#to drag him further into the darkness already long persisting inside him.

[notmyneighbor]

in the dark | izaack gauss x francis mosses

part 3/?

words | 2.3k

cw | explicit sexual content

ao3 link

Francis’ next shift passes by in a blur.

It’s a lucky thing that the delivery truck seems to know the route, requiring little beyond his absent minded steering to each destination.

He can’t stop thinking about Izaack.

In truth, that fact is nothing new, really; he’s had a crush on the news reporter for some time now. But now there are memories, playing on endless loop. Real, actual things that they’d experienced together. He now knows the taste of his mouth, before and after cocktails. The feel of his body pressing to his, the rich, sensuous heat of his most intimate place slotted against his own, gripped by Izaack’s hand. The even hotter spill as they’d both climaxed, oozing release over each other. Even that strange discussion about the special news story he was working on, something about the doppelgangers not actually being what they seemed, works its way into these recollections, reminding him of its existence, hinting that the full disclosure of this secret may be life changing one day, for everyone, doppels and humans alike.

These thoughts swirl through his mind relentlessly throughout the course of the day. They persist as he presents his documents to the doorman once he returns home, further distracting him once he steps onto the elevator. He’s requested the wrong floor, something that’s easily remedied, but instead of simply pushing the button for the third floor he steps out onto the second, aiming for Izaack’s door.

He hesitates before knocking. They’d left things on a positive note—a very positive note, in fact—but the promise of when exactly they’d see each other next had been vague. He’s not sure what the procedure is. If he was supposed to wait for a phone call or a visit. Maybe he should let the more experienced news anchor run the show.

Well, he was here now. Might as well give it a shot. His knuckles strike the door. He thinks he hears movement inside. The door creaks open.

There he is, in all his glory. Still wearing his work clothes, the same suit Francis had seen him in that morning on television, minus the jacket, the long sleeves of his shirt rolled up. He smiles at the milkman, a slow, steady kind of buildup, not the bright flash of teeth he displays for the television cameras but a more intimate gesture, like a zipper being dragged open. Oh, not that analogy. He was aroused enough already.

Francis shuffles his feet. “Hi, Izaack.”

“Hi, Fran. This is a nice surprise.”

“I didn’t know if it was okay for me to come over or not. I just got back.”

“I can see that,” he murmurs, eyes roving over the milkman’s uniform. “And yes, it’s okay. More than. Come in.”

The taller man steps back to give him room to enter. The door clicks shut behind him and he hears the lock being turned, but he’s only barely aware of these actions.

Gauss’ apartment is gorgeous.

It’s hard to believe it’s the same square footage as his own; the identical layout of rooms, in fact. But whereas his own was barely furnished, much of it second hand and well worn, the news anchor’s was modernly decorated, with contemporary colors, flashy accents and an overall feel of luxury. He really did enjoy what his career had afforded him, just like he’d implied the previous evening.

“Wow.”

“Like it?”

“It’s so different from my place.” Suddenly he’s realizing the other man has already seen some of his apartment. He knows exactly how much of a disparity there is.

“Have a seat. I was just doing some typing. I’ll get you something to drink, if you like. Non alcoholic, don’t worry.”

Francis feels himself flushing as he sinks into the plush couch. He’d really embarrassed himself with the drinking last night, hadn’t he?

“How did you make out this morning? Not too hungover, I hope.” Izaack says, as if sensing his thoughts, handing him a glass and settling beside him.

“Headache. A little dehydrated. But not terrible.” He drains three quarters of the glass—just cold water this time, likely chilled in the refrigerator, but refreshing and much needed—and then sets it on top of a magazine sitting on the coffee table in front of him. “You looked good on the news. I mean, you always do. You couldn’t tell you’d been out late drinking the night before. I mean…”

Izaack smiles gently over his visitor’s stumbling. “Thank you. Having a team of makeup artists does help somewhat. I have to give credit where it’s due.” He stretches an arm out along the back of the couch and his fingers lightly stroke through the hair at the nape of Francis’ neck, then trace the curve of his ear, causing him to shiver. “You look good, too.”

“I look tired. I always do,” he mutters.

“You look good,” he repeats more firmly. “You’re so hard on yourself, Fran.”

“I don’t see what you see.”

Izaack’s arm drops. He stands, holding out a hand for Francis to take. “Let me show you, then, hmm?”

Francis’ heart pounds. He takes the offered appendage and he’s tugged easily to his feet. So strong. How does he keep forgetting, when he’s got all those bulging muscles on display right in front of him, straining the seams of his posh clothing?

The reporter’s bedroom is dark, the blinds still closed. He flips the lightswitch on his way inside the room, guiding the milkman forward. “You’re nervous, huh?”

Francis nods. He’s still not used to this. Any of this. It still feels like some wild dream come true.

“You know we’re going to take it as slow as you need to, right? There’s no rush. I just want to be with you. Make you feel good.” He lifts the cap from Francis’ head and tosses it on the nightstand, raking a hand through his russet hair that no doubt bears an imprint of the hat he has to wear for work. The bowtie surrenders easily soon after, the ends falling loose around his throat. Izaack licks up that column—honest to God, as if he’s enjoying an ice cream cone—before planting a messy wet kiss on his mouth.

The reporter hums in satisfaction at the other man’s response, his lips parting, his tongue already dipping back inside of Izaack’s mouth. He’s got a hand on the curve of one buttocks, squeezing, keeping their bodies pressed tightly together. He’d thought the drink he’d been gifted earlier had been thirst quenching, but it pales in comparison to this experience. Francis drinks from Izaack’s mouth, sucking his lips and his tongue, collecting saliva and letting it drip back in, only to have it thrust back inside his own mouth, a thick amalgamation of both men’s spit. His wrists twine around the television star’s broad neck. The third floor resident is pushed effortlessly onto the mattress, with the apartment’s owner following close behind, climbing over his body, at his mouth once again.

“So fucking pretty,” Izaack murmurs by his ear, raking his nails down his shirtfront. From there he begins working on the opening of Francis’ work pants and he hastily drags his shirt hem up and out of the way. Izaack kisses his stomach and each hip before he drags his briefs down. The milkman is torn between wanting to watch and wanting to just lie back and close his eyes, savoring the feel of that first swipe across the head of his leaking cock. Better than any fantasy he’d previously concocted during his rounds of self pleasure, the reality of the feel of that man’s mouth engulfing his erection, sliding down, eyes locked with his and okay, he’s going to watch every minute of this display, staring at and drowning in those gorgeous aqua gems. One of Izaack’s massive hands positively shrouds one hip, the fingers digging in deeply as his mouth descends closer to his pelvis, the other hand shoved beneath his shirt, teasing a nipple.

“Fuck…Izaack…” He doesn’t swear often, but the word is pulled from his lips, just like the news reporter’s tongue drags another round of early release from the opening of his prick. The dark haired man sucks and bobs his head up and down and that pleasant combination of suction and sliding has him positively humming. Francis is clutching a handful of the comforter and a handful of Izaack’s hair and his body still can’t get enough, hips lifting up to meet that damp, heavenly cavern, fucking his mouth and he lets him, he actually relinquishes control and fucking lets him use his mouth, his throat even, thrusting all the way inside. He feels the reaction of the gag reflex and it only spurs him on further. He’s completely lost in the sensation of being buried in that wet maw, sheathed and then withdrawn shallowly before slamming back inside again, only relenting when he’s on the brink of orgasm, gasping a brief warning to his partner. “Izaack, I’m gonna cum, I’m…”

The man actually makes a sound of encouragement around the cock shoved in his mouth and that’s it, that final vibration sending him over the edge. He curses again and shoots into the reporter’s mouth, the hand knotted in the licorice tresses shaking as each spurt of hot jizz is delivered. He doesn’t think he’s ever cum quite so hard or so much before, every time with this man always granting him new achievements.

He swallows—Francis hears it, and that sound, that knowledge that Izaack is gulping down a load of his cum, makes his cock twitch yet again. He knows what his release tastes like; he’d sampled it once out of curiosity in his youth, and he’s not going to say it was particularly pleasant, mainly kind of sour and bitter—but that flavor is completely different when it’s gifted second hand from Izaack’s tongue when he climbs back up to kiss him. Francis reaches for the other man’s belt, hurriedly trying to gain access to his erection, eager to return the favor of ultimate pleasure.

“You’re so fucking hot. So delicious. Making me choke on your cock. I can’t wait to fuck you. Let you fill me up, too…” He nips Francis’ ear, hissing when the milkman’s fingers curl around his cock. “You gonna jerk me off, babe? Make me shoot all over you?”

Francis is struggling to form a coherent sentence at this point. He’s still in that foggy post orgasmic state, now reeling from the filthy talk crooned into his ear. He makes a sort of choked moan that passes for agreement and it doesn’t take long for Izaack to fulfill that request, fucking into the tight circle of the other man’s fingers much as he’d fucked his throat, dumping a load of hot seed onto his stomach and chest, the uniform shirt just barely escaping, shoved up further at the last moment. His face tucks into the side of Francis’ neck and he remains there for a moment, panting, struggling to recover.

The reporter drops down beside him on the mattress, head tipping to one side to view his new lover, that lazy, seductive smile making its appearance once again. “Good, Fran?”

“Yeah.” He’s still quite overwhelmed by it all; by his own actions; by Izaack’s dirty talk; by all of it. The mess spread on his torso is cooling unpleasantly and he really wants a shower—normally something he does as soon as he gets home from work—but he’s stupidly, ridiculously content right now, lying beside the other man. He stares into those blown pupils and admires the normally carefully coiffed waves of hair falling in damp, messy tendrils and he thinks, I’ve done this. I’ve taken him apart. This is a side of him most people never get to see. Could never even imagine.

“Shower?”

“Yes, please.”

“Then dinner?”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Izaack agrees, leaning over for another kiss.

***

It just might be the best shower Francis has ever had in his life.

Granted, he’s never actually bathed with anyone else before, so he doesn’t have much to compare it to except taking one by himself, but this is so, so much better.

There’s something special about being pressed against the other man under that hot stream of water, caressed by the pulsating sprays and Izaack’s digits lathered with soap. Massaging over all those glorious muscles, so different from his own much narrower build. But the reporter has a way of making him feel like he’s just as irresistibly attractive, worshipping mouth pressed along temple and shoulder and collar bone, shower water spilled over lips and over tongues. He tucks against him once they’ve left that blissful stall and dried off, Francis now wearing an undershirt and briefs borrowed from Izaack—and it feels right, in a way he can’t explain other than that. He’s forgotten his earlier nervousness. He burrows and clings and the other man is receptive to all of it, returning it all tenfold.

Dinner is reheated takeout Izaack had picked up on the way home, and it’s perfect, too. They eat on the couch while watching television and Francis thinks, This is what other people, some lucky people, have. Someone to come home to. Someone to share a meal with. Make fun of silly characters on television. Steal kisses from. This is what I’ve been missing.

He wants to spend the night. But they’ve both got work again tomorrow and they’ve still got the neighbors to deal with. Leaving an apartment at night, not too suspicious. Guys hung out all the time. Unwind after work, have a few beers, watch a sports program. Emerging together in the early morning, though? That was less easily explained.

So Francis reluctantly redresses after the meal and now hovers by Izaack’s door. His face is cupped between the news anchor’s hands and he’s kissed and then he finds himself back on the elevator. That was all he could have, for now.

He knows this is only going to get harder the further on they go.

[joz-yyh]

Rust - Ch. 7 (Preview)

SUMMARY: A “how they got together” and “where they are now” fic in which I detail how Damian and Tardif meet and consequently fall in love. No beta. Read at your own risk.

RATING: T (for preview only / descriptions of gore/injury)

PAIRING: Bounty Hunter x Flagellant

WORD COUNT: 2,135

A/N: Damian needs to enlist the aid of a fellow hero if he’s going to overcome the nature behind Tardif’s surreptitious injuries. Everything has it’s price, even life itself.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

Damian stalks his fingers along the severed object embedded in Tardif’s abdomen, the shape of it round like a tusk. He doubts the foreign gouge can be removed conventionally, needing a razor's edge to cut the gear off of him if he wants to see how deep it runs.

The sheer size of it is worrisome. If this was truly some relic of a creature's tooth or claw, it must've come from something massive and the flagellant cannot place it's origin to any of the foes he knew, wonders what kind of mess Tardif had gotten mixed up in order to end up like this.

“Perhaps you’d be more agreeable to the infirmary," the flagellant presses, anger lines forming on his face, this better to accept than the sadness gripping hold of him.

Even if he assembles some crude means of transport to drag Tardif through the woods, the man had lost too much blood and would not likely survive the trek back to the sanitarium.

“Not … gunna be … poked and prod at," the bounty hunter protests, grumbling weakly, "ye can't anyway. It's ... it's... holdin' everythin' in."

“Holding everything in …,” Damian echoes, his overwrought mind steady piecing the euphemism together.

He can’t remove it, not when it’s the only thing keeping his partner's insides from falling out.

The flagellant no longer cares about being thorough. He gets to work healing what flesh he can, only getting so far before he's repelled, an unseen barrier protecting the object and the eviscerated organs surrounding it. Perplexed, but no less persistent, the morbid priest tries again and again to mend tissue, cauterize veins, and each time he is met with the same unfortunate result.

No ordinary opponent could have done this. A force of darkness so strong that even an oversized piece of shrapnel could command such power spoke of something incredibly evil.

"Tardif, what was your enemy,” Damian insists through a grit of teeth, “Describe it to me.”

"Don't know," the brute churns out, panting with the effort it takes to speak.

"Now is not the time to–” Damian starts, an exhorted cry, but the bounty hunter’s garbled bark interjects him.

"Couldn't see the damn thing," the brute growls, running himself ragged.

The flagellant shakes his head, eyes widening under the shroud of his hood, stumbling upon a realization that devastates him.

“I can’t heal this,” he admits, feeling useless and hating every part of himself that brought them to this point, “There's dark magic here. We need Alhzared."

"Great," Tardif offers sarcastically, fatigue weighing him down, sinking further into his partner's grip, “why didn’t I think of that.”

"I will be quick," the flagellant promises, withdrawing himself from around the bounty hunter, laying him down as considerably as he can.

"Survived this long. What's another 30 minutes," the brute jokes, understandably more irritable than usual as he shifts to lie on his side, bereft of his partner's scaffold of limbs and the comfort it brought.

"Try not to move," comes Damian's propelled instruction, fearing that the stubborn ox would make his condition worse if he lurched around too much.

"Then, don't take too long," the bounty hunter retorts, holding a hand over the hole in his stomach, plugged as it was with the worst kind of cork.

“I won’t,” the pale man pledges, already out the door, his steps beating like swift wings as they carry him into town.

—---

Damian clambers into the barracks, his sprint jostling some of the other heroes from their slumber, knocking into a bed frame, jumping over another's mattress so not to slow himself down.

He's met with resounding groans of annoyance, the squeaks of box springs and the rustling of sheets, but the hasty messenger pays them no mind, finding that the occultist resides the farthest away, against the back wall.

Candles provide a beacon to the pitch blackness, a projection of rotating lights, constellations of stars hung upon tapestries and persian rugs.

The flagellant skids to a halt once he enters Al's niche, the mystic sitting amidst a collective of pillows, absorbed in meditation.

"Tardif in danger," the priest heaves, having no time for proper sentences being out of breath as he was, "please, help."

The mystic inhales deeply, regarding his visitor with sage patience, "The stars spoke of darkness on the horizon. Now I see what form it takes.”

The flagellant cares not for cosmic mythos, not now, not at this moment. He needed action. Every second was another wasted.

"Please, I will do whatever you ask," the flagellant begs, frantic to get moving, "There is no time. He is dying."

"Yes, cursed with a very slow and painful death, I imagine," the mediterranean man nods, opening an enlightening eye, "I warned him not to underestimate the other side. See what suffering it brings."

Damian doesn't appreciate that remark, lets it show on his face, not that the other man is bothered by his offenses.

"Will you help us or not," the flagellant insists, unable to quell his anger despite needing this man's eldritch expertise.

“I am not a monster," Al declares, rising from the floor, taking up his effigy from the wooden dias in the center, “I will aid you, but at great cost.”

“I will pay it," Damian vows without hesitation.

“Oh, I have ways that will ensure you do,” the occultist warns, holding the old skull towards the holy man with careful instruction. "Place your hand in the flame."

Damian looks down at the haunting relic, sees that it's wick is yet unlit.

"What fl–," the flagellant asks, cut off by a supernatural gust of wind that circles the room, snuffing out what traces of light there was.

"That flame," the mystic explains, a knowing smirk curling beneath his mustache as his spectral phantasm burns brightly, it's vacant eye sockets seeming to flare eerily along with it.

Damian scowls with uncertainty, the doubt only lasting a moment when he considers what he must do, whose life is at stake.

As soon as his digits are within reach, the flame blazes, his hand consumed within an explosion of pyromancy as if the ghastly fire is alive, sensing his intent.

The flagellant pulls back, the fire making him feel deathly cold as it trails up his arm, turning his skin blue, illuminating the tissue and bone within, but there comes no pain.

“The contract has been made,” Al tells him, the candles returning to their normal steady glow, the skull talisman as well appears as nothing more than harmless decoration.

Al chuckles, a cocky triumphant grin, "I didn't expect a warrior of Light to be so quick to offer their soul to my great benefactor, but we thank you for your sacrifice."

Had he really done as the mystic said? Damian looks down at his hand, turning it over. There was no evidence of a pact, no burns, no marks that he could see. One could easily say the seance never happened.

"Come, we must fetch Paracelsus as well," the occultist instructs, calling his attention, “Follow me.”

"Y'LW'NAFH N'GHFT," he chants, gesturing with his hand as a conflagration of sigils appear, manifesting a swirling vortex of time and space.

–

"No use hangin' out by the door," the bounty hunter grumbles, a mild invitation cloaked in sheer practicality.

Looming just out of sight, ripe with hesitation, Damian gasps lightly. Even with the wall dividing them, Tardif still knew he was there, waiting on the other side.

The priest keeps his head bowed as he plods into the bedroom, the cowl seeming to eclipse his whole face, fearful of what emotion his presence would have on the bounty hunter.

"H-how are you fairing," parses the flagellant, hovering outside the bed, keeping his distance as they exchange platitudes.

He's nervous. Tardif can see it in his every move.

"I've had worse days," the brute shrugs, a lame smirk tugging at his lips with no humor to accompany it.

"Paralecus said you should stay in bed," Damian reminds him, trying to play along with the levity, force a smile, but it doesn't keep. "I meant to take care of you, change your bandages."

This time, Tardif is the one who bows his head, his gaze fixated on the sheets pooling in his lap, the clench of his own fists that rest there.

"Guess ye have the gift of prophecy," the bounty hunter scoffs, now staring at the wall ahead with a moderate degree of contempt.

Damian frowns, inclining his neck, clearly befuddled by the insinuation.

"Ye don't remember," Tardif asks, surprised, angling his focus towards the absent-minded priest. "In the weald," the mercenary continues, the occasion forever branded into his memory, "when ye held a knife to me, tottin' leeches and bedrest?"

Ah, that. A scarred mouth opens to speak, then closes again. He can't seem to stop his shameful eyes from drifting toward the floor, jagged fingernails digging into the muscle of his right arm, clutched in punishment.

"I did not mean--" Damian finally starts, but the bounty hunter is quick to correct him.

"Heh, I know," he chuckles weakly, "Bad joke."

The flagellant isn't laughing. If anything the somber daze surrounding him grows deeper, more profound.

Damian risks treading closer, the brute turning to meet him, receptive and curious of his intentions.

A bloody hand reaches out as the holy man leans over the mattress, thumbing across the faint sheen of sweat collecting on the crest of dark brows.

Tardif is on the tail end of a fever, the priest can feel traces of it as he threads each tousled strand back into the damp plume of raven-colored hair.

Mismatched eyes close amidst the gentle pandering, the brigand becoming a meek disciple under these ministrations, letting his partner bless him with whatever tender ritual he wished.

Damian swallows, the action audible in the heavy silence. These informal gestures of trust fill him with such unabashed longing he can barely contain it.

"Let me get you something to drink," the blonde says, giving himself an excuse to pull away, mask his own desire for closeness just as another hair falls out of place.

A callous hand grasps at his wrist, warm and grounding as it tacitly holds him there.

"Just a little longer," Tardif asks, ruining the flagellant with those words, that beautiful aching smile.

This alone was enough to say what went unsaid, that Tardif still desired him, wanted him near.

The dam breaks, Damian's composure along with it as he falls to his knees, Tardif's hand is now in both of his, pressing them to his head like a crucifix in prayer.

"Where did you go," Damian sobs, a desperate slew of questions borne from his troubled mind, "Why did you leave?"

Tardif feels shame claim him as he considers the answer, letting precious seconds tick by, unable to voice what his partner wants to know because he's not ready to admit it, not even to himself.

"I feared the worst," the blonde continues when the other will not, his repressed feelings stripped free if their mortal coil, "I-I prayed for you I–"

"It's not important," the mercenary deflects, a curt grind of teeth. His insides squirm with a self-loathing sickness, knowing Damian weeps because of him.

"Of course it is," Damian insists, finally looking up from his lament, "I–I …!"

He's too afraid of what comes next, his throat closing too tightly around the words, leaving them there to trickle down and die.

"Later …," Tardif mumbles, growing weary thanks to the plague doctor's potent syringe, "… too tired now."

Damian goes quiet, blinking one last band of tears, nodding in obedience.

"Lay beside me," the bounty hunter tells him, slouching with disoriented cognition, shifting to make room on the bed.

Damian hesitates, weary of upsetting his partner's wounds even as Tardif tugs on his hand to join him.

"But your–"

"It'll help me sleep," the bounty hunter explains, distantly, his eyelids already getting heavy with the abetting cocktail of drugs in his system.

As awkward as it is, the flagellant doesn't let go of his lover's hand as he climbs into bed, mindful that none of his other body parts touch Tardif's, his scarred back curled towards the edge of the mattress.

As Damian lies there, he listens, waiting for heavy breaths to even out, squeezing at the thick fingers clasped in his, proof that this man was still here with him: real and alive.

Perhaps, it is out of mere reflex, a lucid dream that his gesture is returned, but flagellant doesn't care, he smiles all the same as he presses a surly hand to his lips, kissing the backs of tattooed knuckles.

He swears he catches Tardif smiling too, the sight filling him with a weightless salvation, a sense of belonging, knowing that this angel of death and carnage had come back to him.

The priest's eyes fall shut, meaning just to rest them, but before he knows it, he's already fast asleep.

