#Afab reader

[sageivyreads]

harmless beast

Poly 141!/Fem!Puppy hybrid!Reader

introduction: hi its me again! i kinda hate this but i wanted to post something for 130 followers! thank you! 6.2k words. most of this is proofread, for the rest i wish u luck. 1st half is backstory, 2nd half is smut. i was dying to finish this so i could focus more on smth else so bare with the messiness. all 141 is mentioned but smut is focused on gaz/soap/r. same universe as this but technically more related as a prequel then part 2. reader is a hybrid but only has ears and a tail. disclaimer: i have no knowledge of the military or accents lol. everything is for plot convenience thank you and hope you enjoy!

contains/warnings: smut 18+!!, age gap (reader is early 20s, Price early 30s, Ghost late 20s, Soap and Gaz mid 20s), light daddy kink (Price), spit, fingering, polyamory, handjob, light nipple play, coming inside (not mentioned but r has bc implant), p in v penetration, 3-some, slight allusions to hyper sexual reader, reader is left in the dark a lot and kind of babied, Ghost is a little mean to r, no mention of size or race but reader is a woman who wears a dress and has hair long enough to run your fingers through.

Three weeks. Three weeks you’d gone without Soap, Gaz, and Ghost. You wish it were harder to admit you missed them. It’s not normal to get attached so quickly. You’d only been with them about a month before they’d gone on their first assignment. It was hard to not be sad.

Price said he’d only tell you when he knew for a fact they were coming home. He knew you’d be too anxious for their arrival to the point you wouldn’t be able to sleep. So, when he gets a call from them right before bed that they’d be getting home, he decides not to tell you. He takes you straight to bed, lets you cuddle up into his arms, and waits for the chaos in the morning.

You normally alternated between sleeping in Price’s bed, Gaz’s, or Soap’s. They had their own separate little area of the base sectioned off once you were introduced. A tiny common room attached to something that could just barely be called a kitchen, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. Each one had two beds. One room with Ghost and Price, one room with Gaz and Soap.

The 141 and the rest of that base’s staff had been told you were a danger to other people. If anything, they’d rather the four of them be at risk than the entire base. But you couldn’t be that bad, could you?

No, you’d turned out to be an annoying little sweetheart. They’d known that after you failed ninety percent of your drills, tests, and quizzes, and avoided any type of confrontation. Zero kill drive, they’d eventually learnt after your dozenth fail. You were supposed to be a vicious, powerful dog hybrid. They’d received an overgrown puppy.

The team was told by the higher-ups that they’d have to keep you for a while longer, considering there was no more transferring you when they were supposed to be your final placement. You’d aged out of the facility. That’s why you were here.

The facility was built a little after hybrids were manufactured. Once they’d realized what a tool for the military that hybrids could be. Meant to raise the artificially made hybrids from ages ten months and up and turn them into soldiers. Teach them combat, fieldwork, and how to use weapons. Scientifically made to obey orders and be raised as soldiers.

The 141 had no idea what they were doing over at the facility, but whatever they had raised wasn’t a soldier. You were clueless. Confused. A little dumb, even, in social aspects. It wasn’t your fault they weren’t competent enough to teach you how to use the stove.

After you’d been with them for about a month and even Ghost had started to tolerate you, they’d finally gotten news of a new placement for you. You’d aged out of the facility, regular civilian life was made for no hybrid, and other task forces wouldn’t take you after what they’d heard. So, where else was there to go?

Front lines, they said. No, they were taking you to an underpaid, under-regulated, isolated Space Force unit. The lowest-ranked branch throughout this entirety military. But they didn’t focus on space, did they? This particular unit had teamed up with an EOD* unit considering the amount of unused acres they had.

Everyone there was glorified test dummies, specially created for soldiers with one too many loose screws to test their bomb diffusing skills. While the space force spent their time pretending they were above board and everyone was getting their work done, they were blowing up fields.

They were apparently the only place willing to take you. Doesn’t sound so bad, right? Hybrids could be useful in sniffing out explosives. But they were ecstatic for your arrival. Excited. Urging. Practically foaming at the mouth for a compliant hybrid that no one cared about enough about to check if you lived or died.

Price wouldn’t be able to fucking live with himself if he left some defenseless, pretty little puppy to get blown up under the guise of ‘testing’.

(He didn’t realize it, but he’d been won over the moment he saw your picture tucked into the file he’d been given on you. Your sweet smile with those pointy little canines. You could charm a snake with one flash of teeth.)

He’d been working with you for a little over four weeks before the boys left and he’d found you could barely take care of yourself. Clumsy, naive, unknowing of what was outside of the facility.

He declined and insisted they’d keep you before even having a chance to discuss it with the rest of his team. No, he’d figure out something to do with you. He was told the other base was disappointed they wouldn’t be receiving you, but Price had pulled enough strings to know they’d never hear your name again.

That was just a few days ago. They were already having a hard time getting adjusted. Having to teach you bloody everything. He’d eventually have to figure out a way to gently tell the boys they were keeping you. But when he saw your excited, smiling face when you saw the returning boots of Gaz, Ghost, and Soap at the door, he knew he couldn’t have decided to leave you in their greedy paws.

You’d woken up to Price getting ready. Compared to the rest of them being so stealthy, Price was loud in the mornings. It was dark and you were still so sleepy, you didn’t even see Ghost asleep in the bed next to where you’d slept.

It’s only when you’ve brushed your teeth and done your morning routine that you wander out into the common areas. Clad in a new dress that Price bought you for good behavior during a meeting. You follow Price aimlessly out into the kitchen, watching as he plugs in the coffee machine. Your eyes scan the area absently as you lean against the counter, focus landing on three pairs of dirty combat boots by the door.

“They-“ you squeak, voice turning all high pitched with excitement as you turn towards a messy-haired Price at the bar in the kitchen. Your tail beats against the backs of your thighs.

“Easy,” he grunts. He knows where this is going. He slips from his stool to grab the warm bread currently popping from the rusty toaster. “Just got back late last night. Let them sleep in, yeah? It was a hard one.” he says, voice deep with sleep as he slips two onto his plate and another two on yours.

You’re already practically vibrating with excitement. You try to urge your tail to stop causing a fuss behind you. It doesn’t work. You curl your hands around the fabric where your dress ends, mid-thigh. You squeeze until staying quiet isn’t nearly as painful. You swallow. “Y-yeah. Makes sense.” you try, voice coming out a little hoarse.

“You’ll see ‘em later. Gotta let ‘em sleep and eat, and then you can jump all over them.” His gaze is still focused on the food as he plops the last few fresh blueberries throughout the base onto your plate. He knows you love them.

The coffee machine dings, signaling it’s finished its job. He pushes your plate towards you as he takes a long sip from his coffee. A first of many. “Plus, you’ll be busy. Gotta help me with my paperwork, remember?”

You nod, stiff and forced. You want to whine. Storm right back into their rooms and hug them so tightly your knuckles turn white. But you don’t. Price has been teaching you about obedience. Listening even when you don’t want to. You’re not a fan.

You didn’t even help with his paperwork. You just stayed in his office, did puzzles sometimes when he could find one for you, and cuddled into his lap when he let you. But, you agreed.

Only that with the prospect of seeing the others later, you wouldn’t be able to stay still. Even during breakfast. Surely not when you’re cooped up in his office. Not when he has no puzzles, can’t have you in his lap right now, is taking too many phone calls to talk, is unable to take you out for a walk around the fields, or is even available to give you an ounce of attention.

He’d even brushed you off when you tried to slip between his thighs, bare knees against the carpet, refusing to look down at you.

You can’t stay still. You need something to do. Even as you shuffle around the room, prod at metals and picture frames, and flop from one chair to another, he doesn’t seem to mind. Not when you drag a chair across the room to get a good look at something high on the walls. Not when you huff and puff to yourself.

It’s when you’re tidying some pens you accidentally knocked on the floor that you notice one of the drawers to his filing cabinet is slightly ajar. Weird. He always has those locked. You settle onto your knees in front of the drawers a few feet away from his desk.

You peek over to see if he’s watching once, or twice. Still hyper-focused on the papers in front of him if the wrinkle between his brow tells you anything. You quietly open it and just when your gaze falls on a file titled with your name, suddenly Price is just as stealthy as the rest of them.

The drawer is closed by a large hand appearing in front of you. Your head snaps up as Price stands over you and you gape at him as he tells you, “Nothin’ in there for you, little one.” while he slips the key into the hole and locks it.

You don’t even bother apologizing when you’re so pent-up right now. Your tail falls limp behind you. You furrow your brows as you glance up at him, slumping back onto your heels into a sitting position. “Why not? What’s in there?”

He can barely resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Get off the damn floor,” he sighs and leans down to grip your biceps, pulling you up to stand. You let him, but you’re not very cooperative.

“Fine. You really want something to do?” he asks and doesn’t finish until you hesitantly nod. He walks back over to his desk to grab his nearly empty coffee mug and brings it over to you. “Get me some more coffee and yourself… some fuckin’ juice or somethin’, alright?”

You frown slightly. Seriously? That’s what he wants you do to? I guess.. it’d be better for you to take a moment. Even if it was just a short walk back to your common room, he seemed pretty frustrated with you.

You feel a little bad. But not enough to apologize when you were frustrated with him, too. “Fine,” you huff, grabbing the cup from him and turning around as you walk back toward the door.

The walk back to the kitchen is maybe 60 seconds. Your eyes are down the whole time, paying attention to your steps, the floor creaking under your weight. You open the door to the common room and shut it behind you, going straight to the kitchen.

You pop one of the coffee pods in the machine and start it up again after you put the mug in, leaning against the counter as you hear it come to life. You pick at a cuticle at the edge of your nail while your sharp canines dig into your bottom lip absently.

“Love? That you?”

Your ears perk, your head snaps up and your spine straightens. A bright smile takes over your lips as your eyes land on Gaz walking out of the bathroom in a grey tee and blue shorts. You can feel your tail beat over the back of your thighs as you rush over to him. You slam straight into his chest, completely missing the bandage around his upper arm and shoulder, just missing his quiet groan.

Your arms wrap around him tightly, burrowing your nose into the crook of his neck under his ear.

Just right. Just what you needed.

He lets out a pained chuckle, arms slowly coming around you.

“Mmm… missed me?”

You nod wildly, head bobbing up and down and knocking against his chin. One of his hands slides down your back, gliding against the soft material of your dress until his hand settles in the curve of your lower back. He tilts his head until his lips are by your ear, “Daddy get you a new dress?”

You repeat your nod, pulling back until you can see his face. Your hands slide up his shoulders to cup the sides of his neck of his neck as your eyes flick over his face. He looks mostly uninjured besides a tiny split on the edge of his jaw. He always told you not to worry about it. While you tried not to, you couldn’t control every single one of your thoughts. “…Yeah. Do you like it?”

“‘Course I do,”

His lips quirk up into a smile that you return while his hands slide down to cup your ass. He pulls you a little closer until you’re back up against his chest and you’ve risen onto your tippy toes. Pulls you until your breasts flatten against his chest and his hand cups the side of your neck with his thumb under your jaw.

He tilts your chin up enough that he can kiss you, his lips slightly chapped against yours. His other hand’s fingers dig into the flesh of your cheek, giving a firm squeeze. It’s slow and soft at first, but you can feel the tension bubbling beneath the surface. He pries your lips open with his tongue, running it along your teeth before slipping fully inside to join yours.

You hum happily into his mouth, massaging your tongue against his before he slips away. Tilts your chin to the side with his thumb to give him the access he needs to kiss along your jaw. “You look.. fuckin’ lovely, baby.” he rasps, lips wet with a mixture of yours and his saliva as he drags his kisses down to your neck.

You dig your teeth into your lower lip to not smile *too* wide, feeling warmth rise on your cheeks. “Thanks,” is all you can squeak with the sudden shyness slipping up your spine and grasping around your brain. You can feel something stiff against your thigh.

Your ears twitch as the coffee machine beeps. He nearly rolls his eyes. Great fuckin’ timing.

You start to lean away, slowly releasing your grip on him. “Kyle… I gotta finish John’s coffee. I promised.”

He groans, letting his head fall back. He huffs and gives you a quick squeeze before he eventually releases you. You turn and make your way over to one of the higher cabinets. It creaks open as you reach up, grabbing a gray mug and watching as a tanned hand comes around you to pluck it from your grasp. He sets it on the table, sliding it out of your arms length as you reach for it.

“Kyle!” You whine, unable to turn to look at him with the way he presses up against your back. He places his hands on each side of your waist, pressing his warm chest tight against your back.

“I know, I know.”

You huff.

“My pretty girl..” he mumbles under his breath as he runs his hands up and down your sides. Before you can think to respond, he’s kissing you again. One hand to turn your jaw towards him and one on your waist while he holds you still to shove his tongue down your throat. You can barely keep up. It’s only morning, but.. you missed him, too.

His head ducks down over your shoulder to pepper kisses along your exposed collarbone.

“Need you,“ he whispers. All you’ve done at this point is blink, and he’s pinned you against the counter.

He buries his face into the crook between your neck and shoulder, hands gliding up your front to cup your breasts through the fabric of your dress. You don’t even stiffen. You’re just surprised at how quickly he’s moving things along. He’s acting like he’s intoxicated.

But you’d be a little desperate to have something soft and pretty after weeks of hard work, no?

His thumb brushes over where he assumes your nipple would be. His mouth waters. Something’s buzzing in his ears. Howling.

“Need to fuck you. Please. Need to touch you so bad, love. Will you let me?”

You shiver as his nose runs along the curve of your neck until he’s nudging at your jaw. “Yeah,” you whisper like it’s some poorly kept secret of how badly you need each other. His hips grind against your ass from behind and he groans, hips giving an involuntary buck before he’s quickly reaching down to push the skirt of your dress above the swell of your ass.

He can already feel himself stiffening in his trousers. He needs you. “Yeah, you missed me too. Right, baby?” he asks, placing a kiss on your neck before he moans at the sight of your half-bare bottom only partially covered by the edges of your underwear.

He uses one hand to gently pin your fluffy tail to your right hip to keep it out of the way. You lean forward slightly, bracing your hands on the cold counter. “Yes- Yes, I missed you, Kyle.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek to restrain himself as his free hand comes around your front to dip under the band of your underwear. He inhales sharply as his fingers cup over your cunt beneath your underwear. Soaking wet like always, he finds. “Fuck, she needs me real bad, doesn’t she?” he breathes quietly.

You whine as his middle finger slips between your slit to gently rub against your clit. His finger glides easily with the slick provided by your needy body. Your breath is too shaky for you to attempt to speak. He rubs precise circles around your bud to coax even more slickness from your body, increasing the pressure until your thighs shake.

“Oh, God,” you cry, head falling forward between your shoulders. He adds a second finger, rubbing firmly with two now. “That feel nice?” he asks, breath rushing over your shoulder. He rests his chin there while he presses a little tighter against you from behind. He’s so fucking hard, it nearly hurts. Five more minutes and it might.

