#HIS EGO is far too large

[chloesimaginationthings]

Five nights at Springtrap’s is just William Aftons arguing..

[lufyuu]

Dragon's Offsprings

Tw/s: voyeurism, double penetrating, rough Zihao, breeding, inserting eggs(?)

Description: a drabble of the freaky Zihao

Pitter patter

The rain seems to never stop. It has been raining for almost 3 days straight. Despite the heavy rain, Liu Zihao would always travel the long way to the courthouse to work. The rain doesn't stop criminals from commiting crimes, it encourages them in a way. Though that doesn't include you who have been in the manor for a long month. You got used to this lifestyle a long time ago. Waking up whenever you want, going to bed whenever you want, having whatever food you wanted. The only restriction is that you are not allowed outside without Zihao being there by your side. It's not too bad, better than being chased all the time anyways.

Today's not too bad, at least so far. You're home alone, the chefs and maids having left as per your request. Despite being home alone, you can't escape, you've tried before and it's really no worth all that work just to be tracked down again in just a mere minute. Liu Zihao always knows where you are. You look at the clock which points at a quarter to 6pm. Usually Zihao's home for dinner around this time. Whatever, probably had more work to do today. You'll just eat dinner by yourself.

The aroma of delicious food floods your nose. Your eyes are drawn to the two plates placed on the table. You take one plate and start munching on food while sitting down. Even if it's a large yet quiet and empty house, you pay no mind to that as you've lived alone for a while before all this luxury. The steal is cooked just to your liking, it's juicy and delicious with the right amount of spices added to make sure it's not too salty yet not bland at all. After chewing on the steak, you take the fork and grab some pasta plates next to the steak. Twisting it and lifting the fork to your lips. It's creamy and flavourful, the saltiness and creamy flavour compliments each other very well. You enjoy the meal to the fullest in silence, enjoying every second.

You throw the empty and dirty plate in the sink, not bothering to wash it. Zihao will deal with it like he always does. No reason to waste your time with that. 'Now what do I do?' , you wonder to yourself while walking up the flight of stairs, heading to your bedroom. Oftentimes, your bed is also Zihao's bed. He loves cuddling up with you and just making sure you're within his grasp. "Agh", you plop face first onto the soft bed. For some reason, the atmosphere is off without Zihao. Usually by this time, he'd already be fucking you dumb until you pass out or get too tired to continue. You wouldnt ever admit it but it became a routine. Your body's gotten used to it and so have you. Because of this, you feel like you need to do something about this itching feeling you have.

"Ah...ngh", you moan, face flushed with a vibrating dildo deep in your hole. Your teeth's biting onto your lifted shirt, your dominant hand pushing and pulling the dildo in and out. "Z-Zihao..mm..!", you unconsciously moan out his name, your other hand now on your dick going up and down to stimulate yourself even more. No matter how much you stimulate yourself, you can't seem to cum. You need something bigger to please you. Usually you'd be ashamed to even think about Zihao let alone his two cocks but right now, as you're trying to chase your climax, it doesn't matter. "More...aagghh", you moan out even louder than before, not noticing the piercing purple eyes staring at your sweaty and horny figure from the top of the stairs.

You close your eyes, imagining it was Zihao inside you right now and not a silicone wannabe. "F-fuckk..!", you almost yell out, getting so close to cumming. When you hear footsteps close to where you are, you immediately freeze and look at who it is. Your ego instantly crushed, the embarrassment getting to you, hard. You reach over for the fluffy blanket only for it to be thrown at the wall and fall onto the floor by a mere gesture of Zihao's fingers. With another snap of his fingers, a comfortable chair appears infront of the bed. He sits with his legs crossed, head leaning on his hand which is cushioned on the chair. "Do continue", his expression remains unchanged, it's a plain expression, neither a smile nor frown, his eyes are relaxed but at the same time, they're demanding you to continue on your little action. Despite this, you remain frozen long enough for him to demand once more, "was I not clear? Continue your little activity, now.", it sends shivers down your spine, as if he's a predator and you're his prey.

Without a way out of this, you spread your legs and continue letting the dildo go in and out of you, each time faster and faster than before. Now with a pair of eyes watching you do this to yourself, it's embarrassing, you feel like crying due to how bad of a fall your ego took. Never in your life did you think you'd be putting on a show for anyone. "Ngh...", you try to cover your own voice, biting your lip to prevent your moans from getting too loud. This doesn't amuse Zihao at all. "Stop biting your lip", his voice alone makes your body shiver in fear. Reluctantly, you stop biting your lip, "a-ahh...aggh..", the pleasure overtaking your thoughts, in the heat of the moment, you blurt out: "Z-Zihao.."

Just one word. One singular word. That was enough for Zihao to widen his eyes and instantly get up, "that's enough.", he looks down on your figure which is laying on the bed, all prepped and ready to take his cocks and maybe something more.

In a blink of an eye, he pushes you to the bedframe as you are now sitting up, your back laying against the bedframe. He takes off his coat and throws it aside, not caring if it got dirty or wrinkled. "My mate can't even stand a few hours without me, how cute", he smiles a bit, blushing while you're up against the bedframe, horny and wanting him to be deep inside you already without so much yapping.

As if reading your mind, he grants you your wish and shoves his two hard cocks in your hole almost immediately after you thought about them. He guides your hands to wrap around his neck. Then, he holds the sides of your hips and begins to pound in and out of you, you cursing everytime it goes in. Thankfully, your hole is already lubricated, giving the cocks an easier time in fucking your hole. You feel so full but usually it takes Zihao a long long time to decide it's finally time to stop. His thrusts are rough, not in the slightest bit gentle. The bulge on your stomach is very much visible, it moves up and down your lower stomach in a fast pace. "Agh..m", he grunts and moans, feeling the tightness of your hole as you clench down, feeling close to cumming. Your moans get progressively louder by the second. Zihao makes sure it does by pounding even harder.

"Cu-cumming..! Aggghh", you moan loudly while cumming, the cum splurting all over your own body while Zihao is still pounding you. He's chasing his own climax. You feel overstimulated as he's pounding so roughly. It's a lot rougher than usual but you barely notice due to your brain being so foggy by this point. "You're ready to take my children, aren't you my dear mate?", he asks but it's more of a rhetorical question. Before you can answer his absurd question, you feel something being pushed into you, something big. Multiple of them. "Z-Zihao..ah, what's tha—aghh", you feel him cumming inside, his cum thicker and much more than usual. You don't notice it but the mark on your lower stomach started glowing for a mere 3 seconds before returning back to its solid purple color.

Zihao pulls out both his cocks yet despite that, your stomach still has a visible bulge. You feel so so full and not just because of his cum. "Zihao, what's inside me..?", you ask him, confused on what he put inside to make you look bloated. "Oh my dear, those are my eggs", your eyes widen immediately and you try to jump up or out the bed but he stops you, "we can't afford you getting hurt when you're carrying our children", he frowns and looks at you as if this is common knowledge. He's ready to take the role of the father of his kids and your one and only husband, but are you?

══════════════════════════════

There you have it freakies, you're now gon' lay eggs/hj

[uluvjay]

Please, please, please-L. Norris

Lando Norris x fem! Reader

In which Lando takes care of you after a night out.

Warnings?: alcohol consumption, drunkenness, kissing, talks of sex, mentions of flashing, prob some errors, not the best ending, got the idea from tik tok so everyone say thank you Alix Earle for breaking my writers block!!!

Lando swore he was only turned around for a second, him and max weren’t talking for long before his best friend was laughing and pointing behind Lando’s shoulder with a shocked expression on his face.

Turning around Lando’s jaw dropped at the sight of you standing on top of the bar, your Louboutin heels stranded on the ground below you as you screamed the lyrics to Sabrina carpenter’s newest song.

With a laugh lando made his way back towards you, “Y/n!”

Your body spins at the sound of his voice, glazed eyes staring down at him as a large smile took over your face right as your favorite part played through the speakers.

“Heartbreak is one thing, my egos another. I beg you don’t embarrass me motherfucker.” You sang as your body swayed, foot pointing at lando as you sang the lyrics.

He couldn’t help but laugh at your shenanigans, his head shaking as you turned around again, your back once again facing Lando.

“Baby! please get down, it’s not safe up there.” He called once again.

“Fineee.” You whined as you turned back to him with a pout going to sit down on the bar in order to get down however the Brit found himself launching forward to stop your movements the second he caught sight of your panties due to your position.

Confusion grew on your face as he gripped your waist and pulled you off the counter himself, your hands shooting out to steady yourself on his shoulders.

“Lando!” You scolded as he placed you on the ground and picked up your heals from the ground along with your clutch.

However your drunken nature proved that to be impossible as you began to whine about your feet hurting leaving the boy no choice but to pick you up bridal style and carry you out of the bar.

“What was that for?” You groaned into his neck as you began to place sloppy kisses on the skin.

“You almost flashed everyone in our section darling.” He breathed.

“Oops” you spoke but the giggled that followed had Lando quickly realizing how far gone you truly were.

You were silent for the rest of the walk to the valet and as lando sat you in your seat before walking over to the drivers side of his Uris, making sure you were both buckled tightly before heading home.

“Can I see your phone?” You asked softly.

“Right in the console”

He laughed at the squeal that escaped you, watching for a second as your hand moved towards the volume nozzle and you turned it up almost as loud as his speakers would allow.

Soon the familiar tune of “Please Please Please” began to play throughout the car, your voice quickly following Sabrina’s as you serenaded your boyfriend.

Lando jumped at the feeling of your hand on his jaw as he rolled to a stop at the light, your hand turning his head towards you as you sang out to him.

“And I have a fun idea babe, maybe just stay inside. I know you’re craving some fresh air But the ceiling fan is so nice.” You sang, finger pointed at him as you leaned closer and placed a sloppy kiss on his lips.

Some people might have found you to be too much when drunk but lando loved it, he adored the way your affection was always on level 100, and how you seemed to giggle at every little thing, how you were unashamedly yourself.

Your small concert continued until Lando pulled into his parking spot in the garage and turned the car off, a cry of annoyance leaving your lips as the song was cut off.

“Sorry baby, time to go to inside.” He smiled softly as he unbuckled both of you and exited the car before helping you out and holding onto you tightly as he walked you into the house.

He walked you into your shared room, placing your heels down before coming behind you to unzip your dress.

“Ohhh, is it sexy time?” You smirked at the feeling of his fingers on your dress.

Lando giggled at the tone of your voice, doing your absolute best to sound seductive despite your slurring.