{End Preview}

[witchingrey]

late thoughts about my favorite pink princess. warning, it is gently critical analysis of euphemia, since she’s one of my favorites, but also painfully lacking in screen time + development .

honestly, while i want to say euphie / euphy garners softening feelings by nature, c.c. i think would not coddle her like cornelia if in some really odd universe her plans coincided with her half-brother. which...we all know how that went. the princess is an angel but her flaw is in a sense...exactly that. her naivety / impulsiveness , and while this would be more okay if she wasn’t in a position of power? she is in a position of power. so c.c. naturally would be very blunt with her which really..could go either way. 

because life isn’t so ‘simple’ and frankly her going back to her good days with lelouch and nunnally is already ‘not possible’ due to lelouch’s choices since deciding their contract , the barbarism of the royal family manipulating / abandoning two orphaned children, and the power struggle for emperor / empress among its heirs. sadly, i don’t want to say euphy / euphie isn’t meant to be in this show...but in a sense she isn’t, because her outlook / state of being can’t survive, and while she’s capable of growth we were  robbed of? i feel honestly more like i’m watching a child than i am a teenage girl . more under the cut. again, gently critical. there isn’t a character in this franchise that isn’t someone i have critical thoughts about because i love this compiliation / franchise and when you love something you analyze it  like crazy.

she’s designated to be this way, and i wish so much more was done with her, since it seems like another ‘fridge the girl’ story but . . . her story is also a harsh example of someone who really needed to acquaintance herself far more ( and she tried! ) with what she set out to do because beginning the work of SAZ isn’t something you do in a few months, much less announce at a school. she should have continued her studies, she should have lived more years, she should have witnessed things more clearly - because i am far from hating euphemia in any capacity, she’s someone i adore, but i’ve watched her do the same impulsive actions over and over and realize that a lot of things she brings on herself, and this isn’t pitting c.c. vs euphy . i’m saying c.c. would be completely open to pointing this entire point out to her without fear.

there is nothing wrong with being innocent, pure, naive and but the writers ultimately paint euphy into a tragedy that cannot be undone instead of showing what i wish was more a rise and build of people all around her giving her solid criticism instead of coddling (cornelia) , omitting (darlton) , manipulation (schneizel). i won’t say anything about suzaku because i do believe while he genuinely loved her, and she truly loved him, that’s a realm that really hits the tragedy home because i think one of the best written things about her is her trying to understand japan through suzaku / their expeditions but not necessarily enough to make her a suitable viceroy, much less a sub-viceroy if we all actually followed the britannian system in the show.

instead euphy remains a solid, tragic ‘what if ‘ and ‘could have been’, never fully allowed to grow , see error, or be free of endless coddling and omitting of truths. combining all of this, her own shortcomings, the stage upon which everything is set, and lelouch’s entire ambition itself, and you ultimately lead to a very tragic, very nasty, almost inevitable end. basically she deserved better, yes, but also being the way she is did not help her and shows if its too far on one spectrum it can be potentially harmful and a set up for inevitable tragedy / destruction. 

[damiano-mylove]

When The World Knows Peace

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x afab!reader

Wc: 1.6k

Cw(s): SMUT, unprotected sex, sex in a forest, sappy love, oral sex (reader receiving), prolly typos (tell me if it sucks ass)

Summary: The world may know a fleeting moment of peace when lovers embrace

Masterlist

Many a moon-many a generation- had passed before the lovers met under the moonlight once more. Their souls had been connected since the dawn of time, always drawn to each other, always in yearning for the other, and never complete lest the souls find each other once more.

It is said that their very souls were once one, until the Gods' tore them from one another; to damn the lovers to an eternal plight to once again be whole.

Their tale had existed in many different tongues, a legend of time, a legend of persistence. Twas for naught, as the children whose ears the tale fell upon laughed - for, how true may true love really be?

Yet, each time the souls rejoin, the onlookers-whom had grown from the children who laughed- were marked as indisputably mistaken. Only fools may look upon the souls intertwined and still beg the question how true may true love really be?

In the expanse of the many eons, the souls had taken many a form; each with a different face, doctrine, and colour. Be that as it may, none were to be more beautiful in the eyes of one half than their counterpart. Each visage had the other swooning at first sight, feeling the everlasting pull of fate to their other half.

There were lifetimes where the clock ticked much too speedily, and the lovers were once more damned to a life of separation and settling.

But not this one.

Now, as the lovers lay in the forest, they loved, they loved, and they loved, as if this may be the last lifetime they may spend together.

~

"Happy three years, Baby," Jake whispered to you. A deep blush spread from your sternum to the upper-most tips of your ears. Somehow, despite having been in love with him for three years now, even the simplest of words from Jake could have the blood rushing through your veins at mach speed. The beautiful boy beside you chuckled, brushing his rough thumb over your cheek. "Awe, you still get all flustered around me."

"I'm going to punch you in the mouth," you laughed, placing you hand over his. Jake smiled contently, gazing at your beguiling face. "Y'know how we went to that really fancy restaurant on our first year?" Jake nodded. "And to Vancouver on our second?"

"If this is about how our third is low budget and-"

"I like this one the best," you finished with a snicker. Jake rolled his eyes with a certain sass.

"So we spent all that money only for you to be happier with a blanket and a forest?" He grinned. You laughed, propping your head up with one hand, resting the other on his chest. Jake smiled up at you, "Well I'm glad my idea is the best one."

Leaning lower, you brushed your nose across his, gaining a low chuckle from your counterpart. "You're an asshole," is all you said before closing the gap between your lips and his.

While your one hand traveled up to cup the lower part of Jake's face, his hand came over and rested upon your side. Still, you shivered at the touch, his fingertips seeming to strike lightning to each cell in your body.

"Baby, I love you - you know that, yeah?" Jake mumbled, breaking the kiss for a fraction of a second.

You couldn't suppress the smile. "I know that, Jakey. I've always known - just like you've always know of my love for you."

"I would not wish any companion in the world but you," he spoke lowly.

"The Temptress. Slick."

Jake came back up to rejoin your lips, for he could never satiate the need of your own upon his. The overwhelming feeling of passion engulfed you both, bathed in the light of the Pale Lady Moon above, while shrouded by the dark green of the foliage.

Pushing you back on the blanket, Jake deepened the kiss so that there may be no doubt of his love for you. The feeling of utmost devotion was palpable to even the animals passing by.

Grasping the ever-so soft locks of his hair, your fingers got lost in the maze of his scalp, bringing him infinitely more close. Jake's hands roamed your body as if he were savouring the moment, though this was not the first nor the last he'd ever caress your sweet form. One hand drifted from the curvature of your frame to lift your thigh, effectively wrapping your leg around his waist.

The tight prison of Jake's jeans brushed against your own as you could feel the warmth of arousal dampening your underwear. With a small tug on the roots of his hair, Jake groaned, relishing in the pleasure just your simple touch could bring him.

For a moment, you broke the kiss, as for both you and Jake to strip your shirts. The cool night air nipped at your skin, but you could practically imagine steam rolling off the two of you. Jake began to kiss from your jaw, to your clavicle, leaving the smallest bites and the sloppiest kisses down the territory of your neck. The hands fondled your newly exposed chest, making your nails drag down his back when he began to pinch and twist one of your nipples with his forefinger and thumb.

"Jesus, Jakey," you sighed in pleasure.

Your comment only spurred the guitar player further, becoming more rough with your breasts. He opted to attach his lips to your chest, while beginning to toy with your unoccupied nipple. His teeth grazed your tender skin, making you putty in the palm of his hand.

"You torture me, y'know," you respired as Jake began to make his trail further down your torso. The lowly laughter of Jakey only sent vibrations from your stomach to the spot he was most anxious to meet.

His dark eyes met yours, looking at you in the most sinful way. "It'd be no fun if I didn't." As he spoke, his fingers undid the button and zipper of your jeans, removing them from your legs entirely, to join with your shirts, in a pile long forgotten. The pressure you felt against your core was still clothed by your soaked underwear, making your boyfriend hum, "You're always so wet for me."

"And you're always rock hard for me," you responded, letting your calf graze his raging erection. Jake smiled as he came into connect with your clit, sending a shiver up your spine. You couldn't resist the low moan that came from your lips, "Please, Jakey."

"As you wish."

With a swift snap, your panties were removed from you, leaving you fully exposed to a man you fully trusted. He leaned further down, letting his warm breath fan your weeping heat. Flattening his tongue, he collected your juices on his tongue, reveling in your sweet taste. You let out a groan as Jake began lapping up your arousal with his tongue, having it like ambrosia.

"You taste amazing," he whispered. His tongue came into contact with your clit; abusing the bundle of nerves while his fingers found home inside of you. The sounds you made were pornographic as Jake decided to begin sucking your sensitive spot.

It wasn't far after that you could feel the nerves begin to collect in the pit of your stomach. The fingers that carded in his hair became unorganized, and Jake knew that was his sign to stop.

You gave him a look of betrayal as he began undressing the rest of himself. "Tortuous."

"As wonderful as you taste, Baby," Jake said, coming back on top of you. He tilted your head with his fingers gently, leaning in closer. "You know I love it when you cum on my cock. Who am I to deprive you of that pleasure?"

"God, you're so right."

You attacked his lips feverishly as Jake began to slowly fill you to the brim. The kiss stopped you from making too loud of a sound, but it was unavoidable.

His thrusts were slow and methodical, finding your g-spot. Once the soft tissue was found, Jake began ensuring he hit it every time. With every hitch in your breath and every vibration sent down his throat, Jake came closer and closer to his own undoing.

"Jakey, I'm really - ah - really close," you whimpered.

"Me too. I'm right behind you," he grunted, his thrusts becoming less and less methodical, yet more and more animalistic.

The bundle of nerves in your stomach finally burst, causing your legs to spasm and your walls to clench around the cause that was buried deep inside. Feeling the wave of orgasm wash over you, Jake was quick to follow, shooting his warm seed deep inside of you.

After a few more weak thrusts, Jake slipped out of you, flopping next to you on the blanket. You looked over at him, but Jake was already looking at you.

"Even after three years, you can still fuck me like no one else," you laughed. Jake busted a ragged smile as his chest heaved, trying to absorb every bit of oxygen he could get.

"I'll never get tired of you, Y/n," he told you. You smiled, getting bashful again. "Even when we're old and grey, I'll be right by your side, still taking you to plays and still playing you every song you want to hear."

"I'd want nothing more."

The two of you joined for one more kiss, this one oozing with passion and love. And for a moment, the world was still, and all that mattered was this moment.

~

The Gods let it be so, that when the souls shall be connected once more, enthralled in the other's embrace, the world would know peace, if not just for a fleeting moment.

[spicysoftsweet]

A Thorn In The Side - Gojo x Reader

Summary: Infatuation enduring from high school is more of a problem than you or he think (~3.4k words).

Warnings: fem pronouns, fem!reader, noncon, kidnapping, yandere, wlw mention, gojo is a pos

A/N: Part of @suedebunn​‘s Hanahaki collab! 

When the strongest jujutsu sorcerer to have ever lived wakes up in the early am with the sensation of thorns scratching his throat and fullness in his stomach, he’s baffled.

Even more so when he doubles over in bed to cough profusely to the point of near emesis, shocking for a man who rarely gets sick. He stares blankly at a pillow covered in droplets of flecks of red, and his eyes widen with trepidation, until he realizes those large drops strewn across his bed come from flowers rather than blood.

He must be dreaming, Gojo Satoru tells himself, but the satiny feel of the scarlet petals between his fingertips is very real.

Or perhaps a curse.

“So you expect me to diagnose you over the phone?” 

Shoko pulled a drag of her cigarette as though for dramatic effect, blowing it out with a sigh, but continued to listen. She had to be up early anyway and ignoring Gojo would only make him more annoying in her experience.

“So what are your symptoms again?” she asked.

“Apparently my insides are trying to match my beautiful outsides~” he sang.

Shoko rolled her eyes, and as though he could see her, Gojo laughed loudly.

“In all seriousness, I’m turning into a garden. Coughing up flowers apparently.”

“Coughing up flowers, huh?” She leaned a little further against her balcony, her eyes setting on the early morning sunrise she could view from her high rise apartment. “Do you think it’s some type of curse?”

“It’s… different,” he replied, somewhat noncommittally. “I don’t think it’s cursed energy, actually.”

This was unexpected.

“What else do you feel?”

“Uneasy…”

It was Shoko’s turn to laugh. An interesting choice of words coming from him.

“Any ideas?” Gojo insisted.

“I mean, it could be some kind of undetectable curse. I’d know if I got to see you… How does your heart feel when you cough up the flowers?”

“It races.”

“Your mind?”

“Also races… lightheaded.”

“Any thoughts?”

“None.”

“As expected.” she teased, laughing again until she realized that for once, Gojo was silent on the other end of the phone. She scratched her head, then ran her fingers through her fingertips.

“Come in at 2pm today, okay? Don’t be late.”

---

“Well, you’re right,” Shoko stated, stepping back from the examination table, and crossing her arms as she set herself down on a stool to formulate her assessment. 

Her friend, already graced with the palest of color palettes, did actually look ill, dark circles prominent enough to match hers marring his porcelain skin. He sat, legs spread apart, and leaning onto the weight of his hands besides him, raising an eyebrow quizzically..

“It’s not cursed energy, alright,” she said, with a sigh. She stretched out her hand.

“You brought the sample, right?” 

Gojo, uncharacteristically a bit listless, tossed her the bag of vomited petals from this morning, covered in now dry saliva and other fluids. Not batting an eyelash, Shoko slipped on a pair of gloves and felt inside the bag, petals crumbling at her fingertips.

Definitely not cursed energy. She placed the bag on a disorganized counter behind her, making a mental note of scrutinizing it further under a microscope.

“Ideas?” Gojo asked after he’d decided that the time he’d given her to think was enough. It turned out the idea of being sick irritated him more than he expected. 

The very idea of being vulnerable made him slightly nauseous.

Shoko let out a chuckle that sounded more nervous than she had intended.

“My only other thought is Hanahaki disease.”

“Hanahaki?” Gojo repeated.

“Yeah,” she stated. Crossing her legs, she relaxed into her stool further as she watched the young man carefully. “Who’s the unlucky one?”

“You mean?”

“Who’s the unfortunate soul you’re in love with?” She asked again, waiting for his response. The truth was that she was quite shocked at the idea of Gojo being afflicted with Hanahaki, that he of all people could have such a pure, destructive form of love given his track history.

She’d known him long enough to know that his body count was near ridiculous.

He tilted his head, then burst into laughter.

“Myself, duh.”

“Well, auto-Hanahaki isn’t a thing, but I suppose if it was, you’d be the one to be afflicted with it.”

She decided not to press further. “Whoever it is, I’d recommend you settle your feelings as soon as possible,” she added. “People don’t usually die from this but you look surprisingly like shit so I’d be careful.”

Gojo ran a hand through his hair, hopping off the table and pulling back on his shirt.

Settling his feelings may be more complicated than either of the two of them expected.

---

You were in the middle of your drive home when Shoko’s name finally flashed on your dashboard. Grinning, you picked up on the car speaker, mischief in your voice.

“It’s 7:03 and you promised me you’d call at 7 sharp, babe. What do you have to say for yourself?” 

“You’re going to hold 3 minutes against me?” Her sultry voice filled your ears as you made the last turn between the grocery store and your apartment, and you hoped she’d be inside your home waiting for you so that you could actually hold something tangible against her.

“I did say I wasn’t going to tolerate you being late for anything anymore, didn’t I?” You teased.

“Bold declaration for someone who isn’t even home yet,” Shoko retorted.

In minutes, you were walking through the door, arms charged with bags full of groceries for dinner you’d planned to cook together. Shoko greeted you with a kiss on the forehead as you placed them on the counter.

“Did you miss me?”

You did, but you stuck out your tongue at her instead. Her hand intertwined with yours briefly before you separated to unpack items for dinner.

“I promise I’ll be less busy,” she offered as the two of you worked in tandem. Your stomach was already growling, so the sooner you had food on the table, the better.

“It’s no problem,” you replied, and you meant it only half-heartedly. It’s true she was less busy than a regular civilian doctor, but it seemed recently that her clinic was getting overrun with more and more curse victims. Things had been bad recently in the world, you figured. 

You were happy to step back from the world of sorcery, but small reminders like these persisted.

“Did you still manage to fit Gojo in today?”

She had complained earlier today that Gojo always managed to make a bad day worse.

“Mmm,” is what she offered over the sound of chopping vegetables. You understood that she couldn’t say more, on top of the fact that any discussion of Gojo was already a sore subject. It didn’t have to be, and it shouldn’t have been, but this was what it was.

“Hope he’s okay,” you offered, as you turned on the stove.

“He’ll be fine,” she replied, her voice now quieter than usual.

---

The first and last time Gojo fell in love was in the spring of his third year, he suddenly recalled in the middle of a tryst, as an upsettingly subpar blowjob allowed his mind to wander. The young woman whose gags sounded almost theatrical when compared to the amount of pleasure he was actually receiving was starting to get on his nerves, but instead he took matters in his own hands, wrapping her long ponytail around his wrist before guiding the back of her head so she took him deeper.

If she was gonna choke, she should commit to it.

He’d fallen in love with you at first sight. It was a strange feeling for him to immediately be enamored with someone upon first glance instead, having always been the recipient of many an awe-filled or fawning look.

You were a transfer from the sister school, already a rare occurrence, and what was even rarer was the fact that you both had little affinity to jujutsu and little interest in getting better. One could wonder why you even showed up in the first place, much less why you’d moved from one school to the other. 

You’d quit as expected just before graduation, but not before you caught his eye. 

“You’re pretty shitty at this,” he’d remarked, attempting to win you over with humor when he’d been assigned to you for both orientation and possible tutoring. “Of course, you can always ask me for help,” he added, flashing pearly whites at you.

He was the opposite of successful in wooing you.

“I suppose since this comes easy to you, this is just funny, right?” You’d quipped.

Your words cut more than both you and he anticipated, but it didn’t exactly matter. You were not interested in him, the way he was interested in you. 

But Shoko was different.

You became fast friends and upon your departure from the technical college, you’d remained in contact despite withdrawing from everyone else related to magic. 

Even if Gojo tried many times to either bring you back to this world you’d left behind or be part of your new one, you’d rebuffed him every time. Harshly. 

“I don’t know why you expect everyone to worship you,” was the last thing you’d said to him. “I’ve already made it clear that I don’t want to be part of this life,” you’d insisted. “Why would I change my mind just because you asked me to?”

You were right. 

And yet you loved Shoko.

The young woman whose name he’d forgotten’s face was now pressed against his pubic bone and she now began to squirm, slapping and scratching at him like some kind of trapped animal as she struggled to breathe, reminding him that he’d daydreamed for too long.

“Sorry,” he offered, as he released his grip, leaving her to sputter and choke. Looking at her, knowing that she was not you suddenly made him want to choke himself, to bring forth that impromptu garden of unrequited feelings.

He patted her on the back gingerly, and once it looked like she’d restabilized, pulled her in for another kiss. 

If only her lips tasted like yours.

---

Shoko’s hand glided against the curve of your hips, taking in the image of you sleeping softly on your side, facing her. She dipped down to kiss your nose; it was the only time the fact that she had such an issue with sleep benefited her, this ability to almost always wake up before you.

You looked incredibly peaceful while sleeping, and she had to admit this angelic view of you was even better than your features twisted in a pleasured mewl (not that it wasn’t a close battle).

There was a nagging concern in the pit of her stomach, however.

Gojo suffering from unrequited love could be a problem, if the object of his affections did happen to be you. But it had been years ago that he’d pursued you unsuccessfully, why present now?

Why present to her office of all people? Gojo could be inconsiderate, but not to this extent. 

But what if he didn’t know that this was what he was feeling? Suppressed feelings taking root and morphing themselves into the tangible he couldn’t ignore?

She sat up, resting her back against the backboard, the lack of a cigarette between her lips being palliated with the gnaw of her thumbnail. 

It couldn’t be. Not you. 

Please, not you.

---

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Shoko checked in about a week later.

Gojo didn’t share that he’d spent the entire morning in a coughing fit of petals, now definitely streaked with blood, and the entire last night vomiting enough flowers into the toilet that it had overflowed.

He didn’t comment on the entire scarlet sage plants with large green leaves that threatened to sprout from every orifice, not just his throat, but his ears and nostrils, possibly from behind his eyes.

He didn’t know what was next, only that it was getting worse.

The constant fire in the pit of his stomach, the shivers, the chills, the incessant flash of you running through his mind, your name moaned in the darkness, his body drenched in sweat.

The fact that he knew it was because he loves you and cannot find an alternative for you.

The fact that he must have you, and only you.

“Has it gotten better or worse?” Shoko asked.

“I’m fine,” Gojo reassured her, masking the exhaustion in his voice, and she made the mistake of believing him.

---

You awoke in darkness with an icy cold searing into your skin.

It took you a moment to let your eyes adjust to the light and for your body to resume the motor control it had briefly relinquished in sleep before you could reorient yourself. You were laying on ground of some sort, maybe hardwood which implied that you were in some kind of building. 

Your head throbbed viciously as you shifted slowly to a sitting position and you almost expected there to be blood as you ran your hands over the back of your head, checking for injury. But there was nothing, just the normal feel of your hair, and the steady thump of your temples in time with your pounding heart.

Looking around, your eyes soon fixed to the low light, not actual darkness to center on a figure in the center of the room.

You let out a gasp of surprise.

Gojo.

Not only had it been a while and he was the last person you expected to see, he looked stranger than he ever had.

He sat perched on a chair backwards, chin leaning on the top of the backrest. His head was tilted, and he watched you warily but fixedly through eyes that looked sunken into their orbits. Their clear blue was still sharp in the darkness.

His skin had taken on an almost ghostly cast to match his hair, and he was thinner than you remembered as though he had been slowly withering away since the last time you saw him. That was ages ago.

Your limbs froze in anticipation. You didn’t have to be a genius to recognize that whatever was happening or was about to happen was bad.

“Why did you bring me here?”

He stared at you blankly for a moment, unmoving. If he weren’t so extraordinarily fatigued, he would have sat up straighter in his chair and offered you a smile. You were still as pretty as the day he first laid eyes on you, after all. What a welcome sight.

“I guess I missed you,” he responded instead, quietly. 

Your teeth gritted as you flared up in indignation.

“Excuse me?”

He cut you off with a loud, exasperated sigh, mustering the little bit of energy he had left to run a hand through his hair.

“Listen, I thought I’d forgotten myself, but it turns out that I’m being betrayed by my own body.”

