#i will attempt to come back but it might be a long while

[hanbinics]

!husband matt hates when another man flirts with his wife.

matt’s waiting for you in the car while you flirt with another man.

he’s noticed it happening before at a few other drop-offs and pick-ups. it’s the same guy every time, his hair sort of messy in a way that he thinks is an attempt at trying to maintain a younger image and his smile far too wide to be considered just kind instead of a little creepy too. matt knows you’d never cheat on him, especially not with this idiot—but that doesn’t mean you won’t toy with him.

his blue eyes are glued to the way you toss your hair over one shoulder, exposing more of the soft skin of your neck as you laugh at whatever stupid fucking thing this stranger has just said to you. he’s sure it isn’t that humorous—and you confirm that when he catches you glancing over your shoulder towards your family car—but it’s enough to have matt gripping the handle of his door to push it open and climb out of his seat regardless.

usually, he doesn’t bother leaving the quiet of the vehicle if he doesn’t have to. he’s never really been all that social, so standing around and listening to other parents chat animatedly about their snot-nosed kids and what amazing things they’re doing at such a young age doesn’t really interest him; it’s probably why you’re so confused when you feel the brush of his long fingers wrapping around your hip.

only, you’re not that surprised. in fact, you can’t help the subtle twitch of a smirk on your mouth when you feel him behind you. you vaguely wonder what set him off—the other man before you eyeing your breasts in the little floral dress you’re wearing, or maybe the way he’s been shifting a little closer to you the longer your conversation goes on. either way, you feel a gentle thrill in the pit of your stomach when you feel your husband brush against your backside.

you don’t have to turn to know it’s him. you can feel it in the brazen way he grips either of your hips, can see it in the way jackson’s eyes widen the slightest bit at the sight of the man behind you. you have to suppress a smile, knowing exactly how your husband must look in the moment—smug, you’re sure. perhaps a little intimidating with those intense blue eyes you adore so much.

head cocked to the side, you raise a brow. “you were saying?” you all but hum in encouragement to the other man, waiting patiently for him to continue despite the silent interruption behind you, fingers digging so snugly into your plush hips.

jackson looks from matt to you, almost like he can’t believe you’re putting him on the spot here. but you feign innocence, furrowing your brow gently as if to say we were only talking about our children, right? it’s the guise he’d approached you under, so backing off now would only allude to ulterior motives, and he isn’t about to do that with the fucking doberman behind you.

an uncomfortable laugh bubbles up from his throat, but it’s cut short when neither of you reciprocate. “no, i was just, ah—” he pauses, an awkward smile on his face as he searches for a safety net. finally, he comes up with one. “i was just saying that it might be nice for our daughters to have a play date some time.”

you can’t help but smile in spite of yourself, a little impressed with his commitment to the act. matt, on the other hand, cocks one eyebrow just as you part your lips to insist that it could be a nice idea.

“which kid is yours?” he asks from behind you, watching as jackon’s face settles into something a little more relieved at your husband’s sudden interest, like maybe he’s gotten off the hook.

“just over there.” the other man points, all eyes shifting to the opening doors of the building your daughter attends dance classes at. “that’s my little willow.” he smiles proudly as you all watch the little girls begin to file out with their instructor, hearing sweet giggles and excited exclaims for their mommies and daddies fill the air.

“huh,” matt huffs shortly, watching as you turn your head slightly to catch his eye, “was she not the one with the biting problem?”

jackson’s eyes widen slightly at the blatant call-out, his face reddening with anger or maybe embarrassment—you aren’t entirely sure. either way, your husband simply hums low in his throat when everybody seems to be at a loss for words, taking that as his response. he doesn’t wait any longer, instead delivering one last firm squeeze to your hip in a silent end to the conversation just as your daughter is barreling towards the both of you, arms spread wide and an excited grin on her face at the sight of her parents.

“there’s daddy’s girl,” matt greets your little one, bending down low to the ground so that he can scoop the excited little bundle into his arms, resting her on his hip as you listen to him ask her about her day while heading back to the car.

you’re thoroughly amused by his ending to the situation. you listen to the brunette hold an animated conversation with your daughter during the drive home, blue eyes bright and engaged with the little life in the backseat, but you know he hasn’t let you off the hook. it’s clear in the way he glances over at you every so often, gaze dropping from your pretty features to the bare skin of your thighs. thinking about the fact that another man had probably checked out all the same things makes a muscle in his jaw twitch.

when you get home, he still doesn’t immediately say anything to you. as soon as your little family is bursting through the front door, you’re promising your daughter an after-school snack and listening to matt insist that she show him a backpack that doesn’t include homework before she’s allowed to go play. the fact that he still hasn’t said anything about what happened allows this anxious feeling to creep into your body, but it’s not entirely unpleasant—it’s almost thrilling.

still, it doesn’t compare to the feeling of matt’s lips on your neck, hands braced on either side of the kitchen counter you’re currently caged in against, the hand that had been pouring a glass of tea suddenly shaking slightly with your new position. almost immediately, you tilt your head to the side, allowing him more access to the skin there.

“knew you wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer,” you quip, a small smirk on your lips as you set the teapot down, your drink long forgotten.

your husband nips at your skin spitefully. “how could i? seems like my wife needs a reminder about who she belongs to after letting that guy eye-fuck you back there.” his mouth is growing greedier in its pursuit of your skin, and you’re pretty sure you can feel a purple bruise beginning to bloom across the area he’d just nipped at.

you pout at his accusation. “i wouldn’t say i let him,” you argue, but your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his teeth graze your skin again, one hand abandoning the granite countertop to roam your thighs instead.

you decide to push your luck. “besides, looking never hurt anyone...”

matt snarls against you, nose brushing along your neck as he uses his free hand to slide up your torso until he reaches the soft flesh of your chest, squeezing your left breast in his large hand and eliciting a quiet gasp from your mouth.

“yeah?” he breathes into your hair, the hand that’s been brushing along your inner thighs suddenly moving higher, taking the fabric of your dress along with it. “what was his name again? jackson?” he asks tauntingly, daring you to confirm his question.

you want to say something snarky in return, maybe tease him and say you don’t remember, but any coherent thoughts leave your brain the minute that your husband gathers the fabric of your panties in his hand, creating a thinner band of it nestled between your lips before he’s pushing it to the side entirely, his middle finger teasing your slit.

“tell me, sweetheart,” matt hums into your ear, his crotch pressed into your ass as he toys with your slick cunt, “do you think about jackson’s fingers in your pussy?”

as if to accentuate his question, he dips two wet fingers into your awaiting hole, eagerly swallowing the digits as your mouth falls open at the sudden pleasure, stomach jumping into your throat. he doesn’t even allow you the chance to respond, adding to the stimulation by teasing your puffy nipple with his other hand after pulling your dress down enough to expose your cleavage.

suddenly matt pulls his fingers from you, delivering a wet slap to your sensitive pussy that has you yelping in surprise. “answer me.”

“no—no, i don’t, baby,” you ramble, shaking your head fervently. “only think about you inside me, only you.” you can’t help the way you press your ass back against him, trying to find some friction there and offer a little bit to the growing bulge you can feel in his pants, but matt is quick to release your chest in favor of delivering a quick slap to your ass in retaliation.

“don’t get fuckin’ greedy,” he reprimands you, although he does ease two fingers back into you, groaning softly at the way you suck him in almost immediately.

you moan at the feeling of him inside you once again, your knees nearly buckling at the way he begins to fuck you with his fingers. “matt,” you gasp, your tone bordering on pleading now, “need your cock, baby, not just your fingers.”

but the brunette simply snorts despite the labored breaths he’s panting near your ear. “yeah? think you deserve it, huh?” he sneers at you, hips grinding into your ass he uses you to ease a bit of the tension there. “well i think you should probably be a little more apologetic for bein’ a fuckin’ attention-seeking brat if you want my dick, sweetheart.”

your instinct is to frown at his name-calling, but it’d simply be for show. you love the cruel edge to his voice, and he knows it. on top of it, you can’t form the correct words when you feel his fingers plowing your greedy cunt, sucking him in so eagerly as he angles his wrist so that his calloused palm is pressing into your clit, grinding into the swollen nub. the combination of the two is so overwhelming that you can feel this intense, tight knot growing in your abdomen, like you might just burst at the seams, and you’re quick to let him know.

“oh—fuck, baby please slow down,” you cry out as quietly as you can to him, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “’m gonna come, matt, please.” but as soon as you plead your case, everything stops.

your knees seem to give out as soon as matt pulls his fingers from your pussy with an embarrassingly wet sound effect, your body all but collapsing against the counter to support your trembling figure. your breathing is labored as you try to come to terms with what happened, as you try to collect yourself, only then realizing the fact that matt has just fucking edged you.

you feel the brunette’s lips brush over the bare skin of your shoulder just before he’s pulling away from you, your eyes wide with bewilderment as you watch him retreat. you can hear your daughter calling for her daddy from her bedroom, insisting that he come play with her, and you can only watch as your husband sticks two long fingers in his mouth—the same fingers that had just been inside you—and sucks them clean of your arousal like he’s just finished the last of his favorite fucking dessert.

“’m comin’, baby,” matt calls out to your daughter, already beginning to walk out of the kitchen.

the walls of your pussy are still fluttering now that there’s a void where his fingers just were, and you feel like you’re damn near on the brink of tears from your orgasm denial. but as you watch him disappear around the corner, your heart flips in your chest at his next words, your selfish cunt throbbing gently.

“hey princess, what do you think about going to visit grandma and grandpa tonight?”

©hanbinics

: ̗̀➛ tag list: @blahbel668

: ̗̀➛ divider by @/rookthornesartistry

[silverskye13]

Angst prompt courtesy of: @theunderscorwolph

[Part 1 of 2]

Helsknight waited... Probably too long to check in on Tanguish. In his defense, the last time he spoke to Tanguish, he was heading to Hermitcraft, and while Hermitcraft was far from safe, it was, in its own ways, safer than hels. There were fewer people, fewer hazards in general, and there was Tango. Tango wasn't a fighter. As far as Helsknight could tell, he was mostly just squirrelly, and a bit cowardly. But he was fiercely loyal. That went a long way. He had even, misguidedly, attempted to save Tanguish from Helsknight once. Helsknight, who recognized he was a big, scary, angry-looking, armed and armored knight, could respect that. And Tango and Tanguish were friends, and they got wrapped up in each other sometimes, and this was far from the first time Tanguish was gone all day talking to his other half about some project.

It was, however, the first time he'd been gone for two days in a row.

Helsknight didn't really consider himself to be a worrier. Tanguish was an adult. He could take care of himself. And even if he couldn't take care of himself, Helsknight could recognize that everyone had some level of pride. Butting in on someone else's business uninvited was a great way to be a nuisance at best, and a problem at worst. So, Tanguish didn't come back by the evening? If there was a problem, Helsknight would respectfully let him handle it. Tanguish knew to come get him for help. And while Helsknight would feel truly guilty if his dithering caused Tanguish to respawn, he could take some solace in knowing he would wreak holy vengeance on whoever did it.

[That was one of the perks of being a knight: when you pointed at someone and said something along the lines of "Through hels or high water I will smite thee" or some such dramatic nonsense, people tended to get out of your way and let you get to business.]

Day two of no Tanguish, and Helsknight went from being passively concerned, to something closer to open nervousness. He asked, as subtly as he could, around the Colosseum if anyone had seen him. No one had, though Martyn did make a joke about Tanguish finally getting wise and finding a real knight to squire to.

[EB really needed to stop getting between them when Martyn said things like that. The power of a bloody nose on shitty humor was astounding.]

Eventually, Helsknight had given up and decided the best thing to do was go to Hermitcraft and track the little pest down himself. He suited up for what he thought might be a mild amount of trouble -- it was always possible he would run into Wels when he was on Hermitcraft, and if he planned on searching for someone, he wanted to minimize the time he was fighting his double. He donned his chainmail, and the netherite gauntlets and grieves. He made sure the clasps on his boots were pulled tight. He cinched on his netherite sword, and made sure it pulled easily from the sheath.

He picked up his cloak last, and gave it a contemplative frown. In hels, the cloak was a distinctive and somewhat necessary piece of costuming. It was the visual shorthand he needed to inform everyone that he was a knight, and therefore probably knew his way around a sword [and wasn't worth mugging]. For those who knew knights, it told them what Order he was a part of. Useful. On Hermitcraft, however... Being able to tell at a glance that he was a red-themed knight in dark armor, who looked suspiciously like but not quite enough like one of the other server members...

While Helsknight weighed the pros and cons of stealth and subtly, two things he was famously very bad at, the shield hanging on his wall shuddered and kicked, and someone tumbled out of the reflection with a shriek. Helsknight sighed and rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling. He did a slow count to ten in his head, and tried not to be very, very annoyed he'd just spent twenty minutes putting on armor for no good gods-damned reason.

"Tanguish," Helsknight hummed, when he thought he could keep his voice relatively neutral, "for no reason in particular, I think we should make some ground rules about when you should check in with people--"

Helsknight turned, looked down, and anything else he was going to say vanished out of his head with such abruptness, it made his ears ring. Laying prone on the floor of Helsknight's cell, staring with wide, somewhat terrified eyes and the kind of grin that screamed about recently realized mistakes, was Tango. The Hermit blinked up at him. Helsknight blinked down at him. Somewhere down the hall, somebody laughed at something, which was their only indication that the whole world hadn't frozen with them when they made eye contact.

Helsknight could say, with honesty, he never expected to be put in a situation where a Hermit stumbled into hels, much less into his cell in the Colosseum, surrounded by all the biggest, scariest, most dangerous people in hels. At a complete loss on what to do, he fell back on what he thought was safest: namely, making sure no one got killed over it. Helsknight leaped over Tango -- who screeched ingloriously -- crossed to the door of his cell and slammed it shut. There was no lock -- he'd never needed one until now -- so he settled on turning his back to the door and bracing against it, content in the knowledge that, should someone come inside, he would be the first one to know.

It did not hearten him to see that Tango was still on his floor. He had apparently, when Helsknight stepped over him, curled up as small as he could, anticipating some kind of attack. He'd thrown his arms up over his face, and now peered at Helsknight through his fingers, humming tuneless, horrified syllables.

"Tangotek," Helsknight said, concentrating on keeping his voice very calm and very quiet, "you aren't welcome in my home."

"I didn't know I was going to end up here," Tango whispered back, his voice high and tense as a violin string.

"Go home."

Something flickered in Tango's eyes, something like determination. Helsknight hated that look.

"Uhm. N-no can do. Sorry."

"Can't." Helsknight said, barring his teeth at the Hermit. "Or won't."

Tango made a face at him, tight-lipped and tense. He propped himself up on his elbows. "Uhm. If. If I say won't, will you kill me?"

"Possibly."

"Then I can't. Definitely, definitely, physically can't." Tango looked around, scrambled to his feet, and dashed to Helsknight's bed. He, admirably, only winced a little when he set his spawn -- probably worried hels worked like the nether, and the bed would manage to explode somehow. With a bit more confidence this time, Tango stated again: "Can't."

"I can break that." Helsknight seethed quietly, and tried very hard not to grind his teeth. "It would piss me off. I like being able to sleep here. But I can break that, and send you back to Hermitcraft."

"But you don't want to do that," Tango said nervously. "Because-- uh-- you'd have to kill me, and Tanguish would be really, really upset about that."

"Tanguish isn't here. So either run home, or I will... escort you there." Helsknight put on his most wicked grin, and placed his hand on his sword meaningfully.

Tango staggered a step back away from Helsknight, somehow managing to go paler than he already was. The redstone freckles adorning his face sparked, and the flame of his hair took on a slightly green cast. The idiot Hermit was apparently made of very stern stuff, though, because he didn't flee for the nearest reflection. He took a few seconds to breathe. He had his own sword, a fact that Helsknight only noticed because his hand twitched towards the hilt uncertainly. Helsknight wasn't alarmed. Tango didn't move like someone who knew how to use a sword well, and he was fairly sure the Hermit's hands were shaking so much he would drop it if he tried to draw it.

Tango swallowed hard, darted a tongue across his lips, and asked with only a minimal tremor in his voice, "Uh, T-Tanguish isn't here? Like, not here here, or like... Not in hels, here?"

Helsknight narrowed his eyes. "Is he supposed to be?"

"He left my place yesterday, and said he would be back in a few hours," Tango explained quickly. "I thought-- like, you know, maybe he decided to wait until morning? But. He didn't come back. And I got worried. He. You know. He tells me if he can't make it. It's-- all it takes is a reflection to talk. You know? And I did look in my reflection, but I couldn't see anything, which normally means he's not by one. It was just dark."

Tango crossed his arms. It was a gesture that somehow made him look smaller.

"I thought-- I hoped-- you know. Hopping through the reflection. I could just check on him. Make sure he was okay. I think. I think maybe it just took me to his spawn point."