“Nah not tonight baby, but I promise to take care of you tomorrow if you’re feeling up for it.” He apologized, placing a soft kiss to your shoulder blade before allowing the dress to fall to the floor.

He moved across the room to the dresser to pull out one of his shirts for you to sleep in and by the time he turned back around you had already stripped your bra and had your arms raised in order for him to pull the shirt over your head.

“Are you sure we can’t have sexy time?” You pouted once you were dressed in his shirt, your arms wrapping around his neck as his came to hold your waist.

“I’m very sure, now let’s go take your makeup off and brush our teeth.” He spoke placing a small kiss to your lips before lifting you off of your feet and carrying you towards the bathroom.

Settling you on the counter he pulled out your makeup remover and cotton rounds, dousing two in remover he began to gently rub your skin.

“You looked so handsome tonight.” You spoke up.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, love when you wear your shirts like that.” You nodded, lip pulled between your teeth as your eyes ran up and down his body.

“Thought I looked like a slut when I opened them like this?” He laughed, bringing up your joke from before you two headed out for the night.

“Well yeah but you’re my slut.” You shrugged.

He shook his head at your words, his signature giggle bouncing off the walls of your large bathroom.

“And that’s all I ever wanna be darling, all yours.” He cooed, lips connecting with yours once again.

“Good because I’m not letting you leave.” You replied, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling his body closer to yours.

“Ever?”

“Nope.” You said popping the p, eyes locking with his, “Your stuck with me forever pretty boy.”

“I can deal with that.” He smirked before giving you a lingering kiss, the taste of your choice of alcohol for the night filling his senses.

“Mm, yep let’s get those teeth brushed, all I can taste is vodka.” He spoke causing both of you to break out in giggles.

Many people didn’t care for nights where they had to take care of their drunken partners but you’d never catch Lando complaining about it, even if you spent fifteen minutes with the same song on repeat as you screamed the lyrics, he’d never trade in moments like those for anything else.

After brushing both of your teeth Lando carried you to bed and tucked you in before stripping his own clothes until he was only in his boxers, your wolf whistle making his body shake with laughter before he joined you in bed.

“Get over here you muppet.” He smiled pulling your body closer to his, sighing contently as you snuggled into his side, leaving a small peck to his chest before he quickly hear your soft breathing fill the room.

He placed one last kiss to your head before allowing sleep to over take his own body.

-

[gremlingottoosilly]

So what about a Monster! Konig and Monster! Reader where Konig is this octopus eldritch hybrid and reader is some type of pretty bioluminescent jellyfish hybrid. Bonus points if reader literally just wants to be left alone and uses the jellyfish stinging tentacles on Konig but it just does work because he’s immune or something. (btw I’m in love with your writing and I’d marry it if I could.)

Being a jellyfish hybrid is a very nice life, actually. You're pretty but harmless enough to never have others hunt you just for the sake of their own safety. You have a very nice set of tentacles instead of a simple tail like most mermaids do, so you don't have a problem escaping most trouble and just minding your business. You never pick up fights with anyone, but you do have stinging tendrils in case someone wants to be brave and stupid. You literally just want to collect your little trinkets and sleep in the small cave you found for yourself. Konig doesn't get the memo. Of course, he is big, ancient, probably the strongest ocean hybrid out here - there aren't a lot of merfolks who had seen him and were alive long enough to tell the tale. He has an ego and a temper and a set of wandering eyes that always stare at the way your half-translucent tentacles are swimming in the water, reflecting the dim light of the cave stars. He is not used to other people rejecting him and surviving this, so you kinda understand why he decided to cling onto you. You just...you don't get why. He is an eldritch creature, the strongest out there - there should be a line of dumber mermaids willing to carry his brood and be happy baby mommas. You just want to collect human treasures and shiny jewelry. You sting him the first time he approached you. Konig, a creature of the depths, was enthralled by the soft light your body was emaciating; you can't blame him for being a bit curious. You can, however, blame him for the fact that when you stung him the first time, he moaned. Loudly. And this is how his obsession started. He follows you around, using his immunity to your poison as a free pass into your cave. you try to shove him off with your hands, but the creature is far too aroused whenever you put your palms on him, so you stop even trying after the first few times. He is horrible and distracting; he deserves nothing but the absolute worst, and yet you can't help but imagine how nice it would be if he used his large, muscular hands for something useful. If he embraced you instead of tugging on your tentacles if he would kiss you instead of barking laughter and whimpering moans whenever you do sting him. He is not fully immune to your poison...it's just that the feeling makes him cum almost instantly, and you're the prettiest creature he ever saw at the bottom of the sea. Pretty, cute, helpless against him, but can take care of yourself and the brood once he is finally filling you up with his eggs. Smile, for you have become his first and only wife. You literally just wanted to be left alone.

[fanaticsnail]

Age Gap: Garp

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

Word count: 1,800

Themes: Garp x f!reader, gendered terms used, smut, mdni, 18+, NSFW, mirror sex, age gap, overstimulation, porn with minor plot, old-man endurance.

Notes: birthday celebration fic! Love Garp and all the fun that comes with him.

Back pressed against the bare chest of the man behind you, knees drawn up over his thighs, he braced you fully against his body with his large forearm. In front of the both of you was a large, rectangular, floor-length mirror: granting you no choice but to witness the actions the man behind you was enacting against your body.

His cock was pressed against your ass, leaking tip smearing precum on your spine while he disappeared his index and middle finger inside your slick pussy. His lips were on your neck, the scratch of his bristle-like facial hair adding to the experience of having someone so much your senior bringing forth this much pleasure to you.

Vice-Admiral Garp was always kind to you in the office. Never once an untoward comment uttered between you, truly the perfect gentleman. Now sprawled on his lap and watching his fingers hook up into your pussy while he whispered into your neck and ear, you had never felt so desired in your life.

Bumping into him after another poorly matched blind date had ended badly was truly serendipitous. You had just finished talking down this overeager match from venturing into a large tirade of how attractive he found himself, which was a large disappointment on your behalf. The younger man that matched you on the marine Den-Den dating frequency just didn’t click with you. He made no effort to learn who you were or what you did for work, and simply assumed the evening would end with him using you like his personal sheathe and disregarding your own needs for pleasure.

Concluding the evening with a firm handshake and your portion of the bill paid for your uneaten food, you stood and left the restaurant without further word as to why. He didn’t even ask you how you were, or paid you compliments on your attire. Sure, you didn’t need any of those things, but watching the man boost his own ego was simply too much for you to give your free evening over to.

When you found the Vice-Admiral laughing with a street-food vendor, you felt a little more at ease. Put of his decorated uniform, in a patterned shirt and cargo shorts with far too many pockets, he just seemed at ease and filled with joy.

As soon as he turned his attention towards you and away from the vendor, he extended out his arm with a broad smile twinkling up at the creases in his eyes.

“My, my, officer, don't you scrub up nice?” he chuckled, gesturing to your attire, “Not saying you don't normally make my office brighter with your radiance, just not accustomed to seeing you outside your uniform.”

“Thank you, Vice Admiral,” you shook your head to chastise him a little, chuckling alongside him, “Had a date.”

“Oh?” he asked you with a small hint of intrigue, “And how did it go?”

Rolling your eyes, you brush past him and gently begin ordering from the street vendor one of their hot specialties, paired with a sweet pastry to follow it. Garp couldn't help but bark a laugh, gently clapping a hand on your shoulder and shaking his head.

“That good, was it?”

“Speaking freely, considering we're both out of uniform and the office is far,” you turned to him while fishing out your Berry, “No. No, it wasn't good. It was, in fact, shit.”

This did nothing to quell Garp’s laughter, only involving the street vendor to chuckle along with the both of you. Sitting in a comfortable air and laughing along at your own misery, you couldn't help but to take Garp in.

Each of his features had this air of charm about him. Smile lines littering his face, creases and crevices that each told a tale of adventure throughout the years. He was far too many years your senior for you to ever consider romantically-.

“-I'll walk you home, love,” Garp suggested, offering out the crook of his elbow and indicating for you to take it. “It's far too late for a pretty woman such as yourself to wander through the trenches. Especially when you're dressed so fine.”

You quirked your brows up, almost scoffing at the suggestion while interlacing your elbow with his own. Taking the street food from the vendor, you held the brown, paper bag in one hand while the other gave his forearm a gentle squeeze.

“Sounds to me like either you don't trust in my abilities to take care of myself, or you don't trust your subordinates and civilians to act appropriately,” you comment slyly. Garp rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging up his whiskered lip.

“On the contrary, I'm actually thinking quite selfishly.” Finally making it to your door, you take a moment to study the man escorting you to your residence.

“Oh?” You asked in response, cocking your head down and seeking out his eyes. “How so, Vice Admiral?”

“It's not every day I have a beautiful woman hanging off my arm and allowing me to lead her home. Reminds me of my youth.” Leaning down, he playfully pursed his lips and enjoyed drinking in your radiance for a moment longer. You felt you had no choice but to laugh and enjoy his attention.

For once, out of these long and drawn out evenings with the large number of singles you had attempted to couple with in the past, you actually felt like you were desired. Not as a body to warm the bed of for a few minutes, not a marine to help rise another in the ranks, but truly desired.

You were not sure of the next few moments: who leaned in first, who removed your dress, who's lips found the others while the door closed behind you, or where you placed the food down while you jumped up and hooked your legs over Garp's hips. None of it mattered.

All that mattered now was how close you were to your impending climax while you watched him bring it on in your glossy reflection. Thick, leathery fingers disappearing into your pussy, crude squelching ricocheting from the corners of your quarters while Garp uttered huskily into your neck.

“How about another one?” he whispered against your skin, “You can give me another, can't you? How many is that now, hm?”

“F-... F-...” you could barely find the words, feeling him brace you against his torso and chuckle in your ear. Gently cooing at you, he pressed his lips to your shoulder and traced the up to your neck.

“My count’s four,” he drew his eyes up to meet yours in the reflection, “See if we can make it five before I give you my cock again, hm?”

“Garp-!” you cried out, feeling your legs shudder and flutter as the coil in your belly wound tightly shut. Your cunt began greedily sucking in his fingers, holding him within you while your high was right within your grasp.

“Oh, you're gonna climax on this old man’s fingers again, aren't you?” he snickered softly, gently biting at your jaw and holding you on the presipis of your edge, “Tell me. Who's making you feel this good?”

“G-G-... Gonna cum-!” you cried out, attempting to curl in on yourself while your high began to sizzle at the corners.

