#PROD. BY SMASH

[chickensoupleg]

oooh ok if you’re wanting prompts- robin chrissy and heather’s days off finally align, but they all have different things they want to do together. do they bicker? make a plan? compromise?? 👀

So I'm imagining they all have entirely separate jobs because of course they do. Robin's got her job doing whatever, let's say she's managed to snag a job (With Steve of course that's her work best friend never leave home without him) at the local Waffle House so her work hours are weird and sometimes she's going to bed the moment her wives wake up, Chrissy is working as a gymnastic coach, and Heather has somehow gotten herself into being a volunteer firefighter. Chrissy has the most flexible schedule (Get it) out of all of them.

They do love their jobs, but man is it brutal on their date nights.

Eventually they do manage to get a weekend together, and of course they don't want to waste it!

Problem is the how. Heather just wants to have a normal date night so she wants to go out and eat after a nice walk around town. Robin doesn't want to be near a restaurant because she is positive the waitress mentality will embarrass her in front of everyone ('Babe you work at a Waffle House it's not that fancy.') ('Heather baby my sweet sweet flaming ball of my miserable yet enchanting life I will accidentally walk into the kitchen if I'm not careful.') ('... Robbie why would you be in the kitchen?') ('Tickets.') ('Ah.')

Chrissy wants to spend the entire time in the house, cuddled up with each other and being lesbian wives doing lesbian wife things like holding hands and see how close they are to succumbing to building furniture for fun. As sweet and relaxing as that sounds somehow it feels like a waste just being home and doing absolutely nothing. They're not gonna have this much time again for a long while they might as well use it! (They do sleep in bed a little longer together regardless. Chrissy is a lump in the blankets, Robin has sprawled over everything, and Heather is octopused around the closest things which are usually either her girls or a pillow)

Robin wants to commit crimes of the loving but frankly a little concerning kind.

We can't let Robin commit crimes.

No matter how much Chrissy and Heather also want to commit crimes.

So they do bicker for a while over the span of a week before the actual days off in the form of many, many sticky notes stuck to bathroom mirrors, passing conversations, muttered sleepy time musings, messengers in the form of sending whoever they could convince to go between work places, phone calls, and even one (1) point in time where they were just in the same bathroom together.

In the end they ask Steve, date-life extraordinaire, for advice, who just tells them (in a fit of this man was rudely awoken) something about how girls like spas and stargazing. He's totally making something up.

It gives Robin an idea immediately, even if it makes no sense and takes a little convincing. A nice and relaxing spa day followed by shuffling off into the wilderness and laying underneath the stars! Perfect! No sitting around at home but also plenty of relaxation and being all date-y!

(It ends up being the greatest date night ever.)

(Even though Steve is a little worried when Robin came back with a photo of them in a tree while a bear was sniffing around at the bottom.)

(And when Heather came in to regale the tale of how Robin does not believe she could wrestle a bear.)

(... And how Chrissy accidentally kicked a bear in the face and apologised as told by Chrissy herself.)

[buckyalpine]

Bucky knows you’re faking

Bucky knows you’re faking. He has no idea where you met this guy or why you’re still with him, in fact Bucky almost feels sorry for him. Because this guy thinks he’s doing a good job. He thinks he’s making you cry from pleasure, he thinks he’s pulling orgasms from you left right and center but Bucky knows.

Becuase he’s heard you. Fucking smelled you.

In your room, all by yourself.

He hears every moan and whimper, all those noises you can’t hold back. The filthy squelching of your pussy making a mess on the sheets is a sound unmatched. You always smell so good after and he can’t get over how soft and sweet you are, all fucked out with a quiver in your voice, not realizing he knows exactly what you’ve been up to with those pretty fingers between your legs.

He’s seen the way you practically glow afterwards, a shy smile on your face, acting like you weren’t moaning like a bitch in heat minutes ago. Always when it’s well past midnight, coming down for a snack, a thin sheen of sweat still covering your skin. He’s usually in the kitchen, having to pretend his cock isn’t aching after hearing how pretty you sound, how desperate and loud you get when you think no one can hear you.

But he can.

Bucky grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, smirking when he heard your less than enthusiastic sounds and silence a few minutes later. He watched carefully as you made your way into the kitchen with nothing but a flimsy robe covering you, eyes growing wide when you realized you weren’t alone.

“Have a fun night?” Bucky cocked an eyebrow, struggling to keep his eyes on your face and not the loose knot, so close to letting your robe fall open, giving him access to that pretty body-

“Oh-yes” you shrugged, suddenly feeling hot all over realizing Bucky had probably heard you, “I-um-I don’t think I’ll see him again”

“Why not” Bucky prodded, his curiosity piqued, self-restraint faltering, he couldn't hold back, not when that poor excuse of a robe was begging to be ripped off. “He can’t make you cum, can he princess”

“What?” You stared at Bucky like a deer caught in headlights, frozen on the spot, mouth gaping while he chuckled.

“I said-” he got up from his place at the kitchen island, biting his lip while backing you against the counter, your eyes growing wide feeling his hard, poorly contained bulge press onto you. "He can't make you cum? Can he?"

“I-" You stammered, gripping onto the edge of the counter, surely you were dreaming, there's no way this was really happening, all the fantasies you've thought of coming to life-

“Oh baby” Bucky cooed at your flustered state, tilting your face up to meet his eyes, “Don’t get all shy on me now bunny. Was that it? Did he make you cum?”

You shook your head, still nearly frozen like a baby deer, whimpering when Bucky groaned, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Knew you were faking it princess, I've heard you, y'know" Bucky smirked at your gasp, clearly mortified that he'd heard you during your most intimate moments. "Y'sound so pretty when you touch yourself baby"

"Bucky" You whined, not sure what you were begging for, arousal pooling between your legs, spreading your knees slightly to press yourself against his thigh.

"Tell me to stop" his jaw was clenched, gripping onto the single strange of restraint he had, his fingers toying with the knot of your robe.

"D-don't stop" You let out a shuddered breath, shivering when your robe was thrown off before you could blink, Bucky's lips smashing onto yours. His hand gripped the back of your neck, his tongue claiming your mouth as his, teeth nipping and sucking your lip. He lifted you onto the cool marble counter with ease, metal fingers swiping through your folds, gathering your slick before shoving them in his mouth, groaning at the taste.

"You're fuckin' sweet bunny" He didn't give you a chance to respond, prying your thighs apart and dipping down to lick a fat stripe through your soaked cunt before latching onto your clit. You cried out in pleasure, his wide shoulders keeping your legs spared apart.

"B-Bucky!!" Your head was thrown back when he shoved two fingers into you, curling and fucking them into you, moaning when you grabbed onto the roots of his hair, tugging harder the closer you got.

"Already sound so pretty baby" He let out a dark chuckle, kissing your pouty face when he pulled away just before you reached your high, tugging down his sweats to pull his cock out, "Bet you'd sound even better when you're stuffed, hm?"

"Please" You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, practically humping yourself on him, desperate to be filled. His cock was curved towards his tummy, the swollen head dripping with precum. There was something about him still being fully dressed while you were stark naked in the middle of the kitchen that aroused you more, knowing damn well anyone could walk by at any given moment.

"You need a fat cock to cum around, don't you bunny? My bunny's such a little slut, she can't cum unless she has a fat cock fucking her brains out?" He taunted, loving the way you were nothing more than a babbling mess already, moaning when you felt his tip catch against your fluttering entrance.

"Please Bucky, need it"

"I know baby, I know, my poor baby needs cock, doesn't she" His eyes locked with yours as he started to breech your tight hole, your breath catching in your throat at the stretch.

"Breathe, s'just me baby, swear you got my cock so hard-shit" He hissed as he pushed himself to the hilt, pulling out at an agonizing slow pace, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

"Faster Bucky, please-please need you" You tried to get him to move but he shook his head, feeling you flutter around him.

"First tell me what you call be princess, what do you call me when you're all alone with these sweet fingers"

Had Bucky not been holding onto you, you would have fainted; you had no idea he'd also heard the nights where you desperately moaned and came over and over again thinking of him. Bucky smirked against your skin, slowing down the drag of his cock again, snapping his hips suddenly making you squeal.

“C’mon darling, what was that you called me”

“DADDYY” you wailed, wrapping your thighs around his waist when he stated to pound you with a bruising grip around your waist, the clinks of glasses in the cupboards growing louder the harder he fucked you on the counter. "OH-GOD-D-DADDY"

"That's right, daddy's fuckin' you baby, makes me so hard when you call me that" Bucky groaned, thrusting faster, already on the brink of an orgasm. He could feel his cock swell each time you moaned or whimpered, his hand sneaking down to rub your clit.

"N'look at this precious clit, s'this what you're always playing with baby? Always rubbing this needy little button, thinking on one can hear you?"

"F-fuck Buckyyyy" Your eyes rolled back, tears streaming down your cheeks when he rubbed you faster, your first orgasm choking his cock without warning. You couldn't formulate words, letting out silent screams, blinking pleasure consuming you.

"That's it baby, moan for me, cum for me, cum for your daddy baby, know you've never cum for anyone else, go on n'cum for daddy, make daddy proud" Bucky looked feral, grunting with each thrust, desperately holding off his own orgasm, needing to feel you cum around him over and over again.

"OH-DADDY-D-DON'T ST-STOPP"

"Look at you baby, such a good girl for daddy, giving daddy all of her cum" Bucky's eyes were wild, staring at where he cock split you open, his length and trimmed hair covered in your creamy mess. "Daddy wants all of his baby's cream sweets"

"OH FUCCCKK" You wailed, your juices squirting all over his crotch, making it impossible for Bucky to hold off any more as you clung into him.

"So fuckin' proud of you baby, made daddy's cock feel so good, y'know that? Y'make daddy so hard, so horny, you're gonna make daddy cum so hard angel, m'gonna cum so hard for you, Fuck-gonna fill you up bunny-take it-take my cum-fuck-FUCCKK" Bucky roared against your neck as streams of cum started to fill you, his cock throbbing and twitching inside you. You were limp in his hold, passed out from pleasure, your combined mess dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.

You didn't even realize you were tucked under the warmed blankets, wrapped up in a pair of thick, muscular arms, Bucky's large chest acting as a pillow. You nuzzled into him while he softly petted you hair, blissfully unaware it was just the start of a very long night.

[evilgwrl]

Neighbour!Simon Riley x Reader

Girl Next Door (One)

CW: Mutual masturbation ;)

Inspired by Neighbour!Simon

Chapter Two

Your legs perched up across the woven strings of the porch chair, knees littered with blue and black kisses, knotted joints tucked into your chest as you watched the peak of gold settle into a deep blue. Bony fingers laced the pages between parched hands, eyes darting maliciously between words as you hummed to yourself softly.

You were used to being out here alone, an orchestra of bats occasionally sounding out to you as they scurried away into pine trees, nipping between each other.  Your flat, a smaller duplex, was tucked away into a quiet cul-de-sac, away from the hustle and bustle of London life. It was an organised routine, your body succumbing to the night air as you bathed in the comforting atmosphere of the twilight. There was an occasional hum from up the road, the chug of a car passing through, but your interest peaked when the gravel road lit up, headlights streaming towards you as you shielded your eyes.

The sound of the engine frightened you a bit before you adjusted your vision. A large shadow stepped into view, the staggering height of a man peaking your attention before you took in the balaclava flushed against his face, russet eyes covered by a delicate frame of blonde lashes, stained with black face paint staring at you before dropping his head in a curt nod.

You recognised him as your neighbour. Quiet bloke, away often on deployment you presumed, but nether-the-less was a comfort for you. Even at home, it was like he was never there, the occasional echo of hollow boots sounding against the floorboards before they disappeared. He was ghostly, slightly peculiar but you noted him down mainly as mysterious.

You had spoken a few times, sounding good morning as he was outside having a smoke when you were leaving for work. His response was gruff and shallow, a deep voice barking out a short reply before smashing the dart under the rubble of his shoe, calloused hands gripping the door handle.

He walked past you, duffle bag dropped against the porch as he huffed with his keys, bruised knuckles peaking your attention as you glanced at him, framed eyes peering in curiosity.

“Y’ alright?” His tone was curt, a hint of annoyance ringing through as his eyes stained trained on the metal knob, working the key through the hole.

You squeaked out a noise, taken back by him as you adjusted in the chair, feet flat against the floor now. “Yeah, sorry, I’m just not used to you being here, it’s uh, nice for you to be back, less lonely,” you rambled, shuffling your hands awkwardly before you shut yourself up.

He let out a grunt, the noise almost animalistic sounding as he shut the door, his vague appearance shuffling into the quiet of his own home as you sat outside, whispering an expletive under your breath as you prodded at the ecchymosis on your nobbled knees.

Rough hands rubbed at the face paint, gentle soap working into the scorn skin, thickened skin almost melting under the velocity of the scolding water. Simon’s throat was scratchy, the irritating feeling of sandpaper lining his oesophagus as he choked out a cough. Broken blood vessels littered across the scarring of his back and ribs, a splurge of hematoma drawn across the broken skin.

Ivory skin was now painted with falling droplets of water, a scratchy moose-coloured towel adorned his hips as he shook his hair, moist residue landing on the mirror as he rubbed his hands across his face, a soft moan leaving his lips as he prodded the tender knot in his back.  

His home felt foreign, no matter how long he had lived there for.

His bedroom had dusk lighting, a double bed pushed against the flaky walls, the metal rods holding the frame scraping at the paint. A singular pillow to each side perked up against his touch as he layered them, unused linen welcoming him with a slight dusty smell, aching body collapsing into the plushness of the duvet.

He was aware that your bedroom was adjacent to his, your beds pushed directly together on opposite ends. He could hear the subtle creaks of your feet against the floor as you shuffled around, a chair squeaking across the floor as it collided with something before the noise of you walking sounded again. Simon could hear the springs in your bed, an acknowledgement that you were now lying down.

There was a low hum of a fan whirring, the white noise drifting into his room as he stared up at his own, the stagnant noise felt unorthodox, the familiarity of the barracks being the usual for the Lieutenant. Simon’s hands felt weighed down as he moved them from his chest to rest at his side, his breathing shallow as his ears perked at every movement you made.