Tango thought that statement over, then flashed Helsknight an incredulous, almost horrified look, "Why is his spawn point your bed?"

"Tanguish was supposed to be with you," Helsknight frowned.

"You haven't seen him?"

"No." Helsknight rested his hand on his sword hilt, mostly just so he wouldn't fidget. "Could he have gone back to Hermitcraft and you just missed each other?"

"I checked," Tango said, shaking his head. "I have... X gave a few of us console access. I did a few scans... Is there. Anyone you know with that kind of access for hels?"

"Hels and Hermitcraft are different places." Helsknight wrinkled his nose. "Maybe Evil X?"

"Cool! We'll talk to him then!"

"Oh sure," Helsknight spat derisively, "I'll just go knock on the front door to Evil X's tower and ask politely for admin access, will I?"

Tango grimaced. "Will he not... Like that kind of thing?"

"Oh he'd just love it. One more thing to hold over my head." Helsknight snorted. "It wouldn't work anyway. I have a pact that says I can't directly oppose him. If he, for the gods know what reason, has Tanguish, and I knew--" Helsknight made a parrying motion with his hand. "It's better if I don't know. Keeps my hands from being tied."

"Huh," Tango leaned back against the wall, slightly more at ease. Helsknight wasn't sure if he liked the fact that the Hermit was getting comfortable. "I kind of figured you and X-- uh, Evil X, would be friends."

"Why in hels would we be friends?"

"Well, I'm friends with Wels. And. You know. X. I just kind of figured..."

Helsknight decided the best thing to do with this statement was ignore it.

"I will check the house," Helsknight said. "You go back to your server. When I find him, I'll tell you."

Tango shook his head vehemently. "No! Nuh-uh. This is my rescue mission."

"While I appreciate your tenacity," Helsknight bared his teeth at the Hermit, causing him to shrink back a step, "hels is for helsmets. You wouldn't last ten minutes here. And I'm not wasting time keeping you safe."

"You protect Tanguish just fine."

"Tanguish can outrun everything that chases, and out-clever anything else."

"And he came from me," Tango said, crossing his arms petulantly. "I'm plenty smart! And I can be speedy in a pinch!" He sniffed. "We'll just give your house a look-around, easy-peasy."

Helsknight made to argue, and then a thought occurred to him.

"This isn't my house."

Tango blinked. His eyes shifted around the small, relatively bare room. The single desk, shield mounted on the wall, and bed.

"Is it... An outpost or something? You put this up while you were exploring?"

"This is my Colosseum cell," Helsknight said. When Tango only stared at him blankly, "Surely Tanguish has told you about the Colosseum."

"I mean... He did."

"I have a room here. For when I don't want to walk across hels to sleep."

"There's a bunch of fighters out there."

"There is."

"Fighters who... Dislike... Hermits."

Helsknight snorted.

"W-well!!" Tango sputtered, noticeably more nervous, but doing his best to ignore it. "I'm! Still not leaving! So! We'll just have to be quick. And once we get outside--"

"We'll have to walk across hels. Hels, the city, is very big, and has a lot of people in it."

Tango put his face in his hands and let out a keening whine of dismay through his fingers. It was the kind of noise that suggested he didn't know how to growl in exasperation, so he howled instead. Helsknight, begrudgingly, admitted to himself he was being [a little] harsh. He decided, against his better judgement, to have a little mercy.

"You really want to find Tanguish."

"Yes! Yes I do!" Tango snapped, looking up at him beseechingly. "I mean, is it really that hard to believe you're not the only one who wants him to be safe?"

Helsknight's skepticism must've shown on his face, because Tango let out another of his exasperated, half-syllable noises and ran his hands back through his hair.

"Look, I promise I won't get in your way. And I'll go home the second we find him. I just... I'm worried."

Helsknight sighed and tried his best not to roll his eyes. He crossed the room to where he'd left his cloak, and motioned for Tango to join him. Hesitantly, nervously, Tango stood and waited as Helsknight flung the cloak over his shoulders. It would have been far too long, but he gathered some of the length to turn into a makeshift hood, bunching it awkwardly around Tango's shoulders. It took some folding and some pinning, but after a few minutes, Helsknight stepped back and nodded. It was passable anyway.

"Keep this on while we're in the Colosseum," Helsknight informed him, pulling the hood down low over Tango's face. "With any luck, people will assume you're Tanguish. Or at least that you're supposed to be with me."

"And, uh, if that doesn't work?" Tango asked, his voice pitching the barest bit higher in nervousness.

"We'll burn that bridge when we cross it," Helsknight snorted. He checked one last time to make sure his gear was all in place, and, squaring his shoulders, led the way out and into the cells.

Nobody noticed them leave the cells. Or, at the very least, nobody noticed who Tango was. A few people stopped Helsknight to try and talk, but when he made it clear he had places to be, they let him pass. Helsknight's patience was not a thing anyone wanted to shorten, even those few dangerous people who could probably weather the aftermath.

Soon enough they were walking down the streets of hels, Tango hovering so close to Helsknight's side they occasionally walked into each other. Helsknight wanted to be annoyed. He wanted to be even more annoyed by all of Tango's jabbering. The Hermit would make observations as they walked, pointing at buildings and asking questions that Helsknight rarely deigned to answer.

They weren't here to sight-see. They were here to find Tanguish. So when Tango asked him his twentieth question of the morning [You guys have a working water fountain? How do you have water in hels? Is it an update suppression thing, or does hels have different rules than a standard nether hub?] Helsknight scowled and started walking so quickly, Tango had to jog to keep up with his long strides. Panting, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other without tripping over cobblestones, he couldn't ask any more questions.

[Praise every god and saint in hels.]

Eventually they turned onto the street Helsknight's house was on, and immediately he knew something was wrong. Even from the end of the street, Helsknight could see the front door was open. A cold fist of dread clenched itself in his stomach, and Helsknight ran up the street, Tango protesting as he tried to keep pace.

The house had been ransacked. The door wasn't just open, it had been halfway knocked off its hinges, and the window at the front of the building had been smashed. He hadn't yet stepped inside, but from the red light streaming into the open doorway, Helsknight could see his little dining table and chairs had been knocked over. There was broken glass on the floor, and the pale gleam of metal -- Tanguish's dagger, dropped in a scuffle. There was no blood that Helsknight could see, but that was cold comfort.

"Oh... Shoot." Tango panted, standing beside him. "This is your house?"

Helsknight found himself swallowing past a growing lump in his throat. "Yes."

"Did you... Not go home yesterday?"

"No."

"Shoot." Tango said again, tugging on the edges of Helsknight's cloak nervously. "He left Hermitcraft in the afternoon. Would he-- would he have gone straight to the Colosseum if--"

"Probably."

"So. So this probably happened when he got here," Tango glanced up at Helsknight, gauging the knight's hesitation, and then picked his way cautiously to the door. "Does your house get broken into often?"

"If it did, there would be a lot fewer thieves in this city."

"I'll uh... Take that as a no." Tango stepped gingerly inside, the broken glass crunching beneath his boots. His tail, a liquid, fiery thing like his hair, swept around the floor, glinting off the glass shards like a field of sparks. He picked up Tanguish's knife and flipped it over in his hands, studying it before slipping it onto his belt. "No blood. Obvious signs of a struggle. I mean, he had to have been ambushed right? Otherwise he would've run for it. And they took him alive because, well, I mean, he would've just respawned right?"

The lump in Helsknight's throat got tighter. It was suddenly very hard to breathe.

"Right?" Tango prompted again.

"How much do you know about helsmets? How our respawns work?" Helsknight asked quietly.

"I know respawn is rough for you guys." Tango raised an eyebrow at him. "Or, I assume, I guess. Tanguish seems pretty scared of dying, anyway. And I know you take deaths in the Colosseum very seriously. A lot of warrior culture weirdness stuff."

Helsknight swallowed. The fear of speaking his thoughts out loud grabbed him by the throat and pinned him still. Adrenaline, cold and sourceless, sent ice through his veins. His fist clenched around the hilt of his sword, his instincts as a knight searching for a source for his alarm to fight and dispatch, even when his logical mind knew there was none.

[He didn't want to say it out loud.]

"Sometimes."

Helsknight cleared his throat uncomfortably. He didn't look at Tango. His eyes wandered around the broken glass at the Hermit's feet, watching the flame of his tail glint off the brittle, jagged edges.

"Sometimes."

He swallowed again. He adjusted the buckle on his gauntlet. It suddenly felt too loose around his wrist. He was too vulnerable to talk about this. He needed plate mail, or a helmet. Hels, he needed castle walls and a full garrison.

"Sometimes we... When the universe... We are. Uhm. We're different than--"

He could feel Tango's gaze heavy on him. His skin prickled with the weight of his stare and his own growing, frigid alarm. Something like panic, a rare and terrible beast, was crawling awake in Helsknight's stomach. It gnashed its teeth against his insides, and he felt the desire to laugh, or shout, or throw something, or maybe just throw up in general.

[Don't say it out loud.]

"Tango, sometimes we dont--"

"Well it's about gods-damned time!"

The amount of relief Helsknight felt at the sound of that hostile voice was profound and dissonant, and incredibly welcome. Mostly though, it was an excuse to focus all his pent up fear on something physical he could kill, and he praised every god and saint in hels as he turned to face the newcomers.

A group of four vaguely thug-like helsmets stood in the street less than twenty paces away from him. Helsknight's gaze swept across them, noting their mix-match of leather and gold armor. Two had swords -- gold and iron. One was twirling an axe in her hand in a flourish that was probably supposed to be threatening, but mostly just told Helsknight she'd been practicing axe-flourishes instead of axe-throws. The person who'd spoken, a rather weasely looking thug with a knife on his belt, grinned with glad maliciousness.

"We've been waiting for you to show up, tin can."

Helsknight didn't rise to the [insult?]. It wasn't worth his time. He cast a quick glance in Tango's direction, catching the fading flicker as the Hermit hid somewhere in the house. Good. Helsknight would prefer he not be under foot.

"Who are you?" Helsknight asked coolly, not really expecting a response. He flexed the fingers of his sword hand restlessly, itching to draw his blade. "And what have you done with Tanguish?"

"Come quietly and maybe we'll tell you," the ringleader said, motioning broadly with one hand for his thugs to fan out around him.

The three fighters moved to circle Helsknight, one stopping just in front of the ringleader, while the other two began stalking further up the street. Helsknight did the mental math of four against one, while he was surrounded, and decided he didn't like the odds.

Helsknight attacked before the first swordsman, the one with the golden sword, could pass him. He turned and drew his sword in the same motion, and the strength behind his cleaving overhead strike shattered the softer metal of their blade neatly. His second swing, lightning quick, took them in the throat. He pointed his bloodied sword at the second swordsman, who froze in shock, blade up in a shaking guard position, as they watched their ally fade into twitching death throws.

"Will you make me ask twice?" Helsknight hummed, his voice as level as the point of his sword.

The swordsman's eyes darted over his shoulder. Helsknight frowned, felt more than he heard the approach of something. He ducked and spun, sword arching over his head to catch a weapon strike that instinct told him was coming. There was the loud clash of metal on metal, and when Helsknight straightened, he found two more thugs had joined from... Somewhere. The roof perhaps. Helsknight backed up several steps, trying to keep the entire group in his sight line, and his back to his home. At least with his back to a wall, no one could get behind him. The four with weapons drawn advanced on him slowly, wary of his speed, and the efficiency of his strikes.

"Throw down your weapon, gladiator," the ringleader called to him. "If all you want is to see your friend again, we'll take you right to him." He flashed a wicked grin. "Though we might rough you up a little first."

At that, the axe-weilder leaped forward -- some uncanny sense of Helsknight's, honed for danger, demanded he duck as a whisper of noise hissed by his ear -- and she fell back shrieking, a bloody hole punched in her shoulder. It was only when the arrow cracked against a far wall that Helsknight realized she'd been shot at close range with a very high power bow. Tango leaned through the broken window, a terrified grin on his face, another arrow already knocked.

"Fight fair why don't ya!" He crowed and loosed his second shaft. This one grazed the thug closest to Helsknight, and he used the distraction to ram his sword through their chest.

What followed was a frenzy of breath and movement, seconds that ticked by as ages that he measured in the studied arc of his blade. One thug, then two, then three, scythed down like wheat in a field, crude skill and cruder weaponry breaking against his fortress of an onslaught. It was only when the last one fell that he realized the ringleader was making a run for it. Silent as a breath, Helsknight yanked his knife from his belt, aimed and threw. It hilted itself in the back of the ringleader's left knee, and he fell to the cobblestones howling.

"Holy-- nice shot!" Tango laughed, the high piping sound of the traumatized and terrified. "What are you--? Wait! Helsknight! Wait a tick--!"

Helsknight wasn't listening. He was angry, and the implication that Tanguish was captured somewhere goaded him on like a burning brand between his shoulder blades. There was a very mean little animal of panic in his chest again, warring with the adrenaline of the fight, and he thought, if he had the mind to, he might tear the ringleader in half with his bare hands.

[It would be easy. One hand on the back of the neck, one at the base of the spine. His boots were heavy, and if he planted a few strong kicks at the knuckles of a vertebrae he was pretty sure he could--]

It was a mountain of restraint that made him stoop instead to pick the ringleader up by the collar and slam him into the nearest wall. His head bounced against the bricks behind him and his breath whooshed out of his lungs, leaving him dazed and gasping while Helsknight leaned his full weight into him to pin him still. Not that he was going anywhere fast with a bad knee anyway.

"Talk," Helsknight growled, nearly nose to nose with the thug. "My friend. Where is he."

The thug whined, eyes screwed shut and teeth gritted in pain. "I'm not-- I'm not telling you anything. Y-you're not that scary."

For a very brief moment, Helsknight was so angry he actually did see red. He pulled his gauntleted fist back, fully intent on putting a dent between the thugs eyes -- when Tango leaped up and grabbed his forearm in both hands, dragging it down again.

"Hey! Hermitcraft to Punchy McMurderface!" Tango shouted frantically, clinging to Helsknight's arm for dear life. "Don't do that!"

"Why shouldn't I?" Helsknight snarled, grinding his teeth.

"Because if he's concussed unconscious he can't answer your questions, skippy!" Tango snapped fearfully, flinching back as though he expected Helsknight to punch him instead.

Helsknight, who had been expecting a much more stupid excuse [Something like, "Oh no Helsknight, don't punch the bandit that's mean and icky!" maybe] was momentarily caught off guard by the logical answer. He stood there, glaring down at Tango, panting as the red tinge the world had taken on faded back a bit.

"I'm st-still not answering your stupid questions," the thug sputtered bravely. "If you th-think I'm going to betray my guild--"

Helsknight hissed a breath out through his teeth. He reached for his dagger at his hip-- and remembered he'd already thrown it.

"Besides!" The thug gasped fearfully, realizing, probably, what Helsknight was looking for. "Y-you're a knight right? You've gotta be! No run-of-the-mill gladiator swings a sword like that! Knights don't torture people! It's against your religion or some shit."

Helsknight, whose anger was boiling up his throat again, considered the implications of renouncing his knighthood for one afternoon. Less than an afternoon. Surely it wouldn't take more than an hour to break a few bones. His Saint could only damn him to a lesser ring of hell. Maybe if he explained it was for something very important when he went to confession--

Tango spoke first. "Yeah but, knights are the law, too, aren't they?"

The thug briefly stopped breathing.

"I mean, they're deputized, technically." Tango continued, shoving his hands in his pockets. Helsknight suspected it was so no one could see them shaking. "At least, that's how knights in my world work. And I haven't seen any cops around. So. He's the law right now. And I don't know a lot about hels law, but I know you cut people's hands off around here for stealing things."

Tango looked up at Helsknight. "What do you think, Killer? I mean, technically they stole a person, right?"

Helsknight, despite his current fury and desperation, and despite his fearsome reputation, and despite, even, his ugly thoughts of a few moments ago, was not a torturer. He had inflicted some terrible wounds on people before, some to the point of what he would call cruelty, but never had he drawn a weapon with the explicit aim of causing pain and suffering. It was a line he had never really dared to cross, barring a few very harrowing fights with Wels, when he had flirted with the idea of that danger and eventually stayed his hand. There were some things a man could not do without carving out pieces of his soul in the process, where the gap between thought and action was a chasm, and to cross it was to never return to safety again.

Helsknight searched the darkest parts of himself for the will to remove someone's hand to get information. He searched the darkest parts of himself for the will to torture someone to find out where Tanguish was. A very sick, cold, empty feeling opened up in the pit of Helsknight's stomach. When he looked to the thug again, he had scrubbed himself of anger, and adrenaline, and, he hoped, fear. His expression must have been truly grim, because he watched the thug's face pale fearfully, his pupils pinpricks in too-wide eyes.

