#i’m just an insane masochist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wttcsms · 1 year

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as it was ; suguru geto.

pairing suguru geto x f!reader word count 4.2k synopsis suguru comes back, only to find that you've been waiting and wanting this whole entire time. content contains modern no curses!au, gojo's sister!reader, brother's best friend, creampie, pet names (good girl, baby), most of the fic is geto's introspection, possessive sex, mutual pining/longing author’s notes im not even horny for geto like that, but i wanted to write angsty smut abt spreading ur legs for a guy that left u & who else is better for this than geto <3

First words are always a bit tricky to get right, especially whenever he has to take into account that he essentially ghosted you a couple of years ago, after taking your virginity no less, and now he’s back in the godforsaken city he swore he was never coming back to, and he’s just at a loss about what to say and more importantly, how to say it.

He supposes an apology, for starters, would be a good first move. And maybe it would be, could be, should be, if only he wasn’t him and you weren’t you, and the two of you were not something so confusing and intricate that it’s hard to put into words and harder still to describe with emotions. The two of you are something raw and painful, both of you taking turns playing both sadist and masochist.

Even to himself, the extent of your relationship sounds twisted, but there was always an underlying purity to it, something that justified its existence. To this day, Suguru Geto is certain that you’re the only person who ever loved him for him, with a love so pure and just that he tries to hide it from everyone else before they can get their filthy hands on it and taint it, twist it into something it’s not.

Sorry I left won’t cut it, and Geto doesn’t even bother trying to come up with any other variations of apology because it’s not necessarily your forgiveness that he’s come back for. The opportunity to say “I’m sorry” and have it actually mean something has long since passed. All that’s left to say is the truth for why he left, which for some odd reason, seems even harder to do than his original disappearing act.

I missed you — that’s a slight improvement. It’s the truth, if not an understatement of it. He doesn’t regret leaving Tokyo, he just regrets leaving you. Which he could say, if you would actually open the door to face him.

He figures it’s what he deserves. He deserves worse, if he’s going to be entirely honest. He deserves a slap to the face, or a kick to his balls, or for you to tell him that you hate him, that you never want to see him ever again.

He knocks on your apartment door, harder this time, as if it’s something urgent. And maybe it is. He’s felt more like himself than he ever has after moving, but the solitude of the countryside got boring soon after, leaving him only with the ghosts from his past to keep him company. He thinks if he doesn’t see you, in the flesh, he might actually go insane.

He knocks again, only to be met with more silence and a door that’s starting to become more of a familiar sight than he would like. Fuck, what is he even doing? Showing up here was a bad idea to begin with, and it’s only seemingly getting worse by every agonizing second that ticks by. Even if you do open the door, there’s always the chance that you won’t let him get a single word in — that’d be the smart choice, anyway.

And you’re a bright girl, don’t get him wrong. Something about the Gojo bloodline makes your family incapable of producing anything less than prodigal sons and daughters. If you’re not proof of this fact, there’s your older brother.

Yet another reason why showing up here is such a shitty plan. Satoru will catch wind of his visit, and when he does, he’ll show no restraint in showing Suguru what all of his private boxing lessons are good for. A broken nose and missing tooth would be a fair exchange to see you for at least a second, though. A tradeoff that he doesn’t need to debate on.

You have to leave your apartment eventually. Suguru dances with the idea of just making camp outside your door and waiting for your stubbornness to fizzle out. It’ll be embarrassing, and your neighbors will surely have something to say about it, but it would be well worth it.

He hears the ding! of the elevator opening and human reflex causes his head to turn at the sound of the noise.

Oh.

The world becomes contradictory at this very moment. The air suddenly stills, but the atmosphere itself seems to come alive at the same time. Stagnant air, bursting with electricity and something awe-inspiring. Everything seems to slow down, but suddenly he’s acutely aware of just how alarmingly fast his heart is beating. It’s been a while since he’s last seen you, not even bothering to check up on your social media because he knows one DM from you would have him crossing the ocean to be back by your side.

The reason why you weren’t answering your door was simply because you weren’t even home. Relief floods his body, makes him less tense, only for him to stiffen up once more whenever his eyes trail over to the warm body awfully close to you.

Or maybe it’s the other way around, since you’re the one clinging onto him.

You and Kento Nanami both look like you two have seen a ghost, and all things considered, you wouldn’t be wrong.

“What are you doing here?” You’re the first to speak, with Nanami’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist, and it’s this closeness that’s the only thing Suguru finds himself able to focus on. It’s been years. He shouldn’t feel this way. You’re free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. It’s your life. He’s the one that chose to walk out of it, anyway.

“I just wanted to talk,” he answers. Which isn’t a lie. He wanted to talk. He wanted to fight and make up and fuck your brains out and beg for forgiveness and cook you breakfast in the morning and warm your bed, amongst other things, too. But, he figures the condensed version of his list will do, especially considering that three’s a crowd, and most of his itinerary was for your ears only. “Did I come at a bad time?”

You bite your bottom lip, slowly removing yourself from Nanami’s grip. Nanami looks at you first, concern evident in his warm eyes, eyes that you wish were just a bit darker and colder, so that they would be the ones you’re so accustomed to drowning in.

You like Nanami well enough. He’s kind and looks out for you, and sometimes you even consider making a move on him first since he’s too much of a gentleman to cross any boundaries. Then again, you don’t think Nanami sees you as anything more than a little sister, and the last time you fucked one of your brother’s best friends…

It’s why you just give Nanami a smile, one that tells him that you’ve got this under control. His facial expression doesn’t give any indication of what he’s thinking, but the glare he sends Suguru’s way says enough.

Suguru can appreciate the fierce protectiveness Nanami has towards you, but it doesn’t mean he likes it. Especially when it’s Suguru that’s considered to be the threat.

You move to unlock your door once Nanami makes his reluctant exit, and when you enter your apartment, you conveniently don’t shut the door. Suguru trails behind you.

You turn on the lights, your living room and kitchen blending together in an open-floor plan, bathed in the stark, white lights hanging from your high ceilings. Your apartment, at least what Suguru can see of it, is tastefully decorated. Courtesy of your mother, he’s sure. He would ask about her, ask how she’s doing, but he figures now’s just not the right timing.

It doesn’t seem to be the right timing for anything he wants to say. He wants to mention that he’s thought about you, thought about reaching out — sometimes to explain himself, and other times just to discuss the mundane aspects of life — but he thinks that would be even worse than apologizing. It would be cruel of him to dangle this information in your face, haunt you with the knowledge that all this time, he’s truly been avoiding you. Knowing you, you would have questioned him on why he didn’t bother reaching out, and he would have been stuck admitting that it’s simply because he was too scared that you wouldn’t answer.

“Want a drink?” You ask him, back facing him as you peer into your fridge. He catches a glimpse of shiny glass bottles, water bottled in Europe and with the optimal pH balance, he’s certain of it. His throat feels a bit dry, but he tells you no.

“I drank enough water on the drive up here,” he tells you, which again, isn’t a lie. Suguru feels a bit pleased with himself, even if it is a bit narcissistic of himself for expecting a pat on the back for doing something so simple. He supposes it’s just because he’s gotten so used to never being honest with himself — or others, for that matter — so his current streak for telling the truth seems like something to celebrate.

“I didn't drink enough.” You say, and he can’t tell if it’s alcohol you’re talking about or water. You’re a lightweight; yet another trait that seems to be passed down the Gojo family. That explains Nanami escorting you home, then.

“Aren’t you going to ask how I found you?” Suguru helps himself to taking a seat on the white couch in your living room. Because there’s no walls separating the two different spaces, he can still look at you from this position as you rest your elbows on your kitchen’s island, as if needing the support.

“If you wanted me to know, you’d let me know.” It’s the way you say it that reveals that this comment isn’t made just in reply to his current question, but for everything else Suguru was going to follow it with. Don’t you want to know where I went? Don’t you want to know why I left?

It’s amazing what humans are capable of. Nearly six years since the two of you have lost contact — since Suguru broke all contact — and yet, you can still read him just as well as he can read you. You see him for what he is, not whatever mask he wants to disguise himself with, and it’s scary, he thinks. Scary to be seen by someone. And nice. It’s nice to have someone know you’re a monster and still not run away.

He’s not quite sure what that says about you.

“It’s a bit of a funny story.” He says, trying to steer this conversation to a more lighthearted tone even though the two of you are nowhere close to feeling light and the jury’s still out on whether or not Suguru Geto has a heart. “You don’t need the reminder, but don’t ever tell Mei Mei a secret you want to keep.”

The mention of your shared friend — if Mei Mei can even be considered one — makes the corners of your pretty mouth tilt upward. Mei Mei was born with a silver spoon, but the running joke is that it wasn’t in her mouth because she bartered with the doctor and blackmailed him into giving her a gold one. If you have the funds, Mei Mei has the information you’re looking for.

She’s the only number Suguru saved in his phone contacts, and it’s only because he knew that if he needed anyone else’s number, Mei Mei would readily give it after her Venmo request goes through.

“Of course she would tell you my address.” You say, but you don’t sound upset at all. Just amused, like this whole situation is something endearing, and you don’t harbor any ill feelings towards either of them, even though both Suguru and Mei Mei technically violated your trust. Suguru more so than Mei Mei, but, well, semantics.

“Aren’t you mad?” The “at me” is unspoken.

“Mei Mei is a free spirit.” It’s a joke, and Suguru makes a sound from his throat that resembles a laugh. Mei Mei may do whatever she wants, but nothing about her comes free.

He knows you know what he was actually asking. He’s been trying to gauge your reaction to everything he says, trying to see if you hate his guts or not.

“I missed you.” You tell him suddenly, and while he’s imagined those words coming out of your mouth, it still shakes him up a bit. It’s hard constantly posturing as if he’s cool and collected, nothing ever bothering him, his body and expression never betraying him. But it’s his heart that gives him away, and it’s heart that you hold, and no matter what face he puts on, he knows that you’ll know what the words he won’t say are.

“Don’t apologize.” You continue, closing the distance between you two and opting to take a seat next to him. There’s about six inches of space separating you two. The distance shapeshifts in his mind, sometimes becoming mere millimeters and sometimes feeling more like there’s an ocean between you both.

The sorry was on the tip of his tongue and it traveled all the way there from his heart. It would be a waste of a journey for him to not say it, but he’s certain the apology would do more harm than good, even if it is genuine.

Suguru stands out against the stark white of your apartment. Your mom likes the aesthetic of it, and since it’s your parents’ money, you merely shrugged and let her do whatever she wanted. In his black pants and black sweatshirt, he looks almost out of place in your home.

The thought that he doesn’t belong makes your heart hurt more than the burn of the alcohol from tonight going down your throat.

You don’t waste time wondering where Suguru went because for all intents and purposes, you never even knew where he came from to begin with. You knew him since you were children; your favorite out of all your brother’s friends because it was always Suguru who let you tag along and trail behind them. No one really knows much about Suguru’s life, his past, present, and future all a big blur to anyone but himself. From the way he slowly turns to face you, dark eyes meeting yours, you start to think of the possibility that maybe not even Suguru is an open book with himself.

Suguru looks like a shadow, standing out from the brightness of everything that is surrounding him in your living room. You want to ask him the questions that plague your mind ever since he’s been gone, but you don’t, because you’re scared he is a shadow. One wrong move, and he just disappears from your grasp once again.

There are the hard-hitting questions, of course. The ones that search for why he left and why he told no one and why he didn’t bother taking you. Then there are the gentler ones that would still require him to rip himself open and bare himself to you, things like how’s your new place and meet anyone interesting? You feel his gaze travel from your eyes to the slope of your nose and the apples of your cheek, downward to your lips. The intensity of his stare makes you nervously lick your lips, a tiny, quick action, but his eyes greedily take in the sight of the tip of your pink tongue casually making an appearance, only to retreat behind your pretty pink, glossed lips.

“Are you mad that I came back?” Suguru finds himself taking the role of interviewer, since it’s evident to the two of you that you know better than to bother asking him any questions. He feels like you’re treating him a bit like a stray cat, all cautious and scared of provoking him or forcing him to run away. He wants to tell you that this is not the case and that he actually plans on staying this time around, but he hasn’t entirely convinced himself yet, so he’s not going to break your heart with any more empty promises.

“No. Like I said, I missed you.” He wants to be able to blame your honesty on account of you being drunk, but he knows that you’ve just always been honest to a fault.

“You shouldn’t.” He tells you this, and you scoff. Probably because Suguru is the last person who should be giving any sort of life advice.

“Guess what I’m thinking.” You say, and Suguru feels something come alive from within, like he’s been frozen for the past six years, and the more he gets to bask in the warmth of your presence, the more he starts to defrost. There’s not a single hint of anger or malice in your tone, just the familiar, lighthearted, girlish tone of yours.

“That you think I’m a creep and want me to get the hell out.”

You frown, rolling your eyes, tucking your feet beneath you to get more comfortable on the couch.

“I’m thinking about that last time you told me I shouldn’t be doing something.” There’s a gleam in your bright eyes that clearly spells out desire, and Suguru is very, very close to defrosting. In fact, there’s a heat that’s beginning to settle deep in him, and maybe he should know better than to indulge in it, but it’s been years, and you are sitting here in front of him, pretty and fresh, and his hindbrain takes the driver’s seat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he does know, and he knows that you know that he knows, just as you seemingly know everything about him. Maybe not about his childhood — or lack, thereof — or what he’s been up to, but you know the important stuff. The things that make him tick and all the words he fails to say. Three words. Three words that he doesn’t think he’ll ever muster enough courage to say to you, but from the look in your eyes, you already know.

“I’ll jog your memory.”

And suddenly, your lips are pressed against his. You’re kissing him, and like the lovesick fool he is, he’s kissing you back. It’s pure muscle memory, maybe even animal instinct. He thought that leaving Tokyo was the right thing to do, and for the most part, it was, but with your lips perfectly melding with his own, he thinks that leaving was stupid.

Making out is such a juvenile ordeal, but he relishes in it because Suguru feels like he’s spent most of his youth trying to outrun it, and now he’s trying to take advantage of what his boyhood should have consisted of. The kisses are now bordering on sloppy and hazy, and somehow, you end up straddling his lap. He’s hard, and he should be embarrassed at popping a boner just from wet kisses, but it’s you. You have an effect on him that no one else does. His Achilles. The one weakness only he can feel.

Suguru knows that he is not a good person because a good person doesn’t go behind their best friend’s back and fucks their little sister. He had told, thirty minutes before introducing you to the feeling of his cock stretching you out, that the two of you shouldn’t be doing that. Suguru knows that he is not a good person because he cannot be any happier at the fact that history has a funny way of repeating itself. Six years later, and the two of you are back in a similar position.

You’re starting to rut against him, your dress riding up your thighs and exposing more of your skin to him. Suguru helps himself to handfuls of your soft flesh, squeezing in a manner that can’t be defined as gentle, but he loves how you take him as he is without any sort of complaint. All you do is let out a low moan, your pantyclad pussy grinding against his equally clothed bulge.

Your movements are a bit desperate, frenzied. You’re getting lost in pleasure already, and he hasn’t even done much to elicit such a reaction. The idea that only he can get you this riled up with doing so little makes him impossibly harder, and he looks down, realizing that you’re so soaked, your panties are practically translucent.

The two of you have the option of taking things slow, but neither of you want to do that. When you spend some time starving, you don’t savor the meal, you scarf it down.

That’s what the two of you are — hungry, greedy — as you both hastily strip as much clothing as you can bear to spend time getting out of. Your minidress is tossed carelessly on the living room floor, and Suguru can only bother with unzipping his pants and pushing down his briefs just enough to free his cock.

The intrusion of the tip of his cock entering your wet, needy cunt is less of an intrusion and instead akin to something rightfully returning to where it belongs. Your hands are tangled in his hair, and he relishes this feeling. This wholeness, this concept of being complete.

The inviting warmth of your pussy makes him want to cum right on the spot, but he can’t waste it. He’s spent years pining after you, missing you, and he wants you to feel like the time apart had been worth it.

“I missed you.” This time it’s him who makes the admittance. You tighten up at this confession, and it evokes a low groan from him, almost as if you had forced the sound to come from all the way down his throat.

“I know.” You gasp out, not able to speak clearly with how deep Suguru is hitting. Your living room is filled with the wet clicks and slaps of skin against skin, your juices coating his cock every time he pulls out.

The vein on the underside of his cock rubs against your walls, and the slight curve of it enables him to hit that gummy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. You’ve never given much thought to cocks, but you know that Suguru’s is the prettiest of them all.

“Tell me you’re mine.” He grunts out, lips brushing against the soft skin of your neck before biting down; gentle enough not to draw blood, sharp enough to still leave a mark. You rock against him, hips moving in tandem with his thrusts, the steady hum of pleasure continuously building up in your lower belly. You are dizzy with pleasure; blanketed in it, being spoon fed it.

He doesn’t need you to say it to know it’s true, but you moan it out anyway, both to appease him and because there’s a sort of pride in knowing that you belong to him.

“I’m yours. I belong to you.” The words are separated, punctuated, by the little gasps for air you give out because with every word, he thrusts up even harder, hitting that special spot that will have you cumming all over him, making a mess.

“Yeah?” It comes out sounding like a shaky breath, and he’s close, you know it, you can feel it.

Calloused pads belonging to fingers much larger than yours are being pressed against your clit. You’re soaked, and the dryness of his hands combining with your overall slickness gives way to delicious friction that has you cumming with his name as a broken moan filtering through your swollen lips.

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Good fucking girl.” He mutters, relishing in the way your walls tighten, spasm, clenching and unclenching sporadically as your body loses its energy and you press yourself up against his chest.

He follows after just a few more sloppy thrusts, the last one forcing himself as deep inside of you as possible. His cum is hot and thick, and it’s filling you to the brim. If he pulls out now, it’ll flood out of you, and the thought is both sad and hot at the same time. You want his cum inside of you, to serve as a reminder that this is real, that he’s real.

But seeing the physicality of him staking his claim, white seed dripping out of you, turns you on. Him, too, with the look of fascination and boyish wonder he has in his eyes as he stares at how the two of you are connected.

Before he can bother with confirming a round two, a sharp knock on the door has the two of you comically jumping a bit in surprise, both of you glancing at the door and then at each other.

“[Name], I know you’re in there!” You freeze.

Satoru.

Suguru wants to try to calm you down, whisper to you that everything’s going to be fine, but the anger laced in his best friend’s — former best friend’s — voice is enough to make him freeze up, too. Not just his icy tone, but what he says.

“I know you’re back, too, Suguru.”

#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru smut #one shot #jjk x reader #jjk smut #angst #drabble #imagine

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00-jammy-00 · 7 months

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🫧 anon.

what about like. a baker yandere who owns the shop beside florist shop owner reader, yknow? like baker brings pastries to florist and he tries to be casual about it, but he gets sooo flustered because reader is just so sweet and nice and beautiful and wowowowwwww.

and they give him flowers for his shop, to be nice, but to him it’s essentially a marriage proposal……

Yan!Baker HC’s

Yan!Baker x GN! Florist! Reader

Content warning - Yandere themes, obsession, implied murder, nsfw mentions, masochist yan, possessiveness, HE MAKES YOU EAT CUM BREAD, stalking, horny yan, kind of dumb yan

A/N - I realised that I haven’t been doing enough masochist yanderes (in my opinion because I’m not insane.) so I decided to make this reader rude and cold but still somewhat friendly. If you want an alt version where the reader is kind, I will gladly write it if you send a request xoxo

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Yan!Baker who knew it was love at first sight when he saw you angrily slam open the door to the dusty shop next door to his. That place had been empty for years so it was shocking to see someone finally buy it out.

Yan!Baker who hypes himself up in the mirror on his desk before finally marching over to give you a basket of fresh baked goods, all made by his own hand. He stumbles into the door after he decided to try and push the door that was clearly labelled “pull” before sheepishly stepping into your shop.

Yan!Baker whose heart swooned when you glared at him with those terrifying eyes. It made the hairs on his neck stand and his cock throb. You were so hot! He introduced himself shakily and gave you the basket before running off with a hard on.

Yan!Baker who made it a habit to drop by your shop every single day to deliver new pastries. He claimed to have added a special ingredient, yeah, the ingredient was pretty fucking special. It had him sitting alone upstairs jerking himself off into a bowl just to see your face scrunch up as you begrudgingly complimented the taste of the new bread he’d made.

Yan!Baker who, when he wasn’t delivering you homemade baskets, was watching you from his upstairs bedroom with a pair of binoculars held in one hand while the other was used to fist his dick. God you looked so good when you were tending to those flowers.

Yan!Baker who tripped on his own feet and slammed into his counter when you had given him a tiny pot plant for decoration. You are giving this to him? Willingly? Is this love? Do you love him? You want him, don’t you?

Yan!Baker who becomes so much more obsessive, any person who dares flirt with you is gifted to you as fertiliser asap. You’re his, you gave him that little plant to show your growing love. You knew everything, didn’t you? You knew he watched you in the shower, didn’t you? That’s why you ran your hands down your body like that. You’re so sly!

Yan!Baker who will do anything for you. He would sell his whole family business if you some much as asked. Glare at him, you look better that way. Roll your eyes and degrade him, only makes him love you more. You call him creepy? Nonsense baby, you must be thinking of someone else! He’s looking out for you. And looking at you. Always looking at you. Only you.

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Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, requests are open <3

please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms without my permission.

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roanniom · 1 year

Text

Sting

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, slapping/spanking (consensual), PIV/unprotected sex, major switch energy from both parties here, dirty talk and light degradation

You know that thing at some wild bars where you can pay to take a shot and then get slapped by a hot bartender and then splashed with a cup of water?

Eddie Munson is the guy who rushes to the bar and slams a crumpled stack of bills down, a massive smile on his face as he hollers and asks for the “special.” When you climb onto the bar with the shot he steps between your thighs with a massive smirk. He’s been flirting with you for weeks outside of the bar and you’re more than happy for him to finally crowd your personal space (when he found out you do this at your part time job he’d insisted he was visiting that very night). The minute he shoots back the gulp of tequila, you rear back, wind up, and let loose a massive slap, cracking him right against his left cheek. He reels to the right with the force of the impact, but before he can recover, you empty the contents of a plastic cup of water across his stunned face.

Eddie’s soaked features expand into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. He stares at you, a little dazed, heavy hands dropping to your thighs and fingers digging into your flesh bruisingly. You grin right back, leaning in with a hand on his neck so you can whisper.

“Looked like you liked that,” you tease. It’s a relatively empty bar. Pretty much an off night. So nobody hears when Eddie puts a hand on your neck and pulls you so he can whisper in your ear.

“I’m so fucking hard right now, it’s insane.”

You laugh at that, covering your face with your hands. The whole point of the gimmick is to play into guys’ fantasies - grown men had uttered wet, stuttering proposals to you before - but there’s something different here with Eddie. You’d been tiptoeing around your chemistry with one another ever since Robin had invited you to that party at Steve Harrington’s house. The heat between you was just waiting to finally ignite.

