#*ominous voice* the choice is yours...

[shrenvents]

Hi love, you have an amazing imagination, and I love your writing style. I was wondering if you could maybe do some more with Wolverine. I'm in that x men stage again. And I loved you last piece of work on him. Maybe you could do a continuation of it or think of something completely new. Anyway, dont feel pressured ❤️

A/N: ur actually so sweet, thank uu! I'm also rlly shocked but appreciative of all the love Professor Howlett received, so u don't even have to ask twice for more, it's my pleasure ;)

Divided Attention

Professor Howlett II

Part one

Warnings: minors dni, Smut, fluff, language, jealousy, (legal) age gap, oral, f!receiving, semi-public

Pairing: Logan x Student (Mutant) reader

Summary: Things were going well with you and Logan, until he suddenly put distance between you both, acting strangely. On top of that, you catch him threatening one of your fellow classmates and have no choice, but to face your issues, head-on.

Word count: 2.6k

…

Any small moment together, Logan and I chased. The little highs we could derive from our busy schedules, we eagerly pursued.

From a quickie in the janitor's closet, a make-out session after class, or a passionate sleepover, Logan consumed every inch of my life. He was consuming every bit of my mind, and an ominous trepidation was closing in, alongside him.

The more I saw him, the greedier I became. Desperate to see and feel more of him, beyond the surface. So, it was no surprise, that I soon desired something more from our casual relationship.

With graduation just around the corner, I was almost home free. Free to outwardly tell him what I yearned for.

But the concern that racked my brain constantly, that trepidation, was whether he wanted the same.

As I was getting to know him, it was clear there were parts of him I had yet to discover, parts he seemed reluctant to reveal. Sometimes he would be open, close by my side. The next second, he would shut down.

What made matters worse, was that recently, he hadn't sought me out. It's felt as though he's no longer hungry for those small moments, that I still very much craved.

Now I'm on edge and have no clue what he's thinking, or what he thinks of us.

...

The day started like any other. I went to each class, exhausted and disinterested, till that afternoon. Something caught my eye, and the eyes of the school's populace: Logan pinning a male student to the wall of the vast, oak wood hallway.

They speak in hushed tones to one another, and the boy looks beyond frightened, while Logan looks ready to tear his head from his scrawny neck.

It takes only a moment for my alarm to pass, and for me to note, that this boy sits next to me in history.

A sharp intake of breath hitches in my throat.

His name's Mikey, and he has been a nuisance to Logan from the get-go, long before our intimate affair. Labelled as the class clown, Mikey uses his obnoxious voice and meddling powers to disturb Logan's lessons, daily. To top it off, Mikey consistently bothers me, mimicking what I say, and staring at my profile, for far too long.

Just when Logan dips his head closer to Mikey, perhaps to rip out his jugular, like the predator he is, Scott interjects.

"Logan! Drop him!" When Scott's unnerved voice orders Logan, my eyes snap to Mikey's feet, which are spraddled in the air, dangling for dear life.

I guess a few days apart made me forget just how strong he is. Maybe he's just too gentle with me to remember.

As his feet slowly lower to the floor, gasps and murmurs flood the halls, and my head frantically shoots around, surprised by the crowd of avid onlookers.

Eyes anxiously surveying the students, I hone in on Logan again, flinching when seeing his pupils, already fixed on me.

He releases Mikey immediately, retracting from him while Scott grabs his bicep, heatedly whispering into his ear, and Mikey scrambles away.

Logan's eyes shy from mine and my mouth gaps. He almost looks, embarrassed. 'Huh?'

Soon, other teachers arrive to intervene, shooing students from the crime scene.

So, aimlessly wandering outside, into the courtyard, hoping to clear my head, I think back on our classes together. Every time Mikey acted up, Logan seemingly couldn’t care less, looking more spent overall, than unsettled by his brazen jokes.

It was kind of funny, seeing Mikey quaking in his boots at the older male. It was only yesterday, that he spoke to me with such forwardness, and to Logan with such rudeness, carrying that typical smug expression -it was nice to see it wiped clean.

I laugh to myself, disbelieving what just transpired. I can only imagine what errand Professor Xavier will make Logan do to atone, or what bonding exercise he and Mikey may perform...

While I trudge down the stone steps, onto the vivid green field, I spot the devil himself, Mikey. He sits under the shade of a grand willow tree, dome hung between his bent knees.

Feeling rather empathetic, I stroll towards him, stopping in front of his feet. Evidently noticing my bright attire, his head pops up, and his dewy eyes widen.

"You alright?" I ask warily and his bottom lip trembles. He sniffs once, toughening up before responding, "I'm good." I nod, then look at the endless landscape to my right. "Whatever you did must've really been something, Mr. Howlett's rarely that peeved."

"You're telling me," he huffs sarcastically, sounding pained. Shifting, I sit beside him, maintaining some space. "If you don't mind me asking, what was that about?" Mikey pauses, thinking hard.

"No clue," he mumbles pitifully. I gawk at him, brows creasing. He peers at me and copies my appearance. "I'm not lying," he exclaims defensively. "There's no way," I retort, scoffing.

"If you don't fucking believe me, why ask," Mikey spits, mumbling "bitch" as he shoots to stomp off.

Suspiring, my crown gingerly falls onto the tree's trunk. Finding comfort in its rugged bark, I calmly savour the crisp air.

I close my eyes, for what feels like a few minutes until a fierce call of my name grips my consciousness. Eyelids cracking open, my vision focuses on Mr. Howlett himself, standing in all his glory, glaring down at me with a brooding look.

"If it isn't the man of the hour," I giggle humourlessly, straightening my spine, but choosing not to stand and seem intimidated, like he evidently wishes me to be.

"You have a nice chat?" Logan questions with an irked tone, obviously remarking on my 'chat' with Mikey. 'Was he watching us?'

I tilt my head defiantly. "I'm not picking sides," I raise both hands in surrender, smiling from ear to ear. His eye faintly twitches, and I nearly gulp. He grumbles incomprehensible nonsense, then chooses to stay relatively quiet, which is unlike him.

"Do you have something to say? Or are you just gonna stand there?" I inquire venomously.

Clearly dispising my attitude, he concentrates on my face, scowling. His features have rage written all over them, but I refuse to bow out of this impending feud.

He grumbles under his breath again, and I break.

"Speak up!" I shout, swiftly bringing my gaze to our surroundings, making sure we're alone -which is something Logan clearly isn't worried about.

"What the fuck do you two have to talk about?" He just about growls and I tense, stunned. My face contorts with perplexity. "Me and Mikey?" I question, and his eyebrows nearly conjoin in response. "Not much, just discussing you're outburst," heaving, I continue, "though he didn't have much to say on the topic," sighing, "you?"

His nostrils flare slightly, and I do my best to appear composed. "What else have you talked about?" He grunts, and I roll my eyes, rising to my feet, bored with our conversation. "What's it to you?" I ask rhetorically, internally referring to the distance he'd been building between us.

Moving elsewhere, I roughly brush past his shoulder. He doesn't immediately reply, but trails after me as I march further into the courtyard.

"The fuck you on about?" Logan vulgarly rumbles, and I forget to speak.

My pace then staggers when he delicately wraps his digits over my forearm, tugging me, almost cautiously, backward.

Square to him, I discern his thumb tracing my skin lightly, before finally looking at him. He examines his finger as it sweeps across my flesh. "Logan?" I carefully utter, and his eyes stay glued to where our bodies meet.

"Why do you talk to him," he pauses, snarling with emphasis on 'talk,' yet again. Then he murmurs, "-When you have me?" He’s so quiet, that the words are barely audible. My features instantly soften. “Are you,” I hesitate, “Jealous?”

When he doesn’t answer, I gasp so loud, that my palm slaps over my mouth. He looks around, avoiding eye contact as I grasp the situation. “Did you threaten Mikey 'cause he yaps to me in class?”

Logan scorned the very idea of jealousy, cruising his head in a circle, to showcase his exasperation. I smirk uncontrollably and he snits. "Don't flatter yourself Princess," he remarks blatantly. My smirk only expands. "I can't believe you," I laugh hysterically and he motions like he's going to walk away, but he stays put, and I know I've won.

"Don't pull that face," he complains, gesturing to my proud look.

"What face?" I ask, playing naive, faintly swinging my body side to side. "Just stop talking to him, he's a bad influence," he grunts, peering off to the horizon. I giggle, "Or what? Do you intend to beat every boy who speaks to me?" I counter, and he struggles to fight a smile.

"What if I do," Logan more or less declares.

Shaking my head, "You've got some nerve," I huff, "seeing as you've been avoiding me lately."

"I haven't been avoiding you-"

I interrupt, "Oh yes, you have," playfully punching his gut with a grin, which drops the second my knuckles practically grow a heartbeat. "Ow," I breathe and at last, he laughs.

When Logan's laugh dims, he looks almost sullen. "Didn't think you'd notice," he mumbles and I quirk my chin in confusion. "You seem preoccupied." Gapping at him once more, he rolls his eyes, showing his teeth. "Don't gimme that damn look girl," he heaves, "you're young and, and-"

"And what?"

"Attractive," he sighs heavily, "you don't need an old man weighing you down."

I still, catching his genuine displeasure and defeat. It's like he's disappointed I may seek romance from someone else, but accepts it regardless, for my sake, my happiness.

My heart thumps irregularly and I feel like jumping his bones. I release a lengthy sigh, with a smile twinkling. His brow rises questioningly, seeming anxious about a reaction to his masked insecurity.

"What?" He bites.

"I'm relieved," his confusion visibly progresses. "I thought you were tired of me." As his mouth opens, to probably insult my intelligence, I cut in. "I wanna go steady with you, if that wasn't obvious already." My smile grows sheepish, then taunting, "I like you Lo, and clearly you must love me."

Like he's been holding his breath, a loud puff of air escapes his chapped lips, and I shamelessly watch as he wets them.

"You've gotta be the strangest girl I've ever met," he utters with a smirk forming, and I return one, interpreting his words as a declaration of love.

"Woman," I correct, then babble jokingly, "refined Lady." He confidently strides closer. "Mistress-"

The air leaves my lungs as his solid arms devour me, squeezing tightly.

"You best realize what you're committing to," Logan comments, lightly lifting strands of my hair with his fingertips, to kiss my neck. "That means, no more talking to boys," he grunts, humour coaxing his tone. "Especially ones so far out of your league," he pulls his head back, to peer at my expectant face, "It's not even funny," he finishes with a grin.

I laugh, unable to contain my joy, quickly hiding my wild smile in his chest. A pleased hum rumbles in tune with his heavy breathing, and I listen to his heartbeat's fairly, rapid pace.

For a while, we stay present in each other's arms, with fulfillment and ease consuming our beings, synchronously. Logan's fingers drift across my lower back, leisurely tracing my curves.

"I like you, so much," I whisper airly because the words couldn't be repressed, and had escaped. His hands gradually slow to a halt, till he abruptly draws back. He looks at me, with such intense seriousness, that I shudder.

Then, he pulls away entirely, taking my hand in his larger one, to drag me deeper into the field -into the overgrown areas, looted with massive trees and bushes.

"Logan?" My whisper transforms into a squeak when I'm hauled behind various, untrimmed hedges. His palms grope my hips, stilling me before he drops to his knees. I ogle his smug face as it bores into me, before he wrestles with my pink, low-waisted, jean shorts, impatiently dragging them down my plump thighs. He mumbles, "Ridiculous" when his eyeline levels with my purple, close-to-sheer underwear.

Like my shorts, he yanks them down to my ankles, then swiftly encloses his mouth over my cunt, swiping the folds with his tongue. I throw the back of my hand over my incoming yelp, biting down to muffle it.

"Is this you tryna to deflect admitting you really like me?" I joke meekly as my mouth parts from my hand, but I quickly chomp down again, when he licks me, with a long flick of his tongue. I gasp and whimper, using my spare hand to claw at his scalp for leverage, as he hungrily laps my pussy, sucking on its nub.

A tremor racks my insides, eliciting spasms while he builds up a powerful, but excruciatingly relaxed pace. His bulky digits move to relentlessly rub my clit, applying a rhythmic pressure that makes me sob.

Logan shushes me, mouth still buried in my folds. The buzz of his voice sends shivers through my core, and the strength of his action grows, acknowledging my imminent finish.

“Eyes on me,” Logan basically growls, before diving back into my cunt.

I muffle a cry of his name with a fist now, biting my knuckles. Then, I look from the heavens, back down to the one hand I still have, clenching his silky locks.

My knees begin to buckle and his sizeable palms relocate to support my hips, with his fingertips bordering my ass, kneading it. "I'm close," I gasp, barely audible through my hand. He hums again, and when it elicits another shiver, and shake of my frame, I tumble over his back, wrecked by my climax.

Now hunched over him, with my hands splayed down his torso, I tremble furiously, coming down from my high. I can't help but whine when Logan continuously licks me. He tastes every inch of me like I'm the meal of a lifetime, like I'm oxygen itself.

"Enough," I choke, as my arousal becomes too much. His response is simply plunging further into me, to lick all the way from my ass, to clit.

Steam floods my stomach, lighting me on fire. A raging flame consumes my very being, and I relish in how dirty and dangerous this encounter is -in public on his knees for me, Logan made it known that I'm his, and he let me know, that he couldn't care less who heard us, because I was his.

"You're disturbed," I breathe, and his chuckle resonates louder when he separates from my damp skin. "You love it," he states with a smirk and an arch of his brow. He then runs his tongue over his soaked lips, and I bite back a groan, sighing, "I do."

Lifting, moving my palms to his shoulders, I capture his top lip, sucking on it as a thank you. I grin, and as if he can hear my jest coming from a mile away, he scoffs and turns to hide his smirk.

"And you must lovveee me," I repeat my earlier comment with even more enthusiasm, and he shakes his head.

He rises and I do the same. Logan then goes in for a kiss to shut me up, but just as he does, I catch his mumble of "I do."

I gasp into his mouth, eyelids stretching.

My lids briskly flutter shut when he deepens the kiss, dipping my figure, rather romantically, and we both smile.

[ceilidho]

prompt: ghost and you are the only survivors of a military plane crash. you spend weeks alone in the wild together. (ns/fw)

-

In the years you’ve worked as a flight attendant, you’ve never experienced a plane crash before. It’s exactly like what you would’ve expected.

Clear skies rapidly turn grey outside the tiny windows to your left and right; you notice it almost instantly because it casts a pall over the interior of the aircraft. It makes the small group of men that you’ve been travelling with sit up a bit straighter in their seats, only a few of them looking genuinely concerned. Military men often do; it’s in their nature to worry and fret. You feel it like a twinge in your gut, like something telling you that you don’t usually fly through dark clouds. 

The soft ding of the seatbelt sign comes on a handful of seconds later. The turbulence only a few moments after that.

Pilots are trained to avoid cumulonimbus clouds like they’re a harbinger of death (and they are). Even large airliners avoid crossing the path of a cumulonimbus. Your pilot should’ve known to divert and fly around the cloud, avoiding the possibility of flying through a thunderstorm altogether. The pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom for everyone to fasten their seatbelts and you notice distantly that his voice seems frazzled. 

Your hands grip the seat as you strap in. This is exactly the kind of scenario you’ve prepared extensively for, but in the face of it, your stomach tosses and turns. Practice can only hope to ape reality; it often falls short. 

From across the aisle, you lock eyes with the lieutenant in the skull mask that politely refused a beverage ten minutes ago. The plane jostles you violently in your seat as it passes through a rough patch of turbulence. Even the lieutenant, twice your size and rooted into his seat, his hands clamped around the arm rests, grunts when he’s rocked side to side. 

There’s a loud pop outside the aircraft and the plane teeters dangerously to one side. The bags in the overheads bash against the doors, the plastic squeaking under their weight. 

Someone screams. The other attendant sitting across from you is already shouting, “Brace! Brace! Brace!” The mantra bursts from his chest along with spittle and the singular, quivering note of fear. There’s not much more you can do but follow his lead, dropping your head to your knees and wrapping your arms around your legs.

Your stomach drops when the plane descends far too suddenly. You would’ve been pulled back against the wall if your arms weren’t wrapped around your legs. You have enough time to peek up briefly to see all of the other men assuming the same position, some with their heads pressed against the seat in front of them before the aircraft nosedives and there’s a sharp whistle in your ear and the lights flicker ominously in the cabin and something tears and tears and tears and—

Then it’s dark.

Your grip must have loosened because the world disintegrates after you hit your head. There’s only a faint buzz and something ice cold, something that grips you from the inside and slithers over your skin. The aftermath of a crash is so quiet for the devastation it brings.

The big one in the scary mask is the one who drags you from the wreckage, lifting you into his arms when you’re still too dazed to do more than whimper pathetically. Fear and pain and adrenaline have crumpled you up into a little ball. 

“Keep your eyes open,” he says, and maybe it’s a shout. His voice is so loud. When you open them, you nearly close your eyes instinctively when you see the gaping hole in the plane where it’s been torn apart. 

“Where are—” it hurts to speak, but you have no choice, “—the others…”

He doesn’t respond. That makes it worse. You slip your arms around his neck so he can hike you closer up his chest. Slung over his shoulder is a black duffle bag that he must have pulled from the overhead, or what’s left of them. When your head turns on a swivel, you startle at the sight of the other attendant still strapped in his seat, his neck snapped back at an odd angle. 

You turn your head away. 

“My leg hurts really bad,” you sob, fingers clutched in the sweat-matted fabric of your saviour’s shirt. 

He palms the back of your head and tips you just enough for you to meet his eyes. Something dark shutters over his face for a split second. If your eyes weren’t filled with tears, you might’ve noticed it. It passes fast though, too quick for you to register it in these conditions.

“‘Gonna be okay, sweetheart,” he says, gentler this time, rough-sounding like he’s not used to using that tone. “Gonna get us out of here and then I’ll check your leg. Just hang on to me.”

It’s hard to catalogue every moment because you drift in and out of consciousness. You feel the man shift you in his arms whenever he clambers down the side of the mountain your plane must have flown into. There’s debris from the wreckage scattered around the rocks, the other half of the plane not too far away. When your eyes blink open briefly, you see how decimated the other half is. 

There aren’t any other survivors. Only bodies. He doesn’t stop for them.

Far off from the wreckage, he sets you down onto the soft earth and rifles around in the bag he took. There’s a first aid kit with supplies that he uses to wrap your ankle, which is swollen and tender. The adrenaline crash is nearly more violent than the plane crash you just survived. It wracks through your body as the lieutenant strips your shoes and socks, gently manipulating your foot in his big hands. You notice he’s also lost the mask.

Ochre yellow and green plains spread outward from the mountains. You remember from the flight maps on board that you were somewhere over Mongolia, but the exact mountain range eludes you. This could be the Khangai or the Sayan or the Altai, but you have no way of knowing. 

“Is there a…a phone in the bag? How’s anyone gonna know we’re out here?” You sound helpless, smaller than you’ve ever sounded. 

He shakes his head. The tight ball of tension in the middle of your chest grows tighter. The thought that you’re stranded in the mountains in Mongolia, thousands of miles away from home and no way to get help is almost enough to send you into a panic attack. 

A hand cups under your chin to tilt your head up. His face up close is exquisite and haunting—weathered in the way that career military men often are, burn marks and old scars littered across the delicate skin, lips perpetually chapped, and a nose that looks like it’s been broken way more than once. You can’t look away. 

“Someone’ll be looking for us,” he says. It’s reassuring only because he says it like it’s a certain thing. “Don’t know if you saw who was on that flight roster. A lot of important men were supposed to arrive in Germany at twenty-one-hundred hours.”

You nod, tears still dribbling down your cheeks even when he swipes his thumb across to rub them away. He’s not wrong. There was a colonel on your flight after all. Dead now, hot corpse still steaming in the wreckage half a kilometre away, but he would’ve been important enough to warrant an immediate rescue. 

You go still under his touch. “You weren’t on the flight list.”

He shakes his head. “Never am.”

“But you were with them?” You remember someone on the flight addressing him by his rank. It was early on in the service, when you were still strapping down bags and doing cross-check, making sure everything was in place. But you remember, even then, seeing that there were more bodies on the plane than names on the list; you’d brought it up to the captain, but he’d brushed off your concerns. Maybe he knew the reason behind the lieutenant’s name being held off the passenger list. 

It’s all moot now anyway. 

“Can’t bring a ghost on a flight,” he says darkly, like it’s a joke. Like you’re in on it together. “Can’t put it on the roster at least. S’bad luck after all.”

It’s a monstrous joke at a time like this. Your life feels cracked in half and the scarred brute of a man that pulled you from the wreckage makes jokes like it happens to him every other day. When the sky splits later that night and pours out a lake’s worth of rain, it feels appropriate. You huddle with the lieutenant at the base of a densely branched tree and shake.

Five weeks in the mountains go by slowly. 

The shelter he builds is haphazard but meticulous, composed of various materials that Ghost scavenges from the plane wreck. A door becomes a makeshift roof. He makes you sit and wait as he collects dozens and dozens of branches, chopped down from the surrounding trees and fashioned into a lean-to. Padded with moss and leaves. 

“I can help with getting the leaves,” you protest when he catches you hobbling around and carries you back to the nest of blankets and tarps that he’d pulled from the plane. He goes back every so often to see what remains and what can be used. It’s the only time other than when he hunts that Ghost leaves you alone for even a second, preferring to be within arm’s length of you the rest of the time.

“You can help by sitting your ass down,” Ghost grunts without even looking up at you. 

You frown, fingers digging in the dirt by your feet. It’s a silly complaint but there’s never anything to do but wait. 

In the early morning hours, Ghost goes off and hunts for you, when the world is still quiet and the animals are still asleep. They’re sluggish when dawn still hasn’t peeled its pink belly off the surface of the world. Ghost comes back with a deer slung over his shoulders one week, his knife still protruding from its neck, and your stomach only twists a little bit. Not used to seeing where your meat comes from. 

There’s not much choice when you’re on your own in the elements. Every day, you expect to see a helo appear over the horizon, and you end each night crestfallen when it doesn’t. 

It’s not like you haven’t completed basic training, a prerequisite to applying as a military flight attendant, but admittedly it’s been several years and basic never taught you to hunt for your food. You did other things that seemed, at the time, inconsequential to your career path, like learning to rappel and how to wait an hour for your NCO to show up for PT in the morning. 

Even if your ankle hadn’t been badly sprained, you wouldn’t be much help. Ghost’s remarkably self-sufficient. It makes you question whether he’s done this before—whether he’s gotten stranded in the woods for weeks on end and had to learn to live hand-to-mouth. 

“Have you…where’d you learn all of this?” you ask him in the dead of night, when the wind is a shrill hiss through the trees and you cower close to him in your sleeping bag (also salvaged from the wreck, though his has a tear down the side of it).

Ghost is quiet for a moment. “All over the place. Been doing this for years, love; had to learn.”

“Anything ever like this?”

Even with the absence of his mask, it gets so dark at night that you can’t see his face. You can hear the wry smile that plays on his lips in his voice though. “I’ve had worse days.”

There’s a story there that you see like a fish darting under the water. Too quick for you to catch with your bare hands. 

You wake up with your cheek pressed against his pillowy chest most days. It’s embarrassing at first, but you learn to let it melt off you when you meet Ghost’s eyes and there’s nothing there but piercing blue. They root you in place most of the time but they never tell you to move. 

It takes a while before your ankle starts noticeably healing. In the intervening weeks, Ghost almost dotes on you, in a rough, untested sort of way. Like he doesn’t have much experiencing tending to another person besides himself for weeks on end. As the weeks drag on, it morphs into something unrecognizable, like a wounded animal healing wrong. 

