#*snatches vile and downs it in one drink*

[dollwrites]

𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 — 𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐮

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!human!reader, noncon, knotting, rut, sesshomaru is unhinged, forced breeding, virgin!reader, degradation and objectification, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3

𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ the killing moon by echo & the bunnymen

your family served the Dog Daiyokai long before you were born; you remembered your great grandparents reminiscing about how kind a ruler the beast king Toga had been, how he’d graciously accepted their offerings and protected your family’s village from danger— always there when they called. he cared deeply about the humans he ruled over.

his son was another tale entirely.

Sesshomaru was cold and hateful, especially to your family. you’d only seen him a handful of times as you grew up, and you’d become the one to carry the offerings to the forest once your parents were too weak to do so, his helpful minion usually snatched up the offerings that were left at the tree line. “Lord Sesshomaru has better things to do than mingle with the likes of you.” he’d told you once when you’d tried to approach the young beast king. you can still remember the gilded glare Sesshomaru rewarded you for taking even half a step towards him. he truly hated you. a hate so deep that it’d frozen you in place. you thought if you ever saw him again, he’d kill you without a moment’s hesitation.

which is why you ran from him tonight.

it hadn’t been your fault; he could smell you from a mile away. he was drinking in every pheromone you exude as he got closer and closer. his hormones as sharp as the blade on his hip in this moment, he followed your scent like a predator tracking wounded prey. every muscle in his body pulled taut when he saw you, crouched down, arranging his offerings. he recognized you immediately— the audacious girl that had the nerve to try and approach him before, and he wanted to be angry. he wanted to feel that vile repulsion rising from his stomach to his throat that he usually experienced when he was within a swing of his sword’s distance from a mortal, but right now he couldn’t force himself to feel disgusted. he couldn’t force that hatred because his instincts had taken hold of him, and your scent was driving him mad with need.

the innocence that clung to your aroma had his claws clenching into flustered fists at his side, a crimson hue seeping into the whites of his eyes. the overwhelming, primal desire to breed only deepened, reaching the very core of his body as he took a silent step closer, and then another, and then another. with each step, the air became thicker, more intoxicating, he inhaled, deep, and sucked in the saccharine traces of your sex that hangs in the atmosphere around him. his cock twitches against his thigh. now drunk on the smell of your fertile, uncharted cunt, it hardens in his trousers and he lets out a breathy snarl.

he needed to take you now.

and that’s when you noticed his presence.

he must’ve looked frightening— blood red eyes with teeth bared, snorting in the air, a true depiction of the beast king title he wore, because you hardly let out a startled gasp before you were scrambling to your feet and sprinting towards the village. “Stupid girl.” he grimaced. even if you tried until your legs were about to give out, you’d never outrun him. he made that apparently clear when, within a blink of an eye, he bounds after and grasps you by one wrist, sweeping your feet off the ground and hauling you into the air by the hold on your arm alone. “Do not run from me.”

you wince, legs kicking wildly, and cry out, “Don’t kill me, Lord Sesshomaru!”

did he look so feral?

as rabid as he felt?

“Kill you.” he repeats as if considering the words carefully, tilting his head to one side. his sharpened nails scrape against your delicate skin, breaking a small section, and you whimper, so he releases your arm and you crumble to the dirt with a huff. “You’re no use to me if you’re dead.” pulling yourself on to your knees, you take a deep, shaky breath and turn back towards the village, crawling slow, sniffling. you can see the gate from where you’re laying, just a short run away. his words hadn’t fully registered within you until you feel a foot press between your shoulder blades, pinning your chest to the ground.

“Your family serves me, doesn’t it?” with a soft whine, you nod, rubbing your cheek against the dirt. “Then spread your legs.” he barked, using his other foot to kick at your knees until they widened, the split in your skirt more pronounced as it reveals the flesh of your thigh. “And serve me.” with what seemed like one swipe of his powerful claw, your garments split with screams of threads coming unraveled. you flinch, closing your eyes tight, expecting to be shredded right along with your clothes, but once they’re wrenched free of your body and you’re left completely bare, your face forced into the dirt, you don’t feel the sting of a fresh wound, or see any blood trickling down.

“Lord Sesshomaru,” it was hard to choke the words out, the lump in your throat massive as you try to look over your shoulder to see what he’s done. “What are you—?”

you catch a glimpse; a fraction of a second you watch the beast king undress. heavy fur and weapons in a puddle of alabaster and ruby fabric on the ground. your eyes trail along the red markings on his arms and over his toned abdomen, your face on fire with a blush when your gaze reaches his manhood. thick and veined, with a plump, pink tip and almost too girthy for you to be able to wrap your hands around, your lips part in awe, and your eyeline traces the impressive length. ceasing only near the base, where a bulbous knot was already swelling. the visage sends a swirling in your tummy, and causes a pooling between your thighs, whether you want it to or not. his eyes narrow when he catches you staring, and brings his foot down against the back of your head this time, hissing, “I never said that you could ogle me. Arch your back.”

you didn’t.

you hesitated.

until he ground his foot into your head and you whimper in submission, pushing your ass into the air, even as your legs tremble.

“L—Lord Sesshomaru…” staring down at the ground, you’re frightened, so much so that hot tears start to well up in your eyes and your nails dig into the dirt. you already know what he’s planning to do to you, and the thought alone makes you dizzy. “I can’t— I’ve never—“ the words were too humiliating to actually say, so you simply stammered until he cut your babbling short.

“The scent of your innocence is overwhelming.” he spoke matter of factly, but there’s a rough edge to his baritone, as if he’s on the cusp of losing all restraint. “But I can smell how fertile you are, too. And your body is begging to be bred.” your eyes widened, and you shake your head incessantly, attempting to use what little strength in your arms you had in order to crawl away, but with his weight pressing down on the sole of his foot against your skull, you weren’t going to be able to go anywhere. with his head tilting to one side, he examines your exposed sex. “You’re already wet.”

another shake of your head. “I— I’m not— I don’t want—“ you tense the moment you feel his tip split your folds, but he doesn’t delve right in. instead, he holds himself at his base, and drags the swollen tip between your netherlips from your maiden hole to your sensitive clitoris, gathering all of your unwilling desire to coat his cock in a layer of shine. your legs threaten to snap closed, if his foot wasn’t planted against one of your knees. your heart pounds hard against your chest. “N—no… Don’t…”

Sesshomaru ignores your winging and guides the head back to your entrance, which squeezes the air as your muscles clench when he pushes against you. you wished that you were strong enough to keep him from invading you, but with a grunt and an abrupt buck of his hips, the engorged tip stretches your previously unclaimed sex open and forces its way inside. you yip in protest, but he moans. “Tight…” he mutters, planting both, strong hands on your hips as you try to wiggle forward. his claws dig into the supple flesh as he pulls you back to meet another might thrust, pushing another couple of inches into you. your canal spasms, and you grit your teeth, forcing a strangled cry through them as the beast king severs your innocence. “I can barely fit in your little, human cunt.” he almost sounded disgusted, as if you should be more equipped to take him properly.

it hurts, a lot.

tears have careened over your cheeks and soak the ground under your face, turning it to mud that glues itself to your countenance, and you try to squirm away from him, but the more you move your hips, the harder he slams his own towards you, and the deeper you’re filled with demon cock.

“H—hurts…!” you’re panting, your little heart beating ferociously in your chest, and your entire body feels tight and defensive, “Please… stop…please, it’s too much… it hurts…!”

Sesshomaru growls, sinking his claws into your skin, pushing himself flush to your ass just to hear you squeal, “Ungrateful, little thing. What do you think you were meant to exist for, if not breeding?” his nails prick at you, breaking through to leave faint, searing scratches, “Are you so fragile that you can’t even take me without sobbing and begging? You’re absolutely pathetic, aren’t you?”

you don’t want to agree with him, but in this moment, pathetic is the best word to describe you. humiliated, you don’t answer him, and choke on your tears and the lump in your throat, instead.

“I need this,” he continues, pushing you forward only to pull you back against him, “your Lord needs it. Stop your hopeless sniveling and take my cock. Fulfill your duty as my servant. Take it until your weak, little body breaks.”

the rhythm he falls into is hard and deep, erratic thrusting as he snorts through his nose, his vulgar moans muffled and guttural. each time, he jerks you back into his rutting, and furious ripples erupt through the flesh of your ass as he reaches your limit, quick.

it’s the knot.

it’s much too swollen to fit into you while you tighten around him, and it slaps against your core instead, as if demanding to be let inside.

you claw, helplessly, at the ground, trying to find some way to relieve the pressure he’s forced on to you, each time he slams his length home in your depths, you elicit a raspy yelp. your throat is raw from screaming. the dust kicked up around you has found its way into your lungs and burns them, and Sesshomaru has been pushing your head down harder and harder, whether he meant to or not.

“More, more, more.” Sesshomaru was snarling, snapping his hips harder and harder into you, much more beast than king. he had to be following primal instinct alone. each time he pounds against you, the knot acting as a buffer, squishes against you. you can feel the power behind his rutting; he was twitching inside you, thrusts stuttering and uneven. he’s close, and he’s trying to force the bulb inside of you to cum. “Deeper. Deeper.” your toes curl tight, and you clench whenever he pushes the lump against you, trying your damndest to keep it from opening you up anymore. he was already incredibly deep, his thick tip prodding nerves he shouldn’t reach, battering a depth that you didn’t think was possible, but you were certain if he managed to shove that knot into you, that he would burst right through your belly.

“Fight me all you want.” he must’ve realized how you fought against him, because the foot on your head slides to press into your cheek, smearing you against the ground. “I’m going to breed you whether you want me to or not, cocksheath.” he grunts, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. you could feel the tickle of his soft, silvery tendrils as they drape over your back, and you would’ve wriggled if you weren’t so tightly pinned. he was no longer pushing you back and forth, but nestled as deep as he could go, slamming the knot against your cunt relentlessly. with his breath ragged, his hands slide up to your waist to find a better grip, and he drags you back against him just as hard, refusing to let the force of his pounding ricochet you even an inch forward. “Open up, and take my knot deep.”

“I can’t!” you cry, overwhelmed, “I can’t take it!” your belly was churning, all of your muscles pulled so tight you thought that they might snap at any moment, and drool leaked out of the corners of your mouth, mixing with tears and dirt against your face.

however, much to your surprise, he grunts again and pushes it against you until the lump worms its way inside. your eyes widen and you croak, helpless to stop it, and you feel the pop as it nests him fully inside of you. Sesshomaru swoons with depraved delight, rocking his hips a few more times to acclimate to the new depth he reaches. you can feel the knot swelling even fatter inside your canal, forcing an unbelievable stretch. now, you knew that he couldn’t pull out, even if he wanted to. “There it is, right there…” he whispers, harsh, as he finds a sweet spot. you clench, tight, and mewl hopelessly. Sesshomaru assaults the nerves over and over, until he catches his elusive orgasm.

even as his composure shatters, and he moans, loud, he doesn’t stop. his hips grind into yours, and you can feel spurt after spurt of warm release filling your belly. there’s nothing to be done but to accept it; you know that your body’s too exhausted to try and fight anymore, so you allow yourself to go limp and let him fill you until it starts to ooze down your thighs.

twitching, panting, Sesshomaru only starts to come down from his high as the knot begins to deflate. once it shrank enough, he removes his foot from your face and uses his heel to shove you off of his cock, instead. you lay on ground, legs shaking and limbs all too heavy to move, his cum leaving a sticky puddle on the ground between your thighs as it leaks from your freshly fucked hole.

he felt better. lighter. like he wasn’t being dragged on a leash towards you anymore, but that didn’t mean that the sight of you fucked out and trembling didn’t arouse him. he wanted to flip you over, push your legs behind your head, and shove himself back into you, hollow you out. he thought, briefly, about how many times he would have to cum inside you before your belly started to swell from it. the image alone should’ve made him sick, but his cock twitched, instead. it wasn’t fair, he decided, it wasn’t fair that you had this power over him.

“Don’t lie there too long feeling sorry for yourself.” he was back to his gruff, authoritative bark once he dressed and armed himself again. he took another look at you. he could scoop you up into his arms and carry you to the village, lay you on your bed, cover you with blankets. but he doesn’t. “I’m not the only monster in this forest that’s in rut.”

[dollwritesarchive]

For the kinkoctober may I, please and thank you, ask Sesshomaru in rut/under sex pollenlike influence?

yes!! i hope you like it my dear

𝓊𝓃𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓁𝓎 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒 ⎹ 𝓢.

❝ ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ⤻ inuyasha / kinktober 2022 / @dollsanime-library

❝ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs ⤻ sesshomaru x human!reader ( f )

❝ ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ⤻ nsfw! none of my writings are meant for anyone under the age of 18, and any minors interacting will be blocked on site.

❝ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs ⤻ this is a dark fic. noncon, knotting, rut, sesshomaru is unhinged, forced breeding, virgin!reader, degradation and objectification

❝ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ⤻ 2.7k / mini musing

❝ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴇ ⤻ i do not consent to having my work reposted / translated / stolen in any capacity for any reason. please reblog and leave a comment to support content creators! my work is very rarely proof read so mistakes may be present. all characters / pairings i write for are 18+ with no exceptions.

your family served the Dog Daiyokai long before you were born; you remembered your great grandparents reminiscing about how kind a ruler the beast king Toga had been, how he’d graciously accepted their offerings and protected your family’s village from danger— always there when they called. he cared deeply about the humans he ruled over.

his son was another tale entirely.

Sesshomaru was cold and hateful, especially to your family. you’d only seen him a handful of times as you grew up, and you’d become the one to carry the offerings to the forest once your parents were too weak to do so, his helpful minion usually snatched up the offerings that were left at the tree line. “Lord Sesshomaru has better things to do than mingle with the likes of you.” he’d told you once when you’d tried to approach the young beast king. you can still remember the gilded glare Sesshomaru rewarded you for taking even half a step towards him. he truly hated you. a hate so deep that it’d frozen you in place. you thought if you ever saw him again, he’d kill you without a moment’s hesitation.

which is why you ran from him tonight.

it hadn’t been your fault; he could smell you from a mile away. he was drinking in every pheromone you exude as he got closer and closer. his hormones as sharp as the blade on his hip in this moment, he followed your scent like a predator tracking wounded prey. every muscle in his body pulled taut when he saw you, crouched down, arranging his offerings. he recognized you immediately— the audacious girl that had the nerve to try and approach him before, and he wanted to be angry. he wanted to feel that vile repulsion rising from his stomach to his throat that he usually experienced when he was within a swing of his sword’s distance from a mortal, but right now he couldn’t force himself to feel disgusted. he couldn’t force that hatred because his instincts had taken hold of him, and your scent was driving him mad with need.

the innocence that clung to your aroma had his claws clenching into flustered fists at his side, a crimson hue seeping into the whites of his eyes. the overwhelming, primal desire to breed only deepened, reaching the very core of his body as he took a silent step closer, and then another, and then another. with each step, the air became thicker, more intoxicating, he inhaled, deep, and sucked in the saccharine traces of your sex that hangs in the atmosphere around him. his cock twitches against his thigh. now drunk on the smell of your fertile, uncharted cunt, it hardens in his trousers and he lets out a breathy snarl.

he needed to take you now.

and that’s when you noticed his presence.

he must’ve looked frightening— blood red eyes with teeth bared, snorting in the air, a true depiction of the beast king title he wore, because you hardly let out a startled gasp before you were scrambling to your feet and sprinting towards the village. “Stupid girl.” he grimaced. even if you tried until your legs were about to give out, you’d never outrun him. he made that apparently clear when, within a blink of an eye, he bounds after and grasps you by one wrist, sweeping your feet off the ground and hauling you into the air by the hold on your arm alone. “Do not run from me.”

you wince, legs kicking wildly, and cry out, “Don’t kill me, Lord Sesshomaru!”

did he look so feral?

as rabid as he felt?

“Kill you.” he repeats as if considering the words carefully, tilting his head to one side. his sharpened nails scrape against your delicate skin, breaking a small section, and you whimper, so he releases your arm and you crumble to the dirt with a huff. “You’re no use to me if you’re dead.” pulling yourself on to your knees, you take a deep, shaky breath and turn back towards the village, crawling slow, sniffling. you can see the gate from where you’re laying, just a short run away. his words hadn’t fully registered within you until you feel a foot press between your shoulder blades, pinning your chest to the ground.

“Your family serves me, doesn’t it?” with a soft whine, you nod, rubbing your cheek against the dirt. “Then spread your legs.” he barked, using his other foot to kick at your knees until they widened, the split in your skirt more pronounced as it reveals the flesh of your thigh. “And serve me.” with what seemed like one swipe of his powerful claw, your garments split with screams of threads coming unraveled. you flinch, closing your eyes tight, expecting to be shredded right along with your clothes, but once they’re wrenched free of your body and you’re left completely bare, your face forced into the dirt, you don’t feel the sting of a fresh wound, or see any blood trickling down.

“Lord Sesshomaru,” it was hard to choke the words out, the lump in your throat massive as you try to look over your shoulder to see what he’s done. “What are you—?”

you catch a glimpse; a fraction of a second you watch the beast king undress. heavy fur and weapons in a puddle of alabaster and ruby fabric on the ground. your eyes trail along the red markings on his arms and over his toned abdomen, your face on fire with a blush when your gaze reaches his manhood. thick and veined, with a plump, pink tip and almost too girthy for you to be able to wrap your hands around, your lips part in awe, and your eyeline traces the impressive length. ceasing only near the base, where a bulbous knot was already swelling. the visage sends a swirling in your tummy, and causes a pooling between your thighs, whether you want it to or not. his eyes narrow when he catches you staring, and brings his foot down against the back of your head this time, hissing, “I never said that you could ogle me. Arch your back.”

you didn’t.

you hesitated.

until he ground his foot into your head and you whimper in submission, pushing your ass into the air, even as your legs tremble.

“L—Lord Sesshomaru…” staring down at the ground, you’re frightened, so much so that hot tears start to well up in your eyes and your nails dig into the dirt. you already know what he’s planning to do to you, and the thought alone makes you dizzy. “I can’t— I’ve never—“ the words were too humiliating to actually say, so you simply stammered until he cut your babbling short.

“The scent of your innocence is overwhelming.” he spoke matter of factly, but there’s a rough edge to his baritone, as if he’s on the cusp of losing all restraint. “But I can smell how fertile you are, too. And your body is begging to be bred.” your eyes widened, and you shake your head incessantly, attempting to use what little strength in your arms you had in order to crawl away, but with his weight pressing down on the sole of his foot against your skull, you weren’t going to be able to go anywhere. with his head tilting to one side, he examines your exposed sex. “You’re already wet.”

another shake of your head. “I— I’m not— I don’t want—“ you tense the moment you feel his tip split your folds, but he doesn’t delve right in. instead, he holds himself at his base, and drags the swollen tip between your netherlips from your maiden hole to your sensitive clitoris, gathering all of your unwilling desire to coat his cock in a layer of shine. your legs threaten to snap closed, if his foot wasn’t planted against one of your knees. your heart pounds hard against your chest. “N—no… Don’t…”

Sesshomaru ignores your winging and guides the head back to your entrance, which squeezes the air as your muscles clench when he pushes against you. you wished that you were strong enough to keep him from invading you, but with a grunt and an abrupt buck of his hips, the engorged tip stretches your previously unclaimed sex open and forces its way inside. you yip in protest, but he moans. “Tight…” he mutters, planting both, strong hands on your hips as you try to wiggle forward. his claws dig into the supple flesh as he pulls you back to meet another might thrust, pushing another couple of inches into you. your canal spasms, and you grit your teeth, forcing a strangled cry through them as the beast king severs your innocence. “I can barely fit in your little, human cunt.” he almost sounded disgusted, as if you should be more equipped to take him properly.

it hurts, a lot.

tears have careened over your cheeks and soak the ground under your face, turning it to mud that glues itself to your countenance, and you try to squirm away from him, but the more you move your hips, the harder he slams his own towards you, and the deeper you’re filled with demon cock.

“H—hurts…!” you’re panting, your little heart beating ferociously in your chest, and your entire body feels tight and defensive, “Please… stop…please, it’s too much… it hurts…!”

Sesshomaru growls, sinking his claws into your skin, pushing himself flush to your ass just to hear you squeal, “Ungrateful, little thing. What do you think you were meant to exist for, if not breeding?” his nails prick at you, breaking through to leave faint, searing scratches, “Are you so fragile that you can’t even take me without sobbing and begging? You’re absolutely pathetic, aren’t you?”

you don’t want to agree with him, but in this moment, pathetic is the best word to describe you. humiliated, you don’t answer him, and choke on your tears and the lump in your throat, instead.

“I need this,” he continues, pushing you forward only to pull you back against him, “your Lord needs it. Stop your hopeless sniveling and take my cock. Fulfill your duty as my servant. Take it until your weak, little body breaks.”

the rhythm he falls into is hard and deep, erratic thrusting as he snorts through his nose, his vulgar moans muffled and guttural. each time, he jerks you back into his rutting, and furious ripples erupt through the flesh of your ass as he reaches your limit, quick.

it’s the knot.

it’s much too swollen to fit into you while you tighten around him, and it slaps against your core instead, as if demanding to be let inside.

you claw, helplessly, at the ground, trying to find some way to relieve the pressure he’s forced on to you, each time he slams his length home in your depths, you elicit a raspy yelp. your throat is raw from screaming. the dust kicked up around you has found its way into your lungs and burns them, and Sesshomaru has been pushing your head down harder and harder, whether he meant to or not.