Helsknight threw the thug to the ground, forcing Tango to stumble back a few steps to get out of the way. His boot came down on the thug's shoulder, pinning him against the cobblestones. Panicked hands scrabbled at his ankle, nails sliding off the metal of his grieve. Helsknight was reminded of a rat trying desperately to climb out of a well, drowning.

"Hold your arm out, and hold it still," Helsknight said, his voice deathly calm. He leaned more weight into his heel, eliciting a long whine of pain from his captive. "I would hate to miss your wrist, and take your arm off at the elbow instead."

The thug was clearly panicked. Helsknight honestly couldn't blame him. He was very close to panicking himself. He kept shoving his feelings down into that cold empty place in his stomach, and replacing them with the mask he wore when he played the villain in the Colosseum. He quietly, forcefully, informed himself that this was a role he was playing, and like every role, he would play it very well. And then the performance would be over, and he could feel feelings about it then. After the screaming had stopped, and the blood had dried.

Tango had turned his back to him, his hands clasped over his ears. He did not run away. He did not leave. It was a show of solidarity Helsknight neither wanted nor expected, but found himself grateful for anyway.

"Last chance," Helsknight said. He lifted his sword, ready to plunge it down into the outstretched arm. He thought, in the detached way of the horrified, that if he could catch the tip of his sword between the bones of the wrist, that might be the fastest way to... To...

The thug closed his eyes and turned his face away.

Helsknight let out a long, slow breath. He drove the sword down. The thug screamed. The blade cracked against the cobblestones.

There was no blood. There was no dismemberment. The thug had pulled his arm away at the last moment, and clung to Helsknight's boot with both hands, shrieking. Helsknight's ears were buzzing. He couldn't hear what the thug was saying. His heart was racing, and his mind was so terribly, terribly empty. He felt... Numb. It was very hard to keep his sword in his hands.

A hand tapped gently on his arm. Helsknight blinked down at Tango, feeling vaguely like someone was waking him from a nightmare.

"Let me go!" The thug was yelling, scrabbling with renewed vigor against Helsknight's boot. "I told you what you wanted! Let me go!"

"Did you... Catch all that?" Helsknight asked, trying desperately to pluck coherent thoughts from the droning emptiness in his head.

"Sure thing."

[Ah... Good.]

Tango kicked his boot against the thug's side, more a nudge than anything. "Alright. We're going to let you go. Tell your guild boss or whatever that we'll be outside his place tomorrow at noon. Be ready to negotiate or -- uh -- be ready to get dead, I guess."

It was not a threat that would go down in the annuls of history as a great villain monologue, but the thug, shaking and terrified and in pain, took it deadly serious. Helsknight released him, and he hobbled away down the road as fast as he could on a bad leg. They watched him in silence until he disappeared down a side alley, leaving them in an empty street scattered in left over items from the other fallen thugs.

"Tomorrow?" Helsknight asked, his voice sounding very far away in his own ears.

"Today," Tango answered. "Telling them tomorrow makes them think they have time to prepare, and if they're preparing, they're not, you know, hurting Tanguish."

"Ah."

"You alright?" Tango squinted up at him. "You look like you're in shock."

"Mh." Helsknight dropped his gaze to the ground. His dagger had been left behind. He took a step forward... and sank to the ground.

"Woah! Hey, hey! Easy big guy--"

Helsknight found himself on his hands and knees, shaking, smothering under the weight of guilt and his own potential for horror. His head was buzzing again, a nauseating sound like the static of the void. His eyes found his dagger again, and he lunged for it. Moving on something between impulse and habit, driven by guilt and self-disgust, he ripped the blade across his wrist, spilling blood across the ground. With shaking hands he grabbed up his sword and set the tip against the cobblestones, his forehead pressed against the hilt, eyes screwed shut.

"Saint of Blood and Steel," Helsknight breathed, with all the desperation of a sinner crawling to an altar, "forgive me for what I would have done." He pressed his forehead so hard against the cold netherite of the hilt, it hurt. "Please, please, forgive me for what I would have done."

His nose stung with the smell of blood and metal and salt and sealing wax. His mouth tasted like bile, and he could feel every fluttering heartbeat in the cut on his wrist. The buzzing in his head, slowly, slowly, alongside the speed of his racing heart, ebbed. The animal panic curled up in his chest and grumbled as it started to ease itself to sleep. He realized someone was rubbing circles into his back, and whispering at him, and tugging at his hands.

Tango was not trying to be reassuring. At least, he wasn't trying to be reassuring so that Helsknight would be calm. He muttered things under his breath like, "Okay, easy now, no big deal, it's fine," and "Let it go. Nice and easy. Good knight. Scary knight..." The circles he rubbed into Helsknight's back were shaky and awkward, and very clearly a distraction for his other hand, which worked on uncurling Helsknight's fingers from the knife. Helsknight, his exhausted wits finally returning, had mercy on him and released it. Tango snatched up the knife like it were a snake he feared would bite someone. He grimaced at the blood on the blade, and, not knowing what else to do, wiped it off on Helsknight's cloak, before shoving the knife beside Tanguish's in his belt.

"So, just for establishing the rest of this afternoon," Tango said, when he realized Helsknight had come crawling out of his stupor. "Should I be worried about you hurting yourself randomly? Like, does this happen on a regular basis? Do you have triggers I should be making safe words for or--?"

"No." Helsknight said, trying not to feel ridiculous.

"Right. So that was just a one time thing? Because if it's not a one time thing, I'm not judging or anything. But, like, I might recommend seeing a hels therapist or something."

"No I--" Helsknight had no desire to explain that he had a Saint, and that Saint had tenets he'd sworn to, and he had been preparing to go smashing through them like a sledgehammer, mostly because she didn't want to admit it to himself either. He didn't want to admit that he had been on the verge of turning his back on everything that made him himself, because he was desperate and scared, and he didn't want to admit that if he wasn't a knight, he had no idea what he even was at all. Instead he fell back on what the thug had said, because it wasn't wholly true, but it also wasn't a lie. "Knight. Torture. Against my religion. Or. Whatever."

Helsknight leaned on his sword like it was his last hope of salvation.

"Very, very against my religion."

"R-right." Tango put on a complicated expression. The kind of expression one gives when they're realize they're walking on a minefield. "But. You know. You didn't actually torture anyone. Right? So. God can't be mad. So you don't have to slash your wrists for god, right?"

"I would have." Helsknight's eyes found a chipped cobblestone. "If he hadn't moved... I... Would have."

That feeling of frigid dread spidered it's way down his ribs again to pool in his stomach.

"Well. But. But. You didn't." Tango swallowed audibly. "You didn't. And that's what god cares about, right? And, even if god does care, you were following the letter of the law. And if god cares about that too. Uh. God. God can. Take it up? With me."

Helsknight barked a half-hearted laugh. "You going to defend my honor from god, Hermit?"

"Yes," Tango said uncomfortably. "Because I was the one who told you to do it. So. Double damn both of us, right?"

They looked at each other. They looked away from each other.

"Tanguish is going to kill us when he finds out what we did to find him," Helsknight said.

"I won't tell if you don't."

They looked at each other. Tango offered a hand to help Helsknight stand. When Helsknight took it, they grabbed each other's forearms, and it felt uncannily like a pact, or a promise.

"I won't tell if you don't," Helsknight murmured.

Helsknight sheathed his sword, and ran a hand through his hair, trying, with some success, to pull himself back together.

"We should... Get moving." Tango observed, looking up the street.

"I didn't hear a word he said."

"I've got it all up here buddy," Tango said, tapping the side of his head and offering a half-smile that didn't quite make it to his eyes. "So uh... You know anything about a Thief Guild?"

[anomaly-hivemind]

We’ll meet again || Double penetration in one hole and public w/ Bill cipher x fem reader

Word Count: 1993

Masterlist

Tag: Double penetration in one hole, vaginal sex, Exhibitionism, public, Overstimulation, dubcon

Note: The reader is slightly black-coded. Nickname is Dimples or honey lips

You got a full time job at this mystery shack in the middle of the forest. You had been working there for maybe a total of three months with little to no issues, until it became the start of the summer. Then came two young kids and all the oddities that seem to have started when they got there. Staying with their Grunkle which was also your boss, you got to know everyone well.

“Hey Y/N do you mind watching over the shack for me for a few hours, I’m taking Mable and Dipper out for a bit” Stan said while already basically out the door so you just nod. It was a long slow hour of nothingness, maybe an old lady or two but nothing interesting to make you pay attention to anything.

“So one save me from this boredom,” You groan and rub your forehead. You could only play with pens and paper clips for so long. You heard a ring and turned to face the door, but there wasn’t anyone around as far as you could tell.

“I’ve only seen you around recently how fun” A voice behind you makes you turn to it with wide eyes and you lean against the register. A guy who didn't really seem all there was standing behind the counter with you. ‘Where did this bum come from, how the fuck did he get behind you in th first place.’ You thought with a panic as you looked at the unnatural yellow glow in his eyes and felt like he was peering into your soul nonconsensually might you add.

“Sir you can’t be behind the counter” You try to keep a kind voice in hope to not upset the potential crackhead that had wandered into the mystery slack.

“BuUt I came to answer your pleas of boredom dimples. definitely not to find something of importance. ” He spoke dramatically before mumbling something under his breath.

“My what now.. Sir please just set back into being in front of the counter.” Instead of doing what you asked, he took a step closer and unfortunately for you that ass of yours was not moving any closer to the register than you already were.

He moved his arms on both sides of you and smiled an uncanny smile that made you shiver. Next thing you know you are moving onto the counter to escape his attempt to trap you. Like hell were you gonna get murdered by some random probably drunk stranger for drug money. You liked it here but not enough to get yourself killed and mutilated for it.

“That tremble of yours is pretty cute Honey lips, filling my head with all kinds of things.” you make a run to the door but before you could open it the yellow eyed guy stood in front of the door blocking the fastest exit out.

The room felt cold and shaped all of sudden and you felt like you were a deer in headlights. You couldn't move anything but move your head which is what tipped you off that this was no normal paralysis.

“What the hell did you do to me!” You yelled at him in a concerned voice. The guy uses your stuck body to lean against your shoulder.

“You have a pleasing meatsuit Dimples.” he whispered in your ear.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?!” your voice got shaky as you tried to keep the confidence you definitely didn’t have right now.

“Name’s Bill! But you can call me your new lord and master for all of eternity!” The guy’s body drops to the ground in front of you and out comes a bright yellow triangle with one eye and a top hat pops up in his place floating around. “Oh so i’m tripping balls right now, inhaling the wrong type of air that's what going on right now.”

“I am very real despite what that simple brain of yours thinks.” he rolls his eye at you as he flies around you in a close circle.

“You are nuts.” you shake your head, who would have thought that your mundane need to cure your boredom would lead to… well whatever this was right now.

“Well it's not my fault your corrupt mind brought my attention, so what was it you wanted Dimples.” you don't answer so he speaks again.

“Entertainment was it, well honey lips consider me willing to entertain…But in exchange you gotta entertain me.”

“How would i do that” you felt dumb even entertaining this Dorito thing.

“How ‘bout I reverse the functions of every hole on your face.” his eyes smiled or so that's what you think his face was doin at least.

“How about no.”

“No fun boo, mhm how about something we both can enjoy” He had his hand in front of his face where his chin would have had if he wasn’t, well if he wasn’t a triangle.

“Like what?”

“You'll just have to take the chance and Trust me.” There was a slight giggled that came from his lip face. his hand lit up in a blue fire and you realized you could move again.

“But why are you doing this?” you tried to ask but he only gives you a cryptic answer.

“Boredom is my worst enemy, so I'm here to save you,” he said loudly.

You were definitely going to regret this lapse in judgment you were about to have. You raised your hand and shook the demon's hand with great hesitation. ‘Was I fucking stupid, i gotta be brain dead to shake the hand of a demon who gave me vague information of his probably dangerous arrangement i agreed to already. Sign my life way I guess.’

He snapped his fingers and your clothes were gone, you let out a shrill as you covered the important bits the best you could.

“No amount of gold on earth can buy originality…but you're come close enough.” Move your arms away.

You felt very exposed, you were naked in your work space in front of this triangle being of unknown origins. You were in the middle of the room and anybody could come inside the place, hell Stan and the kids could come back at any time then next thing you know it you’re a register offender. You could only hope that what this chip shaped man demon thing had in planned for you wouldn’t last that long.

In a flash Bill grows a body and keeps his triangle head that has changed into a pyramid. He was also equally as naked as you are, Plus he looked Hot to add to it. You look him up and down but your eyes get stuck on a thing well two things actually. Two dark cocks that were long and thick at his base, erect and twitching. You were staring at them and you were drooling a bit. It was embarrassing.

“This form pique your interest?” He stroked himself slowly as if he was giving a show for you. You don’t catch yourself nodding to his question and before you know it he is up against you, dick touching you everytime he curves it in a stroke. He moved you closer to the counter, your bare ass touching the desk.

“Let's get started, Honey lips.” he rubbed the tips over your fold and let out a funny happy sounding noise.

“So wet already~ who would have thought you could be so needy and wanting.” he pushed one of his veiny cocks into you, all the way to in until kissed it on your cervix. You let out a loud squeal like moan as you arched your back. There was no way you were going to cum, not from him just sliding into you…right.

“Feel free to cum at any time, I'm super giving Dimples.” he started to move his hips, your pussy regards no shame as it makes wet squelches as he tickles your g-spot. Your hole sucking in him it's making you feel like a slut.

“Fuckin… Ah~” you feel your legs start to shake from his mean pace inside of you. Bill starts to push his other cockhead and you clench around them. You cum around them as soon as he pushes the other one all the way inside as well. Stretching you out like never before, it felt like you were touching stars.

You have no time to recover from his movement because he doesn't stop, letting out a groan and mumbling to himself about how snug your pussy felt around him. Your ears burn as he teases you for cumming so fast and mentioning how he was just getting started with you. He starts to push almost all the way out before ramming back into out then repeating. Your eyes start to water as you reach another climax right after the other.

“You are mighty easy to please Honey lips.” he groaned and pushed you over on the counter, you were now laying back on the cold desk in a daze as he held your legs up at his waist. Your walls flutter around the girth of the two dicks of his inside of you.

“I can’t take it!” you whine as you feel an orgasm number who knows you're not keeping track start to approach you.

“Limits only exist in the mind.” Bill rolled his hips at an odd angle that it was almost like his dicks were moving at different times. He gives a squeeze to your breast and you shiver.

He kept moving his hips in this devious way that was starting to make you spasm and moan. Bill moved his hand down your body and he started to play and tease your clit, the whole action makes you choke out a cry as you feel a pool of wet hit yours and his thighs. ‘Did I just?!’

“YOU DID?” He answers your thoughts with an overly happy tone that was embarrassing. He kept thrusting his hips into you and circling your clit and you impulse your legs shut. You didn't think you could cum anymore but this DEMON has proved that to not be true in the slightless.

“Can you try not to lose consciousness, it won't make me stop.” He spoke through breathy groans. Bill’s words make you clench around you again, you could see the specks of darkness forming in your vision but you try to shake them off.

He slammed his hips into you at a breathtaking pace, his was slower and harder and it literally took your breath out of your lungs with each thrust. You could feel him twitching in you, a dead give away that he was close to coming. His pace brought you back to another painful yet pleasuring orgasm, his hand went back to your clit to run a slow tight pattern on you.

His hips sputter and he comes in heavy thick ropes of cum, filling you up like a pie. Pools of his seed dripped out of you when he pulled out of you a bit too fast for comfort. You let out a quick whine.

“Your a fun time Dimples, really know how to keep up with me.” he changed back to his triangle form. You try to get up but the sudden movements make your ears ring and thighs send you any single they can. You look up at Dorito demon as he watches you struggle a bit.

“We’ll meet again, Honey lips.” his eye curls as his way of a smile, then he poofed out of nowhere.

Now you need to get some clothes before anyone sees you like this…And to wipe the cameras.

[flyingcatstiel]

SuperbatWeek 2024 fic recs

Day 7: FREE DAY!!! Superbat? | Superbat! | Superbat

a song came after by susiecarter [T, 4,500 word count]

It requires every ounce of will he can bring to bear to force himself to meet Clark's eyes. Clark looks shocked; the expression is undiluted by anger or dismay, though perhaps he simply hasn't had time to grasp what just happened. His eyes are wide, round, impossibly blue. Color is rising into his cheeks. His mouth is half-open, slack, with the slightest damp shine where— "That was," Bruce makes himself say, and then stops. Christ, what word can he use? What adjective is there that acknowledges his trespass fully? "Inappropriate." Inadequate, but it's the best he can do, and Clark needs to hear something, needs to know Bruce recognizes his own mistake for what it is. "I apologize. I—"

Comment - This fic starts where usually fics with a similar trope end. Bruce is out of the dream world where he lived happily with his husband Clark. For thirty years. Now he's to deal with the cold reality where Clark is not his beloved. Muscle memory is his biggest enemy.