It starts when Ghost insists on sharing sleeping bags. It’ll be easier for him to pull you close if something tries to drag you off in the night (and doesn’t that thought put you on the brink of a panic attack until he shushes and soothes you). It escalates when you make the mistake of tending to the meat hanging over the fire while he fiddles with the little radio he’d dragged back from the plane, and the look he gives you when you tell him that supper is ready borders on reverent. 

It gets even worse when he has you both strip your clothes off on a particularly cold and rainy night, wrapped around each other for warmth. 

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking,” you hear him rumble, big hand drawing a line down your back. You do tremble at that. “C’mon, get closer. Gonna warm you up.”

You wake up in the middle of the night when your ankle is starting to feel solid enough that you think you can manage to go off on your own to relieve yourself instead of waking Ghost up again. That’s the plan anyway. Before you’ve even managed to crawl all of six feet away from your sleeping bag, a rough hand pins you by your shoulder to the ground and the heavy, over two-hundred pound body of your companion drapes itself over you.

“Where the fuck do you think yer going?” Ghost snarls. 

For the first time in a week, there’s a moment of genuine fear. It’s like realizing for a split second that the animal you’ve let creep up behind you is a lot more dangerous than you thought it was. 

“I have to pee,” you whisper-hiss, heart still skittering in your chest.

He’s silent behind you while he mulls that thought over; you think maybe he’s still half-asleep, his body acting on instinct before his brain’s ready to take over. The tension only releases you when he finally picks himself up off you, but it’s immediately made worse when he insists on accompanying you into the woods. 

He doesn’t even turn around while you pull your underwear down and squat. Ghost’s eyes are bright in the dark, trained on you like it’s the thing that gives him purpose. 

Things change in the woods. There are people who are only one bad thing away from reverting to their neolithic mind; as the weeks go on, you see the way his eyes change when they fall on you, no longer detached but gluttonous. 

There’s a brown bear that slouches past your camp one day, sniffing around only because it’s curious, and Ghost all but completely obstructs your vision with how he shoves you behind him. He puffs up big when the bear gets too close, keeping you hidden until it snorts and ambles off, not interested in the pair of you. 

Do animals act like this? He curls you around him in sleep, legs tangled together. When you soak in the lake under the glare of the sun, he slips into the water and comes up behind you until his hands close around your waist and he tugs you closer to the edge, away from the deeper parts. It’s testament to how long you’ve been out on your own that you’re no longer unaccustomed to the feel of his hands on your bare flesh. 

His lips on your bare shoulder are a little less commonplace, but you only shiver and stare out at the mountains. 

Then one day, you look up into the sky away from the sun and there it is, a black dot on the horizon at first. You scream for Ghost, who’s skinning a fish on a damp log near you and start waving your arms wildly in the air, unbridled joy streaming out of you. He’s quick to pull his mask on when the chopper lands a few hundred yards away and two similarly dressed soldiers spill out. 

You ignore the stiffness in his body as he sits beside you in the chopper, pinning you against the side. Ignore the way he answers for you when the men start asking questions. 

What does it mean to come back worse?

“Wha’s that, love?”

“Trauma bonding,” you repeat, swallowing nervously. It’s months later, but the weeks on the mountain and the forest still haunt you. The real world seems flimsier now that you’re back in it, less real somehow. Here, no one hunts for their food. “The therapist said that we trauma bonded. And—and that’s why you won’t—”

Here’s where the words can’t seem to come out on their own. 

He sleeps in your bed these days—can’t stand to be more than a room away from you at any given time. Follows you into the bathroom when you need to clean up at the end of the day, crowding you into your too-small shower. The you from a month ago wouldn’t have been able to imagine inviting a six-foot-four soldier into your apartment, but—and here’s where your brain scrambles a bit to catch up—you didn’t invite him in. 

He lifts a brow. The mask comes off in your apartment, so you’re able to see the way his lips slip into something unimpressed. “Why I won’t what?”

You swallow. “You know. Leave.”

“Do you want me to leave, love?” 

That’s the crux of it. The heart of it. You really don’t. In the dark sometimes, if the wind rustles outside your window just right, shrill like those weeks in the forest and out on the open plains, your heart pounds in your chest until it grows so tight that you think it’ll just stop. 

“No,” you whisper in response to his question.

Most nights, you wake up drenched in sweat, still half in a dream where you turn your head and the other flight attendant is staring back at you with wide, empty eyes. Blood dribbling down from his head. Where a plane is ripped in half, grey metal strewn across a mountain and the valley below is a dark pit where you go to die. 

Then you roll over in your bed and Ghost is there, already awake and cupping a wide hand over your cheek, laying kiss after kiss across your face. Murmuring that it’ll be alright, that you’re safe. That he’s got you. 

His breath is hot on your skin.

You let him roll you over and spread your legs when he says those things. Let him be a bit filthy after being so kind to you in the woods. 

He spits on your pussy and rubs it in with a coarse thumb, chuckling when you yelp all breathlessly and squirm away. Sometimes when you fuck, he gets rough with you and slaps it, but he’s always tender with you after a nightmare, content to sooth you with his mouth on your pussy until you’re close to hyperventilating. 

“S’alright, sweetheart,” Ghost breathes, spearing you on his turgid length, barrel chest heaving when he finally crams it all in. Always a bit too big for you to take without crying. “I got you, I’ve got you. Not gonna let anything happen to you.”

It’s a new development, but it feels older than time. You could’ve let it happen in the woods and you might have, if no one had ever come. 

“Look at me, sweet girl,” he tuts when you turn your head to the side, holding your face in one hand until you have no choice but to stare at the bulk of him straining over you. He has shoulders like mountains that roll when he pushes into you. “Didn’t I say I’d take care of you?”

You don’t want to acknowledge what this is: that you found something in the woods and it followed you home.

[falling-endlessly]

Boomerang (part 2)

Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader

Summary: After being faced with a dilemma, Vox tries a new approach to get you back. All hell breaks loose.

<—Part 1 Chapter Index Part 3—>

"You're shitting me right now," Velvette's eye twitched as she stared at the snoring TV demon sprawled across your bed. "For fuck's sake, what am I? A babysitter?"

"At least he's knocked out," you crossed your arms, raising a brow. "You won't have to listen him try and tell you that he lost his hat, only to realize it was on his head the whole time, and then start crying because he forgot he owned such a cool hat."

Velvette smacked her forehead audibly, dragging the hand down her face. "Jesus Christ," she hissed under her breath, before glaring at you in irritation. "You know, none of this would have happened if you hadn't left, right?"

"Vel," you said tiredly, rubbing your temples.

"Do you know how fucking annoying it is to hear him bitch all goddamn day about you?" She growled, waving her hands around aggressively. "I'm this close," she held her fingers a millimeter apart. "To pouring water all over his monitors. This. Close."

"Vel—"

"And then there's Valentino, who's also in a fucking mood. You know what? Forget about the water. I'm going to shoot both of them in the—"

"Velvette!" You raised your voice, making her grit her teeth. "I'm not coming back. He made his choice," you glanced at the demon in question, currently drooling all over your pillow. "It's not my problem anymore."

"Is that what you think?" She snapped, crossing her arms. "That you can just, what, leave your shit in a mess and walk out? Sorry to burst your bubble bitch, but you aren't fucking Cinderella. Things aren't just going to magically work out if you hide from them."

"I'm not hiding—"

"Bullshit!" She growled.

Your jaw set tightly as you both stood in a tense silence, glaring at each other.

After a few seconds, you sighed, shaking your head. "He already knows what he has to do if he wants to fix this," you said firmly. "I'm not going to change my mind."

Velvette pressed her lips together, before letting out an irritated breath. "Always fucking cleaning up everyone else's messes," she muttered angrily under her breath as she roughly hoisted Vox's limp body over her shoulder. "I'm going to kill him. Pathetic piece of shit—keep up a good image my ass."

She was almost out of the window when you called out, "Vel."

Velvette turned to give you an annoyed what now look over her shoulder, scowling impatiently.

"Thanks," you said sincerely.

She didn't answer you, instead turning and vaulting herself out of the window, disappearing from sight.

****

Vox woke up feeling like his screen was being forcibly bent in half. "What the ungodly fuck?" he whimpered, grabbing fistfuls of his sweaty bed sheets as he tried to control his breathing.

His stomach roiled ominously, making him gag. "Nope, nope. Not here," he stumbled out of bed, staggering to his attached bathroom like a desperate zombie and nearly running face first into the wall.

Vox dropped to his knees, flipping open the toilet lid and shooting out an unholy amount of chunks.

"What the—ugh, holy shit!" Velvette coughed from the doorway, shielding her face. "God, that smells worse than that skit when Angel got shat on."

Fuck you, he wanted to say. What the fuck are you doing in my bathroom?

But instead what came out was: "FUghhhuckk!"

Velvette watched him, unimpressed and disgusted. "You're an idiot."

"Not. Helping." Vox growled miserably, screen flickering as he gripped the edges of the toilet bowl.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Velvette jeered unsympathetically. "Who dragged your pathetic drunk ass back here last night? Oh, that's right!" She snapped her fingers in a mock eureka! moment. "I did. How about a little gratitude?"

Vox lifted a weak, trembling hand and flipped her off.

Velvette rolled her eyes. "Ungrateful bitch," she muttered under her breath.

Vox heaved loudly into the toilet, making her cringe. Gross. She grabbed the hand towel off of the rack, before throwing it at his head. It landed on the top of his monitor, hanging off the corner, before he grabbed it and sluggishly wiped his mouth. "I th-think I'm sh-short circuiting," he groaned, gripping his head in pain.

"You'll be fine," Velvette closed her eyes in frustration, but internally her thoughts took a different turn. She hadn't seen Vox this fucked up in ages. Val maybe. But not Vox. He cared way too much about his public image. This erratic behavior was very, very unlike him, and it was starting to become...concerning.

"What happened?" Vox coughed, leaning his monitor weakly against his forearms. The last thing he remembered was the fight with Val, and then—a garden...? The hell?

"Well, apparently, your dumbass thought it was a good idea to pay Y/n a visit—" Vox froze at the sound of your name "—to personally deliver her flowers at three in the morning. Then you cried about your stupid hat, passed out in her room, and she called me to pick you up like an incompetent child. The end."

By the end of her rant, Vox's expression looked even more pained, if that was even possible. "Shitttt," he moaned, curling in on himself. "Fuck. Shit. Fuck."

He looked so pathetic and distraught that Velvette almost felt bad for him. Almost.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were Vox's labored breaths and Velvette's judgmental stare. The silence was starting to border on stifling when Vox finally broke it.

"Did she like it?" He asked quietly.

"What?" Velvette scowled, crossing her arms.

"The roses," he continued, making her raise a brow. So he did remember buying the flowers then, she never told him what kind they were. "Did she like them?"

She was about to dismiss it when a sudden memory struck her, making her pause. "She kept them. In a vase on her night stand."

Vox slowly lifted his head, a warmth (not bile this time) blooming in his chest. You kept them. Even though he'd made a fool out of himself and probably ruined your night. And you didn't kick him out, either.

You still care, he realized, with a fragile, growing hope.

And that meant—he had a chance. Not baseless hope this time, an actual, legitimate chance to win you back. A slow, goofy grin started to climb his face.

"What—what the fuck? What's with the idiotic look on your face?" Velvette cringed away, disturbed. Then realization hit her as her eyes rolled skyward. "You're going to do something incredibly stupid, aren't you?"

"Maybe," he grinned, before another bout of nausea hit him, making him retch violently into the bowl.

"Idiot," Velvette reiterated.

****

"Oh, hell no," you heard Vaggie say, making you glance up. The moth demon looked incredibly hostile, spear pointed at whoever was at the door.

Concerned, you lifted from the lounge chair you were seated in, taking a few steps towards them, only for a firm hand to land on your shoulder.

"Toots," Angel Dust laughed nervously, moving to block the scene with his body. "Maybe you should let the others sort this one out, yeah?"

"Angel, I know I don't look like much, but I'm an overlord," you raised a brow, peeling his hand off of your shoulder with ease. "I can probably help."

"Shit! Wait, you're not going to like this," Angel groaned under his breath, but it was too late. You'd already seen him.

Vox caught your eye, a charming smile quirking his mouth. "Hey, doll."

Your fists curled by your sides, eyes flashing dangerously as you started to dematerialize, glowing green code dancing along your skin. You glitched out, growing substantially in stature as your mouth distended horrifically.

"Ohhh shit," Angel cursed, taking cover behind the bar counter.

"What's wrong?" Charlie's confused voice came from the stairwell, only to gasp at your demonic form, glitching horribly as your voice raged like gravelly static. It almost sounded like there was another, deeper voice speaking in tandem with yours.

"Woah!" She bolted to the scene, catching sight of a pale Vox, shocked Vaggie, and gaping Niffty. Husk, Pentious and Angel had done the smart thing and taken cover behind the bar.

"Y/n," she smiled placatingly, raising her hands in a show of non-aggression. "What's going on?"

"Gonna kill him," you spat, making everyone wince. "Can't have one goddamn moment to myself without this fucker appearing like a fucking genital wart—"

 "Hey," Vox laughed nervously. "I'm not here for any of that, I promise. Just—sweetheart—could you maybe not hover over me like that—"

"O-kay Y/n," Charlie stepped between the two of you. "Maybe just calm down, take a few deep breaths, and let's hear him out."

"Charlie, he blew up the hotel two days ago," Vaggie hissed through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, well, so did Pentious," Charlie raised a brow, wincing at said demon's faint protest.

"Pentious blew a hole in the wall," Vaggie argued. "This guy blew up half of the building!"

"Charlie!" Angel yelled, voice strained. "Do something before we all die!"

"Alastor's going to kill him," Niffty said cheerfully.

"I'll kill him first."

"Guys—" Charlie pleaded.

"I'm here for redemption!" Vox's voice cut through the air, making everyone freeze. It even shocked you out of your demonic form, the glowing code disappearing as you shrunk to normal proportions.

"You what?" you snapped.

"I want to...make things right," he glanced at you, making you grit your teeth and turn away. "I'm not here to cause trouble I swear—"

The door slammed in his face, cutting him off.

"Charlie," Alastor grinned, finally pulled from wherever the hell he'd fucked off to in his free time. "Tell me you're not thinking of letting this mongrel stay, are you?"

"What is this?" Vaggie hissed, dropping her head in her hands. "Overlord central?"

Charlie looked down, pursing her lips. "Well, it would be wrong of us to refuse anyone. It is open to everyone, after all."

"Think of Y/n!" Alastor said desperately, smile twitching as he clasped his hands on your shoulders, holding you out like some sort of charity case. You gave him an unimpressed look. "It's obvious he's only here to harass her!"

"And what were you here for again?" Charlie raised a brow. "To see demons trip and tumble down into the fiery pit of failure," she deepened her voice to imitate his, making him let out a screech of radio feedback.

"Look, I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself," you said, disgruntled as you shrugged off Alastor's uncomfortably tightening grip. "Charlie, do what you want. But I can't promise I won't kill him."

You were starting to accept the fact that there was nowhere in hell you could possibly go to escape your ex if he didn't wish it. That didn’t mean you wouldn’t put up a fight, though.

"Oh fuck," Angel dragged a hand down in face. He already knew what Charlie was going to decide. "Shoulda fuckin' stayed over with Cherri."

Charlie took a deep breath, and despite everyone's silent pleas, reached for the door handle and twisted it open. Vox perked up, turning towards her attentively.

"Welcome to Hazbin Hotel!" She attempted an awkward, welcoming smile.

****

<—Part 1 Chapter Index Part 3—>

Taglist: @pooplyface1423 @spookysisters @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @neito327 @hxzbinwrites @coleisyn @bababahannah

[lordprettyflackotara]

danger || masky & eyeless jack

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ tw: threesome! congrats you take a trip to paris! exhibitionism, breeding, slight size kink, rough sex, degrading, face fucking

Masky did not consider himself a selfish man.

If anything he thought of himself to be reasonable.

So when it came to meeting you by mistake, a stereotypical robbery he was performing going wrong, he didn’t consider himself selfish for not killing you.

If anyone knew the proxies golden rule of never being able to be traced it was him. But maybe he was selfish when it came to you. You were a little small town receptionist in a town he frequented. Not necessarily for missions, but he passed through frequently. If anyone knew of your existence you’d be terminated on the spot. You knew Masky lived a fast and unpredictable life, but he made sure to keep you in the shadows as to why or how. He figured you just accepted that he was in a gang or the mafia or something. It would be the most logical assumption, especially with the mask glued to his face and off putting name. Still though, Masky found himself going to see you every chance he got. As time went on he began accepting and asking for more solo missions, using the extra tasks as an excuse to see you.

He thought he had done a damn good job of keeping you safe from his terrifying life, until you had followed him into the forest as he trudged home.

It was nothing but morbid curiosity that led you to nip at Masky’s heels as you followed him. You were surprised he hadn’t heard you, your lover stopping at the forest line. Your eyes widened at the sight of a large seemingly unoccupied mansion that sat in the middle of a well trimmed field. Many questions ran through your mind, the most important one being: why would Masky willingly live here? It wasn’t necessarily out of character but it wasn’t the most flattering choice. Your boyfriend was ominous and mysterious, purposefully keeping you in the dark about his life. At first it was intriguing, but the longer he kept the affair going, the more curious you became. Despite the relationship revolving around sex, you wanted to discuss taking things to the next level. Maybe instead of raw dogging in your car you could try a movie instead. You couldn’t think of a better way than showing him you were serious by showing your dedication.

Most people wouldn’t follow their possible mafia boyfriend into a patch of secluded woods, but nevertheless you did so. You thought maybe he realized you were there, inhaling his cigarette as he stood at the forest line. “Hey there,” You greeted excitedly. Masky jumped at the sound of your voice, realizing he was too lost in his own thoughts to hear you follow him. “Princess? What the fuck are you doing here?” He snapped, becoming increasingly panicked. There were many horrific scenarios that could occur with you being here. It was a miracle The Rake hadn’t heard your heart beating or smelled you. The next terrifying scenario was Smile Dog smelling you, but he remembered Jeff took him and Nina on a late night killing spree. They called themselves ‘the triple threat’, which until now Masky thought was incredibly stupid. He now was suddenly thankful for Jeff and his inflated ego.

Next was The Operator, who could most likely read your thoughts. If he suspected an unwelcome guest was on the property he would know to search. Otherwise unless he physically ran into you, Masky doubted that would be a problem. His eyes widened as he realized the last scenario, was undoubtedly the most realistic and the least preventable. “I followed you. I think it’s time to take things to the next level and-” You began, Masky roughly grabbing your arm and cutting you off. He yanked you into the clearing, bee lining straight for the house. “Ow! Masky what the hell?!” You hissed, The brunette angrily threw his cigarette on the lawn, stomping on it and trudging closer to the mansion. You began to try to pull away when he didn’t answer, this only angering him further. In a fit of rage he turned around, glaring down at you. “Do you have any idea what kind of danger you’re in by being here?” He seethed.

“Relax no one knows i’m here, it’s not like they can smell me,” You argued. Masky pulled you further, clenching his jaw. “Actually princess, they can,” He barked. He threw open the back kitchen door, looking around before dragging you inside. “You need to stay quiet, just stay behind me,” Masky whispered. He loosened his grip on your arm, slithering it down to your hand. You intertwined your fingers with his, allowing him to lead you further into the unsettling mansion. Masky peaked around the corner, Ben passed out on the living room couch with an open bag of doritos on his chest. “Who is that-” You began to whisper, Masky hissing at you to shush. You zipped your lips, trailing behind him as he led you up the stairs. Masky was acutely aware of how intense the situation was, his heart racing. Any creep could come home at any time, which would result in your untimely demise. You followed him down the seemingly endless hallway, looking around and noting the countless doors that lined each wall.

Masky yanked open his bedroom door, throwing you inside and shutting it quickly. He fiddled with the lock, dead bolting it before turning to you. “You need to listen to me very carefully, you are in grave danger being here,” Masky said as calmly as he could muster. You sarcastically chuckled, crossing your arms. “Oh cmon, what could your mafia friends possibly do to me?” You asked naively. Masky turned on his bedside lamp, illuminating the serious expression on his face as he took off his mask. “I am not in the goddamn mafia. I live amongst immortal serial killers that would tear your organs out if they knew you were here,” He rambled. He ran his fingers through his hair, his brain racking itself for a solution. “Masky if you don’t want us to be anything more than fuck buddies just say so don’t make up some elaborate lie,” You argued flatly. Masky turned to you, gripping your forearms. “Elaborate lie??? Are you fucking listening to me?” He hissed.

It was a loud knock on Masky’s door that interrupted your argument, the two of you looking over at the door in horror. “You weren’t lying were you?” You whispered. If Masky didn’t know who was at the door he would’ve rolled his eyes. “No I wasn’t now hide,” He whispered aggressively. You threw yourself around his bed, crawling underneath it. Dust buddies danced around your body as you tried to hold your breath, Masky opening the door. He wasn’t surprised to see Eyeless Jack standing outside. His mask hid his facial expression, making his presence ominous. “EJ!” Masky greeted, trying to not visibly sweat bullets. Jack didn’t move, standing completely still. “Masky,” He replied flatly. You itched your nose, the dust buddies violating your nostrils as you hid under the bed. You couldn’t see the horrific monster that was Eyeless Jack, hiding under the bed only allowing you to see his large boots. “What uh, what brings you here?” Masky asked as calmly as possible. Jack tilted his head to the side, his ears twitching. “I think we both know why i’m here Masky,” He said coldly.

Masky threw his hands up sarcastically, leaning on the bedroom door. “No not at all would you like to elaborate?” Masky asked. You cringed as you tried to itch your nose, the dust causing you to awkwardly try to put your sleeve over your face. It was then you couldn’t hold it back anymore. You sneezed, Masky trying his hardest not to turn around. “Did your bed just sneeze?” Jack asked. Masky grabbed Jack by his sleeve, dragging him inside of his bedroom. He shut the door. You awkwardly took it as you cue to crawl out from under the bed, meeting the assertive gazes of Jack and Masky. Jack extended his hand for you to take, helping you rise to your feet. You stared up at him in awe, visibly gawking at his overbearing height. “Do I want to ask?” Jack questioned. Masky awkwardly shuffled his weight on each leg. “Jack this is my girlfriend….” Masky said, his voice trailing off. With wide eyes you waved, Jack’s eye sockets narrowing under his mask.

“Bringing another human here with a loud ass heartbeat like that wasn’t the brightest idea,” Jack said. Masky ran his fingers through his hair anxiously, before digging in his pockets for a cigarette. “He can hear my heartbeat?” You whispered to Masky, who side eyed you before returning his attention to Jack. He sighed, finally finding a cigarette in his pocket. “Jack you do so much for me I need you to do me one final solid and help me transport her out of here alive,” Masky said. You looked back and forth between the two.

“Uh Mask that sounds just a little bit traffick-y if you know what I mean-”

The death glare he delivered demanded that you be quiet, but the two of you were awaiting Jack’s response. “What’s in it for me?” The demon asked, his large hands leaving his hoodie pockets. You couldn’t help but notice the dark ash color that seemed to be his skin tone, your heart pounding even faster. “Whatever you want Jack, seriously, i’m in your debt,” Masky rambled. Being in debt and/or owing a favor to anyone in the mansion was practically a death sentence, but he’d do anything for you. Jack looked over at you, causing you to stand more awkwardly. His gaze went up and down, scanning your body. Masky immediately picked up on what he was doing, clenching his jaw. “Nuh uh no way EJ, burn in hell,” He growled. He fumbled to find a lighter, finally locating one in his coat. “My seasonal heat is only a few days away. If I release appropriate steam beforehand perhaps I won’t accidentally terrorize Jane this year,” Jack fully proposed. Your mind swirled at the phrase ‘heat’, instantly trying to dissect the meaning. “So what? You want a threesome?” Masky questioned through gritted teeth. Jack sighed, watching the proxy scramble to light his cigarette. “Of course not, i’d expect you to watch. I don’t think you could keep up with my pacing,” Jack denied.