As though to add effect, a coughing fit began just at the end of his sentence, and you watched as he spat flowers into the palm of his hand, lowering them for you to see.

“And it seems like you’re the cause of this.”

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of bloody petals falling through his fingertips and hitting the ground.

He was completely out of his mind.

“I…,” you shakily got yourself up to your feet, not letting your gaze leave Gojo for a second. He didn’t get out of the chair, but he did shift so that he leaned back in the seat, a wicked smile on his face.

“You...?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You spat. “Where the hell am I and how did I get here?”

He finally did get up, although it was done in a dramatic, strained movement. He really had lost weight, you noticed, picking up the flash of pale wrists before he shoved his hands in his pocket.

“I know it sounds crazy but apparently, according to your girlfriend, I’m suffering from lovesickness.”

He bared more of his teeth now, looking more like a grimace than a grin by this time. “I didn’t believe it either, but then I started seeing you in my mind every single waking moment.”

In the split second it took for you to blink, he had crossed the distance between you, so that he was now in your personal space, the palm of his hand inappropriately caressing your face, as tender as you’d expect from Shoko.

And you immediately jumped back and backhanded him as hard as you could.

The crack of your hand was loud and exaggerated, reverberating in the room. For a moment, you froze in shock, surprised the slap had actually landed, before shaking out your now burning hand and following up with a hiss.

“Don’t you fucking touch me.”

Gojo’s icy blue eyes glint, demonic in their delight.

“That’s the feisty bitch I remember.”

---

It was nearing 24 hours since you’d failed to reply to Shoko’s text and the normally collected woman was terribly anxious.

She’d stayed at work late, and still, not a single message from you. 

The nagging feeling in the back of her mind returned.

What if it were you?

Gojo couldn’t be that insane, could he?

When she entered your home to find traces of red salvia scattered throughout your home, it only confirmed her fears.

---

“I don’t want to do this either. I mean it.”

It was hard to believe him when he seemed to savor every brush of the lips as he trailed kisses along your inner thighs, spread open with the force of his hands. Gojo had always been deceptively strong, even now, when it looked like he was wilting just as much as the flowers he coughed up. 

Your wrists were bound to a fixed point at the head of a foreign bed, and your ankles to the bedposts anteriorly to prevent you from fighting. Not that you would have been able to fight back anyway, but the severe fatigue permeating his very bones made him less willing to risk anything.

When his lips made it to your center to circle your clit, you writhed in disgust, forcing back the sighs of pleasure that would inevitably ensure.

“Y-you can’t - ah - make me love you…”

Gojo paused the swishing of his tongue to give you a look that reeked enough of apathy that it was almost startling.

“I’m aware, but there’s no harm in trying.”

---

“Where the fuck is she?”

Satoru had the ostentatiousness within him to receive the phone call on speaker, so that you could hear Shoko beg to find out your whereabouts.

“She’s with me,” he replied, calmly to her, holding the phone in one hand and pumping fingers in and out of your slippery cunt with the other. 

By this time, Gojo had gotten tired of your expletives which no longer retained the initial cute charm, so your screams for help were muffled by a gag over your own wet panties shoved into your mouth.

He’d been at this for hours.

There was a pause on the phone from Shoko’s end that sounded like something crashing to the ground, maybe a plate breaking.

Her tone changed immediately.

“P-please don’t hurt her.”

“I’m not.”

He glanced at you who glared back at him with reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You looked even prettier when you were so totally helpless.

“I would never,” he added.

The pump of his fingers slowed but did not stop.

“This won’t fix you,” Shoko warned, almost in a low protective hiss, her own voice breaking. “This won’t fix anything, you bastard.”

He cut off the phone abruptly, and let out a sigh before shifting his attention back to you.

“Where were we?”

---

Maybe if I pretend, he’ll stop?

Or will he continue? Will I just affirm that he won?

His thrusts were relentless, as was the constant tugging at your hair, the teeth sinking into every inch of your skin, the moans and groans whispered into your ears or your bosom.

A violation in every sense of the word.

You were running out of tears.

The fact that it’s pointless, you and he both know it. Your true love knows it, that this is just an excuse to get back at you. For what? Rejection? 

He would die anyway. You would never return his feelings, if there even truly were any. 

He continued to rut into you, and flowers started to stain every inch of your bodies, covering them in a deep scarlet.

Red. Red. Red.

Blood. Rage. Power. Passion.

You probably didn’t need the restraints anymore. You had no fight left in you. 

Just the satisfaction, however small, that regardless of what he did to you, he would still eventually succumb to nature and perish in a bed of putrid efflorescence.

[dancingamongstdust]

Creepypasta Scenarios - First Meeting Part 2

Hoodie

The area where you lived had a ton of back alleyways that acted as shortcuts in a pinch. They were generally safe but you often got an uncomfortable feeling when using them so you preferred to take the busier roads if you could.

Unfortunately, when you had gone to leave work that day, you had spotted the customer who had been harassing you the entire day. It wasn’t anything creepy but it was over-the-top persistent and you weren’t in the mood to deal with it. You slipped out the backdoor as a result. At least you’d get home sooner.

For the most part, you didn’t encounter anything too suspicious and the light from the streets illuminated where you were going.

The large bins outside the grocer’s home indicated that you were getting close. You sped up and rubbed your eyes blearily.

Ahead of you, a dog was barking from inside one of the buildings. It was a pretty noisy animal and you began peering around to see what the source of its agitation was. Ironically, you ended up bumping directly into him.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised, rubbing your shoulder.

The guy was tall, wearing dark clothing and standing right in the shadows. You could have probably noticed him if you were a little more awake.

He turned and your breath caught.

His face was obscured by a dark mask with red features stitched onto it. His hoodie which originally seemed dark was now illuminated into a soft yellow or orange, stained with a dark substance.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. His voice crackled out, clearly coming through a voice changer of some kind.

“I – I was just taking a shortcut home. I live near here so I thought… I really didn’t mean to bump into you. I’m super tired.”

“Tired or not, you shouldn’t have seen me,” the guy said. “Do you have a phone or a camera?”

Slowly, you reached into your bag and pulled out your phone. “I don’t have any cash in my wallet –“

“I don’t want your money!” he snapped. “I’m not some petty thief, believe me, I have better things to do with me time. Unlock this.”

You did so and he went through it with a gloved hand. He didn’t have a weapon but something in your gut warned you to just go along with it. Nobody covered up everything, including their voice, when they were up to something good. This guy may not be a thief… but the alternative didn’t feel too much better.

He shoved your phone back at you. “Get out of here and don’t breathe a word of this to anybody. Consider yourself lucky that I’m in a good mood today.”

You swallowed nervously. “Thank you?”

“I’m serious,” he warned. “I can let you go just because you seem pathetic enough to not take this to the police but unless you want to catch a bullet in your back, you’ll keep quiet. My boss doesn’t like people getting involved with this nonsense.”

“A bullet?”

He didn’t answer and your heart thundered in your chest. Part of you wondered if he was going to kill you while you ran away but his attention seemed to have moved away from you. You hurried away, holding your breath the entire time. Every time you glanced over your shoulder, the guy remained unmoving.

When you reached your home, you locked the door tightly and slumped against it in exhaustion.

Homicidal Liu

The sunset was beautiful over the graveyard – the only beauty to an otherwise morbid place.

You stared at the purples and oranges dancing across the sky. The wreath pricked at your hands after a while and you stared down at it. Why did you still bother with bringing flowers? Hadn’t it been long enough? Still, you made your way down to the grave and placed them there, not even bothering to read the name on there.

Lately, your graveyard visits had becoming fewer and fewer. Time hadn’t been on your side recently and thus, your precious solitude had to suffer. You relished in the way that nobody really bothered you here.

An orange glow warned you when the streetlights came on. Perhaps you had been there for longer than you thought but this was to be your last visit.

Better to make it count.

Something caught in the wind made you raise your head. A piece of fabric was stuck in the nearby fence, identifiable as a scarf when you ventured closer.

You took it from the fence and looked around for its owner. Nobody was in view… maybe it had been blown off one of the graves? It did seem homemade.

Guessing, you began to place it on a grave when a voice startled you.

“I’m sorry to bother but I think you have my scarf?”

The man was standing far too close for you to have not seen him when you were glancing around but you blamed that on your night vision. He wore dark clothing and seemed awkward just to be speaking to you.

“Thank goodness,” you said. “I was just going to leave it on one of the graves because I didn’t know who it belonged to.”

He thanked you for it, wrapping it around the lower half of his face almost immediately. “That would be a waste,” he said. “Especially to leave it on this one. Thank you for grabbing it.”

A harsh wind blew through the graveyard, carrying with it the smell of an incoming storm. He grabbed his scarf just in time to prevent it from going flying away again.

“Seems like the weather is determined to steal it from you.”

“Far more powerful things have tried.”

You buried yourself further into your jacket and smiled. “I haven’t seen you around before, are you new in town or just coming to visit a new grave?”

“I’m not visiting a grave,” he admitted. “I just thought that this would be the way back to my house… I grew up in this town but only recently moved back and I’m already lost. It’s a little embarrassing if I’m honest.”

“Well, I like to know everybody,” you said. “What’s your name?”

“Su – I mean, Liu,” he said. “Liu. Sorry, I nearly gave you my surname.”

You laughed. “Oh that’s no problem. It’s nice to meet you but I really like your name. Is it Chinese?”

“I don’t know,” he said. He looked around and began walking away. “I really have to go. Thank you for getting my scarf and all that.”

“I’ll see you around,” you said with a wave.

It was only later when you realised how suspicious that entire interaction was. You had never seen Liu before in your life and he was just hanging around in the graveyard? He hadn’t seemed too creepy at least. Maybe you would see more of him in the coming days.

Jane the Killer

It wasn’t that you were unobservant or inattentive toward girls but nobody had really caught your eye until Jane.

She was stunning in a way that few people could ever match with dark hair that tumbled past her hips and soulful eyes. Her walk was always confident, her smile always perfect, and her attention always desirable. Your main regret about life was that you didn’t speak to her sooner – especially when you thought back on what happened not too long after your first meeting.

You organised with your friends to somehow bump into her but instead, you wound up getting treated for a pretty painful bruised hip. Your second plan didn’t work out either and your third never even left the drawing board.

“Just go up to her and say hi. Tell her that she’s beautiful,” your friend encouraged. “She’ll say thanks and then you’ll be able to talk to her.”

“That’s so boring though,” you said. “It’s not like something out of a romance novel.”

Your friend groaned and stood up. “Well, I’m going home. We have like three months left of high school and I’m not going to spend that time obsessing over how to speak to a girl. She’s literally a regular person.”

They were right and you knew that. No matter how you tried to set up a sweeping romance, it probably wouldn’t work out.

So you tried.

And you tried.

Two weeks later, you were about to give up on mimicking a romance novel and it appeared that your friend was thinking the same thing. She grabbed your arm and began to drag you somewhere, muttering about changing the topic. You had a vague idea of where you were going but you didn’t fight too much.

“What if she’s still dating that Woods boy?” you asked. “The older one.”

“They broke up after literally a month of dating. I don’t blame her – those Woods boys are pretty enough but the older one has something seriously wrong with him. And the younger one is always talking to himself…”

“I really don’t care about the Woods’,” you commented.

“No, you care about Jane who is honestly quite weird as well,” they said. “But that is going to be your problem and not mine.”

They dragged you directly up to her group. It wasn’t large – despite Jane’s beauty, she wasn’t incredibly popular due to her associations. Your friend wasn’t the only one who was a little scared of the Woods boys and Jane had hung out with them for quite a while.

“Hey,” your friend said before even letting you go. “You have no idea who we are but my friend here has a massive crush on you. Could you please just say hi so they can get it out of their system?”

You were sure that it was unhealthy to be as red as you were. It felt like your heart was about to leap from your chest.

Jane laughed, a soft and gentle sound. “I’m not really interested in a relationship,” she hummed. “But thank you. That’s very flattering.”

Somehow, your heart sped up still and you awkwardly rubbed your arm. “No problem?”

“Why don’t you join us for a little bit?” Jane offered. “Just because I don’t want to date anybody doesn’t mean that we can’t become friends. You look like my kind of person.”

You stumbled over your words but somehow, your conversation managed to go extremely well. Jane was brilliant in every possible way and you quickly grew attached to seeing her every day. That was why you mourned so greatly when she died.

Jason the Toymaker

The sun was so warm against your skin. You could stay there forever, stretched out on the grass and basking in the sunlight.

“It’s done,” your friend’s voice broke through your daydreaming

You opened your eyes and rolled over to see exactly what they had been working on for the entire trip. After realising the first few times that you weren’t going to get a reaction, you had decided to wait for them to finish working before you tried to have a conversation.

“I didn’t know you could draw,” you said. “That’s amazing.”

The hyper-realistic man was sketched to perfection with a top hat, a fur coat, and a small mouse sitting on his left shoulder. It felt like his eyes could piece into your soul.

“Who is that?” you asked them.

They stared blankly at the image and shook their head. “I don’t know,” they said. “He’s been in my dreams for so long. I think it has something to do with my amnesia. Maybe I knew him once before.”

“He’s a little intimidating,” you said. “I could imagine him to be a ringleader in a circus that’s like a secret cult. Maybe he’s why you lost your memory.”

“Maybe…” they said, tapping the picture. They suddenly shoved it into your chest and stood up. “You keep that. I don’t want it anywhere near me. I need to go talk to my parents.”

You watched them race out of the park in confusion. The man in the picture stared up at you with haunting eyes.

Folding it in half so it didn’t freak you out, you stood and dusted off your clothing. Maybe it would be best if you headed home. It was getting late either way.

Later on, you’d call your friend and check up on them.

About 10 minutes away from your house, the feeling of being watched snuck up on you. It hung heavily around your shoulders like a cloak. You glanced around but saw nobody.

Still, you didn’t feel comfortable leading whoever was following you back to your house. You made a point of walking amongst large crowds and headed for the police station.

They were watching you the whole way.

You sped up. A few people bumped into you and you apologised as best as you could. Your grip on the picture was getting tighter enough for you to tear it. The later it got, the fewer people were on the streets and so you were pretty much alone when you bumped into him.

It took you a few seconds to recognise the man from the drawing.

If you thought his drawn eyes were captivating, they had nothing on his real ones which glowed with an almost ethereal light.

“You’re him,” you breathed.

He stared at you, smile falling from his face in confusion. “Who?”

You shakily held out the drawing and he yanked it from your hands. “My friend drew that,” you explained. “They said that its of somebody from their past. They have amnesia you see.”

He was unmoving as he studied the picture. You began feeling a little uncomfortable and then his gaze snapped to you. “Is that so?” he asked.

You nodded and took a small step away from him. “Maybe you should go and talk to them? See –“ you swallowed nervously. “See if you can help them remember?”

“No need,” he said, dropping the paper on the ground. “Who are you?”

Your name came out as little more than a soft whisper. Something about the entire scenario made you uneasy. His appearance was too unnatural.

A gust of wind came by, picking up the drawing and whipping it away. You watched it go and when you looked back down, his eyes were locked on you.

“Such a pity,” he said. “You would have been the perfect doll.”

Wearily, you took a step backwards. His words made your stomach churn uneasily. “What are you talking about?”

He smiled. It was kind and warm but it only made you more nervous. His eyes looked like they had almost changed colour; shifted a shade darker than previously. “Thinking aloud my dear,” he said.

“About dolls?” you asked.

He tilted his head a little towards you. “I’m going to have to bid you goodbye. It seems I have other matters to attend to.” He brushed past you, stopping briefly when directly next to you. “Consider yourself lucky.”

He was gone before you could even spin around to face him.

Jeff the Killer

Pausing the song, you removed your earphones as quietly as possible and placed them down on your desk. According to the blinking numbers on your phone screen, it was nearing 2 AM. Far too late for anybody to make an excess of noise.

You listened closely. The music had been too loud for you to hear anything and you almost brushed the strange noise off as your sleep-deprived imagination. Until something squeaked like shoe soles on tiles.

In retrospect, you should have immediately called 911 but you didn’t want to sound a false alarm.

The light switch was thankfully directly outside your room. The hall illuminated most of the house when they were on and it steeled your nerves. Your roommate’s door was open, allowing you to confirm their sleeping state, curled up in their bed amongst the piles of mess. They had had to move to the spare room due to a faulty window earlier in the day and had clearly given up sorting items.

You glanced into the apartment’s other rooms before heading to the kitchen. There was nothing odd. The scuttling when you entered the kitchen just suggested that your neighbour’s rat infestation may be migrating.

Making a mental note to call the exterminator, you turned to switch off the kitchen light.

Something slammed into you, forcing your back to collide with a wall. A hand covered your mouth and the overwhelming scent of blood and decay invaded your nose. Something cold and sharp pressed against your neck.

“Shut up and stay still,” the man snarled at you. “I don’t think anybody will appreciate you getting blood in the kitchen.”

Your heart leapt into your throat and your body stilled. The man in front of you was terrifying. His skin pale and mutilated. Eyes far too wide for a normal person and dancing with an insanity that sent chills down your spine.

And his mouth… a bloody smile carved across his face, stretching halfway to his ears.

He studied your face carefully and his expression twisted. “You’re not the right one,” he snapped. The knife moved away from your neck, so he could point with it. “I had this all planned and yet when I came into that room, I found it empty. Why?”

Even if he hadn’t been holding your mouth shut, you doubted you would have been able to formulate an answer. The pounding heartbeat in your ears was nearly blocking out his voice.

He lightly tapped your cheek with his knife. “Not that it matters,” he said. “I’ll just have to adapt my original plan. You’re not the right target but I’m a huge fan of collateral damage.”

A small whimper escaped you and tears welled at your eyes. You didn’t want to die.

“Don’t blubber!” he ordered. “View it as a good thing. You’ll be all over the news. Another victim of Jeff the Killer. Hell, you might even be added to a Wikipedia page or something.”

You could recall that name from the news. Often followed by a lengthy list of deaths and the police chief begging for any information about the murderer.

Jeff stared at you for a long minute before he pressed the knife’s blade to your throat and moved his hand away from your mouth. “Scream and I will remove your vocal cords,” he threatened. “Who are you?”

It took several deep breaths and a flicker of impatience in his expression to give you the ability to talk again. You stammered out your full name as quickly as you possibly could.

He rolled his eyes and tilted the knife so it scratched your skin. A sticky and warm substance ran down your throat in small droplets. “Pathetic.”

“Sorry,” you whispered on instinct. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Why not?” he asked. “You ruined my earlier plans to take out my original target by interrupting me before I could find them. Why shouldn’t I settle for you instead?”

You didn’t have an answer.

He took the blade away from your throat. “If you call the police and report what happened here tonight, I will slice you into little pieces.”

It was almost twenty minutes after he left before you regained any movement in your body. You slumped into a heap on the kitchen floor and started sobbing.

Kagekao

Things had been going missing around your house.

Initially, you had thought it was just due to you forgetting where you’d plopped things because it was simple things. Drinks that vanished, keys turning up on the opposite side of the house, and random spills that you didn’t remember making.

But then it started getting weirder still.

You would make food and pack it away, knowing that you would eat it later, and find it gone. Picture frames disappeared, never to be seen again. Your rug half-unraveled during the night and you found it in a pile the next morning. A candle in your bathroom fell over and, somehow, the curtains on the other side of the house had caught alight.

It was suspicious, to say the very least. You began to think that you had some kind of intruder – once, the news reported that a woman found a homeless man living in her attic and eating her food when she wasn’t looking.

So you went out and bought cameras, setting them up throughout your house.

For two weeks, they caught nothing until one of them ended up breaking. You went to get it repaired and the company managed to recover what it had last seen. Which was nothing on your first glance.

But you were soon to realise, that was only because you had been looking at the floor.

While you were rewatching when you got home, you noticed something. The window was sitting wide open and the camera’s angle only allowed you to see half of it. Right toward the end of the feed, a gloved hand appeared on the side of the window and a slight shadow indicated something climbing through.

So you got reinforced windows and made sure that none were open unless you were in the room.

Things still continued happening.

You were beginning to get really annoyed by this. It was tempting to go to the police and let them just handle it but that was going to be a lot of effort that you really didn’t care for. You didn’t feel like you were in much danger. Nothing had happened in your bedroom.

Your next plan was to set up a trap of some kind. With a hidden camera set up, you made extra food and left it on the counter to see if something happened.

The next day, you watched as a plastic toy of some kind was thrown directly into the plate from somewhere off-camera, breaking it and leaving an absolute mess everywhere.

Still not considering it to be anything dangerous, you just cleaned up the mess and loudly cursed out anybody who was listening. You stalked the house after that, searching every nook and cranny with a bat in hand. The final place was the closet in your bedroom and you peered in, expecting nothing.

When you turned around though, you spotted something sitting in the corner of the room.

It was humanoid with arms twisted into awkward positions and a mask on its face. Half the mask was black and the other white, both sides bearing an unnaturally smiling expression. The creature cackled when you saw it and scuttled out of the door, stuck to the roof the entire time.

A second passed.

Then another.

You pinched your arm hard and waited to wake up. Surely there was no way… I mean, why would… humans didn’t generally crawl along the ceiling? Well, you were quite sure they never did that. You must have been imagining it.

A second laugh corrected you on that.

You swallowed thickly, walked over to your door as calmly as possible and locked it. Then you took out your phone and finally called the police.

Kate the Chaser

The day when Kate was sent away remained very clear in your mind. It was a moment that brought extremely change to your life, mixing up your friend group and sending you in a different direction.

The years has passed and you had never gotten over your best friend. They said that she had lost her mind and you knew it was true. All those games investigating the woods and ghost hunting must have put a toll on her mind. Sometimes, you blamed yourself for all the pranks and you knew that Lauren had similar doubts.

And now she was back.

Lauren and you hadn’t remained close, the entire situation feeling too real with one another. Your greeting was stilted but neither of you wanted to be the first to approach the house.

“Do you think that she remembers us?” Lauren asked.

“If she didn’t then her mom wouldn’t have invited us over,” you said.

You stood in complete silence, staring up at the house. Would you even recognise Kate? The last time that you had seen her was when you were both young children and her face remained at that age in your memories.

Eventually, you gained your confidence before Lauren and you walked over, knocking on the door before anxiety could find you.

Kate answered the door and you forgot why you had ever been nervous.

Time had slimmed her face and shortened her hair. Her eyes were still a gentle brown and the cockiness had faded from her smile, but it was recognisable from your nostalgia. It made you feel warm and known – an aura that you had missed without even realising it.

“Hi,” you greeted.

