#there is no point in beating something that's dead with a stick

[reginrokkr]

Once I'm done with this week's exams on Thursday, it'll be over for you 🔪 (gently).

[rboooks]

Child Support Part 2

Tim watched the other young heroes as they tried to look around the watch tower without seeming like they were. He's been here plenty of times, but the rest of the Teen Titans and a few of the Young Justice hasn't.

Much was due to the older heroes leaving the younger ones alone. Some not taking them seriously enough to welcome them at the big HQ as much as that made his blood boil.

They were taking the same risks. They were fighting the same good fights. Why was their age the main reason they weren't treated equally?

Some teenage heroes weren't part of a team per see, but they always answered when a call was sent. For example, Cass and Steph were present, speaking softly to Static Shock. Damian was standing next to Jon and his little friend Colin who was just getting into the swing of the hero business.

Bruce almost bit through his tongue when Damian told him Abuse would be joining Robin on parol, and he could do nothing to stop them. (Tim felt like he was watching Damian tell Bruce a paraphrased version of "But Daddy, I love him!" and it kept him smiling for weeks)

It was wild to see almost every young hero in one place. He doesn't think this happened since the last time Justice Leauge got mind controlled and almost destroyed the whole world.

"Any idea why we're here?" Kon asks to his right, lowering his shade to stare at the Outlaws. Jason's team stood to the side chatting iddly while cleaning over thier weapons.

Kon's always like their punk point of view, and he knows his best friend wants to go over there to talk to them. If it wasn't for the issue of the clone still being mad about what Jason did at the Teen Titans tower. Almost murder was hard to forgive for people outside the Bats.

"None. All I know is that John Constantine sent out a message to every teenage superhero group calling for a meet-up," Tim responds.

Bart whistles with a grimace on his right. "Must be bad if that guy is asking."

"I heard Hawkwoman tell Superman that she was worried and wasn't sure she wanted anyone of us mixed up in Constantine's mistakes." Cassie chimes in from where she leans on the couch. The three turn to her as she lowers her voice, attempting to keep the others from hearing. "Batman told her off for it."

"Batman did?" Tim asks, surprised.

Cassie shrugs, throwing a bit of her blond hair over her shoulder. "As much Batman can emote anyway."

Yeah, that sounded about right. Though it must have been something Bruce found disrespectful. His dad usually never reprimanded strangers unless they were saying something or doing something that sounded far too much like bigotry to him.

But to apply that to Constantine? Someone, Bruce generally disliked communicating with because the man tended to backstab his contacts? Yes, Constantine wasn't evil, but he wasn't pleasant either.

If Bruce had magical issues, he tended to contact Zatanna first.

Just then, the watch tower's zeta beams activate. Everyone who gathered turns to the teleporting pads where Constantine appears looking, for lack of a better word, absolutely exhausted. Even Tim knows that his eye bags aren't that bad, and he's usually going hours without sleep.

"Oh good, you all made it," Constantine says, sipping from a mug and wearing nothing but sweatpants and what looks like a nightgown. His signature trench coat was nowhere in sight. "I'm going to be quick about this. I need a team of young heroes willing to accept my son into their fold."

The room is dead silent. Constantine sighs. "Look, I've tried everything, but it's like Danny is allergic to laying low. He fought with a demon the other day over a child's doll- which you all know happens. People get haunted! But Danny refused to do it the right way, and now I had to beat off the demon's marriage proposal at least ten times. Not to mention his lack of social skills! No matter which one I stick him in, he can't seem to make friends in school. He got shoved into a locker on his first day! I thought that was an American exaggeration of the telly!"

Constantine pauses and takes a large gulp of whatever he's drinking before continuing his rant. A hand runs through his already messy hair, leaving it in bigger disarray as he speaks. "He's behind in terms of trends and technology cause his other father raised him outside of the typical timelines, so sometimes it's like talking to someone from the early two thousand, and other times it's like he's a modern Victorian era lad. His powers are also all over the place because the ectoplasm in our world is thicker, so when he breathes it in, he losses his control. Just the other day he accidentally made himself fly through our ceiling and almost reach the atmosphere before I was able to bring him back down."

A few of the fliers in the room wince. Jon nods and whispers under his breath, though his voice carries in the silence. "Yeah, been there before. Flying can be scary if you don't know how to come down."

Johns glances around at all the young people, eyes showing a tad bit of desperation. "He's sad all the time now, and I don't know how to help. If working with you could help him make friends, I would be grateful. He's a great kid. He just needs to adjust."

Tim had no idea what to do with this information; how do you respond to arguably one of the strongest Justice League Darks' heroes asking for a play date for his son?

"How old is the child?" Damian's voice rings out. Colin's hand is attached to his sleeve, a slightly nervous smile on the boy's face as he attempts to hide from the staring heroes behind his brother. Tim bets that if he wasn't wearing the domino mask, they would be able to see slight tears in Colin's eyes.

Damian's other hand goes across his body to cover Colin's hand, and Tim fights a shit-eating grin. His eyes lock with Jason, and the two send each other knowing grins. Looks like Bruce did have to worry about Damian having a secret boyfriend.

He can't wait to tease Damian later.

"He's fourteen....or well, physically?" Constantine answers eagerly.

"What does that mean?" Kon asks this time.

"Okay, so he's half human, half ecto-being. He sired him with his other father, Clockwork, which was only four years ago in this dimension, but since he was raised in the Infinite Relemas, times move differently there? " The British man says, and Raven goes rigid.

"Clockwork, as in the most powerful Ancient?" She asks, looking horror-struck when Constantine nods.

Before anyone asked what that meant, the zeta tubes activated again without permission. Someone had hacked into their systems which were ten levels bad. Everyone naturally fell into a fighting stance, only to blink when a teenage boy stepped out with a loud excited screech.

"We're in space!" The teenager runs to one of the windows, pressing his hands and face up against the glass. "This is amazing!"

Tim only relaxes his muscles once Constantine clears his throat. "Chum...what are you doing here?"

"Oh. One of your curse rocks things started proposing to me again, so I ran out of the House of Mysteries. Thought I see what you were up to." The teenager says, turning around with a smile and utterly freezing at the sight of the gathered heroes.

He had dark hair, wide blue eyes, and the most adorable face Tim had ever seen. Not as sexy as Bernard, of course, but darn close. Judging by the looks of anyone attractive to males, most heroes thought the same.

"Um...hi?" He says, offering the Godsmack teenagers a helpless little shrug. "I'm Danny Constantine."

"It is a pleasure, Constantine." Damian marches over to him with all his little twelve-year-old authority. He barely reaches Danny's chest. "I shall look forward to working with you. Are you formally trained in combat or strictly magic?"

"Um...oh, I can throw a punch or two? I'm mostly self taught. I rely on my powers a lot?" Danny fumbles to answer throwing a desperate look at his presumed father.

"No matter. I shall have you begin training. My Beloved also needs to work on his form. There is no shame in this" Damian nods, and Constantine lets out a large sigh of relief. He jogs over to place a hand on his son's shoulder, giving him a one-sided hug

"Yes, Danny, you will join Robin, Superboy, and Abuse on missions. They agree to help you settle and get used to your ghost powers." Constantine smiles. "I'll give me time to discourage all those idiots from trying to trick you into marriage."

"Oh...okay. It's nice to meet you all. Please call me Phantom on the field. Um, are you the team leader?" He asks Damian as the three youngest boys lead him further into the watch tower.

Constantine watches them go with the brightest smile he's ever seen on the man's face. He looks back to the group, who were barely starting to pick their jaws off the floor and makes a shooing motion with his hand. "You lot are dismissed."

Then the man vanishes in a green portal.

There is a ringing silence until Barts blurts out. "I'm pretty sure this is where the Phantom Fan Club first formed. A historical moment."

Tim wants to take a nap.

( Part 1 )

[coeurify]

ok but what do you think about making a sex tape with ellie 🧍‍♀️

an: this has been reworked over and over since this request came in in march… so enjoy! its very lovey dovey and sm plot sorry :3

warnings: 18+. filming. jackson!ellie. fingering and oral!r receiving. mostly lovey but some teasing and rough language :3 ellie is obsessed and lovesick and so is reader soooo they make a sex tape. unedited gimme time.

When Ellie first brought up the idea, you had recoiled into her old beat up couch, scoffing as she waved the old camcorder around, a shiteating grin on her face.

“I doubt that thing even works El,” you shrugged your shoulders under the blanket you had stolen off her bed. It wasn't unusual for you to hole up in her small homey garage while she was on patrol.. but what *was* odd was her little.. Souvenir from this particular trip.

“C’mon babe,” Ellie pouted, “Let me try on you..” she wiggled the little camcorder, slipping her hand into the attached grip, flipping open the small screen. Despite your complaints that there was no way it worked, Ellie just could never be wrong. Of course she knew you would fight back, and so she had made sure she fished some batteries too. Of course they came from Maria, the cost three days of stable duty.. But it was worth it for the immune woman, who ducked her nose down and watched the screen flicker to a slow start.

The quality was no better than that of what you could expect from a decades old camera, the film grainy and muffled, each corner covered by symbols Ellie didn’t really understand. But it was no roadblock in the trek of her wants. She smiled when your hands immediately came to slap over your face, voice serious behind your palms as you spoke, “put that down.”

Eventually however, you got a little used to Ellie’s newest fixation. The little hums she made were always a dead give away that she was filming you. During a video game tournament against Dina and Jesse, squished so closely to the two on the floor of the garage that you literally bruised the taller man during a particularly aggressive round of a fighting game. When you were trying your best to compete against your girlfriend’s art skills, tongue poking out the corner of your lips as you worked on a very detailed stick figure that dawned pointed down eyebrows, a large frown and red pencil hair. Even just when you were organizing Ellie’s closet for her, sorting through the tens of sweatshirts with a judging pout on your lips at the mess.

Each time you heard the distinctive sound of El’s attempt at holding back laughs, a small little choked up ‘hmm’ sound. You usually turned your head, quick to flip off your girlfriend-turned-filmmaker. But by the fifth time of catching her smiling behind the little object, you just let her. Whenever you could see her a little less tense, you took it.

Even if that meant starring in all of her little five second shitty clips. Her excuse always, “Just something to look at when I miss you.”

In some ways it made you feel weak legged, slightly lovesick by the thought of Ellie loving you so dearly she just had to steal little memories of you. Every small grin that broke onto freckled cheeks wherever she filmed coaxed you into the haze built up by her new hobby. You became so covered in adoration soon that you resorted to tiny only half mad eye roll when the click of the camera sounded.

Small clips turned into Ellie’s free hand wrapping around your bare waist as you looked in the mirror of her bathroom, the camcorder pressed near your cheek, the auburnette on the other side. You wiped the condensation from the glass, the room still slightly foggy from your shower. “You are not filming me out of the shower,” you huffed. Ellie didn’t answer, the familiar sounding hum stopped only when she pressed a kiss to the base of your neck, lips pulling up into a smile against the skin. “Won’t point too low..” she promised. “You just look so pretty..”

That time, the camera had been closed and discarded on a random bedside table as the two of you stumbled across her floor, giggling as Ellie cursed, stubbing her toe on the corner of the bed she tried to press you down into.

It continued like that, the limits of what you allowed Ellie to film seemed to blur further with every day.. Every curl of her fingers around the object that had become so central to this small haven of her home. Your own neck hot for reasons very different from embarrassment each time the filming light blinked a little too long. The line that you and Ellie had drawn in the sand of your mind was looking a lot less precise with every new memory saved into the device.

Even further along into the passing weeks, you had settled comfortably into yet another night spent at Ellie’s. Your own bedroom had remained untouched for nearly a week this time, bed spread likely just as cold as the air outside. But the garage was warm. The air inside thick as you pressed two fingers against your lips to keep a laugh from spilling out. Glasses of half empty wine, stolen from Tommy and Maria’s cupboard, balanced on the table that sat directly in front of the couch you were cuddled into.

The feeling of wine drunkenness always made you giggly, but your girlfriend parading around her small living space with her camcorder, well, that made you even more prone to bursts of laughs. She had gone from filming and rambling on about what wine you were drinking to zooming into your face, chuckling with breath that smelt like red wine. “See how pretty?” Ellie gaped to no one, stepping closer to you on the couch. The whole garage was painted a light orange from the setting sun outside, but it didn’t stop Ellie.

“El, you’re being a dork,” you chide, shaking your head as more compliments spilt from her. She shoos off the bitten remark with a sound that boarders on a coo, leaning over you as the lens of the camcorder sat close enough to pick up the smaller details of your face the grainy film usually could not.

“I’m just showin’ how perfect you are..” Ellie explains, a softer tone edging into her lungs as she presses her thumb to your cheek, drawing a new heat under the digit. “Perfect cheeks…” her finger traces over your jawline next, and then your chin. Each new landmark of your face that Ellie doted on swept closer and closer to your soft lips. You were no idiot, you saw how the green of her eyes fell to the fat, watched as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and then out again. You made no move to stop what came next.

That next move was your girlfriend’s finger following like a moth to a flame to the one spot that teetered on that blurry line again, thumb pressing softly around the curve of your lips.

“Perfect lips,” Ellie continued, eyes flicking back and forth from the camera screen to you. Soon the pad of her finger is right against your bottom lip, and the room seems to slow.

The both of you hold bated breaths as you mull over your options. But this mulling is no longer than a few seconds, feeling overwriting the more logical side of your brain with a gushy type of tightness in your chest.

Your lips part, eyes meeting the lense as you suck the tip of Ellie’s thumb into your mouth. Lips wrap around the soft skin, salty and cold, and Ellie has little to say other than a slow and breathy, “Fuck..”

Your tongue peaks out just for a moment, lavishing over the wet skin, but Ellie is quick to pull away, leaving your shining lips parted in confusion. The camera falls to her side as her free fingers wrap around your wrist. Just like last time, the little red light twists away from your face. Ellie’s toes step backwards from that oh so mysterious line you two made.