“Not until you say it, sweetheart,” he smiled. His corners creased at the corners, giving him that boyish edge that you had come to enjoy throughout your evening. “Go on. Say it.”

“G-Garp-!” you cried out, watching as his eyes met yours before you darted them down within your reflection to witness the creamy splashback you left on his fingers with your climax.

“Oh, good girl,” he praised you, grinning at you while he expertly ushered you into your high. “Go on, love. Cum on this old man's fingers.”

You threw your head back onto his shoulder, desperately keening and mewling for him while he shepherded you through your high. While one hand moved in and out of your pussy, ushering out your release with sharpshooting efficiency, the other hand braced you against himself while he felt your soul leave your body and join the chiors in oblivion.

Riding your high while trapped on his lap felt unlike anything you'd experienced in couplings prior. He had had you in ways you had never dreamed of: reaching highs you had only ever fantasized about meeting.

Huffing and panting while coming down from your powerful release, he slowed down his expert ministrations before withdrawing his fingers from your pussy and giving your thigh a gentle pat.

“Now, dear,” he unlocked his legs from your own and cradled you into his chest. You limply peered up at him, lulling your head against his collar while he hoisted you easily into his arms. “Remind me how many poor dates you had in the past few months?”

He tossed you back onto the mattress and fluttered his eyelashes down at you with the innocence of a newborn deer walking on stumble legs.

“Eleven,” you panted, a warmth dampening your cheeks and flooding your ears. “Eleven shit dates.”

He gently rose your thighs over his hips, drawing his cock between your folds and lining his tip at your entrance. With a slow chuckle, he began languidly rocking his cock once again into your pussy with an easy rhythm.

“By my numbers, seems we have six to go.” He drew his hips flush with your own, bottoming out with his mushroomed tip kissing at your cervix, “Whatever we can't do tonight, we'll pick up in the morning, yes?”

He gently slotted his arms beneath your shoulders, rocking his cock into your core and drawing out needy gasps from your parted lips.

“Yes,” you gasped in response, your head flinging back to mold your pillow to the shape of your hair while he drew out your ecstasy by his deep thrusts.

“That's my girl,” he uttered softly, continueing to staple you against the mattress with the stamina of a wild beast in rut. With every in-thrust, he let out a soft shuddered call of your name on his breath.

Although he would never admit it he was obsessed with the soft, little, overstimulated sobs you'd let out the closer you'd come to your release. He would give anything to be buried in your radiance, night and day, drawing out more of your ecstasy every time you called on him.

He would have you remember him, know that he could draw this much out of you in a single night without fail. Although he was not as spritely as he was in his youth, he could last much longer than he could back in his hay day.

But you mad him feel so young, so spritely, and so full of energy, he had no choice but to keep going until he deemed you fully satisfied by his hands, tongue, and cock. Anything more would have to wait for negotiations between you and he on the morrow.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel

🎶Happy Birthday to Me🎶

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

[permanentlyfemale]

⚠️ Feminization, Misgendering, Forced detrans kink ahead! ⚠️

Today is a scary day for you. As a trans man, finding the right therapist is far more difficult than it is for most people, especially as you weren’t looking for just a new therapist today. You also need someone to write you a top surgery letter. Although you’ve only been on T for 2 months, barely enough to notice anything besides an increased libido and clit growth, your breasts are by far your biggest source of dysphoria. You often wear two binders when you’re going anywhere, and even then, a sizable bump is visible on your chest. You’re hoping they may become easier to bind with hormones, but you already know that you’ll need surgery regardless.

“Milo Brown?” A masculine voice calls your name from across the room. Glancing up, you see a very attractive man, much taller than you, looking to be in good shape under his professional attire, but not overly muscular. His dark shoulder-length wavy hair and stubble complement his gentle, masculine face and warm brown eyes.

Surprised by the man’s beauty, you stumble on your words as you rise from your seat. “I- uh- I’m here.”

“Great! Let’s get back to my office.” He smiles warmly and gestures for you to follow him out of the waiting room and down a hallway, passing mostly empty offices on the way. This doesn’t seem too odd, as there was construction on the lower floor. Maybe some patients didn’t like the noise and cancelled? Or maybe you’re trying to distract yourself from thinking of the exceedingly attractive man that may soon be your therapist. You’ve considered yourself gay since coming out, but starting hormones has certainly made that attraction all the more apparent.

As he opens his office door, you’re surprised by how casual it is. There’s a long couch next to an armchair, with a clipboard set neatly on top. His desk is to the side, seemingly ignored while clients were present in favor of a more personal layout. Thinking of something to say as you sat on the couch, you spit out “I like your office.”

“Thank you Milo, I spent a lot of time thinking of the anatomy of the room and how to make my clients most at ease. I find this works best.” He smiles at you, his eyes gentle and enticing. “I’m Dr. Sterling, I specialize in support for LGBT and FTM clients. Nice to meet you! Tell me a but about yourself and what brings you here.”

“My name is Milo Brown, I’m 19 years old, and I just started testosterone. I’ve been out as trans for a while but finally got access to hormones and I’m hoping to get top surgery as well, but I need a letter for it. I also just need support with my dysphoria and depression.” You cross your arms over your large chest self-consciously.

“Well, that’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Can you tell me more about your dysphoria regarding your chest?”

Shifting uncomfortably in your chair, you hesitantly proceed. “Every day is awful! They’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and I go to sleep trying not to feel or think about them. They’re so big and heavy that I feel them whenever I move and it makes me so dysphoric. It’s also impossible to make myself flat, so I never pass. As a gay man, it’s so hard to find a man who would want a guy with a body like mine!”

“Oh, Milo, I think that’s very negative thinking. Plenty of men would find you attractive! I thought you were quite beautiful when I saw you myself.”

You’re surprised by his words! That sounded very flirtatious, but maybe he was just trying to boost your ego. Either way, it made the empty space between your legs tingle when he said it. You also didn’t know he was queer, but it definitely makes you more comfortable with him. “Well… that does make me feel better. I still don’t feel comfortable with my chest though.”

“Why don’t we try something? This is an exercise I’ve done with plenty of my transmasuline patients before, and it has always improved their lives and helped with dysphoria. While we do it, I can assess you for top surgery as well! How does that sound?” He smiled at you expectingly.

“Uhhh… yeah, that sounds good. What are we doing?”

“I’m just going to have you answer some questions about your body and dysphoria. This may get uncomfortable, but it’s all part of this process. I’m sure you can trust me, right?”

“Of course!” You answer instinctively.

“Right. First, I want you to take off your shirt and binder.” He instructs casually.

“What!? I thought we were just answering questions. Is that necessary?” You’re again surprised, he wasn’t a surgeon and you had never shown anyone your chest before. You didn’t want to look at it yourself, much less this beautiful man you’re expecting to see regularly!

“I understand this is surprising and uncomfortable, but I want to understand your perspective on your body, as well as assess the size and density for surgery. I need to know this for the letter, and I understand this is very important to you. I’m sorry for the discomfort, Milo.” He looked at you apologetically, his brown eyes sparkling, staring in to your soul and shooting down between your legs.

“I… okay.” What he was saying did make sense, and you would do most anything for this surgery. Resolving to just get this over with, you take off your oversized hoodie and throw it on the couch next to you. Grabbing both binders at once, you exert a herculean force squeezing yourself out, panting as your huge breasts fly out. You blush with embarrassment as a loud clap can be heard from them swinging together.

Dr. Sterling calmly walks closer to you. “Do you know your cup size?”

“Uh… no, sorry.”

“That’s alright, we can measure now.” He smiles warmly and pulls out some measuring tape. Without hesitation, he walks up to you and wraps it around your chest! He first measures your underbust before moving to measure your bust. His hands rest on your breasts as he does so. “Alright… looks like you have J cups.” His hand brushes your nipple as he backs away.

“Mmph!” Involuntarily, you let out a short, feminine moan. Both the dysphoria of knowing your overwhelming cup size and your accidental vocalization leave you embarrassed and blushing harder than ever.

“It doesn’t seem like you’ve experienced any vocal changes from testosterone.” He observes.

“Umm… not yet, no.”

“It also seems like you have quite sensitive nipples?”

“I guess…”

“Well, have you ever considered embracing your breasts?”

“Huh?” You were confused. They made you sad and dysphoric, how could you ever embrace them? He did say whatever he was doing worked for all of his other transmasc patients, but this seemed absurd.

“Your breast are way too big to bind properly. I’ve seen you wearing two binders in here, and that is not healthy. As your therapist, I can’t encourage you to damage your body in such a way, and especially without two binders, you wouldn’t be able to hide them at all anyways. And why go through the trouble of binding if everyone can tell? It might do you some good to just accept your body as it is. It’s not like whether you bind now will affect surgery.”

Unfortunately, everything he was saying made perfect sense. Even when binding, it was very obvious you had breasts. Why go through all the trouble, especially if it was hurting your body? You were dysphoric either way, might as well be more comfortable physically. “I guess… I guess you’re right.”

“Yes… unfortunately it’s also not very possible hormones could reduce them to a bindable size either.”

This devastated you. Even later on testosterone, you would have obvious breasts? How could you expect anyone to take you seriously as a man? You had hoped to begin passing in public soon, and finally begin living comfortably, but you weren’t so sure now. Would it even be safe to live as a non-passing trans man? Why were you going through so much for hormones if there was no hope of passing before surgery anyways? Maybe you should just wait until then for hormones- no one will gender you right as you are now. “Maybe… maybe I should pause testosterone until surgery then.”

“Yes, I can see why. That might be the safest option for you.” He nodded solemnly. “We can practice some exercises to reduce dysphoria until then, if you’d like.” His frown shifted in to a comforting smile.

Still upset, you nodded.

He moved closer and, before you could react, placed one hand on each perky, round breast, grabbing you by the boobs.

Surprised, you squeaked.

“This is just to get you used to your breasts. It often helps most when someone else does it, so you’re more comfortable with other people seeing them.” He gently squeezed and pulled, running his fingers along your supple breasts, warm palms pressing your hard nipples.

“Mmmmmm-! Oooh!” You let out a series of feminine wails as the doctor palms at your breasts. They were so sensitive and they felt so heavy- so wrong on your body- and yet they sent waves of pleasure throughout your curvy figure.

“Are you still going to go by Milo? I mean, you’re stopping T until surgery because you won’t be able to pass. It would be weird to only keep the name and pronouns, especially for strangers.” His hands shifted to thumb at your nipples.

Your thoughts were flooded with waves of pleasure shooting from your tits. The importance of this decision didn’t fully register, but what he was saying made sense to you. “You’re right.”