Kate pulled you into a tight hug and you returned it, clutching at her tightly as though she could slip through your fingers. It really had been too long and when you moved away, she held onto Lauren with the same enthusiasm.

“How have you been?” she asked. “You have to tell me everything.”

The three of you spent the rest of the afternoon having tea and just talking about the world at large. Kate didn’t have many stories from the hospital – she claimed it was because the place had been extremely boring and neither of you pushed to find out more about it. Honestly, it was more comfortable to act as though she had simply moved away.

Lauren had to leave first and you were going to go with her but Kate had looked so down that you remained just a little longer. That was when things got weird.

“I’ve missed music a lot,” Kate sighed.

“Did they not allow you to listen to music?”

She grimaced. “No, they did but often I couldn’t hear it over the static. Its mostly gone away now but it came back last night… it fills my brain and all that I can think of is a way to make the pain stop.”

The colour drained from your face as you stared at her. You didn’t know much about what happened to her but you had thought she would be okay now.

Realising it, Kate hurried to reassure you, “I really have recovered,” she said. “My hallucinations have faded and my medication keeps my emotions in check. You really don’t have to be scared of me.”

You stared down at your cup awkwardly. “I’m not scared of you,” you reassured her. “You’ve never done anything to me.”

She nodded. “It will be alright, you’ll see. I’m ready to get back to a normal life with my friends and not have to worry about that ghost stuff ever again.”

Laughing Jack

It was on your leg…

The glare you fixed the small child with could wilt plants. It didn’t care though and merely clutched at your clothing with a happy smile. “Come play with me?” it asked. “I can introduce you to all my friends!”

“How old is she again?” you grumbled at your friend.

Your friend laughed and ruffled their cousin’s hair. “I had an imaginary friend when I was 10. She’s only 6, she’s still at the stage where they’re a big deal.”

The child was oblivious to your conversation and reached out her arms. “Come on. The parents are being boring. I have candy that my friend gave me. We can share it.”

“I agreed to come along to your family get together to keep you company,” you said to your friend. “You know I don’t like children. Babysitting really isn’t my forte.”

All you received for your complaining was laughter.

By the time you had the 4th teddy bear had been introduced, you were done. Why did one kid have so many toys?

“Now which one of your friends gives you candy?” your friend asked. “Because if it’s from Princess, I don’t think it’s edible. What if she secretly puts glitter in it?”

Expected to play along, you sighed. “Unless it’s glitter from rainbows because then it’s got magic powers and allows you to fly.”

The child liked your thumb-sucked statement because she jumped up in excitement. “I don’t get it from Princess. Jack gives it to me! But if Princess can make me fly, I want to have that kind of candy instead!”

“Which one’s Jack again?” you asked, eyeing the line of toys.

“He’s not here right now,” the child said, biting her inner cheek. She turned in a circle. “Sometimes he hides in the cupboard though!” She ran over to her cupboard and pulled the doors open. “I don’t think – OW!”

She reeled backwards, clutching her cheek. Both you and your friend immediately jumped up and ran over to her. A tiny slice mark ran across the side of her face. It wasn’t anything serious, but she was sobbing as though it would kill her. You presumed a small edge on one of the boxes in the cupboard had been the cause.

“Do you want me to take you to mom, so she can kiss it better?” your friend asked. “Your new best friend can wait here and make sure all your toys are safe.”

The child nodded, and she got led out of the room. You rolled your eyes at the sensitivity and reached into the cupboard to push the box out of the way. A clawed hand reached out of nowhere and grabbed your wrist tightly.

Before you could even shout, it lifted you off the ground by your arm and a second hand had wrapped around your mouth.

The monster’s body appeared out of the closet.

It was a clown. Easily 7ft tall and comprised of monochrome colours with a sharp, pointed nose and long, greasy hair. Its black lips spread into a smile, revealing pointed teeth and a sickeningly sweet breath.

You writhed against its grip, trying to scream or do anything but it was insanely strong, and it just laughed at your efforts.

“How mean,” it purred, leaning in close to your face. “You ask who I am and then, when I appear to you, you insult my appearance. Awful etiquette. Your parents should be concerned about how rude you are to strangers.”

You strained your memory to think about what you had been doing before it grabbed you but the adrenaline was clouding your mind. What had you asked? You struggled more with the lack of memories.

The clown shook its head. “I haven’t revealed myself to somebody so old in a long time. You should be flattered but instead you choose to try and kick me. This is why I don’t do this. Children are far more polite.”

He released you suddenly and you landed hard on the ground. It winked and disappeared, right as your friend and her cousin returned.

“You met Jack!” the child shouted excitedly, pointing to the candy lying next to you.

You shoved it away from you as quickly as possible.

[coffeedrgn87]

Song: “Things Are Looking Up” by Sheffield (listen here)

I wish you good morning From the side of this bed that I’ve worn in I hope life never gets boring And may you use the smile that you’re born with

Draco moved slowly, resisting the persistent tugging on the edges of his consciousness, pulling him out of a pleasant dream about riding a majestic green dragon and snatching the golden Snitch right from under Potter’s nose. It was a reoccurring dream and while Draco wasn’t particular interested in becoming a professional dragon rider, he did dream about beating Potter to the Snitch…a petty old rivalry he couldn’t quite let go.

He sluggishly dragged his arms out from underneath his mountain of pillows and stretching languidly, he blinked a few times, trying to adjust his vision. It was hazy, fuzzy around the edge and it took a swipe with the back of his hand for Draco’s vision to clear as he removed the sticky sleep crust that prevented him from seeing properly. Was this how Potter perceived the world whenever he did not wear his glasses?

Draco stretched a little more, quietly bemoaned daylight’s brightness, then let his gaze settle on Harry, who was already awake and lying in bed looking at him with curious green eyes that twinkled with an edge of mischief.

“Staring is unbecoming, Potter,” Draco mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep. He cleared his throat and instinctively shifted a little closer, allowing Harry to wrap his arms around him and draw him into a loose embrace.

Harry’s laughter was soft, tickled the outer shell of his ear and Draco shifted, pressing his face into Harry’s bare chest.

“Perhaps, but exceptions apply to one’s own husband.”

Draco snorted.

“That so?” He asked, allowing the dark curls of Harry’s chest hair to tickle his lips as he spoke.

“It is most certainly so.”

Draco grinned.

“And when exactly did you become an expert on marital law?”

Draco felt Harry’s fingers in his hair, felt them comb through his long tresses.

“Uh, I think about two decades ago to the day. Happy anniversary.”

Draco huffed a laugh.

“You remember,” he said.

The sound of Harry’s laughter was warm and soft and it trickled down Draco’s spine, pooling low in the centre of his groin, igniting something fierce deep inside of him. He didn’t chase after it, but let it be, indulging in the thrill.

“How could I forget. Best day of my life.”

Although Harry couldn’t see him do it, Draco still rolled his eyes, then he changed the topic entirely.

“What time is it?”

“About five thirty-six.”

Draco groaned.

“You pest. Go make coffee to redeem yourself or I’m filing for divorce.”

Harry’s raucous laughter rang through the bedroom, bouncing off the walls.

“As if you would.”

“Don’t test me, Potter, without my daily dose of caffeine I’m capable of a lot.”

Instead of taunting him further, Harry pressed a lingering kiss to the top of Draco’s head and Draco pushed into it.

“Now,” he murmured, no longer sure whether he was asking for coffee or getting distracted by his husband’s fingers caressing the small of his back, drawing soft circles, figures of eight, and the one or other heart.

[yandere-sins]

I just finished reading all your Haikyuu Kitsune fics and I am obsessed. I was wondering what would happen if kitsune Suna just kidnapped the reader one night and she just wakes up in his Kitsune village tied up lol.

(╯‵□′)╯︵💗

Glad you enjoyed them! Thanks for reading & requesting ^-^

»»———————— ♡ ————————««       

You were awake for a while already, pondering, when you finally heard the door to the basement open again. Even though you felt exhausted and anxious after the last few hours that you spent alone in the dark, you still mustered up the strength to glare, enough hatred in your gaze that the person entering the basement should have dropped dead if looks could kill. Person? Entity? You weren’t sure how to title him, but any name that came to mind wasn’t a very friendly one.

“You’re scrunching up your face... again,” he noted, and now pointed out, you grimaced even more. Suna either didn’t want to understand why you were looking at him, clearly finding discomfort in your gaze as he opted to avoid your eyes, or he decided to play dumb. Whichever it was, it only made you angrier!

“Seriously...” he mumbled, sighing deeply before placing down the tray he had been carrying, on a barrel next to the stairs. The whole basement was stuffed with things that seemed like they had been standing there for a while, unused and covered in thick layers of dust. Some of the stuff looked like ancient versions of modern tools for farming, but with that man nearby, your whereabouts were your slightest worry.

“I got you some food.”

Placing a spoon into the bowl he had brought, he stirred it briefly, a gooey, thick substance dripping of the cutlery when he lifted it into the light of the candle accompanying him. You, right away, felt anything but hungry, even if you assumed it was just oatmeal. Still, judging from the looks of it, you couldn’t find even one thing that was appetizing about it.

Taking the bowl with him, he walked over to you, a hand reaching out towards your face as you reacted, pushing yourself backwards until your back hit another barrel behind you. The metal chains wrapped around your wrists rattled upon your stir, making Suna flinch away for a second, his whole body stiffening as he looked back over his shoulder and up the staircase. He remained silent for a moment as if he waited for the door to open, but nothing happened.

“Don’t be too loud,” he reminded you for what must have been the fiftieth time since he threw you over his shoulder and made a run for it to this place, a strange, abandoned village in the forest. “They could hear you. Just be warned that other than me, my kin might eat you on the spot.”

Part of you wanted to call this a bluff—just a trick to keep you quiet. But knowing how unpredictable he was, you didn’t want to get to know any other ‘of his kin’ either. This time, you drilled a hole into the hand slowly approaching your face, strained your neck to get it off you. But lastly, he managed to pull on the cloth wrapped around your head and gagging you, making you fear more scratches from the claws on his fingers.

You didn’t know it was possible to feel sore around your mouth but being free of the gag it was the painful reality you were facing. “Eat,” Suna decided, gathering the gunk of a meal on his spoon before lifting it to your lips. “Fuck off!” you hissed at him quickly, turning your head away and making him struggle to hold the spoon properly, dripping its contents everywhere.

“I am doing this for you, you know?” he growled as you two fought over whether you were going to eat or not. Until Suna had enough, his second hand much quicker and less careful in its approach as it clipped over your nose, pulling you forward. You didn’t have enough time to see it coming, gasping as he cut off your air supply and tugged, making you open your mouth wide enough for him to press the spoon forward.

The taste of unseasoned oats and the wooden spoon mixed with your saliva while you tried not to gag from the slime that seemed to slip right down your throat. Before you knew it, Suna let go of your nose, and you didn’t hesitate to spit out whatever hadn’t been forwarded to your stomach yet, the mass spilling all over the floor.

Disgusted, Suna watched you as you coughed, wishing the taste would pass immediately, not even a hint of understanding in his gaze. “For someone so worried about food, you’re very wasteful. Open up, come on.”

You barely had time to recover as he scooped up another mouthful, but this time you felt ready nonetheless. Clenching your teeth together, you waited for him to do the trick again, deciding you’d rather suffocate than accept any food from him, especially one that you couldn’t be sure where, when, and how it was made.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he pressed the spoon up to your teeth, growing impatient as you wouldn’t open up no matter how much pressure he applied. Suna even gripped your chin from below, trying to slam both forces together, but you persisted. You would have been mighty proud of yourself for resisting if not for the oatmeal getting plastered all over your face, its consistency running down your cheeks and lips as Suna threw away the spoon in frustration.

“Fine!” he gnarled. “You want to show me how tough you are? I can do that too!”

As if on cue, the light flickered before going out, but even just the three seconds that you were able to see his bared teeth - his pointy fangs looking even longer than you imagined them from that time he bit you - scared you. It was the first time, but certainly not the last, that you felt yourself submit to him. Like an animal who tugged in its tail, you flinched away, ducking lightly until all you could see were his golden, shining eyes in the dark. Even if it was just a spur-of-the-moment action, you instantly felt embarrassed and upset you reacted the way you did.

“Good,” he appraised your recoiling motion before he moved closer. You felt his body leaning towards you, the warmth impossible to ignore as his arms caged you on either side, barrel in the back and fox in the front. You felt something wet and rough drag over your chin, lips, and cheek before you felt it trying to intrude on your mouth. Even if you wanted to complain, scream even, you found yourself cut off by Suna exploring the inside and catching your voice, the damn taste of oatmeal back on your tongue with no way of spitting it out.

His arms closed in on your hands, long fingers wrapping around the metal restraints and pulling your shoulders down until your hands pressed against the dirty ground, making it almost impossible to move your body like you wanted. The kiss continued, mouths opening for quick breathers in between, and you had to realize that these fangs weren’t optimal to be used for kissing, your teeth colliding with his a few times, and your lips getting caught on the fangs. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but every time it happened, you felt a spark of pain going through you.

The sounds very quickly changed from sloppy to passionate on his side, soft whines and groans escaping him in the breaks. You felt like you were going to die from either shame or the pain of him ending up dislocating your shoulders as Suna kept pressing in further and further, his chest soon enough resting on yours while your hands hurt from being caught in his grip and bracing against the ground.

All that was left when he very suddenly, very unpredictably, pulled away was the taste of iron as his fang finally managed to rip open a small part of your lip. You cursed inwardly as you took deep breaths, trying to regain air and your composure, while you barely heard him whisper something under his own breath. “... too much,” you made out, coming from him before he turned around, taking deep breaths.

“What the fuck--!” you cursed, but Suna was quick to return to you, clasping his hand over your mouth before listening intently. “Shhh!” he hissed, listening again, just like before. However, this time, you collected all the courage you had in you to bite him in the hand, catching a finger to latch on to. Suna noticeably flinched before he pulled away, seemingly looking at his hand for a split moment in an emotion you couldn’t make out. Still, before long, he clicked his tongue and pressed the gag he had taken off you back in place.

Even if you struggled now, he was stronger than you as well as relentless, and after tying a knot in the back, his hands lingered on each side of your head briefly. You could only see his eyes coming closer, but next thing you knew, you felt another kiss to your exposed lips before he seemed to notice the blood, his tongue coming forth to lick the wound tenderly, different from how he treated you before. “Fuck...” he whispered before he finally let you go and got up, his feet barely making any sound as he moved away.

“I’ll be back in the morning, don’t make a sound if you want to survive the night,” were his last words before he swiftly walked up the stairs and out the door, again leaving you behind all by yourself.

What were you supposed to make out of the situation? Why did he bring you here anyway if he was just going to leave you alone? What was ‘too much’, and why did he kiss you again and again? It felt like every time you saw him, you had more questions left unanswered than before. All you knew was that you wanted to go home.

And hopefully, this was just a very awful nightmare you’d soon wake up from.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Little Bones 6

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, anger, humiliation, control.

This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down

Note: This is likely the second to last chapter in this series! I’m excited to have another Birch series finished in the near future! And then I can work on Loki’s installment because you all are so dang convincing.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

Chapter 6: I can cry, beg and whine

Thor was insatiable. That was the only word you could think to describe him but it didn’t feel strong enough. His hunger, his persistence, his complete control over you was indescribable. He held your apartment, your job, your very existence in his grip. 

You woke up to him beside you in your double bed, too small for both of you but it only gave him a reason to be on top of you. You went to work late more days than not that week. And even when you didn’t go home to find him on your couch, he wasn’t long behind. 

There was no hiding from him in Birch and there was no way out. It was a truth you denied for too long because you weren’t from there. But it wasn’t about the town, it wasn’t the town that trapped you. It was the people, it was the attitude. It was those bikers.

Friday came and he was there waiting but he wasn’t sprawled out on your sofa as usual. He wore his colours, ready to go somewhere. 

He combed his fingers through the tails of his blond hair as you unzipped your jacket and set your bag on the shoe rack. He checked himself in the mirror that hung along the entryway and planted his hand on the wall as he leaned over you.

“Put on something nice,” he purred as he grabbed your chin and tilted your face towards him, “if it wasn’t so cold, I’d say something slutty.”

You didn’t have a chance to grimace before he kissed you. You swallowed your revulsion and waited for him to let you go. As you knelt to remove your boots, he tickled along the back of your head.

“Mmm, I’m almost tempted to let you stay down there,” he taunted, “but we’re already late.”

“Late for what?” you stood and brushed past him. He followed closely and groped your ass. You were almost used to his incessant touching.

“I got business tonight,” he said.

“Your business,” you insisted as you entered the bedroom. You made no move to change and sat on the bed as you rubbed your eyes, “I have no interest in whatever it is you deal in and I’m dead tired.”

“I know I’ve been… hard on you,” he smirked as there was no true remorse in his tone, “but how am I supposed to help myself?”

You looked at him sharply and snarled. “I really don’t feel like going to the bar--”

“We’re not going down there,” he interrupted, “but the girls are expecting you.”

He went to the closest and slid open the door. You shook your head at the wall and didn’t move. You knew there was no arguing with him. It made your blood boil. You hated that feeling of helplessness. You hated his kind of men and how they used women like things, painting their desires as your own.

“This is nice,” he tossed a forgotten pair of leggings with leather strips along the side on the bed and a silver top with trumpet sleeves slit along the inside, “bet your ass looks wonderful in those.”

“Can’t I have one night--”

“It’s business. The women have their time and we have ours. Get up.” He said sternly, “though I don’t mind helping you into these.”

He lifted the leggings and stretched the high elastic waist and bit his lip. You stood and snatched them from him. He did not leave, didn’t even back away as you turned and dropped them back on the bed. You stripped off your wool pants and the striped blouse. 

You wiggled into the leggings, embarrassed at how your ass jiggled and he purred in response. The top was tight across your tits and pushed them up dangerously against the neckline. You never wore it because that very reason; too much attention where you didn’t need it.

“See,” he snapped his knuckles against your ass, “sexy as hell.”

“You gonna tell me where we’re going?” you asked as you crossed your arms.

“Just a little get together,” he framed your face with his large hands, “with your Birch boys.”

He said nothing else as he latched onto your arm and turned to drag you behind him. You barely lifted your feet in your reluctance but you sensed his impatience growing. You contented yourself that in the least he would be distracted by other people long enough to leave you alone for just a few minutes.

💀

The motorcycle ripped through the early evening air and you shivered against his back. The air was still bitter but the roads were cleared of snow enough to maneuver the steel beast. He drove out of town and along the country roads, those were more treacherous than the main row.

You pulled up to the farmhouse, the old lot recently renewed as the house shone from within. Thor slowed and killed the engine. He flipped out the kickstand and nudged you. You climbed off and he followed your lead. He shoved the keys in his pocket and unstrapped his helmet as he let out a ‘brrr’.

“Come on,” he nodded to the porch steps as you undid your own helmet. 

You walked up to the house and he knocked. He took your helmet from you as you waited for an answer. You heard voices and the approach of footsteps from the other side. The door opened and Steve’s girl smiled out at you and pushed open the screen door.

“Oh! You’re here!” She chimed, “I used your mother’s lemon meringue recipe. And oh,” she beamed at you, “we haven’t seen you lately.”

“Work,” you said, it wasn’t exactly a lie, “it’s nice to see you, too. I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything, I--”

“I have everything under control,” she clapped her hands, “we’re just trying to figure out the shaker. Come in.”

She backed up and Thor held the door as you passed through first. You took your boots off at the mat and she beckoned you further in. “Thor, the guys are just in the living room,” she pointed to her left, “we’re in the kitchen,” she motioned behind her, “working on dinner.”

“Mmm,” you grumbled and nodded. Before you could step forward, Thor caught you and drew you back to him. He kissed you and you bore it in simmering humiliation.

“Have fun,” he squeezed your ass and let you go as he turned to find the other men.

You huffed and turned your attention to Steve’s girl as she waited awkwardly. She rubbed her hands together as she walked with your down the hallway. “Steve’s like that, you know? Touchy feely. I get so… embarrassed…” her voice trailed off, “sorry, I shouldn’t--”

“I always wondered about you and him. You’re an odd pair,” you said.

“Well, it’s not anything I expected but, um… well, this is our house--” she gestured around her as she led you into the kitchen, “you know, he bought it for me.”

“Hey, don’t change the subject,” you said a bit too tersely, “you said Steve embarrasses you but you--”

“And Thor does it to you so… you know that’s how they are,” she squeaked.

“All of them,” Bucky’s girl said and you only noticed her as she shook the metal shaker, “it’s why we need alcohol.”

You exhaled and came up to the counter as Steve’s girl went to the stove and lifted the lid on the skillet to stir the contents, “please, don’t put a lot of gin in mine. I don’t do well with alcohol.”

You leaned on the marble as you watched the other woman pour the bright pink liquid into a finely shaped glass on a stem, “looks better than last time.” She turned and set it beside the stove for the hostess.

“So…” you frowned as you thought and she began to measure gin and all the other ingredients before her, “why are you with them--”

“Why are you with Thor?” she interrupted, “we saw how much you hate him at the bar. We felt the same but don’t act stupiid like you don’t know what’s going on. These men are given everything they want and when they aren’t they take it anyway.”

“He takes care of my ma, though--” Steve’s girl intoned.

“And that makes it all hunky dorey,” the other sneered, “she sucks at saying it out loud but she can’t stand Steve as much as we can’t stand the rest of them.”

The other woman was quiet as she replaced the lid and reached for the drink. She fidgeted and looked down at her frilly apron. She was dressed like some housewife out of the suburban fifities, although her dress was still uncomfortably short.

“What good does it do to say it?” she mumbled.

Bucky’s girl mixed another cocktail and poured it pristinely before she slid it over to you, “I’m getting the hang of this but I’m happy the men are sticking to beer. My arm’s getting tired.”

You took the glass and tasted the drink. You hummed as it surprised you. “Aren’t you a bartender?”

“Server. I open beers and believe it or not but they don’t serve margaritas down at The Asp.”

You shrugged and kept drinking as she made her own drink and turned to rest her elbow on the counter lazily.

“I should’ve warned you. Not that it would’ve helped but I could’ve,” she said.

“No, it doesn’t matter. It’s like you said. They take whatever they want. Nothing we can do, is there?”

You were silent as you all sipped. The gin warmed your chest and you let it sink into your veins. Your commiseration was grim but comforting. To think that you weren’t entirely alone was as heartening as it was saddening.

💀

The alcohol heightened your irritation as dinner ended. You were left to help clear the table in your matronly duties with the other women. You were insulted at the outdated binary of the arrangements and it felt less like a get together and more of a job.