Conflated by PamiGami [T, 31,900 word count]

“Are you sure you’re feeling quite all right, sir? I was but fairly sure the head hadn't been impacted.” “No… no, please. Listen. I’m in his body, but I’m not him. I can prove it.” Ill at ease, Clark rubbed at the back of his head, not stopping to think about the weird sensation of feeling not his own curls, but somebody else’s hair. The man continued to stare at him with piercing and scolding eyes. “I believe you.” He nodded. “Mister Wayne doesn’t say please this early in the morning.”

Comment - Somehow, Batman and Superman have switched their bodies, their apartments and their day jobs. Clark and Bruce are left to figure out what to do and why they're sharing a body with some random civilian. Identity shenanigans, full throttle.

Just a Formality by FabulaRasa [E, 4,600 word count]

Bruce and Clark get married, for reasons. And then they fall in love. Nope, it's not Victorian time travel! I am straight up about this.

Comment - Clark didn't know that some things on this earth could be as painful as kryptonite. Things like fake marriage.

Saudade by liodain [T, 20,400 word count]

It's midsummer, 2006. In the wake of his son's death, Bruce Wayne tries to outrun his grief on a cross-country road trip. When his car breaks down on a dusty road in the heart of Kansas, a friendly stranger stops to lend a hand.

Comment - A soft, melancholy start to a beautiful long distance friendship between a grieving father and a Kansas youth with a heart of gold. Also known as a fic where Bruce and Clark meet before the events of Man of Steel and it changes everything.

ship-to-ship combat by pomeloquat [M, 76,800 word count]

"Clark. What the hell is this," Lois asks, staring at Clark's Bruceman WIP folder. Clark's first instinct is to fly away, but that would still leave his fic on display for her to see. His second instinct is to blast a hole straight through his laptop screen with his heat vision, which isn't much better. Clark, in an attempt to make some spare cash, unintentionally stumbles into the world of superhero fanfiction, becomes a prolific writer for Gotham's OTP, and tries his best to fend off rival fans who want him to convert to superbat instead.

Comment - Triple identity shenanigans and a love letter to fandom and shippers. This fic has everything - heartbreak, heartache, unrequited feelings in double doses, self sacrifices and near misses, ship wars and RPF. And on top of that, it's the funniest fic I've read across many fandoms, hands down.

tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter [M, 33,000 word count]

It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead. Pretending to date each other in order to explain why Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are in the same place so often? Doesn't help as much as you might think.

Comment - When Batman himself is organizing and micromanaging a fake dating narrative to keep their superhero identities secret, what could go wrong? Apparently, everything. It's the worst time of Clark's life, it's the best time. It's a love story.

And last but not least, some spicy superbat fic recs!

Caught In His Gaze by DontStopHerNow [E, 1,500 word count]

This was supposed to be a stakeout to be sure Clark Kent had not lost his mind due to Kryptonite poisoning. Batman gets more of an eyeful than he expected when Clark does what people do alone in their apartments, though. He cannot look away.

What's In A Name? by frozenpotions [E, 15,000 word count]

Clark accidentally walks— or rather, flies in on Bruce enjoying a private moment. He'd probably have an easier time moving past it all if Bruce hadn't been saying Clark's name.

take a pic, strike a pose by shipyrds [E, 5,600 word count]

It’s probably a good thing Clark’s in private, because when he does check his notifications he almost cracks his phone in half. Bruce has sent him a picture. He’s in the suit, in the Batcave, and there’s probably other things happening in the picture, but Clark can’t really see any of those, because Bruce is– posing? Or maybe the camera just caught him like that; maybe he just happened to be catching his cape one-handed, setting off the sinuous curve of his bicep, the Bat logo straining across his chest. -- Bruce sends Clark a pic. Unfortunately, it goes out to some other people too.

My other superbat fic recs are here.

Happy reading!

[lilacxquartz]

TO SAVE A BROKEN SOUL • suguru geto x cursed spirit fem!reader

ao3 link • masterlist • < previous chapter • final chapter >

summary: trying to talk himself out of doing something he might regret, he attempts to get to know more about you.

Chapter 6. Origins

Almost as if refusing to let go of you after that moment, Suguru held onto you so tight as if he were about to lose you. With such care and love that he could have given to something human, but it was to something like you instead.

Despite everything, he still desperately tried to convince himself that there was something more to you than what you truly were.

Especially when he got lost in your void-like eyes again and again, staring as though into space and looking for a glimmer of hope, yet the stars didn’t quite exist.

“How old are you?” he asked after a while, quietly dreading the answer. Suguru knew that cursed spirits could look different like that.

“About… fifty, I believe,” you replied in a considerate hum, reluctantly accepting his attempt to make conversation with you. As long as he wasn’t trying to kill you actively, you supposed.

You didn’t quite know otherwise, but you remembered watching as the times at least somewhat changed.

Suguru blanked for a moment, his eyes glossing over your ageless skin. “I guess… you’re not human, so you don’t age the same way.”

A mutual silence was exchange between the two of you as he ran his fingers across your features, your eyes tracking him as he couldn’t help but explore.

Suguru wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for when he kept on touching you the way that he did, maybe though, he was trying to find positivity in you even if it didn’t fully exist.

In an attempt to break the silence as a means of understanding you further, he pulled you in just a little closer to his chest. “So, what have you been… doing… for the last fifty years?”

“Trying to stay out of the way, mostly,” you replied, a solemn look entering your features.

“Oh, yeah. That’s right,” he noted, his brows furrowing as he adopted a pinched look, some guilt manifesting as he remembered that just some time ago, you were quite literally a free spirit and he took that from you. “That’s what you tried to when you ran away from the temple, right? Tried to get out of my way?”

You nodded.

Pausing, he tried his best to steer the conversation forward. “Did you just live there and do nothing else…? Just roam around and hunt animals?”

“Yes,” you calmly nodded again.

“Sounds simple enough, maybe even boring,” he considered, unable to imagine such a lifestyle because he was still so very used to living in at least something that resembled a society.

You tried to retain a calm tone despite still feeling a hint of danger in the air, “It’s subjective.”

Suguru could only nod back, doing his best to understand. He tried to keep his tone as sweet as possible to retain your full attention despite something darker warring within him, even if it didn't make that much of a difference to you.

“Do you… remember how you were bor—how you… came to be?” he asked you, curious to know as much as he possibly could.

“It’s nothing extraordinary,” you replied, “I’ve just always been around. That’s essentially it.”

“You’re a special grade from what I can tell though, so your existence had to have been… materialised, only if you were born from something that had a lot of hatred within it,” he spoke.

You hummed in a curious tone. “Well, my origins come from a village but that’s all I know,” you thought about it for a second longer though, “it wasn’t anything special, but I could always find my way back home. Although, it seems to be destroyed now. Just ruins remain.”

Years ago, Suguru massacred a village to take on revenge for the girls he now treats as his own two daughters, a justified punishment well deserved to make up for the cruelty of non-sorcerers. He wondered if it was too much of a coincidence if it was the very same village he took down, or if it was too much of a stretch to consider. It would have been a sick, cruel joke if you were from that area, born from the heaping negativity and hatred forged from the very same villagers that he took down by his own hands.

A part of him refused to accept such a possibility and he quickly dismissed the idea in an attempt to convince himself that it surely couldn’t have been that very same village.

As he reflected on a conversation he had those same many years ago with Yuki Tsukumo, he recalled their discussion about cursed spirits and energy; about the symptoms of it and the root causes. Yuki had always been critical about how Jujutsu society merely addressed the symptom of the cursed spirit’s existence while she wanted to advocate for tackling the root cause. He, on the other hand, had always perceived cursed spirits as what they were; simply just manifestations of negative human energy and nothing more.

But then he had to go and meet you.

A thought slipped into his mind. Perhaps you were a consequence yourself of the village you were born from and should you be exorcised, then that would be just another instance of treating the symptom. Ironically, by massacring everyone in the village, he had unwittingly put Yuki’s research to the test by attempting to eliminate the cause. Yet, you still existed despite your home being lost to you and you weren’t mimicking the same hatred you were born within because you didn’t live in it.

This little tidbit of information made him feel suddenly uncertain, maybe just as lost as he was when he was just a teenager and still trying to figure everything out.

For example, he still hated those villagers with a burning passion even though he would never have to see them again and neither would the girls, but he still found himself liking you—someone who was born from likely the same sort of negativity—what a mind fuck this whole mess was.

And the more he thought about that period, the more and more confused he felt. Everything seemed to always lead back to the causes of cursed spirits and even now, as you lay beside him in his bed, your back pushed up against his chest, he had no real damn clue as what to really think.

“Do you feel any remorse for the people you feed from?” he asked, seeking to gain a new perspective from you. He had made a decision already, but wanted to hear it from your side.

“Yes… or something close to it,” you confirmed, “I don’t like doing it, that’s why I preferred to hunt in the woods.”

Suguru nodded, understanding properly now that you were indeed different from the villagers, at least in your own way. Maybe it hadn’t even been that village at all. He scoffed at the thought regardless; they wouldn’t have been able to create something like you.

Suguru held tightly onto you as he fell asleep, finding a strange sort of comfort when so relaxed in your presence.

Yet, you remained awake with racing thoughts going haywire in your mind, feeling completely and utterly restless.

You weren’t being confined in the pocket anymore.

So could you technically… just leave?

~~~

Slipping out while he still had his guard down, you crept out of his room, out of his house and raced towards the trees; back to the wilderness where you belonged.

You ran as fast as you could, your stealthy instincts allowing you move relatively unnoticed in the dark. It was how you hunted; by blending seamlessly into the shadows c but lately, you hadn’t had the chance to use it just as effectively.

Maybe you were becoming more human after all, desperate for a place to belong.

But it couldn’t have been back there.

So you attempted to leave, right then and there, blending back into the shadows and off into the inviting forest. The clothes that he had given you felt wrong on your skin as though posing as a constant reminder of the life you were so desperately attempting to flee from.

You missed everything about your own life, but especially just the simple act of being free.

Of being uncontained.

Settling quickly into the woods, you settled on a different forest so that if he chased you, he couldn’t find you so easily again. It wasn’t the same trees that you loved but you were at least finally far, far away from him.

For him to have called your old life boring, was nothing when compared to the life he forced you to endure as his prisoner.

Cursed spirit or not, you longed to be free and now, free you were.

Everything felt so right all of a sudden and you were desperately hopeful to settle back into a life that you loved. For the first time in a long while, you got to experience what it truly meant to be alive and it tasted sweeter than anything you had ever known.

Suguru woke up in the morning completely alone however with you nowhere to be seen or heard, but he knew you pretty damn well at this point and where exactly you would run off to.

He’d find you again, but this time, he wouldn’t let you go.

In the truest way and form.

~~~

this is part 2 of lilac’s bite sized yandere jjk nightmares

[stitchlingbelle]

Why Lucy?

Ok, other people have probably come up with this already, but: we speculate about the Harkers being something supernatural by the end of the book--

--have we considered that Lucy might have been something supernatural from the beginning?

Leaving aside the inevitable Doomed By the Narrative foreshadowing she gets, Lucy begins sleepwalking and more before the Count arrives in Whitby. It is strongly implied that her sleepwalking is something beyond the usual: "there is an odd concentration about her which I do not understand; even in her sleep she seems to be watching me..."

Also before her first encounter with Dracula, her dreams and moods are uncertain--and significant-- enough to feature heavily in Mina's diary: "Lucy is more excitable than ever, but is otherwise well..." And again, it is stated that she is unusual: "She was restless and uneasy all the time, and I cannot but think that her dreaming at night is telling on her. She is quite odd in one thing: she will not admit to me that there is any cause for restlessness; or if there be, she does not understand it herself."

Mina ascribes Lucy's problems to her innate nature: "Lucy is so... sensitive that she feels influences more acutely than other people do..."

Lucy seems more aware of her attacks than Mina later is. (Or that Jonathan was, if you subscribe to that interpretation.) She reports not just the material things she witnesses (hearing the flapping of Dracula in his bat form, as Mina saw his mist form), and not just the fear and nightmares all experience, but "distant voices which seemed so close to me, the harsh sounds that came from I know not where and commanded me to do I know not what..."

And her recollection of her first attack while sleepwalking is neither a blank, like Mina's first, nor a grounded account, like Mina's last-- instead, Lucy reports an out-of-body experience: "my soul seemed to go out from my body and float about the air. I seem to remember that once the West Lighthouse was right under me... and I came back and found you shaking my body. I saw you do it before I felt you."

Finally, Lucy's struggle against her impending transformation is different from Mina's. When Mina begins to turn into a vampire at the end of the book, she can't abide garlic, but Lucy quickly grows fond of it and says "there is peace in its smell". Seward reports that "whenever she got into that lethargic state [in which Dracula controls her]... she put the flowers from her; but that when she waked she clutched them close." Lucy somehow feels and responds positively to the garlic's powers, even as her body transforms (her wound healing and teeth growing, and her vampiric nature attempting to ensnare Art).

Finally, Lucy herself, at the beginning of the novel, believes herself to be unusual: "[Seward] has a curious habit... as if trying to read one's thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter myself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my glass. Do you ever try to read your own face? I do... He says that I afford him a curious psychological study, and I humbly think I do."

I think there's an argument to be made that Dracula picked Lucy because she was the easiest for him to reach-- that she was sensitive, not in the emotional sense, but in the sense of being clairvoyant. She can hear him, and therefor be compelled to obey him, before anyone else. The strangeness around her before the Count's arrival isn't just foreshadowing for us-- it's Lucy's own second sight warning her that doom is at hand, and giving her the power to struggle against it for as long as she possibly can.

[xannerz]

she was supposed to be grabbing hector's face here but ykw just use your mind's eye 😔

[dracotheocracy]

i know a lot of the artists who post OC animatics on youtube are on tumblr or have a site for their webcomic or something similar. i know i could follow them if i wanted. but i dunno i feel like the experience is heightened when i get my information solely through youtube community posts and the occasional new animatic, i like piecing the story together by reading the youtube comment section

[hedgehog-moss]

I saw an astronaut walking on the side of the road today, which is the kind of thing my brain will placidly accept at first, only to go "Wait, an astronaut" a minute later once I'm done with my previous train of thought. By then I felt like it might be too late to stop my car, but I ended up stopping anyway because I didn't want to spend the rest of the afternoon wondering.

I waited for the astronaut to catch up with me since they were going in my direction, but they didn't. Eventually I got out of the car and retraced my steps, and after a bend in the road when I saw no one walking towards me I decided the visitor must have gone back to their spacecraft and I would never get an explanation for this—and then in the distance I caught a glimpse of the white space suit disappearing into the forest.

I managed to catch up with them and they turned out to be a distant neighbour of mine (let's call her M.), and what looked like a space suit when I was driving by was a beekeeper's outfit! (Sorry for the pointless suspense but I was taking you on the same little journey my brain went through.) M. was tickled when she learnt that I mistook her for an astronaut—she told me she'd borrowed her husband's too-big shoes which made her drag her feet, hence why she looked like she was having trouble readjusting to Earth's gravity.

Then she said that one of her hives had swarmed, and she was pretty sure she knew where the swarm was. I had no idea how swarming worked so as we walked in the woods she explained that when a hive becomes too crowded, the queen will get replaced by a new one, and the old queen will leave along with half of the bees. After this split, the swarm will cluster somewhere nearby and wait while scout bees fly away in search of a new hive location. "That's when you have to catch them—if you can find the swarm. But here it is!"

I wasn't expecting quite so many bees!! I'm pretty scared of all flying creatures so allow me to pat myself on the back for what came next—I thought I was about to learn how to catch a swarm from a prudent distance, but M. asked if I could give her a hand, seeing as her husband was supposed to be here to help but clearly wasn't.

The first step of catching a swarm was spraying the bees with sugar water, and I was glad not to be asked to help with that, as it seemed like something that could make bees angry. ("On the contrary, it makes them less agitated!" I was told, but that remained to be seen.) Step 2 was pulling on a rope tied to the tree branch in order to lower the swarm into the new hive, and that was the job I was recruited for. The rope was long enough that I could stand several metres away to pull on it, but my role in this swarm-catching business was still all too clear to any angry bee looking for someone to blame.

I remembered reading that bees can sense the electric field of flowers, so I thought there was no way they wouldn't sense the staticky nervousness coming from the rope-puller, but thankfully they completely ignored me.