“You know what you do to me, hm?” Ellie questioned as she hauled you up by your arm, a sharp giggle following as she stomped to the bed. The camera is discarded on the table near her pillows as you are thrown back on it.

“No,” you tease, your next giggle cut off by a thump noise that was Ellie pushing you back against grey sheets, you make a sound that almost sounds like “oof” as you try to readjust. Ellie clambers on top of your squirming frame as another sputtered laugh escapes at the messy, and not very seductive, way you two found contact against the creaking mattress.

“Tell me,” you prompt, meeting Ellie’s narrowed green eyes. “Why should I? You’re laughin’ at me.”

Your eyes roll as Ellie’s lips fall into a pout that you want to kiss clean off. “Stop being a baby,” you mutter before letting your impulse win, your hands cupping the freckles cheeks of your girlfriend and pulling her down for a soft kiss. Her pouted lips quickly shape to your own, and you sigh in approval as the hand not holding herself up traces down to your waist.

“I’m not a baby,” your girlfriend complains when your lips part from each other, and you nearly pinch her cheeks from just how lovely you find the whiny drawl in her voice, instead you just shrug, biting back another half bubbled up laugh, “mhm, prove it.”

Ellie does just that. One tug on your hips has you flatter against the bed, one poke at your side has a squeal leaving your mouth. You see how Ellie’s lips quirk up, but before you can admire the sight, she kisses you again.

“So,” Ellie punctuates the word with a kiss, the sort that makes a loud and annoying smacking noise, before trailing her lips to your cheek. “Fuckin” Ellie’s lips find home on your jawline next, and act that has a simmering heat grow between your legs. “Perfect.” Ellie finishes the repeat of what her fingers had done earlier by nudging your head back, lips pressing softer kisses to the flesh of your neck.

Your eyes flicked to the side table, pupils finding the little camcorder as the auburn haired girl bit at your neck, your attention pulled away as your eyes flutter closed at the feeling. “El,” you breathe out, a hand finding her messy hair, nails scraping at her scalp as she bit harsher at the column of your throat. You aren’t sure why her name had been your first thought to say after seeing the camcorder, swallowing as your fingers itched to reach toward the side table.

“Hm? Tell me,” Ellie taunts, words muffled as her next target becomes your collarbone. Your own words biting at you again as your eyebrows furrowed together, watching as your girlfriend’s fingertips find the edge of your shirt, pushing it up as your hand falls from her hair to help take it off.

You pull her back for another kiss before you can even think to answer her question, one you weren’t even sure you could explain. Ellie’s needy fingers come into contact with the fat of your tits, tweaking at the perked nipples, nails pressing in just a little too hard, earning a mewl directly against the spit slick kiss. As Ellie kissed you, you tried your best to focus on the feeling, and not how you were acutely aware of the camera beside you.

Her tongue swiped at your bottom lip, warm against your parting lips as she searched to deepen the kiss, messy sounds of half breaths and kissing all sounded through the small area, your hips rolling up as her knee slotted itself between your trembling thighs.

You can’t help but wonder what this may look like on camera, and as Ellie pulls back, you notice the green of her eyes had dimmed, pupils blown as the pretty eyelashes fanned lightly. The freckles splattered over the apples of her cheeks were particularly prominent tonight, and you suspected it had something to do with the blood that rushed there, rosy and all around causing that same lovesick feeling to creep up your weakened bones.

You wonder if she would look as pretty on that grainy screen too.

Before your mind can even form another thought, Ellie is pulling away from your lips, a small whine the response she received. You can’t complain for long as she moves down, wet lips trailing sloppy kisses to your soft stomach, planting the ember of a growing fire in your groin, causing your hand to flex. Your eyes are pulled by an invisible string to the side of you again, the black material of the camcorder your gaze’s target. Ellie grumbles in response, and a small pinch on your hip has you yelping.

“What’re you looking at? Look at me.”

“Ellie,” you try again, lip quivering nervously as she ushers you to lift your hips, tugging off the bottoms you wore. “Fuckkkk,” she drawls, lost in her own little world as a large hand presses your thighs open. “You see that?” she marvels, a finger pressing against the wet spot on your panties. When she presses, you can feel the fabric stick to you, nearing translucent as she teases, your lips hugging the now soaked panties. It has your hips stirring in their spot, the flame in your stomach burning your liquid feeling stomach. “Ellie,” you sigh again.

Finally her gaze looks up, “Yea?” she asks, her voice softening. You can see the flash of confusion, her hand falling from your thigh as she searched for any apprehension. “You ok?”

“I can’t—“ your voice comes out whinier than you would like to admit, harsh against your ears with a feeling of embarrassment. “Can’t say it,” you finish, eyes moving to the camera sitting on the small wooden table beside you for the umpteenth time.

Ellie follows your eyes, and when you look back to her, there’s a flash of surprise in the shade of green you loved so much. It was replaced quickly, her eyelids drooping as her chin tilted up. “Hm. Don’t know what you mean,” she shrugs, fingers going back to teasing your panty line.

Her tone is laced with sarcasm, the teasing tilt to it is a voice you had heard many times before, many times in this exact position. Ellie liked to make you say things, liked to watch you squirm. You were convinced at this point she got off on your embarrassment, and she probably wouldn’t even deny that.

“Gonna have to spell it out for me, babe,” Ellie added, dipping down to place soft kisses at your hip-bone, pink muscle licking over a mark there.

A low and annoyed sound escapes your throat, and your girlfriend chuckles against your flesh, one finger curling around the fabric of your panties, tugging it down a little ungracefully, your shaking thighs to thank for that.

“Barely even touched you yet and you’re shakin,” Ellie teases again, whispering softly, “Such a pretty pussy..” as the sight of your weepy folds meet her eyes. “This all for me, baby? Or somethin’ else on your mind?”

Your eyes squeeze shut again, hoping to rid your mind of the film reel like thoughts of the camera pressed in Ellie’s hand as she did this. They played over and over behind the black of your eyes, and another frustrated sound fills the garage.

“Not gonna answer?” Ellie was quieter now, repositioning herself, parting your thighs even more. A finger ghosted over your dripping cunt, a hum following the action. “Can’t make you feel better if you don’t use your words, y’know?”

The warm air hit your folds as Ellie exposed you more, thighs burning from the stretch, from the tight grip of one of her hands, fingers digging into and squeezing the fatty flesh.

The blanket beneath your bare ass is no comfort as you move around, and Ellie’s nose bumps against the softness of your thigh. So close, so fucking close to giving exactly what you were searching for, so close to your aching center that your resolve cracks lightly, head tilted back and against the pillow.

“The camera,” you croak, your mouth dry as your lips part, refusing to look at the other girl.

“What about the camera? Look at me and tell me what you want.”

The crease between your eyebrows likely was gaining small droplets of sweat just from how hard you were attempting to avoid this entire fucking conversation, but Ellie kept pressing you further, and who were you to deny her?

“Wanna film this,” you eventually admit, head dipping down to meet her darkened eyes.

“Yea baby? Wanna see what a mess I can make you?” Ellie’s words start to blur together, the idea surely muddling any coherent thoughts together in her mind, licking her lips as she awaits your response.

“Fuck— mmph, yes El. Please.*”

Ellie’s lips curl into a smile that’s more wicked than loving, “Red button starts it, you can hold it.” She instructed, and you scramble to reach your arm out, grasping at the little hand strap connected to the camcorder.

“There you go babe,” she nods, “give it a go, let me see what you’ve got.”

Your fingers are shaking so badly it takes a moment for your thumb to hit the button, to see the soft little red light noting the start of the film.

The grainy screen doesn’t pick up on all the freckles adorning Ellie’s face. The ones that made you feel all gooey, that you wanted to kiss until her face was a pretty shade of red. But it did capture her parted lips, the expanse of your thighs, and your shaky grip tilted the camera down as Ellie’s head dipped between your thighs.

Her mouth latched to your achy cunt, tongue licking up the drops of arousal that covered your slit, pearling on the petal like lips that she spreads with her fingers.

Your arms almost immediately gave out.

Clearly, you were not as skilled in the art of film making as Ellie had been, the camera dropping almost completely to your tummy as Ellie sucked at your cunt. Her eyes flicked up, and she unlatched from the saccharine slick that pooled on her tongue.

“You keep that camera steady,” she muttered, thumb rubbing tiny, tight circles on your throbbing clit. “Or I stop, yea?”

You nod quickly, hips grinding into the slow and steady motion of her thumb, wet with your sticky . You would have agreed to anything she demanded of you right now anyway. Too needy, too desperate to feel her lips on you again.

“ ‘M counting on you to make a pretty movie for me.”

The sentence tapers off as she disappears to the space between your thighs again, and you nearly and truly sob as her nose bumps your clit, her tongue poking experimentally against your hole, feeling as it clenches against nothing.

You know your whimpers and quick little puffs of air are being picked up by the camera, but you’re too focused on keeping the lense directly focused on the auburn tendrils of hair, on where her face was covered by your thighs caging her cheeks in, keeping her in the place she most needed to be, drinking down every single single drop you gave her.

“Ellie,” you whine, toes curling when she presses away from your clit, two long fingers coming to part your folds, admiring the sticky sight.

“Shhh,” Ellie coos, eyes glancing up at the camera again, the burning sight of her fern colored gaze through the tiny screen has your stomach clenching even harsher, hands trembling lightly.

The air on your exposed center lasts no longer than a few seconds, Ellie’s head dipping down as the warm, wet feeling of a glob of her spit trails down your clit, finding your pulsing hole. Her tongue swipes it quickly after, suckling gently at the shiny bubbles. The sound that follows, the loud wet squelch of your wetness mixing with her spit is enough to make you want to cover the speaker of the camcorder, fingers gripping tightly at the little contraption. She focuses on licking at your sopping cunt, her head moving slightly, moaning against your folds.

“Oh—nnh—El!” you cry, your chin trembling in tandem with the hand you try desperately to keep still. Your hips rut up, and Ellie’s face moves up with you, an arm detaching from its place on your squishy thigh to instead wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. Impossibly closer.

You can feel yourself closer, closer to that delicious peak, Ellie’s nose bumping your clit, tongue working mind numbing ministrations on you.

Then she pulls back.

“Fuckin made for me,” Ellie groans, taking a deep breath as she unlatched from your pussy, her fingers sweeping through your puffy lips. “Was fuckin’ made to let me taste you.” Her eyes flick to the camera, her tone louder than usual— a little less breathy. She wanted the microphone to hear.

You cry pathetically at the loss of her tongue, lip quivering.

“Tell me,” she demands, voice overpowering the slick noises of her now shiny fingers rubbing between your folds, the tips pausing at your pulsing hole, dipping only a little in, teasing. “Tell me this pretty pussy was made for me.”

And then Ellie is reaching forward, letting go of her grip on your hips to grab harshly at the camera, maneuvering it to show your trembling body, her fingers pressing open your lips, giving the camera a pretty close up of your soaked cunt. She croons at the sight, her fingers pressing together to land a short and sharp slap against the swollen lips. “S’pretty.”

“Ellie,” you choke, chest heaving up and down as the embarrassment creeps up, making that coil in your tummy even tighter.

“Tell me,” she says again, smoothly.

Desperate to have her fingers opening you up, to have her filling you and breaking that tightly wrapped tension in your groin, you break.

“I’m yours el. ‘m all yours, was made for you,” your voice is restrained, quiet as you chew at your lips, stirring in your spot as she continues the teasing.

“What else? Tell me more, baby,” she insists, one long finger sinking into you, hissing at the feeling of your cunt molding to her, perfect for her as you clench.

“A—ah!” your voice is a sweet little cry. You grind down into the feeling, searching for more. “It’s yours El,” you babble— louder now, head thrown back. Ellie captured the moment with a quick tilt up of the camera. “M-my pussy s’all yours.”

“Fuck,” Ellie breathes, her own, usually steady camera hand, wavering as you speak. She grants you with another finger as she thrusts harshly into you, a shriek pulled from your open mouth.

“So—s-so fucking perfect,” she grunts, curling her fingers gently, hitting that squishy spot in your walls that has you keening, eyes rolling back. “Love this pussy so much, shit—shit, love you so much.”

“Love you too El,” you blubber, your chin tilting down to stare directly at the camera for a second. That awkwardness, the fear from the early days of when she’d film you completely gone as you moan pathetically, eyes shiny with complete and utter adoration.

She only pistons her fingers into you harder, faster, relishing in how you moan, how your toes curl and your chin wobbles. You’re the prettiest fucking thing she’s ever seen.

The camera points down to where she’s thrusting into you, watching through the screen as you meet her thrusts, your hips moving against the grey sheets, your thighs squeezing her hand in between them as you sob out.

Ellie meets your eyes, stealing your attention from the camera she keeps focused on your squirming frame, pounding her fingers into your cunt. “Cum for me, you can do it baby, go on. Give me a pretty show.”

And you do. Your sweaty back lifts off the bed with a sharp sob as the cord in your tummy snaps, gushing around Ellie’s fingers, pulsing around her as she thrusts shallowly, riding you through it.

Your vision goes black for a second as you heave, hands shaking as you reach out for Ellie, fingers looking to curl around her warm skin.

You don’t even notice the off click of the camera, of how she lets it softly drop to the side as she climbs up your shaky form, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“So pretty,” Ellie hums, “Prettiest movie star ever,” she mumbled, and you pour your lips— getting another soft kiss as she continues to plant tiny loving pecks around your face.

“Never should’ve let you keep that camera,” you whisper gently, smiling right when she does against the corner of your mouth that she pecks at.

“Yea fuckin’ right, we just made the movie of the year babe.”

[gutsby]

Wingman

Pairing: Himbo!Joel x Reader

Summary: Your bestie braves the tampon aisle for you.