“Y-Yeah,” you answer, voice coming out choked and rushed. It feels better than good. You can feel shockwaves of pleasure spreading out from between your thighs, over your stomach, and down your legs. “Can you?-“ you cut yourself off with a moan as a single finger of his presses inside you, your jaw falling slack.

“Yes,” you groan, tongue feeling numb in your mouth. A few pumps of his finger have your thighs clenching together, one hand slipping from the counter and reaching behind you. You just want to touch him, even if you can’t see him. You grasp his hip with little finesse, nails biting into his skin.

“Mm.. just like that, huh? Want another? Shit, you’re so warm, baby. So soft. Just for me.” he pants, chest rising and falling against your back.

You nod and straighten a little to push your ass back against him. His hand, which has been gliding up and down your waist, shifts to grip your hip tightly while he hisses. You mewl as he adds a second finger, palm grinding against your clit.

“Easy, love. Be good. Know I won’t hurt you. Gotta be gentle, take our time.” he confirms, turning his head to bury his nose behind the line of your jaw.

“Need you now,” you moan as his fingers curve inside of you to brush against something that makes you throb. You push back against his fingers, craving more. Needing more. “Won’t hurt so bad. You’ve done enough. Just let me have you now. Please, Kyle.”

“Fuck,” he exhales, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. Almost to ward off the ache. Yeah, he was lying to himself earlier. What’d he say, five minutes? It’s hardly been two and he can feel his cock pulsing painfully against his thigh. “Yeah, I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”

He shoves your panties down your thigh and gently pushes at your low back until you bend over enough to let him ruck your dress over the swell of your ass. You’re bent halfway, your palms flat against the counter. He carefully grips your tail to push it aside once more. He lets go briefly to push his blue shorts and black boxers down his thighs, not even bothering to take them all the way off. No, you were much more important.

He grips your hips while using both thumbs to keep the fabric up as he positions himself behind you. “Ready?” he huffs, his voice so husky and deep you were almost worried he had a sore throat. You nod and the glans of his head nudge against your entrance before slowly pushing in.

Your jaw slowly drops open as he presses inside, gently stretching you open just right so that the hinges of your skull ache. You’re suddenly stunned into silence. Normally, to put it bluntly, you talked a lot. You loved learning about people. Especially people hard to learn about like the 141 boys. But now, it seemed like Gaz was awfully interested in exploring the internal parts of you.

Gaz slides a little deeper as you whine. It stings, but not too bad. Not when you’re so fucking wet. “Still alright?” he confirms, warm breath brushing over your cheek. His hips are flush with yours now and he feels burning hot against you. Inside you. “Mhm.” you hum shakily, not quite trusting your vocal cords to pronounce your words enough to be heard.

There’s a sound of creaking wood that comes from the doorway. Your ears perk. Both of your chins suddenly tilt up in that direction to see a sleepy, grinning Soap. Wearing only grey boxers. The slight crease between your brows softens and you smile. “I knew you two were gettin’ up to somethin’ without me,”

You feel Gaz’s lips split into a grin against the heated skin of your cheek. “Just started. Still plenty of time for you to join,” he says breathlessly as he pulls his hips back just enough to carefully thrust them forward. You jolt slightly, hand leaving him to grip over his on your hip.

A whimper slips from your lips. You pant, the front of Gaz’s thighs sticking to the back of yours from the accumulated sweat. “Johnny,” you whine, nearly reaching out toward him but opting not to with the fear you’d collapse.

Soap’s smile turns a little softer as he approaches, but the length between his legs certainly does not. You moan as Gaz starts up with a slow rock against your ass, feeling sweat start to prick the skin of your neck and armpits. He groans quietly in your ear.

Soap walks until he’s on the opposite side of the counter you were pressed up against. It wouldn’t take much to reach him.

“Fuck, ye look so wrecked,” Soap chuckles with his lips opened in a grin, smoothing your hair back with his hand. Gaz smiles behind you but your lips turn into a pout. Did you seriously look that bad? I mean, you knew sex wasn’t pretty, but you looked so bad he described you as ‘wrecked’?

Soap quickly notices the way your shoulders tense slightly, a light wrinkle between your brows. “No, no, I only mean in a good way, lovely. Wasnae bein’ mean to ya. You look as pretty as ever, baby.” he coos, pinches your left cheek between his fingers, and leans forward to press a kiss to your right.

You huff, but you let your guard down easily around them. Soap wouldn’t say something like that and mean it poorly, could he? No, you trust them.

Your hand leaves Gaz’s hand at your hip to grab Soap’s retreating one, pressing his palm against your cheek. “I missed you,” you sigh, but it more or less trails off into a groan as Gaz’s thrusts get a little firmer.

One of Gaz’s hands slips up from your hip to tug the right strap of your dress down, then reaches forward to tug the cup of the fabric down until one of your breasts is free. Your hand slides back to the edge of the counter.

Gaz and Soap both share a groan as their eyes flick down, Gaz’s chin on your shoulder as his hand firmly squeezes the flesh. “Ah’ ken ya did. But I’m sure Price took good care of you, yeah?” Soap purrs, his hand moving to the left strap to tug it down your chest as well.

The whole front of your dress slips down, revealing your front. Gaz huffs and puffs warm breath against the side of your neck, thumb, and pointer gently plucking at your nipple as his hips thrust against yours.

Soap’s eyes briefly flick down to the slick mess between your thighs. Gaz slid between them, penetrating you, not bothering to even pull all the way out before he punched in with another slow thrust. You’re so wet. So willing and eager, your hole just swallows him up.

You moan at every entrance and exit, not bothering to quiet your noises. Not when Soap and Gaz love them so much.

Your attention is vaguely brought back to Soap as one of his hands cradles your cheek.

“C’mere,” His thumb wiggles its way into your mouth, hooking behind your bottom teeth and tugging a little until your chin is tilted towards him and your jaw is open. He looms above you, much taller than you with the way you’re leaning forward.

You’re a little confused. Is he going to stick his tongue in your mouth? You’re blinking up at him, face scrunched in confusion, mouth open. You flinch slightly at the sound of him spitting while your eyes instinctively close.

Suddenly, there’s something warm and wet in your mouth. Your eyelids flutter open, and all you can do is moan at the sight of saliva dripping from his mouth into yours.

Gaz’s voice joins yours as you moan, peering over your shoulder to watch the way Soap spits, waits for you to swallow, and then presses your lips together. You mewl into his mouth, one hand coming up to cling onto his bicep as Gaz gets a little rougher behind you.

His tongue slips inside your mouth, massaging against your own, licking against your teeth as if to memorize your taste. “Fuck, baby.” he moans as he pulls away to pant against your lips, eyebrows scrunching together.

You’re almost in awe at how he could be so worked up by just a kiss.

There’s a slick clicking noise between you. Your eyes flick down to see Gaz’s hand stuffed in his boxers, wrapped firmly around Soap’s cock. You hadn’t even noticed that his hand had left your chest.

Your fuzzy eyes are transfixed on the sight. Blurry from the vision in front of you and the cock inside of you. Watching the way Gaz slides his hand up, tightening and twisting around the head while Soap shudders and his upper body lurches forward. His hands turned into fists against the counter, head hanging between his shoulders as his chest heaved.

“Fuckin’ hell, Gaz…”

Gaz seems to notice your interest, his hand pumping twice more before lifting off. “You wanna try a go, love?” Your face is flushed with heat. Not from embarrassment. Arousal. You look over to see his chin on your shoulder, his heated gaze flicking between your eyes and lips. You nod.

He smiles, and your hand on Soap’s bicep slips down to support you against the counter once more. Gaz takes your dominant hand and slowly curls your fingers into a fist around the base of Soap’s cock. His fingers fit in between the gaps of yours. Soap’s lips purse as Gaz starts slowly dragging your hand up and down.

Your lungs pause for a moment. He’s hot. Burning hot between your fingertips. He feels different than you expected, honestly. The skin is soft.

Soap’s eyes are focused on the sight of both your hands working around him as Gaz gets you to a solid pace. He then exits his hand to grip your waist, fucking into you a little harder. You moan, hand fumbling a little without his before tightening your grip to do it on your own. And eventually, a little faster.

“Fuuuck… Yeah, jus’ like that. Mm..” Soap moans, his hand wrapping around yours to guide you and make your grip a little tighter. Gaz picks up the pace, one hand tight on your hip and the other on your waist to support you during his roughening thrusts.

You can feel the beginnings of a fire stirring in your lower belly, sparks begging to be caught and ignited. Your hearing is going a little fuzzy, brain struggling to choose a sense to focus on. Soap’s hips pump into your joined hands, his hips twitching as he chases the pleasure.

Soap abruptly pulls your fingers off to spit into your palm before bringing it back to his cock, whining about the slick, warm feeling of your hand around him. He tightens his grip around yours, forcing you to pick up your pace before he releases you to do it as you’d like.

Gaz’s thrusts start to run a little wild, his short fingernails digging lightly into your flesh. “*Fuck*- Fuck, I’m gonna come.” he groans, lips brushing against the skin of your shoulder.

“Bleedin- ahhh, shit. ‘m close too.” Soap stutters out, shoulders hunching as his other hand supports him against the counter to help fuck his pelvis into your fist. his free hand reaching out to grab Gaz by the back of his neck. He leans forward, smashing his lips against his. You think you hear some connection to teeth through the moans, but neither of them seem to care.

It’s a filthy display of tongues and spit, and neither of them really seem to care about the mess. Soap pulls away briefly after a moment, both of their bodies gasping for air. “Come for us, Gaz.” he whispers, lips brushing and neck and face flushed with arousal.

You’d say you’re disappointed by not being able to come with him if he weren’t so goddamn beautiful. The way he chokes on his noises, forehead leaning against Soap’s as his cock jerks inside you. He’s always so warm when he’s inside you, burning liquid dripping out around where he’s penetrated you. Oh, and hot on the outside too.

Soap can’t help but follow, his hand leaves the counter to practically choke your hand around his cock as he stammers, “Oh, fuckin’, ohhhh God.” He moans louder than he probably should, even with our living space blocked off from the rest of the base.

Gaz’s thrusts start to slow to a stop, Soap’s hips jolting and stuttering in their movements until his spend drips over yours and his fingers. It’s silent for a moment, Soap slowly releasing your hand off his cock, just to snatch it up in his own and bring it to his mouth.

He drags his tongue over a dribble of come on your finger, humming at the taste. His eyes are half-lidded when they lock with yours and you think all your internal organs pause for a moment or two.

With heavy breaths in the air, Gaz slowly pulls out. He stays pressed up against you, loosening his grip, and rubbing his hands up and down your sides. “Sorry, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder. “Lemme make it up to you.”

“It’s.. it’s okay,” you pant, a little delirious.

By the time Soap lets go of your hand, it’s no longer wet with his spend, but instead his spit. Gaz’s fingertips slip between your thighs once more, gently rubbing over your sore slit. A whimper slips from your throat and you cling to his tan forearm as he slowly dips two fingers inside of you.

“My pretty baby,” Soap croons, cupping your cheek with his dry hand and running a thumb along the skin. “We could never forget about ya, sweet thing.”

He leans in to give a short, sweet kiss to your lips. His other hand, slightly wet, cups the soft flesh of your tit in his big hand. His thumb and pointer pluck at your nipple until you whine, which is when he then ducks down to suck the swollen bud into his mouth.

You were already getting close before Gaz came and now you were practically hurtling towards the edge. Gaz keeps a slow pace at first, rubbing firmly at your clit with his thumb while his fingers pump inside of you. One of your hands claws at Gaz’s forearm, the other still supporting you against the edge of the counter.

“Johnny,” you whine as Gaz pumps his fingers a little faster, his hand squeezing your side once before his hand comes up to pinch at your neglected breast. Soap grazes his teeth against you before briefly pulling away, “Not the name you should be moanin’, sweetheart.”

You lean back onto Gaz, head falling against his shoulder. “Kyle..” you moan, the new position leaving your other hand free. It comes up to the back of Soap’s head, holding him to you. You can feel the way he smiles against your nipple.

“Hm? You close?” he teases, nose brushing against your ear. “Uh-huh,” you nod, mouth ajar. Your eyes flutter closed as warmth spreads into your lower stomach, building and building. He keeps a steady pace with his fingers, but you jolt slightly when you feel a second hand between your legs.

You look down to see Soap’s thumb rubbing firmly against your clit, pointer finger lifting your hood. Almost too firmly with the way your back arches off Gaz’s chest and a guttural noise is ripped from your throat. Your toes curl in your shoes, heels nearly lifting off the floor.

“F-Fuck!” you suddenly cry as a wave of pleasure slams into you, nearly shoving you out of your body. Your vision goes white. By the time your eyes lazily reopen, Soap is standing in front of you, chuckling.

Gaz smiles against your shoulder. You’re too busy blinking away the fuzziness at the corners of your vision and too focused on the slick and come dripping onto your thighs.

“Who knew all you needed was a good orgasm to finally curse?”

“I could’ve guessed.” Gaz helpfully adds from behind you. You smile.

“Sod off.” Soap grumbles, leaning off the counter and cringing at the stickiness of the fake marble. And his hands. And thighs. And basically everywhere. At some point, you’d started slumping over, and Gaz gently laid you down. “Easy, easy,”

Your chest was flat against the cool counter while your panting breaths puffed against it. Your eyes flutter shut while the wave of pleasure washes over you and leaves with a twinge in your abdomen as a goodbye.

You don’t even twitch as a pair of footsteps approach. You blink. Your ears twitch. When’d the door open? Gaz slowly pulls off of you. He brings your panties up your thighs once more, making sure they’re secure around you with one hand as the other flips your dress back down. You cringe as you feel the fabric immediately start to dampen.

You vaguely hear him pull his boxers and shorts back up before he rubs a hand along your back. “You alright?” he asks, still sounding a little breathless. He brings your dress back up your torso, slipping the straps back over your shoulders.

You nod after a moment, nearly jolt as your eyes land on a dark figure in the room. You recognize it. Him. He appears like a Ghost. You swallow to soothe your dry throat, watching with furrowed brows as he takes a few more steps until he’s right in front of the counter you’re bent over.

His shoes are squeaking against the floor. There are sprinkles of water on the shoulders of his hoodie. He’s in his usual running attire, which he must’ve just come back from, and you’d guess it was probably raining, too.

He’s not wearing his mask. You try your best not to gape as your eyes flick over his features. His hair is darker than you thought it’d be. His eyelashes are normally smudged in coal, but they’re blond right now.

Ghost is not… particularly attractive. I mean, you think he’s pretty. You think the other boys do, too. But by conventional Western beauty standards, he’s not a top model.

Ugly, mean scars are across his entire body and face. There’s a tiny cleft on his upper lip. His shoulders are always tensed up to his ears. Not to mention the scowl he always seems to wear. Even with the mask on.

You can always seem to sense when he’s glaring at you. He doesn’t seem to be happy with you often. But if some random clueless puppy joined your military task force, you wouldn’t be either.