“Good girl.”

“Huhh…”

“People are going to refer to you by what you look like. You know you don’t pass. This is just exposure training, okay?”

“Okay…” You mindlessly agree as he moves his head close to your breast.

“See? You are a good girl.” He starts to suck on your nipple, causing you to throw your head back and wail in pleasure. You don’t know when his own clothes came off, but he’s getting on top of you and pulling your pants off, leaving you in just your boxers with his much larger biologically male body pinning you down, suddenly kissing your lips.

“What… what are you doing now, d-doctor…” he cuts you off as you pant your words out.

“The easiest way to adapt to and accept being seen as a woman is to have sex with a straight man, one who can use you as only male can use female. You need this, Amelia. It’s okay.”

Hearing your deadname makes you cringe with dysphoria. You’ve always felt an aversion towards it, despising the femininity it signaled. You struggle to reconcile your attraction to the doctor and trust in his methods to your current panic. This all felt good and sounded logical but it’s happening too fast to react, and these are all such big decisions, and suddenly he’s pulling your boxers off.

“Your pussy is so perfect. You make such a sexy woman.” He rubs the length of his cock along your clit and hole. The distinction between your pathetic nub and his masculine length is obvious. He gropes your massive jiggling breasts, squeezing them together and lowering his head to kiss and suck your nipples as his dick prods your entrance.

“Doctor Sterling…” You moan his name as his assault on your tits grows heavier. He sloppily makes out with your huge boobs, enjoying every second he can get drowning in your massive breasts.

He momentarily pulls his mouth from your tits. “Yes… fuck, Amelia!” He rams his hard cock all the way inside you, hitting your cervix as he moans your deadname, resuming his assault on your massive wobbling boobs all the while.

You scream and wail, unsure if it’s in pleasure or some mix of dysphoria and grief for your lost ambitions. Whatever male identity you insisted on was currently obstructed by your massive tits and the straight man enjoying them as he pounded in to your soft, tight vagina. Anyone who saw you two would know immediately that this was heterosexual sex- they would never stop to consider you could be anything but a curvy woman being held down and fucked by a handsome man. Suddenly, the doctor’s thrusts sped up. You forgot condoms, and you’re barely on T!

Right as you open your mouth, he interrupts. “I’m gonna cum, Amelia! I’m cumming inside you!” He holds himself against your cervix, comforting you as you begin to scream. “Shhh, good girl, it’s okay.”

You feel his hot cum flood in to your unprotected pussy, tears falling from your eyes. Feeling the sticky cum start to leak out, you manage to speak. “Do… do you have a towel?”

“Uhhh… here!” He grabs your binders and rips them both, turning them in to makeshift towels as he pulls out, along with a flood of cum.

You know you said you wouldn’t bind anymore, but having the option taken away made everything all the more real. You know it was for the best tho. He specializes in helping trans men, and he said this always works. You just have to trust him! As time runs out, you don’t even realize you forgot to finish your top surgery letter.

Still… you couldn’t wait to book your next session.

[kisses4kaia]

patrick likes his girls mean!! he loves the stuck up, entitled, princesses who demand their every need be catered to. so when he meets you, all designer rackets and chanel sponsorships, he’s gotta bite.

you’d heard of patrick, of course. whom of your peers hadn’t? the effervescent tennis prodigy with a blinding career practically inscribed in his fates.

you couldn’t lie, learning about his reputation as not only a tennis god, but as a sex one, too… you had to bite.

hell if you were going to make the first move, though. that was quite literally never happening, and so you bided your time.

luckily for you, patrick was rather impatient—much differently to yourself—and would never miss the opportunity to make his way towards you at one of your dad’s events at your exorbitant, cherrywood-littered, home.

“that’s your third glass of champagne.” his voice startled from behind you. you swiveled on your heels to face the owner of such a bold tenor. “excuse me?”

patrick smiled to himself, nodding towards your glass. “tough night?” he’s suave, a large, single, step and he’s right next to you.

about to spit at him the meanest offended verbiage you could offer, your eyes found themselves catching onto his broad shoulders, and then practically raving all over his figure. his forearms, worked and muscled, were cut off from your view at the wrists, hands shoved deep into his pockets. there was a shock of dark, gelled, curls on his head, pairing dangerously fine with the honest and abyssal ultramarine of his eyes.

“you gonna keep checking me out or are you gonna answer my question?” he wore a stupid, smug smirk that had you scoffing. “sorry, do i know you?” you wished you could have looked down at him when saying this, but even with your heavy platform versace heels, you still had to crane your head to meet his eyes.

and of course, your question was redundant, but from the sounds of him thus far, he could do with a little ego death.

“patrick, zweig. i play tennis. and you do, too, don’t you?” he knew the answer to that question and he knew exactly who you were, because your father’s foundation that this very event was being held for, was titled in your name. “oh, that’s right. yeah, your parents were, i think.. third place at last year’s st. jude’s fundraiser?” his face twisted up in shame so satisfactorily, you had to physically bite back an evil giggle of victory. “well, patrick. it was really nice talking—“

“i’ve got something stronger than champagne in my car.” his tone was flat, practically monotonous, but his words had an implication of sheer fun, and who were you to skip out on that?

so, here you were, orange vodka bottle in your right hand as you jerked a whining patrick off with your left. “god, you’re so fucking pent up. what is it, tennis? or is it that no girl wants to fuck you, so you haven’t blown a decent load since back at school?”

ooh, he would tell it to you so straight, spit out evidence-backed statements of how easy it was to get a pretty girl on her knees for him whenever he wanted, he would. he would, if his mind wasn’t so fogged up with the pleasure, and the drinks, and mostly you. you you you.

“fuck—t’s so good, so good. please, i wanna cum, wanna cum,” he’d plead through the thick steam growing in the increasingly too-small cockpit of his car.

“how bad?” nipping at his ear, you were waiting to hear him beg, and he was waiting to swallow his mass of pride enough to get it out. “so bad, really fucking bad. i need it, need you, fuck. shit—please, need it so much,” he was so convincing, and it would’ve swayed a kinder soul, but then again, patrick likes his girls mean.

“no.” with your hand lost on his stupidly bricked length, patrick groaned, and bitched, and whined, and complained about how unfair you were being, and how he’d never do that to you, and blah blah blah. “well, i can’t say i care, so. maybe i’ll see you later. bye, patrick,” your fingers twinkled goodbye in a wave, and you were out of the vehicle and back inside the party without another word.

it wasn’t over then, of course not, and you knew it. thus, it came as no shocker when an unknown number randomly applepays you $1000 in the middle of the night, along with a text that reads as follows.

had a great time. hope we run into each other again sometime soon. and, don’t spend it all in once place, yeah? - 💸

[nouearth]

Imagine getting used as a walking fleshlight by Bruce (Bale) and Clark (Corenswet) at the same time. Both high five'ing each other with dark lust filled eyes while Eiffel tower'ing you. Bruce's cock fulls your mouth so well, he then rubs his cock all over your face. Clark's thrusts are the strongest you've ever experienced, his balls slap against you as if they were a force of nature; you're holding onto ass and pulling him deeper inside you while Bruce rams into your throat like it's a fleshlight.

💌 : ugh, anon. my main men! (although i love pattinson just as much, bale just screams... daddy for me.) also, i—for some reason—love it when guys are showcasing douchey behavior when they're fucking, urgh.

for bruce, his cock had never felt so full and warm down your throat before. you could barely take him, but he was constantly peppering you in toe-curling praises so you tried your best to sheathe more of him inside of your mouth because you didn't want to disappoint him, or even clark for that matter.

the thick of his cock pushed all the saliva out of your mouth, drool dripping from either corners of your stretched lips, and as much as bruce loved seeing how much of a mess you'd become, reducing your identity to merely a flesh-light, he would pull his cock out and slide it over your lips to feed the saliva you'd dribbled back into your cock-addicted mouth.

you'd lap him up like you were a fiend for his cock, and bruce recognized that, exploiting your addiction when he'd pull himself out at times to hear you whine—to see your eyes widen with a plea that would drive him mad because they became so glossy. your brows etched with worry and agony as it seemed like he was stripping you away from a necessity to living.

the simple thought that you lived and breathed for his cock turned him on, fed his ego, and then fed yours because only you could make him feel so good like this. he would rub his cock all over your face, slap it across your cheek and nose occasionally, before jerking himself off to the scene of clark fucking you, his balls heavily rolling over your pretty features in midst. he'd then hold your cheeks, rough hands at the underside of your jaw, before he began fucking gloriously into your mouth because he was close. so fucking close.

for clark, the sounds of your gagging and gargling was enough to send him over the edge. with his heightened senses, he could hear every intricate noise that you'd deliciously graced him with; the small gasps you would inhale to recover your breath, only for you to gag and cough on them when bruce shoved his cock back inside of your mouth; the sloppy and wet squelches from the lube dripping from your hole as clark fucked his large cock madly into you; the nasal pitch of the bed creaking, a noisy proof of the men's absolute destruction on your body as they intend to break you.

sex with you was an exception to clark's habitual gentlemanly spirit as you drove him mad, teased him for being a goody two-shoes, for being too vanilla for your liking, and he wanted to prove you wrong. he wanted to prove to you that he could be both sides of the same coin, and if he went far enough, you'd beg for him to be easier on you next time.

he would pull your arms back and hold your two wrists together in one strong grip, allowing the position to contort your body in a way that emphasized the shape of your body. you felt your muscles flex, throb apprehensively because they've never been stretched like this before—stretched past their limits. and clark would maintain this position because he was addicted to seeing how the sweat collected at the dips of your back muscles, then rolled off the hill of your ass when your body struggled uncomfortably to meet his cock.

he was too big for you, much bigger than you'd taken before, and clark would make you remember that. he would instill a sense of fear within you—that you might completely break if he were to completely shove his large cock inside of you if he wasn't kind enough to control himself—restrain himself from filling you to the brim.

and he would also instill a craving within you—one that you'd find yourself thinking about his cock for hours, days, months—because you'll never find someone with a cock, a fuck like him. ramming into you hard yet steady, powerfully yet pacing, large and uncomfortable yet deliciously enthralling as clark would make every stretch soar to your senses, soar to make your throat hollow and dry—at least for the moment before bruce was shoving himself back inside of you. they'd chuckle, sometimes laugh not because you were embarrassing, but because you were so impressive to them that they didn't know how else to react other than with affection and laughter. they'd coo at you, pet at your head, tell you what a good boy you were, and fist bump whenever you deep-throated bruce and/or pushed yourself back into clark until he was balls-deep, until he pressed into a golden spot.

and they'd continue with you for hours, fucking you repeatedly, taking their turns with your mouth and ass, sometimes two cocks in one, and you'd never felt happier than being fucked in this moment. elated when bruce filled your mouth with his own cum; warm and creamy as it sat and spread thick on your tongue—your throat as you swallowed like the good boy you were. then full, when clark came into your ass. he held you close, pressing close to you until you were practically glued to him, and his balls jolted, twitched, and throbbed as he dumped his load in you. you can feel clark's cum seeping deeper into when he doesn't stop fucking into your hole, churning his cum into you until you memorized the shape of his cock, the way his cum spread thick inside of you. then finally leaking when he pulled out to see you push out his thick cum loads on instinct.

hehe, thank you for the imagine, anon! 💗 and now, i'm gonna pretend as if i didn't write all of that and create the illusion that i, in fact, am an innocent man.