Warnings: 18+. Period crackfic starring Himbo!Joel—don’t take it too seriously. R has a uterus that hates her. Mentions of blood, cramps, & hangover-induced puking. Dirty talk, f!masturbation. One (1) Mean Girls reference.

Word count: 1.7k

You were fucked ten ways to Wednesday if you didn’t get your hands on some soap, a steamer, and a supersized box of maxi-pads in the span of the next eleven minutes.

Joel Miller moved like molasses on a flat slab of granite.

“WILL YOU HURRY— THE FUCK— UP?”

Your cheeks were hot. The night air was cold.

Every other word that managed to claw out of your throat was punctuated by a breath—your stomach clenched, and the sex organ below it was in hysterics.

Joel continued to lace up his loafer, clumsy as ever.

“O-kay, okay,” he hummed, “Steamer, soap, and, uh…”

“Pads!”

“Uh-huh. Right. So what kinda…blood stuff is it, again?”

The words were like an aspersion on his tongue. At the ripe old age of forty-seven, Joel still hadn’t quite learned to jibe with the menstrual product lingo, and it showed.

“Heavy flow. Any brand. With wings,” you hissed.

“Boneless or traditional?”

And if he hadn’t been standing outside the truck, foot propped up against the driver’s seat while he tied his shoe, you likely would’ve smacked him upside the head. The glare you gave him was sufficiently vicious to extinguish the smirk, though. Your hand made a fist in the front of your dress, and you groaned, leaning inward.

Joel got the picture and finished his bunny ears quick.

“Sorry.”

Then, a little more sheepish as he straightened up,

“I’m goin’. Be just a minute.”

And he was off.

Your body curled into a ball as soon as he left. It cried in pain, to nothing and no one around but that fugly slut, the nastiest skank bitch you’d ever met, your uterus.

There was no way you and Joel were making it to this rehearsal dinner. You needed to be at the venue by 7:00, the clock on the dash read 6:11, and you were, currently, twenty miles shy of Fredericksburg with a rag between your legs and your best friend scouring the local H-E-B.

That afternoon you’d been running late, so of course you’d thrown on your thin, satin, pre-wedding-ready dress before you left—and forgotten a change of clothes. Joel had been hungover from all the batshit bachelor party antics, so of course you’d had to stop three times along the way just so he could throw up on the side of the road. And, though your friend was many, many things, discreet was not one of them, so of course he’d told you, point-blank, when he saw you reaching for something in the backseat with your butt sticking up:

“You been pissin’ tomato juice or somethin’?”

And you’d looked back in abject horror.

Of course your period had come a week early and made you bleed straight through your bright yellow dress.

Maria was your best friend. You were her maid of honor. Tommy’s groomsmen happened to be the most fuckable bunch you’d ever seen—save for Joel—so there was no way you’d be caught dead at that dinner with the flag of Japan on your ass. And Maria had bought the dress just for you, so you felt like you had to get this bloodstain out.

You lifted your head to peer out the window. Even with the help of a fistful of ibuprofen, you could barely move.

6:29

“Dude, where are you?!”

It was like your phone and the FaceTime call to Joel had just materialized on their own. The man on the screen was blinking slow. Ogling something in front of him.

“So ‘L’ stands for…long?” he said after a beat.

“No, that’s light, Joel, I need a heavy one.”

“This one’s got cardboard in it, I think.”

“That’s a tampon applicator, dipshit.”

In a blink, Joel’s eyes flitted to his phone. His nostrils flared, and he met your gaze with a scowl of his own.

“Well how the hell am I supposed to know that? Only stuck two— three things in a pussy before and it sure as fuck wasn’t cotton,” he griped, and if he were any less mature he likely would’ve rolled his eyes. Drama king.

You winced as another cramp rolled through you. You shook your head and tried to regain your composure.

“Just find a heavy-flow. pad. with wings. for me. Please.”

Joel sighed and turned back to the shelf, eyes searching.

It shouldn’t have been this hard, but it was. You had no doubt Joel had never willingly touched a pussy product before in his life, so the road ahead was treacherous. Silently, you felt the urge to tell him he had no business being in pussy at all if he didn’t bother to learn what came out of one every month, but you let him cook.

His dark, greyish brows drew together in concentration. He leaned forward and reached for a box. Then stopped.

Went low to grab another, before pausing to show you.

“Very close, Joel. That’s a pantyliner.”

You felt somewhat like a mother showing a headstrong four-year-old how to copy shapes onto paper. No, darling, that’s a diva cup—and be careful with that crayon. Joel stood and he stewed and, by the look in his eyes, you’d already resigned yourself to another ten minutes of this back-and-forth rummaging at least.

Then you shifted in your seat, pushing your legs down a bit. They rubbed, of course. In spite of the pain that had seized your whole lower half, you felt a sweet, dull pulse.

You stared hard at Joel’s face on-screen to make sure he hadn’t seen it in yours, but damn that friction felt nice.

Sensitivity elevated with the influx of hormones, no doubt, you sat tight and tried to enjoy the feeling on purpose for a moment. You slowly sucked in a breath.

“Aw, hell, there’s just too many’a these damn boxes.”

You flexed your thigh muscles and let out a sigh.

“I don’t know how y’all do it,” Joel grumbled.

Keep looking, Miller. Just keep looking.

Slowly, your hips began to stir, and one small grain of pleasure gave way to a jolt—a twist in the pit of your belly that made the pain less grating. You leaned into it more.

Holding your phone, you could feel when Joel let out a frustrated groan. The sound low and almost enticing.

Wait.

Wait.

“Gross,” you said out loud, half-whispered.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was one of your closest friends; a man who loved beer die, Pall Malls, and Keith Whitley like nobody’s business and gave suffocating bear hugs whenever he was sweaty just to gross you out. You weren’t supposed to find men like that attractive.

But when the grit of his voice was just so nice…

“What?” Joel stopped to look down again.

“What?” you shot back, instantly.

A frown tugged at his lips.

“What’s ‘gross’? Me?”

Not…exactly, no.

More disgusted with yourself than anyone else, you clamped your legs together and shook your head. You tried to swallow, as if the action might suck the pleasure down with it, but the hot, throbbing sensation only grew.

You were practically grinding into the towel that had been stuffed between your thighs when you heard:

“Wings!”

An exceptionally proud Joel displayed a box of extra heavy-duty maxi-pads, with wings. He was grinning.

You weren’t sure if you thanked him next, congratulated the man, or what. You probably strung some words together and tried to return the smile as best you could, but who knew? The next thing you saw was that the line had gone dead, the truck was silent, and all that could be heard above the hum of the engine were your moans.

You braced yourself against the seat and rolled your hips even harder. Out of habit, you caught your lip between your teeth to prevent a louder sound from escaping, but then you remembered there was no one to hear you but you—for now. Your palm pressed flat on the dashboard, your knees squeezed even closer, and your vision flooded with soft, minuscule pinpricks of an all-too-familiar hue.

The only thing new to you here was Joel—the thought of him had never crossed your mind in moments like these.

But now you were closing your eyes, humping the seat with nothing between your body and the old, weathered upholstery but a scrap of fabric. And you were moaning his name. Imagining a face that was littered with coarse, grey stubble—you might’ve teased him for that once or twice before—and lips that were soft. So soft against your own that you wouldn’t think twice if he tried to slip his tongue inside and hold the sides of your face as he filled your cunt to the brim. In fact, Joel’s mouth would be a welcome distraction. Knowing how foul he was in even friendly confab, he’d undoubtedly be whispering the most vile things in your ear while he fucked you.

Reminding you, quietly, that you made such a pretty cocksleeve for him—why didn’t we try this sooner?— and how you’d be the sweetest thing if you just gave his cock another squeeze and made yourself cum all over it.

The mental image of that alone was inducement enough.

You felt a hot, euphoric band of something start to give way inside you. It tightened up, twisted—then snapped. Your mouth fell open and your thighs clenched tighter, grinding desperately in tandem with a pace you’d hoped Joel might’ve set if he were laying there underneath you. You clung to one last thought of him gripping your hips and bruising your walls with the force of his cock driving in and out, over and over again until, eventually, his cum was leaking out through each fluid thrusting movement. It was all your body could take, conjuring thoughts of his load spilling into you and onto him in warm, wet, sticky—

Whistling.

Someone was whistling outside. Walking up to the truck.

You were still coming down from the staggering heights of your climax when the driver’s side door swung open. You blinked furiously, as though to drive all the filth and depravity and need from your eyes before he could see.

It didn’t matter.

Joel was too amped up off a white plastic baggy to be concerned with much else as he plopped down beside you and smiled—beamed, really. Completely oblivious.

Your extremities were still twitching with the residuum of bliss when he reached for your hand. His eyes somehow warmer than they’d been all that day, they sparkled and shone and crinkled at the corners in a way that seemed to say the words before his mouth had uttered a sound.

“I got three boxes to be safe…”

Joel was really too sweet.

“…and some chocolate for your cramps…”

Always so considerate.

“…and you look real pretty when you cum, by the way.”

This motherfucker.

[seeingivy]

sweet irony

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friend's older brother fic

previous part linked here

--

you stare down at your phone – the picture of you and sukuna cheesing into the camera staring back at you – as the quiet pulsating starts teeming in your head. 

he’s dead. you’ve wished him dead for years, hundreds of times in passing, and now he’s actually dead. 

and now you’ll have to tell yuuji. 

you take a beat before walking back into the sweltering hot air of the bar, the blaring music making your heart race as you push through the crowd. and it takes you twenty minutes before you reach the table where yuuji is again, standing still to watch as he leans his head against megumi on the stool, while nobara finishes off the last of his drink.  

you can’t help but pause, your heart sinking into the deepest pits of dread, as he digs the cherry in the drink out of the ice, as you walk up to his side, shaking at his shoulder. 

your dad is dead. 

“hey, you’re back! do you want the another?” yuuji asks, the stem of the cherry sticking out of the side of his mouth as he holds a shot glass in front of your face, almost tauntingly, 

“no, no. um –” 

your dad is dead. your piece of shit dad is dead and you have to leave. 

you take the glass from him, accidentally slamming it down too hard on the table to the point where it shatters, as yuuji looks over at you, eyes wide. there’s a quiet gasp as almost everyone around you gives you a weary look, before turning back to their own conversations. 

you look down at your hand, the smallest amount of crimson red staring back at you, as you ball your hand into a fist and ignore it. 

“jesus. you okay, she-hulk?” he asks. 

you look back up at him. 

“yeah, it’s fine. we have to go home.” you respond. 

“what? don’t tell me you’re going to start being a bore now that you’re old. we just got here and we’re not leaving until sukuna is dragging all four of us out on our asses.” yuuji responds, earning him a laugh and a smile from nobara and megumi. 

“just come with me. we can talk on the way.” you respond, reaching for his wrist as you start pulling.

“we’re celebrating your birthday! after someone ruined it, mind you…” yuuji jokes, pulling you back towards the table. 

“shut up! how was i supposed to know that maki and mai were going to make a scene?” nobara mutters. 

“you literally started the fight, nobara.” megumi mutters. 

“and i apologized for that!” nobara responds, reaching over to flick megumi in the side of the forehead. 

you place your hand on yuuji’s bicep, squeezing hard, as you feel hot tears in your eyes and an almost soreness in your throat – knowing that whatever you say next is irrevocably about to change something for him as you lean forward. 

“yuuji. your dad passed away, we…we have to go.” 

megumi and nobara turn their heads, the former spilling the drink in his glass all over the table. 

“what?” yuuji asks. 

yuuji subconsciously pulls his arm back, eyes incredulous as he looks down at you. 

“yuuji. really, i…” 

“what did you just say?” megumi asks. 

“i…i don’t know how it happened, sukuna was so brief on the phone when he asked us to come that..” 

“wait, what?” nobara says. 

“sukuna. he called me and asked me to bring yuuji back. or both of us, i don’t..” 

you watch as yuuji digs his phone out of his pocket – a plethora of calls from both sukuna and his mom shining on his screen – as he scrolls through the texts, before he looks back up at you and swallows hard. 

“i had more to drink than you did.” he responds, his voice stiff as gravel. 

the look in his eyes is haunting. his dad is dead. 

“i’ll bring the car around.” you respond. 

“megumi. go with her. sukuna would kill me if he found out i let her walk out there alone.” yuuji responds, his focus halfhearted as he looks down at his phone, dialing his mom’s number as he presses the phone against his ear. 

his dad is dead. he needs a second. 

megumi gives you a curt nod before linking in his arm with yours and pushing his way through the crowd, uncharacteristically rough as the two of you run out the doors. and you’re both speed walking down the block, hands shaking as you pull open the doors of the car, and shove the key into the engine. 

“oh god, his mom is probably losing her shit. she’s going to be a mess when we get there, megumi.” you mutter. 

you pull out of the spot, fighting the urge to honk at the hounds of pedestrians that cross, as you nervously twiddle your fingers on the wheel. 

“sukuna’s probably there, alone, right now.” you mumble. 

you feel your throat dry. 

“i hope that…that his dad’s not still there when we get there. i don’t even..” 

“i’m not coming.” he whispers.. 

you accidentally push the break too hard and the car jolts, shooting megumi an apologetic smile as one of the groups of pedestrians flip you off. 

megumi notes that what he said came out a little more harshly than he intended it to, but it’s only because of his frustration, and what the questions he knows are going to follow after. 

“what? of course you are, he’s…” 

“i mean, i can’t.”

you frown. 

“of course, you can. in fact, you should. he’s your boyfriend.” 

it takes a split second for you to realize why yuuji’s always so defensive when it comes to you and sukuna. surely megumi can’t be serious. 

“y/n.” 

“megumi. you spend like every waking second with the guy. what’s your issue now?” you seethe. 

“i’m not going to make things more complicated by meeting his mom for the first time on the night she became a widow, y/n.” megumi responds. 

you swallow hard, the soreness in your throat making your eyes water, as you give him a nod and clench the steering wheel so hard that it makes your skin nearly break. 

of course that’s why he couldn’t go. you’re an idiot. 

the stinging on your palm from the glass only gets worse as you pull up outside the bar, and honk twice for good measure. 

