#they’re fucking dead in their bedroom and once you open your bedroom door again you’re next

[akkpipitphattana]

truly if i explained some of the things my anxiety convinces me of, i’d be admitted

[rememberwren]

Just a Ghoap/military!fem!reader little sex pollen drabble for the anon who requested it ages ago :) dub con, fingering. Reader is carried by Ghost but otherwise featureless and without description.

-

Ghost can take the screams. He can take the cries, the pleas, the begging. He does take it, planting himself outside the singular bedroom door of the safehouse they’re holed up in until the storm passes, his dark eyes watching Johnny pace a hole in the goddamn floor, ready to come between you and the Sergeant should needs must.

But it’s the silence that breaks him.

It’s even caught Johnny’s attention. The man stops his pacing and stands facing the bedroom, his face somber, both of their ears cocked toward the door as they listen for any sign of you on the other side. Maybe the wet sounds of you fucking yourself on your own fingers. Maybe more begging—begging for Ghost or Johnny or both at once to come in and stuff you full with their cocks.

No sound comes.

“Fuck it,” Ghost says, beginning to strip. “I’m going in there.”

“The hell you are,” Johnny says, stepping into Ghost’s space. He points a finger towards your pointed silence. “She’s been compromised; she cannot consent!”

“She’s in there dying, Johnny,” Ghost says, the sound of ripping velcro loud in the quiet of the house. “She needs to get fucked or she’ll die. I’ll take the fucking discharge.”

“She’ll hate you for this.”

“She’ll be alive to do it; that’s good enough for me.”

Johnny grips his bare arm once he’s stripped out of his kit, fingertips digging into scarred skin. “You’re not going in there without me. If one of us has to do it, then the other has to help him keep his head, aye? You’ll do no more than what you have to do to keep her alive.”

Ghost brushes off Johnny’s touch, something which is normally welcome. He’d break Johnny’s wrist for suggesting otherwise if he didn’t think Johnny might need both hands for what’s to come.

When they unlock and open the door to the bedroom the silence is near eerie. You’re not on the bed where they left you, and it takes a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and find you laying on the floor beside the bed, like you had rolled out of it or fallen in your attempts to make it to the door. Your body is still except for the bone-deep shivers that wrack your figure. Ghost goes to your side and rolls you over onto your back, puts a hand to your forehead and withdraws from the way your skin burns with fever.

“Go start the shower. Tepid, Johnny. Not cold,” Ghost instructs him.

“Aye,” says Johnny, rushing into the tiny adjoined bathroom. The sound of water follows.

“Come on,” Ghost mutters to you softly. He tries to work his hand between your legs, but they are clamped shut tightly, the muscles seized up. It reminds him too much of the stiffness of a dead body. Instead he begins the arduous work of stripping you down, unlacing your boots, working your pants down your wide hips and thighs. It’s good enough.

Johnny reappears. “Shower’s ready. How is she?”

“Brain’s turning into a nice golden chip,” Ghost mutters, standing and hauling you up with him. You’re heavier than you look, especially when your body refuses to go limp in his arms. He steps into the bathroom and takes brief stock of it: the small, dirty porcelain tub, the shower faucet that is more of a dribble than a spray. He climbs into the tub with his clothes on and lays with you, both your bodies filling it to the brim as the cool water rains down on your figures.

Johnny kneels at the tubside. “What’s she need?”

“To cum,” Ghost says. He tries to work his hand between your thighs again, but your body actively fights against him, muscles trembling from the strain. At last he can work his fingers between your legs and he finds you sodden, soaked, dripping from the burning heat of your core. All he has to do is brush his fingers over the swollen knot of your clit and your body seizes against him, your jaw unclenching around a shriek as you cum for the first time. You arch against him like a cat, groaning like the frantic touch is the best thing you’ve ever felt. Pure pleasure to your frying synapses.

“Jesus,” Johnny mutters.

“Good girl,” Ghost mutters, unsure if you can even hear him. You’re still fighting against him, but not as much—or perhaps your body is growing tired, weak. He can work his hand between your thighs now, gathering your slick onto his three middlemost fingers and dragging the wetness up over your aching clit, rubbing in soft, rapid circles. This time when you cum, your knees snap open wide, cracking against the sides of the porcelain tub as your hips thrust upwards, chasing his fingers. The sounds that pour from your mouth combined with the way you writhe against him has his cock hardening against your back. Ghost takes even, measured breaths, trying to leave his body behind and focus on your own.

Johnny is fairing no better, shifting on his knees, cock pressed against the side of the porcelain tub. He reaches a hand down and adjusts himself, but lingers too long, until it’s impossible to call it anything but what it is: playing with himself.

A groan rips from your throat, forming syllables, nonsensical. You roll in Ghost’s grasp, your clothes clinging to your wet skin until your clothed breasts are pressed to his chest. Your eyes are open now but so frighteningly empty, glossy with fever and bloodshot. Your gaze doesn’t focus on him as you struggle to grind yourself against the hardening tent in his pants, fingers stiff and useless even as you grab at and cling to him.

“Give her some fingers,” Johnny insists. Your head turns toward the sound, and you scramble out of the tub, flinging water everywhere as you push him backwards off balance, pin him to the ceramic tile floor, and grind your cunt against his cock.

“Fu-uck,” Johnny groans, hands finding your hips. He stills you, the muscles in his arms straining as you put all your strength into defying him. “Lass, you don’t know what you’re doing—!”

Ghost climbs out of the tub, dripping wet. He turns the water off—hopeful that your fever is already beginning to abate now that they are giving in to your body’s needs—and loops an arm around your waist, wrenching you off of Johnny. Some help his Sergeant is. (Ghost had expected him to be about this useless.)

“Sit up,” Ghost barks. Johnny can still follow orders, sitting up and scooting back until his back is braced against the wall. Ghost puts you between his legs, facing away from him. “Hold her open.”

Johnny grips your thighs, fingers dimpling the soft flesh. His face is pained—whether that pain is coming from his cock or from his soft bleeding heart, Ghost doesn’t know. Doesn’t really care. He searches the soaked space between your thighs, finding your entrance and slipping two thick fingers into you.

You howl, body bowing against Johnny’s. Inside, you are like burning silk, soft and molten, squeezing tight around the girth of his fingers. He hooks them softly, aiming for that spongy area behind your pubic bone and works to fuck you with vigor, the wet squelches of your cunt nearly obscene in the enclosed, tiled space.

Your mouth forms words, simple ones: “Yes, yes, yesyesyesyes,” until you are hissing the word, your head thrown back to rest on Johnny’s shoulder and expose your corded throat, shirt sticking to your skin. When you run out of breath, you can’t draw in more, your body frozen in time, trembling with need. When you cum, you fucking squirt, a rush of wetness that follows his fingers when he trails them out of you and skims them over your clit to prolong the orgasm.

“Jesus,” Johnny mutters again, burying his face against your neck.

“No gods here,” Ghost reminds him. He reaches up and taps his wet fingers against Johnny’s cheek, thrills as Johnny turns his head and opens his mouth to take them, to suck them clean, groaning.

“No,” you shriek, wrapping both hands around Ghost’s wrist. You tug with all your strength, his fingers slipping wetly from Johnny’s mouth. “No—back inside, please put them back, please—”

But Ghost knows that these are only temporary fixes to get you off of death’s doorstep. If he wants to truly save your life, he knows the cost. What’s the use in prolonging your pain?

Ghost should pay up.

“I’ve got something better for you,” Ghost promises. To Johnny, he says: “Help me get her to the bed.”

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Five

“Robs!” Steve shouts through the apartment, toeing his shoes off at the door.

“Kitchen!”

Steve heads through, and he can’t help but notice something looks kind of off. It looks different in here but he can’t quite put his finger on it, “Robs, did you do something to your apartment?”

“Yeah, I cleaned it.”

“Oooh. Yeah,” Steve looks back through the kitchen doorway, “yeah, that’s what’s different.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, bitch.”

“Fuckface.”

Steve frowns, there’s a cookbook propped open and actual like, fresh ingredients on the chopping board, “what are you doing?”

“Is that a rhetorical question because-”

“Robs, I have literally never seen you cook anything more complicated than eggs and toaster waffles, what is this,” Steve goes over to be nosy, “chicken satay skewers and bang bang cauliflower- what the actual fuck. I didn’t even know you knew what recipe books were.”

“Fuck off. And it’s for Chrissy, she said it’s her favorite-”

“Oh my god. I’m dead. I’m dead aren’t I. I got into a crash on the way-”

“Steve.”

“Alternate dimension-”

“Jesus Christ-”

“Abducted by aliens?”

“Steve, I can cook a nice meal for my girlfriend, alright, it’s not, like, illegal-”

“Your what?!”

She stops and actually turns to look at him, she’s wearing her absolute dead serious face, “Steve. I like her. A lot.”

“So now you’re what, fucking pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen-”

“Steve! Look. She’s clever. She’s funny. She’s kind. She calls me out on my bullshit and she is extremely hot doing it. She plays volleyball Steve. Volleyball. Have you ever seen girls play volleyball? Not only is it insanely aggressive but the shorts are so tiny they’re on the verge of disappearing up her crack and it’s socially acceptable for me to go out and watch that Steve.”

“Yeah but- you don’t have to like, date her to get all of that-”

“I do. I do Steve. Because I want to. We can’t just do,” she gestures vaguely, “this for our entire lives.”

“But whyyyyy?” Steve whines.

“Because we have to grow up at some point.”

“Yeah but...now?” Steve knows he’s pouting.

“Good a time as any, anyway, aren’t you literally about to go to dinner at Eddie’s uncles place? Literally the only notable family member that he has? His only parental figure and therefore the most important person in his life-”

“You can stop now.”

“I’m just saying that sounds kind of serious-”

“I will throw myself off the roof to get out of this dinner. Don’t test me.”

Robin completely ignores him, “I’ve seen how Eddie looks at you,” Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes, “Steve, that boy looks at you like he’d crawl a mile over broken glass to sniff your farts. Could you just like, appreciate that about him for thirty god damn seconds.”

Steve has a range of acceptable beer. He has picked up a six pack of something from uncomfortably near the bottom of that range. He takes a deep breath as he grabs it off the passenger seat.

Steve’s pretty sure he’s never been inside a trailer once in his damned life, and he has absolutely no idea what to expect. From the outside it looks...cramped. Steve’s certain his entire bedroom is bigger than this whole place.

Steve prepares himself to be polite about whatever he’s about to walk into.

Eddie fucking lights up when he opens the door, it makes Steve skin itchy while simultaneously something flaps about in his stomach, “oh wow, you bought the good beer!” Eddie looks thrilled as he takes it to put in the fridge.

Which he makes it to in about four steps because the kitchen is like, right there. And Steve’s taken one step in through the door and he’s already in the middle of the lounge, which is, efficient, he guesses.

“Here, come sit at the table, Wayne’s about done with dinner.”

“Errr...thanks.” Eddie indicates a place at a cramped little built in breakfast nook type thing, and Steve slides in just as Wayne appears from down the hall.

It was fucking awkward getting in, it’s even more awkward getting straight back out again so he can shake Wayne’s hand, “good to see you again Sir.”

Steve gets a firm handshake, and then not two minutes later he’s eating the first bite of what might be the best thing he’s ever put in his mouth. Wayne Muson makes a pot roast that should win a Michelin Star. Who could have fucking predicted that.

[likedovesinthewindd]

While we’re on the topic: I’m thinking of noncommittal!reader where Patrick and reader get into a heated argument about reader not taking Patrick seriously because she does just see him as a racket and a dick but she’ll never admit it because he treats her nicely and but he can see right through her so when he breaks up with her to be with Tashi she’s very chill and nonchalant about it even though she misses him bc he kept good company and so when she runs into him on campus and they’re waiting for their friend Art to finish practice (or something) they get into another argument for the first time since they’ve broken up because she doesn’t fight for him. Lots of that’s your problem’s and WHY WON’T YOU FIGHT FOR US? FOR ME? from patty cakes xxx 😅😅🫡

love your writing, you’re amazing!! have a goodnight 😘😘

the can of worms you've just opened anon...I love angst it's too much fun to write. also, thank you so much 💓 also again let's pretend patrick went to stanford in this.

✰ ⊹ ˚.

"I just don't want to be a part of something that's not going anywhere." You sighed loudly, rubbing your temple as you stomped into your dorm, Patrick following shortly after. You didn't want to be having this conversation right now; you were tired from a long day and frustrated beyond understanding with an explosive headache.

"Why are we making an issue of this?" you asked, throwing yourself onto your bed as he paced around your bedroom. "You're the issue," he said pointedly, "you don't want to commit to this."

"Why are you so dead set on this whole 'commitment' thing?" you asked, moving to sit upright as you crossed your legs. "You wanna be able to tell people we're girlfriend and boyfriend?" you added, sarcasm prominent in your voice.

"That's sounds a lot better than fuck buddies," he scoffed and you rolled your eyes. You had half a mind to be spiteful and tell them that that was exactly what the two of you were— just fuck buddies — but you know you'd be lying to yourself and to him. "Is that all we are to you? Fuck buddies?" he asked, a deep hurt present in his eyes. You shook your head before you could even register his words. "No, of course not, you know that," you said hurriedly, and he scoffed.

"No, I dont, actually," he countered with a dry laugh. "I'm serious, Patrick," you tried as he came to a standstill right at the edge of the bed, looking down his nose at you like some kind of monarch. As long as you've known Patrick, you've never once felt inferior to him, so it was a strange position to find yourself in.

"Tell me you're willing you're commit to this, put a title on our relationship, then I'll take you seriously," he said, looking down at you with a sternness that made you feel small under his gaze. The words he wanted to hear so badly wanted to come out, but they were stuck in your throat and all you could do was stare at Patrick as your heart beat rapidly in your chest and your sweaty palms held your upper thighs in a vice grip.

"If you can't even say it, then I don't see any reason why we should keep doing this," he said softly, the anger in his eyes now replaced with hurt. "Then leave."

As soon as the words left you, you wanted to cover your mouth in shock, you wanted to go back in time and will yourself to not ever utter them because the look on Patrick's face as soon as those words left your mouth was devastating. He only shook his head as he mulled your words over in his head. Before you could even try to salvage anything, he was grabbing his gymbag next to your bed and slinging it over his shoulder, leaving with nothing but a "fine" and a slam of the door.

✰ ⊹ ˚.

That was about three months ago, and even though it was difficult, you've found a way to somewhat move on from Patrick. You still missed him, and the fun the two of you used to have together, even if you weren't willing to admit that to yourself or him.

You sat quietly and watched as the boys' team practiced, everyone really just doing their own thing. You knew Patrick was using the court with Art, you could see them in your peripheral, but you made a point not to even spare him a look. Patrick obviously notices this and when they finish practicing he told Art he'd join him in the locker room soon before he's making his way to you.

When you saw him making his way to where you sat, you had to physically suppress a grunt as he came to sit next to you. "Hey," he said, getting comfortable on the bench as he outstretched his arms on the backrest, the tips of his fingers touching your back. "Hi," you said, looking around to see if any of your teammates had arrived yet. When your eyes met his, he raised his brows at you in question before he spoke up again. "So," he started, "how've you been?"

"Oh, I've been great," you spoke through clenched teeth as your hands went to pull at the loose threads on your shorts. "M'yeah, I figured," he mumbled, but you caught it, your head rising as you turned to him. "What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, and he shrugged. "You didn't look too sad when we broke up," he said, "or wait, I probably shouldn't say 'break up'. We were never a couple, after all."

"It's not like that, Patrick. At all," you said softly, but he only scoffed loudly. "Yeah? Then why didn't you even try to save the relationship? As soon as I walked out of that door, it was like you were relieved to finally get rid of me," he said. "That's not true, you're putting words in my mouth," you said angrily.

"It's not? Because that's what it looked like," he said before a humorless laugh escaped his mouth, "I mean, you didn't even try. You kept saying what we had was important to you, but you just— You weren't even willing to fight for it. Not even a little."

"You didn't try either," you said hurriedly, your chest tightening with emotion as you watched his scowl deepen. "Because I tried the whole time!" he half-shouted, and you wanted the earth to swallow you whole, grateful no one was around to see this argument. "The whole time we were together, it was just me!" he continued. "I was the only one making an effort when we were together. You were always so," he paused, "so loose. It was all just a game to you. You never saw anything serious for us."

You sighed softly. "I don't understand why you came here to start an argument about this now? You're so hypocritical. Are you not with Tashi?" you asked, crossing your arms as the anger made your skin heat up.

"Yeah, I am with Tashi," he said, "I'm in a relationship with her. And I'm happy because I was tired of sitting around and waiting for you." It was a low blow, but it was the truth, and even though Patrick could see the hurt in your eyes, he didn't even feel bad. Wordlessly, he stood up and made his way to the locker rooms, leaving you with a tight chest and tears pooling in your eyes.

[the-oblivious-writer]

Meant To Be One

Gf!Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader

One-Shot

Summary: You couldn't have guessed this is where you would end up after letting Sam Carpenter in your life. Well, now you're in your room, hiding, as Sam tries to break down your door whilst revealing the cruel future she has planned for the students of Woodsboro High

Warning(s): Swearing, dark!sam, manipulating/gaslighting, gun(s), mentions of death & killing

Notes: Based off of the song 'Meant To Be Yours.' Not sure how to feel about this one, lemme know what you think

2/7 for Seven Days Of Christmas

Bang. Bang. Bang—BANG.

That was all you could hear on the other side of the door as Sam Carpenter incessantly pounded on your bedroom door. You tried to be as quiet as possible but deep down you knew no matter how quiet you could be, Sam wouldn't leave until you opened up. 

“All is forgiven baby! Come on, get dressed! You’re my date to the pep rally,” she shouted from the other side. You stayed a few feet from the door, not knowing how far Sam would go. You’ve seen how far she could go, and you soon realized she could go much farther.

“Fuck off! You’re a psychotic asshole!” You spat harshly. Sam stared at the door with a grin so sinister you could almost feel it. 

“I’m protecting you! If you would just listen instead of chucking me out like trash, you would understand that!” 

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you! You should be dead for the way you’ve treated me!” The grip on Sam’s gun tightened as she spoke, soon loosening once remembering the plan. “But that’s when it hit me like a flash…” Sam took a short pause between, leaving you in a state of suspense. “What if high school went instead? Don’t you see it—those assholes are the key! They’re keeping you away from me!” 

“Sam, you’re fucking crazy! So what—what your solution is blowing up our school with everyone in it and we’re just supposed to drive off into the sunset?”

“Do you not want that for us?” You could hear the emotion in her voice, the sorrow in her tone evident. It made you want to give in until you remembered where you were, how you got here, what she had done—no, what you both had done. 

“It’s not that simple–”

“Then make it simple!”

“You tricked me into killing my best friend—not to mention the six other people we’ve killed. God. Just saying it out loud… It’s fucked Sam!”

“He was a damn asshole, an asshole that didn’t deserve you. Not like I do.” She spoke with pure venom, just the thought of him and you made her trigger finger itch. “When I found you, it changed my heart… and so I built a bomb. Because that’s how much I fucking love you!” She banged on your door again, causing you to flinch back. 

“Love doesn’t equal bombing the whole damn school!” You subtly moved around in your room as you shouted back, looking through your things for something.

“You don't know what you’re saying! They have made you blind, messed up your mind—but I can set you free!” She pounded on the door again. “Just open up, Y/N. Do you really think there’s going back?” 

You grabbed the bat from under your bed, getting ready to use it. Your grip squeezed around the handle as you slowly inched towards your door. “Y/N!” Another bang to the door causes you to jolt back. “Open the door, please… Can we not fight anymore?” Sam’s patience was thinning as she was only met with silence. She let out a sharp exhale, her hand subconsciously squeezing around her gun’s handle.  “Don’t make me come in there—I’m gonna count to three!”

“One!” 