You were restless, sweaty body tangled between cotton as you adjusted yourself, flinging your blankets off you as you let out gentle pants. You cursed at the lack of air conditioning available in British homes, peeling off your silken pyjama shorts as you flung them somewhere across your bedroom. Your body was hot and achy, the heat settling in even during the night as you turned to the side, beady eyes watching as the wind flickered the branches occasionally. You were tempted to sleep outside at this point, your room feeling like a sauna as you let out a frustrated quip.

There was a subtle ache between your thighs, a dull throbbing ringing through your brain as you attempted to position yourself better, clicking your calves as you rustled around. Tired arms stretched your top over your head as it too met the wraith of your floor, bare breasts perked against your sheets as you closed your eyes, cuddling up against a pillow.

Slumber never succumbed to your heated frame, the drill of your fan almost teasing you as it provided minimum cooling. You spread your legs, sweat prickling over your stretch marks as you moaned in annoyance. Your fingers trailed your slit through the thin fabric, turquoise-coloured panties fading into an aqua as you let out a shaky breath. You felt dirty, the dull throb of your cunt mocking you as needy fingers hooked into the lace, dragging them down the plushness of your thighs before settling at the end of your bed.

You fumbled around in your draw, clumsy fingers feeling around for your bullet vibrator before they rubbed against the silicone. You were sure to be quiet, your hands covering the majority of the vibrations as you nestled it between your folds, collecting the sweetness of your slick before resting it on your achy clit, an instant moan rising at your throat as you tweaked at your nipples.

The hum against your sex wasn’t enough as you sat up, resting the vibrator on your swollen nub as you straddled a pillow, sloppy pussy grinding against it rapidly as you rutted like a dog in heat, chasing your high.

You were a sight for sore eyes, breasts bouncing at your movements as you humped against the cushion, the cheap sex toy sounding against the bundle of nerves as you let out soft whimpers, mouth opened in an ‘o’ shape as you tugged at your hardened nubs that were practically aching against your chest.

It was like you were going through puberty again, squishy sounds squelching from your cunt at the licentious actions, hips getting sloppy as you felt your coil forming, antagonising moans dripping from your lips as you stilled, the silicone pressed sweetly into your clit as you whined into your hand, orgasm ripping through you as you jutted away from the stimulation, collapsing into a heap.

Simon frowned at how quickly your noises were over as a spit-covered cock throbbed in agony, veiny hands jutting around the angry member as he milked himself to the memory of your orgasm, hot splashes of cum spurting against his belly, a thick trail of hair leading down to his softening cock as he cleaned himself up before nestling into the comfort of his sheets and the barely audible hum of your breathing.

[fandomxo00]

Hiya xx I was wondering if you could write a fluffy/smutty Logan one shot where readers hips/knees start hurting half way through and it’s just them talking it through and adjusting (bonus points if it’s a bit giggly and fluffy) and I’m a sucker for hand holding (and if she could be a mutant at the school too) xx sorry if this is too much x I love your work xx ✨✨

*yesss pillow princess let me ride uuuu*

thank you for sending in a request!! didn't think id get to it tonight but inspiration struck! i tried to add everything in, im so glad you enjoy my writing , logan is rlly a big piece of my heart now 🙈

smut below the cut!

logan has always taken his time with you, his hands traveling all over your body, groping your breasts, grasping your curves and fluff, running his fingers feather light over your skin. logan's favorite position was while your on top and you felt every ridge and vein, the way his cock pulsed inside of your wet heat.

you knew that it was a good position for you and the look on logan's face, wide eyed and exasperated. logan watched as your tits bounced and the look of determination and pleasure written all over your face. you had let him take over a few times, his hands firm on your ass or hips as he'd piston his cock into you. your pussy welcoming in as you soaked him while he prodded at your g-spot, your second orgasm of the night rattling through you. his name coming out in gasps, as you tried to keep quiet. the x-mansion walls were incredibly thin.

"yeah baby, can feel you flutter around me. your so fucking beautiful." logan praised.

you whine, being brought out of your movement at the pinching in your hips, making you jerk away from his touch as you cramped up. as you slowed down you noticed the trembling in your legs.

"shit, lo, i can't" you panted, your head resting against his chest.

"did such a good job baby." he croaked into your ear, rubbing his nose against your ear lobe, his beard tickling the side of your neck. his large hands trailed over your body, lifting you off his cock and adjusting your hips as he sat up. his bruised lips smashed against yours in a frenzied kiss, his tongue dipping into your mouth.

"fuck me dumb, bug." you murmured into his lips as his hands went from your hips, massaging the aching flesh before moving down to rub at your tired, shaky thighs. his warm hands encompassing your skin, his touch magnified in your mind. it was like you were the even breathing, your heart was no longer even beating as logan's hands knead at your thighs. a soft moan leaving your lips was almost foreign to you.

"gonna make you come again, sweetheart. love feeling you squeeze around my cock." he groaned, his words whispered against your ear in a faint breath, the feeling making hair rise on your neck.

"yeahhh baby, talk dirty to me." you joked, your awkward humor never subsiding even when the perfect man lays naked underneath you. a dry cracked laugh come out of your mouth as you felt logan's shoulders shake with a laughter, a rich full sound chortling from his chest.

"fucking love you." Logan growled, his head going into your neck as he started sucking soft bruises, his hands splayed on your back and pulling you in closer to him. you feel him take a breath in as he started leaving soft kisses your skin.

"Lo." You murmured, your hands coming to his face, your hands soothing against his trimmed wirey brunette beard. his skin was slightly rough against your fingers as you ran your fingers over the soft lines of his face. the way he looked up at you made your thighs quiver as arosual ran through you. "i love you so much."

Logan's legs hiked you up as he bent his knees and the reminder that your night was no way closer to over as his cock poked the bottom side of your thigh. your lick your lips as your arms wrap around his neck as he grounds you down on one of his thighs. your slick wetting his naked hairy muscled thigh, making a moan pour of your mouth.

"pretty little noises drivin' me nuts." Logan bellowed, as he gripped your waist.

logan didn't waste a second, flipping you over and putting you in your favorite position. your legs lazily wrapped around his waist as he leans his weight into you. logan's large warm hands slipped into yours after he started giving you rough thrusts as he messily made out with you.

[gdjyho]

PILLOWTALK

synopsis ; a late night , much needed, hot fück session. pure smut.

pairing ; jungkook x f!reader

warnings ; s€xual content, slapping [face and ass], crying, big d!ck jk, choking, unprotected, mentions of smoking, not really proofread, lemme know if there’s any more.

i love to hold close, tonight and always…

his doe eyes pierce right through yours, stare feeling as if it’s entering your soul. your mouth lays slightly ajar. your lips and tongue get drier by what feel is like the second. jungkook’s slender fingers snake around your battered neck and your head rests against the head board slightly leant back.

he grins ever so slightly before soaking your lips with his own spit. before you get a chance to react, his lips are smashed on yours and moving in all sorts of directions. your chests stick together and your rise up to claw at each others’ sweat clad necks. “ you’re always so good f’me” he whispers out.

jungkook roughly grips your shoulders, easily flipping your on top without breaking the intimate eye contact shared between the two of you. you feel the oxygen seep back into your lungs like a sponge from the release of your neck. in the silence of the room, he enters you with no words. his cock mauls your gummy walls as he navigates your sweet spot.

So we'll piss off the neighbors…

you fail to let out any words at the pleasure your receiving. in doing so, your whimper and moan along with a whole other string of sounds. you begin to move up and down on jungkook’s abdomen as the biting pain of his length subsides. you let out even more pornographic moans which make a melody with the sound of your crotches meeting and tearing away.

you lean down to kiss his mole under his soaked bottom lip. he kisses your forehead and praises you simultaneously. your eyes clasp shut as your brain digs up from the ecstasy jungkook gives you. it’s indescribable how deeply far in you are for the man under your body.

“you’re fucking me so good!” you tell him. the smell of the room, all stuffy drives jungkook insane. he begins to attack your neck and your back forms a snake shape and your hips move round. his dick stuffs your to the brim, forming a visible lump in your tummy. he chuckles, prodding the hill he’s made. your toes curl as you feel your climax.

you fight it, wanting him to fill you up first. his face scrunches up into and unreadable expression. he’s gonna fill me up you think. you chuckle slightly, finally getting the sweet release you’ve needed from him. you grip his sleeve of tattoos tightly, as your tight hole reaches max capacity.

in the place that feels the tears..

your eyes well up like swimming pools as his cum slides around inside of you. you grind your hips harder on him insatiably. you throw your head back and groan as he does. you emotionally give yourself up to him, submitting yourself to jungkook and become completely vunerable.

“ahhhhh princess look at you milking me” he sort of slurs out, being drunk on pleasure and your mixed juices. he slowly and dreadfully pulls out and places you on your side of the bed. he gets up and strides along to your en suite. your smile as you get the perfect view of his god-sent ass.

after some cluttering is heard and cupboards close, he walks out and reaches for his black calvin klein briefs. he slips back next to you, creating a dip in the bed. he toys at your bangs, swirling and twisting what’s not dampened by sweat. “oh baby. if only you knew how cute you were”

he grabs his phone from the low nightstand and steals a picture of you and fucked out and cheesing at the camera while trying to grab his phone from him. “jungkook !” you laugh out, while he pins your hands back down. he laughs at his ability to easily control and power over you.

yeah, reckless behavior

he pecks you before getting up and lighting stray cigarette from the nightstand and placing it in between his lips. jungkook has to flick the lighter a few times before managing to make a spark. he inhales before blowing out a pillar of fog into the room. you pinch it out from between his lips and place the dampened stick between your lips.

it swirls around in your lungs for a short amount of time before you let the air loose. he opens the window, letting the various smells exit the room. you get up and move closer to him. you step infront of jungkook and he sneaks his hands around your waist. his lips meet your neck softly and withdraw along with a sloppy trail. you sigh in satisfaction.

it’s our paradise and it's our war zone.

- quickly crafted this one. 😶

[masuchu]

“𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒” [GENSHIN MEN]

what happens when you gift your boyfriend a rather … provocative photo? ‧₊˚

genre. smut, sending nudes but in teyvat so it’s a polaroid, dragon mentions in neuvillette’s, manhandling, praise, mentions of creampies (wriothesley), degradation in his also, bondage in ayato’s, reader is accused (teasingly) of cheating (kinda) in ayato’s

characters. neuvillette, wriothesley, ayato, al haitham, kaveh

love, masu. guys i need these men so badly . you do not understand i am in disarray . tried so hard to colour my text, this app hates me . also the ‘picture’ is a polaroid cause i hate modern au’s </3

那维莱特 ✦ 𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: A subtly erotic photo; your naked body laying in the bath. The water bubbly and crystalline, showing clearly the outline of your waist and the tone of your body. The soapy water hugged your tits so perfectly, hiding your nipples from view but allowing parts of the plump flesh to be seen.

You had only thought that the picture was pretty, but your lover proved that all things can have varied interpretations.

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Well, you certainly know how to rile up the Hydro Dragon, don’t you? As soon as his eyes gazed upon your nude body laying so elegantly in the bathtub, his firm resolve cracked. Only minutely, but it cracked nonetheless. The image was tossed aside somewhere on his desk—he didn’t care where—and soft yet demanding hands fell onto your body.

“You temptress,” Neuvillette muttered, eyes travelling over every inch of your body, “what were you hoping for when you took such an image, hm?”

A giggle left your lips, and you lifted a hand up to his jaw. “I think you know, my dearest Iudex.”

A grunt echoed from him, hands gripping tighter around their current places on your form. At once, you were pulled into his firm chest, and you noticed immediately that it seemed larger than usual. A glance upwards told you that it was not just your imagination.

“Surely, you are smart enough to know not to prod a dragon? If you are not, I would be happy to show you the consequences.”

莱欧斯利 ✦ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: Countless strewn sheets of paperwork behind you, your half naked body laying on top. A black set of lingerie hugged you perfectly underneath your regular day shirt, which had clearly been unbuttoned with fervency. Your lipstick has a feature at the top of the polaroid, smeared and messy. An entirely rushed photo, but one that was guaranteed to push your hunky boyfriends buttons.

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: “Wow. When you came for our regular tea break today, I was not expecting to receive such a sexy gift.”

You sipped your tea tauntingly, and hummed in response. You knew he would love it.

“I bet you had fun wrecking my desk, huh? Thought one of the Melusines had done it. Nope, just my slut of a girlfriend.”

The name made you tremble. The teacup in your hand began to shake as a result of your newfound lack of resolve, so you placed it down as gently as you were able onto the tray.

“W—who do you think you are speaking to?! You have no right to c—call me that—!”

His lips abruptly smashed onto yours, leaving you with no time to finish your scolding, nor catch your breath. Hands gripped you firmly and picked you up with ease; the kiss did not break once as he strolled over to his desk.

Only when your bottom was placed onto the wood, did he let up. He grinned at your heaving and desperate attempts to gain more oxygen. His resolve infuriated you, how was he not dying right now?!

“Mm, I’m thinking I should fuck you on here now. Try and make another mess. That way I can watch when you clean it all up, bent over with my cum leaking out of you. Looks real pretty in my head…”

Another burst of brattiness stormed through your veins like a tornado, pressing you to fight back against his crude tongue. Your mouth opened in attempt to retaliate, but he only pressed a finger against your lips and teased:

“Ah-ah. No more of that feistiness! You’re much cuter when your a good girl. I can tell you want me, so you’re going to beg for me. I won’t give in until it’s up to my standards, which are high. Feel free to begin, missy~”

神里绫人 ✦ 𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐓𝐎

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: Baby blue ribbons adorned your silky skin. Skin poured out from over the top of the fabric, pulled taut and carefully tied. The pattern was nothing too extravagant, your thighs tied to one another, your wrists tied in a bow, and a final ribbon around your waist. The photo cut off just before your cute, little pussy—a purposeful tease on your part, a tease that invoked a different reaction than what you had imagined.

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: “My, my. What is this, my dear.”