“one thing, y/n.” megumi states. 

“what?” 

“i know that sukuna is your person. but yuuji’s mine. please don’t forget to be there for him too.”  he begs. 

you reach forward, squeezing megumi’s hand in yours. 

“of course i won’t forget about him. i’ll send you updates, okay?” you whisper. 

he gives you a nod as yuuji and nobara come tumbling out of the front door a few minutes later, nobara pressing him into a hard hug before letting ago, and rubbing at her biceps in the cold. and it gets even worse as you watch megumi and yuuji – being so openly affectionate while not being black out drunk for the first time – as they lean their foreheads against each others, before kissing goodbye. 

the entire car shifts as yuuji sits in the car, eyes teary and sniffling as he looks over at you, and nods. 

“let’s go.” 

it feels wrong to leave megumi behind, but you do it anyway. 

--

it takes an hour and a half to get there. yuuji’s uncharacteristically quiet, leaning his head against the glass of the window, as you try to drive as fast as you can on the highway. your headache, the dread, the stinging in your hand – it all seemed to get worse as time goes on, as you get closer to your house, and to whatever’s waiting for you. 

halfway through you offer yuuji your uninjured hand, which he takes, and doesn’t let go of as the two of you walk to the porch. 

“wait.” yuuji whispers. 

“what? what is it?” 

yuuji pauses, heaving a sigh before he looks at you, eyes watery. 

“i want one more second of normal before…before i…” 

“of course, yuuji.” you mumble back, leaning forward to tuck yourself into his embrace, his arms shaking as he wraps them around you. 

and you get what he means – you can feel your heart sink as you hear the raised voices, and what you’re sure is mrs. itadori’s wailing, as you squeeze yuuji harder. 

“you’re always so warm, y/n.” yuuji mumbles. 

you give him a smile as you pull back and ring on the doorbell. and it’s a split second before 

sammy swings the door open, eyes wide as she wraps her arms around yuuji first. 

“hey kid. you okay?” she murmurs. 

“yeah, sam..” 

“the moms and sukuna are in the dining room. go, go.” she whispers, rubbing his back once more for good measure before pushing him in the right direction. 

and then sammy looks back at you, giving you a smile, before she immediately crumbles into a mess of tears. 

“holy shit, y/n. i’m so fucking glad you’re here.”

you open up your arms, taken aback by the mess of her braid and the state she’s in, as she tucks herself into your neck, her tears spilling onto your skin. and you rub circles into her back in unison with her panting breaths, before gesturing for her to explain. 

“he just collapsed out of nowhere. i was in the fucking bathroom for gods sake and i just heard them shouting before…before mrs. itadori literally screamed bloody murder…i just came out and..” she whispers. 

you squeeze her a little bit harder, her cries getting stifled into your shoulder as you whisper into her ear, trying to calm her down. 

“sammy.” you whisper. 

“his pulse was gone. i did cpr for twenty minutes before they got here and they said there was nothing i could have done. i’m a fucking nurse, for fucks sake, and i just…i don’t even…” 

“you did what you could have.” you murmur. 

you can tell that she doesn’t believe you. and that she’s in some kind of shock from the way her eyes are so lifeless – the only thing convincing you that she's still really there with you being the quiet breaths that leave her mouth. 

after ten minutes of holding her, she pulls back, wiping at her nose. 

“i can’t believe he’s dead.” she mutters miserably. 

“me too.” 

“is…am i shitty for being upset? he’s an asshole but…but he was around for so long and well –” 

“no, sammy. we’ve known him forever.” you affirm. . 

“you should check on sukuna, by the way. they asked him questions for a while when he got here, because…because mrs. itadori and i were too hysterical. mom helped but she didn’t know most of the stuff and..” 

you wonder if he had been afforded time to cry yet. though you knew how these things go and that somehow, he’d be the last one to get the privilege to process it all. 

“okay, come on.” you respond, the two of you linking your arms together as you walk into the dining room. 

you feel your heart pinch as you walk into the dining room – at the sight of both mrs. itadori and yuuji crying – with sukuna’s hand slung across yuuji’s chair. there’s an almost…gaunt look on sukuna’s face, devoid of any emotion, as he only locks his eyes with yours in recognition, before turning his attention back to yuuji.

you give a small wave to your own mother, who gives you a halfhearted smile, before placing a she places a glass of water in front of yuuji and mrs. itadori, and taking the seats next to them. 

sammy’s crying at your side again, quietly muffling her own tears into your shoulder, as you squeeze at her side, before setting her down in the chair before leaving to get her water. and  it’s only in the kitchen that you realize that the inner part of your hand is a bloody mess, with the stained red going all the way down to your wrist, as you walk over to the sink. 

“what happened?” 

you nearly jump to find sukuna at your side, leaning over your shoulder as he eyes the red in the sink, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around him, the wetness dripping onto his shirt. 

he doesn’t hug back. he’s softens underneath you, his shoulders less stiff, but he doesn’t hug back. 

“nothing. it was just a glass back at the bar. you…what happened to you? are you okay? what can i do to help because i know that…” 

sukuna leans back, offering you a halfhearted smile, before reaching for the closest drawer and pulling a glass box of bandages and alcohol wipes out. 

“let me clean it.” 

you frown before holding your hand out for him, watching as he quietly opens the packet, and gently cleans the area, before wrapping it in a white bandage. and when he touches the inner portion of your wrist, he looks up at you before placing the back of his hand against your forehead. 

“you’re running hot.” he states. 

“it’s warm in here.” you respond. 

“it’s not. you’re getting a cold.” 

yuuji’s comment from earlier makes sense now. you sigh, noting the soreness in your throat feeling almost swollen now, as you shake your head at him. 

“really. what can i do to help? i know this is a lot and…” you mumble. 

you’re unable to place the expression on sukuna’s face. it’s almost like he cringes. 

“i’m right here.” 

“can you stay with yuuji?” he asks. 

you pause. 

“what?” 

that’s not what you had in mind. 

“we have to do the funeral sooner than later. saturday is our best bet with everyone having work off so i have to pull shit together, really fast. and i can do it, but…but not while dealing with both of them. can you stay with him? please?” 

the question dies on your tounge. what about you? 

“yeah, of course i can, but –” 

sukuna nods, before placing a bottle of nyquil in your uninjured hand. 

“take this twice a day.” he responds, squeezing your shoulder once as he retreats back out to the main room. 

--

you don’t see sukuna for two days. or well, you do, but he’s always preoccupied. not really there. on the phone with the funeral planner, comforting his mom, or dealing with the hospital bills and belongings that were left behind. 

he declines your offer to sleep with him, because he sleeps on the floor in his moms room. he doesn’t eat the breakfast you because he has to go pick out the flowers – and doesn’t make any jokes about how he’d save himself from the food poisoning before eating your food. 

it’s just as well you suppose, because you really do get a fever, and staying with yuuji takes up enough of your time. 

unlike the former – a solid fortress of almost nothing – yuuji swings between two moods, either being awfully quiet and insatiably angry. 

you’re not sure which one is better. the lack of babbling from yuuji is haunting in every situation – but it’s so hard to discern what it is that he’s feeling that sometimes all you can do is crawl into his bed with him and stare at the ceiling together. 

you were half convinced that it did nothing until the second day, when yuuji offered you a thank you for the silence before trotting off to shower. 

the anger is a little bit easier to handle. only because whatever it is that he is feeling comes pouring out of his mouth so freely that you’re at least able to pinpoint what it is that makes him mad. 

that he’s dead. that he died without changing. that he won’t ever change and that in the grand scheme of things, yuuji’s history will always be murked by a shitty, homophobic asshole. 

“he’s such a fucking prick.” yuuji mutters, angrily slamming the door of his closet, as you readjust on his bed. 

was. he was such a prick. 

“and why the fuck is my mom crying so much? god knows how many bottles of wine she’s fucking drank trying to temper the fucking rage he filled her with. she should be happy that she doesn’t have to deal with him anymore.” 

yuuji looks over at you, quickly handing you the tissue that you were reaching for, before returning to his rant. 

“like grow a fucking spine. she’s making sukuna do everything. he’s only fucking twenty-five, for fucks sake. all i’ve watched her do is fucking ball her eyes out and lie down on that god damn couch while he plans the entire funeral and spends lal day calling god knows who.” 

yuuji’s nervous pacing makes the jacket of his suit fall off of the hanger, his irritation clearly getting worse, as you lift your hands, gesturing for him to take a seat as you reach for it. you lift it off the floor, sling it back onto the hanger and make a mental note to steam the crease before the funeral tomorrow, before turning back to him and taking a seat at his side. 

you lean your head on his shoulder, as he brings his hand up to your hair, tangling through the knots. 

“i wish megumi could be here.” he mumbles, voice quiet. 

“me too. i…sammy and i actually talked to your mom about it and..” you start. 

“i know. sukuna told me.” 

yuujji pauses, running his fingers over the pink skin on your palm, before sighing.

“it’s nice but, he’d probably roll over in his grave if megumi came.” yuuji states. 

“he’d probably get out of his casket just to yell at you one more time.” you mutter. 

yuuji laughs, the sound making you smile. 

“and then he’d see you sitting in between me and sukuna and slut shame you one last time for good measure.” he adds. 

“and then probably have a second heart attack when he sees sammy sitting there with mai.” 

the two of you stare at each other blankly before bursting out into laughter, albeit a little bit too uncontrollably, as you reach to shut the door to stop everyone else from hearing. 

“oh my god. i fucking forgot about that. he’d probably have an aneurysm if he found out sammy was bi.” 

“he would fully go into septic shock. he’d probably something strangely homoerotic and spend twenty minutes trying to convince her that everyone was a little gay.” 

“holy shit! i totally forgot he said that. and then he’d somehow blame me for it. like i made her gay somehow by rubbing it off on her.” 

you snort. 

“and naturally, he’d start yelling at our moms too. saying that they let us all be a little too wild when we were kids and that’s why we’re all ungrateful..” you add. 

“i believe his preferred term of endearment was ungrateful little assholes. and don’t kid yourself, according to him, the root of all evil can –  and always will be – traced back to me. ” 

the two of you turn your heads to the doorway, to where sukuna’s standing. you jolt up at the sight of him, his eyes red and tired, as you look up at him, giving him a smile. 

“hi sukuna. how are –” 

sukuna sticks the back of his hand against your forehead, clearly bothered by how warm you’re still running, before dropping his hand. his fingertips trail down your skin, the length of your elbow to your fingers, before he presses the bottle into your hand. 

“antibiotic for five days. if you still feel bad, then an extra two days.” he states, holding the water out in front of you. 

it’s the same as the time yuuji punched you. he’s uncharacteristically inexpressive, but still attentive. 

“when did you have time to go?” 

“i had to get his clothes from the hospital. and his phone and the car keys, they were all in his pocket.” 

“thank you. do need anything from me?” 

“still have nyquill?” 

he avoids the conversation, like he always does, in the rare seconds you’re allowed to speak to him.. you pretend it doesn’t sting. 

“yes.” 

sukuna leans forward, tucking the stray hairs behind your ear, before turning to yuuji. 

“day after tomorrow, up at six both of you. the funeral starts at seven and we’ll be back here after for the condolences.” 

“got it.” yuuji responds and you nod. 

sukuna disappears as fast as he showed up. 

and while you felt like you were isolated in the feeling – that he was slipping away, on another planet from you when he was only two doors down – you and yuuji talk about it the night before the funeral. 

“does it bother you?” yuuji asks. 

you can’t sleep the night before and neither can he – the two of you cramped up in his tiny bed and staring at the tiny glow in the dark stars you pressed to the ceiling years prior. they’re peeling off, half of them already having fell into the crevices between the bed in the wall years ago. 

“your dad?” you murmur. 

“no. sukuna.” 

“what do you mean?” 

“does it bother you that he won’t let you help him?” yuuji asks. 

you sigh, mulling over the thought in your head. of course it bothers you. you felt like you were failing the most important test. 

“i’m not saying that in a shit talking type of way. i just meant…as an observation. as a friend.” yuuji adds. 

you smile. 

“i know. i guess it does. i just feel like we made really good progress and that…that i’d at least tumbled down most of his walls. but every time i see him, it kind of feels like they’re back up. maybe even worse than before.” 

“what do you mean?” 

“he was always a little reserved but it didn’t take much to get him to open up. he’d always give in when i asked. but he just kind of brushes me off now. i’m not mad about it, because i understand, but i wish i could just do more.” you respond. 

yuuji readjusts, leaning over on his side, to look at you. and you mimic his actions till the two of you are facing each other, cheeks pressed into the pillows as you try to make out the features of his face. 

“don’t take it personally.” yuuji responds. 

you sigh. 

“really. in my experience, he…he’s never been able to let go until things are fully settled.” 

“that’s what scares me. your dad isn’t going to stop being dead.” you whisper. 

yuuji nods. 

“he won’t leave you.” 

“i know that. i just need him to come back to me.” you respond. 

yuuji readjusts under the sheets. there’s a quiet beat before he talks again. 

“will you stand with us at the condolences tomorrow? i think he’d like it if you were nearby. and god knows i need someone to stand there with me.” 

“of course, i will.” 

--

almost every person you’ve ever known seems to cycle through their house the next day. the funeral was crowded and you luckily for you, you were stuck for the most part, with sammy on one side and yuuji on the other, so you were able to avoid it. 

but the house was different. in a swimming sea of black, you and yuuji have awkward sets of interactions every few minutes. your third grade teacher, the hostess who kicked the two of you out of the sushi restaurant once, and the weird guy who gets drunk every thursday at the district. 

this town was way too small.  

yuuji sees nobara at the door, giving you a go ahead to go find where sukuna was lingering, as you start making your way through the halls. and it takes a few minutes, but you find him in the kitchen, tucking the envelopes and letters into the drawer as he reaches for his tie and loosens the knot. 