“More, more, more.” Sesshomaru was snarling, snapping his hips harder and harder into you, much more beast than king. he had to be following primal instinct alone. each time he pounds against you, the knot acting as a buffer, squishes against you. you can feel the power behind his rutting; he was twitching inside you, thrusts stuttering and uneven. he’s close, and he’s trying to force the bulb inside of you to cum. “Deeper. Deeper.” your toes curl tight, and you clench whenever he pushes the lump against you, trying your damndest to keep it from opening you up anymore. he was already incredibly deep, his thick tip prodding nerves he shouldn’t reach, battering a depth that you didn’t think was possible, but you were certain if he managed to shove that knot into you, that he would burst right through your belly.

“Fight me all you want.” he must’ve realized how you fought against him, because the foot on your head slides to press into your cheek, smearing you against the ground. “I’m going to breed you whether you want me to or not, cocksheath.” he grunts, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. you could feel the tickle of his soft, silvery tendrils as they drape over your back, and you would’ve wriggled if you weren’t so tightly pinned. he was no longer pushing you back and forth, but nestled as deep as he could go, slamming the knot against your cunt relentlessly. with his breath ragged, his hands slide up to your waist to find a better grip, and he drags you back against him just as hard, refusing to let the force of his pounding ricochet you even an inch forward. “Open up, and take my knot deep.”

“I can’t!” you cry, overwhelmed, “I can’t take it!” your belly was churning, all of your muscles pulled so tight you thought that they might snap at any moment, and drool leaked out of the corners of your mouth, mixing with tears and dirt against your face.

however, much to your surprise, he grunts again and pushes it against you until the lump worms its way inside. your eyes widen and you croak, helpless to stop it, and you feel the pop as it nests him fully inside of you. Sesshomaru swoons with depraved delight, rocking his hips a few more times to acclimate to the new depth he reaches. you can feel the knot swelling even fatter inside your canal, forcing an unbelievable stretch. now, you knew that he couldn’t pull out, even if he wanted to. “There it is, right there…” he whispers, harsh, as he finds a sweet spot. you clench, tight, and mewl hopelessly. Sesshomaru assaults the nerves over and over, until he catches his elusive orgasm.

even as his composure shatters, and he moans, loud, he doesn’t stop. his hips grind into yours, and you can feel spurt after spurt of warm release filling your belly. there’s nothing to be done but to accept it; you know that your body’s too exhausted to try and fight anymore, so you allow yourself to go limp and let him fill you until it starts to ooze down your thighs.

twitching, panting, Sesshomaru only starts to come down from his high as the knot begins to deflate. once it shrank enough, he removes his foot from your face and uses his heel to shove you off of his cock, instead. you lay on ground, legs shaking and limbs all too heavy to move, his cum leaving a sticky puddle on the ground between your thighs as it leaks from your freshly fucked hole.

he felt better. lighter. like he wasn’t being dragged on a leash towards you anymore, but that didn’t mean that the sight of you fucked out and trembling didn’t arouse him. he wanted to flip you over, push your legs behind your head, and shove himself back into you, hollow you out. he thought, briefly, about how many times he would have to cum inside you before your belly started to swell from it. the image alone should’ve made him sick, but his cock twitched, instead. it wasn’t fair, he decided, it wasn’t fair that you had this power over him.

“Don’t lie there too long feeling sorry for yourself.” he was back to his gruff, authoritative bark once he dressed and armed himself again. he took another look at you. he could scoop you up into his arms and carry you to the village, lay you on your bed, cover you with blankets. but he doesn’t. “I’m not the only monster in this forest that’s in rut.”

[in-my-loki-feels]

💙 President Loki + Don

A prompt so nice, I answered it twice. <3 Second fill is under the read more. I didn't set out to have them connect, but you could read it that way.

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy

“This is everything?” Loki asked, frowning as he held up one of the many miniature bottles Don had brought home. 

“Well, not everything. It’s a pretty big store,” Don said, sitting beside him on the couch. “I got a few options since I didn’t know what you’d like.”

After sneering at Don’s beer and refusing to even consider the wine at the grocery store, Loki had demanded Don bring home something more potent for him to enjoy on the nights he was there. Don, who mostly stuck to hopps-based beverages, had made a special trip to the liquor store and brought home a variety, though he stayed away from the wildest flavors. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine Loki liking watermelon-flavored anything. 

Halfway through sampling the collection, Loki showed no sign of being affected by the amount of alcohol he’d consumed, other than a light flush in his cheeks. Don guessed it was the different physiology.

Loki snagged the sample bottle of coconut rum, twisted the top off, and downed it with the same determination Kevin and Sean used when forced to take medicine. He made a face after finishing it and threw the bottle over his shoulder. 

“Hey! You don’t have to drink it all, you know,” Don said. “I could’ve finished that.” 

“Of course you would’ve,” Loki said. “You and your horrid taste.” 

“What can I say, I like sweet things.”

Don gave him a sly grin and Loki’s eyes widened when he caught the implication. 

“How dare you! I am not sweet.”

“No, but you are very cute when you're drunk.” And he was definitely getting there, if he wasn’t tipsy already. His posture had already softened out of its usual stiff bearing, leaving him slumped into the couch. Not to mention the bottle he’d thrown. 

“I'm not drunk,” Loki said primly. “As if your Midgardian alcohol could compare to what we serve in Asgard. Now there one could have a drink worthy of a god! Golden ale, brewed to perfection. The finest mead, sweet but not overly so like these abominations.” He gestured at the collection of bottles on the coffee table. 

“Oh yeah? Tell me more.” Don smiled innocently when Loki shot him a glare. 

“Mock me if you dare.” He snatched up another and downed it before Don could warn him. “Eugh! What was that?” 

“Bailey’s,” Don said and chuckled when Loki glared at the bottle like it had caused personal offense. “I like it in coffee.” 

He was expecting the reaction this time, so when Loki’s arm came up, Don caught it, plucking the little bottle from his hand and setting it on the coffee table. 

Loki gave him a look bordering on a pout—Don waited for a lecture about grabbing him—and then his half-lidded eyes took on a calculating light.

“Come here, I need something to chase away that vile flavor.”

Don was more than willing to be pulled closer for a kiss, but his eyebrows shot up when Loki deepened it. Loki’s mouth was a nightmarish cocktail. The Bailey’s and rum were the strongest, but underneath that were hints of gin and whiskey and everything else Loki had had so far. It was very distracting, as was the hand sliding up Don's thigh. 

When their lips finally parted, Don was halfway into Loki’s lap and felt he should be tipsy himself from second-hand exposure. He sat back, watching Loki's expression turn considering.

“All better?”

“I think I need another taste,” Loki said and drew him back in.

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy

Don should've known the alcohol would be stronger on Asgard—they were gods, after all—but the ale he'd been offered had gone down so smooth, he couldn't resist drinking more. Thor didn’t help by constantly refilling his flagon. 

Flagon. That's a funny word, he thought with a giggle, followed by, Uh oh. The giggling was a bad sign, but also everything was looking a lot blurrier than it had before. Thor suddenly slapped him on the back, nearly knocking him over, and raised his flagon for another toast. Don grinned and did the same. 

When he finished his drink, the room was spinning, so Don put his head down to wait out the dizziness. 

The next thing he knew someone was yelling. 

“He’s from Midgard. Did you give any thought to that before trying to drown him in ale?”

Oh, that was Loki. 

“How were we to know it would affect him so? He showed no hesitation when accepting the drinks.”

That was also Loki. Don giggled again.

“Thing 1 and Thing 2,” he mumbled. Sean and Kevin loved Dr. Seuss. 

Silence. 

“See, he's fine.” That was Thing 2. 

“Brother,” said Thor. 

“Don’t.” Ooo, Thing 1 sounded mad. 

Don made the monumental effort to lift his head. The room was still swaying unsteadily but gradually the shape in front of him resolved into something he recognized. 

“Hiya, handsome.” He tried to reach out to touch Loki’s face and missed. He didn’t realize he’d tipped sideways until Loki caught his arm. “Wuzzat an earthquake?” 

“We’re leaving. Stand up,” Loki ordered.

Don did, or tried to. His legs didn’t seem to want to cooperate. When he said as much, Loki closed his eyes briefly. Uh oh. Someone really was mad.

“Stop. Talking,” Loki snapped and hauled Don to his feet. Don swayed before Loki wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him upright. 

Don beamed up at him. “My hero.”

A range of emotions crossed Loki’s face but Don couldn’t follow them. Someone snickered and Loki shot a glare in that direction. Don tried to twist around to look, but Loki turned him with the arm around his waist. Suddenly, their guest room was in front of them, where the rest of the dining hall should’ve been. 

“Huh,” Don said. The room spun again as he was deposited on something soft. “Bed? How’d this get here?” 

“Is every thought going to come out of your mouth, or will this stop at some point?” Loki crossed his arms and glared at him. Even irritated, he was unfairly handsome.

Loki raised an eyebrow. Oops, guess that thought escaped, too. 

Don patted the bed. “Wanna join me?”

Loki’s eyebrow crept higher so Don grinned, hoping to win him over. He felt less dizzy now that he was horizontal, but he’d feel even better if Loki kissed him. He always did. 

Loki uncrossed his arms and bent to put one hand on the bed by Don’s head, trailing the fingers of his other hand across Don’s cheek. He rounded out the touch by rubbing Don’s bottom lip with his thumb. 

“Is that so?” he murmured, then lowered himself to replace his thumb with his mouth. 

Don didn’t have that much experience, but he couldn’t remember a time kissing had felt like this, like a fire was lit the moment their lips brushed, one that only burned hotter and hotter with each nip of teeth or brush of tongue. Like he could drown in these sensations, let himself be swallowed up by the hunger that rose up in Loki whenever he got his hands on Don. A hunger only rivaled by the desperation Don felt driven to when Loki drew out their pleasure, tormenting him—

“Don.”

Don blinked his eyes open to find Loki braced over him, once again annoyed. 

“You fell asleep. While I was kissing you,” Loki said. 

“I did?” He didn’t remember that. Wouldn’t he remember that? 

Loki closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then threw himself to the side, landing on his back with enough force to jostle the mattress. Don stared at the ceiling for a moment, then rolled onto his side and felt around for something to put under his head. Now that Loki mentioned it, he was feeling sleepy.

The pillow he’d found rose and fell with a sigh. 

“I hope you have the most monumental headache come tomorrow.” 

The words vibrated through Loki’s chest up into Don’s ear, leaving him with a smile as his thoughts slipped away. 

From this ask game. Other ficlets here.

[in-my-feels-probably]

Hey, could you do a reverse comfort for marauder era sirius black?

Could you maybe use my name? It's Ananya.

If not Y/N is fine too.

Something where, you're like a sister to James, and you practically live in their house because your parents are always travelling or something. You've been dating Sirius for a year, and you happen to be at James's house when Sirius shows up?

You're the only one who can get him to calm down and make him realize that he's worth the love he receives from the Potters, Remus and you?

And then he asks you to just stay with him for the night, and there's some cuddly fluff.

Home

Request: Something where, you're like a sister to James, and you practically live in their house because your parents are always travelling or something. You've been dating Sirius for a year, and you happen to be at James's house when Sirius shows up? You're the only one who can get him to calm down and make him realize that he's worth the love he receives from the Potters, Remus and you? And then he asks you to just stay with him for the night, and there's some cuddly fluff.

Hi! Pretty name, but I try my best to write neutrally, so I’m going to use Y/N for this if that’s alright. Thank you for the request, I really like this idea. I’m sorry I took so long to get to this, but I hope you enjoy it!

Also, I used the house elf Winky in this. I know she wasn’t the Potter house elf, but just pretend.

(Warnings: swearing, mentions of Walburga and Orion’s physical and verbal abuse, the Cruciatus Curse, angst, let me know if i missed anything)

—

You knocked on the door to the Potter mansion, taking a step back to look at the porch. Effie had potted new plants, and enchanted them to bloom a warm red, matching the paint on the front door. 

You took a second to breathe in the air, swearing that it was fresher at the Potter residence. It smelled like home. 

And it practically was. 

You were here more than almost anywhere else. The only place you were at more than James’s house was Hogwarts. But it was summer, and your house was not the ideal place to be. 

Luckily, Euphemia and Fleamont were happy to welcome you into their home. They had always wanted a daughter, and you filled the slot well enough. 

Just as you went to knock again, James opened the door, feigning annoyance. “What do you want?”

“Hello to you, too,” you said, stepping through the threshold of the door. “Are your parents home?”

“Went to Diagon Alley. Mum said she needed to pick up a few things before the term starts,” he said, flopping on the couch. 

James took a swig of his pumpkin juice, before setting it down on the coffee table, kicking his feet up. He held a hand out for you, pulling you down on the couch with him. 

You leaned back, settling in, sighing in relief.

“This is my favorite couch. Seriously, I’m taking it when your parents start passing shit down to you. Consider it my heirloom.”

“Merlin, I swear they’d give you any of the heirlooms first over me. Make yourself comfortable, Your Highness. Want anything? Winky has been dying to smother someone in sweets, recently.”

“And you haven’t taken her up on that? No, let her be,” you said, relaxing and closing your eyes. “Are the boys coming this week? I owled Grimmauld Place yesterday, but nobody answered.”

“Moony is, yeah. Said he’d come by on Thursday. Sirius can’t, though. Walburga isn’t letting him leave the house.”

You scowled at the mention of her name, stealing James’s drink and taking a swig. 

“Such a bitch,” you muttered. 

James nodded, snatching his drink back from you. “A bitch, indeed.” 

Walburga somehow managed to be the most vile woman you’d ever met, and that was saying something. You had seen your fair share of less than unpleasant women, but Walburga took the cake. You figured that out the second you met her. Which was once, accompanying Sirius to Diagon Alley at the beginning of fifth year. 

She took one look at you, and you could tell she wanted to crush you under her heel, like vermin not worth a second glance. It was infuriating.

You routinely talked shit about her to Sirius, who was very amused by it, and welcomed any slander about his mother. His father wasn’t much better, just a slightly less vomit inducing version of her. 

And now they had trapped Sirius in their home, content to lock him up and throw away the key.

“Did he even do anything? He was here the week after the term ended, wasn’t he?”

“Dad heard that he made some kind of fuss in front of guests. Apparently, his parents tried to match him up with Narcissa.”

You felt your stomach turn, eyes widening in shock. “His cousin, Narcissa? The one who I’ve never seen not glued to Malfoy’s side? Shit, I’m so glad I’m not a pureblood.”

“Yeah, well, they’ve started cracking down on him. Something about taking his position more seriously. Bollocks, if you ask me.”

“We’ve got our work cut out for us then, don’t we?” You mused, smirking at the thought. 

James furrowed his brows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve got until the start of term to figure out some way to break up the marriage pact. I vote for bullying Lucius until he musters up the guts to propose to Narcissa himself. Although, I’m sure she’s got a plan in motion already. She’s a clever one.”

“We’ll think of something,” he grinned, standing. “Want to throw the quaffle around?” 

“Not even a little bit.”

James groaned, pouting. “Oh, come on. Think of all I’ve done for you. Can’t you do this for me?”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Done for me? What could you have possibly done for me that’s equivalent enough to making me sit through quidditch outside of school? You’re lucky I even show up to your games.”

“You show up for Sirius,” he deadpanned, smirking when you blushed. “Please? I’m letting you call dibs on the couch.”

You groaned, relenting. “Alright, fine. Only till your parents get back. I get the new broom, though.”

James cheered, rushing for the back door with you sulking behind him. 

—

That Thursday, Remus showed up, as promised.

You were grateful for the added company, happy to speak to someone else for a change. James was a lot to handle for extended periods of time. You loved him, there was not doubting that, but it was draining sometimes.

“You have no idea how many times he’s made me throw the quaffle around. I miss intelligent conversation.” 

“Hey!” James yelled, making Remus chuckle. 

“I’ll throw the quaffle with you later, mate,” he said, setting his things in the guest room. 

Winky suddenly popped up, glaring at Remus. You tried to hide your smile as she scolded him, but you couldn’t help it from breaking through. 

“Be more like Miss Y/N,” she said, moving Remus’s bags to the closet. “She gives bags to Winky. Winky is the best at unpacking.”

“My bad. You can re-sort them, if you’d like,” Remus apologized, raising his hands in surrender. Winky eyes widened and she nodded with forgiveness, sorting his bags away before snapping her fingers, vanishing.

—

Remus stayed the night, planning to stay till Sunday afternoon. You didn’t quite know when you’d leave. James’s parents made it so easy to want to stay. 

“Stay as long as you wish, darling,” Euphemia told you, a warm smile on her face.

Fleamont nodded. “All summer, if you want. We’ve got the room.”

You would’ve happily accepted the offer, and were probably still going to. But you couldn’t muster up a clear answer without feeling guilty, thinking of how miserable Sirius must be. The three of you had sent owls to his house the night before, wishing him well and telling him how much you missed him. 

You had been sending letters all summer, never getting a response. You figured you’d never get one, but that morning, a single letter arrived from Grimmauld Place.

“You need to stop sending letters, you’ll only anger Mother further. She’s quite cross with Sirius.

He’s alright, for now. He isn’t allowed to send any owls, but he told me to tell you he’s fine, and that he’ll see you at school in the fall. Or Diagon Alley a week before the terms if he’s lucky. 

I’ll send an owl if there’s an emergency. Don’t reply to this, Mother doesn’t know I sent it.”

Regulus Black

Scrawled at the bottom in slightly messier cursive, although still pretty, was another note in parenthesis. 

(p.s. - Tell Y/N to stop worrying. I know she’s there. Take care of her, Prongs. I mean it. Moony, take care of Prongs. Y/N, you babysit them both until I get back.)

(p.s., again - Sorry, love. Tough luck.)

You smiled when you read the ending, but the smile quickly fell as you glossed over Regulus’s words again. It was confirmed. Sirius was up to his neck, swimming through bullshit. 

And you didn’t know how to help him. 

Euphemia made lunch for everyone, calling you to the kitchen. You tried to push the thought of Sirius in that house to the back of your mind, but it just wouldn’t budge. 

You must have been staring into space, because you felt a hand on your shoulder. 

“Y/N? You alright?”

It was James’s voice. You turned to see him giving you a concerned look, pausing from eating his food. Remus coaxed him back, giving you a small smile. 

“Don’t worry about him, love. He’s gotten quite good at taking care of himself. Even dresses himself in the mornings,” Remus joked, but you didn’t laugh. 

“He should have to take care of himself,” you grumbled, pushing your plate away. “He’s still a child.”

Effie reached her hand over your shoulder, pulling your plate back towards you. “Eat. It does nobody any good if you sit here sulking.”

“He’d be pissed if he knew I was letting you not eat because of him,” James agreed, giving you a look of empathy.

You sighed, reluctantly continuing to eat. Effie frowned, knowing you were still upset, and just eating to appease her. She sighed, running a comforting hand through your hair, pushing it out of your face. 

“Tell you what. You finish that, and I’ll send a letter myself. Walburga won’t ignore me, as much as she would like to. We’ll make sure he’s alright, darling. And we’ll do something if he isn’t.”

You nodded, continuing to eat. 

Remus cleared his throat, changing the subject. “Alright, what should we do today? I don’t think I can stomach another session of throwing the quaffle around, but I’m sure we’ll think of something.” 

You grinned, and James pouted in his seat. 

“Aww, don’t pout, James,” you said, tapping the space between his eyebrows with the tip of your finger. “You’re too pretty for premature wrinkles.”

—

You all managed to agree on something to do, and you hung out together into the evening, now all sitting on the floor by the fireplace. It was pouring rain outside, and the air had a slight chill to it. 

Effie and Monty had gone upstairs, trying to get a little peace and quiet. To be fair, you were all being quite loud. 

You laughed hard, quickly shaking your head. “Wait! Remember in fourth year, James stood up on the table and read that poem he found to Lily in front of the entire Great Hall?”

“And she hexed him. Your hair was blue for a week, mate,” Remus grinned, watching James flush red.

“I couldn’t figure out how to reverse it!” He said, before turning his gaze to you. “And who are you to talk? You were practically drooling over Sirius before he finally figured it out and asked you to Hogsmeade.”

“She still drools over Sirius,” Remus said into his cup, taking a swig. 

You smacked Remus’s arm, glaring. “First of all, I’m the one who fixed your hair James, so be nice. Second…can you blame me? It’s Sirius.”

“He does sort of drool over you, too, to be fair,” James said, smirking as you turned away to hide the heat that had crept up your cheeks.

“Whatever,” you muttered. “At least I didn’t get hexed.”

“Hey—“

Before James could finish, there was a frantic knock at the front door. You all furrowed your brows, not expecting anyone to show up. You set down your cup, standing.

“I’ll get it.”

“Be careful!” James called over to you, tossing you your wand. “Take this.”

You nodded, but James didn’t sound too concerned. It was probably a friend of his parents. It was Friday night, after all, and his parents were very popular people. They could have just agreed to go out tonight, and forgotten to tell you. You shrugged, walking to the front door. 

When you opened it, the last thing you expected to see was Sirius, soaked to the bone and shaking on the front porch.

You placed your wand on the little table by the front door, eyes wide in shock. 

“Sirius?”