“Masochist,” you throw at him.

“Sadist,” he counters pointedly. His hand rubs into the softness of your inner thigh, moving dangerously close to your center. Especially for this being your place of work. Luckily there’s only a few drunks left in the both by the front door, so they can’t see.

“Who, me?” you play along.

Eddie’s finger dips under the hem of your cutoff shorts.

“You’re telling me you didn’t just get off on slapping me?”

“Well I know you got off on being slapped, so…” you trail off, winding your arms around his neck and interlocking your fingers over his nape. Eddie scoffs.

“Well obviously. Hence the whole me being ‘so fucking hard right now’ part.” His thumb glides a cheeky line down the center seem of your shorts. Right over your slit. “I’m not the one playing coy here, baby doll.”

“The bar is closed!” you call out abruptly. Startled by your sudden change in volume Eddie steps back from you, giving you space to hop down from the bar. You clap your hands to get the dull attention from the single occupied booth.

“You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here!”

Eddie chuckles behind you, resting his forehead against the smooth mahogany of the bar to keep from beaming his smugness throughout the rest of the establishment.

“But it’s not even—,” one of your regulars winds up to argue but you go over to the door and flip the sign, slapping the ‘closed’ sign against the glass.

“Stuart if you don’t get your ass out this minute I swear to god.”

~*~

With the bar empty of patrons, the only sounds left are the moans and heavy grunts issuing from you and Eddie respectively as he fucks you on the couch in the manager’s office. The one perk of having the shittiest closing shift with the worst manager is that you’re left to lock up and therefore are free to defile his furniture in piece.

Eddie’s got you on your hands and knees, ass on the air as he pummels into you with unforgiving thrusts.

“Holy fuck you are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” His hands are heavy on your hips, moving every few seconds to squeeze the dip of your waist or grope the round of your ass.

“Back at ya, pretty boy,” you manage to respond breathlessly.

“You’re teasing me, but I mean it. Your fucking attitude. This fuuuuhcking body. Shit.” He seems beside himself, overwhelmed with need even though he is literally in the middle of fucking you. In a moment of extreme stimulation he lands a sharp spank to your ass, mesmerized by the way it jiggles with the force.

“Eddie!” you cry out, though there’s a laugh in your tone.

“You liked that?” he asks gruffly. When you nod and moan, he spanks you again, this time on the other cheek. “Of course you do. You were ripped from my wettest fantasies, you’d have to love getting spanked.”

“Mmmm not as much as you loved getting slapped,” you tease, mouth half open against the ratty fabric of the couch, seconds from drooling over how great he’s making you feel.

Suddenly your world gets upended as Eddie rips you up from the couch, shifting and hoisting so that he is now sitting up against the back of the couch with you straddling his lap. You’re dazed by the change in position and you grab at him weakly to maintain your balance.

Eddie gazes back at you with a drunken grin on his face.

“Do it.”

“Wha–ahh…” You are distracted by him lowering you back down on his cock. This angle comes with gravity on your part, and sinking down on him means that you feel him deeper than before. Deeper than you’ve ever felt a lover before.

“Eyes on me, baby doll,” Eddie coos, placing one big hand on your neck. You’re suddenly pretty out of it. So Eddie gives you some time to adjust to the new fullness you’re experiencing, placing light kisses over your cheeks, jaw, and neck. When you begin trying to roll your hips, Eddie drops his hands heavy on your waist to stop you.

“Slap me.”

Your eyes go wide, and clarity seeps into your system.

“Yeah?” you ask. A grin tugs at the corner of your mouth. Eddie nods emphatically.

“Yeah. C’mon. Hit me.”

You lift your hand up and place it lightly on his cheek.

“I don’t know. I’ve never done it outside of the ‘special’ before,” you giggle. Eddie smiles at your hesitation but slaps lightly at your ass.

“C’mon. Do your worst, baby doll. I can take it.”

You take a deep breath before pulling your arm back and delivering a solid slap to his left cheek. Eddie lets out a massive moan, matched only the way his cock twitches inside you - hard.

You bring your hand back to his cheek to sooth over the pink spot forming where you struck him.

“Feels good, pretty boy?”

“Oh yeah,” he says gruffly, having the presence of mind to at least look a little sheepish.

“I could tell,” you laugh, rolling your hips against his. This time he doesn’t stop you, and you’re able to see park yourself up to a vigorous bounce. Your ass smacks against his thighs as you ride him, and eventually Eddie devolves into filthier and filthier dirty talk as he slowly loses his mind.

“Fuck. Closing the bar to get fucked in the back. So bad, baby doll. Such a bad girl.” He sucks at the swell of your breasts as you laugh. “Why are you laughing? Having fun being a little slut, huh? Of course you are.”

“Sooo much fun, Eddie,” you whine. You’ve been on the precipice of an orgasm for the past five minutes, and his words are working overtime to get you over the line. “Oh fuck, there. Right there!”

Eddie begins bucking his hips rapidly, taking over fucking up into you, all while continuing to prod at the same spot deep inside of you.

You cum in an eruption of moans and shakes, writhing in Eddie’s lap while he continues lifting you up and down his cock, fucking you through the sensation. Stars cloud your vision and it takes a while for you to get enough deep breaths into you to get your bearings again.

When you do, Eddie is still rutting up into you, somehow more desperate than before. A cute pinch in his features that has you aching for him, an aftershock quaking through your pussy.

“Look so…fuck….so pretty when you cum, baby doll,” he does his best to rasp. You ground your hands on his shoulders and continue to ride him. Letting him use you to hurtle towards his own end. You feel like you want it for him more than you even wanted your own.

“You’re so pretty, Eddie,” you hum, voice raw. Your hand slides up his sweaty neck to rest over his flushed cheek. “My pretty boy.”

“Mmmm yours,” he slurs, gazing up at you with eyes. A thrill of possession runs through you. No you haven’t known him long, but there’s something electric about the push and pull you have with Eddie. It’s hot and heavy and sick and sweet and you can’t help but feel a need to own him, as he seems to own you.

“You’re mine?” you ask, though he’s the one who just instigated that concept fully.

He nods, but his eyes slide closed as you bring him even closer to the edge. You slap lightly on his cheek for attention and he moans, eyelids rocketing up.

“Harder.”

You do as he says, slapping him on the other cheek this time. It is harder but Eddie grunts as he picks up the pace, fucking up into you.

“Harder.”

You slap him again, and he blinks before groaning, his hips beginning to stutter and lose their steady rhythm.

“Fuck me, harder! Please!”

The begging breaks you.

You slap him, hard, and then lurch forward to swallow his gasp as his jaw drops and eyes roll back. You kiss him while he stiffens in your arms, his hot spend spurting into you. Your hands close over his cheeks to cradle him to you, cooing against his lips and working him through his pleasure with steady, shallow rolls of your hips.

“That’s it, pretty boy. Came so good for me,” you whisper, open mouthed kisses raining down on his cheeks as you hold him.

After several minutes of shuddering breaths, Eddie let’s put a hoarse laugh.

“Fucking Christ. What was that?”

You laugh along with him, lifting his chin to look into his hazy eyes.

“That was you cumming your brains out to me slapping the shit out of you.”

“You’re a poet,” Eddie snorts. His hand traces lazy shapes into the bare expanse of your lower back.

“Oh I’m sorry is there a classy way of describing what just happened?” you counter with humor. Eddie shrugs.

“I found ecstasy on the knife’s edge of pleasure and pain with my woman in my arms.”

You dissolve into a fit of laughter than he can only suppress by dragging you against him in a hug and muffling your face against his chest.

After the struggle dissipates, you slump boneless in his arms, content to be held. You press a kiss to his chest.

“Your woman?” You quote back to him. Eddie huffs.

“Well I’d hope this ownership thing is a two way street if I’m gonna be yours, baby doll.”

For a second you don’t answer and his blood runs cold, worrying he may have been presumptuous, taking what you said in a moment of passion at face value. But then you’re looking up at him with a dazzling smile.

“You’re gonna regret this, Munson. I bet a collar would look really pretty on you.” You reach up and trace a finger around the circumference of his neck, watching the muscles and tendons work as he swallows, the skin there flushing a beautiful red.

You don’t get a chance to do anything else before you’re flipped again, suddenly on your back. You hiss at the sudden extraction of Eddie’s cock, but the hiss becomes a gasp when it’s slapped down on-top of your clit, suddenly hard and swollen again.

Eddie’s hand comes down to wrap lightly around your throat and your eyes light up, a big smile on your face.

The man above you stares down at you.

“Was thinking the same about you, baby doll.”

When he slaps your ass it stings.

Good.

~*~

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Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment to let me know what you think!

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie Munson thots #stranger things smut

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starsxblazing · 7 months

Text

Die Of A Broken Heart

Ask and you shall receive. Here is some pure heartbreaking angst to feed us masochists.

Summary: Azriel goes on a mission that should have been simple only for it to end in one of the worst ways possible.

Azriel x Reader

“Are you sure you’re ready for this? You just got back last night and you’re exhausted.”

You watched your husband as he continued to get ready for his mission. It wasn’t really a mission at all unless one thought of the Hewn City that way. There were many that would call it such but to each their own. Azriel stopped his task of lacing his buckles together to give you a smile but when that didn’t seem to satisfy you, he pulled you into his arms in a tight embrace.

“As soon as Cassian and I return, you will have me all to yourself,” he assured gently, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Try not to worry so much, love.”

You both admired and hated his work ethic. He was so loving, loyal, and devoted that he spread himself so thin but he was slowly making progress. Very, very slow progress but progress, nonetheless. The two of you had only been married for a few decades and it was as blissful as it could possibly be.

There had been an internal war within you when he had first started courting you. It was no secret that he wanted a mate, that all of the males wanted a mate. You had been hesitant in giving your heart to him because you knew that he had someone wonderful out there that the Mother had made just for him.

What you hadn’t expected was a one sided mating bond. You had known since the night of your wedding but hadn’t been able to bring yourself to tell him. Azriel was always so loving and devoted to you that you didn’t have to question him. He assured you more times than you could count that even if his mate did miraculously appear, that he would still choose you. Since you knew that he was your mate, all of those worries had left your mind.

“But you still have to train your new spy for Spring Court,” you huffed, earning a quiet chuckle from him as he continued preparing.

“I have already told Rhys that it will have to wait.” He shot you a playful grin. “You are my priority. The female will still be there in another two weeks.”

“You, the amazing spymaster, are going to take an entire two weeks off?” you asked skeptically. “You are going to go insane with that much time off of work.”

“Actually,” he began, his voice dropping into that delicious seductiveness while he pushed you back into the wall. “I had every intention of keeping myself occupied in much more pleasurable ways.”

The hard length of him pressed into you, earning him a playful giggle. He simply pulled you into a deep kiss that left you both breathless only to do it again before he finally left with one last ‘I love you.’ You always hated to watch him go but knowing that he would be back later that night made it better. It also helped that you had a day planned with Nesta at the bookstore.

“Did Cassian let anything slip about what they’re supposed to be doing?” you asked the female as you walked down the street.

“He was able to withstand my questioning, surprisingly,” Nesta huffed. “I’m sure it’s not a big deal.”

“Probably not,” you agreed.

You simply followed your friend throughout the stores, grabbing a few items for yourself before making your way to a nearby cafe. Nesta was relentless in getting you back into training so to appease her, you agreed. It was mostly because you missed the three females that you had made friends with but also because it would keep your mind busy once Azriel left again to train his new spy.

It was hours past time when your husband had promised that he would be home and it had you pacing a hole in the floor of your sitting room. This was the absolute worst part of being committed to someone with such an important job. Each time he was away from you, you prayed for his safety. That was exactly why you fell into a panicked frenzy when Rhys entered your mind to let you know that you were needed at Madja’s.

“What happened?” you demanded breathlessly, bursting into one of the healing rooms only to see a grumbling Azriel sitting up in the bed and holding his head.

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Cassian waved it off dismissively despite the serious worry in his eyes. “He just took a hit to the head.”

“The culprit will have a fitting punishment,” Rhys assured when you went to open your mouth. “Take him home and watch over him.”

And so you did. It didn’t help that your husband was grumpier than usual, fussing and ensuring you that he could take care of himself. You weren’t convinced due to his slight stumble and how he continued to hold his bandage wrapped head. He all but fell face first into the bed and there was no way that you could leave him alone.

You awoke the next morning only to find Azriel’s side of the bed cold. It caused a deep frown to form on your face because he should be there. He was injured on top of promising to stay home. The very least that you had expected was for him to still be cuddled up to you since the sun could barely be seen in the sky. Even after searching the entire house, he was nowhere to be seen and not even his scent lingered in the air.

In a sigh of defeat, you made your way to the House of Wind in hopes to find some answers. It was also empty up until you made it up to the training ring. Cassian, Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn were already there and beginning their warmups for the session.

“Finally come back to join us?” Cassian asked in a teasing voice but his eyes were wary.

“I was actually hoping to find my husband.” You almost tripped over the last word, almost revealing the secret that nobody else knew. “He promised that he would be home for the next two weeks.”

“He said something came up and training that new female was extremely important.”

You eyed Cassian skeptically, noting that the general appeared uneasy with the topic of conversation. Something wasn’t right and your hand instinctively rubbed against your heart as if the bond was trying to tell you something. It was always there, always lingering and glowing brightly within you but it was dim today. Nesta, who seemed extremely in tune with you, pulled you into the ring with them, insisting that training would help but that dim light wouldn’t change your worry. There was something wrong if the strange new tug was any indication of it.

With nothing better to do, you relented and after warmups, you had a sword in hand. All three females had been training hard and it was a task to keep up with the high spirited Gwyn. You had always loved the priestess and the upbeat, determined energy that always buzzed around her.

You felt it just as soon as you blocked Gwyn’s attack. There was pain that tugged at your heart that caused you to stumble, earning a nice cut on your arm as you hit your knees. You were certain that a scream of pain, one that didn’t come from the new physical injury, left you but you were unaware of anything but the pain in your chest. It was sharp, as if a thousand daggers were piercing you all at once.

A blinding heat then enveloped that same pain that had your head swimming. The bond that was there slowly dimmed further and you could almost see it. You could almost see the cord rip and shred, the feeling going straight into your chest. The burning paired with the sharpness continued until you could feel it through every fibre of your being where it settled into your very soul. It raged with an intensity that you knew had never been experienced by the world before.

Your heart stopped just as the last pieces of the bond shredded and broke before the blissful darkness took you.

Even in unconsciousness the pain didn’t stop. It felt like being tied to a spit and being turned over an open, blazing fire. The extreme heat didn’t stop and even after your mind began to clear, you were unable to open your eyes. It felt like you were dying from the inside out but muffled voices hit your ears, thankfully giving you something else to focus on.

“So you are telling me that your new spy is your mate?”

Rhys. That voice that was unmistakable and laced with frustration.

“It just happened, Rhys.”

Your husband. The one that was your mate that somehow had another mate. You searched inside of you and all that was left of the one sided bond were shredding sharp threads blowing in an openness of an unfamiliar void. Your mind couldn’t wrap around what was happening. You couldn’t understand.

“What do you plan to do?”

“I don’t know.”

Those three whispered words felt like another knife to the heart, continuing to slice into your already shredded soul.

“What do you mean you don’t know? You have a wife that loves you! A wife that you have been happily in love with for decades!”

The quiet words of the High Lord were nearly a growl, obviously angry with his spymaster.

“She’s my mate, Rhys!”

Your husband was attempting to defend himself as if the mating bond had finally taken over him completely.

“You just met this female. She is supposed to be your apprentice. Your student. Nothing more.”

Azriel truly had left you, while he was injured, only to find his mate. You wanted to cry but the pain, the heat, kept you from doing anything.

“Well that’s not what happened.”

“What is more, your wife fell in training and has been unconscious for days while in a pain that none of us can figure out while you have refused to come back because you have been with your mate!”

It was all that you needed to hear. Your worst fears that had been present before the bond had happened. He had been spending time with his mate all while you had been unconscious and in immense pain and hadn’t bothered to answer his High Lord’s attempts to reach him. You must have finally been able to move because you heard quick footsteps just before a familiar set of hands were wrapped around yours.

“Y/n.” Azriel’s pleading voice barely registered in your mind. “Please look at me.”

It felt wrong to do so but you did. You loved him with all that you were and it was now your downfall. There was such worry on his face and his eyes went wide at whatever he found or didn’t find on your face. Even through the blazing haze, you barely registered the deep concern and made you wondered why he cared all of a sudden.

“Are you alright?” It was Rhysand’s voice this time as he pushed the shadowsinger away from you. “How can I help?”

“I’ll be fine,” you rasped, your throat raw as if you had been screaming.

“You have been screaming,” Rhys confirmed in a gentle but quiet voice. “Let me help you.”

A growl came from behind you but you focused on those violet eyes that made you feel just the tiniest bit better.

“I just need my bed and some time.”

He nodded, seemingly determined to give you whatever you wanted.

It took two weeks for you to pull yourself together enough to present yourself somewhat normally. Azriel had stayed with you for a week before leaving for his next mission, leaving you at the House with Nesta and Cassian. You knew that it wasn’t a mission. They didn’t know that you had overheard the conversation and knew that your husband had a mate that wasn’t you.

By the time that the third week had passed, Azriel came into your room and watched you cautiously. It had taken you that long since the bond broke to act like your normal self but the pain, the burning of your soul never stopped. The broken threads cut into you over and over with no way to stop it. You were sure that you were going mad and you only allowed yourself to succumb to it whenever you knew that you would be alone for a while.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He sat on the edge of the bed but didn’t move closer. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” you asked as casually as you could even though a piece of you knew what was coming.

“I found my mate,” he whispered.

“Oh.”

This time it came out as a broken whisper, your fear only fueling the flame inside of you. Your heart picked up a rapid pace in your chest and you were sure that it was going to explode if it didn’t stop.

“I need-” He swallowed hard, his eyes lining with tears. “I need to at least get to know her.”

“You promised me, Azriel,” you croaked. “Please.”

“Just give me three weeks, y/n. Please.”

“Az…” Your voice trailed off and you realized that there was no point in arguing. “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

Despite his voice sounding thick and desperate, he simply brushed a light kiss against your lips. Your heart continued to race in panic and that pain raged blindingly until it was dark once again.

Azriel felt horrible for leaving you because he had promised you for decades that he would never leave you. He promised that he would love you and only you for the rest of eternity and even though that would always be true, he had to be sure. No sooner than he was in the sky after leaping off of the balcony on the House of Wind, a pair of hands were around him and he was suddenly in his dungeon.

“What the hell, Rhysand?” he growled, frustrated and annoyed and Cassian and the two fae in the chairs barely caught his eye.

“I came back here with Cassian to continue the work that you should have done after being attacked and learned a great deal of information.”

“Like what?” he snapped, his feet shifting while he debated on winnowing away.

“Don’t. Even. Think. About. It.” the High Lord growled. “As it turns out, that blast of power that sent you flying into the wall and causing your concussion cursed you.”

That caused him a pause and he eyed the two males that he had met with.

“Your ‘mating bond’ is fake.”

“But-”

“Tell him,” Rhysand ordered the males, refusing to let him speak.

“The female- your wife- is your mate,” one bit out. “You are holding us back in this horrid place so we cursed you to be chained to another female so that you would move courts.”

Because he would. If his mate didn’t want to live in Night Court, he would follow her. He looked between his brothers who didn’t appear to have the first bit of sympathy for him. Rhysand obviously knew that he had just left you for his mate and didn’t care about his wishes any longer.

In his desperation to get back to you, to right his wrong and beg for your forgiveness, he began his methods. It didn’t take much to get them to break and the curse cured. In an instant, he no longer felt that fake mating bond but when he looked to his High Lord, he was pale and frozen in place.

“Let’s go.”

Rhysand grabbed both him and Cassian, winnowing them back into the House. They sprinted towards your room only to find Madja hovering over you, her face pale and grave when she looked at them.

“What’s happening?” he asked in a panic, running to your side and pulling your freezing cold hand into his.

“She’s dying.” Madja’s voice was just as grave as her face. “Her body is shutting down.”

“Y/n!” Azriel yelled, shaking you as much as he dared to try to get you to open your eyes.

Madja’s hand was over your heart, looking as if she was focusing extra hard on it.

“Her heart is beating too fast,” the female murmured. “I have no way to slow it.”

Panic overtook him entirely and he continued to shake you in desperation. Your lips had turned blue and there was no color to your face even though your chest rose and fell in an unhealthy rhythm. Finally, finally, you opened your eyes. There was no life there and the quick flicker of recognition was all that it took. A dim light simmered within him, a light wrapped around a simple thread that should have been tied to you.

He followed it to the end only to find an endless void. That quick flicker of remembering him only lasted a second before your eyes closed again.

Just as you closed your eyes and your chest came to a stop, the thin thread within him shredded apart.

He thought he heard himself scream, a scream of desperation and pain, as he felt like he had been set on fire. It was a heat that far surpassed the flames that had ruined the hands that you loved so much and he didn’t know if he could handle it. His wife, his mate, his true mate was gone and left shattered threads blowing in a new void in its wake. He couldn’t breathe as it felt like his heart was being shredded into pieces and it picked up its pace in his chest. It felt like he was about to implode.

And as the darkness pulled him closer, he realized what had been your fate and what would now be his. He realized what it was like to die of a broken heart.

Tag List:

@amara-moonlight @allygrace74 @sidthedollface2 @historygeekqueen @hnyclover @kalulakunundrum @historygeekqueen @bubybubsters @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @caroline-books @justvibbinghere @wisdomofthebrain @nighttimemoonlover

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel angst #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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slamminslamminmcgill · 19 days

Note

I just know wade would be asking u to grind ur teeth down on it...i just know it....

hi anon ur so right wade actually has you do insane shit to him dick biting is just the BEGINNING‼️😮‍💨 and the first time he suggests it you’re mortified 😭 you’re giving him that gawk gawk 3000 typhoon top but he’s still kinda soft 😰 you’re lowkey worried feeling self-conscious about your head game until he cups your face and swipes his thumb across your cheek

“can i ask you a weird question?”

when you’re having sex with wade wilson, this could lead to literally anything. “does this bump on my nutsack look different than usual?”, “what’s your stance on the death penalty?”, “did i ever tell you about that time i got my dick stuck in the toaster?” you brace yourself for whatever batshit insanity is about to slide out of his mouth.

“yeah, go for it.”

“can you use your teeth on it? just, like… keep doing what you’re doing, please, it’s fucking amazing. i just want a little more texture.”

huh?! is he for real?! but you’ve worked so hard to NOT do that! years of toiling in the dick-sucking mines has trained that right out of you, and he wants you to throw all that away? why?! “uh… are you sure?”

he just laughs in response

“aw, you’re so cute! so sweet, worrying about me like that! think about it. why would i ask for this if i didn’t want you to do it, stupid boy?”