“hi.” 

you watch as he immediately stiffens, sharply turning his head to the left, before releasing. 

“oh. hey. i thought you were someone else.” 

“nope! just little old me.” you respond. 

sukuna pauses, slowly closing the drawer, before turning to you and cupping the side of your face. you welcome the touch – your chest panging at how long it’s been since you’ve even seen him, let alone touched him – before pressing a kiss to his palm. 

“do you feel better?” he asks 

“yeah. thank you.” 

he gives you a halfhearted smile, before dropping his hands down your back and securing his hand around your waist. you lean into his touch, pressing your cheek to his shoulder, and taking in the scent of his cologne. 

“i have to go back out.” he mumbles. 

“i know.” you respond. 

he looks down at you, giving you a smile, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. you give him a smile, before he leans down and squints his eyes at you. 

“been far too long since i’ve kissed you, hasn’t it?” 

“what?” 

“you’re blushing. and i just kissed your forehead.” 

you laugh, lightly trying to shove him away. but he’s too fast, hands on your waist before he leans forward, fully smiling this time and pulling you closer. it’s the first one you’ve seen in days. it makes your heart ache. 

“it’s normal to blush when your boyfriend kisses you.” you defend. 

he shakes his head, playfully poking at the side of your cheek before dropping his hand. 

“you’re always greedy. so greedy that you got so used to it. i usually have to rile you up in five different ways before i see that pretty flush creep down your neck.” 

“you’re a pervert. read the room.” 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“i am reading the room. you and i are the only ones in it.” he deadpans. 

“every person we know is outside.” you whisper. 

“come on. one kiss and i’ll go back.” he whispers back. 

“sukuna.” 

“please.” 

you roll your eyes before placing both of your hands on his cheeks and leaning forward. and as many comments as you made about reading the room and trying to deny it, you’re way too excited to lean forward – nearly smacking your nose into his – as you lock your lips with his. 

but it’s nothing like you expected. 

because while he was joking a few minutes prior, the kiss is so soft, dripping with longing that it takes you by surprise. it reminded you of the quiet moments – when he’d trace the freckles on your cheek or press kisses to your knuckles before bed – so overwhelming, so intimate that you felt like he had creeped up inside of you. 

when you flicker your eyes open, his eyes are filled with tears. 

“i’m sorry for avoiding you.” he whispers. 

“that’s okay, you…” 

“i knew this would happen if i was around you for too long.” he responds. 

you pause, taken aback by his words. 

“what?” 

“i wouldn’t be able to keep it together.” he responds, voice cracking as the tears start spilling down his cheeks.

you frown, reaching forward to wipe the wetness away.

“you don’t have to keep it together.” you whisper. 

“we both know i do.” he responds, his gaze wavering to the floor. 

you feel your heart drop, at the mere premise, before pressing yourself closer to him, feeling him sag nearly his entire weight onto you. he presses a kiss on your shoulder that makes you shiver. 

“can we please talk when we go home? just a few more days before…” 

“yeah. just you and me, okay?” 

he nods, lifting your hands against his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles.

"don't be hurt if I avoid you."

"you could never hurt me. i know whatever you do, there's a reason for it."

sukuna groans, before leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to your cheek.

"you're perfect, you know that?"

you give him a teasing grin, before shrugging.

"i can't help it." you joke.

he smiles, before leaning forward to press another kiss to your lips. 

“make me a promise.” he whispers, a slight strain in his voice. 

“okay.” 

he swallows hard.

“you can’t die.” 

you lean back, pressing your hand into the softness of his hair, before looking at his brown eyes, so full and expectant as they wait for an answer. 

“of course not.” 

“you’d take me right with you if you did. you can’t.” he begs. 

you give him a smile. 

“i won’t. i promise, ryomen.” you respond, reaching forward to cross on his heart.

he gives you a shaky sigh, before nodding and pressing one last kiss to your cheek before exiting back out. 

and you thank your lucky stars. he came back. 

--

you smack nobara in the back of the head when you make your way back to her and yuuji. because not only are yuuji and nobara nursing two glasses of red wine, but they’re also emptying her trusty hot pink flash into the glass when people aren’t looking. 

“are you insane?” you whisper. 

“do you want a sip?” yuuji asks. 

you immediately take the glass from his hand, earning you laughs from the two of them, as the three of you lean against the wall, watching everyone mill around the room. as irritating as the guy was, mr. itadori was really only all types of heinous and horrible with those closest to them. 

to the community, it was a grave loss. and there wasn’t a dry eye in the room – except from the three people it was probably expected from the most. 

you could hear the whispers. they were so strong. you fight the urge to laugh in their faces. it was the understatement of the century. 

sammy joins you on the wall after an hour of mingling, an awkward jostle between her and nobara, before the two of them were sharing their glasses and muttering under their breaths about how insane maki and mai were. 

“funerals are weird.” yuuji mumbles, leaning his head against yours.

“how so?” 

“these two idiots were fighting at your birthday like a week ago. and no one’s even batting an eye that mr. johnson is sitting with his mistress while his wife gets drunk in the corner.” 

“that’s not his mistress. she was blonde.” 

“bold of you to assume there was only one.” 

you shiver in disgust, earning you a laugh from yuuji, as you finish off the last of his glass. except that’s right when sukuna walks up to you, eyes panicked as he takes the glass from your hand and sets it on the table. 

“hey baby.” he whispers. 

“hi sukuna. want some of our conc –” 

“whatever happens, i’m right here, okay?” he says, the tone in his voice urgent. 

you laugh, looking over to give yuuji a weird look, only to find that he’s staring past sukuna’s shoulder, swallowing hard. 

“huh? i don’t follow.” 

sukuna pinches his eyes shut, almost like he’s pained, before moving to your side, when you finally see it. he squeezes your hand so hard you think he might have broken it. 

you suppose it’s ironic. 

yuuji and sukuna’s shitty dad is dead. and your deadbeat one is standing four feet away from you, with two little girls at his side.

--

next part linked here

an: yolo.

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[dilfl0v3rss]

I NEED sb to write abt ony getting turned on when he sees reader fighting or pointing his gun 😭😭 so yea 😁 also loves you 💞💞

ima give y’all some tea…i be doing this shit ngl😭

also love you more booooo❤️

cw:guns

“you sure you don’t wanna get in wit me mama? could use the company” ony smirked as he watched you quickly shake your head at his question. he had just got done beating your shit down and you already knew what he was going to do if you got in that shower with him. “nope. i love being able to walk” you smiled as he sighed deeply as if your rejection wounded him. “aight then. if you don’t love me just say that” he mumbled before grabbing his towel and going in the bathroom.

rolling your eyes, you turned over, scrolling on your phone as you laid comfortably in bed. it had only been five minutes before ony called for you in the shower. “mama! baby get my slides. they next to the bed!” he yelled. you sighed as you crawled over to his side of the bed for his slides. “of course one of you hoes is missing” you mumbled before dipping your hand under the bed to search for it. you were searching for a couple seconds when you felt something cold and hard meet your fingertips. “the fuck?” you mumbled as you gripped around the object. as you brought it up to your face, a wide smirk began to appear as you realized what it was. one of your man’s many guns.

ony never wanted you touching his guns, always saying there was no need for a pretty girl like you to be outside with a dangerous weapon while he’s there. but you just couldn’t resist picking it up and pointing it at the mirror. you snapped a couple pictures, posing cutely as you sat on your knees in the bed. “run your pockets nigga” you mumbled as you acted like you were sticking someone up. you were having too much fun. you got so into your little role play that you didn’t even notice the shower water stopping, and the sound of ony mumbling to himself about how you never brought him his slides.

“pew pew pew…..freeze bitch!” the sound of your pretty voice attracted ony’s attention. his towel wrapped nicely around his waist as he exited the bathroom quietly. the sight of you holding his gun brought a mix of emotions in his heart. he thought he been made it clear he didn’t want you touching his guns, but he took the clip out and you looked kinda cute acting “hard”. your thick brown thighs open as you sat on your legs, nipples poking through his t shirt as you wiggled around with the gun. “you wanna die nigga? stop bothering my girl!” a smirk crept on ony’s face as he watched quote him.

“what i say bout touching my shit ma?” ony mumbled as he watched you stop dead in your tracks. you didn’t even try to hide the gun because it was clear as day that he saw you already. “i was looking for your slide under the bed and i found this, but i didn’t shoot anything i swear i just kept my fingers on the side and not on the tigger i know m’not posed to be playin with it but i was being safe baby i swear-” your words were cut off by the sound of ony’s laughter as he began to walk towards you. he placed his hand under your chin, lightly squeezing your cheeks together as he looked down at you. “s’okay ma” he mumbled as he slowly took the gun from you. he turned it sideways to show you the bottom. it was empty. “ion leave loaded guns around my girl unless it’s on my hip”

as ony spoke, giving you the gun back before you noticed the prominent bulge he had under his towel. a smirk slid to your features as you reconnected your eyes with his. “what’s this?” you say, running the gun down his wet abs while rubbing your hand on his print. your boyfriend smiled, leaning down towards your face to the point where you were centimeters away from locking lips.

“sum you gon get if you keep pointing that gun at me like that”

[nativehueofresolution]

it's really getting to me that armand explicitly parallels himself with lestat during their argument by saying both he and lestat loved louis more than claudia did. he's framing her, and by extension louis's attachment to her, as the problem in both relationships.

because you see over and over how much pride he gets in positively comparing their relationship to lestat. they've been together longer, he ""never harmed"" louis like lestat did, louis is no longer chasing the 'wrong kind of love' with him. he uses lestat repeatedly as a point of comparison to show how much healthier louis's relationship with him is.

but when he is truly pissed off he directly equates his love with lestat's, as if he identifies with him deep down. in this moment, lestat isn't a measuring stick but part of a pattern, someone he can use to strengthen his argument that louis is a poor, frigid partner. i do think he genuinely thinks of himself as the better, more caring partner for louis, but i also think that is something he's arrived at to assuage his insecurity and is also rooted in his existing hatred of lestat. in truth, he doesn't disagree with lestat, especially when it comes to his handling of claudia.

this episode in particular shows whatever issues he took with lestat's treatment of louis were purely surface level. as many have pointed out, it's a sort of sequel to 1x05. in 1x05 lestat and louis have been in a bad place in their marriage with lestat feeling ignored and unloved because louis misses claudia, and when he thinks the relationship is threatened and louis is going to leave him, he reacts with physical violence and beats louis to the point of near death after revealing powers he kept hidden. in 2x05 armand and louis have been in a bad place in their marriage, with armand feeling ignored and unloved because louis misses claudia, and when he thinks the relationship is threatened and louis is going to leave him, he verbally assaults louis until he attempts suicide (and we know suicide baiting is part of how he hunts), and after he fails armand withholds medical aid as a punishment and tortures daniel with powers he's presented as being at louis's disposal previously, all while louis lies there in agony. it ends the same way, regardless of the methods of abuse each partner employs - louis is lying helplessly in his coffin, near dead for the supposed crime of withholding love from his partner.

as if it wasn't clear enough that armand had no true objection to lestat's behavior, he dangles lestat like an axe over louis's neck by suggesting maybe he should call lestat back if louis misses him so much. the fact that he's 'better' than lestat because he isn't laying a hand on louis physically becomes another weapon in armand's arsenal - the threat of calling lestat back lingers as an incentive for louis to stay with armand, just like the threat of lestat becoming violent again lingers in 1x06 when lestat tries to create his own rules for the family. it's still violent coercion.

it just makes armand's little displays of pride at 'beating' lestat and louis defending armand as not being violent feel so sick. armand using louis's past abuse as a way to stop him from recognizing the abuse he's currently living with, all the while mentally identifying with lestat.... prison of empathy!

[katsukikitten]

"M-More." You plead as Bakugou fucks into you with harsh slow ruts.

He roughly covers your mouth with his hot palm, stilling his hips as he comes closer to your face. Glaring at you, taking in your fucked out expression, the sweat making your hair stick to your skin and the pearly tears clinging to long lashes. It's insane how he doesn't even look fazed, as if your tight cunt squeezing and pulling him back in with each rut feels no better than his fist. It makes your eyes flutter with embarrassment and shame.

"Cock sleeves don't talk." He growls and when you don't respond he lets his fingers harshly tap against your cheek, "Oi, nod if you understand."

You give a frantic nod, his hand still covering your mouth before he moves his hips. Letting his swollen cock head hit against the pulsing spongy spot in your dripping pussy.

Silently arching your back as you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from moaning.

But it's like a game to him and he ruts over it slower and harsher until you're hot to the touch, your eyes rolled back from how good he edges you and tears you. Waiting to capture the smallest moan with his hand before he speeds up his pace.

Pounding into you until the humidity of your panting collects on his palm, still echoing around the room before he moves his burning palm to your throat.

"Can't make a sound if ya can't fuckin breathe, yea?" He gives a cruel barking laugh before he squeezes just enough that your once loud moans can only be rasped breaths.

Secretly he loves the sounds you make but that's the problem. It's hard enough for him to fuck you were he can see your pretty face contorting in pleasure that his cock brings out but the sounds. God the sounds is what makes his heart beat faster, what makes his composure slip each time you try to keep your eyes on his while you cum, begging him for more like he wasn't already fucking you brain dead.

He watches himself disappear into you, watches the creamy ring at the base of his cock grow thicker and his sac wetter from your arousal. The resounding slap echoing in your apartment competing with the snap of the head board as he comes closer to you as your back arches and a silent scream rips up your throat. Convulsing around his thick length as he fucks you through yet another orgasm.

"That's it, cream my cock, let's see this slutty pussy try to milk me." He says as pulls out only for your cunt to suction him back in, leaking around him and down to your ass. He wants to pound into you untill all you can do is take it before pulling out and fisting his cock so he blows his fat load all over your pretty stomach and tits. If he's lucky he'll cum hard enough it'll hit your chin and lips again.