You’re yanked out of your head by his hand raising to pinch one of your spaghetti straps before letting it snap back to your skin. You flinch. If he notices, he doesn’t care.

“When’d you get this little number?”

His voice is raspy like he’d just woken up. But you’d guess he’s been awake for a few hours. He’s not even in boxers or PJs. You’re not sure if you can even imagine him sleeping in anything besides daytime clothes, though.

“Daddy.. Daddy took me out shopping. While you guys were gone.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. It’s slow to catch up. You don’t bother asking for approval or opinion. He won’t give it to you. He grunts as he starts walking away, still in your line of sight as he pulls the now cold coffee mug out of the machine to replace it with his own mug.

“You lot need to be more quiet. Price came pokin’ around looking for her. And ‘e’s half deaf. Take it to a room next time.”

Shit, Price.

You all have the same response, but yours is much quieter.

“Sorry, LT.”

notes: this is literally my third time ever writing smut and first writing penetrative sex so PLEASE have mercy 🙏 . if you know nothing of the military like me, *EOD means Explosive Ordnance Disposal which is a branch of the military and basically i think they deal with and diffuse explosives. there probably won’t be any more parts to this. also i still can’t force myself to like this much for some reason so im probably gonna disappear off tumblr for a bit 😞 love you guys!

tags: @other-fandoms-reblogs

[hellinistical]

Priest! Vampire! Rafayel x Nun! Reader synopsis: when a charming new priest is sent to your convent amidst the winter freeze, you're naturally untrusting. unfortunately, he's more knowledgeable of the faith, and you could learn a thing or two, especially if you want to protect yourself from the recent vampire attacks. trigger warnings: (heavy plot!). minor and major character death, blood, dubious consent, sacrilegious themes (Not Christianity or Catholicism; made up religion but using synonymous terms), gore, porn with plot, fingering (fem. receiving), hand jobs, piv, non-consensual vampire transformation, bodily horror, drinking blood, playing with blood, human consumption, unwilling cannibalism, afab reader- usage of female anatomy (though not descriptive of size/skin markings). fem. reader- she/her used. biting. choking. manipulation. blasphemy. overstimulation. virgin reader. corruption. monster fucking. slight belly bulge, bondage. incorrect use of holy water. wax play. this list may expand and/or altered. trigger warnings: (for this chapter.) afab. fem reader. implied pregnancy. period sex. piv. wax play. incorrect use of holy water. fingering (fem receiving), biting. overstimulation. corruption. virgin reader. non-con. dubious consent. hate sex. vampire transformation (though not explicit, just implied, and not in standard means; I took creative liberty). blood. slight belly buldge. major character deaths. spit. a:/n:this piece holds no actual religious scripture or quotes, I just needed those terms as they were synonymous. This is in NO WAY a jab at those faiths nor is it meant to spread hate or harm to them. It is also not an insult to those who practice. I tried to write with care, which yeah may be hypocritical of what I have here, so I apologize. Additionally, thank you to everyone who voted in the poll. While it was originally intended to be a one-shot, I felt it would be better to break it into chunks as this is very plot-heavy. Thank you for your support! Reblogs are highly appreciated. word count: 6.1k masterlist | prev.

V. Trasformazione

“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark"

It’s all-consuming, how he seems to swallow the oxygen before you can breathe. Like he’s taking it straight from your lungs, leaving you lightheaded, weak. His hands are everywhere, mapping you, learning you, claiming you in ways you don’t know if you should allow—but you do.

The tree digs into your back, rough and unyielding, but his body is just as unrelenting. His lips drag along your jaw, down your throat, his breath hot against your skin. A shudder wracks through you as his teeth graze your pulse, and he lingers there, as if tasting your heartbeat.

His fingers tighten their grip. "You’re mine," he murmurs against your skin, voice low and raw. It’s not a question. It’s not a request. It’s a vow.

Your stomach hurts, the cramps from your cycle gnawing at you, twisting in sharp, unforgiving waves. Your body burns, the feverish heat meeting his coldness in a clash that sends a shiver up your spine—a mess of sensation, of discomfort, of something deeper you refuse to name.

You turn your head away, not because you want to, but because you can’t bear to look. His breath ghosts over your exposed throat, his grip firm, possessive, unrelenting. You feel his lips press there, lingering, and it only makes the ache inside you worse, different.

A breath shudders from you, and you hate how weak it sounds. His fingers flex against your skin, and you feel the sharp edge of his teeth as he hums in something like satisfaction.

“You’re burning up,” he murmurs against your throat, his tone almost gentle. Almost. “Poor thing.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You hate him.

His fangs graze your skin but never sink in, lingering like a silent threat—or maybe a promise. His breath is cool against the feverish heat of your neck, sending a shudder through your already trembling body.

Then, his hands are on you, pulling your leg up and around his waist, pressing you closer until there’s no space left between you. The motion is seamless, practiced, like he’s done it a thousand times before. Like he’s meant to hold you like this.

And it’s humiliating.

Your nightgown is thin, ruined, sticky with blood, the fabric barely clinging to your form. You’re exposed—more than you’ve ever been, more than you should be. And yet, the very sight of you like this seems to draw him in more.

His fingers press into the flesh of your thigh, his breath hitching. "Messy little thing," he murmurs, voice rough, reverent. His lips trail the line of your jaw, slow, deliberate. "Do you know what you do to me?"

You don't want to know. You don’t want to feel the way your body reacts, the way the fever in your veins has nothing to do with your cycle anymore.

You press your hands against his chest—whether to push him away or pull him closer, you don’t even know.

His lips press against your collarbone, soft yet insistent, his breath cool against your heated skin. The way he inhales deeply, savoring your scent, makes your stomach twist—not just in fear, but something else, something raw and unfamiliar.

"Wait—wait, Rafayel—I don’t—I don’t get it." Your voice trembles, caught between confusion and something dangerously close to surrender.

He shushes you gently, his hands smoothing over your waist, his touch both possessive and reverent. "You don’t have to," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with something deeper than want. "You just need to feel it."

You shudder, your fingers twitching against his chest. He’s cold, so unbearably cold, yet his presence is suffocatingly warm. Every nerve in your body is on fire, your pulse hammering, your breaths short and uneven.

You should push him away.

You should run.

But Astra above, you can’t move.

His eyes flicker down to the deep crimson staining your nightgown, pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow the color of his irises. His chest rises and falls sharply, unsteady, his fingers twitching where they grip your waist.

And yet—his expression twists. Something raw flickers across his face, something tangled between hunger and revulsion.

Not at you.

At himself.

He looks away, jaw tightening, his grip faltering for just a second. His breath comes sharp through his nose, as if he’s trying to will himself into control.

A muscle jumps in his jaw. "Damn it," he mutters, voice tight, nearly shaking. His fingers flex against you like he’s about to let go—like he should let go.

But he doesn’t.

You barely have time to react before his grip tightens—hard.

“Jump.”

Your breath catches. “Jump?”

“Jump, damn it.” His voice is sharp, urgent, commanding.

His hands slide down, gripping the backs of your thighs. He hoists you up with inhuman ease, your legs scrambling for balance around his waist. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs.

He presses you hard against the tree, the rough bark biting into your back. His face is so close now, too close, his breath mingling with yours, cool and sharp. His hands flex against your legs, his grip possessive, unyielding.

Rafayel's hands are ironclad around your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin, pinning you where he wants you. The pressure is bruising, possessive. He isn’t just holding you; he’s claiming you.

The air is thick, damp with the scent of earth and blood. Your blood. It clings to you, drying into the fabric of your nightgown, and you can feel how his eyes linger on the stains. His pupils are blown wide, black nearly swallowing the eerie glow of his irises. His breath fans against your jaw, cool and sharp, but his body is burning.

"Tree or the grass." His voice is low, firm. Not a question. A command. "Hurry up."

You grip his shoulders, nails biting into the fabric of his robe. The tree behind you is rough, its bark scraping against your spine as you shift in his grasp, trying to steady yourself. But it’s useless. He’s already made the choice

He holds you up with one hand, your legs around his waist as he undoes the zipper of your nightgown, pulling it down swiftly. 

The nightgown pools around your hips, the weight of it dragging against your thighs as Rafayel's cold fingers skim over your ribs. Your breasts free, the cold air on your exposed nipples makes them harden. His touch is reverent, but there’s nothing holy about it. The moonlight barely reaches through the dense canopy above, casting fractured beams of silver across his face. His expression is unreadable—somewhere between hunger and hesitation, worship and possession.

“You look divine like this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, almost awed. His thumb presses into the dip of your waist as if to test the reality of you. As if he doesn’t believe you’re real.

The night air chills your exposed skin, but you burn beneath it, a fever licking at your spine. Your blood, your scent—it’s making him tremble. You can feel it in the way his grip falters for a moment before he steadies himself, locking you tighter against him.

His grip tightens as the scent thickens, as the warmth of it seeps into the fabric of his trousers. He shudders, a groan tearing from deep within his throat, something raw and starved.

His fingers flex against your hips, betraying his restraint, the barely-contained need that trembles beneath the surface. He exhales sharply, like he's forcing himself to remember something—like he's fighting the very nature that compels him to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of your throat.

"Mine."

The word isn’t spoken, but you feel it in the way his body tenses, in the way his fingers dig just a little too hard into your sides, like he’s trying to brand himself into you. His breath is uneven now, and you realize—with something close to horror, close to exhilaration—that he’s shaking.

His head dips lower, mouth pressing just beneath your ear. “You’re going to ruin me,” he murmurs, almost reverent. His lips are cold, but his voice burns.

Your hands are firm on his chest, trying to push him off, 

“Stop- stop, I’m dirty,”

He doesn’t budge. If anything, your resistance only seems to ignite something deeper in him, something far more desperate.

His hands trace your thighs, smearing warmth into your skin, fingers painting patterns in the mess of crimson and sweat. His grip is firm but reverent, like he's touching something sacred, something he refuses to let slip through his fingers.

"You don't get to be ashamed," he breathes against your jaw, his voice shaking with something dark and unspoken. "Not from me."

You shudder, your fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. “Rafayel—”

“I don’t care.” His lips brush your temple, your cheek, his breath fanning hot over your ear. His voice lowers, dark and hushed, almost mournful. “I would bathe in you if you'd let me.”

He grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to make eye contact. He looks utterly feral. “I want to be in you. I need it. In your skin. In your very soul.”

His lips crash against yours, not with brutal force, but with a yearning so deep it feels like he’s trying to devour something unseen, something hidden inside you. The kiss is desperate, frantic. It’s not just want—it’s need. A need that claws at him, that shakes his very foundation.

His grip tightens, fingers digging into your flesh with an urgency that borders on bruising. His palm presses into the small of your back, pulling you flush against him—your soft warmth clashing against the hard, unyielding chill of his body. His breath, cool and fanning across your lips, mingles with your own, the contrast dizzying.

His mouth moves against yours with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation, lips parting just enough for his teeth to graze your lower lip—sharp, teasing, just barely holding back from drawing blood. The press of his fangs sends a shiver down your spine.

Your nightgown slips further  down and bunches up more as he tugs at the fabric, his fingers tracing up the length of your spine, nails dragging lightly, leaving a tingling trail of sensation. His free hand moves down, skimming over your thigh before gripping it, pulling your leg higher against his waist. The rough friction of his clothes against your bare skin sends a jolt of sensation up your body.

He shifts, pressing forward, pinning you against the tree with his body weight. The bark bites into your back, a stark contrast to the way his hands explore your skin, cold and burning all at once.

"I—" A kiss, deep and forceful, swallowing any protest you might have had.

"Hate—" His hands tighten, fingers bruising against your skin, as if trying to mold you into him, make you stay, make you his.

"You—" He bites your lip this time, just enough to sting, and you gasp into his mouth.

And despite everything—the fear, the confusion, the war between sense and something darker—you kiss him back.

His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, slow and deliberate, tasting the remnants of your breath. His grip tightens around your waist, pressing you flush against him. The rough bark of the tree digs into your back, but you barely register the sting—your senses drown in the feeling of him.

Rafayel’s tongue pushes past your lips, hot and insistent, swirling against yours in a messy, feverish dance. He doesn’t kiss with precision—he kisses with hunger, his movements uncoordinated yet consuming, like a man starved.

Saliva slicks your lips, the wet sounds of your mouths moving together filling the night air. He groans into the kiss, a deep, guttural noise vibrating against your tongue as he sucks at it, pulling you deeper into him. His teeth graze against your lower lip, nipping and tugging before soothing the sting with another deep, open-mouthed kiss.

Your breaths are ragged, mingling with his as he swallows every gasp, every whimper. His fingers dig into your hips, keeping you locked against him, refusing to let you pull away. His tongue moves greedily, exploring, claiming, savoring every inch of your mouth. The kiss is hot, messy, intoxicating—his spit coats your lips, mixing with your own, leaving you breathless and lightheaded.

When he finally pulls back, a thin string of saliva connects your mouths, breaking only when he licks his lips, his eyes dark and hooded with desire.

“Gods-” His palm is firm, pressing against your lips as his eyes darken. "Don’t," he repeats, voice low, almost dangerous. His fingers linger against your cheek, the coolness of his skin a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your own.

His grip tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you—he is in control. His breath is heavy, ragged, his pupils blown wide as he watches you, drinking in every detail of your flushed face.

For a moment, there’s only silence, the weight of his hand against your mouth the only thing grounding you. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leans in, his lips just ghosting over the shell of your ear.

"Do not speak of them here."

The weight of his body against yours is suffocating, his grip unrelenting. His thumb brushes over your cheek, deceptively gentle, a stark contrast to the feral hunger in his gaze. "You’re mine now," he breathes, his lips hovering just above your skin. "No gods. No saints. Just me."

His teeth graze your jaw, sharp but restrained, a warning and a promise all at once. His grip tightens at your waist, pressing you further into the rough bark of the tree, as if he could mold you into the very world around him—an extension of his own being.

"You feel that?" he murmurs against your skin, his breath cool but his presence searing. "That’s the only thing that’s real now. Me. Us."

His fingers trace along the dip of your spine, slow, deliberate, memorizing every shudder, every unwilling response he draws from you. He’s reveling in it, in the way your body betrays you, in the way your heartbeat hammers against his own.

"Say it," he demands, his lips brushing just below your ear. His voice is steady, but there’s something almost desperate beneath it. "Tell me you understand."

His mouth finds the pulse at your throat, lingering there, savoring, but never quite sinking in. His hands roam, gripping, kneading, learning the shape of you as if carving it into memory.

You try to focus—on his words, on his demand—but it’s impossible when his teeth drag along your skin, when his hands press you tighter against him, when every touch pulls you deeper into something dark and inescapable.

"Rafayel—" you manage, but it’s breathless, barely a whisper.

He chuckles against your skin, the sound low, wicked. "You can’t even think, can you?" His fingers slide up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back so you're forced to meet his eyes. They gleam with something unhinged, something hungry. "Good."