The men, Steve, Bucky, Thor, and Loki returned to the living room and their voices threaded the air as the dishes clinked in your grasp. The blonde biker’s brother was unexpected but he seemed just unhappy to be there as you. There were a few minutes during the meal where you sympathised with him as he rolled his eyes and failed to hide any ounce of his spite for Thor.

When you finished up, Steve’s girl took several more beers to the men before she returned to grab her glass of water. You took the vodka cooler, your third drink of the night, and went along with them to the living room.

You hung back as Steve’s girl neared him and was drawn down beside him impatiently, his arm around her shoulders as he almost spilled her water. Bucky’s girl sat beside him and tolerated his arm around her waist though he was less clingy than his accomplice. Loki stood by the window and stared out into the dull snow as Thor perched in the cozy armchair.

You went to sit beside Steve’s girl but you were stopped by a tut. 

“I’ve got a seat for you, kitten,” Thor slurred. The beer was thick in his voice, as potent as the liquor in your stomach. You turned to him as he rubbed his thigh.

“I’m fine, here,” you insisted and his smile fell.

“You know I wasn’t asking, kitty,” he warned, “come on and be a good girl. We’re guests. Let’s not make a scene.”

You stood in front of the couch and glared at him. You sighed softly and pushed your shoulders back. You marched over to him and turned your bottle to splash it over his front. You acted surprised at your feigned clumsiness and took a step back.

“Oops,” you uttered coyly, “how careless--”

He was up on his feet in a moment as he slammed his own bottle down on the small table beside the chair. He knocked yours from your hand entirely and the air stilled with tension. His blue eyes flared as he grabbed your wrist.

“Better help me get cleaned up,” he growled and looked over your shoulder, “excuse us.”

You resisted him for a moment but he yanked and nearly took you off your feet. He spun and kept hold of you as he forced you after him and stormed from the room. You stumbled out into the hall behind him and he flung you ahead of him. 

He gripped the back of your neck and ripped open a door to his right. He shoved you inside and you hit the sink as the clasp clicked loudly. He crowded you in the half bath as you braced yourself against the porcelain, the scent of beer tingling in your nostrils. You stared at his dark shirt, stained with his drink.

“I thought I trained you better, kitten,” he snarled, “just when I thought you were starting to purr.”

“Fuck you,” you said as the alcohol thinned the filter between your thoughts and your words.

“Oh, I can make that happen,” he hissed as he lifted the hem of his shirt and tore it off. He hung it over the towel bar and felt along his damp torso, “I can’t let you bite and not give you a good swat for it.”

“Don’t be an ass. It’s a drink. You can’t just talk to me like that. I’m not some animal--”

“Shhh,” he hushed as he covered your mouth and pushed you against the sink, “I’m not listening. That’s not how this works…” he leaned in and lowered his voice, “you realise how bad this is? You challenged me in front of men; I won’t have it. We’re past niceties, kitten.”

His hands slipped over your hips and to your ass. He scooped you up and rested you atop the porcelain as he crushed his body against yours. He grabbed your chin and smothered your lips with his as he rolled his pelvis against you.

His hand fell and crawled along your throat. You turned your head away and gasped as his fingers hooked under the elastic of your leggings.

“What are you--”

“Don’t play dumb,” he nipped at your throat, “we’ve done this enough.”

“Not here,” you pushed on his shoulders, “you can’t--”

“I can do--” his other hand fell to your waist and he gripped the elastic, “whatever--” his hands snaked around you as his fingers slid between the fabric and your skin, “I want.”

He ripped your leggings down with your panties and forced them down your legs. He pulled until your legs wet bent in front of you and you were curled awkwardly atop the sink as you struggled with him.

“Stop-- I’ll be good--”

“Too late,” he shoved his hand between your legs and felt around roughly. 

The fabric of your leggings trapped your thighs and kept you bent against him painfully as he hunched over you. He pulled his hand away to fumble with his fly and shifted as he pushed down his zipper. He set his feet firmly and hooked his other arm around you as he pressed his tip along your folds.

He guided himself blindly over your cunt, his beer-laced breath choked you as your head spun. He rested his forehead against yours as your head was propped up against the mirror. He lined himself up with your opening and thrust bluntly inside of you. You exclaimed in surprise as the intrusion blazed through you.

You were drunk enough that it felt good but you were aware enough of what was happening. You slapped him and his head snapped to the side. He pulled back and slammed into you even deeper. He brought his lips to yours again and kissed you sloppily as he rocked against you. The counter groaned under both of your weight as you tried to hold in your voice.

He sped up as your breath quickened in time with his. You closed your eyes as he once more descended to your through and kissed and nipped at your skin. His hips tilted into you steadily as you wriggled against him.

He pushed his hand between your bodies and pressed two fingers to your clit. He rubbed as he kept his pace and you murmured as your drunken body responded. You dug your nails into his shoulders and your feet arched as the ripple began to flow over you. Your peak rose fast and you cried out without restraint as it took you off guard.

His own grunts added the furor and he moved faster atop you. His knee hit the front of the counter and he sunk to his limit as he quaked. He stopped and held himself as deep as he could, sliding back slowly only to ease back in as he came in long strokes.

He stopped and rested his head in the crook of your neck, his blond hair falling forward as he caught his breath. You shuddered and nudged his shoulders until he stood. He slipped out of you and sent a chill up your spine. Your body fell limp and you dropped from the counter onto shaky legs.

You felt his cum trickle down your thigh as he reached for the toilet paper and wiped himself clean. Your vision hazed as you reached for some as well and kept the mess from dripping into your panties. He cleared his throat and turned to examine his wet tee shirt. You pulled up your leggings and sniffed.

 It was all so sudden it was as if nothing had happened at all. You held yourself up against the wall and a knock came from the door. He opened it without pretense and greeted Steve’s girl as she peered inside nervously and glanced at you briefly. 

She held a folded shirt in her hands as she blinked meekly. She knew, they all knew. You had no doubt that they’d heard it all.

“Um, hopefully this fits,” she said as she handed the tee shirt to him, “and, we… we’re just about to have dessert.”

“Great. I’ve got quite the appetite,” he replied, “we’ll be out soon.”

He closed the door and turned back to look at himself in the mirror. He brushed past you so you were flush to the wall as he pulled on the shirt. It was too tight around his thick arms and his broad chest. He tidied his hair and rolled his shoulders as he admired his reflection.

“I think now you’ll be good, kitten,” he winked and reached to touch your cheek cloyingly, “best not to get my hackles up again.”

[echo-of-sounds]

cock and ball worship

Small smut drabbles of cock and ball worship with Aizawa, Gang Orca, and Hound Dog.

Don’t like/Don’t read: ball worship (obviously), rimming, and deep throating/choking

Aizawa Shouta

Shouta’s knees settled on either side of your head, bumping his erection against your nose and chin. They spread, lowering his balls, perfectly positioning them. Hair and heat brushed your lips as you opened them. It goaded him to sink just a bit further, and you drew his left into your wet, greedy mouth, supping on his smell and taste. They shifted in their pocket with your lip’s waving.

You released with a loud slurp. Spit clung to you and him. Your tongue twirled around him before moving to his right, treating it with the same adoration: toying, pumping him between your lips and teeth, inhaling the scent, savoring the bitter flavor, indulging yourself in the feel of his hair and skin.

Then your mouth was suddenly empty. You whined and followed the sweets, but a hand pushed your chest back to the bed. He commanded in a lightly winded voice, “Open.”

You did with a smile. His glans slipped in, allowing you to drink his precum. His balls plopped on your forehead, blocking your vision as you nursed, twirling your tongue around his heated head to draft more salt.

Sho groaned his first groan. He slipped deeper, letting you delight in his taste and groans. You whimpered for more, to be loaded, stuffed, choked. Veins textured over your tongue, swabbing into the back of your mouth, trying to wedge further. His balls compressed lustfully, fully nosing you against him. Weight increased. Musk laded.

Just when the cutoff air became too much, he withdrew. Saliva and precum slopped to your face. He inched forward, not needing to tell you what to do; You lapped behind his balls, kissing and laving all along his perineum, to the ring of muscles and starting pumping him, slow and steady.

“Fuck,” he rasped, humping in sync with your hand. An exploratory lick caused a handsome groan. The low pitch told he was close.

You refocused on his balls, sucking one in by your teeth, now jerking him off hastily. Curses, degrades, and compliments flew out of his mouth about yours. You moaned and kept up with your feeding and stroking, loving the continued deepening of his sounds.

Hands fell to your hips, baring Shouta’s heft, as his own thrust into your grip. After a few more swears, his thighs went rigid, almost clamping against your temples, and he released onto your chest and stomach, grunting, cussing, violently bucking.

He moved off of you. Ragged hair stuck to his flushed cheekbones. Pink ears peeked out from under the dark strands. He scowled and raised an eyebrow, questioning your smile, “What?”

“Nothing.” You kissed his thigh and rested on it. “You’re just handsome.”

Gang Orca

“Let me do it.” You nuzzled Kugo’s thighs further apart and crawled between them. Before his nerves worked up too much or he tried to curb your enthusiasm, you hushed him, cooing, “Just let me take care of you tonight, Kugo. You deserve it.”

“You really don’t need to.”

“I want to,” you whispered against his thigh. Skin cooled your lips, ever so slightly twitching from the tender touching. You sighed, trailing your tongue along him, already worked up, “Trust me. I really, really want to.”

Kugo laid back onto the pillows and relaxed. Keeping your fingers featherlight, you cradled his fluttering, growing erection. You started with a few kisses lengthwise. Thin, smooth skin tensed under your lips. And by the time they brushed his head, he curved erect, pulsing in your soft hold.

You tilted him up and licked under his shaft. His natural salt created a fragile layer. It was lush and lovely and just as appetizing as his kisses. When it was lapped away, a heated, heavier tartness was exposed, sinking into your nose and tastebuds, practically begging to be sucked off till he laid dry.

After an adoring nip to his corona, inciting it to flare, you praised, “You taste amazing today.”

Kugo grunted, staring at the ceiling. If he could blush, you knew his face would be beet red and absolutely adorable.

You flicked his frenulum with your tongue. “How long do you think you’re gonna last?”

He opened his mouth to answer. But his words were stifled into a groan as you suckled on his glans, sipping the amassed precum out of his opening. It quickly diminished. You moved down to his balls, shamelessly sucking and biting and frisking the sleek, hairless, loose skin, prizing the feel and taste.

They rose as you pushed your tongue between them, dragging your hand up his erection, pushing, squeezing precum out, drizzling onto his stomach in beautiful, thin, pearl strings. He pulsed beneath your tongue. His thick base enlarged when you repeated the action: gripping firmly, creeping up from bottom to middle, licking along his raphe, watching how your hand milked him so perfectly.

A rumble shuddered down Kugo’s spine, acoustically stimulating you. You teased, “Do you like that?”

He nodded then inhaled sharply from your grasp turning into a vice. But it gave you another handsome groan. Keeping the tight motions up with one hand and using the other to massage his balls, you fixated on his base with your mouth, feasting on the dripping-in-salt skin.

You bit his underside. The fat vein bulged. You nipped it harder, ending in a sucking kiss to apologize. But you did it again, juggling him in your fingers, noticing how swollen they’ve become, tensing, raising closer to his body.

With a smile, you bit him one last time before his thighs went stiff, his cock dilated, and he released onto his abs, groaning and grabbing the bedsheet. You continued pumping, wanting to see all of his cum seeped out, and complimented him, “You lasted longer than I thought you would.”

“Me too,” Kugo hissed, sloppily jerking into your hand. His hips persisted in the little thrusts even when you finally let go, working through the dying aftershocks.

You patted his thigh, watching his actions. “You’re so cute.”

Hound Dog

“You know what to do.” The charge on Ryo’s voice sent you to your knees, between his legs, ready to please. He drooped flaccid, faintly twitching. You looked up. His eyes narrowed with a growl, “Start.”

You grabbed and angled him, beginning by sucking on his foreskin, stretching it in your lips. Your tongue edged in. Bitter salt laced inside, doubling when you circled his glans, mixing into acute, tangy musk. You moaned as your tongue pushed deeper and tasted greater, harsher amounts.

“Use your spit.”

Gently pulling the thin skin back to reveal the pointed-like tip of his head, you gathered saliva in your mouth, drench him in it, then recovered him, pooling the spit inside. Your tongue dipped in again, supping on the medley of bitter liquids.

His full erection caused some foreskin to retract, but you still played within it. He was thick, veiny, throbbing under your tongue and fluxing finely above, waving with your sloppy-wet movements. Spittle drooled out past your lips. Thrumming thrilled your spine.

Suddenly fingers snagged your hair, forcing and holding you down, giving no mercy. You gagged and clawed at him as he remained lodged in your throat. He gnarled, “Think you can take more?”

You gagged again, but nodded, wanting to worship him like you said you would. After a few more seconds, the grip yanked you off, granting a breath.

It didn’t last. Ryo stood and directed you, “On the bed. You know how.”

You scrambled on it, laid on your back, and hung your head off the edge. Large thighs stood on either side of your temples. Craving to be full again, your mouth opened on its own. His cock sunk into its home, grinding his balls against your lower forehead. His grunt rumbled through his entire body, straight into your mouth, “I know you can take more.”

You whined the best you could with him embedded inside your throat. Sour salt steeped into your nose and tastebuds.

“You said you wanted to worship me, so take it,” he sneered, lurching his hips. Relaxing your muscles, crushing his balls to you, he plunged past the tight barrier, pushing out a warbling gag from you. Saliva swashed out and trailed up your cheeks. A few stress-and-strain-filled tears joined it.

“Fuck. You like this, I can tell.” Ryo’s hips began humping, never leaving you empty, only moving out an inch to jerk back in, jarring your neck. Pain formed at the pressure. Wetness stuck to his balls then slapped against your forehead. You scrunched your eyes, focusing on your other overloaded sense.

Suddenly, your throat was freed, left sore, stretched. It was swiftly refilled, submerging your smell, taste, and hearing with salted bitterness, warning snarls, and hot, inflated skin.

Fingers enclosed around your throat, cutting off what little air you could get. His base inflated into a small knot-like balloon, sticking him stuck, burdening your jaw and throat more. Neither of you had a choice as cum sloshed out. You grabbed his thighs to keep him still while you gorged yourself on all the thick, pungent, acrid filth.

Ryo pulled out, dowsing your face in spittle, cum, froth, and tears. The blended liquids didn’t deter him. He kneeled and licked your cheeks. “We’re doing that again.”

“We better,” you laughed.

[fandomlit]

sharing (five hargreeves x reader)

requested by anon “Hiiiiiii I was wondering if you could write a fic with Five Hargreeves x reader and it’s the classic “there’s only one bed” thing 🥺 I know it’s cheesy 🥺 thank u”

summary despite you and five being absolutely exhausted from a mission, the commission sends you on another. and even more unfortunate, there’s an unpleasant surprise waiting for you two in your hotel room. (they’re both about 20 in this!!)

warning swearing

gif cred belongs to @fivehargrevs​

“at least they didn’t cut our budget this time,” you said optimistically, turning to five as he trudged behind you, looking absolutely miserable. after a grueling mission, the commission sent you both on yet another, and five was absolutely fed up with the handler’s persistence.

five spared a glance around, looking at the dim lights of the hotel. it was definitely in better shape than the motel you two had been forced to stay in the night before, but he didn’t find anything particularly comforting about his surroundings.

“come on,” you dragged, turning around and walking backwards so you could face five. he gave you a tired, deadpan look as he dragged his suitcase and the briefcase with him. “give me a smile.” he gave you the most sarcastic one he could muster, looking absolutely taunting and malicious. “not that smile.”

“y/n, you know how i love your optimism-”

“no, you don’t,” you laughed.

“but,” five said pointedly, “im gonna have to ask you, just for once, to be mad with me on this one. because if both of us are mad, maybe they’ll consider giving us a break.”

“you’ve met the handler, right?” you scoffed, stopping in front of the room you two were given. you dug the key out of your pocket as five let out an exhausted huff. “and... welcome to home for the weekend.” you swung open the door with a signature smile, but that dropped in an instant as you looked around.

“you’re fucking kidding me,” five bit. while the room was nice and clean enough, there was one big problem. there was only one bed.

“at least it’s air conditioned?” you offered, though there was no trace of your usual optimism on your face.

after he sighed, five looked over to see your eye beginning to twitch. he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “now, that look? keep that up and we’ll get that break.” he closed your mouth for you and walked into the room without a second thought.

“i’ll sleep on the floor,” you sighed, shutting the door behind you and kneeling to set your suitcase down.

“like hell you will,” five scoffed as he shuffled his things around. you gave him a look. 

“you’ve been complaining this entire time about how exhausted and fed up you are,” you defended. “you deserve a bed for however long we’re here.”

“no, y/n, this is no time for one of your principled stands,” five said, crossing over from his side of the bed to stand tall in front of you. you stood up, hands on your hips, ready to defend your ground. “take the bed.”

“no,” you said, tilting your head. five took a deep breath, closing his eyes. more gently, you spoke, “you look exhausted, five.” he brought a hand up to rub his eyes and you continued, “take the bed. it’s big enough for your long legs to spread out and all that nonsense, okay?”

he sighed again, looking over at the bed. “i guess it is big enough.”

“exactly,” you said, dropping your hand down to rest at your side. then he looked over to you, and you knew he was up to something. but you didn’t have time to get defensive and sassy before he spoke.

“we could share it.”

you closed your mouth before you could let the immediate thrum of your heart make your decisions. five continued in your silence.

“it’s a two night mission. it’s a big bed, you’re a small person-” you raised your eyebrows at him. “don’t give me that look.” you offered him a begrudging smile. “come on, we’re both tired and ready to get this over with. the least of our concerns should be our sleeping arrangements, right?”

you sighed, closing your eyes. then you shook your head. “yeah, right. okay.”

“great,” he said. “but i get first shower.”

“what-” the boy teleported to grab his clothes and then again right into the bathroom. “five!”

...

“finish off all the hot water?” five sighed, flipping a page of a book as you exited the bathroom, still drying your hair. he was already sat on one side of the bed.

“aha, very funny,” you sighed, closing your eyes as you ruffled your hair with the towel. when you opened your eyes again, five’s gaze was intense on you. you tried not to blush as you asked, “what?”

he looked back down at his book, clearing his throat. “nothing.”

you tried not to let your mind wander too far, instead going to hang up the towel in the bathroom. you came out and placed your hands on your hips. “is that the side you’re taking?”

“the man always sleeps on the right,” five said, closing his book and plopping it down on the nightstand. he folded his hands in his lap and gave you a sarcastic smile. “but you knew that.”

“if you’re implying what i think you’re implying, then i want you to know that if i kick you in the middle of the night, im not sleeping,” you scoffed, making your way toward the bed.

“what do you think im implying?” he prodded innocently.

you picked up your pillow and threw it at him as he chuckled. you crawled into bed, nearly forgetting that you were going to have to spend the entire night sleeping with a man who you’d been enamored with since you started working at the commission.

he handed you back your pillow as you settled in, realizing just how close the two of you were. you could feel the heat radiating off of his body, even when you reached over to flick off the lamp light next to you. as you settled back down, you accidentally brushed your shoulder against his, muttering a quick, “sorry,” before readjusting.

“good night, five,” you sighed, finally managing to get yourself into a comfortable position. he flicked off his lamp.

“night, y/n.” 

it took exactly twenty minutes for you to realize how freezing you were. while you were thankful this room had air conditioning, you also cursed yourself for getting used to rooms without it. and now you were shivering with five sleeping contentedly next to you. 

“are you ever gonna stop moving?” five grumbled. you turned to him quickly, eyes wide in an attempt to glance at him in the darkness of the room. you propped yourself onto your hands.

“did i wake you?” you asked guiltily. he was laying on his back with his arms behind his head, eyes still shut as he spoke to you.

“nope,” he sighed. “haven’t been able to sleep yet.”

“are you cold?” you asked.

he peeked an eye open at you curiously. he took in how you were practically leaning over him with messy hair and your shirt slipping off of your shoulder and tried not allow his tired brain to fantasize any other scenario than the one he was in. “no. are you?”

“freezing,” you breathed out, leaning away from him as you rubbed your arms. “how are you not?”

he shrugged, closing his eyes again. “natural body heat, i think.”

“i need some of that,” you sighed, plopping yourself back onto your pillow and pulling the blanket up to your chin.

five pursed his lips as he considered his options, then something inside of him yelled, ‘fuck it.’ he opened his arms up toward you and simply said, “c’mere.”

you lifted yourself back up with raised eyebrows. you prayed the dark hid your blush from his prying eyes. “seriously?”

“don’t make me change my mind,” he grumbled. you bit your lip to contain a cheek splitting smile as you rested your head on five’s chest, wrapping your arms loosely around his torso as he draped his over your waist with a sigh.

“god, you’re warm,” you hummed into his chest. he half-smiled as you snuggled further into him, tangling your legs under the blanket.

“i know,” he breathed. you both drifted off in content silence. until you had to break it.

“you know, your heart’s beating pretty fast-”

“please don’t make me kick you onto the floor.”

you both slept in late the next morning.

[duskholland]

for blurb night.. some good ol’ lovemaking with Mob! Tom? I still like things to be really passionate and intense though, those deep, hard, but slow thrusts yk? dirty talking, clinging desperately to one another.. maybe some breeding kink in there? 👀 ‘Ive-missed-you’ sex sort of deal? idk, have fun with it, girl! feel free to add or change things a lil! your writing is gold btw, sending love 💞✨

ugh..........yes.

—clearing out the askbox: smut edition—

extended warnings: breeding kink, unprotected sex. ——

Tom lays you down over the sprawling king-sized mattress very delicately, kissing your lips, deeply, before slowly making his way down your body.

“So bloody perfect, aren’t you, angel?”

Your boyfriend runs his hands over your chest, grabbing handfuls of your breasts in his warm palms. As he dips his head down and laps over your left nipple, a small whimper slips past your lips.

“Hm?” Tom blinks up at you, brown eyes wide with false innocence as he drags his tongue over your nipple. As one hand pays attention to your other breast, his remaining fingers travel to your face, fingertips padding over your lips. He drums his digits over your mouth. “Speak, darling. I want to hear your beautiful voice.”

You push against his touch and kiss at his fingertips, earning a smirk from your boyfriend.

“Missed you so much, Tom,” you mumble. You gasp softly when Tom releases your nipple and continues on his journey down your figure. “Been a really long two weeks without you.”