But tonight is different as he applies more pressure to your throat, watching you fade in and out as your claws bite into his forearms, shaking for him as if he brought you so much pleasure your body simply couldn't process it. He has to see more, needs to see more despite the coil in his stomach tightening in time with his sac.

He should pull out but when he glances up at your face, hoping to see your tongue lulling out of your mouth with a string of drool he watches your lips form something instead while your eyes roll into your head.

I love you.

And Bakugou Katsuki cums, hard. Grunting and growling as his cock spills his hot seed into your pretty pussy. Still rocking his hips as he lets up on your throat to hear your hoarse sounds, obvious now that you don't even know what you were saying when you can barely form his name as he overstimulates himself. Groaning as his sensitive tip slides through your velvet warmth until he can't take it anymore.

Collapsing on top of you like he's never done before. You two were just fuck buddies, you remind yourself that when he presses his face into your throat, gently kissing at your pulse point.

"Was I a good cock sleeve?" Barely a whisper as you struggle to catch your breath. He bites in answer, scraping his teeth along your throat as he sucks, pulling the skin from your body until he lets it go. Grabbing your chin so roughly forcing you to look at him as if you could look anyway but the man right above you, his necklace swinging in your face.

"The best."

[mintymarabell]

Platonic yandere elder yautja.

An elder whose strong and powerful in status but not fertile, his seed never taking so he never had children of his own.

He would beat himself up over it all the time, thinking he was not good enough.

He’ll be on earth just wondering around aimlessly when he sees you, a teenager who was crying in the woods.

He would watch curiously, wondering what you were doing alone.

When you get up and leave after composing yourself he’ll follow after you, when you lead him to a house that has two ooman pairs having a yelling match inside he somewhat connects the dots.

He will watch over you over the months, noticing the neglect in the household. He’s so jealous, your parents barely pay you any mind or even care for you and yet he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Maybe one time you’re in your room curled up in bed trying to sleep through your parents continuous arguing when your window slowly slides open, you don’t notice until there’s a big thump and suddenly something is in your room.

You go to scream but a large hand is cupped over your mouth to quiet the sound.

When you wake up again you’re in a different room, one much bigger than your previous one the bed huge and comfortable with alien soft sheets and silk pillows.

A small tray of breakfast sat on the nightstand to your left still warm.

He won’t reveal his scary appearance to you, living as a ghost in his own home as he provided for you better than your parents ever had.

Maybe one day, after a few months of living in the strange very futuristic like house you explore, walking around the grand halls, looking into the various bedrooms, some being children others being for an adult, you simply marveled at the design.

Maybe you walk outside to see the scenery and notice the different colors of the sky, the amber atmosphere.

You wander farther from the house, towards the pristine gates and walk out of them as you look at this ‘new world’ in hopes of feeding your growing curiosity.

Maybe you venture too far, finding you had zoned out and was now in the woods with faint growling and the once twin suns now settling into a dark sky.

Your breathing hitched as you looked around frantically trying to remember where it is you came from, then suddenly something hops from the tree, it is some beast, clearly not from earth.

The beast stalking towards you as it readied itself to attack and then it lunged, you closed your eyes and waited but it never came.

Instead a loud crash could be heard as something ran into the beast, you opened your eyes and seen the beast but nothing else.

It was as if the beast was fighting its imaginary friend, though in this case enemy.

The beast had brawled with the other invisible being, at some point in the fight the beast had landed a hit, the sound of flesh tearing and electric sparks then its invisible cloak was unveiled.

You had been inching back this whole time, slowly but surely won the race right? Though as you inched back, you noticed the humanoid was beginning to slack. Noticing a healing wound on its shoulder blade being the issue of its delay.

You had decided it was clearly on your side so you picked up a size ably sharp stick. Beginning to walk back toward the fight just as the beast had pinned the your possible new friend; you stabbed it right through the throat.

The humanoid pushed off the now dead carcass, standing up slowly. This had given you a moment to look at him truly. He had four mandibles with sharp fangs on the end, along with long dread like hair that was graying. After the awkward pause he had ruffled your hair and pushed you back in the direction of the house you had stayed at.

It had been a few months, your new father now walking around with no invisible cloak. He was in short terms, protective. If you had went out he went along and never let you go far. It appeared he lived alone, in a massive home.

You could get used to it, though you hoped it wasn’t forever it’d be like this.

[ddejavvu]

Anakin smiling at your crying face and praising you "good girl" "you're doing do well" 🙈

send me anakin thoughts/requests please !!

this post is 18+, minors dni.

yeah the thing is i have a huge thing for dacryphilia to the point where i almost always include tears in smut but then i remember wait shit that isn't normal and i need to warn people about that so this is just a safe haven for me thank you <3

it's most likely after a lot of overstim or edging, he gets off on having enough power over you to literally bring you to tears as you babble his name and beg him for something to work with, please. or just to let you cum, he might not even be teasing you he's just edging you so goddamn much that you're going to cum whether he likes it or not and you really don't want him to be upset with you for cumming earlier than you were supposed to.

but the thing is he's not trying to be all sadistic-controlling-boyfriend type deal (at least.. not always.. we'll discuss that later if you're into it..)

he is just in awe of you. he's so force-sensitive that he can literally feel your veins pumping and thrumming with arousal, with hot, fiery, desperate, mind-blowing lust and it's only turning him on more. he aches to feel you like this, he presses his face against your skin just to feel the rush of your blood through your veins as you writhe and squirm and beg for him to let you cum. he sticks his tongue out and licks a stripe up your back to feel the heat of your skin beneath his tongue, and if you let him he'll sink his teeth into you. he doesn't care what part of your body he burrows into, although he's particularly partial to the left side of your chest so that he can ram his face up against your beating heart and feel how elevated its rhythm is, all because of him. he takes pride in being able to work you up this much, and he's absolutely awestruck that you work so perfectly with him. because this, the way that your body practically sings with desperation, with lust, with arousal, has only been, and will only be because of him. you're his, you're clearly a gift for him from the force itself, and he takes his time to appreciate that gift every time he's able to, even if it means accidentally driving you to tears of frustration/desperation.

when he notices the crystalline tear tracks down your cheeks he croons sympathetically, though the awestruck smile never leaves his face as he reaches out to wipe a bead of the liquid off of your face.

"it's alright, sweetheart," he'll hum, one hand on your stomach to better connect himself with the divinity of your body and the bond he shares with you, "it's alright, you're doing incredible. you're incredible, I- I love you."

his words, though sweet as they are, probably don't help much if you're just trying to get off. they only make your chest convulse with more sobs, your body begging for a release, and if you clutch at his arm with the tips of your nails digging into his skin, and beg him, 'please, ani, please, I need to- please, I need to cum! please,' he'll give you that sweet smile of his, eyes shining with wonder and infatuation as he finally gives in.

'I love you' he'll pledge in a languid murmur to your body, mind, and soul as he captures your spit-soaked lips in his plump pink ones. his muscled arms keep him hovering over you as he finally pushes his cock into your aching hole, and he won't let you out of the kiss for the entire time, unless he's pulling back to look you dead in the eyes and drink up your attention and affection and love. this is genuinely a spiritual experience for him, he is the living force and he's never felt a closer connection to it than when he's fucking into your drooling hole.

he'll properly kiss away all of your tears after more stream down your cheeks at the feeling of your intense orgasm, then he'll lick his lips and kiss you all over again like he hasn't just licked out every inch of your mouth. sex with him is absolutely never mediocre, he makes sure of it.

--

anyways if you're not into divine filth yeah he likes controlling your orgasms and making you cry <3 it's a total power trip, an ego boost, and one thing we know about The Chosen One is that he's never going to walk away from the chance to drain power out of whoever will give it to him.

if you give it to him (and triple-check that you know your safeword) he'll spread you out over the bed, tell you that under no circumstances are you allowed to touch yourself, then get off on the control he feels as he plays with you. he'll tweak your nipples in his tightly pinched fingers, he'll lick long, languid stripes up your slit without ever pushing his tongue past your entrance, or palm your bulging cock through your underwear without ever letting his skin touch yours. he purposefully works you up just to the brink of an orgasm and then full stops, sits back, and admires his handywork. you're trembling, itching with the urge to touch yourself and relieve the stifling pressure down south, but he wants to know how long you'll last under his penetrating gaze. he watches you like you're his prey, with hunger in his eyes that lets you know he's not going to put you out of your misery too soon; he can wait to sink his teeth into you until you break first. he'll stand there staring at you and you'll just feel so small and pathetic under his gaze, tears spilling down your cheeks as you beg and plead and bargain for him to give you what he wants.

the head rush of power he gets from this is insane. it means that when you finally beg hard enough, or he can tell that you're not going to last much longer no matter how hard you try, he's going to fuck you like an animal. he's going to pounce and tear into you, teeth biting at your lips and hips jackhammering against your own in a pace that nearly breaks the bed. it's messy and feral and hot and heavy and overwhelming and he'll lick the tears right off of your cheeks as you wail his name because you can't think of anything else while he pounds you into the mattress.

--

and another: overstimulation.

there's absolutely nothing anakin finds sexier than driving you to the brink of fucking madness. setting your skin on fire and holding a vibrator in your hole while you wriggle and squirm and plead with him that you just need to be allowed to cum, please. but he's not going to let you, because he knows you're stronger than that, and you're just impatient. he'll press it even further against your sweet spot and watch with a twisted grin as you burst into tears, bucking your hips desperately up against it chasing a high you know you're not allowed to indulge yet. he'll wait until you surge forwards, clamoring into his lap all sweaty and slick and desperate as you sob against his face or chest that you need him to let you cum, now, please! then all he has to do is take his cock out (insanely hard, he's lucky he has good restraint) and lower you right down onto it, let your tears soak into his skin as he shoves his tongue down your throat <3

[sister-cna-reader]

DC x DP

“Do you know anyone willing to date a ghost-touched woman over 6ft tall?” 

Barbara Gordon blinked slowly at the lanky teenager who asked the question. His arms were full of astronomy books and he was leaning in close as if it was a serious question. 

“It depends? I’m a librarian, not a matchmaker.” she replied, holding her hands out for the books to scan. “Why are you asking? It’s an awfully specific criteria.” 

Daniel Nightingale was the name of the boy before her. Just registered in the library system a little under 3 months ago. 17 years old and with that black hair, sky blue eyes and scars on the hand partially covered by a fingerless glove- Wayne adoption bait. 

“My older sister is great and all.” he said, fidgeting with his sleeves, “But I think she needs to live a little you know? She’s so.. So….” he made a compressing motion with his hands, like packing a snowball. 

“Repressed?” Barbara suggested, scanning the book on the Hubble Telescope. 

With a snap of his fingers he grinned. “Exactly! Now if only I could find a guy for her that is ghost-touched…” he muttered under his breath.  

“What do you mean by ‘ghost- touched’?” 

“Oh you know,” he mimicked the paddles of a defibrillator, “Clear!” he chuckled. 

Did this lady have a heart attack? Heart problems? 

“I died but it didn’t stick, so someone who is like me would be good. Then we wouldn’t have to explain the whole thing.” 

“Oh, I see.” the redhead said, not understanding much at all. “Due date for the books is in one month. I’ll keep an eye out for your sister?” 

Danny nodded and gathered all the books into a beat up backpack. “You can’t miss her. Long red hair, super tall, looks like she’ll either have a nervous breakdown or murder someone if you bump into her.” 

Barbara could only nod in agreement to the boy as he seemed to float out of Gotham Public Library. 

~~

Jazz was ready to shove her little not-quite-dead brother into the Fenton Thermos. She was doing well at her counseling position at the University, but Danny had insisted that her newfound hours of free time should be used in romantic pursuits.

“If you had friends you hung out with I won’t pester you. But Jazz! You need to do something fun!” He had said from the kitchen counter, hair glowing and eyes like two green beacons. “Live a little! We’re already part dead! Let go!” 

So she trudged her way to the Public Library. If she had to get out of the house to shut her brother up, she’d at least be an introvert about it. 

Jazz put on her best pleasant face and made her way to the librarian’s desk to get registered. 

The woman behind the counter was like looking into a warped mirror. Glasses, hair just a shade brighter, and eyes the wrong color looked back at her in mirrored surprise. 

“Bad hair day?” the mirror image guessed, pointing at the slouchy hat and messy bun that contained the mass of copper hair that Jazz hadn’t cut in the last year. 

“Uh yeah. Little brother was pestering me about going out, so I’m here for a library card.” Jazz rambled, doing her best to not play with the strap of her purse. 

“I’m Barbara, and welcome to Gotham Public Library!” The woman smiled warmly. 

When Jazz handed over her ID for Barbara to input the required information in the database the lady smirked. “I met your brother a few days ago actually. Tall, scrawny, likes space?”

Jazz groaned. “I’m so sorry about him.” 

The librarian’s glasses were white from the monitor. “Oh don’t worry about it, I know how younger siblings are. They mean well, they’re just annoying about it.” 

Card squared away, Jazz went in search of a quiet corner to read a trashy romance novel in. 

~~ 

Jason took his rare day off to visit the Library. He was also going to drop off a coffee for Barbara, and maybe sweet talk some info out of her. 

He needed some blackmail to lord over some birds. 

“Jason! How good to see you in the daylight! Oh! Coffee! Gimmie,” his favorite tech person greeted. 

Coffee offering made, Jason and Barbara traded information. 

“You should take a load off.” She suggested, waving him away towards the adult fiction shelves as some patrons came to check out. “See you at dinner Sunday!” 

The building was warm today, rare sunlight coming through the skylights and windows, making his leather jacket too hot to wear indoors. And there was nothing else pressing on his schedule today, so why not read a bit? 

Austen novel in hand, Jason made his way to his favorite reading nook. Instead of the two empty armchairs he’d push together into a lounge, there was a woman already there, firmly in the ray of sun that made her red hair look like fire. 