He lays you down before you realize. 

The earth is rough beneath you, twigs and dead leaves pressing into your skin, but it barely registers over the sensation of him. His lips ghost over your sternum, his breath warm despite the unnatural chill of his body.

His hands slide down your sides, slow, deliberate, as if savoring every inch of you. The contrast between his cold fingers and the feverish heat of your skin makes you shiver.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice thick with something unreadable. Reverence? Possession? It’s all the same with him. "You belong to me."

He presses a lingering kiss to your ribs, just above where your heartbeat pounds wildly against your bones. He exhales, and his lips curve against your skin in something dangerously close to a smile.

But you remember you’re technically free bleeding, and your pulse spikes, a rush of panic coursing through your veins as you instinctively try to close your legs. But his hand is there, swift and firm, stopping you. His grip is too strong, his presence too consuming.

He doesn't let go, his fingers brushing over the inner parts of your thighs, his breath shallow and erratic as he drinks in the sight of you. His pupils are blown wide, almost black, utterly lost in something feral and primal. He’s staring at you like he’s found something sacred, something far darker and deeper than just physicality.

"Don’t hide it," he murmurs, his voice raw and low. His gaze flickers down to the blood, and there's something almost reverent in his eyes. "This—this is perfect."

He throws your leg over his shoulder, and your face burns. 

Your breath catches as his lips linger against your calf, the warmth of his mouth searing against your skin. Your face burns, a flush creeping down your neck, spreading like wildfire. His touch is reverent—too intimate, too consuming.

He watches you through lidded eyes, something unreadable flickering behind them. "Look at you," he murmurs, dragging his lips higher. "Divine."

The forest around you is silent, as if holding its breath, as if bearing witness. Your pulse pounds in your ears, the rhythm syncing with his own quiet, shuddering breaths. You don’t know what’s more terrifying—the way he touches you like you’re something sacred or the way you’re starting to believe it.

Divine.

He did not want you to utter a word of the gods, and yet here he was, revering you as though you were made of stardust and prayer. His lips traced blessings into your skin, his hands mapping out every fragile piece of you with something dangerously close to devotion.

Your breath shuddered, caught between fear and something deeper, something you couldn’t name. He worshipped you in contradiction—loathing, needing, aching.

His voice was a rasp against your skin. "You don’t even see it, do you?" His fingers ghosted over your thigh, his grip tightening as though you might disappear. "You are holy in a way the heavens could never understand."

He pulls the nightgown off you completely, throwing it aside. The ruined nightgown lands in a crumpled heap, forgotten the moment it leaves his hands.

His gaze devours you, tracing every inch of exposed skin like a man starved, like something sacred has been laid bare before him. His fingers, cool against the heat of your body, press into your waist, lingering, memorizing.

"You were never meant for them," he murmurs, almost to himself. His touch drags up, slow, reverent, mapping out the curve of your ribs, the plane of your stomach. "Never meant for their rules. Their prayers."

His lips follow the path his hands have taken, pressing against you like whispered blasphemy.

His devotion was feverish, a worship not of saints or gods, but of you.

Your body was his temple, and he knelt before it without shame, lips pressing against every inch of exposed skin as though engraving his reverence into you. His hands roamed—possessive, greedy, desperate—as if afraid you might vanish between his fingers like mist at dawn.

“You were made for me,” he murmured against your hip, his voice rough with something deeper than hunger. His teeth grazed your skin, a silent vow. “No holy book, no doctrine—only this. Only us.”

The forest bore witness to the sacrilege, the rustling leaves whispering secrets to the wind. But he did not care. And, Astra help you, neither did you.

“Rafayel, that blood-” “It’s precious. Don’t you dare say otherwise.”

His words came like a command, hard and unyielding. His fingers gripped your wrists, holding you still as if your very body was his to claim, to savor. There was something in his eyes—intensity, obsession, an almost maddening hunger as he traced the lines of your skin.

The blood, your blood, had already stained him, and yet it seemed to hold him captive. It wasn’t just an act of possession—it was reverence, as though your very essence was sacred, and he couldn’t bear to waste a drop of it.

"Every part of you," he whispered, eyes now fixed on the path of blood trickling along your skin, "is mine." His voice was raw, desperate. "And I’ll cherish every bit of it, even if the gods themselves would frown upon us."

His lips hovered just above the blood, as if he was waiting for permission, the tension between you both palpable, thickening the air.

His lips hovered, teasing, just barely brushing against your skin as he waited, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. Without thinking, you pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, pressing his mouth to your blood-streaked skin.

It was an act of surrender. You were no longer the person who feared him, who resisted his touch. Now, you were simply a part of the chaos between you, caught in the storm of his desire and your own.

His breath hitched as his mouth met your skin, his hands roaming to claim you further. Every inch of him was pressed against you, his body marking you as his, as he whispered your name—like a prayer, like an obsession, like a promise.

If he was going to damn you, it may as well be worth it. 

His tongue laped at the blood on your thighs, his grip bruising on your hips as he cleans you up. Nipping and kissing up, up, up, his breath fans over your cunt, abd you can’t help but shiver. 

“And Astra said do not be wasteful, so thank you for this meal.”

His lips were on you, drinking your blood. "I could spend an eternity feasting on you,”

His words sent a thrill of excitement through you as he continued to lavish attention to your sensitive flesh, a cold hand coming to press down on your stomach, cool to the touch. Rafayels tongue traced patterns along your folds, your breath hitching as waves of pleasure rippled through your body, conflicting with the apprehension that still lingered in your mind. You let go of his hair, grasping at the dirt, clawing at whatever could ground you, fighting to maintain control over your desires. But with each flick of Rafayels tongue, each gentle suckle, your resolve waned, your resistance crumbling like sand beneath a relentless tide. 

Despite yourself, you arched your back, offering yourself more fully to his ministrations, your moans mingling with the soft sounds of his fervent attentions. Lips parting to taste the blood that came from your core, he teased and taunted with each languid stroke. 

Rafayel savored you like a forbidden fruit, movements deliberate and precise as he explored every inch of your trembling form. Eliciting gasps and moans from your lips, he threatened to consume you. 

His hands, strong and commanding, roamed over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and thighs as he held you in place, ensuring you remained at his mercy. 

"Please," you begged, your voice a breathless whisper. "I can't... I can't take anymore..."

Of course, the faux priest ignored you. 

His lips were bloody- so bloody, smearing across his chin and mingling with the spit that connected him to your cunt. 

“You- you’re beautiful.”

He licks it away, groaning at the taste as he reluctantly pulls himself away, sitting up, keeping your legs apart as he undoes his buttoned shirt, pulling it over his head and-

As if your cheeks couldnt burn any more. 

It was as if Astra had carved him himself, and he probably did. 

No clay was made to make his form, no. 

He was made from fire and starlight.

Two fingers replaced his mouth, inching their way. Your eyes threaten to roll at the intensity of it all, and the feeling of shame was ever present in its advancements. 

Rafayel made his way up your body, lips trailing along the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses in their wake as he moved towards your breasts. Capturing one of your nipples between his lips, he sucked and nipped at the sensitive flesh, his fangs nearly breaking the skin. 

“Divine.”

It was said like a mantra, a prayer on your skin, an obsession with the salvation he so desperately craved. His free hand grabbed one of your own, interlocking your fingers and holding it about your head. Worshipping your breasts with a sense of reverence, he nearly whined. 

"I could spend an eternity feasting on you,”

The words send a thrill of excitement through you.

But the ins and outs of his fingers, his mouth on your tits, and the utter act of it all-

You don’t know whether to cry or beg. 

Beg for it to be done?

It’s too much- and he knows this. Of course he does. 

Father Rafayel always knows. 

He lets your nipple go with a lewd pop, taking his fingers out of you before grabbing your face. If you weren't so overwhelmed, you might have gagged. 

Until he spits in your mouth and pushes your head back down. 

“Stay down.”

His hands go to his pants, and you watch. Watch him take himself out. 

Astra above. 

He was pretty just about everywhere. Endowed, leaking, his skin tinged the faintest of blues up until his tip, an aggressive deep red-almost purple. 

And there's so much cum. 

He lines himself up with your quivering hole, breathing hard as if he needed the oxygen. Maybe he did now. “I- hah- I’m taking you. You understand, don’t you? I need this.”

But your gaze is too focused on his member, too distracted. 

“He’d probably marry a book,”

Oh, Yvonne, you sweet ignorant soul. 

Your blood smears across his tip, and he hisses. “So hot- too hot,”

Breathe in. 

Breathe out. 

Breathe in. 

Breathe ou-

You cry out, the push too uncomfortable, too harsh, too mean. And finally- finally- closes his eyes, long lashes giving his cheeks butterfly kisses as he damn near growls. 

He leans over you, his forehead meeting yours as he presses his lips to yours, whether just for the sake of kissing or to not look foolish, you don’t know. Don’t have time to think as he goes to your throat. 

He bites. 

Not enough to break skin, but it hurts. 

Hurts more when you gaze at his hands, how they are fisted in the damp soil beneath you, nails caked with blood and dirt, holding himself back. 

He moves his hips, pushing in, and your arms scramble around his bare back, nails gifting crescents into his skin. A bulge in your tummy- he presses down on it. 

“Here. Here is where I’ll be. Where we will be. Do you understand?”

“What?”

“Miseal. It’s already decided.”

His thrusts are deep- rough, and something feels off as he takes you. Though you’re not sure what.

Almost as if you’re being watched. 

And he feels it too.

“Damn him,”

A rush, a rush as he tries to make you both finish, no longer worried about the pleasure of it all, so long as it was done. You whine, legs wrapping around him, keeping him in as he rocks into you. 

Soon enough, he spills. 

But it's strange, how he pulls away fast, grabbing his pants.

You watch as he pulls out a candle, a muted red wax of a long shaft and a packet of matches. 

“You move, and you’re getting burned. Do you understand?”

What?

He lights it. 

Panicking, you try to get up- 

His hand is on your throat, keeping you down. “Stay. Still.”

He holds it over your body, letting the wax melt and then-

When it drops onto your skin, it burns.

You bite back a yelp, throwing your head back and gritting your teeth. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

His gaze is hard as he lets it fall onto your body, watching it roll down the curves and valleys and dips of your body. Tears pool in your eyes, and all sense of warmth he had in his gaze is gone. Why was he so hard to understand?

He brings a hand to your stomach, smearing the wax before it solidified. 

It hits you. 

He was drawing something on you. Swirls of roses and vines, stars and something else you can't quite see. 

“Rafayel, what’s wrong-” “Quiet.”

His tone is sharp, cold. And then- 

Holy water?

He splashes it onto you. 

“Rafayel, wha-”

“Stop- Just stop it! Let me finish what I need to do!”

Rafayel’s breath came fast and uneven, his hands shaking even as they held you firm. His panic bled into you like ink in water, spreading thick and inescapable.

No—no, no, no. This was wrong.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else. 

He jerked back as if burned, his expression twisting. Regret? Shame? Desire? It all mixed together, unreadable.

"Astra," you whispered, your throat tightening. "Astra is going to punish us."

Rafayel's face darkened, his pupils blown wide, his grip on you tightening like a noose.

Then, before you could utter another breath, he shoved his hand over your mouth, pressing you into the earth.

"Shut. Up." His voice was a raw, desperate growl. His body caged you in, his hand firm against your lips, his eyes blazing with something almost wild.

The wind only grew stronger. The trees groaned. The stars above flickered—then vanished.

Astra was watching.

Your chest heaved, but no air came. His hand was firm, unyielding, stealing the breath from your lungs as the wind raged around you. Your fingers clawed at his wrist, nails digging into his skin, but he wouldn’t budge.

Your vision blurred at the edges, a ringing building in your ears. Above you, the sky churned—inky black swallowing every trace of light, the heavens convulsing in silent fury.

Rafayel’s eyes bore into yours, his grip trembling. His own breath was ragged, his expression torn between panic and something darker.

Then, just as your limbs began to weaken, he let go.

You gasped, choking on the rush of air, your lungs burning. The moment your breath returned, you shoved him away, scrambling backward across the damp forest floor.

"What have you done?" Your voice was raw, torn.

Rafayel didn’t answer. His lips parted, but his eyes weren’t on you anymore. They were locked onto the abyss above, where the sky had fractured.

A sob clawed up your throat, raw and broken. You could feel it—like something had been ripped from you, something sacred and irreplaceable.

Your soul.

The weight of it hit you all at once. A terrible, hollow emptiness where divinity had once dwelled. The connection to Astra, the light you had clung to in your darkest moments—it was gone. Torn away by his hands.

You curled in on yourself, fingers digging into the damp earth as if you could anchor yourself, as if the ground would not reject you like the heavens had. You had been forsaken.

A gust of wind howled through the trees, the sky above still shuddering, the heavens themselves mourning you.

And he—he only stood there. Watching.

"You’ve ruined me," you whispered, voice shaking, eyes wet with grief.

Rafayel flinched as if struck. But he didn’t deny it. Didn’t apologize. He only took a step closer, the shadows curling around him like a crown, his expression unreadable.

"You were never theirs to begin with." His voice was low, reverent, filled with something close to adoration.

You hated him. You hated that you wanted to believe him.

A breeze flows through your hair, comfortable on your scalp. 

A field of golden wheat. The stalks sway, whispering secrets in the wind. The sky is endless, a soft, hazy blue, and the sun is warm on your skin.

And then you see it.

Her.

Your body—mangled, broken, wrong. Blood seeps into the dirt beneath, soaking the golden earth in deep crimson. Your eyes are open, clouded and lifeless, staring at nothing. The wind does not touch you. The sun does not warm you.

You are dead.

But you are also here, standing above yourself, barefoot in the soft earth, small hands trembling at your sides. You are a child again.

A shadow looms over your corpse. You look up.

Astra?

No.

A hand grabs yours. You turn, blinking in confusion. There, standing beside you, is a younger version of Rafayel, his eyes wide, full of an unspoken fear. The wheat sways gently around him, but the warmth of the sun, which once bathed you, now feels distant, cold, almost unreal.

“Are you scared?” you ask softly, your voice trembling, not sure if the words are meant for him or for you.

He doesn’t answer at first, his gaze fixed on the mangled body lying in the dirt, still and lifeless. Slowly, he nods. His expression is tense, strained, haunted. The faint trace of a tear glimmers in his eye, but he refuses to look away from the vision of death that lies before you.

Another figure steps forward, his presence almost ethereal amidst the vast expanse of the golden wheat.

He is a man—older, perhaps, though not by much—and yet, his features carry an odd resemblance to both you and Rafayel, as if the strands of your lives had intertwined in ways too complex to decipher. His face is solemn, filled with a quiet sadness that mirrors your own unease. He crouches by the mangled body, planting roses in the earth, the delicate flowers contrasting sharply with the harshness of death surrounding them.