You stood extremely awkwardly in front of your lovers work desk, hands clasped in one another behind your back. The plan seemed so perfect in your head, but now that it was in action— well, the embarrassment was certainly creeping its way up your body.

“D—do you you like it, love?”

A deep, ravenous chuckle reverberated from his throat. His eyes were lidded, hungry, and they took a horribly arousing journey over your body. Top to bottom, no place missed.

“Like it? Mm, I love it. Though, I am wondering how you managed to get yourself into such a pretty pose? Did you get Thoma to help you with the ribbon, hm?”

The accusation was false, but the shock of it caused an eruption of red to fill your face, hands waving up and down in denial.

“W—what? Why would I—?! I assure you he did not!”

Ayato’s sultry gaze morphed into that of hurt and betrayal; unnecessary guilt struck you in your chest.

“You look perfectly guilty to me, my dear. Before you plead innocence, I am willing to make you a deal. If you allow me to tie you up once more and have my way with you, I will forget about your betrayal. Sounds fair, hm?”

You gulped; it was hopeless. “Of course, Sir.”

艾尔海森 ✦ 𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐌

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: A perfectly choreographed photo; from a fleeting glance, it would appear to be a regular picture with an open book draped over your form. However, you knew Al Haitham was much more attentive than that. Your dripping pussy made a imperceptible appearance at the bottom of the polaroid, only just being cut off by the frame. The book was tilted deliberately so that a large amount of one breast was showing, the other remaining hidden by the leather-bound cover. It was a good effort to shock him, though, perhaps shock isn’t the correct word to use.

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Al Haitham’s eyes squinted—so imperceptibly that the average person would never notice, but you did. You always did. A few seconds passed with his eyes analysing the picture, before firmly placing it facing down on his desk.

“What is this?” he asked sternly. His countenance seemed to remain composed if you blurred your sight, but slight twitches of his skin and furrowing of his brows gave him away. He was irked and aroused, a dangerous combination.

“It’s a gift! You don’t like it?” The faux innocence radiated off of you with ease; it was your favourite thing to do. Riling up your boyfriend might as well be your job title at this point.

“Hm. No, I don’t like it,” he rolled his eyes at the pout that materialised on your lips, “in fact, I hate it. It is extremely distracting. Attempting to whisk me away from my important work is an offence to the Akademiya, you know?”

Al Haitham’s eyes did one slow, suggestive rake over your body, and the air suddenly felt a lot thicker when they met your own pair of wide eyes.

“I did not mean to distract you….”

“Well, you have. Are you going to finish what you started, or would you prefer a week without cumming? The choice is yours, sweet girl.”

卡维 ✦ 𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄: Arguably the least extravagant out of all these images; it is simply just a photo of you laying gracefully on your shared bed, sheet wrangled and ruffled. You are not nude—no, you wear one of Kaveh’s silky button up shirts. It is far too large, and rides up much too high. Your cunt is on show for the Kamera, and your nipples are hard behind the fabric.

It was taken with no malicious intent, but even you can see how it took a promiscuous turn when you gifted it to your lover.

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Kaveh let out a shaky breath, eyes wide and flickering between both you and the photo in his hands.

“Fuck, baby. You are so gorgeous…”

You coyly shuffled from one foot to the other, a subtle heat traversing to your cheek. The arousal of the situation was really hitting you, and clearly, your boyfriend too.

“I took it just after you left this morning… I didn’t mean for it— it wasn’t meant to be so.. lewd, I swear!”

Kaveh took a deep breath of fresh air—a substance which appeared to suddenly be extremely scarce— and pulled you by your hips against him.

“I don’t care, I’m actually grateful. Archons, I’m gonna take this with me on long trips now, you know? I’ll be cumming for you all across Teyvat.”

A tiny yelp left your lips as your needy lover began to nibble your neck, hands lingering around your ass, much too close to your soaking hole.

“K—Kaveh…!”

It had only been a minute or less, but he had already turned you into a panting mess. He removed his head from the crevice of your neck for a moment, and admired the work of purple art he had created along your skin. For no apparent reason, he grinned. He met your eyes with a clear radiation of mischief, before asking shamelessly:

“Wanna recreate the photo? Though, my cum should make an appearance this time. Want the one you gave me, and a dirtier one. What do you say, hm?”

[nvuy]

so… about that drink you ordered — boothill

summary. boothill has a pity party at a bar and notices a familiar face that he wants to smash into two.

notes. sort of requested official unofficial sequel sort of to hijacked. you can read this stand alone. not saying you should, though. teehee. this is so uninspired. i just like this concept a lot. i also just like rivals to lovers. i’m also riding on the coattails of the “boothill is largely illiterate.” whether it’s actually canon or not who knows. let me be. he’s still not released LMAOOOO.

warnings. the usual banter, little bit of threatening, but nothing major.

Boothill was at a loss. The mission was a bust, there was no response from La Mancha, and the dreamscape was beginning to grind his gears. So many loud noises, the poster signs were following him around, and this so-called SoulGlad was not as good as it was advertised to be.

This bar sucked, too. The bartender had been giving him the stink eye for the better half of an hour now. It probably wasn’t appropriate to sick him right in the face for it, break his nose, and give him a beating.

The bartender wasn’t scrawny, though. Some big bulk of meat with tired eyes, scruff and mousy brown hair. His chest looked like it was about to pop the buttons of his vest. Dude looks absolutely repressed. Probably works minimum wage.

The bartender abandons a blue inky pen and his notebook that Boothill snoops in. Nothing interesting. Just pages of tabs and tabs of people he doesn’t know, nor care about.

There’s music from the stereos in the corners, though surprisingly, considering it’s not a club—that one is next door. It’s a conjoined building. The only thing seperating the bar and the VIP private rooms of the club is a wall and a locked door. Comforting—and Boothill would have lost his mind already.

It’s also dark. Granted, it’s two in the morning, but the low lights can’t be good for normal people. Not to mention the group of women in the corner that have been hoarding the few slot machines for about thirty minutes now.

Every so often, a chime will go off, and one of them will start busting into tears.

He’s here alone. Not for any particular reason. He’s waiting for a response from somebody, and what better way to pass the time than people watch and pretend he’s not nosy.

Also he feels super important sitting at the counter of the bar.

He almost jumps at a whisper in his ear.

A reddish drink in a ribbed coupe glass is gently dropped onto the counter space beside him. There’s a cucumber slice on the rim, and it also looks like it’s been dusted with sugar.

Boothill turns his nose up. Gross.

The bartender glances at the figure who slots into the seat next to the ranger. “Can I get you something else?”

“Hard whiskey.”

Huh. His eyes snapped to the right. Very familiar. Almost unnervingly so. Just in case, he scoots himself away by an inch, sitting closer to the edge of the barstool.

The bartender blinks, unsure as he pulls a tumbler from the rack. “For you?”

A finger prods the Ranger’s cheek. “For him.”

There’s a zap from the finger, like a small electric shock. Like static charged from the friction of the weird material of the barstools.

“Thanks, Gal.”

“No amount of flirting is gonna make me clear your tab,” Gallagher warned before sliding the whiskey over to the Ranger. Boothill had barely moved, now acutely aware of his own face plastered on a wanted poster behind the bartender’s head. “Try not showin’ up here frequently. Bad for my image if I keep serving crooks.” He points to the Ranger, and then to you. “Both of you.”

The bartender then is called over by a group of women who are giggling at a booth in the corner.

Boothill was sure he was going to lean forward and scrap with you over the counter. He could already feel the terse skin of your neck in his hands.

“You followin’ me?”

“You followed me first,” you say harshly.

The ranger let out a laugh before picking up his drink. “It was only a job. If you got offended, that’s your problem.” He then holds the glass close. “You g’nna do that thing again?”

“‘Thing?’” you repeated.

There was a smug grin on your face. You rested the chin in the palm of your hand.

Oh. He was so going to throw you over the counter and smash a bottle over your head. “Y’know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Don’t play stupid.”

You took a sip of your drink.

“Boop.”

Your finger pressed to his chest. You snickered when he stared down at the brief flashing of yellow beneath his joints.

Then, you flit your finger upwards and flick his nose.

He grabs your hand with the intent of pulling it from its socket.

“Now, that’s a dangerous game to play,” you remind him. “I’ve got you in my hands, remember?” Your free hand lets go of your glass, and there’s a small flash of yellow light on the pads of the gloves on your hands. A flicker is all it takes to showcase his entire makeup in your palm. You spin it slowly for good measure.

Then, the image disappears and you snatch your wrist from his hand.

“What do you want?” Boothill mutters. He’s absentmindedly staring into his drink while swishing it around. The ice cubes softly tap against the glass.

“Insight. You’re a Galaxy Ranger, right?” He can’t lie to you anyway. You pretty much know everything about him. Your main profession is definitely stalking and being a thorn in his side. Your fingers held his chin up softly. “Tell me about it.”

He blinks, dazed. “That’s it?”

“No.”

He removes your hand from his chin. He holds his glass protectively. “Then quit pullin’ my leg. Cut to the good bit.”

You sigh. “You’re no fun. Do you come to bars just to mope?” You pull a dramatic frown for good measure.

“Do you come to bars to piss everyone off?” he shoots back. Despite his tone, his fingers are gentle around the glass. Any more firm a hold, and the drink would shatter and spill all over the counter.

You grin.

You tap his nose again. “Just you.” Then, you shake your head. “I’m here ‘cause I got a bar crush.” You then point to a table behind Boothill’s head in the corner. “Blondie with the nice eyes and the rings.”

After a moment's hesitation, the ranger turns and follows your finger.

Sure enough, you’re not convincing him to spin around so you can shove your hand into his sockets. There is a blond man at a table dressed in green, winking at an opponent over a game of… poker? Is that poker? The game with the chips and stuff. And dice, too. They’re thrown over a board, and there’s a couple of people who have tuned in to watch the entire thing unfold.

“His name is Aventurine. Or, that’s a code name, I think. He’s Sigonian. Works for the IPC, incredibly insecure, has a gambling addiction, needs to eat lead…” You stopped short, counting on your fingers as Boothill turns back to you. “Isn’t he dreamy?”

Boothill narrows his eyes at you. “Do you know everything about everyone?”

You shrug. “Pretty much, yeah.” Then, you make a noise. “Eh, I’m lying. Lots of people are boring. I only know the basics ‘bout most of ‘em. It’s the higher ups I’m interested in. Case in point–” You gestured to the blond man again, now scanning over his cards. “–Mister Big Shot. And all his loser coworkers. I don’t like the IPC.”

Boothill quietly sips his drink.

At least you can both agree on something.

He wants to yawn. He doesn’t have the function to do that anymore.

You talk too much.

He cuts you off, and fiddles with a few buttons on his arm. “What can you tell me–” A small image of a woman projects into view from a small lens near his wrist. “–About her?”

You lean closer to the image. Pretty.

She has lovely purple hair and eyes to match. It’s an unassuming photo. She’s not even looking at the camera, not even close to it. She’s standing next to a little boy with sparkling eyes and a uniform that starkly resembles the hotel staff in the waking world of Penacony—oh, the bellboy. You forgot his name.

You hum. “What’s her name?”

“Acheron.” He spits it nastily, as if tasting vitriol on his tongue.

You lean back against the counter. “I’d have to dig deeper. Can’t say I’ve seen her around before.”

“Well, that’s disappointin’,” he huffs before the image shrinks and disappears back into the lens. “Thought you were better than that.”

Your brows knit together.

“Are you trying to rile me up?” It was working. Curse you and your hot-head. It would get you killed one day.

Boothill grins.

Then, he raises his glass to you. “Yep.”

You wanted to pull him apart right there, like a doll.

Instead, you whisper, “tell me about La Mancha.”

Boothill casually sips the whiskey. “What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll dig up whatever I can find about that Acheron girl.”

Boothill then lets out a small giggle. “I already know who she is.” He wasn’t lying either. You could tell by how he grinned. “I was testin’ ya.”

Oh, great. He’s figured you out again. Not that there’s much to decode beneath the layer of self-doubt and hostility.

You could feel your face burning.

He grabs your cheeks before you can turn away.

“You ain’t here ‘cause you got some ‘puppy crush,’” he accused playfully, squishing your skin like it’s clay. “You already told me ya know everything about blondie. Who’re you really here for?”

He’s not stupid.

He’s also twirling a lock of his hair around his finger.

God damnit.

Your fingers curled tightly around the rim of your glass. The cucumber slice has since fallen into the cosmopolitan, and it’s giving the entire drink a strange watery taste.

The bar carries on. There’s a hoot from the table with blondie, who’s now, since the last time you stared daggers into the side of his head, collected some more of his poor opponent’s chips.

You pull your face from his grip. “Nobody.”

“Not even me?” Boothill presses. “You seem to love followin’ me around. In and out the dreamscape.”

You grit your teeth.

“The bartender,” you mutter finally. “I’m here for the bartender.” Currently, Gallagher is half asleep on the other side of the counter, trying to negotiate with some drunkard over the pricing of a scotch.

You eye him warily for a moment.

“There it is.” He pats your head like a dog. “Knew you’d come ‘round, pumpkin.”

You’re trembling with rage. “Kiss my ass, you cyborg scum.” You were considering throwing a punch at his perfect face.

“Rude.” Boothill flicks your nose back and you grunt. “I’m tryin’ to be nice wit’ you. You followed me here.”

You wanted to leave now. He sucks when he knows he has the upper hand, even if he’s well aware you can make his arms tear his own head off.

But you’re not going to do that. You need him. You made that clear.

The sound of a slot machine goes off somewhere to the right. There's cheering from a bunch of women.

You turn back and stare at the wall of liquor behind the bar. Maybe you should just knock yourself out. Whether by downing an entire bottle of bourbon or smashing it over your head. It was a hard choice to make.

You watch him through your peripherals, noticing he’s pinched a napkin from the pile on the counter.

“Lookin’ very pretty tonight, by the way. Hard to keep my eyes off ya.” He was writing something down with the pen from before. “If you were anyone else, I woulda had to take ya home. ‘Specially after ya bought me a drink.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” Then, you pause. “Excuse me?”

Boothill folds the napkin into a square and holds it to your lips. “Open.”