The realization of what was happening made your eyes widen, a chill running down your spine as you watched the two bicker. You loved Masky endlessly, but the sight of a giant demon requesting to have sex with you so formally was turning you on. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, you found yourself terrified but also aroused as to what such an unpredictable monster could do to you. Masky was rambling at this point, before Jack stopped him.

“She wants me.”

“What? EJ you’ve lost your goddamn mind-”

“I can smell her.”

The silence in the room was heavy as Masky’s gaze fell on you. “Really princess?” He asked. You watched him inhale his cigarette like he always did, something different crossing his eyes. Nodding, Masky then sighed. “Alright fine, whatever it takes to keep her alive. I’ll be in the corner watching though. Gotta make sure you won’t eat her,” Masky agreed. You watched him grab a wooden chair, pulling it and sitting on it in the corner of the room. His legs were spread as he slid his mask back on, hiding his facial expression as he watched you face Jack. “Uh hi,” You greeted awkwardly. Jack had a sinister grin curling up his lips under his mask as he looked down at you. “I’m not much of a talker, just let me know if things are too much for you, alright?” The demon asked. You nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. Jack crawled on top of you, guiding you to lay on your back. Anxiously you closed your eyes, feeling him lift his mask to kiss your neck. He could feel the blood pumping through your veins, with each kiss, his own heart beginning to race.

Jack couldn’t recall the last time he had a mate during his heats and he planned on taking full advantage of the situation. And with you being a small human girl, he knew his plans would go very smoothly. It was easy to please a woman, he thought. He sucked and nipped at your skin, his razor sharp teeth grazing your skin. “If I see blood i’ll have your head EJ,” Masky interrupted, his voice cold and dripping with venom. Jack brought his large hands to your breast, ignoring Masky’s comment. He could smell your arousal becoming more apparent, the demon almost sure your panties were soaked by now. He palmed at your nipples through your shirt, quite frankly finding himself becoming impatient. Unfortunately though due to the size difference you’d need prep work. It was taking Jack everything in him to not bend you over in front of the proxy and fuck you senseless. He kissed down your stomach, relishing in the sight of your hips bucking upwards eagerly. “You can be loud you know, won’t bother me at all,” Jack hummed. You were sure your face was red, the embarrassment of his words and Masky’s endless stare humiliating you. “R-Right of course,” You swallowed, the demon’s long fingers looping through the hoops of your jeans.

In a swift motion he pulled them down, exposing your lacey pink panties. “How cute is this, did you wear these just for Masky?” Jack asked, his mischievous smile allowing you to see his rows of razor sharp teeth. You babbled an agreement, your hips bucking upwards with desperation. Goosebumps trailed across your skin as he began to pull your panties downwards with his teeth, the pointy ends tearing at the fabric. By the time it reached your ankles it was a pile of scraps, one Jack threw at Masky before nuzzling back in between your thighs. He ran two fingers up and down your slick, collecting your arousal before shoving it back inside of you. Jack’s fingers were much longer than your lovers, your back arching off of the bed once he curled them. “There we go, why don’t you relax and loosen up for me?” Jack purred. The feeling of your walls clinging to his digits were only making his cock harder, your thighs attempting to close as Jack unexpectedly began to ruthlessly finger fuck you. He didn’t bother going slow, knowing you were beyond eager to have him ruin you as a show for your pretty human boyfriend. Masky had already finished his first cigarette, going for a second one as his cock grew harder in his jeans. His pride refused to let him admit seeing you melt for a demon aroused him.

His fingers abused your g spot, his other large hand prying your thighs open and forcing you to take what he was giving you. You were seeing stars, your sinful moans surely loud enough for the mansions other residents to hear. “Awe, doesn’t that feel good human? So impossibly good?” Jack chuckled darkly, watching your thighs begin to tremble. You grabbed onto his wrist in an attempt to slow him down, unable to control your body from chasing its first orgasm. “Wow would you look at that. About to cum already? That must be some sort of world record, don’t you agree Masky?” Jack asked sarcastically, grinning as he pinned one of your thighs down onto the bed. Masky clenched his jaw, inhaling his cigarette as reached your first climax. Jack’s motions were not only rough but ruthless, finger fucking you through your orgasm as your vision turned white. You were palming at the sheets, Jack quick to rearrange you once you had rode out your high. You could barely process it as Jack put you on all fours, grabbing your ass and guiding it against his cock. Masky narrowed his eyes as you eagerly tried to wiggle your ass against Jack, desperate for him to get on with it.

Jack gripped at the mounds of your ass, spreading them open and examining your holes. “You sure did pick a pretty one Masky,” He complimented, your face flushing as you heard him unzip his pants. The demon teased you with the tip of his cock, your body stiffening. You had never seen nevertheless felt such a large cock, your anxiety rising as he collected your slick. “Arch your back human, give Masky a proper show,” Jack encouraged, pushing himself inside of you. Surprisingly it didn’t take long for the impossible stretch to become feasible, your walls milking Jack’s cock as he sank deeper into you. Along with this satisfaction came your moans, the demons name finally falling off of your tongue. The sound of that pushed Masky to the limit, the proxy flicking his cigarette to the side and rising from his chair. Angrily he grabbed a fistful of your hair, unzipping his jeans. “This wasn’t apart of the agreement,” Jack hummed, his cock buried inside of your cunt. He hadn’t moved yet, curious to see what the proxy would do. “I don’t give a shit. No girl of mine is gonna be moaning your name,” Masky huffed, shoving down his jeans and boxers.

The sight of your aching boyfriend’s cock made you roll out your tongue, your mouth practically watering at the sight of it. Masky was quick to stuff your mouth with his shaft, causing you to choke as he pushed you down further onto him. Jack took this as his cue to begin fucking you, his slender fingers digging into your ass as he snapped his hips into yours. You braced yourself as best as you could, Masky groaning as he shoved himself down your throat. “Dirty fuckin whore, gettin’ off to me and a demon ruining you? Pathetic,” Masky snarled. It infuriated him to see you enjoying Jack’s cock as much as you were, your body shaking with ecstasy as you were squished between both men. But something about the humiliation of seeing you enjoy it so much did something for the proxy, whether or not he wanted to admit it. He shoved himself further down your throat, watching you gag on his cock. Saliva dripped down the sides of your mouth, tears flooding your waterline. “You picked a fine mate. Is very easy to breed it seems,” Jack added, noting your walls fluttering around him as he spoke the statement. “Fuckin slut,” Masky growled, yanking forcefully at your hair and making you gag on his cock. Your moans were nothing but extra vibrations for Masky to enjoy, your ability to breathe delightfully restricted in the best way.

Jack’s thrust were merciless, the urge to breed you forever clouding his mind as he focused on the task at hand. Masky wanted nothing more than to see you suffer for his own pleasure, face fucking you as roughly as he possibly could. “You’re such a fuckin slut you’re gonna let a demon cum in you? Really? Stupid bitch,” Masky rambled, feeling his own high coming on. Jack’s fingers were leaving indented bruises on your ass, his cock abusing your cervix with each thrust as he pushed you further and further towards your boyfriend’s cock. You were on a mind numbing high, your body convulsing as you unexpectedly came again. You were too dazed to think, allowing your body to go slack and expecting both men to keep you upright. It wasn’t long before both men filled both of your holes. “Dont swallow my cum slut, stick out your tongue,” Masky barked. You did as instructed, smudged mascara and lipstick down your face. You could feel Jack’s warm cum fill up your womb, so much so extra semen was dripping down your cunt. The demon rounded the bed, joining Masky’s side as they stared at you. You were humiliated as their cum dropped down your tongue and abused cunt.

“What a filthy fuckin cum dump.”

“You seem to be right on that.”

“What’d you say we fill her up some more? She still has another hole to fill after all.”

[elixirfromthestars]

Kiss It All Better

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: Your boyfriend Peter hasn't contacted you in days, but one stormy night in a dark alley would change that.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning(s): none really / fluff / sprinkles of angst / if you squint you could maybe see some hurt + comfort

requested by anonymous

a/n: Another bingo request down!! I promise I am doing my best to get through these. As always I appreciate everyone's patience and support!! ❤️ Thank you for reading!! Feedback is always appreciated!! ❤️❤️

birthday bingo masterlist ♡ // main masterlist ♡

A flash of white light illuminates the narrow alleyway you are walking through. A loud rumble follows, practically shaking the concrete beneath your feet. The storm would start any second now and you would most likely get caught in it if you didn’t make it home soon. Your pace quickens as you begin to make haste. 

Getting caught in the rain would only worsen your mood. 

Your footsteps echo and bounce off the alley walls. The wet concrete smell mingles with something sour making your nose scrunch up. You hold the strap of your bag tight against your chest, a small comfort in the night. The dark clouds in the sky hide the moon from your view, causing only a few street lights to vaguely cascade their glow onto your path. The shadows cling to the brick walls around you making your surroundings more ominous than they really were. 

This was a bad idea. You know this—anyone would know this—it was common sense. You shouldn’t be walking down a New York alleyway alone at midnight. However, you had little to no choice with no cabs in sight and no rideshare vehicles available. You’d have to make the journey on foot if you wanted to make it home before the storm worsened. 

Your apartment was only a few blocks away from your job, and you already had an established route you took back and forth. It was a longer route—more scenic—and on nicer days you enjoyed strolling along it accompanied by your favorite tunes. However, on nights like this when the sky decides to descend a tempest upon the earth—you prefer to take a risk with this shortcut.

A few droplets falling on your head turn into streaks and then a pour—catching you off guard. You didn’t think the ferocity of the water would pick up so quickly. You hurried over to take refuge underneath the slight coverage of the fire escapes lining the brick wall to your right. The cold metal frame above did little to shield you as droplets fell from it onto your head. Nevertheless, this would have to do until you could determine your next move. 

You could run the rest of the way home and hope you didn’t slip in the rain—or you could give the rain a few minutes to die down and then run—the idea of waiting brought an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You dreaded having to be out here longer than you needed to be. 

Would it really be safer to run though?

As much as you didn’t want to wait you decided it would be better than falling face-first into a grimy puddle. You shifted on your feet, the soles of your shoes squeaking against the pavement, your body shivering as the water soaked through your thin jacket. Each second seemingly stretches out endlessly as you watch the rain crash and splatter against the ground. 

You took out your phone to check the weather app. Your hand resting perpendicular to your forehead as a makeshift shield to protect your phone from the rain. Droplets still fell on your phone anyway and with the way the water clung to your hair and eyelashes—your vision was more than obstructed. 

So much so that you didn’t notice when a shadow loomed over you. 

“Hey beautiful,” a voice directly next to your left spoke, startling you. A gasp left your lips as fast as your heart sped up. You jump back from the source of the voice, creating as much distance as you can without slipping into the full force of the storm. You turn to see who it belongs to, your phone tightly gripped in your hand. 

When your eyes met the white ones on the red mask, your body immediately relaxed from its frozen state. A breath of relief escaping you that sounded more like a choked laugh. 

“Baby, I swear I didn’t mean to scare you!” Peter sounded apologetic while laughing all the same at your reaction. He was hanging upside down by a thick string of web when he lowered down to be at eye level with you. Small streams of water cascade down his superhero suit, pooling at your feet. 

You scoff still a little shaken, “You thought sneaking up on me wasn’t going to scare me?” You put your phone back in the pocket of your jacket, hand on your hip as you try to follow your boyfriend’s logic.

You can’t see Peter’s face, but you know him well enough to know the awkward boyish grin he must be dawning under that mask. “Well…I didn’t think it would scare you that much…” his tone was sheepish and yet just as you assumed, you could see the outline of his smile through the mask.

You look at him shaking your head, playfully rolling your eyes. Whatever annoyance you felt melted away at his presence. Your heart now beating at its normal rhythm. However, his presence also reminded you of his absence this week. Peter hadn’t contacted you in days, and while you were doing your best to be understanding, it still hurt. 

“Nice of you to drop by. Haven’t spoken to you in like,” you count the days on your hand to emphasize the number,“five days. Seems you forgot all about me,” you cross your arms, a resentful look overtaking your features.  

Peter scratches the back of his neck, stumbling over his words. He almost loses balance, his left hand quickly returning to where it was before, holding onto the web with both hands. You frown, unsure as to why he needs both hands to keep steady. Worry overcomes you when the thought of him being in a fight before he caught you here crosses your mind. 

“About that. . . I’m really sorry, Y/n. I promise I didn’t mean to disappear like that without warning. The city’s been hectic all week! Criminals are popping up left and right and I’ve been tracking down this mobster ring—it’s been too much to handle. I couldn’t keep up. And I–” he stops himself to get a good look at you, “I’ve missed you so much,” Peter finishes off his remorseful rambling with a sincere statement. 

He has missed you. More than you’ll ever know. He’s barely eaten, slept, or cared for himself. Neglecting his own needs to make sure the city was safe. Because to him as long as the city was safe so were you—and that meant the world to him. Yet, in keeping his attention on the city he lost sight of where he wanted to be the most—with you. 

The sentiment was mutual. While the city needed Spiderman, you needed Peter. 

Even though he does his best to hide it, you pick up the tiredness in his voice. The way even upside down you can see how his shoulders sag, his overall posture droopy. You notice the way he slowly sways where he hangs, not making much effort to stay in place. You assume he’s done little to take care of himself these past few days. That combined with potentially getting into some sort of tussle moments before arriving—it’s no wonder he struggled earlier to keep his balance with one arm. 

Your gaze softens, stepping closer to him, the rain long forgotten. “ I get it, Peter. I do. I’ve missed you too. You know I’ll never hold being Spiderman against you, but you need to talk to me. Keep me in the loop. Let me know you're okay. I was upset you hadn’t contacted me, but more than anything I was worried. I was afraid something had happened to you,” you say your voice laced with concern. In his absence, you constantly checked news channels to make sure no one had reported Spiderman getting severely injured or worse. 

You avoided all week thinking about the worst-case scenarios.  

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I promise never to do it again. I know I have to get better at communicating. I just don’t like worrying you. All week I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I was on my way to your place when I saw you here in the rain. You really shouldn’t be walking alone at this hour,” Peter’s tone goes from repentant to firm by the end. Hating the thought of you putting yourself in a risky situation. 

You gave him a look as if to say now is not the time to be scolding me. He sighs, reluctantly conceding in hopes of bringing this conversation up at a later time. Right now he wants to do anything to make it up to you. Anything that could sweeten up his apology. 

“I know I messed up, but I think I know something that could make this all better,” he says an idea popping into his head. 

“What?”

“How about a kiss?”

You laugh softly at his suggestion, not being able to stay mad at him for long.“I think that could help. Although, I’ve never kissed someone while they were upside down before,” you mention with amusement. Tilting your head to look at him sideways. You wonder how he’s able to stay like that for so long without getting dizzy.

“Well now’s your chance, baby. I’ll need a little help with the mask though,” he says as you close the distance between you. You happily oblige his request, lowering the mask off of his face. A fond smile appears on your face when your eyes meet his brown ones. The warmth and color inviting you in like a hot cup of coffee—a solace you sought in the cold rain. They pull you in until your lips meet his, your hands holding his face gently.

You both melt into the kiss. Rain droplets joining in, but neither of you mind. In this moment it's solely you two and the feelings for one another catching up after days of longing. How either of you could have gone so long without this—without each other—neither of you knew. 

Maybe five days isn’t long for others, but because Peter risks his life on a daily basis, every moment spent with him means the world to you. 

You pull away to catch your breath, “I think that definitely helped,” you say softly. Peter beams at you, swinging his body so that in a swift motion he’s gone from his upside-down position to upright—standing before you. He reaches out and pulls you into a tight embrace. Holding you close and planting a tender kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I love you so much. I promise to fully make it up to you,” he says in a loving tone. You shake your head lightly, “Peter, having you here is enough. You really don’t have to–” he doesn’t let you finish. “Maybe I don’t have to, but I want to. Let’s get you home and into some dry clothes. I’m staying with you tonight. I want to hold you all night and in the morning I’ll make you breakfast in bed,” he proposes in soft whispers as his forehead rests against yours. 

“You know I can’t say no to that.”

“Good. I wasn’t going to take no for an answer anyway.” 

Your laughter mixes with his own at his playful tone. He holds you more securely against him as he prepares to take you both back to your apartment. You weren’t keen on swinging across the sky like he was—especially in this weather—but knowing you would soon be cuddled under warm covers with him would make it all worth it. 

You would weather any storm for him, as he would for you—always.

[princesscait26]

My husband Can

Alastor x wife reader

Summary: “I can’t hurt you, but my husband can”

————————————————————————

In the bustling lobby of the Hazbin Hotel, patrons mingled, their varied conversations and activities creating a lively atmosphere. Y/n, a petite demon with a keen wit and a warm smile, found herself deep in discussion with Angel Dust and a demon whose ego was bigger than his stature.

The large demon, known for his brash demeanor, took offense to something Y/n had said. His voice thundered across the lobby, echoing his displeasure as he leaned in menacingly towards her. "Watch your tongue, little demon," he growled, his tone laced with threat.

Angel Dust, never one to shy away from confrontation, shot back with a warning of his own. "Careful there, buddy. Y/n might not look like much, but trust me, you don't want to mess with her."

The large demon scoffed dismissively, his laughter ringing out. "Ha! What's she gonna do? She's just a small, pathetic demon," he mocked, unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Y/n's laughter chimed through the air, light and almost musical. "Oh, I can't hurt you," she admitted, her smirk growing mischievous. "But my husband can."

A hush fell over the room at her words, the air thickening with anticipation. Static crackled faintly, a prelude to something ominous. Y/n's eyes twinkled with satisfaction as she glanced towards the shadowed corners of the lobby. Angel shot the demon a knowing look.

From the depths of the darkness emerged Alastor, the Radio Demon himself. His presence was imposing, his demeanor icy with fury at the audacity of someone threatening his beloved wife. The large demon, now realizing his grave mistake, stumbled back in terror.

"The Radio Demon is your husband?" he stammered, his bravado shattered by the sudden appearance of the infamous figure.

Alastor's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Indeed," he declared, his smile sharp and chilling. "And it seems you've made the unfortunate choice of threatening my wife”

The atmosphere shifted instantly, the other patrons exchanging nervous glances as they witnessed the confrontation unfold. Angel Dust's expression morphed into an "I told you so" look directed at the now trembling demon.

Y/n stood beside her husband, a small but formidable figure, radiating confidence despite her size. "Lesson learned," she remarked coolly to the large demon, her gaze steady and unyielding.

Alastor's presence loomed large, his crimson eyes fixed on the now cowering demon. "Consider yourself fortunate that my dear wife is feeling merciful today," he remarked, his voice a velvet-covered threat.

With a final glance of terror, the large demon retreated hastily, leaving behind a tense silence in the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel. The other patrons resumed their activities cautiously, knowing well not to provoke the Radio Demon's wrath, especially when it came to his beloved Y/n.

Y/n hand finding Alastor’s with an affectionate squeeze. "Thank you, darling," she murmured, her eyes soft with gratitude.

Alastor's expression softened as he turned to her, his usual intensity melting into tenderness reserved solely for his wife. "Always, my dear," he replied, his voice a low murmur meant for her ears alone.

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

1: LONGING

Masterlist > Chapter 2

Summary: You were born into HYDRA, it wasn't a choice you were offered. The Winter Soldier is thrust into your care and you realize there is more to him than meets the eye.

Pairing: Winter Soldier x HYDRA!reader, Bucky Barnes x HYDRA!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: SMUT: guided masturbation— If there is any more you find not listed here please be sure to let me know so I can add it.

Being born into a HYDRA legacy family was a burden you never asked to bear, a responsibility thrust upon you from the moment you took your first breath. Try as you might, you could never fully escape the dark shadow cast by your family's ties to the sinister organization, its tendrils snaking through every facet of society. No matter how hard you fought, HYDRA's grip was inescapable. As a child, you were shipped off to the HYDRA Preparatory Academy nestled deep in the Appalachian Mountains, where you were indoctrinated in the group's twisted ideology and forced to endure the bitterness of the unforgiving winters - a trial by fire meant to temper your resolve.

Yet, despite HYDRA's best efforts to mold you into a loyal, unquestioning soldier, your sympathetic and tender nature refused to be extinguished. This inherent compassion led you down an unlikely path, guiding you towards a nurturing profession that eventually landed you in the frozen tundra of Siberia. Here, you and two colleagues were tasked with attending to a single HYDRA asset, expected to provide the organization with your complete and unwavering dedication. It was a duty you were well-trained to fulfill, for you were the type who gave your all to every task, driven by an unyielding desire to do good in the world, one person at a time. No matter the personal cost, you would fulfill your obligations to the best of your abilities, driven by a sense of duty that spoke louder than the icy winds that howled outside your door.

You reported to Karpov. He was a ruthless man. He marched you into a room with a leather bound red book in his hand.

“Stay,” he barked at you.

Karpov's gravelly voice then laid bare your new mission; to cater to the asset's every need, to attend to the most minute details of the Winter Soldier's care. From the mundane tasks of washing and grooming him, to tending to his injuries or indulging his wildest desires, you were to be wholly devoted to his well being. The weight of this responsibility settled upon you as you silently nodded, your mind racing with the implications of this assignment.

Suddenly, the ominous sound of a door creaking open pierced the tense silence, and you felt your breath catch in your throat as the infamous Winter Soldier strode into the room, his heavy footfalls echoing with each step. Towering before you, the living embodiment of HYDRA's ruthless efficiency, you could scarcely believe that this legendary operative was now your charge. His history of unparalleled skill and merciless brutality was the stuff of whispered legends, and now you were tasked with catering to his every need. In that moment, the gravity of your mission became painfully clear, and you steeled your resolve, prepared to serve the asset with unwavering dedication.

He was your mission.

“Soldat has just been woken from the cryostasis chamber. Ensure he is ready for his mission in 24 hours.”

As you stood before the soldier, his vacant yet handsome features captivated you. His eyes, devoid of any discernible emotion, seemed to gaze through you rather than at you, leaving you transfixed by the paradox of his striking appearance and unsettling detachment. You found yourself utterly enraptured, unable to look away from this enigmatic figure, your awe manifesting in a stunned silence. It was in this moment of captivation that Karpov, observing your reaction, must have mistaken your rapt fascination for fear. Sensing your unease, he swiftly moved to reassure you, his words cutting through the heavy silence that had enveloped the space between you. 

“He will not hurt you. He will comply,” he said before leaving you alone with the beast before you.

After a few moments of staring at Soldat, his gaze flicked down to meet yours. His ocean blue eyes seemed to soften slightly as they surveyed your form. They raked their way over your appearance with an emotion you couldn't quite identify. His face was still a blank slate but the pale blue windows into his soul betrayed the fire that blazed deep down inside him. 

“Soldat?” you whispered, unsure of how to address your new ward.

Immediately his attention was focused on your face, his gaze boring into yours. “Gotov soblyudat' (ready to comply).” His response was barely a breath.

You surveyed your charge with curiosity, walking around him slowly, taking in his appearance. From the way his unwashed hair stuck to his scalp and his unevenly trimmed bangs obscured his eyes like a sheepdog, down to his dirt covered boots. The higher powers of the agency hadn’t even seen it fit to grace the soldier with the dignity of clean clothes before they had placed him back into the stasis chamber. You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth and a quiet ‘tsk’ left your mouth before you looked back into his surprisingly handsome face. You had never been this close to an asset before and you were shocked by his natural beauty. There was an irresistible pull inside you and you found yourself reaching out to sweep the hair from his eyes, your thumb brushing over his well defined cheek smearing the black camouflage paint over his face.