Her long legs were stretched out, boots cluncking together in a slow rhythm as she read. 

“Oh,”  

Bright green eyes startled and looked at him dead in the eyes. He blinked, and they were no longer green but a calming ocean blue.  

“Sorry,” she said, folding her legs back to let him pass. 

“Nah, it’s okay, I kind of want to soak in some sun too. Mind sharing?” Jason offered, fully prepared to leave the tall amazon alone.  But deep down he felt something warm and grow fuzzy. 

“Sure,” she scooted her chair over and pulled the other closer so they both shared the spot of sun. “I’m Jazz.” 

He sat down next to her and the scent of her shampoo reminded him of the herby bread that Alfred made with soup. She stretched out again and he realized that her legs were much longer then his. 

“I’m Jason.”

Inside the pit barely rippled. 

Her phone beeped and she opened the beat-up thing to scoff. “Danny for Ancient’s sake,” she typed something out only for another beep to immediately reply.  

Jason frowned. “Danny your boyfriend?” 

Blue eyes met him in an exasperated roll. “No. He's just a little brother who can’t mind his own business. Now he wants a selfie to prove ‘I’m not alone being a cave troll.’ Just a sec.” 

She started to angle away to send a picture of her flipping off the phone, but Jason pulled her closer and let his arm be visible around her shoulders in the selfie. He hadn’t thought, just acted. 

There was a surprising amount of muscle under that sweater.

The pit purred in pleasure and Jason wanted to melt into the floor. 

Jazz giggled, her smile showing teeth that were just a little too sharp. “Oh he’ll be happy with this I think. Only thing that would be better is if you had a big black motorcycle. That’d send him through the roof.” 

His breath hitched. The sun must’ve been too hot, and he felt himself grow warm under that bright smile. 

“Would a black and red motorcycle do?”  Was this flirting? Was he flirting? Was it working? He hoped it was working.

Those eyes lit up again and she tossed the book onto the chair, towering over him. “That’s perfect. He hates the idea of me on a motorcycle with a biker boyfriend.” 

Jason stood up and tossed his jacket to Jazz with a feral smile. “Let’s get you some pictures riding a motorcycle my lady.” 

The pit crowed in happiness, a rare thing when not caused by blood or murder. He made sure to get a few pictures of her on his bike with his own phone before remembering it should really be on Jazz’s phone, to send to Jazz’s brother. 

Not wanting the fun time to end, he put his helmet in her hands. “I know a good burger joint. Want to stay out late? See some sights?”

He was so focused on the redhead woman in his leather jacket straddling his bike, he forgot about the other redhead with access to the security cameras.

[laurorne]

༊*·˚ BUT A WHISPER || criston cole x targaryen!reader

summary: a knights love for his lady isn’t always innocent, nor wholly good. and it seems, ser criston is entirely and utterly infatuated with you, and you don’t entirely mind it.

warning(s): nsfw!! softcore yan! criston, smut, religious mentions, semi-public make out, dry humping, criston leave targaryen princesses alone challenge when? (reader is implied to be targaryen but there’s no parental mention)

word count: 574

a/n: hii!! this is my attempt at getting back into writing nsfw on a blog, this is only a drabble because i just wanted some quick practise, but if you wanna request anything, feel very free to :))

a muffled breath, the creak of leather as his gloved hands tighten on your cheeks. thumbs caressing your jaw as he smothers your lips in a kiss.

desperate, needy, wanton.

he pants, lips still brushing yours as he takes a shallow breath to press back to the plush of your lips. his hips knocking against yours has the hilt of his sword prodding your side as he pushes impossibly closer.

you’re surrounded by him, in tough leathers and fine fabrics. your arms are quick to wind around his neck, chest pressing up into him as you allow him to indulge recklessly. in the middle of a hallway, teased and wanting. his tongue pressing against your bottom lip, tracing the flesh and begging for permission, begging for reassurance that you want him just as badly. you do.

he pulls away, lips pressed to the curve of your cheek as one of his hand traces the curve of your neck, falling lower and lower to your ribs. thumb brushing through the fabric of your dress onto the skin below your breast. “this is a bad idea, criston.”

a fluttering open mouthed kiss and a swipe of his tongue, and he’s devoted. “i love you.”

it’s weak and it’s whiny and god it stirs something within you. something curling and angry and sweet all at the same time. fluttering at the pit of your stomach as he follows the pulse of your arteries.

in the near absent light, his dark brown eyes have you. have your heart beating against your rib cage wildly, pleading to be let out. begging to be let out of its cage and placed within his. his hand leaves your ribs in favour of a fist full of thigh. hoisting the leg up to lay flush against his. the heat of his body heady against yours, comforting and unbearable all the same.

he’s pawing at the cloth, attempting to move it out of his way and gain access to what he really wants. a snug home for him, only him. he’s lucky, by the seven is he lucky. to even have the chance to touch you like this. frantically and desperately in a deserted hallway in the dead of the night. to have you allow him to take it this far, you are gracious.

your hand trails down his chest, past the open slip of his chest and to the lacing lower. near the leather belt and the sloppily tucked in ends of his shirt. “you are far to needy, sweet knight.”

he pants against your pulse point, open-mouthed and needy. he continues his endeavour on your throat though, he’s past your teasing comments by now. he presses butterfly kisses to that spot on your throat.

tongue laving over the spot before he bites down on it, not daring to suck hard enough to leave a mark on your skin, no, never. you’re to beautiful for such depravity. “and you are far to accomodating.”

criston rolls his hips into yours, pressing far closer than before so you can feel just how much your accomodation has effected his greed. you stick the breathy moan growing in your throat with a pin as you share a pointed look with him. at which he jostles you mockingly, thigh pressing up into your cunt as his hand roughly cups your breast through your dress. thumbing over your nipple as he inhales the oils you’d bathed in today.

his devotion makes something stir in you, you’re not entirely sure you hate this attention either.

[saetoshi]

itoshi sae hates laundry day ever since your dryer broke.

(he broke it. neither of you know what he did, but he broke it and he hasn’t bought a new one since.)

he especially hates when it rains. it means he’s stuck with a pile of wet clothes and no place to dry them in.

it also means he’s stuck sitting in front of the doors to your balcony, glaring at the sky when he realizes the rain isn’t going to let up soon.

he hears the front door open, signaling your arrival. he makes no move to look at you, but he greets you back when you call out to him.

“it’s raining.”

“i know,” he sighs in annoyance.

“do we have a bucket?”

“i think so,” he gets up from his spot on the floor with a groan, “why?”

he turns his head in your direction, eyes widening in panic when he sees you standing by the door, soaking wet.

you point at the clothes clinging to your body, “it’s raining hard.”

“i know,” he rushes to you, “why’re you drenched?”

“i could’ve sworn i packed your umbrella,” he clicks his tongue, lifting up your arms to get you out of your shirt.

you kick your pants off, “it broke.”

he picks up your clothes, dragging you to the bathroom. he tosses your clothes in the sink, gently pushing you into the shower.

he takes his phone out to check the weather, slightly frowning when he realizes it won’t let up for at least another hour.

he relaxes when he hears the shower head running. “i made food.”

the corners of his lips quirk up when you groan in disgust.

“couldn’t you have ordered delivery or something?” he can hear the distress on your voice.

“it would’ve taken too long to arrive,” he bites back his smile, “plus, i was starving.”

you whine. he laughs, “eating my food once won’t kill you.”

“last time you cooked,” the shower head turns off, “we had to rush to the hospital because you gave me food poisoning.”

you stick your arm out of the shower door.

“first off,” he hands you a towel. “you were already sick.”

“and,” he grins when you step out of the shower, towel snug around your shivering frame, “if my food had, in fact, poisoned you as you say, then why was i completely fine?”

you glare, averting your gaze from his, a soft huff slipping past your lips. “you tell me.”

you perk up, turning your head towards the sink. “why are my clothes in the sink?”

“the washer’s full with our laundry.”

you turn to look at him, blinking curiously. “why didn’t you throw them in there, then?”

“the clothes in the washer are already clean.”

“oh.” you sway on your feet, “you haven’t dried them?”

sae shakes his head, a dry smile on his lips, “it’s raining really hard.”

and amused hum leaves your lips, “you really need to buy a new dryer.”

“i know,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “i’ll do it tomorrow.”

there’s a beat of silence.

“sae.”

he looks at you.

you point at the sink, “those were the only clean clothes i had left.”

he blinks. you blink back, a sheepish smile on your lips. he sighs before taking off his shirt and offering it to you.

“that’s the only clean shirt you have left too, isn’t it?” you tentatively reach out to grab it, motioning for him to turn around.

“how’d you know?”

you slip the shirt over your head, smiling at his curious tone, “it’s the only big shirt you have.”

“you also said you’d be caught dead before wearing it out in public,” you laugh in amusement.

(he did say that. the very first day you saw him in it, actually. it’s officially become his ‘i’ve got nothing else left to wear’ shirt.)

“whatever,” his ears flush, “can i turn around now?”

you hum, pressing a kiss to his cheek when he does. he kisses your forehead in return.

“c’mon.” sae tugs you out of the bathroom.

“where are we going?”

“kitchen.” he turns to look at you, a mischievous smile on his face, “you haven’t eaten yet.”

a horrified expression paints your face. he laughs at you. you try to wriggle out of his grasp, “i’m not hungry!”

“oh, please,” he rolls his eyes, “you’ll be fine.”

“itoshi sae,” you cry, “if i die i’m leaving everything i own to your little brother!”

“you don’t even know him.”

you sulk, “he still deserves it more than you!”

he scoffs, “it’s not like i’m the one doing your laundry or anything.”

“you broke my dryer.”

“i’ll buy you a new one.” he glances out the window. it’s not raining as hard. (he hopes it stops soon.)

“it better be a good one.”

he looks back at you, a smile tugs at his lips to return the one on your face. you both fall silent, the soft pitter patter of the rain against your windows being the only sound in the apartment.

you stay like that for a bit, the sound of rain soothing both of you. until you hear a thunderclap. sae’s eyes widen at the same time yours do. you stare at each other for a few seconds.

your lips form into a fine line, “we should order a dryer.”

“yeah,” he sounds breathless.

“we should do it now.”

“yeah.” he dumbly nods his head. “we should.”

[theemporium]

Sirius Black was the bane of your existence.

In this world, it was a hunt or be hunted kind of world. Humans always assumed they were at the top of the food chain. They were ignorant and self-assured and always seemed to assume they were the predators everyone else should fear. They were stupidly arrogant with their own worth, and it was what made them the perfect prey for the true monsters at the top of the food chain—the vampires.

But that was where your kind came in, the true predators at the top of the food chain. 

You were the hunters. You were the ones who got rid of the fanged pests that roamed the Earth. You were the ones to protect the humans, to rid the world of the monsters that were nothing but parasites. 

And you were a good hunter. 

You were trained from a young age to be a killer of the killers. You were trained to be ruthless, merciless, unforgiving when it came to vampires. You were trained to evade their manipulations, to outsmart them, to beat them even if they are stronger and faster and older. You were trained to spot these monsters before you could even write your own name. 

It was your destiny, your fate, your legacy.

“Gonna poke me with your wee stick, love?” 

But for a reason that was beyond your understanding, the one vampire that always seemed to slip away was Sirius Black.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, panting softly as you straddled the boy with your knees pinning his arms to his sides and the stake in your hand just hovering over his chest. 

“What if I like the sound of my own voice?” He retorted, a teasing grin on his face as he looked far too relaxed for someone who was potentially seconds away from dying. 

It had been like a sick cat-and-mouse game. You would find him and trap him and have him in your grasp, and then he would slip away. He loved it. You hated it. But now you got him when he least expected it. The woods were currently swarming with other hunters that were looking for him, but now you had him. 

“I would say sorry to your ears,” you replied bluntly, pushing the tip of the stake deeper into his chest—just enough to make him a little hiss.

“Fucking hell, love,” he breathed out with a laugh. “You really don’t play about it.”

You ignored him, eyes narrowing in focus. “Any last words, Black?” 

“I have many words I would like to say to you,” Sirius confessed, the smirk still plastered on his face. “But I have a feeling they will just make you kill me faster.”

“You don’t seem scared,” you noted in annoyance.

“Why would I be scared when you’re on top of me, love?” Sirius remarked, watching in amusement at the way your face faltered a little with his words. “I happen to like attractive women sitting on me.” He paused as his grin widened. “Or on my face.”

“You’re gross,” you commented with a frown.

“But you’re not that disgusted, are you, love?” Sirius snapped back, raising his brows in a teasing manner when you fell quiet. “I can smell you, love. I know exactly how my words make you feel. I can hear how fast your heart is beating.”

“That’s just adrenaline,” you argued weakly.

“You want something that really gets your heart racing?” Sirius questioned, flashing you a glimpse of the sharp teeth poking his bottom lip. 

You barely had a chance to react before he had flipped you both over. Your body was pinned to the ground, the stake long gone and Sirius now covering your body with his own. He had your wrists pinned above your head, his other hand slowly tracing down your face despite you trying to jerk away from his touch.

“I could rip your throat out,” he mused as his fingers gently traced over your pulse point. “One move and you could be dead before you could even think about screaming for help.”

You squirmed beneath him. “Then do it.”

He just laughed, shaking his head. “But that’s not fun, sweetheart.” 

“Wanker,” you spat out, ready to say so much more until he rolled his hips against yours. An embarrassing noise left your lips, your cheeks burning when Sirius only grinned in response.

“Oh, you like that,” he hummed as he began to rock back and forth, letting out a low groan of pleasure. “Fuck, you don’t know how badly I wanted to fuck that attitude out of you.” 

You tried to pull on your wrists, tried to pull away from him but your attempts were weak, and you both knew that. You closed your eyes, trying to convince yourself that you didn’t enjoy it or that this was a part of Sirius’ sick game before he killed you. 