[fangswbenefits]

For Science

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: There has been a rumour circulating in regards to Miguel’s venom. It has to be too far-fetched, right?

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

𓂅 𓄹 Warnings: 18+. Fangs. Biting. Venom!play (is that a thing?).

You eyed Jessica Drew with utmost interest as she worked her way around Miguel’s surveillance station, easily dragging files in and out of the multiple screens.

“Why do you get access to his stuff and I don’t?” you asked as sudden jealousy crept in.

“We go way back,” she started, pulling some information to her watch. “You’ll get there in time…”

Your ego soared.

“… if you don’t keep annoying him.”

It immediately plummeted.

“He’s easy to piss off,” you beamed. “And I’m easily entertained. What can I say? Match made in heaven.”

She chuckled at your antics. “Just don’t get yourself expelled.”

You nodded and waved your hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. So have you heard that rumour about him?”

Jessica finished setting up her watch and mission logs and threw you a suspicious look.

“Well… the one that says his venom does more than causing paralysis,” you wiggled your eyebrows, letting the not so subtle implication dangle.

“You know what? One day Miguel is going to kick you out and I won’t do anything about it.”

“What? I didn’t come up with this!”

It was absolutely true. You hard heard it from some spiders one night while strolling throught the lobby. Rumours came and went. No one thought much of them and these were just harmless fun.

“Well, I’m not commenting on this.”

“Fine! But it’s fascinating.”

Jessica sighed, rotated on her feet and went down the stairs. “You can go ask Miguel, then.”

“Ask Miguel what?”

You froze in place as spider-man 2099 entered the dark room, eying both of you.

“Oh, I’m out,” Jessica snorted, heading towards the exit. “You two have fun.”

Miguel kept his gaze on your and you waved a hand at him.

He frowned.

“Lyla, reroute all the main sectors to earth-1610,” he said, pressing on his dimensional travel watch. “Any possibility of a canon event being disrupted must be reported to Jessica.”

The AI appeared next to him and adjusted her heart-shaped glassed up the bridge of her nose. “Is she tagging along, too?” she pointed at you.

He shook his head. “Not a chance. She’s more useful here.”

“Hey!” you were about to protest, but decided against it.

You knew there was a compliment in there somewhere. Your past missions had not gone without some minor bumps, which was why it had been decided the previous day that you’d tag along Miguel for a couple of weeks to hone your off-field abilities.

“Anything major must be reported to me.”

Jessica nodded but Lyla was not so easily dismissed. “I didn’t hear you say iiit.”

Miguel rolled his eyes. “Thank you for your services as always, Lyla.”

She took a dramatic bow and vanished.

He took large steps towards the platform, greeting you with a curt nod.

How would you describe your relationship with Miguel O’Hara? Tense? On the verse of collapse each time you teased him? Friendly? But only when you didn’t have to spend more than one hour together.

“Morning to you, too, boss,” you saluted.

He let out an exasperated sigh as he checked the screens in front of him.

Maybe you should go easy on him. You were already on thin ice, but just adored pushing him. There was something about teasing him that just did wonders to you.

“Did you sleep well? Did you get some food?”

“Don’t start getting on my nerves.”

You raised both hands, feigning a look of innocence. “I did nothing. You’re paranoid.”

His head turned to you.

“You do have an issue obeying the chain of command. Your last mission was a disaster, because you got into an argument with Peter instead of focusing on the anomaly — don’t interrupt me!” he said pinching the bridge of his nose as you were about to defend yourself. “You have much to offer, but you’re also all over the place and lack discipline. I don’t think you—”

You gave him a jaw-popping yawn which effectively cut him off.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I boring you?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You do know that I was pressured by others to let go of you.”

A long pause stretched out.

“Then why didn’t you?”

In your mind, you had hoped your growing friendship with him had played a part, but…

“You have potential,” he said with a sigh. “One day you might even be better than me.”

Well, that was a high praise and your spine snapped straight instantly. “Really?”

“Maybe… probably not,” he concluded. “But if you keep your focus and work hard, you will be a very skilled spider.”

You rolled your eyes. “Woah, thanks a bunch!”

In truth, you knew Miguel was trying his best to smooth over your bruised ego, but your pride got the best of you.

“Any questions you have, just let me know,” he said reassuringly while glancing at the screens in front of him.

“I can ask anything?”

“Yes.”

“Sooo… have you heard that rumour about your venom?”

It was too early in the day to be so serious, so you genuinely saw no harm in lightening the mood.

He threw you a side glance. “Be specific.”

“Well… that it can cause extreme pleasure,” you blurted out. “Oh, besides the paralysis thingy,” you quickly added.

Miguel turned to fully face you. “I don’t even want to know where that came from.”

Deep down, you felt a pang of disappointment. It would be such an interesting finding.

“Ah, so it’s not true.”

“Probably not.”

That piqued your interest. “Probably? So there’s a chance? It’s just so fascinating, because you’re already so different from the rest of us,” you started rambling not able to hold back your enthusiasm. “Now this is just an added layer!”

You were a scientist at heart and Miguel was pretty much an outlier when it came to being a spider-man. For months you had been trying to let him agree to you running some tests, but to no avail.

In all honesty, Miguel knew his way around science and the inner workings of biology better than you could ever, so he had no reason to indulge your curiosity.

“How do you do it? Is it the same venom or a different one?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Science, remember?”

It was a half truth, though. Yes, this would be mind-blowing science-wise, but this was also about Miguel O’Hara. The very man who had been guiding you through spider society for months. The same men who whose genius and dedication had built the foundations of the spider society.

He now had both hands on his hips and you figured you were already pushing it too far, but enjoyed doing it too much to stop now.

“Can you just tell me how it works? Please?” You clasped your hands together into a beg, hoping it would be enough to bait him for information.

But Miguel remained unfazed.

“No.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” you offered expectantly.

He didn’t budge.

“Please, pretty please?” you tried once again.

Nothing.

“I’ll bring you empanadas every single day from now on,” you enthused. “On demand! Whenever you have those cravings. Two in the morning? Check! Canon event disrupted and universes imploding? Check!”

Miguel quirked an eyebrow. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Is that a yes?”

“No.”

“Just show me how it works,” you sounded desperate by now. Arguing with Miguel ranked high up with the likes of trying to move a boulder with a wooden fork. “How did you get it to work?”

His eyes to widened slightly. “Show you?” he started out. “Are you asking me to pleasure you?”

Now that was probably on your top three of ‘Things you never expect Miguel O’Hara to say’.

“Oh — I mean… well… what?” you stammered, caught by surprise. “I didn’t — you know… huh…”

He only glared at your babbling self.

“Are you… offering?”

Miguel extended his arm to you. “Give me your hand.”

You panicked. “What? Now?”

“For science, right?”

Point taken.

You hesitated momentarily. “You’re not going to paralyse me, right?”

“Do you want me to?”

You offered your hand for him to grip, flipping it palm up. “No.”

“Then I won’t.”

Miguel’s voice was so flat he could just be reading items off a grocery list.

His gloved fingers traced the heel of your palm and his eyes darted down. You held your breath at the sight of him lowering his head. “This might sting.”

And just like that, you watched in complete awe as Miguel O’hara bared his fangs, slowly raking them across your skin before digging into the flesh.

“Ouch!”

Your stomach turned and your heart fluttered as his warm lips grazed the spot he had just bitten. Two circular and symmetrical openings pooled with a tiny amount if blood.

“So? Do you feel a wave of intense carnal bliss?” Miguel asked, straightening up and brushing the droplets away with his thumb.

You merely stood there, waiting for something — anything — to kick in. But as tense seconds ticked by, it was evident nothing was happening.

“No…”

He shrugged, letting go of your hand to tap his watch. “Ah, well. My pleasuring abilities must be below par this morning.”

You scowled at him and considered smashing his arm with a fist. “You could have just said it was all a lie!” you grunted in sheer annoyance, feeling like an idiot. “Now I’m bleeding to death.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“You’re annoying,” you huffed as you checked the bite marks.

“It’s not a lie. I can indeed inject an innocuous version of my venom that can be quite pleasurable,” he said.

“Then do it!” you said, your temper flaring.

Miguel wasn’t one to take orders. He was much more into being the one to call the shots, but your curiosity was eating you alive now that he had revealed that this rumour had some truth to it.

He was now looming over you, his impressive height adding to the tension. “It depends on where I inject the venom. Certain places are more effective,” his voice was uncharacteristicly low as his eyes landed on your neck. “This is just scientific curiosity, right?”

Your mouth had gone too dry to reply, so you just shrugged. Miguel had you taking a few steps back until your lower back hit the railing that lined the platform, causing your hands to clasp around it reflexively.

“Tilt your head.”

You did as you were told and felt his fingers tracing along your jaw, angling you just the way he wanted.

“Hold on tight,” he said, breath now fanning the prickling skin of your neck. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

Feeling your face heat up from the sudden close proximity, you closed your eyes as if embracing for impact. He pressed his lips to your pulse point before digging his fangs slowly into you.

Your mouth dropped open, aghast, and you finally felt it. His venom poured from the fangs and into your bloodstream, spreading through your veins like wildfire. At first, it was just merely a pleasant sensation, like the one you’d get as you finally drank water after a hot day in the sun.

But it soon turned into something else, and unlike water, the new overwhelming feeling was leaving you thirstier with each thump of your racing heart.

Miguel had his hand on the back of your neck, keeping you in place. He moaned first — no, he grunted —, and you felt a jolt of almost painful pleasure shot down your spine and spread between your thighs.