“You are not–”

Too late. He’s pushed it to your teeth, and you instinctively clamp down on it.

Oh, this sucks. This sucks bad.

He knows it, too, from the way he’s grinning at you like a shark and snickering.

He presses his warm lips to your cheek. The scent of whiskey faintly wafts in the air.

You stupidly freeze, hands curled around his wrists when his cold hands tilt your head so the tip of his tongue can press to the corner of your lips. You could stop him. You could.

You didn’t.

You smell like strawberry, the same as that other night. You look just as good, too. Shame you haven’t put anything on your lips. He would’ve loved to be stained a nice pink again.

He slides his whiskey next to you.

Then, he finishes what’s left of your drink. Dickhead. “I’ll be ‘round if ya need me.” He taps your nose and stands up. “You know where to find me.”

With a tilt of his hat, he leaves.

You pull the napkin from your teeth. Are you serious?

Face burning with humiliation, you hastily unfold the tissue, fingers shaking around the glass of whiskey. It’s heavy on your tongue; disgusting, bitter, everything you’d use to describe that stupid cowboy and his abomination of a body.

Scrawled in blue ink is a line of numbers. It looked suspiciously like a phone number.

Below it in blocky letters are the words: Keep In touc H. ♡

There’s a crudely drawn horse with a hat in the corner.

[chxrryhxrt]

Nightmarishly adorable - Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Synopsis: You’ve been having nightmares non-stop lately, and it turns out that Eddie is just the cure you’ve been looking for.

Warnings: swears and fluff

When you fell asleep, there had been a comforting patter of rain against the roof of the trailer, but now, as your body jolted itself awake, the rain was accompanied by the harsh sound of thunder that made you want to shrink back into the sheets.

But, fighting your drowsiness, you rolled over – your skin feeling grossly sticky with sweat and your eyes stinging as you forced them to stay open. You cautiously dangled your feet off the side of the bed, using them to search for the shirt you had thrown off during the humid night.

You felt something light and cotton, so you hopped off the bed, rushed to the light switch and used your hand to trace across the wall, your chest tightening the longer it took you to find it.

Bright light flooded the room, and your head whipped around – expecting to find some warped, faceless creature behind you; its pale arms stretching out, ready to snatch you from this world. But instead, you were greeted by your reflection in the window, and Christ – you looked dreadful; almost unwell.

Your hair such a tangled mess that as you bought your fingers up and began to run them through it, you grimaced – cringing at the feeling. To top off the living-dead-esque look; your eyes were sunken, and they were bordering on lifeless.

But then again, that’s what three nights without sleep would do to you.

You would never openly admit it to anyone – because it was so exquisitely stupid – but for a few weeks now, you had repeatedly found yourself waking up – always at three am – in a cold sweat, visions of a strangely familiar realm lingering in your mind.

Like normal dreams, you could never quite remember what had happened, but you were still frightened – an impending feeling of… something, something awful, following and eating at you every day.

But you pushed it out of your head for now, padding back towards to the bed, grabbing the t-shirt, and slipping it over your head – messing up your hair even more in the process. Then, you made your way to the bedroom door, grasping the knob, slowly twisting it open.

You slipped through the gap, attempting to be as quiet as possible, as not to wake up Eddie, who was fast asleep on the couch. But, as you were walking past him, you couldn’t help but stop to admire him; the way his pink lips were agape as he took in peaceful breaths was utterly adorable.

Continuing, you adventured to the kitchen, hunting down a glass. Whilst you rummaged around in the numerous cupboards, you wondered what would’ve happened if Eddie had slept in his bed with you, rather than insisting on taking the couch.

Maybe nothing would have happened, but in your mind, you liked to pretend that you two would be curled up together, arms and legs intertwined, his warm breath on your neck.

Yanking the final cabinet wide open, you were met with an abundance of mugs, one of which would do well enough for a quick drink of water.

Getting up on your tiptoes, you clambered onto the countertop, reaching in to grab one.

Your hand wrapped around the handle, and you turned to climb back down, your weight balanced precariously between the brink of falling off and staying upright. You had just lifted your foot up, half on and half off the counter when an unexpected noise echoed throughout the room, making you slip, landing on your back with a now chipped mug beside you.

Taking in deep gulps of air you relaxed somewhat, your heartbeat slowing.

Was that… was that Eddie snoring?

You placed your palms behind you, pushing up until you were standing. Then, carefully, you wandered over to the sofa, eyes focused on the floor – helping you evade the fragments of smashed ceramic.

When you reached the sofa, you peered over the side, noticing that his chin was quivering sightly.

“Eddie?” you murmured, prodding him in the shoulder, making the corners of his lips curl up. “Eddie, I know you’re awake,” you pried, continuing to poke him.

Deciding to try a different approach, you leant further over the couch, tickling his sides. Finally, his eyes opened, wide in faux fear as he writhed, trying to escape your grasp. “S-stop!” He cackled, slapping your hands away.

A couple minutes later, you stopped, grinning at him smugly. “You snore, you know that?”

“Shit, I was hoping you wouldn’t find out,” he replied breathlessly, brushing his hair out of his face.

“Is that why you had to sleep out here?”

“No, I just- I just thought it’d be pretty weird if we shared a bed, cause like, we’re not dating,” he explained.

When you didn’t say anything, he carried on talking, trying to diffuse any awkwardness, “Um, what are you doing up anyways?”

“Bad dream- plus I needed to grab a cup of water- actually, sorry about that,”

“About what?”

“I smashed your mug – when you snored, it uh- it scared me,” you spoke softly, praying he wouldn’t be mad at you.

His eyebrows rose, his eyes fixing on you, “No, no, no, do not apologise. I’ve got hundreds of mugs,” his gaze softened as he continued, “But a nightmare? Are you alright?”

He hopped up, climbing over the back of the sofa so he stood in front of you; his face far too close to yours – lips almost touching.

“Uh… yeah,” you hesitate, swaying as you took a step backwards, making the space between you two larger.

“You don’t sound very sure,” he notes, placing his palm across your forehead, “Plus it feels like you have a bad temperature,”

Unbeknownst to him – as the moon shining through the blinds provided little light – a rosy tint coloured your cheeks at his gentle touch.

“Honestly, Eddie I’m fi-“ you began protesting, but his finger pressing against your lips as he hushed you made you pause mid-sentence.

“Come on,” he coaxed, moving his hand down slowly to wrap around your waist, pulling you into his side, “You’re obviously not fine. Why don’t we go to bed, I’ll stay with you if you want?”

At this you nodded, heading to his room, his arm practically holding you up at this point.

He swung the door open with his other arm, leading you towards the bed before splaying out across the chair next to you.

This made you frown as you scrambled under the sheets. “What are you doing over there, Eds?”

“I’m staying in here, just makin’ sure that you’re okay,” he said calmly, despite the fact his stomach was doing flips at the sweet nickname you’d made up for him.

“C’mere-” you patted the empty mattress bedside you – “I wanna cuddle with you.”

His eyes lit up and he practically leapt into the bed; far too eagerly but you were so tired that you didn’t even notice.

He pulled up the blanket, burying you both in it as he wrapped his arms around your waist; chests pressed up against each other.

You could hear his heart beating – it was fast, but as you both laid there in silence you felt it slow down, becoming a sort of lullaby for you.

After a while, you broke the silence, “Does this mean,” your words slurred together with sleepiness, “Does this mean that we’re dating?”

“What do y’mean?” He mumbled into your hair.

“You said you wouldn’t share the bed with me cause we weren’t dating.”

He paused, thinking through his choice of words. “What do you want it to mean?

“I- I mean I wouldn’t mind if we dated.” You admitted, hiding your face in his neck at the confession.

“Me neither,” he agreed, his hold tightening around you.

“So we’re dating now?”

“Definitely.” he mumbled, leaning back and admiring your face. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, eyes flirting away from yours.

Silently, you wriggled forwards, bringing your mouth up to his and leant in, pecking him on the lips, stunning him.

You pulled away, but he slid his hand behind your head, bringing you in for a longer, more passionate kiss; the heady smell of his cologne overwhelming your senses.

Not too long after, you dozed off in his embrace, safe and grounded by the faintly ticklish feeling of his fingers running up and down your back.

[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ TROPHY

tw. noncon, yandere, explicit gore, lobotomy, blood, pain, power imbalance, doctor kink, badly aged terms about mental health, domestic abuse mentions, somno implications, praise, choking wordcount. 4.7k

a/n. ♡ i realized all my iwa fics were mostly really fluffy and sweet, so here's a gross one. gotta keep up my reputation yk! tysm to the betas ily ily ily

iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

The doctors have been standing around in a circle for what feels like hours, scraping their pens against the paper. Each check, each prodding, probing touch feels like it’s going on for the sake of going. Hours today, hours yesterday, on and on into infinity. Your skin feels cold, and you fidget by rubbing your fingers against each other for the briefest spark of warmth, before that too fizzles out into nothing. Because that’s what this is, right? A cold, barren nothingness that swallows up every inch of your body.

You can barely remember the look of the sky outside the metal barred walls that keep you, only catching glimpses that pass too quickly. Or the feeling of warm sunlight shining on your face as you rest against the windowsill, watching cars go by. The brief flash of a memory crosses over your view, a hot summer day and your hair sticking to your neck. Hands winding down your shoulders to keep you in a comfortable embrace, and a kiss to your cheek.

It’s nothing like the cold, sterile walls that you’re looking up at now, sitting on the cold metal stretcher with your wrists wrapped in leather. This is all you are now. This is what keeps you separate from the nutcases in the other wing. Little threat of re-offending.

One of the older men pushes his small, round glasses higher up his nose as he approaches, and waves a light past your eyes a few times, snapping his fingers all the while. “Any lightheadedness? Dizziness? Spots in your vision to be concerned about?” You wouldn’t know it with the callous way he regards you, but apparently they’re trying to help. That’s what they say, when they drag you out of your cage. The burning of the light makes your eyes water, but you blink that wetness away as best as you can.

“No, Doctor.”

The graying man runs his eyes along the sheet on his clipboard, and then his mouth corners pull down, as a few of the other equally graying men start mumbling among each other again, feeling far off. Everything feels far off with the stuff they’ve been putting in you lately. More drugs. More tests. It all feels like a never ending cycle — even though the sane part of you knows it isn’t. Or, wasn’t, until you bit one of the men who tried to lead your face to his crotch with the threat of beating you to death. You bit so hard that they had to amputate, is what you heard, before they shot you full of cotton.

And you’d cry, if you were any more awake. The tears don’t spill, they just sit on your vision and wobble at best. What all of the men in this room see when they look at you, is a violent young killer. They ask you about it when you’re shot up with fluids until you can barely hold your eyes open, and you have to pretend to really hear them. To be remorseful. How can you, when you can’t even remember your own face? You forget your name seconds after they call it. And most frustrating of all, is that you do remember that you can’t remember. This is forever, no matter how little threat there is of re-offending now that they’ve ‘found’ the right mix of chemicals to knock you out like a light.

They say you killed your fiancé with a kitchen knife.

You might have… the honest truth is that you don’t know. The pictures look entirely foreign, even though that face, that mouth, that tear-stricken expression is supposedly you. You don’t remember getting your head smashed against the kitchen counter until blood coated the entire bottom half of your face, and trying to get away. You don’t remember grabbing the knife and plunging it into your fiancé’s collar, or anything that came after it either. It’s like the blood running out of your nose got clogged up and now, you can’t recall anything at all.

Just these gray walls, and the cold floor of your ‘room’, and the brief walks you’re allowed to take outside under the cloudy weather that always surrounds the criminal hospital. All these men standing before you know more about you than you do yourself. More wetness wells up in your eyes, but it doesn’t spill. You don’t feel violent. But you also can barely hold your head up without the support of the metal brace, and they say you did what you did. At this point, your thoughts are too heavy and slow to disprove any of it, pooling in your mouth with your spit— and gliding down your throat each time you risk choking when you swallow.

“How about we call it for today?” A coarse voice sounds from the far off confines of the cloudiness that the drugs leave you with. But it’s a voice that sparks something yet, accompanied by the only young face that you’ve seen in a while. He’s tall and dark haired and intense, but looks too at ease when he walks along, stopping a few feet short. Everyone else looks like you’re a wild animal. But he’s warmer, like sand after a long day of baking in the sun. “You’ve done well,” he almost smiles at you, then turns to them. “That’s alright, isn’t it? My patient’s been awfully accommodating with all the tests.”

He carries this air about him that’s more familiar, where his hand lands on the top of your head and he gently brushes your crown in circles. You feel your head bobbing because of the pressure, and your eyes heavier than before. When you gain more awareness again, you’re already back in the small four walls that keep you enclosed— and the Doctor is crouched before you. Beautiful greens stare into your eyes, a few fingers holding your chin up. It’s warm. Your mouth feels dry and cottony when you speak, and hold your eyes open as best you can. “Sir.”

“Hm?” His free hand slides something into your ear, that’s cold and beeps softly, before he looks again. “Do you know where you are? Do you know who I am?” After a bit of silence, he sighs, and you smell the musk of him, mixed with some cologne that stings your lungs a little. But it’s better than nothing, and your mouth waters like you’re really just a dog. “Your bouts of amnesia have been getting worse lately, hm, sweet girl? Naturally…” His fingers go from holding your head up to along your throat, brushing hot circles there for just a few seconds, before he takes the beeping tool out again. “I’m your main physician here, remember? You asked for me specifically.”

That seems to bring him a lot of pride, because when he hangs back more onto his heels, he gives you a tooth-aching smile. “Dr. Iwaizumi Hajime.” You suppose he wants to see some kind of recognition, but you’re not sure what to say. Aside from the vaguest hint of recognition of the handsome planes of his face, everything stays that same muddled sea of glue that you can’t pull your feet out of. You do your best to smile though, muscles aching.

“Oh, yes.”