Soft, warm lips move over your stomach, over your hips, to the tops of your thighs. Tom had already taken the liberty of peeling down your panties earlier when he’d undressed you in front of the mirror and made you watch as he’d explored your tight heat with three of his slender, skilled digits. You’re already wet - orgasmed twice, but craving more, aching for the sweet release that you only get from Tom, and his hands, or his mouth, or his cock.

“Fuck,” you whimper, watching as Tom kisses each of your thighs before pushing your legs wide open. “Please fuck me,” you beg, grasping at the sheets. “I need your cock, Tom.”

Your boyfriend hums, using two fingers to peel apart your outer lips. Your tender clit throbs, and then you cry out loudly as he dips his head and runs his tongue over the bud. He drags his warm muscle from your entrance before circling your clit again, grunting in appreciation as you reach down to grab a hold of his hair. You try weakly to pull him back, muttering more about how you’ll go crazy if you don’t feel him properly, but he just tuts.

“Shush,” he hums. “Let me taste my pussy, yeah? Then I’ll give you what you want, greedy thing.”

He’s got both of his arms holding your waist, keeping you firmly on the bed as you thrash. You love it - love the feeling of his tongue, swirling around your bud, rewarding the sensitive area with warm, wet circles - and he knows it, knows you love being stimulated beyond the limits of pleasure like this. There have been nights before where he’s spread you out like this and made you cum, over and over, until all you know is his name, dripping from your tongue like a prayer.

“Fuck, fuck,” you murmur. Obscene wet noises drift through the air as Tom makes out with your heat, sparing no enthusiasm as he sucks at your cunt, adding two fingers into your pulsing pussy as his mouth unravels you. “Keep going, fuck, I’m-”

Tom hums, loudly, and the vibrations cause you to spin off, shouting obscenities as you moan loudly. You fall apart under his tongue, dizzying waves of pleasure spreading over you as you drown in it, chest heaving as you gasp loudly.

“Fucking delicious,” Tom mutters. He slides up your body, dark eyes glinting as your juices shine on his chin. “Don’t think there’s anything I love more than tasting my cunt, darling.” He smirks when you whimper and reach out for him, pulling him closer again. His cock, hard and aching, presses up against your slit, and as you part your legs wider, it settles between your folds. “Still so needy though, aren’t you?”

Tom has fun teasing you, rolling his hands over your face, grinding experimentally against your tender cunt until you’re whimpering. He’s such a tease - it doesn’t matter that he’s been away for two weeks on business, he’s persistent, and you know he enjoys the way you’re melting for him.

“Please, please,” you mumble, gasping as you feel his tip press up against your entrance. You’re insatiable, your skin crawling with a hot, throbbing heat that can only be cured by the feeling of your boyfriend entering you again. “Spent so many nights thinking about this, Tom,” you add, trying to coax him into action. “Want to feel your cock spreading me open, baby. Please, please, please.” You dust his face with kisses, and Tom chuckles. He drops his face until he’s able to kiss the base of your neck, sucking a very hard, enjoyable hickey to your skin.

“Do you want my cock?” He asks, voice husky. He looks up at you, eyes narrowing in a show of dominance, “Or do you want my cum?”

Your throat runs dry, and you find yourself swallowing deeply as your hands go up to his hair. You card your fingertips through Tom’s soft brown curls, nodding as your body fills with heat.

“Both,” you mumble.

Tom tilts his face, lips catching at the juncture of your jaw and your cheek in a soft kiss.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs. He leaves another kiss, wet and firm, to the sensitive spot of your jaw, causing you to whimper. “We both know you want more than just my cock, darling. Go on. You can tell me.” He rubs his cock against your entrance and you whimper. “I know the dirty little thoughts you’ve been having, hm? Just tell me, and it’s all yours.”

Normally you’d be shy about it, bashful and embarrassed, but then again, you wouldn’t also be full of such persistent arousal that it feels like you’re dripping over the tip of his cock. So you groan, grabbing handfuls of his back as you say, firmly,

“I want your cum, Tom. I want…” You choke into a moan as he slides into you easily, meeting no resistance from your desperate cunt. “I want you to fill me up,” you say, “Want- want to feel you cumming in me. Have it drip out of me afterwards.” You whimper as he starts to thrust into you. “Want you to make a mess.”

Tom groans, his voice deep and raspy.

“There’s a good girl,” he murmurs, voice thick with appreciation. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He’s slow with his thrusts, but they’re deep. You feel the pleasurable stretch that comes with each one of his movements, his thrusts nudging his cock further each time. You’re revelling in it, moaning loudly as you cling to the packed muscles on his back, your body full of warmth as you take him in again.  “Feels so fucking snug, angel.”

Your eyes are squeezed shut, your body twitching each time Tom pulls out only to sink back into you, your heat warm and wet. “Missed this,” you whimper, voice high. “Missed this so much.”

“Mmm, bet you have, darling.” Tom’s kissing over your collarbones, nibbling at your skin with light kisses. His curls brush at your neck. “Your fingers don’t feel as good as my cock, do they?”

“No.”

“But you tried, didn’t you? Can just imagine it. You coming up here, all alone, missing me.” Tom smirks against your neck, and you shiver. “Working yourself open with a few fingers, trying to pretend they were me. But it wouldn’t ever feel as good as this, would it?”

Your body is on fire, the muscles in your legs pulled tight with exertion, the heat in the pit of your stomach rising with each thrust. You reach down and grab at one of Tom’s hands, twirling your fingers together and clinging on for dear life.

“No, nothing’s as good as this.”

“Didn’t think so.” Tom’s voice is thick, mingling with the sounds of slapping arousal that fill the room. “Can’t wait to fill you up,” he grunts. He pulls his face away from your neck and meets your eyes, his gaze primal and dark. His thrusts grow more purposeful, and you’re whining as you feel his hips grinding down against your clit every time. “Been dreaming of this tight little cunt, love. Every night, thought about fucking you. Cumming in you and listening to you moaning when you feel my cum fill you up, shit-”

You’re so close, and his words just make you clench around him.

“Please, please,” you beg, mind gone. You squeeze at his hand, your other one grabbing at his back as you cling to him, craving everything. “I want it, Tom, fuck, make me cum, fill me up. I need it, I need you.”

“Such a fucking angel,” Tom murmurs. He bites the top of your shoulder as you shake, and with a final thrust and burst of pressure to your clit, you’re there. “Oh, fuck, darling, squeezing me so tight- there you go, fuck, so perfect, love, that’s it.”

The strength of your climax is so powerful that it takes you out for a few moments, but you feel Tom peaking right after. You moan, your eyes rolling back as you feel him pulse inside you, shooting his warm seed deep within you as he swears and holds you near, rocking his hips against yours until you’re both spent.

He slumps against your chest, and you sigh contentedly as you roll your fingers through his hair. Bliss fills every part of you.

“Missed you,” you say, smiling down at him when he raises his gaze to you.

Tom sits straighter and leans up until he’s able to kiss your lips again. He lingers up there, eyes sparkling brightly as he kisses you, two more times, in quick, light succession.

“Missed you too, darling.”

[insomniasymphony]

Obsessive Hisoka Morow x Female Reader [He cannot hate you]

Constellation: Obsessive Hisoka Morow x Female Reader Words I got: → Protective → Duality → Affection Rating: Teen up and Audience

                            ►► He is the devil with a sweet tooth,                               And you are the candy on his tongue.                       Get on your knees and ask him to choose                                     Nothing sweeter than you.                              For sweetness doesn't last long. ◄◄

Hectically, you jerk your head from left to right, look around for other cars and take a breath when there are no others blocking the road. In the cold evening air, your legs carry you in hurried steps across the asphalt, to the other side of the pavement that should lead you through the houses of Yorknew. Further and further, until the hotel room is forever gone.

The breath on your lips rises in white clouds, bringing something wistful with it that you don't want to pay attention to. Still, you can't rid yourself of the thought in the back of your mind.

It's not too late to give up on your plan.

You could drag yourself back to the room you've been sharing with Hisoka for four days, put on something pretty and wait for the magician to return from his meeting. He'd tell you about his new plan, kiss you, and fuck your senses into no-man's land for half the night because you're his favourite toy.

That's the problem: you're just a doll that can be replaced.

He's never said that he loves you, even though you've been spending every spare minute together for six months. Hisoka took you on his journey and he hasn't let you out of his sight since.

You shower together, eat together, he kills anyone you exchange too many kind words with. It's as if he wants to shut you off from the world so that you belong to him alone.

But this obsessive nature of his is nothing but terror for you. Sometimes you long for freedom, which you know Hisoka will never give you. He would rather strangle to death with his own hands than see you go. His subliminal threats make that clear time and time again.

And tonight you are ready to die for your freedom.

A little more hastily, you hurry ahead, turn into a narrow alley and hear the echo of your footsteps rising up the stone walls. Each reverberation makes your skin seem colder under your soft woolen coat. The goosebumps don't subside, the shiver persists, and you can't help but believe that behind every shadow is a part of Hisoka. His intense gaze has made you paranoid.

Briefly, you shake your head. This time his eyes won't be able to pierce you. When Hisoka returns, the hotel room will be empty and you will be long gone – so far away from him, with a new name and a new life, that he won't find you. For three weeks you have been looking for someone who would save you and Hisoka from this relationship and you have indeed found someone who wants to fulfil all your wishes for a lot of money in exchange.

Your gaze wanders once briefly over your shoulder. Through the echo of your own flight, you can no longer perceive anything but your own movements. Hisoka could be walking right behind you and you wouldn't notice. The racing of your heart makes the blood rush in your ears and everything else inside you is so erratically tense that you don't know if your nerves can hold it all together.

Only when the alley ends and sends you between other streets to find safety, a tiny part of the fear falls away, still simmering underneath.

Across the street, at least fourteen cars have parked. This area of the city seems like a residential neighbourhood where men return to their loving wives. The husband old-fashioned in a suit while she wears an apron because dinner is boiling on the cooker. Docile women in the kitchen who have no time to look for other men. Probably that's exactly what Hisoka is longing for too. A woman who only has eyes for him. All day long. Without exception. Locked up like a bird in a cage.

Even though you never intended to replace him. Hisoka is the man who won your heart. A guy who goes through life strong and ruthless, but always takes great care to make sure you're okay.

Your steps slow down as you stop at the edge of the pavement. One of the vehicles is started, flashing its headlights three times. The sign that this is your getaway car. The man who will take you away. Away from Hisoka, whose arms have wrapped protectively around you more than once in the last six months. His warmth on your skin has always been comforting and even though you know he hates it when you talk to other men and he has left marks on your body as a safety for himself as a result, his company has always been loving. He has never hurt you unless you found sexual pleasure in it. He never raised his voice at you. Never did he try to lock you up. His only crimes are the threats that still jump through your senses and also the fact that he likes to corner and intimidate you.

On top of that, he messes with people for your sake who are more dangerous than one might think at first. Yes, you love him. But if you don't leave, he will either throw you away or he will be killed because of you. You are poison to each other, you can't explain it any other way.

Yet, you don't want to go. The fear in your heart has made room for sorrow and the desire to run back into his strong, protective arms is strong.

Swallowing dryly, you give yourself a push. You have no choice but to make the best decision for both of you. Your feet start moving again and you drag yourself along, reaching the car you're getting into. You find room in the back seat, the fabric of which clings to you strangely and uncomfortably as you take a shaky breath and look in the rearview mirror for a half-glimpse of your helper's round face.

“Are you ready, good lady?” His smoky voice scrapes through the atmosphere, merely making you nod before he finally starts the engine and drives off. Your heart sinks four floors deeper, smothered in grief and fear, both of which settle on too many things in your chest. Maybe you're making a mistake, but this relationship has no future.

You feel the car smoothly take the turns, hear the engine accelerate, sense every bump in your bones. You claw your sweaty hands into the upholstery as you reprimand yourself to rest with conscious inhales and exhales. It's over, you've escaped, given you both the freedom you deserve.

Yorknew's houses diminish for a moment, bringing trees and the parkland to the fore where you would have loved to have a romantic walk. But Hisoka doesn't think much of boring strolls. He likes sex. Togetherness where you are close to each other – all to yourselves, so that you can snuggle up to him and you just sit there. Amusement parks. Bungee gum. You.

The thought draws a sigh from you before the car makes a strange rattling sound, forcing the driver to stop. You halt at the side of the road, so you can't help but hold your breath.

“What was that?” you press out.

“If I saw right, I just accidentally drove over a marten,” the stranger returns to you, making you exhale because it's not a horror movie you're in after all. Then he gets out.

The open door, which he doesn't close, brightens up the inside of the vehicle, makes the outside world a little more unfriendly than it really is and forces you to get out too, because you can't find a quiet minute alone on this upholstery.

Slowly you push your way back into the cold of the darkness, glancing at the streetlights flickering conspiratorially before circling the car to check on your driver. But all you see in front of the bonnet is a trail of blood. Not a marten. No one. Probably he's just taking the dead animal away, burying it so the kids won't get spooked in the park the next day.

The cool air seems to bite down to your bones, numbing your skin as you count off two minutes. The restlessness keeps you looking around and for a moment you are willing to jump in the car and eagerly drive on. But your driver also has your new identity and all the other things that have been so painstakingly prepared. You can't leave without him. So you stroll a few steps towards the park. Just until the blackness seems to swallow everything, because the flickering streetlamps don't give enough light for more.

Tense, you cross your arms in front of your chest, bobbing up and down before gnawing fear begs for action. “Hello?”

Only silence returns to your question and you can't help but take a step over the dark threshold and venture further ahead to find your driver. Three, four feet ahead to the first tree closest to you. “What's wrong?”

Again you meet only silence, staggering a few more steps ahead and giving up in the same breath. A glance over your shoulder moves the car, which is already a few metres away from you, into a ghostly, almost lonely picture, apart from the other vehicles that pass by every now and then. No one seems to care about the abandoned automobile.

A little more annoyed, you take a breath, shake your head as something wet hits your cheek and you instantly look up because the sky didn't look like rain at all when you started running.

And it still doesn't.

Nevertheless, your heart stops for a beat.

Cold seems to consume you from within, makes you pull your coat tighter.

Up there, above you, fixed between branches, the lifeless eyes of the man who was supposed to help you escape stare back at you. His arms hang twisted above him and his legs are missing entirely. In the darkness, suffused with moonlight, you can only make out the bitter facts. And one of them is death.

“Do you like it?”

Instantly you suck in the air sharply, turning around in an instant only to catch sight of Hisoka. Leaning relaxed against a tree, he shuffles his cards as if nothing has happened. “I thought we had decided that you would wait in the hotel room. Where were you going with that man at such a late hour?”

His gaze lifts so that his amber eyes can look at you, while his features wait in a lack of enthusiasm for answers. You don't know if he's angry, but his expression seems to threaten you.

“I-I... I wanted to...” What do you want to say anyway? You don't know yourself what exactly you wanted other than to just get away from him for too many things that seem wrong. “Away.”

“Where to?”, Hisoka inquires, pushing himself off the trunk and coming closer. The cards disappear into the pockets of his white trousers in the same blink.

“Just... away,” you counter, unable to look at him any further because his eyes seem to look right down into your core.

“From me?” He pauses in front of you. “Why?”

Again your attention jerks to him and you hate the fact that he is wearing heels because it only makes him taller than he already is.

“You... are... constricting me.”

“Is that so?” The almost biting undertone in his voice is frightening. But you don't have time to think of what his next move might be as he grabs you by the chin and forces you to look at him very closely. His grip is so tight around your jawbone as he does so that you panic he might break it.

Then he leans towards you, breathes such a gentle kiss on your lips that, along with fear, terrible warmth rises up inside you. Your heart races wildly, but you don't know if it's the fear or the longing. Seeing him like this, knowing he is so close to you, is cruel because you love him, don't want to leave him, but don't want to see either of you die either.

The mere thought of losing him, or not being good enough anymore, knots your stomach as your vision blurs and the sobs in your throat quietly spill out.

Hisoka watches this rection, loosening his grip around your chin and running his thumb over your lips. A little like he wants more words from you. And you can't help but give them to him in a gush.

“I love you, Hisoka. I really do. But this can't work.” You have to swallow to keep from breaking into a raspy cough. “You lock me up like I'm your pet and you're messing with people who might kill you one day.” The first tear rolls down your cheeks unintentionally, making you wipe it away in frustration because you don't want to seem like an effeminate damsel in distress. “You're going to kill yourself because of me. And if not for that, then one day you'll just throw me away because you're not a man for life. And I'm afraid that by then I'll love you so much that I won't be able to stand it. So I was gonna let you go. And I can understand if you hate the decision, but isn't that the duality you love to talk about? Love and hate, both sides of the same coin? I-” Hisoka interrupts you as he takes your face in his hands and forcibly pulls you to him, far enough to force you onto your toes to press a kiss to your lips. A warm touch full of affection so gentle it takes your breath away.

Then he lets go of you, remains close in front, but his features are adorned with a friendly smile that makes him a little suspicious, while his hand caresses your cheek. As he does so, he brushes your lower eyelid, collecting another tear that was about to escape.

The tenderness he has for you irritates you so much that every one of your brain cells shuts down for a breath before Hisoka focuses on you again, piercing you with a blank stare. The atmosphere between you grows heavier.

“You think too much about nothingness, love.” His voice is so soft that it seems almost deadly at the same time. “And because you're like that, I'm going to let you get away with it for today.” He leans down to your ear, licks once over the shell with the tip of his tongue. “But if you run away again, I will kill you.”

“H-Hisoka...” You don't know what you can say to appease him. Nothing seems good enough. But Hisoka understands, straightening up to look at you again, putting on that playful smile he goes through life with. “Or I can put you in chains so I can have you with me for the rest of my life. Whichever option you like better.”

He tilts his head, looking at you with mockery and at the same time with a barely perceptible commitment so that you can feel the blush on your cheeks. On one hand, he's making a fool of you, on the other, he's conveying in his own unique way that he's sure he wants you for himself – forever.

He can't stay mad at you for long, can't even punish you for your terrible action, just takes you as you are, as if he has a weakness for all your stupid words and your troubled feelings.

And in those seconds you know that he loves you no less than you love him.

[Picture from a card collecting game]

[Want to give me kudos or a request? Check here!]

[sunrisefairy]

Let me take care of you

Pairing: George Weasley x reader Word Count: 2.1k Warning: NSFW! fingering, unprotected sex, female receiving oral, dirty talk, swearing  Summary: Y/N is feeling stressed from university so George decides he needs to help her relax.  A/N: I dunno, kind of very proud of this one. Tried something new and decided to write some smut. Think it turned out okay.  Taglist: I’m assuming these people would still like to be included in the taglist for smutty fics, please tell me if you would like to be taken off or added! @hufflepuff5972 @inglourious-imagines​ @georgeweasleyswhre​ 

————————————————————————

It was nearing the end of the school year which means the deadline for final assignments and exams were fast approaching. Y/N was in her final year of her psychology degree and had spent the majority of her time cramming in revision or working on some essay.

You could find Y/N either at her part time job at the local florist or at home, hunched over her desk with numerous opened textbooks and half-drunk coffee cups strewn around. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a lot of time recently for her boyfriend, George. He didn’t mind though, he knew how important getting good grades were to Y/N so he would help out where he could, mostly by making sure dinner was ready when she got home from work or running to the library when Y/N needed another textbook.

Normally he could convince Y/N to take a 15 minute break without much persuasion if he presented her with freshly baked cookies, they’d sit on the couch and munch on the treats while George played with her hair before she’d sigh and say she better get back to her essay. But for the past 2 weeks Y/N has hardly moved from the desk chair only getting up when she had work. George has found her on more than one occasion slumped over the many books and papers, lightly snoring because she fell asleep. As soon as George would try and guide her to bed, she’d jolt up and mumble about needing to keep studying.

George was starting to get worried for Y/N’s mental and physical health if she didn’t slow down and rest, no matter what he tried nothing seemed to work so he had one last trick up his sleeve.

Y/N was once again sitting at her laptop typing away frantically, she had gotten off of work at 5pm, scoffed down some dinner and immediately opened up a textbook. It was now 10:45pm and Y/N had no plans on taking a break soon.

“Georgie babe, can you grab me another coffee?” Y/N called out over her shoulder.

George ignored her request and came up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders massaging them lightly. “Darling, I think you’ve had enough coffee for the day. How about you finish up and we can lay in bed and get some sleep?”

Y/N shook her head not looking up at him, “can’t George, I’m so close to finishing this essay.”

George sighed; he could see the dark circles forming under her eyes deciding now would be the perfect time to try the last thing which might get Y/N to relax. He pushed Y/N’s hair off her shoulder. She was wearing one of George’s old band tees which was way too big for her and left some of her shoulder exposed. George lent down and started leaving soft kisses along her skin.

“Georgie, I don’t have time” Y/N mumbled quietly trying to shrug him off.

George persisted and kept leaving kisses along his girlfriend’s shoulder before stopping at the base of her neck and sucking a dark purple mark, causing Y/N to let out a breathy sigh.

“Come on baby, I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long. I miss you, let me take care of you.” Y/N turns her head slightly to see George better and he takes this opportunity to connect their lips. Y/N moans into George’s mouth. “I miss that pretty little pussy of yours, princess. Don’t you miss my cock and how well I fuck you? I’ll make you feel so good baby, promise.”  

Georges words go straight to Y/N’s core and she can already feel herself getting wetter by the second. There is no way she’ll be able to concentrate on her work now. So, she nods and stands up, pulling George up with her. “Want you to take care of me Georgie, need you to fuck me.”

George grins and grabs the back of Y/N’s legs, instructing her to jump, which she does and wraps her legs tightly around his waist. Y/N tangled her fingers into George’s red hair and connects her lips to his neck. George walks them to the bedroom and sits on the end of the bed with Y/N now in his lap. He toys with the end of her shirt before pulling it off groaning at the sight.

“Fuck baby, no bra?” He begins peppering kisses down her chest before attaching his mouth to her nipple, his fingers massaging her other breast.

Y/N whines, her body aching for some relief she starts rocking her hips against George feeling his cock harden under his sweats.

“Look at you, being so desperate for me princess. Bet you can’t wait for me to fuck you huh?” George’s hands coming down to grip Y/N’s hips and helping her rut against him.

Y/N lets out a breathy moan screwing her eyes shut, concentrating on the feeling of George’s harden length beneath her.

“What do you need darling? My fingers? My mouth? Tell me and it’s all yours.” George asks kissing along Y/N’s jaw which opens slightly a silent moan falling off her lips. “Gotta use your words baby. Tell me what you want.”

Y/N opens her eyes and connects them with George, “both Georgie. Want your fingers and mouth, please.”