…y’know what? fair enough. you close your teeth around his shaft and cheese grater up and down the length of his throbbing, bumpy cock.

“OH~! fuck, just like THAT, baby, YES~! mmm… fu-u-ck, that’s perfect… like… like you’re trying to bite the batter off a corndog, baby, there you go…”

and when i say it gets worse from there i mean it gets WORSE!!!! like he’ll come up behind you while you’re cooking dinner.

“hey, slutter-butter, you got a minute?”

“uh… yeah, actually!” you put down the knife you were about to use to chop an onion, and spin around to face him. “haven’t really started yet, what’s—“

he’s holding a strap-on.

“yes, hi, this is wade wilson, i’ve got an appointment for a prostate exam at 4PM?”

you smirk and saunter towards him, eager to play along with this spontaneous bit, “hmm… i’m not seeing you on our records, mr. wilson. are you sure it was scheduled for today?”

“i’m not sure, actually. i’ve made that mistake before. but this clinic takes walk-ins, right?”

“yes we do, sir, but today’s been pretty busy.” you wrap your fingers around his on the silicone shaft and pull him into you. “but i’ll see if i can squeeze in you.”

wade bounces and squees with joy and hands you the strap. you don’t even get it all the way on your hips before he’s bending over. onto the stove. where you were preheating a cast-iron skillet.

“oh, shit, WADE—!”

“what?” he stares at you blankly, holding the hot pan you were about to use. he’s silent for a moment, then two, and then it clicks. “oh!” he sets the pan down in the sink, claps his hands together, then points at you. “forgot you’re a normie! logan fucks me over the stove all the time. doesn’t really matter for us, since we’re freaks of nature and third degree burns just tickle us psychosexually, but, uh… would you… wanna try it? do a little flambé action? roasted wade wilson breasts? i promise, it’s fun. it makes me moan like a coked-up whore late on rent.”

you snort at his stupid comparison, and it actually puts your mind at ease a bit. it doesn’t surprise you that him and logan get up to this kinda thing when you’re not around. in fact, you’re actually flattered to be allowed to take part in it. to take advantage of him like this.

“fuck it. bend over, you fucking weirdo masochist.”

“yippee! yay! thank you, daddy!!!”

wade eagerly yanks his shorts down, widens his stance, and slams his bare chest onto the glowing red burner. his leathery skin sizzles with the smell of cooked human flesh.

“ooooh, that feels so fucking good on my right nipple… lemme roll a little, get the other side, ah~! oh-h-h, it hurts so fucking good!!!”

you get into position behind him, but he holds his hand out backwards to halt you.

“wait! one more thing!”

he reaches over and grabs the gigantic chef’s knife, freshly sharpened and pristine, that you had lying on the cutting board next to a soon-to-be mutilated onion, and offers it to you.

“jam this through my palm when i say i’m getting close. that’s the finishing move. have me spraying a whole little league team out my dick.”

#anon #ask #poly deadclaws #poly poolverine #deadpool x reader x wolverine #implied lol but here’s food #deadpool x ftm reader #deadpool x trans reader #deadpool x you #deadpool x reader #deadpool smut #deadpool #wade wilson x ftm reader #wade wilson x trans reader #wade wilson x you #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson smut #wade wilson

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suiana · 8 months

Note

Sometimes I feel like I see a lot of mean darling (no offense to the mean people out there, do whatever you like with your pathetic yanderes)

but what do you think of a darling that’s super nice and friendly but then one day someone says something stupid (like a homophobe or smtn lmao 💀) and they just immediately say “Kill yourself” with no hesitation, then when people tell them they can’t say that they just say “whatttt I’m just saying what we’re all thinking”? You don’t have to answer, I just really am going insane because I’m too scared to write this myself 😭

i like ur idea anon

(yandere! tsundere x gn! sweet reader) (reader is secretly very unhinged)

"ugh you're so- i hate you! you don't deserve to-"

"kill yourself."

the tsundere, who is your classmate, immediately shuts up, staring at you as his mouth drops wider and wider by the second. what did you just say? are his ears working right? there's no way you could've said that haha...

"what? could you repeat that?"

"i said, kill yourself."

your tsundere classmate and you maintain eye contact, standing in silence as the weight of your words sinks in. the reality that you had just cursed at him comes crashing down on him like a ton of bricks and all he can do is stare at you like a dumb fish. and the fact that you don't have your usual cheery smile and aura is adding to the shock factor.

like seriously?

did you just seriously tell him to kill himself?

...

did you get possessed?

hit your head on something?

or maybe you were threatened to act like this?

the tsundere puts aside his pride for a second, walking up to you and observing your face with a careful expression. hm... you look okay...

"h-hey are you okay? you can't just say that you know-"

"I'm just saying what's been on my mind."

the tsundere is even more shocked now. flabbergasted even. what happened to the sweet and friendly darling he knew?! who is this person?!

"who-"

"I'm the person you've always tormented. i just couldn't handle you acting like you hate me anymore that's why i said that."

you shrug at him before going back to being all happy and cheerful.

"anyways remember to do the homework! it's due tomorrow! bye bye!"

you then skip out of the classroom, humming a merry tune as you leave your classmate alone with his thoughts. he stares at the spot you once stood at, completely stoned as his brain lags and he tries to compute what just happened.

there's no way you actually said that... kill himself? are you serious?

but somehow, he can't help but feel even more attracted to you. huh...

maybe he's a masochist.

#suiana's sinners #yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere concept #yandere tsundere #yandere tsundere x reader #gn reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting

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attractedtopeoples · 9 months

Text

Jake Webber NSFW Headcanons

NSFW Alphabet

Tags/Warnings: mdni, smutty/suggestive stuff below the cut, don’t like don’t read, written with afab!reader in mind

Johnnie’s version here, Tara’s version here

A/N: hiya, im going insane should I do a Tara version???

Aftercare (what’re they like afterwards)

King of post-sex sleepy cuddles but will definitely make sure your cleaned up and comfortable before he falls asleep, his head is most definitely on your chest as he sleeps too btw.

Body part (favourite of their partners, favourite of their own)

With a afab Partner, their tits. I’m really not going to explain this one too much bc I think it’s obvious (my guy mentions them every second video) but yh.

And it’s a touch odd but he loves his lower stomach, mainly bc you always trace the stars and now he mainly relates that tattoo with those memories of you.

Cum (all things to do w/ cum)

Opposite of Johnnie, loves to make a mess on you. Your stomach, back, tit’s, face- doesn’t matter, he loves it all. He does love being able to ‘clean up’ your tits though (he gets to leave hickeys and lovebites on his favourite part of you, he loves that shit)

Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

Absolutely a sucker for your nails scratching the back of his neck, or down his back. A bit of a masochist in the sense that he likes small twinges of pain. small enough to not hurt badly- but enough to remind him of you whenever he traces them.

Experience (are they experienced? do they know what they’re doing? etc.)

I’d say average amount of experience, but doesn’t ever brag (other than silly jokes abt getting more bitches than Johnnie), however he has assets, and he knows how to use them, and he uses them well.

Favourite Position (Self-explanatory)

Definitely a sucker for you riding him (cowgirl), and loves to watch your tits bounce along with you.

After a bit he’ll lose patience and help you out a touch, pulling you down onto his chest or swapping positions so your legs are around his waist as he’s pinning you down.

Goofy (are they more serious or silly during the moment?)

Again I feel like a mix between both, but more of a lean into silly, and he loves to tease at the same time.

Hair (are they groomed, do they care if you’re groomed, does the carpet match the drapes, etc)

Doesn’t care if your shaved and doesn’t bother shaving unless you specifically ask him too, he simply doesn’t see the point in shaving- it’s just hair.

again, it’s a touch darker than his natural hair, but o her than that it does match.

Intimacy (are they romantic in the moment?)

He’s definitely the type to mutter love confessions into your neck- either as you cuddle or fuck- it doesn’t matter, he loves being so close to you and being able to be honest with you about his feelings- plus the ability to give you a few hickeys as he does is a bonus.

Jack Off (Masturbation headcanons)

Horny bastard, but he’s usually confident/comfortable enough to tell you so it’s rare that he jacks off, but it’s not entirely uncommon

maybe once/twice a week as a most/average

Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Face Sitting- loves to have you on his face, it’s quite simple. (He also loves your thighs, so win-win)

Praise- he likes to give and receive this one, but you’ll find it more common to receive this one after a good day, and giving it to him after a bad one

Bondage- rarely but he likes to have his hands tied together behind his back- not being allowed to touch you as a form of punishment- a truly cruel one bc he’s naturally a very touchy person, especially so in these moments.

Switch- he leans more towards dominance but is fine with subbing every now and then.

Location (preference in terms of place)

Does not care. At all. (That’s a lie, there are obviously some no-no’s but you get the point). He does prefer places where you can both be comfortable (mainly you)

Motivation (what turns them on)

You.

He’s such a simp it’s not funny (it is), and he’s so sensitive to touch as well, a truly incredible combo- especially if you feel like being a bit of a tease.

No (turn offs/hard no’s, what they won’t do)

Similar to Johnnie, nothing that he fees could seriously injure you, and definitely nothing where you’d be even slightly uncomfortable. He might try but he doesn’t really understand why. (No matter how much he jokes about Johnnie spanking him)

Oral (preference in giving/receiving, skill, etc)

A bit if both honestly, great at giving, and extremely careful not to hurt you when receiving. A very ‘in-the-middle’ guy when it comes to giving and receiving head.

Pace (what pace do they go at during sex)

He tends to do slightly above average speed, but always deeper- and sweet Jesus is he good at knowing what you want. Whether it be wanting more or less he is very observant and is usually able to adjust rather quickly to what you need/ask for.

Quickie (opinions on quickies)

Dislikes them, only because he likes the patience he can have as he kisses you and your body, borderline body worship every time because ‘that’s what you deserve’ (his words)

Again, wouldn’t say no but would simply prefer to wait until you guys could be alone and take your time with each other.

Risk (are they down to experiment? Do they take risks in their sex life?)

I think he is willing to try anything you ask, but otherwise would default to what he knows. And in terms of doing something in public, well he wouldn’t say no.

Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This guy has some stamina, I’d say 3-4 rounds before he starts to tire out, but similar to Johnnie he’s very willing to give head if your not done.

Toys (do they own them? do they use them?)

I think he owns them, but hasn’t really used them on himself. If his partner wanted to use them on him- go for it, but he’s never found the need to use them himself. He is also fine with using them on his partner.

Unfair (do they like to tease?)

Definitely. This man might not be exceedingly patient, but in terms of this, he could tease/edge for hours before giving in to what you’re asking.

Volume (how loud are they? What sounds do they make, etc)

I feel like he isn’t overly loud, but not overly quiet either. It entirely depends on the situation and what’s going on. Definitely a groaner but I’m not really gonna describe sounds more than that.

Wild Card (random headcanon)

I loves when you trace his tattoo’s, both in the moment and outside of it, he loves watching your face as you focus on tracing each one.

X-Ray (what’s going on under the clothes)

7 inches, slightly leans to the right, no more explaining.

#E7D8C0 > #F2CFBE

Yearning (how high/low is their sex drive?)

Above Average, about 4+ a week, but if yours is higher or lower he adapts to it easily.

Zzz (how quick they fall asleep after)

He makes sure that your comfortable and all aftercare has been sorted out, but then the second he closes his eyes he’s out like a light.

#18+ mdni #mdni #lily’s thoughts #fandom: youtube rpf #I don’t know if there is a fandom name for these two #divider by cafekitsune #divider by animatedglittergraphics n more #divider by saradika #I use a few accounts for dividers #jake webber #jake webber smut #smut

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merakiui · 3 months

Text

애인 in anthill.

floyd leech x (female) reader cw: violence, blood, death, murder, unrequited love, angst note - if yellow is the color of insanity, then blue is the color of tragedy.

Laid out on the ice, blood swirling through the cracks, Floyd looks up at you and grins something wild. His eyes are blown wide with adrenaline. A vermillion snail trickles from his nostril, landing plip-plop in tiny drops. Standing just a few feet in front of him, clutching a thick-paged dictionary, you eye him with frigid disdain.

Like the strange boy he’s always been, Floyd says, “You’re fun.”

“You’re not going to hit back?”

“Nah. I don’t hit girls.”

“What if I wasn’t a girl? What if I was something else?” you press, fingers curled tightly around the book’s spine. “There’s a word for creatures like you. Masochist—someone who takes pleasure in receiving pain.”

“That right?” He tilts his head at you and lifts himself up on his arms. Gingerly, he wipes at his nose and sniffles back the clotted blood. “You throw a mean punch.”

“And you’ll never throw at all.”

“So what? I ain’t gonna hit a girl just cuz she’s itchin’ for a fight. I was always told it’s not right to hit girls.”

“Even if they hit you?”

“Especially if they hit you. Someone used to say that if a girl hits me it’s prolly cuz I deserved it.”

“You did,” you agree, sifting through your words carefully. “You’re a miscreant.”

He blinks at you, unfazed.

“A malefactor.”

“Hmm? That come from your book of big words?”

“It did, in fact. I have another one for you: delinquent.”

He throws his head back and laughs. Blood spurts from his nose in a liquid arc. “You got a word for the end of the world?”

“What? An apocalypse? Worldly annihilation? Catastrophe? Disaster? Cataclysm?” Before he can reply, you scoff. “That will never happen.”

“We’ll be dead by then, won’t we?”

“What does it matter? You never answered my previous question.”

He rises to his feet. You’re taller than him. He’s insisted before that once he hits his growth spurt it’ll be over for you. Even with the height difference, you doubt that would stop Floyd. He’s always pestering you, be it for answers to daily assignments or for snacks. Weirdly, despite the fact that he is a quotidian nuisance whose devil-may-care attitude goes against everything that encapsulates your character, you humor him every time.

“What?”

“If I wasn’t a girl, would you hit me?”

“You’re talkin’ like you wanna get hit.”

“You shouldn’t let the fact that I’m a girl stop you. If someone hits you, isn’t it fair that you hit them in return? An eye for an eye—that is one of the foundations of Hammurabi’s Code. It was a very human concept, you see. So then, disregarding the concept of gender, would you hit me if I was anything besides a girl?”

“Anything but a girl… Like what?”

“Like an insect.”

“You wanna be a bug? Ain’t that too easy? All I gotta do is crush ya and—”

“Then it would be revenge repaid.”

“Sure.” He smiles lazily. “If that’s what you wanna go with.”

“You’ll never get anywhere with that mindset. What if—”

Cracks spiderweb through the ice, splitting it apart in chunks. As it thaws and melts, revealing the floor beneath, Floyd trots towards the door. You follow after him, gracefully stepping out of the ice rink with your dictionary held close.

“Even if you were a bug, I’d put ya in a little locket and let ya stay safe forever. That way, even if someone wants to punch ya, they’d have to get through metal first.”

You stare at him and his broad smile. “That makes no sense… I would suffocate.”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yes! Do you realize how—hey! Get back here! I’m not done speaking!” You storm after him, fuming from your ears.

Both of you forget that there are no insects here, just as there is no surface world to be salvaged.

There are monsters in the deep sea.

The types that latch on with lithe limbs, curling and coiling. The types that kiss you farewell before bodily destruction. The types that offer sugary daydreams before the nightmarish end. Some of them are bright and brilliant, sparkling like stars in the black void. Some of them are not, choosing to camouflage and dwell in silent stealth instead.

But all of them must feed. That is an irrefutable fact. Very raw and grotesque.

Standing at the grand window, you watch your classmate sink into the clutches of a beast. She drowns with a whimsical smile, her eyes rolled back in ecstasy and her body peppered in sucker pinches.

Floyd whistles behind you. “You trying to get transferred?”

You eye his reflection with a frown. “I’m trying to test a hypothesis.”

“Lemme hear it.” He leans against the window and folds his arms over his chest. He’s taller now, so much so that he’s more limbs than torso, and all of his teeth have grown in. They’re sharp like knives. Sometimes you wonder why he refuses to use them.

“If you are predatory in nature, you will fight. If you are not, you will submit to the role of prey. In other words, if you are raised on feeble ideals, you will always find yourself cradled in the arms of Death before you can start your life.”

Floyd casts a cursory glance at the waterlogged corpse. “That why you killed her?”

You gaze at the defensive scratches on your arms with clinical indifference. “The experiment failed. I’ll try a different approach next time.”

He hums. “Sounds tough.”

“Science is not easy.”

“If you’re gonna get moved to Worker Level—”

“Azul tells me they’re overpopulated. The Throne is open.”

Floyd worries his lip between his teeth. “They’re doin’ a purge down there—another Queen of the Colony. You aimin’ for that?”

“I’m not just aiming. I will secure that position for myself.”

“And then what? You become Queen and leave the rest of us up here? Don’t you wanna stick around?”

“Why should I? I’m at the top of our class. I only stay because it’s easy and I don’t have to work.”

“We’ll miss ya. Jade and me. Azul, too. He won’t have anyone to compete with.”

“Like there’s much competition to be had.”

“He thinks you’re evenly matched.”

“Of course he would. We have nine brains.”

Silence wedges itself between the both of you, creating a cavernous gap. Floyd rests his head against the glass and sighs. You watch your classmate as she’s dragged further into the dark until, eventually, she disappears from your sight.

“At least stick around for another month or so. Courtship’s comin’ up.”

You raise a brow, suddenly suspicious. “Since when were you interested in Courtship?”

“I’m not.” He smiles blithely, but you see the pink in his reflection when he turns away. “Just thought it’d be cool to go. Eat good food. Let loose and dance.”

“I don’t understand the point of Courtship.”

“Neither do I.” Floyd’s hand twitches towards yours. He pulls away, his arm hanging limp at his side. “We could find out together.”

“Just us?”

“Just you and me.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” He swallows thickly. “I… I think it’d be fun,” he adds in a whisper.

“If I agree to go, will you hit me?”

His brows pinch together on his forehead. “You’re still set on that? It’s been years.”

“Will you do it?”

“Course I won’t. I’m not gonna hit ya for no reason.”

“Then I’ll give you a reason.” You roll your sleeve up, revealing the identification code on your wrist. Floyd has one just like yours, only his string of symbols is different and it’s branded on his neck. “Will you do it then?”

He looks like he’s considering it, mulling the possibility over in his mind, but then he laughs in your face. “You sure you’re not the masochist here?”

A harsh slap resonates through the empty hall. Backdropped by bioluminescence in the deep sea, Floyd smiles through the sting.

“Wait for me,” he tells you, rubbing at raw skin. “I’ll get down there to see you.”

“That’s foolish. You have potential up here.”

“Doesn’t mean anything if you’re not gonna be here to hit me.”

“So now you play the masochist card?”

“Only for you.”

“I should’ve tossed you out the hatch. Let them eat something promising for once.”

You strut away in a huff.

Floyd pushes off from the window. “You know I’d survive!”

“A most confounding variable, considering your proclivity to waltz right into the arms of danger.”

“It’s funner that way.”

“‘Funner’ is not a real word.”

“It’s gotta be if I’m using it.”

It doesn’t matter, though. You are a threat just like everyone else here. Perhaps what’s most dangerous is the thing festering in his heart. Unlike the octopus, Floyd only has one heart. That’s not enough to house the parasite slowly chewing through his chest.

Still, he follows danger because she’s never looked more enticing.

The collar is hooked around his throat and Floyd is sentenced to Worker Level.

He has three days before he’s cast into the bowels of the Colony. You have one. If you were afforded another day, you’d have made it to Courtship.

Instead, you sit in your dorm and eat fruit.

“Courtship’s gonna be lame anyways,” he declares around an apple slice.

“One night is not enough to foster real love. It’s all physical attraction. Biological imperative.”

Floyd turns his hands over, admiring spotless skin. There was blood on them last week, coating his fingers and drying under his nails, from when he stuffed them into the chest of a classmate and tore his heart free. He had three. Floyd is certain he could have spared just one. But a heart is useless if it is not pumping inside a person, and so he was left with nothing but a lump of organ.

“One night is enough for us.” You turn to look at him, silently bewildered, to which he elaborates: “For you… You’ll die either way, right? You and Azul. That’s why there’s no happy ending for you.”

“It’s why we avoid Courtship. Our internal systems are wired for death after copulation. We become so tunnel-visioned. So…enthralled in the survival of our young that we neglect ourselves. There is no love for us after that.”

“There is—could be.” Floyd bites down hard. The apple slice snaps in half. You lean in to snatch the half from his lips before it can fall. He blinks at you, mystified. “You don’t gotta die…”

“I won’t. I’m going to become Queen.”

“Yeah. Right. Course you will…” Mismatched eyes cloud over.

You chew with confidence. “And as Queen I can choose what to do with my life. I won’t have to worry about the rules up here or down there.”

Floyd nibbles at a strawberry next. He decides he doesn’t want to dive deeper into this subject. “Fruit makes a good last meal, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

He opens his mouth and then shuts it, conflicted.

“When I’m Queen, I’m going to demand fruit every day. Luxuries like these are uncommon here in Aquarium.”

You suck the juice from another apple slice. Floyd watches it bob between your lips like a buoy on choppy waters. And then, feeling like his world might end in the next second, he covers the distance.

“Sagwa,” he murmurs, closing his mouth around the untouched end of the apple.

You meet his eyes, startled, and allow him to take the slice. When he pulls back, you search his face for answers.

“Read it in a book. A human word with a double meaning.”

“And that would be?”

“You don’t know?”

“If you’re going to be obtuse, I have no interest in learning.”

He giggles and reaches to wipe the juice from your cheek. “It means apple.”

“And the other meaning?”

“That’s a secret.”

“You do realize I’ll eventually figure it out, right?”

“I know.” He leans in again, his arm right by your side. You’re pressed against the wall, cornered like a captured criminal. “Hopefully you’ll let the suspense linger for a bit. Would be a shame if ya got it right before I could tell ya.”

“I can wait.”

“Really? How long?”

“How long are you going to withhold it from me?”

“Dunno. Wanna find out?”

You pluck the final apple slice from the plate. Pressing it to Floyd’s lips, you offer him a lopsided smirk. “Not particularly.”

He bites down. It’s bittersweet.

Floyd opens the assignment envelope, half-expecting another scrap with a small fry. There isn’t any challenge here; he hates it. He’d rather gnaw his arm off than continue participating in what he finds is the easiest culling of his life. Plenty of Workers have been vying for his cell since his transfer, and Floyd’s been keen to defend his place. It’s devilishly good exercise, invigorating and refreshing all at once.

Still, he loathes the lack of stimulation. A challenge isn’t really a challenge until it’s got him turning life and death over in his head. Until he’s faced with a dilemma so devastating it destroys him, body and mind.

Sometimes he misses Aquarium. He misses his brother and Azul. He misses waking up hours before class and pulling Jade from his sleeping nook, in which the latter was purely dead weight. He misses the fights he’d get into—mostly the ones with classmates. He misses scrapping with Azul, bickering back and forth like fry.