He hadn’t met your eyes yet, still shaking like a leaf that was clinging on for dear life in a storm. You gently reached a hand out, laying it on his shoulder. He immediately flinched, and you recoiled, holding your hands up in surrender. 

“It’s just me, love. It’s just me.”

You held your hand out for him, gently taking his hand in yours. It tremoured, his fingers rigid and curled in. You furrowed your brows, frowning. You desperately hoped that he was trembling just because he was cold. He was soaked, after all. 

But you knew you were clinging desperately to hope, and luck was not likely to be on your side. No, there was a much more accurate, and much more devastating possibility. 

Someone had used the Cruciatus Curse on him. 

You gently pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. You eased his coat off his shoulders, laying it on the table next to you. 

“Sirius?” You asked, brushing his hair out of his face. “You have to tell me what happened. Please?” 

He finally looked up at you, face pale, before he dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. You followed him down, settling behind him to hold him up. 

“Effie? Euphemia, please, help me. Mum!”

You heard commotion on the second floor, and feet came rushing down the stairs, but James and Remus beat Euphemia and Fleamont into the room. James stopped in his tracks as he took in the sight of you on the floor, holding his best friend who was still uncontrollably shaking. 

Euphemia and Fleamont finally made it into the room, both letting out small gasps at the sight before them. You looked to them desperately, Sirius clinging to you. There was a pause, and then Monty cleared his throat.

“Right,” he finally said, casting a drying spell over Sirius before turning to the boys. “You two, help me get him up. He must be freezing. Fireplace, now.”

They nodded, quickly moving to help Sirius. He clung to you when he felt hands on him, but you gently shushed him, easing him off of you. 

“I’ve got you, mate,” James said, pulling Sirius’s weight into him. “I promise you that. I’ve got you.”

You gently passed him, sending a silent thank you to James. “I’ll be right there, I promise. Let me talk to Effie, alright?”

Reluctantly, he fully let go, allowing the boys and Fleamont to help him up. As soon as he was out of earshot, you turned to Effie. 

“They used the Cruciatus on him. I’m sure of it.”

Effie shook with a quiet but violent rage, nodding with tears in her eyes. You may have been like a daughter to her, but Sirius was like a son. One of her children was hurt. 

“I know. How could a mother do that to her own child?”

Her voice was thick with tears, and you laid a comforting hand on her arm. “I don’t know how to help him. I need you to help me with him, I don’t want to hurt him. Do you think he’s in pain?”

“Were his hands stiff? His fingers?”

You nodded, and she sighed, rubbing her temples. “The worst of it is over, then. That normally only happens with the curse that has been used either multiple times, or once for a long time.”

You felt your eyes well up with tears at her words, quickly trying to blink them away. She continued, only making your heart hurt worse. 

“Rigidity is his body’s way of healing. The muscles tense up so he doesn’t overexert them. It’s an involuntary response, it’ll ease with time. It shouldn’t hurt much, not anymore. I can give him a potion though, it’ll calm him and help the process along faster.”

“Is there anything I can do?” You asked, sounding desperate. “I don’t think I can handle watching him be in pain.”

“Ease his hands to a relaxed position, if he lets you. Stimulating the muscles will help them heal faster.” 

You nodded, and she took a deep breath, headed for the stairs. 

“I’ll get him the potion. Go sit with him, darling. You’re his best treatment.”

She left you alone in the room, already halfway up the stairs as she gave you directions. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down. You had to be strong, right now. For Sirius. 

You headed into the room, finding Sirius sat in front of the fire with a blanket around his shoulders. He stared blankly into the flames, his eyes distant. Remus and James shared glances between themselves, saying without saying that the two of them had no clue about what to do. Monty stood at the back of the room, waiting for Euphemia to join him.

Quietly, you eased your way onto the floor, sitting beside Sirius. He turned his head at the sense of movement, immediately reaching for you. You opened your arms, letting him sink into them. He kept his arms clutched tight around your waist, hiding his face in your stomach. 

You looked up in bewilderment, silently begging for someone to do something. Monty must have felt your desperation, waiting for Effie to return with the potion before taking it from her hand, passing it to you. 

“Sirius,” you muttered into his hair, gently coaxing him. “Sirius, you need to drink this. It’ll help you feel better.”

“I don’t want to go to sleep,” he said, although you barely heard him through his muffled voice in your shirt. 

“What?” You asked again, trying to coax his head up. 

“Mother makes me take a Sleeping Draught every night, so I won’t bother her past dusk. It doesn’t feel right, it makes me see things. It’s more than sleeping. It’s worse.”

You felt a twinge in your heart at his words, shaking your head. “This isn’t a sleep potion, darling. Just a calming one.”

“It’ll ease you, lad. Both mind and body,” Fleamont said, waving his hand encouragingly. “We wouldn’t make you take anything that would hurt you. Drink it, son.”

You pulled the cork out of the vile, gently easing Sirius’s head back. “Open, please.”

Reluctantly, he parted his lips, letting you pour the potion past them. He swallowed, grimacing at the taste. Remus handed Sirius his cup, letting him take a sip. 

“Wash it down, it’ll help. Trust me, I know. Madam Pomfrey’s made me take my fair share of that one.”

Sirius visibly eased, leaning back into your side. You took one of his hands in yours, gently rubbing your thumb in circles along his joints. Slowly, his hands began to relax. 

“What happened, Sirius? Do you think Walburga and Orion will come after you?” Fleamont asked. 

“She doesn’t have the gall,” Effie said, her first time speaking since she entered the room. She was visibly pale. “It’s not the Black way, is it Sirius?”

“I expect I’m burned off the tapestry by now. Mother was angrier than I’ve ever seen her. Fed up with me, I guess. Too many letters, too much noise, too much trouble. I don’t know, it all happened so fast. I was explicitly told I am never welcome back. Ever. That’s actually the one nice thing she’s ever done for me…naming Regulus heir.”

You frowned at his words. He laced them with humor, but you could see straight through it. He was minutes away from crumbling. 

“Is Regulus alright?” You asked, turning his attention to you. “Does he need to come, too?”

Sirius shook his head. “No. He’s alright, he promised. And I know he wasn’t lying. He’s the one who told me it’s better that I leave. He’ll probably be getting special treatment, now that he’s the heir of the house. Guess he figured I’d have somewhere to go.”

“He was right, dear. You’ll stay with us. As long as you need. Forever, if you want. It’s a pleasure to have you. You’re just as much a son to us as Y/N is a daughter,” Effie smiled. 

“Which is basically blood,” James said, grinning. “I mean, she’s here all the time. Might as well call her a sister, right?”

There was a light chuckle throughout the room, but everyone was still uneasy. Finally, Effie clapped her hands together.

“I’ll have Winky make you something to eat, and bring you another potion to take before you go to sleep. You need your rest.”

“Take the guest room,” Remus piped in. “I’ll bunk with James.”

“No—“

“Wasn’t a question, mate. You’re taking it.”

Sirius didn’t say anything, only giving him a grateful nod. You rubbed his back, standing up. 

“I’m in the next room. Do you feel like eating right now, or do you want to lay down for a bit? I’ll help you to your room.”

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” James said, and you gave him a grateful smile. 

You caught Effie faintly smiling, tears welling in her eyes. Her kids, all grown up and responsible, taking care of each other without a second thought. It warmed her heart. 

“Come along, darling,” Monty said, taking Effie’s hand. “I think they can handle it from here, let’s leave him be. Sirius, if you need anything, and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Ask anyone. We’re here if you need us,” Remus said, offering a smile.

“Right, everyone. Let’s let him be for the night. I want everyone to get some rest, we’ll talk more in the morning. I love you, my boys. I love you, my girl. Goodnight,” Effie said, headed for the stairs with Monty in tow. 

James and Remus gave Sirius a quick hug, and then you, before following them up the stairs. When you heard everyone’s door close, you immediately turned to Sirius, searching his eyes for any pain or emotion. He looked exhausted. 

“You should eat something.”

“Too tired,” he murmured, casting his eyes to the floor. 

You nodded. “In the morning, then. Promise?”

“I promise.”

That was good enough for you. You gently took his hand in yours, interlacing your fingers. You braced his arm with yours, taking the stairs one at a time, going as slow as he needed you to. 

When you made it to the top, you guided him to his door. You opened it for him, nodding for him to go inside, but he gave you a look of fear, one that struck you like an arrow in the heart.

“Do you need me to stay?” You asked, giving his hand a squeeze. 

He only nodded, ashamed.

“I’ll stay.” 

You led him into the room, pulling back the sheets on the bed and propping up the pillows. James had left a fresh pair of socks, a shirt, and a pair of fleece pajama pants at the foot of the bed. 

Sirius took his shoes off, grimacing in pain while he bent down. 

You sighed, walking back over to him to help. You kicked his shoes to the side, bending down to yank his socks off. You moved back up his body, gripping the bottom of Sirius’s shirt. 

“This ok?” You asked, and he nodded in consent. Your voice was soft. “Arms up.”

You eased his shirt off of him, before doing the same to his pants, tucking your fingers in the waistband and pulling them down to his shins for him to step out of. 

You quickly helped him redress to his level of comfort, before throwing off some of your outer clothes until you were comfortable enough to sleep in them, too. 

“Come on, then,” you said, crawling into the right side of the bed. 

You knew Sirius preferred the left. He liked to be closest to the door. He quickly took his spot, settling under the sheets. He sat still for a moment, but finally caved, reaching an arm over. 

“Can I?”

You opened your arms for him, giving him room. “Come here, love.”

He immediately sunk into your arms, pressing himself as close to you as he possibly could. You wrapped one arm protectively around his shoulders, curling your fingers through his hair with the other. You sat in silence for a moment, before Sirius finally couldn’t take it any longer.

“Talk to me, please,” he muttered.

“About what, love? I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk about it or not. Do you want me to distract you, or do you want to talk about it?”

Sirius hummed into your neck, and you felt him shrug his shoulders. You nodded, pressing the matter further.

“Alright. Let’s talk about it, then. What’s on your mind?”

Sirius was quiet a moment, contemplating whether or not he should actually speak, before he relented.

“I know it’s for the better.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Being here, with you. With the Potters. I know it’s for the better, but I can’t help but feel like I shouldn’t be here. Like I don’t deserve it, or something.”

“Don’t say that,” you shook your head, holding him tighter. “You don’t belong there, and you’re certainly better off here with us. Why wouldn’t you deserve that?”

“You’re doing too much for me. It’s a burden on you all.”

“You’re not a burden. Not to me, or to anyone in this house, alright. Everyone here is your family, and they wouldn’t hesitate to help you if you needed it.”

You continued to run a hand through his hair, using the other to trace and gently massage the muscles down his shoulders and his back. He relaxed under your touch, lulling into a haze. Finally feeling safe and warm, Sirius felt like he could actually get some genuine sleep around you for the first time in months. 

A sleep that wasn’t induced by some kind of potion, at that.

“I’m tired,” he muttered, turning the conversation away from himself and the night's events.

“Rest, darling. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’ll stay?” He asked, his voice growing small.

“Of course I will,” you answered, your tone soft. “Go to sleep, Sirius. I’m right here if you need me.”

He was too tired to muster up a response, only humming into your neck. You squeezed him tight to you, resting your head back into the pillow, shutting your own eyes for the night. 

—

A/N - Hi! I hope you enjoyed it, let me know what you think!

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Angeeeeee

I'm suffering from terrible cramps at the moment and I just saw your requests are open especially for wlw

can I please have a Skade one where she helps reader with our monthly curse? smut pls I'm begging 🥺

🩶🩶🩶

Bru, my darling, I realise that your monthlies have likely ended by now. But I hope this serves as a comfort the next time Auntie Flo pays you a visit.

Warnings: Time of the month mentions, fingering but not quite, tiddy succin'. Word count: ~1200

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

You groan softly upon waking. The muted sunlight seeping through the canvas of the tent above your head indicates that it’s morning and has been for some time. You clutch at your lower belly with a muffled grunt, silently cursing your body for not allowing you a single waking moment’s peace from the curse of your moon’s blood. It’s your second day of bleeding and though you have tried your best to hide your discomfort from Skade, not wanting to hinder your progress as the two of you travel together, it is becoming more difficult to do so. The dull ache has grown to an insistent nag that plagues your every movement.

You stretch out an arm, surprised when you feel an empty bed roll instead of the warm body you’d expected to be next to you. You sit up slightly, wincing as the heaviness of your lower abdomen protests painfully, and peer through the slither of a gap in the entrance to your shared shelter.

Skade, flaxen hair cascading down her back as she hunches over a small fire, stirs a pot that’s suspended by a tripod of branches.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” You call out to her.

She turns to you, before wordlessly moving to fill two wooden cups with the steaming liquid she’s been stirring and ducks into the tent. She hands you one and sits cross legged in front of you.

You sniff at the beverage, wrinkling your nose in distaste at the unappetising earthy scent. “What is this?”

“Nettle tea,” She says simply. “It helps me when I have my moon’s blood.”

You feel your cheeks heat up as she tells you this. She knew. Of course she knew. It was impossible to hide anything from Skade, she was too perceptive.

“I suppose we should start moving again soon, I have wasted half of the morning sleeping.” You say, eager to change the subject.

“We are going to stay here another day,” She tells you. “You need to rest.”

Your eyes widen, guilt blooms heavily within your chest. “That is dangerous…”

“I am dangerous,” She smirks. “No harm will come to us.”

“You cannot do this for me.” You plead, eyes wide. “We must keep moving.”

Skade sighs, rolling her eyes. “Women are afflicted by this because men are too weak willed to endure it, but there is no shame in being in pain. I see your suffering. Accept my help, and drink your tea before it gets cold.”

You smile gratefully at her and lift the cup to your lips, taking a sip. You grimace, the taste is bitterly unpleasant against your tongue. “That is vile,” You cough. “I cannot drink this!”

Skade grins, snatching your tea from you and turns slightly to place both yours and her cups just outside the entrance of the tent. She fixes you with an intense stare when she turns back, her blue eyes bright even in the shade of the canvas roof above you.

“I have another idea,” She begins. “Something that will soothe you.”

“Will you use your power?” You ask curiously, nervousness and excitement prickling at your skin.

She huffs a soft laugh, shifting forward and pushing you back as she hovers over you. “Not the power you’re thinking of. But this remedy is just as ancient.”

You stare up at her, heart fluttering wildly in your chest as the long waves of her golden locks fan around your face like a shroud. Her face is so close to yours that your lips are almost brushing, but when you lean in, she pulls back with a wolfish smile, a silent denial of what you seek.

Her fingertips deftly push up the hem of the rough spun linen of the shirt you wear, dancing delicately across the exposed flesh of your midriff, causing your breath to hitch. She smooths the flat of her palm over your stomach, before bringing it to rest against your lower abdomen, applying gentle pressure.

The warm sensation of it is a relief against the cramps you’ve been suffering. You sigh, allowing your eyes to flutter closed.

“Better?” Skade asks, her breath tickling softling against your cheek.

“Yes.” You whisper quietly, almost afraid that if you speak too loudly the moment will end.

It is then that she allows her lips to meet yours, slow and unhurried. You kiss back, relaxing as every movement serves to ease the tension in your body. You can taste nettle tea, but it is far sweeter upon her lips than it is from the cup.

Skade breaks away, moving to mouth at your neck and collarbones. Her free hand makes quick work of plucking open your shirt buttons, pushing the fabric apart to reveal your breasts to her.

You gasp, arching your back as she latches onto a nipple, swirling her tongue around it. The added sensitivity caused by your blood serves to heighten the sensation, waves of arousal causing you to clench around nothing.

It is then that you feel her hand move from your abdomen, her fingers breaching the waistband of the trousers you wear. You freeze, eyes going wide.

“What are you doing?” You ask in hushed panic.

Skade releases your breast with a wet pop and stares up at you. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” You surprise yourself with how quickly you answer, how certain you sound, how sure you feel.

“Good.” She purrs, eyes darkened by lust. “Then let me do this. It will feel good.”

She moves her attention to the opposite nipple, laving her tongue across it before suckling gently, as her hand continues its downward trajectory. You jolt slightly as you feel her push her fingers across your mound, cupping roughly before pressing down to spread you open. Her middle finger seeks out your bud, circling slowly, and you shiver, whimpering at the way it makes you tense and throb.

Your whimpers increase in cadence, until they are lewd moans as her circles become tighter, faster, more precise. The coil in your gut winds impossibly tight and she kisses you feverishly as she feels you tense up, swallowing your cries of ecstasy as you fall apart, white hot waves of pleasure rippling through you, all the way to your toes.

Skade withdraws her hand once you still, laying on her back beside you, watching you intently as you gasp for breath.

“Better?” She asks with a raise of her eyebrow.

Once you are lucid enough to form a response, you notice that the ache inside you has disappeared almost entirely. You feel boneless in the wake of your peak. “Much.” You breathe.

“It’s a pity that the moon has not seen fit to align us, so that we may suffer this together.” She muses, rolling onto her side and stroking your hair.

“You would want to suffer with me?” You ask, your heart fluttering, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“For as long as the gods allow it.” She tells you, resting her head against your chest.

[sehtoast]

Nyquil and Bribery (Depowered Homelander x OC Sickfic) All of You is Left to Love ch10

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: No plot, just sickfic fun. Nyquil is gross.

Warnings: None.

Fic Directory

Misery.

This was pure fucking misery.

"You're not dying, Johnny."

And that has to be a lie.

But surely it couldn't feel this bad, right? All of his life, seeing the roaches around him with their little ailments– their sniffles and sneezes, their disgusting coughs– convinced with every fiber of his being that they were being dramatic.

So he must be dying. That's the only thing that made sense with every violent cough that rattled him.

His one comfort: the cool hand pressed to his forehead, checking his fever before another round of medicine.

"I mean… it's your first time having the flu, so it's gonna feel bad, y'know?" Ben murmured as he poured a bitter, blue liquid into a small plastic cup.

Homelander cringed at the sight. He hated the taste so fucking much. Couldn't taste half of what he ate, but his tongue could register the vile medicine just fine– go figure.

Ben had told him it would be like black licorice if it were dipped in pure menthol. It was accurate, but somehow so much worse– enough to make him gag and beg for mouthwash of all things.

"You're not makin' me drink that again, are you?" His words slurred slightly, voice nasally and unbecoming of the man who once held more power than God himself could ever dream.

"Mm, no." Ben hummed, his smile sympathetic. "Just pouring it out so it's ready for bed. Lucky for you, just some Tylenol and Mucinex for now."

"Oh thank god," he whined, leaning back against the mountain of pillows damp from fever sweats. All of the air conditioning and fans blowing on him did nothing to help, and his body worked hard to sweat it out.

Absolutely miserable.

"Actually, I was thinking of swapping out the sheets so they'd be dry for you. Maybe toss you in the tub for a bit," Ben ran a hand through his damp locks, ruffling them slightly. "Up to you."

A dry bed sounded nice…

He nodded.

It was a chore to get out of bed. His body ached, especially his back. But, as sure as the sun would rise, his little spider was there to snatch him off his feet and carry him.

As humiliating as it had been, he'd needed help on the first day. He'd felt so horrible that he didn't eat or drink all day. That, combined with the fever, and… well.

He learned the hard way that walking while dizzy was dangerous.

Since then, Ben practically became his nurse. He took off work– shirked his heroic duties to stay home and take care of him to the point he outright ignored the occasional sirens.

He only left for cold medicine and takeout.

The bath water wasn’t quite hot, but not cold, either. Something about not agitating the fever– but it felt incredible nonetheless. Bubbles floated at the top, the scent pleasant even through his congestion.

"M'gonna leave the door open. Holler if you need me, okay?"

He nodded and sank down into the water, eyes fluttering shut.

In a perfect world, he'd be able to hear every breath, every movement Ben made while stripping the sheets and covers from the bed. He’d hear the way Benny bickered with the fitted sheet that he could never quite get right on the first try, or maybe he’d smell the little specks of lemongrass oil he liked to fling on the mattress.

The humming as he worked.

The sigh of sympathy as he removed damp pillowcases.

The intense deliberation between flannel or microfiber sheets.

Instead, he got to sit there and shiver– body frozen despite the heat both in and outside of him. Simply trying to submerge further, damning both his height and the cramped tub that he couldn’t sink fully into the warmth.

He got to dwell on all that he'd lost– and how he wouldn't be like this now if he'd never let his guard down.

Vulnerable.

Weak.

Human.

Homelander hadn’t heard the shuffling of sock covered feet enter the bathroom, nor did he notice the fingertips that dipped into the water.

“You ready?”

He’d have jumped if he didn’t know better. Instead, he just groaned.

Ben insisted he not lift a finger to help– that he only sit there and tolerate his coughs and sniffles while being towel dried.

“I’m not totally helpless, you know.” Homelander blurted out, a hint of irritation in his voice. He gazed down at Ben, who had knelt before him to dry his legs. He meant to say more, but was stopped by a cough rumbling deep in his chest.

“Since when don’t you like being doted on?” Ben asked, eyebrow arched. He meant nothing by it, of course, but the look on John’s face told him all he needed to know.

This was a matter of wounded pride.

Of course it was. Being sick reduced Homelander to a state far weaker than he already was. Reminded him that he could always be knocked down another peg, even when he was sure he’d already reached rock bottom.

Ben rose, standing on his toes to press a kiss to the tip of John’s nose.

A million words danced on the tip of his tongue, but none would remedy feelings like that. So he settled for just leading Homelander back to bed, where they stayed for the rest of the afternoon to relax.