George immediately lays Y/N down on the bed, her head resting on the pillows. His calloused fingers caressing her sides before hooking into the waistband of her pants and pulling them down slowly.

A sharp gasp leaves Y/N’s lips as George nips on the skin on her thigh.

“Already so fucking wet for me.” George rubs his finger against Y/N’s soaked panties before pulling them off.

Y/N spreads her legs further for George, desperate for him. “Please Georgie, need your mouth.”

“Anything for you, my darling” Y/N’s cunt is already glistening and begging for some attention. George wastes no time and licks a strip from her entrance up to her clit before sucking on the sensitive bud. Y/N rolls her head further back into the pillow and attaches her hand into George’s fiery locks shamelessly trying to pull him closer.

George hums sending vibrations against Y/N’s clit while he massages her wet folds with his fingers before he glides two digits into her heat and starts pumping slowly.

Y/N starts rocking her hips against Georges face and fingers silently begging for more.

George smirks as he lightly nips Y/N’s clit continuing to fuck Y/N with his fingers extremely slow much to Y/N’s dismay. His mouth moves to her thigh, mumbling against her skin. “If you want something baby, you gotta use your words.”

Y/N groans at Georges request, he was always persistent in making her more vocal in bed. He knew exactly what she wanted; he was just teasing. She tugs on George’s hair forcing him to meet her eyes, “I need you to fuck me harder with your fingers, please, I need you so badly Georgie.”

If George wasn’t making Y/N feel so amazing, she’d wipe that smug smirk of his face but her thoughts quickly disappear as George adds a third finger and quickens his pace, his free hand pressed against Y/N’s stomach, keeping her still. Y/N whimpers feeling George’s long fingers start brush against her g-spot, her walls clenching around him as pleasure builds up in her stomach, “feels so good.”

“Fuck, look at you taking my fingers so well, darling. Being such a good girl for me, letting me stretch you out for my cock.” Y/N lets out a heavenly moan which goes straight to Georges already throbbing dick, which is aching for some relief in his pants. George starts rubbing circles against Y/N clit with his thumb, determined to make Y/N come on just his fingers.

Y/N starts panting, her hips bucking up to meet George’s movements tightening her grip in his hair, his name falling from her lips, “fuck, fuck. I’m close.” She uses her free hand to pinch her nipples in between her fingers as the arousal in her belly builds.

George sucks harshly on her thigh, stretching her out with his fingers. “Come on my fingers baby, show me how good I make you feel.”

With George’s words Y/N is coming hard against his fingers, her back arching off the bed. George continues pumping his fingers into her cunt milking her through her orgasm. Once her breathing has slowed, he slowly pulls out his digits, his mouth watering with how they are glistening. George lifts his fingers to Y/N’s lips and watches as she opens wide and circles her tongue around his long fingers sucking hard and humming as she tastes herself. He pulls them out with a pop dragging his thumb against her bottom lip, “so pretty. Think you’re ready for my cock now princess?”

Y/N nods her head eagerly, reaching up to pull of Georges shirt, “god yes please, miss being full of you.”

She drags her nails down George’s toned chest while he rids himself of the rest of his clothes. George wraps his hand around his cock and notices Y/N’s eyes glued to him as strokes himself, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “Like what you see babe?” Y/N only rolls her eyes at him.

George leans over Y/N, propping himself up with his forearm while his other hand is wrapped around his cock teasing her entrance. Y/N hooks her legs around George’s waist, bucking her hips up trying to find some friction. “Please George, need you to feel me up with your cock.” Y/N knows she sounds desperate, but it’s been way too long since George has fucked her and now that he’s right here she can’t wait a second longer.

George starts to slowly push forward not stopping until his hips are flush against Y/N’s. “Shit Y/N, you’re so still so fucking tight even after I stretched up out with my fingers.”

Y/N sighs contently feeling George’s cock buried deep inside her, she missed him stretching her out like this. The room is filled with moans and grunts at George starts pounding into Y/N. She can feel the tip of his cock rub against her g-spot with every thrust. Y/N grabs onto his shoulders her nails digging into his skin, most likely leaving marks, but she didn’t care.

“Taking me so well, baby. Such a good girl” He praises, his fingers coming down to rub circle on her sensitive bud, leaving open mouthed kisses against the base of her throat. “You feel so fucking good clenching around my cock, this sweet little pussy is all mine, hey princess? Tell me who this cunt belongs too?”

Y/N bites her lip trying to suppress a moan but failing, “you Georgie, you always make me feel so good. Always fuck me so good.”

George hoists Y/N’s legs around his shoulders allowing him to hit deeper inside her cunt. Y/N’s eyes roll back into her head at the new position, her fingers pinching and massaging her breasts. George is slamming into her harder now and more gasps are leaving Y/N’s mouth. “Fuck Y/N you look so fucking pretty like this. Letting me fill you up with my cock.”

Y/N reaches down to play with her clit desperately needing to reach her second orgasm. “Love being so full of your thick cock Georgie. Feels so fucking good.”

Y/N feels George twitch inside of her, he’s close but she knows he won’t finish until she has. He snaps his hips harder into Y/N causing her to moan his name. George can feel her walls clenching around him causing him to groan loudly.

Y/N tangles her fingers in Georges hair pulling his lips to meet hers, “Georgie. Fuck, I’m-I’m so close.”

George tugs on her earlobe with his teeth “want you to cum around my cock Y/N.” With a few more deep thrusts Y/N comes, her legs shaking from the pleasure rushing throughout her body. She squeezes her eyes shut George’s names leaving her pretty mouth like a mantra.

Y/N pulsating and tightening around George pushes him over the edge and he releases his load inside of her groaning into her neck. He slowly rocks his hips as they come down from their highs before gently pulling out and laying on the bed pulling Y/N into his side.

“I love you” Y/N whispers, tracing patterns into his sweaty chest.

George plants a soft kiss against her forehead. “I love you too darling, so much.” Y/N can feel her eyes getting heavy, sleep wanting to overtake her body. George notices this and squeezes her shoulder. “How about I run you a warm bath, get you cleaned up, then we can get some sleep yeah?”

Y/N mumbles a reply against his skin feeling exhausted. “Maybe I should overwork myself more often if it means you’ll take care of me like this.”

George chuckles and sits up, pulling Y/N up with him and gently stroking her back, “baby you and me both know I always take of you, don’t need a reason.”

Y/N smiles sweetly up at George, feeling very blessed to have such a caring boyfriend.

[hongism]

(come) play with me - j. wooyoung 18+

day 5 of kinktober: cum play - jung wooyoung warnings: explicit smut, cum play, cum eating, oral sex m, cum swallowing, use of ‘kitten’ as a pet name wc: 1.3k genre: pwp, smut, 18+

​​​​

“Y/N, I need you in the bedroom!” Wooyoung calls out, voice singsonging through the hall to reach you where you stand near the dishwasher. His voice is still faint, which signals that he’s in the bedroom rather than out in the hallway. Whatever your boyfriend needs is either trivial or important knowing him, but still you waste no time in rushing to his aid. You reluctantly release the dish towel in your hands and drape it over the edge of the sink.

“Coming!” You reply through a small sigh, drying your hands on your thighs. The trek to the bedroom is a short and sweet one, but it does absolutely nothing to help prepare you for what is waiting inside. Your jaw drops as soon as you breach the threshold of the room, eyes blown wide in shock. You choke on saliva and air, and the only way for you to recover is to cough through it.

Wooyoung lies on the bed fully nude with a cocky grin stretching his lips. His cock twitches as the heat of your stare drags over his body, following each ridge of muscle and inch of tanned skin before landing on the standout feature about the sight. White paints his stomach. Thick ropes of cum dance over the smooth expanse of skin there. All coherent thought leaves your mind. You couldn’t come up with a response even if you wanted to, and so you’re left to just inch towards the bed without complaint.

“You were too busy cleaning up in the kitchen to play with me so I…” Wooyoung trails off, a dark flush rising on his neck.

“So you – I’m – y-you–”

“Come play with me, baby,” Wooyoung interrupts. He drags his teeth over his lower lip and blinks up at you through fluttering lashes.

That’s all it takes to have you taking your shirt off and stripping down until you’re wearing nothing. You climb up on the bed, straddling Wooyoung’s lean and sinewy thighs in an instant. He gasps at your lack of hesitance, but it quickly devolves into a choked moan when you release a string of spit over the head of his cock.

“Y/N…”

His tone is breathless and euphoric already, and it leaves you hot under your own skin. Arousal tightens your gut, and you lean down between his legs to press a kiss to his hardened member. Before you can touch him though, Wooyoung reaches behind you and curls his long fingers through your hair.

“Clean up first, kitten,” he whispers, tone so sultry that you clench your thighs together from the mere sound of it. You let him guide your head further up until you come face to face with the mess of cum he left all over his stomach. He doesn’t give you a chance to lap it up; instead, he presses his other hand against the mess and collects some of the tacky substance on the pads of his fingers. The smirk persists as he wipes those same fingers across your face, smearing it over your lips and cheeks before dipping two fingers into your mouth. You welcome him with an eager tongue and swirl the wet muscle around his digits. The taste is salty and bitter on your tongue, nothing too pleasant, but you persist until his fingers are completely clean of the cum. Wooyoung pulls back and nods towards the rest of the cum on his skin. You take the hint quickly, tongue slipping out to lap at his slightly-sweaty skin. The sweat only adds to the saltiness on your taste buds but you take it without complaint and dance over his stomach until goosebumps race over his skin.

Without thinking, you bring a hand up to grip Wooyoung’s leaking cock as you clean the cum off his body. The action has him exhaling soft, broken gasps that are music to your ears, and it encourages you to thumb over his slit with a pleased hum. His thighs twitch at that, but you don’t let up and dig your finger a bit harder into his tip.

“Wa… Want you to – ah, suck my cock, baby,” Wooyoung grunts, pushing your head further towards his member. You don’t move right away though, making sure to collect the rest of his drying cum on your tongue before moving down to his dick. You let your hand slip away from the head and replace it with your mouth. As you do, a bit of Wooyoung’s cum leaks from the corner of your lips, dribbling down his length until it hits his balls. Wooyoung releases a wanton moan at the sight. His fingers grip your hair almost painfully, and they only let up when you lower your head further on his member.

You pride yourself on how well you can take Wooyoung apart like this, balancing his cock on your tongue with a special kind of ease. You dare to glance up at his face, knowing full well how much the sight turns him on, and he twitches between your lips. A small whimper slips out. That is all the encouragement you need to let your jaw go slack. The rest of the unattractive mixture of your saliva and his cum pours from your lips as you do so, but you catch it with your hand and use it as lube to jerk the base of his cock while you focus on his tip. The sounds that your hasty jerks emit are almost as filthy as the moans tumbling from Wooyoung’s lips. Those moans only increase in volume as you continue to lavish his length with touches.

“A-Ah, fuck, Y/N, I’m – baby, I can’t hold it much longer, please,” Wooyoung whines, fingers flexing against your scalp. You pull off his cock with a wet pop then bring your cum-slick hand to your lips. Your eyes never leave his for a second as you drag your tongue between each digit, licking and lapping at them until your hand is covered in only spit. Wooyoung’s jaw is slack from shock at the action, but it must turn him on quite a bit because his hips jerk and an almost pitiful moan resounds.

“You can fuck my mouth, if you’d like,” you offer before bending over his length again. You already know what his answer is going to be; he has just been waiting for permission all this time. In less than two seconds, his cock head hits the back of your throat. It takes everything in your power not to gag too much around him, but a few constrictions slip through and tighten around Wooyoung’s tip. His thrusts are voracious and uneven, although his orgasm is already on the horizon so it doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. In fact, it doesn’t last more than a minute with the haste of his rhythm. Before you know it, hot cum is burning a path down your throat. You gulp down every last drop of his load, swallowing once around his cock for good measure, and Wooyoung all but thrashes under you for that.

When you pull off his softening member, your chest is tight and your throat burns quite a bit from the cum. Wooyoung is in a state of euphoria still, head thrown back against the pillow and blinking up the ceiling with a blank expression. You release a small laugh, more meant for your own ears rather than Wooyoung’s, and press a loving kiss to the protrusion of his hipbone.

“I should interrupt you when you’re washing dishes more often,” Wooyoung heaves out after what feels like hours of silence. Your next laugh is much louder.

“The charm of that won’t last long, I assure you.”

...

a/n: 👁👅👁 don’t read this one in public it’s filthy

link to kinktober masterlist

taglist: @noonawriter​ @daniblogs164​ @felixity​ @okokokok123-45​ @jeonartemis​ @crescent-hwa​ @jertazz​ @wheresmymoniat​ @nlost21​ @monbecaratstayarmy​ @hello-its-ya-boi​ @onyxblade01​ @kimnamshiks​ @nightshade-minho​ @poutychangbinnie​ @toothlessshiber​ @xxbluestrifexx​ @lokihoeforhyunjin​ @ice-cold-taeyong​ @essantial​ @blueish-sun​ @etaerealboy​ @notbeforelong​ @wideawakeficrecs​ @adestinyuwu​ @simpforhyunjin​ @naajix​ @seoha​ @lilyliline21​ @leaz-kpop-life​ @hyunjinsicedamerican0​ @marigold-bebee​ @changbinswifu​

unable to tag: @sailing-goddess-of-ateez @gingerale​-addict

[boop-le-snoot]

SPELLBOUND I dr strange

Dr Stephen Strange x punk!f!reader

[no y/n, no "you", no name, no reader description - piercings & alternative style of clothing mentioned, race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns]

please let me know if you want to be added to my dr. strange taglist!

Joining the "meet-ugly" series, we've got Reader graffiti-ing (for a good cause!) the Sanctum on a cold, rainy night. Stephen is pissed but then sympathetic. Snark all around and then you get laid. That's it that's the story. Word count ~6.6k. Explicit smut, light magical bondage, dom!Strange. Fic soundtrack - Siouxie and the Banshees - Spellbound.

On a terrible, horrible, no-good, cold, rainy and windy November day, Sorcerer Supreme Stephen Strange was feeling - surprisingly well, considering... Considering his workload and the ragtag team of buffoons he was forced to cooperate with. Something something, damage minimisation and faster response time. It wasn't like Stephen actually listened to Rogers' monotonous monologues. Stephen only agreed to accompany the Avengers on missions because Wong had started ignoring his calls for back-up.

A relaxing evening with a book or two, topped off with a cup of the best Ceylon tea and a cozy atmosphere brightened up by happily dancing flames in the fireplace. The tension seemed to melt off the sorcerer like last springtime ice; his shoulders sagged and the persistent frown smoothed his usually disgruntled expression into something neutral, if not outright peaceful.

Wong had left the sorcerer to enjoy some alone time by himself, having had a strong feeling that very evening was bound to be one of the rare, calm ones, not an interdimensional threat in sight.

By the time midnight rolled in, sleep wasn't on Stephen's mind, the book he was reading had consumed his mind and pulled him inside of it. The exact moment the defense wards around the Sanctum had begun to signal distress to the Sorcerer Supreme escaped him; he attributed the sudden flux of anxiety for excitement from discovering the ins and outs of a new spell.

After some moments passed with Stephen still engrossed, the Sanctum itself had started bugging it's defender. With a shout of surprise, Strange jumped up in the air, book flying, landing on the couch as the man rubbed his arm where concentrated magic of the ancient house had stung him. Taking long, irritated strides, not bothering to put on any additional clothing layers, Strange stormed off towards the main entrance, muttering to himself, "One evening... Just one evening in peace..." Adding a few choice expletives as the door flung open on it's own.

Strange had cast a spell on his way outside, prepared to surprise the intruder but the magic flickered as he spotted a small figure, dressed in all black, holding something shiny to the outer wall of the building. The person appeared oblivious to his appearance, hood drawn over the face tightly. They were shivering every time the wind howled along the street but didn't relent in their mischief: the shiny object in their hand left a neon red trail, reflecting just enough to make out separate letters under the dim light of a nearby streetlight..

"What. Are. You. Doing?" Stephen knew his voice could be... Intimidating. He spoke louder than necessary for exactly that reason: he wasn't about to magically attack some kid, he'd much rather scare the little brat shitless.

To his surprise, the hooded head turned almost mockingly slow, revealing only what could be called as a bad case of racoon eyes on a feminine face. The bottom half of the face was partially hidden by a black-and-white checkered scarf but even with it, Stephen had no trouble seeing the various metallic piercings that decorated the woman's face. It was an adult woman, he was sure of that - the eyes staring fiercely back at him were too standoffish to belong to a punk kid. "Spray-painting your house, dumbass," The voice confirmed Stephen's theories: even carried away by the howling wind, it carried enough venom in it to kill a snake.

"No, you aren't," With the newfound revelation, Strange had no qualms quickly casting a spell to tie the little vandal's hands together with a rope of concentrated magic. "I'm calling the cops," He announced making a beeline for the phone he had left in the Sanctum's living room.

In his blind annoyance, the sorcerer had forgotten that the spell he had cast essentially forbade the victim from being further than ten feet away from the caster; loud cursing followed his footsteps as the vandal was forcibly dragged into the house behind the sorcerer, none too gently either, as Stephen's ruined mood made his strides that much longer and quicker.

Abruptly, the man stopped, turning around and suddenly recieving a chestful of petty criminal; a collective oof was overshadowed by the Sanctum's doors loudly banging shut as if the house itself didn't want to let outside any more warmth than strictly necessary. Two round, shining eyes stared upwards at the tall sorcerer, growing increasingly concerned.

He blinked a few times, arm still awkwardly outstretched to prevent the woman from toppling over both of them. She backed away slowly, eyeing him with wariness. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I thought this building was abandoned," She spoke slowly as if not to startle him. "And I know you're one of the good guys, I saw you on the news, but can I just go?"

One, her tone was growing increasingly panicked, raising in pitch, eyes darting across the room and to the magic binding her wrists. Two, Stephen felt his face heat up the second he realised the... Inconvenient situation. He had forcefully dragged a woman into his house with her wrists bound and slammed the door shut behind her.

"I'm... Sorry," He mumbled, feeling tongue-tied, all too aware of the sudden influx of blood rushing to his cheeks. "I didn't mean to... Frighten you," He spoke after clearing his throat and raising his hands in surrender. The binds around her wrists fell with the gesture and the woman immediately began rubbing her wrists with stiff fingers. "Do you, um, need help getting home?" Unused to finding himself in such an awkward situation, Stephen looked anywhere but the woman herself.

"No," She replied firmly, just as a particularly strong gust of wind rattled and banged the wooden blinds outside one of the windows. The woman jumped slightly, her breath loudly stuttering in the quiet hallway. "Man, how do you even live here? It's fucking creepy," She more muttered to herself rather than addressed him, but Stephen heard it nonetheless.

"It takes some getting used to," He replied honestly, eager to dissipate the alarmed awkwardness. His brain wasn't being helpful at all: the sorcerer was torn between offering the woman a place to warm up - she was shivering, dripping icy rainwater right on the hardwood floors - and simply conjuring a portal to transport her right into the closest subway station.

"I bet," She snorted almost mockingly. "I've been in a lot of old abandoned buildings and this is by far the weirdest one even if it's not really abandoned," The woman appeared to feel equally awkward now that they've had established Stephen wasn't a threat. She hid her shaking hands in the sleeves of her oversized bomber jacket, standing almost perfectly still, a chameleon to the twilight of the hallway in her dark clothes.

"This place is saturated with magic which could be unsettling to a person who hasn't been around it much," Stephen found himself explaining the phenomenon, much like his teachers in Kamar-Taj had told it to him. "Would you like to dry off at least?" He shot her a quick look; the woman certainly didn't look or feel like a magical threat.

She fiddled with the sleeves, looking torn between fear and curiosity; it was clear that the woman was intrigued by magic and her eyes, while partially hidden by make-up and the hood of her sweatshirt, were bright and clever. "Um, you're not gonna violently murder and eat me, right?" She asked timidly, but her mind was obviously already made up.

"I eat little girls for dinner," Stephen gave into the urge to roll his eyes, turning around and motioning her to follow him. The t-shirt he was wearing didn't do much for protecting him from the pouring rain and gushing wind outside and the five minutes he'd spent outside of the house made him crave the warmth of the fireplace.

"I'm bitter, you'll choke," She replied petulantly without missing a beat but obediently followed him into the room, leaving wet footprints on the floor.

The living room greeted them with a brightly crackling fire, a gust of warmth surrounding the couch and the immediate space around it. The woman didn't attempt touching the various magical knick-knacks placed haphazardly throughout the room, only stared at everything with eyes as wide as saucers. The childlike wonder was endearing to see, the sorcerer had to begrudgingly admit to himself.

"I suggest you place your shoes and jacket closer to the fire for them to dry faster," Stephen finally interrupted her mute staring contest with one of the magic objects hanging on the far wall. It was a battleaxe of Asgardian origin and Stephen felt slightly uncomfortable with the interested way the woman was eyeing the weapon.

"Interesting collection you have there, count Dracula," Round eyes met his own, the owner slowly unzipping and stripping off the outer layers of her clothing. Under the spacious jacket was a no less baggy hoodie and a pair of black, tight-fitting pants. The woman's neck was adorned by a variety of silver chains and a choker with spikes at least half an inch long; the tips of her shaky fingers were painted black.

The jacket was placed on a chair closest to the fireplace. Her shoes went next - massive, black platformed monstrosities - and she immediately became that much smaller, losing a good inch or two of height. Her hood fell, revealing a messy bed head and the black color smeared under her eyes, proving she'd spent a good few hours outside in the pouring rain.

"Aren't you a little too old for this?" Stephen retorted back, vaguely gesturing at the style of her clothing. He wasn't very happy about being snarked at in his own damn house.

The woman chuckled good-naturedly, guardedness paving way to genuine amusement. "I could say the same about you. Don't you all graduate Hogwarts at seventeen?"

Despite himself, the corners of Stephen's mouth lifted upwards. The tone of her voice was teasing, nothing like Stark's poisonous mockery of Stephen's skills. "I guess that makes us even," Strange invitingly gestured to the loveseat opposite his couch, picking up a fleece blanket to give to the shivering woman. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

A shy smile stretched her lips as she ducked her head in a nod, gratefully palming the blanket and immediately curling under it into a snug ball in a corner of the loveseat. The woman looked so cozy, Stephen's mood raised by a smidgen seeing the satisfied sigh that left her mouth as the temperature around her climbed. He might have changed careers but the doctor in him would always be satisfied with a content and healthy patient.