“We need to get you cleaned up, Soldat.” You turned and made your way over to the dresser on the side of the room that you knew contained clean clothes and towels.

Despite your back being to the soldier, you could feel his stare following you around the room. He didn’t make a sound, just watching as you moved around collecting different items. Unbeknownst to you, the Winter Soldier was suffering from an internal quandary. For the first time in many years, his body was behaving in a way that hadn't been ordered, but it was still out of his control.

His attention was drawn to the unique features of your face, tracing the smooth curves of your waist, right down to the fullness of your ass in the tailored scrubs that hugged your figure in a rather erotic manner. It was always a conscious choice you made, dressing in a way that highlighted your assets. It helped you get noticed in a world full of sadistic, testosterone driven egomaniacs who otherwise wouldn’t lift a finger to help you or those in your care. Your form and bearing were definitely getting you noticed today, not that you’d had a chance to see it.

You handed him a towel and waited for him to move. But the soldier’s only move was to accept your offering, waiting on you for further instruction. The intensity of his stare was unnerving, almost like he could see into your soul. For a moment, you wondered who he had been before, before HYDRA had made him. There was a fire behind those blue eyes, maybe his dreams weren’t as empty as his conscience seemed to be. You lost yourself in contemplation for a moment, admiring the allure of his majestic form, seemingly unaware of the way his presence warmed your body.

“Soldat!” you exclaimed, shaking yourself out of your reverie. Suddenly you remembered the task at hand, not wanting to be caught slacking your duties on the first day of your assignment. “Go and take a shower.”

You watched him comply, traipsing into the adjoining room without closing the door, stopping short of the glass cubicle. He hesitated before stepping inside, fully clothed.

“Stop!” you cried with exasperation, following him without thinking. “You need to take off your clothes first.”

He looked at you with an unfathomable expression and you felt a pang of guilt for your tone. “Take off your clothes first,” you repeated in a more gentle voice. “Before you get in the shower.”

Slowly, Soldat held out the towel gripped in his titanium arm and you accepted. His stillness made you wonder if he even knew what to do next. Did he need more specific instruction? Or were you going to have to undress him yourself? The thought made you blush slightly. This had never come up in the job description. Not that you would object seeing him without clothing. Just as you opened your mouth, he brought his right hand up to his chest.

You watched him undo the fastenings on the vest covering his torso. His biceps bulged with his actions and you wondered if he felt the cold when he slept. It made your heart contract with an unexpected sadness.

Winter shed his layers one at a time as you watched with a burning curiosity. The leather around him unraveling to reveal his chiseled abs and lithe torso. The tiniest gasp escaped your lips as he undid the zipper on his pants, burying his thumbs under the seam to push them down. You averted your gaze as he pushed them to the floor unabashedly. He stood up, frowning with confusion at your reaction. Dignity wasn’t a luxury he had been offered for the last half century and he didn’t understand it.

Seeing you flush made him feel something foreign. It wasn't new, but it wasn't familiar. Like a dim distant memory of a life unlived. It awakened a part of him that they considered to be long dead. Passion. If you hadn’t turned away, you would have noticed how his body reacted to you. His impressive girth swelled and lengthened in response to your presence. Desire. But as he entered the shower, his arousal remained unseen by you. 

“Turn on the water,” you instructed. It finally occurred to you that maybe he needed more detailed instruction, like a complex computer programme. You’d seen how other handlers had kept soldiers as blank slates with electric stimulation targeted at the hippocampus. It suppressed their ability to recall memories and your Soldat had only just been wiped, immediately after being woken from stasis. It made sense that he was befuddled by his handler’s actions.

“Make sure the water isn’t too hot or too cold,” you added, listening for him to adjust the taps.

You closed your eyes, picturing his actions in your mind’s eye, resisting the urge to look over your shoulder to take a peek. It was the lack of change in sound that got your attention. The sound of water falling against his body didn’t seem to be changing in the way you expected of someone who was attempting to clean themselves. There was nothing else for you to do but to look.

If your life was a cartoon, your eyes would have been popping out of your head before falling to the floor and rolling around like golf balls. You wanted to trace the well defined contours of his toned back, eyes settling on where flesh met metal, following the branching scars that spread out like a mycelial network, leaching their poison into his sturdy form. You bit your lower lip to stop a soft whimper escaping when you finally dragged your eyes down to look at his firm ass.

Maybe he could sense the ferocity of your stare, or maybe he caught the soft sound of your stimulation, but he turned around to face you. And as he did so, you became aware of his soldier, standing tall and ready for attention. You were caught off guard by the gargantuan signs of his arousal, not having considered the man before you as anything other than an asset. But here he stood, before you, giving you a full view of his humanity, the passion that resided within. His state was more than just a mere physical response. The asset that you’d been assigned wasn’t just the empty shell of someone who had once been a man, there was still someone behind those cold blue eyes.

“Do you understand what you need to do, Soldat?” you asked, feeling flustered by the situation you had found yourself in.

He nodded and you took this as a cue for you to leave, turning to drape his towel over the nearest hook, you took a step towards the door. Except-

“Ostavat'sya.” (Stay)

There was such a raspiness to his voice, that it was a wonder you even understood the word. Your Russian wasn't as fluent as you would have liked it to be. There was definitely more behind those blue eyes than you had been led to believe. There was more to your job that you'd initially expected. Karpov’s words rang in your ears from earlier. The asset’s every need. The longer you spent with him, the more you noticed that he was coming to life. The emptiness you’d seen when he had stepped into the room had given way to something new, something intense. It was that intensity which drew you in, that made you seek out a connection, that made you feel bold. Bold enough to speak up.

You weren’t exactly shy, there was no room for that in HYDRA. But you were more reserved than the other men and women you’d trained with. You would often let your suitors come to you rather than seek them out. Today though, you were in control.

“Do you need some help with that, Soldat?” you purred.

The Winter Soldier didn’t answer but you saw the ways his eyes became darker, pupils dilated and his breath came faster with anticipation.

“What is it, Soldat? Are you expecting me to do that for you?”

He looked back at you, fire dancing in his eyes. His tongue slipped out of his mouth, ghosting over his stunning lips before giving you a hint of a smirk.

“Do you speak?” you demanded, accepting your dominating role.

“Da.” (yes)

“Do you speak English?” you wondered out loud. Your language skills were not quite as sharp as some of your others. Russian was not your strong suit.

“If you want me to.” The husky tone of his voice made you swoon and your core tingle.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Put your hand on it,” you commanded. 

With a firm, authoritative tone, you commanded him to comply, leaving him no choice but to obey. The moment his warm, calloused hand made contact with the sensitive skin of his shaft, a jolt of electric pleasure shot through him, igniting a burning desire within. Wrapping his fingers around his impressive, throbbing length, he could feel the blood pulsing through his veins as his breath quickened into short, shallow pants. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve ending alight with sensation. He was rock hard now, aching to be touched, to be stimulated further. Your words had elicited a visceral reaction, and as you wondered what it would feel like to have that rigid, engorged member buried deep inside you, a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine. The very thought of him filling you, stretching you, driving you wild with ecstasy was enough to make your core throb with need. You yearned to find out firsthand just how incredible it would feel, to experience the full, throbbing weight of him inside your most intimate depths. 

“Squeeze.” You ordered and he complied. He would gladly obey you, he was under your spell. His hand tightened around himself, eliciting a low groan. The constriction made his hips jerked involuntarily, making his dick slide through his calloused digits. It was the most salacious sound you'd heard in a long time and you wondered if he would come right then. “Slowly,” you warned.

The blood flow to his cock seemed to have woken his brain as well and he started to take his own initiative. He slid a finger through the small bit of precum dripping from the slit and spread it over the head. You watched as he did as you instructed, running his fist up and down his slick cock.

“That's right. Up and down, loosen on up and tighten going down.”

Your mouth was practically watering, as you pushed away the urge to kneel down and take him into your own mouth. Your front teeth bit down on your lower lip to suppress a whimper as you watched his balls rise up with each stroke. You pondered for a moment before deciding that they needed their own attention. 

“Use your other hand.” You pointed in an instructive way. 

The soldier looked down to where your finger was aimed, at the shining titanium prosthetic they had mercilessly fused to his skin. He started lifting his metal palm as you asked, always ready to comply. But something in his face changed. It was subtle, but you could sense the disgust of what you had asked of him. What did he think of the gift that HYDRA had given him?

“No?”

He slowed his pumping to answer you. “Net… no.”

“Fine.” You had never been cruel. Your job was care. “Carry on.”

His eyes flicked back up to yours in an unasked question. Did he want something more? Did you dare ask for something you weren't sure you were ready for?

You watched your soldier, studying his expressions as he pleasured himself. Attention to detail had always been your strong point, reading the flickers of emotions on people's faces and how they told their untold stories, things they wished to keep undisclosed. It wasn’t just his face that told you that he was close to coming undone.

He had increased the speed of his movements, his eyes half closed, his spine arched and pelvis thrusted forwards into his hand, almost mindless in his lust and uncaring of his audience. His reckless abandon seemed to defy all your preconceptions for the Winter Soldier. Everything you had heard about him came down to control, and here he stood before you lost in an almost animalistic appetite with no thought or concern of judgment. You were taken aback by the vulnerability he showed in front of you, sharing this intimate part of him, you’d never seen any documentation of this sort of behavior from an asset before. It felt exhilarating and your body responded to it in kind.

You could feel your arousal pooling between your legs and you pushed your thighs together in an attempt to quell the feeling, only succeeding in creating a thrilling friction that sent a shock through your body. It was instinctive. You reached out, slipping a finger under the rugged ridge of his chin, gently tiling his face up towards yours. As his gaze met yours, his eyes widened, blazing with a mixture of lust and surprise. The blues of his irises had vanished completely, his eyes blackened completely by desire. A low guttural sound came from his throat. Then you understood, he wanted your permission to let go. So you gave it to him.

“Do it. Cum.”

You shivered as his eyes lost their focus, you watched as his cock throbbed expectantly. Your breath shuddered along with his as he made a mess, his cock spurting out what looked like a river of pent up seed, painting the tiles of the shabby bathroom. Your eyes widened as lewd moans fell off his lips in the most sinful manner as he pumped himself as the last and strongest wave of pleasure engulfed him. Goosebumps erupted across your flesh as a shiver traveled down your spine as you watched his jaw slacken and his member soften. He finally looked back up at you.

“Spasibo.” (Thank you) His hoarse voice was barely audible.

“That's quite a mess you've made, Soldat. I hope you aren't expecting me to clean you up.” You turned around and left him to his own devices. 

You tinkered around with his uniform, checking the fastening and leather harness that he usually wore. Waiting for him to return to you. You knew he would and he did. In silence, he followed your instructions, let you dry his hair and paint his face, finally tightening his belt. Just in time as Karpov unceremoniously stormed into the room.

“Soldat!” He pointed at the door, indicating for the asset to move out.

Your heart shattered into pieces, hearing the cruel tone he had used when addressing the Winter Soldier. Your instinctual response was to defend your asset, but you knew better than to go up against Karpov. He would only take your protest as an excuse to punish the soldier.

With one last look, he lowered his head and whispered. “Do svidaniya, Kotyonok.” (Goodbye, Kitten)

Masterlist > Chapter 2

[abiatackerman]

Interrupted by brats

The air in the mess hall cracks with tension as Jean and Eren square off. Their fists fly, and the other scouts gather around, placing bets and cheering like it is some twisted spectator sport. Mikasa’s stoic expression betrays her amusement, while Sasha bites on a potato, her eyes wide with excitement.

But then, the doors swing open as Levi and you step in. The entire scene freezes. Even the birds outside seemed to hold their breath. Levi's glare can melt steel, and the room temperature drops by a few degrees.

"Brats......"

He mutters, his voice is like a blade slicing through the chaos.

"What the hell is this nonsense?"

Eren and Jean stumble apart immediately and you sigh. They straighten their uniforms, faces showing pure fear as they avoid eye contact with their captain.

Levi doesn't waste time. He kicks Jean's abdomen, since he was the one who started the fight. Then he kicks Eren's ass hard making him stumble forward.

"You want to fight? Fine. I'll give you a reason to regret it."

His knuckles crack ominously and you sigh.

Levi's really pissed today. You just told him that you're leaving for a week since your dad has become sick and you haven't visited your family for a while. He's pissed thinking that it's gonna be a damn long annoying week without you. Just when you two were about to kiss, Historia rushes to Levi's office to inform him about the fight.  Levi is pissed about the interruption and now here he is, beating them up.

"Captain, I...."

Jean tries to speak but Levi stops him.

"Shut up!"

Levi snaps.

"And you, Jaeger."

He turns to Eren, who stands there massaging his ass.

"You're not innocent either. Next time you want to throw punches, do it in private. Got it?"

Eren nods so vigorously that his head may detach from his neck.

"Y-yes, sir!"

Levi stares at him for a while then looks at you again. You can tell by his looks he's thinking about punishing them. Your face softens as you look at Jean's and Eren's nervous faces, feeling sympathy for them.

"Both of you will clean this hall everyday for this whole week. One more fight and I'll increase the area of your cleaning also add daily laps to your lazy assed routine. Now all of you, out!"

Levi orders in his pissed tone as everyone rushes out of the hall. They all are relieved that Levi has just punished Eren and jean. Not them.

"Don't you think you are being too strict?"

You ask as the cadets leave the hall.

"I mean this hall is huge... Cleaning it every day is tough by only two people."

You say softly as Levi walks towards you.

"Though their behaviours are shitty they have loyal friends. I bet they all will clean it together."

He says as he grabs your chin.

"You're just too kind, doll. They'll be fine, don't worry."

You nod and remove his hand from your face and hug him tightly, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"You know? You looked so sexy and hot when you were beating them up. Everyone was looking at you with fear and you were the strongest intimidating leader, also your commanding voice... I did feel bad for them but... Shit... I'm fucking turned on."

Levi chuckles as his face is pressed against your head and he sniffs your sweet smell. His one hand wraps around your neck and the other one plays with your hair.

" Tch... You have a weird choice, but I'm not complaining."

He speaks in an amusing tone and removes his head from your hair to look at your face. He cups your face, his expression is soft with affection as he kisses your forehead.

"Just be safe for the week, ok? And make sure to come back to me unscarred."

He speaks, his voice full of affection. You chuckle.

"Even if I get in trouble, I'll use the combats you taught me. I'll be fine, don't worry."

You say smiling cheekily as Levi's eyes soften again. Your smile is his greatest weakness, he can't help but melt every time he sees it. And when he knows he's the reason behind it, his mind overflows with ecstasy.

He leans down and presses his lips softly against yours. You hum and close your eyes as you grip his shirt, only to feel his thumping heartbeat against your palm. His thumbs caress your cheeks as your lips move in a slow, soft and rhythmic way.

Just when Levi's tongue gently brushes against your lower lips and you are about to part your lips, suddenly, the mess hall's door swings open. Sasha and Connie stumble in, revealing Eren, Jean, Armin and Mikasa behind them. They freeze, cheeks flushed, eyes wide, as if caught in a forbidden act.

"Errr... Captain... we..."

Sasha tries to speak nervously, her cheeks pink.

"We were just..... Looking for the potato Sasha left behind."

Armin speaks shyly, his face flushed red. You try to suppress your smile as you look at the pissed expression on Levi's face.

"You shits were spying on us? What were you brats looking at? Never saw a man and woman kissing before?"

Levi speaks in a calm tone but you know he's fuming inside. Everyone turns red at his words, even Mikasa blushes.

"Eren and Jean will clean this mess hall, alone! And you all shits will clean the whole field. I'll check your work in the afternoon. If I see even a single darnel picking out of the grass, I swear I'll kick your lazy asses. As for the girls, you all will run 50 laps and no food until you clean your shits up. Mark my words!"

Levi speaks firmly as their eyes widened. You look at them sympathically as Sasha seems like she is about to cry.

"Out!"

Levi says in a slightly louder tone than usual making them flinch as they rushes out.

"Damn brats. What are they? 10? Bothering us like annoying bugs."

He speaks in a pissed voice as you sigh and hug his neck to calm him down.

"They are just kids, Levi. They probably got curious when Sasha came back here for her potato and caught us kissing. Forgive them."

Levi relaxes in you arms as he starts to kiss your neck.

"Tch, I shouldn't care for them like this when they're this annoying."

You chuckle and tilt your head to let him kiss you. You rub his back.

"You're a great father figure, Levi. They also knows it."

You giggle slightly at the tickling feeling as his breath fans over you neck and his lips keep caressing you skin.

"I'll try to be a good father to our brat too. I won't say shitty words and won't be harsh. I promise."

He mumbles in a low voice as his grip on your waist tightens.

"I know you will, love."

You say softly as he removes his head to look at your face.

"Tch, I'll miss you, smartass..."

He says softly as he kisses your forehead.

"Me too."

You say and he presses his lips against yours again. Though this time you two kiss each other for a long time without any interruptions.

And this time, no brats were peeking on you two either.

[mrsriddlenott]

The Third Day Of Smutmas

[smutmas masterlist] [main masterlist]

~ Family Christmas ~

dom!Mattheo x sub!Reader x dom!Theo

Summary: Theo brings you and Mattheo to his family’s Christmas dinner for the first time making you a nervous wreck, desperate to make a good impression. The boys notices your anxiety and decide to help you with your nerves in Theo’s bathroom before you eat with his family.

- voldy is dead, no 2nd wizarding war, no angsty death eater stuff for Christmas😤, Theo’s parents are mean, Mattheo calls Theo’s parents mom & dad for obvious reasons -

Warnings: 18+ Content!! d/s dynamics, praisekink, f!receiving oral, m!receiving handjob, body worship(?), kinda public, cumplay(barely)

When you were all at Hogwarts you never would have guessed where time would take you, you knew both the boys adored you back then but they rarely acted on it due to their shared respect for not only their friendship with each other but with you as well. They didn’t want your choice between them to break up your trio, so they chose for you, neither. When you stumbled back into their lives not even a full 5 years later however, they saw it to be fate. They were much more mature than before, and realized it wasn’t up to them to make such a decision for you.

Long before you were clouding their thoughts every day, they vowed to each other that they would never let anyone get between them, so instead you became a part of them. You loved them both equally and there was absolutely no way for you to choose. You knew your relationship wasn’t conventional by any means but you all loved each other more than you thought humanly possible. There was no separating you. It took a while for you all to become publicly official, only your closest of friends knew of your relationship for the longest time. Your first Christmas together was like a fairytale, Mattheo went above and beyond for all of you in your shared flat, excited to finally have something he could call his own.

This year however, Theo’s parents knew of your relationship, that you had taken their sons heart as well as the heart of the boy they viewed as a second son, and now expected you all for dinner on Christmas eve, so you were reasonably scared beyond explanation. Theo’s mother was never fond of you, even when you were basically just a kid invited over with the group during time away from school. You sensed she knew of her boys shared feelings for you long before they did, when they saw you as nothing more than their best friend. She noticed the shift it took when they started acting on those feelings and again when the two decided your future together laid in friendship only, she was overjoyed when Theo and Mattheo brought home girls that weren’t you and when they all inevitably stopped coming around, she always seemed to blame you. You could imagine her sheer disappointment when she learned of the seriousness of your relationship, and it sent a kick to your stomach every time.

The snow crunched beneath your heeled boots as you walked down the stone pathway approaching four steps leading to the door of the ominously large manor in front of you. The warmth of Theo’s comforting hand on your lower back held you down to earth as Mattheo stepped in front to get the door for you. Warmth and the smell of cooking food hit you immediately, what would feel like a welcoming embrace to anyone who wasn’t you.

“Mom we’re here,” Theo called, his voice echoing in the foyer as he removed your coat and showed you where you could put your shoes that were growing damp with melting snow that fell heavily outside. Taking Mattheo’s hand you let him lead you through the large, decorated hallway to an even larger, even more decorated dining room, “They go this overboard every year,” Theo chuckled in your ear, seeing your wide eyes reflect the scene in front of you. His lips grazed your neck and your body began to relax, he left featherlight kisses up and down the back of your neck while Mattheo stepped in front of you to drag a lock of your hair behind your ear before speaking, “It’s not half as beautiful as our girl though is it Teddy?”

“Not even a quarter,” He laughed behind you, you breathed in their scents, soothing yourself with their close proximity before it all came crashing down with an abrupt halt to the clicks of expensive heels on hardwood floors accompanied with a gasp that sent your heart plummeting.

“Have some decency would you Theodore,” Mrs.Nott hissed, sending you a look of disgust as your boyfriends separated from you to greet her, “Oh it’s nothing new Mom no need to freak out,” Mattheo stated as he hugged the thin woman with pursed lips that could rival Professor Mcgonagall, “You remember y/n don’t you?”

“Of course Dear, lets wait for dinner in the living room shall we?” Her shifty eyes avoided you as you began forming a hello, immediately turning away and toward another heavily decorated hallway. Theo’s jaw clenched as he and Mattheo made eye contact over your head before he was speaking in a curt voice, “Mom, y/n was trying to speak to you.” The woman’s steps faltered for a second before continuing to click down the hall, your hand shot up to Theo’s wrist as he began after her with scrunched brows, “Just leave it okay? We’ll have plenty of time to talk.”

Despite your attempts to hide it both boys could see your discomfort with the woman’s clear disdain for you, but decided against making a scene. They escorted you through to the lavish living room with both of your hands in their extended elbows. Mr.Nott was much nicer, patting the back of your hand in his while welcoming you back for the first time in years, and if you hadn’t caught is sideways glance to his wife when his son kissed you on the cheek, you may have actually believed it.

The room was tense and quiet, sitting across from Theo’s parents between him and Mattheo, each with an arm slung behind you that seemed to catch Mrs.Nott’s eyes more than any of her hundreds of decorations. “So…do you three have any funny stories from your Hogwarts days?,” Mr.Nott asked in an attempt to cut the tension knotting throughout the room. “I’m sure there’s something to share based on all those owls we got about your little group you had back in the day.” He laughed to himself, bringing his small glass of bourbon to his lips awkwardly.

“We’d give Mom a heart attack if we listed off our great adventures,” Mattheo joked, laughing as you and Theo joined in before it died down almost as soon as it started, “Well at least remind me of their names again, erm there was Lucius’ boy and that one nice boy that always helped your mother out around the house over summer,” The man snapped his fingers as he tried to put a name to the face he was imagining, ignoring the laughing of his boys.

“Enzo was not nice Dad, you just think he was because he wanted you to. He was just as much as a trouble maker as the rest of us, just smart enough not to get caught is all,” The two laughing beside you had a much needed smile growing on your lips, thinking of the old days with your large group of friends that grew simply because of circumstance helped to ease the tension of the night and you were finally able to think this wasnt such a bad idea.

“Remember that Pansy girl you were always bringing around during that time Matt, she was lovely wasn’t she….but she stopped coming with the rest of you lot….” Her eyes darted to you as she spoke, “Whatever happened to her?” Your chest hurt, your stomach seeming to meld with it as the room suddenly went silent. You knew Mrs.Nott was never fan of you but you never would have expected her to bring up your boyfriend’s ex at a dinner meant for getting to know you better.

“She cheated on me Mom,” Mattheo responded with an unmistakable bite to his voice, “y’know what they say, can’t judge a book by it’s cover,” He huffed, looking to you with a clenched jaw and apologetic eyes as Mrs.Nott cringed while her eyes darted between you and her boys, seemingly looking for anything else to comment on as a distraction to her rudeness.

“Well you know we fully support whatever experimenting you need to do before settling down,” Mr.Nott cut in, knocking the wind from your lungs as though you were just smacked into. Your eyes darted from person to person, all eyes were on someone else as the tension began to bubble over, you felt invisible, hurt, discredited. Too many thoughts and feelings swirled through you as the room remained eerily silent.