But then his head dipped down to your neck, his fangs scraping over a sensitive spot below your ear and you were arching into him. 

In another flash, you were pressed against a tree. Your hands were still pinned above your head, not that you were really fighting his hold now. His dark eyes found yours, something heated and primal shining that had you clenching your thighs together.

“I would have done this ages ago if I knew it shut you up so easily,” he commented jokingly, but your witty retort was lost on your lips when he was slipping his hand beneath the waistband of your training leathers. 

It was embarrassing just how quickly he had you crumbling, how quickly you gave into his touch despite the years of training to evade and avoid vampires’ tricks—including seduction. But he knew just where to touch you, knew just what spots tipped you over the edge, knew just how to make you whimper in that pretty, high-pitched way that he always dreamed of.

And before you knew it, both of your clothes were long gone, ripped and abandoned somewhere on the woodland floor as he fucked you against the tree. 

“What would your lil’ hunter friends say now?” Sirius teased as he gripped your thighs and guided your legs around his waist. “What would they say if they saw what a slut you were for some vampire cock?”

“Fuck you,” you muttered out between breathless moans as he thrusted into you, your tits bouncing with each move.

“I already am, sweetheart,” Sirius retorted, looking far too smug for your liking but you couldn’t even bring yourself to say anything. “And don’t you look fucking gorgeous when you’re all fucked out. My new lil’ toy, aren’t you, love?”

You whined, shaking your head but your walls clenching around his cock said another story.

“Gonna keep you around, sweetheart,” Sirius groaned, his teeth nipping your skin enough to make you choke on a gasped moan. “My pretty, cock-hungry hunter, hm? Think all my buddies are gonna be jealous.”

“Sirius,” you whimpered, feeling the coil in your stomach tighten at his filthy words. 

“Gonna fuck that stupid hunter training out of your head, love. You’re gonna be my cock-drunk whore, hm? My pretty slut.” 

And he could only take your response as a solid yes as you came on his cock, completely under his seduction and control.

.

[dollsuguru]

Hello! You can totally ignore if this isn’t up your alley but you could write something about suguru watching reader from afar while they grieve him for leaving? Either it’s super sad or twisted cause he feels happy that you love him enough to grieve him

I also could send in nsfw requests if you want those too

“the choiceless grief that drove him underground.”

contents: f!reader, mentions of guilt, stalking, & mass murder. both characters express grief in different ways. bit of callous/twisted suguru, a nod to his dacryphilia as well. mainly angsty but i guess at the core of it… it’s sweet? w.c: ~ 1.4k

a/n: rem, i owe you my life & then some! :’) thank you SO much for the concept idea! <3 i love delving into the twisted/not-so pretty parts of suguru so i hope you enjoy! :D

the premise of the situation is quite… haunting.

to mourn a friend, (‘a lover’ — his voice gently admonishes from the back of your mind), who isn’t dead.

he still roams around the aether — akin to a ghost. and here you are, grieving a corporeal phantom of your past.

both you and suguru have a penchant for nostalgia, him moreso than you. it’s why he’s here now at the foothills of mount mushiro, camouflaging himself into the shadows of the night, depleting his own cursed energy so there’s not a single trace of him left. he stands there in a vantage point hidden behind massive japanese oak trees, a lonely specter peering wistfully at his dearly beloved.

ex-beloved, rather, he should say.

it was of his own volition anyways.

your lack of cursed energy leaves a bitter taste in his mouth when he remembers why he despises you so. the healed x-shaped scar on his chest burns and he wants to give you a matching one on your heart, as a reminder. you’re worse than a curse, he forces himself to seethe. heavenly restriction, huh? nothing heavenly about you…

a sick part of suguru wants to finally see you shatter — to watch someone as powerful as you break down and wail with such unbridled anguish, to hear your sorrowful screams pierce through the night sky like a gunshot wound to the head. something about imagining the way your tears would stick to your lashes makes his heart beat unbearably fast from within his ribcage. from sadness or intrigue, he doesn’t quite know…

he just selfishly craves to be the cause of it. to have you drown in tears of melancholy & be sundered by it like a tsunami of eerie desolation — to be plagued with devotion and corruption. just like him.

he wants you to get on your hands and knees and prostrate yourself to him — to lower yourself at his feet.

beneath him.

where you should be.

to apologize for being you. to apologize for coming into his life. to apologize for making him fall in love. to apologize for being his greatest curse. his greatest regret.

(regret for loving you or regret for leaving you… he’s not sure, yet. he’ll decide when he’s of more sound mind.)

yet all he gets is… just you… sitting there. expressionless.

suguru huffs quietly, his low-lidded gaze is heavy with fatigue and slight boredom. his soft exhales turn into smoky vapor in front of him, evaporating within seconds. he tediously redirects his amber irises back at you, observing you like a science experiment, scrutinizing your every move… only if you had done something, of course.

he notes that your stony face betrays no emotions, your body is rigid as if in living rigor-mortis. he surmises that the only thing that differentiates you from the zen statues around you is the gentle wisps of your hair across your face courtesy of the cold wind, crisp due to the night air.

before he realizes it, suguru’s fingers involuntarily twitch.

muscle memory.

(the same fingers have brushed against the plush of your cheek, caressed your hair & gently moved the strands away from your face. soft finger-pads outlined your lips gently, the shape of your cupid’s bow committed to memory. suguru figured the name was quite apt… he found himself wholly enraptured & in love.

hit by eros’ arrow the very moment he laid eyes on you — his lighthouse. his demise.)

a slight sniffle breaks suguru out of his reverie. he snaps his head back up at you, pierced brows furrowed and bright ochre eyes wide. he ignores the pang in his chest, his shock overtaking his senses leaving him paralyzed.

are you…?

your reddened eyes flit towards the foliage where suguru hides behind, and you softly rasp out a tired sigh. your lack of words are far more frigid than the midnight air, causing an ice cold shiver to run through suguru’s spine.

forcing the constriction in his throat back down, he exhales shakily, in a state of utter shock.

right.

heightened senses. superhuman physical capabilities. you always knew where suguru was before he ever knew where you were. a relationship of mutual indulgence — you pretend you don’t see him, and he pretends that you don’t know where he is at all times. as if you haven’t memorized his scent, his mannerisms, his soul. as if you couldn’t recognize him through physical vibrations alone.

just pretend you don’t see me now… indulge me one last time… please.

muscle memory.

you look away.

you focus your gaze towards the skyline of bountiful forest green trees, impeccable eyesight zeroing in on a tree with a heart carved around both his and your initials upon the espresso bark. the same tree where you had rested your head on suguru’s lap while he read his favorite books to you. the same tree where you had both shared your first kiss. the same tree where you had found out from a dear friend that suguru had murdered a whole village — some bullshit about him wanting to create a world with no curses. no non-sorcerers. no you.

you once playfully joked to suguru that you loved him more than he loved you. you remember the way his fists clenched at his sides, the furrow in his brow coupled with the immediate narrowing of his eyes, along with the slight snarl in his lip and voice pierced your soul as he resolutely scolded you — no one could ever love as deeply, as passionately, as genuinely as he loves you.

loved, rather, you should say.

what a fuckin’ liar.

…

in a blink of an eye, you disappear.

like a ghost.

you leave suguru alone to his own futile devices. he figures it’s fair, to indulge you one last time too, allowing you the ‘last laugh’, though he knows there’s no victors in this sick game that’s being played. he’s walked away from you before, it’s only fitting you do the same to him now.

his feet drag him to where you were hunched over before, his brain unable to catch up to what his body is doing. something glints in the moonlight, there in your stead, atop the plush green grass.

he crouches down, picking up the small photograph. the faded polaroid feels far heavier in his hand than he would think. a delicious shiver runs down suguru’s spine when he realizes his fingertips are touching where yours have touched. the bitterness that found its way in his mouth in the beginning washes away, leaving only a sickly sweet flavor that surrounds his mouth like pillowy cotton candy.

it’s one he hasn’t seen. you must’ve kept this with you all this time, he muses.

a photo, a candid, of him.

the pink sakura petals offered up a beautiful backdrop after a mission you two took in kyoto. back then, his smile was genuine & unbelievably wide — pearly whites on display, his pierced cherry red lips matched the camellia red blush that painted his cheeks — no doubt from your flirtatious comments about his beauty. his eyes were squinted, a photo you took of him while mid-laugh. he pushed his bangs aside while speaking to you, wanting to give you his full attention. the promise ring on his finger glinted in the sunlight along with the silver hairpin you gifted him moments before you took the photo, its amethyst gem dangling above his bun. a beacon of light.

a sign of devotion, of unending love. a promise.

suguru’s heart feels a bit heavier than he would like it to, yet the soft smile that graces his features is the most genuine form of adoration he’s exhibited since his defection. inundated with grief, you still held on to him.

an anchor of your past. a plague of your present. a welcoming calamity of your future.

“you still love me too, huh?” he softly whispers into the night, a sad smile on his face.

he gazes up at the moon. it looks quite beautiful tonight. he silently hopes you’re staring at it too.

thinking of him the same way he’s thinking of you.

[angelofacidx]

Pet pt 2

CW: Drugging, kidnapping, abuse, etc you get it

Part 1:

Your wrists had been rubbed raw and blistered from the constant use of handcuffs and your incessant thrashing. The collar, Simon quickly found out, was not a good fit for you. When determined enough you could slip it over your head, squishing down your nose and tugging strands of hair out. It had been eight—no, nine. Nine days after your first escape attempt. You track the days from their computer in the office, straining your leg as far as it will from your fixed position on the floor until your foot bumps the keyboard and brings the monitor to life. Nine days since the incident, and fifteen since you’ve been taken.

The screened side door was open like an invitation when you’d gotten free from the collar, and who were you to deny a mercy? Your captors seemed to be gone every three or four days for a couple hours to make the trek into town. If memory served, you’d have about an hour before they got back. It was now or never. You were off like a bullet, whizzing through the yard and beginning your journey onto the desolate dirt road. Maybe there’d be a car to help you, or hit you. You didn’t care at this point.

About a mile up the road your prayers were answered. A big black beat up truck sat just to the side of the road, parked, and—Oh fuck. Johnny was the first one out of the vehicle, a deeply wounded expression on his face as he paced towards you, frozen in fear. You didn’t even register Simon following behind him.

“Told ya Johnny. Can’t trust mutts to behave.” Simon announced, smugly.

He set you up. He wanted to catch you in the act. The bastard.

Your memories come to a dead stop, the pain in your ankles taking the forefront of your mind. They’d snapped them when you escaped, as easily as busting open a glow stick. Your punishment left you unable to walk or stand, only crawl on your hands and knees, wobbly like a puppy.

The door to the office opened slowly, letting you know from the action alone that it was Johnny and not Simon who would swing the door open so hard it hit the wall.

“Brought ye some food and a blanket.” His voice calm as he puts the plate on the floor for you and drapes the blanket over the hard surface of the crate you’d been sleeping in at night.

You watch him take a seat on the office chair, his hand extending to your head and offering you a few reassuring and affectionate pats. As much as you hate to admit it, the act of kindness doesn’t go unappreciated.

“Simon says if ye eat up we can take ye in the yard tomorrow. Good for ye to get some air.” He says, offering you a small smile.

Your gaze shifts down to the plate on the floor. The same leftovers that had been prepared for you since you started your little hunger strike. There was no way you’d eat off of the plate with your mouth like a dog. Sure, it was a weird hill to die on but you wanted the dignity of a table god dammit. Simon warned you that you’d be served the same cold leftovers until you caved or died of starvation. The choice was yours.

“Not hungry.” You grumble up to Johnny, wincing slightly as you try to shift away from the plate. Your ankle pain makes itself very known.

“C’mon sweetheart. I ken yer starving.” He says with a click of his tongue, picking up a piece of cold chicken off the plate.

“Open up.” He hums, extending it towards your mouth.

You do open up alright, but completely pass the food and opt for sinking your canine teeth into poor Johnny’s forearm. It’s petty and childish and not something you’d normally do, but you want him to feel a fraction of the pain you do. They want a wild animal? They’ll get one.

Johnny lurches back with a hiss, holding his arm and trying to rub out the grooves your teeth left to give himself some relief. Satisfaction washes over you for all of two seconds before your face smashes into the ground, a boot holding down the base of your skull.

“Stupid bitch.” Simon grunts from above, pressing harder until you squirm and cry out.

The boot is replaced by Simon’s hand weaving itself into your hair and yanking you up to meet his icy gaze. How is he always so quiet? How long had he been standing there?

“I’m done with your little games and tantrums. Open the fuck up. Now.” He says, his voice pure venom and malice.

You follow his demand, letting your lips part and head tilt back, balancing on your aching knees and trying to keep pressure off your injured ligaments.

“This is your fault too,” Simon quips as he rips down Johnny’s pants and boxers revealing his soft cock. “Coddled it too much. Now it thinks actions don’t have consequences.”

Johnny’s hips are pushed forward until his pelvic bone meets your nose and his cock is guided into your mouth by Simon’s hand. Feeling it begin to harden makes your eyes widen, beginning to sputter and choke, but Simon simply forces you back down onto him.

“Stay.” He commands, lowering his tone and exiting the room.

Johnny casts his eyes down to you, his expression half lust and half pity, his lower lip jutting out slightly as he tries to reassure you with a hand through your hair. It works temporarily and you scold yourself for feeling anything for someone who had a hand in your capture.

Simon returns shortly with a single long black paracord woven between his fingers. Quickly, the cord is secured around the base of your skull and meets around Johnny’s ass where he loops it a few times before tying it off; effectively trapping you to Johnny’s pelvis with his dick crammed down your throat.

“I will be back in an hour and we will try dinner and bed time again.” Simon announces before slamming the door, leaving you to overstimulate Johnny’s cock with your sputtering as you fight to breathe.

You’ll definitely take this as a lesson.