Returning with a steaming hot mug of herbal liquid, Strange found the woman poking away at her phone, concentrated and unaware of her surroundings. He cleared his throat and she lifted her eyes, skimming briefly over his shaking hands to settle on his face, the look not long enough to be considered rude but not brief for him to ignore it completely.

"Thank you," Her voice was quiet as she accepted the tea, gently blowing into the mug. He didn't think twice before promptly shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and that gave him away: the woman's voice had reacquired the teasing tones as she very obviously attempted to distract him: "I'm surprised that Muggle technology works here."

"We have wi-fi," He snorted, secretly grateful for the distraction. "I can't help but wonder what prompted you to pursue your... Artistic endeavours... On my house," Strange rumbled lowly, allowing himself the curiosity. In all his years of living there, not one single person attempted a petty crime on the property.

The woman's face darkened, eyes suddenly boring into the fire, rivaling it's intensity. "The building opposite you? There's a small newspaper, yellow press, gossip column type of shithole," The venom in her voice was sudden and surprising, startling Stephen into paying attention. "For the past few weeks they've been backing up a company that dumps toxic waste right into the North River. It's been making local strays sick," The more she spoke, the higher Stephen's eyebrows rose. "Now even reputable sources are citing that piece of journalistic toilet paper and mayor is now 'reconsidering'," The last word was enunciated particularly poisonously, "The investigation launched into the company. We've been handing out leaflets and my friend acquired information that there is going to be a live TV stream in front of the building. I was hoping the cameras would capture the message," She finished in one breath, a ball of shivering punk. It was unclear if the woman was still cold or the shivers came from the anger inside of her. It was obvious she was passionate about the subject.

The concern quickly grew into confusion, the sorcerer finally settling on fond amusement. "And how would graffiti help to convey your message?" He couldn't help but question the actions of the woman.

"It's punk, writing "you're killing innocents" in red paint. People notice loud statements like that," She replied confidently, a stubborn tilt to her chin. "Animals feel pain too." She added, seeing the sorcerer's sceptical face.

Well, he couldn't exactly disagree. In theory, she was right in both of her statements. Only people more often than not chose to turn a blind eye to things that didn't inconvenience them directly. There were more efficient ways to raise awareness than vandalizing property. He told her that much, expecting a scoff and an eyeroll in return.

"Yeah, and we've already sent out dozens of letters and petitions to the mayor," The eyeroll came, but not for the reason he thought it would. "This is literally, like, the last resort before I go down there and burn their fucking warehouse down. I know the people who are forced to put down the suffering animals, and honestly, I'm this much away from willing to become a felon if that means it stops all of that bullshit," She wildly gestured with her free hand, bracelets and chains rattling with the force of her movement. "Judging by your sunny attitude you're either a lawyer or a doctor, so you must know how it is to see misdeeds being done and feeling utterly helpless," The once-over she gave him - the sorcerer didn't miss it, surprised at the woman's perceptiveness.

"I see," He nodded, more to himself. "And yes, I used to be a doctor," The words, speaking in past tense, didn't come easy to him even after all this time. He mourned the loss of his motor skills, the loss of his career and a painless existence.

"So you must know how it is, to have to choose between your own comfort and the well-being of others," She remarked conversationally. "With that superhero side-gig you've got going on." Apparently, her perceptiveness was just that good. The woman didn't question the past tense of his career, didn't ask bothersome questions - obviously, she put two and two together. What kind of doctor had malfunctioning hands?

"Unfortunately, I do," Stephen nodded kindly, sipping his own cup of tepid tea. "I have to admit, I am surprised," The sorcerer was willing to throw a bone to the strange woman: she was nothing if not kind and polite even after thinking he was abducting her for illicit actions. "You are very perceptive."

The laugh that resonated in the wide room was melodic, playful. "Yeah, I get that a lot. Usually people can't see past my choice of clothing, thinking that I'm some stupid druggie or whatnot," With a wave of her hand, the woman expressed a great deal of irritation. "To be honest, the more people like me I meet, the more disappointed I am in what society considers normal. Every day I lean closer and closer to anarchy..." The last part of the sentence was said almost dreamily.

The sorcerer found himself smiling genuinely, not at all in disagreement with the woman's words. He'd himself once been a member of a social circle his newfound acquaintance would probably enjoy tarnishing; the subsequent accident and injury had shown him the less pleasant side of that part of humanity. As a disabled person, life wasn't even half as good - pity and mockery followed him for months on end, making recovery seem as unreachable as the horizon. Still, the opportunity to tease the little punk was not to be wasted: "You're going to argue ethics with an ageless sorcerer?" Technically, he didn't lie. If he wanted to, he could stop his aging process at any time, just like his old mentor had done.

Her eyebrows rose, eyes sliding over his reclined body with a comically slow speed. It was like her stare left a lingering sensation. "Looking not half bad for your age, mister magician," The little smirk looked positively mischievous on her face, making the woman appear akin to a pixie up to no good.

It wasn't as if Stephen didn't know he was considered attractive. After the accident, it was simply hard to see himself that way, shaking, clumsy hands and all. Yet the temptation was too strong; he gave into the harmless flirt with practiced ease. "Magic," He snorted, making little sparks burst from his hands in an array of colorful dots.

The woman's bottom lip disappeared behind a row of white teeth. "I have quite a lot of inappropriate comments and questions right now," The tone of her voice was once again back to it's default: teasing and defiant, like the energy that surrounded her. "How about you tell me about that mighty axe on your wall? Did you borrow it from Thor to frighten intruders?"

The confession raised a laugh from the sorcerer, the subsequent question throwing the man into a hearty full-belly cackle. The notion of borrowing a weapon from the hot-headed god was an absurd one on it's own; just as if not less likely was the idea of having magical artifacts scattered around the Sanctum for the sole purpose of spooking someone. He told the woman that much, explaining the importance of conservation of magical artifacts and unavailability of them to the general human populace.

Curious as a child, the woman prodded him for an interesting story; feeling jovial, Stephen obliged, finding himself surprisingly invested in the storytelling process as she looked up at his pacing form in utter captivation. If only all the apprentices he'd had to teach would have been half as open and interested in his teachings, he found himself thinking as he paused for the woman to gather her wits. There had been a time when he felt the same way, going first time into a new dimension, setting foot into a different plane of existence, but those feelings had dulled under the burden of protecting their current reality.

Hostile cross-dimensional entities weren't willing to give sorcerers weekends off. There wasn't any time to explore places that weren't necessary. He told the woman that much, finally settling down beside her, elbows on his knees and face warming up in the heat of the burning fireplace.

"Respectfully, that's bullshit," She huffed, untangling herself from the cocoon of blankets to place her empty mug on a nearby table. "If you had a doctor's license, you should know about professional burnout," The slightly whiny, chastising tone surprised Stephen. He didn't expect kindness from a stranger, and when he got it, he was clueless as how to act. "Even Iron Man and Captain America take vacations," She drove her point home, sitting down next to him. "I respect you and what you do for us simple folks but you gotta take care of yourself, too. An eternity living like that sounds awfully long."

"It is," He replied thoughtlessly, having came to the same conclusion ages ago. Having nothing more to add, nothing more to defend his lifestyle with, Strange and the woman settled into a thoughtful silence, each of them musing to themselves. The wind and rain outside howled, banging against the window with fury, little white droplets of hail banging against the glass. Getting the woman home in this weather, in the dead of the night wasn't an option anymore - they had spent a considerable amount of time talking and the darkness outside the window had only deepened. Stephen had lived in NYC long enough to know it wasn't safe even without magical threats. "I should prepare you a room. I cannot let you get home on your own in this time and weather," He looked to the side, finding the woman much closer to himself than expected. Under the smeared make-up and behind the baggy, unusual clothes, she was pleasant to the eye.

A friendly face, clever eyes, smile lines around her mouth. Hair that got into her face; she blew a strand away. "No offense, but I think your house is haunted. I don't think I'll be able to fall asleep."

"I thought you were a punk?" His lips involuntarily curved into a grin once again. Stephen was a smart-ass, he couldn't help it.

"Hey!" She exclaimed, offended, poking him in the bicep with a single finger. "Rude and mean wizard," She scoffed childishly, only succeeding in making Stephen laugh.

"I've been told so by multiple people," He replied without a hitch.

"How unfortunate," The woman levelled him with an unimpressed stare; her eyes, however, were smiling. The banter came to her as naturally as it did to him. "Then prepare to hear heavy metal because that's what I'm blasting to scare off the demons."

"Pfft," He scoffed, giving into the game. "I'll just turn off the heating in your room." Stephen retaliated against the woman.

It was her turn to roll her eyes. Something similar to a puppy's stare was directed at him after that - an absolutely unfair advantage, if someone would have asked him - not at all out of place on the woman's pixie-like features. "I'll find your room and stick my cold feet right under your blanket," She narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips and clenching her little fists.

Strange gasped, clutching his heart with a shaking hand. His whole body vibrated with barely contained laughter. "I'll portal-dump you in the Arctic if you do that," The dam broke: he started laughing at the woman who looked like a disgruntled, spooked bird, all ruffled, red-nosed and indignant.

"If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me," She mumbled in-between snorts of laughter. "That is the punk way."

Their joy bloomed in the shared space, amplified by the small distance between their bodies; knees almost touching and faces so close they could smell the other's perfume.

"By the punk way you mean doing stupid and reckless things?" The man asked her once their laughter died down; a single eyebrow raised, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and strands of silver at his temples glimmering in the warm firelight.

She couldn't tear her eyes away... And she didn't want to. "Yeah," She mumbled, acutely aware of the way she was ogling the man and having no power to stop it either. "That's the case..." Her eyes briefly skimmed down to his mouth, lingering for a second, causing her to wet her lips own in reflex.

"I must admit I've been accused of the same thing on several occasions," His gravely whisper settled somewhere deep in the woman's chest. "Does that make me one of your people?"

Words lost their meaning; useless, meaningless chatter, merely background noise for feelings running on borrowed time and secretive glances. Two people meeting in the least likely of circumstances, finding a common ground big enough to stand on their own two feet and light a fire.

Few years ago, Stephen Strange would have laughed at anybody who would have told him it was fate. These days, however, he knew, the universe worked in mysterious ways and he was smart enough to take the offering when it was brought to his doorstep on a silver platter.

Slowly and timidly, giving the woman a chance to withdraw, he brought his lips to her mouth, outstretching a gentle hand to place on the side of her face. The taste in his mouth was foreign, in the sense of a new discovery. She didn't resist his exploration, gently parting her lips and allowing his tongue to probe inside, meeting him in the same curious, unrushed way.

With stuttering breath, she grasped his bicep to steady herself in the wake of the tension that his kiss had brought between them. The sparks that started amid their chatter blossomed into embers; steady in their growing heat and hunger for more. The woman's hot mouth devoured Stephen, passion consuming them, awakening the primal territories of his brain he'd thought he'd forgotten existed.

One kiss was all it took for his trousers to feel uncomfortably tight; it felt like ages since he'd let desire consume him and steer his actions. His hand, shaky as it was, slid down her neck, memorising the gentle arch of it, to pull at the hem of her hoodie. Both of them gulped for breath in the seconds that the hoodie took to be flung over her head somewhere into the depths of the living room.

Two pairs of shining eyes met at the same moment, wordlessly begging for permission to continue. The cool air left a wake of gooseflesh in its wake, fine hairs standing up on the woman's arms, but her skin burned under Stephen's palms. Neither knew who ducked in for another kiss first; their lips met once again in a rush.

The woman's cool hands slid under his shirt shamelessly and the sorcerer shivered: not out of cold, he was hungry for the contact. He ached to feel the sweetness of a lover's touch. It had been too long. The woman matched his desire in that shameless, bold way by tugging on his clothes.

It was a question of time rather than effort for they seemed to be unable to break their kiss even for a second, getting tangled in the cotton of his shirt and the sleeves of his sweatshirt. The fumbling brought a smile to her lips, another mischievous teasing giggle dampened by the clothes going over his head. "The ghosts won't come to interrupt us, will they?" She asked breathily.

"No, but a... Colllegaue might," Stephen belatedly remembered of Wong's existence and his pesky habit of portaling right into the house. Throwing his own clothes somewhere in the vicinity of her hoodie, the sorcerer quickly conjured a portal to his bedroom, taking hold of the startled woman before she had the chance to utter a sound.

Being Sorcerer Supreme had its own privileges, including but not limited to a full master bedroom and a king size bed. Stephen's greater height certainly had made it useful; now, the man towered over the woman, pale chest on display and bright blue eyes sparkling in amusement as she attempted to gather her wits after the rapid relocation.

It proved to be harder that it seemed. Her eyes, curious and bright, traveled over his chest. Her hands trembled when she placed them over his pecs before gliding them down to his toned stomach, light and slow, like a feather. The woman was fascinated.

Stephen was torn between shyness and cockiness; the lack of recent experiences made his touch timid when he brushe stray hairs behind her ear. Watching the woman stand up on her tippy toes to kiss him was amusing. He allowed himself to lean into the kiss, adjusting a firmer grip on the sides of her face.

The bravery both of them seemed to need so desperately, they inhaled, the kiss once again growing in intensity. His arousal pressed insistently against her stomach, the feeling of hard flesh making her gasp. It twitched in response, Stephen's mind clouding with titillation and anticipation.

One hand wormed it's way into the man's hair, giving it a bossy tug, and he groaned lowly into the kiss. That made the woman smile, their teeth clashing briefly, before she pulled away. "You're too damn tall," She exclaimed and all Stephen could see were her red, kiss-flushed lips. "Have you considered donating a few inches to those in need? For example, me?" Her giggle was throaty.

One hand firmly planted on his chest, she used the other to promptly unbutton and unzip her belt and pants, various metals clanking as she did so. The noise pulled Stephen out of the lust-induced stupor. "I can spare more than a few inches," He cocked his eyebrow, snarking back almost reflexively. His arousal was obvious and not meager by any means.

"Dork," The woman replied, giving him an appreciative once-over.

The grin that spread on his face was somewhere between feral and teasing as he advanced onto her, bodily pushing her onto the spacious bed and draping himself over the woman's flushed body, nipping at her neck the moment a soft 'oof' escaped her at the sudden change of position. Not even minutes in and her face already adopted a blissed-out look, eyelashes fluttering and hips involuntarily looking for friction.

Stephen grazed the tender flesh of her collarbone with his teeth and she hissed, exhaled through her teeth with a barely audible moan. The sorcerer didn't bother hiding his grin. "Not so feisty now, are we?" He rumbled straight into her ear.

The shudder that went through her was more intense this time, chest pushing outward, desperate for more skin-on-skin contact. Stephen peeled the cup of her simple black bra with his teeth leaving a trail of pink-red marks in the wake, catching her nipple between his teeth and lavishing it with attention.

The harder he sucked the more she whined; one of his hands landed on her shoulder, pushing on it to hold the squirming woman steady. He was rewarded with a moan, pitched and long. The very same hand closed in around her throat, gently but firmly applying the exact amount of pressure needed to make her arch into his touch like an excited housecat.

"Be still, darling," Stephen's voice had dropped, low and raspy, bordering on a growl. The woman's own noises were delicious and he couldn't help but rut into her stomach, seeking friction, his own need beginning to burn impatiently.

"I literally can't, you're driving me fuckin' crazy," The woman stuttered out, fingers digging into his skin. She had no qualms about making him know exactly how much was she enjoying his ministrations and Stephen would be a rotten liar if he said it didn't give him a boost of confidence.

"I'll just have to restrain you, then," It was a joke more than anything but with the way she shivered, a full-bodied shake that had him involuntarily pressing his hips into her, there wasn't a chance he'd waste it.

Gathering his wits, Stephen's tongue peeked out in concentration as his hands produced a single, thick strand of magic. Glowing golden and orange, it bound the woman's wrists to the intricately carved headboard, loose enough for her to be able to bail those little hands into fists and move around a teensy bit.

Round and wide eyes stared upwards at Stephen, the woman's mouth hanging slightly open on a flushed face. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," The words were not audible; he made them out with his eyes as they were involuntarily drawn to her lips.

Stephen did not find it in himself to resist. "Not Jesus, just me," He smirked, claiming the woman in a bruising kiss, groaning when the woman bit into his bottom lip in retaliation against his smugness. He tugged off the remainder of her clothing, sitting back to observe the curves of her body, the way meager light of his bedroom played with the shadows in the arches of her limbs.

Following the smooth skin on her belly, Stephen's fingers dipped between her legs, stroking right into the dampness of where she was most sensitive. A choked up 'oh' was the only noise she produced, straining against his magic as she attempted to follow the movements of his hands with her hips. And she won the race fair and square - who was he to deny her such a simple pleasure?

Perhaps, he wasn't as precise or as skilled as he used to be before the accident, however the woman had no reservations, no complaints whatsoever, mewling each time his thumb brushed the sensitive bundle of flesh, fluttering her eyelashes so prettily. The hum Stephen made was contemplative: withdrawing his fingers produced a disappointed moan that quickly turned into a lewd noise when he popped his thumb into his mouth, tasting her arousal.

Delectable. "You're so sweet," He cooed, almost mockingly. She was getting desperate. "A little sharp but so fitting." With that, he used her lust-drunk state to rid himself of his clothes, leaning in to give a single broad lick to the length of her sex. She didn't disappoint, moaning loudly and wantonly, and he immediately withdrew, once again draping himself over her to share the taste of the woman with herself.

The intent wasn't to tease, not by any means. His erection glided easily between her lower lips thanks to the moisture, and he palmed it, putting pressure onto her clit with the head of his cock, brushing up and down with intent.

"Nghh, oh God," Was her eloquent response. The breathless, heated whisper went straight to his cock, making it twitch.

Stephen was getting impatient. The woman, too, was beginning to show signs of frustration. The veins on her arms stood out more than even when she fitfully strained against her restraints. The spell was a simple, even feeble thing, but with the force of his arousal feeding it with burning energy that was almost angry; it was as unlikely that she'd break it as it would be for the sorcerer himself to find the strength to stop himself from dipping the tip of his cock into the welcoming heat of her entrance.

"Take it," He ordered huskily , breathing heavily into her ear. The first few inches of Stephen's shaft were met with slight resistance but he took care to advance slowly, savouring the moment himself. She felt like Valhalla wrapped around him, all sweet, pulsating heat.

"Please," She whispered, ending the word with a broken noise, tilting her hips to speed up the process as more and more of his cock filled up the aching need. "Fuck, give me everything, give me all of it," One of her legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him into her.

The moment he bottomed out, it felt like stars had detonated behind his eyelids. The smell of her, iron, fresh cotton and rainwater, filled out his senses; an array of gasps into the crook of his neck and blood rushing to his ears. It was a a beautiful cacophony of lust that culminated where their bodies were joined. Push and pull, he gave an attempt at making shallow thrusts with his hips, encouraged by the sudden arch of her body.

She was at the sorcerer's mercy. "Tell me," He demanded. "Tell me how it feels," Suddenly, he wanted to hear, he wanted to know.

"Fuck," She mumbled and he thrust harder, eager to hear and swallow more of those delicious sounds. "It feels... Fuck, it feels... So deep..." Coherence had left out the window as she struggled to describe the feeling of being stretched out and stuffed full. Long and thick, Stephen's cock was a blessing of it's own, with negative side effects being a temporary loss of speech and train of thought. "Please don't stop, Stephen, don't..."

He worked harder, leaning into it as sweet sweat dripped from his forehead. Bracing himself on his forearms, trapping the panting woman against himself, the room filled with the sound of heated flesh slapping against flesh, squelching noises adding into the discord. Like fuel to the fire, the growling that started somewhere in the back of his throat enticed more and more broken whimpers.

The woman began fluttering around him, telltale signs of her upcoming culmination. Stephen had to grit his teeth - his own abs instinctively tightened in response, body eagerly awaiting the grip of her walls to take the sensations around his cock to new heights. "Hold it," He ordered hoarsely, wanting to prolong the ecstasy of it all.

"I can't, please, I can't, I'm so close," She moaned, wrapping her lips around the skin of his neck in an attempt to distract herself. The added sensations only made Stephen growl again, patience snapping with the force of a live wire, hips picking up a rhythmic tempo.

The sorcerer's fingers harshly tore the ropes of magic, freeing the woman from her bonds in a single second, giving her a brief moment to stretch her arms before the man once again gathered her in his arms. Compliant and lax, the woman's chest was flush to Stephen's, nipples brushing against his defined chest with each consequential thrust.

He was everywhere. He was so much larger, taller and broader than her, muscle and feral growls, shaking her to the core with each motion of his hips. She all but disappeared under him, pinned by him, his arms having slid under her back to pull her onto his cock like a ragdoll. Even as her eyes slid shut, all the woman could see, hear and sense was Stephen's burning body atop her own.

The coil in her belly grew tighter with each second.

"Look at me," Stephen ordered loudly and harshly, feeling the scales of his pleasure tip dangerously into non-return territory. He wanted to see her as she lost herself in bliss.

Unseeing eyes flew open. Round and wet, she was looking at him like a deer in headlights, the plush of her mouth wet, beads of sweat dripping down her temple. "Fuck me, oh God, I need to come," Once more, Stephen saw the words rather than heard.

Her mouth, a little weak, was what did it for him; with a primal growl fresh in his mouth, he uttered a single, "Come. Now," Finding it impossible to resist claiming her mouth for the final time.

The woman's body tensed, heels digging painfully into the small of his back as he swallowed the scream that her orgasm tore out of her throat. The soft flesh of her thighs shook. Buried inside of her to the hilt, Stephen let loose his own self-control, cock throbbing, as he emptied every bit of his seed into the deepest parts of her snug cunt. His vision briefly turned white-hot, emptying his mind of anything but the immediate space and time, the bliss overtaking him like a tsunami.

It seemed to go on forever. It seemed to last only a second.

Their mouths moved weakly against each other. In some areas, skin was broken, and it smarted, weaving a trail of bittersweet aches in the wake of their passion. Stephen couldn't manufacture the place where he could simply Be but in the moment, nothing mattered at all, just the tide of her breathing growing steady after having reached the so-needed release.

The woman kept melting under him. Eventually he had to move, soft flesh slipping from within her, invoking a soft gasp at the loss of their combined state of being. A kitten-like, disappointed mewl followed, the woman immediately draping her body to his side.

Stephen chuckled into the dim quiet of his room, a raspy, breathless and meaningless little noise.

"We'll think tomorrow, for now, just feel," She mumbled already half-asleep, and he would be damned if that didn't sound like poetry to him.

Stephen Strange taglist: @mostly-marvel-musings @lonesomewritings @bethanyzed @persephonehemingway @the-gayyy-bible @sapphicnoodle69 @letsby