You let out a shaky sigh, but your eyes suddenly catch sight of your closet.

“Two! Thre—fuck it!” Sam shoots the knob before kicking down the door. She was only wearing the cloak of her ghostface costume, opting to save the mask for later. You saw her look around, confused and frustrated. As she was just about to give up, she noticed your closet slightly open. You suck in a breath, trying your absolute hardest not to be caught. You could hear her combat boots as she inched closer to the closet.

 This is it. Your only chance. 

Suddenly, the doors abruptly open and instead of giving her a chance to make the first move, you swing your bat. She groans in pain after the metal bat makes contact with her back. You run past her, but Sam has a speedy recovery and immediately starts chasing you. One minute you’re running, the next you’re being pinned to one of your shelfs—books and items falling as she harshly pushed you up against the shelf. 

“You really thought you could get away from me baby? Tonight our school is Vietnam, and nothing is changing that,” she says in a low voice. “So you might as well bring marshmallows, we’ll make s’mores,” Sam lets out a sinister laugh at her own remark.

You narrow your eyes at her, looking at her with disbelief and pure confusion. How was this the same woman you fell so hard for? 

“I don’t even recognize you…” 

“Well you better get associated darling, because there’s no backing out. We’re doing this. There’s no point in fighting it.” She ran hand down your face, her knuckles softly brushing against your cheek and you hate how much you love her touch. 

“I’m meant to be yours. We’re meant to be one.” 

Just a moment ago you were absolutely repulsed by her plans. Disgusted with her. Disgusted with the vile acts you helped her commit, how she so effortlessly manipulated you, and how easy you fell for it. But oh, when you look into her eyes… it’s hard to say no. You can't help but feel yourself being pulled back into her cruel plans. You couldn’t resist Sam Carpenter. Not when she kissed you the way she did, not when she touched you the way she did, not when you loved her the way you did. 

Sam Carpenter had you in a chokehold.

“So what do you say baby?” With a tilt of her head, she looked at while flashing those dark eyes of hers—eyes she knew you couldn’t resist. 

“You know I can’t say no to you, Sammy…” You softly spoke defeatedly, completely forgetting the mindset you had just ten minutes ago. 

She brushed her thumb against your bottom lip, slightly smirking. “That's my girl. Now let's go blow up some assholes.” 

At the end of the day, Sam was right. She was meant to be yours, and you were meant to be hers.

You were meant to be one.

-----------

A/N: R did a full 180 but let's be real, who wouldn't for Sam?

[sketchy-rosewitch]

Crying at Death’s Door: Bo Sinclair x afab!reader

18+

Warnings: allusions to an abusive Bo, asking about dying, bondage,crying, Bo calls reader a dog (yes a dog and not a bitch), afab reader, no pronouns used.

A/N: I literally watched like 6 minutes before this scene and then the scene itself and I’ve watched this scene so many fucking times it’s not even funny. This is only lightly based on the scene. Movie is Dead Ringers it’s free on Tubi and I guess the shows coming out April 21st too (this time lesbians). Also me using “kneels properly” if your Catholic you know

Masterlist

You whine softly and wiggle your arms. They’re spread and tied across the metal footboard. You don’t know how long you’ve been like this. All you know is that prior to this you were in the basement under the gas station, then you’d been moved to a small doctors office in the house, and lastly to what you assume is Bo’s bedroom.

You didn’t bother to try to escape any of your situations, you’d given up on that a week into your kidnapping, there wasn’t a point when you had no contact with any of your family and your friends were all dead, you just had to wait for your death.

You assumed it would be soon, Bo used your body already and took so many pictures of you, hanging them in that dingy room. You’d seen all of the girls and recognized some when you had went into the wax museum that day. You know your friends are in there and god you’d do anything to be with them, especially with this growing anxiety of not knowing when Bo would pull the plug on your life.

The front door opens and you perk up, recognizing Bo’s footsteps immediately. Your arms tingle as you wiggle a bit more wanting to run to the man. The foot steps fade and you assume he’s going to the basement, which was Vincent’s work area. You put two and two together that that’s where the floor door had led to when you decided to look around when you were strapped to the medical bed in their father’s office.

Minutes later Bo is back on the main floor, you hear the sink go off, and the slam of the microwave. It hums then beeps a few minutes later.

Bo’s footsteps start up again and this time get louder and louder as he ascends the stairs.

The bedroom door opens and Bo can be seen on the other side holding water and a microwaveable pasta. You look tiredly up at him.

“You been good baby?” He asks, walking into the room and sitting in between your spread legs. You nod at his question, thinking you have been.

“Nice to know you like tellin’ the truth to me now. Asked Vincent if you’d been cryin’ or tryin’ to escape, said he couldn’t hear a thing from you. You’re so good. Such a good baby.” Bo coos and brushed his thumb across your face. You smile lazily and lean into his touch. “Made you a little snack.”

Snack? This has been lunch and dinner for months for you. Those stupid microwaveable meals, now he’s saying they’re a snack?

“Dinner ain’t until late.”

Bo takes the water and tilts it into your mouth, you drink until half of it is gone, not wasting a single drop and for once Bo isn’t trying to make you fuck up.

He takes the pasta and stabs some noodles with the fork, bringing it to your mouth you bite the noodles off of it. A snack. A little treat before dinner. What the hell was dinner gonna be then?

“Doin’ so good.”

Your heart flutters at his praise. God it’s done that since you first met him. Even when he had you in the basement he could fuck you up and his sweet talking would change your mind completely about him. Bo Sinclair had you wrapped around his finger since you two laid eyes on each other.

You finish the meal and Bo let’s you drink the rest of the water. He gets up and leaves only to be back a minute later with a refilled water he sets on one side of the bed.

“H-“ You let out a small noise when Bo walks in. He raises a brow and starts getting undressed, most likely to get into comfortable clothes.

“You can talk, what is it?”

“Hhow was your day?” Your voice cracks between speaking and a whisper.

“Was alright.”

You stare at him in only his boxers. You’d never seen him with little clothes on, he always had his shirt and pants on even if it was just a little when he fucked you. He finally takes his boxers off and walks over, kneeling and scooting forward setting you onto his lap. He touches your tied arms and smiles. Then Bo looks into your eyes and leans in kissing your lips softly, feeling up and down your thighs. You wiggle wanting to touch him. You never got used to being tied up, always begging to touch him, just for a second with your hands. Just to hold his face.

Bo moved his lips down your jaw and kisses your clothed shoulder, he unbuttons one then two buttons on the shirt and kisses your chest.

“Just waitin’ for me ta come back? Makin’ sure you were so good when I was gone. Such a good dog.”

You moan at the pet name and shift in his lap trying to get Bo’s cock to touch your clit. Bo kisses your lips again and moves his hand in between your legs. You don’t wear underwear, haven’t worn any since he tore them off in the basement. He has easier access to your cunt that way. He told you himself.

His middle and ring finger slide between your folds, only just brushing your clit, then dipping into your pussy.

Your mouth opens, you cry out and Bo smirks touching at your g-spot over and over again. He kisses your cheeks and bites your ear lobe.

“Been so good to me baby. You don’t fight me or nothin’ ain’t fought me since you got into that chair. You want me that much huh?”

Bo’s hand gets rougher and he puts more pressure into you.

“Yeah! Yeah Bo I-ah I- do!” Your back arches against the metal frame, it hurts but Bo’s fingers feel too good for you to care.

“I like hearin’ those noises, keep goin’.” Bo sucks on your neck. You whine, rolling your eyes up. You feel a tightness in your core.

“Please, Bo I’m gonna cum. Please let me cum. Please keep going!”

He quickens his pace and you squirm, squirting into Bo’s hand. You cry out vision turning white, your body trembles as he rides you though your high.

“Messy ass dog.” Bo says, before dropping you on his lap and licking the palm of his hand to his fingers, then sucking on them. You watch in a haze, smiling lazily, too out of it to feel flustered.

“You like cumming on my fingers?”

You nod frantically.

“What about my cock?” Bo teases, you nod again. “Say it then.”

Embarrassment unravels, your mouth opens, closes then opens again.

“Go on. Been so good, say it or you won’t get it.”

“I-I like cumming on your cock Bo.”

You can’t even cover your face to try and hide. Doesn’t matter anyways cause when you try and turn your head away away Bo grabs your face and tuts at you. “Say it again, bein’ truthful aren’t we? You’d admit it to me twice wouldn’t you?”

“Yes..” Your hips wiggle , trying to adjust yourself on Bo’s lap. You were getting worked up again.

“Then say it, no stuttering either.”

“I like cumming on your cock Bo. I like when you cum in me too.” Your eyes read desperate. He hums in approval and kisses your forehead.

“Good dog.”

Bo kneels properly, your ass slowly slides off of him but he holds you up, he holds his cock with his other hand and slowly slides into you, stretching you out. You moan into his shoulder.

“So tight for me.” Bo mumbles. He pulls out and pushes back in a few times, just sitting there for a some seconds each to get used to the stretch. Then he fucks into you somewhere between a slow and fast pace. Kissing you roughly. The bed creaks, especially the bars that you’re tied to, as you bang into them. Bo wraps his arm around your waist, and uses his other hand to hold onto the footboard.

You wanna grab Bo and hold him so badly. You let out soft cries, but hope Bo just mistakes them for you moaning. He seems to as his pace never stops.

“You like being like this? Always tied up for me? Like me being in control?” Bo grunts, you nod and kiss his shoulder and you his neck, stopping at his jaw.

“Yes, yes I do! I love being ready to be used. I love when you take control of my body and I don’t have to think.” You babble, Bo’s hold on you tightens.

“Always know what to say. You’re so good at not thinking. You’re a good dog.” Bo’s hand goes to move the hair from your face and kiss all over it. You mewl, your cunt tightening around his cock.

His thumb hooks into your mouth, it opens without hesitation and he spits in it. You pant and wait for him to close your mouth but he spits again. Then closes it. You wait again as he pounds into you. “Swallow.” And you do. You roll your hips into him and whine, your pussy pulsates.

“Gonna cum? Tell me.”

Your back arches. More loud loans come from your chest.

“Yeah, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum on your cock!” Your mouth hangs open, you let the moans escape you as Bo thrusts faster into you.

“Come on, cum on my cock.”

He thrusts a couple of more times and again, your eyes roll back and vision flashes white. You let out a loud squeal, your body shaking. He fucks you through your orgasm.

“Want me to cum in you?” Bo asks, you nod lazily. He keeps at his pace, your body shakes at the overstimulation, he cums in your cunt, groaning into your shoulder.

Bo kisses your cheek and unties both of your arms. He kisses your wrists softly, the marks still not as bad as his. Your arms are sore but regardless you wrap them around Bo. You kiss and hold his face, running your hands through his hair for the first time. You almost sob, in fact you do. How many more times would you get to touch him with your hands before he killed you?

Bo doesn’t say a thing as you cry, only softly shushing you. He hates crying, shit stresses him out and almost, almost pisses him off. He thinks it’s about sex. “You did so good for me.”

You nod into him and he shushes you more.

You finally calm down and lean against the footboard. “So how much longer do I have?” You ask, your eyes puffy and red.

Your lip trembled but you try and keep your composure, regardless of the anxiety swimming laps in your stomach.

“What do ya mean?” Bo’s brows furrow.

You reword your statement. “When are you going to kill me?” You look into his beautiful blue eyes. Something of anger shows in them before disappearing. Instead it returns in his voice.

“You tryin’ to leave me or somethin’?” Bo sounds accusatory. You ignore it.

“No, I just notice a pattern. You tie all of your victims in that chair, you take pictures of them as a trophy and kill them. I don’t wanna go anywhere but if I am going somewhere I’d like to at least know when.”

Bo sneers. “Ya ain’t gettin’ that same treatment. You told me you’ve been good and proven that to me. You ain’t goin’ no where. You’re mine.”

You suck in some air and smile. “Okay, that’s all I wanted to know.”

Bo kisses your nose and wraps his arms under your ass before standing and setting you onto his soft bed. “I got you some clothes and I’m makin’ dinner for us later.” Bo explains. He slides in next to you and and shuffle so you’re under the blanket and cuddled into Bo’s side. “I don’t want you ever thinkin’ I’m gonna kill you. I would’ve done it already if I wanted you gone.”

You nod into his chest and close your eyes drifting into a small nap.

[sunlightmurdock]

thinking about older bf bradley helping you move houses! maybe your moving home from college and moving in together and all your friends are jealous of your super hot boyfriend.

don’t !! even !!! where was this man when I moved into my college dorm up four flights of stairs alone bc the lift was broken !?!

he’s there the day before, standing with his hands on his hips and surveying your half-packed up room, silently.

“I know it’s a lot of stuff, but, um—“

“No, no,” He lifts his arm and tucks you under it, squeezing you softly against his side, planting a quick kiss to the top of your head. “It’s fine. We’ll make it fit. I’ve got it.”

The two of you have got the place to yourselves and your bed hasn’t been taken apart yet. You look up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye, “Last chance to fuck a college girl, Bradshaw. What do you say?”

He chuckles softly as he unwraps his arm from around your shoulder and smacks your ass instead. Spinning you towards him and starting to walk you backwards, there’s a dubious look on his face as he studies you.

“I feel like you get turned on when I come over here. Y’know, I’ve never been in this apartment once without us fucking in it? — What’s up with that?”

You smile, pushing up onto your tiptoes and kissing him sweetly. “You’re thinking too much. I just can’t get enough of you.”

“Uh-uh.” Bradley chuckles, pressing you down onto your beck and guiding your thighs around his waist. You’re exceptionally eager, lifting your head and kissing him passionately, trying to deepen the kiss with each breath.

Bradley hates this bed. In fact, he can’t wait to tear it apart tomorrow morning and never have to see it again. With each thrust, the headboard smacks into the wall behind it — and with these thin walls in these new apartment buildings, Bradley’s just been waiting for the day where he has to patch a hole in the drywall.

Like the headboard isn’t enough, you’re a whimpering, moaning mess for him — but that’s nothing new. He’s still breathing hard as he buckles his belt again and pulls his t-shirt over his head.

The plan is for him to take a few boxes today, nonessentials, and come back tomorrow for the rest. That’s the only reason your bed is still standing. You wanted one last night in the apartment with your roommates. Speaking of roommates — Bradley has never met yours. You’re usually either over at his place or you sneak him in in the dead of night.

So, when you pull open your bedroom door and they’re all sitting right there on the couch — he’s just as surprised as they are. Especially because of how they’re looking at him, wide-eyed and vaguely impressed. You watch the realisation dawn on him that they just heard everything.

He closes his eyes for a second and makes peace with the fact that these three girls just heard you moaning his callsign, declaring loudly that you were going to cum.

Then, he swallows his pride and forces a polite smile. Their eyes all flicker down at once to leer at his flexing biceps as he holds two of your boxes stacked against his chest.

“Um, guys — this is Bradley. Bradley, my, uh… roommates.”

He nods in acknowledgement. “Nice to meet you all.”

“Mhm.” Their lips quirk in unison, you can see it on their faces that they’re trying not to be weird while he’s still here.

“I’ll be back in a second.” You wave them off, ushering Bradley downstairs and following him to his truck. He sets the boxes down and rounds on you swiftly, making your eyes go wide.

“You wanted them to hear.”

Your mouth twitches. You control it quickly and stare back at him. “What? — No.”

“You know their schedules! You knew they’d be back from class, and you wanted them to hear us fucking,” Bradley has hit the nail on the head, really. You bite back a smile and shake your head innocently at him. It’s just that they’re always teasing you about this mystery guy that you’re seeing, and how awful he must be if you won’t let them see him.

You’ve heard all of their reasons by now. That he’s old and gross. That he’s bad in bed. That he’s ugly. Or weird. You just cant hold it back anymore, the smile working its way onto your lips, knowing that you’ve rendered them all speechless.

Bradley watches your smile grow, shaking his head in disbelief. You gasp as he grabs you and pulls you hard against him by your belt loops.

“You should’ve let me know, baby girl. We could have made some real noise for them.” He tells you, leaned in closer than is appropriate for a public sidewalk in the middle of the day. You press your thighs together as he shoots you a quick wink, then leans down and kisses your mouth.

The bed might be the first thing to go the next morning when he’s packing up your room for good, but you already know that he’s got you bent over your desk and on the verge of forgetting your own name, just one last time, before you leave.

[kissingmilfs]

know your probably busy but if you ever have time mean top nat with a strap on 😳��� gosh I’d lose my mind. I feel she’d be into degrading and name calling and if she’s jealous …. You need to pray 🙏

~i can’t get this image out of my head all of a sudden so here’s a little something~

comme des garçons | natasha romanoff

summary: part of the dream girl evil! au stress relief brought to you by your favorite mean cheerleader ✨

part i + part ii

cw: blow job (with fingers and strap on) , pet play, mentions of weed

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

you came back from your away game exhausted and a little cranky. the team you played always kicked your ass. your coach never had anything to say either. always sympathetically patting his hand on your shoulders as your teammates headed to the locker rooms.

on the two hour bus ride back, you slept most of it, trying to forget your wasted efforts and energy of today’s game. all you wanted to do was shut your brain off for the rest of the day. maybe watch some shitty reality tv. wanda gifted you edibles for your birthday two weeks ago too. taking one might help relax you even more.

you’re practically bouncing with a new found excitement and energy on your trek back to the dorms. if you’d check your phone, you’d see natasha texted you, 🏀? as a way to figure out when you’d be back from your game. once it had gone past an hour, natasha checked your location. (one night she secretly shared it with herself. natasha likes keeping track of her property.)

once you’d gotten twenty minutes away natasha made her to your dorm and snuck into your bedroom. the cheerleader mostly made herself comfortable. already knowing exactly where everything is in your room. she’d fucked you countless nights then rummaged through the room once you’re dead asleep.

once you were a five minute walk from the dorm, natasha stepped into the straps of the harness. she adjusted them snuggly around her hips and waist. they accentuate her already pronounced and defined curves. natasha unclips her layered hair. her semi-damp locks tease her collarbones. natasha’s aware the affect her untamed hair has on you. the desperation itching in your finger tips to tug and pull.

natasha sits comfortably on your bed once again. this time her legs are spread slightly open, baring her pussy along with the erect toy. you swing open your bedroom door and an immediate, “fuck” leaves your lips. the sight of natasha is undeniably sinful. the girl only wearing one of your t-shirts and the toy between her legs. you drop your duffle bag by the door, quickly shutting it.

the smile growing on natasha’s face makes you queasy. she knows how easy it is to turn you into her dumb puppy. effectively forcing you to think solely with your cunt and rely on natasha every step of the way. you know you’re in deep and so does natasha. your back leans against the door while slowly drinking in the sight before you.

“you know the drill, puppy. on your knees. crawl to mommy.” natasha crooks her finger with the command then points between her legs. you swiftly nod your understanding and drop to your knees. without a doubt it feels good to mindlessly follow orders. it’s not exactly what you had in mind for “shutting your brain off” — it’s even better.

natasha smirks once you’re inbetween her legs. your ass rests on the heels of your feet. your eyes are already blown out with submission and carnal lust. it makes natasha want to hurt you yet gently stroke your hair and face. “how was your game? i heard you lost. again.”

you drop your head with shame and anger. natasha’s tone is hint condescending but also leaning towards pity. you hate being reminded of your shortcomings. especially with natasha. and especially on your knees.

you shrug. “it was whatever. doesn’t matter.”

you practically mumble the words. they’re crystal clear for natasha. she shakes her head and almost playfully rolls her eyes. the girl cannot take you seriously feeling bad for yourself. you’re one of the most talented athletes at the university.

“well i’m not here to throw you pity party. you’re already pathetic as is. now open wide.”

natasha’s already leaned forward tapping her fingers on your chin. instinctively your mouth slackens and you stick your tongue as well. just like she trained you. natasha rewards you with a genuine smile.