M. was offering one fun fact about bees after the other, in a very relaxed voice, which was very interesting and very soothing for both me and the bees. She said this particular colony was very sweet ("some bee colonies are meaner than others?" "yes of course"), and that swarming usually happens a bit earlier in the year "but it's been raining so much lately, the bees had to postpone all their activities, just like us" and also "swarming involves quite a bit of planning ahead of time; for example worker bees have to put the queen on a diet so she won't be too fat to fly. Did you know that?" I did not!

Unfortunately our first attempt to catch the swarm failed. The bees entered the hive, had a quick look around their new home, then left in disgust and formed a thick, angry, buzzing cloud over our heads, while I tried to think nothing but bee-loving thoughts to make my electric field harmless and friendly.

Then one after the other all the bees returned to the exact same spot on the branch where we'd first found them. ("Because it smells like the queen" said M.) We examined the near-empty hive and found that a mouse had made a nest in there! She was no longer here but the traces of her passage were evident (some of the comb was very nibbled.)

As we were removing the supplies brought in by the mouse (sticks, hay), M.'s husband joined us and he had brought a spray bottle containing some sort of bee-attracting liquid (pheromones?) (I didn't have a close look at the bottle because I made sure to stay far away from the bee-attracting liquid, while he sprayed it inside the hive.)

He had also brought a white sheet which he spread under the tree, explaining that the bees will want to get away from the bright surface and look for darkness, thus hopefully getting inside the box. Another thing I learnt is that once the queen enters the hive, the nearest worker bees will spread the message by turning round and fluttering their wings to send a chemical signal in specific directions, which will be picked up by other bees farther away; at strategic intervals some bees will light the beacons of Gondor turn round and fan their wings to relay this scent-message until the entire colony is informed of the queen's new location.

We were more successful the second time around! This time the bees who went in didn't immediately get out again to return to their branch. Well I say "we" but I didn't volunteer to pull on the rope again, so I can't claim any role in this victory. But my personal victory was that I stood quite a bit nearer this time so I could watch everything closely, and I felt more intrigued than nervous. Bees were constantly zipping past me but it had become clear that my electric field was pure and they bore me no ill will. I was always fond of bees from afar and happy to see them do their thing in flowers in the spring, but today's adventure got me interested in their daily life as well, so I think I'll read some books about bees this summer!

I was reading last month about the morality of termite colonies (Maeterlinck's La vie des termites) and I had a feeling this man must have written some poetic stuff about bees as well—and he did. Here's a translated excerpt from his book "La vie des abeilles" :)

[s0dium]

Fucking a curse

Choso x F!Reader

A/n: This is part of my 'Sex' event and collab with other writers!! Please check out the other amazing works here

Synopsis: Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine a curse like Choso could give you the best orgasm of your life Warnings: Rough sex, intense orgasm

~ For a curse, Choso was strangely incredibly attractive. At least that was your first impression of him. His long black stringy hair, tied into two high ponytails that jutted upward and outward, and his small dark purple tired eyes, framed by slightly thin eyebrows, yes, from the moment you laid eyes on him you were smitten. But for someone so breathtaking, Choso's reserved nature served as a stark opposite to his striking appearance. He was fairly quiet, rarely speaking, and often seemed content to observe rather than participate. For a while, he barely seemed to acknowledge you outside of your relationship with Yuji and your crush on him looked painfully one-sided. As a curse, it was easy to assume that he didn't care about you, that your presence was just another detail in his world of silence and observation. it was only natural that you would assume he wanted nothing, or rather, knew, nothing about intimacy. So how... how did you get in this situation? "Hngh...." you whine. Everything was hot, too hot. You dizzily look up, breath catching as you see Choso face hovering above you. His dark brown hair clings to his sweat-dampened skin and his eyes gaze down upon you with such raw dirty need that you feel your stomach twist into knots and your pulse quicken.

You are about to say something, something about how hot you are when suddenly you feel Choso's cock head harshly plunge deep into your entrance, the tip pressing against a part of you that you could only dream about reaching with your fingers. The pleasure of the sudden intrusion is striking, numbing, and borderline painful. It makes you reel unconsciously reel back to escape the foreign feeling, but a large strong hand splays itself over your stomach, not only stopping you but applying delicious pressure above where his dick sat deeply in you. "Can't stay still can you?" Choso's voice comes out breathless, a failed attempt to mask how entirely aroused he is right now. He picks up the pace and leans down until his lips are against the nape of your neck. You whine when you feel soft kisses peppered all over your skin, a shockingly tender yet bold exploration; each nibble and kiss perfectly attuned to your responses, drawing you deeper into a state of blissful surrender. Your cunt flutters and clenches instinctively, sending even more bolts of hot ticklish pleasure to your core. You are too lost in the pleasure to notice that Choso had placed his hand under one of your thighs, lifting the leg until it's pressed against your chest. The new position allows him to go deeper, which you didn't even know was possible at this point.

"Ah- God, you feel like heaven Y/N" Choso groans and throws his head back. You could almost cum just by looking at Choso because god he looks almost ethereal as he thrusts into you. His pale skin glistens with sweat, each muscle in his abdomen tightening rhythmically with every thrust. His lips part slightly, revealing shallow, hurried breaths. The subtle bobbing of his Adam's apple accompanies each pant, his eyes tightly shut, lost in the throes of pleasure.

"I wannaaaa...." You can't even say the last word because you're afraid it might ruin how fucking euphoric you feel right now. If there was a heaven, being fucked by Choso was it. What was even happening right now? Where were you? You feel so much, you feel everything, everywhere, all in this moment, but your mind and your mouth have never been taught to name this sensation.

"Please, Jesus, please y/n do it." Hes almost whining at this point.

"Choso I'm-" You are not even able to finish the sentence because you are already climaxing on his dick. Choso's ministrations don't cease, in fact he speeds up, making the insanely euphoric wave of pleasure crash down on you even harder. Your mind is blank, your thighs are shaking and your back arches of the bed as Choso fucks you through the most pleasurable feeling you have ever experienced.

"Stay with me baby, we are not done yet."

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Giant! König Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Creep! König, Perverted! König, König Owns a Cum Jar, Size Difference, Giant! König, Size Kink, Sadistic! König, Abuse of Power, Dub-Con, Cum Soaking, Attempts at Forced Impregnation, Implied Pregnancy, Voyeurism, Hostage Situation, Human Pet! Reader, Physical Violence, Human! Reader, Fem! Reader.

Giant! König captures you after he catches you sneaking around his castle, trying to loot something of value to take back to your impoverished village.

Giant! König immediately jumps at the opportunity to take you as his human pet, throwing you into a nearby jar and closing the lid, observing you like a spider beneath a glass.

Giant! König who, after deciding he wants to keep you long-term instead of turning your body into the sprinkles atop his ice cream, creates a more sustainable living space for you after discovering you’re not as durable as he thought (almost suffocating, dehydrating, and starving to death whilst being held in that damn jar).

Giant! König surprises you with a dollhouse of his own design: a door that locks from the outside, windows too small for you to crawl through, and walls made of a material too strong for your tiny utensils to burrow through.

Giant! König doesn’t take long to start using you for his own pleasure – almost like he has no other outlet; like he was just waiting for this opportunity to come.

Giant! König who, whenever he feels like punishing you, puts you in The Jar and stares you down whilst stroking his cock, gigantic even in comparison to other giants’. He grunts, berating you, telling you how he’d “Fill you with my cock if you weren’t so small – bet I could crush you with it if I wanted to.”

When he’s ready, he cums into the jar – all over you – thick and heavy, almost drowning you with just one spurt of his load.

He loves watching you struggle to keep your head above the viscous pool he’s trapped you in as you literally swim in his semen, looking up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to “Get me out, please!”.

He’ll often leave you in there without clothes to try and teach you a lesson. Until it turns into another reason – to breed you – which you accidentally sparked in him when you told him to be careful! You’ll end up getting me pregnant!

Giant! König can’t get your words out of his head, the primal urges he’s suppressed for so long unearthed by your pleas for him to spare you, if only once.

Giant! König knows he’s way too big to fit inside you, so this –  cumming profusely into a jar he’s encased you in whilst giving you no means of refusing his attempts – is the next best thing.

Giant! König gets off on the sheer size difference between the two of you  – the fact that you’re entirely dependent on him for your survival. Makes him feel like the kind of giant he’s supposed to be; strong and well-seeded.

Giant! König lays awake at night and fantasises about having a family, a far-off dream until you came along. It’s all he can think about as the image of you, his tiny wife, swollen to an almost painful degree as you bear his children, floods his mind, makes his cock twitch – harden. He resists the urge to relieve himself of this burden, preferring to save every ounce of his seed for you rather than wasting even a drop of it.

Giant! König who, despite his…questionable treatment of you, does try to treat you well. He lets you eat as much as you want, both because he knows you come from a poor background and because he has to keep you healthy to bear his offspring — especially since he knows they’ll be quite big compared to you.

Giant! König enjoys questioning you about your life before him, how humans work, what they do all day, whether the stereotypes of them all being lustful, pride-driven,  creatures are true.

If you validate any part of this stereotype, he’ll use that as an excuse to sink you in even more of his cum, to subject you to the task of sitting on his cock (horizontally, might I add) while he commands you to get yourself off by humping the shaft.

Man’s had no outlet for basicall all his life – he’s feral.

Giant! König loves to watch you while you’re tucked up in your dollhouse, observing everything you do. Humans are a rarity in the Giant Lands, so to have one in his home is a mythic occurrence.

Giant! König loves showing you off; he thrives on the reaction he gets when his friends see you. You’re, as stated before, a rarity in their parts, often used as a delicacy rather than a pet since humans aren’t particularly sturdy compared to giants, so managing to keep one alive is something of a status symbol in itself; the mark of a truly capable mate (hence captive humans are often given as courting gifts between giants).

However, König is also highly protective of you – especially after he caught Horangi (another giant he’d been showing you off to) goading you – harassing you – stroking his cock, telling you to “Lick the tip. Never felt a human tongue before.”

Needless to say, König never invited him around again after that.

Giant! König is, obviously, good with his hands and technical know-how. Thus, if his method of soaking you in his semen doesn’t work when trying to knock you up, he’ll create some unlawful contraption to make it inevitable.

Despite his size, König has managed to make a tiny glass syringe that he’s packed with his cum, holding you down easily with one hand as he presses the tip to your entrance, pumping you full of his seed.

He struggles to contain how the scene – the feeling – of you trying desperately to fight him off, to stop him from filling you, makes him feel. You have to watch the bulge between his legs grow as the feeling of being filled past full overcome you.

Giant! König does this as many times as he likes until he knows his seed’s taken, when you start showing. Which, considering how big his offspring will be, is pretty early on.

He definitely makes maternity clothes for you – comfortable garments that show the swell of your stomach as the weeks crawl by into months.

Giant! König loves bathing you, too. Especially after he’s covered you in his cum.

There’s something so intimate and gentle about it – a scarcity in the Giant Lands. Having something so small and fragile in his hands, knowing that he can crush you in his grip at any moment, makes him feel…responsible. Trustworthy.

Giant! König will never let you go, btw. You can try to run as much as you want, but he’ll always catch up to you, his human pet.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader)

-

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.

Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.

“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?

“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.” Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves. 

Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur. 

Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches. 

And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.

A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.

“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen. 

She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste. 

“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it. 

“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”

Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”

Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break. 

It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him. 

Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”

“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”

“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”

Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids. 

Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard. 

He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse. 

There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed. 

Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold. 

In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand. 

Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh. 

There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet. 

There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off. 

Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock. 

Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires. 

“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”

Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”

Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too. 

He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though. 

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny. 

He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats (Pt. 3)

Aegon ii x Velaryon(Strong)! Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, angst, violence. S2 SPOILERS

Part 1 | Part 2

“With free reign of King’s Landing, Aemond will focus his attention on the occupation of bast-” Aegon’s face flushes bright red. “Harrenhal.” He corrects himself, “and the extermination of house Strong.”

“What did you call it?” Daemon arches a brow.

“Harrenhal,” Aegon repeats.

“Before that,” Daemon prods.

Aegon sighs, looking to his wife.

“Bastardhal.” Y/N rolls her eyes.

“My brother’s term of endearment.” He explains, “a slip of the tongue.”

“Mmm,” Daemon hums. “Perhaps allegiance to your brother runs deeper than you let on.”

“I have left my siblings and abandoned my post to be here. I remain loyal to Rhaenyra’s claim and her line of succession. What else would you have me do?” Aegon scoffs.

“There are a number of things.”

“If you refuse to believe that Aegon is loyal to our queen, believe that he is loyal to me and I am loyal to my mother.” Y/N takes a protective step in front of her husband.

Daemon’s jaw ticks, frustrated and teetering near sanity’s edge. “You then, are responsible for his indiscretions.”

“I take full responsibility.” Y/N agrees, “he is here for me.”

“Perhaps he might further demonstrate his loyalty.”

“And how, do you suggest, I do that?” Aegon wonders.

“Deliver us your brother’s head on a platter.” Daemon sneers.

“Mother!”

“Am I wrong, Rhaenyra?” Daemon scoffs.

“That is enough!” The Queen slams her fist against the table. “Thank you, Aegon for the information you provided. We will coordinate with our army and send reinforcements to Harrenhal. We will send word to Cregan Stark-”

“By raven?”

“However I see fit, Daemon. Stay your hand.” Rhaenyra snaps. “You are all excused.”

Aegon is out the door just as swiftly.

Y/N flinches as it slams behind him.

Jacaerys remains stoic in the corner, saying nothing for a long while as his mother and step father begin bickering. “Sister,” he nods toward the hallway.

Y/N returns the gesture, following him out past the royal guards. “The nerve of him.” She is fuming as they begin strolling the grounds.

“That is Daemon.” Jacaerys breathes. “Pay him no mind.”

“It’s not as if I don’t want Aemond’s head. Luce is our brother, for the gods’ sake.”

Jace swallows, mouth set in a firm line. “He was our brother.”

Was…is he not anymore?

“In these dealings with Aemond, you must remember that killing him will not bring Luce back.”

“It would be even.”

“A son for a son was also even.” Her brother reminds her. “Your grievance with it hath brought you here.”

“I should have allowed the murder of a child?”

“I did not say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“What is even is not always right, I expect you know that by now.”

“Indeed.”

“Ravens will take too long.” Jacaerys laments, “but mother will not let us deliver messages anymore. It is a shame that our safety comes at the expense of other’s.”

Y/N draws in a steadying breath. “Pity.” She turns away, in the direction of her chambers. Aegon is waiting for her there, sipping from a pitcher of wine. “Did they not give you a cup, my darling?”

“Hmm,” Aegon hums into the container, “of course.” He lowers the pitcher from his mouth, “but this is faster.”

The princess puts a hand to her head.

“I am not a dog that’s been kicked, do not look at me that way. As if I am weak.”

“I love you and you are hurting.” Y/N sighs, “I do not know how else to look at you.”

Aegon mulls this over for a moment. “I did not mean to call it bastardhal.”

“I know that.”

“You are not a bastard.” He presses on, “I am sorry for ever calling you one.”

“You are forgiven.” It is nothing more than a word. It cannot harm her anymore.

“If no house would claim you, then I would.”

Y/N gives him a sad smile, “thank you, Aegon.”

“You think I jest? Or does it simply mean nothing coming from me?”

“It means everything coming from you,” Y/N takes a step toward him. “Forgive me if I have made it seem-”

“No,” Aegon shakes his head, “forgive me. I am lost in this. I mustn’t take my frustration out on you.”

Y/N cups his face in her hands. “If you are loved by no one, know you are loved by me.“

“Without you I have nothing.” He reaches a shaky hand out, stroking her hair, reverently. “I am nothing.”

She draws back, searching his eyes. “That is not true.”

“If you ask me to slay my brother, I will do it.” Aegon breathes.

Y/N presses her lips together. She had not asked, Daemon did. But Aegon does not bend to Daemon’s will, only hers.

“Please do not ask.” He murmurs with wide, sad eyes.

Y/N cannot stand to see him cry. It tears at the depths of her soul. She wraps her arms around him, “I will not ask.”

Aegon clings to her. “I would do it.”

“I know, my love.” Y/N presses kisses to the side of his face. She knows his sadness, the burden of being least loved by everyone else. Some part of him will always seek to win her approval, her affection… her love.

He is pawing at her then, at the laces of her dress. He does not know how to comfort her, nor himself. He knows how to bring pleasure so blinding it nearly drowns out the pain.

Y/N helps him remove his clothes, wrapping him up in her arms. “I love you.”

“As I love you.” He’s stumbling backwards then, hovering over her on the bed. Easing his cock into her.

She sighs, losing herself in the gentle rocking of his hips. There is no haste to reach their peak, taking what little comfort they can from each other.

It is not until his thumbs skate over her cheeks that Y/N realizes she is crying. Even here, on their marriage bed, there is no end to suffering. Only an end to loneliness.