He misses you. All the time, in fact. He never doubts your capabilities, of course. If you wanted to kill him, you could. There’s comfort in that—in knowing the things you could do. You could kill him, but you don’t. He likes to think it’s because you care.

Love is a complex thing in the Colony at the bottom of the sea. Like the monsters that lurk in the open ocean, it comes in many sizes and forms. Love is brutal and bloody, cutting down an opponent with enough mercy to grant a quick death. Love is agony and sorrow, bringing forth tarry tears and persistent aches. Love is gentle and soft, a mother’s cradle at birth and stifled laughter late into the night. Love is everything and nothing—insanity and tragedy.

Floyd thinks love is none of those things. For him, it’s sharing fruit in the silence of the dormitory. It’s insisting he’ll never hit you because of a reason he doesn’t want to confess—a reason hiding behind his unusual philosophy. It’s allowing himself to be slapped because, most often, he’s earned it, and what else is to come from his ceaseless provoking if not friendly violence?

But if love is achieved through forgiveness, then he can’t possibly forgive this.

He recognizes the photo. The name. That unsmiling face forever set in grim neutrality.

It’s you.

Suddenly, he understands.

The outcome of this fight will determine the next Queen.

Somehow, you and Floyd have made quick work of the overpopulation problem in Worker Level. In the year you’ve been here, living in separate spaces, never to cross paths, your fates are intertwined once more.

Only this time he isn’t meeting you at the ice rink, nor will he be there to linger in the doorway of an empty classroom.

Floyd’s heart drops down to his stomach. He traces a claw over your portrait.

“Well,” he mutters, his voice a guttural echo in this little cell, “better a final reunion than no reunion at all.”

He combs a webbed hand through his unruly bedhead.

If you are predatory in nature, you will fight. If you are not, you will submit to the role of prey. That’s what you hypothesized long ago. Come tomorrow, he’ll prove that it’s nothing but conjecture.

Floyd rests his head against the wall. He watches the bioluminescent jellyfish float aimlessly in crystal lamps. It casts a sickly yellow-green glow over the interior of his cell.

He thinks he’ll prove something. What that is, he’s not sure. Maybe all he’ll have to show for it are the remnants of what he truly is: a cowardly creature who couldn’t quell the parasite nestled in his heart.

Your spots are showing. Blue rings bleed through layers of flesh, carved on like you’re a fresh canvas. They flash warnings in hypnotic patterns, broadcasting destructive tragedy.

Floyd, a fool mesmerized, could watch you forever.

The bars of his cage are lifted alongside yours. He smiles and waits for you to close the gap. You do, albeit just enough to save space. Tension blankets the air. Neither of you takes the initiative to attack first.

“I couldn’t compete with you up there, but down here we’re about the same.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” You inspect your claws and hum. “You made short work of your assignments.”

“Wasn’t really ‘work’ if ya ask me…” Even though he’s vocally casual, his body language is pulled taut with stress. He is more evasive than he is offensive. It’s in his nature to lie in wait, to strike only when the time is right. Patience isn’t his language, but he’s spoken it for the entirety of his life, toeing the line of too much and too little. No matter what, it’s never enough. “You still set on being Queen?”

“Most ardently.”

He laughs. Even without the dictionary, you’re still the same fry from his youth: erudite to a stuffy level. Sometimes he thinks you’re less fish and more textbook when you speak so humanly.

“You can have it. I don’t wanna be Queen.”

A shadow passes over your face. “I won’t settle for victory by default. That’s not fair.”

“Well, I’m givin’ it to ya. Fair and square.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Yes, I can.” He sticks his tongue out at you, defiant. “But if you’re not gonna take it, I might as well hold onto it. Bein’ Queen ain’t half bad if it’s something you want.”

“You—”

“Well?” Floyd spreads his arms, palms up, and beckons you closer. “If you want it, take it. That’s what they taught us in Aquarium. You gonna let me keep another thing from you?”

Gritting your teeth, you yank a boning knife from the sheath at your hip. You’re a weapon yourself, yet you choose to cut him down with a blade. In Floyd’s mind, the implication has never been more romantic.

If you are predatory in nature, you will fight.

So then what should one do if they’re cowardly?

Floyd braces his feet against the floor. It’s rugged stone, a pit hollowed in the panopticon that is this undersea prison. In the tower just above, with a view on all sides, the desolate throne of the next Queen waits.

Everyone is watching, even those up in Aquarium. He’s certain Jade and Azul are fixated on whatever screen is broadcasting it, glued to the edge of their seats as they await the inevitable. Perhaps they’ve already guessed the victor of this match. How astute of them. It’s never been Floyd’s goal to please others for the sake of it. He swims at his own pace, unbound by social conventions and expectations.

Floyd is the definition of abnormal. Not because he’s inherently peculiar but, rather, because he is unabashed in being himself.

“I hope you know my sympathy ends here,” you warn, but he’s only half-listening. Your rings are distracting.

“I know.”

He always has. For a creature with three hearts, you could never hope to use any of them to love him.

“No hard feelings,” he adds with a whistle.

Now let’s make you Queen.

Your grip on the knife tightens. You don’t hesitate, a facet Floyd is most fond of. Even when you were small, you were quick to react—quick to retaliate, lashing out with all of your limbs. He carries the memory of your hands with overwhelming pride—the way they felt on his shoulder and face, a fast brush of flesh. He’s burned your expressions into his retinas—every single one, even those that were brimming with silent resentment.

Perhaps that’s what’s so perplexing about love. It’s impossible to see at first, a phantom so silent and sneaky, but when you finally confront it at the last moment it gains vivid clarity and bursts like a supernova.

He can’t say whether every interaction was the product of love. Maybe you simply tolerated him because of who he is. Maybe there never was any love at all. Maybe it was just in your nature to remain at arm’s length, a creature condemned to solitude by biology.

Would you hit me if I was anything besides a girl?

Of course not. Because doing so would only hurt him and bring about his emotional ruin.

Even now, when life and death is put on display for all, he remains unyielding in this.

When you lunge towards him, he’s ready. In your fierce eyes, just past horizontal pupils, determination blazes. You’re going to kill him. He’s made peace with that.

Floyd leaps back just as you swipe at him. The blade cuts through empty space. He’s not fighting seriously when he twirls away from your next attack, his tongue between his teeth. Your footsteps echo in the arena, tapping out a one-sided song of pursuit.

“Quit playing!” you snarl, driving your blade down. It narrowly misses his shoulder.

Floyd zips around you with eerie agility, precise and slippery just like a moray. “Aww. Why? You mad I’m not putting in any real effort?”

“Yes! Stop avoiding it and fight! You’re not prey, so why are you so intent on running?”

“Can’t I have a little fun first?”

“Absolutely not! Be serious!”

He waits for the opening. Three seconds slip by. Just a little longer and then…

There it is!

He catches your wrist just as you swing with a curled fist. He would’ve been content to let it connect with his jaw, but that could cost him. One error and you’ll tear him apart, meticulous like a scientist, hungry like a monster.

Floyd would know of no greater bliss.

Unbothered by the threat, he tugs you towards him. You stumble, caught wholly off guard, and fall into him. In one fluid motion, Floyd sweeps you into a waltz. The knife falls to the floor in a noisy clatter. Your attempt to swoop down and procure it is useless, for he just pulls you along.

You look at him next, confusion smoldering in your questioning gaze.

He smiles. “Wasn’t gonna have the chance at Courtship. Might as well do it now, right?”

“You…wanted to dance with me? That’s all?”

“I wanted to watch some other small fry scoop you up,” he jokes, but the humor doesn’t reach his eyes. “Course I wanted to dance with you.”

“Why?”

“So even someone smart like you doesn’t have all the answers.”

You scowl. “Stop avoiding the matter at hand.”

“Who said anything about that? Ain’t I givin’ the Colony what it wants? A show.”

You try to protest, but it sticks in your throat when he forces you into a twirl. You pull back just enough to break free from his hold, and then you’re lunging for the knife. It’s within your reach—your fingers brush the handle—and then Floyd’s hand closes around your wrist, and you’re yanked back into the dance. He glides to a silent melody, his feet clicking out a rhythm you’re unfamiliar with. In an effort to gain an iota of control, you pull him in the direction of the fallen blade. Though your movements are stilted and awkward, you keep up with his tempo to the best of your ability. Floyd allows you to edge closer and closer to the knife and, just when you think you might finally secure it, he kicks it away with the tip of his shoe.

“You have every opportunity to hit me and win.”

“I do.”

“So why aren’t you doing it?” you seethe, gripping his hands tightly. “Why won’t you fight me?”

“Cuz I’m not predator or prey. I don’t fit in your little hypothesis.”

“But you do. The moray eel is—”

Floyd spins you once and then, while you’re still reeling from the sudden change, drops you into a smooth dip. You cling to his shoulders, your chest heaving—whether from frustration or shock, he’s not sure.

“I don’t wanna hit you.”

“The law of life and death dictates that—”

“Yeah, yeah. That you gotta survive no matter what. No matter the cost.”

“So why… Why are you so… Why won’t you…” You shake your head. The words are jumbled on your tongue. “You’re an enigma. I truly can’t understand you.”

“What’s there to understand?” He lifts you up, keeping you at a proper distance. “If ya pull me out from under your microscope, you might see the things you’re missin’.”

“I’m not missing anything,” you argue with an indignant scoff.

“Sure you aren’t.”

Your retribution mirrors your own disposition: brutal and punctual. You hook your arms around his neck and pull. He lets his body crumble and you, swift like a hatchet, stick your leg out to catch his ankle. He falls but not before he brings you down with him.

It’s quiet like the grave, save for your haggard breaths. Floyd props himself up on his palms and peers at you.

You’re looking right back, tracing the markings under his eyes like they’re something to fear. “You—” you suck in a shaky breath; sweat dribbles down your cheek— “are the most infuriating creature I have ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

He chuckles. “You like me.”

“What a lofty, baseless allegation.”

“Don’t need proof when it’s the truth.”

You sneer at him and crawl towards the knife. Floyd grabs your ankle and drags you back. It earns him a kick in the ribs, but it’s worth it. You wrestle him on the floor, grabbing at his ear fins and tugging. Still, for all of the pain you put him through, he doesn’t budge.

Finally, you break.

“You’re the worst! I don’t understand… Everything… I’ve done everything and you still won’t fight back. What must I do?”

Floyd chokes on his laughter.

You’re crying.

For the first time since he’s known you, real, raw tears run from your eyes in thick, black globs. Your rings flash, albeit much dimmer than before.

“An utter nuisance… I’ve never understood you.”

He opens his mouth, revealing rows of razored teeth, and he almost says it: I love you.

Instead, he lifts his finger to your eye. You blink at him, paralyzed. You look scared and small, uncertain.

His shoulders slump, but he manages a strained smile. “No shame in bein’ a masochist.”

He waits for the bite of a deadly backhand. You pat his cheek weakly and sniffle.

“I was so rude to you… Nothing but a mean-hearted bully.”

“That’s fine.”

“I gave you some ghastly bruises.”

“You did.”

“And you just…took it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“If it was me—”

“You’d get ’em back, yeah? I don’t work like that. Not with you.”

“So you truly are a shameless masochist.”

Floyd flashes his teeth at you in a gleeful grin. “Only for you.”

“Hah… Right. Of course.” Your lips quirk with wry amusement. “I was never going to succeed, was I?”

“Failed right from the start.” When you don’t reply, he tries again. “You…would’ve hated Courtship.”

“It was lame, wasn’t it?”

“The lamest.”

“Yeah, I had a feeling it would be.”

Silence stretches between you. Gingerly, you reach for his face. Your thumbs trace a path from his jaw to his nose.

It’s over. He’s had his fun.

“Thanks for stickin’ with me all this time. If I’d known we’d be here, I woulda done somethin’ for ya. Gotten a gift or…found ya some fruit. Made ya something artsy—I dunno. Anything to say congrats.”

“You’re strange.”

“I get that a lot.”

“It’s not a bad thing.”

“Yeah?” At your nod, he chuckles. “Good. That means you’ll have a harder time forgetting me.”

“As if I would ever forget you. But if I did, would you come back to hit me?”

“You’re askin’ like you’re not already aware of the answer.”

“Futile as it may be, it was worth a try.”

Floyd takes hold of the knife. It glints in the light, a harsh reminder of what’s to come. Dutifully, he presses it into your hands and remains propped above you. His hands are at either side of your face; you’re pinned beneath his shadow.

“You said one night isn’t enough for real love. Do you think that’ll ever change? Maybe one day you’ll finally—”

Harbor the same parasite as me.

Disregarding the knife, you grip fistfuls of Floyd’s shirt and wrench him towards you. He spies liquid cobalt leaking from your lips just as they connect with his mouth. It’s a messy first kiss, a tangle of numb tongues. You pursue him hungrily, sweet and sour like fruit that’s on the precipice of ripe and not-yet-ripe. In the haze of it all, Floyd forgets to savor it.

He loses the feeling in his throat by the time he remembers to do that.

Your lips separate. A thin, translucent string of saliva comes apart with you.

“That word you kept from me—its meaning—I finally figured it out.”

“Yeah?” he asks, growing hazier by the minute. “What’s it mean?”

Like a beached whale suffocating on land, his systems are shutting down. Amidst the fog, he watches your rings undulate like waves lapping at an eroded shoreline. The sea will always take in the same fashion it gives: suddenly and magically, a rush of salt to sanitize sin. He’s happy, but perhaps that’s just the tsunami of endorphins flooding his brain.

“Sagwa, a human word for apple, also means apology.”

Floyd smiles in his daze. That’s his Queen, always so clever.

“You probably learned it that same night.”

“I won’t confirm or deny that.”

“How long am I gonna have to wait to know?”

“How long are you willing to wait?”

He blinks down at the blade in his stomach. You twist until you find bone.

If it hurts, he doesn’t feel it.

The edges of his world are darkening at a rapid pace. He can only see you and your beautiful, ugly expression. It’s all he’s ever wanted: to behold you at your most primal.

“Forever if I have to.”

“Really? You’d do that for me?” You look surprised. Is it really that startling?

Floyd smiles, and this time the corners of his mouth meet his eyes. It’s a peace he’s never known before. Bittersweet like apples and apologies.

“Only for you.”

And then, like he did at the start of his first pulsation, when his feet touched ground for the first time, he falls.

You’re there to catch him. It’s the first and last time you’ve ever done so.

#floyd leech x reader #floyd x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #tw: violence #tw: death #tw: angst

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subskz · 5 months

Note

Hey! New anon here, I was wondering if you could write a quick smut on making sub ot8 skz squirt? Dom!fem reader is preferred please<3

(I LOVE YOUR WORK!)

hihi, welcome! ^_^ i’ve actually written fics abt this for chan, lino, and felix which you can read here!! i also just finished writing one for binnie, it’ll be up soon 🙏 i might eventually write abt the rest of the boys squirting but for now here’s a quick thought abt hyune since i have an idea for him~

and thank you so much, i’m happy you enjoy it! <3

i can see hyune being interested in trying gauze stimulation (where you soak gauze in lube/lotion and rub it along his glans to create a pleasurable friction) he’s a little bit of a masochist and his body is super reactive, so he’d be curious to know what it feels like to have the rough material dragging along a spot as sensitive as the head of his dick. and as exepcted he’s insanely weak for it. the moment you drape the cloth over his tip and start rolling it with your palm he’s gasping so loud, throwing his hand over his mouth and trying not to shrink away from the new sensation bc it feels so good—too good, he can’t take more than a little bit at a time. it gets harder for him to control his body the more the stimulation builds up and before you know it, he’s writhing in the sheets, trying to escape from the gauze and rut into it at the same time. he’d go extra crazy if you spread out the fabric as thin as possible and pulled it back and forth directly over his tip. the pleasure is so intense it aches, the contrast of the rough fibers and slick lube creates the perfect amount of discomfort and relief to make him absolutely dizzy

we all know how vocal hyune is so you’d be in for a show of loud, filthy moan after moan that he can’t even think to be embarrassed abt in the moment. he just throws his head back against the pillows and lets himself get swallowed up by the feeling. when he’s close, his moans get more and more broken until he’s whimpering with every drag of ur hand, maybe even tearing up bc he’s so overwhelmed and the pleasure just keeps coming. all he can manage to get out is “please, please, please” but poor hyune doesn’t even know whether he’s begging you to let him cum or begging you to slow down so he’ll last longer. in the back of his hazy mind he registers that the coil tightening in his abdomen feels a lot stronger than usual, and he tries to warn you that something’s coming, but it just comes out as another slurred whine when he’s this breathless and disoriented with a mouth full of drool. his hips stutter into the gauze and he cums hard, so hard that the fluid spurts through the material and completely drenches it with his release

you can see his stomach muscles clenching in a wild rhythm, and the sob he lets out makes your spine tingle, so high-pitched and shaky like borderline scream because he’s never felt something so intense before. it’s a super passionate reaction even by hyune’s standards. he’s way too dazed to realize what’s happened at first, he lies there panting beautifully in a wreck of what he thinks is just his own sweat and cum in the bunched up sheets, but as you pull the soaked gauze off his dick you realize that was not a normal orgasm. he flinches when he feels a few drops dribble down his hypersensitive cock and thighs, and when he blinks his dreamy eyes open he sees you holding up the dripping cloth to show him the mess he made. he gives a full-body shudder when you squeeze out the gauze and splatter his release all over his chest and stomach like your own personal canvas <3

poor baby would be a little to exhausted to even feel ashamed abt what he just did in the moment, but once he comes back to his senses he’s a humiliated mess. you can’t bring it up around him for days afterwards bc he’d immediately go beet red and put his head in his hands with a cute, mortified groan until you stop teasing him. but make no mistake he loved every bit of it, just remembering the instance gets heat pooling in his abdomen. he would become a little obsessed with trying to squirt again afterwards, it makes his heart flutter like nothing else to know that you can have that effect on his body and make him cum in ways he didn’t even know he was capable of. he falls deep into subspace when it happens and there’s always such a cute disconnect in how filthy he gets for you vs. how shy is abt it later

#ask #💌 hyunie

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forever-rogue · 1 year

Note

Hey there

I’m sooo obsessed with everything you write .. You’re so talented it’s insane

Might I request something really really angsty like heart crushing angst where the reader is suffering alone and pining over Joel while he goes on dates in Jackson (bc he never thought that reader is interested because of age gap) but Ellie notices and tries to bring them together

AN | Okay but imagine also some jealous!reader. All I will say is that there is a happy ending 🥰

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2.7k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Another evening, which meant another disappointment.

You sighed heavily as you watched him walk down the street, a pretty blonde woman happily blabbering away next to him. Your heart clenched and stomach flipped at the sight. You hated it, even though you were in position to have any sort of opinion on the subject. Almost as if he sensed your unease and prying eyes, he turned around and caught your eyes. He offered you a small smile that you didn’t have the energy to return. Instead you turned around and walked away, trying to blink back the tears that threatened to give you away. He was left confused, but his attention was quickly stolen again by the woman at his side.

You hated that you had feelings for him; you hated the fact that you could never have him even more.

But - let’s rewind. It hadn’t always been like this. At one point you were sure you had a shot with Joel Miller. He’d been sweet on you since you moved to Jackson a few years back. At first you thought this was how he acted with everyone; Ellie had informed that it was most definitely not how treated just anyone.

And you let yourself get your hopes up. Maybe, just maybe, he felt even a verisimilitude of the ocean of feelings you held for him in return. But the times you allowed yourself to put your feelings on display, he either did not realize what you were doing or he ignored your affections. The first time you chalked it up to a fluke - that maybe you weren’t being clear or direct enough. After the next few times you were almost positive that he didn’t reciprocate your feelings. He was probably just putting up with you….the girl that pined over him and loved him the way the moon loves the ocean.

Over time you pulled back from him, spent less time around him, maybe yourself scarce when he was around. A little bit more every day you allowed the divide to grow. At first Joel had chalked up to you actually being busy, or just being in a mood, but eventually he knew what was going on. That this was intentional. You didn’t bother to explain yourself, didn’t even give him the opportunity to ask why.

You hid yourself away while he put himself out there. Yeah, feelings really sucked sometimes.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You had been trying to enjoy a drink. One drink with a friend at the end of a long week; it was innocent and honest enough.

But you couldn’t help the way your eyes gravitated to the door each time it opened. It was like the masochist part of you was wanting to see him and allow yourself to get hurt.

This evening it hurt. You watched as Joel held the door open, a saccharine little smile on his face, as a gorgeous woman walked in. She was beaming at him, and her hand reached for his almost instantly. This had to be the third or fourth woman you’d seen him out with in recent memory.

“You’re staring,” Daisy hissed as you tore your gaze from the door and turned back to your finger, “could you be any more obvious?”

“What do you mean?” you tried to keep your voice as calm as possible, painting a sweet smile on your features.

“Joel,” she started, completely seeing through your bullshit, “it’s so clear to anymore with eyes, and probably without eyes, that you’re in love with him.”

“Daisy!” you clamped your hand over her mouth and looked around to make sure that no one else heard her, “shut up!”

“Why?’ she pried your hand away with a huge smirk, “because it’s true?”

“It is not,” you sounded like you were pleading with her more than anything else, “he’s just…another man. Besides…I’ve tried to make a move before - don’t laugh at me - and he all but rejected me. I’m not looking for any more humiliation.”

“That’s impossible,” she scoffed and raised her eyebrow, “he likes you! If you’re not looking at him, he’s always looking at you.”

“No,” shaking your head fervently, a small part of your heart couldn’t help but wonder if what she was saying was true, “you’re wrong.”

“Babes,” she patted your knee, “I can see him right now and he looks bored out of his mind. He’s totally not even paying attention to what she’s saying and - oh. Oh. He’s totally looking at you.”

“Stop,” you sighed softly, fighting the urge to turn around and see for yourself, “it’s not anything and it’s never going to be anything. So.”

“So,” she teased back, “he’s coming over so be on your best behavior.”

Panic set in immediately as you wondered if you had enough time to run away - but he made up your mind for you.

“Daisy,” Joel gave her a nod as she grinned at him before saying your name and turning to look at you, “hi.”

“Hey,” you allowed yourself the briefest of glances before turning back to stare at your drink as though it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Everything alright?” he asked, gently pushing for answers, “haven’t seen you around much.”

“‘m fine,” you waved him off, “better get back to your date.”

He remained silent for a moment, his brow setting into a hard line before turning to walk away, “see y’all around.”

Daisy’s mouth dropped open as she looked between you and his retreating back, “that was harsh.”

“Daisy, he’s on a date,” she sighed heavily, “he can go and be happy with her.”

“You do care about him,” after a few moments, you nodded slightly, “well then.”

“Can we just drop it?” you asked softly, “please?”