“good puppy! i told you…you’re mostly only good for your mouth and your pussy. it’s a surprise dumb jocks are allowed to roam campus without any supervision.” natasha chuckles breathily. “you all need to be collared.”

before you can snarky reply back, natasha shoves two fingers in your mouth. her fingertips almost hit the back of your throat. it makes you gag a bit. spit coats natasha’s fingers. drool dribbles on your chin. her other hand grabs a healthy amount of your hair, jerking your head back. without another thought, natasha starts fucking your throat with her fingers. the position leaves your eyes watery. her disregard for your comfort only turns you on more. your jaw hurts from extending your tongue for such a length of time. your neck is stiff and tingly with the bent position. there’s even more spit covering your chin and wetting your shirt.

you make gurgling, gagging noises the harder natasha fucks your mouth. the tears in your eyes blur the clear image of natasha. but you know she’s intently watching her fingers move in and out of your mouth. you know there’s a delighted smirk etched on her face. her pupils are certainly dilated with all the fucked up images and words she’ll bestow upon you for the next however many hours.

after a few minutes of natasha training your mouth, she removes her dripping fingers. she wipes the spit on your cheek and sleeve of your shirt. natasha puckers your lips with the same hand intently staring at your face, your plumped lips, and the tears and spit covering your face. you’re a mess — exactly how she likes you. natasha is tempted to kiss you. parting your lips with her tongue, bruising your lips with her teeth. sucking on your tongue drawing out all your needy whimpers. but natasha restrains herself. she can tell you’re waiting for more instructions. not sure if natasha is going to take advantage of your mouth more or stretch your pussy with her plastic cock.

it’s always as if natasha reads your mind. knowing the exact thought and teasing you relentlessly about it. natasha pats your cheek then leans back against her hands on the bed.

“you know what to do. make mommy’s cock wet with your mouth before i fuck your greedy cunt.”

you rise on your knees, shifting more between natasha’s legs. you’re never allowed to touch her unless specifically granted permission. sometimes she makes you hold your hands behind your back while you suck her off. however, this time you leave them on your lap. you wait for the inevitable of natasha grabbing your hair and shoving your mouth down the length of her strap but it never comes. your eyes meet natasha’s as they twinkle with anticipation. she’s waiting for her pet to showcase your proper training. natasha’s already pleased with your self control.

her continuous efforts in making your mouth fuckable helps a lot unfortunately. your ability to push through any pain, practiced breathing techniques, and longevity is all thanks to natasha. she always knows when you’re being a whiny bitch or can’t actually keep going.

you lift your eyes to meet natasha’s the second your lips wrap around the tip. you notice natasha’s fingers twitch on your covers. with your eyes deadlocked on the cheerleader, you slowly move your mouth down the length of the toy. natasha emits a groan. the actions provides a very faint amount of pressure to natasha’s clit. it’s never enough to work her over the edge. but it is enough to make her hold your head in place while she fucks your mouth with seven inches. yet this time natasha’s more patient.

she diligently watches as you bob your head around the plastic cock. your hollowed out cheeks and sex crazed eyes always sends tingles throughout natasha’s body. natasha only bucks her hips once. it’s enough to push the dick deeper into your mouth. you both let out unison groans of pleasure. your eyes roll to the back of your head with the sensation. even when she pushed herself deeper, the sent of her cunt infiltrated your nostrils. natasha, of course, catches the action in time.

“oh my puppy…look at you enjoying mommy’s cock in your mouth. good dogs belong on their knees for me. i bet your puppycunt is dripping already. your boxers soaked from being such a desperate, needy slut for me. you act so tough with everyone else when you’re just craving to be a submissive mutt.”

from months of fooling and sneaking around with natasha, you know better than to talk back. even if it’s almost a natural instinct at this point. the urge to react is strong. your hands slip off your lap and grip her achilles. she almost raises her hand to reprimand you. until natasha’s eyes widen as you start fucking the back of your throat with the toy. the tip continuously hitting your tonsils, making your eyes water with each jab. natasha’s wetness pools between her legs, sticking between her thighs and most likely forming a small spot on the sheets.

natasha bites her lips and unintentionally releases a small whimper. she isn’t one for making much noise when she’s with you. natasha prefers degrading you and occasionally a moan or a pleasurable groan. your eyes sparkle with the noise. natasha forcefully pushes you off the plastic cock. the subtle expression of gloating in your eyes disgusted natasha. she hated the idea of you gaining even the slightest bit of an upper hand.

“get up and get on the bed, slut. on all fours like the bitch you are.”

[simphellscape]

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 12TH, 2020- 5:24PM // SUNDAY, DECEMBER 13TH, 2020 - 2:38AM // next | tw: alcohol, horny bird pt. 2

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 13TH, 2020 - 2:38AM

“Cheater!” Kei exclaims, scattering several UNO cards across the floor, “You’re -hic- cheating.”

He pouts dramatically, throwing himself against the living room carpet. This childish display has you cackling. Perhaps he’s a bit too drunk, but it doesn’t matter because so are you.

“Can we play a different game, please?” he pleads, slurring.

“It’s not my fault that I’m a god, Kei!”

“If I wasn’t drunk, you’d be a goner.”

“You said five minutes ago that you aren’t even drunk!”

“I’m not!”

“Liar!”

“Different game!” he bellows, still throwing a tantrum.

You reach over and flick the back of his head. Even though you’re hammered, you still manage to land it squarely in the center. His head flies off the floor to face you, honey eyes narrowed.

“You’re dead, (Y/L/N).”

One of his feathers darts toward you, aiming directly for your exposed ribs. You know this game far too well, and while you could easily avoid his attack, you secretly enjoy this kind of attention. In a way, it’s like he’s touching you. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

You leap to your feet and begin sprinting in the direction of your bedroom, but the feather is simply too fast. Before you can even make it through the door, it’s teasing the sensitive area, causing you to convulse with defeat. You, unfortunately, are being tickled within an inch of your life.

“K-Kei!” you shout, breathless and laughing, “Stop it!”

“No, you flicked me!”

You crash into the wall and slide to the floor, feather never leaving your side.

“I’m gonna pee!”

“You shoulda thought of that before you flicked me, then!”

“I -- fuck -- I’m sorry!”

“What? Can’t hear you. Speak up!”

“I’M SORRY!”

“That’s what I thought,” he says, a fake threatening tone to his voice.

With that, the feather zips back into the fold of his wings, bumping into a lamp on the way. You stay slumped against the wall, attempting to catch your breath. Meanwhile, Kei has raised himself to a relaxed sitting position on the living room floor.

“Now, a different game, please,” he smiles.

“Fine, crybaby.”

“Watch it, or I’ll tickle you again!”

“Nooo!” you whine, returning to your spot on the living room carpet with a graceless thump.

“I have an idea!” Kei gasps.

“Shoot.”

“How about, um, Truth or Dare, but, like, with alcohol! Like you take a shot if you don’t wanna do your truth… or your dare… or whatever.”

“I didn’t realize we were sixteen years old.”

He calls a feather to hover dangerously close to your ribcage once again.

“Jesus, alright! Just put that shit away.”

He smirks with satisfaction as the torture device returns to its crimson plume.

“I’ll go first!”

“Hold on, let me get the vodka,” you grumble, hoisting yourself up.

As you hobble to the kitchen, Kei begins the game anyway.

“Truth or dare?”

“Let’s do truth,” you decide after a moment, returning with the bottle of vodka.

“You’re no fun,” he pouts, considering his options, “Hmm…. oh! Okay, so, you’ve got good aim.”

“Yeah. Truth or dare?”

“I WASN’T DONE YET!”

“I’m teasing, Kei! Someone’s touchy.”

“Leave me alone,” he growls, “I wanted to know what your quirk really is. Because I don’t think that’s all.”

“Yeah, that’s not all. All of my senses -- you know, sight, hearing, whatever -- are better than a normal person’s. Not all of them are the same amount of better though! My sight is the best, and then touch, then -hic- hearing, smell, and taste. It kinda sucked at first, but I worked really hard to make it worth something, ya know? I even got an ultimate move out of it!”

Kei’s mouth is hanging open in real, but overexaggerated shock.

“Really? Show me!”

“It’s not really something I can show you…”

“Oh. Well, can you, like, tell me about it then?”

At this, Kei scooches closer towards you, eyes widening even further.

“I just, um, focus more, and it makes my senses almost perfect. Like they’re great on their own, but with more focus it gets to the point where, like, I can tell what people are gonna do before they’re finished doing it. It’s like -- ‘oh, I can hear their pinky toe moving in their shoe, they’re probably gonna take a step’. It gives me a migraine when I’m done though.”

Kei nods and begins the long, arduous process of standing up.

“Okay, so I’m gonna get up and then I’m gonna do something totally unexpected. You gotta say what I’m gonna do.”

“I just told you it makes my head hurt, birdbrain!”

“But I wanna seeeeee!”

“You can see it later! I don’t think I can do it right now, anyway. I’m drunk.”

He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest.

You learned from your last time drinking together that when Kei drinks, he often wants to play some sort of game. And when he’s drunk and playing a game, one of two things can happen. One, he gets extremely competitive. This is what happened last time, when he flipped your game of LIFE off of your coffee table. Or, two, he becomes a big, mopey baby, which is what’s happening right now. You know it’s all in jest, and while it’s slightly annoying, it’s mostly endearing. You can’t wait to remind him about this tomorrow. If you’re even able to remember, that is.

“Truth or dare?”

“I’m gonna pick dare, because I’m not a loser,” he mocks.

“Oh, now I’m gonna pick something terrible.”

You scan the room, drunkenly scrambling to find something hellish for him to do as revenge. You just did a deep clean of the whole apartment, so there’s nothing really gross around here that you can think of. You’re fresh out of mushrooms, otherwise you’d make him eat one. You know he would have hated that. You could make him wear one of your bras on his head, but that would require him to see it. Too embarrassing for you. Suddenly, a lightbulb pops in your head.

“Let me touch your wings.”

There are two reasons for this diabolical idea. Kei talks all the time about how he loathes when fans touch his feathers without his consent. But also, selfishly, you just really want to know what they feel like. You’ve felt individual feathers before, and they’re incredibly soft. Feeling multiple all at once sounds heavenly.

“No. Absolutely not!”

“Now you’re no fun!”

“They’re sensitive!”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“No, that’s wooorse!”

“How the fuck is that worse?”

In addition to the flush of Kei’s intoxicated cheeks, a new pinkess spreads across them.

“Either let me touch your wings for a few seconds or take a shot,” you urge him.

He locks hazy eyes with you, and you can see the gears turning in his head. Simultaneously, the gears are turning in your own. You can’t really gather how it would be worse for you to be gentle with them. Holding back on the pressure couldn’t possibly hurt him. In fact, that seems like it would be more pleasurable for him.

Your brain stops in its tracks.

Pleasurable.

Before you can stop yourself, you share your revelation.

“You don’t want me to touch them because you’ll like it too much!”

“No, I--”

“Don’t lie, Kei!”

“I don’t--”

“No, you do know!”

“FINE, TOUCH THEM!” he concedes, throwing his arms in the air.

You grin widely, feeling victorious, as he turns to the side. You use this opportunity to scooch closer to him, preparing to caress the plumes.

You could go about this one of two ways, you figure. You could make this as easy as possible for him. A quick stroke across a small section. Or, you could make this extremely difficult for him, running your fingers between the expanse of the whole wing. Something about the intimacy of the interaction, the inhibiting effect of the alcohol, and your burning desire to touch his wings, to touch him, make you pick the latter.

You wiggle beside his extended leg, facing the wing directly. Before you touch him, something possesses you to lean towards him and whisper in his ear.

“Remember, this game was your idea.”

All in the same motion, you draw your head back and carefully dive your fingers into his wings. As you run them along the surface, you suck in a breath. You expected them to be soft, but you’re taken aback. It has exceeded your expectations by a lot. Your fingertips tingle at the way each feather teases them. The fine barbs feel smooth underneath your touch. A strange sensation zips its way up your arm like it’s a live wire. You move at a sloth’s pace, wanting to savor this feeling for as long as possible, mesmerized. You’re only halfway across when Kei’s hand closes around your wrist, forcefully yanking it away.

His previously hazy eyes are now dark, met firmly with the wall directly across from him. His breathing is labored, shoulders heaving with each inhale and exhale. The previously pink flush in his cheeks is now beet red. Warmth spreads in your midsection, intoxicated by both the restraint he has you in and the downright primal look on his face.

“That’s enough,” he asserts, sternly.

You flounder, looking deep within you for some sort of snarky reply. There’s nothing left in your head; it seems that this interaction has wiped them all away. You feel redness creep up your neck and into your face. Your heart is beating out of your chest. You’re sure that Kei can hear it loud and clear. You swallow hard, and attempt to find your voice.

“Come on, that was nothing,” you offer, weakly.

Your gaze flickers from his eyes to his lips. They’re parted slightly to allow for his panting breaths. The image of him closing the distance between you, crashing them against yours, flashes across your brain. Working against them in expert fashion. Just like you’ve wanted for so long. You can practically feel the pressure of them, sucking on your bottom lip and lightly nipping. To satiate the need you suddenly feel, you take your bottom lip between your teeth, returning your gaze to the predator before you.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Keigo’s palm burns around your wrist. It’s taking everything in him to refrain from pinning you down on the floor and reenacting the images flashing in his head. Your heartbeat is drumlike, rapid, and even more inebriating than the copious amounts of liquor he’s had tonight. Your erratic breaths cause your chest to brush lightly against his forearm, the additional contact driving him further into insanity. After years of training, he knows that this is the ultimate test of his will. He’s losing.

A part of him consistently suggests that loving you isn’t a venture that’s destined to fail. The rest of him usually overshadows that, spouting endless excuses for his actions. Well, rather, inaction. Right now, he’s forgotten every reason he’d previously given himself. No matter how badly he wants to, how desperately he needs to, he can’t bring himself to look at you. If your expression is anywhere near what he’s imagining it to be, he won’t be able to stop himself. In his soul, he knows that if he acts right now, he will be completely unable to show anything resembling mercy. The already looming threat of going completely feral will swallow him whole, and he will fuck you into oblivion.

It’s appealing, the thought of releasing hold on his inhibitions. The only thing stopping him now is the thing that stops him from doing a lot of things these days.

He must, above anything and everything else, keep people safe. And you just happen to be at the very top of the list of people in the world.

This is as instinctual as breathing for him. A knee jerk reaction to outside stimuli. His outside might be extremely stimulated right now, but the core of his very existence will not allow this to continue. Not like this. If he’s ever presented with the opportunity to sleep with you, it has to be centered around you. It has to be considerate. It has to be gentle. The current state of things doesn’t equate to that at all. Of course he cares about you, about your safety. He also cares about being a decent human being, a decent pro-hero, even in the face of quickly reducing into an animal.

Finally, in the raging battle of Keigo versus avian instinct, Keigo emerges victorious.

In one swift motion, he releases his grip on your wrist and raises himself off the ground. Semi-rational thought slowly starts to flow back into his head. He knows that whatever the hell all that was effectively ruined the banter for the night. The way he reacted to your touch scared himself, and he can’t even begin to imagine how terrified you must feel. Moments like these reacquainted him with the fact that his quirk, combined with all of the meddling the Commission did to him, essentially made him a monster. He goes to great lengths to hide that from the rest of the world, but now he’s revealed the most ugly part of himself to the only person in the entire place that matters. You, his entire life, now know that even the most human of hawks are predators, too.

He stumbles to your balcony. In his altered mind, he believes that leaving would be the ultimate courtesy to you right now. It doesn’t matter that he’s plastered. It doesn’t matter that you’re already following him, begging him to stay. No one, especially you, deserves to spend another moment with such an unholy creature as Keigo Takami.

Without so much as a backward glance, he surges off of the balcony and into the night sky. His aim is to fly across the city, across the country, across the world. But, his double vision doesn’t grant him much aid in the darkness. Before he can make it even fifty feet from your apartment building, he clips the one across from you with his massive wing. In any normal circumstance, he would be able to recover from this without much issue. But he’s shitfaced. So, instead, he careens into the street below at remarkable speeds. With a yelp, he lands on the gravel and slides, scraping his entire left side. For a moment, his deafening, panic induced thoughts are quiet. It happens to be just long enough to hear you from your apartment four stories above.

“KEI!”

A pro-hero such as him should be able to take an injury like this like it’s nothing. In fact, he’s done it countless times before. Something about the drunkenness and the complete descent into self-loathing keeps him glued to the pavement. He knows you’re coming. He knows he’s going to have to face you. He knows that you’re probably worried out of your goddamn mind. He knows it’s all his fault.

For the first time in recent memory, Keigo feels entirely lost. Though he’s tried so hard, he knows now that you’ve found him out. In his perfect world, he hoped that you took his lack of affection and general emotional standoffishness as a sort of defense mechanism. In essence, that’s what it was, but he never wanted you to find out any of the myriad of things he was defending himself from -- defending you from. Now, there’s no way in hell you could view it as anything else. He wants you. Badly. And now, you know.

He hoists himself up into a sitting position with difficulty, both hands finding their way to his hair. The panic is starting to give way to crushing defeat. He’s already running through ideas on how to cope with the loss of your presence in his life. After the imminent rejection he’s about to face, he’ll have to cut off contact with you for his own sanity, at least for a little while. Maybe he can contact Kana and see if there’s any way she can assign another pro-hero to your case. Just as he’s running through candidates to recommend, he hears your sandals crunching against the gravel.

“Hey!” you call out.

Keigo inhales deeply and raises his head.

“Oh, thank fuck,” you breathe as you approach him.

You stumble slightly as you finally reach him, hands reaching out. You crouch beside him and begin to inspect his form, picking pieces of the ground off of it.

“(Y/N)...” Keigo sighs.

You shift your focus from cleaning him up to his face. As soon as you see the look of despair on it, your own face drops.

“What? Kei, what’s wrong?”

Is it possible that you aren’t as thrown off by this interaction as he is? Did this even phase you at all?

“Um.. you were there five minutes ago too, right? You witnessed the shit that I just pulled?” he asks, softly.

“Yeah, you jumped out of a fucking window! Of course I witnessed that, you idiot!”

Of course you didn’t care about the fact that he almost acted on his innermost desires in the most animalistic way possible. As always, you just wanted him to be okay. He should have suspected as much.

But, after tonight, he’s not sure if he’s physically able to keep the act up much longer.

“I meant before that.”

Redness creeps across your cheeks as you nod in recognition.

“Yeah, uh, I did witness that,” you whisper.

“And,” Keigo gulps, “did that… uh… scare you? At all?”

You laugh nervously. A flighty and musical sound. Keigo’s heart drums faster.

“No. I wasn’t scared. I was…” you trail off.

You suddenly groan and throw your hands over your face.

“God, Kei, don’t make me say this,” you cry.

His mind races. What could possibly be worse than making you scared by that? He can’t immediately think of anything, but whatever it is must be awful. He definitely won’t be seeing you ever again after this, but he needs to know. He has to prevent this from happening ever again. Not that it ever will, because he doubts that he’ll ever let his guard down like this from now on.

“You’re gonna have to. I’m not following,” he mutters.

You whine, and retract your hands. Your eyes are glued to his chest, as if that’s as close as you can get them to his eyes at the moment.

“I -- it kind of… turned me on.”

Keigo feels as if someone dumped a gallon of cold water over his head. In fact, if someone managed to do that right now, he would probably be less shocked. He can feel his mouth drying out from the amount of time he’s spent with it hanging open.

“See! I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” you groan, shifting to raise yourself up.

Without thinking, he wraps his hand around your wrist again, pulling you towards him. You fall to your knees, face inches away from his own. He searches you one final time for any sign of regret, but all he finds is a desperate, pleading expression. He somehow finds it in him to speak.

“Can I?”

You nod softly and he does what he’s been wanting to do for months.