Your grip on the metal surface wavered momentarily and you feared you might fall, but were firmly grounded by his other hand on your waist. It didn’t take long until your clit started throbbing in unison with your heartbeat.

“Miguel… this… this…”

Suddenly, your suit felt too tight and in the way, especially once he pressed lightly into you.

The venom was no longer being injected, but the remnants of it were enough to wreak havoc throughout your body.

“It’s just for science…” he growled, pulling his fangs away from you. “Does it feel good?”

You didn’t dare open your eyes and could only gasp when you felt him push his erection into you.

“Yeah… science… or whatever…” you gasped, feeling yourself being pushed over the edge with each second that passed.

Just when you thought your orgasm would hit you slowly, Miguel tilted your head to the side, exposing the intact skin.

You gripped his wrist as if holding on for dear life, fearing you’d explode. “Again?”

“Your body is neutralising my venom too fast,” he rumbled, lips hovering a sensitive spot. “I need to inject more.”

“Miguel…” you nearly cried out at the thought of your heart no being able to handle the intense pleasure.

“Look at me.”

Your breathing evened briefly as you did as commanded, his red eyes fixed on yours, pupils fully blown.

“Think you can do this?”

You blinked.

“I know you can take more.”

Your clit was now throbbing at an alarming rate at the promise of more of him.

Miguel flashed you his blood-tipped fangs before sinking them into you once again.

The liquid traveled through your body so fast, you felt like someone had punched the air out of your lungs. You vaguely wondered if you would die from this, and concluded that there were worse ways to go.

Being on the receiving end of Miguel’ dry humps would be enough to make anyone tip over the edge, let alone with the added layer of venom engulfing you into an explosive orgasm.

Your vision blurred in an instant as spams and contractions swept through your body. The friction of his clothed cock rubbing against your clit had you arch your back into him, feeling the bittersweet realisation that you were clamping around nothing. You weren’t sure if this was his venom’s doing, but you felt an overwhelming part of you wishing he had been inside you.

It hurt.

It hurt so good and lasted for so long, you like crying from the overwhelming tide of pleasure.

Miguel gave you time to ride out your orgasm, pressing a bloodied kiss to your lips, swallowing your cries.

Metallic taste filled your mouth and you broke away from him, gasping for air.

Your eyes landed on his crotch.

He was hard. Painfully hard. A faint stain of precum seeping through the material of his suit.

“You okay?”

You bent over, hands on your knees and laboured breaths.

“Are you?” you managed in between gasps.

Miguel crouched to eye-level with you. “I think you owe me one.”

“Yeah…” you nodded, swallowing hard. “Thanks for the… scientific… huh… demonstration.”

Masterlist

[justblades]

⌕ WHAT THEY LIKE TO HEAR DURING HEATING SESSIONS, 18+

⟢ CHARACTERS : gepard, blade, jing yuan & luocha x gender neutral! reader

⟢ WARNINGS : EXPLICIT, MDNI.

GEPARD

— is too embarrassed to admit it but he bathes in rapture whenever he hears the sounds of skin slapping, squelching noises emitted from his cock meeting with your entrance and lastly, your jagged breathing becoming melting heavy sighs of pleasure. the mentioned noises meshing together play a perfect harmonious tune for his ears, gearing him towards climaxing, to the point that his face crumples everytime he thrusts faster with the help of his large fists on your hips. he becomes absent minded and thinks of nothing but quenching the thirst for his lust, immediately cumming inside you with no forewarnings, he's just that deep in. every sex ends with him apologizing and swearing he'll let you know next time, but him planting his seed inside you happened as naturally as he breathed.

BLADE

— thrives in having authority, control and reign over your body as well as your rationality. he likes to hear you beg and put into complete sentences what you want him to do to you, going as far as teasing his tip in your hole, to drain the remaining dignity inside you by no other than him. he's well aware that once you're completely riled up, there's no going back - one of the many instances he makes the most of hearing you plead. he would never give it to you unless you verbalize each step, naughty words spilling from your lips, embarrassment washing over yourself. otherwise if you fail to meet his expectations, he'll display that stoic expression of his not until you satisfy his ego's needs.

JING YUAN

— hearing your musings of praises about how he's so big, hot and thick whether you're sucking him, giving a hand job or inside your walls stimulate the general even more. the minute you fall silent as he jackhammers into your hole will be the minute he'll be aggressive, not until you describe what you're feeling from his movements in detail. phrases such as "i can feel you throbbing inside me" or "you're digging deeper" has him in a chokehold, moans bubble from his throat as long as he gets to hear how you feel good from his dick. jing yuan prioritizes your feelings before his and adores it when you give feedback. getting old is inevitable that he couldn't help but think he's become a boring person - however, your sweet nothings say otherwise, oftentimes complimenting the general.

LUOCHA

— it may not be patent for the merchant as he usually appears calm and composed at all times, but the superficial breaks whenever you two engage in sex, melting into putty whenever he asks you if only him can do you like this and you reply with an obedient "yes." his heartbeat picks up as more blood rush into the head of his cock, making his length resemble that of a curve, a true sign he's getting bigger and more aroused than ever. knowing that he's the only one who'll get to see your tantalizing and pathetic state turns him on, making him mess you up even more. "what should i do to you if you turn your back on me?" he queries, "give me a punishment that you see fit." the male goes nuts when you fully submit to him. reassuring that you'll stay by his side forever and never leave him merits you his sweet, melodic moans.

my masterlist !

[leth-writes]

Yandere platonic The Boys

Your background, in some ways, is similar to Homelander’s. You were kept captive most of your childhood, forced to practice your abilities constantly until you lost sight of what you even truly looked like

You spent so much time forced to be somebody else that you ended up losing your own identity.

Vought has created the perfect one-person PR campaign; you’re always there to promote or disgrace anyone they need you to. You’ve never even had the option to rebel.

Soon after Starlight is introduced into the Seven, you manage to get out, running barefoot through the front doors with a chain trailing behind you.

Homelander is put on the case, assigned to track down the little science experiment.

He has no qualms with it; if all that was done to him, why should you get to leave when he can’t?

That attitude lasts until he finally corners you in an alley.

All he can see is the bright whites of your panicked eyes; you’re crouched behind a trash can, eyes wild and anxious, hair ragged and skin marred with scratches and cuts. There’s just something… off about you. Like a person, just to the left.

Some deep, buried part of him just snaps, pushing itself to the surface and suddenly he’s 5 again, terrified and staring up at the cruel, blank faces of the doctors hurting him over and over.

He can’t let that happen, not to you. You just awaken that paternal instinct, somehow.

From that moment on, Vought can’t touch you. You’ve got your very own superhero, shielding you from those sterile labs and cold faces.

He takes you back to his apartment and dumps every blanket he can find on top of you, getting you nice and comfortable. Then, he flies back and kills the doctors responsible for your pain.

You’re shaking and shivering, confused and completely unaware of the world at large. You hadn’t ever been able to watch tv, or talk to anyone outside of Vought, so you don’t even know who he is. You aren’t scared of him, which is refreshing. For once, he has someone who doesn’t know anything about his reputation and is looking to him for protection not because he’s Homelander, but because of the real him.

You’re completely isolated.

When he returns, he tells you you’re safe and that he’ll be your father. You’ll form a family together, a strong one, and you’ll never have to be alone again.

As a paternal figure, Homelander seeks to help you understand your true identity. Any pictures of who you once were are all long gone, but he’s going to help you forge a new identity, one he approves of, of course.

He lets you stay in his apartment watching movies and catching up on pop culture while he does his job, returning to get dinner from his cook to feed you. You aren’t allowed to talk to any of the various workers that maintain the apartment, but you’re so scared of them you don’t even notice. Homelander is essentially the only person who’s ever been nice to you, so you look to him for his opinion before you do anything

The control inflates Homelander’s ego even farther. While Ryan was able to be independent, especially because Homelander entered his life so late, he’s really able to shape you in a way he wouldn’t be able to do to anyone else

He tries to get you into his hobbies, talking for hours about American history and his career. He only talks about the positive moments, of course.

He also makes sure to show you all his movies, which you absolutely eat up. He definitely has to explain to you that no, this isn’t something that really happened, it’s just a story.

As the months pass, you get more and more comfortable and start longing to go outside. He reintroduces you to Vought, letting you meet the 7; after he spent an hour lecturing them on proper behavior first, of course.

He keeps you far away from the Deep and Translucent if they’re still present, and definitely tries to keep you away from Starlight; he doesn’t want you getting too close to such a rebellious spirit and being corrupted by her and her terrorist boyfriend, afterall. He trusts Maeve to look after you (at least in the earlier seasons) if he ever has to do something while you’re in the tower.

You, of course, gravitate right to Starlight. You love her ability, and immediately morph into her to show your excitement. You’ve started to view your powers as a positive, rather than fearing them for their connection to the doctors, and you often show your affection by transforming into your vision of the person you’re talking to. It’s how Homelander gauges your reactions to him; he can tell, based on how you transform, how you feel about him. You tend to exaggerate the kindness of his eyes and the curve of his mouth, and you always make him look so soft and gentle, it really helps with that anxiety, that fear of you leaving him and destroying your family

With Starlight, she finds it quite creepy at first, at least before she notices you’re exaggerating the features you believe really represent her. You’ve made her hair softer, framing her face perfectly, and made her look a lot happier; you see her as a soft, comforting figure, almost like an older sister.

Starlight can feel her heart melt when she talks to you. You’re so sweet and oblivious, completely unaware of the monster you’re living with, and her goal shifts to include keeping you safe.

Thus begins the back and forth between Homelander and Starlight.

[plasticferal]

chocolate part two | chris sturniolo.

authors note: part one here. 3k short and sweet. as requested. so sorry it's nothing crazy! not really proof read, i'm half asleep.

warnings: 18+ fem!reader, daddy!kink, unprotected sex (whoops), creampie, light choking, sexual scenes, explicit language, reader discretion is strongly advised.

“my turn.” 

before you even have a chance to please him, your face is stopped by chris’s large hand grabbing your jaw, a signature move from him tonight. he forces you to look up at him again and you audibly groan, getting annoyed by being interrupted and losing momentum. 

“think you can handle it?” he tests. you give him lustful, yet threatening eyes. you’re sure your pupils are as dilated as his, the black part of his bright blue eyes daring you with a long, intense stare.

“i think the question here is can you handle it?” your response is daring. 