When he finishes, his eyes slowly rise to meet yours, the sorrow in them palpable. "I can't wait to meet you," he murmurs, his voice tinged with a melancholy that feels out of place in this strange vision. There's a heaviness in his words, as though he’s already resigned to an inevitable fate that neither you nor he can escape.

You stand still, caught in the moment, unsure of what to make of him or what he means by his cryptic words. His gaze lingers for a moment longer before he turns away, his figure slowly dissolving into the wheat as if he were never there to begin with. 

The familiar sound of Gran's laughter fills the air, cutting through the tension of the dream and pulling you back to reality. You blink, suddenly disoriented as you stand in your kitchen, the smell of burnt soup wafting in the air. Tara, your younger cousin, stands at the stove, a guilty grin plastered across her face.

You roll your eyes and call out, annoyed, “Tara, did you burn the soup again?”

Gran chuckles from her rocking chair in the corner of the room, clearly entertained by the chaotic dynamic. She has seen this a thousand times before, but her amusement is unwavering. "Let her be, love. She’s learning."

Tara, red-faced and clearly embarrassed, scoops a ladle of the charred soup into a bowl, trying to salvage what she can. "It wasn’t that bad," she protests weakly, though the scorched smell says otherwise.

You sigh, but the irritation fades quickly as you watch Tara and Gran in the soft light of the kitchen. It’s a comforting scene, one you’ve known all your life. Still, that dream lingers at the back of your mind, its strange figure and cryptic words echoing through your thoughts, mixing with the mundane and ordinary.

"Gran, I had the strangest dream last night," you start, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling. She pauses, her hands stilling on her knitting as her sharp eyes meet yours.

“Did you now?” “I…yeah. I dreamed I was trying to be a nun…and there was a vampire.” Gran raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "A vampire, eh? Sounds like Astra's handiwork, that does."

You roll your eyes, but before you can speak, you hear a soft chuckle from the doorway. The voice is familiar, comforting, yet too smooth—too perfect. "Nightmares again, cutie?"

You freeze, instinctively glancing over your shoulder. There, standing in the doorway, is him. The man who doesn't quite fit, but is always somehow there, a shadow in the corner of your life. He wears the same smile as always—charming, relaxed, but with an undertone you can't quite place. His eyes gleam, mischievous with amusement. 

Gran raises a knowing eyebrow. “Rafayel, you causing my grandbaby nightmares again? You ought to be more gentle with her.”

“I can’t help it, Josephine. Gotta get it out of my system before the wedding.”

Gran snorts. You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “So what, you just had to torment me one last time before I walk down the aisle?”

Rafayel grins, lazy and wolfish. “Of course. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t haunt my bride’s dreams before the big day?” His voice is teasing,

Gran swats him lightly with a dish towel. “Enough of that nonsense. Go set the table if you’re gonna stand there running your mouth.”

Rafayel winks at you before grabbing the plates.

©hellinistical 2025 do not copy, translate, distribute, plagiarize, or reproduce in any form without permission, and do not share to any media outside of tumblr.

[loganwritesprobably]

Hurt/Comfort (the comfort is sex)

Tags/Warnings: Shanks/AFAB!Reader/Mihawk, she/they reader, hurt/comfort (the comfort is sex), shy!reader, established relationship, double penetration two holes, fellatio, spanking, rough sex, cum eating, cream pie Word Count: 1293 A birthday gift written for @mermaniaa

It had been such a long day. Usually, you’d have been more resilient, but not today. Today, the world seemed to just weigh a little heavier on your shoulders and so you tucked yourself away in your room, knees pulled to your chest, face wet with tears. You’d felt ridiculous for breaking down, but sometimes you just couldn’t help it. Nothing much had even happened, everything just felt that little bit more overwhelming than usual. When Mihawk found you, he’d wrapped you up in his arms and gently brushed away the lingering tears, and suggested that he and Shanks make you feel better. You knew the two men well enough by now to know what that would involve, and you said yes, almost eagerly. You hated to seem needy, and talking about intimacy often left you speechless, struggling to convey your wants and needs, but thankfully they found your shyness endearing. 

When Shanks joined you, it didn’t take long for the three of you to be disrobed, and have your hands on each other’s bodies.

Shanks sighed softly as he sunk into your heat, Mihawk humming appreciatively at the view, stroking himself slowly to maintain hardness but not truly bring himself pleasure. You looked wonderful spread so widely, with his hands holding your ankles, pulling your knees back to your shoulders so the swordsman could bask in the heavenly image the two of you made. There was always something so special about the three of you together and the love you could make, the chemistry between you lighting up and making you all insatiable, until at least four rounds later. You’d always been shy about it, their beautiful princess, struggling to share what you wanted in moments of intimacy, and before, flushing darkly in a way they both found incredibly sweet, and a turn on in Shanks’ case. Innocence had always been a thing for him. Shanks rocked his hips slightly, not fully thrusting into you, just moving enough to drive you crazy, and force whatever you were thinking about out of your head. 

You couldn’t help whining, lip pulled between your teeth, needy for more but unable to ask for it.

“What is it, dearest?” Mihawk asked, a small smirk playing at his lips. He knew, of course he did, but the game was to try to get you to say it. You only whined again, attempting to grind yourself down on Shanks for more.

“Oh I don’t think so pretty girl.” Shanks said, moving one hand from around your ankle to wrap instead around your middle, including your thighs, to hold you in place. You whimpered pitifully, and you just about caught the hungry look on Mihawk’s face.

“I think they might want something, love.” He said to Shanks, who chuckled lowly against your ear, you could feel the sound just as much as you heard it. 

“I think you might be right, Hawkeyes. Should we give it to her?” He asked, slowly licking up the shell of your ear.

“Perhaps we should. Or maybe she should ask for it, like a good girl.” Mihawk’s voice was honey thick, the words oozing from his lips and lighting a fire inside you, making you ever more desperate, and wetter around Shanks’ cock.

“I know they can do it, we’ve seen it before, shame they don’t want to right now. I guess they don’t want any more than this then.” And that was too far, to suggest you weren’t eager and desperate for them, whimpering and whining for them and them alone.

“Please.” You managed to breathe out, just barely, the sound only audible because Shanks had stopped moving entirely in his effort to make you speak your desires. 

“What was that, darling?” Mihawk asked, shuffling closer to you to rest a hand on your thigh, making you bite your lip - even the simplest of their touches drove you wild.

“Please! Need- need you.” You managed, your face only flushing darker, and you couldn’t help squeezing your eyes shut as if to hide from your own embarrassment.

“Good girl.” Shanks whispered, voice dark and husky. For a second, the tension of the room was as thick as it could get, like an elastic pulled to full extension, and then it snapped, and then everything was happening. Shanks flipped you both over, pressing your body down into the mattress as he lifted your hips. You turned your head so you could breathe better, and found Mihawk in front of you with his dick in hand.

Slowly, with a loud, heady groan Shanks pushed back inside you, grunting as he bottomed out, barely able to wait for a moment before he began to fuck you. He struggled so much more than Mihawk to restrain himself, especially when he knew exactly what you wanted, but he couldn’t deny that you were so beautiful when you were shy and needy. Mihawk waited a moment for you to adjust, just watching the pleasure on your face, before he stepped forward, taking some of your hair in hand to get your attention. You opened your mouth before your eyes, mostly on instinct, and were greeted by his dick just centimetres from your lips.

“Well done, darling. You’ve done such a good job learning how to please us.” He looked and sounded so proud, and it was dizzying. He slowly pushed into your mouth, and then allowed you to do as you pleased. He’d never had complaints about your head before, he wasn’t going to start guiding you now.

It was easy to get distracted by Shanks pounding into you, temporarily stealing your attention as he hit your gspot over and over, but a quick swat on your ass was enough to remind you what you were meant to be doing. You sucked Mihawk eagerly, happy to do it, eager to make your lover feel good. He worked so hard, he deserved it, and you wanted to taste his cum. It usually wasn’t something that you were particularly interested in, but you loved to do it with them, your men. 

Shanks was no slouch when it came to sex, but it’d been a while since the three of you had indulged together, so you weren’t surprised when his hips began to stutter, his rhythm faltering as he came closer to orgasm.

“Gonna fill you up, sweet girl. Make sure you can feel my love inside you.” Shanks grunted, kissing down your spine, fingers digging into your hips as he fucked into you. Just a few thrusts later, and he bottomed out inside you again, filling you with his seed. You never faltered your own movements, hollowing your cheeks to bring Mihawk closer to orgasm. The swordsman made hardly any sound, the only sign of his pleasure being the soft pants that escaped him whenever your tongue moved just so. Finally, in an uncharacteristic moment of impatience, Mihawk pulled out from your mouth and took himself in hand. He stroked himself quickly, head tilting back from his pleasure. You tilted your head further, so when he finally came, he coated your face and neck with his seed.

Reluctantly, Shanks pulled out of you, but then crouched down to press his tongue inside you, eating his own cum from inside you eagerly. He ate like a man starved, his tongue moving expertly to bring you more pleasure until you came like that, his face pressed to your core, Mihawk’s cum on your face. The swordsman dragged a finger across your face with a smile, bringing his cum to your lips for you to take, sucking gently on his finger to clean it.

When they were done, they took their posts either side of you, holding you close, pressing kisses to your skin.

Tags: @cainnoable @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @categoryace

If you'd like to tip me and get exclusive ficlets, Kofi

[slvttyplum]

nanami didn't believe in "tapping out." it messed up his flow, and in the end he was stuck with a hard dick. with you, it was completely different. he encouraged you to take all of him just so you could tap out.

he didn't know why it aroused him, but he loved how confident you got every time he was in between your legs, stuffing you deep with his dick, kissing him, and tonguing him down just to be moaning helplessly in his mouth the next minute.

the human body is sensitive, but yours was especially sensitive to his touch. one graze over your nipple and your body was squirming from pleasure; he loved it, all of it, and he was never going to get tired of seeing it.

your legs wrapped around his waist tightly and stuck in the same position because of how overpowered your body was with pleasure. he loved eyeing down your body and watching every single movement, giving him even more reason to fuck you slow and deep.

the both of you had the "three slaps" rule; three slaps on the mattress in a row meant that you were done, and of course this rule only applied to you.

nanami was never truly done. if it were up to him, he would have you in so many positions by sunrise, but you could only take so much, and he was okay with that. as long as you tapped out with three slaps, he would be done.

it was almost like a surrender; that's why he was so turned on by it, telling him that your body had enough of his dick. trying your hardest to keep going, but your body gave up so easily.

like a safe word, but instead of words, you used your body instead. he loved the idea; you weren't good with words or remembering them when you were getting overstimulated by his dick repeatedly sliding in and out of you.

he loved every part about your body not holding up to his dick stretching you out. his eyes locked on yours as you held out your moans and tried to keep your body from a full reaction, but it never worked. nanami's eyes were scanning your body for it.

at the end of the day, his goal was to give you a lot of pleasure, and he achieved it every time, but a little teasing in bed didn't hurt.

[chososrightnipple]

❝𝗷𝗷𝗸 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 + 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘀❞

a/n: i'm going insane guys anyway love u all mwah <333333 afab body but no gendered language btw!

part two.

── დ ──

. *. ⋆ GOJO SATORU

▸ creampies. please just let this man cum inside of you omg he'll go insane. seeing the way his release leaks out of you afterward has him ready for another round almost immediately.

▸ dacryphilia. "you crying'?" says it all right there. he'll coo, a bit mocking, and wipe at the tears running down your cheeks.

▸ size difference. he's so big compared to you. his height, his hands, his dick. he gets off on it so hard seeing you have to look up at him :(

▸ praise (giving + receiving). he'll charm your panties off if you really want, just make sure to let him know how good he's fucking you, too.

▸ overstimulation. hand in hand with dacryphilia. he's not done with you until he's shooting blanks and you're a weeping mess below him.

▸ breeding. listen.. he needs an heir for the gojo clan. he'll fuck you into the mattress for hours on end- he just wants to make sure his baby takes, that's all.

▸ orgasm denial. he's a cocky man, and he knows it. he loves the exhilaration he gets controlling your orgasm, making you beg for it before he gives you any satisfaction.

▸ pussy/thigh/boob jobs. he wants to put good use to all of your body.

. *. ⋆ GETO SUGURU

▸ choking. the feeling of you swallowing as his large hands cusp at your neck is like a drug to him.

▸ begging. seeing you so compliant under him as you plead and cry for his touch... those pretty little eyes and wobbling lip. it's mean, he knows that. he just couldn't care less.

▸ sense deprivation. tying you up and blindfolding you, giving him all that power? he goes crazy for it.

▸ degradation. you wanna be fucked like a slut, he's gonna treat you like one.

▸ edging. when he's feeling really mean, he'll edge you for hours. until you're shaking and whining and the only word you can get out is a broken moan of his name.

▸ impact play. he loves waking up and seeing the red imprint of his hand on your ass oh my godddd don't get him started.

▸ hair pulling (receiving). he wants you to tug at his hair, card your fingers through it, pull it as you're riding his face!!!

▸ sadism. pretty much hand in hand with everything above. he's such a mean boyfriend but he knows how much you love it.

. *. ⋆ CHOSO KAMO

▸ biting. your shoulders, neck, and thighs are full of his teeth marks, almost perpetually. and of course he's not gonna complain if you leave a few bites, too.

▸ begging. show him how much you want him, how badly you need him, and he'll fuck you as much as you want. you just gotta put in a little work first.

▸ worship (giving + receiving). seriously this man worships the ground you walk on from the moment you wake up to the second you fall asleep. he just asks you worship his cock the same

▸ overstimulation. he's fuckin you until his legs are giving out from under him and you're nothing but a fucked out, drooling mess being pressed into the bed.

▸ blood play. i mean... i think this is a given.. will purposefully bite down too hard just to lick the blood clean as an apology.

▸ orgasm denial. he knows once you cum, it's over, and he just wants to stay sat in your pretty pussy a little bit longer- you understand that, right?

▸ somnophilia. his favorite breakfast is in between your thighs. besides, you don't think there's any better way to wake up, anyway.

▸ voyeurism. pleaseeee pleaseee pleaseee let him watch you masturbate it's all he needs in this world !!!!!

. *. ⋆ SUKUNA RYOMEN

▸ anal. he needs to claim every hole your body has to offer. plus true form sukuna is a slut for his double penetration just saying

▸ choking. hearing your choked gasps as he squeezes your throat could make him cum on the damn spot. watching your eyes roll into the back of your head as each second passes on.

▸ exhibitionism. no, he doesn't care that there are other curses around and no, he doesn't care if they can see. you're his, and he'll fuck you anywhere he wants to.

▸ extreme bondage. watching your poor, writhing little human body tug at your restraints uselessly is something he'll never get tired of.

▸ collaring. he'll even get his name custom engraved, just so everyone who looks at you know exactly who you belong to.

▸ degradation. he's a mean thing, but you seem to enjoy that for some reason. he savors in the way you clench around him every time he calls you a whore.