————————————————————————

Y/N waits until Aegon is sleeping soundly to clamber from the warmth of his arms and dawn her riding gear. Dragonstone is quiet as she makes her way down to the dragon pit. Stormborn is nestled in beside Sunfyre, her light blue scales complement the golden hue of her companion.

“Where are you off to at this hour, your grace?” One of the keepers asks.

“I’m going to take Stormborn out for a bit of fresh air. The moon is beautiful this evening, don’t you agree?” Y/N smiles, tucking a bit of loose hair behind her ear.

“Indeed, Princess.” He eyes the sword, sheathed at her back.

“This is only a precaution,” Y/N lies, “we can never be too careful in these times.”

He nods, “I will saddle her.”

“Thank you, Marcelo.” Y/N nods, tugging on her riding gloves as she waits. Tapping at her wedding band, beneath the cool fabric.

“She is ready, your grace.”

“Thank you, again.” She says, climbing up onto Stormborn’s saddle.

“It is my great honor.” The man smiles, watching in wonder as the princess sets off across the sea.

Only a few torches are lit at the entrance of Harrenhal.

Y/N lands near the stone walkway, striding up to the tall hooded figure and ripping back his cloak.

Aemond turns to his assailant. “Y/N?”

“Take out your sword.” She demands.

“Lucerys death was a tragic mistake, a lapse in judgment I do not care to repeat.”

“I will not kill you with your back to me, I am no coward. You will face me, take out your sword.”

“For the sake of the gods, Y/N,” Aemond growls. “Do you aim so desperately to break my brother’s heart?”

“I will not allow the slaughter of innocent people. This ends here.”

“A brother for a brother it will be then, not a son for a son.” Aemond reluctantly withdraws his weapon.

Y/N charges him, in a blind rage, their blades meet, clanking together.

“You make a better sparring partner than most.” He draws his sword away, narrowly dodging her next attack.

“This is not a children’s game, I want your head!”

Aemond purrs, “you must earn it then.”

She sees red, swinging at him again, until his blade slices across her side and she has cut deep into the flesh of his leg. Bringing the Prince to his knees, with her sword at his neck.

“Do it,” Aemond insists, “you will not get another chance.” He stares up at her blade, dripping with his blood. The fear etched into her eyes, tresses of dark hair clinging to her sweat damp skin.

In this light, each of them resemble their brother.

The end Y/N desires is so near she can taste it, rising like bile in her throat. She chokes on it. “No.” She drops her blade from his neck, covering her aching side instead. “No.”

Aemond hangs his head. “I am sorry for that business with Luce. I lost my temper that day.”

“And I lost my…” No, she cannot say it, the pain is too great.

“Let me see your wound.” Aemond insists.

In her shock, Y/N obeys.

He tears across the bottom of his cloak, knotting the material firmly around her torso. Unbothered by her hissing protest. “This will hold until you reach Dragonstone. Go to Aegon, he will tend you.”

“You must leave this place.”

“You have my word.”

“And you must leave King’s Landing.”

Aemond smirks, “where would I go?”

“Anywhere.” Y/N suggests, “take Helaena and your children. We both know, she is too kind to bear the weight of the crown and our blood. Take her away so she might be happy…and free.”

“Do you not wish to be free from the weight of the crown?”

Y/N hesitates for a long moment. “I am the crown. I am my mother’s heir, her only daughter. I cannot abandon her, she has lost too much.”

Aemond swallows, “very well. Helaena will write you. You and my brother might visit, once we’re settled.”

“Perhaps we will.” She will never forgive him for Lucerys. They will never be as they were before Storm’s End. “You are my husband’s brother and husband of my dearest friend.”

“I am also your brother’s murderer. A title that trumps all, despite your best intentions. You are good, and kind, but human all the same.”

————————————————————————

“Aegon.”

“Hmm?” He reaches for his wife, blindly, stroking a hand over her dark waves. “What have you done to your hair, darling girl?” He grumbles, “it is awfully coarse.”

Jace bats Aegon’s hands away. “My sister is gone, you buffoon. Get your clothes on.”

“Jacaerys?” Aegon springs up, covering himself with the top sheet. “What are you doing?”

“Y/N is missing. The dragon handlers informed me that she left on Stormborn nearly two hours ago. Sunfyre has been yowling ever since.”

“Alert your mother,” Aegon demands, “raise the guard. Who on earth let the heir to the throne take a dragon from the pit in the middle of the night?”

“She is a princess, not a prisoner.” Jace reminds him, “I have a hunch as to where she went.”

“Harrenhal.” Aegon begins tugging on his clothes. The little brat bedded him and snuck off; again. “She will be a prisoner upon her return. I tire of these games.”

“You mustn’t be so harsh, my sister would go to the ends of the earth for you.”

“Yet she will not stay with me.” Aegon steps into his boots. “Surely she loves me so dearly that she flees at every opportunity.”

“Do not see it that way.” Jace sighs.

“I have no other way to see it.” Their chamber door swings open, revealing the woman in question.

“Aegon,” Y/N chokes. The blinding rush of battle is gone, leaving only her pain.

“Leave us,” Aegon waves a dismissive hand at his nephew.

“Y/N,” Jacaerys looks to his sister instead.

“I am well, brother.”

“You are bleeding.”

Y/N glances down at her wound, “perhaps you might go quietly to the maester and request milk of the poppy?”

“The maester should tend you,” he argues.

“Aegon will tend me, tis but a scrape.” Y/N insists.

Her brother squares his shoulders. “Very well, I will be back.”

“Thank you, brother.” Y/N forces a smile as Jace exits the door.

“What happened?” Aegon demands, squinting into the dim light as his wife stands before him, in her riding gear.

“I could not do it.” Y/N curses her own weakness. “I went to Aemond, I stopped him from taking Harrenhal and I let him go.”

Aegon shifts her garments aside to reveal the damage. A long bleeding gash, beneath her ribs. “Aemond did this to you?” He sits her down on the foot stool, pacing in the small space before it.

“We dueled,” Y/N admits. “I made my mark on him as well.”

“Gods be good.” Aegon breathes.

“If Daemon catches word of this-”

“You are injured. That is where my interests lie, not in the folly of men.” Aegon seethes.

“He has already condoned the murder of children. Helaena’s children, of all people. What will he do if he hears of this?”

Aegon passes a hand over his face. “Surely we cannot leave the wound open like that, it will fester.”

“I know,” Y/N nods. “We must seal it up, with a heated blade. We can do it here, no one need know.” She reaches for his cup on the dresser, chugging the foul liquid down for some relief.

“You’re asking me to…” his eyes dart to his dagger, abandoned near his boots. “No.”

“Aegon.”

“I can’t.”

“It will be quick,” she reasons. “It will scar, but it is on my side, you will not look upon it often.”

“That is what you’re concerned with,” Aegon snaps, “of all things, you think I care about the scar it will leave? That I might frown upon an imperfection?”

“I-”

“You are maddening.”

“I am sorry. I do not wish to fight.”

“It is unavoidable from what I’ve heard. Marriage causes strife and disagreements.”

“Not ours,” Y/N insists, “you are the only person who understands me.”

“I do not understand why you would put yourself in danger.”

“For you.” Y/N tells him. “So you would not have to choose between your wife and your brother.”

“I would choose you, imbecile.”

Y/N bares her teeth. “I couldn’t let you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are mine, Aegon! I protect what is mine.”

In the way of the dragon. And that, Aegon understands very well.

“Here it is,” Jace returns with milk of the poppy.

“Thank you,” Aegon takes the gauntlet, bringing it to his wife’s lips. “Drink all of it.” He demands.

“Is there anything more I can do?” The other man asks.

“Rest the blade of my dagger over the fire until it glows red, then bring it to me.”

Jace nods.

“First, might you find something for her to bite down on. Leather works best.” Aegon purses his lips, “bring me my belt.” One of them is still etched with her teeth markings from Laenor’s birth. He’s delivered two of their children, surely he can do this.

Jacaerys rushes to the armchair beside the bed, tugging Aegon’s belt free and placing it on the foot stool beside his sister.

Y/N curls her fingers around the harsh material. Her vision has doubled, swaying from side to side.

“Are you going to faint?” Aegon catches her face between his hands.

“I feel fine,” Y/N slurs.

Aegon taps her chin. “That is good, my dearest love. I am going to remove your shirt.” He eases the material over her head, leaving only the bindings to cover her breasts.

“The blade is ready,” Jacaerys calls, from the fire place.

“Open.” Aegon tugs at her bottom lip with his thumb until her jaw goes slack, taking the leather belt from her clenched fist and placing the strap between her teeth. “Bite.”

Y/N clamps her teeth around it.

“Good girl.”

Jacaerys approaches, handling the instrument with care.

“You will hold me around the waist, you are not to let go until I say.” Aegon instructs, waiting until she is wrapped around him in an awkward sort of hug. “There you go.” He pats her head before taking the dagger from her brother. He offers no additional warning before lying the blade flat across the expanse of her wound. The cut is a clean one, without jagged edges.

Y/N lets out a muffled cry.

“Shh,” he hushes her, holding the heat to her skin for just a moment more before tossing the dagger away. Gingerly withdrawing the belt from her teeth. Resting his forehead against hers as whimpers settle to deep breathing. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nods.

“If you dare leave me again, Gods help me, I will shackle you to my side.”

Y/N strokes a hand over the side of his face. “Yes, Aegon.”

“I do not jest.”

Part 4

Taglist: @minttea07 @callsignwidow @fallout-girl219 @syraxnyra @vickynephilim @jeondeluxe111 @geeksareunique @arya-brooke @7minutes-tomidnight @ninastyless @aleemendoza2425-blog @livingdead-reilly @whenmypartysover @darlingisntit @nayaniasworld @uniquecroissant @spacexdrago

[thinkinonsense]

POSITIONS𑁍

old man!logan howlett x housewife!reader

cw: oral (f receiving), fingering, bit of fluff, soft logan *mdni

wc: 900+

a/n: next mini-series will be inspired by the album positions by ariana grande. if you would like to be added to the tag list comment below. not sure how many parts yet but I hope you enjoy!

part two

home has always been a sore spot for logan. the mutant never had much of a place he could truly call home. always on the run, never somewhere long enough to enjoy it. now in his old age, he's been granted the life he always longed for.

"lo, come try this!" his little wife, calls to him in the kitchen.

the sight of you and your cute apron mixing ingredients could bring logan to his knees; and has on many occasions. how did a dangerous fucked up man like him end up with the sweetest girl in town? every day, you're in the kitchen learning new recipes while looking all dolled up for him.

the part that always gets logan hard is knowing you want to do this for him. you were smarter than anyone he'd ever met yet, you loved the simple domesticity of your life with logan. you knew when the two of you met that he craved an older lifestyle that you didn't mind adjusting to. logan thought that you were truly heaven-sent.

"think i finally got the recipe right." you held out a spoon for him. logan groaned at the taste, his hands resting on your hips, pressing you into the countertop slightly. "whatcha think?"

"think it might be the best frosting you've ever made," he mutters against your skin, leaving kisses along your neck and jaw.

"that good?" you smile, licking the rest of the spoon clean.

logan watched with dark pupils, grinding himself against your ass with every little moan that slipped past your lips.

"might just be the second best thing you've let me taste," he admits, forehead falling into your neck to catch his breath.

"second?" you tease, turning around to face him. "what's the first, baby?"

you claimed you weren't a mutant but logan thought that was the only explanation for how quickly you managed to bring him to his knees. his big rough palms caress your thighs, squeezing whatever he can—whatever he wants— until he slips them under your pretty light green dress.

logan stares at eye level with your white lacy panties and the large wet stain forming in them. he's got you sprawled out on the countertop with both legs dangling off his broad shoulders, heels digging slightly into his shoulder blades. your dress and apron were bunched up at your stomach.

"isn't she pretty..." logan says to himself, hooking them to the side to get a better look at your exposed pussy. he blows cold air directly on you. a loud whine falls from your lips as you claw at the edges of the counter and attempt to wiggle your hips in the air.

"lo, please..." you beg, looking down at him as he slides the thin material down your legs and spreads you as far as he can.

"you've been such a good girl, sweetheart." logan praises, letting his thumb circle your button slowly in a way that leaves you needing more. "so obedient and versatile, aren't ya'? one minute you're cooking me dinner and the next you're begging to ride me."

you nod, lazily; trying to enjoy every movement he makes.

"think you deserve a reward." he hums before lapping up your wetness, swirling his tongue in downright sinful ways.

not only did you taste as sweet but the little noises that escaped you were even sweeter. a hand of yours laced itself in logan's grey hair, tugging him impossibly closer until his nose bumped your clit, making you sing like a bird. didn't help that logan let his most primal side show, moaning into you and making a complete mess of you.

"so needy, isn't that right, honey? just leakin' for attention." he says, talking to your pussy rather than to you directly while teasing a finger at your entrance. "makin' a mess all over me."

logan pulls back to spit on your pussy; sending your head flying back against the countertop.

"fuck..." you moan, left hand groping your own tit. "feels sooo good, lo.."

logan catches the light off of your wedding band while you squeeze yourself. this kickstarted something deep inside of him. even in the filthiest of moments between the two of you, you managed to fill his heart with love. his mouth returns, drinking you up like water. you flooded all of logan's senses; he could hear your heart thumping in your chest, smell how badly you needed him, and taste how he made you feel.

"taste like fuckin' candy," he growls, adding another finger to hit that spongy spot deep inside of you over and over again.

"please..." you purr, looking down into his almost black eyes. "so close.."

logan could feel you clenching around his fingers; practically suffocating them. his moans vibrating your core didn't help slow down your climax either. all of it crashing into you at once.

"there's my pretty girl," he smirks, still fingering you through your orgasm. at this point, you didn't care what part of you he was talking to anymore; all you wanted to do was kiss him.

"need you, logan." you whine, tugging at the collar of his shirt until he's face to face with you.

logan assumes that you want him to fuck you; undoing his belt as quickly as possible until you stop him.

"gimme kiss."

there you were with your dirty apron, wild hair, and pouty lips begging for a kiss. who was logan to deny you such a request? his soaked beard scratched against you with passion as his tongue entered your mouth. his big hands cradle your face delicately.

logan wasn't a good man by the textbook definition but he'll be damned if he didn't treat you as good as you deserved.

[myfictionaldreams]

I have such a specific idea for poly marauders so please bare with me .

James and Sirius were out to a fancy party and they come home early to see reader and remus having sex in the kitchen , remus has her spread on the table while he fucks her and she arches her back and sees sirius through blurry vision and calls his name, remus doesn’t notice them so he thinks shes calling her other boyfriends name “ wrong boyfriend sweetheart “ so he fucks her harder until she calls his name “ there you go love”.

You could continue this however you would like Maybe james and Sirius join them. I also love the idea that after everything when they’re showering she reassure remus and says something like “ it’s hard to think of anything else when I’m around you , you’re all consuming “ and the boys agree THATS SO CUTE.

I’m so sorry that this is long and graphic.

Say My Name // Poly!Marauders x Fem!Reader

A/N: Whoever you are, anon, I thank you for giving me this request because, holy shit, it has turned me (and Remus) absolutely feral, and I have no regrets.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, fluff, werewolf troupes, feral remus lupin, dom/sub undertones, possessive sex, size difference/kink (!), praise kink, dirty talk, self-confidence issues, gentle touching/kissing, rough oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, overstimulation, table sex, manhandling, multiple orgasms, crying, body worship, anxiety attack (nearly), restraints, blindfold, begging, aftercare :)))

Words: 5.7k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

“You both look so damn handsome!” you admire dreamily with a thick lace of sarcasm as you tighten the burgundy scarf around Sirius’ neck. The mischievous glint in those twinkling grey eyes brightened as he rolled them in jest, matching the doting smirk on his full lips. “Maybe you should forgo the leather jackets more often for the waistcoats”, you say with a lustful undertone to your words as you look up at him through your lashes.

“Hmm, you think so?” he asks, dipping his height ever so slightly so that he could press his lips to yours in a surprisingly gentle kiss that still managed to pull desire in your abdomen as you leaned in for more but whined as he stood back to full height and straightened the waistcoat you loved so very much.

From behind you at the entrance to the bathroom, James was attempting to knot his bowtie when he wondered, “Are you sure you both don’t want to come with us? We each can have a plus one, which means there’s room for two. We don’t mind being fashionably late”. Glancing over your shoulder, you took in his slick attire that also caused warmth to bloom beneath your cheeks. A simple black jacket shaped perfectly for his slim waist, a crisp white shirt beneath and a matching shade of burgundy to Sirus was the colour for his tie.

The matching colours were an idea of Remus’, who was lounging across the mammoth bed, his long legs stretched out beneath him with one ankle crossed over the other. He watched James intently, the corner of his eye twitching at the messy-haired Marauder's attempts to tie his bowtie.