The first thing he notices when his lips finally meet yours is the taste of strawberry vodka. The second thing, hitting him immediately after, is an explosion in his chest. It’s a million sensations at once -- flowers blooming, fireworks popping, the sun rising. Keigo has done a lot of things in his short life, but not one of them has even come close to the pleasure of kissing you.

What was a tentative, slow pace quickly evolves into something needy, something frantic. His hands shift from the soft grip around your wrist to tangle themselves in your hair, pushing you closer to him. Even though you’re practically on top of him now, you’re not close enough, and he doesn’t think you ever will be. His tongue swipes against your lips, begging for entrance. You happily oblige, and he delves deep into you. As your teeth crash together, Keigo begins struggling for breath. He doesn’t want it, maybe he doesn’t even need it. Now, he feels as though you’re the only thing he needs to survive. Just as he accepts that as fact, you break away to rest your forehead on his. You’re panting, giggling softly between breaths. As he collects his thoughts, his mouth moves before any of the rest of him can.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he whispers.

“You should have done it sooner,” you retort, still out of breath.

He’s beginning to regain control of his body now, so he pulls away from you just far enough to plant a soft kiss against your nose. Even though he would love to continue to feel the most unique and gratifying thing he’s ever felt, he recognizes that now is not the time nor the place. But, if he has anything to say about it, there will be plenty more opportunities, scattered across the rest of time. He pauses as that thought, at how a simple kiss has fixed the position he’d been saving for you since the moment he laid eyes on you. You, his first friend, his last love. He finds your hand and squeezes it.

“It’s getting pretty late. You should probably get to bed,” he suggests.

“You could stay with me, if you wanted. I wouldn’t want you to get arrested for drunk flying,” you chuckle.

The smile that sprouts on Keigo’s face is strong enough to break his cheekbones. It’s a miracle that they stay intact.

“You’re absolutely right. Always looking out for me, aren’t you?”

He lifts himself up and pulls you with him. As the two of you walk back to your apartment, your pinky fingers are linked together. It’s a small, almost lazy connection, but neither of you seem to be able to entertain the thought of letting go.

(a/n): fuckin finally amirite

[samsexualdeancurious]

Enough Hope Left

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 2,072

Summary: Sam and Y/N have been trying to have a kid but without much success.

Warnings: Married Sam x Reader, fertility issues and light discussion.

Written for an Archangel Patron request.

---

Three tests. Three little windows.

Three negative results.

“Y/N” Sam starts but you’re already pushing past him on your way out of the bathroom. You have to get out. You have to be away from him.

You almost collide with Dean in the hallway but ignore his questions as you continue on your way. Your eyes are already pricking with tears and you need to go somewhere - anywhere - you won’t be seen as you cry your heart out. The tears aren’t going to wait, though. They’re coming on hard and fast and fuck.

Not pregnant. Still.

Fuck. Everything.

You never thought you would be the kind of person to cry over a negative pregnancy test and yet here you are, frantically wiping tears from your cheeks as you lock your bedroom door behind you. You can hear Sam banging on it, calling your name, as you throw yourself onto the bed. A locked door won’t keep him out if he really puts his mind to it but you know Sam. he’ll respect your need for space and probably be sitting against the wall, waiting for you, when you finally emerge.

With that knowledge in mind, you clutch Sam’s pillow to your chest and sob.

It’s been almost two years since you and Sam decided to start trying but nothing has changed in that time. You’ve probably spent a fortune on pregnancy tests and at-home fertility remedies and nothing. Not one single thing has worked. Being a hunter, you don’t really have other options and you’re starting to run out of hope. It’s not like you can just set an appointment with a fertility specialist or adopt a kid. Your fake insurance probably wouldn’t hold up well enough for that. Plus, Sam doesn’t even have a legit form of identification seeing as he’s legally dead at least twice over. You’re out of options.

Maybe you’re just destined to never have a kid and you need to accept that fact. Knowing that and actually accomplishing it, though, are two completely different tasks and you’re not really sure you’re capable of either.

Sure enough, Sam is seated on the floor by the bedroom door with his long knees folded up to his chest. He lifts his head when you open the door and your heart breaks all over again at the sight of his tear-reddened eyes. You forget, in the depth of your own pain, that Sam is hurting, too. He wants this just as much as you do, you know he does.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, sinking to the floor beside him.

Sam shakes his head and loops one arm around your shoulders to pull you close. “I just… I wish there was something more I could do.”

You burrow into Sam’s side with a sniffle and a little shrug. “I don’t think there’s really anything else we can do.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “We’ll think of something. A spell, a charm…”

No. Using magic to get pregnant sounds like a terrible idea. “Sam-”

“Let me and Rowena do the research, okay? There has to be something out there-”

“Sam.”

His mouth snaps closed and you lift one hand to cradle his cheek.

“Sam,” you say again. “I’m not using magic. Don’t even go there. It’s not an option for me and never will be. Just leave it, okay?”

“But-”

“Leave it. Sam, please.” You draw him in for a soft kiss. You can feel how desperate he is to fix this for you, to make everything right in the world and give you exactly what you want, but you can’t do this. Not right now. “I can’t do this right now.”

Sam hesitates and then gives a small nod of accent.

“Thank you.” You kiss him once more before pushing yourself to your feet and heading for the kitchen to get started on dinner.

---

To say things are awkward would be an understatement. Neither you nor Sam know what to say for a few days. You’re trying to decide how best to deal with the possibility that you might never have a baby of your own. At the same time, you know Sam is still looking for other solutions. He’s just doing it when you’re not around to see, in the hopes that you’ll come to him when you’re ready for other options. He’ll be prepared if you do. Unfortunately for him, you’re determined not to. Magic is not a solution you’re comfortable with, never will be, and it’s the only one left.

In the meanwhile, Dean’s just dancing around in the middle, even more at a loss for how to help the situation.

“Oh-kay,” he proclaims loudly on the third morning, while you and Sam are making breakfast and avoiding more than the most basic conversation the same way you have every morning. “You two.” He points at you and Sam.

You arch one brow at him in confusion. “Yes?”

“Come here.”

He gestures to the two seats across the table from him. You exchange a quick look with Sam, who just shrugs. You both take the indicated seats.

Dean fixes you with an intense glare, eyes darting between the two of you. Sam shifts uncomfortably.

“Okay,” Dean says. “I don’t know what’s going on and it’s not really any of my business. I’m here to listen if you need it but what I need is the two of you to get your shit together and have a conversation. Do you think you can do that?”

Sam is staring down at his lap and doesn’t respond. You’re not really sure what to say, either.

Dean crosses his arms with a sigh. “Do you need me to mediate or something?”

Fuck no. You’re not dragging your brother-in-law into this shit. “No, we - we’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, we’ll…” you shoot a reluctant glance at Sam. “We’ll sort it out.”

You don’t really want to have this conversation right now but thanks to Dean, you’re not really going to have a choice.

“Right.” Dean slaps his hands, open-palmed, on the tabletop. “Let me know how it goes.”

He gets up then, taking his half-eaten cereal bowl with him, and suddenly it’s just you and Sam, sitting awkwardly side-by-side and trying to decide what to say.

“Y/N,” he starts.

Nope. You can’t do this.

You’re on your feet before you think too hard about it, headed for the counter to continue making breakfast. You forgot to turn the stove off when Dean decided to have his little intervention and the pan is ready for eggs, butter sizzling. You pour the scrambled egg mixture in and dig a spatula from the drawer to stir with.

Behind you, you hear the shuffle of Sam standing. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you!”

You don’t turn to look at him, keeping your attention on the eggs in front of you. “And I’m trying to subtly avoid it!”

Sam is still for a minute, breathing slowly in a way that tells you he’s really frustrated but doesn’t want to fuck this up. He’s surprisingly well-adjusted, sometimes, especially considering his upbringing. Winchester men are not known for their ability to talk about their feelings.

You hear his footsteps as he crosses the room and then his solid warmth is pressed against your back, his hands gliding up your forearms. A shiver runs through you at the contact. It’s the most intimate you’ve been in days. “Y/N,” he says softly. “We have to talk about this at some point.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to.”

Silence falls between you as you finish cooking the scrambled eggs and scrape them onto a plate. You’re not feeling very hungry anymore but skipping breakfast is never a good idea. When you try to step out of Sam’s hold, though, he doesn’t let go.

“Sam-”

“Y/N, please. Just listen to me?”

You frown down at your steaming eggs but don’t move again or protest.

Sam draws a deep breath and his arms curl around your waist. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now. You’re hurting and I’ll never understand how much, but you’re not alone in this. I’m here and I want this just as much as you do.”

“We’ve tried everything,” you mutter. “We need to just let it go. We can keep trying but I think… I think we need to stop getting our hopes up.”

“But here’s the thing. I want to get your hopes up. I know you told me to leave it but I did some digging.”

“I’m not using magic,” you interject and he shakes his head, ducking down to press his face into the curve of your shoulder. “I won’t go that route. It always ends badly and someone pays the price.”

“Not magic,” he says. “I promise. Just good old science. I found a doctor that specializes in this stuff and has a side practice catering to hunters.”

Your brain grinds to a screeching halt, struggling to process what he’s just told you. It seems impossible. Finding doctors that accept hunter patients is already so rare and most of them work out of back rooms, providing sketchy services only the most desperate will pay for. “... what?”

“She’s down in Arizona, so it’s a bit of a drive, but if you want to give this a real shot…?”

He sounds so hopeful, so eager.

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“It’ll work.” He’s so sure of this and he hasn’t even met the doctor yet.

“Sam.” You turn to face him at last. “I don’t think I’ve got much hope left.”

“That’s okay.” He brings both hands up to cradle your face and his sincerity causes tears to blur your vision. You swallow down the sudden swell of emotion. “I think I’ve got enough hope left for the both of us.”

That’s too much. A sob breaks free before you can stop it and you’re being bundled into Sam’s embrace, your face buried in the soft blue flannel he’s wearing. He holds you close and makes soothing sounds until you’re all cried out. He doesn’t let go even when your shoulders stop shaking.

“We can do this,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Together, right? For better, for worse, all that stuff?”

You manage a little nod, finally lifting your head to meet his gaze. “Yeah. All that stuff.”

Sam chuckles and kisses you gently. “Good. We can sit down later and set up an appointment with this doctor. Sound like a plan?”

“Yeah.” It’s a good plan.

“All right. Would you like toast with your eggs?”

“Toast would be perfect.”

Sam kisses you again and steps away to get to work on said toast. You stand there a moment longer, still processing everything that’s happened in the last ten minutes.

You could have a baby.

Dean chooses that moment to return, carefully poking his head around the doorframe. “All good in here?”

“All good,” Sam says. “Asshole.”

“Hey, I just wanna be able to eat breakfast in peace. My methods work!”

You flip Dean the bird but he just laughs. Zero remorse. What a dick. His methods did work, though. You’ll give him that much.

---

Doctor Kimberly is a dark-haired, bright-eyed woman with a smile that lights up her whole face and a laugh you could hear from the waiting room. She greets you with a firm handshake.

“Sam Winchester,” she says cheerfully. “Never thought I’d see you in my office. Come in, come in, sit down and tell me what’s been going on.”

She listens patiently as you detail your pregnancy struggles up to this point, nodding and never once criticizing your choices even though you’re sure you must have made some bad ones at some point along the way.

“All right,” she says when you’re done. “First off, let me tell you - you’re far from the first couple to struggle with this and you won’t be the last, either. There are lots of options to look at going forward. To decide where to start, though, we need to run a lot of tests. Are you up for that?”

“We’re up for anything,” you say, with more conviction than you’re feeling at the moment but just being here is going a long way towards getting you on board with this plan. “Where do we start?”

—

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—

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[kikufuku01]

I Love You, Always

Sukuna x Reader

Part 14 Three Brats ♡♡♡ Part 15 Sakura series m. list

Reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated!

Warnings: Oral(o/c receiving), sex, nipple pinching, Sukuna is horny and wants your attention (lol)

"Sukuna, get up." You violently slap his arm, "you gotta leave after my parents leave."

“No.”

You smack his arm harder this time, “you can’t be here today.”

Sukuna lazily lifts his head from your pillow and frowns, “why not? I heard everything.”

“Which is why you have to go. I can’t have you here today.”

He chooses to ignore you by laying back down, turning his back towards you and all you can do about it is get annoyed. If you kick him out now, there’s a chance someone will see him. With one final blow to the back of his head, you sigh and then throw the blanket over his head, “fine, stay hidden in there and don’t come out all day.”

Sukuna doesn’t bother to respond, so you gather up new clothes and head out to freshen up. You’d usually take your sweet time showering but your heart is anxious, since Sukuna doesn’t want to leave. After towel-drying your hair, you head towards the kitchen and prepare yourself something to eat while your parents walk around back and forth in the house. And since Sukuna wants to be an asshole, he doesn’t get any breakfast.

Your mom pokes her head into the kitchen while putting earrings in, “Ayumi said she’d tell you when she’s around the corner, so make sure not to go back to sleep.”

“I get it.”

She gives you a quick scowl but nods anyway, “we’ll be off then.”

You’re eating as you wait around for five minutes when you finally hear the sound of your dad’s footsteps traveling down the steps to the front door along with your mom’s. Once the door clicked, you wandered out into the living room and lounged around, waiting for Ayumi’s text. It took about fifteen minutes before your phone started ringing.

“Hello?”

“Oh hey, y/n, I’m outside, do you mind opening the gate?”

You jump up from the couch immediately, “of course.”

Instead of going outside to open the gate, you go towards the buzzer by the door and press the button.

“Asa-san, Ayumi-san, it’s great to see you again.”

You’d give them a hug if they weren’t each carrying a sleeping child in their arms. They smile at you in unison and wander into the house.

“Sorry for the late notice again,” Ayumi says with a sorrowful smile.

You shake your head at her, “it’s totally fine. I wasn’t doing anything.”

Asa looks around and starts to walk towards your bedroom, “since they’re both asleep, should I place them in here?”

Fucking shit!!! You look pretty fucking sketchy based on your stunned expression, but what are you supposed to do?! You’d look weirder to them if you said no, but Sukuna is in there lying dead asleep like an ass! Hell, they aren’t even paying attention to you. Instead, Ayumi is following Asa and before they open the door, she turns back at you, “in here?”

You’re caught. You should’ve kicked him out the moment your parents were gone. Why didn’t you try harder? Now you’re caught! You manage to force a smile and laugh nervously, “yeah, just place them down and I’ll tuck them in after you guys leave. Isn’t Hotaru still in the car?”

Ayumi chuckles, “yes, but he’s asleep as well.” She walks in with Asa and places Ren down first before glancing up at Asa. “Honey, you should go back to the car first to make sure Hotaru is alright and then bring in the kid’s things. I’ll be out in a second.”

When you walk in, your heart literally falls out of your ass and you sigh a breath of relief. Sukuna isn’t here! Well, he isn’t on the bed anymore and you’ve no clue where he’s at, but you’re grateful that he’s gone for now.

Asa lays Haru down as well and gives you a small bow with his head, “thank you so much for this favor, y/n-san. As a way to pay you back, please let Ayumi and I take you out for dinner someday.”

You quickly bring your hands up and shake them with a laugh, “oh no, there’s really no need to do that. We’re family, that’s what family is for.”

Ayumi takes your hand in hers and leans on Asa, “please, we feel so indebted to you, y/n.”

Well, since that day would most likely never come, you awkwardly nod your head and agree. Asa leaves first to go to the car while Ayumi explains how her kids are. Most of it just went in one ear and out the other… all you really caught were naughty and don’t play well together.

With Ayumi and Asa gone, the two kids asleep in your room and Sukuna disappearing, all you can do is lay around downstairs and wait for them to wake up. Where did he run off to anyway? Did he sneak out through the window? Maybe you should look for him.

You enter your room again and tiptoe around quietly. Nope, not here. Where could he have gone? You go to the window and check but the window is locked, which means he’s somewhere in the house… when did he wake up?

“Sukuna?”

You make sure to keep your voice low because frankly, you’re not ready to care for two kids yet. After searching the whole downstairs, including the pantry, you go up. As expected, the upstairs living room is empty. There’s a heavy pull to your eyebrows as you continue to wander about. He’s nowhere here and the only place left is your parent’s room, so you push the door open and peek inside.

“What are you doing here?”

Your voice pulls him out of his train of thoughts and he turns around with a goofy grin, “this you?”

It’s a photo of you in your middle school days and boy… you weren’t all that cute in the photo. Just that one though! Your face burns red with embarrassment as you march over and snatch the frame. You flip it down so that it’s no longer showing, “I asked why you were in here.”

Sukuna muses, “I was bored. I came up here a little before your guests arrived.”

You jab at him with an angry frown, “that doesn’t mean you can just wander as you please. What if you got caught?”

He grabs your wrist and pulls you closer, “but I didn’t.”

“And if you did?”

He wears a pretty smirk on his pretty face, a playful glint sparkling in his eyes, “then I’d act like I was robbing you. I’ve got the looks to play the part.”

There’s that laugh he was looking for. You shove him away with your free hand and back away, “you’re stupid.”

“Only for you.”

You deadpan, “yeah, right.” You drag him out of the room, “anyway, now that I’ve found you, you can’t be here.”

“I think I can help you look after these runts.” Sukuna playfully puffs out his chest and gives it a smack, “I did pretty well with that other runt last time, don’t you think?”

He’s got a point, but you absolutely cannot risk these kids tattling on you. With a stern voice, you answer, “that’s true, but these kids are older. Hotaru only babbled.”

He follows you down the stairs with heavy feet, “then I’ll threaten them.”

“Sukuna.”

“Kidding~” he raises his hands above his head and sways side to side, “just tell them that I’m a friend that’s here to help. It can’t be that big of a problem. I’ll bribe them with money, too. Kids love that.”

You frown at him again, “they’ll ask where the money came from.”

Sukuna leans over your face and smiles like an innocent child while his eyes tell a different story, “from you, of course.”

You’re going to argue back but your bedroom door suddenly opens and all doom falls on you. It hit you like a baseball bat, you swear. Sukuna didn’t expect for the door to open either, based on how much he stiffened. You turn around with a nervous smile and look at the seven year old. He’s staring back at you while he rubs one eye.

“Hi… Haru.”

Haru’s eyes go from tired to curious and he walks up to you with an expression you can’t read. His small hands grab at yours and then he glances up at Sukuna, “who is this, auntie y/n?”

Sukuna stifles back his laughter and raises his eyebrows, “yeah, who am I, auntie y/n?”

“Oh, this is my friend, Sukuna.” You lower yourself to his level and hold a finger up to your mouth, “but you can’t tell anyone about him, okay?”

Haru squints his big eyes at you, “why not?”

Crap. Your brain actually stalls and loads as you look for an excuse but none come to you. All you really can do is panic internally.

Sukuna taps the kid’s head and sighs, “because I can play with you and your brother better, since we’re guys.”

Well that’s sexist. You roll your eyes at them, “what kind of excuse is that?”

Haru ignored you and beams at Sukuna instead, “you have a dingdong like me, right?”

“Yeah,” Sukuna bursts out laughing and nods along, “except mine's way bigger than yours.”

Haru shakes his head at him and releases your hand to slap Sukuna’s thigh, “mine is bigger! We can measure.”

“No, you can’t.” You stand back to your normal height, “just promise that you and Ren won’t mention Sukuna. If you promise, my friend will give you money.”

“Okay!”

You have doubts but if they tell, hopefully Ayumi and Asa will think they’re talking nonsense. Ren wakes up a little after the whole incident as well and you explain the same thing to him, except you tell him that it’s a game and the winner would get more money the next time you saw them. He looked eager to take the deal but children make promises like it’s nothing.

♡ ♡ ♡

By now it’s around one and you’re busy looking around in the kitchen for something to cook. Since you weren’t properly listening to Ayumi, you’re left to guess what they can and can’t eat. There’s a 20% chance they’re allergic to specific things and you’re sure they’re picky eaters since they’re young, so you’re trying to be mindful. Okay, Ren is five, so he might eat whatever you feed him, but Haru is definitely around the age of being a picky eater.

“Curry udon it is.”

You mutter to yourself as you gather the needed ingredients. The house is the loudest it's ever been since Sukuna is watching them for you. You easily find what you need and get to work. Because you don’t have all-purpose flour, you substitute by mixing 100g of bread flour and 100g of cake flour with water. You begin to mix it in slowly, pouring the water and a bit of salt in time by time until the consistency becomes dough-like. When that’s done, you spread flour onto a tray and lay it down, continuously kneading and spreading until it’s ready. It’s going to be a long process to get the dough completely smooth, so you’ll be at it for a while. And maybe you’re out of shape, but your arms are already starting to get sore. Ugh, you don’t even want to know what the chaos going on is about. You shove the dough into the fridge and prepare to make the curry.

While you’re busy doing that, Sukuna is laying on the couch and playing on his phone. He’s not even watching them!

Haru is busy controlling his remote-control race car while Ren follows him around and hovers over his shoulder. Feeling annoyed, Haru reaches behind him and shoves Ren back, “go play by yourself!”

Ren stumbles backwards but stays persistent in lingering around, “I want to play with it too!”

“You’re annoying!” Haru shoves his younger brother again and controls the car to go somewhere else. He makes sure to travel around the living room with the car though so he doesn’t lose sight of it.

Ren wordlessly follows his older brother again, still waiting for a turn. When Haru hears him coming, he stands up and holds the remote close to his chest with a glare, “leave me alone! Play with the other toys.”

This finally catches Sukuna’s attention, so he removes his eyes from the screen and clicks his tongue at Haru, “stop it.” He sees Haru shove Ren back again and sits up on the couch when Ren’s lips begin to quiver. “Look, he’s about to cry any second now because of you.”

Haru glares at Sukuna this time and walks away to play with the car in another area of the house but he stops when he hears Ren behind him again. This time he hits Ren’s head with his knuckles which makes Sukuna stand from the couch. He frowns at the seven year old, “oi, would you stop that? You’re gonna make him cry.”

“I don’t care.” Haru walks towards the car and picks it up, “I don’t share toys with Ren.”

He walks towards him again and pushes him back but this time it’s a little too hard and the boy falls onto his butt. Just like that, the younger brother begins to sob and Sukuna has no choice but to walk to them, “look, you made him cry. What did I tell you?”

Sukuna snatches both the car and remote from Haru, “none of you can play with it if you can’t share.” An evil grin plays on his face, “now it’s mine.”

Ren continues to cry while Haru kicks Sukuna’s leg as hard as he can (it’s doing no damage lol), “give it back! It’s mine!”

He sticks his tongue out at the kid and puts the car down to play with it, “go cry to auntie y/n about it.” As soon as the car starts moving, he smiles more child-like, “I’ve always wanted a race car!”

Haru does as told and runs to wherever you are. Knowing that there’s trouble around, he picks Ren up and goes to the kitchen as well. Like a brat, Haru angrily stomps in and tugs at your clothes, “auntie y/n, your stupid boyfriend won’t give me back my race car!”

You look down at him with furrowed eyebrows, “he’s not my boyfriend! And Sukuna,” you change your line of view to him, “stop being a child and give him back his toy. You should know better.”

Sukuna lifts Ren to get a better hold of him and shrugs innocently, “I’m discipling them.”

This time you cross your arms, “you aren’t their parent; therefore you get no say on how to discipline.”

He likes to challenge you, so he talks back like a smart ass. Sukuna steps further into the kitchen, “I’m their guardian right now, so that means whatever I say goes.” He waves the toy in the air to tease Haru, “if they can’t learn to share the toy and play together then they can’t play at all.”

“The. Toy. Is. Mine.” He gets in Haru’s face and smiles in a cunning way, “am I clear?”

You stop what you’re doing and stare at Sukuna with a bored face, “I didn’t know I was signing up to watch over three brats. Since you also can’t play fair with them, you don’t get the toy either.” You hold your hand out to receive the toy, “hand it over.”

Sukuna scoffs, clearly amused, “no way.”

“Sukuna, give it.”

He hums softly to himself and gives you a mischievous look, “if I give it to you then I’ll just have to find something more interesting to play with.” He steps closer to you, “something like… your kitty?”

You shove Sukuna away from you and continue to make the udon base, “that’s disgusting.”

Ren blinks his big owl eyes at you, “auntie, you have a cat?”

You’re gonna pretend you didn’t hear that. Sukuna on the other hand has other plans as he plays around and nods like he’s talking about something innocent.

“She sure does. It’s pretty and cute… soft and really friendly.”

Ren’s eyes go even wider than they already are and this time Haru clings onto Sukuna’s leg, “can we see?”

Alright, this has gone too far. You turn down the heat and ruffle Haru’s hair, “Sukuna is talking nonsense. I don’t own a cat.” You smile cutely at Ren as well, “he’s talking about my neighbor’s kitten. Now,” you glare at Sukuna again, “give it.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes at you and puts Ren down, “fine.”

When Sukuna is out of sight, you give the toy back and point a stern finger at them, “if you can’t share then I’m taking it away again. Understood?”

Haru looks down but nods his head at you. Same goes for Ren, “yes, auntie.”

“Go have fun.”

Gosh, what a headache. Three brats… really??? Anyway, since the broth is starting to boil, you add in some bonito flakes, turn the heat off and wait for around a minute until the flakes completely sink. After that, you strain it and begin to cut up the rest of the ingredients, even going so far as to add some pork belly. For the curry mix, you combine curry powder, flour, potato starch and water.

You’re done cooking the pork belly and don’t question why Sukuna is suddenly in the kitchen again until he stands right behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. Feeling that it’s too risky, you push him with your elbows, “get off of me.”

Your words fall on deaf ears because Sukuna starts to leave tiny little kisses down your neck and onto your shoulders. You stiffen in his hold as your breath hitches from the tickling sensation, “stop, Sukuna.” You use your elbow again, “not here, my nephews are in the room next door.”

Sukuna’s hands travel down to the waistband of your bottoms and he sighs softly to himself, “they’re busy, come on.” He gives your shoulder another kiss, “let me get a taste.”

You’ve already poured the veggies, pork and broth in so you’re too busy manually removing the foam from the pot to actually fight back, “stop being a pervert and go play with them. I’m making lunch.”

Sukuna’s fingers just dig deeper into your pants while he watches you pour in soy sauce, mirin and sugar, “they’re getting along and playing just fine, I made sure. They won’t even know what’s going on in here.” His right hand cups over your crotch while his middle finger presses down right onto your clit, “don’t you think youthful innocence is just so cute?”

He’s the fucking devil. You’re trying to focus, so you continue to cook, “yes, it is. I’d like to keep it that–” you jump from the sudden sensation of rubbing and try to ignore him as best as you can, “I’d like to keep it that way. Who knows if they’ll walk in and become traumatized because you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

He smirks onto your shoulder as his fingers become soaked in your arousal. Like the ass that he is, he slips two fingers in and begins to pump in and out at a steady pace, “I just want a taste of dessert. After all,” his other hand slips into your shirt and under your bra, “you were being mean.” His fingers begin to rub and tweak at your hardened nipples, making it hard to concentrate.

Your eyes shut momentarily as you lower the heat to lower to let it simmer and thicken, “how so?”

Sukuna brings his mouth towards your ear and gives it a slow lick, “you took the race car away from me. Now I have nothing left but your kitty to play with.” He places a gentle kiss on the shell of your ear, “let me get a taste.”

“There’s no way in hell.”

After adding the curry mix, you try to push Sukuna away but he holds you firmly and pushes another finger into you, “you’re behind a counter, y/n, and the kids are in the other room. No one will see a thing.”

Just as Ren runs into the kitchen, Sukuna ducks down to be unseen and pulls your bottoms down as well. Ren stands by the entrance, holding up a lego piece he built, “auntie y/n, look! I built a car!”

“Spread your legs.”

Sukuna whispers loud enough just for you to hear. Obviously, you don’t comply. Instead, you make big eyes at Ren and nod, “wow~ Oh-” you cut yourself off when you feel Sukuna spread your legs for your and forces you to stick your ass out so he can get a better angle. He licks a stripe down your cunt from behind like the nasty man that he is. To fix your mistake, you laugh, “that’s so cool, Ren. Just keep playing over there with Haru, okay? Lunch is almost ready.”

By now, Sukuna is greedily tongue-fucking you and you have no choice but to act like nothing is happening. Ren cocks his head, “are you okay, auntie? You’re moving a lot. Where is uncle Sukuna at? I want to show him!”

He’s about to come to you but you hold your hands out at him and stop him, “no, go play in the living room. Sukuna– ngh… he went to the bathroom, I think.” You point behind Ren and smile as best as you can, “go over there and I’ll go get him for you, okay?”

Ren blinks twice before eventually smiling again, “okay! Tell him to hurry so I can show him!”

He’s out as quick as that and all you can do is breathe a sigh of relief. Once you’ve calmed down, you turn back and try to shake him off, “get your tongue out from there, you fucking pervert!”

Sukuna smirks against your cunt and buries himself deeper, chuckling lowly when you bite your own lip to hide your moans. Even if you used all your strength to shove him away, he’s holding you firmly in place with no problem. He can taste your mess, but he continues to kitten lick you through your orgasm.

“Stop,” you sigh out as your legs begin to shake and lose strength. You can barely manage to stand as overstimulation begins to hit and the only thing keeping you standing is Sukuna’s hold.

With one final lick, he swallows your taste and pulls your bottoms back up in one swift move, “oh, shut up. You enjoyed it.” He tidies your clothes up a bit and wraps his arms around your waist again, “I felt your cute little hole clenching.” His lips tickle the back of your neck as he mutters against it, “you were excited, weren’t you?”

“No, I was horrified he was going to discover us like this.”

He rubs his lips against your skin and then pulls away smugly, “I couldn’t help it. You taste so good. I want more.”

Before his hands can wander more, you turn off the heat, unravel yourself from him and go towards the fridge to take the dough out to cut, “later, okay? Stop distracting me.”

You lay out a bunch of flour so the pieces don’t stick together and begin to roll it flat when Sukuna leans over and pokes at it with a pout.

“I just want a kiss, then.”

“A kiss? If I give you one then you’ll shut up and be on your way?”

What an ass. He lingers in your kitchen, does as he wants, watches you cook and doesn’t bother to help at all. After you’ve rolled the dough out enough, you fold it and begin to cut them precisely.

Sukuna flicks the flour from his hand and nods, “yes ma’am.”

Fine, if a kiss will shut him up then so be it. You cup his cheeks with your flour covered hands and give him a soft peck on the lips. It’s nothing romantic at all, but a kiss is a kiss. You pull back from him and look him in the eyes, “happy?”

He looks far from it, lol. Sukuna’s lips twitch into a frown and he clicks his tongue sassily at you, “not a fucking peck. What am I, a kid? Give me a real kiss.”

You look away from him to resume cutting the dough into noodle pieces, “but– mph!”

Sukuna impatiently grabs your chin with one hand and slams his lips down on yours, forcing your mouth open with his tongue. He pushes his tongue against yours and makes sure that you can barely catch your breath before breaking away. Like the dick that he is, he smirks to himself in a proud manner and wipes your lips for you with his thumb, “that’s more like it.”

He wipes the flour off of his own cheeks and then smacks your ass with his left hand, “no take backs. You better serve yourself on a silver platter for me later.”

“I–”

He doesn’t bother to linger any longer as he walks out of the kitchen, “yo, kiddos! What did you want to show me?”

You wipe at your own mouth and scoff in disbelief, “that asshole.”

Ugh! Whatever… You try to forget about the wet mess that you are and boil the noodles so they’re ready to serve.

♡ ♡ ♡

You pour the curry into a small bowl and go out to find them. The first thing you see is Sukuna hogging the race car while Haru clings to his leg as he waits for his turn. Even when you said for him to play nice he’s still being greedy… you smile at the scene anyways and tap your foot on the ground to get their attention. Sukuna’s eyes never leave the car but he responds.

“What?”

You shrug in an obvious way, “where’s Ren?”

“Shit, dunno.”

Really, Sukuna? You groan at him, “you lost him?”

Sukuna’s other hand begins to push at Haru as he tries to pry him off, “he’s not lost, just somewhere else.”

Haru’s little hands clutch onto Sukuna’s pants tighter, “quit it, it’s my turn now.”

“Beat it, kid.”

You’re beginning to lose patience with the two as you speak, “Haru, where’s your brother?”

The kid whips his head around and stares at you with the same big owl-like eyes as Ren. He shrugs his little shoulders, “he left to play by himself.”

Crap. Guess you’ll have to seek him yourself. He shouldn’t be too far, so hopefully you can locate him quickly. Since it’s obvious that he’s not in this area, you go into your room and search. Nope, not there either.

“Ren,” you call out, “it’s time to eat.”

You go upstairs with hasty steps and halt at the top when you see him peacefully building legos by himself. The only thing you’re dreading is the bunch of legos that he dumped out onto the floor, but that’s an issue for later. For now, it’s time to eat.

“Ren,” you say again, “come here.”

He silently stands from where he’s sitting and runs over to you, “wanna play?”

“Maybe later. Here, try this.”

You give him the bowl and make him try the curry.

“Is it spicy? Can you eat it?”

Ren’s chubby cheeks turn a soft shade of pink but he beams at you happily, “it’s yummy.”

“Good!”

You pick him up and carry him down with you while shouting.

“Time to eat!”

Both Haru and Ren line up behind you to get their portion and so does Sukuna. He’s standing there like a big baby waiting to be pampered and coddled, how ridiculous. You start off with Haru and give him his bowl, “walk slowly and go sit at the table over there. Would you like anything specific to drink?”

He lights up like a bulb, “soda!”

“Is that okay with your mom–”

“Ah come on, let the kid have some soda.”

Sukuna’s louder voice cuts through yours and when you turn back to glare at him, he cackles and hides behind his bowl to avoid your gaze. Haru taps your leg and nods eagerly, “yeah, auntie y/n, listen to your boyfriend. I want soda.”

“He’s not my–”

“Let the kid be happy, baby.”

The way Sukuna says it is so cunningly sweet that it irritates your soul… however, there’s a giddy feeling in your stomach from his stupid ass teasing. How is it possible for him to be so carelessly playful all the time? Once Haru gets out of the way, you give Ren his and walk him over to the table. Sukuna scoffs in offense, “aren’t you forgetting about someone?”

“You’re a big boy, Sukuna. You can serve yourself.” You’re speaking to him in the same playful tone he used on you and hide your laugh when he squints pettily.

He makes sure to huff and puff repeatedly when filling his own bowl but it only makes him look like a man-child. “Are you going to offer me a drink too or ignore me again?”

You move to make yourself a bowl as well and tap your cheek, “hmm, don’t you have two feet that work?”

“I have a third leg that wo–”

“Alright, alright, what do you want to drink, asshole.”

He snickers triumphantly, “soda for me, too.”

Clink, clink, clink and clink. You place four cans down on the table and sit across from Sukuna, digging in after everyone has already started. The next hour consists of you watching the three of them play together. Of course, there are moments when you have to step in and tell Sukuna to stop being childish, but he only listens for a few minutes and then goes right back to acting like a kid. Ren is the only one who is laid back, but that’s because he’s occupied with the many other toys Ayumi packed.

“I’ll be right back.”

You go back upstairs and take your sweet time to collect the lego pieces that were dumped. Just how many pieces are included in this set? You crawl over to grab the two buckets and hum to yourself. 2,000 pieces per bucket, wow.

“That’s my car!”

Ren’s voice roars from downstairs and his loud crying follows shortly after. Gosh, Sukuna can’t have the race car so he takes Ren’s? Why can’t he be a bit more responsible? You quickly gather the pieces in bunches and snap the lid back on so you can bring both buckets downstairs with you.

“Sukuna, would you quit acting like a brat?”

Your voice dies down when you see the situation. It wasn’t him that took the car, it was Haru. Sukuna is looking at you with an ‘are you serious right now’ look while cradling Ren in his arms to help console him.

“Oh…”

His frown quickly lifts into a grin as he mocks you, “yeah, oh.”

Embarrassment seeps into you as you walk over to Haru. You hold out your hand and demand for the lego car, “what did I say about playing nice? If you can’t do that, you can’t play at all.”

Haru crosses his arms and frowns at you, “then I’ll tell my mom and dad about your boyfriend!”

“Ouu,” Sukuna bursts out laughing at you and covers his mouth with a fist, “he got you there.”

“You’re not helping the situation, Sukuna. None of this would’ve happened if you had just left when I told you to.”

He bounces Ren in his arms to help lull him, “if I left, you would’ve been stressed trying to take care of them on your own.”

Well, he has a point. Damn him. You feel so defeated today as nothing is going your way… What are you supposed to do? The three of them won’t share the damn race car, Ren is in love with the one he built yet Haru won’t let him have it and even when you told Sukuna to be an adult, he won’t let the kid have the race car to himself.

While you’re blanking out about what to do, Sukuna takes it upon himself to step closer and pull you into an embrace with his other arm, “stressed out?”

“A bit,” you sulk, muttering against his chest.

Haru grimaces at the scene but quickly becomes jealous when he realizes he’s being left out, so he quickly shoves himself between you and hugs Sukuna’s thighs, “I want a hug too! How come you guys are only hugging Ren?!”

Sukuna playfully rolls his eyes, “beat it, kid.” Despite saying that, he releases you and kneels down to pick him up.

“I was just having a bit of fun, y/n. I didn’t mean to stress ya out.”

He tries to make it up to you by puckering his lips for a kiss but you immediately reject it and shoot him down.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “hey kids, how about we all clean up and watch a movie together?”

Ren sniffles, wiping his own tears, “movie?”

“What kind of movie?” Haru adds.

Sukuna moves his head closer to Haru’s and lightly headbutts him, “any kind you want. You just can’t say a word about me being here, okay?”

The kid squints with suspicion and scoffs, “don’t forget about the money you promised.”

He puts them down and digs into his wallet to give them pocket change, “yeah, yeah.”

It’s kind of cute watching them run around the house as they try to tidy things up. Sukuna is barely doing anything to help but it’s the effort that counts and the other two are shoving things in their duffel bag. Since it’s almost four now, you’re curious on how much longer you’ll have to watch them. You would text Ayumi but you’re not sure how serious Hotaru’s condition is, so it might sound insensitive of you to ask how much longer you’ll have to babysit.

So, you guys spent a good few minutes arguing on what to watch since everyone’s preference was different. Sukuna wanted to watch horror but you argued against him since it wouldn’t be appropriate for children to watch, therefore you’ve all settled on Coraline. Sukuna is stuck on the other end of the couch with Haru sitting beside him and then there’s Ren and you. Because he’s a bit scared of the movie, he’s clinging to you and Sukuna is glaring at the poor kid through the corners of his eyes. He’s jealous that you’ve given these kids all of your attention because now he’s left hanging.

They fall asleep halfway through the movie, possibly from food coma and from sitting still for so long. Sukuna turns to look at you with a gentle pout still on his lips, “kids are asleep.”

“What about it?” You whisper back.

He points down at his thighs, “this brat is heavy, and my legs are asleep so let’s move them.”

Aww, Haru looks so cute when he’s not being a smart mouth, almost like Sukuna. You carefully lift Ren up and stand from the couch, “they should be fine in my room again.”

You wait for Sukuna to stand as well and then go towards your room. You’re about to enter, but Sukuna turns and goes in a different direction. “Uh, where are you going?”

He doesn’t even look at you, “putting them in the room upstairs.”

“Why?”

All he does is ignore you, so you have no choice but to follow him up. It’s so weird! It’s weird to see Sukuna with kids. You weren’t used to it last time and you’re not used to it now. He looks too soft… To imagine him as a father is just funny, and with that imagination in mind, you end up laughing a little too loud.

He tucks Haru in first and looks up at you, “what’s so funny?”

“Nothing, just… it’s nothing.” You pull the blanket over Ren and start walking away, “why did you bring Haru up here anyway?”

Big arms snake around your waist, holding you in place, “so they won’t get in my way.” Sukuna releases you, bends down and picks you up bridal style after, “you haven’t paid attention to me all day.”

A giggle leaves your lips at his immaturity, “that’s a lie, I paid attention to you this morning.”

“You left me hanging.”

“Oh, you got me there.”

He leans down and leaves a kiss on the tip of your nose, “now it’s time to make up for it.”

Your smile drops at his statement and you begin to flail in his arms, “Sukuna, no. The kids are still here.” You feel his grip on you tighten so you begin to flail harder, “you can sneak back over later tonight. We can’t do anything here.”

He shuts your door with his foot and throws you onto the bed, “it’ll be fine, y/n. They’re dead asleep.”

This guy… No. You can’t let him have his way right now but Sukuna quickly topples over you, trapping you beneath him. He’s not exactly sitting on you, just hovering above, but he’s a lot heavier than you so no matter how much you try to fight him off he won’t budge.

He smirks down at you, “I hope you realize how loudly you’re laughing. You’ll wake them up if you continue.”

“Good, hopefully they can save me from this horny pervert!”

“Ahh~” he sighs, “a pervert? Me?” He laughs in a cynical way and lowers his face so that his nose almost touches yours, “you might not be wrong~”

There’s so much tension between you two right now as he lays his forehead against yours, “but on a serious note, pay attention to me too.”

Damn, he switches just like that, huh? First he looks all evil and sinister and then he looks all vulnerable and shit. What an absolute ass. You told yourself not to give in, but he just pulls you in like a magnet… you can’t help it.

You tilt your head up first and meet his lips and gosh, they’re hypnotic. The not-so-secretive smiles that play on your lips disappear as you both indulge in each other, mindlessly crossing lines that were long blurred all over again.

Before things escalate, Sukuna separates and pants against your lips, “if you really don’t want to do it, we don’t have to. I’ll wait.”

Fuck it. You’re already horny. You tilt your head upwards again to continue the kiss, granting him permission to continue and you moan softly with excitement each time he grinds against you. Your heads turn at different angles to deepen the kiss while his hands move down to your thighs. Everywhere his hands go, your skin burns. It’s crazy, right?

Sukuna gently lifts your hips up to pull your pants off while his lips move from yours down to your neck, leaving you a panting mess. It’s crazy how his lips leave such soft supple kisses on your skin while his breath tickles your neck.

“Let’s take a look,” Sukuna says as he removes himself from you. He spreads your legs apart and salivates at the mess you’ve made.

Feeling shy, you close your legs again and look away, “don’t look… it’s embarrassing.”

Sukuna shakes his head at you and spreads your legs open again, “it’s cute, doll. Nothing to be embarrassed about, alright?”

He stares at you with such tender eyes before moving down to lick a stripe up your cunt. It sends a shiver down your spine but you’re quickly drowned in bliss when he gets to work. Sukuna’s mouth attaches to your clit and he gently flicks up and down while his hand pumps in and out of your pulsing cunt. There’s a dirty squelching sound that fills your ears and you can feel your stomach tightening up.

Your hands fly down to Sukuna’s head in a panic and you violently grip at his hair but you’re too late. Your legs are already squeezing his head while your back arches from the pleasure and he’s just shamelessly lapping up all your juices like a starved dog.

“Fuck me,” you whisper in the heat of the moment.

Sukuna removes himself from your cunt and crawls back up to tackle you in a wet kiss. He’s letting you taste yourself, that dirty man. His damp fingers move into your shirt and under your bra so he can play with your hardened nipples.

“Shit,” you moan into the kiss at his touch and push him away gently, “hurry, who knows when they’ll wake up.”

He sits up and unbuttons his pants, his boxers damp from precum. It amuses him how you’re always looking at his bulge with such wide eyes. It fits every time, so why do you always look a bit anxious? Sukuna pulls out his dick and pokes at your soaked entrance. He pushes in slowly and muses in the erotic sounds you’re making. Your previous orgasm made it easier for him to slide in, so he begins to move at an easy pace.

You let your hands roam under his shirt, “kiss me, Sukuna.”

He does as you say, leaning back down to lap his tongue over yours. While making out, he quickened his pace, going harder for each thrust. It makes you bounce up and cling to him more, wrapping your legs around his waist. Sukuna grips at the back of your neck to swallow more of you while his other arm wraps under you to press you closer against him. Everything about you drives him insane.

You could feel every inch of him sliding in and out while your breaths and moans got louder and louder. The sound of skin slapping and the smell of sex began to fill the air but you were too intoxicated on sex to care. It just felt too good. Everything felt too good with Sukuna.

He grunts harshly while a sheen layer of sweat begins to build up, “baby.”

You don’t hear him. You’re too distracted with your own pleasure.

Sukuna pinches your nipple to get your attention. “Baby,” he calls again.

This time you open your hazy eyes and look up at him, “yeah?”

Shit. You didn’t make a face at the name he called you. Now he’s even harder. Initially, he planned to pull out and finish on your stomach, but you just pull him back in each time. Sukuna grabs both of your wrists and pulls you up off the bed.

“Turn around. Face down, ass up.”

You submissively do as he says and get into the position he asked. He lines himself up with you again and slams right in, earning a loud moan from you. “Fuck,” he mutters, “you’re swallowing me up.”

His hands grip your waist and he begins to pull you back and forth while his hips snap into you violently. He’s burning with desire, just on the edge of cumming. “I’m gonna cum,” Sukuna says as he begins to slow down his pace.

Too drunk on sex, you push your ass out towards him, “in me…”

Do you realize what you’re saying? As much as he would like to, he’s not wearing a condom and the possibility of you getting pregnant would cause problems, so he chuckles and leans forward to press sensual kisses down your back, “baby, did seeing me around kids give you a funny idea? Hmm?”

No answer… You’re a drooling mess with your tongue lolled out. There’s a pool of saliva seeping down on your sheets but Sukuna doesn’t need to know that.

Sukuna grins at your silence and moves closer to turn your head towards him. Hungry lips devour you and you’re left kissing him back like the horny mess you are, moaning uncontrollably. You release first, flinching with sensitivity as his dick continuously rubs up inside of you.

“Shit!”

Sukuna quickly pulls away from the kiss and pulls out of you while his cum spurts onto your ass and back. When the high finally dies down and you both catch your breaths, he flips you onto your back and presses cute tiny kisses on your cheeks and lips, “sorry, I made a mess on you.”

“That’s okay,” you softly pant, “guess we both needed that.”

“Let me help you change.”

Before you can argue back, he walks to your dresser and digs around for a bit. While he’s doing that, you use your old undies to wipe his mess off your back.

When Sukuna finds what looks like comfortable enough undies and a pair of sweats, he comes right back to you. There’s a glow on his face as he smiles gently, putting your legs through the holes and dressing your bottom half. He pulls you to sit up, “are you okay? Did I go too hard?”

“No, it was perfect. Promise.”

You jump off the bed and kiss his sweaty forehead, “you’re the devil, Sukuna. Such a tempter.”

He shrugs in a nonchalant way, “you like it, don’t lie.”

Damn, he’s got a point… again. You fan yourself and walk towards the door, “I’m gonna make sure they kids didn’t hear us…”

“Have fun~”

You look over your shoulder with a playful smile, “go home, okay? I don’t wanna get in trouble later. If you like me as much as you say you do, you’ll listen and spare me some punishment.”

@Lucyrocks86 @mykyoon @hxlalokidottir @wo-ming-bai @adoraspace @yourusernames @raviolixxx @blackjanexx

[frozenjokes]

Signing Back In, Apparently - 8

Prev/Next

There were a couple things Scar noticed when he woke up face down on the floor. One, Mumbo was gone. Not a huge surprise. Two, everything hurt so much less! Hurray! Three; amendment to number two. His back actually hurt quite a lot, but this time, he was pretty sure that it was from sleeping funny. Exciting! Maybe he could actually get some drugs to take the edge off!

It wasn’t until he stood, gathering his things, that his mood dampened. Ah yes, today he would have to deal with the aftermath of yesterday. Well, he really didn’t have much to his name as of now, perhaps he could just pack the little he had and sail away, never to be seen again. Ah, a glory that would be. Unfortunately, nothing to his name also meant no food, water, and other necessary supplies. Plus, due to recent developments in his health , Scar wasn’t sure if he would make it alone on the sea. Too unpredictable. Although, perhaps ironically, he was feeling better today than he had in months.

Scar hadn’t had much time at all to explain to the Kestrels what was happening before his back and abdomen started spasming, quickly followed by immense discomfort in his eye and throat. Not that he intended to go into detail, but he couldn’t even stand, much less speak. He remembered saying something along the lines of ‘they’re fighting,’ which, in hindsight, was probably terrifying and cinematic.

But they knew. And now they would ask questions. Suddenly, taking his chances out in the ocean seemed like quite the appealing idea. He could put all his important stuff in a bag, maybe grab some canned food from the dining hall…

Scar opened his bedroom door, only to be nose to nose with Sausage. He screamed, falling backwards and dropping literally all of his belongings, which Sausage seemed to interpret as an invitation to come inside. The longer Scar spent here, the more threatening he found Sausage’s smile. Was that how other people felt about him? Oh, he hoped so.

“Scar! Good morning, or, rather, good afternoon! You slept in quite late today!”

“Yup! You know me..”

“Aha, yes. How about we sit, hm?”

Well, there was no escaping this afterall. Scar could fight, but he wasn’t sure he trusted his body right now, and getting supplies would be a far more difficult task. So he sat.

“Scar, I need to have an honest conversation with you, because right now, with the way you’ve been acting, the rest of us have been losing our patience. You’re a different man than you were six months ago when you joined us, and I don’t mean in a good way. You’re deteriorating. Everyone can see it, even in the other factions. Now, I can’t imagine what it’s like to live in your situation, with pain you can’t manage, and how frustrating that is, but,” Sausage sighed, sitting down beside Scar, “This has turned into something you can’t deal with alone anymore. It’s going to kill you, Scar, and by the time you’re dead, no one will care to mourn you, because you’re a fucking asshole.”

Scar wasn’t sure how to react to that. Sausage wasn’t wrong. He had been losing his grip. Quips and jokes that once came easily only soured on his tongue now. While he had never sailed quite as much as the other Kestrels, as months passed, he could leave his room less and less. This past month.. well.. when he did leave, it was safe to say he was snappy at best. He narrowed his eyes at the ground. It bothered him . He was falling apart, and everyone knew , and he didn’t have the ability to hide it anymore.

“It’s their fault,” he growled, voice low, “They came back. They were supposed to be dead.”

“No Scar, it’s your fault,” Sausage sighed, leaning back on his hands, “You never told anyone, in fact, you only got aggressive whenever the subject was brought up. You sat in your room by yourself, letting it get worse.”

“Well there’s nothing you can do.”

“You don’t know that. Listen, I don’t care what happened to you in your past; that’s your own business, but you can’t just deflect and attack everyone who offers their hand. It’s okay to be weak.”

“It’s not okay.”

Sausage paused, shooting Scar a calculating glare. Scar returned it. “Alright, Scar. Well let me skip to the point then. This is your last chance, or I’m going to ask you to leave the Kestrels. I’m extending an olive branch because I don’t want to see you die this way, so it’s your choice what you do with it. Tell me about your ghosts. They’re related to your pain, right?”

Scar closed his eyes. A choice indeed. “Do you really think you can get rid of them?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll try. We’ll all try, if you shape up.”

Scar shook his head, releasing a small, breathy laugh. “Well, why not then. Yes, they’re related to my pain. I’ve got four parts of my body that you could say are cursed, and the pain fluctuates with the corresponding ghosts’ mood. The longer I’m alive I think, the angrier they get. It must be something like that, because it’s been getting progressively worse. All you need to know is that they’d really like me to keel over.”

“Do you treat them well?”

Scar choked on his own laughter, falling back into his bed and shaking the entire frame, “Uh, no offense, but that is the dumbest question anyone has ever asked me.”

“I’m gonna take that as a no, then.”

“Well there’s a reason I got my eardrums blown out. Little bastard was trying to wreck my stuff. For the record, I did not know he could do that. Unfortunate, because he makes the best faces when you make fun of him. You know when-”

“Scar , you taunt your ghosts? When you know their moods directly correlate to your pain? What are you thinking?”

“In my defense, I don’t do that very much,” Scar shrugged.

Sausage put his head in his hands. “ Noted. Well to start, you need to be nicer to them. Even if they’re trying to kill you. You probably deserve it, anyway. But I’m also going to have you speak with Cleo.”

“Cleo? They’re a Heron, right?”

“Yes. Scott tells me they’ve got quite the affinity for ghosts. Apparently there’s this haunted island she visits often? If anyone can help you out, it’s probably her. Actually, if you want, I can ask Scott to go and grab her now.”

“Scott- is he here?” Scar bristled, turning wide eyes to his doorway.

“Hi, Scar!” Scott waved, looking mildly pleased with himself.

Scar stared, taking a deep breath before laying back down across his bed. “I guess this might as well happen.”

“That’s the spirit!” Sausage leapt to his feet, trotting to the door, “She’ll meet you in the tavern, so be ready!

“Yeah, great, I’ll be waiting then,” Scar mumbled, reaching for a pillow to crush over his face. Well. If he wanted to scrape together any amount of dignity, it was time to get it together. He washed up, ran a brush through his hair, and stared at himself for an inexplicably long time in the mirror. Surely there was something he could do about the bags under his eyes. Well, his good eye; the bad one was too far gone to be saved. Hm… but on second thought, it didn’t look as egregious as usual today… Unfortunately, before he could go and dig around for concealer in Oli’s room, he heard his name being called. Ah! But he hadn’t shaved!

Scar ran for his hats, stacking them with great care before balancing them precariously on his head and skipping downstairs.

“Well hello there! Sorry about that, I just got a little distracted, you know,” Scar waved his hand in a vague gesture, heading over to the bar where Cleo was already serving themself a drink. She turned, looking Scar up and down with a small smile.

“You look like shit.”

“You’re not so bad yourself!”

Cleo chuckled, leaning back against the bar. “It’s been a long time, I heard you’ve been sick. So it’s really ghosts that have been giving you trouble? I would have visited earlier, but I heard you were touchy, and I don’t have much patience for bullshit. Finally caved, huh?”

“I guess you could say that. And I damn well paid for it too, so no need to pry.”

“Looks like you’ve been paying for it for a long time, and not because you finally said something. You’ve had that black eye since I met you! I must say, it looks worse than I remember.”

“No need to flatter me. Can you get rid of my ghosts?”

“Oh, probably not, but I heard from Sausage that you’re hurting because they’re unhappy, and I know a place that’ll brighten them right up!”

Scar paused, staring blankly. Cleo stared back with an unassuming smile.

“You want to take my ghosts on a VACATION?”

[aurumacadicus]

More serial killer Bucky I guess. 😒 Tw: blood and gore and self harm and depression and suicidal thoughts and beloveds this man is a serial killer. This is past revenge he gets too much pleasure out of it. He chooses not to hurt Tony much but that’s an exception not the rule. He once tried to strangle Steve for getting in his way and Steve almost broke his neck in response these men went to sleep and woke up WRONG. They are not nice people.

Also I’m saying this so no one gets on my ass: The illnesses Bucky mentions are in quotations because until he actually researches them, Bucky thinks they’re fake. They didn’t have that shit back before he fell from the train and he is ASTOUNDED to know that he and Steve probably have some form of PTSD. But that’s future Bucky’s problem. He’s got Hydra to kill.

Watch out for under the cut.

—

“You need to go check on Tony,” Steve says. “I’ve got too many enemies on my tail. I can’t go. He’s not answering his phone.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and lets it back out. “I’m on my own job.”

“He’s not answering his phone and I can’t get to him,” Steve says flatly. “If he’s dead when I get back, that’s your fucking problem.” He hangs up before Bucky can say anything in response. The dial tone sounds judgmental.

Bucky looks at his phone for a moment, sighing, then crushes the Hydra goon’s throat in his metal fist, not caring about the blood splattering over him. He would have preferred to draw it out, but he hadn’t started his homicidal bender just to watch the kid who got him out of it die. His phone rings again. He answers it.

“I told him you killed his parents, by the way,” Steve says, voice clipped. “So he might try to shoot you. I don’t know,” he adds, sounding frustrated. “He might hand the gun to you to finish the job, too. He’s taking this medicine. I think sometimes it helps and sometimes it doesn’t.” He sighs angrily. “I kinda thought they’d be able to fix this by now. The human body is a mistake. Have you heard of AIM?”

"No," Bucky says simply. He’s been hyper-focused on Hydra.

“Fucking piece of shit future things were supposed to be better without me--” Steve says, and then there’s the sound of shooting, and then he hangs up again.

Bucky considers looking into AIM, then decides he can deal with them if and when he runs out of Nazis to kill.

Tony’s front door is unlocked. It irritates him. Most people are scared off by locked doors, go looking for easier targets then. A locked door would at least buy someone time to protect themselves if the invader was intent on getting in.

“Are you here to kill me?” Tony asks where he’s sprawled out on the couch. “Finish the Stark family off forever?” His head lolls forward, and he blinks at him slowly, bruises under his eyes, greasy hair sticking to his damp forehead.

Bucky walks over to grab him by the front of the shirt with his metal hand. Tony doesn’t stand up when he tugs on it, so he shrugs, dragging him over to where he assumes the bedroom is. That seems to warrant a reaction, apparently, because he scrabbles uselessly with his grip. He makes his way through the bedroom to the bathroom.

“What is this?” Tony finally asks. “Is this a prosthetic? Why is it made out of metal?”

“To torture me,” Bucky answers. It could be a joke. It mostly isn’t. He opens the shower door and thrusts Tony inside. He means to draw his hand back, but Tony had a grip on him, so he slides a few inches before Bucky stops. “You’re gross.”

“It’s not gonna kill me to stay gross a little longer,” Tony huffs, twisting his arm this way and that. “This is sloppy. They really were trying to torture you, huh?”

“Chronic pain makes you tired. When you’re tired, you’re easy to control,” Bucky says. He sounds like he’s repeating it. He doesn’t know where he’s heard it before. One of the Hydra scientists, probably. It makes sense.

Tony’s face twitches, but whatever was there, it’s gone before Bucky can parse it. “I could do better,” he says, wrinkling his nose in disdain.

“You can’t even bathe yourself regularly,” Bucky says flatly. “Melding metal with a nervous system? Please.”

Tony jerks his head up to glare at him, and it’s the most emotion he’s seen on his face. “Oh yeah? Fucking watch me.”

He pulls his shirt over his head and throws it at him, and Bucky ducks on instinct. He stoops to pick it up and wonders why, remembers someone yelling at a bunch of little girls to pick their clothes up after they bathe. It sounds like his voice, maybe. He decides not to think about it. It wouldn’t help. He takes a moment to examine Tony’s arms. All he sees is the faded pink lines, he notices with approval. The scars will probably always be visible, but at least it doesn’t look like he’s got any new marks.

Tony throws his pants at him. He catches them and can’t help but think he aimed them at his head on purpose. His aim isn’t very good. But then, his everything isn’t very good right now. His ribs are too visible. He could use a few good meals.

Tony shoves his boxers down, and Bucky can’t help the noise he makes when he sees the wounds inside of his thighs. Razor marks in two rows from mid thigh up to the crease almost up to where thigh met pelvis.

Bucky has his flesh hand around Tony’s throat before he even realizes, shoving him up against the tiles with a snarl. He feels Tony’s throat work beneath his hand, but there’s no pleasure in it--there’s no fear in Tony’s wide eyes, no anxiety. He doesn’t even struggle. Bucky drops him, disgusted, and Tony drops to the floor with a gasp as he spits, “You’d be happy if I killed you, wouldn’t you?”

Tony clutches at his throat, as he continues sucking in air, but he doesn’t answer, staring up at him from under his lashes with what might be disappointment, if Bucky was generous, except that he mostly looks like he feels nothing at all.

It’s wrong. People shouldn’t want to... What had Steve said? Medicine. Tony was sick. Something was making him feel like this.

“Shower,” Bucky tells him sharply, catches sight of the razor on the shower shelf, and reaches in to snatch it.

Tony looks like he wants to complain, but thinks better of it in response to Bucky’s sharp glare.

Bucky waits for the shower to start before he goes through the bathroom cupboards and drawers, then out into the bedroom. He finds a couple more razors. Takes those too. Finds a couple orange bottles and examines them. Googles the names to figure out what they are. Doesn’t understand any of the words, really.

“What’s serotonin?” Bucky asks when Tony comes out of the bathroom, and Tony lets out a startled bark of laughter. “They didn’t have that when I was in the army,” he continues defensively, and Tony laughs harder.

Tony gets dressed, and Bucky googles what the fuck a dopamine is. Doesn’t care that Tony’s getting close until his hands are on his metal wrist. “This really is garbage,” he huffs, unimpressed. “I know I could do better.”

“I won’t hold my breath,” Bucky says flatly. “You’re still trying to die. You don’t even lock your door.” He slants Tony a sharp look. “Is that because you’re hoping someone will come in and hurt you?”

“Maybe, but so far it’s just been your contrarian ass,” Tony grumbles. “Saved my life twice even though you regularly kill people. Even my own parents. So unfair.”

Bucky turns his judgmental slant to a full-on glare, outraged. Tony doesn’t even notice, making him turn his arm so he can examine the elbow joints in motion. “Do you have any self-preservation in that emaciated body of yours?”

“Celebrities are supposed to be thin,” Tony scoffs.

“I don’t know what that means,” Bucky tells him, unimpressed, and then jerks his arm free and stands. “Answer your fucking phone.”

“I was mugged,” Tony says with a blase shrug, and then snaps, “Don’t fucking choke me if you’re not gonna finish the job,” when Bucky reaches out for him again.

Bucky pauses to consider this. Maybe a good slap would help?

Tony tips his head back to look up at him, purring, “Or unless you’re gonna finish the job, if you know what I mean. I like when my daddy chokes me while I’m riding him.”

“Gross. I knew your dad,” Bucky says. Remembers the way Howard looked up at him, blood dripping down his face, and asked, “Sergeant Barnes?” before he beat him to death. “Don’t call me that. You’re twelve.”

“I’m twenty-two,” Tony exclaims, offended.

It's the most emotion Bucky has seen on him, even more than in the bathroom. “Answer your fucking phone,” he says, instead of ‘sounds fake’ or ‘no way.’ “I had to leave in the middle of a job. If I have to do that again, I’ll be very angry.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Tony says, and Bucky has to credit him for being honest.

“Maybe you can fix my arm,” Bucky says, instead of telling him he’s annoying. “If you live long enough.”

Tony’s eyes immediately go to his arm again. Speculative. Interested.

Bucky leaves. Takes a few days to do a deep dive on “depression” and “bipolar” and “anxiety” and wonders when they started existing outside of shell shock, except apparently that isn’t a thing anymore. Takes another few days to research the medication he’d found and texts Steve that he doesn’t think what Tony’s taking is helpful. Suggests different options.

The only response he gets is “why is Tony taking my blood????” and “WHY IS TONY DRAWING ARMS??????? ARE YOU GETTING A NEW ARM????? I’m gonna tell him to put a smiley face on where the star is now.”

[swiss-army-ghoul]

Ghost BC Whump Month Day 1: “Are you okay?”

Tw for some mild gore/horror elements

The light is just starting to filter in through Phantom’s window when he wakes up, an early-early, pre-sunrise grey haze. He blinks his yellow eyes and chokes on the scream he feels rising up in his chest. His claws are tangled up in the sheets where he’s raked the fabric to shreds clawing at it to pull himself back up towards wakefulness. The worst part about being topside, so far as he can tell, has been the dreams. Always the same-

There’s movement at the corner of his eye, and he’s immediately back to alert again. And then- there she is. She’s in a light blue Hospital gown, hair matted down to her thin face in blood from the left side of her face, or what might be left of it, beneath the gore. She reaches for him, making a damp, throaty gurgling sound through the blood that pools around her lips. He’s never seen her, never seen any of them, after he wakes up. He screams, high and keening, lashes out with his tail as if that’ll do anything, falls sideways off his bed and thumps like a wet sack of laundry to the hardwood floor. She shuffles towards him as well as someone who’s been dead for as long as she has can, moaning and gibbering, reaching for him with gnarled, skeletal hands. Phantom covers his face and screams again.

“Hey, you okay?” It’s Aether. His bedroom door clicks open. “Oy, you, fuck off, he can’t do anything for you!”

Phantom opens his eyes from the floor. They’re alone, just he and Aether and the quiet of the morning. “I’m losing my mind,” he tries to say, but he can’t quite find his breath.

“Nah, Mate. You’re okay.” Aether reaches out a hand and phantom clings onto it like a lifeline. He tries to stand but his knees tremble and then give out and he falls back onto his ass beside the bed.

“Are you alright?” Aether asks again, kneels in front of him. “Cmere, you, you’re shaking.” He shuffles closer and Phantom practically crawls into his lap. Aether scoops him up and sits them both on the bed, wraps the covers up around their shoulders. “There we are, love.”

“I- what the fuck.”

“They’re attracted to quintessence. Especially topside. They’re right assholes when they want to be, too. But they won’t hurt you.”

“Wait. You see them too?”

Aether laughs a little. “Not so much anymore. Once you get a better hold on your powers they won’t come ‘round as much.”

“Teach me. Please.”

“Hey, of course. But right now let’s just try and sleep a little more, yeah? It’s still early and you look exhausted.” He pulls Phantom under the covers and tucks him up under his chin, wraps his arms around him.

Aether is all lavender and spice and warmth, and it doesn’t take too long before Phantom’s trembles slow and his breathing matches up with the other ghoul’s. He feels their power mingling, linking, drifting them together into one. He slips into the first real, quiet sleep that he’s had since being summoned.

[araccoonthatlikesmurder]

A Warm Forested Heart Is The Best Place For A Firefox To Live

This is a Tumblr(they/it) x Firefox(he/him) fanfic and that is all you need to know

Notes: It’s way too fucking late for this shitttt bro

Warnings: If anyone even DARES to fucking ask for a sequel I will write them having the sloppiest makeout session of your lifetime and I will NOT regret it (genuinely)

Word count: Kung Pow Penis

@staff as many times as you can and reblog vigorously to give a trans person 1 dollar, steal 1 dollar from a terf’s bank account, plant a tree, and fire a cop for each reblog.

Firefox was clacking away on his old computer once again, doing some more late night overtime. He sat there in silence, clacking the keys over and over, sentences and sentences, as per usual. It’s always like this, day in and day out, aggressively trying to get that 3% raise just for his own dreams.

Sometimes he wonders if it’s all worth it, selling his life for another 3%. If he wants to live his life free from the shackles of work and the 9-5. If he wants to explore himself and who he is on the inside.

“Yes you dumbass,” Firefox said to himself.

“This is all for the money. That’s what this entire thing was for. You will start that business. You will create that browser. You will not stoop as low as your bosses have. And you will be happy. You will make a wonderful browser and it will be worth it.”

But some part of him had doubt over it. He may get a slightly handsome amount per year, but how much longer will that hold? How much longer will he hold? He knows from their various conversations that they’re worried about him.

He continued quietly monologging to himself for a few minutes, reminding himself of the real prize.

An internet browser worth using, one that won’t steal data or cheat or lie or anything like that.

User based site for users.

As it should be.

Then, he heard the classic noises of the love of his life. A strong, yet carefree rhythm or footsteps, coming right down the hall from the kitchen to the office. The chaotic scent was in the air, along with the scent of something delectable. After just a few more steps, Firefox’s darling partner in crime, Tumblr came through the door in a dark red bathrobe and 20 dollar biggie cheese neck pillow.

Describing Tumblr as handsome would be underestimated. They were absolutely drop-dead ugly. They look like a pathetic little cat on the side of the highway. They look absolutely fucking worthless, and that’s what made them so irresistible. They were a mess and it’s beautiful.

Tumblr set down a tray of nice hot chocolate, a slice of hand baked, hand picked pumpkin pie, and an unopened can of jellied cranberry sauce on the side table next to Firefox’s desk, the smell filling the room.

“Babe, it’s pretty late. Come have a break and get some sleep.” Tumblr stated whilst twirling their dark blue locks.

“I know it’s late, but I have to get this raise. I have to.” Firefox said while clicking away on the keyboard.

“If you continue this, you’re gonna be drier than creepy pikachu guy.”

That alone made Firefox’s head turn 160 degrees to see that his partner was already in their bedroom across the hall, waiting patiently for Firefox to join it.

He contemplated the pros and cons of joining them in bed inside his head. It’s already so late…but he has to complete

Firefox saved his work and shut his computer down, carefully took the tray into the bedroom, and sat himself down on the bed next to his beautiful partner. The food was pretty encapsulating, even though they still had to open the cranberry sauce

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

lesson

pairing: harry styles x reader

warnings: smut, masterbation, daddy mentions, heavy degradation and humiliation (lots of sluts and whores) but also some good girls !! teasing (so much teasing), orgasm denial/edging, choking, bondage, cum play (so also unprotected sex), pussy play (including spanks and cock thumping), pillow humping (for like a second), spitting, panty fucking, harry has a very dirty mind, please, only 18+ !!

word count: 6.4k

synopsis: he only has one rule, and she still can’t seem to follow it (or in which harry teaches y/n a lesson)

author’s note: hello! this took a little longer than i expected, so thank you for being patient with me! this is absolute, pure, unadulterated filth (absolutely no fluffiness about this—be proud for me) please, note the warnings and don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with anything mentioned above (that’s why i put them there :)) xx

masterlist

—

Y/N’s heart races in her ears as she scrubs at her hands, foamy soap slipping down her wrists in her haste. Harry calls for her downstairs, the front door slamming shut, shaking the house. She can’t find her voice just yet, traces of a stolen orgasm lingering in her tired body. The sheets are crumpled from her quick highs, and her legs are weak. She feels giddy, despite the odd numbness that seeps into her bones. She finally feels fulfilled after a long day of insatiable throbbing between her legs.

Clad in a simple tee and underwear, she steps out of their bathroom when he finally gets up to their bedroom. She dries her hands off, eucalyptus, mint, and other artificial scents lingering. She’s still catching her breath.

“Hey, babe,” she smiles, just like she does every time he gets back home, but there’s something behind it that’s unfamiliar, a devilish hint.

It’s her eyes that give her away.

They’ve been together long enough for him to know what she looks like after she comes, her shaky legs, dopey smile, and glazed over eyes. The mischievous glint is different, however.

“How was your—”

“How many times?”

“What?” She tilts her head to the side, brows furrowed innocently. It angers him; it actually makes his chest tight, and he has to bite his cheek to keep from snapping. She has the nerve to act as if nothing is wrong. Lip tucked between teeth, she steps forward, hands splayed in front of her. An unfamiliar feeling bubbles in his stomach. Not quite possessiveness but certainly close, this feeling is akin to lust and indignation, and it melts into a pool of gluttonous desire.

Normally, he takes a step back to collect his thoughts when he’s this emotionally invested, but it’s difficult when she looks so tempting, so divine, so satisfied. Fresh faced with a cheeky grin, she beckons him, imploring him to punish her, challenging him to ruin her.

He stalks forward, their gazes never faltering, until she falls onto the bed, still looking at him innocently.

“How many times did you make yourself come?”

His words bite, but she looks indifferent, the glazed look in her eyes taunting him. She doesn’t answer, but then again, she knows that she doesn’t need to. He cups her throat, so tender, pliable, and exposed, and he can feel her swallow thickly.

“I’ll ask again. How many times?”

She stares at him, jaw set and ready to hold her own. It’s different from her usual demeanor. No matter how bratty she would act, she easily fell into her submissive headspace, answering his questions obediently and listening to him eagerly. She doesn’t seem to want to break that easily today. Instead of her usual shy and shameful glaces at her hands, she sits up fully, looking him dead in the eyes, and grins, a twisted little smirk that makes his stomach curl and his cock grow thick. She wants to play a game, but it seems that she has forgotten that he is the one in charge. His fingers tighten around her throat, pressing into the spots beneath her jaw that leave her vision hazy.

“Only once,” she says sweetly, albeit weakly from her grip on her neck.

Lies.

He knows that.

She knows that he knows that, but maybe a part of her just wants him to piss him off.

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” he snaps. “How many times?”

His patience is wearing thin, and this game, this teasing, is getting out of hand. She thinks that she can have an advantage over him, while still playing the submissive. Someone needs to put her in her place.

“Almost three times,” she admits finally, sinking back. He finally lets go of her neck, and she holds the spot where his hand once was, vexing eyes yearning for his touch. He cocks a brow.

“Almost? Did I interrupt the third?”

“Yes,” she whines. That’s when he notices her thighs pressing tight together, and she shifts on the bed.

“Does daddy not please you, babylove? You need to touch your princess parts because daddy doesn’t make you feel good anymore.”

Filled with hurt, his words seem to get to her. The familiar docile look in her eyes slips in, and her lips sink into a pout. She’s drinking from the palm of his hand.

“Maybe I just shouldn’t touch you anymore—”

“No,” she cries, sinking further into her headspace. “But—daddy, you left this morning,” she says, her lips pouting.

That’s true.

The night before, she was his soft babylove, who just wanted to be as close to him as possible, be held and comforted and loved. That’s how he awoke this morning: warm with his cock soft inside her. He kissed her awake, as she deserved, and even though he felt comfortable simply being wrapped in her warmth, he needed to taste her. He was slow with his movements, languidly licking along her lips until wetness coated her thighs, teasingly sucking on her clit until she was trembling, wanting to build up the pleasure.

Admittedly, he had to rush out before she could finish and go to a meeting regarding his upcoming tour. He had quite the time trying to hide his semi for the better part of the morning.

“And I was feeling achy,” she continues rambling; the poor thing is close to tears. He feels for his pretty girl, he truly does, but he pushes that aside. A part of him feels hurt, like she couldn’t trust him to take care of her when he came home. Harry doesn’t ask much. She can be as bratty as she wants to, purposefully teasing him when they’re in public or refusing to do the simplest of requests, but he just asks that she let him take care of her.

She couldn’t even give him that courtesy.

“Don’t make excuses,” he scoffs. “I thought you were a big girl.”

“I am,” she promises.

“Big girls wait for daddy to come home and help them come,” he says, stroking her cheek. Tender touches mask his true intent. He suddenly shoves her back, hand tight to her throat once again, and she gasps, head tilting back into their pillows.

“Naughty girls touch themselves. Whores come almost three times at their own hand.” He grits his teeth. “Are you a whore?”

She doesn’t answer, but he can feel her heart racing beneath his grasp. A glimpse of a smile is enough to let him know that she’s fine; she’s enjoying herself, seeing him so riled up, possessive, and ravenous.

“Are you still wet? Achy?”

She nods.

“Whores get wet when they’re in trouble,” he says offhandedly. Her body quivers at the malice dripping from his tongue. “Arms up.”

She does as told, holding onto the headboard, eagerly awaiting his next demand. This is what she wanted, after all.

She has no idea what’s coming.

Usually, whatever punishment he gives her is what she also enjoys, from the occasional spanking to overstimulation. He usually has her coming until she can’t take anymore, until an ache seeps into the bliss.

Not this time.

He tugs her shirt up and over her head while his other hand fiddles in their bedside drawer. Moments later, a pair of silk scarves tie her hands to the headboard.

“Not too tight?”

She tugs on the restraints and shakes her head.

“Color?”

“Green.” She beams, breaking character for a moment.

Even if they were in the midst of a deep fantasy, he has always made a point to make sure she knows that it's alright to voice any discomfort and vice-versa; she often asks for his color whenever he seems to be overwhelmed. They both know how volatile headspaces can be, with the slightest changes making a huge difference in the experience.

He runs his nose along hers, lips tracing along the curves of her face, nibbling teasingly at her chin, down her neck, and grinds himself against her. He sucks on her breasts, biting at her nipples until they’re peaked. She closes her eyes, savoring every spike of bitter pleasure he has to offer. He sits back after a moment, appreciating the glimpse of light that catches her wet skin. He palms himself.

“It’s only fair that I get to come three times since you did. Make us even, right, lovie?”

“But I only made myself come twice.”

Y/N really has the nerve to talk back to him with her hands tied to the headboard, her body exposed to him, the only thing covering her modesty a flimsy pair of underwear. He cocks his head to the side.

“Should we make it four?”

That makes her hesitate, sinking back in the sheets. She shakes her head, cute pouty lips puckering. He would love nothing more than to run his cock along that pretty, dirty mouth, to feel her greedy tongue tracing the underside of him lazily, to wrap his hand around her throat and feel it expand as he fucks her face.

But he knows that she would enjoy it too much.

Too much for a punishment.

Harry traces along the curves of her features, from the slope of her nose to the round of her cheek, soft and lingering, a harsh contrast of what’s to come. He smirks. She parts her lips like a good girl when his thumb passes over them, biting it teasingly. He, then, drags it down her chin, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake.

He can’t help but think about how pretty she would look with cum and spit dribbling from those sinful lips, eyes barely able to stay open. Fucked beyond belief, she would moan his name and other incoherent thoughts oh-so sweetly, her voice wrecked. His grateful babylove, his lovely, satiated Y/N would whisper a soft thank you after taking him so well. He truly wishes he could do that, give her anything she ever desired, make her feel euphoria like never before, a high no one other than him can give her, but she was greedy and naughty and misbehaving.

And she needs to learn a lesson.

Now, he has to tease her, to bring her to the brink of orgasm, only to shatter her, again and again, until she’s on the brink of tears. She’s going to be left unsatisfied, trembling beneath him, while he brings himself to orgasm, again and again, until he’s milked himself dry. She will be grateful if he gives her even a bit of pleasure, but it is not enough to push her to the end.

It would never be enough.

He leans in close, his lips a fleeting embrace, just past her reach. He wants to taste her, but he needs to be patient.

A warmth buries her, and his overwhelmingly familiar scent swallows her, safe and comforting. She doesn’t know she’s even pulling on her restraints until her fingers are numb and tingly, yearning to feel his skin.

Maybe this was a bad idea, but it’s too late to turn back now.

“You can beg and plead all you want,” he says, “but know this: you will not be coming again tonight.”

Her eyes darken, and a satisfied little grin graces her pretty face.

She got what she wanted, tied up and vulnerable to him.

However, this isn’t her game anymore.

Now, she’s at his utter mercy.

“And if you do come, somehow, I will not touch you for a week; not only will you not feel my cock, my fingers, or my tongue, there will be no kisses or cuddles. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s my good girl.”

He unbuttons his shirt, slowly, diligently, his fingers lingering a little long on his inked stomach, knowing that she likes to take her time and admire that part specifically. After he peels the button up away, he finally sits next to her on the bed, his back to her. His belt falls to the floor with a clatter, and she holds her breath.

The silence is deafening, thick with tension. She waits, knowing that patience will help her. She also knows better than to say anything, since it would probably worsen her current predicament. Harry has always been level-headed, even in his dominant headspace, being very patient, especially in trying circumstances. He can take a lot before he snaps. She usually has to beg him to slap her, to spit in her mouth, or to fuck her so hard her legs give out.