▸ edging. you're not allowed to cum until he's says so, and anything before that? you're in for one hell of a night.

▸ predator/prey. let him chase you through the woods as foreplay. he'll inevitably catch up, of course, but seeing you attempt to get away is so cute to him. especially when he's had enough of the teasing and is pinning you against the nearest tree.

[tojisun]

i feel like simon loses it when you murmur, “like this?” every time you ride him.

it’s not even the first time that you’ve ridden him—and he sure as hell would make sure that it wouldn’t be the last—but there’s always something so sweet at the shy curl of your question, your watery eyes peering up at him like simon isn’t ravenous for every inch of you; your scent, your taste, your touch—he’s hungry for everything that you are.

so when you ask him—

like this? timid and achingly soft;

like this? heart stutteringly quiet and meek;

like this? overwhelmingly intoxicating—

simon buckles and wraps his arms around you because, “yeah,” simon replies, voice rumbling in a ragged rasp. “jus’ like that, love.”

his cock twitches, pulsing, and he has to bite down at the inside of his lip to stop himself from reaching his euphoria. it’s too soon, almost embarrassingly so, but he can’t help himself. it’s like your meek question is a trigger for him, unravelling his body until he feels like he is left as mere threads of his ecstasy, stroked to its tipping completion.

yeah, simon repeats to himself, his thick hands planted on the fat of your ass, squeezing greedily, before hoisting you up to feel the delicious press of your walls drag along his cock. it is such an enveloping warmth; all feverish and soft.

how could you even ask him anything like he isn’t being unmade?

you hiccup, breathy and hitching, as you curl close to him. simon chuckles.

“that’s right,” he says, fucking you back down his length. “s’good, huh?”

all he gets is that familiar thrum of your muffled hum, and simon coos because he knows he’s hit that threshold that renders you nonverbal.

see? such a sweetheart for him.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Wolf hybrid pack that was supposed to eat chubby bunny reader but instead take you in and use you as their little breeding toy.

They just kind of adore you, spoiling you with freshly picked fruits and vegetables, doting on their sweet little bunny as much as possible.

You want snuggles? They’re making a cuddle pile immediately, and you’re at the center. You’re hungry for something sweet? They’re ransacking the nearest village and bringing back every sugary item they can find.

They get into a lot of fights over who gets to breed you first once mating season comes around. You’re a bit afraid, seeing all these tall, needy wolves circling you like you’re a slab of meat.

It’s the first time they’re ever rough with you, pushing your soft body down and holding onto your hips as they rut into your fat pussy until you’re knotted over and over again.

Once they’ve all had a turn, they’re back to purring and cuddling into you, giving you little mating bites and cleaning you up.

You decide it’s worth it to get fucked out of your mind every once in a while if it means you’re treated like the pack’s princess. After all… it feels way too good being all full of cum and being bounced on one knot then another…

Being adored by an entire pack of wolf hybrids isn’t easy, but you’re a horny bunny, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @screaming-crying-screamingagain @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @j3llyphisching @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljr @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @buckoothecow @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, loan shark!price x reader part 1, fem!reader, afab!reader, noncon elements, manipulative price, implied violence (not reader), petting, almost(?) fingering - 3K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune massive thank you to @pricetagged for keeping me sane writing this

“Mr. Price-” you spoke up, fingers massaging into your temples. 

“Said you can call me John, Sweetheart.” the man interjected with a serious look. 

He was currently hanging your entire life over your head and he knew it, you most certainly were not going to call him by his first name. Noticing your reluctance, he shrugged and leaned back into your dining room chair.

“Look, I’ve been as kind as a man like me ought to be. Don’t know how much longer I can shoulder the loss, and I don't know how much longer you-” He sent a condescending look of concern your way, a hand fishing into his pocket. “-can take the fees. I’m playing the good guy here, y’gotta pay up, lovie.” 

“No smoking inside.” you warned, voice less confident than you would have liked it to be.

His hand paused in his coat before slipping out and up in a sign of surrender.

There was a buzzing silence between the two of you, only interrupted by the occasional tick of your kitchen clock. It was hard to meet his gaze, eyes rooted downwards towards your table under the weight of your rising debt to one of the most notorious men in the city.

“Right then.” he huffed, palms coming down to rest on the table before twitching upwards. “So?” 

“Give me another month to pull something together.” you spoke, wincing when you caught the way his eyebrows quirked in surprise. “-Please?”

There was no telling a man like John Price what would be happening. He was the shot caller, the unequivocal card dealer, it was only by some higher grace that he let your ill manners slip. 

He grumbled for a moment before looking up. “I respect what you’ve got going on in the shop, I do. Lovely place, good atmosphere—we’re both the entrepreneurial type, so to say I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for you-” the thought that he’d lump your small shop in with his exploitative business made your stomach turn. “-but this is a bit much, yeah? Let’s give it up, sweetheart.” 

Your face twisted into a sharp grimace, but that was all you could do—what right did you have to tell the man whose money you were living off of to get out of your house? Even worse, you hated that he had a point; you were so tired of your lackluster sales and mounting bills, but-

“I’m not the only owner, I-I can’t just make decisions like that.” you reasoned.

He looked incredibly unimpressed, nostrils flaring with a dissatisfied huff. “Right, your business partner.” 

“H-he-”

“If it’s what you want, m’sure he’ll understand,” Mr. Price hummed, eyes narrowing. “I think you’ll find my men and I can be quite persuasive.” 

Registering your cautious demeanor, his lips curled upwards.

“Where is the bloke anyway?” John asked in faux-disinterest, disapproval blooming from his tone. “Always sends you to talk to the big mean lender. S’not right.” 

He shook his head and sighed.

“-Seen this play out before, love. He’s throwing you under the bus.” 

Your mouth shut, hard set into a frown—you knew he was right. Your business partner was most likely enjoying his morning in peace knowing it was your apartment above the building—your life about to be uprooted if it all went tits-up. It was hard not to feel played.

Mr. Price’s gaze glimmered in recognition, and slowly, like a languid predator, he was leaning across the table with a large hand over your own. 

You studied the sparse dusting of translucent hair on his fingers, the trimmed nails at the ends of his stocky fingers, his nice, expensive-looking watch—anything not to meet his eyes. 

“S’not worth it,” he urged softly. “spreading yourself thin like this.” he paused to think. “My advice? Liquidate, I'm sure you and I can work something out in the long term.”

You swallowed, throat feeling impossibly dry as you focused on the twitch of his thumb.

“I’ll think about it.” 

“I don’t want to be the bad guy, but business is business, sweetheart—I’m offering you a hand, it’s in your best interest to take it.” he spoke, palm patting over your digits before withdrawing into his pocket. There was a deep breath drawn in through his lips. “Right, I’ll be off then—Unless you want me over for lunch?” 

He chuckled deeply in solus as he stood, reminding you of a proud and awful beast. “Maybe another time then, love.” 

Ideally not.

-

The shop had closed on another unnoteworthy day, only serving to further hammer in Mr. Price’s point. With defeated footfall on the stairs up to your flat, you nearly slipped, shocked by a fist beating on the front door frantically. You slowly turned around, heart pounding from the sound.

“-Christ! Let me in!” Ewan, your business partner cried out from the other side of the threshold.

You hurried to the door; pushed aside as soon as the lock had released.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” you scolded over the shop door’s welcome chime. You were met without response while the man darted for the till. “What are you-”

“Not now,” he growled. “we need to get out of here.” 

Studying him closer, you realized one of his arms had been held up by a makeshift sling, tucked neatly beneath his quilted coat.

“W-what are you talking about?”

He paused, looking up. 

Your eyes widened when the light from the street outside washed over his face. 

“What happened to you?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” he snarled, freshly dried blood crusting at the movement. His head dipped down as he popped open the till. “Price and his dogs want our heads.” 

“I just spoke to him this morning-” 

“Things change—may have pushed our luck a little too far. We’ve got to get out of town.” 

You frowned “I-I can’t just-” 

“Suit yourself.” he snapped, voice dropping to a mumble while his fingers grabbed at whatever they could, stuffing it into his coat pocket haphazardly. “-Sitting duck.”

“Wait—that's our money.” you balked, watching the empty register drawer shut. He offered you a bloody, tight-lipped smile as he sped past you towards the door; in and out like a typhoon.

“Good luck.”

You were stuck where you stood when the door swung shut, absolutely beside yourself in shock as you watched his figure disappear from view into the night. Looking around your shop, it was just as it had been when you closed up, but the knowledge that you were sitting on an empty till, all alone with the looming threat of a less-than-savory money lender finding out you were back to square one for your upcoming payment was not kind as it crashed into you. 

After a sobering moment, you hobbled over to the point of sales, turning the drawer’s lock tentatively. Of course, the tray was as empty as the day you had bought it, save for a spare coin roll shoved into the side. You stared down at the dark plastic, hand clumsily digging into your pocket for your phone. Swiping at the device, you paused, debating for a moment over whether or not to open the banking app; you already knew what you’d see if you did.

Confirming your fears, the log showed a hefty transaction at the branch earlier that day. The account had been emptied right before the banks closed. 

You had nothing to give John Price.

It was all gone.

You stared at your feet while it sunk in. Slowly, you regained the ability to move, making your way over to the shop door and locking it back up before spinning on your heels. The trip upstairs was eerily silent as you slipped into your flat, legs wobbling as you ambled into your washroom and stepped under the hot stream from your showerhead. You let the water run over you for far longer than necessary, only stepping out onto the frigid tile once your fingers had pruned. 

The dinner prep that followed had gone surprisingly smooth, serving as a vessel to pretend the foundation of your life wasn't crumbling away. You replayed comforting thoughts, words passing through your mind like a liferaft just out of reach– you knew Mr. Price, he always spoke gently to you, he would understand, he-

A fat tear fell onto the hand that braced you over the stove, watching the bubbling pasta through bleary eyes. With a shaking grip, you drained the water and slipped the noodles into your saucepan, stirring and sniffling lamely.

You made too much—you had nothing to give and you had made too much. Typical.

Sitting at your table, you ate in near-silence, listening to your clock’s soft ticking as you tried to ignore the afterburn image of Mr. Price across from you where he had sat that morning.

Your fork paused mid-air when the downstairs shop chime rang out. 

Had Ewan come to his senses? 

You closed your eyes and waited for him to call up to you. 

The stark sound of heavy footfall bustling around the lower level was the first thing to alert you to the intrusion—too much noise for one man. Setting down your fork, you stared owlishly at the door to your flat as if it was the last line of defense between you and whatever was happening down there. Through the muffled commotion, you could faintly make out the creak of your stairs getting louder—closer, you watched helplessly as the knob slowly turned.

The door opened a fraction, a thick hand curling around the side to brace it against the three thunderous knocks that echoed throughout the room.

“Come in.” you spoke up once your heartbeat had evened out, blinking as Mr. Price emerged from the dark stairway.

“Mmh, you’re here.” he stared down at you, a pleased rumble rolling around in his chest. “‘Course you didn’t skip town, smart. Good girl.”

He kicked his boots off and drifted through your kitchen; cabinets and drawers clattering behind you while he whistled breathily, dishing up some pasta as if you had made it for him—you do suppose he had every right to, though. 

Your whole body tensed as a palm ghosted across your back. The plate was set down, and the chair beside you was tugged out from beneath the table. 

Your eyes darted to his dish where it sat, steam trailing fragrantly. Mr. Price tucked in, humming lowly despite his tense demeanor. 

“S’good, Love. eat up.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and grabbed your fork, gaze falling back to your dish as you picked at the food, appetite long gone. Once again, it was you, Mr. Price, and the sounds of your kitchen—an unwelcome sense of Deja Vu creeping in. 

“Your money’s gone.” you whispered, unable to stand the silence.

He reached towards you, grabbing your napkin, and patting his mouth. “I know.” he scratched at his beard idly. “My boys are dealing with that.” 

You paled, trying not to think about what would happen to your business partner as you watched Mr.Price fuss with his fork, leaning in to take another large bite; a nauseated feeling washing over you. 

“What's going to happen to me?” you murmured, eyes downcast. 

His fork clattered quietly against his plate as his hand came to rest on the back of your neck, thumb petting at your nape. “That’s what I'm here to sort out, sweetheart.” 

Sort out. It was ugly, spoken as if you were just one of his assets. You nodded; compliance met with a soft, affirming squeeze. 

“We can work something out.” his hand traveled downwards, grazing your arm before landing on the meat of your thigh. “I don’t have to be the bad guy.” 

“Mr. Price..” you spoke after a sharp breath, tears threatening to well up. 

You missed the way his eyes crinkled at your weepy tone, thumb brushing your thigh in comfort. 

“I’ve had my eye on you, love—Would have never lent you as much as I did if I wasn't sweet on you. Thought maybe I’d be able to charm my way into your life but it seems like I only see you when you’re late on a payment.” he laughed hoarsely. A knee knocked into yours as he stood; his chair scraping beneath him. The floor creaked under bulk, two large hands coming to rub at your arms with hot breath and trimmed beard tickling at your ear. “-I’m a hopeless romantic, y’see.” 

“Price!” a voice hollered up, causing the man to straighten with a low growl. 

“What?” he barked, voice aimed downstairs.

“Trucks loaded up, gonna head back to the office, yeah? See if Simon needs any help retrieving the cash.” 

His hands flexed around your shoulders. “Good, lock up behind yourself. I’ll be a bit.”

You froze, looking up to see the looming shadow of a man; profile distinct in the low light. He turned to you, offering a tight grin while a wayward hand trailed from your arm to your neck, caressing the skin as he exhaled deeply behind you, resting your head against his abdomen. 

“It’s okay to give in, love.” he cooed. “Let me take care of it all.” 

You had nearly folded when that little prey animal in your brain stiffened, hackles raising. You stood carefully, sidestepping his grasp.

“No, I-I… I couldn’t impose… It’s alright.” you silently begged for him to understand your polite refusal.

“S’not imposing,” he challenged, glaring down at you. “imposing would be the number of zeroes on the sum you owe me—now you care about my burden?”

“That’s-”

“That’s not how this works, sweetheart.” he laughed. “Now, sit back down.”

You complied, lowering back into the seat shamefully.

“Good.” he exhaled, crouching beside you with hands knotted together. “I always collect what’s owed, that’s one thing you need to understand.” 

You nodded.

“-But I’m not opposed to shouldering burdens where personal interest is involved.” His eyes searched your own desperately, palms unfurling to rest back on your legs. “You understand what I'm saying, yeah? You’ll never pay it off alone, let me help. I could take care of you.”

Overwhelmed, you turned away; the grip on your thighs tightening in response as he braced himself, standing up. A warm hand cradled your cheek as he drew your gaze upwards, free hand looping around your back and lifting you to stand against him like a marionette. 

“I don’t know what to do…” you sniffled as his big palm had begun to rub circles into your back. 

He shushed you. “-It’s okay, love. I can handle it, It’ll be okay.”

You nodded, turning and rubbing your face into his shirt as he comforted you. The entire situation was a disorienting experience. Had you done something so wrong to get here?– had it been a crime to want to live a gentle and quiet life in your shop? 

It was hard to care much for your sense of conviction when the root of your problem looked more like a finely woven cradle; what did it matter if you were to bend the knee to your devil’s appeal at this point? 

Still, it felt as if you were teetering on the edge of a cliff.

“I’m scared.” your lips settled for, hiccuping the words into his chest. 

He hummed thoughtfully, the noise buzzing around the walls of your head as his thick arms hooked around your neck, pulling you in deeper—a trap set without any fuss. 

“It’s okay for you to be scared,” he pressed a kiss to your crown. “There’s no way anyone was getting out of those rates you agreed to, love. Let me help you.”

You stiffened, head raising slowly to look at him. He smiled down at you.

“You definitely won’t be taking care of our finances, yeah?” John joked, letting out a deep, phlegmy laugh before he pecked your nose, pulling you back into his chest and rumbling against your head. “Enough nonsense. You’re tired, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

It was all so domestic—like he hadn’t just shown you his rows of jagged, shark-like teeth. 

His grip relented as he patted your bum. “Go on and get into bed, let me clean up dinner.”

-

So you did, brushing your teeth and feeling incredibly confused as to why you were readily complying. What truly got to you was how tender it felt—had you been so oblivious to his vying interest? You had just assumed he was a rare good-natured lender; though, you suppose neither of these had been true.

John Price was not a good man; although it was a recent revelation in the grand scheme of things, you knew this as a fact now. The other fact of the matter was that it seemed you were most likely the real collateral in the vulturine deal. Had he been playing the long game?

You could hear John floating around in the other room as you pulled an old shirt over your head to sleep in—the kitchen faucet running as you slipped into your bed. It all felt so wrong. 

Your eyes shot open when the bedroom’s aged floor creaked, deer-like paralysis keeping you snapshot-still as the ring of his belt buckle filled the static air. Was he—The rickety bed dipped behind you under John’s added weight, bedframe crying out with every shift of his body that came with tucking himself against you; achy grunts blowing out from his lips.

“Not as limber as I used to be.” he laughed modestly. “Still gets the job done though, I reckon.” 

He breathed for a moment before his nose dipped into the hair at your nape, sniffling around. 

“-Better than I imagined.” he grumbled contently.

Thick hands dipped under your shirt, massaging at the skin momentarily before slipping into your panties, tugging them out of the way. 

“Mr. Price.” you winced, feeling his cold hand on the sensitive skin.

his hands paused as the large man thought for a moment.

“Mrs. Price…” he chuckled after a beat, the hairs on your neck standing up in response. “-See? You don’t like it much, either. Now, what’s my name, love?”

“John.” you mumbled quietly, eyes darting around through the dark of your room.

“Mmh. good girl.” he hummed, hand cupping your cunt and thumbing at it absentmindedly. “Sleep, love. Big day tomorrow, yeah?” 

[uglygirltrying]

insecure princess!reader x barbarian!ghost cw: angst, brief sexual mentions, bad writing, confusing ghost insecure princess!reader who has never had any suitors. her sisters overshadow her. her mother pities her, afraid that her daughter will never marry.

fortunately, due to an alliance that her father has made, she finally marries. he's a barbaric prince, shameless and perverted. mean and scary.

princess!reader who tries her best to make love kindle between them, to live the fantasy that she's always had. she rubs lavender oil on her neck, tugs one of her nightgowns straps down her shoulder, to be desirable like the women in paintings. her lady-in-waiting helps her make her hair silky, and her dresses pleasing to the eye. but you can't put lipstick on a pig.

the prince only has her from the back. it's a relief that he wants to make love to her, but at the same time it breaks her heart. she wants to have a face that he wants to look at.

the princess' anxiety only worsens when she notices that the prince's older brother keeps looking at her. she's not used to attention from men, she doesn't know how to interpret it. he might want to hurt her, show everyone just how disgusting she is. or maybe he laughs with his mates about her, just like everyone else. or maybe... he likes the look of her, maybe he'd like to tug her nightgown down and have her chest to chest. it's a stupid thought, she shouldn't entertain them and embarrass herself. and he's her husbands brother!! it's wrong!

then, one night during a feast, her husband's drunk antics drive her to walk away. she wanders the dark hallways of the castle, moonlight and candlelight illuminating the paintings on the walls.

the princess stops to look out of a window, a lone tear running down her cheek. it's an unending weight on her shoulder. she hates the presence of other princess', the prettier princess', they only remind her of what she isn't. knights don't fight for her, artists don't paint her beauty, and princes don't ask her to dance at balls.

a noise makes her jump out of her thoughts, she whips her head around to look down at the hallway. it's him. her husband's brother, ghost. he stands few feet away from the princess, looking her up and down.

"c'mon," he urges, his voice deep and rough. ghost nods, gesturing down the corridor, to the feast. before the princess can even respond, he has already turned around and began to walk back. but she doesn't follow.

the princess stays in place, looking down at the floor as she sniffles. why should she go back there? they don't want her there. the man in armor turns back around when he doesn't hear the princess following after him. ghost lets out a sigh, as he hears her sniffle. with couple of steps, he's standing in front of her.

"why do you cry, princess?" he mutters, reaching up and gently holding her cheek in his scarred hand.

"i hate him..." it's a silent whisper, lost to the silence of the cold castle. her face twists as she fights against more tears.

"walls have ears, and they will twist your words into treason," ghost says firmly, shutting the girl up before she can be her own doom. his thumb run over the bottom of her eye, wiping up the tears that spill. ghost sighs and leans down, pressing a small kiss between her eyebrows.

"sweet princess, you need to return to the feast... i cannot take you away tonight," he whispers huskily.

"take me away...?" she repeats, even quieter, her brows knitted in confusion.

"if i killed him, i could claim you for myself," ghost murmurs. he looks down at her, letting the princess ingest his words.

her eyes are wide in shock. kill? for her? that is the most romantic thing she's ever heard. is this what courting is? if so, then she only wants more of it. she can't tell if he's mocking her, but there's something in his voice that makes her stomach stir with excitement. the wine in his breath makes her consider for a moment that he's messing with her, but she also wants to enjoy the attention.

"h-how would you take his life?" the girl straightens her back, trying to sound more confident.

"i would slit his throat, as easy as slicing a warm pie," ghost says it as if it's nothing, his running along her cheek. "i could take you far away, we would live in a house by the sea and you could wear pretty dresses for only me to see."

her breath hitches, feeling that flutter in her stomach. jesus christ. her hands clutch onto her cute little dress as she squeezes her thighs together. now she regrets giving her virginity to that twig, when a man like this could've had it, a man who truly deserves her purity.

"now be a smart girl and return to the feast." ghost murmurs and turns to walk back to the feast.

what?

she quickly reaches forward, desperately clinging onto the man's arm, to keep him there. if she let's go now, he might just come across a wench or two and change his mind. "b-but you said that-!" she stammers, utterly confused by the change in the air. there's no one there for her. no one who she's welcome to. her heart aches. she thought that this prince wanted her. what did she do wrong? ghost scoffs, gently prying the girls hands off his forearm. "you think it’ll be like a story, a hero slaying the villain and sweeping the princess off her feet. but this is real life," his tone is suddenly colder, more detached. “you’re chasing something that will never be yours.”

her hands stay in the air for a moment when he pulls away from her, reluctant to let go. his words sting, dig in deep and leave a pit for her to collapse in. her hands fall down and settle over her stomach as she fidgets with them.

she opens her mouth to say something, but the words escape her. it all changed so fast. some wench must've bewitched him, taken him from her. why can't she have anything, not even a man who wants her?

he looks at her again, his gaze intense, unflinching. his expression hardens, though there’s still a part of him that almost looks regretful. and then, he just walks away.

the princess can do nothing else than stand in place and hold back tears. she's alone again. the moonlight makes her shaking hands look blue. did she misunderstand? did she wrongly assume the meaning of his words? or was she just so naive?

it hurts to think, and the thoughts themselves hurt even more. it'd better if she just went to bed. ------------------------------------

inspired by the fact that i'm ugly and never had a boyfriend

[deathc-re]

oh, how he just wants to make a pretty little house wife of you. leave you with absolute freedom and autonomy over your time.

you want to go shopping? here's his card.

you want to join a yoga/ pilates/ kickboxing class? let's register you together!

you want to renovate the kitchen? my buddy knows a guy.

he wants to come home and smell the amazing cooking you have for him. or on lazy days, plop on the couch with you and eat take out.

he wants to smile at his phone while at work because you sent him a selfie of you eating breakfast at noon, or taking the dog for a walk, or with shopping backs in the trunk or with the people you're volunteering with or whatever it is your heart desires.

he wants to see you on the porch, barefoot and pregnant, rubbing your belly and waving to him as he pulls up in the driveway.

he wants to hear you ramble on about the new book you read and hated/loved. or help you brainstorm ideas for your passion project.

he wants to brag about you to all his work buddies and bring you to all the corporate dinners and stroke his own ego while you bashfully tell his coworkers that you "don't have a job, my husband takes care of everything."

NANAMIN, BAKUGO, KIRISHIMA, FATGUM, IZUKU, aizawa, yuuta, armin, iida, iwazumi, sugawara + whoever else you want!

[whokilledsamara]

Hello! I don’t usually make requests but i have one could u pretty please if u have time? 🥺

Anyways the request would be like homocipher boys (especially my bbg Mr Crawling) pussy drunk. Pls.

PUSSY DRUNK

a very short fic for a few of the Homicipher boys. {Mr. Crawling, Mr. Scarletella, Mr. Silvair, Mr. Gap, Mr. Hood}. Homicipher x afab!reader.

warnings! : each are different so a bit of violence, neediness, switch!reader, smut, porn, PORN NO PLOT!!! almost all of them are cunnilingus

{an: if you meant a fic with all of them in a gangbang sense, you can send in another request}

MR. CRAWLING

"Not now Mr. Crawling, im busy." you say softly, gently petting his head as he tugs at your skirt. "Please..", he practically begs, his lips turned into a pout.

he was always so desperate to please you, stopping at nothing as long as it made you happy. his eager face made it so hard to resist, and with a sigh, you gently part your legs before continuing to use your hands with what you were doing.

almost as soon as you do so, his face is shoved as far as it can go, a whine leaving his lips as he has to pull away to remove your underwear. a giggle escapes you while you watch.

...

"mngh.. fuck, please.." the words slipped so effortlessly from your lips, Mr. Crawling's head so deep between those legs of yours that you couldnt think straight.

your hand was fisted in his hair, tugging often. whines left him almost constantly, his hands holding up your thighs on his shoulders and off the chair. "Me want, More" he states softly, his voice muffled as he stares up at you, the lower half of his face still stuffed between your thighs.

as you nod softly, he hums and shoves two of his long and slender fingers inside of you, effortlessly curling them upwards towards your g-spot. "a-ah..!" your voice hits a high peak at the sudden intrusion, legs trembling as yet another orgasm rips through you, despite how many you had previously.

as overstimulated as you were, the man between your legs gives a few more licks to your clit, slowly pulling away. as he sits up, Mr. Crawling stares up at you with a cheeky grin, his chin covered in your juices. "Good." ..... "Big, Good."

MR. SCARLETELLA

as usual, he was feeling needy.

every since you pretty much marked him as your "slave", he has been near you at all times, getting upset whenever you interact with others instead of him.

this time in particular though, you watched tears fall from his eyes as he stared up at you with a desperate expression. despite the cold look on your face, and the amount of times you rejected him, he still pleads. "Please." he whines, his hands trembling against your thighs. "Please what..? not this again." you ask, glaring down at him. his hands grab at your raincoat, face a pleading mess.

"Need, You." he begs. you think for a second, a long exasperated sigh leaving your lips before you finally do what he always dreamed of. you roll your eyes, head tilting to a nod. that was all the conformation he needed.

...

hours had gone by, your unfortunate yet aching cunt so desperately clenched around his tongue, his hands clawing at your thighs.

his skilled tongue circled your clit an uncanny amount of times, his pace never slowing. "A-ah wait.. wait i cant.. fuccckk.." another orgasm ripped through you and then, only then, did his pace falter. "You, Like?" he asked, pulling his face up from your legs with an uncanny glare.

you nod many times, his smile only growing wider. his lips lean in and press against yours, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. as much as you denied your feelings for the man, you couldn't think of anything but how good he felt and tasted. with a thoughtful groan, you wiggle your finger at him, signaling for him to stand. immediately he obeys, face flushed and juices dripping down his chin. your eyes are locked on his for a second before you speak in a demanding tone.

"Take off your pants."

MR. SILVAIR

he was NEVER needy. so why was today different?

one of the other residents had managed to piss him off so much that he couldn't think straight. his usually calm demeanor shifted completely dark, not even a hint of his usual smile on his face.

even Mr. Chopped seemed worried, asking softly if he was okay. Mr. Silvair ignored him, his gaze fixated on your eyes. he nods his head to his "research room", silently instructing you to go. he follows closely behind you, the heavy door slamming shut and locking you both in the room.

...

a huff leaves his lips as his hands angrily lift you up and slam you on his examination table, ass up for him, with little to no way for you to escape.

"W-what are you doing? Whats wrong?.. Mr. Silvair-!" you ask hurriedly, hands scrambling to find something to grab. he ignores your pleas and hikes up your raincoat, forcing off your panties with one quick motion. you couldn't see him as you tried to look behind you, but you felt him sink to his knees. "H-hey- ah..!-" your words are cut off with a moan as his long, snakelike tongue slips between your folds.

Mr. Silvair's strong hands keep you spread with ease, giving him full access as he greedily eats your pussy like its the last meal on earth. "Stop Squirming." his usually calm voice turns dark, his fingers digging a touch deeper into your hips as he keeps you held up for him.

as hard as you can, you attempt to keep your hips still. his tongue reaches as deep as it can reach, making you harshly bite your lip and see stars, juices running down his face as you finally orgasm. "A-ah right there--fuck! please.." your begs go unnoticed as he releases you and stands, walking out of the room without another glance. seemingly, this little outburst would hold him down for a while.

be glad it was only his tongue this time.