Remus stood and approached him, batting away James’ fingers as he began to do the job for him. You watched them fondly before answering the unanswered question. “No, it’s ok, James. Remus and I have a lovely night filled with a romantic home-cooked meal and a fancy bottle of wine. Who knows where the night may take us? Might end in some lovely… hand holding”, you say with a simple shrug to your shoulders, returning to straightening the already pristine waistcoat of Sirius.

“Oh yeah? Some strong hand-holding, Moony, is that what you’ve got planned? You might need to up your game”, Sirius jokes under his breath as he watches your fingers closely with a dipped head.

Remus snorted, smiling to himself, knowing that your night would be filled with anything but hand-holding, especially as the hours ticked closer to the following day. It was approaching the full moon, not tomorrow but the next day, but that didn’t matter as the changes were already beginning to affect Remus, and it all started with his desire for possession.

The wolf in Remus took a keen liking to you, even from all those years ago when you met the Marauders on the train to Hogwarts. It was an obsession, a need that devoured him completely to be with you. It had been described to you like a mating. Remus’ wolf thought you were his mate; therefore, as the gap between Remus’ and the wolf’s mind thinned with the full moon, the desire would take hold of Remus. There was still the deep, adoring love that he held for James and Sirius, and thankfully, this stopped him from ever deeming them a threat against your love, but others? Well, that’s where the danger lay, and therefore, it was easier for everyone if you and Remus stayed in for the night rather than have a territorial wizard with werewolf anger in a room full of people.

“Remember to please be safe out there tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and for the love of Merlin, James, please don’t drink and fly again. I’m not having another incident like last time”.

“Yes, Mum”, James grumbles sarcastically as Sirius chuckles under his breath.

“I’ll make sure that Prongs is on his best behaviour”, Sirius reasons with you as his hands come to rest around your waist, pulling you ever so gently closer.

“Good”, you say promptly, whilst curling a piece of his long hair around your fingers before reaching up to kiss his lips with a fierce press. “You look so handsome tonight,” you try to praise him as your mouths are still kissing together.

“Don’t I always?” he responds cheekily, earning a half-hearted eye-roll as he eases away, swapping places with James so that he can say goodbye to Remus and James with you.

Your fingers automatically try to tangle through James’ hair, attempting to flatten out the messy strands, but after a couple of minutes of attempts, James tugs you by your wrists. “I don’t know why you even bother; you know my hair will just stay messy. Anyway, doesn’t it add to my roguish good looks?” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as he gives you a broad grin whilst kissing each of your palms.

Your fingers cup his freshly shaved cheeks, caressing the smooth skin as you say, “I hope you have fun tonight”, whilst leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him with as much vigour as you could hear from the groans across the room with Sirius and Remus.

James sighed into the kiss, one hand matching yours by resting along your cheek and the other on your lower back as his lips pecked across your face until hovering next to your ear. “If you need us to come back, just send a note as we taught you; two flicks of your fingers and it should disappear, and we’ll come back straight away”.

Nodding your head in understanding, James kissed your cheek quickly before standing up to his full height and looking over at the other two men. “Sirius, take your tongue from Moony’s mouth; we must go!”

You tried to stifle your laughter as the two men pulled away from each other with rosy cheeks and wet lips.

Sirius and James disappeared with a flurry of green fire through the flu network installed in your shared home's kitchen. Remus turned to you with a heartwarming smile as he asked, “Shall we put some music on and start with dinner, love?”

You left it in Remus’ capable hands to find suitable music on his record player, and it ended up being a medley of David Bowie, which you were always happy to listen to. The two of you worked in unison to cook a beautiful roast dinner, moving around one another without getting in the way but making sure to remain at arm's length. Lingering touches to arms or backs, sipping slowly on the bottle of wine as Remus sang along to Bowie under his breath. You’d told him he could sing louder as you wanted to hear him, but he simply smiled and kissed your cheek, like he was embarrassed at being caught, but it was a rare day where Remus Lupin was embarrassed about anything.

The dinner was beautifully cooked, and there was enough for many more people than just you and Remus. Soon enough, you were stuffed full, thankful for deciding to wear a loose dress today with your expanded stomach. Remus was still eating as you sat and slowly digested your food, talking idly about fond memories from Hogwarts and how your work had been this week. Just anything domestically happy that the two of you could as you shifted closer in your seat so that his large scarred palm could rest on your thigh and your fingers interlock over the back of his hands.

“It’s a rare time when it gets to be just the two of us”, Remus muses, his hand squeezing your fingers and thighs as he pushes away his empty plate, his eyes solely focused on you.

“It’s been nice. As much as I love having all four of us together, sometimes it’s hard to keep up and give each of you all my attention, so when it's just one-on-one, it feels so intimate, wouldn’t you agree?”

His eyes softened as he nodded, “I definitely agree. You look so beautiful tonight, by the way. Have I told you that?”

Warmth filled your cheeks as you looked away to the glass of wine in your other hand. Even after all these years, one small compliment from Remus felt like the world, and it wasn’t the first time he had said that tonight; he’d said it every other sentence, but that didn’t hinder the giddy feeling from spreading in your chest.

“You, Mr Lupin, are a smooth talker”, you say, drinking a sip of your wine, ignoring his growing smile. Placing the glass onto the table, you shifted closer to Remus, resting a hand on his chest as you realised how much time had passed over the night. “So pudding, what would you like? I think we have some ice cream in the freezer, or if you’re lucky, James would have left us a couple of slices of his mum’s cake from yesterday”.

Remus didn’t answer immediately as you realised he was just silently watching you with the beautiful twinkle back in his eye, a curve to his lips that you itched to caress with your thumb. But then, he shifted forward in his seat so you were only mere inches from your faces touching, and the soft flop of his mousey brown hair fell into his eyes. “You’re so pretty, Remus”, you admire and then hold back a giggle as his cheeks flare with colour at your compliment.

“Pretty and scarred”, he muttered in response, cupping your wrist and bringing your fingers to his lips so he could kiss them carefully.

Your automatic response was to shout at him. It wasn’t that he had said anything remotely negative, but you knew the self-conscious thoughts that laced his words that he rarely spoke but still thought. You wanted to remind him of the hundreds of times he had ever scolded you for making negative comments about yourself or any self-doubt. Still, if you did, you knew it would ruin the positive mood for the night, so you wanted to continue with words of affirmation.

Closing the gap between each other, you kissed the tip of his nose whilst cupping both cheeks, paying specific attention to the thick pink scar that ran down from his temple, over his brow and his cheek. “I love you, scars and all”.

Remus’ tension seemed to ease from his shoulders as he breathed lightly out of his nose, his face lowering to rest on your shoulder as you held him for a moment before he began to stand and offered a hand, “What about a dance m’lady, then I’ll find you something sweet to suck on for desert”.

Ignoring the innuendo, you grinned up at him, placing your hand into his much larger palm. James and Sirius had lessons growing up from their families on how to dance for special balls they were forced to attend. You and Remus, on the other hand, were utterly clueless, but this only added to the joy and laughter as you both clumsily tried not to step on the other's toes or twirl without knocking into furniture.

You’d laughed so hard that a stitch formed in your side, causing the vivid dance to settle into a light sway. Your head rested on Remus's shoulder as his cheek pressed against the top of your head, arms around your shoulder as he lightly sang the next Bowie song.

Everything was perfect, especially as his rough fingertips danced up the nape of your neck, carefully tipping your head back so that you were now staring up into his kind eyes, his lips no longer moving along to the lyrics as he licked them carefully, moistening them before dipping his head. The kiss was as gentle as his hands now cupping your face, and you wondered for a moment if you were lightheaded from holding your breath in anticipation or from the effects of having your boyfriend kissing you.

Remus was soft, lovely and perfect as he eased away to put a gap between your mouths, but only so that he could adjust his position by keeping one hand on your jaw and the other around your waist before taking your breath away once more. Instantly, your body rose to the tips of your toes to be closer to him and firm the kiss.

The breath you’d both been holding released, noses pressing into each other's cheeks as the warm air tickled your ears. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, and as you relaxed into the kiss, many things seemed to happen at once.

The grandfather clock in the living room chimed midnight, and the soft Remus you’d been carefully kissing and exploring with your lips was now firmly gripping the back of your thighs, lifting you whilst simultaneously stepping towards the table as you squealed in shock, desperately gripping his shoulders for support.

Plates and glasses smashed onto the floor as Remus shoved aside the lovely table setting so that there was a firm blank canvas for you to be led on.

“Woah, Remus, just give me a minute.” You try to reason with him to at least get your bearings. Having been standing up two seconds ago, you were now led on your back with your boyfriend having become frantic with his actions. His shoulders shook with restraint, and his eyes didn’t lift from the edge of your skirt as he reached for the material. Not only this, but the brightness in his eyes had one, replaced with sinful hunger.

“Need you-” he muttered with a gruffness that hadn’t been there moments ago.

This was why you’d decided to stay in. Sometimes, Remus would curl around your body with the need to simply just breathe you in and declare that you were his; he’d become somewhat feral.

The fire in your body scorched to life as the need seeped into your core. As lovely as it had been, seeing him like this just did something to you. You wanted him just as desperately.

Frantically, you tried to help him lift up your skirt, but he was in control, pushing the material and tearing it in places with his firm grip until your legs and underwear-covered pussy were revealed. For a moment, it looked like he was going to dribble as you tried to reach for him to tell him to take a breath and compose himself, but all you were able to do audibly was scream out, head tipping back as Remus devoured you.

The Marauder hadn’t even waited for your underwear to be removed before his mouth was on you, hands not-so-gently wrapping around your thighs to push your legs apart, the slippers you’d been wearing now flying off in different directions across the kitchen. It was like he’d not eaten a single thing all night with the way his lips and jaw moved against your most sensitive of areas.

The sensation was odd with the barrier of cotton in between your cunt and his mouth. All you had was the pressure, wetness beginning to soak through from his tongue and the overwhelming heat from his mouth. Remus moved hungrily, licking and caressing with his mouth as you lay with your arms gripping onto the edge of the table above your head.

“Rem-Remus! Merlin, please don’t stop!” you begged desperately, allowing your body to succumb to his touch. You couldn’t even open your eyes without feeling dizzy with the sensations of his body all over your lower half as he pressed his tongue firmly against your throbbing clit, circling it with intention.

The hands on your thighs pushed harder, giving his face more room as a deep groan burned from his chest as he needed more. Still, as you whimpered from him to not stop, he stayed in place, stimulating your clit over and over again until your body was tensing with the pulses of desire from your cunt as your orgasm erupted.

His motions continued through the waves of pleasure, and even after, he carried on with his devouring, even as you verged on the edge of becoming overstimulated from the rough material of your panties rubbing against your delicate area. Remus needed more, and he was ready to take it.

The pressure on the back of your thighs suddenly disappears as he drapes your legs over his shoulders, giving you a better angle now to reach down and run your shaky fingers through his soft hair.

With your eyes firmly closed, you hadn’t noticed that your underwear had been torn clean from your body, only noticing when there was no barrier between what you both wanted. Your back arched from the stimulation of him sucking on your bundle of nerves, making an obscenely wet noise as your juices and his saliva caused a heavenly mess. 

Your legs had begun squeezing his face as you weren’t able to control your body, but he didn’t stop; he just simply continued to eat your pretty cunt. “Please….please Remus”, you continued to beg but unsure of what as you were thoroughly warm head to toe with the effects from your last orgasm, but his playful mouth knew just the right ways to keep you at the elevated bliss.

The thickness of his tongue pressed against your throbbing hole, delving as deep as he could go before curling it and exploring the warm softness of your cunt as the tip of his nose stimulated your clit.

It was intense, primarily as his large hands now rested on your abdomen, pushing down and forcing your hips to remain against the table so that he could remain in complete control of the stimulation to your body.

Clenching relentlessly around his tongue, your body couldn’t tell if it was calming down from an orgasm or having another. The overwhelming sensation caused tears to well in your eyes as the apples of your cheeks burned with heat. Everything was too much; even the clothes covering your torso felt claustrophobic as your nipples ached to be free.

“Ah!” you babbled, unable to even say his name as more intense waves of pleasure rocked from your cunt as it pulsed around his tongue. The tears escaped down your cheeks as you tried to gasp for air, your body finally slumping in exhaustion against the table as Remus began to stand from where he’d been on his knees for you.

Each of your legs was carefully eased from his shoulders to dangle off the edge of the wooden surface, not that you could keep them up anyway, as your entire body felt as if it was made of jelly.

“Did so good for me, Love. Taste so fucking good, wanna try?” he asked from where he now looked down at you, hovering only inches away from your face as his fingers wiped away the evidence of the tears. You nod quickly, opening your eyes for a split second to see Remus’ dark eyes and swollen, wet lips before they were pressing against yours, his tongue pushing into your mouth and allowing you the vulgar opportunity to taste your own juices from his mouth.

“My pretty girl tastes so good”, he admired, staring down at you, memorising every flicker of emotions on your face. You mewled at the compliment, nuzzling your face pathetically into his palm as he cradled your face. “What do you want? I want to hear you say it”.

His tone indicated that he was teasing, which was a rare attribute for Remus as he usually just liked to do whatever he had in mind, but when he was like this, wishing to get the very most from you as his werewolf subconscious began to flicker through his thoughts.

“You, I want you. Please!” you stress whilst trying to look up at him, fingers trembling at your side with the need to touch him somehow.

The corners of Remus’ lips tilted up as he smiled down at you, “Have I ever told you how much I love to hear you beg?”

Before you could respond, you were gasping as coolness licked over your chest as he’d swiped his wand down the centre of your clothing until it was falling off of your shoulders, and your body could be free from the confines. His eyes lowered, focused on your pebbled nipples as they begged for him to be touched, but he didn’t rush to them.

Instead, Remus began the long journey of exploring the rest of your body with firm kisses and licking with the flat of his tongue. He paid special attention to your neck, as he always did this close to the full moon as his sharp teeth grazed over your pulse point, the animalistic side of his begging to bite down and mark his girl, but he restrained, knowing it would be painful for you. The last time he’d done so, he’d had a right bollocking off of James and Sirius, who prattled on about how you weren’t his chew toy, even though you had insisted that it was ok.

Moving lower, Remus worshipped your breasts. He was licking the skin around the areola before drawing your nipple and some breast tissue into his mouth, sucking with enough force that the area swelled with the rush of blood. The fire in your core intensified as you gained enough energy to lift your hands and grip his shirt.

“I need you, Remus, please stop teasing me”, you beg, but all that earned in response was an approved grunt.

“Relax, and just let me kiss you”, he sniped with desire as you wanted to sass back but found yourself melting into the table instead. Each inch of your stomach, hips, legs, arms, everywhere he could reach in this position, he praised with his mouth until he was once again hovering above your lips. “All I can think about is you”, he admitted, his tone caught between hunger and pain as his thoughts were becoming too clouded by the wolf’s desire to be close to you.

Your fingers combed through his hair as you tried to sound as calming as possible, “I know, Remus, it’s ok. I’m right here. Take me”.

A shiver ran down his spine as he finally began to unbuckle his trousers, freeing his cock between your bodies as he rested on his elbows on either side of your face so that his face could nuzzle into your neck.

You took the honours of reaching between your legs, grasping his impressively hard cock, admiring the soft skin and veins that bulged as you pulled him closer to where you needed him most.

“Tell me you’re mine”, he begged as you directed his tip to your soaked hole.

Tilting your head so that you could kiss his cheek, you implored, “I’m yours Remus - FUCK!”

All you could do was curse and cling to him as, with one powerful thrust, the majority of his cock stretched into your pussy. You could never take his entire length unless it were through anal play, but that didn’t stop him trying as the pressure became overwhelming as he nudged against your cervix.

Your thighs trembled once more as he gave you time to adjust, sighing blissfully against your neck as if he had finally found what it was that he was looking for. However, as your cunt frantically fluttered around Remus as you adjusted to the intrusion, Remus began to rut his hips in short, snapping thrusts slowly.

You groaned at the sensation and found your hips meeting his until all restraint was gone, and Remus was fucking you hard and fast.

Pushing up on his hands so that he was looking down at you, Remus fucked you hard. The table beneath you groaned just as loudly as you were as it rocked against the floor, and for a split second, you hoped it wouldn’t suddenly collapse beneath you two.

Remus suddenly moved as if hearing your thoughts, widening his stance as he stood to his full height, hands on your thighs and bringing your body to the very edge of the table. In this position, he could fuck you with quick snaps of his hips. Your back arched in this new position, pleasure pouring into your soul.

However, a noise over the sound of the fucking caught your attention as the fire flickered with green flames, and you couldn’t help but gasp, “Sirius!” as he stepped out of the fire, followed closely by James.