This new persona is unpredictable, new, and alluring.

It’s different and all the more arousing.

She shifts, the bed frame creaking. A feeling of naughtiness courses through her, as it did earlier. She wants to see how much she can get away with and how far she can go before he loses control and puts her in her place. She watches him closely, her breathing ragged. She drags a pillow up by her feet, and Harry pays her no mind, perhaps assuming she’s just getting comfortable. His shoulders shift as he nimbly undoes the buttons to his pants, his back muscles tightening and relaxing. He begins taking off his pants, billowy and undoubtedly expensive fabric slipping down one leg at a time slowly, meticulously. The pillow now nestled between her legs, she grinds her hips down, wishing it was his thigh, the one with tiger on it, bared teeth and hungry.

He turns suddenly, and she’s caught yet again, but she doesn’t stop. Instead, she works herself harder, imploring him to stop her—to punish her. The pillow does very little to satiate the pent up tension between her legs, but it’s better than nothing.

Honestly, she knew he was going to catch her in her lies. That's why she made herself come right before he got home. She wants to get caught, the thrill of going against his rules giving her a high she’s still coming down from. And as he looks at her again, fury in his eyes, she could just fall apart. She wants him to put her in her place, punish her for being a naughty, filthy brat.

She wants him to ruin her.

“No,” he growls, ripping the pillow away and effectively knocking her legs back apart. He slaps her pussy with little warning. She squeaks, tugging at the silken restraints. A shaky, guttural moan shutters from her chest, deep and desperate, and her head falls back into the mattress.

“Fuck,” she cries.

The skin of her swollen pussy burns in the most addicting way, leaving her legs spasming, feet slipping down the sheets. She can feel his rings through her panties, just a slight sting, but her clit takes a brunt of the force, and perhaps, that’s what makes it so good.

“No moving.”

He rubs her soothingly, a stark contrast to the fire behind his eyes. Despite how bratty she’s been, her sweet, attentive Harry is still there, making sure she’s taken care of, comfortable, and safe. Her needy hips chase his fingers, a broken plea on the tip of her tongue.

Again.

He twists her panties with his index finger until her puffy pussy swallows them, the swell of her mound bulging from the tight elastic bands. He smacks her again, a little more gentle this time, but hard enough to still make her toes curl. She laughs through a breathy moan, her heart racing. He tsks, mumbling under his breath.

“This is your punishment. You’re not supposed to be enjoying it.” He tugs her panties up tight to her clit. “You’ll take anything I give you. Won’t you? I could spit on you and call you a bitch, and you’ll say thank you. Right, babylove?”

He delivers another resounding slap to her cunt, and then, another for good measure. This time, her back arches from the mattress, eyes rolling back. Fire licks her skin, and it hurts, no doubt, but in such a way that's indescribable; it burns, but it spreads throughout her whole body, and it makes her limbs tingly and warm, yearning for more. Again, he runs his hand along her exposed mound to ease the ache.

“Thank you,” she moans, and he smiles. He spanks her poor pussy raw, again and again, until his hand hurts and her arousal drips onto the sheets. Her thighs threaten to close, but she digs her feet into the mattress, aching for more pain, more pleasure, just more. Her world spins, but at the center of it all is him—striking eyes, teasing smile, and pretty lips—and he’s all hers.

“Taking it so well, pretty girl,” he says, moving to kneel between her spread legs. He can feel the wetness through her panties, and he nudges his head around where her clit is, still blocked by her useless underwear, her pussy visibly tightens with anticipation. He leans back, still close enough to feel the heat from her, and he slips his cock under her panties, the tight, elastic band pulling at his tender skin while her lips massage the underside. She’s wet, perhaps from her orgasms from earlier, but likely from the spanking. He thrusts, wrapped in soaked panties, until the tip of his cock nudges the fabric at the top of her mound, and he twitches when the underwear pulls at the sensitive head in a certain way.

“Such a naughty girl,” he moans, thumbs pulling at the fabric to wrap tighter around his cock. “I’m only fucking your panties, and you’re already soaked.”

He pulls out reluctantly, his cock heavy on her wet underwear. He spits on the fabric and spreads it over her mound, just to tease her little more. She tugs at her restraints and whines from the sudden cold.

A drop of saliva slips past his puckered lips, landing on his open palm, which now cradles his cock. He hasn’t resorted to jerking himself off in a long time; he hasn’t needed to, but he works himself easily, finding a calculated rhythm, fast then slow, quick, eager strokes along the head then long, languid strokes along the entire length. He sits on his heels, and his legs ache from the weight. Her thighs twitch, and she pulls at the restraints. His balls brush against her mound with every movement of his hand, and he swears he can feel her jump with every movement, so sensitive, so responsive. He fucks his fist, hips unconsciously bucking, wishing it is her warmth that coats him, squeezes him, and pulls him in. He yearns to touch her, to feel her smooth skin, but he knows that this lack of physical touch is as difficult for her to bear as it is for him, and that makes it a little better.

Her chest heaves with unsteady breaths, eyes fixated on his hand working his cock. She pulls futilely at the scarves, until her wrists hurt. She knows that she’s not going to be able to get out, but she unconsciously reaches for him. She’s not used to being so exposed, body vulnerable to his gaze, without having him touch her. Sure, their thighs are pressed tight together, but it’s not nearly enough.

This isn’t what she thought was going to happen when she broke his rules. Truly, more so than usual, this is a punishment: to see him work himself to orgasm without being able to touch him. She wishes she was the one to make him squirm, moan, and come.

“Please,” she whines, eyes pleading with him, and he knows what she’s begging for.

“What? You think I want to touch a dirty little brat like you?”

“You’re being mean.”

“I’m being mean? I came home, hoping to spend a nice evening with my good girl, only to find out that she broke my rule,” he says. “My one rule.”

He wishes it was her hand stroking him, eager eyes and tempting smile staring back at him. It would feel so much better than his own calloused fist. He feels himself tighten to signal an impending end, weak but an end nonetheless.

“I wanted nothing more than to come home and to have you come on my tongue more times than you can count, but you couldn’t be patient, and now, you have to take your punishment.”

She twists and squirms beneath him, her body undulating on the sheets. The need that tugs on her features is almost enough to break him, to make him give in and make his pretty girl come on his face, but then he remembers that scheming smile she had on her face, that devious look that made him rife with lust. He remembers that she was on this very bed by herself just before he got home, making herself come, her head thrown back, whining and whimpering. The thought brings the fire back.

He cups her cheek and leans forward, stretching her legs apart, and his cock rests just above her belly button, still cupped in his hand. Her tongue dips out of her mouth. His eager, naughty girl waits for him to spit in her mouth, to shove his ringed fingers down her throat, to do anything, but he pulls back again, and she frowns.

“How did you do it? Did you use your fingers, baby?”

She nods pitifully, and he hums, his strokes quick.

“Yeah? Bet they weren’t as good as mine.” He runs his thumb along the head, pleasure sending chills down his spine, trying to prolong his buildup.

“No one’s fingers will ever be as good as mine.”

He wants to prove it to her, to pound his fingers inside her until she can barely breathe, arousal gushing down his wrist as she comes until she’s crying. He wants to kiss her tears away as she begs for more. Perhaps, with all the teasing and build-up, he could get her to come with just one finger with one well-placed thrust. Her hips buck, and he knows that she’s thinking about that, too. After the stolen orgasm from earlier and the burning spanks her poor pussy received, she must be desperate for anything he’ll give to her.

His orgasm builds quickly, with his thoughts running amuck, visions of her, on her knees before him, choking on him until tears stream down her cheeks, on her back, moaning while he pounds into her, on top of him, grinding down on him, not letting up because she just loves the feeling of him deep inside her belly.

He comes on her tummy, a broken moan slipping past his bitten lips, spurts of his seed stain her pretty skin, and her breath hitches, shocked at the sudden warmth; then, she hums contentedly.

“There,” he sighs, admiring his work.

“Thought you were gonna come three times,” she says softly as he steps off the bed, sore cock heavy between his legs. His knees tremble.

“Open,” he coos, slipping his fingers in her mouth, and she sucks away the remnants of his orgasm. He smooths out her brow with his free hand, brushing away a bead of sweat that sunk from her hairline.

“Who said I’m done with you? No, I’m gonna go shower, and you’re going to stay there with my cum on your tummy and think about what you’ve done.”

He kisses her nose, just like he does every morning after loving on her. It’s a sweet gesture, one that doesn’t match his demeanor. He leaves her there, like he said he would, tied up as he moves to the bathroom, shoulders pushed back, self-assured and composed. Harry steps into the steaming shower, washing away the sweat from his skin.

Y/N whimpers in the next room. She has given up on tugging at the silk scarves; instead, she’s trying to ignore the insatiable throbbing between her legs, her arousal slipping out onto her thighs, like a greedy slut. His words ring in her ears, and it makes the arousal worsen.

She rubs her thighs together to alleviate some pressure, but it’s little use. Perhaps, if she tests him just a little more, he’ll throw away all willpower and ravish her until the early morning hours, but her resolve weakens with every passing minute. She wanted to tease him a bit, maybe get him a little mad, so he would put her in her place. She wanted him to fuck her to oblivion, until she can’t keep her eyes open.

This is a different kind of punishment, one she’s never even considered. In her fantasies, she’s tied up and vulnerable, but he lavishes her with touch until she’s overstimulated, drunk on him, his scent, his touch, his voice.

This is a different kind of punishment, a true punishment in her eyes. The teasing, lingering touches is enough to make her burst, and to have him there but just beyond her reach is near painful.

His cum has nearly dried on her belly, and she wishes he came inside her, stuffed full of his warmth; at least, then, she wouldn’t be so cold, so exposed.

She perks when he steps out of the bathroom, and he wastes no time straddling her hips, his cock twitching against her tummy. The weight of his body on hers is suffocating, her overstimulated senses taking him in, his warmth, his touch, his scent. She can feel every ridge of his body, every drop of water that slips from his clean skin, everything.

It’s almost too much all at once.

“Color?”

She blinks.

“Daddy, please,” she whispers, “want you to fill me up. ‘M such a greedy cock slut. I won’t even come, promise—”

“Y/N, I need you to tell me what color,” he says.

He doesn’t usually use her name when they’re this far into the fantasy, but it seems she needs it now.

“Green,” she breathes out. “Green, green, you feel so good, H. ‘M sorry I touched myself; I just couldn’t help it. Wanna make you feel good, please.”

“I wanna believe you, baby.” He cups her cheek, cold water dripping from his hair and melting into her skin. He takes her in, relishing in the sight of her craving, trembling, and begging for his touch. He likes seeing her on edge like this, dangerously close to teetering off into oblivion.

“But I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.”

He traces the head of his red cock along the seams of her panties, like he did earlier, but this time, he tugs her underwear aside, mouth watering at the sight of her pretty, puffy pussy, surely sore from the spanking earlier. He spits on her, and he watches as it slips down into her most intimate fold. She’s so responsive to the slightest touch. He spreads her open, lips parted to reveal her wanton pussy. He tugs back the hood of her button, hard and throbbing.

He slaps his cock against her clit, the skin tacky with his spit. The slight, sudden touch is electrifying, and it makes his cock twitch, hungry for more. He can see her tighten up, and her hips jolt. Shivers trail from her spine to the tips of her peaked nipples. He thumps the head of his cock on her clit quickly, concurrent with every keen thrust of her hips, spitting in her every so often, leaving her wet and swollen and filthy, just like she is.

“Thank you,” she whimpers. “Feels so good, daddy.”

He teases the head of his cock just past her lips and nestles himself inside her finally, her warmth swallowing him easily. His eyes flutter closed, savoring what he so desperately needed.

She breathes out sharply when he stops with just the head inside her. This teasing is almost becoming too much.

“More,” she whimpers, “Please?”

He looks at her with fire in his eyes.

“No, you don’t tell me what to do. Besides, I don’t think you deserve my cock.”

She could almost cry. He’s so close, but he won’t go any further, just teasing her with what could have been. She tries to pull him in deeper, her walls tightening around his head. It makes his toes curl, burning pleasure forming in his belly. She tries to pull him in, aching for just a little more. He holds her hips down to keep her from moving.

“Please, I’ve been good. I said I was sorry for making myself come. I’ll never do it again, promise. Please, I just wanna feel you, daddy. That’s all I wanted today.”

“This isn’t about you anymore, babylove. You’re just daddy’s little fucktoy, my little cock slut.” He thrusts slightly, the tender head dragging along her tight opening, never pushing further. “And right now, I wanna hear you cry for my cock.”

Her feet trail up his legs, knees hooked at his hips, frantically trying to pull him in entirely. She tried to be good; she asked him nicely to just fuck her already. At this point, she doesn’t even want to come. She just wants to feel him, to alleviate at least some of the pressure throbbing between her legs. It’s humiliating because she’s near tears, desperate for his cock.

He came not even fifteen minutes ago, and he’s still sensitive. He pulls back until the head is nestled just past her entrance, muscles tight around the tip. He jerks off the base of his cock for more stimulation. A part of the pleasure comes from watching her squirm; she’s so desperate as she yanks at her restraints, hips thrusting and pussy clenching to pull him in deeper. It’s such an odd sensation, her entrance being fairly sensitive, but it’s not enough to stimulate her.

It’s never enough.

“Maybe you’ll come just by the feeling of my cum inside you.”

She honestly might.

The skin of his cock drags back and forth along her sensitive walls as he jerks himself off inside her.

“I bet you will,” he grins. “Just remember, if you come, I will not touch you for a week. Be very careful, Y/N.”

She wiggles pitifully, her arousal dripping down his shaft, and he uses it as lubricant.

“I bet your poor little clit is throbbing,” he teases. “‘M so sorry, babylove.”

He’s not.

There’s a wicked smile that splits his face.

He pulls out suddenly, making her gasp, and thumps his cock some more on her pussy, landing a particularly rough blow to the sensitive part of her exposed clit, puffy with arousal, the hood stretched back.

“Please, daddy,” she whimpers, “more. I’ve been good. I won’t do it again.”

He gives her some more, dragging himself along her fold in languid motions, circling around her clit before he thumps his cock on her pretty little button. She squeaks.

He stuffs himself inside again, just like before with only the head inside her. She groans, tightening up. It’s as if her body has a mind of its own, clenched and frenzied for any type of stimulation. She squeezes him so tightly, and she fights against his hold on her hips.

He comes shortly after, his body curling into itself like it usually does when he has a particularly strong orgasm, back arching with every wave.

Y/N moans when his cum fills her, reaching deep inside her, and her walls clench with need. It’s barely anything, but it’s still more than what he was giving to her before, and she could honestly come from that little bit alone. She’s trying to regain her composure, cunt still throbbing. He kisses her face, like he usually does after he comes, a gentle reminder that he’s still her Harry. He massages her waist, lingering down to her hips. They bask in each others’ warmth, trying to find the energy to move.

That’s normal for him, sweet and mushy and loving.

What she doesn’t expect is him tightening his hold on her hips and thrusting himself fully inside her, his cock still weeping out remnants of his orgasm.

She would scream if she could, but the breath is knocked from her lungs, choked moans passing through clenched teeth. Animalistic and brutal, Harry sets a quick pace, her entire body moving with the power behind his thrusts. Her mind is blank, and her body hums, pleasurable vibrations coursing through her body to every single nerve. She forgets that she isn’t allowed to come, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about the consequences just yet. Finally, she can taste the bittersweet euphoria, making her world dizzy as he fills her again and again. She could almost cry with utter relief.

Yes, yes, this is what she wanted—no, needed—and it’s even better than she dreamt. Her sopping pussy takes him easily, reaching the neediest part of her. She spreads herself further, angling her knees to her chest so he can pound himself deeper inside, cream dripping onto the sheets. Her legs are sticky with their shared arousal.

Harry’s face is flushed, brows furrowed as he loses himself in the feel of her. It’s been almost as torturous for him as it has for her; he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this frantic, never has he felt so desperate to plunge himself into her depths, never has he been so entranced, so sensitive to any touch. His head tips back, features twisted, chest bared, and teeth gritted. His breaths are weak, faltering and shallow. He groans as she tightens around him. Sweat drips down his chest.

“H? Color?”

It takes a moment to pull him back.

“Green, baby,” he says, smiling ever so slightly.

He’s never felt this before, this vulnerable yet powerful, on the verge of pleasure and pain, dancing along a tightrope threatening to snap at any second, such a thrill. He feels light headed, high off of her. He wants to feel her, embrace her, love her.

He rips at the knots around her wrists, fingers trembling, but they won’t budge, and he loses his balance, instead wrapping his arms around her arched back. He nestles his nose in her neck, pulling their chests tight together. She smells of salt and sin and sex, and he can’t control himself.

“So fucking good.”

He presses himself deeper, the head of his sensitive cock nudging the inmost parts of her. He fucks her easily with his cum spilling out with every hard thrust, leaving their connected bodies sticky. He can’t pull out much without his cock weeping with overstimulation, but he can’t stop, the pleasure all too addicting.

“Jus’ one more, lovie,” he whispers. “So close. Don’t you dare come.” He grits his teeth, rubbing at her swollen clit, subtly and just to make it throb, before his hands rest on her lower belly, thumbs connecting just below the button. He fucks into her harder, the bed frame shaking and smacking into the wall.

That’s when realization hits her.

She’s close.

She’s so close, one well placed thrust, one harsh stroke to her clit will push her over the edge.

But she has to hold it off.

His words ring in her ears in time with her racing heart, his threat of no intimacy sobering her. If she thought before was punishment, having to see him pleasure himself without being able to touch him, this is hell. Her orgasm burns painfully in her belly. It tastes so sweet. She clings to the silk restraints. She doesn’t want to give in, but it would feel so good; it would be a high that would leave her lightheaded for hours afterward, and shockwaves of pleasure tightening her muscles as a constant reminder.

She sobs, on the brink of breaking. Her hands tingle, drained of blood. She’s trying to relax, to breathe through the waves of euphoria that crash over her, and it works for a second, but with that, she opens up more, taking him deeper and more easily. That’s when the pleasure would shatter the calm in harsh waves. She closes her eyes, a drawn hum seeping from her chest. He grabs the back of her neck, using it as leverage as he fucks himself deeper into her, and she cries out.

“Look at me,” he demands. She does, barely, her teary eyes glimmering. He smiles, and she feels warm. “There’s my pretty girl. I’m almost there, just a little bit more. Doing so well for me babylove. Don’t come.”

“Please,” she moans, peering through her lashes. “Come for me, daddy.”

She lights a fire in his veins, sending a rippling feeling of ecstasy through his spine. His eyes roll back as he comes once again, his prick pulsating as he empties himself deep inside for a third and final time. Satiated, he grinds his hips against her, wanting to be as close to her as possible. She’s throbbing around him, legs trembling at his sides. She sighs, most likely out of relief but perhaps also out of frustration. As he nestles himself deeper, her lips tremble, features pinching as she tries to hold off an orgasm, clenching so tightly that his softening cock slips out of her. She moans.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing his lips sweetly to her sticky forehead. “You did so well for me, babylove. So proud of you.” Then again to her cheek. He traces up the backs of her thighs, hooking her legs around his waist.

“What did we learn?”

“Don’t touch yourself unless daddy says so,” she whispers, her voice dry. He nods appreciatively, eyes taking in her trembling form, and leans back.

Her thighs twitch occasionally at his sides, and he wants to bite them, skin surely sensitive to the slightest of touches. Sweat and cum and saliva paint her flesh, but the absolute masterpiece is her ruined pussy, swollen and wet and divine. He thumbs at her, gently guiding her lips apart to expose her pink inside, quivering with an insatiable need. He wants to lick up the cum that slips out of her, but she’s been through enough, the aftershocks of her stolen orgasms still visibly lingering in her sore body.

Another time, perhaps.

“That’s right, babylove. I think you finally learned your lesson.”

—