“We have settled down Dad….for fucks sake we’ve lived together for over a year,” Theo snapped, teeth gritted, creaking together while his fingers flexed and un-flexed in anger beside your head as he forced himself to remain seated despite his fathers words. Your chest pounded as your ears began to ring, your breathing was shallow and your palms were growing damp with sweat. Were they experimenting?

“I’m just saying that this isn’t natural,” His fathers voice that was eerily similar to Theo’s rang in your head louder than your own voice, “A female mind only wants one mate. It’s science, eventually she’ll want children and one of you will be chosen to father them, one of you will get hurt and that will be that unless you get out of it,” Mr.Nott leaned back against his leather couch with a smug face, taking another sip of his drink as though he had it all solved.

“Loving them is the most natural thing I have ever done, and maybe don’t talk about her like she’s not literally right here,” Theo shouted at his father, pushing forward toward him and using his hand to gesture towards you beside him, “I know you’re not that stupid Dad a “female mind” can choose what she wants for herself and she’s chosen both of us okay?” Theo sighed, he seemed hurt by his parents inability to accept you, “and when the day comes that she wants us to we will both father her children,” Theo’s eyes were rolling before his father could even start speaking again, “You act like we haven’t thought this out, we’ve had all the hard conversations already and when more come up we’ll have those too.”

Mr. Nott was stunned at his sons outburst, taking a second to ground himself before speaking again in a lower voice as though you were a child he was hiding the truth about Santa Clause from, “Son….can’t you see what this is….you’re two very attractive and well off men she-“

“I don’t think you should finish that sentence if you want us to stay for dinner….” Theo’s jaw was clenched as his stern, demanding eyes dug into his fathers identical irises.

“I think I’m just gonna go clean myself up before we eat.” You willed yourself to keep your tears hidden, pushing up from your spot and quickly making your way to the bathroom right down the hall you entered through, shutting the door as quickly and quietly as possible before letting your tears fall. It was ridiculous to question and deep down you knew it, but your mind raced with questions of if they really wanted you or if you were some fantasy or experiment.

The thick door behind you clicked open before shutting with a thud seconds later, the sound of your crying flooded the room as the two boys behind you remained silent, “May-maybe they’re right….I mean what if you guys realize too late you would be happier with two separate girlfriends.” Mattheo scoffed with a roll of his eyes, grabbing your shoulders firmly and spinning you to look at them both.

“You, y/f/n, are the only girl we want and you have been since we were 15 years old. They’re just gonna have to come around, okay?” You nodded your head weakly, tears still slowly falling down your cheeks before Theo’s rough hand was grabbing your chin and tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

“Looks like someone needs a reminder of who she belongs to, don’t you agree Matty?” Theo’s dead eyes bore into you as you whimpered, “You think we’d toss you aside for someone else huh?” Theo scoffed out a laugh before continuing, “You’re stuck with us Baby….Muffliato.”

Theo’s lips meet yours for only a second before he moves back to grip your hips in his large hands, yanking you up to sit on the oversized counter in a flash. His lips met the left side of your neck as Mattheo’s comforting hand ran through your hair, his eyes meeting yours before he was leaning forward to leave kisses up and down the right side of your neck. Your hands trailed up their biceps and around their shoulders, tugging them impossibly closer to you as Mattheo’s hand began to sneak across your right thigh, squeezing and molding the flesh with his hand while slowly moving your dress up, bunching it higher until it sat above the hem of your panties.

“We’re the only ones that will ever get to have these thighs,” Theo whispered against your neck, his aggressive hand now occupying your left thigh with a possessive grip as Mattheo’s lips separated from your neck, taking a second to watch your eyes before aggressively tugging your dress up your torso and over your head, revealing your naked chest and hardened nipples to them both. Waisting no time in diving into your chest, he begab sucking and biting at every section of flesh he could, marking you as theirs for anyone who would happen to glance at your body.

“We’re the only ones that will ever get to have these tits,” Mattheo sighed, taking your nipple between his teeth with a tug, making you whimper and whine before he was nursing the red bud with a swirl of his tongue. Theo’s possessive hand snaked it’s way all the way up your thigh, sending shivers down your spine as he started tugging at the edge of your underwear expectantly. You finally let moans slip past your lips when Theo’s tongue trailed up your neck at the same time Mattheo nibbled at your chest before dropping to his knees to trail kisses, nibbles and licks down your stomach.

“There’s our girl, now tell me what you fucking want before I tell Matty to stop what he’s doing.” Theo growled beside your ear, waiting for your response as Mattheo left open mouth kisses over your belly button, falling farther down every once in a while just to return to their original spot teasingly. Theo’s lips found your neck again, as if solely to distract you from forming your sentence, trailing their way up and down slowly as Mattheo’s teased your underwear, pulling at the elastic with his teeth and letting it snap back on you, forcing out whimper of a please.

“Please what Baby?” Theo’s warm breath on your neck mixed with Mattheo’s on your lower stomach and thighs had you on cloud nine, begging for them to do something, anything to you, “Show me that I’m yours and you’re mine,” Your voice was barley above a whisper as you pleaded to your boyfriends who almost immediately worked together to shred you lace underwear.

“Fuck I wanna kiss every inch of your body,” Mattheo whispers, standing as Theo takes his place kneeling before you and smashing his lips into yours passionately. His hands held your face against his while your lips melded together as his tongue danced against yours, swallowing your moans and gasps when Theo’s tongue glides through your folds. The tip of the strong muscle worked expertly against the bundle of nerves, sending jolts of pleasure through your whole body as you subconsciously began to grind against his face and tongue while losing the focus needed to kiss Mattheo.

You could feel the outline of Mattheo’s hard dick against your side as he leaned in to nip and kiss down your neck, urging you to let your fumbling hand trail it’s way to his belt buckle slowly, giving him plenty of time to deny you before quickly tugging it apart and tossing it aside with a clank of metal. Mattheo groans as your warm hand slips under the waistline of his jeans, palming him lightly before shoving both his boxers and jeans down his thighs impatiently. Tugging him in your hand as he moaned loudly in your ear, “Fuck Princess, I love your hands,”

You giggle at his confession before being interrupted by a particularly loud moan as Theo pushed his tongue inside of you, groaning against you and sending vibrations up your body. He smacked at your thigh to gain your focus, earning a yelp of a moan as your shining eyes looked down to him, seeing those deep, dead, jealous eyes staring up at you as he worked his tongue inside you was almost enough to send you over the edge alone. His bruising grip on your thighs as he held them apart to make room for his head had you spiraling as your brain fogged. You slowly pumped Mattheo, lathering your hand in his precum as you started matching your pace with the thrusts of Theo’s tongue inside of you.

“You’re doing so good for us Princess,” Mattheo’s deep voice echoed off the walls accompanied by his pants and whines that egged on your own, the slurping sounds coming from between your thighs was driving you insane as the tension in you lower stomach began to grow. You grind yourself against Theo’s nose, wishing more than anything to have friction against your clit. It’s not long before he brings the pad of his thumb to rub fast, small circles against the bundle of nerves, making you jolt forward on the counter with a scream of a moan. Your hand speeds up on Mattheo’s dick, feeling each groove and vein of him as his hips drove him further into you, moaning messily with his eyes screwed shut, his hand firmly grabbing the counter beside you for support as you followed beads of sweat that dripped down his bicep with your eyes.

Mattheo’s hips began to falter and stutter as your hand tightened around him, your head falling back against the mirror with a thud, moaning carelessly as Theo’s fingers and tongue worked together faster to push you up and over the edge, sending you into a euphoric state of pure bliss as your legs shook and the thrusts of your hand became erratic. Mattheo’s high was fast approaching behind yours, feeling your fingers tighten around him uncontrollably as your tried to ground yourself had his head falling back with his mouth opened in a silent moan as large spurts of his cum painted your stomach and chest, dripping down in enticing trails.

“Fuck that’s insanely hot,” Mattheo’s voice was jumbled in your ears, your chest pounded blocking out most sounds as Theo stood from your dripping, aching core with a smile before wiping his mouth clean. You felt Mattheo’s fingers on you as he began spreading his cum around your stomach, mesmerized by the look of it on your skin, “You did so fucking good Baby,” He whispered, eyes still trained on the mess on your body, “Looks so pretty covered in my cum doesn’t she Teddy?”

“Fuck yes she does,” The taller boy responded, laughing with Mattheo at your weak state as he grabbed a rag to wipe it from you as your muscles slowly regained the ability to function. Theo helped steady you on your feet as Mattheo straightened out your dress, guiding you to put your hands up so he could tug it down your body. Theo worked to fix your hair as Mattheo left kiss down your neck before Theo spun you around to capture your lips in his, pressing his rock hard dick against you in the process and making you pull away quickly with a squeak.

“What about you Teddy?” You asked, genuinely concerned as you pouted up to him with concerned while Mattheo tugged his pants up, panting and running a hand through his sweaty curls, “Don’t you want something in return?” Theo chuckled down to you, grabbing your chin and smashing his lips into yours in a heated kiss that left a trail of spit connecting you as he backed away.