“Are you still feeling ill?” he turns to his box of tools, and you slump along the wall as soon as he lets you go. Not enough to topple over, but enough to feel more like a filled sack of sand, than a human. “Still having hot flares?” He places his large palm over your forehead, and scans your expression once over again. “If it were up to me they wouldn’t pump you full of this shit, y’know. Sadly even your personal physician doesn’t have full say over that, of course, so I have to play nice with the other doctors.” Then he cups your cheek, and though maybe you’d shy away otherwise, the kind touch of another human being has your bottom lip wobbling. “There she is. You’ve been awfully docile these last few weeks. Haven’t heard you make a peep.”

The tone shifts to one of slightly more concern, and your heavy lids flutter. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t, sweetheart.” He starts packing up his things ever so neatly when you just start getting feeling back in your fingers— and you probably shouldn’t, but with enormous effort you manage to grab onto the bottom of his white coat, surprising the doctor enough that it goes quiet. You just want… to talk to another person a little longer. Does that make you a bad patient? Your tongue is molten against the bottom of your mouth, but your fingers still tighten clumsily into the fabric.

Dr. Iwaizumi only thinks for a moment when heat creeps up to his ears, before he closes the gap. Closes the gap and … has your mouth against his, a wet tongue that isn’t your own invades your space like it isn’t anything at all, and spit that mixes with yours as your lips are opened with some effort. He kisses on you, licks into your mouth as you let your eyes fall shut and your hand clings onto him -unsure where to go- to flee. And get kissed deeply, passionately, your head knocked against the wall at your back. But he’s warm, and your goosebumps let up for the first time, even as he doesn’t allow you to pull back with both hands around your cheeks. Not until your body automatically starts making a noise, and you start to struggle.

You gasp out for air like you’ve forgotten where it goes— but the brunet barely leaves you any space at all, as a string of spit breaks between you two. And he wipes his thumb over your bottom lip, before sliding it onto your tongue with a gravelly moan. “Ahh, I missed you.” The pressure of his thumb keeping your wiggling tongue in place is suffocating. He leans in to brush his nose and lips along your jaw and cheek. “Always miss you when I have to go.” There’s a soft kiss that tingles across your face, before he pulls back. The noises of other cells echo down the hall, and though you can’t see them, the yelling gets louder. He doesn’t even blink, though. Is this yet another thing you’ve forgotten about?

Judging by the way he takes his thumb out of your mouth to slide it into his own, and then looks at you with such love-stricken adoration, you must have. Your shell-shocked quiet doesn’t stop him from giving you another barely-hidden smile, and he brushes his knuckle under your eye to get rid of some wetness there. “I’ve got to go check up on some others, or else they’ll come looking for me.” He packs up the last of his tools, wiping them clean, before tracing his eyes along your features again. “You’re such a doll. Can’t believe you have to be locked up here.” He stands, then clicks his tongue as he seems to stare through the walls with narrowing brows. “I handled you just fine before, didn’t I?”

You can’t say anything. Not only because you’re still bursting with adrenaline, but it’s not like you remember. He seems to come to this conclusion at the same time, because he then softly laughs. “Ah, you wouldn’t know. Forget I said anything.” He takes a moment to adjust himself in his pants unashamed, then tucks his shirt back properly in— clinging to his built figure too much. With another pat on your crown, he nods. “You’ll start waking up more in an hour or so. I’ll be back.”

With that he leaves you behind, and the heavy metal door gets slid back into place before you get the chance to make another peep. And tears well back up before he even locks the hatch.

+

The darkness of the room is in sharp contrast with the bright overhead light that’s beaming down on your face. You can’t help it, you’re trashing against the straps that hold you to the table, and the rag that’s in your mouth does nothing to prevent the feeling of sheer panic that takes over you. As several white shapes roam around you with low commands that you can’t make out over the sound of your own crying, you miss the numbing. It was better when you couldn’t feel a thing at all -at least then you wouldn’t be choking on your own tears as you try to take deep breaths.

Everything’s blurry.

But the slight edge in one of the voices pulls for attention, trying to focus on the sound. If you can’t see through your tears, you can listen. “Aren’t we being too hasty? Her memory and attention span have been basically stagnant since June— which means she’s not worsening.” There’s that voice that has been chasing you every waking hour of the last -week, maybe more- rough and low, but comforting nevertheless. You can tell that one of the blurry white shapes moves closer to you, and try to angle yourself to get closer. Even an inch closer would be better.

“No offense Doctor, but your judgment has been overruled. You’re speaking solely out of personal care for the girl.” Another old voice cuts in. “She’s been deteriorating every day, and we simply do not have the funding, Iwaizumi. The only reason we’re allowing you here is for educational purposes. But don’t forget you’re still on probation until the end of this year.”

A hand wraps around your own, feeling much warmer than you are. You cling to it with all the strength you have. Sadly it isn’t much. Your fingers barely obey your will to curl back around the touch, the only thing that’s keeping you tethered to the real world. “I’ll take personal responsibility for her, Sir. She’s been improving in my care—”

“Enough of this.” The older voice cuts in. “Like I said, you have been overruled. This is the quickest and cleanest cure for violent insanity in women.” You can’t help but start thrashing against the binds, and try to speak around the gag that keeps your mouth jerked open, but nothing other than a soft crying comes out. You’re not sure if it’s the panic or the drugs anymore. Multiple of the men round on the table, and you’re pressed down deeper into the leather covering. You don’t want to hurt anyone again. Promise. Promise. Your arms are held down, and your forehead’s pressed down too.

“She bit a guard’s finger clean off. We can’t possibly justify not treating such a danger.” None of this is my fault, you think— but they have yet to ask you. They have yet to listen. You suddenly have an overwhelming sense of loneliness, remembering flashes of faces you must have loved. People who must have loved you - though you can’t recall them. There’s an awful scraping noise as the metal tool table is rolled closer, and some man with a mask dips into your view.

You never meant to hurt anyone.

You’re bawling now. The adrenaline pumps through your veins as you stare up at the light, then swallow around the gag. There’s some more rummaging as the warm touch leaves your hand, and you sniffle. You squeeze your eyes closed tightly. A wet wipe is dragged over your eyes without warning, swiping your hot tears away, and finally your wiggling stops. There’s no use. The leather’s digging into your skin, and the sad moaning that you can bring out doesn’t convince any of these men that you’re sane. Maybe you’re not. Would you even know it? They clean your face with rough swipes, and then something even more restrictive is placed over your head. “Alright, she’s sanitized.” You try not to choke on your hiccups. “Surgery in session. Doctor...”

You just want to go home. You want to go home, please.

There’s a prick under your brow that takes you by surprise. It’s sharp, and though you can’t feel it sting like it would without any drugs— it’s still uncomfortable. The gear around your face keeps you from moving, keeping you stuck to the table, but your breathing instinctively gets more shallow, and rapid. Before you can say, or do, or think, a loud smack knocks your head back and heat spills all over your face. A push so hard against your skull that makes your body tense so tight your bones feel like splintering. The pressure’s unbearable— more than just painful, it’s a loud thumping, shaking your entire skull. You want them to stop.

Pain, p-p-pain rocks you upside down.

The pain ebbs in over your entire face —suffocating you from the inside, like a knife’s being wedged along the inside of your eye socket— scraping, and the blood’s everywhere. Streaming all over your face and swelling your eyes and cheeks and head. Your nose is full of it, forcing you to choke down the thick coppery heat. It grinds before it snaps, and the resonating clack of your bone giving in is loud enough to deafen everything else. It hurts. It hurts. You’re sleepy. Sick and in pain and wired too tight all at once, not able to think before another thump knocks you over the head and your head vibrates until it explodes. Or not.

Please stop.

it hur-ts. hurts.

It floods your ears with static, indescribable pressure, and worms deeper until everything’s black - out like a lightswitch.

…

He feels bad.

They’re jamming the metal rod deeper and shaking it hard enough to rock your head. Your poor, pretty face mangled and covered in a fresh, red-hot coating that will be his job to clean up later. Iwa’s breath is bated, and the coppery tang sticks to his lungs.

+

The halls echo with his rhythmic steps. Iwaizumi hates the smell of this place, treated air that circles around a thousand times before getting out. He hates the monotonous routine of it all— and he hates above all else that people are constantly on his back to leave you for some retarded nut that takes up all of his patience. But he is a Doctor. It’s expected of him, and if he gets fired before you get discharged - what was the point. He gets to your door, that familiar door with the pretty sticker of your name, and pushes in with the creaking of the metal. You’re still on the bed, barely looking up, and in some ways it hurts his heart a little.

He hadn’t really meant for it to go this way. All he ever wanted was to be near you. To have you close enough to touch and smell and hold, and for a moment after the judges’ ruling, he got his wish. With a procession that dumped you inside the barbed walls of the hospital, he’d volunteered to oversee you - and every other doctor was swamped enough not to blink twice. He’d worked so hard to get you right here— your pretty face cupped in his hands, getting to kiss you, long to come back to you each evening he’d lock up.

But then you had to bite one of the guards. He isn’t even mad about it either. The sweaty, mustached swine had been eyeing you from the second you came in, and you’d protected yourself so valiantly for such a sweet, little thing.

But it did throw a wrench into his works -  and everything kept spiraling.

“Hello doll, I missed you.” He breathes out, then pulls you upright onto the bed when you face him. “Are you hurting? Are you feeling sick?” The bruising around both eyes has gone down entirely, but there’s still a ghost of color painting your eye sockets. Still, your eyes follow his voice, but you don’t respond. He wraps his arms around your shoulders. “No? That’s good. You’re looking much better today.” You’re so warm against him, and your scent floods him as he nuzzles into your cheek with a smile. It’s not like he’s happy with this outcome. He didn’t want this to happen.

 “I’ve been thinking about you all week while you’ve been in the ICU. Missed you,” he places both hands on your face, making you smile just slightly, before kissing you on the mouth. You don’t really react, but you don’t push him away either. He kisses, and kisses, only taking brief moments between to look at you. “So much. Missed you so much. My sweet girl.” As you sit still and quiet, smiling, he can’t help but imagine taking you home already. You’ll be discharged soon enough, judging by your recovery— and when you do, all your family will have gone. Moved, or have passed away, or simply too old to be caretakers. And hey, he’s more than proven himself capable of caring.

“Do you want to kiss me more?” he asks as he leans down to you a little, capturing your attention again. “Yeah? You want to kiss more?”

“Kiss,” you parrot, and your pretty smile brightens. Fuck, he loves you. He’s not been able to stop since the day he first met you. Of course he’ll indulge you. Last time he allowed himself to let loose, things didn’t end so well. But that was before, and now he’s made very sure that no one will interrupt you both. His mouth meets yours as you sit still like a doll, nice and polite, and he opens your lips with his own, sliding his tongue into your mouth. You taste so fucking good. Maybe it’s his almost compulsive imagining leading up to this moment throughout the week, but there’s nothing better. You taste sweet and let him lead you back as he wraps your arm around him, pulling you closer.

Your arms hang limply around his waist, but no matter. It’s not like that’s stopped him before. He takes a quick scan of your fluttering lashes before you open your mouth, and he leans back in to kiss you again. Tongue sliding in to taste all of you until his entire body feels tight and his cock is so hard it’s starting to hurt against his pants. You simply oblige when he starts pushing you back onto the bed. “Back, back, back, that’s a good girl. Such a good, pretty girl for me.” His hands slide down your shoulders, over your chest as his breathing catches, and then settle at your hips to pull your butt closer to the edge. And you are pretty. It’s almost a bit unfair how good you look with your eyes half lidded and a barely there smile on your cheeks that makes him all warm inside.

“Do you know what I’m doing? What we’re gonna do?” he asks after a few seconds, and despite feeling horrible -he really does- his cock twitches when you shake your head a few times. He slides your flimsy blue gown up your thighs a bit, and moans at the sight of the smooth soft skin revealed to him. “That’s okay. I’ve got you.” Fuck, you make him feel like a timid virgin all over again, looking so damn erotic splayed out before him with no shame. He wonders if before, you’d have blushed. If you’d have whined and played coy, or if you’d have been so damn needy for his presence that you’d spread your legs for him even easier.

This is more than good enough though. He undoes his belt with slightly shaky hands, feeling the heat of your body on his skin, and then shoves a hand down his pants to take out his awfully throbbing cock. When he takes your thigh into his hand again and squeezes, you make a little moan that sounds almost like a purring cat- leaning into the warmth of his touch. His throat closes up, but he forces out a sentence as he leans in. “I’m just going to stick my hot cock inside you- you like that, don’t you? Fill you up, get nice and close?” Iwa’s mouth’s basically watering as he kisses you. He’s unable to help it. “Yeah, you like that. I know you do, pretty girl.”

He wraps a hand around the thick shaft and gives it a few slow pumps, biting back a moan. Then he sinks to his knees to hike your legs up over his shoulders and thumbs over your pussy a few times. Clear slick makes you all wet and sticky, drooling pussy waiting for his touch. He doesn’t make you wait long, because his tongue swipes out to lick up against you— sliding the wet muscle over your pussy and rubbing over the sensitive nub at the top. You let out a slight moan, and your legs twitch as he continues, licking and sucking and abusing your poor, needy cunt by rough fingers that trail around your hole before just barely slipping in to stretch you out. “Look so good, baby. You always look so good.”

“I knew,” he gets up from the floor to stand back between your legs, “that you’d still be a needy whore. Your pussy needs me even when you’re sleepy, so- fu-agh-” His cock brushes up against you as he lines up, and leans into you to grab a handful of your tits. “Can you say ‘thank you’?” You whine instead, and sort of wiggle in place, like you can’t articulate what you need. But he gets it by the way you grind yourself against the flushed, swollen head of his cock, and your mouth hangs open desperately. “Say ‘thank you for taking care of me, Doctor’,” he breathes out, while pushing into that tight, hot pussy that instantly clings to him.

You whimper, and he laces one of your hands with his by force, pulling you closer, deeper onto his cock as he slides in inch by inch. You feel so fucking good, hot enough to make his entire brain cloudy. Fuck. “I missed you so much, baby. You feel so fucking good- god.” You’re squeezing around him hard enough to make it hard to keep back the groans that spill out of him involuntarily. It’s almost like you’re doing it on purpose, but one glance at those teary, far-off eyes tells him more than you could, yourself. “Come on, say ‘thank you’. I know you can.” He winds his other hand around your soft throat and squeezes a little, until your back curls off the table and his cock bottoms out, nice and snug in the tight pouch of your tummy.