“i know i can, sweetheart.” chris adjusts his hips with a rolling motion, getting more comfortable in the lounge. 

in any other situation, his words would make you grimace. laugh even, or want to hit him. when he’s locking his eyes with you, so intensely.

the way his thumbs are pressing into your dimples, it makes you want to put on a show for him. he’s already looking at you like he wants to devour you again and it makes you see him in a different light.

chris snaps you out of your thoughts when he guides your face back down, and you give a greedy smile when you finally get to show him that you can give as well as you take.

you hook your fingers over the waistband of his sweats, grabbing his boxers as well, that are damp and stained from the mess you’ve already made, as well as a small patch of his precum leaking through. 

you’re eager to see his cock. 

you’re shocked he’s been so tame thus far, with the amount of blood he has rushing to his throbbing member, and the drawn out torture he’s had to endure while not being touched. it makes you feel like he’s prioritized your pleasure, and he has. 

the moment you pull his clothes down in one foul swoop, chris sucks air through his teeth, finally letting his dick spring free. he naturally takes the base in his grip, giving himself a slow, much needed stroke. 

you suck your cheeks a few times to accumulate enough saliva in your mouth before tightening your lips to spit onto his tip. you let the strand of salvia drop slowly, controlling the fall. 

he’s watching through hooded eyes, and you just know they’re burning him with the way he’s refusing to blink, as to not miss a single move you make. you look up through your eyelashes as the wetness finally falls onto his head, and he lets out a shuddering breath. 

he’s perfect. there’s no curve in his dick, he’s just thick and wide. he’s long too, and freshly shaven. which shouldn’t shock you, but does. the smell of his sweat is sickeningly mouth-watering.

you readily sink your mouth onto him, your lips caressing his delicate skin as you feel his base glide down your throat, his own fingers still wrapped around himself to keep his cock steady for you. 

he releases his hands when your mouth engulfs him fully, and even you’re taken aback. you gag slightly, making your eyes water, and chris groans with rapture. you lift your head to suck upwards before messily pushing your head back down onto him, repeating the movement with small moans and digging into his thighs with your nails. 

"make daddy cum with just your mouth" his voice is low, and quiet. direct enough, but slightly under his breath. 

you’re trying to do exactly as he says. a switch in watching to prove yourself to him, but you’re sure again it’s just the chocolate, even if you are just using that as an excuse, along with the aftermath of your still throbbing clit. 

he’s high on adrenaline. that kind of ego boost that hits differently now. he's just so full of himself. he is toward you on a regular basis, but now it’s to your benefit. you are listening to his demands though. 

he knows he's hot. you hate him for it. you moan again, gagging as he bucks his hips upwards. you raise your hand to stroke him, even if just to stimulate him more, to support your mouth movements. he swats your hand away. 

"no. no hands. only that pretty mouth of yours." 

you hate yourself even more for obeying. 

his hips rhythmically grind upward in the most minuscule rolling motion, and it’s your sign that he’s enjoying it. his mouth hangs open slightly, showing a glimpse of his perfect top row of teeth. chris lifts both his hands and tucks them behind his head, interlocking his fingers and resting the back of his head on his open palms. 

you kiss his tip, sticking your tongue out to tease him. you’re laying kitten-like licks on his weeping head before taking him again. he fucks your throat now that you know the rules, and you’re a mess. you’re sure you’re leaving nail marks in his skin, and he’s leaving a bruise in the back of your throat. his hips are thrusting into your mouth harder and harder. 

“ngh, ugh, fuck, fuuuuuck” he moans his words, a husk in his tone as he throws his head back and shuts his eyes.

you’re sloppily trying to keep his cock in your mouth as you rise and fall onto him, and it slaps your face occasionally as you have no grip. you’re certain he’s enjoying the struggle. you suck his tip harshly, and it makes him wince. humming a light laugh, you keep sucking and choking on his cock.

you feel chris grab your head and pull you up impatiently, making you pant heavily and wipe your mouth. 

“now i’m gonna fuck you, yeah?” chris says, but it’s not a question, it’s a statement. you want to utter the words “finally” but bite your tongue.  

you’re eye to eye, and chris lazily presses a kiss to your lips in a daze. you give an intemperate smile against his mouth, and he mirrors the look on your face, like this is the peak of your thrill for the night. what you both want, what that cursed chocolate has made you need. 

chris manhandles you by grabbing your ribcage on either side, lifting you onto him then flipping you over so you’re face down. it’s a hot, sweaty, desperate mess of intertwined limbs. 

he has you bent over the couch cushion like a rag doll. thighs jerked around his waist, your tits pressing against the plush chenille while his dick slides between your walls. your nails scratch into the upholstery. 

”all ready for me” chris hisses in your ear, fat tip pressing against your sopping pussy, and it’s making you weaker by the second.

it hasn’t even crossed your mind that you’re not using protection, at this point you’re so sore and deprived that you don’t care. not in the slightest. you just know you need him to fuck you until you both snap back to reality.

“chri- fuck, daddy. please, i need it.” you whine, feeling him slap his cock up through your folds. 

chris’s chest presses to your back as he grabs at your hip, squeezing hard, aligning himself properly. you exhale as chris’s face presses to yours from over your shoulder, his beard stubble tickling your neck and ears. he bites at your earlobe, making you squirm. his hand slaps your ass hard as he asks the question you wish he’d just act on.

“you are ready for me, aren’t you?” he asks, a rasp in his tone.

“yes. yes i’m ready,” you plea.

“just don’t be an idiot and make sure you pull out.” your tone is snarky as you say it in a breathless way.

“yeah, ‘cause that’ll be the biggest mistake tonight” he’s sarcastic, but his implementation makes you seethe. 

he’s slowly stretching your hole out to be obnoxious and distract you from his bitter words before you can respond, and you both gasp as his girth rubs through you, sending a jolt of pleasure through your entire core and body.

“so fuckin’ tight.” chris’s words are so filthy, making you uncontrollably clench around his cock. your cunt sucks him in even deeper and yet pushes him out at the same time. he grunts in response. 

“fucking do that again and ‘m cumming inside you.” his hand pulls your forehead so you’re looking at him, the mere size of his cock making water pool in your lash line. 

his slow, taunting thrusts leave your mind blank. your eyes shut as you feel every pure, fiery sense run through you. 

being with chris skin to skin like this as he fucks you from behind is undeniably euphoric. it’s like hearing your favorite song for the first time, blasting it through your car speakers while driving over the limit down a highway with the windows down, taking every twist and turn with no fear but ultimately knowing if you don’t slow down, you’ll crash. chris is the dangerous road and you’re the sucker taking a ride on it.

“c-chris, auh fuck,- can’t” the fact you’re even able to spit out any words at all surprises you both, yet only makes the bastard smirk. 

how you haven’t woken anyone else up is also a threat waiting around the corner. or they are awake, are hearing what's happening, and refuse to check.

so, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip to resist the urge to speak, despite a moan slipping from your lips as his hips begin to slap into your ass. many moans erupt as he pushes down on your back, thrusting your hips up even higher he hits your sweet spot perfectly. 

“such a fucking shame you hate me, huh? i could make you feel this good every night” he grazes his teeth over the curve of your shoulder, making you throw your head back. 

you know he’s enjoying the taunts far too much, but his heavy balls slapping against your clit truly blur out any scoffs you almost reside to. instead, replaced by dirty gasps and whimpers as you force your breath to stop, stifling moans that almost slip from your drool kissed lips.

your struggling reaction is an answer enough for chris. 

the words disappear in your mind anyway before they even set in, the feeling of his tip thrusting right into your g-spot triggers your electric laced climax. cunt walls quivering around his dick, balls deep in your squelching pussy. the sounds are so satisfying, an homage to the tests you’ve put each other through. 

“p-pull out” you try to manage with a dizzy and corrupted head barely doing anything to genuinely protest. it just feels so good, and your stomach cramps with a twang of pain and pleasure. 

in an instant, he pries your legs from his waist and pushes your hips down onto the couch, prone boning you from the back as you feel him grab your neck in a wrap around motion, squeezing your jaw and speaking against the arch of your ear.

“don’t tell me what to do.” his words almost register right before he slams to the hilt once more, his tip twitching against your cervix, a deep groan leaving his throat as his cum leaked down your clenching cunt. 

“f-fuck you, chris.” you pant. feeling him collapse gently on top of you, peeling your sweat brimmed hair from your neck he lays kisses on your back, down your spine, and little dip of your hip where his finger prints burn into your skin. 

“you are hot when you're mad, y/n.” you gasp as he kneels behind you, swiping two fingers through your gaping entrance to clean you up.

chris grabs a blanket that you’re certain he’ll discard later to wipe everything clean, it being the closest thing in a desperate time calls for desperate measures situation. you roll over from your position, but simply turning over in one spot feels more laborious than it should.

“so you purposely piss me off?” you wipe your forehead, staring at the ceiling and he chuckles, scooting up next to you.

“i just like how you react to me.”

if it wasn’t yourself experiencing it, you’d never believe it. you stare at the white plaster above you and become overly aware that the effects of the stimulant are dwindling. from the moment he rolled off your body and you let his cum seep out of your throbbing, heavy feeling pussy. 

in the blink of an eye you’re overwhelmed by a mix of feeling guilty and fulfilled.

“it’s worn off, hasn’t it?” you see chris turn to look at you from your peripheral vision. 

there’s a part of you that is almost certain it wore off about ten minutes ago, and that it was the darkest part of your hidden desires begging for him instead. not the stupid stimulate you both accidentally consumed. you can never admit that. you can never admit to how you feel in this moment ever.

“i think so.” your chest is still rising and falling manically, and you’re trying not to embarrass yourself with the short restricted breaths you’re taking to not appear disheveled. 

“y/n, look at me.” he says. you turn to look back at him. his big blue dopey eyes are slightly red now, and evidently tired.

“are you okay? i didn’t over-do it, did i?” he draws his eyebrows together with concern, and you sit up slightly to see him better, looking down at him and swing a leg over his torso to bring him closer.

“you didn’t. honestly,” you reassure with the start of your sentence. 

“i’m just wondering how long it’ll take for us to go back to hating each other” you brush a hair from chris’s face, and his hand rests over your knee, pulling you onto him more with a sleepy smile.

“oh i never stopped, sweetheart” his croaky voice jokes, and you slap his chest. 

his smile fades slowly, and you raise an eyebrow, worried about his next words.

“what’s wrong, chris?” you ask. he pauses for a moment, pulling his bottom lip under this teeth momentarily.

“i’m actually scared that i won’t be able to go back to that.” he’s speaking from the heart. 

“back to?” you lure more from him. it’ll drive you insane if he doesn’t explicitly express himself, and you don’t like it, how serious he is as you lay half naked, smelling of sex.