“I’m okay for now Gorgeous, this was about you, we would have done absolutely anything to help ease your nerves,” Theo chuckled, staring into your eyes as though you were a piece of art meant to be in a museum, “Besides, Matty can always drive home and give us some time in that spacious back seat yeah?” He laughed, looking to Mattheo who shrugged as he slid his belt through it’s loops stating a simple, “I don’t mind,” before you all made sure you looked presentable before slipping out the door and back to the hell that was this dinner.

~~~~

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[satorusugurugurl]

Hiii can i request reader x gojo, where reader keeps ruining his orgasm n just messing with him? And he’s all whiny and begging and shit? 🥺👉👈

Cranberry Juice and Rings

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x FAB!Reader

Word Count: 1,725

Warnings: Edging, orgasm denial, smut, whinny Gojo, dirty talk, sexting, toys

A/N: Ah, nothing like a good old whing Gojo fic! I love whimpering, groaning men!

Satoru was known by many as a pain in the ass. He was arrogant and cocky, but that didn’t stop you from loving him. He was one of your favorite people, a goofball, and he spoiled you rotten. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

But he was Gojo Satoru. Some days, he was unbearable to deal with, even for you. Days like today, for example. You had gotten a nasty UTI and were on a strict sex ban for a week. Gojo had been kind the first few days, picking up your prescription along with cranberry juice and supplements. By day four of the sex ban, he was pent up and decided it would be fun to tease you relentlessly. He started sexting you, sending you pictures and voice memos that had you clenching your thighs to try to ease the throbbing between your legs.

Satoru: I’m so sweaty! Look, it’s running down my V-line, baby~!

You: Stop trying to turn me on asshole. I literally cannot flick my bean or have sex for the next three days.

Satoru: Oh? That sucks for you. I don’t have to deal with that.

The man then proceeded to send you a video of him jerking off in the bathroom. If you didn’t feel like razors sliced you each time you used the bathroom, you would have found him and made him pay for a new pair of underwear and take care of the mess he had turned you into. However, the unpleasant throbbing between your legs prevented you from acting upon your desires.

You: Keep it up, Satoru. I will make you regret your choices.

Satoru: Oooh, I’m so scared~!

Your dear, sweet, idiotic boyfriend did not heed your warning. He only seemed to get worse after your ominous threat. Three days of torture later, Satoru eagerly ra into your shared condo, his calendar chiming with a reminder today was the day your medical sex ban was lifted. He has a week's worth of pussy eating to make up for, and he planned to take his time with you.

”Sweetheart!” He sang out, making his way through the condo. “I hope you’re ready!” Stepping inside the bedroom, Satoru blinked, finding you sitting on the edge of the bed in your sky-blue lace set. “What a good girl you are!” Drooping to his knees before you, he clapped his hands together. “Thanks for the mea—“

”Shut the fuck up and get on the bed.”

The stern tone of your voice has Satoru staring. “I’m sorry?” His smile was full of confusion as he forced your legs apart. “I said thanks for the meal, didn’t I?” Satoru began to dip his head between your thighs, but before he could reach your sweet, dripping core, you put your foot on his forehead, pushing him away. “Hey!” His bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

“Didn’t I warn you I would make you regret sending me all those thirst trap pictures and messages?”

”H-Huh?”

”I said, didn’t I warn you I would make you regret your choices?”

”W-Well, I m-mean you did, but I—“

”Good, boy.” A round silicon ring hit him in the face. “Now put that on and get on the bed.” Gulping, Satoru shakily did as you commanded, regret setting in the pit of his stomach as he did.

Any hopes for mercy went out the window as you bounced up and down on his cock as he sat upright against the headboard. You were grinning, hands gripping his shoulders as you came around him, pulling off, denying him the pleasure of feeling your cum, denying his orgasm for the third fucking time.

”F-Fuck Toru~ you’re such a good dildo.”

”S-Sweetheart—please, baby, I need you.”

”You need me?” You questioned with faux sympathy. “Oh, sweet boy, am I teasing you too much?” A delicate hand wrapped around his red throbbing length, the cock ring preventing him from cumming, thus making him ten times more sensitive.

”A-Ah! Yes, yes, baby, please, please, I need you!” Blue eyes watched as you stroked your hand up and down, pre-cum dribbled out of his tip, running over your manicured nails. “Oh fuck, I can feel it, keep going, keep going don’t stop!”

“Yeah?” Satoru cried out as you wrapped your other hand around him. Your hands squeezed his shaft as you moved them up and down, smirking as he whimpered, eyes transfixed on your tiny hands as his mouth opened in an ‘O’ shape. “Are you close, Toru? Are you going to make a mess for me?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

”Gonna cum pretty boy?”

”Fuck yes! Oooh fuck I’m so close, so fucking close, almost there, almost there!”

The second you saw white lashes flutter, you yank your hands away, preventing him from reaching his sweet release. Your boyfriend’s eyes narrowed and shot open in disbelief, focusing on the throbbing, swollen red tip that sobbed pre-cum instead of actual cum. His dick looked as upset as him, the intense orgasm fading.

”Babe!” Satoru threw his head back against the wooden frame with a pathetic whine. “I wanna cum!” Reaching out, you gently rubbed the pad of your thumb over his bottom lip.

”You wanna cum?”

”Yes, so bad!”

You straddled his hips with a hum, lowering yourself back down onto his velvety shaft with a satisfied moan. “Well, that sucks for you, I don’t have to deal with that.” You quoted his text before dragging your tight wet pussy up and down his swollen cock.

Satoru cried out, whining as you used his cock like it was a sex toy. This was literal torture, feeling your wet, warm walls clamp down around him, watching you tilt your head back in pleasure. Even hearing your moans fill the bedroom was driving him insane. You looked so hot and beautiful when you used him like this. He just wished he could be holding onto your hips, fucking his cock up into you, filling you with his cum as you both lost yourselves in pure orgasmic bliss. Lips moving against lips, swallowing each other, moans as you came down.

Instead, Satoru was crying out, whimpers sounding in the back of his throat. His hands fisted the sheets as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. He had thought teasing you this week was all fun and games! Get you all worked up and desperate for him to rearrange your insides. In his horny mind, it was like mental edging without touching

Yourself. What a terrible mistake that had been. The only one having fun and getting off at the current moment was you. While he suffered from the worst case of blue balls in his entire life.

“Shit! Oooh, shit!” Your brows furrowed as you cried out, reaching down and rubbing your clit. “C-Cumming~! Cumming Toru!” Just as your orgasm hit, you pulled off of him, squirting all over his stomach and cock with a squeal.

“F-Fuck, oh god.” Satoru quickly grabbed his cock, stroking himself off while you came all over him. “So hot~ so fucking hot!”

You recovered just in time to see Satoru jerking himself off, the tips of his ears turning red as his eyes began to roll back. “Nuh-uh!” swatting his hands away, Satoru groaned. “Bad boy!” When he reached for his swollen cock again. You grab both his wrists, pinning them down on either side of him. “I said no!” Poor Satoru cried out in frustration, tears welling in his eyes.

“Sweetie, baby, please.” He sobbed, cock dribbling more pre-cum onto his lower abdomen. “Please let me cum, please, baby, please! I'm sorry I was such an ass this week. I won't ever do it again!” Fingers gripped the sheets underneath him. “Please let me cum! Please!” Those tears filling his eyes finally spilled over his white lashes, staining his flushed cheeks.

“Oh, my baby~” Leaning in, you locked the salty tears up with the tip of your tongue. “You learned your lesson?”

“Uh-huh!” Satoru hiccuped as more tears streamed down his face.

“You see how it's not nice to tease? How cruel is it to cum in front of your partner when you're unable to do anything?”

“Yes! I’m sorry, honey! So sorry!”

Releasing both his wrists, you grabbed the sparkly blue cock ring that was securely on his base. “Good boy, Toru.” As soon as the toy was off, Satoru shoved you off, pushing you into the mattress. “Ooh fuck!” Giggled erupted as he threw both your feet over his shoulders before sliding into you.

“So good! S-aS good!” He cried out, throwing his head back, crying softly, and he slammed on and out of you. “I’m going to cum! Please cum with me! Milk my cock, baby! Milk it!”

“Yes, Toru! Cum inside of me, baby!” Your fingers found your clit with ease, rubbing it back and forth, whimpering as Satoru twitched inside of you. “Cum on, baby~ cum for me!”

Satoru’s jaw dropped open, eyes clamped shut as he cried out. He was crying out your name, whining, and whimpering like a cat in heat. Thick ropes of cum painted your insides, filling you to the absolute brim, leaving you crying out with him. He rubbed his hips against you, only stopping when his eyes rolled back, dizziness overcoming him.

He collapsed onto your chest, full weight resting on you as he whimpered into the crook of your neck. He could stay like this forever, but just as he found himself dozing off, you were tapping on his shoulders. Lazily lifting his head, cerulean eyes met yours.

“Five minutes; I’m pushing you off if you stay inside me any longer.”

“Huh? Why?” Your boyfriend panted out.

“The last time we fell asleep like this, I got a UTI!”

“Mmm, it’s fine.” he’s sleepy, wrapped his arms around you. “Just five minutes.” you relaxed against him as he agreed on your time limit. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Satoru.” as he snuggled in closer, humming sleepily, you smiled, fingers brushing strands of hair off his brow. Maybe ten minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Forever Tag List!

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness

[ilovejeongintoo]

"𝕎𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪 𝕒 𝕘𝕒𝕞𝕖?"

Jigsaw (Saw) & the Reluctant Participant Kink: Interrogation Play Warnings: cnc, degradation (just a lil),Jungwon is lowkey scary, sex machine, orgasm denial, edging Prompt: Trapped and powerless, you find yourself at the mercy of the infamous Jigsaw, your body craving the twisted pleasure he offers. As control slips from your grasp, desire and submission blur, leading you down a dark, seductive path where surrender becomes the ultimate thrill. How far will you go when there's no turning back?

The second installment to my Kinktober List 2024.

Darkness surrounded you, you were drowning in the dark around you. Your eyes couldn't make out any surrounding walls the slightly dimmed, single light above your head not helping you see. It wasn't quiet though, a whirring in the background maybe some kind of machinery being a constant noise. A smell of old dust maybe cement or stone you couldn’t tell.

When you start becoming more aware you feel the press of cold metal around your wrists and ankles, moving them but being pinned too close to really move at all. They wrapped tight around your limbs and the chair you were tightly strapped to. Your heartbeat increases more the more conscious you become. Your head pounds when you try turning it and a metallic noise sounds out in the room.

Then you hear a voice, talking slow and calculated, and a shiver runs through you. You can't really tell where it's coming from, still disoriented.

There’s bold lettering on the walls spelling out the sentence;” Wanna play a game?” Though your muffled brain doesn’t catch the clue. The writing done with red dripping paint.

"You’ve been living in the shadows of your desires for too long, haven’t you?"

You know who it is immediately. The telltale sign of the room, his voice, his choice of words. It all points its fingers to one person. Jigsaw. You've heard of people disappearing but it all seemed so unbelievable, so distant until right now.

You can’t tell where the voice is coming from. A small old speaker situated in the corner gives the output of his voice a slight crackle. Each word was slow, methodical like he really wanted you to listen carefully.

“For too long, you've indulged in a life of selfishness and excess, but today you will confront the truths you’ve buried deep inside. Today, you’ll face your punishment.”

Your punishment? For what? What did you do? Your mind races to find any explanation. The last thing that you remember before getting here….

Your breath catches in your throat in panic. A hiss cuts through the air. The uselessly dimming light illuminating a corner. That's when you see it, the machine that you've been hearing since the beginning. A big construction of steel, wires, tubes, and complex-looking engineering.

Right in front stands a cloaked figure, masked in the infamous puppet.

Jigsaw

He steps forward brushing his fingers along the machine's surface, the sound ominous, making you scared of what is to come. His voice, though distorted from his mask is clearer now booming through the room without the speaker.

"This machine I constructed will test you—your limits, your fears, your deepest urges. It is the key to your survival."

You struggle more against your restraints, he only continues watching in amusement.

“Your life, your choices... they’ve led you here.”

He pauses slightly  “You believe control gives you power, that by dominating others, you are invincible. But true power comes from understanding weakness. Now, you will be stripped of your control, left to endure the very submission you’ve forced onto others.”

You froze when he mentioned this. Yes, you had been a bit of a control freak and maybe that had led to your partners leaving you but did that really warrant you getting punished by the one and only Jigsaw killer? You weren’t a corrupt authority figure or a drug abuser. You just liked being in control of everything, your life, your decisions, your partners, and everything in the bedroom. 

You couldn’t let yourself be vulnerable with them but it could have been worse, you kept telling yourself.

What if I can’t take this? What if I break? The thought sends shivers down your spine but maybe… maybe I deserve this.

Your brain supplies uselessly, just adding unnecessary fear.

The chains tighten against your body suddenly, pulling you upright and facing the machine. It’s louder now as if it was preparing itself for the task ahead.

"You see, this is not a game of pain alone, but a game of pleasure and control—of denial and submission. If you wish to live, you must learn the cost of indulgence. Every choice you make will bring you closer to release... or your end.”

Your eyes widen in fear your body trembling just slightly 

He moves closer his voice deeper and more intimate now. You can see a mop of brown hair peeking out from his hood and it drops slightly in front of the mask.

“But I warn you... the release you seek may not be the one you think.”

The lights turn on and off, and a cold metallic arm extends from the machine, hovering inches from your body. Terrified you look at it then back at your captor as if your pleading look would get him to release you.

“Your test begins now.”

The metal arms the machine carries click further, stirring in their place. For a moment you hold your breath in anticipation of what's going to come next. The cold air hushes against your skin and you become aware; that you’re still clothed but for how long?

He steps closer his voice as calm as ever though the weight of his words grows heavier each time.

“You’ve spent your life hiding behind the armor of your choices. Your clothes... your mask. But here, there is no mask. No barriers.”

He makes another pause that drags on uncomfortably long so.

“The truth is revealed when there’s nothing left to hide.”

He gestures slowly to the arms and before you can react they lurch forward, grasping at your clothes and removing them one by one. There’s no aggression no rush, the movements are slow, practiced sharp motions stripping you of your last clothing items.

They easily slice through the fabric and your skin forms goosebumps from the cold in the room. You stay impossible still though in case they would accidentally cut not just the fiber.

Jigsaw watches without any noise or reaction, he sees every twitch of discomfort, every taken breath, and every bodily response. His gaze isn’t lustful, it’s calculating almost clinical as if undressing you was just another test, just another day.

He was doing more than just removing your clothes, he was getting rid of your last defenses. You press your eyes closed in hopes of waking up from this nightmare and if not just helping you slip into a state of ignorance bliss. 

He notices immediately.

“The more you fight, the longer this will take,” he murmurs. “You cannot hide from your desires. And soon, you won’t be able to hide from mine.”

The final fabric falling to the floor you open your eyes again, left completely naked, completely exposed, bound to the machine, revealed by the forever flickering overhead light. Your skin burns with the cold but even more from the burning gaze of being watched - Jigsaw’s masked gaze drinking up everything.

For a moment, all is still. The whir of the machine quiets, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing.

“Now,” Jigsaw finally says, stepping closer, his voice low and deliberate, “we can begin.”

The masked man’s voice breaks the silence, his tone calm but heavy with purpose.

"You’ve spent your life controlling everything and everyone around you. But what happens when the one thing you can’t control… is yourself?"

He steps closer around you, circling like you’re prey and he’s the predator that will sink his teeth into you. The constant noise of the machine does nothing to calm you down, it just furthers the energy in the room.

"Here’s your first question: When was the last time you let someone else take control?"

You thought about it for a moment, your cheeks heating up despite the situation given, out of embarrassment at having to admit to these kinds of questions.

"I don’t remember. It’s been a long time." you reluctantly respond, unwilling to give up any more information. You were hoping he didn’t know you too closely to think of this as a “wrong” answer. Playing stupid in front of a genius killer.

“Please you don’t have to do any of this. I already learned my lesson, just…please let me go.” You tried reasoning because you really would try to change.

You gulped your fear down slightly. Not willing to show how much he affected your emotions. He can’t know, because exactly that, he will use against you.

Jigsaw’s mask tilts slightly, as if in curiosity, though his voice remains in the same tone as always, no hint of any emotion. He ignored your effort to try and convince him to let you go.

"You’re not as good at avoiding the truth as you think. You’ve let someone take control before... and you’ll do it again, whether you admit it or not. But denial has its consequences."

His hand moved in his dark coat, probably pressing a button.

Your heart rate spiked up. And the machine’s arm buzzes, the hum rising in pitch as it begins its cruel teasing, it started slow, the touch foreign. A little uncomfortable on your skin, surgical. The coldness of the metal pipes that brushed against your sides contrasted with the softness of the hands themselves. They caressed your chest, not going straight to torturing your most intimate parts. They just slightly massaged your nipples, making them hard rather quickly because of how soft the hands themselves felt. You stared down at them in focus and bit your lips to stifle any noises.

You could deal with this, if it stayed just like this, which you seriously doubted. But nonetheless, you pep-talked yourself.

Just when you thought you were getting used to the sensations on your body the arms moved down your body until they reached the place that was dripping now. One circled your clit, and buzzed a little in vibration. It made you try and curl into yourself, denying yourself to enjoy the pleasurable feel but your restraints kept you immobile, you could only squirm and clench your teeth to not make any noise however when the other one moved down to your slicked-up hole, and began pushing a solid digit in, a moan slipped out.

You were slowly breaking, each movement making it harder to concentrate, soon you’d have to choose between stifling your noises and answering your captor.

“Avoidance won’t save you. You can’t control what you refuse to face.”

A pause. Then, the next question cuts through the silence.

“Tell me... when was the last time you let yourself lose control—completely?”

The words hang in the air like a challenge, daring you to confront your deepest vulnerabilities.

And you think about his words from before, there was a slight warning in it, making you rethink how you should reply to this one. You pause a little more.

"I… I don’t know. I can’t remember." You nonetheless answer.

His laughter, low and almost mocking, fills the room. Oh, you fucked up, didn’t you? Regret flooding your system immediately, and wishing you could take your response back.

"You’re lying to yourself now. You remember.” He steps behind you now. The hair on your neck rises in anticipation and fright of not being able to see him. Losing that control so easily.

 “You’ve lost control before, and you will again. But you’re still clinging to your delusion of power. Let’s see how much longer that lasts."

The machine’s touch becomes more relentless, it drags so deliciously over your folds, then back into your hole and out again. teasing you more relentlessly now. You were so close but it just wasn’t quite enough. Each time you almost let yourself step over that edge it would get pulled away from you. The constant denial drives the message home: the more you refuse to admit the truth, the less control you have.

There’s only one way out of this. To answer honestly. And that’s the thing you dread most.

The machine turns so loud now, but you can barely focus on anything besides the constant stimulation your pussy is receiving. You’re so so close. Your body is trembling in frustration from not getting any release your breathing is shallow and quick. Your ass was soaked in your own juices making the slide so wet. Your hips unconsciously tried pushing against the hands searching for just enough stimuli to reach your high.

Jigsaw’s voice, calm but with an undercurrent of menace, cuts through the tension. And he steps back into your line of sight his tall frame intimidating even if he isn’t physically big.

“You’re still avoiding the truth. How long do you think you can hold onto this delusion?”

The pressure increases, the sensation teetering on the edge of unbearable, and yet it keeps you hanging just short of satisfaction. The more you resist, the more helpless you feel. The room grows colder, the air heavy with the weight of Jigsaw's impending next question.

Jigsaw’s voice becomes darker, more insistent. He unbuttoned the first buttons of his cape, slowly taking it off. Revealing a dress shirt, a grey vest, a tie, and matching slacks underneath. Formal wear, something you definitely didn’t expect

You threw the cape into a corner of the room. His clothes pleasingly fit his form, lean muscles making them fit on him deliciously. You immediately shook your head from the thoughts invading your mind.

“Since you can’t seem to tell the truth about losing control, let’s make it simpler.”

You sigh slightly in relief, maybe he would make this easier on you. He pauses, letting the silence stretch painfully long, allowing your mounting frustration to fester.

“When was the last time you were forced to submit to someone else’s will?”

He leans closer, the weight of his presence suffocating, even though you can’t see his face clearly behind the mask. You could just slightly make out his dark eyes behind the mesh of the eye holes.

His hand came up to your face picking it up and tilting it, making you automatically have to let your eyes stay on him.

“Tell me, who made you feel powerless?” With his eyes piercing you it was like he lured the truth out of you.

You felt the machine's arms twitch, waiting for the answer, threatening more denial or perhaps something worse. The movement completely halting made your answer finally be something akin of the truth.

“I… I was forced before. It’s happened before, and I hated it.” Your thoughts flashed back to your ex, how no matter what you told him, he just did whatever he wanted. You had lost total control not just of your guys’ relationship but also yourself. And you never absolutely ever wanted to experience something like that again.

Now you were forced to confront that same thing.

The room falls silent, and for the first time, Jigsaw’s voice softens, though it still carries a chilling edge. He caresses your head in a gesture that was supposed to be reassuring but made it feel more mockingly with the mask staring down at you.

“Good. You’re starting to understand. Submission is not a weakness, but denial of it is. The truth you fear most is what will set you free... if you survive.”

The machine’s teasing is slower now, giving them just enough reprieve to catch their breath. The chains remain tight, but the suffocating pressure eases. Jigsaw’s voice lowers to a whisper. His hold on you releasing.

“But this is far from over. You’ve only scratched the surface of your truth. There’s still more to reveal.” He steps away from you, crossing his arms and tilting his head in observation.

The tension from your body slightly eases from the slowed-down movements, giving you time to take some much-needed shaky breaths. The cold air once again seems more present now, prickling your skin your heart still pounding from the onslaught of pleasure from before. The machine’s grip eases just a fraction.

 After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks, his voice quieter but still filled with unmatched control.

“Good. Admitting that you’ve submitted before means you’re starting to understand the game. Submission isn’t weakness—it’s inevitable when your will is tested beyond its limits.”

It almost sounded like he wanted to reassure you that it was okay, to admit these dark vulnerabilities to him. Well if you did, you might as well do it here. You doubt a serial killer will judge you much for what you’ll be saying.

A brief pause, his masked face tilting the other way slightly as though studying you.

“But don’t mistake this for mercy. Your truth is just the beginning. Now we see how deep your submission runs.”

The machine remains poised, its presence a constant threat, but for now, it lingers, awaiting the next phase of the game.

Jigsaw steps closer, the sound of his footsteps sharp against the cold floor. The black dress shoes that you take notice of now, snapping against the concrete.  He’s still calm, still methodical, but now there’s a palpable shift in his demeanor. He’s pushing deeper into your mind, now that he knows you have started to break.

“Since you’ve confessed to losing control, it’s time we explore something else.”

His voice lowers, the intensity rising in his tone as he moves even closer. Each time he was about to ask a question your heart would pick up a few beats, the only thing filling you being pure and utter terror.

“You’re not just afraid of losing control… are you? You’re afraid of how much you crave it.”

Your breath hitched because you knew, you knew how right he was about that. The tension in the air thickens as he leans in, his breath cold against your skin. A shaky breath escaped you at the contact. Just a little more and his mask would brush against you if he would just take it off and do exactly that. You almost missed the constant rubbing and teasing the hands provided.

“So tell me... when was the last time you gave in to that craving and enjoyed being powerless?”

The question is like a knife, cutting into your deepest, most secret desires. Your body stiffens, the air suddenly feeling even colder, as you realize what Jigsaw is really asking—the fear and desire to submit intertwined.

“I… I don’t want to admit it, but I have enjoyed it before. I didn’t mean to, but I did.” Your eyes fell shut again at your admission like that could hide you.

Jigsaw falls silent, and the air feels thick with tension, each second feels longer and longer. The mechanical humming seems to soften slightly, but the weight of the your confession hangs in the room like a dark cloud.

“Now you’re starting to understand.” His face moves away but not very far.

The machine slows, giving the victim just enough relief to let their body relax, though the threat still lingers. Jigsaw steps back, watching as the victim trembles, their skin still sensitive from the teasing denial.

“Admitting you’ve enjoyed powerlessness is the first step. But now comes the real test. We’re going to see how much you can take before that craving becomes your breaking point.”

Jigsaw stands still for a moment, letting the weight of the victim’s confession settle in. Processing. The air feels heavier, your pulse racing as you realize what you’ve just admitted. The machine, which had briefly slowed its torment, hums again, but this time with a new energy.

"So, you’ve finally confessed. You’ve craved the very thing you’ve always denied—powerlessness."

He steps forward, his presence even more imposing. The cold metal of the machine hums louder, and the victim's body, trembling with anticipation, tightens as the teasing pulses resume. The sensation is different now faster, more concentrated more focused in a new vigor.

Jigsaw’s voice lowers, almost intimate, as he leans in close to the victim’s ear.

"Now, let’s test how deep that craving goes."

He flips a switch on the machine, and instantly, the teasing becomes an overwhelming onslaught of pleasure and pain, pushing you closer to the edge than they’ve ever been before. In a matter of seconds, you're back to panting like a dog in heat. The mechanical arms grip tighter, pulling your body taut as the pulses of sensation ripple through you. It’s like they knew each brush, each thrust, each button to get you closer and closer.

You buck involuntarily against the restraints, your breath quickening, muscles straining. Your moans ring out clearly through the room no restrain anymore in them. 

"Do you want to submit completely?" Jigsaw’s voice echoes, a command hidden in the question.

Jigsaw stands still for a moment, letting the weight of the victim’s confession settle in. The air feels heavier, their pulse racing as they realize what they’ve just admitted. The machine, which had briefly slowed its torment, hums again, but this time with a new energy.

"So, you’ve finally confessed. You’ve craved the very thing you’ve always denied—powerlessness."

He steps forward, his presence even more imposing. The cold metal of the machine hums louder, and the victim's body, trembling with anticipation, tightens as the teasing pulses resume. The sensation is different now—more intense, more invasive—yet still withholding that elusive release.

Jigsaw’s voice lowers, almost intimate, as he leans in close to the victim’s ear.

"Now, let’s test how deep that craving goes."

He flips a switch on the machine, and instantly, the teasing becomes an overwhelming onslaught of pleasure and pain, pushing the victim closer to the edge than they’ve ever been before. The mechanical arms grip tighter, pulling their body taut as the pulses of sensation ripple through them.

Your body bucks involuntarily against the restraints, your breath quickening, muscles straining. 

"Do you want to submit completely?" Jigsaw’s voice echoes, a command hidden in the question.

"Tell me," Jigsaw continues, his voice a dangerous whisper. "If you want release, beg for it. Admit you have no control left. If you refuse, you’ll stay here, until your mind and body break."

You can barely think, your body trembling involuntarily as the machine keeps you teetering on the edge, closer to release than ever but still denied. Every muscle strains against the chains, to try and get out, as you feel your resolve slipping.

"Submit completely," Jigsaw orders, the demand hanging heavy in the air. "Or resist, and you will never know release again."

It was clear what your answer was going to be. Too out of it to even try to resist his commands. Too fucking desperate to get that release, to feel yourself leak onto the machinery below. To make a mess of everything even more.

You're too overwhelmed by the relentless sensations, gasping for breath. Aching for release, the denial becoming unbearable, bordering painful.

You wanted to let go, absolutely you did. You wanted somebody to completely take over the reins that you so desperately held on to. To give yourself completely over, to not focus on any control at all because that someone, you would trust completely.

“Please…” you whisper, your voice trembling, soaked in desperation. “Please, I can’t take it anymore. I submit. I’m not in control. I… I need it.” Each word spills from your lips, raw and pleading, your gaze locked onto his, craving touch, his touch

A sinister smile creeps beneath his mask, a dark victory shining in his eyes. The machine’s movements slow, almost as if savoring your confession. The restraints tighten one last time, an agonizing reminder of your submission, before—release. The mechanical pulses surge, overwhelming your senses in a tidal wave of sensation.

But it’s his fingers you feel now—long, thick, and unmistakably human. Your eyes snap open, and there he is, Jigsaw, looming over you, a predator inching closer. As his fingers plunge deep inside you, you can’t help but feel the unmistakable hardness pressing against your thigh. The heat radiates from him, mingling with your own arousal, igniting a primal fire within.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with lust. “So eager to be used. You’re just a filthy little thing, begging for it.” Your body convulses at his words, caught in a dizzying mix of pleasure and pain. Each thrust of his fingers drags against your walls, expertly hitting that sensitive spot the machines had cruelly denied.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he breathes, his breath quickening, sending shivers down your spine. “You’re mine now. I’m going to make you feel every bit of it. I’ll take that control and give you exactly what you crave” The way he speaks makes your head spin, and you realize he’s as lost in this moment as you are, his arousal palpable and intoxicating.

“Good. You’ve learned your lesson,” he growls, his voice a low, seductive rumble that vibrates through your core. “But remember… this is only the beginning of your real submission. I want you to scream for me, to beg for more.” The tension hangs thick in the air, the two of you bound together in this dark, twisted dance of desire.

As your mind spirals into blissful oblivion, everything fades to black—just as it all began. You’re left spent, breathless, fully aware that you’ve relinquished the control you once clung to so desperately. In this dark embrace, surrender becomes the sweetest ecstasy, a thrilling intertwining of your desires and his.

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

Hark! I submit an official request for Raphael and someone (dealer’s choice) getting hit with the old Sex Pollen. It could be a trick by Haarlep or a plant/mushroom releasing pollen/spores in Faerûn during one of his visits. I leave circumstances to your brilliant imagination.

I love the sex pollen trope and would love to see you write it :) As always, feel free to make him or both of them as tame or unhinged as you like! Thank you! 💕

❤️

Raph gets pollened ☺️

Read on AO3

-

There was a lot of strange stuff to find laying about in the ruins of Moonrise Towers. Most of it caked in dirt, dust, and other unidentifiable substances. The kleptomaniac in Tav had her poking around, putting her mitts on everything before those little tiefling gobshites stripped the place bare.

She was enamoured by something: a big round vial that contained some viscous liquid which, when Tav cleaned the bottle a little, glowed an ominous dark purple. The stopper was wedged too tight to open. It had been fermenting for a long, long time. Tav had discovered the bottle in a box with a decrepit occult codex of some kind and a burned out incense holder. Bizarre findings that warranted further investigation – after she’d raided everything else of value, of course.

“Well, well. Where should I find the mouse but scurrying about in a ruined old attic? Apt.”

“Shit!”

Tav nearly leapt out of her skin. The bottle went flying, shattering on the ground. A thin, noxious violet gas began to seep from its shattered corpse. The smell was pungent, stomach-churning; like rotten eggs and swamp water. Tav coughed and gagged, eyes wet, glaring at the devil who’d startled her so badly. He stood there innocently, unassuming, a single eyebrow raised at her display of drama. So much for finding out what that potion did.

“Do you enjoy getting the jump on people, devil?” She said waspishly, moving further away from the mess. “Gods, that stinks.”

“Sometimes. Mortals are much more likely to agree to certain things when they’re frightened,” Raphael purred. He tilted his head, taking a small whiff of the gas. “Hmm…it smells like peaches to me.”

Peaches, sure. “What do you want?” Tav crossed her arms. Never turn your back on a devil. Especially this one.

“Merely to see why my favourite future client isn’t celebrating with the rest of her merry band,” said Raphael. Tav noticed he was surreptitiously inhaling deeper sniffs of the potion, like a dog that had caught an interesting scent on the wind. He may not have realised he was doing it. “After all, you freed the angel. You struck down the avatar of a God. One would think a hero of such calibre would at least raise a glass or two in victory, no?”

“I don’t like crowds,” muttered Tav, keenly aware he was mocking her. He was always mocking her. Raphael shifted his feet, coming just a bit closer.

“Yes, I know,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “I know a lot about you, Tav. I know the kinds of people you used to do business with before the mindflayers took you. I know the kind of work you did. I know where you came from, and where you were going before all of this.”

“What?” Tav stared at him, aghast. A mix of horror and, inexplicably, intrigue squirmed in her belly. How did he know these things? Why did he know these things? Something was off, though. Raphael seemed, for a brief moment, as shocked by his words as she.

“All that is to say…” He adjusted his collar. Loosened it. “Hells. Why is it so damn warm all of a sudden?”

In a crumbling tower, battered by the chilling miasma of the shadow curse, the only warmth came from the Infernal himself. “It’s cold up here,” Tav said slowly. A bead of sweat rolled down Raphael’s temple in contrast. “Are…you okay?”

“What a stupid question,” the devil snapped. He was becoming flustered, a fetching flush spreading across his harsh cheeks and the bridge of his handsome nose. “I must return to the Hells. Goodbye.”

He clicked his fingers, intending to disappear in a burst of hellfire as usual, but nothing happened. A mere sputtering of sparks from his fingertips fluttered and died. Outraged, Raphael clicked them again, harder, as Tav watched with mounting anxiety. No portal opened. The devil went nowhere.

“Foolish little bint,” he snarled at her. Revealed his pointed canines when he sneered. Tav saw his pupils were rapidly expanding, consuming the sweet brown of his human irises. “What was in that bottle you dropped?”

“I don’t know,” Tav bit back. Always aggressive when she felt cornered. “And you’re the reason I dropped it in the first place. Maybe this will teach you to stop needlessly scaring people, though I bloody doubt it.”

“If you don’t watch your tongue when you speak to me, I’ll pluck it out of your filthy mouth,” Raphael threatened, low and throatily. He tugged his collar open completely, revealing his neck and some teasing wisps of chest hair.

“Oh I see, the devil’s feeling a bit poorly so he finally shows his true colours,” crooned Tav. “It’s about time. I was getting tired of your gentleman act, you know.”

“Ah…to have your skin hanging on a hook in my foyer would be such a delight…” Rumbled the devil, almost absently. He began to unfasten the buttons of his jacket.

“What are you doing?!” Barked Tav. He didn’t answer. Tossed his coat aside and moved onto the buttons of his fancy white shirt. It was damp with sweat – and this was when Tav noticed the bulge between Raphael’s legs. His cock, hard and proud, strained in the fabric of his trousers. A hot spike of desire shot through Tav’s body. “Oh, shit…”

The potion must have been some kind of demented aphrodisiac, made potent enough over time that just a few inhales was all it took. It must’ve been pretty strong indeed if Raphael was crumbling under its influence so fast. Except it wasn’t affecting Tav. She could admit – only to herself – that her tingles of arousal looking at Raphael’s big, deft, tawny hands work the small buttons of his clothes, at the glistening, hairy skin of his chest as he opened his shirt, at his puffy dark nipples, at the trail of fuzz going down his soft middle to vanish below his belt, at the outline of his erection, at the wet spot its leaking head made on his trousers…they were on Tav alone. She’d been attracted to the smarmy devil from the start.

Figuring all this out, Tav had one thing to consider as Raphael reached for his belt: what did she do?

Indulge, of course. An opportunity like this only appeared once in a lifetime. A street cat like Tav knew it better than most.

So she bit her lip, breath baited, as Raphael freed his cock and balls, both fat with need. Ogled as he furiously, shamelessly, rubbed his prick, squeezed its swollen sticky dark pink head, his tight scrotum bouncing with the force, staring right at her as he did. Sighed when he came in moments, grunting, cum spilling on the ground, all over his knuckles, everywhere. His expression was stormy, devoid of relief or rapture, his cock refusing to soften.

“It’s not enough,” he hissed even as he milked more cum from himself in oozing pearls that lazily trickled between his glans, teeth bared in frustration. “It’s not enough.”

He looked furious, frantic, frayed, and so, so fuckable.

“Come here, then,” said Tav, distantly aware of how breathy she sounded, “let’s try something else.”

He was on her in a second. A waiting predator pouncing on its prey. Tav could barely gasp before he was swallowing her mouth in harsh, biting kisses, one hand fisting the hair at the back of her head, the other holding her hip with bruising strength. Tav greedily put her hands all over him, yanking his silky too-perfect hair, scratching his slick chest and stomach, crushing handfuls of his pliant backside. He was like a furnace, radiating stifling heat. He smelled like cherries and musky sweat. So human, but for the hint of sulphur he simply couldn’t hide. His tongue tasted like wine and fire when he forced it into her mouth, hungrily licking behind her teeth. He was a man unravelling, so much desire pressed beneath the surface just waiting for an excuse like this to burst free, and Tav wanted to see it all.

“Wretch,” Raphael spat when they broke apart. The ribbons of saliva connecting their lips were tinged red. He’d bitten her bloody. “Invading my thoughts…my dreams…and now my body…”

“Your fault,” Tav retorted, crying out when he jerked her head back, rolling his aching prick against her clothed sex.

“Inside,” he growled, losing coherence, “need to be inside…”

He manhandled her, pushing her onto a nearby broken desk. With one hand, and in one yank, he pulled her trousers and smallclothes down to her ankles. Tav heard fabric rip but couldn’t find the will to care. The eerie, twisted moonlight coming in from jagged cracks in the stone, the cursed lands’ grotesque long shadows – these things stretched and warped Raphael’s silhouette into the monster he truly was. Tav swore she felt claws, fangs, horns, saw the glint of yellow eyes…but he was still a man, driven and desperate, who pried her thighs open and stuffed her full of his cock, who rocked up on the balls of his feet to get as deep inside her cunt as possible.

“Fuck,” she groaned, raking her fingernails down his back. She was wet and willing, but it had been a while, he’d entered her without preamble, and his cock was thick. He was unforgiving, selfish, searching only for his own pleasure. The stretch, the burn, as he used her, fucking her hard, fast, violent, was hideous and exquisite. She clenched her cunt around his cock and he came immediately, snorting into her ear like a rutting bull. Filled her womb with hot liquid release. She could feel it spurting out of his cock with every throb. He had so much to give, and still he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Much to Tav’s delight.

There would be Hell to pay when this was over.

[lordprettyflackotara]

betrayed || masky

tw: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. abuse? masky beats the shit out of you, gun play for like five seconds, choking, hate sex, breeding, size kink

a/n: everyone do me a favor and pretend the plot to this isn’t kinda all over the place

“You fucking bitch!”

Masky’s voice was hoarse, his fist colliding with your nose once more. You had lost track of time of how long you’d been here, your head hanging as you gasped for air. The beating was one you could handle, Slenderman having trained you well, but the guilt Masky was attempting to make you feel was something you couldn’t have prepared for. “After all these years, you’re going to betray us? You’re going to leave? To do what? Work for Trenderman?!” He hissed. He stomped before you, gripping the handles of your wooden chair with his gloved hands. His eyes were cold and merciless, peering at you from behind the mask he refused to take off. Your hands were bound behind you, the chains rattling as you attempted to breath with them wrapped around your ribcage.

Trenderman had offered you a position at his mansion. You’d continue being a proxy, but you’d be under his management instead of Slender’s. The Trenderman mansion was a more poised and mindful group of creeps, his proxies the same way. Cat Hunter and Kate had been assigned to him first, them being gifts from Slender. However they lacked leadership. That’s where you came in. Slender had four proxies including you, Trenderman had two. You were the newest member. It only made sense to formally invite you to lead the duo. Trenderman was classy like that, he wasn’t going to force you to do anything. Plus it would make him even with his brother, something he knew Slenderman would understand.

However, Masky did not understand.

Masky had discovered your invitation, as well as your agreement scribbled on it. It enraged him, leading him to drag you into his hellish chambers. The proxies were not afraid to torture someone and you were no exception. Toby and Hoodie were unaware of your choice, but Masky’s interpretation was betrayal. “After everything i’ve done for you, you leave to go be an uppity proxy for the goddamn Trender mansion?!” Masky snarled. The brunette had saved you time and time again. Being a female proxy with some sanity left meant you were a target, constantly. On missions, to the creeps. He fought off all of them for you. “What’s he offering you huh? To be the group leader?” He questioned. You briefly managed to meet his gaze, before looking back down as you panted.

You were sure one of your ribs was cracked, if not at the very least bruised to hell. Masky didn’t know how to control his anger, you knew that. Thats why you didn’t tell him or anyone except for Slender. You knew Slenderman let his mansion residents do pretty much whatever they wanted, but he was bound to his word. You knew he wouldn’t talk. What you hadn’t accounted for was Masky’s snooping. He had gone into your room, searching for you to join him for training. An ominous red envelope sat on your dresser and Masky will admit it, he couldn’t resist the temptation to open it. His lack of will power landed you covered in sweat and blood, the light bulb that dimly illuminated the room flickering. “So that’s it. None of us matter, as long as you’re in a position of power,” He concluded. He swiftly turned around, grabbing his small wooden chair and chucking it against the concrete wall.

The wood shattered into chips, causing you to cringe at the loud noise. “After everything i’ve done for you. Do you think taking a stab wound from Candypop was easy? Huh? All because he looked at you funny?” Masky rambled. You managed to clear your throat, swallowing the remaining saliva and blood that occupied your mouth. “You’re a shit leader Masky. You handle all of your problems just like this. Hot headed and without logic,” You hissed. Masky glared at the floor below, bracing himself against the concrete wall. “Let’s face it. Without Hoodie you wouldn’t know how to do shit. You may be the muscle but he’s the brains. You’re not the leader, you’re the fucking puppet for the puppeteer!” You yelled, venom lacing your words. Masky turned toward you suddenly, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt. “Dont forget what you are princess. You’re a proxy just like the rest of us. This isn’t a promotion. You’re still going to be a filthy slave just like the rest of us. Do you really think it’s smart to burn bridges with the people you’re going to spend entirety with?” Masky seethed.

You shuddered under the feeling of his gloves, the material rough as you boldly stared back at him. He noticed the slight shift in your facial expression, the way your willpower was cracking. He chuckled darkly, a sadistic grin spreading across his lips under his mask. “Cmon princess I thought you were smart. Don’t tell me you really thought you were climbing up the corporate ladder,” Masky said. You wanted better. You wanted something better for yourself. Trenderman’s mansion seemed like a way out. A way to have some sort of structure and honor, even if your freedom was stripped away. “Fuck you Masky. You’re just pissed your hard work hasn’t paid off,” You growled. The brunette stood up, glaring down at you. You could feel blood droplets still trickling down your nose, threatening to spill over your lips. Masky grabbed your face, wiping his gloved thumb over the crimson paint.

You hated how flustered his touch made you, his large hands for once demonstrating some form of compassion. You snapped out of your trance, cringing at his tough. “Dont touch me,” You snapped, jerking your head away from him. Masky gritted his teeth, before smacking you across the face. This time you could taste blood, the metallic flavor dancing across your tastebuds. You choked, gasping for air as you spat onto the floor. “You call yourself a proxy? Unchain me and fight me like a man you bastard!” You hissed. Truthfully you didn’t know how much damage you could inflict in your position. You expected your nose to be broken somehow, blunt force trauma causing your nose to become a faucet. Your ribs were fucked, your jaw was popped just almost out of its socket. You were also sweaty, tired, and hungry. However you knew without a shadow of a doubt Masky was taking it easy on you. You had been tasked to torture people together. You knew what the sick fuck could do.

“You wanna fight? Fine. Prove to me you deserve to be a leader,” Masky grumbled. He huffed behind you, undoing your shackles. The chain clanked to the floor, immediately relief washing over your bruised wrist. The minute you were free, you caught Masky off guard. You swiped around him, grabbing his gun that was tucked into his back waistband. You knew exactly where he kept it, you didn’t need any other attack. You pointed the gun directly at his temple, backing him against the wall. He slowly raised his hands, scrawling at you from behind the mask. “Pathetic. I expected more from you,” You spat. Forcefully you grabbed his mask off his face, revealing the hateful expression he wore proudly. “You betrayed us. You betrayed me,” Masky argued. You took the end of the gun, removing it from his temple and shoving it past his lips. “Open your mouth or i’ll break your teeth in,” You threatened. In an odd way you liked this, humiliating him like this. After how much he had put you through, putting the end of a gun in his mouth was the least you could get away with.

Masky stared wide eyed as he loosened his jaw, allowing the gun to go inside of his mouth. There was something about it, something erotic he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it was the danger that he knew his gun brought. Or the amount of blood that the weapon had produced. Or maybe it was the determined stare you were giving him, your eyebrows furrowed and face hardened. You were so cute like this, so angry. You were always feisty, Masky knew that was a character trait of yours long before you joined his little band of misfits. And honestly, with the blood dripping down your face and messy hair, he had never been more turned on his life. You picked up on the subtle body language changes Masky was making, the sight causing you to raise your furrowed eyebrows. His face was turning a light tint of pink. “What’s your problem?” You asked, genuinely confused. You glanced down, Masky’s boner visible through his jeans. “What the fuck-” You whispered. Masky used your shock to his advantage, swiftly flipping you both around.

He disarmed his gun from you, pinning you against the wall. Lazily he tossed the weapon aside, using his hands to corner you. “Enough games princess. Let’s face it. We’ve always had tension. It’s always been you and me. The late night car rides when we’re the only ones awake. The way we make each other coffee. I see the way you look at me. You can’t lie,” Masky hissed. He wedged his knee in between your thighs, rubbing up against your clothed cunt. “You wanna up and leave? You wanna leave me?” He asked. For a brief moment he looked upset, insulted even. “The real betrayal is not you trying to leave, it’s you trying to leave and act like there’s nothing between us princess,” He snarled. His face hardened once more, your core beginning to throb from the pressure his knee was providing. “Please, just let me have a taste of heaven once,” He mumbled lowly. You stared up at him, grabbing handfuls of his jacket. You pulled him towards you, pressing your blood stained lips against his. His lips were rough against yours, desperate and hungry.

How long had he waited for this? To grab your waist, tugging at the hem of your shirt. You both were like feral animals, tearing at each other clothes. “Someone’s eager, hmm?” Masky teased, relieved to see you match his energy. You pushed him, forcing to sit down in the chair you once sat in. You straddled his hips, rolling them against his aching cock. “Fucking hell princess, you’re killing me here,” Masky groaned. His large hands gripped your ass, squeezing it harshly. Your shirt was long discarded, your hands beginning to fiddle with the clip of your bra. “Please, allow me,” Masky grinned, reaching around and unclipping your bra in a swift motion. He began peppering kisses against your chest, your hips continuing to roll against his. “I didn’t think you’d even know what a bra was, you’re such a virgin,” You smirked, tilting your head back. Masky began sucking at your breast, purposefully missing your exposed hardened nipples. He was littering your skin with marks, his chocolate eyes never straying from yours. He released your skin with a pop, his lips a darker pink. “I don’t fuck like one, but you’ll find that out first hand,” He argued.

Finally he brought your left nipple to his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. He had waited so long to hear that mouth of yours moan his name, your head tilted back and his name falling off of your tongue. You were soaking through your panties, the dampness forming a wet spot through your shorts and onto Masky’s jeans. “Fuck, Masky,” You whined, his tongue swirling around your nipple. He grunted as he grabbed you, throwing you onto the hard concrete floor before crawling on top of you. “You’re such an inconsiderate asshole,” You gritted through your teeth, lifting your hips to help him remove your shorts. Masky tossed them aside carelessly, before undoing his belt. The sound of clinking metal sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. “Funny, coming from the traitor,” He huffed. He shoved down his jeans and boxers, his hard cock visibly twitching as Masky eyed your cunt. He leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear as the concrete pricked at your bare back. “In all my fantasies i’ve eaten you out for hours, made you squirm beneath me and beg for more. But if i’m being honest with myself, your betrayal has never made me want to fuck you more. I’m not going to wait,” Masky whispered.

His teeth grazed your earlobe, causing you to shiver as you felt the tip of his cock brush against your swollen sex. You whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Brace yourself princess,” He grumbled, before abruptly shoving himself inside of you. You gasped, your eyes wide and staring at the flickering lightbulb above as he split you in half. Your nails dug into his back, the sharp pain making him grit his teeth. “You can take it. I know you can,” He grunted, pushing himself in further. Your gummy walls were clinging to him, milking his cock in further even as you struggled to take him. Your body was screaming in an odd mixture of pain and pleasure, Masky’s lips pecking sloppy kisses against your ear and down to your neck. “I fucking hate you Masky. I always have. I hate the way you make me feel,” You confessed. You screwed your eyes shut as your body began to relax, Masky’s lips not letting up for a second. “You wanna know why i’m transferring to Trender’s? I refuse to fall in love with you. You sick twisted fuck,” You admitted, your last insult turning into a groan as Masky bottomed out inside of you. He lifted himself, just enough to where he was hovering over you. “I hate you too princess. But don’t lie to yourself. I feel the way you’re squeezing me. It’s a little too late for that,” Masky barked, before slowly moving his hips.

You moaned as he began to snap his hips into yours, your legs wrapping around his waist. His gloved hand came to your throat, viscously beginning to choke you. You gasped, your moans becoming restricted as he fucked you. “You’re such a fucking whore. You know that? Those little shorts you wear on missions. You think i’m the only one who noticed?” Masky rambled. His anger fueled his thrust, his cock abusing your g spot with each thrust. He choked you harder, your groans becoming choked sounds as he plowed into you. “Toby jerks off to you behind closed doors. Did you know that? And Hoodie has secretly recorded you showering so many times I can’t recall how many of those shitty cameras i’ve destroyed,” Masky continued, His eyes were full of darkness and rage, staring down at you intimidatingly. Your nails sank deeper into his back, Masky’s cock twitching at the sensation. He began to fuck you harder, releasing your throat and relishing in the sight of you gasping for air. “You’re never gonna forget me, i’m not going to let you,” Masky grumbled. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, listening to you mercilessly moan his name. It was the sweetest mantra he had ever heard and he attempted to ingrain it into his memory as he fucked you.

“I’m gonna fill you to the fuckin brim with my cum. You wanna play games? You’ll never get rid of me. I’ll leave you with a kid that looks just like me,” Masky groaned. Your walls squeezed his tighter, a sadistic smirk forming across his lips. “Oh you like that you sick little slut? Being bred by me? Why didn’t you just say so?” He questioned mockingly. You could feel your own orgasm approaching quickly, his filthy words making you come closer and closer to the edge of euphoria. “Masky, please, so close,” You whined, your fingers now entangling themselves with his thick brown hair. Masky rewrapped his fingers around your throat, pushing you down further against the pavement as he grunted into your neck. This was humiliating and borderline disgusting, yet you were on a high not even Slenderman himself could ruin. Your orgasm was sudden, Masky’s thrust not halting for a second as he fucked you through your orgasm. Your brain didn’t have time to process anything, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as your walls milked Masky to his own high. Your name fell off of his lips as he came buried inside of you, both of you panting messes as his seed painted your inner walls.

“I think I may stay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

[back2bluesidex]

Dear Darling - JHS [Masterlist/Prologue]

Pairing: Serpent king (imoogi)!Hoseok X Human!Reader

Theme: Angst, dark romance, smut, fantasy au.

Wordcount: 1.5+ for the prologue

Summary: After his bride flees from his clutches and reaches the realm of mortals to reunite with her lover - Hoseok has no choice but to chase her. Upon his arrival to the land of obnoxious humans, he crosses paths with you. You are a small, driven mortal who walks with a load of despair on her back. You are nothing but a delicious meal to him and he wants nothing more than to suck your life out of you, find his runaway wife and return to his kingdom. But much to his dismay, you ruin his plans, make him do what he never imagined doing in 600 years of his life - like making him fall in love and keeping him bound to you.

Warnings: Hoseok is cruel, there maybe some mentions of blood but nothing too crazy, eventual smut, heavy themes, quite dark actually (more will be added with each chapter). NSFW!!

Accepting Taglist Requests.

A/N: Got this idea in a dream.... that's all:')

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

Masterlist | Patreon (Early access to the chapters)

Jung Hoseok. 

The name was enough to shake the core of dark creatures with terror. Even serpents like him would not dare to cross paths with him. 

He is an ominous creature of the night, rules the realm of darkness. He stays under the shadow and attacks when his preys are at their weakest. 

He is powerful, cruel, horrendous and everything that can be one’s nightmare. And to climb at the peak of his power, to rule the underworld with more and more ruthlessness - he must get married. 

He was about to be completed with the coupling ceremony by now only if - his bride didn’t run away. 

“Do you think I believe you, sir?” Hoseok speaks with a voice so cold that he can clearly see the shiver that runs down the subject's entire body. 

The old man - or more likely - an old serpent is sitting on his knees in front of him. His head is hanging low, palms conjoined with each other to beg the king. 

“You- you must believe me, my lord. I know n-nothing of the lady’s departure.” his voice is trembling but he keeps lying regardless. 

Does he not know Hoseok can see him through? 

“Really? I must believe you?” he laughs, one that prickles on your skin in the worst possible way, “then.. Would you be able to pay the price of my trust?” 

The old being doesn’t say anything. One of Hoseok’s guards pushes the tip of his sword further in his side. That coaxes a reply out of him, “what- what price must I pay, my lord?” 

Hoseok smiles, “I heard you have a freshly transformed son? Only a year old, if I am right. I was wondering how enjoyable it would be to rip off his very new scales one by one and then behead him in front of the entire kingdom?” 

The old man jerks at that “My-My lord. No. I beg you no. I- I will tell you as much as I know.” 

“That’s good. So tell me, where is the soon-to-be queen hiding? Down the sea or up the mountains?” Hoseok bends one of his knees to come face to face with his prey. His heavy cloak falls on the ground as if to make a carpeted floor for the king. 

“She… she has fled to the realm of mortals. My- my brother, who- who is half human has helped her out. I heard that her lover, a gumiho, is settled there. But I swear to my kids, my lord, I don’t know where she is, how she fled. I only helped her in contacting my brother. That’s all.” 

“What? What did you say? Realm of mortals? Her lover is a gumiho?” Hoseok roars, stands abruptly. His anger flares like a ring of fire and as a result dark clouds start swinging in the already dark sky. 

The storm starts raging just as Hoseok’s anger, “Guards! Behead his entire family right this instant! And make sure he watches them die before having the pleasure himself.” 

He ignores the pleas of the old serpent as he walks away. And even if he didn’t ignore those, what could he do? 

The blood that runs in his veins is cold, there is no heart that beats inside his chest. Even monsters call him a beast. He is just that bad. 

But he is even worse to the ones who betray him - like his wife-to-be, who has managed to flee from his grips, who also has fallen in love with the enemies of his kind. 

Only if she wasn’t the chosen one - the one who can increase his powers by tenfold. He would have killed her right the moment he found her. 

However, he can’t do so, not at least now. Before everything he has to find her. He has to visit the realms of humans, whom he loathes so much, to pull her between his clutches again. 

“How are the Mins doing?” Hoseok’s dark eyes focus on the goblet of dark red liquid that sits atop the table. 

On the other side of the table sits his trusted advisor Kim Seokjin. He is probably the only serpent in the kingdom, whom hoseok as a speck of trust on. 

“Thanks to you, my king. They have been running a very successful business on the land of humans.” Kim Seokjin states. 

“Tell them to prepare a comfortable stay for me there. I will be finding and bringing my bride back myself.” Hoseok orders. His fingers curl underneath the goblet in the meantime. 

“My lord, it will not be wise for you to visit alo-”

Hoseok slams the goblet on the table interrupting his advisor, “Mr. Kim, do you perhaps doubt my capabilities? I assume you already know I am more than capable of destroying the entire mortal land all by myself.” 

“Yes, my lord, I am well aware of that. I will convey your message to Min Yoongi.” Kim Seokjin stands on his feet and bends down on a deep bow before leaving the room. 

Hoseok feels a buzz in his cold veins. He is eager to find out how love can be more important than the power he was going to provide Soojin with. 

She could be the queen of this kingdom but she chose to fall in love with a gumiho instead. 

Love? Huh! He scoffs to himself. He is proud that he can feel no such emotions. And he would rather have his scales rip off than falling in love with another creature. 

Extravaganza. 

These lowly human beings know nothing but extravaganza. 

From the full glass buildings to the noisy music on the streets, they overdo everything and anything. 

Hoseok’s eyes scans each and every corner of the mansion that the Mins have organized for him to stay. This, too, is extravagance in every way. 

Min Yoongi, the head of this generation’s half-serpents, sits on both of his knees in front of Hoseok. 

“My king, it is a reward to have a chance of serving you personally. Just name what you want, I will have it presented right before you.” he speaks like the obedient servant that he is.

“A job. I need a job.” Hoseok speaks absent-mindedly. 

“My lord, forgive this lowly creature but did I hear you right? You need a job?” Min Yoongi’s confusion makes Hoseok smirk. 

“Yes, Mr. Min. you heard that right. I need a job to blend with these mortals. I am certain my wife-to-be has put the tigerlilies at work. You might already know, inhaling the pollen of those flowers once is enough to be transformed into any other creature for two nights. And even the King, as I am, is unable to defy its power.” Hoseok comes to stand in front of Yoongi, his hands are kept behind his back. 

His dark eyes find the pale man amusing and quite obedient. 

“Yes, my lord. I am well aware of the magical powers of the flower. About the job - thanks to you, my business here is running well. I can arrange an executive position for you at the company, if you’d like.” 

“Executive?” Hoseok raises one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows, “what kind of work do they do?” 

“They don’t have to do anything much, my lord. I will take care of whatever work your position might be responsible for, you can invest your sole concentration on your task.” Min Yoongi bows lightly. 

“I like your proposition. Tell me how to get to your company.” Hoseok takes a few steps back towards the staircase. The intricate designs of the railing catches his eyes. 

“I will have a car ready for you, if you want to visit now.” 

“I would like that.” 

Hoseok climbs out of the car and stands in front of the large building that the Mins have been ruling with the power of wealth that he had gifted them, some hundred years back. 

He scrutinizes the glass walls. His gaze zeros on his own reflection and he devilishly smiles at the way he looks so human. 

Min Yoongi has arranged some clothes for him. Some black silk pants with a silk shirt and a short cloak that they call a blazer. 

Hoseok has always been proud of the way he looks. But he must admit - he looks even better and more eye-catching in human clothes. 

His, now invisible, scales rise under the material of his clothes when he senses someone else watching him from a short distance. 

He projects his eyes in that direction and finds a woman with petite form, big pebbly eyes and a beautiful face. 

It’s you. 

With just one glance he sees right through you. He can see your breath getting stuck in your throat at the sight of him. He can see the cogs of your brain working and your heart leaping inside of your chest. 

He knows you are getting attracted towards him. And that’s good for him. Having a human right on his foot as a servant can help him in tracing Soojin faster. 

It’s one of his powers to attract his prey, like how a pitcher plant emits a sweet smell to attract insects only to eat those up when those near it. 

But with those innocent eyes, that alluring face - it’s a waste that you are just another moth driven to the flame.

Permanent Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

Prompt from @stusbunker: Dean used to think he could never keep up with your exhibitionism. The Demon inside him calls your bluff.

Characters: Knight of Hell/Demon Dean Winchester x You, Sam Winchester

Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY, dubious consent, exhibitionism, dirty talk, name-calling, threat of object insertion (yes, please, sir), misuse of a piano bench, pool table sex, you are a GD TROOPER for this heroic act

Words: 1,500

Author's notes: Stuie, you always give the best prompts. @brrose-apothecary and I had a lot of fun with this one!

This is the first fill for my 2024 Flashfic Festival.

Exhibition

“Dean Winchester,” you sing-song as you saunter into the backroom of the bar, where Dean’s been plucking at piano keys and downing Maker’s like water for hours.

You narrow and drag your deliberately licentious gaze over Dean’s frame, and he answers with a head tilt and a mirror of your attitude and glare. He greets you by name as he slowly rolls his shoulders back and turns away from the piano keys to face you. You pretend not to notice him setting aside his recent weapon of choice in favor of a glass filled with whiskey.

“What’s a nice boy like you doing in a place-” you pause and give the room a distasteful scan before returning your attention to Dean. “Like this?”

You come to a halt about three feet from Dean, closer than I’d allow if I could come out of the shadows, but we agreed to you going in alone. 

“Not so nice,” Dean replies, sipping from his glass as he swings one leg over the bench to straddle it. He watches you over the rim of his glass for a few beats before taking a long pull.

“Mmm, you Winchester boys really try playing the Bad Boy card.”

Dean shrugs as he stands up. You watch his body unfold, and a brief flash of uncertainty sparks in your eyes. 

“Guess ya haven’t talked to my baby brother in a while, huh?” Dean downs the remainder of what’s in his glass, as he strolls toward the bar, brushing past you, side-eye and all. 

“Tall, dark, and tight-ass? Not lately.” 

I roll my eyes at that one, but you’re playing your own cards right now and doing it well. You turn with Dean as he passes you, making sure to keep him in your sight and off your back. 

Dean scoffs at your remark as he reaches for the bottle of whiskey left out on the bar to refill his glass. “Yeah, Sammy’s always had a stick up his ass.”

He takes another long sip and feigns nonchalance, resting his elbow on the bartop, searching your eyes as you walk the ominous path to meet him toe-to-toe.

“Not you, though. I always wished we had more time together, for a little-” you sigh and bite your lip. “Remember that night in Chattanooga? I told you the coast was clear, but-” you shake your head, moving closer. “You were too worried someone’d walk in on us.”

You chuckle and roll your eyes like you aren’t baiting a Knight of Hell. Dean silently stares you down, his expression unreadable, until your combat boots kiss his loggers. 

“Think you wanted someone to walk in on us,” he grunts before taking another sip.

You shrug and play coy. “Maybe I liked an audience.”

There’s a sound of muffled voices entering the kitchen from the alley, pots and pans being utilized, and water is turned on. My heart rate kicks up a notch, but you remain composed. Dean studies your lack of reaction. 

“How ‘bout now?” he asks, throwing back the rest of his drink and setting the empty glass aside. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he towers over you, clearly using his size and mass to rattle you.

You grin and Dean smirks. He shoves a hand up the back of your hair and squeezes. It has to sting, but you whimper and start to drool, gripping the lapels of his overshirt. He angles your head to his advantage, exposing your throat, and dips in to lick a line from your collarbone to your jaw.

“Didn’t answer my question,” he mutters, taking the hinge of your jaw between his teeth and rolling you to arch your back over the bar.

You stumble and huff a breath. Your eyes are wild and searching until they find mine, and you sigh with relief, letting your eyes fall closed. You relax into Dean’s forceful onslaught.

“Maybe I still like it,” you breathe, opening your eyes again, and showing me renewed conviction.

Dean chuckles again, darker this time with a cruel edge I’ve never heard from him. He kicks your feet apart, making your skirt ride up high, and tucks a knee between your thighs, brushing dangerously against your knee-high boots. 

He kisses you then, using the hold on your hair to keep you where he wants you, and tearing at the buttons of your blouse.

“This get you off? Knowin’ the kitchen staff’s back there? That they’re gonna hear when I make you scream?”

You wrench from his hold and push him. He laughs and stumbles backward, watching you stalk after him, dropping your jacket to the floor and removing your shredded top the rest of the way.

“Keep talking.” 

“You like an audience and you like me tellin’ you about it? Want me to tell you what a dirty girl you are too?”

Dean bumps the piano bench and sits with his back to the piano, letting you climb astride his hips and push his shirt from his shoulders to the black and white keys. He grabs you by the hair again, and his other hand disappears under your skirt.

“Answer me,” he sneers.  

Your body jolts. I did not expect things to go this far—you’ve put yourself at grave risk, but you’re turned on, too. I’m not a voyeur, but I can’t take my eyes off you for even one second and leave you at his mercy.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Yes. Tell me.”

Dean nods, licking his lips. 

“I’d bet-” he pauses and his shoulder rolls with whatever his hand’s doing under your skirt, and you choke on air, mimicking the grip he has in your hair. “That dishwasher back there’d love to walk out here and see you ridin’ my hand like a hot, little slut.” 

You gasp and yank his head back, but he resists enough to maintain eye contact with you. 

“Could lay ya out on the lid of this baby grand, spread you open, fuck that bottle of whiskey into this tight, slick hole for everybody to see and hear. Give ‘em all a little sip of this pussy.”

You whimper and drop your chin to your chest and your forehead to his.  

“Listen to how fuckin’ sloppy you are,” Dean mutters. “So easy. C’mon and come and I’ll bend you over the pool table and give ‘em a real show.” 

You roll your head to the side and your mouth falls open on a silent cry, one fist tightening in his hair and the other twisting the neck of his t-shirt.

“There it is,” Dean whispers.

He gives you about three seconds before standing and carrying you to the pool table. 

“Not even wearin’ panties. You came here down to fuck, didn’t ya, princess?”

He drops you on the edge of the table then traces the ridge of your collarbone and the straps of your bra before flicking the front open and letting it drop around your wrists. You toss it aside, so you aren’t hindered by it, while Dean unbuckles his belt and pushes you to lie back.

You lift your knees and hold yourself open by the backs of your thighs. Dean rests a hand over your breastbone before trailing his fingers from your sternum to your belly as he guides himself inside you, and you both groan. 

“Oh-ho-ho,” Dean huffs a laugh and wraps his fingers around your knees on top of yours. “I knew this pussy’d be good. The old me was too much of a softie to fuck ya rough and quick back in Chattanooga. Someone might’ve walked in!” He laughs, pressing over your belly as he sets a brutal pace. “Worth the fuckin’ wait, though, shit.”

He never shuts the fuck up, talking about what it looks like sinking into you, telling you how pretty you are stretched around his hammering cock, and calling you the best, dirtiest, little bitch he’s ever had. 

He’s so caught up in the moment, so amused by the sound of his own voice and satisfaction, that he doesn’t see you reach into the hidden compartments on the outside of each of your boots.

You’re lightning fast with the holy water and cuffs. Before I can even make my way out from the service hallway where I’d been hiding since 10 AM, Dean’s on his knees, smoke rolling from his skin with his hands bound.

“Nice work,” I huff a breath, stopping short to give you enough room to gather your things.

Dean snarls and snaps as you hop down from the table and smooth your skirt over your hips. 

“Thanks.” You reach for your bra and quickly slip into it before scooping up your jacket.

“You fucking bitch,” Dean growls, rolling to his back to refasten his pants. “You can’t hold me like this, and I will fucking kill you. Both of you.”

I watch you shrug into your jacket with wide eyes. You’re trembling as you sidle up next to me. “You sure this’s gonna work?” you whisper.

I nod and squeeze your hand in mine. “I’m sure.” 

I draw a deep breath and watch my brother smolder like a raging forest fire, dragging you closer to my side than to where he’s writhing at our feet.

“It has to.”

My Dean Winchester Fic | My Supernatural Fic | My Master List

[pseudowho]

Infiltration, Chapter Four: The Rumbling Shrine

Nanami Kento and the reader must pretend to be married to infiltrate a deadly Curse-user cult and take it down from the inside.

*SMUT/NSFW/18+ BEGINS HERE*

A slow-burn fic with fluff/comfort, angst, smut and heroics from our favourite salaryman.

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A rumble, as deep as the earth and centuries old, shook through the Shrine. The inhabitants of the Temple below treated the monstrous groan with casual indifference; a pair of caretakers barely paused in their conversation as they held wobbling effigies in place, and the cleaner grumbled as he fetched his dustpan and brush to collect the drifts of plaster tumbling from the ceiling.

Inside the Shrine, the man who had lost his wife to battle, fought the desperate fight of a man who had lost everything. Covered in blood and standing over the shattered body of a Shrine attendant, his Shikigami fled from him as an ancient roar shook his bones. Devastated by his abandonment, The Fathers restrained him once more as he cried out, thrashing, legs flailing in a mad dance.

A second man, whose wife had forsaken him, was paralysed with terror, sweating and shaking as he stared down the barrel of a gun, knowing he was next.

As the widower was dragged, still crying out for the ghost of his wife, the rumble grew deep, and hungry.

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It felt like you had cried into Kento's chest for hours. The smears and splatters of your blood in his shirt were now watered down by your tears, pale red and sickly-looking. Patiently, and needing to hold you as much as you needed to be held, Kento stroked your hair, his chest occasionally giving low, consonant words of reassurance that you drank in, soothed.

Eventually, with a shaky sigh, you sat up, and wiped your eyes with conviction.

"I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm just...angry. Annoyed. If I'd been able to fight properly, I might have been able to take her."

Kento's frown was deep and ominous, "You shouldn't have had to. These people are monsters and I...I should have stepped in sooner," his voice grew tight. You shook your head, conviction remaining.

"You made the safest choice. I made the safest choice. If I'd have fought with my abilities, if we'd refused the fight, if you had called for help or stepped in too soon...we'd have given ourselves away. Things could have been so much worse."

Kento hadn't yet let go of you, allowing you to sit up, but still holding you tightly between his parted thighs. He looked away from you, face grim, with a thousand-yard stare. You held his face gently between your hands, pulling him back to you.

"I mean to see this through, Kento. I have to. I need to." Kento's expression grew momentarily pained as he swallowed hard, nodding.

"Anything else like that, though," he urged, "and I will end this and call for help. Whether you agree to it or not." Pausing for thought, you nodded slowly. Kento squeezed your upper arms, but let go quickly as you winced.

"Shit, I'm sorry. We need to fix you up," Kento grumbled, heading to the kitchen and searching through cabinets. Not finding what he wanted, he continued grumbling while you watched him fondly, imagining him as an old man, smitten at the thought of his liver-spotted hands and comfortable cardigans.

You crawled gingerly to your suitcase, and, grabbing your keys, hacked through a fabric panel in the casing, revealing a host of first-aid and medical supply items.

"Kento," you beckoned. He stood over you, looking down at your suitcase. His eyes crinkled at you in a soft smile.

"Clever girl," he said, kneeling and rummaging as you blushed furiously. Kento surveyed you, crouched on his haunches, his thighs looking deliciously thick as the fabric of his tuxedo stretched around them. You gulped, his eyes burning holes through your dress; your wounds were still filled with dirt and gravel. Kento cleared his throat.

"Can you get cleaned up alone, or...?" You flapped your hands at him, blush deepening as the tips of his ears turned pink. Mumbling reassurances to him, you took yourself to the shower, washing your tender wounds to the best of your ability. Your arms and legs were laden with grazes, and a huge purple bruise blossomed over your ribcage and belly. You thanked your lucky stars that you didn't have anything worse.

Wrapping yourself in a towel, you peeked out of the bathroom door. Kento looked up, waiting for you with various antiseptics and bandages. He cleared his throat again, looking down at his arrangement while he held his hand out to you. Padding over to him, blushing at your state of undress, you took his hand and he helped you to sit in front of him.

Wordlessly, Kento glanced to you for permission before starting to dab your grazes with antiseptic. Unflinching, you were used to far worse than this. Kento worked on you while you rested your chin on your knees, deep in thought.

"I...never had a chance to thank you," you said, so quiet that Kento held his breath to hear you.

"For what?"

"For getting me out that-- that day." Kento blinked, surprised that you remembered. He remembered it well-- being the First-Grade called to go and manage the Curse that had killed one Second-Grade and wounded another. Being the one to find you, slumped on the cold concrete, bloodied, clutching your best friend's mangled body while you stared lifelessly into the darkness. Being the one (his heart breaking for you, the woman he was growing to love) who had eased your friend's body out of your cold, clutching fingers, and shielded your view as the body was zipped up into black plastic. Being the one to drive you home, the car silent, rain hammering down on the windows, as orange streetlights illuminated the tears streaking down your cheeks.

Kento gulped, blinking back tears, remembering how Suguru, his lost friend, had once done that for him. Remembering Suguru's soft words of reassurance and hands clasping his upper arms tightly. Remembering how he, too, was once so close to following Suguru down a similar path, not once blaming him, but blaming the system that saw fit to sacrifice so many.

"I--" Kento's voice cracked, "I wouldn't have left you alone like that. I just wish-- I wish you'd have called me...after." He kicked himself mentally, not wanting to blame you for your self-isolation, not wanting to put himself first, "I would have been there for you. If you had wanted. I hope...I hope you know that."

You shook your head, "No. I already feel bad enough making you relive your own...losing Haibara...it wasn't fair for me to put that on you."

Kento grumbled in disagreement, "I can honestly say I've had little in the way of friends since Yuu died. You're the best...the closest friend I've had since. I'd have wanted to be there for you. I--" Kento swallowed thickly, "I still want to be there for you. As a friend, or...or anything, really."

Heat crept down the back of your neck. Was that...did he just...? Your mind reeled at the near-confession. Am I just...imagining things? Your mind worked at a hundred miles per hour.

Kento cursed himself, taking your silence as awkwardness. He moved swiftly on, "I need to look at your ribs," he said, voice tight again, "So if you get under the covers and keep your towel over your chest I can check them for breaks."

You nodded, pink cheeked, and he turned while you lay down in the futon, lower half covered by blankets and breasts loosely concealed behind your towel. With your arm over your eyes, Kento turned to take you in, his breath catching at your body, just a few thin sheets of fabric away from total exposure, in your shared bed.

You jumped when Kento's broad, warm palms flattened softly against the bruise across your ribs. You could swear you felt every inch of skin individually as his deft hands worked over your ribs, feeling for fractures. You wished his hands would work higher, and lower, fingers rolling your nipples and slipping between your legs, feeling your pulse in your clit as you prayed Kento would make a move, fully open to being taken by him, then and there, in your futon.

Kento was meticulous, his focus split between wanting to take care of you, and wanting to take care of you. He wanted to make sure your ribs weren't broken. He wanted to remove your arm from your eyes. He wanted to rub ointment into the bruising. He wanted you to watch him as he kissed down your body, his tongue settling between your legs to finally taste you. He wanted you to sigh with relief as he tended to your pain. He wanted you to sigh and pull his hair as you called his name in pleasure.

Barely able to conceal the growing stretch in his trousers, he settled for checking for fractures and dabbing ointment, but your sighs of relief still went straight through him in a way he found distractingly arousing. He stood, turning his back to you, forcing out to you: "Go and get dressed. We should get some sleep."

The air was thick between you both as you prepared for bed. Lying down together, so many words unspoken in the dark, little sleep would be had that night.

A quiet voice spoke out; "Thank you."

A warm hand reached out, small fingers clasped against it, squeezing, sharing that nothing was owed and everything was yet to play for.

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Kento and you had been left, suspiciously undisturbed, for two full days. The morning after the welcome party, a basket of treats, medicines and an apology note had been delivered to the house by the Fathers' wives. Kento had invited them in, and they had wittered sympathetically about the bruised and injured state of you, as if they hadn't been completely party to the savage beating.

Kento had been the picture of an attentive husband-- you felt, surprisingly naturally, almost as if he wasn't even acting-- and so the wives had wittered about how kind and dutiful he was, how fortunate you were, and what a lovely father Kento would make. You had demurred, agreeing with everything, and Kento hid his face in the cupboards, pretending to look for more tea.

As the wives left, you and Kento spoke, Kento locking the basket away in a cabinet with a sour look on his face.

"They really want you in their little club, don't they?" you hummed, taking a bite of your toast.

"Don't be so sure that it's only about me," Kento mused, "I actually think we may have caused a little disagreement between the Fathers that night." You tilted your head sideways, a silent gesture for Kento to continue. "Father Shinzu likened you to the Cursed-technique users of the Inumaki clan. My guess is, Father Tatsu was prioritising growing the Cult's raw strength, while Father Shinzu was interested in the potential of your technique."

"I mean, Father Shinzu's right. If we had kids, my ability with your added power behind it? Oof." You continued to eat your toast thoughtfully, while Kento imagined being surrounded by your babies, daydreaming about tiny clothes and tiny footsteps.

Kento had kept up appearances over these two days, heading out to the shops for food, talking to the residents of the village, all of whom now seemed very interested in the new couple who were madly devoted to each other, even enough to risk their lives to defend each other within this community. Word seemed to have got out that you, as a couple, should be nurtured, lest you wish to leave.

As such, Kento had returned home that afternoon with matching new gloves from the knitting woman, a full bag of shopping ("on the house" the shopkeeper insisted with a wink), an invitation to visit the Shrine, and a lot of information.

"The gossip you overheard from the tea shop ladies was accurate," Kento assured, unpacking bags while you admired the matching gloves, secretly thrilled, "the librarian up at the Temple is responsible for records of members, current and present. I imagine that would include logs on their activities, in and out of the Community. And the library is actually open to residents."

"Perfect," you chirped, clapping your hands together, "So, if we can get out some information about those outside the Community, the other sorcerers can hunt them down, and we could handle inside."

"Exactly," Kento agreed, pressing a mug of tea to your hands. Doing this, with you, felt so...natural. He had taken untold amounts of pride in taking care of you. Even better, you had happily accepted his assistance. You seemed so much brighter than you had been, just a fortnight before, when you had been given this mission. That alone, thought Kento, makes this all worth it.

The truth was, Kento had long-since been your candle in the dark. You recalled long evenings in with your deceased friend, a pizza between you, as you had poured your feelings out about Nanami Kento, and she had smiled knowingly, excited by your blossoming love. She had joked about being your Maid of Honour, you recalled with a deep pang of pain. At this moment, you wanted nothing more than for this to be real-- not as Mrs.Tsuda, but as Mrs.Nanami instead. His. And he, yours.

"Tomorrow, then," Kento spoke, sitting with you and flipping open his book, "we go to the Shrine, as invited, and then to the Library."

"You flirt with the librarian, and I gather the intel. Right."

"The librarian's a man."

"So? You don't know his taste. Don't be so narrow-minded, Kento."

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"It needs more," a furious voiced hissed in the dark, fragrant heat of the Shrine, "it grows hungrier and it angers."

"Calm yourself," a measured voice urged, soft and slow, "it is not towards us that the anger is directed." A lantern was gestured towards a deep pit dug through the ground in the middle of the Shrine, within which something huge and shapeless writhed and whispered.

"The sacrifices are sufficient. One of the shopkeepers found their protective amulet missing yesterday, and the Goddess did not even rise to seek food amongst the villagers."

Father Tatsu sneered, but quietened, satisfied. "With the backing of the Goddess, in her new vessel, our numbers will grow soon. Their children will draw from her power should the women gestate close to her." Father Shinzu nodded, smiling, placating.

"Exactly so," he pressed, "and recruitment is going well. Many approached couples are accepting our offer. And the ones who don't, well..." Father Shinzu's lantern light seemed to dim as tendrils from the pit ebbed ever closer, "...she does need feeding, after all."

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You were never not excited to visit a library, but saw fit to remind yourself that today you had a plan- get in, gather intelligence, get out. Kento would occupy the librarian to give you time.

But, to begin, hand in hand in your new matching gloves, you walked together past the houses and river, through the village centre, and up a steep, winding path towards the Shrine. Away from the vestiges of Cursed-energy of other inhabitants of the village, you and Kento felt an almost overwhelming pressure of older, darker Cursed-energy wash over you as you walked up the hill.

You pushed through, your steps growing heavier, like walking through treacle. The very trees seemed to bend away from the Shrine, leaning in desperate escape, unwillingly held by their roots. You continued up the steps, but stopped, realising Kento had fallen behind.

Kento was leaned backwards against the trunk of an old tree, eyes closed and breathing through his nose. You hurried back to him, your hand gentle on his arm.

"Kento? You look pale. Do you need to go back?"

Kento shook his head slowly, trying and failing to swallow his nausea, "You're not going up there alone. I just...I feel like I've felt Cursed-energy like this somewhere before. It's..."

"...it's vile," you finished for him. Looking up towards the Shrine, eyes narrowed, you felt something huge, something corrupted within. You had to know more. You reached out for Kento's hand, plaiting your fingers through his.

"Can you make it?" You urged, apologetic. Kento blew a long breath out through pursed lips, but nodded, standing again and moving to you.

"Wait! Mr and Mrs.Tsuda! Stop!" A panicked voice beckoned you back down the steps; it was the gardener you had spoken with before, and he hobbled up the steps as fast as his arthritic knees could carry him. He reached you, breathless, smiling wanly.

"I'm afraid the Shrine is closed for visitors today," he puffed, dabbing his brow with a slightly muddy cloth, "there's quite an important ceremony going on up there. I'm sure the Fathers will be filling you all in at the weekly gathering tomorrow."

Kento bowed, thanking the gardener, and you headed together past him on your descent, feeling his eyes burning into your backs the whole way down. Rounding the corner, you and Kento shared a sideways glance, uncertain but foreboding.

You sighed, in silent dread of things to come. From the way Kento squeezed your hand, his thumb stroking over the back of it occasionally, he felt the same. He seemed lost in deep thought. He was, in fact, deeply troubled, desperately hunting through memories to find where he had felt Cursed-energy like that before.

"To the library, then," you offered weakly as Kento hummed his assent. Distracted by a fresh aim, Kento nodded confidently, looking down at you.

Kento stopped walking as you approached the Temple doors; still holding your hand, and pulling you back to him, you bumped to a stop against his chest. He gently pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger, and your heart skipped a beat as his honeyed eyes crinkled at you.

"You've got this," he urged. Fingering the pen and notepad in your pocket, and nodding with a blush, your mind stuttered to a halt as Kento pressed a kiss to your forehead. You leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed, wondering how his lips would feel against your own. Unable to resist, and pulling him close, you squeezed him to ground yourself, and he chuckled, arms around you feeling so solid and warm.

The library was small, and friendly, round the back of the Temple. Shown to it by the same older woman in a kimono who had shown you to the waiting room on the first day, you greeted a few other couples who browsed the bookshelves. The librarian, a grizzled-looking elderly man with bushy eyebrows, was already lost in conversation with another couple. Holding you by the elbow, Kento pulled you behind bookshelves and leaned in to whisper.

"The librarian hasn't spotted us yet. The records room is at the back. We'll go together." Recognising that some of the other couples present were those at the spar, and leaking significant amounts of Cursed-energy, Kento felt sick with fear at the thought of you being isolated in the records room, away from him. You agreed, and, suppressing your Cursed-energy together, and stalking round the edges of the bookshelves, you approached the records room, the door slightly ajar.

"They obviously think they vet their recruits well enough," Kento murmured, slipping into the room behind you, leaving the door ajar as it had been. Kento stood at the edge of the doorway, keeping watch. The room was small, meticulously organised, with a small writing desk and a set of tin filing cabinets.

You set to work quickly, slipping the cabinets open, and ascertaining the systems in place- recruits, listed alphabetically by surname, coloured tabs attached to some, indicating a key of some kind. You flicked through, encountering a folder with a familiar name, the front of the folder now emblazoned with red stamped letters: DECEASED.

"Kento," you hissed, and he looked to you, "what was the name of that Cult member you and Gojo killed near that club?"

Kento's eyes flicked downwards for a moment, then back to you, "Matsumoto."

You nodded. The name matched. There was a yellow tab attached to the folder. Finding half a dozen other folders with yellow tabs attached, you opened them, reading neatly handwritten file notes one by one. Bingo, you thought.

Each yellow-tabbed file had notes describing where the individual had been sent for recruitment of new members. Location updates were neatly listed within the notes, most as recent as the day before. You pulled out your notebook and pen, copying the details, one by one, thorough and quick.

Kento called your name, hushed. You, distracted, didn't answer, lost in completing your note taking. Kento called your name again, hushed and frantic.

Looking up at him, you followed where he stared, alarmed and stock-still, at something small and brown on the floor. You frowned, leaning over the desk, looking closer.

"Is that...?"

"A rat," Kento finished, "A very...interested rat, with quite a lot of Cursed-energy...for a rat." Inquisitive, the rat looked at Kento, and then at you, before scurrying away out of the door of the records room.

"Shit," Kento hissed, "shit--" rushing over to you as you hurriedly packed away the files, everything in its rightful place, hiding your notebook and pen within your clothes. Kento grabbed you by the elbow, staring around the room and indecisive for a split second, before yanking you bodily into a narrow cupboard.

You squeaked as you pressed close against Kento, and the door closed with a resounding click. In the dark, the smell of stationery, paper and Kento filling your nose, your hands pressed to his chest and his knee between your legs, your heart pounded as you heard a voice start to approach the records room.

A weak band of light seeped in through a tiny window above your head, dust motes floating idly through, as you looked at Kento in alarm. Reaching out with your Cursed-technique, you felt the edge of the mind of the librarian, approaching alone, and tried to drop a thought into his mind; I'm sure it's nothing, I don't need to go and check, but the suggestion didn't take hold, slipping from the surface like oil off a hot pan, and you shook your head frantically at Kento. His eyes were wide, calculating options at a rapid pace.

"Someone in there, hmm?" The Librarian spoke to his rat, seemingly able to communicate with it in a way nobody else could, "Alright. Away with you. I'll sort it out." A small scurrying noise. Footsteps into the room, a door closing quietly.

"Oh god, I...I'm so sorry." Kento stared down at you in grim conviction, your bodies hot and pressed together. Hands hurried, Kento ran his hands through his own hair, messing it up. He loosened his tie to hang open, round his neck, and undid several buttons of his shirt, untucking it next and undoing the button and zipper of his trousers. You stared at him, mouth agape.

His hands rushed to you, sinking into your hair right to the roots and ruffling it, before reaching down and lifting your shirt as you squeaked in alarm, bra revealed and breasts almost falling free, and his hands dropped to your jeans to undo the button and unzip them, the lace of your underwear now peeking through.

Kento thrust his knee between your legs, lifting you bodily against the wall. You had a single flat second to stare into his eyes as you felt the librarian approach your door. Kento's hands gripped the sides of your face, fingers deep in your hair. He leaned in close, your hands clutching the front of his shirt now. His hot breaths mingled with your own.

Kento kissed you, hot and desperate, his tongue parting your lips, as the cupboard door clicked open.

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Chapter Five: Breaking Point, link HERE!

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