“Okay,” she promised, “okay.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Almost a week had passed since you’d last seen Joel. It had served as short of a blessing and curse at the same time. It made it easier to separate yourself from him, but served to make your heart yearn and ache for him. Over time, you figured, that too would pass and you’d be able to move on from him.

But Joel Miller, a stubborn and steadfast man, was not about to make your life that easy.

He found you walking home and practically sprinted to catch up with you. Part of you was tempted to ignore him, but then you felt him put his hand on your arm, “hey, stop. “

“Joel.”

“You’ve been ignorin’ me for long enough,” and yeah…he wasn’t afraid in the slightest to call you out. You stopped and turned to him, crossing your arms over your chest, “I think you owe me at least an explanation.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“Don’t lie to me,” he scrubbed a hand over his tired face as you shrugged innocently, “I know something is wrong, and I wish…I thought we were friends. You can tell me anything.”

“There’s nothing to tell. You didn’t do anything,” you wanted to tell him the truth, wanted to tell him that his only fault was not feeling the same way about you, “I’ve just been busy and stuff. It’s not that deep.”

“Quit lying to me.”

“Fuck!” you threw up your hands in frustration, “fine - Joel, I don’t want to be your friend. We can’t be friends. I don’t want…you.”

He recoiled like you’d slapped him across the face. In some ways, he would have that - it would have hurt less. You felt like crying at the look of surprise and disappointment that crossed his features. You hadn’t meant for it to be so harsh and brutal, “oh.”

“I should go,” go and crawl into your bed and cry yourself to sleep because you’d hurt yourself and him.

“Why?” his question was simple but pointed, “tell me why and you’ll never have to be again. You owe me an explanation at least because before all of this - I thought we were okay.”

“Joel-”

“Please.”

“Because I’m in love with you.” you weren't sure if you’d really meant to say the words out loud but as soon as they tumbled out, both of you stared at each other in shock. Well…there was no going back now, “because I’m in love with you and you don’t feel the same and I can’t handle that. And maybe it’s stupid and selfish, but I can’t just be your friend, Joel. It kills me a little bit every time I see you out with someone else, and I’m just here being pathetic and pining. And I’m sorry to do this, but the only way I can see myself getting over any of it is by not being your friend.”

“You…you’re in love with me?” was all he managed to choke out, eyes soft and wide.

“I’m sorry,” you stared at the ground, kicking at a rock, “I didn’t mean for this to happen. But you wanted the truth and there is it.”

“Oh,” you already knew that he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, but his response didn’t make you feel any better.

“I’m going to…go,” you didn’t wait for him to say anything else, turning on your heel and practically running the rest of the way home. You felt tears pearl up and run down your cheeks, but didn’t bother to wipe them away, instead running inside and slamming the door shut.

That might have been the most painful and humiliating moment of your life. But at least it was all over now.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But Joel…no. It was far from over for him because he had just experienced about a million revelations at once.

The most prevalent of which was that you were in love with him. He had no clue…not even a sliver of hope. But now he knew. He knew.

He'd thought about following you home that night but had decided against it, figuring it was best to give you some space.

Joel even let a few days pass before he couldn't take it anymore. He had to see you, had to talk to you before he completely lost his mind.

And yes, he probably shouldn't have come to your work, but he couldn't stop him. You hadn't even noticed it was him when you heard the bell over the door to the coffee shop twinkled but didn't bother to see who it was. People normally just seated themselves; but this time someone walked towards you behind the counter.

You turned around and gasped when you saw it was Joel on the other side of the counter. You thought about ducking under the counter but it was much too late for that. Instead you stood there wordlessly while he tried to find the right words.

"Sorry for ugh, showing up like this," he scratched at the back of neck nervously, "I just really had to talk to you."

"A-about what?" Your voice sounded so small and squeaky that you cringed internally. You did want to seem like a pathetic little mouse on top of everything.

"The other night," he cleared his throat as your face burned. Fuck.

"Look I'm sorry about all of that," you sighed, cheeks way too warm, "I shouldn't have said anything and I'm sorry if I made things…awkward."

"I'm the one that should be sorry," he whispered after a few beats of silence, "I should have just said what I wanted to. But I got scared."

"Scared? You?" You raised an eyebrow as he met your eye and nodded, "of what?"

"Of telling you how I really feel."

"Oh," you waved a hand dismissively, "I already know that you just want to be my friend. Look, Joel, I don't think I'll be able to do that. I can't just change my own feelings."

"That's not…no," and he sighed softly, taking a moment to gather himself, "that's not exactly what I meant."

"W-what do you mean then?" Your eyes widened but you found yourself leaning closer to him. He'd approached the counter now and was very close to you. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage and your mind was reeling with the possibilities of what he could say or do, "Joel?"

Joel hesitated for a moment before reaching up and holding out a hand towards your face. You stood still and when you didn't try to brush him off, he put his hand on your face and brushed his thumb over your cheek. If you had felt warm before, you felt like you were on fire now. His touch was a juxtaposition of soft and rough and had you preening into his touch.

"Can I kiss you?" He whispered his question, almost so quiet that you weren't really sure he'd actually said anything. But then a look of shock crossed your features. Joel wondered for a moment if he'd completely messed up but then the smallest hint of a smile crossed your features.

"Uh huh," you left dumbfounded as you blinked at him, "yes."

He ghosted his fingers along your jaw before slowly pressing his lips to yours. And you almost fell apart from even the simplest of touches. It felt so right, so perfect that you wondered why you hadn't done this a lot sooner. Kissing Joel Miller was everything.

Joel pulled back and gave you a questioning look, trying to gauge your reaction. Your mouth opened and closed a few times before settling into a small pout, "why did you kiss me?"

He laughed - nervous - before turning back to you, "isn't it obvious, sweetheart?"

"Isn't what obvious?" You exhaled sharply, "oh. So, you don't like me as just a friend?"

"No, I don't," he nodded.

"You like me…" you trailed off and waved your hand around, "as more than a friend."

"Bingo."

"You never said anything."

"Neither did you," he had you there as you shrugged sheepishly, "why didn't you?"

"I didn't think you'd ever want someone like me. Me," you wanted to curl up into a small ball and die at how pathetic the confession sounded out loud, "why didn't you?"

"Same reason," he was close to your lips and you could have just about kissed him, "why would you want me?"

"That's a silly question," you huffed slightly but nonetheless found yourself giving him a beaming smile.

"I could say the same to you," and with that, you couldn't stop yourself and kissed him again, "there's a million things to say but I'd like to tell them some other time. Like maybe over dinner…"

"Are you asking me on a date?" Your eyes went huge as he nodded, "what about all those…other girls?"

"Admittedly…they were a vain attempt to get over you," he chewed the inside of his cheek as he chanced a look at you, "and nothing ever happened with any of them. Nothing more than dinner or a beer. So."

"So," and yeah, by this time you were beaming. Your smile was brighter than the sun and prettier than the lushest flowers. And Joel Miller was a sucker for you, "nothing?"

"Nada," he promised, "but I'll let you decide…you don't have to give me an answer right now."

"I already know the answer - yes," Joel was over the moon already, "when are you free?"

"Any time for you," he insisted and you knew that was true. He'd always been like that for you, and you only.

"Tonight?" You blurted out eagerly before stopping yourself.

"Tonight," he agreed, "do you want to come over? I'll make dinner and dessert."

"That sounds…lovely," trying to keep your mind in check was already a challenge. You knew exactly what you had in mind for dessert, "I'm off at seven if that's okay."

"Of course," he reached for your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, "tonight. Seven."

"Okay," your response was a dreamy sigh that had him yearning hard for you already - more than he already had which had seemed impossible, "see you tonight, Joel."

"See you tonight, sweetheart."

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us

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carolmunson · 2 years

Text

how to train your wyvern

sadist!eddie x f!masochist!reader desc: when bratting becomes intentional disrespect, eddie has to go to new measures to make sure you stay in line.

cw: minors dni, smut, d/s dyanmics, spanking, slapping, spanking (with hands/with implements), degradation, humiliation, mean names, pet names, pet play (but not the mainstay of the fic), references to other women, emotional sadism, physical sadism, p in a (f receiving), fingering (f receving), oral (m receiving), mmf threesome, spitroasting, facials, rice kneeling, mouth soaping

He could take it to some extent, a little smart remark, a mean joke here and there. A sarcastic reply to a question with an obvious answer. That was fine, nothing a little stern look couldn’t quell. But every now and again there would be nothing he could do and it would drive him fucking insane.

You’d been bratting for days, and nothing — nothing, was working.

It started last week and some change ago when you decided to invite yourself over after his mid-day shift at the garage. He was exhausted, but he still had to fix a pipe under the bathroom sink that hadn’t stopped dripping – and also repair the cabinet door that he slammed off the hinges when he was annoyed about the broken pipe.

Normally, having you around after a stressful shift was nice for him. You’d fawn over him, make him dinner, get him a drink, rub his shoulders – suck him off, if he asked. This night was different, you clambered into the trailer and snapped the door behind you, cheeks bitten by the cold and snow in your hair.

“What’s your problem?” he asked softly from the kitchen, cracking a beer open and quickly catching the foam off the top of the can.

“You forgot to pick me up on your way home,” you huff, “I had to take the bus and then walk.”

His eyes widened, suddenly remembering that your car was in the shop. He wasn’t working on it, so it slipped his mind, “Oh honey, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to forget. Sal’s working on your car so y’know it just – out of sight, out of mind.”

He puts the beer on the table and takes your coat from you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His warm lips sooth your snow soaked face, but the frustration still remains.

“Why didn’t you just call?” he asks, seeing the furrow on your brow still stuck in place, “I would’ve come to pick you up.”

“I shouldn’t have to remind you,” you grumble, “You’re such an airhead sometimes.”

“Hey,” his voice isn’t gruff or mad, more hurt than anything, “It was an accident, you don’t have to say shit like that.”

You take a breath, pushing it out of your lips, mulling over whether the insult was worth it, “Sorry, that was mean. I’m just cold and annoyed.”

His lips press against your cold cheek this time, “It’s okay. Um, get yourself cozy – I gotta fix the sink in the bathroom.”

Your face falls, “Oh.”

His face falls too, “What’s wrong?”

“I just – I came all the way over here and we’re not even gonna hang out,” you frown.

“It won’t take me that long, baby. I just have to fix the sink and the cabinet and then I’m done,” he explains while you kick your shoes off. Your eyes roll dramatically when he mentions the cabinet.

“So first it’s just the sink, then it’s the sink and cabinet. You’ll finish those and go ‘Oh let me work on the leak in the shower, let me WD40 the door’, you always do that. You start a project and then start fifty of them and I just sit here,” you huff.

He juts his lower lip out in a teasing frown, “Aw, so sorry I wanna make the place habitable, honey.”

When you don’t crack a smile his shoulders fall, “I promise I won’t be long. You can even sit in there with me while I work on it if you want.”

“You hate when I do that. When I hover,” you say. Eddie smiles, pressing kisses to your cheeks while he pulls you in to hold you close to him.

“So it must mean I missed you all day today if I want you to hover when I fix the sink, huh?” he jokes. You relent, giving into his kisses, and his warm chest, and the caress of the tendrils of hair falling out of the low bun on his head onto your nose.

It’s not long before you're sitting on the shut toilet seat and he’s half concealed in the cabinet, t-shirt riding up while he lies on his back. You’re not focusing on what he’s telling you, something about his day or a customer. Something about Dustin and the new one shot they were putting together next week. All you were focused on was the sliver of his belly peeking out of his shirt, begging to be touched. Begging to be squeezed. You slowly get to your knees and sink onto the fuzzy dark green bath mat by his hips, reaching out slowly to graze your fingers over his happy trail.

“Jesus!” he shouts, body jumping, a loud CLANG! sounding as a result of him dropping whatever tool and part he had in his hands.

You laugh, “Oh no, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

He shimmies out of the cabinet with a small red cut gleaming on his forehead, “Babe you can’t do that while I’m working. That’s so dangerous.”

“I got bored, you were looking so cute. How could I resist?” you ask, “Let me look at your head, I’m sorry.”

You peer at the little cut, it’ll definitely heal in the next day or so, but it’s enough that he’s wincing when you go near it.

“Don’t be such a baby,” you tut, pressing a kiss just next to it, “Is that better?”

“Yeah, it’s better,” he smiles, “But please, I’m barely balancing this tubing in my hands – no distractions please.”

“Fine,” you say sweetly while he lays back under the cabinet. You wait a moment before your hand reaches out again to drag your finger over a clothed rib.

His body tenses, “I’m not kidding, baby.”

“I’m sorry,” you laugh, “I’m just fucking with you, I promise. You’re just so cute when you’re mad.”

You let him continue, back to his original one sided conversation where he starts explaining the Wyvern appearing in the campaign and all the differences between a dragon and a Wyvern. Your eyes glaze over and your hand reaches out for a third time, sliding a finger at the top of his jeans to trace the waistband of his boxers. You hear him huff angrily in the cabinet, face hidden by the door.

“I asked you to stop, baby, please,” he urges again, “I had a long day.”

You roll your eyes, standing up and slapping on the cold water in the sink before you walk out of the bathroom, “Whatever.”

He emerges a few moments later, fuming, soaked, brows furrowed – almost teary with frustration. He wanted an apology but he never got one, opting to put you over his knee so you’d learn a lesson that would sting well into the next day – but it was a lesson that wouldn’t quite stick.

After his show at The Hideout he’d pulled you onto his lap in one of the booths with the rest of the band. They’d rehearsed all week, canceling two date nights at the last minute in lieu of the show – and the practice was worth it. They got the whole crowd jumping this time, even if it was just thirty to forty people. His hand slid over your thigh, back and forth to bring down his speeding adrenaline, the smoothness of your worn jeans soothing him. He talked over you in conversation, leaning forward past your shoulders to interject. You huffed dejectedly, sulking into resting your chin on your hands with your elbows on the table. Tensing when a group of girls came over to join their after show debrief.

After all the introductions they start talking music, the girls giggling and smiling. You’re not mean, so you indulge in the conversation – but that grating happy, bubbly friendly voice behind you booms over yours, his chest vibrating against your back when he speaks. “So who’s band is it? Who’s the brains of the operation?” one of the girls asks, glossed lips shining in the low light. The boys clamber to answer for each other, all attesting that the band is theirs as a group, no one’s the head, they all make their own decisions – but they’re all talking over each other.

“It’s obviously Jeff, he’s lead guitar,” you piped up, “It’s Gareth and Jeff.”

“Isn’t Eddie the lead?” one of the girls laughed, her painted nails tinkling against the glass of her beer.

“You asked who the brains was. Look at this guy, he look brainy to you?” you tease, running a hand through his curls. The table laughs, including Eddie whose cheeks are tinged red, but his grip on your thigh tightens under the booth. Excuse me?

To add insult to injury, you took his half finished beer out of his hand, taking a few sips to finish it while your empty bottle stood at the center of the table. You felt his chest press up against your back, leaning forward towards one of the girls sitting next to him, “S’cuse me, we’re just gonna go grab another drink.”

“Sorry!” she says, scooching out of the way while Ed nudges you forward to get out. You know he doesn’t really want another drink, he just wants to be mean to you. You know you’re riling him up in the way that he likes, you’ve been waiting for this all week.

“You think you’re bein’ cute tonight?” he says to you when his calloused fingers wrap around your forearm, walking you towards the bar, “Last week wasn’t enough? Want me to make it worse this time?”

“I think I’m being funny,” you shrug, “Everyone else thinks so.”

“Yeah, you’re real funny,” he rolls his eyes, ordering another beer that you snatch before he can grab it.

“Not an eye roll, baby,” you smirk while you take a sip of the beer, “You’re so bratty tonight.”

“You’re one smart comment away from me taking you home,” he warns. You can see from the glint in his eye that he’s still buzzing from the show and there’s only one way for him to get relief from it. It normally ends with you sobbing on his bed, tied up and begging for more of whatever pain he feels like dishing out.

“Ooh, you’re so tough, Ed,” you tease back at him. His jaw clenches while you drink the beer he just bought. He snarls when he gets you home, shoving you into the bedroom, pulling your clothes off while he berates you over and over again. Lips and teeth gnashing, kissing, biting, growling over you while he does it. But you didn’t give in, you couldn’t. His frustration was too delicious. You didn’t cry when he paddled you, you didn’t even make a sound that resembled unhappiness. You just alternated between pouting and smirking, little remarks pouring out of your mouth with your moans. Every burning strike making you jump and keen and purr. Eventually he gave up, resorting to a long lecture about bratting and boundaries while you both showered and got ready for bed. He counted every eye roll. Seventeen.

Two days ago, you dropped off some lunch for him at work and normally he’d melt at the gesture, but he knows why you did it. This was the incident that made it clear that all your behavior had been intentional. Still mad about your two previous punishments you showed up in the one dress you’re not allowed to wear to the auto shop. The hem was a hair too short, bending over would put on a whole show to whoever was looking, and boy, were the guys at work looking. The fabric was light and fluttery, one gust of wind would send it up like Marilyn’s. With the right bra, your chest would heave out of it, but even braless it held you in place just right. It was his favorite dress on you – just for him.

His jaw clenched when he saw you walk in, leaning suggestively over the front desk to ask where he was. The guys snickered and leered at you, elbowing each other to get the other’s attention. You didn’t even bother to wear tights. Everyone would see the leftover welts from a couple nights ago if the wind blew into the shop the wrong way.

Before making eye contact with Ed, you looked back at them and waved, smiling, working the sway of your hips into your walk. Your knee high boots clicked on the smoothed over cement floor while you approached him. He was found leaning up against a car he just finished working on, wiping his greased hands off on a rag, his face unimpressed with you. Now normally, this is whatever, Eddie’s used to you getting attention from guys. But at work it was different because even though they ogled, the minute you left they’d start to shit on him.

You let your girl walk around like that? Act like that?

You must be real pussywhipped Munson.

Gotta make her behave when she’s got an ass like that on her.

You never settin’ any ground rules?

Better put a ring on her finger before I do.

“C’mere, wanna talk to you for a second,” he said calmly nodding you over to him, slinging the rag over his shoulder. It was unfortunate how fucking hot he looked at work, even more so when he was disappointed. Old t-shirt covered in oil and grease stains, sweat collecting in some spots, clinging to him. His cover all opened and hanging open at his waist, boots shining in the industrial light.

“Aw, what is it babe? You look so upset,” you mocked him loud enough for everyone to hear, lips in an exaggerated pout, “What’s got you so mad? I wore your favorite dress.”

“Yeah! Don’t be so pissy, Munson,” his co-worker joked, “She wore your favorite dress.”

Eddie ticked his head over to the back room where the guys took their breaks, implying he wants you to follow him. You click behind him, giggling at the guys comments, joking back with them, tossing little waves their way until Eddie shuts the door behind you.

He walks slowly over to the coffee pot set up, pouring himself a cup and turning to lean against the counter. He takes a sip, watching you over the edge of the mug. His stare makes you shift uncomfortably, his calmness was sometimes more terrifying than his rage.

“We’ve had a big talk about this dress, baby.”

“The weather’s nice,” you said softly, crossing your arms.

“It’s January,” he deadpans, he takes another sip of coffee, “S’there something you need to talk to me about? You’ve had this lil’ attitude all week. Now you’re bringin’ it to my job? That’s not fair.” “I don’t have an attitude,” your tone is petty and touchy, “You’re just being sensitive.”

He nods while he puts the mug down, voice still measured, “I really hate taking this mean guy thing into our real life, sweetheart – but you’re really not leaving me any choices. Is gettin’ spanked not enough for you? Am I not gettin’ that ass red enough to teach you a lesson?”

“You’re not even good at it,” you lie, tossing his lunch on the table in front of you.

“I’ll remember that,” he says with a smug smile, “Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you when I get home.”

He approaches you slowly, hand reaching around to grab your ass to pull you in close to him. You whine at the grip over your welts from the other night and he snickers into his goodbye kiss. His stubble grates against your cheeks while he holds you in place to slide his tongue into your mouth, just enough to leave you wanting more.

“Bye, princess – love you,” he lilts, letting go of you to grab his lunch and sauntering out of the room.

The caning he administered that night was brutal, but you still didn’t cry. You yelped and whined, you begged him to stop, you called him all his favorite names to get him to go easier on you. He called your safe word after ten minutes – scared that you were too caught up in the challenge of not giving into him that you’d ignore your own safety. After making sure you were okay, he took his pillow and slept on the couch.

He canceled your date night last night to work on the finishing touches of the one shot campaign he and Dustin had been working on for their monthly group ‘catch up’ at Steve’s. When he picked you up earlier this morning your attitude had nearly tripled in spice. Every word out of your mouth was a quick whip of the tongue.

“Baby, please,” he begs, “Please just let me have one good day. Can we please have a good day?”

You don’t reply, hopping out of the van and slamming the door behind you. He gets in front of you before you get to the door, eyes pleading while he leans in for a kiss that you don’t return, “Bub, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m just – I’m so tired. Can you please just be nice?”

“What are you talking about?” you ask sweetly, a sliver of sarcasm in your tone, “I’m so nice.”

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t start.”

Steve opens the door before you can ring the bell, running a hand through his hair and dropping it into his pocket, “Surprised you didn’t break the window with how hard you slammed the door.”

“It was the wind,” you lie, “Took it right out of my hands.”

You brush past him and ignore Eddie’s gentle reach for your hand, heading straight to the dining room to hang out with Robin and Nancy while the ‘kids’ set up their game in the living room.

“You look beat,” Steve says to Eddie while Ed kicks his shoes off, “You okay?”

“Something’s been up with her this week,” he huffs, “Longer than a week, even. M’so tired of her attitude, it’s getting out of hand.”

“Did you talk to her about it?” Steve asks, watching as Ed rifles through his backpack to pull out his binder full of DM documents and his pencil case.

“I keep trying,” he shrugs, “I’ve given her more than enough chances to talk to me about it. Even playing hasn’t gotten her to open up and normally y’know, once the water works start and she’s had a rough week she’s all out with it. It’s all about that release with us, does that make sense?”

He sighs while Steve nods along with his rant, “And instead she showed up at my work the other day just to piss me off. Wearing her little dress, showin’ off to all the guys. After we went through the whole trust chat and everything, after the scene – which I had to cut short cause she just didn’t even cry? Wild. After the scene she told me she did it on purpose – as if that wasn’t already clear, but I didn’t need her to confirm it, y’know?”

He stands up, flipping open the binder and making sure everything is accounted for. Steve chuckles to himself, leading him to the kitchen to grab them both a drink.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Ed grins down at the paper, “I’m not like you, I just know how to smack her around. You like all that mean girl shit.”

“It works. You want me to step in while the game’s going?” Steve asks. Eddie takes a breath, hearing your happy laugh bubble out from the dining room. He savors the sound for a moment – the smiliest you’ve sounded in days – and shakes his head no.

“Nah, it’s not worth it,” he says while he heads out, meeting the group in the living room.

After a couple of hours they took a break. It was always an all day affair, stopping to catch up with each other, getting lost in conversations. Eddie walked by you in the kitchen, hand plopping itself on your head while you reached into the fridge to get a beer.

“Hey, I’d prefer you didn’t,” he softly suggests, “You’re just gonna get mean.”

“I’m not gonna get mean.” You roll your eyes when he gets between you and the fridge.

“I said no,” he reminds you gently, “Please? I’m not drinking either. You’re already in whatever mood you’ve been forever – getting drunk s’just gonna feed it. Can I get you something else?”

“You’re being such a fucking buzzkill, you know that?” you snap. Eddie doesn’t react how you expect, no anger flashing in his eyes, no playful frustration. He just looks hurt, nodding curtly before stepping out of your way back into the living room. “Whatever you say, baby,” he shrugs. His shoulders round forward, settling in the couch and watching the conversation bubbling and tittering around him. He tosses you a look through the archway, shaking his head in disappointment. It was clear he wasn’t having fun with this anymore. You jump when the fridge closes and look around to see Steve next to you, alone with you in the kitchen.

“You think ‘cause you’re Eddie’s girl I won’t embarrass you in front of everyone here?” he asks pointedly, “You don’t get to act like that when you’re in my house.”

“Fuck off, Steve,” you sigh, your eye roll rivaling even his best.

“You better feel lucky that I didn’t get the okay to put you in your fuckin’ place,” he hissed while the conversation got more lively in the living room.

“Cause if you think for one second I wouldn’t bend you over that coffee table in front of all your friends and show ‘em how I deal with brats like you, you got another thing coming,” he continues. You shrink under his words, frown painting your face while he stares down at you — but that angry attitude, the reminder that Eddie couldn’t even bother to give you a solid warning, woke that mean girl right up.

“You wouldn’t do shit, Harrington,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

“Yeah? Try me,” he offers. He shakes his head, hands on his hips, “You swear you’re so tough. Your bullshit is tired. He’s bored with you, look at him.”

You look over and he’s frowning while everyone gets back into position to play but still lost in their conversations. His legs are splayed out in the recliner at the head of the coffee table, slouched down enough that his chin is in his chest.

“He just looks sad,” you mumble.

“Whose fault is that?” Steve asks.

You sulk, “Mine.”

You huff one final time before going into the living room. He peers up at you when you come up next to the recliner, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. His eyes close at the feeling of your lips against him, opening them when you break away. He scans the room to make sure no one is paying attention before pulling you in for a chaste kiss, “Kneel.”

“Ed –” you start, heat running to your cheeks.

“Kneel at my feet for the rest of the game. Do you understand?” he asks quietly. You nod, kneeling down beside him while he got up to start the campaign where they left off. To everyone else, you were just watching everything play out – to him you were finally obeying. But it could never be that easy – just like the devil, you had to have the last laugh.

When the game was over, Steve and Eddie hauled off to smoke outside, talking quietly with each other – deliberating over something. You took that time to snag a beer from the fridge, confident you could finish it before they made their way back into the kitchen. However, talking with Robin made you less aware – hopping from one subject to the next, both big chatterers you had neglected the beer in your hand so it was only three fourths finished when the sliding doors opened and the boys showed up in the kitchen.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, continuing his conversation with Steve while he grabs your coat and slides the can gently out of your hand, pouring the remaining contents out in the sink. You put your jacket on while he throws it away, starting his round of goodbyes to the group.

“Let’s pick up some dinner, hm?” he asks when you both get back in the van, eerily calm, tossing his hair up off of his neck as the heat blasts.

“Okay,” you say quietly, “You’re not mad? About the beer?”

“Oh, I’m upset about the beer,” he says with a nod, keeping his eyes on the road, “But I can’t expect you to listen these days. You’re making your own rules, aren’tcha?”

“No, I –”

He smiles, finally turning to you while he pulls into a drive-thru burger joint, “Don’t worry, baby, you’re gonna be very unhappy with how things go when we get home.”

The food tastes like ash in your mouth.

“C’mon, on your knees,” he says casually once he’s done undressing you down to your underwear. The ride home had been silent aside from the radio. You stepped in the trailer and he barely gave you a moment of reprieve before stripping you down in the bedroom. All tired eyes and frustrated grunts while each item of clothing got tossed onto a chair in the corner of the room. You obey his command but your eyes shoot up at him with a furrowed brow when you make it to the ground. He sighs while he puts your collar on, he looks defeated and worn out.

“Hey, wait,” you urge, taking his hand while he finishes clasping the buckle behind your neck. He looks down at you and falters at the look on your face — not playing, not in your role. Serious, concerned.

“No choking, please,” you ask softly, “Not tonight.”

He meets you down on the scratchy carpet while continuing to hold your hand, pressing a soft and gentle kiss against your lips.

“Of course not,” he agrees, “No choking.”

His hands find your face, fingertips brushing against you like you’re made of porcelain, “Do you trust me?”

He pulls you in for a deeper kiss before you can answer, taking your breath away in the process. Heat bloomed in your cheeks at his attention, the way his eyes glittered when he looked at you like that. Hungry, aching.

“I trust you,” you whisper between his kisses. You catch his gaze and he looks at you expectantly.

“What’s on your mind, huh?” he asks, “You okay? We can stop, we don’t have to do this. Could always just talk to me about it, you know I’m all ears.”

“You’re not mad, mad are you?” you asked softly, “Are you really mad at me?”

“M’not mad at you, sweetheart,” he assures, “Very disappointed, but not mad. Just like teaching you a little lesson. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” you smile. He kisses your face, again and again. Reminders of who he really is.

“At least I’m not Steve,” he laughs, standing back up, “He loves taming brats like you.”

“I’m not a brat!” you gasp.

“You sure?” he asks, looking down at you with a hardening demeanor, “No? You’re not?”

You shake your head ‘no’, he laughs at you pitifully, “Coulda fooled me.”

“Remember what I said to you?” he asks, going into the closet. His voice is muffled while he’s in there, “You’re going to be very unhappy with how I treat you tonight.”

He emerges and your furrowed brows soften into sadness, eyes rounding into pleading when you see what he has in his hand, “No, sir, please…”

“Pets don’t talk, baby,” he says gently while he clips a chain link leash to your collar.

“But I don’t…I don’t want to,” you whine, tugging at the chain in his hand. He looks down at you without remorse, petting the top of your head.

“This is how you learn to behave,” he says, “Nothing else is working, so I have to punish you with something you don’t like.”

“But…” tears pooled in your eyes as he took a few steps forward and tugged on the leash for you to follow. You frowned, crawling on all fours to follow him to the kitchenette. He tugged twice when he wanted you to stop.

“Sit,” he mutters down to you, catching your eyes while he walks over to the cabinets above the sink, “Stay.”

You huff, sitting back on your heels while he rummages through the cabinets, finally reaching in and coming out with a tall yellow Tupperware. He opens the top and looks into it, frowning, and then looking at you.

“I hate to waste food but you need this,” he says softly, walking over to stand in front of the sink. Next to him, he lays down a line of white rice by his feet.

“Eddie, please,” you whined, “I’ll be good, I promise.”

His head whips towards you, “What did I say?”

“Pets don’t talk,” you whimper back.

“Want me to beat that into you?” he hisses, reaching for his belt.

“No sir, I’m sorry.”

He stands at attention, looking down at you, “Come.”

You start to crawl forward but he stops you, “You’re gonna let your leash drag on the floor like that? You know better.”

You shake your head no, reaching for the leather handle and putting it between your teeth before starting your slow journey next to him. You hesitate when you get to the rice. He very rarely goes back to these kinds of basics because he knows you don’t like them, you’d much rather be spanked. He reaches down to grab your leash and gives it a sharp tug, pulling you forward.

“Don’t make me warn you again,” his voice is stern and you inch forward, knees settling on the rice slowly. You start to whimper quietly to yourself, the sting is immediate.

“Eyes up at me,” he instructs, fingers under your chin tilt your head up toward him, “You’re gonna kneel here while I get these dishes done.”

“That’s stupid,” you whine while he wraps part of the leash around his hand so there’s little slack for you to move anywhere. The backhand he deals you at the sound of your voice is shattering, your thighs tighten at the feeling, lips parting in a low moan.

“Open your mouth again, see what happens,” he growls, “My number one rule when we play, for years, is only speak when you’re spoken to.”

You grit your teeth, putting your face back to center and tilting up to look him in the eyes.

“Shouldn’t expect a brainless pet like you to take orders though – that’s why we gotta train you.”

You shift uncomfortably on the rice, trying to relieve the pain one knee at a time but it only makes you gasp as the pain increases.

“You gonna cry?” He asks. You shake your head no despite the burn you feel in your nose and the rattle in your chest. Your knees sting with the bite of the rice, whimpering when he starts the dishes. He casts a few looks down at you while you stay looking up at him.

“We’re gonna keep at this until you break, you understand?” he asks, you nod. It doesn’t take him long to do the dishes, you squirm when he looks down at you down the slope of his nose.

“Stay,” he commands, walking out of the kitchen to the bathroom to get something, then back to the bedroom. You wait for him on screaming knees to return but he doesn’t. You hear the shift of weight on the couch, the creak of the springs in the cushions, the stomp of his boots as he spreads his legs wide. He whistles.

“Come here, baby,” he calls out to you cooly. You hear the flick of a lighter and start your short journey to the living room.

“Do I hear that leash dragging on the floor?” he asks with a warning edge. You let out an annoyed groan, pulling slowly at the chain link while it skitters across the tile. You put the leather back between your teeth, gingerly making your way over to him again.

“Let’s check out those knees before I keep you on them even longer,” he mutters, cigarette burning between his lips. He waves his hand at you, encouraging you to stand.

“C’mere, pretty,” he says sweetly, the mask coming off briefly to wipe off the stray grains that stuck to your skin. It was certainly irritated, but there wasn’t any blood, no damage that would last overnight. Less frequent types of punishment, non-impact play, sometimes made him nervous — not as confident in the outcomes.

“It’s okay?” he asks, looking up at you. His calloused hand finds yours, a soft check in, a gentle touch.

“It’s okay,” you nod while he presses a kiss to your fingertips, putting your hand back by your thigh when he’s done. He lazily places the cigarette on the ashtray sitting on the arm of the couch to settle.

“You know where you belong, pet,” he says, voice dropping register again. The clink of his belt coming undone makes your hips twitch, the slow drag of the zipper of his jeans. He lifts his shirt up before he pulls it out, tattoos smattering dark against his pale skin.

He leans back on the couch while you kneel between his legs with your tongue out, flattened against your chin. His cock makes you drool, spit pooling at the sides of your mouth while he lets his fingers drag over the underside, pink leaking tip peeking out from his foreskin.

When he lifts it up off his stomach you audibly gasp at how wet the top is, hips shifting on your legs for friction. He leans it towards you teasingly and you eagerly lean forward to let your tongue stripe over it but you’re met with a hard crack to the face instead.

“Very bad,” he admonishes, “You’re such a bad girl.”

He starts with slow strokes, soft little gasps puffing out of his mouth when he runs over the more sensitive spots. Your mouth waters despite the sting on your cheek, “Guess I gotta keep training you, huh baby? That’s too bad, was gonna let you suck it if you could behave first.”

You let out a frustrated huff and he likes it.

“Let’s keep that mouth busy since I can’t trust you not to act on your impulses,” he says, his voice dripping with mocking disappointment, “You’ve been doing that a lot, lately.”

He reaches into his back pocket and it’s clear now, what he got from the bathroom. The bar of Pears soap glowed amber in the side table lamp light when he unwrapped it.

“Y’know, I forgot about this trick,” he says with a smile, like you’re having a casual conversation. You gulp at the sight of it, leaning back with your mouth shut.

“Steve reminded me today, when we were out having a smoke,” he continues, eyes and smile wolffish while he leans forward toward you.

“You hated it last time,” he shrugs, “But you didn’t run that pretty mouth for a while. So it must’ve stuck, huh? Open your mouth.”

You hesitate a moment too long and his patience runs out before the buzzer to obey goes off in your brain. His fingers work between your lips, pressing at the hinge of your jaw like you’re a dog who has a piece of plastic in their mouth. You sputter over his fingers, head turning and twisting to keep him from getting a hold on you but your efforts were useless. The bar slid half way into your mouth, wedged between your teeth. You knew better than to raise your hands and fight him, he’d cuff you before you could protest – better off not seeing how bad he could go tonight.

“Much better. Y’look so pathetic with your mouth full,” he teases, “Really suits you.”

“Since I have to do this myself now, who should I think about, sweetheart?” he asks you, your heart sinks. He lets his eyes flutter closed when he squeezes gently around the base, a dark laugh bubbling out from his chest.

“Should I think about Chrissy from the diner?” he asks, heavy lidded eyes staring at you, his breath hitches. He pumps in slow strokes, taking his time, “Think about her pretty blonde hair and her pretty blue eyes?”

You whine, swallowing thickly while slimy suds start to leak out of your mouth, he smirks.

“Mmm, bet she’s a really good girl,” he moans, “Bet she’d never talk back to me.”

Tears start to well in your eyes and he has the audacity to fucking smile. The bitter bubbles gather on your tongue as your salivary glands work to push the taste out, but there’s no point with the bar pressed deep into your mouth.

“You know I love a nice girl like that, baby,” he coos, pace quickening while he fucks into his fist, “Probably loves getting stuffed full. You think so?”

His eyes open fully and he grips your hair at the scalp with his free hand, “You think so?”

You nod, face burning with embarrassed and frustrated heat.

“God, watching her pretty tits bounce when she’s on top of me? Fuck. Bet she’s so fuckin’ tight,” he breathes while he teases the tip with his thumb, brows knitting in focus and pleasure, “So fucking sweet, too. Not a brat like you, baby.”

He leans his head back while he feels himself get close, edging himself – slowing down and speeding up. And then he hears it, your broken, sad, choked sob. The sound of the Pears bar dropping onto the carpet. His head perks up, and there you are, crying on your knees in front of him, wiping at your eyes. “My poor baby, there you are,” he coos, tucking himself into the waistband of his underwear, “Finally got you cryin’. You don’t like that? When your master thinks about someone else?”

“No sir, I don’t like it,” you answer through blubbering and spitting up suds. He tuts, leaning forward, letting a thumb drag over a tear on your cheek.

“I’ll be good, please don’t think about someone else,” you cry up at him.

“You’ll be good? Yeah? You’re a good girl?” he asks, sentences peaking up at the end like you’re a dog. You nod pitifully. “You see a good girl in here?” he questions, “Is there a good girl in the room with us right now?”

“Stop,” you huff, wiping your eyes again. “Now that I finally got you crying I can really go to work, huh?” he smirks, “Think getting belted will put you in your place?”

You nod while he pulls up his pants, “Let’s get that mouth rinsed out first.”

He keeps up with ‘walking you’ to the bathroom, now a mess of tears and a soap slicked mouth. Shuddering and stuttering while you get cup of water after cup of water to spit out until the water runs clear. You still don’t settle, all the feelings of the week and some change of aggravation and anger surging and pulsing through you all at once.

“You wanna tell me what’s got you acting like such a cunt this week?” he asks while you get situated on your knees on the mattress in the bedroom. Foolishly, you thought he might soften up when you started to cry – but now it’s clear he’s just getting started.

“You just weren’t paying enough atten-attention to me,” you confess, quietly. He gapes at you, anger and disbelief flashing behind his eyes. “All this ‘cause you weren’t gettin’ enough attention?” he hisses, “When’d you get so weak, huh?”

“You kept w-working late, and ditching me f-for Steve, and D-dustin, and the band,” you whined.

“Cry all you want,” he says with a straight mouth, “This is so disappointing, baby. Thought you were tougher than that. Gotta get you correct, don’t I?”

“You kept c-cancelling, so I thought –” you continue.

“Hey!” he barks, startling you to look up at him, “I asked you a question.”

“Yes, you have t-to correct me, sir,” you nod, “I need it.”

“You need it?” he mocks back, “Get in position for me.”

You oblige, bent over on the bed while he goes to get the belt that hangs next to the front door. You hear it clink with every stomp of his boots back down the hall, your thighs twitch with anticipation of him taking his anger out on you – much more pliable this time, much more reactive, no longer trying to stop yourself from feeling it.

“Attention, huh?” he repeats when he comes back in, “Well you got it, whore. I’ll pay attention to you all night.”

“Thank you, sir,” you breathe. You hear him open the top drawer of his dresser, the sound of plastic, zippers.

“Maybe we can invite Steve over to help,” he suggests, “Does that sound good? A little extra hand to make the lesson sink in.”

“Do you wanna share me, sir?” you ask while he reaches over you to press each wrist to the outside of your thighs, wrapping each of them together in thin rope he picked up at the hardware store. A shopping trip you are certain had the owner looking at you both with a cocked brow as you both left blushing.

“Something fun about watching someone use my toys,” he says playfully. The makeshift spreader bar finds its way between your legs, clicked into soft cuffs around your ankles. A vision, bent over and spread out for him. Eddie’s not an awful man, so he offers the courtesy of tucking a pillow or two under your torso to keep you raised and balanced, pressing a kiss to the middle of your back.

“M’gonna really fuck with you tonight,” he threatens softly against your skin, “How do you feel about that?”

“Orange,” you say back. Orange, the coolest flame. The okay.

“And Steve?” he asks, fingers grazing your inner thighs.

“Orange,” you reply, pussy clenching at the thought of being beaten by both of them.

“Mmm, that’s a good girl,” he rasps low, “Really good girl.”

“When’s the last time I made you cum, pet?” he moves away from you again and you whine, the ache of your cry still sitting in your throat to be reactivated.

“Last week after your sh-show,” you answer obediently.

“So mean of me, huh? To keep you so needy,” he says, and that’s when you feel it. The handle of the wand being pressed against your inner thigh, the low buzz as he turns it on. You gasp while he adjusts it, feeling it press up against you before he secures it there, hips already searching for more pleasure as he turns it up higher.

“Let me make it up to you,” the way he says it, you know he has that devilish look pulling across his smile. The metallic flick of his switchblade sounds and your panties are the first to face its wrath, pulled away with ease once the right slices were made. He follows up with the straps of your bra and you want to protest but you know he’ll buy you a new one before the day ends tomorrow – he’s always ruining your shit and buying you more, his mouth running apologies as he does.

“S’that feel good?” he asks.

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, eyes already rolling at the orgasm building in your lower belly.

“What do you say?” his voice is expectant.

“Thank you, sir,” you rasp out.

“You tell me every time you cum, okay?” he instructs. You nod, losing yourself in the feeling of being restrained and used. Your eyes flutter closed while you succumb to the vibrations between your legs and the sound of his voice, the stomp of his boots. A soft gasp pushes out of your chest, hips pressing down on the head of the toy for more friction.

CRACK!

The belt is unforgiving against the fat of your ass and your gasp quickly falls into a loud wail, the cry in your chest pushing to your throat.

“Okay?” he repeats.

“Y-yes sir, I’ll tell you every time,” you hurry out, feeling the coil in between your legs get tighter immediately at the sting of the belt.

“Sir?” you ask quietly, “Hit me again, please.”

“Yeah?” you shivered at the low gravel of his voice. You hear him rev up, then the leather whooshing through the air to land in a hard ‘thwap!’ across your behind. You whine at the hit, hands balled into fists at the pain – but god was it good. It was so good.

“I have to make a quick phone call,” he mutters, “Keep track for me.”

He returns some minutes later, leaning over the mattress to look at you, “Look at you, what a fucking slut. You like this?”

You nod pitifully and he rolls his eyes, your hips twitch at the sight.

“You cum yet?” he sounds so bored when he asks you think you might cum again instantly.

“Twice, sir,” you confess.

“Twice?” he repeats, “Must not be enough – so quiet.”

You feel the tip of something drag against the flesh of your thigh while Eddie draws two short vertical parallel lines, “Just using up your eyeliner to keep track.”

“But thats –” His hand cracks down on your fresh welt before you can continue, “I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow. Get you a new lipstick, too. So shut up.”

“Yes, sir,” you rasp out.

“Let’s get you nice and loud for me,” he mumbles, reaching between your thighs to turn up the toy's speed.

“Oh, fuck! Oh my god,” you cry out, “Oh, shitshitshitshit.”

His giggle is grotesque when you feel the slide of your lipstick on your skin; your back, your ass, your calves. the waxy scent wafts through the air with the smell of your arousal, “Steve’s right, writing all over you is really fun. Wanna see what you look like, whore?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you obey, hips stuttering while a third orgasm runs over you, “Three! Fuck, three.”

Another vertical line is sketched on your thigh with the other two. The sound of his Polaroid goes off when he’s done with his handy work, leaving the picture next to you to fade into view.

“H-hope you spelled everything right,” you tease, knowing exactly where it’ll get you, “Know how hard that is for you, ‘86.”

He growls, a stinging dig he didn’t deserve, but you remember the ache of each canceled date. Every ‘I’ll make it up to you.’ Him mentioning Chrissy while he jerked off when you always suspected he’d secretly been checking her out when you went for lunch there.

“Well that wasn’t very nice.”

You groan at the blend of the crack of the belt on your ass and the sound of Steve’s disappointed voice.

“Four, fuck, four,” you cry while your thighs shake — another line added to your collection.

“Looks like your training isn’t done, peach,” Steve says sweetly, “You’re still being such a little bitch.”

You hear him fall in line with Eddie, his ringed hand pulling at your hair to lift you up, “Say hi to Steve, sweetheart.”

“H-hi Mr. Harrington,” you rasp out before he drops your head back down on the pillow.

“Hi, angel,” his voice was low and syrupy, “So respectful.”

“Heard he’s been real mean to you, peach,” he announces, and you can feel his hand skate over the hot skin of your ass where the belt has met you more than once tonight, “Making you be his pet, kneeling on rice, he’s so mean isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply breathily as the buzz of the vibrator turns up higher.

“I have to be mean, too,” he says softly, hand cracking down hard on your ass in a sweeping smack, “Remember what you said to me earlier?”

“No, sir,” you whimper, the cry caught in your throat finally aching back out. Tears rapidly stain your face as you see Eddie come into view at the end of the bed.

“Why don’t you try a little harder?” Eddie bites, a short smack with his fingers bouncing off your cheek, “Use your brain.”

“I said you — shit, five, FIVE, oh my god five — please turn it off Ed, please,” you whine, hips jumping to escape the vibrations, your clit beginning to ache. A wave of concern washes over his features at the sound of his name and not ‘sir’.

“What did you say to Steve earlier? Tell me and I’ll consider it,” he says, eyes scanning you hurriedly to check your face for signs of discomfort beyond what you could normally handle. You huff and cry, too overstimulated to answer him.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” he warns, hand snaking back into your hair.

“I said he wouldn’t do shit,” you grit out, whimpering out a broken, “Six.”

“You can turn the toy off, Harrington,” he says gruffly. Two more lines are marked on your thigh, you shiver when Steve traces them after he turns the toy off.