“Than’  you-” you slur back when he shakes your face a little, and though it’s a weak whimper, it’s enough to make him shudder.

“That’s a good pet- fuck. Agh-uh, my precious girl.” He pulls back and slides in again harder and deeper, speeding up the rhythm of the bed clanging against the wall. You know, he’d feel bad. He would— but your pussy’s sucking him in so deep, and your legs wrap around his thighs like you want to be even closer, like you’re still enjoying it. He leans in to kiss you again, and whispers your name like you’re cherished. You are. Each time he pulls back, more slick and wetness spills and makes the place you’re meeting into a mess, tits bouncing.

He hikes one of your legs up to your side instead, dangling over his arm to get closer, fuck you even deeper. And even you must feel the change, because you start moaning and wiggling despite yourself- as his cock fills you up again and again, bumping up against the soft heat of your walls. “You can still cum, can’t you?” His jaw clenches, and he reaches between your two sweaty bodies with messy circles over your puffy clit, unable to hold out for much longer. You’re just squeezing so fucking tight. “Cum, cum on my cock- gh-that’s it. That’s what you’re best at, aren’t you, baby~” God, you’re going to make him knock you up. Always clinging to him so fucking tight.

Your walls clench hard enough to make him see double, and before he’s even got the chance to pull out, hot ropes of cum fill you up until you’re sucking him dry.

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

[eevees-hobbies]

I'M ON MY HANDS AND KNEES PLEASE DO SOMETHING WITH KAJI AND BITING

Content Warning: Mind the tags! MeanGirlReader x TiredOfYourShitRenKaji. Hate-fucking, toxic behavior, degradation, sex in a public place, but plot armor makes it ok, spitting and consumption of said spit, biting, cumming inside without consent. Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 1.3K

Banner by me.

Fun Facts:

If you’re sexually aroused by biting, you have a fetish called Odaxelagnia.

You probably like being bitten because you’re into pain, you sadomasochist.

It has been reported that half of all people are aroused from biting, so congrats, you’re not alone!

Kaji finds you so obnoxiously annoying that his lips curl upward into a scowl. He hates the way your eyes sparkle when you look at him–that irritating, mischievous glint shining brightly in your eyes right as he passes into your field of vision. He hates how you push his buttons with smart-mouthed remarks–every word passing through your lips laced with venom. And he especially hates how you can’t tell that he’s so in love with you that if you decided never to speak to him again, he’d choose to drop off the face of the planet.

But you were so goddamn rude, so fuck ever telling you that.

“I dunno, man. Maybe she’s one of those girls who likes their men a lil mean. It honestly sounds like you two need to bang it out.” 

Kaji gave Hiragi a deadpan stare after approaching his mentor for much-needed sage advice. Hearing him suggest that you wanted to be dicked down felt so off-base to Kaji, which was disappointing since Hiragi was usually right about everything.

But there must be an exception to that rule because the thought of you wanting to fuck him was simply:

Ridiculous.

Absurd. 

Unless? 

No! 

There’s no way you were into him. No sane person would act like you do if they liked someone.

So when Kaji finds himself at a dive bar where an underground death metal band is playing their heaviest set, his stomach churns with annoyance—and something else he’d rather not say aloud—as he sees you walk to the bathroom.

And maybe he was feeling a little brave—or stupid—that night. Because he followed in hopes that you both could squash whatever beef you had concocted in your head, and maybe he’d consider asking your dumbass out.

But as you exited the bathroom and he saw that shit-eating grin on your pretty face as your eyes met, he became painfully aware that, no, he was the actual dumbass.

“Kaji? You stalking me or…? Oh, wait,” you look behind you at the door to the restroom. “I get it. You wanted to watch me pee. I heard you might be into something like that.”

In a matter of seconds, anger consumed him, coursing through his veins like wildfire; all the negative interactions you two had, the snide comments, the poking, prodding, culminating into a very volatile climax.

“What’s your problem with me?!” Kaji doesn’t mean to grab your wrist so hard that you wince in pain—but he does. And he doesn’t mean to practically growl at you, his prominent canines on display as his lips curl upward—but he does. And he doesn’t mean to smash his lips against yours when he catches your eyes staring at his mouth—but he does. 

As the crowd in the next room thrash about in the mosh pit, Kaji is pulling your skirt up and spreading your legs by slotting his own between your thighs.

He tears his lips away from yours, chest heaving, and blue eyes blackened with rage.  “This what you wanted? To be fucked in some dive bar in some dirty ass hallway?”

If he didn’t find you absolutely reprehensible, he wouldn’t feel any shame in admitting how beautiful you look in the dimly lit hallway, lips swollen from his heated kiss, mouth slightly open, and dressed exactly like the type of girl who could run away with his heart.

You don’t immediately answer him, but your body is shaking, and for a moment, he feels as though he might have made a mistake. He’s about to withdraw and offer his apologies until he hears you cackling.

“Kaji, you think I’m scared of you? I eat little boys like you for breakfast.” Your tone is condescending, and any remorse Kaji feels for you dissolves along with his patience.

“What are ya gonna do, Kaji? Fuck the attitude out of me?”

Before he can talk himself out of it, he’s gripping your cheeks between his fingers. You try to gather enough strength to shake your head out of his grasp, but his fingers only dig in more, earning a hiss from you. And as you look at him, lips puckered in a delicious pout, Kaji accumulates as much saliva into his mouth as he can, and with two fingers prying your jaw open, he spits into your mouth. Globules of his spit land on your lips and tongue, sitting thickly and tasting like vodka.

And despite the hold he has on you, your eyes roll back as your clit seizes uncontrollably and your cunt drools.

He removes his hand from your face, repositioning it near your head against the wall so that he’s leaning into your orbit. 

“Swallow it.”

And he’s not fucking asking.

You make a show of swallowing his spit, gulping loudly as it slides down your throat, and then showing him your tongue.

“You want me to fuck you so bad, and you don’t even know how to ask for it.”

“I know how to ask, Ren.” Your hand snakes down to the bulge in his pants, and to his absolute horror, a moan bubbles out of his throat at your touch–it feels hot with want, and his brain is telling him that danger is imminent, but he can’t help but lean into the palm of your hand.

“So then ask. Nicely.”

You lick your lips, eyes hungry, and cunt the wettest it's ever been.

“Fuck me, Ren. Please, fuck me.”

“Good girl.” He unzips his pants, the sound making your heart palpitate wildly against your ribcage. As you reach down and pull your panties down your legs, you extend them to Kaji on the tip of your finger.

He sneers but takes the garment, placing it in his back pocket for future use.

You yelp as he picks you up, pushing your back against the wall as he lowers you on his cock. And there’s nothing gentle with the way he treats you. Not allowing your pussy to even adjust to his girthy cock as it rams into your tight, weeping hole.

He’s ramming into you, drumming thuds and sloppy, wet sounds echoing in the empty hallway, with only the sound of the concert drowning out the sounds of your grunts and whimpers.

You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, closing your eyes and savoring the feeling of him beating up your cunt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!!”

“S-shut the fuck up and stop acting like you weren’t begging for this.”

Your eyes blow out as he sinks his canines into your neck, and despite the searing pain, you clench around him, your cum already coating his dick.

Kaji laughs against your neck. "You wanted to be treated like a hole? All you had to do was ask.”

He’s smashing his lips on yours again, but this time, you lead the kiss, gliding your tongue into his mouth. Your tongue dances over one of his canines, careful at first out of caution but then with reckless abandon as the sharp points of them embolden you, and Kaji groans at your forwardness.

It’s not long before Kaji can feel his balls clenching, his cum loaded in the chamber and ready to fire into you. And if this were any other situation, he’d pull out, choosing to cum somewhere far more convenient, but the idea of filling you up after all the shit you’ve given him and making you march back into the crowd without panties, and semen dripping down your leg makes him groan in your mouth and release hot, thick streams into your pussy.

Your body recoils at the feeling of his seed pouring into you, his cock throbbing as the ropes become smaller spurts until finally subsiding.

You slide down the wall as Kaji pulls away from you and pushes himself back into his jeans. He’s still scowling down at you. “Got that out of your system?”

You’re dazed, a little confused, and entirely giddy from the experience. “And if I say no?”

Kaji rolls his eyes, but he understands you now—he understands what you like and what you need, and he’s sure he can supply it to you moving forward.

[bluejutdae]

Desperate Jisung x you

(more of desperate Ji)

warnings: nsfw

Desperate Jisung away on tour who misses you, misses your kisses and your voice and misses waking up with you. He misses waking up and snuggling into your arms, always so warm and comfortable, misses kissing your shoulder and your neck, waking you up with soft kisses that tickle you. It’s his safe space, and he’d love to live there.

Desperate Jisung who wakes up with a boner more mornings than not, often he has dreamt of you, sometimes he just misses you.

Desperate Jisung who tries to make do with his hands and fingers, wet and messy when he has the time and he’s alone. Fast and quiet in the showers, when they have a packed schedule and the others are around. It’s never enough. His fingers can’t reach where yours can, his palm is too rough around his shaft, and it’s overall less pleasing. It takes the edge off, but it’s also so much easier for him to grow frustrated and too horny.

Desperate Jisung who falls asleep in Minho’s bed one night, in need of some human contact during the late hours of the night, and is woken up but a pillow smashing on his face, and a grumpy Minho threatening him to stop moaning your name in his sleep if he doesn’t want to end up in the air fryer with Hyunjin.

Desperate Jisung who calls you, one night, excited to tell you all about their last concert and the rare couple of free days they have ahead of them, how they’ll visit the city and enjoy the local food, sleep a little more than usual. But your voice is doing something to him, your sweet voice through the speakers is intimate and one of the things he loves the most about you. Poor Hannie can’t help but feel his little cock stir into his pajama pants, and he tries to ignore it, he really does. But he misses you so much and he’s just so horny for you, it’s not his fault your voice sounds so nice. He has no choice but to lightly paw at his leaking cock, still in the confines of his boxer.

Desperate Jisung with his hands massaging his cock, trying to keep track of what you’re saying but too distracted to answer. After you repeat a question he tries, he really tries, but all he can utter in lieu of an answer is a whiny sound. And you know him too well, you know what your boyfriend is doing right now, you know what he needs. “Is my baby touching himself while on the phone with me?” Another whiny sound escapes his mouth. “Such a slutty boy.”

Desperate Jisung, whose cock is leaking like a faucet in his underwear, red tip wet and begging to be touched more. He can’t control his hips, thrusting in the air and against his hand, biting his lips to try and hold off his moans, failing.

Desperate Jisung who gives up completely and begs you for something, directions, instructions. “Put your phone where I can see you, pretty boy, and video call me.” He’s eager, always so eager and slutty. Propping his phone where you can see his whole body, taking off his pajama and underwear but not his sweatshirt, he knows how much you love him in nothing but a big shirt, and he’s suddenly so polite, informing you he did what you ask and he’s ready, he presses the video call button and when he sees your face on the display, he bites his lower lip. “You look so pretty.” he says, and he’s already out of breath.

Desperate Jisung showing you his pretty tummy and his chest, biting the hem of the shirt to keep it raised, touching himself like he’s showing off for you, touching slowly, from base to tip. He collects a bead of precum to his finger to show it to you and, when you order him to taste it, he obeys, moaning around the digits like it’s the tastiest thing ever. He’s such an exhibitionist, but you love him for that too.

Desperate Jisung who turns to stand on his knees, ass up and directed to the camera, face squished against the duvet and lubed fingers prodding at his pretty hole. He loves to show off for you, he knows you love to watch him, and you tell him as much, praising him for being such a good boy for you. “My pretty pretty boy. Look at you, with your pretty ass hungry for something. Such a perfect slut.” He moans, tries to bite the duvet to suppress the noise, but he loves the praises and the humiliation a little too much.

Desperate Jisung who follows everything you say, opens himself with lubed fingers, still heads down and ass up to show you his fluttering hole, hands holding his cheeks apart until you deem it’s enough. He takes his pink glass dildo when you tell him to. It’s a gift you bought for him, a delicate pink glass dildo with red hearts, not too long and not too thick, the perfect size to make your boyfriend lose his mind. You played with it multiple times, and he chose to bring that on tour because he loves it's something you personally chose for him.

Desperate Jisung who fuck himself with the dildo, knees spread open and back arched, his cock heavy between his legs and his whole gripping the glass of the dildo, hungry and wet. His moans and whines are the best things you’ve ever heard in your life, they’re high and short and they’re driving you mad. He’s leaking on the bed cover, a constant dripping of clear fluid, swinging back and forth with every movement of your pretty boyfriend.

Desperate Jisung who begs you to let him cum, to make him feel good cause he’s been such a good boy, and he deserves it and please please let me cum, please mommy please feels so good I wanna cum let me cum. And you can never be too mean to him, not when he’s like that, pliant and obedient and too far from you. So you give him permission and he rewards you with a beautiful loud moan and a full body shudder, his cock jumping and spurting cum without needing to be touched.

Desperate Jisung who collapses on top of the mess he just made and he musters up enough force to move and look at you through the camera. “Did I do good?” he asks and he sounds so soft and vulnerable. “You did perfectly, my baby. You’re the best baby ever. I love you so much. You were perfect for me, love, you’re so beautiful. You’re always so beautiful. I miss you so much.”

Desperate Jisung who obeys once more, cleaning himself and scarcely wiping the bed covers. Once he’s done, he brings the phone closer and snuggles under the covers, looking at you with his pretty eyes, tired and completely satisfied after many days of unsatisfying orgasms. “I miss you too…” he says like it’s a confession. “I know. But you’ll be home soon. And I’ll be here, ready to steal you away from everything.”

Desperate Jisung who smiles softly and sleepy, he murmurs something that sounds like an I love you, and he’s out like a light. Soft snores are the only sounds you can hear now, and you smile to yourself: your boyfriend is a horny menace, and you love him more than words can express.