Remus, still with his head hunched slightly from where he was watching you intently, growled at the name used, his gaze hardening on you as he leaned back until you looked into each other's eyes. “Wrong name, Sweetheart”, he demanded lowly, fucking into you with as power as he could, causing you to cry out and tense with the pleasure. “I only want my name coming out of your mouth, do you understand?”

“Yes, Remus! I’m sorry!” you plead with him as he fucks you harder.

“There you go, Love. See, it wasn’t so difficult, was it?” As he talks, he lifts his hands and covers your eyes so you can no longer look at Sirius or James as you’re plunged into darkness.

“Don’t be too hard on her, Moony”, James teases from somewhere across the room as you hear him and Sirius shuffling around but are unable to see what they are doing.

Remus grunts but doesn’t stop with his motions, making sure that your next orgasm is just as overwhelming and powerful as the others as your cunt clung to him for dear life, attempting to milk his balls with the powerful clenches but he didn’t stop fucking you all the way through your orgasm.

Having his hand over your eyes was a disorientating position to be in, especially as he would every so often kiss your cheek or neck, savouring your soft skin before moving away so that his momentum could continue.

A hiss echoed across the room from wherever your other two boyfriends currently were, and as another whimper sounded from what you assumed was Sirius, Remus then decided it would be a good time to completely pull out of your pussy, leaving you gaping and empty.

Before you could moan, more disorientation flowed through you as his hand was removed from your face, and your body was being manhandled so that you were now being turned over on the table until your front was pressed against the wood. With a gentle kick to your ankle, Remus made room between your legs for himself and fucked into you. He was even deeper in this angle, which you didn’t think was possible as his chest pressed against your back.

His and didn’t return to your face, allowing you to look at your other lovers. Sirius was currently sitting on James’ lap, both of their fancy clothes more dishevelled from earlier as the bowtie and scarf were off and the top buttons were undone. They stared intently at you and Remus as they touched one another. James was kissing the column of Sirius’ neck whilst his hands groped at the bulge at the front of his trousers. At the same time, Sirius was grinding his hips down on James, who you assumed had a matching bulge that was rubbing against Sirius’ arse.

“You’re mine, Love. Aren’t you? My pretty girl”, Remus whispered with deep penetrations of his cock into your cunt.

“Yes! I’m yours, Remus! You’re so deep”, you proclaim with a cry as you find yourself already wanting to peak and cum over his thick dick again. However, Remus knew you just as well as you knew yourself and could feel the tightening of your soft walls and stopped all thrusting as you sobbed with the beautiful feeling washing away.

His hand eased beneath your face, holding your jaw and forcing your sight away from your boyfriend's until it was tilted to look over your shoulder at Remus. “You only get to cum after them”, he demands before nipping your ear love with a sharp tug of his teeth.

“Moony, you really are tense, aren’t you” Sirius jokes breathlessly as he moves more eagerly against James, whose hand is now fully inside of his boyfriend's trousers, wanking him off in time with the movements.

Thankfully it didn’t take them long to cum, Sirius first with his head thrown back and trousers staining a dark colour in a little puddle. James then rutted up into Sirius a few minutes later, groaning and stilling his movements. Both breathed each other in deeply, lazily kissing and holding onto one another until your sudden gasp echoed around the room as Remus continued with his fucking.

Your head moved to drop onto the table as you accepted the fucking, but Remus’ hand remained beneath, cushioning your face from the hardness of the wooden table as his lips moved to the junction between your throat and shoulder.

With each thrust, Remus repeatedly grunted the possessive word, “Mine!” until it was all you could think about. Your orgasm nearly caused you to pass out with its intensity. Juices streamed from your cunt, dripping down your thighs as waves of clenching pleasure constricted around Remus’ cock until he was forcing as much of himself as he could into you, and thick seed spurted into you. The warmth was welcomed as it soothed your pussy from the inside out as it began to trickle down your thighs, mixing with your own juices.

You were half aware of your movements, more concerned with the fact that you couldn’t control the tremble and sobs as Remus pressed himself harder over your back, making you feel grounded and safe.

“Shh. Slowly breathe in and out for me. That’s it. Slowly breathe for me again, keep going, well done”, Remus encouraged for some time as you’d been close to a panic attack with the overstimulation, close to tipping into the submissive headspace that would have taken them a lot longer to draw you out of.

“It’s just… a lot”, you say shakily, eyes closed and absorbing every warmth he was willing to give you”.

“I know, I’ve got you. I’ve always got you”, he reassured calmly.

You’re exhausted, ready to fall asleep right there on the kitchen table as you whisper, “I wanna go to sleep”.

Remus kissed your naked shoulder, “After we clean you up, ok, Love?”

As Remus begins to stand, his half-hard cock slipping out of your well-used hole with a slurp and shudder from both of you, did James finally step forward whilst readjusting his softening cock in his trousers.

Squatting down next to you, his fingers tentatively caressed your cheek while keeping an eye on Remus behind you to ensure the action wouldn’t trigger him somehow. “You alright there?” James asked softly.

“Mmhm. Just a little sleepy”, you say whilst closing your eyes at the ticklish touch on your face.

Sirius stepped forward from behind James, raising his wand and pointing it to the destroyed rest of the kitchen mess, “I’ll clean up here, you guys look after her, and I’ll join you in the bathroom”.

Remus had to carry you to the bathroom as liquid drips flooded out of you and marked the direction you had been giving Sirius more to clean up. As this house was altered for the four of you, the shower was wide enough to provide you with Remus and James plenty of room to wash together.

You attempted to stand up on your own but ended up leaning heavily on Remus as James washed the remnants of the fucking from your body was skilled, careful fingers.

“You know I didn’t mean to say the wrong name, right? I just didn’t expect to see them standing there and-” you begin to explain with Remus, worried he’d been upset by you saying Sirius’s name earlier.

However, his lips quickly cut you off with a simple peck, “I know”.

Kissing his cheek several times, you mumbled against his skin, “It’s hard to think of anything else when I’m around you. You’re all consuming, Remus”.

Against your lips, you feel the heat radiating off of him in a quick burst of rare embarrassment as he actually blushed at your words.

“She’s right, Moony. Without you, there is no us without you”, James quips in a rare statement of sincerity.

A cough from the bathroom door catches all your attention as Sirius casually leans against the door frame, cheeks round with roast potato as he joins in with the Remus praising. “There’s a reason why we all argue every night to see who gets to be spooned by the magnificent Remus Lupin”.

Three of you chuckled before you asked, “Are you eating my leftovers?”

“What?” he says with a shrug, stepping further into the room and beginning to take off his clothing at last. “The food was scarce at the party, and Moony’s roasties are always so fucking good”.

You nod in agreement before looking up at Remus once more, who looks quite proud of himself for the flow of compliments coming his way. However, as you attempted to lean up onto your tip toes again to kiss his handsome face in some way, your knees decided they were finished holding up your way as you nearly collapsed to the floor, only stopping because of his strong arms wrapping around your waist.

“As much as I appreciate this little pep talk, I think we need to get someone to bed”.

Remus lay in the centre of the bed, where he rightfully deserved to be tonight with you on top of him, face resting on his chest and legs on either side of his hips as each of your hands held his. Sirius and James joined later, deciding they needed some extra alone time in the shower together, as the dry humping hadn’t entirely filled that horny spot for either of them.

You were asleep by the time both men crept into bed, resting either side of you and Remus with arms spooning around your back as the three shared a kiss goodnight. “How was your night?” Remus asked, looking between James and Sirius. “You’re both sober, so I’m assuming no mischief?”

“Oh, Moony, like we need alcohol to cause a riot. Why do you think we’re back so early?” Sirius declares whilst flicking out the laugh and curling in closer to the warmth of bodies as Remus chuckles into the darkness.

[k3n-dyll]

☆F.U.C.K

Warnings...18+, wlw, not proofread, also, written at 2am, established friends with benefits, self-indulgent smut, dom!Abby, shower sex, strap on (r!receiving), strap referred to as a dick/cock Word Count:2.08k || MDNI Banner Creds. || Donations 4 Palestine

Notes ☆ The next fic I have based on a song will not be as fun! Just a heads up. Also, two works back to back within a few hours? We're so back

FWB!Abby who isn't known to be very open about her sexuality. Sure, there are rumors, and there are people she's told that she's lesbian, but that list is pretty limited to close friends. It's not that she's trying to hide it, anyone with working eyes who takes more than a second or two to look at her can tell, she just doesn't feel like it's anyone's business but her own.

And yours of course.

Abby's never been particularly sappy or romantic. Still, despite how intense her day-to-day is - fighting Scars, killing infected, being on high alert at every turn because there's no way of knowing what will be the next thing to try and kill her first - she's a bit of a thrill seeker in her own way. The idea of doing something seemingly forbidden, the rush of nearly getting caught doing something less than savory, has never failed to be a turn-on for her and it's something that, over time, you've become acutely aware of. She's gotten into the habit of dragging you into bathrooms, and storage closets, sometimes even taking it upon herself to get handsy underneath tables when in the presence of others just to see that nervous look you get.

It should be no shock to you that she'd do something like this and yet, you're still baffled.

The showers were peaceful today, it was late and most people were either asleep or just waking up for their own shifts. After a long patrol, all you wanted to do was turn on the hot water and let it soak over your aching muscles, washing the blood, dirt, and sweat that had accumulated on your skin down the drain. You weren't expecting to feel a large pair of hands gripping at your waist in the shower, and if you hadn't known better, you might have started swinging.

"Abby, what the hell?" You flinch a little under her grasp, and while you try to sound angry, the amused chuckle that forms with your words is hard to stifle.

"Nice to see you too" Abby mutters, already beginning an assault on your neck with her lips, trailing wet kisses down your skin as she speaks.

"I thought you said you were tired" You try and turn to face her but you're only met with a tightened grip on your body, forcing you to face the glass shower wall.

"I lied."

Before you can think up something snarky to say, Abby presses her front up against you further and you stiffen completely, the sensation of something that definitely isn't normally there now flush against your ass.

"What is that?" You question, turning your head in attempt to get a look at whatever it is she's got rubbing against you, but again she forces your eyes forward, grabbing your chin to make you face the wall again.

"I want you to guess." She purrs, nipping at your earlobe, unable to stop herself from letting out a low chuckle. "C'mon, baby, I know you remember. That shop we passed by the other day? You were all curious about it, but we never got the chance to really look around."

In order to somewhat jog your memory, one of her hands releases its grip on you, wrapping around what she has and pressing it between your soaked thighs, shallowly thrusting it between them. Your breath hitches at the feeling and the memory comes flooding back into your mind. It was a few days back - Manny had pointed out an old sex shop and being the man he is he just couldn't shut up about it. Mostly he'd bragged about how, as much as he'd like to experiment, his own hands and body got the job done just fine.

In the moment it was funny, and a little stupid. The three of you managed to catch a quick glimpse of the interior, seeing some of the different toys that hadn't been looted or destroyed and joking about all of the time people in the Old World must have had to be so experimental with their sex lives. Unbeknownst to you, one toy in particular had caught Abby's eye. She didn't point it out to you or Manny, but right before you all had to leave, the rest of your patrol group having already started packing up to head back to base, she'd hidden it so that she could go back for it later. And she did.

"Figured it out, pretty girl?"

Abby's voice snaps you out of your head and you nod, coaxing another low chuckle out of her.

"You wanna see it?"

The moment her hold on you loosens you turn around, eyes panning down her toned, naked frame to the black harness that was fixed around her hips and landing on the toy that had just been sliding up against your cunt. Your eyes widen at the sight of the thick, purple silicone toy dangling from her body, and as much as you'd like to deny the immediate heat that rises in your belly at the sight of it, you can't.

"I don't think that's gonna fit. And...and what if we get caught, Abs you can't just hide that thing"

You say it without much thought, your words forcing a genuine laugh out of your 'friend'. She shakes her head and playfully rolls her eyes.

"You worry too much, baby. I locked the door. If someone comes knocking, I can just get out and tuck it in my bag before we open the door" She reassures as she gently guides you by your waist to the fogged-up wall, pressing you against it. "And trust me, once I get you nice and warmed up, it'll fit"

Abby sinks to her knees in front of you without another word, settling herself between your legs and dragging her tongue along your slit. The doubt that was once present in the front of your mind quickly starts to fade as she laps at your dripping heat, your hands weaving into her wet hair and holding on to keep her in place. You feel the tip of two of her thick fingers dip into your pussy, coating the digits with your arousal before slipping them into you completely.

She never failed to have this effect on you, and if it weren't so sexy, it'd be frustrating. Your mind is so quick to go blank under her touch, hips unconsciously grinding against her tongue as she swirls it along your puffy clit. Abby's unusually slow about it at first, curling and scissoring her fingers in and out of you, making sure to prepare you as best she can, but by the time she slips in a third finger her impatience and excitement makes itself known. You're practically teetering at the edge of an orgasm when she pulls away from you entirely, a whine escaping you as you're denied a release.

"Abby..."

"Shh, baby I know" Abby murmurs, standing back up, smiling softly as she watches your brows fix together. "I want you to cum on my cock, not my fingers. You can do that for me, can't you?"

Something about the way she refers to it as her own, as if she'd grown it herself sends a shock of electricity through you, and you answer her with an eager nod.

"Atta girl, now be good for me and turn around" She instructs, pushing you flush against the glass when you obey her command.

Abby knows how badly you must be aching at this point, her own precum leaking down her thighs as her eyes rove over your back. Even so, she takes her time, fucking your thighs, calloused palms spreading your ass a bit to get a better view. She groans at the sight of your essence combining with the water, making the dildo glisten in the fluorescent lights.

"God, you're so fucking wet" She whispers. "So ready to get split on my fuckin' dick, aren't you?"

The desperate little whines and the way you wiggle your ass back onto her is all the confirmation she needs to slowly push in, though, to neither of your surprise with how soaked you are, it proves to be rather easy. The difference is almost funny to her. You looked so nervous when you'd seen it initially, and now you were sucking her in like you were used to it.

"There ya go, slipped in so fast baby, fuck"

The way Abby moans when the toy is all the way inside of you, the way she struggles to keep at a slow pace to make sure you're well adjusted to the girth - you'd think she could feel it. It's an adjustment for both of you, the task of keeping it from fully slipping out of you when she pulls back proving to be a tad more annoying than she thought it would be, but she figures it out. And, God, if it isn't fucking worth it when she does.

Each thrust is like a shock to your system, Abby's pace only increasing as she loses herself in the moment. She could probably - and likely will end up - cumming from this alone. It was already a bit of a fantasy in her mind, having often wondered what it would be like to fuck you like this, but she didn't think she actually could. Her vivid blues are transfixed on the way your ass jiggles with each hard thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin only made more intense by the water flowing along your bare bodies.

"A-Abby I- oh my god, please!" Words barely come out of you, and when they do, they're choppy breathless rambles with no real substance. Normally you were so careful about volume, but there are always times when she'd fucked you so stupid that you stopped caring. This, for example, being one of those times.

"So fuckin' pretty...you look so fuckin' pretty trying to take it for me" Her grip on your hips is bound to leave bruising, but all you can think about is how grateful you are for that fact. If not for her hands, you'd be on the ground by now, legs shaking and unable to hold your weight any longer.

Abby knows your tells well enough to see when you're about to explode - the incoherent sobs, twitching legs, your hands desperately trying to grab onto everything - anything that could possibly help ground you even a little bit. It only eggs her on, her arm snaking around your body to rub feverishly at your aching clit, almost impatient in her need to watch you come apart for her.

"Fuck, don't stop Abby, please, 'm so close...so fuckin' close" You manage to blurt out, damn near crying at the intensity, eyes rolled into the back of your head, head lulled forward against the wall. It's taking everything in you not to fall apart this instant but you want to drag it out for just a little longer.

"Almost there, honey, I got you... C-c'mon, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking cock"

The white-hot intensity of your orgasm sends you reeling, a string of curses and choked cries spilling from your lips, arousal further wetting your inner thighs as it spurts out of you. Abby can't help but moan loudly at the sight, continuing to pump in and out of you to let the base of the toy bump against her clit more, her own climax following soon after yours.

Somehow, Abby manages to stay upright despite her legs feeling like putty, knowing full well that if she falls you'll go down with her. Her strong arms wrap around you tightly as she pulls out of you, her sweaty forehead resting against your back as you both work to catch your breath.

"Fuck..that was..." She trails off, the actual strain of her actions hitting her body, making it difficult for her to get a word out between breaths. You giggle at the sound of her struggle, though you aren't doing any better.

"So fucking good.." Is all you breathe out, your mind still too fuzzy to think of something better to say.

Abby just nods, lacking the energy to say something snarky in response, the only sound remaining being the now cold water from the showerhead pitter-pattering against the ground, though eventually, she does force herself to speak up once more.

"Once I....catch my fuckin' breath...we're so doing that again"

Reblogs are appreciated ☆ tags: @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery,