to ever be domesticated. They look up to humans with this sort of dumb but all at once innocent and pure and trusting expression. They're happy to see you. They follow you around. They like to be rubbed under their chins. Maybe its just some latent Scottish highland shepherd DNA I still have in me but I look at my sheep charges and suddenly I see why the love of God for humanity is so often described as a shepherd and his sheep. I'd fight a wolf for these guys. I'd go way the Hell out of my way for them. I'd carry their young for miles on my own back.

[hoshigray]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐲 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐍𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫! | fushiguro tōji

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Not only are you drunk on a Friday night, but you’re a drunk, closeted succubus who is, unfortunately, under the care of the hot neighbor under your roof! Would you ruin the mood if he found out about your little secret? You don’t even wanna know!

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Toji x afab/fem! succubus reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! reader + Toji are neighbors - age difference; reader is in late-20s + Toji is mid/late 40s - crushing/mutual pining - drug/alcohol usage - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! + m! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping) - Daddy kink - sqǔitïng - anal play (m! receiving) - 69 + backshots + spooning + cowgirl positions - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up, or get tf up) - creampies - praise kink - pet names (baby, doll, dollface, good girl, mama, princess, sweetie) - implied marathon sex - mention of drool/spit, tears, and cum - not proofread; will do l8r.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.8k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: pulled this story out of my ass; I literally spent a whole single DAY dedicating to writing it. please enjoy, and tysm for 11.9k loveliesss ☆ love and appreciate u all !!

“…shit.”

There’s no way.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit—”

Of all days for this to happen.

“Oh, my fucking God, not tonight!!”

Tonight was already an eventful night, with the full moon shining brighter than the stars. Life has put you so fast in a whirlwind that you can’t recall the last time you permitted your body to unwind. Can you blame yourself, though? From moving to a new neighborhood and scoring a new job, things have kept you undeniably busy for the past few months. And not too mention,  it’s your fault for being a bit of a hermit and lacking a drive for social interaction. 

That’s precisely why your old college besties – Shoko, Utahime, and Yuki – pulled you out of your hideyhole and encouraged you to join them this Friday night to have some fun! “C’mo~n, lighten up! No more thinking about work or whatever; have some fun!” “Yeah, y’know you’re my biggest drinking buddy. Now, hurry up and share this cocktail with me!” The ladies pressure you to relax and enjoy the start of the weekend with some good drinks and delicious food. And, you hate to admit, it worked like a charm – the longer the hours went, the more you felt free as if all the weight holding you down had been lifted.

The only problem is, like all good things, that it had to end and that you had to go home. Now check this out: 1) you left your car at home because, again, you were rigorously dragged out of your abode by your college companions. 2) You were all pretty much drunk, enough for neither one of you to drive on the road. And 3) you guys are in the city, and catching a lift is not only a gamble but SUPER expensive! Guess that’s what you get for choosing a Friday night to free-ball.

However, when hope was lost, and you wouldn’t be in the comfort of your bed tonight, you received a text on your phone, and you could practically hear the angels sing in the heavens above!

Recent Message from: Neighbor Fushiguro

Yo. You home? I’m out in the city picking up stuff for the house. Need anything?

Thank God for neighbors, am I right? The chances of someone you know being within the same vicinity of you may be low, but never zero! Did you feel bad that you texted back saying you needed a ride back to your house? Sure. Did you feel extra bad when you asked a huge favor for him to drop your friends off at the nearest hotel? …Yeah. 

But luckily, he didn’t seem to mind. The only thing you had to endure was him teasing you about your little outing (with the help of your friends in the back of his truck) and your tipsy persona. “Never took you fr’ one who drinks.” He scoffs while putting you down on your couch after slinging you over his shoulder because you complained about your feet hurting. Damn heels! “Neither one who gets drunk.”

“It wasn’t my fauuu~lt,” you whine with a significant stretch while your neighbor roams around. “My fwiends, they forced me to–hic–to do it…”

“Mm, do your ‘fwiends’ always push you over to do things?” He shouts from the kitchen; you can hear cabinets opening and closing. 

“When you’re the youngest of the group, they do.”

“Well, maybe I gotta get to know ‘em so they can push you into goin’ out more. And maybe you can quit avoidin’ me when I invite you over.”

“I don’t try to avoid you!” You sprout defensively. “And quit teasing me, Toji! You’re supposed’ta be on my side; I’m the victim here.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever ya say.” Heavy footsteps draw nearer to where you are, and your heavy eyelids open to see a hand stretching towards you with a glass of water. “I’m here takin’ care of ya now, aren’t I, lil’ victim?”

A smile pulls your lips as you take the glass. “Thank you,” you express before a sip, and your neighbor lifts your feet to sit on the cushion beside you. 

“Y’re welcome,” he places your legs on his lap, grabbing the remote to turn on the television. 

You haven’t been in this neighborhood long enough to say you have friends. Don’t get it wrong; everyone you contacted has been lovely and friendly, and some have opted to help with your move! But aside from the casual greetings in the morning or the nods of acknowledgment, you barely know people who scratch the surface of acquaintanceship. Not to mention, it’s your fault for being a bit of a hermit. 

…But, there is one neighbor you could say you’re pretty close with. Someone nice. Someone dependable…Someone attractive that you’re on a mission not to stare too much.

Toji Fushiguro lives two houses down from you across the street. Remember I mentioned you had people assist with your move? This widowed, middle-aged man was one of the nice handymen who aided you and your friends with your boxes and heavy furniture. You remember it like yesterday, seeing this brawny man stroll up your driveway on the sunniest day of June. You nearly mistook him for an Olympic athlete. 

“So, y’re the one movin’ ‘round here?” The calm baritone of his voice was unforced. “Nice to know there’s a cute face on the newbie. Need any help?” It’s how he asked – so sultry and alluring you almost spaced out before nodding absentmindedly to his request for aid, hoping he didn’t notice you watch how the scar of his lip moved as he spoke. “Welcome to the neighb’rhood, kid.” Rarely do you have butterflies running amok in the pits of your guts, but they were challenging to deal with that day. 

And it doesn’t get any better from that day forward. No matter how hard you wished not to run into this immediate crush of yours, he would somehow wheedle his way into your path. It started slow, exchanging hellos or good mornings whenever he left for work or you took the garbage out. Then came the “Want me to do y’r lawn fr’ ya?” or the “House down the street’s havin’ a little barbecue, wanna get to know people?” You thought moving away from the busy city life would die things down. However, Toji making your head race every chance he gets wasn’t a move you could envisage. Think about how you felt the day he asked for your number to keep in contact “fr’ emergencies…or if ya need anythin’, shoot me a call,” how your heart jumped to your throat! Oh, the girls never stopped teasing you when you told…

Nonetheless, you can’t deny how much help he’s been. Well, outside of that, just being a great neighbor all around. Besides being an absolute succor, he’s an outlet you can come to for anything. Whether for the house, the community, or just personal conversations, Toji’s someone you can admitlingly say you’d depend on. With trust built from day one, sharing pieces of yourselves to break down barriers, it’s safe to say that he is undoubtedly a friend who made your decision to move a worthy risk.

…Yet, what’s even more risky is being alone with him, something you do everything you can to avoid. Why? Look at him! Would you trust yourself to be anywhere with this man alone? Of course not! This is why tonight is the riskiest night you’ve ever bestowed upon your drunk self.

“You got somthin’ to say?”

“Huh?” You perk to reality, anxiousness filling you once you realize you had been staring at the man. “N-No, I’m sorry.”

He stifles a snort, grabbing your feet to massage them from the pain. “Oh, wanna act quiet. You were all bubbly in the passenger seat with y’re friends. Now y’re all shy because y’re stuck with me, huh?”

“T-That’s not true!” A lie; he was right on the mark. Your heart has been beating nonstop once he sat next to you. “It’s just that…I’m sorry for making you drive and pick me and the girls up.”

“Nah, don’t apologize,” his focus is on your feet as he kneads and rubs the sole of your foot. “Told ya I was around the area doing some shoppin’, so pickin’ ya up on my way back was easy.”

You take another sip of your water. “Shopping?” 

“Mm, my kids are down here for the weekend, so I had to go out fr’ a bit and grab shit fr’ my daughter.” Ah, yes, Toji is a father; you remember him telling you about his two children in college, a junior and a sophomore. “They’re at the house right now; saw ‘em after I dropped stuff at the house before bringin’ ya home.” 

You hum. “Sorry for stealin’ you from them for a bit.”

He shakes his head with a humorless laugh. “Please, they probably don’t even know I’m gone. They’re big kids. Plus,” your breath hitches when emerald eyes trail to you. “Now I get to finally have you all to myself, no curvin’ me and whatever this time.” 

“I’m not tryin’ to curve…”

“Yeah, yeah.” He goes back to massaging your feet.

“…Thanks again, Toji. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, sweetheart.” Your abdomen flexes at the use of the nickname. “You know I always got you…Say, did you hit y’r head somewhere?”

You blink, eyebrows furrow. “No? Why?”

He points to his temple. “Because I see like a lump right here.”

You mirror his movements, your hand touching the spot he’s pointing. And your fingertips meet with a lump on a location that sparks too much familiarity. You gasp aloud and cover the lump with your hand, the other covering your other temple. 

Oh, no.

Black eyebrows knit together. “You okay?”

Play it cool! “Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m fine! You’re right; I probably hit my head somewhere while out.” You take this time to remove your legs off the comfort of Toji’s lap and stand up from the couch. “I’ll put something on it to stop the swelling.” You can also sense something aching down your lower back at that moment. Oh, hell no!!

“Ya sure? Need me fr’ any—“ 

BZZZZ!! BZZZZ!!

Toji’s cut off from the vibration of his phone in his jeans, pulling the device out to see that someone called “Megumi” was calling. Good, a distraction!

“N–No, no, I’m good from here.” You say through gritted teeth, the alcohol taking effect and making your stance a little buzzy to uphold. “J-Just stay here, I’ll be back!” You don’t even wait for his approval, turning on your heel and heading out of the living room to the stairs. Your body feels wobbly with every step you take, but you don’t pay it any mind because you can feel the lumps beneath your palms increasing. “God, please, not now, not today…!”

You march as fast as you can to your bedroom, nearly stumbling on the floor as you haul ass to your bathroom door. You do a terrible job watching your footing fall after rushing to turn the lights on, and stuff from the counter falls because of the impact. But you didn’t care, shuffling up so you could look at the mirror. And the sight you see fills you with immediate dread.

Horns are the first thing you see from either side of your head; the tips curl as if to form a crown but point to the ceiling. Your eyes are no longer human-like, pupils shaped like slits as if morphing into a reptile. And your ears get horizontally pointier.  “…shit.”

You then lift your skirt and tear a hole in your pantyhose above the hem of your panties, and your fear quadruples at the sight of something long and slithery protruding out of the hole. A long tail with a pointy end; you lose your mind. “Shit, shit, shit, shit—”

It’s then you realize why this is happening: you had forgotten to take your daily supplements that are meant to subjugate these features of yourself. You’ve been taking them for the longest time before you moved into this neighborhood, so you’re used to your typical human facade. Now, seeing these parts of yourselves is the very LAST thing you need right now! 

And then something hits you, an unsettling feeling that you’re too scared to confirm. Your eyes travel down to your shirt, your hands hesitantly pulling the bottom tucked into your skirt and lifting to reveal your navel. You then tug the top of your skirt to expose a spot you’re honed in on the mirror. And the urge to scream grows tenfold once you see a black marking on the lower part of your belly. 

A womb tattoo!?!? 

“Oh, my fucking God, not tonight!!”

“YO, HEY!” And just when it couldn’t get worse, you hear Toji coming up the stairs and beelining for your open bedroom door. Wait, no— “I heard screamin’ and a big ‘boom,’ you alright? Where are y—“

Your neighbor stops dead in his tracks once he appears in front of the bathroom opening; his concerned expression shifts to an immediate neutral deadpan. He stares at you, and you stare back at him, the silence so thick you could cut it with a knife. A ring fills your eardrums, dissociating from this entire scene and all its complications.

You want to cry. Maybe scream, throw up, or just straight up die on the spot. 

Because this wasn’t the night for someone to find out you’re a succubus.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…”

“…”

“…So, what are you?” 

Not even concealing your face in your pillow can hide you from the eventual questions of Toji, who sits idly on the corner of your bed. You cringe internally, never thinking this dilemma would befall you. The point of moving was to turn a new page in your life and leave the past behind with the city. Now, you are shriveling on top of your bed like a moody teenager, and your neighborhood crush is here to witness your depression.

“…What happened to your phone call?”

“It was my kid. I told him to lock the door since I’ll be out a little longer. Don’t try and deflect,” his blunt answer has you descend further to your inner turmoil. “How come I never seen these horns before?”

You sigh heavily; there’s no point in trying to divert now. “…I take supplements that hinder any features of my succubus appearance so I can look like an average human for the rest of the day.”

“Daily?” He sees you nod through his peripheral. “Succubus…the hell’s that?”

“Basically, I’m a demon that…that…” Yeah, no, let’s not finish that. “Never mind.”

“Bullshit. Tell me.” 

“D-Don’t worry about it, it’s not—“

“Look here,” he speaks to you with a stern tone, a hand coming to your waist to shove you a bit. “I went ahead and picked y’re drunk butt up, made sure ya don’t puke up a storm, and now y’re here looking way different from before. The least you could do is explain.”

God, to be lectured by a human – totally humiliating…! “…I’m a demon that gets energy from…se–….sexu, uhh………..sexualactivitywithhumanbeings.”

The silence that trails after your ramble is beyond awkward. 

“Oh.”

…

“Oh.”

God, just kill me right now!

The older man forces a cough. “So, you…have sex every day?” You can practically sense the tiny hint of discomfort from prompting that question.

“W-Well, I used to when I was younger. But I haven’t really…done it in a couple of years.” Jesus Christ, why is it so embarrassing to admit to someone other than yourself? This is the literal worst! 

“Is that bad?”

“It’s, uhh…It can be?” 

“So, why haven’t you done it?”

“Because…!” You snap your face out of your pillow and finally allow yourself to breathe correctly. “I just…I don’t have time like I used to anymore, and using my powers to make people forget afterward can get tiring. Also, the more times I do it, the more my drive gets intense from the last. The desire of a succubus can be dangerous, you know? And since it’s been a while since I’ve let my powers out, I’m sure it’s nastier than ever…”

“…Well,” Toji turns to face you. “Have you ever had the urge recently?”

“I-” Woah. That question came out of nowhere, almost answering it without proper consideration. “Wh–What do you mean by that…”

He shrugs. “Like—you know what I mean—like, even though you try to suppress it, do you still have those urges to do…ya know, it?”

Things get a little uncomfortable here; now you wish you kept your face in that pillow. Tojo’s gaze on you is distinguished — gentle yet stern, matching his demeanor. He's calm and calculating and is waiting for your response to his strangely personal question. 

“I…I, I don’t know.” It was another lie.

“Why’re you lyin’?”

“I’m not…!” Toji clicked his teeth with a face.

“Fine, answer me this then. Have ya ever thought of doin’ it since ya moved here?” 

Yup, this question was far worse than the other. His words echo inside your noggin, bewildered with every syllable relaying. And the widowed man lifts his brow from the lack of an instantaneous answer. You open your mouth, but words fail to aid you, your tail shying away behind your shadow. “I-I…I don’t—“

“Ever thought of me?”

“Toji!” You shout defensively. Sure, it might’ve been out of line to ask. However, it’s the fact that he’s breaking your exterior with every question — because of how on-the-mark he is. You could never prepare yourself for that inquiry, the heat on your face growing more unbearable. How could he know of the frenzy he puts you through just for existing? 

“I’m not dumb.” You peep Toji, turning his torso and facing his entire front in your direction. “You think I don’t notice how often you try to push me off when I invite ya over or know when y’re lookin’ at me when you think I’m not aware’?” He dents the bed with his added weight, and you forget to breathe, watching him inch closer. “Or act all shy and cute when I got you to myself?” 

You gulp, your brain short-circuiting at the feeling of Toji’s palm on your thigh. There have been countless nights where you’ve thought of your neighbor more than once, indulging in fantasies you could never speak of to a soul, especially Toji himself. To let the man know of the dirty things you’d want him to say to you, the names you wish him to call you, the erotic things you’d like him to do to you — death is the only option necessary not to let that happen. Unfortunately, he seems to have a good idea now that he’s cornered you like this, and you’re too stunned to utter a word.

“It’s okay, though,” he whispers low now that he’s close to your face, and you have to hold back on letting out a yelp when his hand comes to hold your face, his index finger toying with your sensitive earlobe. “‘Cuz I love it when y’re all timid, can’t even look me in the face…Like now.”

You try to avert away from him, but his thumb brings your chin back to him. “Toji, please,” his name feels forbidden to say all of a sudden. 

“Tell me ‘no’.” His nose brushes the tip of yours, and you chew your lip. “I’ll stop right now and leave, let you deal with this y’reself…Or,” he ghosts to your ear, and you quiver. “I’ll stay with you and treat you to what y’ve been scared to ask fr’.”

“Toji, wait,” Fuck, you can’t remember the last time you had your ears so keen, his breath brushing it enough to compel you to meltdown.

“Say ‘no,’ princess.” You’re locked under his forest-green orbs, and you swear you could hear your heart hammering your chest. “Or I’ll treat you right tonight.”

Perplexed eyes can’t move anywhere else, and your lips are wet from licking them without knowing. Is this really happening…? An inquisition you had no time to answer for yourself once Toji closes the gap, centimeters nearer with every millisecond.

I…can’t…

His face draws near, and your eyes reflex to close. 

I don’t…want to…

Toji pulls you in for a gentle kiss; your thoughts radio silent after the contact of his scarred lips on yours. No shot. Your neighbor was kissing you right now — there’s no way!? This had to be a dream…! This is truly a wild night: not only are you tipsy to the noggin, but your neighborhood crush has found out your secret, and now you’re kissing that exact crush in your room?? Your muscles go tense at what is occurring. 

He peppers your lips with kisses, forced to catch up with him as he claims your lips, a palm snaking to the back of your head to keep you steady. He licks your bottom lip, chewing gently to prompt the softest gasps out of your mouth. “C’mon, baby,” he coos to your sensitive ears. “Relax wit’ me.” You nearly melt at the lick of your helix as his free hand courses from your chest to your waist. The brush of his fingers onto your tail makes you jolt. 

“Toji, wait,” you mutter under your breath as he nibbles on your pointy ear, your hands gripping the back of his black wife beater. “D-Don’t; I’m so sensi—Nmmm…!” Jesus, the moan you held back! Toji trails his mouth to your chin down to your neck to suck on your skin. And your lower half throbs harder. “Ahhh…hahhh…”

He returns his lips to yours; this time, his tongue runs on your teeth vigorously to seek entry. You submit after a chew to your bottom lip, whimpering as the older man inserts his wet muscle to greet yours. Surreal, isn’t it, to be tongued down by your neighbor? You don’t know whether it’s the alcohol, the twitches between your inner thighs, or the flick of his tongue and the sound of his purrs that have your face getting hotter. 

And fuuuuuuck, he’s such a good kisser — scratch that, he’s an AMAZING kisser! You’re practically turning into putty in the palm of his hands as he lips you, tilting his head to a proper position with a soft push to your face as he deepens the kiss. He sucks on your tongue, and you mewl, helplessly quivering when he teases the muscle with nibbles. Your waist has a mind of its own while it sways involuntarily, rocking as you sink into the zealous kiss. He’s not overpowering you in any way; if anything, he’s so overwhelmingly comforting, his hand caressing your cheek tenderly, and soft noises of lips smacking and breaking apart bounce one after the other.

Then, you shrill unexpectedly. “…!! Mmahhh! T-Tojiii, d-don’t—don’t touch…Haahhh…”

“Oh? Well, lookie here.” Your ears perk at Toji’s chuckle. Unbeknownst to you, distracted by the intense kiss, your neighbor sneaks his hand under your skirt and touches your private zone shielded by your pantyhose, fingers pressing up on your vulva area. “All we did is kiss, and ya already got your panties wet?”

Embarrassed? Of course, it’s been so long since you were touched like this and out of practice. Now, your repressed emotions start to crumble out of their straightened form the more Toji’s middle finger rubs on your panties. And let’s not even mention your thighs motioning to ride on the digit, your dignity starting to disintegrate. “Ohhh, Toji…”

“Mmm? What is it, sweetie?” He nuzzles to your neck after licking and sucking on your chin. “Feelin’ good down there?” He curls his middle and forefinger to push. “Got ya all excited?” He receives a confirmed hum. “Tell me how y’re feelin’.”

You gulped thickly, your breathing shaking. “I-I’m feeling—shit…” he laughs lowly at your swearing. “Nnnm! You’re making me feel…so hot.”

“I can tell, you’re twitchin’ like crazy right on my fingertips.” His fingers move into a circular motion, and your mouth goes agape. “Fuck, man…Hey, hold on, I wanna do somethin’.”

Toji removes his fingers from under your skirt before you can tell, the heat between your legs going tepid as he withdraws from your figure to lay his back on the bed. But before that, he unzips and loosens his jeans to his butt. A noticeable tent of his boxer briefs has your lips locked to each other, and your eyes widen when he subtracts the material. Just when you thought this night couldn’t get any more crazier, you are awake to witness the display of Toji’s erection in real-time. 

How long has it been since you’ve seen a real-life, living, and breathing dick before your eyes? You honestly can’t recall that; the responsibilities of human life have made you grow numb to your demon necessities that it no longer feels innate. However, the sight of your crush’s solid, girthy, excited cock is marveling. How your mouth waters as you ogle at it is borderline humiliating, eyes glued to the uncut tip.

“Like what ya see?” He asks smugly, kicking his jeans and briefs off and slapping his thigh. “C’mere, mama.” Oh, fuck, the quirk of your insides was unavoidable at his comment, primarily as he guides you closer to him. “Let’s warm up.” You yelp as he effortlessly moves your legs to where you straddle him. He pushes your skirt up to your waist, and you can hear the tear from your pantyhose. His thumb comes to slide your panties to the side, and he whistles. “Damn, lookin’ all pretty and wet fr’ me.” 

It’s either the fact that Toj’s dick is inches in front of your face or your bare pussy out in the air in front of him; either one of the two has your mind going in a whirlwind. And it all comes to a standstill the moment you sense something wet and firm glide across your labia, and it takes everything in you not to tremble. “Mmm, oh, fuck,” he groans after licking your cunt, throwing in another lazy one to have you holler. “It’s been so long…Shit.”Toji’s hands curl from your legs to cup your asscheeks, keeping your butt near him to lap his tongue around your chasm. You whine as he licks you down, your teeth clattering at the sensation. 

Oh, my God, your head begins to ache. It feels so good, your body finally coming back to the groove of things as you move your butt around. The man under you quickly latches his mouth onto you, a firm grip on your ass to keep you in place for him to service you. Speaking of service, your eyes flick to the erect limb before you, your mouth salivating with the run of your tongue across your teeth. Fuck, it looks so good; you admire internally before inching your face close to the length, your head getting dizzier from the sheer size and musk. Damnit…I wanna taste him so bad…!!

“Go on, dollface,” Toji gives your butt a playful smack. “I know ya need this bad.” 

God, he’s so right — you need this; there’s no point in denying anymore. You blow on it before placing a tender kiss, noticing how it pulsates as your hand wrings around the shaft. You lick your lips before pecking at the uncircumcised tip, and Toji’s hold on you goes tighter. He’s sensitive, you note. Adorable. You stick your tongue out to swirl around the cockhead, bathing it with your saliva before you inhale it with a delighted hum, gradually warming up your loosened jaw.

Fuck, the taste of a cock — something that felt nostalgic the moment he graced your tastebuds. Your eyes water a bit, trembles rocking your figure as Toji sucks on your wetness, and every inch you intake fuels the haze that fogs your brain. You stroke and suck him simultaneously, a forgotten method that rekindles now in this moment. You coat him with your spit the more you relax your jaw, slurping him unapologetically as if a different part of yourself takes over. 

On the other hand, Toji feels the same way. It’s been way too long for the widowed man since the last time he has been intimate with someone, let alone have a bare ass right in front of him. It’s no secret that he’s had the hots for you once you moved here, but having you on top of him like this is like something out of his wet dreams. The way you murmur cutely as you suck his dick turns him on so bad, a guilty pleasure come true as he drinks your nectar off your damp naked folds. His tongue teases around the entrance of your vagina before pushing it in, fucking your opening with his wet muscle. You cry on his girth, your tail cringing in the air from the stimulation. He spots it and grabs it from the base; how your lower half jolts to the grasp is humorously darling to him. So cute.

The minutes go longer as you two keep pleasing each other, and a soft whimper escapes your lips when you release Toji from your lips, lips plastering long and sweet kisses on his shaft as you massage the tip. Your other hand palms and kneads his ballsack, the jerk of his thighs rewarding to see, so you increase the pace of your hand.

“—Thhh, nmm!” Toji curses from behind, sluggishly licking from clit to your slit while succumbing to your touch and mouth. “Shiiit, just like that, baby, suck me off like t—Mmngh! Christ, I’m gonna..fffuckin’ cum…”

But then, you remove yourself from Toji’s member, the cold air instantly blanketing him. Green eyes blink as you move off of his lying body, observing you bending over with your face to the cold sheets.

“Toji,” you plea to him desperately, hooded eyes shining eagerly. “Please, I need it…Here,” you spread your ass, fully exposing your slit wet from your fluids mixed with his saliva. Jesus, you were heathing as if you were in heat. “Do it here, I need it inside…!”

You had the man shook; the cogs in his mind stopped working briefly. The picture of you presenting yourself like this to him was unexpected, but goddamn, did it turn him on astronomically! Toji stands on his knees and advances to you, removing his tank top and discarding it to the floor. “Yeah? You want it that bad?” You nod impetuously. “Words, sweetie. Need you to tell me what to do.”

“Toji, pleeease…!” You wiggle your ass until he cusps it, kneading your flesh lovingly to the point that your tail curls around his forearm. “Please, put it in, I wanna feel it…!”

“Yeah, is that what my princess wants?” You and Toji bite your lips when he aligns his tip to your inner labia, teasing you with grinding motions. “Does my demon baby want Daddy to mess y’r insides that bad?”

Oh, we’re playing that card, too? Holy shit, you were getting so wet from this! “Yess, Daddy, pleasee! Mess me up with that dick, wanna be filled up right nooww…!”

He can’t hide the proud grin. “Good girl. Here,” Toji begins to push the cockhead to you, and your lips flatten at the wince of pain that accompanies the push. “Stay still, and lemme reward you,” his hips move slowly in your direction, you grip the sheets to prepare yourself, and your nerves are dialed to a plane of exhilaration you can’t regulate. Oh my God, is this happening? He’s gonna fuck me? So many thoughts cloud your mind, too excited and anxious for what’s to come because it’s been so. Damm. Long. How’s it gonna feel? Is your body ready enough? How does Toji feel about this; is he just as nervous as you a—

Your train of thought is brought to an abrupt halt at the sensation of Toji’s tip finally inserting itself into your vagina, too absentminded that your open mouth couldn’t say a word. Oh, fuck it’s in, it’s in! Your eyes widen, your muscles tense, and your voice struggles to cry. The older man continues to add himself leisurely, the length sundering your slit and stretching your opening as you take him inch by inch. Your back arches instinctively, wailing silently as you can feel the foreign limb intruding your tightness, quick quirks of your frame as he rubs your velvety texture. Ohhhh, my God…!!

When he slowly starts to rut into you, recurring waves of rapture hit your nerves every. Single. Time! You’re entire body is rocked to the core with every short yet gentle pound; the feeling of Toji’s veiny cock scrapping your channel has you shivering. And once he’s encouraged to push his entire member until the very hilt, you yelp aloud when the tip kisses your womb. “—Oooh??!”

“—Mmngh!” Your quick spasm surprises Toji. “Ohhh, shit, there it is. Hmm? Is this where ya want me, mama? Want me right…here?” He snaps his hips swiftly, the rushed movement and hit to your cervix knocks you winded. And another, you keep wringing his shaft acutely. “Ahhn, God fucking damn i—Iisshhffuck, fuck, I can’t, gonna…Hnghh!”

Toji’s body shudders above you, bucking into your warmth with a jittery pattern. The prolonged reaction of his orgasm claims him now, succumbing to the silky, tight texture and how well you’re grasping onto his girth. He comes inside you, moaning as he ejaculates earlier than expected. You sense it, humming to the immediate filling. So warm, so full of his cock already that your toes curl. 

And Jesus Christ, it felt so. Fucking, Good! You were no longer drunk from the alcohol; now, you were intoxicated by the prowess and pleasure of Toji’s dick. 

“Hah, haaaah, fuck,” he throws his head back with a hiss, his abdomen relaxing from the earlier flex. Then, your tail glides up from his abs, feeling up on his skin and roaming on his happy trail. He snickers at your feline-like comportment, “Heh, actin’ all cute now that you got what ya wanted, huh?” You say nothing, bashful to his words, while your tail curls up to his chin. “Don’t go quiet on me now, dollface; I heard you squeaking and moanin’ seconds ago.”

Toji then returns to rut into you despite recovering from his climax, furled to have you shrieking uncontrollably for him. The smacks of his pelvis recoil the flesh of your ass, his come stuffed inside you now glued to his erection as he rocks into you balls-deep. “Mmmm, yeah, that’s right, baby,” he grabs your tail and wraps it around his hand to pull; you scream louder, and your vaginal walls clamp tighter than ever. “Arch more fr’ me, enjoy me—nmm…!—fuckin’ you real good.”

The pull of your tail makes your senses hypersensitive, perturbed by the stress of it being pulled, yet the enjoyment you feel from it is too inexorable to comprehend. Coherent sentences double down to undecipherable babbles, “—Daahh, hoohhfuuc—D-Daddyyy, Daddyyy…!!” Tears well up in your eyes as he inflicts blows to your ass, the pain too quick to prepare for yet the sting enough to make you rigid. “—Too much, ish t’oo muuuch…!”

Another smack to your butt, and you howl once again. “Huh, ya say that, but y’re milkin’ my cock like crazy.” He bends down to remove your hands that try to hide your face and horns with the pillow. “What, ya don’t like this? Hmm? Want me to stop?” 

“No, nooo!!” You shook your head immediately; your vision blurred for a few seconds. “I loveee iit, I love this, love Daddy’s diick—Ahaaa!! More…I want moreee!” Fuck, this is bad; any more than this, and you’ll be addicted for sure.

“Good,” he whispers to your ears. Good Lord, you weren’t going to survive. “Because I ain’t done wit’ ya yet, princess.”

Before you can register his sentence fully, Toji straightens and lays on his side behind you, lifting your leg to create a suitable angle. He then plunges into you harder and faster, the different positions helping the sporadic cadence achieve deeper penetration while scraping your upper wall with ease. At this point, your body is too hot and sticky to care about anything else outside this room; your head pounding and too misty, your senses corrupted by the constant pokes to your cervix and the increasing haze that you don’t feel human anymore. Your succubus roots flourish, drool escapes your lips, and wanting nothing but this feeling to remain ceaseless.

“Gahh, ohhhDaddyyy, ahhahh,” eyes roll to your skull at the brush of your sweet spots. “Shhoo good, I fweel shoo gooood…! Harder, hardeeerr!” 

“—Khhck, goin’ as hard as I fuckin’ can!!” Toji kisses your cheek after a lick, chewing on it after hearing you mewl submissively. “Jesus, this pussy, out of this fuckin’—Nnngh…world.”

You turn to him and claim his lips, and he reciprocates into your steamy kiss. Vulgar tongues exchange spit and encroach on each other’s mouth, and you helplessly suck on Toji’s after he shoves it, your puffy lips intaking the attractive noises he makes. And you slither a hand down to your clitoris to swipe erratically while your tail goes around Toji’s waist and curves into the crevice of his ass. Suddenly, Toji stiffens at the pointy end of your tail, tickling his anus, and the raven-haired man gasps at the insertion. Too stunned to speak, he can only move his hips rapidly, his white-ringed shaft digging deep into you with the help of stimulating his prostate. 

“—Taahhh, y-you, lil’ minx…!” He breaks the kiss and bites your lip to hear you whimper. “Tryin’ ta make me cum again?”

You nod, breathing heavily. “Ohhh, Daddy, I’m so close…! Gonna come!”

“Me too, mama, me too…” 

Hot moans and groans fly out of each other’s mouths, bodies stuck to each other as you both chase for release. Everything feels so fast, so hot, happening all at once; all you can think about is the grinding presses you push up on your delicate clit. Fuck, fuck! It’s coming, it’s coming…!”

Then, it arrives. Your cunt, aching for the climax, receives the crescendo you’ve been aching for this entire time. The walls of your vulva contract around Toji’s member, milking and wringing him as you come loose to your grounding. A clear liquid exerts out of your urethra, showering out to stain your panties, torn pantyhose, and bedsheets, your breathing losing its steadiness and falling to a jagged tempo. The same goes for Toji, who falls into his peak along with you; your fluttering folds force him to submit and release his second load into you with a hiss. The older man’s heaving frame keeps bucking into you until every drop fills you to the brim, burrowing his face deep into your neck to rest as the shocks rock you both.

Finally, everything goes quiet. The cozy atmosphere pulls you out of your heightened elevation and lays you down with silent clarity. Both you and Toji, sweaty and sticky all over, are still linked to each other as the high dissipates. Shuddering figures begin to calm down and fall at ease with the tranquility.

Toji kisses your neck, and you croon until he comes to lay his lips on yours for a tender peck, then on your soft cheek and your temple. He then removes his flaccid bulge, white fluids oozing out of your hole. “Damn, that was good,” he mutters breathlessly. “Hmm, how ya feel—“

The onyx-haired man couldn’t finish his question because of the sudden change of positions you abruptly conducted. He now lays on his back with you straddling him; the calm tone switched to an unexpected spiking mood. 

You then hand grab his dick and arrange it back to your raised hips. Viridian orbs widen. Wait. The tip meets your labia once more before you descend it down. What the f—hold on— And then, his cock is swallowed back inside your wetness, and Toji grits his teeth.

 “Sh-Shit, sweetie,” Toji’s hands come to your waist. “What’s up, aren’t y—“

“Sorry, Toji,” the man surveys with confusion, watching you strip off and throw your shirt somewhere. Your naked chest is now out for him to see, and his breath hitches when you place your hands on his pectorals while a span of bat-like wings springs out from your back. “…That wasn’t enough.”

Wasn’t enough?? He repeats with furrowed brows, noticing the half-lidded, lustful expression and the sharp dents of your canines. Then, it hits him: 

“The desire of a succubus can be dangerous, you know? And since it’s been a while since I’ve let my powers out, I’m sure it’s nastier than ever…”

…Oh, shit. “Wait, we can talk about—“ You get your answer once you bounce on his cock without notice, Toji nearly choking on his tongue. Nope, no room for prattling.

“You let out so much, made my mind go so crazy,” you grind your hips on his pelvis, squeezing his limp cock while it gets firmer and firmer. “Feel so good…More, I want moreee…”

“C-C’mon now, baby, can’t we take a break for a minute at least—“You bring your face an inch away from his.

“Daddy,” your neighbor shudders at the gentle kiss you place under his chin. “Please take care of me like you promised, ‘kay?”

Your gaze lured him in, a trap he was foolish enough to fall for. Because now, he’s stuck under your bow as you begin to inflict an inescapable rhythm, rebounding on his erection until the base meets your folds. Choked groans suppressed by Toji, but take his lips with yours, enforcing a loving yet salacious spell with your satisfied moans. Now, your crush realizes you weren’t the meek, adorable neighbor he dotes on. 

Tonight, he was yours to play like a fiddle…And shame on him for getting way more turned on than he should be!

Wow. Guess I’m dyin’ tonight.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

I should be fuckin’ dead right now.

Toji knew something was up when his eyelids opened, and his emerald eyes scanned the ceiling, instantly recognizing that he wasn’t in his master bedroom. The rays of sunshine are blocked from the curtains, yet the light of day crawls in and basks the room in a low glow. Chirps of birds outside greet him on the basking of a new autumn day, lying comfortably in the cold, silky sheets of the bed.

He wakes to a bit of a headache, mentally and physically groggy. Attempts to move are already tricky and aches all over his body keep him grounded in the mattress. Ugh, feel like I’ve lost all feelin’ in my legs; the man can’t even lift one leg without a grimace. And even his arms are challenging, one so oddly heavy as if it’s nailed down. 

“Fuck, man.” His first words of the day are a curse, irritated by the drum of his head. He tries to lift himself; again, it’s not possible, agitating the man even more. And why the fuck is my arm so hea—

He doesn’t finish his sentence — the answer reveals itself once he turns his head to the left. 

He sees you, surprised to view you in your natural form still. Horns have grown a little larger, yet still small enough for you to rest your cheek on his shoulder. You were sound asleep, faint snores picked up by his ears as he examined your face at ease with a peaceful slumber. Nude, the both of you, a hand wrapped around his left arm to stick close to you while the other is stationed at his chest, your bat wings shriveled together to not get damaged. And judging by the snake-ish feeling, your tail was curled around his bare thigh. 

Strangely innocent to see after the events of last night flash into Toji’s recollection, funny to match such a lewd scenario to such a sweet face. He stifles a laugh, placing his right hand on the vulnerable one on him, his thumb caressing your knuckles as he grasps your fingers. Suddenly, some of the soreness he harbors feels light — glad I ain’t dead, I guess.

Your eyes jit behind your eyelids, a soft groan as you suddenly move and scrunch your face. Finally, your drowsy eyes sheepishly flicker open. Lidded gaze fighting the spell of sleep with every bat of your eyes.

“Mornin’, gorgeous.” Toji greets you.

“…”

“…”

In real-time, Toji watches your somnolent morph into a gradual display of mortification. He’s a little envious to see you spring up with no strain on your body, wings batting out of their relaxed state, and your hand still with his. “T-Toji??” You question directly, eyes surveying the nude neighbor in your bed, doing everything in your power to ignore the fact that you’re naked as well. Speaking of, you notice the subtle pink glow of your womb tattoo, and anxiety spikes to a high. “I–uhh–I’m so so sorry for last night! Sorry you had to bring me back home, and I didn’t mean to act weirdly on you with—Ooof?!”

“Relax,” he cuts you off by pulling you back to his lying frame, his left hand now free to snake on your shoulder. “Don’t talk so fast; my head’s poundin’ like crazy.”

You blink aimlessly, awkward now that you’re fully aware you’re in this man’s embrace. You can’t help recalling what transpired last night, suddenly feeling squeamish. “…You okay?”

“I feel like my life’s been drained by my dick,” he answers bluntly, adding more weight to your embarrassment. “Wakin’ up to a pretty face who nearly killed me with their pussy isn’t somethin’ I’d expect.” 

“……sorry.”

“It’s alright,” calloused fingers glide and intertwine with his yours, stroking your thumb with his. “Had a good time either way. Wild, but good.”

“Really…?” 

“Really.” You probably shouldn’t have peered up to see him look your direction. Albeit exhausted, his handsome face and sleepy grin ignite the heat on your cheeks. And your stomach flips, hearing a laugh when you meekly avert your gaze away. “How many times did we do it?”

“…Not sure,” long enough for my womb tattoo to be blatant. 

“Me either. Does that happen often?”

“Sometimes? I guess it’s because I haven’t done it for a long time, so I went…off the rails because of the intensity.”

“Noted, because I never felt so old until now. I probably pulled somethin’.”

“….Sorry.”

“Y’re good,” Toji scoffs before moving to place a soft kiss on your forehead, and your heart skips the tighter his hand holds your hand. “Tell ya what, I can help you with that cycle of yours, probably…twice a month, so it doesn’t get too crazy like last night. And don’t use y’re powers or some shit to make me forget, either. I don’t wan’ that.”

You lift your face from his shoulder, the heat spreading to your ears. “You don’t have to do that, Toji, I wouldn’t—“

“Nah, I’m down; it’s what neighbors for. Besides, it finally gives me a reason to make ya interact with me more.” Again, his smug smirk causes knots in your stomach. “Like the sound of that, mama? Let Daddy take care of you?”

Your lips quiver, and you hide your face back onto his shoulder. The rumble of his laughter worsens the butterflies in your stomach, and your tail squeezes on his thigh. “Don’t say it like that, Toji!”

“Y’r tail seems to like it.”

“Stop it!”

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by tamayura banko + dividers by @cafekitsune.

[noellevanious]

its beyond fucking sad like. tumblr as a site. as a function. is great. it arguably still holds a pre-internet 3.0 concept up and keeps it alive (blogs as a community tool). It functions completely uniquely from other social media. parts that haven't been eroded away by idiot companies playing hot potato are still great (i can still look through all of my posts with my archive tool, or make a new blog theme entirely).

All that had to be done was Not Dip Their Toes into the Transphobic Pool. Which isn't a hard request. It's literally just "respect the people that want to be trans and be happy and tell people that are slinging harassment at them to Fuck off".

Sure, they also need to not let the site erode more and more into this ugly little amalgam of a barely functioning ad-ridden Twitter wannabe that requires at least 2 different mobile add-ons to even function properly. But like. I'd happily support them monetarily if they weren't the most cartoonishly Scummy site.

Like I'm still on twitter and it's a cesspool. But there at least it's funny that "Cis" is considered a word that Musk wants censored for "Spreading hate speech".

Here I have to confront the fact, every few days, that whoever moderates the site will happily either Delete Trans/POC blogs without hesitation, or, if we wanna be generous, nobody moderating the site Gives a Shit and just lets Transphobe/racist hategroups run rampant on the report system.

And don't fucking forget what happened to Avery/Rita! I don't want to spread word about her without her approval, but I will say, people have no fucking clue how bad things got for her after what happened, and the fact that she's put up such a strong face when she was literally in the "Public's" Eye as a Trans Woman the CEO of a website stalked and harassed even after he personally demanded all of her blogs be Permanently erased, is beyond the pale of what should be asked for her, or any trans or poc person.

[nahoyasboyfriend]

Helping hand

Warnings: shameless smut, handjob, unprotected sex, rough sex.

Word count: 2.4k

Tagging: @doll3tt33 @fear-is-truth @coentinim

A/N: this is literally pure filth. I'm not sure what possessed me to write this, but I did. Sorry for any typos or bad writing.

Staying up late with Kyle had become sort of a routine. Sleeping didn't always come easy to you, and getting Kyle to bed without you was always a struggle. Sitting with your legs crossed on the bed, you ponder over what you should do. It couldn't be too loud and it had to be something you were certain he'd enjoy. You glance at him for a moment, he was laying down on the floor watching something on his ipad, so he was occupied for now.

You grabbed your laptop, blankly staring at the screen while you skimmed over your options. Then it hit you— a movie! You could put on a movie. After five minutes of scrolling, you decide to put on a cheesy comedy. you were more of a horror movie enjoyer, but you figured Kyle wouldn't like it. He was a sensitive boy, now more than ever, and you didn't want to stress him out. Especially after the whole being brought back to life ordeal.

"Kyle, honey, come here," you gently call out, placing the laptop on the edge of the bed so you could lay down. You could hear the creak of the floorboards as he slowly ambled to you. He laid down next to you, throwing his arm over you to pull you closer. Stuck in his hold, your hand slapped around until you found the edge of the covers, slinging it over the two of you. You settled in, squirming around until you were comfortable, and then you pressed play.

The plan had been to watch the movie, and then head to bed, but that was ruined when not even ten minutes in he kept shifting. “Ky, what's wrong?” You whisper, tearing your eyes away from the screen to look at him. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth and his eyebrows knit together in discomfort. “H-hurts,” he murmured. You sat up, gently removing the cover from the two of you. “Where does it hurt, kyle?”

He propped himself up until he was sitting on his knees. Confused, you watched silently wondering what he was trying to show you. Maybe he had scraped his leg, or he had a bruise. His lack of motor skills was a major downside of being frankensteined back together. "Here," he grunted, looking down at his pants. You followed his gaze until you were meant with the obvious bulge in his pants. Oh.

Unsure of what to do, you just sat there. Shit. Should you help him? Would helping him be the right thing to do? Seemingly annoyed at your lack of response, he took your hand placing it over his groin. He whined at the desperately needed contact, rolling his hips. "Touch, p-please."

This quickly snaps you out of your thoughts, it’s hard to worry about the consequences when he’s so needy. "Are you sure?" You ask, just to check, accidentally pushing his boundaries was never something you wanted to do. He nods, and you start to unzip his pants. Despite the initial struggle, you're finally able to get his pants down, revealing the blue boxers he had on underneath. His precum stains the fabric, making a sizable dark patch.

"Poor boy, you must be so worked up" you coo, running a finger over the length of it. Kyle's pupils swallow the already deep brown of his eyes as he watches you. Meeting his intense gaze is enough to make you look down again, goosebumps pricking at your skin.

With more zeal than before, your fingers hook the band of his boxers, slowly pulling them down. His cock bounces free, hitting his stomach, and you have to stare for a moment. The tip is flushed pink and precum drips from the slit like a broken faucet. Your eyes slowly trail up his body, from his stomach, to the scar wrapped around his neck, till you're finally looking him in the face. His cheeks are ruddy, his lips parted ever so slightly, and he has this look in his eyes like nothing matters but you at the moment. Maintaining eye contact, you gingerly wrap your fingers around it.

He lets out an airy sigh, that you assume is of relief. You carefully start to move your hand up and down. You watch his eyes slowly flutter shut, and revel in the way pathetic whines begin to fall out of his mouth. To ease the friction, you let a glob of spit dribble onto the tip, using your hand to coat his entire length in your drool. His cock twitches in your hand. He must be close, you think. You work your hand faster, trying to push him to the edge as quickly as you can, but suddenly he's pulling your hand away, shaking his head.

"n-need you," he mewls, finger latching onto the band your shorts trying to tug them down. Throwing all caution to the wind, you oblige. You yank down your shorts and panties, throwing them on the floor. You crawl to him, tossing your legs over his thighs to straddle his lap. His hands fly to your hips, rucking up your oversized shirt to reveal your chest. He stares at you with wide, pleading eyes, silently begging for permission. Once you give a quiet go ahead, he’s instantly taking your nipple into his mouth. It's an odd sensation. His tongue is cool against your warm skin.

You let out a soft whine, and lift a hand to cradle the back of his head. You card your fingers through his hair, while you mutter soft praises, gently rocking yourself against his aching cock, but not letting it slip inside. His arms were wrapped around your middle, pulling you closer to him, like he wanted to be in your skin. You both stay like this for a while, soaking each other in. While it wasn't enough to get you off, you decided that was fine, and instead focused on getting him off. You were trying to make him feel good after all. You could help yourself later.

You were sure he could have came like this, and he seemed to realize that too because he reluctantly wrenched himself away from mouthing at your boob to line his aching cock with your slit. But he was clueless and couldn't quite get it so with a loving smile, you gently took his hand in yours and directed it to where it needed to go.

You slowly sink onto his cock, taking him inch by inch. You got about halfway before you decided to take a second and let yourself adjust to the size. Placing his hands on your hips, he forced you down. You let a startled gasp because of the abrupt fullness. The stretch burns, and he doesn't let you adjust before he begins to buck up into you.

You rest your hands on his shoulders for support, slightly digging your nails in to deal with the ache. You can barely gain your bearings with the way he forces you to bounce on his cock. The pain slowly melts into syrupy sweet pleasure, and everything quickly becomes overwhelming. The sound of his skin on yours, the feeling of his cold tongue on your skin, and the pangs of pleasure shooting through you.

You crash your mouths together because even if you don't want to admit it. You're just as attached to him as he is to you, and the urge to get closer than you already were was becoming unbearable. This kiss is awkward, but you can't bring yourself to mind. Your teeth clack together and your noses keep bumping. His tongue curiously prods into your mouth. Still, you melt into him, letting him explore every inch of you for as long as he'd like. His spit tastes earthy, and surprisingly it isn't that bad. You pull away to breathe, and he follows, pitifully chasing after you like a lost puppy.

His powerful thrusts have devolved into quick, shallow bunny humps, so you take it upon yourself to finish what he started. You place your hands on his chest lightly pushing him back. He doesn't resist, letting himself fall onto his elbows. He looks confused, kiss-swollen lips pulled into the cutest pout. It makes you want to smooch it off of his face. You lift yourself up, and it seems like you're about to pull off, but before his hands could rush back to your hips, you slam back down down.

The sound he lets out is guttural and loud. Your hand slaps over his mouth. He blinks, puzzled. You pull your hand away to press a finger against your lips. “Be quiet, they'll hear us,” you whisper, glancing behind you to make sure nobody is at the door. In the blink of an eye, you're not on top of him anymore. You are on your back now. Stunned, you stare vacantly at the ceiling. His hands grip your hips, sheathing himself back into the warmth of your cunt (when did he learn how to do that without you?)

He starts up that unforgiving pace again, ramming into you so hard the bed is wobbling beneath you. All you can do is take it. Silently praying that your bed will make it through the night. He effortlessly brushes that spongy spot inside of that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. you're quivering beneath him, unraveling like a ball of yarn in his hands. Pleasure sweeping any coherent thoughts away like a hurricane. That familiar ache builds in your stomach. Your cunt clenches around him, begging for release. Everything feels so good, it verges on painful. Your hands latch onto the sheets, holding on for dear life.

Kyle leans down to press wet, slimey kisses on your clavicle, lightly dragging his teeth against your skin. A few more brutal thrusts, and you're digging your nails into his back, softly whining. Your orgasm crashes over you like a current. You bite your lip to muffle the moans that threaten to come out, blinking away unshed tears. After your orgasm subsides, you're instantly being ushered into another one. “s too much, ky, I can't take another,” you hiccup, pressing a hand against Kyle's chest in a feeble attempt at pushing him off. You don't know if he just brushes you off on purpose, or if he did it without realizing because in spite of your pitiful request. His pace sped up.

He's grunting in your ear now, you can feel the hot puffs of air tickling your cheek. Plump tears roll down your face, your body trembling uncontrollably. He cums deep inside you, a blossom of warmth filling you up, but he doesn't stop rutting into you. Fucking it in further. You let out woeful, little squeaks. You're sniveling, and your poor, aching cunt weeps. You feel your second release rushing towards you, and all you can do is brace yourself. He's fucking you like he despises you, and if you didn't know anymore you would have been convinced you were his sworn enemy with the way he was bullying your cunt.

Your orgasm hits you like a strike to gut, somehow more intense than the last. Your back arches off the bed so far that someone might think you're possessed. The bitter taste of iron pervades your mouth. You didn't realize how hard you'd bitten your lip trying to be quiet. (Which is turning out to be an impossible feat, but at least you're trying.) you're gushing around him. Your arousal spills down onto the bed beneath you. You can feel the sheets sticking to your skin, and you remind yourself to lay down a towel or something next time. A few more agonizing seconds pass, and he's finally pulling out of you.

He collapses on top of you, and you take a moment to collect yourself. The icky feeling of laying in a pool of bodily fluids is the only reason you haven't passed out yet.

“Kyle, we gotta get up and take a shower,” you mumble, your body aches and your bones feel like jelly, but you can't go to sleep in these conditions.

He grumbles for a second. “sleep.”

you sigh, “i know, but we're all dirty now. We gotta clean up.” begrudgingly, he peels himself off of you. You get up rather slowly because of how unsteady you were on your feet. You snatch some clothes up for you and Kyle. You haul yourself to the bathroom, dragging Kyle behind you. You turned on the shower, letting the water run until it was warm enough to get in. “C’mon in,” you utter, stepping into the tub. You watch Kyle sluggishly walk to you. He looked so tired. Poor baby.

“Do you want me to help you bathe?” you inquire, quietly. He doesn't respond, just follows you in. He can barely keep his eyes open. You decide it's easier to just wash him instead of trying to wake him up. You grab a washcloth, apply some body wash, and massage it in till it lathers up. You start with his arms, and you can't help but follow all the veins as you travel your way up. Then you moved on to his chest. You could feel the bumps from where his head was sewn back on, your heart ached for him. He didn't deserve such an untimely death. You frown, shaking away those thoughts. He doesn't need your pity.

The rest goes relatively fast. He listens to your request to lift his legs and turn around, so you could reach his back. You speed through washing yourself, so you can get back to bed as soon as you possibly can. Once you’re done, you hop out and dry yourself off. As usual, you help Kyle dry off too. The two of you shuffle off to bed clean and content. You toss a blanket over your sullied sheets, you'll wash them later.

Collapsing onto the bed, you let out a relieved sigh. Sweet, sweet relaxation. Kyle follows suit, pulling you onto his chest. You grinned, silently enjoying his unending clinginess. “L-love you,” he murmured, and you feel a warmth beginning to bloom in your chest. “I love you too, Kyle,” you whisper. You don't know if he truly understands what he just said to you, but you choose not to think too hard about it. Scooting closer to him, you feel the tiredness hit you all at once. The comfortable arms of sleep luring you in.

[akisteahouse]

Thinking about parenting with Heartslabyul…

Synopsis: in home economics, you get randomly assigned to a partner to raise a ‘child’ - a robot baby meant to simulate a real infant’s needs. Things definitely get… interesting, to say the least.

Riddle Rosehearts!

knowing how he was raised, Riddle isn’t exactly the best parent figure - speaking to children as if they were fully grown adults, either too quickly or too slowly.

adamantly refusing the thought of naming the kid at first, because “Naming the robot is a risk far too large for me to take. The number of seniors that have failed this assignment due to growing attached to their supposed child…I absolutely cannot let this drag Heartslabyul’s dorm ranking down!”

he gives in after you give him puppy dog eyes.

“Rose is… an acceptable name."

work division wise, you’re unfortunately tasked with most of the first-hand child rearing things - feeding her, changing diapers, rocking her until she stopped fussing…

though, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t do his fair share of work.

all expenses are charged to him, as well as the assembly of the cot(which he spent at least five minutes scrutinising to check if it was safe) and pretty much all of the cleaning of the dirty laundry(how can such a small thing produce so much grime?)

somewhere along the line, you two work out an agreement where you take turns taking care of Rose.

whenever Riddle's the one taking care of her, he possesses one of those infinite mom bags as well as a baby carrier.

the only downside of this arrangement is that berating and punishing students are harder when it's his turn, because Rose isn't exactly fond of him raising his voice.

somehow teaches a literal perfect simulation of a child to follow all 810 of the Queen’s rules??? Yeah you don't question it either, just give her her tea when the time is right.

absolutely DID NOT sniffle when he had to give Rose back. >:*(

an overall decent partner, if you're fine with your robot kid having the divorced kid treatment.

Trey Clover!

names your kid something stupid, like Pistachio, for shits and giggles, all while feigning innocence.

“Pistachio's a cute name, isn't it?”, in between bouts of laughter.

a great partner - as the Oldest Child, he's pretty well-versed in taking care of kids younger than him, after all.

if only little Pistachio wasn't an absolute menace.

a fussy eater, non-stop tantrum thrower, and the type of slippery kid as in stop staring at him for two seconds and suddenly he's hanging on a laundry line.

but hey, at least Trey seems used to it!

He absolutely WILL NOT do the divorced parent arrangement - claiming that co-parenting is way easier, so congrats, you're moving into his dorm for a while!

assembles the cot in less than ten minutes, without even needing the manual. the true MVP.

pretty okay with soothing Pistachio, even if he's in the midst of class, waking up at midnight to feed the little shit, talking to him while pushing his pram…

teaches Pistachio how to speak and is SUCH a smug bastard when he says his name before yours - jerk. >:(

pretty calm throughout the return process, kinda just glad his parenting days are over. For now >:))))

a great guy to be assigned with, just don't let him name anything in the future.

Cater Diamond!

searches up ‘cute baby names’ on Magicam the minute you let him choose the kid's name, ends up with Sunny.

is… weirdly willing to take care of a baby?!

like full on watching tutorials online on how to rock a fussing baby, how to change diapers, how to feed one… before falling down the internet rabbit hole that is ‘wow, these things die easily.’

IS still the bbg in the relationship, sorry pookie, you're gonna have to assemble the cot yourself <333

fashions a pretty nice baby sling out of some spare cloth, and is never seen not holding the child for the rest of the week.

not willing to post ANY photos of Sunny on Magicam, like at all.

WILL make aesthetic Day in My Life vlogs of parenting her though, all while blurring out his precious baby's face.

doesn't really mind whatever arrangement you ask for, but preferably one where he doesn't let Sunny out of his sight, because look at her hands! They're so tiny!

adoring father #1, will impulsively buy way too many baby clothes for Sunny to the point where she'll be showing up in three different outfits a day.

grows absurdly attached to Sunny, has a full album in his phone dedicated to just photos of her.

full on near SOBBING on the day he has to return Sunny back to receive his grades.

can and will post a sad story on Magicam with his close friends list with purely just photos of Sunny with a cryptic message on top.

pretty good partner! you will have to deal with him showing up randomly to ask “Remember when Sunny -”

Ace Trappola!

another mf to name his kid after something dumb, if you let him.

thankfully, your child is not stuck with a horrendous name, after a back-and-forth bicker with Ace that goes on for far longer than it has to.

the two of you settle for Cherri, with an I, for no particular reason.

seems like a ‘agh, I hate my wife!’ Kinda guy, turns out to be a ‘happy wife, happy life,’ guy.

cocky mf who goes ‘psh, I don't need the manual’ before trying(and failing) to assemble the cot.

whines and complains about changing diapers or doing the laundry but does it anyway, will argue if you try to retract your statement and do the work instead.

another one that says he wants to do the divorced parents arrangement, folds to stay together instead. (Ace you're not slick.)

weirdly good at calming Cherri down??? just makes funny faces and tells awful jokes until she's giggling, before turning to you with a proud look on his face.

teaches Cherri how to play poker before teaching her how to talk.

‘You gotta prepare them early!’ He'd snickered. Before being wacked over the head seventy-two times. :)

WANTED to bring Cherri to basketball practice to show what a good parent he was (cough, cough, show off his cute little Cherri), but then remembered Floyd and was actually so concerned about him somehow squishing Cherri to death that he just left her in your hands instead.

another one who gets emotional when he has to give Cherri back.

“I am not crying! The classrooms just - hic! - dusty!”

a decent partner, just be prepared to be bickering with someone 24/7.

Deuce Spade!

is attached the minute he sees the kid, almost instantly tearing up.

probably names the kid after his first blastcycle or something, sorry Deuce. </3

the child is named Harley, and he is Deuce's pride and joy. (Well, at least for this week)

the second guy on this list to openly admit to not wanting the divorced parents arrangement! (Will gladly help you move your stuff in!)

another one who doesn't need the manual, and he really doesn't. assembles the cot pretty quickly.

absolutely whipped. need more diapers? okay, he'll run to Sam's shop and buy you some? Harley's fussing? give him a minute, and he'll be right there to help! Need a break? okay, he'll take Harley out for a stroll while you rest up!

adoring father #2

used to greet Harley by throwing him up in the air and catching him, before a concerned Cater walked up and told him that even a meter above the ground could cause brain damage, effectively scaring Deuce into holding Harley in general.

got probably the best behaved baby, with Harley being a literal angel - never fussing or crying, always giggly, okay with others holding him… Deuce couldn't be happier!

with Harley being so well behaved, both you and Deuce's schedule went as per usual - Deuce being able to go to class with a baby that never disrupted it, as well as to get the serotonin of looking at Harley's face during lessons.

cries when he has to return Harley. doesn't even try to hide it.

one of the best students to get paired with, though do expect to get emotionally crushed by the end of the week.

psst... hey, if you liked this... why not check out Savannaclaw's edition?

alternatively - check out Heartslabyul's masterlist?

[horny-marbles]

eyeless jack medical kink smut ?! please please please 🙏🙏🙏

YESSIR 🗣️🗣️ rubbing my hands, plotting, scheming... i might be bullshitting a bit because i have close to 0 medical knowledge lmao. also writer's block actually made me rip my hair out w this one for some reason. i read and reread this shit like...... an embarrassing amount of times and i literally got writing dysmorphia or whatever you call it 💀 BUT ANYWAY HOPE YOU ENJOY ANON!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Loose Hinges (Eyeless Jack x F!Reader)

CW: med examination, a little sadism kinda maybe if you squint, biting and blood, oral (f giving), orgasm denial, squirt, creampie, overall clinical feel... most of it anyhow :P

word count 5.2k

It’s not like he ever applied for the job.

There was no moment where Jack stepped forward, cracked his knuckles, and offered his services as the mansion’s unofficial medic. No CV given to Slender. No stethoscope slung around his neck, no degrees on the wall.

It started when Jeff dislocated his shoulder during some feral knife tantrum, most definitely breaking out over nothing. No one else even looked twice at his slinging arm; it's not like a house full of maimed psychopaths possessed the medical knowledge or the fucks to give. Jack hadn’t even blinked. Just walked over, expression unreadable as always, and popped the joint back in with the ease of someone tying a shoelace. No warning. No hesitation. He simply... Fixed it, like it was only natural.

Since then, it just happened. One by one, the mansion’s walking disasters started coming to him. Concussions. Lacerations. Broken ribs. Nothing experimental. Nothing fancy. Just quiet, competent fixes. He didn’t like doing it. He didn’t complain either. It was just… efficient. Someone had to do it, and he had the hands.

He wouldn't do it for free, however. Hence the rules. Don't come in empty handed - whether it's organs that would save him the headache of procuring himself, or stolen medical supplies, bring something or don't even bother dragging yourself there. Most importantly, hands to yourself. God forbid you touch his sterile equipment - he won't give you reasons to get stitches, but you will bleed out on your own moving forward.

So now, the old storage room down the hall is a makeshift infirmary. Bright, sharp overhead lighting. Stainless steel trays. Gauze stacked halfway to the ceiling. It smells like antiseptic and cold metal. It’s quiet. No music, no decor, no pampering or sugarcoating. Just Jack, his gloves, and a collection of very sharp, very clean tools.

You’ve been avoiding it like the plague for two days.

Your jaw hasn’t stopped throbbbing since your last mission: one bad punch across the face, and you’d felt something shift, something click. Now you can’t eat, can’t yawn, can’t speak more than a few words without crunching down on pain. You’ve been living on ibuprofen and denial, but it’s not cutting it anymore.

No answer.

So you’re here. Standing in front of the door with your hand curled around your jaw like it’ll stop your skull from splitting in half, the other tight around a plastic bag that hung with the weight of viscera from your hand. You stare at the peeling label on the door: just a fading piece of masking tape with “MEDICAL” scrawled in some unfamiliar hand - and you knock once.

You try again. Still nothing. You knew he smelled the organs in the bag from two hallways away, so he was just ignoring you, you realized.

You grit your teeth - big mistake - and finally push the door open. You stepped inside with your hand still curled around the plastic grocery bag like it was radioactive. The contents shifted and sloshed wetly with each step, and despite your best efforts not to flinch, your lips curled slightly in subconcious disgust.

The infirmary is colder than the rest of the mansion. Jack probably kept it that way to discourage loitering. The white light overhead buzzes faintly, casting sterile shadows over the clean stainless steel counter and shelves. No chairs. Just one padded table in the center, a stool for his own aid, and a tray of gleaming metal tools so clean they almost glitter.

He doesn’t look up at first. Just finishes changing the nitrile gloves on his hands, already prepped, like he expected you to just let yourself in. The scent hit you a second later - alcohol, something minty and clean, but sharp enough to keep you from getting too comfortable.

“Someone knocked you off alignment,” he said without turning. His voice was low, smooth, the usual emotionless timbre that somehow still managed to sound like an accusation. “Jaw?”

You nodded even though you knew he couldn’t see it. “Yeah,” you said quietly, jaw tight and throbbing behind your ears, setting the bag down on the metal table beside the door. “Some dude clocked me good. It fucking hurts and pops.”

That got him to glance your way, head tilting slightly, two gaping pits of darkness that housed no sight meeting your gaze. Bottomless, still. You stood a little straighter under the weight of his stare, even if it was only symbolic.

A moment passes in which you assumed he assessed the payment you brought, and his voice, calm as ever, slices through the tension in your shoulders like a scalpel.

“Sit,” he says flatly. “Close the door.”

You do both.

The door shuts with a quiet click, and you cross the room stiffly, dropping onto the edge of the padded table. Jack approaches without another word. There’s no greeting. No question. Just him crouching into your space, gloved fingers reaching for your chin like you’re an object in need of assessment.

You stiffen.

His touch is firm, not cruel. Cold from the gloves. He tilts your head to the left, then the right, thumbing along your jawline, pressing beneath the bone with a practiced kind of pressure that sends a deep ache skittering through your temples. You wince.

“Open,” he says.

You part your lips slowly. It hurts. No shit.

He doesn’t acknowledge your reaction. Just tilts your head back further, inspecting the hinge of your jaw. His fingers move with mechanical efficiency, tracing muscle, bone, tendon, head tilting slightly to one side, like he’s calculating something.

“Left TMJ. Inflamed,” he murmurs. “Partial dislocation.”

His voice is low, expressionless, as if reading from a file you can’t see.

“Clench.”

You hesitate.

He repeats himself, this time slightly slower. Not louder. Not forceful. Just... lower. Less about patience and more about efficiency and the time he could spend not doing this instead.

“Clench.”

You obey, pressing your teeth together. The dull spike of pain nearly makes you gag. He feels your muscles shift beneath the skin, then finally releases your chin and steps back just enough to grab a tool you don't recognize right away from a nearby shelf.

“Inflammation’s aggravating the joint. I’ll reset it.”

Your stomach turns.

“You- what?”

His head tilts again, the black voids of his eyes unreadable.

“You’ll need to relax. The longer you wait, the worse it will get.” A pause. “I don’t offer sedation.”

Of course he doesn’t.

“Lie back.”

You hesitate for a second too long.

Jack waits, motionless, gloved hands poised in front of him like he’s prepping for surgery instead of resetting a jaw. His head tilts half a degree, just enough for you to feel the weight of his wordless stare pressing on your sternum.

"...Fine." You lie back.

The vinyl of the exam table is cold against your spine. You shift slightly, arms flat at your sides. Your eyes trail the overhead light until Jack steps into view again, eclipsing it. Towering, shadowed, cut like stone. The only sound is the soft creak of latex gloves as he flexes his fingers.

He moves with no wasted motion, tongue depressor in one hand and a small penlight in the other. Click.

“Open again. Wider.”

You try. Surprise! It hurts again.

He doesn’t comment on the way your jaw trmbles. Just braces your chin with one hand and shines the light into your mouth, scanning along your gums, the hinge, the roof. You expect it to end there, for him to snap your jaw into place like a lego - but then he trades the depressor for something worse.

His fingers. Gloved, cool, long.

He presses two between your lips, careful but firm, thumb anchoring your jaw from underneath while the others sweep along the inside of your cheek. Checking for torn tissue, maybe. Infection. Misalignment. Who knows. His knuckles brush your tongue. You swallow without meaning to.

The sound that leaves your throat is humiliating.

Jack doesn’t react. Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shift, doesn’t even breathe different. His fingers curl slightly, pressing into the soft flesh near your molars. The texture of the glove drags over skin that dried of spit from how long you've been gaping. Slow. Thorough. Your jaw aches and your body lights up in response.

Not from pain.

He’s not doing anything wrong. That’s the problem.

He’s not being seductive. Not being coy. Not even looking at you, not really. Just working. Focused, professional, detached. Like a job.

And it’s that - exactly that - that makes heat pool between your legs. You squeeze your thighs, trying to quiet your own body’s treachery. His fingers glide across the base of your tongue again, tipping your chin just slightly with the pad of his thumb. Your breath snags. What the fuck is wrong with you.

He withdraws a little slower this time, still silent, still careful. You would've almost relaxed if it weren't for the impending intervention that would surely make you keel over in pain.

“I need to assess the displacement,” he mutters, already applying pressure to the hinge of your jaw. “Don’t talk.”

You weren’t planning to. Not anymore.

The pads of his thumbs press just under your ears, right where the mandible meets muscle. He rotates your jaw gently but firmly, thumbs pressing into the tension like he’s mapping your pain. He doesn’t wince at the faint click, or the flinch you fail to suppress. He just notes it.

“There’s swelling,” he murmurs. “One of the ligaments is likely strained.”

You nod a little, before realizing you weren’t supposed to move. But Jack doesn’t comment. He’s just quiet for a moment. Still.

...Too still.

Your heart is hammering, and it’s not subtle anymore. Not to him.

You realize, too late, what he’s actually doing, what’s got him so motionless, so tuned in.

He's fucking listening.

His head angles ever so slightly toward your chest, and you can feel the moment he registers your heartbeat spiking. Not just hears it, but tracks it. Listens to it as data.

Then he inhales, slow and silent.

Oh no.

He can smell it. You know he can. Arousal blooming like a warm, humid pulse between your legs, sweet and tentative and absolutely real. You can't help but panic, bracing to be humiliated right here on his table. This is precisely why you even put off coming in to begin with.

But instead of recoiling, or making some awful comment, or pretending it didn’t happen-

He keeps going. Calm. Unmoved.

He moves one hand to the back of your head, cradling it with unnerving gentleness. The other comes to your jaw again, fingers curled around it, his thumb bracing on one side of your jaw, beneath your warm, flushed ear, the other four cradling the opposite side.

“I’m going to adjust it,” he says. “You may feel pressure. And pain.”

You exhale slow. “Okay.”

You’re practicalky vibrating now, your breath catching as he shifts even closer. He doesn’t need to touch more than necessary - never does - but his size alone is overwhelming, broad shoulders blocking out the harsh overhead light, his stance boxing you in like a shadow falling over prey.

He doesn't even give you a countdown. Doesn't brace you, doesn't warn you.

He just does it.

The crack is sharp and sounds like a cracked tooth. Sickening to anyone else, but not to him. Your eyes blur for a second, and for a moment all you can register is the heat between your legs and the full-body jolt of pain-pleasure confusion ripping through your nerves.

His hands stay where they are. Steady. Silent.

Then his voice again, low and completely unbothered:

“Better?”

You nod absently, breath shallow. You can’t speak. Not yet. You can't yet rip yourself from the sharp flash of skull splitting pain, even as he leans in. Just barely.

He doesn't spedk right away. His head remains tilted in that eerie, artificial way - listening. Not to your words, but to your body. The air feels too heavy, too thick.

"You’re flushed. Pulse elevated. Pupils dilated." His voice is calm, unbothered. “You're aroused.”

You look down, heart pounding even harder, like it’s trying to prove his point. You're in a closed room with a predator. Of course no pulse stammer, no change in scent escape him. And you stupidly, naively told yourself he'd at least not bring it up.

You almost defend yourself - almost- but your jaw still aches and your pride’s already halfway out the door.

He doesn’t accuse you. Doesn’t leer. Just continues peering down at you, seemingly toward your jaw, like calling you out on being horny on his table was just an afterthought.

Then, finally:

"You're at risk of muscular dysfunction," he hums. “TMJ compression may recur if the surrounding joints aren’t conditioned.”

You blink.

“What?”

"Therapy for mandibular strength. Repetitive movement. Isometric pressure.”

"...That sounds fake," you say, eyes narrowing.

"It’s not. I can administer a routine exercise,” he says. “If you comply.”

Your heart skips. No fucking way.

You force yourself to scoff, weakly. “What, like... chewing gum?”

“No,” he says, utterly expressionless, voice dry as bleached bone. “Like sucking my cock.”

The room goes still. You stare at him, face slack, brain flatlining. He doesn’t even shift.

You’d almost feel like you were being punked, if it weren’t for the clinical detachment in his voice. No grin. No teasing. Just a prescription. Like this is really just for your condition.

He gestures downward with a hand, slow and clear.

“On your knees.”

You're about to argue, but then you watch that same hand start undoing his belt. And you forget what you were going to say. Your legs move before your brain catches up.

The tile is cold beneath you as you lower. He doesn’t touch you, doesnt help guide you down or force your head to his cock. Just lets you get into position, calm as ever, the way a doctor waits for a patient to position themselves on an exam table.

You stare up at him, at the harsh shadows where his eyes should be, into that void of unsettling silence. Your mouth is already falling open, your jaw aching but looser now, slightly. You're not sure if it's from the realignment or the anticipation.

He watches you. Not hungrily. Not cruelly. Just assessing, patient.

“Begin."

The thing is, Jack doesn't get involved. That’s what the others say. And it’s true.

He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t fuck. Doesn’t linger in the common rooms or hover near bedrooms or watch anyone with anything in between clinical focus or utter disinterest.

Because frankly, there’s no one worth the effort. Not even during his mating season, when the heat is so overbearing and insufferable that he has to claw at his own raging cock to calm it down.

The women here are loud, violent, erratic. Jack learned early that entanglement breeds chaos. Even if his body hungers, his mind doesn’t. Definitely not for them, and what else was there? So he keeps to himself. Detached. Controlled.

And then you showed up.

Not particularly warm. Not particularly broken. Just... quiet. Smart. Pretty in a way that didn't demand attention. Kept your distance, likw him. And yet, here you are - kneeling on the tile floor of his makeshift infirmary, lips parted around the head of his cock with your jaw aching and your scent ripe with want.

He watches your mouth stretch open, just slightly at first, gauging the tension at the hinge.

“You’ll feel pressure,” he says, voice low but even, steady as his heartbeat. “Don’t force it. Let the joint relax.”

He’s big. Too big to take all at once without locking up, especially with your already scuffed jaw. So you ease into it, inch by slow, careful inch. His cock is heavy on your tongue, smooth and hot and stiffening by the second. You fight your gag reflex - not disgusted, but overwhelmed. By the size, by his taste and smell, none bad, but strong and raw and, in a way, threatening. Breathe through your nose. Let your lips seal slowly around the shaft.

Your jaw protests, dull pain radiating down into your neck. He hears your breathing shift.

“Discomfort?”

You nod faintly, but doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop you.

Instead, one hand lifts, settling under your chin, thumb pressing just beneath your ear as he begins to gently palpate the muscle, fingers feeling the give of the joint.

“Keep going,” he murmurs. “I need to feel the range.”

You suck in a slow breath. Take more of him in. It almost starts to feel like standard procedure by the way he acts. Almost.

The ache doesn’t disappear, but it starts to change. Dulls. Warms. The longer your mouth stays stretched, the looser the hinge feels, the less resistance there is in your jaw. Your tongue shifts around him, trying to ease the burn, and in doing so, draws a low hum from Jack’s chest.

“Good,” he says.

Definitely not standard procedure. You nearly moan.

Your spit starts to coat him, slowly bubbling thick and milky around the base. You're getting messy - your tongue laps greedily, spit slicking his shaft in glistening ropes. Every soft choke earns you another steady hum of approval.

He doesn’t move his hips. Doesn’t thrust. Big palm still engulfing the underside of your jaw, claws twitching just barely into your skin every time you hollow your cheeks and suck back up to the tip.

You look up at him, half-dazed, spit slicking your chin, your jaw hanging looser than before. He looks down, impassive, but there's no hiding the pinch in his brows or the flare of his nostrils when the head of his cock kisses the back of your throat.

“That’s it,” he grunts, low and strained. “Take it. Just like that.”

Your thighs press together involuntarily, and your hand moves before you even register it,sliding under your waistband, fingers slipping past soaked underwear to your cunt.

You’re drenched. The cotton is soaked through, sticking to your knuckles, to your mound, molded soft into the shape of your folds. You rub slow circles around your clit, moaning softly around him, trying to time it with the slurp of your mouth to hide the sound. Your hips twitch.

But you forget who you’re with.

He stiffess above you - not in surprise, but stillness. His head tilts just barely to the side.

“...You’re touching yourself.”

You freeze for half a breath, almost even pull your hand out of your pants. But he doesn’t stop you. Instead, his chest rises subtly.

He smells it.

The scent of your weeping cunt is thicker in the air, heady and tempered with and unmistakable. It mixes with the saline bite of sweat, the copper tang of blood from your payment, the chemical sharpness of antiseptic - but it’s yours that cuts through. Potent. Raw. Smearing on your thighs as you keep sucking.

He wasn’t planning on fucking you.

He didn’t need to. Your mouth would’ve sufficed - tight, warm, obedient. That would’ve been more than enough. A rare indulgence, a contained one.

But the sound.

That squelch of your pussy under your fingers - the slick wetness of it as your hips jerk and your moan stutters muffled around his cock - that changes everything.

He looks down at you then, fingers tightening ever so slightly in your hair.

“You’re soaked,” he says, tone low but not judgmental - observational, but something less unaffected coils around it now. “From sucking my dick?”

You don’t respond. You can't, your tongue is strained flat on the bottom of your mouth by the throbbing weight of his cock.

He leans forward, shadow cast across your flushed, fucked-out face.

“Get up,” he says. Calm. Firm. Final.

You blink up at him, dazed, lips puffy pink and wet.

“Up,” he repeats, slipping free of your mouth with a wet pop. “You’re not doing this on the floor.”

He pulls you to your feet with one smooth motion, strong and sure and impersonal as ever.

But his cock is still hard, glistening with spit, and when he steps in close, you feel the head nudge against your abdomen like an omen.

You look up at him as he pushes you back against the edge of the padded table, fully expecting another string of well measured medical excuses for wanting to sink into your pussy... But you were met with silence - thick, heavy, hungry even if he didn't outwardly show it. You didn't know whether to feel relieved or warned.

He doesn’t undress with hunger or haste. His movements are smooth, methodical, devoid of showmanship, just as he handles everything else in this space. Just his fingers unfastening buttons, peeling away layers like they’re in the way - not like they’re what covers you, but what obstructs you. What obstructs him.

And then he’s looming between your spread legs, cock hanging heavy and thick between his thighs, shining like a sword from your drool. The room is so quiet, you swear you can hear the shift of his weight when he steps closer.

His hands wrap around your thigh, latex squeaking as it slips over sweat. Your breath chokes short. He folds you in half, entirely - calmly forcing your thighs back until you’re bent near double. The stretch burns deliciously through your hamstrings, your hips, your spine.

And then he’s holding you there, palming the backs of your thighs as if anchoring you in place, cock nudging your entrance with zero urgency.

You squirm.

It earns you a hard slap to the inside of your thigh - sharp enough to make you jolt, wet enough that it echoes. Quick enough to make you want to chase it again.

“Don’t move,” he says.

Then, slowly - almost cruelly - he presses in.

You gasp. It’s as much of a fill as it is a stretch. Thick, deep, unrelenting. Your cunt clenches around him instantly, fluttering as your walls fight to adjust. His cock drags inside you with obscene smoothness, and stops. He doesn’t thrust yet. Just holds. Buries himself to the hilt and lets your body adjust. Not a hint of frenzy - he splits you open like he’s measuring you.

He exhales sharp, almost a sigh.

Your mouth drops open, but not in moan. It hangs. Your jaw slackens.

His hand is suddenly at your face, fingers curling under your chin, thumb pressing lightly into your jaw’s hinge, closing your mouth back up.

“You'll get lockjaw if you keep doing that,” he says coolly. “Hold it steady.”

The pressure increases. Not painful, not tenderly, but correcting.

His hips roll forward.

Slow, strong, deep,like he’s testing your depth, like he’s counting the inches it takes to pull another stifled moan from your throat.

You squeeze around him, clenching uncontrollably - already wound tight from your fingers, every nerve raw, oversensitive, like you'd been edged for hours. It could've been almost humiliating how close you were already, if it weren't for the strokes of his cock restarting your train of thought, over and over.

“Shit,” he hisses, jaw tight, his impassivity fracturing just for a moment. “You’re-”

He cuts himself off.

His hand slides downward and finds your clit.

You barely have time to react before he pinches so hard that it makes your entire body arch and tense up. Sharp pressure blooms, pleasure laced with heat and pain and a stifled cry you can’t quite make with your mouth full of shallow panting.

Your hips jerk, and he slams them back down.

“Don’t cum yet,” he growls - his voice now tinged, barely, with something more animal than human or demonic. “You’re tighter when you’re close.”

He pinches again.

Your vision blurs.

“Control yourself,” he repeats as he slides in again, deeper. “You wanted this- then let it last.”

He starts fucking you, really fucking you, like your desperation and your body burstingat the seams with need was barely even an inconvenience to him.

But he's starting to crumble. Slowly, surely, a thrust every few rolls of his hips stuttering and pushing in too quickly. Slipping again and again, not immune to the warmth and wetness and tightness swallowing his cock whole like it was carved for this.

The table rocks under each thrust, his rhythm measured but no longer calculated, driving you into the vinyl with every pump of his hips. Your pussy makes obscene noises - slick, messy, greedy, sucking him back in every time he draws out.

He’s breathing harder now. No longer silent.

Low groans, thick and guttural, start slipping out,like they’re being torn from a throat that never lets itself make sound.

You swear you hear it: a cracked "fuck," deep in his chest, not quite meant to be spoken.

He grabs your jaw again, not with medical intent now, but need - fingers firm, his palm cupping your face to anchor you as he fucks in deeper, like he’s chasing the tightest part of you.

You’re shaking. You’re soaked. You’re held open, filled full, and denied again and again.

You don’t know when his hands started shaking.

Maybe the third or fourth time he smacked and pinched your clit to edge you, cunt suctioning wet around his cock and throbbing dull and unsatisfactory. Maybe it was when you clenched on him during a particularly hard thrust and moaned like you were crying.

You hear it before you feel it. A snap, the high pitched pop of nitrile tearing beneath too-sharp pressure. His claws rip clean through the gloves. You catch the gleam of black keratin as they flex in the light.

And then he’s grabbing at you, groping you.

No longer practical. No longer careful.

Claws rake up your ribs, scratch over your tits, dig into the soft skin of your hips and thighs, not deep enough to slice but enough to sting, to leave microscopic beads of crimson in their wake. It’s primal. Like he’s trying to ground himself in the tactile, in the way your body grips him back, in the way your skin gives under his nature.

His pace becomes erratic.

Thrusts slam in harder, faster, more ragged,driven not by logic, not by need, but by want. The sound of your slick, the wet, high-pitched slap of it echoing against the walls, drives him deeper into something bigger than him.

You barely catch your breath before he lunges forward, body folding over you, arms braced against the table, his face in the crook of your neck.

You can feel a rumble in his chest - barely a warning at all - before be clamps down on your skin.

He sinks sharp, inhuman teeth into your shoulder with a guttural growl, like he's tasting something sacred, savoring it. Your flesh parts around each fang with a wet, horrible rip, and blood surges from the wound.

He doesn’t apologize as you shriek and claw at his biceps, his hair, anything to try and pry him off. Not even budging.

He laps. Licks deep, filthy stripes into your bleeding shoulder, groaning low, like he’s drinking down ambrosia.

You’re shaking beneath him, jaw slack with disbelief, pain, arousal.

He fucks into you harder, punishing, like he’s trying to weld his hips to yours. One hand slides down between your legs again, making you sob a pathetic little sound, bracing yourself for the worst again,but this time, he doesn’t pinch.

He finally rubs. Firm and fast, two fingers circling your clit with relentless pressure, dragging wet, slippery circles that sync with the piston of his cock, so fucking delicious and relieving that you almost don't even register the sting that blooms where the tips of his claws snug on your lips.

“Cum,” he growls, against your neck, against your blood, breath hot and voice wrecked. "Cum on this cock. Fucking milk it."

You wail in relief, and your whole body shudders with built-up pressure finally released. It hits like a crash - blinding, consuming, full-body spazms wracking your frame, legs trembling, pussy squeezing in pulses so strong it drags a strangled groan from deep in his chest.

You squirt. Just little sharp, rhythmic gushes, splattering down his length and the table beneath, every spasm squeezing more out of you.

“Fuck,” Jack snarls, then bites you again, this time at the base of your neck.

The pain is searing. White-hot. It makes your cunt tighten like a fist, sight blurring at the edges. And somehow- somehow - it just makes your orgasm stronger.

You feel yourself convulsing, helpless against the wave, and all you can do is hang on while he fucks you through it, deep, brutal, unrelenting. One clawed hand grips your jaw to keep it steady, the other still working your clit until tears start rolling down your cheeks from stimulation you can't mold around.

You're too gone to feel much more than a blurred wave of too much. Too fucked out to feel him tense and stutter above you. You only feel it once he slams in to the hilt and stalls, slicing through your walls and punching your cervix with the force of it. You almost black out on the spot.

It’s guttural. Deep. A sound torn out of something that doesn’t make sounds like that. He pulses inside you,thick, hot, and neglected for too long, filling you to the brim as he drinks from your neck like you're bleeding syrup.

His claws curl into your hips. His cock twitches inside you, pumping every last drop. And then - for the first time - he moans.

Not quiet. Not deadpan. A raw, feral, wrecked sound that's almost too spent to have come from the throat of a demon.

It vibrates through your bones.

And when it’s over, when he finally slows, pulls back just enough to breathe, you’re shaking under him, your jaw sore, your pussy flooded and bullied raw, your blood still wet on his lips. He pulls out like a scalpel being sheathed, his cock dragging slick and heavy from your used cunt, no wince, no remark, no reaction to the cum leaking out of you like evidence of something intimate.

And Jack is just silent again. Panting slowly subsiding into inaudible, steady breaths.

There’s no tenderness to the way he moves - no shushing, no soft hands. Just the same methodical detachment as always. He steps away from your body like it’s just another mess to clean.

Your skin is slick with sweat, your neck sticky with blood, thighs trembling and dripping with both of you - and he doesn’t even pause to look.

He just peels off the shredded gloves, tosses them into the trash with a snap of latex, and reaches for a fresh pair.

You’re still folded over the table, chest heaving, mouth hanging slightly open, when you feel him back at your side - hands sterile, gloved, impersonal all over again.

“Don’t move.”

The command is soft, but it’s not kind. Just practical.

He starts with the neck.

The bite wound is deep, ugly and violent and born from nothing but a selfish need, but he doesn’t flinch at the sight. Doesn’t murmur an apology or ask if it hurts. He just cleans. Disinfects. Presses a thick pad of gauze to the bite, tapes it down with no lingering touches.

Your shoulder is next, swabbed, sealed and wrapped. Then your thighs, your ribs. You feel the sting of antiseptic where his claws broke skin. He doesn’t slow.

He doesn’t speak.

When he’s finished with the worst of it, he steps between your knees again, tilts your chin up with two fingers.

“You clenched through your orgasm,” he says, tone flat. “Let me check your jaw.”

Your lips part instinctively, even as your eyes roll, unimpressed - and he presses a thumb along the hinge, palpating, observing. There’s pressure. A little discomfort. No pain.

“Still aligned.” A pause. “Mobility improved.”

He wipes his hands on a cloth and turns away.

“You’re cleared.”

You blink.

That’s it?

No goodbye. No acknowledgment. Not even a fucking nod.

You half-expect him to say something - anything at all- about what just happened. About him fucking you raw, drinking from your neck, and cumming so deep inside you it’s still dripping out onto the floor. But no. Nothing. His back stays turned. Shoulders relaxed. Voice cool.

“Try to avoid impact to the jaw for the next 48 hours. If the pain persists or worsens, come back.”

...Predictable.

[mywritersmind]

I WANT YOU TO WANT ME - KA12

summary : In which a drunk kimi is even more affectionate than sober kimi and you never want his arms to un wrap from your waist.

listen up : kissing! cuddling! lowkey arm kink bestfriend!reader. not proofread. sorry i haven’t written in forever i have like no new ideas. feel free to send in requests!

words : 1110

⋆｡‧˚⋆

You haven’t drunk much. But even so, any reminisce of alcohol in you disappears the second Kimi Antonelli wraps his arms around your waist.

You’re laying on your hotel bed, friends all around sipping their cold beers and laughing uncontrollably at god knows what. By far, you are the most sober one, and are absolutely loving it.

Everyone is ten times more hilarious and besides the incident where someone threw up in the shower, everything is great.

Kimi hasn’t been with you much tonight, your best friend being chased by a pretty blonde or getting dragged away by Ollie to tell people stories. But now, he’s definitely not leaving.

He lays next to you, (though it’s more of a sinking into the bed situation) slipping one arm under your waist, the other over top, without a word.

His curls brush your chest, his hands and face cold against your exposed skin. Kimi mumbles something but it’s too incoherent. Besides, you doubt you’d you’d be able to hear a complete sentence with how distracted you are.

Kimi Antonelli. Your best friend. Your platonic soulmate. Your favorite person in the world.

Your favorite person who recently, you’ve started to notice. You know he’s been attractive, just more in a cute way! Now… looking down at his biceps curled around you, the way his veins and muscles stick out- he’s much more than cute.

“I’ve missed you.” He slurs, “You so warm.” He pulls you closer to him, a reminder of how strong he is and how gentle he chooses to be.

You let out a laugh, not finding it funny but not knowing how else to deal with your hot best friend latching onto you.

“Want some water Kimi?” You move your hand to his hair, brushing back the dark curls.

He hums into you, his lips resting on your skin and sending a chill down your spine. “Want you…” It's barely a whisper. But you hear it.

His fingers move then, his thumb brushing against you, scratching your back, falling just under the hem of your cropped shirt.

He’s a very touchy person. He’s always been like that. Kissing your head before you went out onto the track in karts, holding your hand in a crowd, hugging you first after a race, slinging his arm around your shoulder when watching a movie. But for some reason… This feels different.

You look down at his hand resting on your stomach, his fingers long and making you a bit dizzy at the sudden thoughts that overtake you.

You don’t know when it happens, sometime after you pull your gaze from Kimi’s arms and start paying attention to your friend's drunken laughter… you fall asleep.

There was something about Kimi’s body against your, his rhythmic breathing and soft touches, making you drift off in his arms.

You wake up in utter quiet. Your friends are gone, the room is still a mess and when you go to get up, you’re pulled back down by something. Or someone.

Kimi is still attached to you, both in your clothes, both over the blanket. He pulls you closer unconsciously, his eyes flickering over in groggy confusion.

The moment realization dawns on him, his arms are off you, his warmth snatched away. He stares for a second and then, as if he finally understands that you two just slept in each other's arms for literal hours- he sputters out an apology. “Shit- sorry. I- were we like that all night? My head is killing me. Where did everyone go? Fuck.”

He finally stops talking, his cheeks go red and he can’t seem to meet your eyes. You swallow. His head is a mess, the arm that was under you is covered in blanket marks. “I tried to give you water.” Is all you can say.

“I refused?” He raises a brow, finally looking at you again.

You laugh, “More or less.”

He remembers, you realize. You can see it in his eyes. The second they go wide and his cheeks flush even more. “Oh.” His hand goes to his hair, his arm curling into something that makes you wish he was still holding you.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is deeper than usual, still tired and partly scared.

“You don’t have to apologize.” You push your hair back, realizing it’s probably a mess from the pillow.

“I’m embarrassed.”

You shake your head, a part of you aching for him to not me, “You shouldn’t be. You were drunk.”

His words echo in your mind, ‘I want you’. A sick feeling washes over you, like you’ll spend the next year falling asleep to those words in your head.

He scoffs, laughing a bit, “Not that drunk.” your lips turning downward at the way he makes it seem like he’d have to be blacked out to even think about wanting you.

“I mean- not that I would only get with you drunk! You’re hot. Shit. I’d get with you sober! You’re my best friend so it’s weird. Not weird- you’re not weird. I’ve thought about it before!” Your eyes go wide at this as he groans, “I was drunk last night. Just still in my mind, you know? I knew what I was saying. Fuck.” He groans, his ramble making his face grow redder with every confession, “Okay i’m not making this better.”

“Kimi?” You ask, your heart racing but forcing yourself to continue. He looks up at you, nodding. “Shut up.”

You grab his face without another word, slamming your lips against his. He’s always been quick, but you swear he’s never reacted faster than right now.

He kisses back in an instant, his hands finding their rightful place on your waist.

You’re pushed down, giving up control as your head meets the pillow behind you. He’s not rushing or hurrying you, just wanting you closer.

Your hands are on his neck now, pulling him in as his tongue meets your mouth. He slows, kissing you deeper, not harder. You swear in between kisses, wondering how you’re already under him and not caring about the answer.

Kimi’s eyes are dark as he pulls away, “I do want you.” He whispers, breathless against you as he takes a second, “Not in a drunken way.”

You grin, hair fanned out around you as you breathe heavily. “Good.” Your hand leaves his neck, wandering down his the arm you so love. “I want you in every way.”

His face splits into a grin, the type of smile that makes your fingers tingle and cheeks heat. Kimi leans in again, his lips meeting your with a different type of significance. A loving one.

[ramp-it-up]

Bossed (Boss 2)

Pt. I:Boss | Pt III: Encore

Summary: Your boss, Henry Cavill, is CEO of a company that changes lives. He is also a bit of a jerk. None of that stops you from being in love with him. And he with you. What does he do when you tell him you have a date for the lover's holiday?

Pairing: Ceo!Henry Cavill x reader au

Word count: 3.4 K

A/N: I think Henry Cavill is a beautiful man, idc, idc. He is the faceclaim to my fantasies. Today. Big props to @nissaimmortal for tolerating my lust in her inbox and giving advice. I also took a little bit of advice from @blackpinup22 . This second part is...kinda filthy? Sorry not sorry. Read, react, alladat, please. :) I am fed through your interactions, so please like, comment and reblog. I live for that shit.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Smut! Idiots in love, slow burn, mutual pining, age gap. Angst, white lies, Jealous Henry, veiled threats to a romantic rival, sucking his thumb in an elevator, vulgarities, sizeeee kinkkkk, sloppy, wet blowjob, masturbation, cum swallowing, praise kink, rough nipple play, sloppy oral (f receiving), fingering, raw p in v, creampie and confession time. Someone loses a job? Maybe? Possibly.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-------

“Get your coat, we’re going out to dinner tonight.”

You were a smart woman.

Henry’s reaction to you getting flowers was unexpected, not just for you, but for him. And he was just trying to take back control now with this offer of dinner out. 

You had something for him.

So you got your coat, and packed up your laptop, slinging the strap of the fine leather attaché across your shoulder as you walked toward his office door. It was a gift from Henry on your first day on the job, the Aspinal of London bag perched on an ergonomic chair behind a brand new oak desk when you walked in that first day.

You loved the desk, and you dragged your fingers along the rich grain of the wood as you neared him.

Henry was putting on his jacket and coat and adjusting his tie with a smirk on his face as you approached.

“I’m not going to dinner with you. I have plans,” you said with a straight face. 

Henry’s smile fell.

“Cancel them.” 

He grabbed his phone from his desk and stalked past you to the elevator. You followed, and could literally see the steam coming off his ears.

Henry was close to coming unglued. He did not plan on this today.

Did he have a claim on you?

Yes.

Were you aware of that claim?

No, but that had nothing to do with it.

“Can’t. It’s a date,” came your saucy reply.

That stopped him in his tracks. Henry turned slowly to face you as you looked up at the elevator indicator.

You could feel the heat radiating off of him. 

“What the hell do you mean?” 

You raised your eyebrow at him and then walked into the elevator, forcing him to follow you. You pressed the button and looked up again, ignoring Henry’s stare.

You had to admit you were enjoying this. 

“You expect me to not have a date tonight, Mr. Cavill?”

Henry leaned against the elevator wall and crossed his arms. He considered what day it was.

“You didn’t last year.”

You looked at him, fire in your eyes. 

“I was newly hired and when you said we were working late that day, I didn’t want to rock the boat that early.”

That was true, but you were also already smitten and wanted to spend the evening with Henry.

“But I’m done letting work take over my life. I need more, Mr. Cavill. I need a life.”

Henry huffed and then stood up straight. He was exasperated because couldn’t you see that you were his life? He thought about it.

Maybe you couldn’t see it because he never said it.

He moved closer to you, determined to make you understand. In the confined space, the proximity caused the hair on the back of your neck to rise.

“What about what happened back there in your office, Little One?”

His sexy murmur and that accent almost made you weak, but you remained strong, looking at him as if you didn’t know what he was talking about. But how could you forget?

The kiss.

You cleared your throat.

“I’m not sure what that was about.” 

Your eyes looked at the elevator wall.  

“You kissed me and then said something about a competition. Because I got flowers.”

“Because someone else sent you flowers. Out of the blue! In all the time we’ve worked together, not once have you mentioned a boyfriend or dating. So, who the hell is he?”

You gave him a side eye.

“I don’t need to tell you who I’m seeing, Mr. Cavill,” you said with a smirk.

“If you want him to have full use of his limbs, you will.” 

Your eyes widened, and you took a step back. 

“Cancel your plans. This guy, whoever he is,” he snarled, “can wait another day.” 

Henry just wanted a chance with you. All that mattered was that you spend tonight with him.

“Did you just threaten my date?”

For some insane reason, that made you hot. Your nipples were tight and aching, and your pussy was slick and pounding.

You shook your head and looked back up at the elevator indicator, willing it to go faster. This lie of yours was getting more involved, and the pit of your desire was getting harder to crawl out of.

“Are you still planning to go out with him tonight?” 

You just stared at him. 

“This is not a competition, Mr. Cavill. This is my heart.”

His expression flickered, just for a second, then his jaw tightened, and he leaned in again, voice dangerously low. 

“You think this is just about winning?”

You didn’t answer. Not right away. Because you weren’t sure you wanted to know what happened if the answer was no.

The air between you thickened, his question hanging between you. His eyes were holding you captive and you felt like you should look away, should deflect, but you couldn’t. Before you could think better of it, your breath stuttered.

Henry's eyes dropped to your lips again, the tension taut. He grabbed your hand, his fingers brushing against your wrist, just enough to send a shiver through you.

His control was slipping more and more, and as much as he didn’t like that feeling, he realized that maybe he loved you more.

He took in that serious pout, those beautiful eyes, and the luscious hips he wanted to hold on to as he made love to you. A slow smirk tugged at Henry’s lips as his eyes slipped over your ass pencil skirt and he licked his lips. He wasn’t trying to cover his salacious looks at you.

You needed to know that Henry’s baser instincts were about to take over. 

He needed to show you, physically, how urgent this feeling was. 

His mind was filled with visions of the two of you fucking like rabbits. In the office. In his penthouse. On a beach. Wherever he could find a flat surface, that’s where he would take you. 

“Mr. Cavill, you can’t tell me when I can go out on dates and when I can’t. You’re my boss. Not my man.” 

Your eyes shot fire at him. And damn you, the smirk that came over his face when you did that threatened to make you burst into flames. 

“I’m going on my date tonight. I will enjoy the company of a man who’s interested in getting to know me. And then, maybe…” 

You paused, allowing the silence to fill in the worst of Henry’s fears. Another man having what was his, at least in his mind. It was tearing him apart inside. 

The elevator finally reached the ground floor and before the doors opened fully, Henry stopped them and then pressed the button for the penthouse.

You were so frustrated that you stamped your foot like a child when you looked up at him in fury as the elevator rose again.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Henry smiled down at you and advanced even further. Your stomach flipped and it was tethered to your pussy.

“So you’re planning to fuck tonight?”

You gasped as you backed up to the wall. Henry followed and put his hands on the railing on either side of you, caging you in. 

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Little One. Whoever he is, he’s not good enough for you. Never would have been able to handle you. Not in a million years.”

You shivered as he stared down at you.

“You don’t even know who he is?”

“Doesn’t matter. I know what I know.”

Your teeth captured your bottom lip and Henry looked at it lovingly, reaching up to pull it free, and then caress your chin.

Your mind couldn’t help thinking that Henry could handle you. You took a deep breath trying to clear your head, but his scent was surrounding you. And his warmth was beckoning. 

Then, your cunt did the talking for you.

“And who do you think could handle me?”

Henry smiled then, eyes flicking down to your lips as his hand palmed the back of your head, his fingers threading to your scalp. His thumb was still on your lips.

“I think you already know the answer to that, Little One,” Henry whispered and you whimpered, earning a small moan from him. 

“So what’s changed? Why now?” 

“Seeing those flowers made me realize that I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else. You belong with me, Little One. Only me.” 

His possessive words sent a shiver through you. Part of you wanted to argue, to assert your independence. But another part thrilled at his desire for you.

You looked up at him as the tip of your tongue ventured out and lightly brushed the skin of his digit. You watched in real time as his eyes dilated, the beautiful multicolored blue changing to black. 

“Fuck…”

Henry pressed his thumb further into your mouth and you sucked heartily, keeping eye contact as your tongue swirled around him and caused his half hard dick to stand at full mast. He pulled his thumb out with a plop and then rubbed the wetness around your lips. 

Then he leaned down and licked it off of them before slipping his tongue into your open mouth, his hand coming up to fully palm your head now.

“You say you need a life. Now tell me you want to go out with some other man, or do you need me to show you what kind of life you could have?”

That dangerous eyebrow cocked as the elevator doors chimed open.

“Show me.”

Henry bared his teeth in a sinister smile and you knew that you were about to be ruined. He took your hand and led you down the hallway to his door, and you stood there as he input the code for entry.

Once inside, your coats were thrown off and your hands were all over each other as you tried to get skin to skin. You pulled his shirt out of his pants, he was bunching up your skirt to get to you, until you both stopped and laughed at the comedy.

“Let’s slow down a bit so we can get to the good parts,” you whispered, between quick wet kisses and gropes of Henry’s hands on your body.

His cock throbbed in his pants, demanding attention as it strained against the fabric. 

“I don’t know if I can slow down my Little One. All that matters is sinking inside you and imprinting my name on your perfect pussy, which no other man will ever touch again. You belong to me; always have, always will.”

“Fuck, Henry!”

Henry took you in, flushed with desire, your pupils blown wide.

“Yes, yes. I am going to fuck you my angel.”

As Henry watched you get undressed, he rid himself of the rest of his clothes and then grabbed you, bridal style and carried you into his bedroom, setting you down in your bra and panties on the extra large king bed there. 

You leaned back on your hands and watched with wide eyes as Henry took down his boxers, your mouth hanging open at the very large cock that he was hiding inside them. You bit your bottom lip as Henry smiled at your reaction and took himself in hand, stroking slowly as his large fingers encircled his considerable girth. 

His glove size made sense now.

“I’m afraid I may not last long. Every night I stroke myself and imagine what it would feel like to be inside your tight warmth; whether you’d be a screamer or try to keep quiet, making pretty little noises in your throat; whether your nails would rake down my back. So many questions, Little One…”

You arched your back and ran your hand down your body. You could see precum bubble over Henry’s fingers when you put your hand in your panties and heard him moan. You stood and then kneeled in front of him, earning a straight out groan from your employer.

Your own private fantasies involved the show that was happening in front of you right now.

“We’ll figure out the answers together, but maybe I can help you out. Y’know, teamwork and all of that.”

You reached out and saw Henry’s shudder as you touched his warm, satiny smooth cock, trying, but failing to close your fingers around him. You moaned in your throat as you tried to jack him and his hand quickly came up to guide yours as he bent down to stick his tongue in your mouth in a filthy kiss.

“Been waiting so long for this moment. Little One. Open wide.”

He grins down at you.

“And tap my thigh if it’s too much.”

You sat back on your shins and opened up as Henry lubricated your lips with his fluid, then slapped your outstretched tongue with his heavy member. Your hand came up and weighed his balls, your spit dripping down them to the floor as he shoved his dick into your mouth.

You took as much as you could in your mouth and made eye contact for more. Henry grimaced as he slid cock past your tonsils into your throat. You carefully breathed through your nose and looked up at him.

“Those eyes, Little One. That mouth, that neck. Doing so well for me.”

You smiled around your full mouth and began to move, bobbing on him, making sure to pay special attention to his engorged head. Your combined fluids were everywhere as you jacked what you couldn’t fit in your hand and Henry’s head was alternating between hanging back between his shoulders and looking down at you, blue eyes gleaming.

“You gonna take my cum, Baby? Be a good girl for me?”

You reached forward and grabbed Henry’s ass, bobbing faster and humming around his girth.

“Holyyyyyyy fuck… Little One!”

Henry shot off and you gulped the only cum you ever wanted to swallow down your throat.

You collapsed back on the rug as Henry leaned down and easily picked you up to place you on the bed. He jerked the rest of his cum out of his still half-hard dick onto the juncture of your thighs, eyes full of delight.

“Thank you for that, love. Now I can do this properly. I’m about to make my intentions very, very clear. I thought our first time was going to be beautiful. And it is, but it will also be quite pornographic.”

Henry fingers were inside your panties, playing in the cum that soaked through to your clit, rubbing nasty circles around your throbbing bundle of nerves. You loved giving him that blow job. He looked up and down your body as he pulled your panties to the side.

“Henry…”

“So fucking beautiful. This pussy is so fucking perfect. Need to taste all of you, Little One.”

And with that, Henry leaned down and licked your nipple through the lace of your bra. When he found the ultra stiff peak there, he took it between his teeth as you writhed and moaned beneath him, then he turned to sucking you, hard, not waiting until his other hand deftly unhooked your foundation.

Your bra practically flew off as he handled your breasts roughly, spitting on them and then slurping up the saliva as he held eye contact and nibbled, licked, and sucked you to nirvana.

The moment he so much as touched your clit again, you flew apart in his hands, screaming his name.

“Yes. Yessss. Little One. Let me hear you scream my name. None other.”

You were busy trying to breathe, your back flat on the bed when you felt Henry’s hands tear your panties off, then clamp around your thighs and hold you open.

You felt his hot spit land on your clit and then his warm breath on you for a split second. You were overstimulated and so you tried to stop him from–

“He-Henry, Nouuuunnnnggggghhhhhh! Fuck that feels….”

You looked down to see Henry’s smile and his wide tongue doing unspeakable things to the seam of you. He licked a wide, wet, wonderful path from your ass to your clit and then latched on to destroy your soul.

“Good Godddddd!”

You arched up into his face and began to ride it, pulling on his curls as if they were some kind of magical reins. 

His mouth ravaged you and when he inserted two thick fingers inside you, bent and scissored them, you squirted into his waiting open mouth.

You must have blacked out for a second, because the next thing you knew, Henry was standing and wiping his face with the back of his hand. His cock seemed even larger than when you sucked it. Your cunt wanted it, but your brain was frightened.

“That sweet pussy is all mine, Little One. No one else gets near it.”

You nodded, breathless, and  agreeing to anything.

“Yes, Mr. Cavill, Sir.”

Henry grinned and eyed you.

“Such a good girl. Can’t wait to be inside you.”

He was stroking himself again, looking at your pussy as if it were gold.

“Promise to make you feel good.” 

He looked in your eyes.

“You’ve already ruined me for any other woman.”

You blinked up at him as he descended between your legs.

He swiped his long, hard, thick length between your wet, swollen folds, making you whimper with ecstasy. You wrapped your legs around him, crossing your ankles at his back. 

Henry pushed the head of his cock to your entrance and it slid in like a hot knife through butter. You moaned loudly, clenching him tightly with your inner muscles. He pushed slowly and steadily, letting you get adjusted.

You groaned and your eyes opened to see the corner of his mouth raised in a soft smile. 

“I’ve got you, Little One.” 

You nodded and took a deep breath because he was fucking huge. Henry  slid a hand between you and began rolling your clit in mind-blowing circles.

Your body relaxed and accepted him.

“That’s it, love. Give it to me,” he rasped out before plunging his tongue into your mouth. 

There was an orchestra of sensations as his tongue, his hand, his penis, worked together to fuck you and it felt like beautiful music. Your orgasm blossomed and exploded throughout your body. 

You came in long, crashing waves that shook your body from head to toe, and yet he didn’t stop. He fucked you deeply, reaching spots you didn’t know existed, making you beg and praise and yes, rake your nails down his back. 

At the end, you blacked out again, everything fading away but Henry.

—

Later, after turns in the shower and the bath, you finally had your romantic dinner in bathrobes in Henry’s breakfast nook, cartons of take out shared between you.

You look at Henry’s face, filled with a happiness you had never witnessed before and felt guilty.

“Henry. I’ve got to tell you something.”

Henry smiled at you angelically and raised an adorable eyebrow.

“You want to tell me that you never had another date. That you sent those flowers to yourself.”

Your mouth dropped open in amazement.

“How…?” 

Henry grinned.

“I knew it the moment I read the card. The look on your face was classic.”

Then you got mad.

“So you let me…you ass!”

You hopped up, ready to retrieve your clothes and leave. But Henry caught you by the hand and pulled you into his lap.

“You were willing to push me to see what I would do. So I let you. It helped you to finally admit that you wanted me.”

Henry murmured down at you and you quieted, those eyes mesmerizing you.

“And it helped me too. I was able to finally show my feelings for you, Little One. Oh, how I love you.”

You smiled and reached up for his curls and pulled him down for a kiss.

“I love you too, Henry, but you realize there’s a problem, right?”

His smile faltered slightly. 

“What problem?”

You sighed.

“Workplace relationships. HR nightmares. You’re my boss, Henry.”

“So?”

You arched your own brow at him, incredulous. 

“So? You’re the one who follows the rules to the letter.”

He leaned back to get a better look at your face.

“Are you saying you want to quit?”

You gulped, “Well…”

It was Henry’s turn to sigh. 

“If I fired you, there would be a severance package. But I don’t fire people without cause.”

Your lips twitched. 

“And what if I gave you cause?”

The smile returns, slow and dangerous. 

“Then I suppose you’d have to find a very compelling reason for me to let you go.”

You slid down to the floor, robe slipping off of your shoulders.

“I’m sure we can find something, Mr. Cavill.”

[onetoomanyfandomfixations]

Helluva Boss Characters Reacting to You Asking for a Hug

Tbh this series is just for my own enjoyment at this point lmao

I’m so normal about them, I swear.

BLITZØ

Honestly, it depends on what type of relationship you have with him

Familial relationship? Best BELIEVE he’s coddling the shit outta you rn

^ def a cheek pincher

“Hey sweetie? Do you need me ta fuck someone up for ya?”

But if y’all are platonic, or SATAN FORBID

R O M A N T I C ?

Ur not getting Shit

Well, until you start crying

“You’re a fuckin’ baby, you know that?”

Very casual hugs

Always sits his chin on you

Will complain the entire time

But you both know he loves you

LOONA

“Oh shit, you good?”

She’s blunt, not heartless

Honestly pretty touched that you asked for a hug instead of just going for one

Like her adoptive dad, very casual hugs

Usually just slings an arm over your shoulders

Won’t talk to you about it

Y’all just sit in comforting silence

Don’t let anyone point out that she’s letting you touch her

Will get v flustered

Depending on how you both feel - may let you play with her hair to self regulate

MILLIE

“Sure thing, hun!”

Doesn’t matter who you are, or why you need a hug, she’ll take it

Physical affection is her top love language idc

Squeezes super super tight

Like, you can barely breathe

Gushes over how sweet you are

Will probs pepper your face in kisses too (doesn’t matter what ur relationship with her is)

((Millie is a strong believer in non-romantic kisses, she told me herself))

Will probs ask Moxxie to bring y’all a drink

MOXXIE

“Uhh, you sure you want a hug from me?”

Yes babe I’m sure

Doesn’t think he’s the best one to be comforting you - will palm you off to Millie if he can

But will be offended if anyone else says he can’t look after you

^^ Gets all huffy about it

Distraction is his new best friend

Will tell you a mixture of stories and fun facts to try and make you feel better

Will also make you a hot drink

If you want to, will talk out your feelings with you

STOLAS

Babes just blinks for a hot minute as your words register with him

Has the softest smile

“Of course, dearest. Come here.”

A hug isn’t enough for him, you’re in for a full blown cuddle sesh now

Likes the feeling of having you fully wrapped up in his arms

Forehead kisses. Forehead Kisses.

Will sometimes swaddle you in blankets like a literal baby

Hums softly for you

Tries to ask what’s wrong, will def push the subject

He just wants to fix it, okay?

Will just,,, smother you in affection until you’re okay

And then some

OCTAVIA

Judgemental eyebrow raise.

Judgy, judgy girl

Y’all gotta be CLOSE for her to hug

((But not really, she’s so touch starved its not funny, but we don’t talk about that-))

Long, comforting hugs

If u end up crying, will fix your makeup for you

Don’t mention it though

Like, literally don’t mention it or it won’t happen again

She probs just breathes a sigh of relief when y’all hugs

Holds on a little too tight, for a little too long

If you ask first, she’ll start coming to you for hugs now too

FIZZAROLLI

Baby. Baby, baby man.

Will wrap his arms around you several times over

Another really tight hugger

You had shit to do?

Sike, not anymore

Now you’re spending all day with Fizz

Your fault, you started it by asking for a hug

Is super worried about you, but tries to play it down

Will do stupid shit just to see you laugh

Will ALSO flirt with you until you can’t stand it anymore

ASMODEUS

Immediately concerned, does not try to hide it

Much like his bf, cancels all plans for today

Y’all are gonna be chilling in bed and cuddling now

Just kinda,,, scoops you up?

Definitely plays with your hair

Gives a SOLID head massage

So so gentle and sweet

Just lays you on his chest

Draws pictures on your back and makes you guess what he’s drawing

^^ he does this to help ground you

Tbh he’ll probably drag Fizz to bed too, so know they’re both looking after you

Mans isn’t gonna let anyone get left out

[starlit1daydream]

several consecutive rent-lowering gunshots since we are in a dire dire fucking state right now

Damara Megido did nothing wrong, and is a direct victim of a misogynistic cowardly cheater and an abuser who manipulated her position of privilege to make Damara's life hell for no coherent reason; everything she did was justified and directed solely at the architects of her own mental ruination.

Rufioh Nitram is a misogynistic cowardly cheater and a spineless bastard whose problems are consistently all his fucking fault. He repeatedly slings shit in the direction of the girlfriend whose life he ruined, and then proceeds to try and prey upon her younger descendant because he objectifies her in his mind.

Mituna Captor is a grown-ass adult man, he is fully capable of giving consent and very proudly has sex, very often and is in a genuinely happy and supportive relationship. He is not a child, his disability does not make him a child, and Cronus is textually his sexual and emotional abuser.

Kankri Vantas is a pathetic, ideologically incomprehensible bootlicker with no genuine principles beyond fellating the upper caste and supporting his own inflated ego; he is also a textual misogynist and Latula's stalker, and explicitly ableist when he tag teams with Cronus to bully Mituna.

Meulin Leijon is not upset about her deafness. To take a character with genuine pride in her disability and a love for her way of interacting with the world and turn it into a tragedy is outright ableism. She is also textually being emotionally manipulated by Kurloz.

Porrim Maryam is more than her sex life, she outright says that she is more than her sex life and boiling her whole characterisation down to her being a slut is literally just misogyny and goes against everything she stands for. She is 19, she is not your hentai MILF, for fuck's sake.

Latula Pyrope is not a gnarly coolkid and you have fallen for her facade if you think so. She is textually struggling with a lot of self-worth issues, mental health problems she can't confront and puts on a mask purely to cover up these things. She is more than the stereotype she claims to be. Fucking Knight of Mind, people!

Aranea Serket did not turn into a conniving villainess overnight, her desperate quest for relevance was the result of milennia of being ignored and overlooked by the people she was meant to call her friends, compounded with sweeps of isolation pushing her to a mental nadir.

Horuss Zahhak is textually, actually, genuinely real-world racist and belittles Damara to her face by calling her Japanese a pathetic peasant tongue and barely even humanises her in their interactions. He is also deliberately ignoring Rufioh's pleas to end their relationship - he is no saint in this arrangement.

Kurloz Makara is not your soft boy for your wholesome yaois and his relationships with everyone have an inherent power imbalance. Kurloz is a noted manipulator, and is literally attempting to bring about the fucking apocalypse by conspiring with the main antagonist. He is not a good partner.

Cronus Ampora is a horrible, horrible man who is written on purpose to be a horrible man and has no redeeming qualities by intention of the text. To have this misogynistic, abusive, eugenicist pedophile even glance in the direction of redemption is to defy the character his purpose.

Meenah Peixes is not hypermasculine, and she is not butch. Meenah is incredibly girly, and proud of it, and the masculinisation of her character by the fanbase is a direct byproduct of the racism they display when confronted with a black-coded character who displays even the slightest hint of aggression. Let her be her hyperfeminine self.

[satorella]

“𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫”

“Babe, you want a sandwich?” You asked your boyfriend, 𝐑𝐢𝐧, who was too engrossed in watching playbacks of his last game; going over what he could’ve done better, etc. You peeked your head to the side, “Babe?”

Nothing.

You sighed and made him a sandwich anyways, leaving it on the counter. You walked over and sat next to him on the couch; your eyes moving back and forth from him, to the tv, then back to him. “That was a good shot.” You said, hoping to at least get him to say something. “Mhm.” Was all he said. Better than nothing, but still. You sat there for another minute or so, before deciding to get up. “Where are you going?” He suddenly asked, eyes still glued to the tv. “You’re busy.” “Shut up. Sit.” He said in his usual cold tone. You raised a brow, but did as he said and sat back down. “Closer.” He ordered, patting his lap. You didn’t protest, scooting closer and slinging your legs over his lap. He placed his hands on your thighs, his focus still on the tv. You leaned over to place a gentle kiss on his cheek, then moved to rest your arm on the back of the couch; casually playing with the ends of his hair and turning to watch the game. Rin finally glanced at you, “Now you’re just being clingy.” He said, a hint of a playful tone laced within his cold demeanor. Your eye twitched at his words. “Ha?!?! You literally just told me to sit closer???” He lets out a sliver of a chuckle in response to your reaction. “Yeah, but you didn’t have to… do all that.” He waves his hand around, leaning a bit closer to you. Rin squeezed your thigh ever so slightly; not enough for you to notice. You scoffed, frowning. “Fine then. No more kisses for you I guess.” Rin blinked a few times at your statement. “Oh really? No more kisses? That’s fine, I’ll live.”

Asdfghjkl you’re gonna choke this guy.

Even though he’s saying these things, Rin’s grip on your thigh had tightened more than before. He then leaned in even closer and pressed his face into the crook of your neck, his breath slightly tickling your skin. “Tch. Clingy my ass.” You grumbled, turning to look back at the tv. He pressed his face a bit more into your neck before he spoke once again, his voice muffled. “You know damn well that… I am… with you...” If only you could see the hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks right now. He then took a deep inhale, savoring the scent of your hair. “Hmph. I guess you do love me.” You said sarcastically. “Unfortunately, I do.” He muttered, tilting his head back to look at you with a cold, hard stare for a moment before it softened up. “Of course I love you, dumbass.” He said, his voice low. He sat back up straight and wrapped an arm around you. You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder as the two of you returned your attention to the tv.

Rin wasn’t really the best at expressing his feelings, and you made your peace with that. Asking you to be his girlfriend was a complete shock to you and everyone else that knew him. To be frank, you didn’t even know he liked you like that. No one would’ve ever guessed. What more, when a few months into the relationship, he practically demanded that you keep a toothbrush and a few clothes at his apartment. “Just so you don’t waste anymore of our time going back and forth.” He used as an excuse.

“Hey… you said something about a sandwich earlier, right?” He asks, breaking the silence a couple minutes later. “Yeah.” “Did you toast it? To melt the cheese and shit.” He asks, running his hand up and down your back.

“Yeah… but it’s probably lukewarm now.”

“Don’t you fucking start.”

© 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒-𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

Join my tag list!📋

[girlokwhatever]

Hi! For an Emily Engstler HC could you do Overprotective!Emily x reader?

overprotective!emily x fem!reader hcs

₊˚ෆ⋆·˚ ༘ *✧.*ੈ✩‧₊˚ emily as an overprotective gf,,

— she has this bad habit of thinking everyone wants you

— hands in your back pockets, always being close, subtly flashing her phone screen of the two of you to everyone (not so subtle) type shit

— if you go off without her at a party and she spots you talking to someone she’s never met…

- “who’s your little friend”

— likes to stand behind you so she can see everything going on around you

— if you go to a party without her she’s texting every so often to make sure you’re okay

— always eyeing the guys tryna talk to you at the bar/club

- she knows he doesn’t want your number to “be friends”

— “that guy was definitely flirting with you”

- “he asked me if i knew where the bathroom was, em.”

— likes to sling her arm around your shoulders

— when meeting a new friend of yours (especially if it’s a guy or masc woman)

- “hey, i’m her girlfriend.”

— if guys come up to you at the club or something she tries to intimidate them with her height

- will make it obvious she has to look down to see him

— she always insists on meeting your new friends that she doesn’t know

- just so she can get a feel for how responsible they are (she can’t leave you alone with people that don’t know what they’re doing.)

— “i don’t trust her driving, let me drop you off. i promise i’ll pick you up on time.”

— you guys have each other’s location

- she’s stalking it whenever she’s not with you. not because she doesn’t trust you, but just because she’s worried.

- will literally call you if she sees you’re speeding on life360 or something

— “there’s no way you’re going there without me. someone got mugged there last week.”

- “did you just make that up?”

— she lets you go off on your own at parties though!!!!

- as long as she can still see you

— “please call me if you need anything”

— bought you pepper spray after you watched a crime documentary together LOL

— will hold your wallet and phone for you when you guys go out cause she’s scared you’ll lose/forget it somewhere

— always holds you against her in a crowd cause ppl can be crazy

— “em, do you think this is cute.”

- “yeah, yeah. no way you’re going out.”

- “i am going out. in this outfit. right now.”

- “wouldn’t you rather stay home so i can take it off of you?”

₊˚ෆ⋆·˚ ༘ *✧.*ੈ✩‧₊˚

SOME EMILY HCS!!!!!

emily with a strap coming soon??!!……..