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Nine

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Attempted suicide, unknown watching as someone gets changed, SIMON BEING THE CUTEST MAN ALIVE, kissing and bum spanking

Taglist: @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan

ANYTHING IN ITALICS IS A FLASHBACK

Masterlist

The summer air was a broil of wet leaves and burnt tar, roads simmering with clouded fogs of steam that snipped at the exposed flesh of your leg. Your bike was worn, tyres nearly flat from the consistent rummaging of scarred rocks tearing the innocent rubber into a battered mess.

Your legs were inflamed from the constant use, thighs straining against bones and weathered skin. Sweat stuck to you in a damp layer, the occasional fly suckling at the salty residue. There was a gentle strum of moans, ripped jaws sloshing against rotten teeth, skin a ghastly contrast against the greenery. They didn’t care for you, walking past you like you were one of them.

It was a sick punishment.

You thought back to the first couple of days after. After Vienna. Steel supported rough fingers, muzzle pointed under your chin, the chill of cold tickling down your throat, trapping your oesophagus with an arrogant choke. Nimble fingers unclicked the safety, a line of tears streaming down your face pathetically.

You didn’t do it. You weren’t sure which was weaker, staying or leaving.

Blood ran through your chest, beating down to the tips of your wrists, eyes gauging through the flesh as if you had x-ray vision. You would no doubt be scorned with blisters later, the sun kissing you with fat welts filled with liquid medicine as you rolled in used sheets, unable to sleep.

You stared down the winding road, a companion of butchered shops lined up by the corner, untouched. It wasn’t rare for you to venture far, always taking a main road that would eventually lead you home.

You pushed through glass doors, majority of the crystal shattered across the concrete. There was a gentle ding of a bell as you entered, a lone zombie trailing towards the noise, disappointed at the sudden disappearance of its senses as you smashed a blade into the centre of its head, the stench of death filling the shop as you gagged. You weren’t sure you would ever get used to the smell.

The store was disappointing at the front, but you knew the stock room held liquid gold. Your knees skidded over the counter, a till smashed across the floor as you laughed. You wriggled the STAFF ONLY door, your shoulders working to barge it open. There were unopened boxes of candy that caught your attention, sticky tape quickly stuck to the wall as you delved through, a child-like innocence adorning your face as you tore apart a chocolate wrapper.

A sick moan of satisfaction ran through you as you stuffed more bars in your bag, teeth rotting with gooey caramel. Your feet padded against the floor, achy limbs begging for a rest as you sat down on a bench, uncomfortable wood barely supporting you. You scoffed back an apple, a small container full of buttered bread soon resting in your stomach.

You groaned as you chugged the majority of your water, the liquid quenching the Sahara in your throat as it stained your chest, a light dribble working down your chin as you sighed. Eyes stared at the bike resting against a brick wall as you looked up, noticing the flock of birds make their way through the sky, gradual darkness soon blending into the baby blue.

Dirtied nails scraped against the glass of your final destination, a small boutique with a flickering sign greeting you with the smell of dust as you pushed the door open. Nimble fingers worked your sweaty top off as you tried clothes on, wiping the grotty mirror down with an ugly rag of a shirt.

Dark eyes watched you from a rooftop, covered face twisting into a scowl as he watched you prod at yourself in the mirror. Your flesh was greasy, a sweet shine covering your muscles as he fixated on the way you moved. He stared at you through the lens of a sniper before placing it next to him as you walked out, bag round with clothes and the minimal amount of food you could find.

You didn’t notice him, his body stealthy as he adjusted, eyes immersed in you as you rode off. They would head your way tomorrow, he decided.

Thick hands ploughed at the wood; an axe gripped between his fingers as you watched him intensely. Your eyes gawked at his biceps, chiselled muscles bulging under the sun, a glisten against his skin from his work.

“That enough?” His voice was thick, a mixture of molten and sweet honey lacing him. His aura was earthy and masculine, his need to prove himself to you evident as he looked to you for approval.

“Good enough for me,” you replied, attempting to grab a log of wood before he barked that he would do it, snatching it from your grip.

Your eyebrows twisted up in annoyance as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m not useless, I was the one doing this before you all came along.”

“Didn’t mean to offend you, sweet’art, just don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

It was impressive watching him work; his forearms stuffed full of wood as he placed it in the small collector next to the fireplace. This was your first time being alone with him, his large frame was intimidating at first, but his shitty dad jokes couldn’t help but pull a smile from you.

You pulled him into the barn, introducing him to your cows, Daisy and Ted. He wasn’t fond of the names, but he felt himself nodding, watching the way you greeted them like they could speak, eyes full of admiration at the way you handled yourself.

“I’m hoping she gets pregnant, she’s my lifesaver,” you cooed, swatting the cow gently against her rump as she huffed out a breath. Simon raised a brow at you, a cocky smirk against his face.

“Don’t think about it,” you scowled as he turned around. Quick hands swatted at his ass as he grunted. Ghost was trained for anything, his hands at your waist as you squealed, quickly thrown over his shoulder with a huff before you were dropped in a bale of hay, endless giggles wracking through your chest as he peered down at you with a grumpy look.

You noticed his eyes crinkle as your laughter slowly subsided, both of you staring at each other with an amused look. His hands stilled at your waist, gripping them slightly with a warming touch.

“What’s your real name?”

He paused for a moment, thumb rubbing at your rising tummy, a pool of butterflies sinking into every crevice of the muscle. “Simon.”

You repeated it several times back to him, enjoying the way it fell from your lips as battered eyes focused on them, watching the way your tongue wriggled in the heat of your mouth as you spoke.

“You like it?” He asked, voice lower with nerves. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous. But he was.

You nodded at him, glancing from his eyes down to his mouth. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, bringing his hand to your cheek as your mouth opened slightly, eyes never leaving his. He paused, ready to turn away from you.

He didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, pushing the mask down his chin in a rough manner before he kissed you, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip before easing it into your throat. He was strangely gentle, almost like he was scared to hurt you. The Lieutenant’s hands gripped your face as you pulled him in by the scruff of his neck, deepening the motion. 

His eyes were voids of burnt sugar, a hinge of toffee speckling through as they merged into his iris. He was warm and inviting, the slight tang of his saliva running through your taste buds as he welcomed the sensation of you, a hand dropping to your throat with a delicate squeeze. 

Simon pulled away with a slight gasp, catching the breath he wasn’t sure he was holding.

“I don’t want to rush you.”

You only smiled and brought him back in.

[ddejavvu]

pairing: anakin skywalker x reader

summary: you think anakin's scar is sexy // based on this post and the line, "during heated moments of course, when you dig your nails into his face as he prompts you to 'give me another one, baby. cut me open, make me bleed.'"

cw: smut, minors dni. blood/gore (she scratches him and draws blood), don't like don't read.

Sex with Anakin is a bloody thing; the rush of it through your ears and the tang of it on your tongue as your spit runs hot. Though it mainly stays beneath your skin, rising to the surface to splotch you purple here and there, it occasionally surfaces due to the harsh bite of Anakin's teeth.

He's latched onto your shoulder now, some base instinct he doesn't bother to combat. He grunts against your skin as he ruts into you, teeth digging sharply into your skin. He hasn't broken it, but he will if he clamps down harder, and there's no telling what he'll do.

"Fuck, Anakin," You wince at the pain that's boiling your blood, sending shockwaves of its heat to your core, "Be- be careful, you're gonna leave a- mm! - a scar."

He exhales through his nose; you feel the breath against your shoulder.

His pace doesn't slow, but his teeth unlatch from your shoulder, leaving strings of spit behind, and his lips press there lazily.

"You and scars," He hums thoughtfully, almost amusedly, "You fuckin' love 'em, don't you?"

"Hm?" Is all you can manage as Anakin latches to your jaw now, his lip a tight, sucking ring.

"You love my fucking scar," He accuses, licking a hot stripe of saliva up your jawline and over your cheek. It puts the aforementioned scar in your view, and you admire the way it cuts jaggedly close to his eye.

He's right; it's hot.

"I do," You breathe, really more of a moan as Anakin's dick prods deep into your sensitive cunt, "I- It's so pretty, Ani."

"Yeah?" He asks, breath hitting your face, "Give me another one, then."

"What?"

"Give me another one," He repeats, breaking the bruising seal that his hand has had over your hip since he'd first laid over you. He lifts his hand to take your own, bringing it up to his face and setting it over his eye. Your nails rest gently against his tan skin, and his breath shudders when he exhales over your mouth.

"Dig your fucking nails into me, baby. Give me another scar- cut me open and make me fucking bleed."

"Anakin!" You protest, momentarily horrified, "I- I can't do that! I can't hurt you!"

"You can," He urges- no, begs, his hips snapping faster and faster into yours as he smashes your hand to his face, feeling the bite of your nails, "Do it, baby, fucking- fucking do it, give me another scar!"

"Anakin-"

"Do it!"

You let the heat of the moment seize you, and, though all five of your nails dig into his skin, one breaks through. You scrape your middle finger so harshly against his eyebrow that it draws blood, a crimson streak that lays lopsided and not quite parallel against his now-healed scar.

The burning pain that accompanies your nail's sharp edge is enough to push Anakin over the edge, and you feel yourself succumbing to your own orgasm as he begins to fuck his way through his inside of your spasming cunt. When the height of it takes him he nudges your hand out of the way and rubs his face against yours, leaving you with a gory smear of blood against your own eyebrow.

Something about it makes you sob; not sadness or anger, but perhaps sheer viscerality. Anakin's blood on your face feels cosmically binding, wrought from the edge of your nail at his heated insistence. He feels the shake of your chest as he collapses above you, his dick still inside of you though it softens now that he's spent.

"Shit," Is all he can offer, and you agree.

"Does it hurt?" You ask curiously, knowing that an apology will be dismissed; he'd begged for it, after all.

"A bit," He shrugs, eyes shut despite the crimson stain just left of them, "I've had worse."

"It'll scar," You note, perhaps stating the obvious but acknowledging it now for the first time.

"Yeah. Now I've got double the sex appeal," Anakin nods absentmindedly against your chest, more focused on regaining his breath, "And every time you see it you'll think of how you gave it to me."

[evilminji]

Behold! o/ The Face Of Benevolent Evil!

Mr. Principle! A professional hero and educator!

Also possibly some sort of stoat hybrid! Certainly a chimera of Japanese fauna! With the Quirk High Specs, he is one of, if not THE, smartest beings on the planet of which he resides! With a background perfectly justifying a decent into hatred and villiany, he instead chose to channel his incredible world shaking intellect into the shaping of future generations!

He likes to fuck with people!

For FUNSIES~☆!

What can he say? It keeps a man young and mentally stimulated! Plus the hysterical screaming of his staff and students is HILARIOUS. He can even argue it makes for good reaction training! Unforseen situations, children! React!!! *psychotic chortling*

Mmmmm, yes. We all have our trauma responses. Ways we deal with them. He should probably find other means... but he won't! Tea and tormenting the student body make for good future heroes, you know! They adapt!

But! You may ask! Why am I introducing you to this... *polite yet somehow deeply threatening smile* c-completely sane and normal individual!? Esteemed educator that he is! Ha ha...

A good and not at a under threat question!

Villains? Are fuuuuuckin STUPID!

Doesn't matter how many PHDs you possess! In fact! That makes it WORSE! You moron! You absolute fool! No traveling circus would have you, you sub-rate CLOWN of a jingle jangle dunce jester! You have a god damn PHD! Possibly MULTIPLE PHD!

And you thought "ooooh I should go into cwiiiiime~☆"?

Do you hear yourself when you talk? DO YOU?! Ooooh boohoo. They won't let you study what you WANT to study. It's called an ETHICS BOARD. And YEAH, NO SHIT! Maybe get over it and keep you fucked up fantasies to your SELF.

Or? If you REALLY can't hold it in? Lay the ground work like EVERYONE FUCKING ELSE! You're not special! Everyone wants to play god! It's FUN! They let you have the COOL toys! But you have to EARN that shit! Not jump straight from graduation to "fucked up superscience"!

And? If it's NOT the Ethics Board? But just some bureaucrat on a power trip? You don't have to fucking STAY. This? This RIGHT HERE? Is why I-Island fucking EXSISTS.

APPLY.

They are SO MANY countries you could move too. SO MANY other labs. You actual DUMBASS.

But NO! You decided to commit to a fucked up underground Villian Lab. As though HUNTING THOSE isn't the PERSONAL fucking passion project of THE SMARTEST BEING IN JAPAN. Frankly? You deserve this. You deserve this and our school doesn't know you. Never heard of you. You whoms't?

Coulda changed the world. But instead all you did was piss of The Fuzzy White Demon Lord of UA. Rest in pieces. *click*

*sound of doors smashing open*

*violent Raid Upon Your Labs noises*

But! You may ask? What's IN the Lab?

What MAKES this a DP crossover?

I like your question asking spirit! Good one! And the answer? You know what's better then ONE(1) Nedzu? A second one that you can ACTUALLY control this time! After all! You could consider Mr. Principle a prototype. A proof of concept, if you will. If you were able to make ANOTHER.....

Well, you would set off EVERY. SINGLE. ALARM. Nedzu has set up!

All of them!

Because he don't PLAY THAT.

He has long last trauma from the labs and is the SOLE FUCKING SURVIVOR. There WERE others. They Did Not make it. And their slow agonizing deaths are carved into his brain for the rest of his life. Truely "The living shall envy the dead"; it was a place that made hell seem merciful.

When he declare Never Again?

He fucking MEANT Never Again. He will BURN your empires to ash, with you in them. No More Labs.

So :) You can IMAGINE :) HOW HAPPY HE IS :)

That someone out there is trying to RECREATE his SUPER traumatic childhood, on ANOTHER CHILD. Ha ha! Gonna be a second Nedzu huh? Planning to torture HIM like you did me, HUH? Shove him in a cage and treat him like an animal? Force him to watch as the others die? Collars and whips and cattle prods? Mazes?!

Nedzu may lose his shit.

Juuuuust a little bit.

But if anyone there knows what good for them? They saw NOTHING. What's a little PTSD flashback between friends? Now what is the baby?

Smashcut to said baby!