“Nice collection,” he says, cocking his head over to Eddie’s implements laid out on the dresser. You hear him rifle through his options, Eddie’s quiet instructions while they look together, ‘Too much, she’ll tap out,’ ‘She can only do a few with those,’ ‘You’re not experienced enough for that, you’re not here to practice on my girl.’ Warmth pools in your belly and soothes you despite the stinging on your skin and the bruised ache between your legs. They decide on the belt, it’s Steve’s favorite and yours, and you’re silently happy he joined in because Eddie absolutely would’ve caned you otherwise.

“You have a nice break?” Eddie asks, he appears at the end of the mattress again – torso in your vision. You nod, feeling a wet spot under your cheek from drooling.

He tuts, wiping some of it away, muttering, “You fucking dog,” under his breath.

“I’m not gonna do shit? That’s what you said, right?” Steve asks, you moan in frustration when the toy starts up again between your legs – setting turned up high.

“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” you stutter out. The last syllable leaves your lips and Eddie’s belt meets you across the thighs with a speed and precision you’ve never felt before. The sound that comes out of you is desperate and aching, barely coming down from the sting when the second comes down hard the side of your ass.

“Didn’t think this one through, did ya, peach?” he asks, a grunt and flounce of his hair adding power to the next one.

“No, sir. I’m s-sorry,” you cry, shoulders shuddering when he follows through with two more. The vibrations of the toy and his rough smacks of the belt blend together again and you gush between your thighs with a high whine. “S-seven,” you whimper.

“What a slut,” Eddie mutters while he adds another line to your orgasm tally, “Gettin’ beat makes you cum?”

“Yes, sir,” you nod feverishly, easing your hips back down lightly over the vibrator wand. He slides the belt he’s wearing out of his belt loops and wraps it firmly around his knuckles. You look up at him petulantly with wet, glassy eyes. Another strike of pain hits your backside as Steve whips the belt against you again.

“What?” Eddie asks, eyebrows raised, “You got somethin’a say?”

“No, sir,” you raspily whisper.

“Good,” he smiles, “Cause pets don’t talk, do they?”

“No, sir,” you admit with a nod, yelping when the leather strikes your thighs.

“You’re gonna cum ten times, baby,” he explains, “I’m gonna help you get there.”

“Since getting whupped makes you cum so much,” he teases before both of them bring their belts down simultaneously. The release of crying is more euphoric than the orgasms, settling into the burn of each rise and fall of their arms, each crack of their belts and slap of their hands raining down on you.

“Ow, fuck that hurts so fucking good,” you wail, “Please more, please.”

“You dirty fucking bitch,” Steve glowers, “You learning anything?”

“Yes, sir – AH! EIGHT – EIGHT!” you scream, the choked sob in your chest wracking through you into a full on meltdown. They both drop their belts, Steve approaching you again with both hands gripping your hot, welted skin hard. You squirm under his touch while his hand barrels down on you again, the other turning off the toy.

“You know something, peach,” he says, finger softly tracing whatever Eddie wrote on your back, “I think you act like a bitch ‘cause you wanna be fucked like one.”

You squeal out a noise while he kneads the burning fat of your hips and thighs, spreading you open, “Does that sound right?”

“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” you say between big breaths, trying to steady your sobs. You relax into the relief of the toy being turned off, shivering at the feeling of his finger going back to trace the words on your back.

“Says here you’re an anal slut,” he smirks, “You like getting fucked in the ass?”

“She loves getting fucked in the ass,” Eddie answers for you, a whiff of his cologne and cigarette smoke wafts through the room while you feel him detach the spreader bar from between your legs.

“So how about I fuck you like that? Think that’ll drive it home?”

You nod while Eddie uses his switchblade to cut open the rope on your wrists and thighs, your hands falling down towards the mattress limply. You lift one of them to push yourself up but Eddie catches your arm.

“Stay,” Eddie says sternly, “You didn’t answer his question.”

“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” your voice sounds moody and petty.

“Is that what you want?” Eddie asks, brows raised again. You can tell he wants your extra reassurance since this was newer territory. He didn’t share you very often, and not normally with someone so close to home.

“Yes, sir,” you nod, he squeezes your arm twice in silent communication. A gentle reminder. A silent ‘I love you’.

“Get her on her back, Harrington,” he smiles, “That’s how she likes it best.”

Steve, though still stern, takes his time working you up to it – teasing your clit with his thumb until wetness pools out of you down to your ass.

“You like it slow like this? Like getting stretched out?” he asks, “You’re not my toy, so I don’t wanna break you.”

“Mmm,” is all you can reply as one of his fingers pumps slowly in and out of your tight hole, your hips moving in time. Your head lolls back over the end of the mattress where Eddie’s stood over you, the mix of his musk and body wash filling your nose while his balls sit over your mouth.

“Oh, you can break her, Harrington,” Eddie nods, “Put some miles on her.”

Eddie pops open a bottle of lube and tosses it to Steve, “Two squirts is normally enough to get the second finger in, she’ll loosen up good after that.”

Your thighs twitch while you hear your boyfriend’s low gravelly voice instruct someone on how to fuck you. How your body reacts, what your body wants. Like he’s always been studying you this whole time. You preen into his touch when his ringed hand slides town your torso to move Steve’s thumb away from your clit.

“You like getting used, angel?” Steve asks, easing a second finger in slowly. You groan at the stretch, legs shaking when the pads of Eddie’s fingers swirl over your clit at the speed and pressure you like the most. “Mhmm,” you muffle out, hand reaching out to grab Eddie’s thigh, nails digging into his skin while you continue to drool onto his sac. He hisses at the bite of the assault, “Hands to yourself.”

You whine when he takes his hand away, offering three short slaps to your clit with his fingers.

“Nine,” you gasp out, hips jolting at the pleasure from the pain and the fullness of Steve’s fingers pumping in and out of you. You lay there like that for a bit, eyes fluttering closed while Eddie guides his cock into your mouth, slowly pushing in and out while his hand cups your face.

“Think you’re ready for something bigger, peach,” Steve says softly, pushing your thighs up to press against your chest. You instinctively hold them up, never having to be told where and when to be helpful in providing access to you. You feel the blunt head of his cock push forward and you suck in a breath through your nose while Eddie’s length slides against your tongue. His thumb smoothes over your jaw bone.

“You can take it,” he encourages, his hand moving downward to grab one of your breasts. A quiet groan bubbles out of his chest when Steve pushes himself in to the hilt, making you moan over his cock.

“So tight, shit,” Steve grunts, a soft sheen of sweat forming on his forehead while his body finds balance on the mattress to begin thrusting. And thrust he does, not caring about your pleasure – only his. Eddie doesn’t mind though, he knows that part of what gets you off is the total disregard for you, that delicious taste of degradation and humiliation that comes with being used.

“She’s good, isn’t she Harrington?” Eddie asks, hips moving a little faster while he fucks your mouth. Your eyes roll behind closed eyelids as the sensation of one of them pushing in and the other pulling out rocks you against the mattress.

“Fucking Christ,” Steve gasps, “Yeah, shit – better keep her on a fuckin’ tight leash.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair before both of them find a solid grip on your waist, drilling into you. You jump with each slam of his hips while your skin smacks together, waking up the buzzing sting of the welts they both left behind. You let yourself be used, moaning muffled by Eddie’s girth, pussy pulsing over nothing while they took turns teasing your clit and chest. Rough grabs turning into soft, feathery touches. Leather and lace, push and pull, back and forth.

“Gettin’ close, baby,” Eddie grumbles, the snap of his hips starting to stutter when he pulls out of your mouth. You obediently keep your mouth open and he laughs at you, tapping your chin closed.

“No, you don’t get to swallow my cum,” he taunts, “You didn’t earn that.”

You watch him fuck his fist, eyes burning with lust while he watches Steve pull you closer to him on the bed, your face finally staring up at him. You can smell the spice of his cologne, see the fire in his light brown eyes, his furrowed brow while he rapidly reaches his orgasm. Each thrust gets more punishing while he berates you into the mattress.

“You take it so good, you fucking slut,” he hisses, “He trained you real fuckin’ good.”

He leans over you, one hand supporting him, the other creeping up the front of your neck. You’re too fucked out to notice Eddie grab his wrist before Steve can put any pressure on your airways. Offering him a quiet ‘not tonight,’ with a shake of his head, curls bouncing next to him. Steve nods, not skipping a moment to use the same hand to smack you hard across the face – your back arches immediately.

“Ten, oh my god, ten,” you cry out while your final orgasm rips through you, gushing down between your legs over Steve’s cock. Relieved and satisfied, the tears start to pour out of you again. Aftershocks of your orgasm making you writhe and whine, cry and shake.

Suddenly, you feel Eddie’s cum shoot in hot spurts over your face. You sputter, eyes shut tight, face contorting while he purrs a low, “You want some more?”

You whimper, letting out a pathetic ‘mhm’ with a nod in order to keep your mouth shut. You feel Steve’s knees walk over you, the ‘schlick, schlick, schlick’ of him fucking himself over you, using your cum for friction.

“Say please, baby,” Steve coos over you.

“Please, sir, please,” you beg, warm briny spend leaking into your mouth at the words. You catch the hitch in his breath before his own thick ropes of cum land on your face. You hear his ragged breathing, feel the shift of his weight while he leans over your body before getting off the bed.

“Fuck, heh, she’s – damn – she’s good, man,” Steve laughs. Eddie laughs with him, ringed hand coming down to smear their cum into your face before cracking his palm against your cheek from above you.

“As usual, rode hard and put away wet,” his tone is bored and it makes you shiver again, “Go hit the showers, Harrington.”

You hear him step out and the bathroom door shut partway down the hall, the air stills now that it’s just you and Eddie. You let out a long, contented, shuddering sigh; too tired to cry, too tired to do much of anything. In the fog, he says ‘I’ll be right back,’ to you, and you aren’t sure how much time has passed between his leaving the room and his arrival.

“Hey baby,” he croons, “You with me?”

“Mhm,” you mumble. You feel the warmth of a wet washcloth smooth over your face, taking gentle care over your eyes and lips. “Can you open your eyes for me?” he asks, pushing your hair away from your damp forehead. Your eyes open halfway, looking at him through bleary vision – he’s handsome just the same.

“Hi there,” he grins.

“Hi,” you croak out.

“Why don’t you rest a little?” He suggests, pressing a kiss to your cleaned off cheek, “I’ll be right here.”

You barely register the last syllable of his sentence, exhaustion taking over before you can even agree to the sentiment.

You wake up slowly, eyes blinking open to the dull flicker of the collection of drippy pillar candles on Eddie’s dresser and the glow of his bedside lamp. He sat up against the wall beside you, book in hand, something new he picked up from a friend at the garage. You lazily reach over and put your hand on his knee, groaning a little at the stretch in your skin where him and Steve had left their marks.

“There you are,” he smiles, peering over his book, “You have a good rest?”

You nod, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “How long was I out?”

“Couple of hours,” he said, starting to giggle, “You slept like a log. Just – out cold. I thought you died.”

You peer around the room and see that it’s been straightened up, the heats on. You’ve been covered up in blankets – water and aspirin already set up next to you.

“Where’s Steve?” you ask, wincing while you sit up in bed, reaching for the pills to down them.

“He went home,” he says, dog earring the page and setting it down at the end of the bed, “But he told me to tell you he owes you a night out.”

“Ugh, a night out with Harrington – can’t wait,” you roll your eyes, sipping your water.

“I told him you’d rather chew glass,” he laughs, the laugh fades to a look of fondness, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Was that good? Was that okay with you?” he asks, scooting closer to pull one of your hands between his. His fingers toy with your absent mindedly while he waits for your answer.

“Yes, baby, it was okay,” you smile, chuckling at the dichotomy of his dominant persona and who he is after.

“Just okay? Are you alright? Did you like it?” His questions are feverish and you can tell he feels guilty, teetering on getting too in his head.

“Ed, honey –” you start, offering him a kind look that makes his shoulders relax, “I loved it. I love when we play. Adding Steve was really fun.”

“You don’t want him, like, every time, right?” he asks.

You pull a face, “No, ew. That’s like, a punch card kind of thing. Every five fucks he gets to join or something.”

You both laugh in the low light of the room and he leans his head against the wall, looking at you through the slits of his eye lids, “I love you – I’m sorry it felt like I wasn’t connecting with you lately.”

“It’s okay,” you nod, “I should’ve said something. I just, I don’t know – hate seeming like I’m being needy when I’m sad that you canceled a date. Like, we’re adults.”

“It’s okay to be disappointed about it,” he shrugs, “I would be, too. S’not gonna hurt my feelings or start a fight if you’re just like ‘Hey, you’re bumming me out – let’s fix it’. I wanna fix these things – this is the long haul, baby. You’re not getting away from me any time soon.”

“Um – but can I be honest about something?” you ask, nerves creeping into your chest.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Um, please don’t talk about Chrissy like – ever again.”

His shoulders deflate, “Baby…I wish you told me, you should’ve–”

“I know, I know, I should’ve said something when it was happening but I just. I froze?” you try to explain, “I didn’t like that.”

“I’m so sorry,” he pleads, and you know he really means it, “You know I would never. I don’t really want her like that. I was just trying something new. I never want you to feel like there’s someone else.”

You nod with a tight smile, “I just like – that’s why I’m scared to complain. Cause what if you wanna be with someone who will just like – brainlessly do whatever you want and not care?”

He tries to fight a smile but he can’t help it, “Well, babe, I mean…you already sort of brainlessly do whatever I want.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you tease, swatting at him. He catches your hand and brings it to his lips to kiss the back of it.

“You can complain every day for the rest of your life,” he says simply, “And I’’ll feel lucky to be the guy you’re complaining to.”

“So, why don’t we get you in the shower,” he starts, voice soft and smokey, “I’ll clean you off.” He presses a slow kiss to your cheek, crawling over you.

“Get you all relaxed,” he says, before tilting your head up to take your lips in his. It’s loaded with desire, not a peck, but a hungry mouth on yours, “Patch you up a little.”

“I already started dinner.”

Kiss. “Your favorite.” Kiss.

“We can eat.” Kiss.

“We’ll have dessert.”

Kiss.

“Your favorite, again.”

Kiss. “And you can have –”

Kiss.

“All of my attention –”

Kiss.

“For the rest of the night.”

His big brown eyes linger on yours when he breaks away from his final kiss, lost in looking at you.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, I just – damnit –” he sucks his teeth, “I made myself hard again.” You giggle at his frustration, leaning forward until your noses press against eachother.

“We can take care of that,” you start –

Kiss.

“In the shower.”

#sadist!eddie munson #sadist!eddie #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #dom!eddie munson #dom eddie munson #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson x you smut #eddie munson x reader smut #stranger things fanfction #sadist eddie munson

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dekusleftsock · 7 months

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HMMNGGGSHSHHSHD IM SO LATE TO THIS BUT THERES SO MANY THINGS IVE WANTED TO SAY FOR SO LONG AND IVE JUST BEEN TOO DEPRESSED OR BUSY TO DO IT

I did just re-read the chapter, hazbin/helluva hyperfixation is gone y’all I’m back and ready for more.

Okay so, a couple of things I noticed. Let’s start there.

Throughout this chapter, it really is heartbreaking to see how Izuku regards one for all as Allmight’s power, and therefore a disrespect to him to give that away. Which is quite frankly insane given the nature of what the power is, but regardless it still shows me just how deeply he still cares for and admires allmight.

It also makes the transfer Izuku makes to Katsuki in the heroes rising movie all the more intimate; izuku wouldn’t just give the power to anyone, if not for himself (which is also clearly due to that fact since he still sees ofa as the thing that makes him a hero, not his characteristics), then simply out of respect for allmight and his legacy.

It’s just the anger you can see, feel in those words as he demands to know why. I’ve personally been in the boat of “Izuku dislikes Kudou immensely bc he hasn’t proven to be heroic and amazing like Katsuki has, and also he insults him a lot why would he like him”, since Izuku does genuinely have self respect (a common mischaracterization imo), he’s just also more forgiving and faithful to those he admires or loves (or both).

SPEAKING OF SELF RESPECT AND MISCHARACTERIZATION!

I want to highlight the words “But even so, this boy refuses to throw in the towel”, bc it’s such an important part of Izuku and his character.

He isn’t overly self sacrificial, he isn’t a masochist, he isn’t even a martyr—especially not a martyr.

Izuku is stubborn. That is not the same thing as wanting to constantly die for others; izuku is like Katsuki, he wants to fight for others. Giving up just simply isn’t in his morality.

And if “giving up” also includes letting someone die or failing to save someone out of his own negligence, that’s not because he wants to die.

I can’t explain how much the interpretation that Izuku wanting to die, even for others, is so fucking out of character. Izuku is stubborn, he’s stubborn in the way that he won’t just fall over and let the ground take him. Given the circumstances, Izuku would fight for his life just as he would fight for another.

THIS HAS BEEN THE CASE SINCE, I DONT KNOW, CHAPTER FUCKING ONE?

“Idiot! If I’d really jumped, you’d be charged with bullying me into suicide!! Think before you speak!!”

“Idiot…”

Like he’s so unaffected by the awful comment outside of being angry at the DISRESPECT of said comment. This is why all those damn suicidal Izuku fics have always felt so ooc. Izuku isnt a moody, brooding ball of depression, he’s a stubborn, courageous, and angry ball of depression. There is a difference.

Even before this, he literally attempts to say something or fight back to Katsuki, honestly it looks like he’s about to punch him here.

The only reason he DOESNT is bc HE DOESNT WANT TO GET HIS ASS BEAT

Btw for anyone who has or ever will be in Izuku’s position, punch him. I love Katsuki But hit him in the fucking gut. If you get your ass beat at least you can say you can took it like a champ.

Speaking from someone who regrets not punching three girls who were trying to gang up on me in middle school🫶🫶🫶

Anyway, I’d argue that Izuku not taking Katsuki in a fight was made out of self preservation, something he very much has.

And last but not least, we get to this lovely fucking page.

First of all…

Hm, ain’t that strange?

I’m not saying it’s fully a parallel, I’m just saying it’s something to consider.

Especially with the context that I don’t think Izuku feels shameful here.

He’s been a hero who didn’t look like one once before, I’m sure a snide comment through Shigaraki is nothing in comparison to the literal hundreds of civilians afraid of him.

Or, even more interestingly, what if he’s shameful of it, and okay with that? Now THATS some control over your emotions. This is demonstrating the very thing Banjo told him in the first place; using his emotions to fuel him. Let himself live with them, breath with them. They exist, and they hurt, and that’s fucking okay.

But it begs the question…. Why bring attention to it?

Clearly horikoshi WANTS you to see that Izuku is the one who looks like the monster now. He even looks devil like, blackwhip coming out of his back the way it is just feels like wings.

But maybe… maybe this is how he stops sweeping problems under the rug. Maybe this is him, Izuku, at his most animalistic form. Him. At his core. This is the Izuku he doesn’t want people to know.

The faceless, long clawed, oozing black monster.

He’s a kid who can take a fucking beating. He’s not Deku the useless doll, nor is he Deku the hero. He’s simply Izuku.

And you know what’s even more likely?

The black pit of anger that Shigaraki has formed, fueling his uncontrolled emotions and anger and despair, with the light tear showing something underneath…

What if, this was Izuku’s black ball of anger and shame, except this one is escaping his body, pouring out and showing all of that for what it truly is. Pent up rage, uncontrolled emotion, anxiety and shame, all mixed into one hell hole of a person—but a ball that can be molded, controlled, torn apart from the inside out.

See, the same way Kudou tears at Shigaraki’s mental breaking to see what’s underneath, so have the ofa users for Izuku. Slowly, but surely, the people in Izuku’s life have, while created that ball in the first place, also worked to destroy it. The final piece of the puzzle is for Izuku to choose to let it happen, and he is.

Learning to sit in one’s fear, doubt, hatred, anger, sadness, grief, happiness—without that emotion having to be something, simply something that flows through you, that you can choose to act on or not; this is where Izuku’s arc is coming to its tipping point. We are nearing the climax, I can feel it.

#bkdk #midoriya izuku #mha deku #bkdk brainrot #bakudeku #bnha deku #bakugou katsuki #mha analysis #deku midoriya #IM FUCKING BAXK BITCHES #I’ve been trying to write this for. not joking. two weeks.#like I have three different versions of this meta that I scrapped completely #they all have their own cool ideas tho so maybe I’ll come back to those #have a good fucking night and happy Valentine’s Day!!!!!!!

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scaredpigeons · 10 months

Text

More than some stress relief

Blade x Stelle NSFW 18+ MDNI

CW: Stelle asks Blade to spar with her, and unfortunately that results in some unresolved sexual frustration, because c’mon, he’s still a whole ass man. Luckily, mama Kafka steps in to lend a helping hand. (Not her literal hand, she just buys the toy lol) phone sex, mutual masturbation? The fleshlight blade uses is connected to Stelle through the (magical) necklace that was part of the set. (Magical) creampie.

WARNING: Blade is very violent in his descriptions of how he threatens to bone Stelle. If you’re uncomfortable with him saying things along the lines of: —until the carnage is unrecognizable, —until you’re nothing but hot pulp running through my fingers (just to paraphrase loool) please do not read this. Blade is a very broken man, I was really trying to play off his more violent tendencies with this one. Stelle is so fuckin down bad tho (relatable)

If you are 18+, comfortable with some gory descriptors, and willing to read, please continue! Enjoy.

——————————

🐺👾: you want to…. Spar with blade? Are you a masochist or something? Should I be concerned?

🦝🗑️: shut up

🦝🗑️: I have this crazy lance and I don’t really want to hurt anyone by practicing with it

🦝🗑️: I know he’s got that healing thing going on

🐺👾: 👀 ….

🐺👾: I’m telling him you called it that

🦝🗑️: DONT U DARE

🦝🗑️: JUST PLEASE ASK THE MAN IF HE CAN SPAR WITH ME WITHOUT KILLING ME

🦝🗑️: AND DON'T TELL HIM IT'S ONLY BECAUSE HES WEIRDLY INDESTRUCTIBLE

🦝🗑️: I don’t wanna like, offend him or anything. Obvi I don’t want him to get hurt, but like, the off chance I slip up with this thing… he isn’t gonna get murked. You know?

🐺👾: okay okay I get it, I’ll ask

🦝🗑️: 😩🩶🩶💯🔥

🐺👾: he agreed. Here’s the coordinates. Have fun, don’t die.

————

“Thank you for agreeing to this, I really appreciate it!”

The man in front of Stelle says nothing, only stares as the winds coming off the water pick up loose strands of his hair, making the inky strands flow behind him.

“You… remember me, right?” Stelle tentatively asks.

Still nothing.

“It’s okay if you don’t, we don’t even have to go through with this, I just thought you would be the best person for what I’m—“

“I remember you, Trailblazer. My mind is not so far eroded that I’d forget you so easily.”