Until, of course, it was time to go to sleep.

“No– Ben, no! I’m not doing it!”

“C’mon, you know it helps you sleep.” Ben had straddled him, holding that little cup of foul medicine as though it wasn’t pure evil. He giggled at John’s protests, wondering if this is perhaps how his parents felt trying to convince him to take his medicine as a child.

“I…” Homelander seemed to pause as if to weigh the options of sleeping or coughing all night. His expression fell, becoming even more serious. “Sweeten the pot, Benjamin. You gotta do better than that.”

The wall crawler feigned offense.

“Fine. How about a kiss?”

“Not good enough.” John groaned, leaning back into his throne of pillows. “Do better.”

“Johnathan!”

“It’s like drinking sewage!” He countered.

Ben sat back for a minute, deep in thought, eyes flicking to Homelander’s face every so often until the perfect idea hit him.

“What if I…” He leaned forward, coming in close to whisper promises of bedroom shenanigans so filthy he dare not speak them aloud. “...and I’ll even let you tie me up with my webs. Deal?”

Without a second of hesitation, Homelander snatched the cup and downed it with all the enthusiasm of a shot. He didn’t even cringe.

“Deal!”

[expired-bat]

6 Meimei and any fine lady of choice

honestly i cant think of who to ship meimei with, so i came up w a mystery woman!!!

6 - Write about an intense kiss between your ship.

In the City That Never Sleeps, the nightlife is where it is to die for. The rest of the crew arrived to their designated club after a crazy show, getting their groove juices to spill onto the dancefloor. Meilin tried to push the heavy door open, but of course, Tony had to open it for her. She was the first to arrive, with the rest of her minions bandmates following suit. The neon lights danced around the room, casting vivid hues on the sea of bodies moving to the rhythm of the music. As she navigated through the crowd, Meilin couldn't help but feel the electric energy in the air.

She found herself at the bar, ordering a Manhattan to steel her nerves. The atmosphere was charged with excitement, and Meimei was ready to set loose. Drink in hand, she made her way to the dance floor, where the sea of bodies was in constant motion. She sees Ryan and Tony and made her way to them, seeing that they're the only two that will protect her (just in case some dickhead spiked her drink).

Meilin took a sip of her drink, watching the two having their little "dude-bro" moment of dancing on each other. How they managed to click without being in love, she doesn't know. She's aware of their benefits for one another, being that neither of them wouldn't shut up when she tried to go in the bathroom one too many times.

As the beats throbbed, Meilin moved with the music, losing herself in the vibrant energy. She felt her eyes on her. A man, she thought, a vile, disgusting, poor excuse of a man. When turned, she locked gazes with a enigmatic yet sexy woman. She is tall, with curves all in the right places and alluring brown eyes in the shape of almonds. Her hair is dark, long, and straightened, her skin in the color of chestnut, and her face painted in bold makeup. Her black dress hugs onto her curves, displaying her cleavage from the deep v-neck. Her eyes held a magnetic pull that drew the frontwoman in.

Meilin nudged Tony, shoving her Manhattan to his chest. The bassist was a bit bewildered that his bossgirl gave him her drink.

Without exchanging words, the woman joined Meilin on the dancefloor, seamlessly moving inn rhythm with her. The air was thick with anticipation, and as the base dropped, the two women shared an unspoken understanding. The dance became an intimate conversation, bodies speaking a language that transcended words.

Meilin's heart raced as the woman's hand grazed hers, sending shivers down her spine. the pulsating music surrounded them, drowning out the rest of the world. In the dimly lit club, their connection deepened, each movement conveying a shared desire.

Without hesitation, the woman leaned in, her lips capturing Meimei's in a passionate kiss. Her world faded away as the kiss deepened, the heat between them escalating. It was a moment suspended in time, the merging of two souls in the heart of the pulsating nightclub.

The kiss broke as the song reached another beat drop, leaving Meilin breathless and exhilarated. The woman offered a playful smile before disappearing into the crowd, leaving the frontwoman standing there, heart pounding, with the taste of her lips still lingering.

"Wheeeewwww, Meimei!"

Her head turned to see Ryan holding his phone in flash and Tony snickering behind him. Her face instantly turned red and stomped her heels towards him.

"HEY!! TURN THAT SHIT OFF!!!"

Like a kitten playing with it's toy, she reaches up high to snatch his phone from his hands, with the men laughing their asses off from her poor attempts to. It instantly ended when she stomped her heel onto the goth's toe, making him screech and drop his phone onto the grimy floor, shattering the screen. She snatches her drink from Tony's hand, chugging it all and going to the bar to order something stronger, probably ten shots of Fireball to forget the night.

[tkworks80]

~The Marriage~

You directly go to the sitting room where your father was drinking his afternoon tea. “Father what’s this I hear I am to be wed to this Enji man” you questioned your father. “I see that Todoroki-san found you in the library...and yes his parents sent the bride price and I graciously accepted and I already signed the appropriate documents” he answered. The look of betrayal in your eyes as you walked out of the sitting room, and into your room. My life is over…I don’t want to be a wife…what kind of life is that to be a baby machine and wait on that vile man hand and foot you thought to yourself. Pacing back and forth you came up with an idea. You started packing your things to escape from an unwanted union between you and that scarred, brute of a man. You silently crept to the front of the door not knowing that a set of eyes were observing your every move. Opening the door you faced Enji “Hello my Plum Blossom fancy you greeting me at the front door…how kind of you,” he smiled before he snatched you effortlessly and took you to the horse carriage.

“Let me go, Todoroki, let me go…I don't want to marry you…let me go” you kicked and struggled. “Quite the spitfire aren’t you, my y/n” Enji said amused. “You will make a good wife in the Todoroki household,” he added. He pulled you over his shoulder, threw you in the carriage, and got in. Watching you pout and hiss, he smiled. “I don’t want to go to your household old man! And you can’t force me” you hissed. “My Plum Blossom, you are my wife now your father predicted this would happen so, there was no marriage ceremony,” he said. “Wha-what?” you were speechless. He moved forward to you and lifted your chin gently “yes, my Plum Blossom…your my wife…tonight you will be entering my household as y/n Todoroki of the house Todoroki” he smirked and gave you a peck on the cheek. You slapped him, he smirked and gave you the other cheek to smack. “Come on then…slap the other cheek my dear…for tonight I’m going to hear your bedroom moans and I bet they are as lovely as you are” he grinned. In utter shock, you slapped his other cheek. He laid his back against the cushioned seat and chuckled.

You guys were nearly there when the carriage stopped. “We are walking the rest of the way, my Plum Blossom” Enji announced while trying to reach for you. “What? I refuse to walk with you…let alone go to your cave oni…take me back to my household” you commanded. He gripped your wrist tight “y/n…don’t force me to get rough with you, my Plum Blossom” he threatened, you acquiesced and got down from the carriage. He then proceeded to walk towards a long pathway without stopping and you followed fast to catch up to him. Looking down lost in your thoughts you accidentally bumped into his back. “We’re here my dear…I had my parents purchase our home the day I knew I was going to make you mine, hopefully, the carpenters are finished with the furniture…I gave them ample time,” he stated. He opened the door and led you to the threshold. You slipped off your shoes and walked into the living room, he followed after. You faced Enji “where do I sleep?” you asked. He grinned devilishly “you sleep with me of course my Plum Blossom” he answered. “I’m, I’m not ready to entwine with you,” you stammered back. He stepped forward “my beautiful Plum Blossom…we need to consummate our union” he grinned at you. “I’m on my monthly,” you stated. “No, you're not…I had asked one of your maids and they stated that you're not on your monthly…stop making excuses my blossom” he stated. “Please I do not want to bed with you,” you pleaded with him. “You have no choice,” he said, walking towards you. He extended his hand to reach your trembling body when he saw the look of horror on your face and stopped. “Your room is through the hall four doors down to you right,” he said out of sadness. You were stunned at his actions, you could see the look of defeat on his face. You proceeded to walk to your room wishing that this union did not happen.

The next morning you woke up to birds chirping and metal clanging together. You got dressed and found Enji in the gardens practicing his sword art with a blonde-hair companion. You thought he was so elegant and smooth with his stances and execution of his moves. He noticed you and stopped what he was doing and greeted you. “Good Morning my Plum Blossom…did you sleep well?... I would love to introduce you to Keigo Takami,” he asked softly. “Yes, thank you for asking Todoroki-san, and nice to meet your acquaintance,” you answered back and looked at Keigo. “Nice to meet you as well,: Keigo smiled devilishly. “You are going to have a very busy day my love…there is choosing your servants, and my parents will be visiting us tomorrow,” Enji said to you to direct you from looking at Keigo. As soon as Keigo left, Enji went to you in the sitting room. “I like to thank you for not forcing yourself on me,” you looked down, not looking at Enji’s face. Enji smiled softly and caressed your cheek. “I would love for you to give yourself to me willingly, my wife,” he said softly. Your heart skipped a beat and you started to blush. Pressing your cheek against his warm touch, he then bent over and pressed his lips against yours so gently. You accepted his soft touches and you took his hand leading to your room.

He unwrapped you like a wedding present only taking his time to savor your beautiful body. Looking down in embarrassment at the sight of you being naked you tried to cover yourself but Enji gently caressed you and complimented your beauty. You could see his erection protruding through his robe. You were getting nervous but he tried to ease your nervousness with gentle kisses. You were hesitant to touch him. You placed your hand on his muscular chest while he was kissing you. He gently placed you on the bed, then untied his yukata exposing his naked glory. His muscular body displayed for you to see but, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at his manhood. He then crawled in bed with you, arms caging you, and proceeded to kiss the crook of your neck. You let out a delicious moan in his ear, he shivered at the warm breath in his ear. He moved between your legs, placed his engorged cock, and slowly pushed his way inside of you. Letting out a groan of pleasure he settled in you. You on the other hand let out a gasp because of sharp pain in your cunt. The burning sensation caused you to moan until it started to feel good. It was a very fast sex session considering your cunt was sucking him in his eyes rolled back at the pleasure your pussy was giving. His balls were slapping your ass the more he bottomed out over, and over again. His inner thighs hit your hips. He then positioned you with your feet on his chest while he squatted to mating press you. His hands were around your neck as the thrust began to become deeper, harder, and faster. You were moaning in pleasure and the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. You could feel his cock pulsing and his hands moved to your cheeks and caressed them gently while you both were cumming together. He plopped to the side sweating and panting from the love he made to you. “That was, that was beautiful my Plum Blossom,” he panted out and grinned while gathering you in his arms.

The next day was hectic. The servants were running around everywhere your in-laws were paying a visit. Enji was in the sitting room looking tense and grumpy, he didn’t like it when his mother came to visit. His mother was so bothersome but, maybe just maybe she would direct her attention to her daughter-in-law. The servant announced Enji’s parents and the first one to step in was Teka inspecting the house she ran across Enji. “Enji…how are you and your wife?” she asked while looking around for y/n. You suddenly walked in and greeted your in-laws. Teka took a very good look at you. “How is my ill-tempered daughter-in-law…I’m sure you're doing fine…just look at you…so beautiful,” Teka said to you. “Mother,” Enji warned his mom. “I’m joking my dear, geez, it’s like always Enji is so serious,” Teka giggled. “Hello, son,” a cheerful voice greeted him. Looking around you finally saw Yoshino standing behind Teka. you could tell who wore the pants in their household. You served them tea and spring-colored mochi. “So, y/n how are you fairing with my son?” Teka asked. “He’s good to me, Mrs. Todoroki,” you said to Teka. “How is your father?” Yoshino asked you. “I haven’t seen him since the marriage with your son,” you timidly said to Yoshino. “Enji, she should pay him a visit…don’t you think?” Teka chimed in. “Mother, in due time,” Enji answered. Looking at him suspiciously “Okay Enji,” Teka replied.

That night while in bed with Enji you had asked to visit your father and your best friend but he denied your request. You turned your back from Enji and he tried to pull you into an embrace but pushed him away. “Plum Blossom…please don’t deny me the comfort of you,” he whispered. “You're denying me the right to visit my family…therefore I deny you,” you hissed. He roughly pulled you in for an embrace. “Let me make myself clear…you will not deny me comfort, wife,” he demanded. That night you were reluctant to fulfill his desire for ‘comfort’. One morning you were sitting in the dining room when your breakfast was placed in front of you. You became nauseated at the smell of your breakfast and quickly ran out of the dining room into your room. Enji followed after and as soon as he saw your pale face, sweating he sent for the doctor. That Spring season you became pregnant, and Enji was overjoyed by the news. He became a doting husband to you. By December you were heavy with Enji’s child and trying to get comfortable. “Enji…I’m nervous as you know our child will be born in January,” you anxiously said to your husband. “Don’t worry my Plum Blossom…I will be in the other room awaiting our child,” he reassured you. “I would like my best friend with me while I give birth. Can you please send for Chiyo?” you asked. He nodded in agreement. Thay week he sent for Chiyo and y/n’s father released Chiyo from her duties. Once Chiyo arrived and found you heavy with a child she ran to you. “Y/n! I missed you,” Chiyo exclaimed while hugging you. You hugged her back and took her to the warm sitting room. You bore him a son, Enji named him Touya Todoroki at the beginning of January. Teka was the first one to visit Enji’s household to see her grandchild. Everything was perfect that year until…

[sharperthewriter]

Chapter 4 of the 16th Annual Kim Possible Fannies Awards

Chapter 4 – The Retirement Party, Part II

When the group returned to their seats, plates laden with Greek food that had Ron, Rufus, and Drew holding back complaints while Kim, Wade, and Sheila readily partook, a lower-ranking member of VILE stepped on the small stage to begin the speeches.

“Good evening, honored guests!  And…heroes.  We all know why we are here tonight.”  

The group at the table were listening to the greeting, when one of the wait staff suddenly appeared at their table and addressed Drew in a whisper.

“Pardon me, sir, but the professor had us prepare a special plate for you,” the man said.  Next to Drew’s buffet plate he set down a small child-sized plate piled with cheap dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, and ketchup.  The group seated at the table were so astonished that it took all of them a moment to realize the waiter was removing Drew’s buffet plate, until the blue-skinned man grabbed it with a low snarl and pushed it back down to the table with a clatter.

“The buffet will be fine, thank you!” Drew hissed.  “Now take this thing—”

Sheila had snatched up a dino-nugget and dipped it in her salad dressing before taking a bite with a smirk.  As Drew stared in utter shock, the confused waiter slipped away.

“What does he take me for, some kind of child!?” Drew snapped to Sheila as she continued smirking and shrugged as she nibbled another chicken nugget just to irk him.

“The professor has elected to begin the speeches this evening,” the man on stage was finishing.  “Champagne is being brought around for the toasts.  Please continue to enjoy your meal.  And without further ado, Professor Dementor.”

The villains and heroes alike applauded with the exception of Drew who merely crossed his arms as Dementor took the stage.  He still wore his trademark helmet, and his goatee was showing a bit of gray.  He wore a red and black military uniform that cast an imposing silhouette under the spotlights as he stood in front of the podium and adjusted the microphone lower for his height.

“Velcome, friends, enemies, and…failures,” Dementor began, smirking at Drew at the last, “and thank you for all coming this evening!  As a Major Sergeant of VILE and with a villainous career spanning over thirty years, it goes without saying that I am among zhe most accomplished of villains in zhis room!”

There were mumbles of disagreement among the envious, and agreement among the younger villains.  Kim for her part was keeping an eye on the other evil attendees, not quite trusting that the party wouldn’t take a turn.  She took particular note of Monkey Fist who was stealing DNAmy’s drinks, despite Duff Killigan’s protests as the duo ignored the speech.

A waiter was delivering their champagne, but in addition to the flute placed in front of Sheila, a cocktail glass was also delivered filled with a bright red liquid.

“What’s this…?” Sheila murmured to Drew.

“Watermelon cocktail,” he muttered, still scowling at the dino-nuggets.

Sheila’s smirk faded, and she sipped from the drink while rolling her eyes and giving her husband’s shoulder a squeeze in thanks.

Ron had forgotten about his wariness over the food as he listened to Dementor begin speaking of his accomplishments and thus failed to notice Rufus stealing all of the kalamata olives from his salad. Sheila was forcing the stem of a champagne glass into Drew’s hand and also noticed that while Team Go were being served in kind, yet another shot of liquor was placed before her eldest brother who quickly knocked it back. Her brow rose.

“Ve can all agree that my robot armies were superior and never failed,” Dementor continued.

Drew scowled.

“My numerous, brilliant inventions zhat never included ‘outsourced’ technology…”

Dementor looked straight at Drew, whose frown deepened.

“And my ingenious sentient killer plants, vhich are unmatched by any other villain in bio-engineering!”

Drew’s fingers dug into the tablecloth, disrupting the plates and glasses on the table with a small clatter.  The action arrested everyone’s attention at the table as Rufus caught Ron’s glass just before it toppled.

“He’s only famous because he was my rival!” Drew hissed.

“Take a chill pill, Dr. D.,” Sheila urged with an eyeroll.

Kim’s attention moved past the hushed conversation of her Global Justice coworkers to a more distracting sound—that of Hego beginning to bawl at the next table.  Mego was looking anxious as he patted his larger brother on the back and tried to shove a napkin in his face for him to blow his nose, looking around to see who might be watching, while the Wegos were quietly snickering and pushing their own champagne glasses in front of the blue-suited man to drink.

“And of course, I am zhe only mad scientist, inventor, and evil genius to have risen so high within zhe ranks of VILE.  Unlike other so-called geniuses,” Dementor continued smugly, his eyes still on Drew.

“Sheila…” Drew said through gritted teeth.

“Hey, KPS,” Ron whispered as he leaned in next to his wife.  “Who are those two?”

Kim turned her focus to where Ron was staring at the two red and yellow clad villains, who were paying no attention to Dementor.  Their glares at one another were perhaps worse than the menace being exchanged between Drew and the guest of honor, and Kim lightly tapped Wade on the shoulder.

“Can you get anything on those two, Wade?” she asked.

Wade’s brow rose, but he pulled his small, hand-held computer from his pocket.

“Of course, some plans failed in zhe early days, thanks to zhe skilled efforts of Kim Possible,” Dementor said, gesturing to their table. Kim smiled a bit nervously as most eyes in the room turned toward them, and with most being the eyes of villains, many were looks of contempt.  However, the yellow and red clad men were still glaring at one another.

Dementor then turned to acknowledge the next table of heroes, but Ron cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Kim Possible and husband!”

Dementor stroked his goatee as his brow furrowed in thought.  “Yes… Zhe name escapes me…”

The lines on Drew’s forehead uncreased slightly, and one corner of his mouth rose in a smirk.

A slightly too-loud and astonished, “Monty!” from Duff Killigan drew the eyes of some of the partygoers.  Kim noted that Monkey Fist had clearly already had too many by his drooping eyes and oblivious grin.  DNAmy was practically sitting in his lap, she had moved that close, and was twirling her fingers in his fur.  Killigan, on the other side of the pair, was waving his hand in front of Monkey Fist’s face and trying to pull a liquor glass from one of his hands.  On stage, after a brief falter from the interruptions, Dementor cleared his throat and continued.

“And…having finally met a worthy opponent, I turned my efforts in villainy elsewhere, which led me to Go City where I met the most enchanting villainess,” Dementor said, his eyes ghosting over the table where Team Go sat before landing on Electronique at the table in front of him.  “And I can think of no better time or place than zhe day I celebrate all of my evil accomplishments, than to further celebrate my greatest one,” Dementor continued as he stepped from behind the podium to be fully seen and extended his hand to Electronique.  Her brow rose in confusion, but she stood, her metallic mermaid-style halter dress shimmering as she approached the stage, where she placed her hand atop Dementor’s.  He sank to one knee.

[soapfireblog]

heyo i meant to send this the other day but if you still are answering for that oc meme you rbed, i'd like to know of 8, 10, 11 and 18 for any of your ocs you feel like sharing about!!! thanks in advance :) !!

Of course I'd love to answer!! Thank you! :)) I'll be talking about Oscar for this one! (Oscar is my evil Grandkid OC of The Conductor for those who don't know.)

8. Does your OC have any hobbies or favourite past times? Oh, this is obvious. Training in The Dark Forest must be Oscar's favourite past time. He loves to learn how to fight (and kill) with the deepest and darkest embodiment of his grandfather's soul. (The Snatched Conductor.) He also does know how to play the drums, so he likes to annoy Olivia (his sister) with those loud noises! 10.What is something or someone your OC absolutely despises? There is two things Oscar loathes in this world. Otto (his brother) and Order. He absolutely hates perfect Order. What's life without destruction?! WHAT'S LIFE WITHOUT SOME FUN?! If life is perfect and peaceful, that's just boring! BURN PEOPLE! BE AN ARSONIST! BE GAY AND CERTAINLY DO CRIMES! Otto LOATHES his brother. He strives everynight to take his brother down and kill him. He would have no regrets in killing his brother. Oscar has been manipulated by his mentor, SM (Snatched Malcom, my headcannon real name for The Conductor is Malcom McCaw. Down with Connor, up with Malcom.) In short, SM is the deepest darkest embodiment of The Conductor's darkest thoughts. Once he sold his soul to Snatcher to help cheat at the Movie Awards, SM was created. He won in a civil war against Snatcher, and Snatcher granted him and his brutes a part of Subcon Forest as their own. Little did he know how much power he gave SM. That land became 'The Dark Forest'. Oscar follows SM. He's filled with sheer loyalty to his brutal and absolutely demented mindset and training methods. He wants nothing more than power, and SM has filled his mind with vile thoughts of Otto, who is SM's and The Dark Forest's biggest threat. In Short: Oscar would not hesitate to slice his brother's throat open to please SM. 11. What are some of your OCs favorite things? (For example, favorite food, drink, type of music, color, things they collect, ect. anything that they are fond of)

...Well, by now you can tell Oscar is a complete maniac. So i'd say just...killing people. Annoying people, tormenting people. He loves to annoy people. Though, he loves the color purple, it reminds him of SM!