Because it was a TEAM effort, Danny was successful in "Nuh Uh!"ing out of Rulership. But NOT out of governance. Since he DID help. He's a Councilman now. It's? Not as bad as it could be, honestly. Since it's opened the Zone up to a more democratic system.

Still held by "kick the ass of the person you wanna replace" but still!

Babysteps.

Thing is? There was apparently this weird? Leak? Like a couple hundred years ago, in this one area, that was never addressed. Everyone just moved their doors and stuff. Treated it like the floors flooded. But now that they HAVE someone to complain too?

They all want their territories back.

"Go fix it!" What are we? Janitors?

Danny looses the rock, paper, scissors competition. He's pretty sure Boxy cheated. But like? Dude has a kid to go home too, so Danny doesn't fight him to hard on this. Uuuuuugh. Just remember the Spider-Man motto. Great power~ blah blah blaaaah~

And? Wow is it fucked out there.

The whole PLANET has to be limnal as FUCK. Yikes.

Problem is? When he and his team (Because YES, he HAS learned from his mistakes, Jazz.) get close to the... frankly the Zone here looks like distorted spiderwebbing. With him leading the charge, obviously.

....something happens.

It's... it's not a portal. Wrong color. It's like someone USED the weird spiderwebbing effect to... to reach INTO the Zone? But they are severally Limnal. Clawed hands, blue tint. But that's not the problem.

No, the problem.

The Horror.

The thing that his team can only watch on in agonized terror as it plays out... is that hand? It shoots out of nowhere. Ghostlike in the Zone. Meaning it must be living. And PLUNGES directly into Danny's chest to wrap around his core.

Time seems to slow.

He can't even scream in pain. At the violation. His team, acquaintances, yes, but friendly ones. Can not even cry out in horror, as they watch their friend and team lead be butchered before them. Before that uncaring hand is ripping back. Perfect ice and starlight in its uncaring grip.

For a terrible moment... he is in two places at once.

Then he is crushed in a burning grip. Like molten bars. Watching his own body dissolve into nothing in an instant, pain and horror still etched upon his face. The beginnings of screams ripping from his team as they jerk away from the nightmarish threat.

Then he can not think at all.

He... he TRIES. Knows he has been captured. Is certainly not the sort to give up easily. But... he's so tired. His body feels? Weird. Not wrong, per say. It's HIS. But... small and weird. Like he's shape shifted into a new form and hasn't adjusted yet.

....

.......

...........

He's getting really sick of all the goop against his whiskers and in his ears. It feels WEIRD against his fu- WAIT a second... did those assholes shove him into an animal? Why?! To contain him? Ha! Jokes on them! He's DONE THIS before!

For FUN!

He once spent a whole ass summer as a tiny dragon just 'CAUSE!

Unfortunately, said assholes notice him waking up. Dump him in a glorified hamster cage. But like.... a SHITTY "I don't care about the pet I bought" hamster cage. Dude. And he's naked.

Is that Japanese? Ooooh! It IS! Thank you, Tucker's Weeb phase.

......actually, never mind. Lotta dehumanizing language there, my guys. What is this? The GIW international? You couldn't even give me PANTS? Swear to God, call me an "it" ONE more time and the next time I have to go? I am going to aim through the bars at your-! *alarms going off*

....wasn't me.

I mean, be all means, ha ha and get fucked, but? Wasn't me. Oh hey! Some one exploded the doo-

AND? In Lab 4?

Nedzu finds a child with fluffy, ungroomed black and white fur, and the curious yet cautious eyes of a survivor. They are the most magnificent green, pale and luminous they glow in the laboratories lighting. Paws too big for his small frame, delicate ears on the swivel, equally large. Yet to grow into either. Adolescent, at best.

He watches the child take him in. Note his features and the chaos behind him. The injured scientist under his feet. Come to him conclusion. Nedzu will not rush him. Now that he... he stand the chance to be the hero he himself never had. It is a strange feeling. At once cathartic and unbearably painful.

He is given the equivalent of a cheerful grin, as the lad points the the lock on the cage. Is asked if he happened to bring a spare pair of pants. He can not help his amused chortle as he makes quick work of the lock. The unbearable RELIEF he feels.

He... he was not too late.

These monsters had no chance to crush the boy's light. To make a monster of him, like they did with him. He survived his laboratory, his hell. But not all of him left that terrible place. He knows that. Some innocence, some goodness, died alone in the dark. But here? He insured there would be no chance.

With amusement, he watches the boy turn the lab upside down until he finds spare scrubs. Triumphant, he then considers his own, tiny claws. Dismisses them. Attempts to hop up on a chair to retrieve something sharp. It? Is unbearably cute. To watch him rip and shred, problem solve. His little mind churning away. Whiskers twitching as his eyes dart around, considering his options.

Nedzu offers one of his spare knives.

Watches him light up.

Adorable~

@legitimatesatanspawn @hdgnj @nerdpoe @babbling-babull @lolottes

[slutshamethesquirrels]

So I wrote this for Suguru Blue, but this is not the vibe I've decided I want to go with at all, so have this little smutty geto snippet, there's no need for it to go to waste <3

Sorry for any typos and what not, I literally just did not want to scrap this

His elbows hooked underneath both your knees, he pins you with two flat palms against the drywall, your hands scrambling around his neck for some sort of purchase.

“Suguru, I don't know if I can–”

“Just trust me, I got you.”

Oh how he missed putting you in positions you were hesitant about, watching your pretty features shift from uncertainty to ecstasy as he fucked you dumb. You weren't a sorcerer, a fact he couldn't force himself to forget, and there was something so satisfying about you forgetting the way your untrained muscles ached and stretched because all you could really focus on was his cock.

“I-” A squeak as his thick head nudges against your entrance. The jolt of electricity that thrums up his spine is unlike anything he’d ever felt before, just one brush of your pretty pussy against his weeping slit had his head falling forward against yours, mouth hanging open in a silent moan as he watches the tip of his dick prod at your heat.

“Safe word. Use it and I'll stop.” His words are strained, needy, razor sharp on the edges as he shallowly thrusts into you, bottom lip clenched between his teeth and dick thrashing violently almost as if to spite him.

Slowly, slowly, he pulls out almost entirely before pushing back in, his eyes fluttering shut and lips desperately smashing against yours, because if he keeps watching the way your sweet little cunt clings to him he's definitely gonna cum just from the sight. He tries desperately to pick up pace, move a little faster, but every thrust has his balls jerking wildly and his abdomen twitching with the urge to bust.

Sex had never felt this good before, every clench of your wet walls pulling at his threads of sanity. All he can think about is you, all he can hope for is right here in his arms, digging her manicured nails into his shoulders, crying out into his needy mouth, gushing around his fat cock and trying pathetically to rut her hips against him; begging for harder, faster, more. Greedy girl.

You throw your head back as he finally pushes all the way in, allowing him plenty room to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of your neck and stifle his own moan.

“Sugu, please!” You whine, your voice cracking as you pull at his hair, something that in the past would spur him into fucking you senseless, but now only serves to have him press into you with force, his tip undoubtedly bruising your cervix as his whole body stills and he puts every once of willpower he has into staving off his impending orgasm.

“Patience, pretty.” He warns, breathless “Haven't felt this pussy in a minute, it's–”.

Another torturously long thrust, his abdomen quivering with the drag of your walls as white hot waves of ecstasy roll over him and crash into his very being.He needed more than anything to get a grip. Quickly. Every fiber of his being coaxes him to allow you another thrust… and then another, and another, until he's whining and whimpering with every slap of his balls against your ass, tears forming in his eyes from the damn near painful way he's refusing his own body’s desires.

“Shit, fuck, y/n it's so good. It's so fucking good, babe. I love it. I love you. God, baby, please be patient, can't cum yet, gotta get you off first, ‘kay? Let me love you.”

He thinks he hears you blubbering something in response, but it's incomprehensible beneath the blood rushing in his ears, the squelching of your cunt and the way his own mind is repeating the same word over and over; close, close, close, close-.

Everything else was worth it. Every lonely night and long day, every scar and rip and tear of his skin, every punch he’d ever taken or thrown– he’d do it all again to end up here, losing his mind as he drilled into you repeatedly.

He leans back just far enough to look into your eyes, to watch the way your fucked out pupils drink him in. Never breaking eye contact, you snake one of your hands in between the two bodies to play with your clit, causing your walls to clamp down on him so tight that he sees white. A high pitched whine escapes him as he practically rips himself out of you, his head jerking down to watch the way your arousal drips off his dick onto the hardwood beneath as he barely stops himself, an incredulous laugh rattling his chest as he grapples with this new struggle.

“Sensitive today, are we?”

Your airy words ground him a bit, his eyes lifting back upwards to meet yours. He can't deny the way his cheeks are tinted with mild embarrassment, but it's the first time you’ve teased him since god knows when, and that alone is more than enough to make up for it.

“Can't help it, just want you–” He smiles against your lips, pressing a lazy kiss to them as he shifts one of your knees to warp around his abdomen, and then the other, walking you over to the couch as you giggle against him.

“I can tell.”

It all feels so good, almost sinfully so, like he was breaking a fast before time was up. He couldn't stop though, he wanted to live right there on the sofa with you, alternating between teasing and fucking forever.

“What was that you said earlier?” Your words were playful as he sat you down on the couch in front of him.

“I don't know what you're ah-! Fuck, please, y/n-!”

You were quick to begin stroking him, your pace absolutely brutal against his sensitive skin, his whole body tensing and his hand white-knuckle gripping the back of the couch.

“Yes you do.”

Your smile is saccharine, your tone far too cheeky for his liking. He’d probably spank your ass raw for daring to take the power from him in such a way, if he could think of anything beyond the way your hand felt squeezing his overstimulated head. “Hah-ah–!”.

A desperate hand grips your wrist and yanks it away from him, pushing you back until you’re flat on the couch and stifling your cocky little chuckle with a kiss, more lips and tongue than teeth. You taste like honey and pride, but he doesn’t mind at all. You had won long before he was falling apart for your touch; he’d already accepted it.

He can’t help but to sigh longingly against your skin as he trails downward, embarrassing whimpers and whines escape him as he rids you of your bra and makes a refreshing drink out of the sweat that dots along your chest. He was so fucking thirsty.

Tongue and lips sucking and swiping and bruising, long fingers lost in the feel of your skin beneath them as he lets so of any control he usually tries to hold over you. It’s a new feeling, to let himself be guided by want and not power. All he knows is you, all he sees is beautiful, all he tastes is the familiar brine of your arousal as he swipes his pointed tongue between your folds, rolling over your clit in languid stripes, melting into you as he works.

[wordstome]

symbiote König x reader

I'm not allowed to start any new aus/stories until I finish a few, but I need to expel these worms from my brain. (also remind me to write something about Eddie Brock/Symbiote Ghoap x reader later)

I don't know if you guys know much about Venom lore, but symbiotes don't have a default system of morality: they take on the same traits and moral values as their hosts. They were created as a sort of world-conquering mindless evil force, but when symbiotes bonded to hosts who wanted to do good, they took on those moralities and became ashamed of their purpose. After they imprisoned the dude who made them to be evil (Knull, btw) they just made up a lie that their species was naturally benevolent.

So picture this: symbiote König who's been captured alongside several others of his kind and brought to Earth by the Life Foundation to study their abilities. I like the idea of symbiote König being similar to Eddie Brock's Venom: he's had bad and good hosts, but the bad ones fucked him up really bad, so now he's the König we know: arrogant and confident in his proficiency in violence, but deeply awkward, lonely, and lost. Getting kidnapped and taken to yet another foreign planet to be poked and prodded and experimented on is just his luck.

But then there's you. A pretty little scientist, not much more than a lab assistant, really. Your first encounter with him consists of you touching a finger to the glass of his prison, and him, curious, moving himself to press his inky dark goop where your skin presses against the glass. You giggle before quickly remembering yourself and skittering away. Symbiotes aren't fond of sounds, but he wouldn't mind hearing that one again...

It's little encounters like that that endears you to him. It didn't take him long to decide he hated humans: they're slow and unintelligent and nowhere near as elegant of a killer as he is, and yet they've managed to trap him and torment him. He's quickly noted as being the most unpredictable and violent of the captured symbiotes. But he likes you, who visits him and talks to him. To you, it doesn't mean much: you may as well be talking to a lab rat, finding an outlet to vent your frustrations about your insane work hours, demanding managers, and meagre pay. To him, he's absorbing everything you tell him, longing to touch you without glass in the way. What would it be like to bond with you, he wonders? To merge symbiote with flesh, and become two moving as one?

He'd like to be inside you, in more ways than one perhaps.

He may have fucked that up, though. It wasn't his fault, that day. They were starving him, these idiotic humans, starving all of them. He had no choice but to eviscerate and wholly consume the poor man sent into his glass cage. But you had been watching, eyes wide in terror, as blood and viscera burst everywhere. If he had a heart, it would have ached as he watched you skitter away...

And yet...there may be something deeply wrong with you, just as there is something wrong with him. Because you're back the next day, a new fascination in your eyes. Instead of talking at him, you talk to him now, asking him questions he only wishes he could answer. If he could just reach you, he could communicate...

König gets his wish the day it all goes awry. A whistleblower breaks in and makes off with one of his breathren, and the next person to stumble upon the scene is his little scientist, who doesn't hesitate to start smashing the glass of his prison. "It's not right," you mutter over and over again. "It's not right..."

He can detect your heartbeat speeding up as he drags himself across the floor to reach you. You shy away out of instinct, and he pauses. There are alarms ringing out now, awful terrible loud sounds, and he would prefer to get out of here immediately, but he refuses to do anything that would drive you away for good. He watches as you heave a deep shaky breath, then reach out a hand to him.

He glides up your hand and wrist, working his way into your body, the symbiosis instant and easy. You're a perfect match. He knew you would be. The armed guards burst through the door, but you have nothing to worry about as he envelops your body. You become a six foot ten behemoth, face hidden by what almost looks like a veil—something he picked up from a former host. You're barely aware of what's happening, too overwhelmed and confused to parse what's going on. But he knows what he's doing.

After he gets you to safety, the two of you will have all the time in the world to get to know each other.