MR. GAP

a while after you got used to your residency at the complex, you learned your lesson about walking near the gaps.

the man who always seemed to appear at the worst moments, would mainly only mess with you. usually, it would only be a small poke as your ankle as you walked by, a tug at your hair when you had your back turned, or small scares he would pull off.

eventually you learned to ignore it, or altogether stay away from the walls, but unfortunately for you, today was a day you slipped up. as careless as it seemed, you were walking on your own, tiredness taking over your expression. the day was hectic, having to deal with more than one entity at a time.

a sudden yelp escapes your throat as you are yanked by your arm into a small opening in the wall. your back ends up pressed against the nearest wall, Mr. Gap's face level with yours with that sick, uncanny expression he always has.

you huff and use your hand to push at his face, the ever so sassy man rolling his eyes and grabbing your wrist. "You're No, Fun." he grumbles, hands fumbling with your shorts. "The fuck are you doing?" you mutter as a hushed yell, eyes glaring at his.

the grin on his face grows wider as he shoves off your pants, before suddenly dissolving into nothing. your eyes dart around, confusion evident in your expression until a sudden whine leaves your lips at an unknown feeling hits your core.

looking down, you find Mr. Gap nose deep in between your legs, eyes locked on yours as he smirks into you. your hand shoots down to grab his hair, attempting to pull him away as embarrassment fills your expression. though unluckily for you, or luckily depending on how you take it,, he doesn't move. instead, he groans into your hand, his hands tighten on your thighs as he pushes his face deeper, licking and sucking anything he can manage.

after many failed orgasms, and many tears from his constant edging, finally after everything he lets you cum, sucking hard enough on your clit to have a loud moan escape you, thighs clenching around his head.

though something tells you he isnt done.

MR. HOOD

as mono tuned as the man was, and as little as expressive as he was, he couldn't help his built up tension.

while no, he didn't understand the concept of love, or at-least he wouldn't admit it- he knew and felt the need for touch.

he often would allow you inside of his coat, usually just chilling in there or whatever you called it- but you never saw it as anything more than companionship. or so he figured. the moment he felt you experiment by placing your hand just above his crotch, his views changed.

with little to no effort, Mr. Hood plucked you out of his coat, setting you gently on the nearest table. he stared at you for a second, chest heavy. he could definitely sense your confusion- but as he kept his gaze on you, he reached out to grab your leg, his oddly feeling hand sat calmly on the inside of your thigh. "May, Touch?" Mr. Hood asked, an almost worried tone in his words. quicker than he could get his words out, you were nodding.

his body stilled for a second, almost as if he was debating his life choices, but ultimately decided to continue. gentle fingers reach under your raincoat, tugging down your panties with ease. and while he would never admit it, he quite greatly enjoyed the small sounds you made when his fingers traced your lips.

he hesitates for a second, before pushing a single ghostly finger inside. it was oddly cold, but felt so good inside of you as he worked his way in. a long moan leaves you, your hands reaching out to grab his arms.

one of his tentacles shoots out, replacing his finger that instead opted for your clit, rubbing in tight, hard circles. "Oh fuck.." you breathe out, legs trembling at your embarrassingly close orgasm. "I-im gonna c- mmngh!!" a hushed scream leave you as the tentacle curls, thrusting hard at your G-spot. it sends you over the edge, your juices flowing down your thighs and around the appendage. with a sigh, he pulls out, seemingly pleased.

"Turn Around."

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[yanderestarangel]

⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓪 𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻... 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝔂 𝓪 𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻

♡⁠┊TW — dp, anal sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, monster fuck, praise, breeedkink, afab reader, dark smut, dead dove, Ghost has two dicks here (because I chose to write it like that)

"Don't look anywhere else, look at me... I'm still your husband." The words were followed by the wet sound of the two cocks of your now radioactively-rayed husband, who looked like a monstrous anomaly — with two extra heads, two extra arms, and... two extra cocks.

You hadn't expected that in thousands of years, but when Simon came out the door completely safe and sound, looking like that was shocking and at least scary to your eyes.

Even so, you were on your hands and knees, feeling one of his cocks enter your ass while the other filled your wet pussy, making you whimper loudly as you felt his very hot and heavy balls hit your clit with the slow thrusts that the military man was giving you.

You could feel every pulsing vein of his shafts in your wet holes, the slickness between your thighs and his groin increasing. His now gray eyes were locked completely on your figure, two of his four arms gripping your waist while the other two held your wrists behind your back, ready to dominate and maneuver you as he pleased.

Hearing your moans of acceptance, his two cocks throbbed like never before, impaling you to the point where you even forgot that your partner was now a shadow of what he once was.

All that mattered in that moment was that you could take every inch of what he was giving you, as if your life depended on it—as if every fluid that came out of his cocks was a poison that made you crave more and more of him.

The slow, flesh-to-flesh pounding that had once been tender was now replaced by Simon's almost animalistic movements above you. A little drool dripped from your mouth as you could only wriggle your toes every time one of his cocks reached the tip of your womb while the other kissed limits you didn’t even know existed.

Grunts escaped his lips, muffled by the mask that was now completely part of his skin, fused to his flesh like a second garment. His fingers dug into your flesh hard enough to leave marks as a hoarse growl came from his throat, echoing like a triad through his three heads.

"Come on, sweetheart... I know you want to cum, don't deny it... cum for me." His words were tinged with the same honey that once soothed your soul. It was still him, even with that new body—and you felt yourself becoming addicted to it, like a drug, leaving you with pleasure so intense it made your system shut down.

You felt him give one final thrust, and at the same time, your pussy was filled with the warm, viscous liquid of his semen. Your other hole was filled as well, causing tears to spill from your eyes as you whimpered from how full you were. But your partner didn’t stop—Simon continued with small thrusts until he felt your inner walls drain him. One of his many hands moved to your pussy lips, slowly opening them to expose your tight slit as it swallowed his cock.

"I won’t let you leave here until I see you beautiful, full, and carrying my children in your belly... Do you understand, my angel?" His words left no room for argument, and no matter how tired you were, saying "no" wasn't an option. After all, you wanted him too, regardless of his appearance. He was still yours.

[saturnsurn]

LOOKIN’ BIG, MAMA

In which they find out you’re pregnant!

⭒ Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna and Toji

⭒ warnings - AFAB reader, FEM! Reader, Pregnancy

⭒ Requested by @ttalkme1 <3

[slvttyplum]

sukuna's stomach mouth intimidated you; it was so big and kind of scary when it gaped open, but sukuna assured you every time with attitude that it’s safe.

rolling his eyes, huffing and puffing as you explained to him why you didn’t want to, your paranoia making him groan.

of course, this was sukuna’s way of telling you to just fucking sit on his mouth, his stomach mouth to be exact.

“what exactly are you afraid of? if i was going to eat you, i would’ve done it centuries ago… sit.”

sukuna was a pervert; those were your words exactly, so confused on why he was so adamant on getting you to sit on his stomach.

this was one of the many things he wanted to try, this being more tame than the other things he had in mind, so when he saw how hesitant you were whenever he suggested it, it annoyed him.

“please, do tell, what is it i have to do to make you sit on me? hm? lay out a sheet and put down food like a picnic?”

his annoyance only growing, but no matter how many times he brought it up, it was going to be your choice, and the night finally came, where curiosity killed the cat.

slowly straddling him as he laid back, both his hands resting on your hips with a firm grip, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes trailed your naked body.

he waited for you to get comfortable on top of him, your hands resting on his chest, then finally opening the mouth that laid on his stomach and sliding his tongue over your wet heat.

once his tongue finally got a taste of your pussy, it felt like his soul was ascending from him, the taste satisfying him, a low laugh coming from deep within him.

your body twitches and squirms as his big tongue continues to lick stripes over your sopping slit, sliding his tongue over your clit and back to your slit in a swift motion.

sukuna's eyes were fixed on yours, his chest repeatedly rising and falling quickly with satisfaction.

his hands running up your sides, one of them groping your breasts, a low moan erupting from his throat, watching you intently.

this is what he wanted from the very start, for you to get on top of him and give in, give in to the pleasure he did desperately want you to experience. now that you were, it felt like an out-of-body experience for the both of you.

this feeling that you felt deep in the pit of your stomach, trying to swallow down a moan, but another one even louder than the last pushed up, your body unstable, squirming on top of him, sukuna's grip on your hip tightening, making sure you stayed in place.

"should i make you cum?" teasing you as his tongue went back and forth on your clit, watching your every move and how you fought the urge to get off of him from the intense pleasure.

his eyes roll up as he feels you pulse on his tongue, another laugh erupting from within him as you finish.

sukuna was expecting you to be the one flustered out of your mind, but instead he was there clutching you like you were going to fly away, and his face flushed a deep red.

"i will admit, when you make me feel good, this is one of those times." scrunching his face up in embarrassment seeing you composed, rolling his eyes.

"at least give me a kiss if you're going to sit there; that was hard work." a smile on your face as he pulls you down, kissing your lips and cheeks repeatedly.

[chososrightnipple]

❝𝐣𝐣𝐤 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 + 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨)❞

a/n: almost four hundred followers omg.. i love all you freaks mwah!! here is part two as promised. included some requests for characters. aged up! megumi and yuji of course. might do a part three maybeeee? afab body w/no gendered language as usual.

part one.

── დ ──

. *. ⋆ TOJI FUSHIGURO

▸ panty stealing. he thinks of it as memorabilia. snatching your panties from the floor before you have the chance to put them back on- just something he keeps to remember you bye.

▸ daddy kink. we all saw this coming, right? you call him daddy once and it's all he needs to fuck you into the bed for the rest of the night.

▸ thigh riding. seeing you frotting against his large thigh, desperate to cum, pussy practically drooling for it... his favorite foreplay 100%.

▸ cum play. this man will cum anywhere and everywhere and he'll love it. let him cum on your face, your ass, your chest, your back, down your throat, etc etc.

▸ hatefucking. angry sex after an argument where he takes out all of the stress you caused him on your poor holes :(

▸ breeding. you can give him another baby, can't you? you can make him a daddy all over again, right? just let him cum inside of you as much as he wants, he'll make it happen, he swears.

▸ exhibitionism. you grind against him once on the bar floor and next thing you know he's dragging out to the empty alleyway and pressing you against the nearest wall.

▸ size difference. he's so large, so big, every single part of him practically overtaking you. and he gets off on that fact so fucking hard!!

. *. ⋆ NANAMI KENTO

▸ cockwarming. seating himself inside your warm pussy while he's stuck doing all kinds of boring paperwork. he'll fuck you, he swears, you just gotta sit pretty on his lap for a little bit, okay?

▸face fucking. he loves taking out all of his stress on you. gripping your hair as he uses your mouth mercilessly, bullying his cock down the back of your tight throat.

▸blindfolding. silk ribbons in a variety of colors that he matches to the underwear you're modeling for him. only the best for his lover <3

▸ thigh riding. there's no better way to put him in the mood than pathetically grinding yourself against his thigh, using his body selfishly for your own pleasure.

▸ hair pulling. y'all know that one scene... he pulls at your hair exactly like that. fingers going white with how tight he's tugging at you, manipulating your position until you're face to face with his scowl.

▸ spanking. makes you count for every slap and if you miscount, he's starting all over again. pay better attention to him next time, yeah?

▸ semi-public. yes, he will bend you right over his desk, no he doesn't care there's a meeting going on next door. or better yet, against the window of the fourth floor, overlooking the busy street below it.

▸ phone sex. it really isn't any problem that he's across the country on a mission. even just the sound of your whines over the phone is enough to get him off.

. *. ⋆ MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

▸ panty stealing. he would say he feels bad about it, but he doesn't. you looked so good in the lacey little things, he can't help but want to keep them for later. even has his own little drawer for them.

▸ masochism. the stinging pain of your nails running down his back is utterly euphoric. and don't get him started on how harshly you tug at his hair when he's eating you out- he can cum in his boxers just from that alone.

▸ breast play. massaging at the skin, feeling the plumpness under his fingertips. sucking at your nipples and leaving a trail of kisses down the valley of your breasts. he's obsessed.

▸ edging. leaving you just on the brink of release over and over again, until tears are streaming down your face. he'll let you cum eventually, you just look so pretty this worked up for him.

▸ marking. oh my goddd do not get megumi started on this. he doesn't know why it gets him so worked up- seeing you covered in the hickeys and bite marks that he's left on you- but it does.

▸ cunnilingus. eats you out like a man starved, like he'll never eat you out again. pulling him away from your poor pussy is next to impossible if he's not yet done with his meal.

▸ mutual masturbation. sometimes you both just need to relaxation of release and nothing more. sitting across from each other on the bed, or maybe side by side, listening to the moans of the other as you both touch yourselves.

▸ dacryphilia. like adoptive father like adopted son. seeing your eyes brim with tears from how good he's fucking you drives him crazy.

. *. ⋆ YUJI ITADORI

▸ ass play. we all know he's an ass man i mean come on?! doggy style is his favorite position just because of it. seeing how the fat of your ass moves with every slap of his hips is fucking addicting.

▸ praise kink. tell him how good he's fucking you and how much of a good boy he is pleaseeee!!!!

▸ toys. he didn't realize how much he would love bringing toys into the bedroom until he sees how hard you can cum around him while he holds a vibrator to your clit.

▸ raw sex. he knows it's stupid, fucking you with no protection. you're pussy just feels so good, so warm, he needs to fuck you raw.

▸ face riding. please sit on his face, suffocate him, he doesn't care. it's his favorite position to eat you out.

▸ overstimulation. poor baby doesn't even mean to overstimulate you half of the time- he just has so much stamina, you understand that, right? and seeing you so flushed and fucked out under him has him so horny. just one more round, yeah? you can do that for him, right?

▸ dirty talk. yuji is a yapper and that doesn't stop when he's fucking you. the filth that comes out of his mouth has you wet just thinking about it.

▸ dry humping. the tension, the intimacy, the panting, the friction?? all of it, it's like a drug to him.

[majinbangus]

Silly thought but-

Wearing a fit with no pockets, you have no purse, no nothing to carry your phone, but that's okay because your man said he'll carry it in his pocket, he has more than enough space in those jeans of his. He tells you you don't need to bring your wallet either. Today's all on him.

So he's out treating you to some shopping (gotta spoil his love and all). You're at the register, looking cute while he's digging in his pocket to pay. He can't find his wallet. That's okay, he'll check his other pocket. Still no wallet. Alright, he's starting to get upset with himself. Did he really forget the one thing he needed for today? He promised you he would take care of everything. Take care of you.

He pats himself down once, twice, thrice, but still nothing. He forgot his wallet at home. He's about to curse himself out and apologize to you for bringing you out for nothing, but then you put a placating hand on his bicep, squeezing with a sweet smile he doesn't deserve, telling him it's alright. And just when he's about to rebuff that, you- you-

You reach into the front of your shirt, fingers dipping between your breasts, and pull out your credit card, making quick work and paying for the things he should be paying for, before he can react.

You put your card back in your bra and grab your bagged items, smiling at him, telling him you want to eat at that new restaurant down the street. He doesn't snap out of his haze until you're tugging at him.

Grumbly and grunting, he snatches your bags outta your hand, mumbling something about you not lifting a finger and promising to make it up to you for forgetting his wallet and making you pay for your day out, the day he was supposed to spoil you rotten. But he sucks up his indignation because you're smiling and happy to be spending the day with him, and that's all he really wanted.

He would have also promised a light punishment because how dare you presume you would have to pay for anything when he was there to take care of you, but since he did in fact forget his wallet, he was willing to let your transgression go. Just this once. He would not be forgetting his wallet ever again, and you would not have to worry about paying a dime for anything you ever needed or wanted while he was around.

-

reader ftw with the bra as a pocket hack