His voice is dark, just as raspy as she remembers it. She has to clench her teeth to suppress a shudder. If March could hear her thoughts, she’d blush and squeal, smacking her arm in scandal. If Dan Heng could hear her thoughts… he’d institutionalize her immediately.

This man is dangerous. Incredibly dangerous. Stelle had to lie about where she was going just so no one would try to talk her out of it.

Danger always pulled at something inside her though, that nasty, deranged thing inside her that craved violence and adrenaline. She figured it was a side effect of hosting a stellaron inside her body, but man— did this guy make her wish she could have something else inside her body too.

*Wink wink*

Aeons. She’s such a fucking simp. If it wouldn’t make her look bat shit insane, she’d smack herself right now just to get her shit together.

“Oh…” she said instead. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

An awkward pause lingered between them, and she found herself thinking that maybe she was standing a bit too close to him, despite there being at least two feet between them.

“Are you… doing well? The last time I saw you, Kafka was… helping you feel better.” She said hesitantly.

It could’ve been her imagination, but she swore that the furrow of his brow softened ever so slightly.

“We’re not here to discuss such trivial matters.” His voice was harsh nonetheless.

“Right, right.” Stelle said, scratching the back of her neck sheepishly. “So, how do we do this?”

Blade summoned his sword, dragging his fingertips across the edge before spreading the tainted blood across the flat of it, causing the cracked blade to glow and radiate with unnatural power.

“It is not your time or place to die here, so luckily for you, I will show restraint.”

—————

Stelle could tell Blade was holding back, true to his word.

Any flames she created were either quelled by his winds, or overfanned by his elemental power to the point that they grew too dangerous for the environment around them, or even Stelle herself.

She found that with her control over the lance, she could call forth and dissipate her fires at will, so the damage to herself was minimal.

She worried that if the flames grew too large, she’d lose control over them— but every time, she willed them away and they would flicker out, leaving charred shrubbery and stone in their wake.

Didn’t mean they weren’t hot as shit though.

The first time she’d used the lance, the freezing temperatures of Jarilo XI dulled just how hot her new weapon could become.

But now, well she couldn’t tell if her sweat was from the flames or just how hard her opponent was pushing her.

He was toying with her, clashing together brutally before jumping away and circling her like a hawk.

He was resistant to her taunts, though keeping up with him left little room for her to pause long enough to think of something to say.

He seemed completely at ease though, the violence in his eyes and the murderous grin doing nothing to help the degenerate part of her brain that was screaming and crying and throwing up at the opportunity to observe him like this up close, without Dan Heng around to make her feel guilty for admiring this man so much.

Her arms grew heavy, and she’d not even made him sweat, let alone injure him in any way.

She knew that the lack of true danger was causing her to remain at a reasonable power level, flash backs to the Herta space station incident making her shudder.

She was really no match for him in this kind of situation.

He lunged for her again, and this time, she was too tired to react properly. She parried his strike, but missed the signs of his next move, getting her feet swiped out from beneath her as he tackled her to the ground. His sword stabbed into the dirt just beside her head as he landed on top of her, effectively straddling her as he pinned her with his intense gaze.

Her eyes flitted back and forth between his as her breath heaved in her chest, her heart racing as she struggled to right herself after being disoriented so badly.

Something in his expression shifted, and instead of murderous amusement, his gaze seemed… hungry.

He leaned closer, ever so slowly, and continued staring at Stelle so intently it made her do something so embarrassing she knew she would never live it down.

She whimpered.

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he was gone.

He pulled away from her and disappeared within the same breath, leaving her lying there in the dirt as she caught her breath.

She ran her hands over her face. “Well fuck.”

—————

🐺👾: what did you do to him?

🦝🗑️: ???????

🐺👾: last week. When the two of you sparred, did something happen?

🦝🗑️: ….

🦝🗑️: why

🐺👾: ever since he got back he’s been fucking pouting.

🐺👾: well, I mean pouting in the way that blade does. It’s more of a scowl than anything else, but I’ve known him long enough to differentiate between his various types of frowns.

🦝🗑️: … nothing happened. We fought. I lost, obviously. But no one was hurt or anything. 🙃 everything’s totally normal

🐺👾 added Kafka🕷️💕 to the chat

🐺👾: Kafka, what’s she hiding?

Kafka🕷️💕: some sexual tension, most likely.

🦝🗑️: …. -_-

🦝🗑️: mother, why hast thou forsaken me????

Kafka🕷️💕: nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetie.

Kafka🕷️💕: Bladie may be a tragic creation of the abundance, but his body was once human. It wouldn’t be a far stretch to say that some of the more… human tendencies of a man may still linger within him.

🐺👾: F

🦝🗑️: F

🐺👾: so you’re saying he’s pouting and kicking shit because he’s sexually frustrated? That’s fuckin nasty.

🐺👾: @🦝🗑️ you need to fix this. I don’t wanna look at him sulk anymore

🦝🗑️: me?!!?!? Tf am I supposed to do??? How is this my fault???

🐺👾: you fought him and now he’s horny. Fix it.

🦝🗑️: … bruh

Kafka🕷️💕: I don’t think the traditional way of solving this problem will be the best idea, silver wolf. 🤭

🐺👾: wym? 🤨

Kafka🕷️💕: I don’t think it’s safe right now for our little trailblazer and Bladie to get together on a more intimate level… he’s still a bit unstable mentally.

🦝🗑️: you let me fight this man while hES UNSTABLE

🐺👾: heh. L

Kafka🕷️💕: fighting is what he knows. It’s what comes natural to him these days. Emotions? Not so much.

🦝🗑️: I mean… I’m always down to help anyone whenever I can

🐺👾: *tucks hair behind ear* “i’M aLwAys DoWn tO HeLP aNyONe WHeNeVEr I cAn”

🦝🗑️: BRO FIGHT ME

🐺👾: no thanks, I have better ways to waste my time

🦝🗑️: ENGAGE ME IN A BATTLE OF FISTICUFFS RN

🦝🗑️: IM ALWAYS DOWN TO HELP BUT USUALLY I GET NICE REWARDS TOO

🐺👾: heh… you want a nice reward for this one too?

🦝🗑️: I STTA ILL COME FIND UR LITTLE HOLOGRAM AND SMACK THE SHIT OUTTA YOU

🐺👾: wtf does stta stand for you heathen

Kafka🕷️💕: ooh! She’s used this one with me before. It’s “swear to the aeons.” Cute, right?

🐺👾: 🙄

🐺👾 has left the chat

Kafka🕷️💕: I think I have an idea on how you can help, if you’re open to it.

🦝🗑️: …

🦝🗑️: what do I need to do?

———

“Stelle sweetie!” Himeko knocked on her cabin door. “You have a package here.”

Stelle nearly slipped as her sock feet slid along the smooth floor of her room in her haste to reach the door.

She tumbled along gracelessly and threw open her door, huffing as she took the package from Himeko.

A box, about five hands wide and three hands deep, wrapped in plain brown paper, with a little card tapped on and slathered with all the necessary postage.

“Thank you!” Stelle said hastily, reaching for her door.

“Wait—“ Himeko put a hand to the door shaft, stepping forward a bit with worry in her eyes.

Stelle cringed a bit, looking up at Himeko and trying to hide the shame she felt creeping up the back of her neck.

“Listen,” Himeko started, eyeing the little card on the package with Stelles name written in pretty, looping letters. “I know you and that stellaron hunter have some strange connection that we aren’t sure about, and I know you’re unsure too, but I just want you to be careful, okay?”

It took a solid two panicked seconds for Stelle to realize that Himeko was speaking about Kafka, and not the other stellaron hunter she’d so guilty formed a connection with recently.

When the realization dawned on her, she tucked her package to the side and pulled Himeko into a tender side hug, snuggling into her chest a bit as she usually did.

“Thank you for worrying about me, Himeko.” Stelle said, pulling away. “It means a lot to me, and I promise I’m being careful. I won’t do anything to jeopardize the safety of anyone on the express.”

Himeko sighed, smiling as she pulled back too. “I know, I just worry about you. We’re all here to support you through this, you know that.”

Stelle grinned. “I do, thank you.”

The red haired woman nodded, smiling still as she said her goodbyes and left Stelle to her own devices.

She’d never closed and locked her door so quickly before.

Throwing the package on her bed, she hastily sat beside it and pulled the card from the packaging.

She took a moment to trace her fingers over the pretty script on the card, before she tore open the envelope and read its contents.

Stelle,

Inside this box you’ll find the fun toy I told you about, along with a new shipping label to send it off to Bladie.

I’m off on my own right now, far away from him, and I figured he’d handle it a lot better if it came from you, and not me. hehe~

Also, you’ll find a beautiful little necklace I had added to the set, that’s for you to wear. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time with it.

Thinking fondly of you always,

Stelle blushed a little, Kafka was always saying the strangest things. She tucked the card away in her nightstand and gently pried open the package, not wanting to tear the postage stamps.

Inside was indeed the… thing that she was told about, and she blushed furiously while looking at the nondescript white box, though the size and shape was very indicative of what was inside.

She pulled the new shipping label out, looking at the address inquisitively and realizing she had no idea where Blade even was, not recognizing the planet.

She sat it aside and pulled out the other small box inside, opening it up and finding a rather beautiful blue choker necklace. The colour was reminiscent of her garter, and she smiled, happily pulling the gift from its box and wrapping it around her slender throat.

It clicked nicely in the back, and fit perfectly. She smiled, patting it and thinking about how it was such a thoughtful gift, however strangely unrelated. Then again Kafka was a bit of an enigma regardless, so who knows what her thought process was when putting these two together.

Stelle closed up the box, slapping the new shipping label over the old one and eyeing it as it sat in the middle of her bed.

Fuck, I should probably write him a letter, some kind of explination so he doesn’t just throw it away without opening it.

She scurried to her desk, pulling out a very cutesy animal themed stationary set that March had gifted her after their mission on Jarilo XI.

The envelopes and cards were soft blue, covered in cute little bunnies and bears and what Stelle thinks are pink raccoons, surrounded with hearts and little stars.

She laughed at the idea of Blade handling such delicate paper, and got to writing a quick note on her desk.

Hey,

Don’t hate me, but SW was complaining about your… mood lately, and I thought this might help. I totally fuckin get it, trust me, I understand. Traveling with a group of people that’s more like family than anything else can really put a damper on your… personal time. So please take time for yourself, if not for me, then to at least make silver wolf stop complaining to me that you’re moody.

I look forward to the day you’ll spar with me again.

-Stelle

It might’ve been doing a bit too much, but Stelle couldn’t help but feel like the note might help him to be more receptive to the gift.

Being a bit delusional never stopped her before, so why should it now?

She slid the card in the envelope and slapped it to the package, picking it up to go and have it delivered. Hopefully she could feel a bit more at peace once it was gone.

—————

A quick and impatient knock sounded on his room door, pulling him from his deep meditation on the floor.

“Hey asshole, you’ve got a package.”

He and Silver Wolf were sent together to fulfill one of Elio’s scripts, and it was a brief period of lull in their respective duties.

The inn they were staying at wasn’t lavish by any means, but they were discreet, and that’s really all they could hope for.

Blade released a breath through his nose as he rose from the floor, walking over and opening up his room to find his fellow hunter standing impatiently, tapping her foot on the rough carpet of the hallway.

Blade hated carpet in the hallways of inns. Always disgusting and ridiculously coloured.

“Here.” Silver Wolf shoved the box in his hands, her grin was wide, spreading to her eyes which twinkled up at him with the mischief he tried so desperately to avoid.

“Who could possibly know where we are right now.” He grumbled at her, though she was already turning to leave.

“I have an inkling, and hopefully the stick falls out of your ass soon.” She laughed maniacally as she waltzed down the hall. “Enjoy!”

Blade felt his brow scrunch up tight as he eyed the package. The blue envelope tapped into it was terrible to look at, the childish print making him want to throw it away immediately, but the unfamiliar lettering spelling his name across the paper made him pause.

He brought the package to his bed, sitting down and thumbing open the envelope.

The contents of the card made his stomach drop and then lurch into his throat. He was ready to run silver wolf through with his sword.

Calm yourself.

He took steady breaths, though he was angry, he was also rather curious about what exactly was in the box.

With a carefulness he didn’t remember he had, he pried open the package to find a smaller white box without any words or indicators of what could be inside.

He lifted the lid, only to drop it in shock at what lurked within. He knew what that was. He was older than most but he was still a man, and he knew exactly what had been sent to him— what was to help his “mood.”

He sighed, pinching his temples. He didn’t know whether he wanted to thank silver wolf or strangle her. Either way, he’d be getting some kind of relief today.

———————

Stelle was eating dinner when she felt the first phantom touch.

Fingertips, as soft as a whisper, ghosting over her pubic mound and making her stomach dip.

Her eyes darted around, but everyone else was still enjoying their meal, chatting quietly together with the melody of silverware accompanying their voices.

She was sat beside Dan Heng tonight, but both of his hands were above the table.

She leaned back to look at him below the waist, looking to see if he’d manifested his tail and was making a pass at her, or more likely, was absentmindedly flicking it about like he did whenever he took his secondary form.

But no, he was tailless this evening, and now eyeing her a bit warily as her eyes darted around.

“You okay?” He murmured, not wanting to bother the others.

The touch ghosted along her outer labia now, making her drop her fork in shock.

Everyone was looking at her now, and she felt something pulse around her throat, right where her new necklace rested.

Her face heated, and she placed her utensils onto her half finished plate before scooting from behind the table.

“I’m… not feeling the greatest. I think I’m gonna go to bed early, if you all don’t mind.”

She stood quickly, standing there for a moment as the touches continued, soft and inquisitive.

“Are you alright?” Welt asked, concerned. “Would you like me to bring you some tea, or medicine?”

“No!” Stelle jumped, before she caught herself and smiled sheepishly. “I’m alright, just feeling a little off. Probably just need some good sleep. I’ll see you all in the morning?”

They all nodded, watching her go with worried eyes, but letting her leave without more questioning, which she was so grateful for.

As soon as she made it to her room, she felt the first touch swipe through her core, and she nearly keened.

Her throat pulsed, the necklace weakly glowing in the dark of her room.

Her body felt hot. She was embarrassed at the amount of wetness that was pooling in her underwear, but most importantly, she was so fucking confused at what was going on.

Something wet and blunt prodded at her entrance, and her knees buckled as she locked her door.

She nearly crawled to her bed as her choker pulsed and pulsed with a weak glow, and the blunt thing, which felt suspiciously like a pair of fingers, finally slipped inside her, curiously prodding around, as if feeling her out.

She slapped a hand over her mouth as she squeezed around the phantom digits, their touch lingering at her g spot with ridiculous precision. The fingers withdrew and she breathed a sigh of relief, though it was short lived as something much, much larger prodded itself at her entrance.

Her eyes widened, and she scrambled to pull Kafkas card from her bedside drawer.

“you’ll find a beautiful little necklace I had added to the set, that’s for you to wear. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time with it. “

Stelle hadn’t realized what those words meant at the time, but as the blunt head of a ridiculously sized phallic object pushed at her hole, the meaning slapped her in the face like a rouge automaton.

Her back arched off the bed as the phantom cock pushed into her, and she choked on a moan as it buried itself deep within her. She was so ridiculously wet she wanted to cry, and knowing who was on the other end of this feeling made her eyes roll back into her head.

The thrusts started slow, but slowly worked their way up to something more intense, almost violent. Her insides churned, and she felt the telltale signs of an orgasm building up so quickly she might scream.

No, no no no. She scrambled, reaching for the necklace, but when her fingers reached the latch, the thrusts changed angles, pounding directly into her g-spot and she cussed into the dark of her room.

Her orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave, crashing into her and seeping deep into her bones. It was the first actually satisfying orgasm she’d had in an incredibly long time.

Her fingertips shook as they lingered on the necklace a moment, before she threw them back to her sheets, gripping them tightly as the thrusts continued.

Fuck, this feels too good.

Through the post orgasm fog, she wondered if he knew.

Did he know it was connected to her?

She suddenly felt overcome with guilt. If he didn’t know, this felt a little like taking advantage of his struggles. If he did know, then she wanted to hear him say it out loud, that he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

She wanted him to hear exactly what he was doing to her.

With shaking hands and twitching thighs, she slapped around her bed for her phone, biting her lip through the pleasure to scroll through her contacts.

It was nearly at the bottom, and the last time it was used was a hack of Silver Wolf’s, and Kafkas words, not his own. But she had to try regardless.

She clicked the call button, bringing her phone to her ear as she bit back moans.

Suddenly, the thrusting within her stopped, though the phantom cock remained buried within her.

She gasped as the ringing came to a halt as the line picked up.

There was no answer, though she swore she could hear his breathing, just a bit heavier than usual.

“Don’t… don’t stop.” She whispered.

She thought she heard his breath catch in his throat. She definitely heard the swallow before he spoke.

“What are you talking about.” His gravelly voice reverberated through the phone, and she felt the cock inside her move ever so slowly, in and out.

She bit her lip. “I didn’t know at first, I swear.” Her thoughts were scrambled as the soft thrusts continued, and the knowledge that he was actively fucking himself with the toy while she spoke make her stomach jump in pleasure.

“You didn’t know what?” He said, voice low and nearly at a whisper.

“It’s… we’re… we’re connected.”

The toy stopped, and she sucked in a breath of relief, hoping to gather her thoughts so she could properly explain herself.

Suddenly a moan was ripped from her chest as his cock thrust into the toy with vigor, and his intense pace was picked back up tenfold.

She tried to hide it, but the damage was done, and if he didn’t know before, he certainly did now as he listened to her whine and whimper through the phone.

“I thought the inside felt far too realistic.” He growled. “You’re squeezing me so tight, little Nameless.”

She gasped, his voice along with the stimulation was far too much, and another orgasm was quickly approaching.

She tried to play it off like she wasn’t being fucked within an inch of her life though.

“Yeah well, it’s… been a while since I’ve gotten any action, s-so forgive me for being a little tense.” She stammered.

He switched his thrusts to hard and deep, so hard Stelle could nearly feel the sensation of his hips hitting hers, and she’s almost positive the fat of her lower half would be rippling in the recoil if he were actually here.

“I knew as soon as I saw you that you were just a needy hole begging to be filled.” Blade said, voice deep and oh so condescending.

Stelle fisted the sheets, her eyes nearly rolling into her skull as her needy moans slipped through clenched teeth. He was right, he was so right— but that didn’t mean she needed to concede so easily.

“That’s bold talk…” she hissed, biting her lips until they felt raw. “…For someone who literally ran away from m-me as soon as his blood traveled south.”

His dark laugh made her squeeze around him, and she knew he could feel it because the laugh trickled off into a deep groan that set her face on fire. She felt like her fingertips were alight with electricity, like her body was attempting to defy the artificial gravity on the express as she arched off her sheets.

The pounding within her never faltered as he continued speaking his vile, filthy words at her.

“You’re lucky I did, little Nameless.” She could almost imagine his murderous grin, the violence that vibrated through his voice was astounding. “If I had stayed I would have fucked you until not even your beloved crew would have been able to recognize the carnage I’d left behind.”

She couldn’t stop the noise that flew from her throat, a guttural keening that had her gripping her cellphone in embarrassment as he laughed once more.

“Oh?” He teased, voice edged with gravel and venom. “You must be desperate to enjoy the idea of me fucking you until you’re nothing but hot pulp slipping through my fucking fingers.”

Oh she was so desperate, so fucked. If anyone else had said something so absolutely horrifying, she’d have run far, far away.

“Does the rest of the express crew know how fucking depraved you are?” His thrusts seemed to pick up speed, which would’ve seemed nearly impossible, except she couldn’t exactly think at the moment, only sob as they slammed against that spot inside her over and over again until she felt herself slipping slowly.

“Do they know that their precious little star wants to be fucked by a monster?” He snarled, and she cried out into the soft light of her room, thrashing around as her orgasm teased its way at her— but she was holding it back, why, why?

“Please,” she gasped. “Please, can I—“ oh, she thought distantly. Oh I’m so fucked up.

Blade groaned, the slick sounds of him thrusting into the toy ringing in her ear. “So desperate, so polite. You really are something else.”

She keened, arching her back as the feeling licked at her further, so close to toppling over the edge.

“Go on then,” Blade whispered darkly. “Cum for me.”

It crashed over her, more powerful than anything she could remember feeling. It pulsed through her in quick waves, so strong and violent as he just kept going.

It started to dance into sickly sweet overstimulation as she heard his breath quicken, and she steadied her breath, wanting to savor this moment.

“You know,” she breathed. “I’m a lot tougher than you think.”

His breath stuttered, his pace faltering ever so slightly.

“I could take it,” she whispered. “I don’t think you’d hurt me in any way I didn’t want you to.”

He faltered, and she heard him cuss under his breath through the phone.

“Yeah?” He whispered. “You’d take what I give you?”

She nodded at her ceiling, knowing he couldn’t see her, but her mind was too foggy with brutal pleasure to think straight. He was undoing her.

“Every disgusting, violent, nasty thing you’d give me Blade,” she said, clutching the sheets as tears welled behind her eyes, praying he was almost finished but simultaneously never wanting it to end. “I’d take it so well for you, and I’d thank you for it.”

“Fuck.” Blade moaned, deep and guttural, and his thrusting seized inside her. Much to her shock, she could feel the warmth of him filling her up, pump and after pump of him coating her insides.

They both lay there, staring at their ceilings and breathing heavily over the phone, not speaking but not really wanting to anyways.

Finally, once the breath returned to her lungs unlaboured, she felt him pull himself from the toy.

She felt like she’d been hollowed out, like a crater had been formed where her insides should be, and without him there plugging her up—-her guts would fall out and she’d be left empty.

He made a confused noise, and just as he did she felt the telltale squelch of cum slipping from her still twitching insides, and she groaned in frustration.

“Well then,” he chuckled, softer now than before— almost a forbidden sound. “That makes cleaning up easier for me.”

She smacked her hand over her face. “This is the weirdest toy ever invented, and I'm going to cry the next time I have to face Kafka.”

“I figured this had something to do with her,” he said, shuffling noises heard from his end of the line. “She can never stay out of my business for too terribly long, unfortunately.”

“Mine too it seems.” Stelle sighed. She smiled when he made a neutral sound of agreement.

“You sound like you’re in a better mood.” She said, uncaring of the consequences.

“Well, before I realized what this really was, I was just hoping to release some inconvenient pent up energy.” He said, voice flat. “But I suppose doing it this way has added benefits. I’m no fool, I understand how the human brain works.”

“So this… helped you?” Stelle asked tentatively.

He sighed. “I’d be lying if I said it was entirely useless.”

Stelle smiled, stroking the choker around her throat, the delicate glow now completely faded.

“I’ll keep my end of the connection on, it's simple enough. Just call me next time, okay? I don’t need to embarrass myself at dinner again.”

“I make no such promises.” She thought she heard the faintest of smiles in that last sentence before the line went dead.

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