18. Is there any lore about your OC that adds to the current standing in-game lore? 

...Yeah. :) Definetly.

[darlingdelilah1978writingblog]

CHAPTER 1: AS IT BEGAN

Mustapha's P.O.V

"There's nothing like people watching, Am I right?" Deaqe spoke through a devilish grin before taking a swig of mead from the flask that was in his hand.

"Hey save sore for the rest of us who would want a drink" Meadow playfully punched the pixie hybrid in the arm.

"Alright, alright, alright here you didn't have to bitch and moan" Deaqe smirked as he handed the flask to the pixie.

"What are you thinking about Mustapha?" Harold looked at me as I drew my knees to my chest.

"A lot of things Harold my dear changing " I shrugged.

"Thinking about your exile again?" Meadow fiddled with the top of the flask before taking a swig.

I nodded as I kept my eyes fixated on the glade and continued to watch the throng grow larger by the minute. "I can't believe it's been five years since then".

"Now I think about it I think we all met at the same time or not long after Mustapha was saved by Lady Satine" Deaqe sat back on his hands.

"I think that as well" Harold drew in his thin twig-like legs and rested his chin on his knees.

" I know it's nice that we are reminiscing about how we met, but, Can we go over the plan, please? It's complicated and confusing" Meadow finally let go of the bottle.

I turned to the three of them. "Alright, the plan is at the stroke of midnight the Fairy Feller will come in his mighty axe along with walnut and as he strikes the said nut Harold will create a diversion with his horn, then you and Deaqe will cause mayhem of course while I slither my way down into the throng and snatch the vial that's when we'll meet at the rendezvous point if we don't get caught by the guards".

"That seems simple enough I guess" Meadow shrugged as he picked up the bottle once again then took a swig.

"Now that we got that settled hand me that bottle before that thing bone dry" I spoke with a smirk as I stretched out my hand waiting for him to give it to me.

Meadow handed me the bottle before I took a large swig of the Bijou wine that was in the leather-bound bottle.

"May I suggest that you keep your wits about because we can't get this done if you just sit around and get shitfaced" Harold rose to his feet.

"Come on dear don't be so stiff it's okay have a while we wait" I stretched the bottle that was in my hand up towards him.

"Alright you got me" Harold rolled his eyes as he grabbed the bottle from me.

"There you go mate" Deaqe spoke through a half grin as he watched Harold take one large swig.

As I sat in my spot a figure dressed in an all-deep red wine-colored ensemble marched to the beat of the ceremonial drums playing behind it. As the figure continued to make its way across the glade and down to the long table that was covered with a magnificent cloth that had all seven flags of the seven nations of Rhye, several figures were dressed in Royal Blue, Green, Dark Purple, Orange, Yellow, Magenta, and White followed suit behind it.

Meadow rose to his feet and pointed into the glade."Okay I know the Blue are Mages, Yellow are Apothecary, and Magenta are Warlocks and witches but, Who's in the other colors?".

"If I'm mistaken Green are Sorcerers, Dark Purple are Astrologers,   Orange are Elementals and White are Seers" Harold did the same.

"I'm guessing the red is the mayor then" Deaqe looked at me as I rose to my feet and dusted myself off.

"Indeed it is the mayor darling and now it's just game before the Fairy Feller arrives" I put my hands on my hips.

"Who has the vile?" Meadow rose to his feet.

"That Apothecary on the left there he has what we need"  I pointed into the clearing as a smirk crept onto my face.

"I've seen some of the work that Lady Satine has done I think this could be the cure Rhye needs in the future" Harold took another swig out of the wine bottle.

As the sun began to set on the horizon the throng dubbed in size as folks waited to see Lord and Lady Fahrenheit the sovereigns of Gaith. I must say the festival was pretty tempting but I knew that I had to stay focused. Once at the stroke of midnight ceremonial bagpipes and drums began to play as the Fairy Feller entered the glade, the throng cheered as the sovereigns of Gaith exited the chariot and made their way to the thrones that were on the platform behind the table. Beside them was a woman who looked like his grandma but dressed in an avant-garde ensemble.

I turned to the three of them. "Show time darlings you know what to do. Meadow and Deaqe you two go along down there and man your stations while Harold and I wait for Miles to arrive".

"Well, you don't have to wait any longer my friend because look who just walked in" Deaqe rose to his feet and gave Miles a small casual nod.

Miles returned the nod and gave me a wink which I also returned.

"I can't believe you bribed this man to help us" Harold put down the bottle and exchanged it for his trumpet.

"Miles is an alchemist who's at risk of losing his laboratory so I offered him this gig" I grinned to myself watching Miles walk about the festival grounds. "Now ahead you two I'll be right behind you" I looked at Deaqe and Meadow.

"Alright good luck you guys" Meadow winked at the two of us before leaving the hill that we were on and making their way into the festival grounds.

"Go ahead I got this Mustapha" Harold looked at me and gave me a quick small nod.

"See you at the rendezvous point dear" I gave him a small grin before walking off of the hill and getting into my position waiting for Harold's signal.

I watched the Fairy Feller place the walnut on a stone slab and lift his axe above his head when I heard Harold's translation, echo through the glade when I put up my hood before hearing.

" What was that?",

"Was that a trumpet?".

"We're under attack!".

"Run for your lives!".

As so with that chaos ensued as I slithered through the festival grounds making my way to the Apothecary that was ahead of me by a few yards when I heard.

"Guards get that changing on top of the hill" Lord Fahrenheit's voice echoed over shrieking.

I looked back as I continued to slither my way toward the Apothecary. "No, no, no" I uttered under my breath as I watched the guards head towards Harold. but I couldn't watch any further, because I had to keep my eyes on the prize, and that prize was the vile Maggiore serum the thing that could power Lady Chandra's brand-new carriage.

As I made my way through I found myself only a few yards away from the Apothecary. Once I got close enough, I took the opportunity to pit pocket the vial and slipped it into my coat pocket, after I obtained the serum vile I heard the Apothecary spit. "Hey, you there get back here!".

I ran into a campsite took one of the horses and rode into the forest when I ran out of options for places to hide fear struck me as streaks of magenta swirled around me and I knew I had no chance to hide the vile so I fished it out of my pocket popped the cork and swallowed the contents inside. As the contents slithered down my throat it felt like it was on fire when I heard the pulsing of wings flapping and I looked up to see Harold, hovering in the air.

"It's about time you showed up!" I spoke with a grin of relief.

"Come to the rendezvouses points is due east!" Harold spat as he pointed in the general direction. "There's a shortcut follow me. Hopefully, we will lose these warlocks" He motioned me to follow him.

Moments later we entered a valley leading to the fae village of Myriani which was just down the trail and just a short time later, the two of us arrived at the rendezvous point which was Wolfsard Island as Harold and I came up on the alehouse I just got to get the horse and wing to get in the alley with Harold following shortly behind. Once we were in the alley we began to wait for Meadow and Deaqe when beads of sweat began to roll down my face as a wave of nausea washed over me and my vision began to go in an ounce of focus.

"Mustapha, Are you alright?" Harold's words swam through my ears.

I let out a cry of sheer agony as I felt my belly churning in knots I saw a head in the alley coming towards us then everything turned black.

[georgiaheartsdilfs]

Stefan and reader are best friend's, she is human and doesn't take crap from Damon and protects Stefan when he goes off on him. She takes vervain and some reason damon is interested in reader since she isn't afraid of him. He flirts with her but she doesn't have it she ignores him. Lots of banter.

Can't compel yourself a date | Damon Salvatore x Reader

my masterlist ↪M A S T E R L I S T

"Stefanie" I yell walking into the Salvatore house, "Stefania, your girlfriend has arrive from hell" Damon walks past me yelling to his younger brother who must have been upstairs in his room.

I take my shoe off throwing it at the older brother "you can't call him names, Damon." I roll my eyes as he throws my shoe back 3x harder just missing my head "he's my brother" he responds walking off into the wine cellar "the brother you sought to kill not even a decade ago, shut up" i say to him before jogging up to Stefan's room.

"hey, you ready to go?" I ask Stefan, he and I had been planning to go out to lunch with Klaus and Elijah for a while. Since the Salvatores were failing miserably i'd be there decoy, of course not for Damon, mainly for Stefan.

"not yet, you're 4 hours early, y/n." Stefan spins around after pushing up his 'hero' hair.

"still." I tap my foot against the ground "you also need to take your daily dose of vervain" he says handing my a small vile, I drink the vile handing it back to him "i may be human but god that taste is putrid" i mumble, I had been taking vervain everyday for a few months now.

Just because it made sense to, especially since I now know of the supernatural.

We walk downstairs as Damon attacks us from behind, wrapping his arms around mine and stefan's shoulders "what's the plan guys" he asks sarcastically, acting as if he wasn't already listening.

Walking away from Damon I kick his shin "don't touch me." I say aggressively, looking to Stefan then kicking Damon once more as he lets go of his younger brother "and him" I say protecting the younger Salvatore brother.

"i could just rip you apart, here, right now." Damon crosses his arms "cut it out Damon." Stefan says rolling his eyes "do it, pussy." I narrow my eyes to Damon who scoffs walking off again.

"i'm still surprised you have the guts to talk to him like that, not even Elena would." Stefan chuckles sitting down on the sofa as I stand in front of him "yeah, well Elena is like i dont know she does when she gets angry. She gets parley." crossing my arms sitting down next to him.

Damon walks back in front of us, holding two bourbon bottles in his hand "y/n, pick one." he commands "the left one" I mumble "poor taste, right was the right answer." he laughs to himself, I pick up a book and throw it at him "i'm right, you're wrong." I say sternly "yes ma'am" he says placing one bottle down, handing the other to me.

"drink it" he says pointing to the bottle, Stefan snatches it out of my hand "what, Damon no." Stefan says placing the bottle on the ground "well she has to have something to get through the meeting" Damon says relaxing back on the sofa opposite of Stefan and I.

"i need it everytime i'm around you, vervain barely cuts it." i lie to him, vervain didn't even cut the bare minimum "liar" he whispers and I roll my eyes "Stefan doesn't need to come with you anyways, what is he going to do flick he hero hair and save the day?" "and if he does, who is stopping him." I lean forward.

"nobody." rolling my eyes. "you fascinate me" Damon points to me "Here we go" Stefan says getting up and walking back to his room "oh god" placing my hand on my forehead, rubbing it annoyed.

"how is it, even the strongest humans i know, won't insult me. Yet, you insult me with every chance you get." Damon leans forward, glancing up at me from his glass of bourbon "because i'm not scared of you." I cross one leg over the other.

"surely you have some sort of worry that I might, accidently kill you." Damon says shrugging as he leans back into the sofa "nope, not one." I smile to him "It's my brother isn't it, you know he'd avenge you." Damon says thinking he caught onto something.

"That's a good reason but its not the reason." standing up getting ready to walk away "well surely there is a reason." he says stopping me "course theres a reason, I just don't feel like disclosing the reason." I smirk before walking to the fireplace.

I had to stay here for Stefan, there was not many rooms in this house despite its size.

"can you two cut it out already. It's causing my ears to bleed." Stefan groans from upstairs "believe me Stef, I'm trying to ignore him. His voice is just as annoying as his face." I huff staring into the blazing fire.

Glaring at Damon, I walk past him up to Stefan's room. Sitting down next to Stefan on his bed.

"did you really leave him by himself?" Stefan asks me "yes?" I reply "no" Damon bursts through the door.

"how about I take you out, y/n, i can show you how un-annoying i am." he says "impossible." I mumble, snatching Stefan's book out of his hand "you talk to him, he's your brother." I continue to mumble as Stefan rolls his eyes at me.

"Y/n won't go out with you, even you know that." Stefan says getting of his bed walking to his balcony, pushing the doors open "well then i need to prove just how annoying i am not." Damon throws his arms up "this is usually the part where she tells you to 'stuff it in places i wouldn't'" Stefan dusts his hands off, sitting back down next to me.

"i'm not talking to you Saint Stefan." Damon says turning to face me, I continue to ignore him "I wont kill anyone for a month, if you go out with me." Damon bargains "no" Stefan talks on my behalf "beat it Buzzkill Bob" he insults his brother.

"Buzzkill, I know you aren't talking." finally looking up to the irritating villainous brother "she speaks again" he smirks "he still doesnt stop talking... again." I mumble.

"too bad you can't compel yourself a date with me."

"why exactly have you brought this into my room?" Stefan questions us "if only this room was in my name so he couldn't come in." I huff "fine" getting of Stefan's bed, placing the book on the bed, shoving past the brothers and walking down the stairs.

"i'm going home until further notice."

[pleasantanathema]

Pairing: Tetsurō Kuroo x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Consensual non-con (reader and Kuroo have agreed together to engage in a consensual non-consensual situation), degradation, rough sex, dirty talk, biting, choking, hair pulling, mentions of blood, spit, and smoking cigarettes

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is a collab piece for the The Smut Pile Mafia Collab hosted by myself, @present-mel, and @linestrider​

You can find all the other wonderfully creative and smutty pieces on our masterlist!

And thank you @present-mel​ for this beautiful banner 💕

           Kuroo always took pride seeing you on stage, especially when you wore those provocative gowns that he bought for you. He sat back in his chair, one arm crossed across his chest while the other nursed a glass of bourbon to his lips. Tonight, you were more sensual than he’d seen you before, your hands cupped around the microphone, hips swaying as you sang. You were a harpy culling her crowd. The designer dress was dripping from your curves, every seam crafted to hug your body. He couldn’t keep his eyes off your waist, couldn’t keep his eyes off the high cut of the slit that exposed the smooth flesh of your thigh. He knew every man in that room was doing the same, all of them lost to the delirium of melody, but none of them got to have you like he did.

           You never asked for the dresses, or the shoes, or the pearls, or his favorite color of lipstick; no, you never asked for anything, his seductive little songbird. But you always said thank you, a peculiar glint in your eyes that he knew you saved only for him.

           His station in life as the leader of the Nekoma Mafia allotted him any woman he wanted in Tokyo—and he had plenty of playthings, but you? You were his favorite. You always fucked him like you loved him, let him do anything he pleased and still begged for more. But then you’d always let him go; there was no pleading, no big eyes and pouty lips begging him to stay the night. You let him be who he was, let him do whatever the fuck he wanted to, never asked where he was or what he did or who he killed, and it was your indifference to him that kept him coming back.

          He wanted to make you beg for him to stay, but tonight, he wanted you to beg for him to stop.

         Your voice rang in his head unconnected to the lyrics you were singing.

         You can force me to fuck you any time you want, Tetsurō—god his name sounded good in your mouth, even in his thoughts—surprise me one night. I’ll say no, I’ll fight back, but only stop if I say our safeword.

         The two of you had this conversation a few months ago and, at the time, he hadn’t thought much of it, still too blissed out after fucking your face underneath his desk. You’d still been swallowing his cum when he mentioned how he liked to take control of you like that, all rough hands and violent kisses that left bruises even on your cheeks where he had pulled you in to suck his cock.

          But now, after too many weeks of being away from you on business, he’d had a lot of time for the exchange to settle into ruminations. He came here tonight with the full intention of forcing himself onto you after you stepped off that stage, and the image in his mind alone was enough to have him resituating his aching cock in his trousers.

__________________________________

          Of course you spotted him in the crowd. He was unmistakable, black hair simmering beyond the heat of the stage lights. You couldn’t help but keep your eyes on him for a little too long at moments, excitement curling inside your belly.

          You hated to admit to yourself that you’d missed him, that you’d been looking for him within the throngs of people every night, just hoping to catch a glimpse of golden eyes and a loosened tie in his usual spot in the back of the nightclub.

          And there he was, eyeing you down like a predator would his prey, a grin so cavalier and catlike it made you shiver. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were already rolled up like he was prepared to sink his fingers into you at any moment.

          It was hard to focus on your set, hard to keep your attention on other members in the crowd. Your hands were sweating and you were glued to the microphone out of fear that, if you let go, you’d wander right off the stage and into his lap. It was an agonizing, and quite titillating, half hour of singing.

          You made a beeline to your dressing room in the back after taking a bow and blowing a few kisses, foregoing mingling at the bar with patrons. You needed to wash your hands, you needed to take a breath before you went out to see him, before you hurriedly texted him to come meet you.

          But he was already there, a fresh cigarette between thumb and forefinger as he lounged against the doorframe to your room.

         “Hey, kitten, been a while.”

          His voice had your hair standing on end, made you stumble in your stride.

         “Tetsurō,” a smile pulled at your cheeks, “you’re in my way.”

         “I would say give me a password, but I suppose a kiss will do.”

          You stood before him, plucking the cigarette from his fingers and pressing it to your lips for a drag. Your weight shifted to one heeled foot, your eyes never leaving his as you took a long inhale of the menthol and tobacco, the cherry of the cigarette growing hot.

          He reached for you, pulling you against him so his lips could capture the smoke, drinking in the taste. You both groaned at the contact, a voltaic hum syncing your bodies together. His lips were forceful, commanding, taking the lead and easily prying yours apart for him to explore the familiar home of your mouth. The action felt natural, but you could sense there was something unknown pent up inside of him.

          Your free hand fumbled with the doorknob behind him, the other holding the ashen cigarette at a safe distance away.

         “Mhm, did you miss me?” he mumbled against your lips, hand trailing down the satin of your dress to trace the slit at your thigh. Long, nimble fingers curled up to find your panties.

         “Not very much,” you were being cheeky, but he didn’t have to catch that.

         “Oh yea? Your pussy tells me otherwise.”

          A sharp moan erupted from your throat as his middle finger pressed against the dampness of your panties, his forefinger following and circling against your clit.

          “Fuck—get, get in the room,” you breathed, finally getting purchase on the knob and shoving him and his greedy hands into your dressing room.

           Kuroo snatched the cigarette back from your hand, taking in a pull before smothering it into the ashtray on the vanity built into the wall.

           You stood before the mirror, catching a flash of him moving behind you. You felt hot, a little overwhelmed, and you weren’t sure if it was the heat from the bulbs that lined the edges of your dressing table, or if it was his presence making you edgy.

          His hands were back on your hips as you removed your earrings and set them onto the table. His fingers were eager, one hand ghosting up your body to slide down the strap of your dress so he could kiss and suck at your neck and shoulder.

          “Shame you didn’t miss me,” there was a tonal shift in his voice, the timbre deeper, darker, “cause I sure did miss that pretty little mouth of yours.”

          His fingers dug into your jaw, roughly pulling your face to the side so he could nip at the corner of your lips.

         “Easy,” you warned, pressing your elbow back against him to get some space.

         “Easy? Oh kitten, there will be no easy, tonight. I haven’t had you in weeks, and I’m taking what I want.”

          Realization washed over you after a few heartbeats. You grinned against the fingers pressing into your cheeks, knowing and delighted.

          “Sorry, Tetsurō,” you added a vile bite to his name as you pulled your face from his grip, “I’m not interested tonight.”

         “Not interested?” he sneered, that wild, feline smirk back in its place.

          He was still behind you, pressing up against your back with fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh. He eyed you through the mirror. He looked menacing behind you, amber eyes narrowed and glowing within the reflection of yellow lights. You’d almost forgotten how big he was; his broad body dwarfed yours, meaty shoulders caging around you, strong, round biceps curling underneath your arms as he encircled you in a tight embrace. You were drawn to the moving hand on your leg, the entirety of his palm almost eclipsing your thigh as desirous fingers once again crept towards your pussy.

          “You should leave,” you meant for the words to sound serious, but there was clearly an underlying, breathy want within your voice.

          “Absolutely not,” he sunk his teeth into the juncture of your shoulder and neck, groaning at the taste of your skin, “I came here for you.”

           You held back your moan, struggling within his hold. Your hands flew over his, one on your thigh, the other on your stomach, bidding to pry off his ironclad fingers.

          “Get off me.”

           He only pulled you deeper into him, his grip tighter, teeth harsher. You winced at the pain of his bite. You struggled again, panting as you found no fruition to your efforts. God he was strong, and he was barely using any of his power to hold you.

           You stepped a heeled foot onto his, jamming the stiletto into the leather of his shoe. He hissed and shoved you forward, sending your hips to knock into the edge of the vanity.

           “I said get off me!”

           You thought he’d hesitate, that he would take a moment to see if you really meant it, but you were mistaken.

           He was into the game now.

          “I like it when you’re feisty, kitten.”

           You turned around to say something, but he was already on you, already one step ahead. The moment you turned, he had you in his arms, using his strength to lift you up onto the hot vanity.

          “Tetsurō—!”

          “Oh, shut up, you little slut, I know you want me, there’s no need to hide it.”

           His hands were on your legs, in your dress. Too easily he tore at the fabric, the threads snapping like crackling fireworks against your skin. You gasped, pressing your hands against his shoulders, pushing at him with a genuine amount of strength to which he didn’t budge.

           “Fuck, you can’t just—”

           “Yes, I fucking can,” he scoffed, continuing to tear at the seam that lined the side of your gown, “don’t forget who spoils you.”

           “Yea, a fucking mob boss,” you slighted, digging your nails into his wrist as if that would stop him.

            He slapped your left cheek, hard, quick, like the fast swipe of a panther swatting at restless prey. Your neck swung to the side and you moaned, deep and strained from your chest. Your face throbbed, blood welling under your smarting skin like it was trying to figure out what happened and how to dull the pain, even though the pain was blossoming into pleasure.

            “I’m someone who could end your life any time I want to, kitten. I can either hunt you down here or somewhere else, so I suggest you stop fighting.”

           The gown was finally tugged from your body, and what was left of its shape fell down to your sides, the fabric caught underneath where you sat on the vanity.

           With his hands free, he cradled your face, palms engulfing your cheeks. He forced you to look up at him. When you did, it brought you back to reality. He appeared wicked, enthralled, you could practically see thoughts churning inside his mind like the inner workings of a clock—he always was too smart for his own good, or, perhaps, for your own good. Your irises danced over the handsome planes of his face, over the feline curve of his eyes, over the full lips that you truly had missed feeling against yours. But you held yourself back; if he wanted to force you, you’d damn well let him.

           “You’re mine, all mine.”

           “No, I’m not yours. You don’t own me.”

           His thumb caught to the edge of your lips, keeping them parted.

          “Oh kitten,” he purred, sucking his tongue back into his mouth.

           Your heart began to race as you heard a swish.

           He spit down onto you, a slow, viscous string of saliva dripping from his mouth onto yours where he kept your lips pried open.

           “I do own you.”

            You tried to turn your face, but his hold was firm, keeping you from avoiding his territorial marking.

            “Stop,” your voice was weak.

            “Drink it all up like a good little girl.”

             He shoved himself between your thighs, getting even closer as he watched your eyebrows furrow while you obediently licked your tongue along your lips, gathering his saliva to gulp down.

             He groaned aloud at the sight, smashing his mouth down on to yours, wet and messy from spit. You didn’t kiss him back. You kept pressing back against his shoulders, trying to pull one of your knees up between your bodies to push him away, but he was quick. One of his hands snatched your thigh, roughly pressing it back down against the table to keep you in place. His mouth still worked against yours, hungry and ferocious, taking from you even though you weren’t giving anything back.

           You needed to do something before you gave into him, before you wrapped your arms around him and spoiled the fun. He was intoxicating, especially with one of his hands drifting around your back to unhook your bra with ease.

           One of your hands slid to his loosened tie, fingers entangling in the red fabric. You tugged, hard, attempting to force his mouth away from yours; he merely chuckled, continuing to pull at your own clothing, a little too effortlessly removing the cups of your bra from your breasts.

           As cool air swept over your exposed nipples, you shivered and groaned, attempting to swat away the strong hand reaching to grope one of them.

           You bit his greedy mouth, sharp and quick, catching his bottom lip between one of your canine teeth. He reacted immediately, shoving your head back against the mirror so harshly that a thick crack burst into the reflective glass.

           “Fuck!” it was both of your voices shouting together, you cupping your aching skull and Kuroo fingering his busted lip.

           “God you fucking bitch, you’ll pay for that.”

           Blood was slick down his chin, the plump flesh of his lip noticeably pierced and split.

           Your instincts were telling you to apologize, but you kept them at bay, choosing instead to take the moment to attempt to dash around his side towards the locked door. The remnants of your ruined dress fell to the floor as you quickly stood from the vanity, feet nearly tripping over one another in your heels.

           “Oh no you don’t!” He caught your upper arm, swinging your helpless body back towards his. The severity of his motions had your legs buckling underneath you, your balance completely lost. He caught you before you hit the floor, keeping his arms tight around your nearly naked body as he maneuvered you to where he wanted you.

           “Tetsurō,” your fingers were clawing into his forearms, feet dragging against the hardwood as he wrangled you to stand in front of him, “let me go.”

           You were startled to see yourself in the mirror, having already forgotten your nakedness. You both looked disheveled, wild, his normally pristine shirt wrinkled, the white collar soaking up the drippings of blood from his mouth. You had bite marks on your neck, dark and glaring against your skin, your breasts shaking as you struggled against his encroaching arms—it was sensual, to watch yourself wrestle against him, to see his smoldering eyes watching you just as intently in the mirror. You caught a glimpse of your panties, the rustling of your bodies against one another having pushed the fabric higher on your hips, and deeper within your sopping folds.

           One of Kuroo’s hands settled around your throat, using his fist as an anchor to keep your body still. His grip was harsh, fingertips solid but dormant against the sides of your neck, but there was the lingering threat that all he had to do was twist, squeeze, or press, and you’d never sing again, perhaps never leave this room again.

           “Do you know what normally happens to people who fight me?” he tilted your neck back in his hold, bringing your ear closer to his mouth.

           Your eyes stared at him through the reflection, your attention not leaving his face even as his free hand began to stroll across your body, fingertips tracing figure-eights on your stomach, climbing toward your breasts.

           “Answer me when I speak to you, slut.”

           “N-no,” it was hard to gulp underneath his palm, saliva pooling against your tongue, “I don’t know…”

           “Oh yes you do, you just don’t like thinking about it.”

           You could feel him smirk against your ear, see the catlike grin spreading like wildfire in the mirror.

           He groped your breast, fingers brutal against your sensitive skin, pressing into the fatty flesh with unbridled possessiveness. It was painful, making your back arch away from the touch and into his chest. But it was stimulating all the same, your nipple hardening and beckoning to be pinched, tugged, owned by his hand.

           “I kill the people who displease me, kitten,” he disclosed, admiring how large his hand looked against your breast as he kneaded your flesh. His knuckles were scattered with bruises, ring finger still forming a fresh scab from a recent altercation that required his fist. His skin looked barbaric compared to yours, scars and bruises against a fresh, smooth body.

           He captured your nipple, wringing it between thumb and forefinger. Your whine was stopped by his hand, trapped within your vocal cords and unable to emerge under his grip.

           “I could kill you so easily…” there was a pleasured grumble within his voice, bloodied mouth now kissing at the column of your neck between his spread fingers, “does that turn you on?”

           You tried to shake your head, your hands pushing at both of his forearms in an attempt to free yourself. He only clutched onto you more tightly, your nipple now stinging from pain, your vision blurring from the decreased oxygen to your brain.

           There was a panic brewing in your belly that you didn’t expect, true fear creeping up your spine. You knew you could mutter out your safeword and he would stop...or at least, so you thought. He looked lost within the mirror, bloodstained face almost drunk with power, his cock hard and nudging between your ass cheeks. He was getting high from this, and while you could feel a craving gnawing inside of you to give yourself up to him, there was also an edge of reality still pressing into your thoughts. Kuroo was dangerous, and if he wasn’t careful, if he crushed into your windpipe just a little too hard, and he’d have a mess on his hands, a dead plaything to throw in the dumpster behind the nightclub.

           “Do you know how many mouthy whores I’ve had to get rid of? I’ve learned it’s so easy to snap pretty little necks,” his fist grew tighter around your throat to emphasize his point.

           “Don’t say things like that,” you gasped, nails nearly tearing into the skin of his wrist.

           His hand released your breast, your skin hot and burning from his harsh ministrations. But the reprieve was brief, his fingers snaking down your body and into your panties. You jerked your hips backwards to avoid his touch, only to find yourself grinding against the fat cock straining against his pants.

           “I think you like what I’m saying,” he emphasized his words by running the pad of his index finger over your clit, your body shivering at his touch. He laughed in your ear, pressing his hips firmly against your body as you struggled to get out of his hold.

           His fingers were ruthless. He spread you apart, sliding between your shamefully dripping folds with quick ease. His palm was cupped against your sex, thumb shoved directly against your clit as the other long digits prodded your tight hole. You tried to clamp your legs shut, but his hand was more durable than you expected. There was no physical way you could wiggle yourself out of this situation, and that realization alone had a concoction of panic and pleasure toiling inside your belly.

           You bit your lip to stop the moans from bubbling out of your mouth.

           You’d always loved his fingers; they were long, thick, perfect for curling inside you and finding that fleshy patch against your inner walls that had you shaking and panting. Two of them pushed inside of you, your panties ruined and forgotten against your thigh. He wasn’t gentle. Each move of his hand was a satisfying jab into your pussy, jolts of hard pleasure racing up your spine. And his thumb was just as merciless. He twirled it in tight circles across your sensitive clit, the bliss turning hot under your skin.

           “Stop, stop, please stop, it’s too much!”

           He knew the words were a lie, he could tell by how your legs were shaking.

           You were Kuroo’s favorite instrument to play, he knew your melodies of ecstasy by heart. You might be able to cull him with that siren’s voice of yours, but he could string you along no other man could.

           Your slick was dripping against his fingers now, each squelching push of his fingers had you pressing farther into him. His cock was nestled perfectly between your ass cheeks and each convulsion of your body, every clenching, stimulated him just as much.

           “Fuck, no, no, you have to stop, Tetsuroō, please!”

           “Shut. Up.”

           His hand squeezed tighter around your throat, your eyelids fluttering at the increased loss of vision as your oxygen flow waned.

           Kuroo watched you in the mirror, watched how your stomach was tightening, your thighs clamping together, knees buckling together from his invasive touch. You could see him watching you behind your closing lids, could see his smirk growing like a weed in a garden.

           You felt his fingers begin to curve inside of you, wrist twisting to get the perfect angle. You were gasping, trying to catch short breaths beneath his hand before your inevitable fall.

           “T-tet—”

           You came hard and fast, the pleasure so blinding that you slumped within his hold, knees dropping to where the only thing holding your body up were his hands. Your cunt was aching, now cinching his fingers inside of you almost painfully. You cried out, sobbing at the intensity of it all, tears pricking at your lashes. Your body was humming, buzzing, almost like you’d left your skin and were hovering above your body in a cloud of euphoria.

           He kept pushing his fingers inside of you, thumb never ceasing against your clit.

           “Stop! Stop!” you were screaming it a little too loud now, if someone were to walk by your dressing room, they’d hear you. Kuroo’s hand flew to your mouth, finally giving your neck a reprieve from his monstrous grip. You exhaled shakily into his palm, your body calming down as his hand between your thighs came to a halt.

           “I’m not stopping, kitten. No one could stop me now. I think your filthy little body is finally warmed up enough for my cock, what do you think?” his voice was husky against your ear, breath fanning into your hair.

           “N-no! Anything but that, please don’t, Tetsuroō, please, I’m sorry!”

           Your words were muffled against his palm, tears now streaming into his hand.

           You didn’t expect that you could actually get yourself to cry—were you truly scared? Or had you fallen deeper into your role than you expected?

           Kuroo paid your sounds little mind.

           Your body was weak as he pushed you forward, hand releasing your face to grab the back of your head as he pressed your face into the vanity. Your legs were shaking, wobbly within your heels with your ass pressed into the air like this, your hands flat against the counter. You took a few moments to take deep breaths, your eyes focusing on the table. The ashtray was still lightly smoking from the half-smoked cigarette that had been shoved into it, your lipstick and earrings appearing like lost treasures drifting upon a sea out before you.

           You heard the clinking of Kuroo’s belt buckle behind you, felt his hand secure itself into your hair, keeping your face smashed against the vanity’s surface.

           Then his other hand was on your ass, kneading your flesh before smacking the rounded flesh. You winced, hissing between your teeth.

           “You’re a worthless whore, I don’t know why I even bother with you anymore.”

           That jab stung more than your smarting ass cheek.

           You whimpered, closing your eyes as you felt his hand pull at your panties, once again shifting them to the side so he could access your weeping pussy, already spent from your first orgasm.

           “Mhm, I can’t wait to see you cry when you're stuffed with my cock.”

           “Stop this, please. I’ll do anything else you want, I-I swear!”

           You felt the hot tip of his cock press against your folds, gathering your slick against his heated skin. You tried to angle your hips away, but Kuroo drew the back of your panties up into his fist, using them like reins to keep you in place.

           “I don’t think you understand, kitten. This is what I want.”

           He shoved his cock ruthlessly inside of you, the sharp pain of being spread racing across your nerves. You cried out, mouth hanging open against the cold countertop as his cock speared into your insides. But that pain quickly morphed into pleasure, his hips snapping up against yours with a ferocity that had moans spilling from your mouth even as you tried to stop them.

           Your body was bouncing from his actions, ass slapping against his unbuttoned slacks as he pounded inside of you. There would surely be cum stains against the threads once he was done.

           “Such a helpless little thing, aren’t you? Couldn’t stop me even though you tried.”

            And you had tried. You told him you’d fight back if he ever wanted to play like this, and you expected that you’d be able to stave him off to some extent. But you hadn’t been able to. Every attempt to run, to move, to get him to stop, had been futile. He was too strong, his will too powerful for you to overcome. And that’s what had you quaking beneath him; you’d truly fallen prey to him, and you knew that if this ever wasn’t play, he would probably use even more force against you. You were helpless, save for the trust you had in him.

           He kept a tight pull on your panties as he fucked you. His fingers were fisted around the fabric, pulling it tight against your skin, keeping it molded against your clit as his cock continued to barrel inside of you. Your walls were clamping down from all the sensations, fluttering with every thrust of his fat cock inside of you. You could feel that familiar, thick vein that ran along the underside of him rubbing against your pussy with every plunge. You felt stuffed, like your body was taking on more than you could handle.

          “St-stop,” it came out with a moan.

          “You know you love it,” he groaned, loud and deep and it made you shiver, “you love it when I treat you like the slut you are.”

           You weakly threw your hands behind you, hoping to claw at him, to throw him off his game, but all he had to do was fist his fingers into the roots of your hair and tug to get you to stop. You screamed at the searing pain, not used to him pulling your hair so roughly. Your neck arched back at the force, lifting your breasts from the cool table to bounce with his thrusts. Your hands were slick with sweat as you trained to gain purchase on the vanity, lewd sounds pouring from your mouth with every thrust of him inside of you.

          With his hand jerking your head back, now you could see him again in the mirror.

          He was grinning, that smear of blood still staining his lips, his chin. He looked wild, black hair tousled even more than usual from your tryst. The sight of him had your heart racing, blood pumping even faster to where your bodies were joined together. You loved that look in his eye, like at any moment he was going to devour you and spit you back out spent and needy. You felt violated, wrecked, but you knew he wasn’t going to stop soon.

          “You like watching, kitten? Like watching me stuff this pretty pussy of yours?”

           “I hate you,” you spit the words out like venom, narrowing your eyes at him through the reflection.

           “Say that again and I’ll slap you harder than I did earlier.”

            Your cheek stung with the memory of his palm.

            Before you could open your mouth again, he increased his pace, using the leverage of his hands in your hair and around your panties to slam you back into his cock as if you weighed nothing, as if you were nothing.

            Curses painted your lips each time his cock stretched you again, and again, and again, as the angle he pulled you into had his cock brushing against that sweet spot inside of you. Your underwear was pulled even tighter than before, each jostle of your bodies making the fabric rub against your swollen clit. The feeling of orgasm was growing again, your senses constantly being propelled into a state of bliss every time he took a deep stroke inside of you.

            “You think you’re special, don’t you? That’s why—fuck—you think you can tell me no? You’re just another whore to fuck,” he was growling, panting, “that’s all you are, you’re pathetic.”

             His words felt like acid on your skin, burning you, heating you in all the wrong ways, but your body loved it, soaked up every curse and slight and turned it into boiling pleasure.

            “Fuck, stop! I don’t wanna cum, I don’t wanna cum!”

            “You’re gonna cum, kitten. Cum so that little pussy gets tight enough to milk my cock.”

             You clenched your lower muscles, genuinely trying to avert the churning coil of pleasure inside of you, but all it did was make matters worse. Your pussy kept sucking him in, each thrust messy, loud, your ass slapping against his slacks and slick pooling down your thighs.

            “Oh you feel so good, feel so fucking good squeezing me like that.”

             That fresh praise had you coming undone. You felt him pull your panties even tighter against your curves, the fabric now almost cutting into your clit, and the sensation was all too much.

            “Tetsurō, Tetsurō, stop, stop, I-I’m cumming, stop!”

             It was more intense than before. You felt your whole body go numb, you watched as your mouth opened in a silent scream, every part of you trembling as the seams of sanity split with your orgasm.

             He didn’t stop, not even as he came inside of you, ropes and ropes of hot cum filling up your sloppy pussy and spurting out onto his clothes, onto your thighs. He was unrelenting, keeping you within the throes of orgasmic bliss with his cock plunging inside of you over and over again. His force had your underwear splitting in his fist, threads snapping against your ass as the cloth broke apart.

             The sound of your ripping panties had him slowing, now grinding his cock deep inside of your walls as you both came down from your highs.

             When your bodies finally came to a halt, he let go of your hair, allowing you to catch yourself with your palms flat to the vanity. You hung your head, trying to even out your breaths and let your heart rate calm down as your vision unblurred.

             You could hear him panting behind you, then finally felt his spent cock slip out of you, trails of cum and slick falling against your thighs.

             You finally began to move, reaching between your legs to pry the remnants of your panties away from your cunt, letting the ravaged fabric fall to the floor where the remains of your dress still lay.

             “Kitten?” Kuroo’s voice was soft, hands even more gentle as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, “are you okay?”

             “Fuck,” you groaned, straightening your back to look at him, to fall into his arms, “that was...exhiliarting.”

             He pressed tender kisses into your neck, tongue soothing over where he had bitten you earlier.

             “God I fucking missed you,” he mumbled into your skin.

             “I missed you too.”

             You turned in his arms, pressing your weary body against his chest, feeling the sweat that had cooled into his white dress shirt. He kissed you slowly, deliberately, the taste of iron still present from his split lip. You embraced him, kissing him back with the same kind of easy passion.

            “I need a drink after that,” you mumbled against his lips.

            “I need new pants.”

             You stepped back and looked down at his black suit trousers, finding them all kinds of soiled with creamy cum. You couldn’t help but laugh, the heaviness of your earlier actions breaking with the sound of your giggles.

             “You normally keep spare clothes in your car, right? In case they get all bloody? Let me get dressed and I’ll go get them for you.”

             You bent down to gather your own ruined clothes, wadding up the fabric of that beautiful dress and dumping it in the bin. You heard Kuroo mutter something about buying you a new one as you sifted through the small closet in your dressing room, slipping on a short cocktail dress and a fresh pair of panties to catch whatever cum was going to continue to leak out of you tonight.

              He was smoking another cigarette as you left him behind in your dressing room to fetch him a new pair of pants, car keys in hand.

             The music of the jazz band was loud as you meandered back and forth between the nightclub. You realized that no one could have heard you screaming over the sound of the plucking bass and the shrill of the trumpet.

             You hurriedly returned to your dressing room, pants in hand.

             You cleaned Kuroo’s lip with a damp cloth as he slung on his fresh pants, the cigarette now between your lips as you did your best to clean the blood from his face.

            “Sorry, I shouldn’t have bitten you so harshly.”

            “Don’t worry about it, made it feel real. I can’t believe you didn’t call the safeword.”

             He plucked the cigarette out of your mouth once he was done buckling his belt, grinning despite the clear cut on his lip.

             “I told you I wanted to play along.”

             You flicked off the lights to your vanity, grabbing his hand to pull him from the room.

            The two of you found empty stools at the bar, Kuroo ordering your favorite drink as a few patrons wandered by to compliment you on your earlier set. You leaned your chin into your palm, keeping your eyes on the handsome, wondrous creature next you. You never knew what each encounter would consist of whenever he came around, but you felt yourself falling deeper into his web every time he fucked you. But you were still a little afraid of his world, but knew you’d be on the mafia’s doorstep if he ever asked you to be.

            You thanked the bartender as your drink arrived, holding the cool glass in your hand.

            “I think tonight deserves a toast, don’t you?”

            That catlike grin was back on his face, amber eyes glowing with mischief.

            “Mhm, what to, Tetsurō?”

             He dipped his glass closer to yours, the rims kissing together.

           “To being daredevils.”

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All Nighter

Previous Parts: Extracurricular Teacher’s Pet

Warnings: noncon/rape; drinking/drunkenness; name calling;

This is a dark! fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Pairing: (Professor) Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: Your academic worries are compounded by your personal dilemma.

Note: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I caved and we get a third part.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Halfway through the lesson, you excused yourself. As Ransom waited at the front and students scoured over an excerpt of Catcher in the Rye, he sent you another jarring message. It was time. 

You stood carefully, the skirt offering little coverage and knowing you were about to be even more exposed. You ducked down as you walked along the front row and disappeared through the door.

You went to the restroom and locked yourself in a stall. Your phone vibed again, still clutched tightly in your hand. ‘Show me.’ He demanded and even in font, the words made you shudder.

You sighed and held your phone out at an angle with one hand as you opened the camera. You directed the lense to your skirt and tugged it up until your purple panties were exposed. You shimmied as you slid them down on either side with your fingers and let them fall past the top of your stockings. You ended the recording and hit send before collecting your crumpled underwear.

You folded them and shoved them up your sleeve and locked your phone. You returned to the class, unnoticed, and sat in your seat with your head down. You bent back the cover of the book and tried to focus on the passage. You could hear Ransom as he rocked in the old office chair.

You peeked up at him as he held his phone up. His face was blank as he watched the screen. His finger tapped the phone and he nodded. He lowered his cell and his eye caught yours before you could shy away. He winked and cleared his throat.

“Alright, everyone, let’s start with a brief summary. Who wants to begin?” He stood and approached the podium again. “Go ahead.”

You blinked and realised he was pointing at you. You let out a prolonged uh and shuffled your book dumbly.

“Um, in this chapter, uh, Holden tells us about his neighbour, Jane, and um,” you squirmed a Ransom stared at you and you felt the attention of every other student in the lecture hall, “As the chapter progresses we learn that Holden has shared with her things, like Allie’s baseball glove, that he hasn’t with anyone else and in turn, eh, erm, Jane’s character disassembles and both Holden and the reader wonder after her alcoholic stepfather and even if he has… a-abused her. Holden prefers to think of her, however, as innocent, and accepts a not very convincing denial. Really, he hears what he wants to and goes on without a single--” You stopped as you began to ramble. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Ransom appeared amused and leaned on the podium. “Okay. Any other interpretations?”

He looked around and you deflated in your chair. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be talking about Jane and her vile stepfather, and you didn’t want your professor to keep looking between your legs. But just like Holden, Ransom couldn’t see anything but his own male ego. Anyone else was just a stepping stone in his grand American narrative.

���️

When class ended, you were as eager as any other to be gone. The two-hour block at seven in the evening was hardly anyone’s ideal, even if it was a weeknight. You slid your notebook away and the used edition of Salinger. You dropped the pens into the side pocket of your worn messenger bag and stood to watch your peers flood out of the classroom.

You wanted badly to be on your way and for an instant, you had a glimmer of hope that you might. But then you heard the deep breath and your name was called from behind you. 

“Just a minute,” he said with all pretense of deceiving any stragglers, “You seem to be missing a page from your assignment.”

You turned slowly and left your bag in the seat. You neared him and your nostrils flared as your gaze met his. It wasn’t even your paper he held. You swallowed back your reticence and pretended to look at the essay. 

“Oh, sorry.” You said as he peered over your shoulder.

“Go on,” he lowered his voice as the upper doors finally closed with a heavy clank. 

You cringed and reached up your sleeve and pulled out your panties. You let them fall onto the folder and he poked his fingers through the fabric and stretched them out. He hummed and rubbed the cotton between his fingers.

“You got anything sexier?” He snatched them up and shoved them in his pocket. “I thought you college girls were funner than that.”

You glared at him and crossed your eyes. “Right, is that everything?”

“Don’t,” he warned, “Sweetie, I don’t like that tone.” 

You huffed and rolled your eyes. He shuffled away his papers as you retreated to grab your own bag. You headed for the door as you unfolded your jacket from over your arm.

“Where are you going? I didn’t dismiss you.” He called from behind you. You turned back and stared at him.

“I have class in the morning.” You said.

“And?” He scoffed. “It’s only nine.”

You were quiet as he approached you. You wanted so badly to scream and hit him. He was a frat boy with tenure. He was as slimy and shady as every guy on campus and you had been deluded enough to think that age and title would change a spoiled brat with a silver spoon still lodged firmly in his mouth. Oh, the naive romanticism of a sophomore.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked.

He snickered and kept on as you backed away from him. He had you against the door as he slapped his hand above your shoulders and loomed over you. He leaned in as his other hand played with the bottom of your shirt.

“Because I can.” He purred, “And because I love the look in your eyes as I’m balls deep.”

“Ew,” you slapped his chest but he didn’t flinch. He merely grabbed your arm and spun you around as he pushed the door open behind you.

“Good thing you took those panties off,” he sneered, “You won’t be needing them.”

🖊️

You spent the car ride hunched against the passenger door, wishing you were anywhere else. Ransom let the radio fill the silence as he barely seemed to recall your presence. He steered with one hand, unbothered by the tension between you. As he pulled up to his house, its tall glass windows and geometric structure thrust you into a whirlwind of deja vu.

He killed the engine and rounded as you remained in your seat. You were too numb to do anything but sit there and stare at the house. You remembered patches of that night; stumbling up the walk, Ransom carrying you up stairs, his body against yours, the disorienting pain of his intrusion.

The door opened and you nearly fell out of the car. The seatbelt kept you from your descent and you unbuckled it as Ransom grabbed your arm and dragged you out into the crisp autumn evening. Your boots tapped melodically as he led you up the paved walk and you found it hard to think straight.

“Wait, wait,” you stopped as you reached the threshold, “No, Ransom, Professor… this is… wrong. You can’t--”

“For such a quiet little bitch you sure don’t shut the fuck up,” he snarled as he unlocked the door, one hand still on your arm. Your blood froze as you thought of your bag on the floor of the car, your phone buried in the side pocket. “Come on.”

“No, please,” you wriggled in his grasp, “You can’t keep doing this to me. I’ll… I’ll tell.”

“Not if I tell first,” he said coolly and bent to sling you over his shoulder. “Now let’s give you something to tell about.”

He pushed through the door and slapped your ass as he carried you inside. You kicked and writhed over his shoulder as he strode into the front room. The lights shone as they were triggered by some unseen sensor.  

He carried you to the modern sofa with its flat cushions and low back, and dropped you onto it gruffly. You bounced and bit your tongue painfully.

“Don’t make me tear those clothes off or you won’t have anything to wear in the morning,” he warned as he kicked off his leather boots and paced along the broad windows that formed the front wall of the room. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on a rack in the corner and turned back to you. “Well…”

You bent to unzip your boots and shoved them aside. You heard a clink and looked over your shoulder. Ransom stood behind the small bar along the far wall and plunked a glass on top.

“Seem to loosen up with a few drinks in you,” he pulled out another tumblr and a bottle of dark whiskey. “This stuffs a lot better than that toilet water they serve in the club.”

You ignored him and stood to remove your jacket. You realised that there was no way out. You kept trying to convince yourself there was but that only made it worse. You hung your coat beside his as he watched you closely and gave a measured pour.

“Here,” he slid a glass across the bar. “Drink up, sweetie.”

“I’m not thirsty,” you ignored him and walked nervously back to the sofa. Was it better to have it done with?

“I don’t care what you want now get over here and drink,” he growled. “Or I’ll force it down that pretty little throat myself.”

You blanched and slowly crossed to the bar. You took the short glass and raised it, the alcohol made your nose tingle. He watched you as he drained his own tumbler. You tossed it back in three stinging gulps and coughed as you set the glass back on the bar. He chuckled and poured again, but didn’t add any to his empty glass.

“Again.” He ordered.

“Please, I can’t--” You waved your hand as you touched your raw throat. He stared at you and his jaw twitched. You pouted and lifted the glass again. You drank with tears in your eyes and gasped as you swigged it down. “There.” You choked as you planted the tumblr on the bar top. 

He reached over as if to pour some more and grinned as he hovered the bottle over your glass. He laughed and lowered it down onto its base instead. “Good girl.” He came out from behind the bar and neared you, drawing you away with him. “But you’re not naked yet.”

He thrust you ahead of him and you stumbled to the sofa. Your wits were buzzing from the whiskey and your empty stomach rolled. You hadn’t eaten since the early afternoon, right before your second lecture. You were wholly unprepared for the alcohol and the man before you.

You reached and tugged at the bottom of your turtleneck. You pulled it up and freed your head from it with a grunt. You dropped it onto the sofa and Ransom touched your shoulder where he’d bit you days before. It was still tender and made you wince. You unbuttoned your skirt and pushed the zipper down. It fell to your ankles without much effort.

Ransom’s hands went to your chest and he fondled your tits through your plain bra. He reached around you and unhooked it easily, yanking it down your arms and flinging it away. His fingers danced along your side and you hooked your thumb under the top of your stockings.

“Uh uh,” he tutted, “Keep those on.”

You retracted your hand and he gripped your shoulders. He pushed until you sat on the sofa and he backed away slightly. His tongue poked out as he took you in and he grinned. He pulled his knit sweater over his head and threw it on the floor. He made quick work of his undershirt and revealed his muscled torso. You squeezed your legs together and stared at your knees.

“We both know those college boys are nothing compared to me, sweetie,” he teased as you heard the buckle of his belt. “It’s okay, you can have a peek.”

You didn’t say anything as you listened to him strip. When he neared, you couldn’t bring yourself to look up. He grabbed your chin and forced your head up. His other hand moved below your vision as he stroked himself. 

“Get up,” he demanded and you stood with a sway. The whiskey stormed inside of you.

His hand fell to your arm and he dragged you away from the sofa. He directed you towards the tall windows and you shivered as you got closer. He stopped you before the glass and brought your hands up and planted them against the window. You felt the chill through it as he grasped your hips and drew your feet back. You stared out onto the drive, the street barely visible just beyond the curve, although you could see the lights of the neighbour’s house.

“What--”

“Shhh,” he tickled your spine and groped your ass roughly. “Stay just like that, sweetie.”

He slipped his hand down and kicked your feet apart. He felt along your folds and you shivered as his warmth contrasted against the cold seeping through the glass. Bumps rose along your skin as he poked around your entrance.

“Wet, already.” He tisked, “I thought you were a good girl.”

You shook your head and closed your eyes as he reached to your clit and rubbed it with two fingers. You gasped as he teased you and drew back to shove a finger inside you. He grabbed your shoulder as your back arched and stepped closer. He pulled his hand away and prodded you with his tip again.

“Professor…” You hissed.

His hand went to the back of your neck and he pushed your face against the glass as he slowly forced his tip inside of you. You groaned and turned so that your cheek rested against the cool window and he impaled you entirely. You slapped the glass and your fingers curled as he filled you.

“Ah,” you whined and he bucked so that your whole body quaked.

“Still so fucking tight,” he rocked against you as his thick breaths surrounded you. “You had me hard all night, sweetie. I could barely fucking stand straight.”

He tilted his hips into you as you were on tiptoes and your legs began to tremble beneath you. You clung to the glass, afraid you might collapse. He nuzzled your head and growled as sped up. You moaned without thinking as your walls clenched around him.

“That’s it,” he hummed and dropped his hand from your neck, trailing both along your chest and stomach. He hunched over you as he felt around the back of your thighs and panted into your hair. “You can play coy all you want but your cunt says it all.”

His hands stretched across your thighs and you exclaimed as he suddenly scooped you up. He bent your legs to your chest as he lifted you and your fingertips slid along the glass. He hooked his arms under your knees and opened you up as he hammered into you from below. 

He stepped closer to the window and you braced yourself against it as your reflection stared back at you. The inky dark was clouded by the glare of the light inside and revealed to you your shame. Your eyes drifted down and you saw how easily he slid in and out of you.

Your legs tensed around his arms and your breath hitched. You shut your eyes as your mouth fell open and felt your core bloom. You were close, so close, and you needed to cum. You didn’t care that it was him or that it was here; you had to.

You kept one hand on the window and snaked your other down to your cunt. You flicked circles around your clit as the sound of your flesh mingled with his. He crashed into you harder and harder and snarled into your neck.

“You fucking slut,” he rasped, “You touching yourself? Huh? You fucking like it.” He pulled your legs further apart until your hips rang with pain. “Bad girl.”

You spasmed and came with a squeak. You felt yourself dripping down his cock as the warmth leaked from you. You smacked your slick hand against the window again and bit down on your lip as he rutted into you with gristly grunts.

“Say it. You’re a bad girl.” He puffed.

“Wha--”

“Say it,” he slammed into you hard.

“I’m-- I’m a… bad… girl,” you choked out. “Oh, oh, I’m bad.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said frantically and stilled you. He sniffed and held you on him. “Get…” His voice trailed off and he lifted you from him.

He lowered you swiftly and your legs wobbled dangerously beneath you. He grabbed the back of your neck and forced you to your knees. He brought you close as he stroked himself desperately.

“I’m gonna cum on your tits, sweetie,” he moaned, “I’m gonna--”

He grunted and strings of cum erupted from him as he angled his dick over you. His cum spurted over your chest and shoulders, even along your chin and cheek as his body shook and his fingers sank into your neck. He twitched as he slowed his hand and sighed as he let his cock bob freely before him.

“Mmm,” he let go of you and looked down at you with a smirk, “You look amazing covered in me.” 

He ran his hands over his chest and exhaled. You tried to stand and he caught your shoulder. “Crawl.” He ordered. “Get on the sofa and wait for me, sweetie.” He ran his finger through the cum along your cheek, “I won’t be long.”

🖊️

You woke in a fog. Your thighs, your hips, your cunt all ached. Your eyes fluttered open and you stared up at the pristine white ceiling. You were sprawled flat on the stiff sofa, alone. Your mouth was dry and your tongue tasted of flesh and alcohol. You groaned and sat up as your head reverberated. The sky outside was a dull grey and the clock above the door read just before seven. Fuck.

Your name floated in from the doorway at the other end of the room. You hung your head and stood. You took the throw draped over the back of the chair beside the couch and covered yourself. You neared the arch and peeked inside. Ransom poured a cup of coffee from a French press.

“You’re gonna be late if you don’t get your ass in gear,” he said smugly as he pushed the mug across the island.

You grumbled and crossed to the marble counter. You climbed up onto a tall stool and winced at the tenderness between your legs. The coffee smelled delicious as your stomach churned.

“Don’t worry, you can ride with me,” he taunted. “What time you done today?”

You frowned and took a boiling sip, barely noticing how the coffee seared your tongue. “Four… why?”

“Hmm, that’ll be a long day,” he said. “But not… too long.”

His cryptic words made you scowl and he left you without explanation. He returned with a pink box and his phone. He placed both on the counter. You watched him, confused, and he eased the lid off the box. Inside, was a silicon plug in hot pink. You shook your head.

“No.” You said firmly.

“It’s for your cunt, calm down,” he said.

“No,” you repeated and cradled your mug. “Ransom…”

“Professor. I think I prefer ‘professor’. It’s… proper.”

You snorted and rolled your eyes. He flicked his finger over his phone and it unlocked. He tapped and you leaned on your elbow. He pressed his finger against the centre of the circle that appeared and the box began to buzz as the plug vibrated. He dragged his finger around the circle and the toy intensified. You blinked.

“We’ll save that fun for class tomorrow night,” he licked his lip, “For now, you just need to… adjust.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, come on. You take me well enough.” He slithered. “Gotta have you ready… I have a break just after five. I expect you can hit pause on your studying for a visit.”

You were stunned. You set the cup down and rubbed your cheeks as you tried to process it all.

“You’re disgusting.” You sneered.

“Oh,” he closed the app and searched through his phone. He turned it to you and hit place, “So are you, sweetie.”

You squinted as you saw yourself against the glass, your tits bouncing as Ransom fucked you from behind, his own face hidden by the angle of the security camera. You swallowed and your hands went to your neck as your skin burned with humiliation.

“You…” you were speechless and tore your eyes way from his phone.

“I have a lot more than that,” he assured you as he spun the phone back to him and watched the footage with a leer, “Hurry up.” He locked the screen. “Or I’ll make sure we’re both late.”

[just-the-hiddles]

For old fashioned DDs: “I want to watch you take off your clothes.”

Okay so for this drabble for @the-th-horniest-book-club I picked Loki.

It Tastes Like Melon

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Summary: You imbibe on too many Hulk Smash Cocktails and get a little tipsy.

Warnings: Drunkness, nakedness, striptease

-

Loki never seemed to enjoy Stark’s parties. They were too loud, too garish and all around too much, much like Tony himself.

“So tell me what is a good looking guy like you doing all alone at nice party like this?”

Loki turned around and smiled to see you there. “Waiting for his terminally late girlfriend to show up.” He grabbed your waist and pulled you to his side.

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry, my last patient would not shut up. But I’m here now, all for you.”

Loki’s lips tickled your ear. “And only for me. Let’s get out of here. I have…” He kissed right below your ear. “… plans for us.”

You pouted. “But I just got here. I didn’t even get a drink or to taste any of the food.”

Loki snatched a drink off a tray, it was bright green. “Here you go, something called a Hulk Smash.” He wrinkled his nose at it. “Don’t ask about the color. And the rest of the fare is just as dreadful named and colored. Now come, darling.” He tugged you away.

You sipped the drink and your eyes perked up. “Ooo, melon, I love Midori.” You grabbed two more after downing the first one while Loki managed to pull you all the way to the elevator.

“Why do you continue to drink those vile things?”

You tossed the second cup away. “They taste like melon. I don’t think they have that much alcohol.” You hiccupped once, then again.

You leaned against Loki, sipping on the third and final drink. “You smell pretty.”

Loki smirked down at you. “Darling, you are tipsy.”

You giggled at him. “You said ‘titsy’.”

“I said ‘tipsy’ not ‘titsy’. That’s not even a word. But I like where your mind is.”

“In the gutter?”

“Precisely.” The elevator dinged open and Loki dragged to his quarters.

You stumbled after Loki, flopping onto the bed and sitting up, giggling.

“What is so funny, my love?”

“Nothing. Just a funny image in my head.”

Loki’s brow raised. “Does my little dove have a dirty fantasy, something naughty in that mind of yours.”

“I want to watch you take off your clothes.” you purred, leaning towards him.

“Is that all?” He lifted his hand.

“NO! I want you to make it sexy. Like a striptease. No magic.”

Loki stood there for a moment, watching you lick your lips.

“Do you mean like this?” He peeled his jacket off slowly, dropping it to the floor.

“Yes, Loki, just like that.” You scooted back towards the pillows, stretching out on the bed.

“And this?” Loki untucked his shirt and undid the buttons one by one, revealing his muscular torso underneath. The shirt landed on the floor.

“Yes…” you breathed, your voice soft.

Loki pulled his belt off and pushed his pants down to the floor, leaving him completely bare as he crawled onto the bed towards you.

“Here I am, darling. Bare and ready to ravish you.” Silence. “Love?”

All he heard was you softly snoring, worn out by work and helped along by the copious amounts of alcohol.

Loki huffed back onto the pillows, throwing the covers over him. “Next time, no drinks.”

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone's Symphony | Day Two | Persephone

Hey my lovelies a month later here is the next installment! When I was planning my chapters out a month or so ago I wrote at the top of this one "Sunny day, go outside, FLUFFY" (exact words)-- I regret to inform you that this is almost pure angst LOL. I deviated from that but the next chapter should bring some much needed fluff. Thank you all for your patience and support-- it means the entire world to me. All my love, until next time <3

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: Mentions of death, anxiety, PTSD, nightmares, angst things, self-hatred, terrible Greek myth references, this ones big angst but necessary for the plot line

Word count: 5.2k

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Master List

He likes his coffee iced.

Black and iced.

She watches as Bucky lifts the glass— the one filled with more cubes than coffee— to his lips, wincing when his throat bobs. It’s seven in the morning. Sure, neither of them slept that much last night— something which makes her gut twist, knowing quite well that it’s her fault— but still. It can’t be as refreshing as he’s making it look. Iced coffee is meant for afternoons. And meant with as much sugar and cream as she can get her hands on. Never just straight dark roast. She clutches her own mug closer to her, taking a sip of the warm, sweet liquid. This is how it should be.

“Got something you wanna’ say, doll?” He takes another sip and she scrunches her nose, both trying to keep her eyes off his pink lips and trying not to force her own mug into his hands— she would be doing him a favor.

If the slight smirk— the millimeter tick in his cheek— is anything to go by then she would say he knows how hard this is for her. A sadist. His lips pull up a touch higher, as though reading her mind. A handsome sadist. Her face flushes under his gaze and she drags in a lungful of air through her nose, holding it for a moment— one, two, three moments— before blowing it back out her mouth.

She lets the hint of coffee leftover on her tongue carve a syrupy smile across her face. “Nope— nothing at all.”

He nods once, blue eyes creasing at the corners as he stares at her from over the glass. He knows. He lazily swirls the coffee, the ice cubes clinking together. Mocking her. She clenches her jaw, fighting the growing urge to snatch the bitter drink and dump it down the sink. The liquid is so dark that she almost gags, picturing what it must taste like. Bitter. Tangy. Vile. It’s the same color as his hair— brown but practically black. Unlike his hair, though, she doesn’t want to be anywhere near that coffee. He needs something warm. Something soft.

Something like her—

“You sure?” Bucky’s voice is mocking too but lacking the ice— the bitterness— his mocking is sweet.

He’s tilting his head now, his black and gold hand settling on the table between them, glinting in the dregs of sunlight starting to break past the curtain. To think yesterday she had been afraid to meet his gaze— afraid of her own feet creaking against the hardwood and of messing up his lunch. Now look at her, less than twenty-four hours later and she can’t look away from him. She doesn’t want to look away. Forget about being afraid to burn the grilled-cheese— she’s about to spartan kick the glass off the table if he takes one more sip.

“Oh I’m sure.” She simpers, fingers curling a touch tighter around her mug. “Why, is there something you would like to say, Bucky?”

His eyes sparkle, not backing down from the challenge. “Nothing at all.”

In that moment— in the one, two, three moments that it takes for his head to slope to the other side, still tilted but somehow more taunting— it’s almost impossible to hold in the scowl threatening her lips. “I see.”

She doesn’t know what she’s expecting but it certainly isn’t Bucky’s laugh— loud and raspy and rushing over her in a tidal wave of energy stronger than the caffeine on her tongue— as he throws his head back. He had laughed yesterday but it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t so pure. It’s all she can do to hold her breath as his eyes flutter closed, creasing at the corners, and wonder if she looks that wonderful when she laughs too. If she, too, looks like an angel falling from the sun, burning in the inkling of light the curtain allows. Does the kitchen haze halo around her hair as well? Does it make it look like her skin is gold— the same way he looks like a statue, sculpted and frozen from precious metal?

There’s just no way.

“You look like you wanna’ leap across the table—” his hand presses against his mouth, flesh fingers closed in a fist as his shoulders shake— “why— why do you look so determined? C’mon, fill me in please— I’m—” he has to pause, laugh turning silent from the force of it— “I’m dyin’ here.”

Her own laughs come in short huffs, airy and just barely making a noise. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep finally getting her— that would explain both of their laughs actually. She hasn’t felt giddy in months. It kind of hurts, how hard her stomach contracts upon seeing his eyes blinking at her, bright blue and glassy, swallowing his chuckles the same way she gasps for the breath needed to answer him.

She finally caves, finger pointing to the glass in front of him and a smile so wide on her lips that her cheeks hurt. “There’s just no way that tastes good.”

He glances down, looking at his offensive beverage, before looking back up, his eyes brighter than she’s yet to have seen them. “That’s what this is about? My coffee? I knew it.”

Nodding, she lifts her own mug, tilting it just enough for him to see the contents. “This is coffee— not that sludge. That cold sludge. Is there any sugar in there? Like, even one grain?”

“Quit bein’ dramatic—” he snorts— apparently the big bad bodyguard snorts— and it’s cuter than she would like to admit— “just because I don’t load my coffee with additives. S’there even any coffee in yours, doll? It looks more like milk if you ask me.”

Her face flushes hot and she doesn’t know if it’s from the nickname or the fact that he just called her out— so what if she likes sugar and cream?

She meets his smug gaze with her own, narrowed-eyed glance. “Sugar and cream aren’t additives, Bucky— they’re good.”

“But not good for you.” He counters, dark brows quirking.

She scoffs— scoff, swoon, same thing— “Not everything has to be a superfood to be healthy— at least mine isn’t iced.”

Bucky’s eyes glint upon hearing that, picking up his glass and swirling the ice cubes once more before taking a long sip. His eyes never leave hers as he peers over the rim, taking his sweet time to down the liquid. Does he know that even when he’s being arrogant he looks like an angel? Her hand curls tighter around her mug, testing the durability of the ceramic as his throat bobs again. Her palm stings in warning— a little hey maybe you should let go. She doesn’t— somehow shattering the mug seems like a better option than breaking her composure.

Her grip loosens a fraction when he finally sets his glass back down. “What’s wrong with iced coffee— isn’t it a California staple?”

“Not before eight it isn’t.”

“It’s refreshing.” He deadpans.

“It’s cold.” She deadpans back, fingers tapping against her mug— maybe she can hypnotize him into not wanting to finish it. “Californians don’t like the cold. At least not in So-Cal we don’t. Maybe Brooklyn’s different.”

Eyeing his drink, she contemplates the schematics of the mission at hand. It truly doesn’t seem that difficult. She could just reach over and grab it and he wouldn’t even see it coming. He’s already distracted, right? She stops tapping, casually— well, as casual as one can be when actually trying to be— laying her palm on the table. His eyes, thankfully, stay glued to her own, lips parting with a huff.

“New Yorkers just want coffee, no time for all that fancy stuff.”

“Oh yeah?” She drawls. “What does fancy stuff entail exactly?”

She can only hope that her voice sounds interested— her eyes are still locked on his but her attention is entirely elsewhere. She needs to keep him talking— to keep him distracted. His huffs as she crawls her fingers closer, drawing his focus to her shrug, making sure he never glances away. This is too easy.

“All that cappuccino, frappuccino, whatever the hell it’s called nowadays—”

This time she huffs. “Is that what you think we drink?”

She inches her palm even closer to his glass—

“I know it’s what you drin— Hey!” Bucky laughs again, tugging his glass towards him with a cheshire grin— okay so maybe he would see it coming— “keep your hands where I can see them—”

Whatever he says next falls deaf into the space between them, cut off by the sudden rushing of blood in her ears. It’s like his words hit a barrier between them, one hastily constructed of thin glass and terror. Every thought of coffee rushes out of her mind in an instant. She blinks, mouth going dry, heart stopping. A switch flips inside her— keep your hands where I can see them or what?

What did he hear?

He must have heard something.

Why can’t she hear him?

She can see him— see the way his lips form around his sentence, his smile starting to wane but still slightly holding in place— but she can’t hear him. She can see the way his laugh drops but she can’t hear the explosion of it hitting the table. She can only perceive the collision in the fall of his lips, echoed in the creasing of his brows. Her hands catch in mid air, hitting the glass as well— she can’t save it. Him. She’s trying— instinctively reaching for him— but she can’t pull the smile back up or smooth the lines on his forehead. She’s helpless— useless.

He knows— he must know.

What did she say last night?

Why can’t she break the glass?

The wall is too much.

She tries to tell Bucky— I’m so scared I can’t breathe— but when her gaze snaps to his none of the blue that she’s been memorizing for the last day is visible. There’s only blackness— blackness in the now dimming light of the bright room and blackness in his eyes, even the whites, and blackness in her own vision as she, too, drops. One minute she’s there, sitting at the table, watching the confusion pool into his features that were only seconds ago coated in mirth, and then next she’s back. She’s dreaming. She’s in the house that haunts her every night.

She’s not asleep but—

She’s in the coat closet of her parent’s home. It still smells the way she remembers— like sunscreen and lemon Pine-Sol. Her mother uses it to keep the wooden fixtures around the house oiled. Apparently that’s a thing. She’s never really understood why but at least it smells nice— like sunshine and laughter and her mother. Like her home. She doesn’t understand but, regardless, any other time she would be closing her eyes and drawing in as much of the citrus as possible, too content to be confused.

Not today, though— she’s too excited to do any such thing today.

She hasn’t told anyone that she’s coming home for the weekend; she wants it to be a surprise. Her brother always surprises her. His birthday is just around the corner and for once she wants to be the one to do the surprising. Hell, she even bought a cake with an inscription— the very same cake that’s nestled next to her feet as she rummages through the shelves. Happy 29th Birthday! She has a whole plan in place. Have Susan drop her off while her family is out and set up the celebration before they return. It isn’t a hard plan. It’s supposed to be simple— not hard and very simple.

And then the door opens.

Not the closet door but the front door. She hears the familiar tread of her family— her mother’s eco-friendly slip-ons and her fathers clunky, also eco-friendly, sandals, followed by the heavy thudding of her brother’s combat boots. Despite her mother’s pleading— and the fact that he hasn’t been deployed in over a year— he still wears them religiously. Still, her interest peaks— it doesn’t make sense. The only time he doesn’t wear them is when he goes to the beach and she could have sworn one of them had sent her a text earlier today asking if she had wanted to go with them—

“Keep your hands where I can see them, you hear me!”

She freezes, hands clamping around the towel in her grasp as she whirls around and squints through the grate in the closet door. She can’t make out everything in front of her but she can make out enough to know that something isn’t right. There are four people standing in the foyer. Not three— not just her mother, brother, and father— but four. She sees her mother shoved behind her father, his arm curled around her hip, and her brother, his hands held out in front of him towards the fourth person. His face, while slightly distorted from the grate, is terrified. Him— the man who’s faced the worst of the war— terrified.

Something is terribly wrong.

She pushes her gaze to the fourth figure, trying desperately to understand what’s happening. Dressed in all black, their back towards her, there isn’t much to go off of. Their stance is rigid, steps heavy as they slam the front door and lock it. Is her family being robbed? Is that what this is? She knows they’re well off— more than that. She knows her family is rich. But her neighbourhood is guarded— enclosed. She’s never heard of something like this happening—

She bites back a scream as the person shouts at her family, voice staticy as it crackles through what sounds like a modifier. “On your knees— now!”

Her mother’s cry rings through the air, piercing her chest like a bullet. She wants to scream too but something inside her catches the sound before she can. Maybe it’s common sense— her street smarts coming out to play for once in her life. Maybe it’s fear— the scream dissipating into a barely audible huff of air as she watches her brother sink wordlessly to the floor. Solidarity, perhaps. Maybe, though, it's the slab of iron in the person’s hand, pressed against her father’s head and winking at her in the bright foyer light.

A gun— whoever is in her home has a gun and is pointing it at her family.

“Please don’t hurt my family—” it’s her father this time, his hands in the air and voice deadly calm— how he manages that she has no idea— “I’ll give you whatever you want. Money, jewelry, whatever you want, it’s yours— just please don’t hurt them.”

It’s surreal— she’s heard that phrase in movies and shows— hell, she heard it in a theatre production one time— a macabre commentary about something she couldn’t remember if her life depended on it— does her life depend on it right now?— of course it doesn’t snap out of it y/n! She’s losing her mind, her throat is burning and her palms are starting to sting— the point is she never thought she would hear those words said aloud. She certainly never thought they would come from her own father as he covers her mother’s body with his own.

“I don’t want your money!” The intruder growls, their voice so low and grainy that she almost doesn’t understand.

What she does understand is the sharp click of the gun’s safety being released— she understands the way the muscles in her body tense all at once. In that moment the unthinkable happens—

She drops the towel.

It doesn’t make much of a sound at all, only a small thud as it falls, but it’s enough to make her jolt backwards, foot landing heavy in her brother’s cake. The heady scent of the cream-cheese icing melds with the Pine-Sol and she has to swallow the vomit that rises in her throat, not daring to lift her foot let alone move an inch as the hulking figure rises.

They spin around quickly, facing the closet with a covered face and squinted black eyes, and her heart stops dead in her chest. Can they see her? Do they know she’s in there? She had made a beeline for the closet when Susan dropped her off, not bothering to stop long enough to kick her shoes off until inside the small space. She hasn’t even turned the light on— there’s been enough pouring in through the grate to do without. Perhaps there’s a chance they don’t know she’s here.

She holds her breath as the figure steps forward, arms pressed tightly to her chest. Whoever it is get’s so close to the grate that for a moment she can’t see her family at all. It’s only a few seconds before they turn away— logically it can’t be more or else she’d be gasping for air— but it feels like a lifetime, her toes curling in the red-velvet and a steady bead of sweat rolling down the back of her neck. She prays the entire time— she doesn’t know to who— she doesn’t know if she’s being heard— but she prays.

And the figure turns around.

Her hands fly to her jeans immediately, frantically pressing against the material but coming away empty. Fuck— where the hell is her cellphone? She could have sworn it was in her pocket! She wracks her brain, trying to think of where it could be. She hadn’t brought her purse or a coat— why would she, she was only going home. She has both of those things in her bedroom upstairs. She had just slipped her debit card into her phone case and ran to meet Susan—

Fuck— no, no, no!

An image of Susan’s console jumps into her mind, her phone sitting in the cupholder, forgotten as she animatedly waves her hands around. She can’t even remember the story she’d been telling now. It was nothing important— now she knows that. Nothing important enough to warrant forgetting her phone. She never forgets her phone.

She sees movement from the corner of her eye and her gaze darts to her mother whose head is now turned towards the closet, her eyes— the very eyes she’s spent years wishing she could have inherited instead of her father’s because they’re just so lovely— locked on hers. They pierce through the thin opening, softening a fraction, and her heart jumps, restarting.

She sees her.

She knows— her mother knows that she’s there. She’s watching and she knows. It’s both relieving and terrifying, knowing that she isn’t alone but also what would happen if she’s caught. Y/n’s lips peel open instinctively and, ever her persistent mother, she shakes her head. It takes everything in her to not call out for her— to not burst through the closet doors and rush into her arms. But her mother’s instincts have always been better than her own.

So she doesn’t speak— doesn’t move— she just watches.

It all happens so fast— the time it would take someone to blink is the time it takes to watch everything she’s ever known crumble.

She watches as the intruder turns, deciding that the closet is empty and that there are more important matters. Matters meaning her family. Matters meaning the gun in their hand.

She watches as her brother lunges forward, his arms wrapping around the intruder and bringing them both to the ground with a thud that threatens to bring the entire house down around them. It all happens in slow motion— yet another thing she never thought she would experience off the big screen. They roll around for a moment, battling for control. For that moment her chest sags— he’s going to win. He’s a trained soldier and he’s strong and his birthday is in three days. He has to win.

But then a gunshot rings through the air and a cloud of smoke erupts from between their bodies.

And one of them slumps but it isn’t the one in the mask.

It smells like fireworks, the gunpowder. Like the fourth of July or labor day weekend. Like she should be celebrating with the neighborhood and not pressing her fist against her mouth, helpless as her brother’s body caves in on itself. She doesn’t even get time to process the crimson pooling from the corner of his mouth as his head slots towards her before the intruder is back on their feet.

She watches as the monster aims the gun again— matters being dealt with— and she watches as her mother nods ever so slightly, her mouth just barely forming one last ‘I love you’— different matters but she would later come to find that they were also being closed. Her mother has never been one to leave things unresolved.

The second gunshot doesn’t smell like fireworks— it smells like lemon Pine-Sol.

It smells like blood.

No, she’s not asleep but she’s definitely not awake.

In hindsight maybe she should have taken that breath. She would have, had she known. Hindsight is funny like that. No. Funny is the wrong word. Hindsight is cruel like that. Better. It makes her wish that she had just closed her eyes— that she smelled the lemon oil one last time before it mingled with the metal of her family’s death. In hindsight she wouldn’t have left her phone in Susan’s car. Or dropped the towel. Or said no to the beach. Or any other thing that led her to stand in the coat closet. And those are just the things she wouldn’t do.

She still can’t think about the things she would do— not without bile rushing into her mouth.

Bucky clears his throat and— like the towel— the mug almost slips from her fingers.

“You sure you don’t want to talk ‘bout it?” His voice is gentle— well, as gentle as she’s sure he can make it— and that’s all she needs to understand that he really has no idea as to what’s going on in her head.

Surely if he did then he wouldn’t be gazing at her with that look in his eyes.

Shrugging, she keeps her attention focused on her mug— the coffee doesn’t look nearly as appetizing as it had before. She raises it anyway, her lips sealing around the porcelain and pulling in another mouthful of the liquid. Somehow, despite the steam that had been rising from it only minutes ago, it’s ice cold now. She grimaces but swallows it anyway, if only to buy herself a few seconds to think of a suitable answer. Maybe that’s why Bucky drinks it too— as a distraction. As a guise.

The mug thunks off the table when she sets it down, her hand landing much heavier than she intends. Of course it does— gods can she ever do anything normally? She winces, passing him a look she hopes conveys that it was an accident. She doesn’t want him to think she’s angry with him. Not when it feels like he’s the only person she isn’t mad at. These days that’s hard to come by. Thankfully his blue eyes remain soft. Maybe he gets it.

“I, uh—” she twists her fingers together, dropping her gaze to his cheek— this isn’t the kind of thing you say while looking someone in the eye. Maybe she’s just a coward, though— “I had a dream. Erm— about that night. A memory. Kind of.”

Her voice cracks and she swallows, trailing off. She didn’t mean to say the last part but it’s like it forced itself past her lips, her psyche unable— unwilling— to withhold the truth from him. Well, not all of it at least.

It’s not the whole story. It’s not even close. What she doesn’t say is that it’s her fault. All of it. That if she had just acted— if she had done anything at all worth something then she would still have her parents. Her brother. That she may as well have killed them herself because she sure as hell didn’t do anything to stop it. She doesn’t tell him that she’s nothing but a scared, stupid girl who— when it came down to it— froze. A monster— The Queen of Death.

Aren’t queens supposed to save the people they care about?

“A memory?” He sounds confused but all she can see is the grain of the table, her eyes now refusing to look at even his skin.

It’s all she can do to play off the way her chin drops— the way the air gets sucked out of her lungs— as a nod. “Yeah.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything in return and she’s not about to pick her chin up from her chest to demand an answer. She likes him. She doesn’t exactly want him to know she’s a killer. Well, more so than he already does. He’s here, though, so it’s not like he doesn’t know that the people closest to her always end up dead. Mother, father, brother— dead, dead, dead. He just doesn’t know the extent of it— or that she’s the harbinger.

That there’s a little part of her that wonders if he’s going to end up dead too just for sitting across from her.

Would she save him or would she only watch from the closet as his body caved to the floor?

Bucky hums softly— reverently— and she remembers the way his skin had glowed only minutes ago— Icarus meeting the sun— and the way he had laughed— Icarus humming his praise to the sun— and she feels like she’s been submerged in ice.

Icarus falling.

What happens when Icarus hits the ocean? Will it smell like lemon Pine-Sol?

Nevermind, she doesn’t want to know the answer.

Bile pools over her tongue and she swallows it as a tapping sound catches her attention in the stillness, her eyes darting to the cause. Sparkling metal— his fingers. The gold gleams even more now that the sun has risen higher. It’s not raining today— was it raining the day Icarus fell? She can’t tear her gaze away from his metal digits as they thrum a beat against the table, the steady motion mesmerizing. It’s not raining but his fingers could fool her. It’s nothing dramatic— nothing harsh. Just the tap, tap, tap of his index and middle fingers, a little heavier than had it been his flesh hand.

It’s a normal motion— she misses normal.

Tap, tap, tap.

She misses the rain.

It hits her like a truck how much she longs for the grey haze of yesterday’s sky. The sun is too bright— her skin is too exposed. It feels like it’s beaming right through her hoodie, cutting through the heavy fabric and burning the flesh from her bones just to prove that they’re not the ivory they should be but rather charred and black. It feels like the sun is out for her blood— out to watch the citrus ichor drip from her veins through the veiled window. If her feet weren’t rooted to the floor, her toes digging painfully into the harwood, she’s sure she would be sinking below the table to escape the rays. She can’t breathe— her mouth tastes like acid. Like lemons.

She misses the rain.

Tap, tap, tap— it’s not the rain but surely it’s close enough, right?

Icarus would think it’s enough, right?

So why does it make her shoulders tense?

“A memory.” Bucky breaks the silence, repeating his words but this time they aren’t a question— not yet. “What d’you mea—” he stops, sentence dropping before picking up on a new, clearer note— “You were there?”

Maybe because it’s the sound of the puzzle pieces clicking together in his head.

It’s not an accusation— there’s no charge in his tone— but still she flinches, hands pressed together at the wrists, fingers tangled together, guilty. She’s yet to confess but she’s already been caught— she can feel it— red handed in red velvet and wondering if— when she glances past the table— she’ll see her foot still smeared in the cream cheese icing. She had stood in it for so long that she wouldn’t doubt it. It’s a part of her now.

She nods, not trusting her voice. Not trusting herself to not reveal more than she already has. She isn’t being accused but her heart is pounding so hard that she feels like she’s in the interrogation room again. She wiggles her toes— are they sticky or is she just imagining it? Her shoulders burn where the sun has managed to cut through the crack in the curtain. She misses the rain.

Tap, tap, ta— his fingers stop.

Her eyes dart back to his metal hand, the black and gold frozen mid tap.

“Holy shit—” there’s a pause, his fingers flex before straightening, flattening against the table before— “they didn’t tell me that.”

Bucky’s voice is so low that she almost doesn’t hear it— she probably wasn’t supposed to. She has to force herself to keep her gaze leveled below his, her voice steady despite the fact that she’s almost certain the sun has seared through her vocal cords. Her throat burns. Maybe he wasn’t so far off with the iced coffee after all. She wouldn’t mind it right now.

“I wasn’t sure if they would.” She croaks and then winces, swallowing before her throat can close on it’s own— she needs at least the semblance of control.

It’s the truth— she didn’t know. It would have made sense to tell him, though. It would have been polite, at the very least. She’s damaged, they should have told him. Watch out. They should have given him the papers— the records of the month she spent in a hospital bed. They should have told him. Maybe they were trying to help her— maybe they were trying to save him. But they should have warned him regardless.

She’s unstable; she’s liable to shut down in the worst moments.

She doesn’t sleep at night; she just screams and screams and screams.

She’s deadly; she won’t help you, Icarus.

His fingers start again but this time it sounds less like rain.

Tap, tap, tap. Mother, father, brother.

“They should have.” Bucky grinds out, voice thick— angry? “They should have told me.”

Is he angry with her? She squeezes her hands together tighter, her nails digging into her knuckles. Please no. She shouldn’t have said anything— she should have kept her mouth shut. Isn’t that supposed to be the one thing she’s good at? Not speaking out? Not talking? The thought of the dark haired man being angry at her is like poison in her blood. The tension rolls over her bones in a heavy wave, settling like a blanket, suffocating her.

She can’t breathe.

She needs to breathe.

“I know—” she pushes through her teeth, voice finally cracking— “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t know who she’s apologizing to— Bucky already told her not to apologize to him. She can’t help it though, the words are always on her tongue. Always haunting her.

I’m sorry I didn’t go to the beach— I know I missed a lot of family trips last year.

I’m sorry I left my phone in Susan’s car— I know you’re always telling me how forgetful I am.

I’m sorry I missed your birthday— I just wanted it to be a surprise.

Her skin itches, toes curling against the hardwood and the icing. It hurts. Everything hurts. The sun— the Pine-Sol. The sticky tinge to her skin where the blood had spattered through the grate. She needs out.

Tap, tap, tap. Mother, father, brother. Dead, dead, de— if she doesn’t get out of here right now there’s a good chance she’s going to explode.

“Do— ah— do you think maybe it would be okay to get some fresh air?”

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