“the hatred. the bickering and the snarky comments. before i saw you naked. kissed your lips. tasted you on my tongue” he trails off, getting lost in his own thoughts.

“i mean if you want to be one hundred percent sure, we could dig some of that chocolate out from the trash. go for round two?” you shrug lightheartedly, too scared to be serious with him. 

he exhales a laugh through his nostrils, against his own will.

“i’m usually the one making jokes like that” he observes, giving you a slightly proud look. acknowledging that you’re beating him at his own game.

“and i’m usually the one with some self-control” your tone is slightly aligned more with his switch of mood.

“yeah well you didn’t really have a choice, love” chris is calm, stretching his neck by rolling it side to side, and you have the temptation to just attack his neck in kisses. even with no aphrodisiac. 

you’re focused on the little veins pressing up into his smooth, pale skin. the light curls in the back of his hair closer to his neck that’s still laced with sweat.

“i did have a choice.” you sound annoyed initially, moreso at his statement that you don’t deem to be true at all. you watch as chris’s face drop, like he’s just fucked up. 

frankly, he did. he fucked up from he second he said he’s hungry.

you can almost hear him swallow.

“i chose you.” you say.

“as convenient as you were in the moment, i still made a choice, chrissy.” the name just slips out at this point, your emotions getting the best of you in a vulnerable state.

“can we also choose to drop the name chrissy?” he twists his face in a silly way, one that doesn’t match the severity of what you just shared with him.

“you asked for it!” you whisper yell, grabbing his upper arm and squeezing it with annoyance.

“not true. i got what i asked for, and more” he’s smug at the thought.

“you are so annoying.” you drop onto his chest, and he wraps an arm around you securely. He’s silent again.

“i know.” he says in a monotone under his breath.

maybe he’s not ready to hear it, he wants to ignore it, probably. you’re okay with that. or at least have to be. you have to be okay with the fact he’ll possibly resent you in the morning. never speak to you again, not even to mess with you.

your train of thought is slowly rocking your mind to rest, eyes and body feeling so heavy. you begin to flutter them open and shut until you eventually give in and keep them closed. you feel chris’s body shift beneath you but you can’t move from exhaustion. 

he swoops his arms behind your knees, lifting you with him as he stands. he cradles you bridal style, and your head is peaceful against his shoulder. your arms tuck into your chest and you feel so small in his embrace. you imagine the walk he’s talking in your mind as he carries you through the house. 

it’s weird, and kind of funny to know how shameless he is about doing it with no pants on. but it’s chris. he’s shameless about most things.

you finally feel your body rest on what you can only guess is his bed. it smells like his body wash. probably something stupid like a three in one. your thoughts about him sour your brain and contrast his next, kind, action.

chris covers you with a blanket. to him, you appear asleep. physically you are. mentally you're wide awake. awake and aware enough to hear his next words.

“i chose you, too. i always will, even if you hate me again in the morning.” he presses a kiss to your temple, and drops onto the mattress beside you. your faint smile is hidden in the pillow. 

maybe he’s not as bitter as you paint him out to be. he’s got a sweet side, it just took an accident to realize it.

tag list: @luverboychris @floofparker @fake-sturniolos @teampurpleforlife @letstripsturniolo @imwetforyourmom @sturns333 @tillies33ssss @albgv @sturniolowhore

[notjustjavierpena]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter I

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Here it is. I have been working hard on this chapter for you, plotting out the little details that will hopefully connect beautifully with the coming chapters. I hope you like my take on Marcus Acacius, and I hope you will be patient and follow along ❤️💖 I hope you enjoy the effort I’ve put into making this somewhat historically accurate! 

Chapter Summary: In which you meet your future husband, get a warning from an old friend and explore pleasure on your own - all the while tension grows in Rome. 

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, reference to marital SA but no actual SA, religion in the form of Roman Gods, talk about virginity, intense kissing, f!masturbation involving shame and guilt.

Word count: 7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/146141770

Chapter I: In these tumultuous times

You step through the atrium with a pulse that might break your ribs, too nervous to enjoy the marvel of the glorious marble construction that envelops you in near gold-speckled white. Neither can you fascinate yourself in the grandeur of the peristyle garden that you eventually find yourself in, green and luscious with well-tended plants that have no other purpose other than being beautiful - much like you. 

The afternoon sun will come soon, casting a shadow over the rose bushes and the fountains which slow trickles of water are supposed to bring you peace but somehow just makes you dread this meeting even more. Any girl back home would deem the location romantic from the blooming red flowers but you feel no affection for the man you are to greet in less than an hour. Even if your mother claims that you eventually will.

You thank the Gods that your mother isn’t here with you, knowing that you would have had to suffer through hearing her complain about Sol moving just a bit too far across the sky in his golden chariot to let your gown shine the way it is supposed to. She has already spent several hours doing your hair since dawn, decorating each strand with violets from the grass patch close to the river that runs through your village. Symbolizing modesty and faithfulness, she had said. 

It’s not like you are here alone though. Instead of being here with your mother, you are here with your father; a senator who, despite his well-earned respect in the confusing web of Roman politics, still finds ways to satisfy his greed for more power. In this case, it is giving away his daughter to General Marcus Acacius. 

“This is good for us,” your father had said during your silent crying as he talked about your new life with importance, “It will secure our family's position in these tumultuous times.”

Times are indeed tumultuous and they are changing right before your eyes in the form of angry shouts in the streets, rotting fruit and vegetables at the town square market, and fewer outings amongst commoners. Rome, once a beacon of hope and stability, now teeters on the edge of a type of chaos that not even the previous emperor Commodus could imagine putting his empire through. The co-emperors’ insanity, greed, and vanity drain the empire’s coffers as they engage in petty conflicts that lead to war left and right. As a result, the population is left impoverished, the youngest of men are dying in battle and the women cry for their families all the while the very top - your family included - luxuriates in growing wealth. Such is war, your father has stressed. 

“General Acacius is a man of influence,” your father had continued, his voice laced with conviction that you did not understand, “His alliance will protect us from the whims of those who oppose the emperors and their righteous campaigns.”

General Acacius is a man of great renown, co-emperors Geta and Caracella’s right-hand man, and with a sea of stories about his admirable exploits on the battlefield. Your father has somehow made the political move of his life by settling this deal, promising the great warrior a wife of exceptional beauty who he can do with as he pleases. Women never have a say in these things, so you simply smiled during dinners where your future was discussed in the same manner as when a farmer plans the sale of one of his cattle, listing the animal’s qualities like he would say them later to the buyer. 

Whenever he finally let you in on the conversation, he would give you a stern smile and emphasize the importance of this arrangement because of the honor and security it would bring to your family to have such a man as your ally. However, where your father wanted you to think about your future husband’s victories, all you do think about is the fact that your future husband is a man in his fifties and you have barely surpassed your twentieth Summer in the mortal realm. 

When the minutes tick by with excruciating slowness, you find a bench made of stone in the shade. You dust off your dress, tuck it close to your thighs, and sit down to steady your nervous breathing. The sun has made you unsteady, having beaten down on you - contrary to your mother’s worries - despite it being the last burning rays of the afternoon. You blame it on your overactive mind, the racing thoughts having gone straight to your heart and made your blood flow hot through you. 

You lay a hand against your forehead, fighting off a sob as the nerves finally get the better of you. There’s no way you can ever see your reflection in the cold river again, smell the hyacinths that brush your ankles as you walk through them, or hear the laughter of children in the building next door unless the giggles are those of your own little ones. 

You have been groomed for this, trained by your eager mother to be the perfect wife to a man you have never met. Your mother’s meticulous preparation is meant to ensure that you make a flawless first impression and are a suitable wife, but right now it does little to calm you because you know that this arrangement’s ultimate goal is for you to bear children that will be even more powerful than you and the General’s respective families. 

Barely an adult and never been kissed, forced to be intimate by the General’s command that will surely come. You know well enough that there’s more to it than that, Cassius, a boy from the market, once having revealed in great detail what goes on between a man and his wife or even just a man and a woman. The future wedding night feels like an impending disaster, embarrassing for you with the way your mother has also dragged you aside to tell you horror stories of men taking what they want from their wives with little regard for their pain. 

You gasp as a twig snaps close by, pulling you out of your trance to assess the situation. In front of you, you see him. General Marcus Acacius is standing no less than ten feet from you, his armor, a white plate body adorned with the design of two golden griffins, gleaming in the sunlight. He stands tall and imposing, his presence radiating with authority but when you spot him, his eyes make him seem incapable of the horrors that people attribute to married men. His hair, streaked with gray, frames a face marked by the years and experiences of a seasoned soldier. His eyes, sharp and assessing, bore into you as he waits for you to move. 

You stare up at him for a second only to be seized by panic as you remember the routine you had been forced to practice with your mother. Quickly, you rise from your seat, dust off your dress, and lower your gaze respectfully. 

“General Acacius, forgive me,” you say without finding his gaze. 

You hear your name on his lips, surprised to hear that his voice is firm yet not unkind. It’s hard to suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine, a tingling sensation at the small of your back as he speaks because you know what he will be doing to your body soon, “I’m pleased to finally meet you.”

You nod, letting out the rehearsed lines expertly, “The honor is mine and mine alone, General.”

“Look at me, my child,” you hear him command softly, getting a glimpse of what led him to become the man of power and grace that he is today because you follow through without thinking. You only imagine what he must be able to accomplish when his voice is rough and demanding. However, his eyes are softer still, a striking contrast to his profession where he has to consider each of his steps with deliberate and measured precision. 

Marcus steps closer. You automatically take a step back, afraid that he might try and touch you already against your will. Nobody would know if he ravished you right here. He presses his mouth together in a thin line but he still somehow doesn’t look angry, instead just looks like he is analyzing the situation that he is in. 

“Your father thought it best that I introduced myself without him or the servants’ eyes watching. I was surprised at his immediate confidence in me to be alone with his youngest daughter,” he says while you hug yourself to soothe your aching chest, holding on tightly as you beg someone to help you escape. He examines you long enough for you to believe he won’t strike to take what he might want. You feel guilty for thinking that he might have, knowing that it’s not the actions of an honorable leader. 

“You are much younger than I expected,” he admits after a moment, a hint of weariness in his tone. 

A tear slides down your stinging cheeks but you quickly brush it away and regain your composure enough to not start sobbing. The embarrassment of your single teardrop is evident on your face as warmth creeps up through the intricate twists and bends of your bloodstream, a dull pounding sounding in your ears. 

“And you are a great man,” you reply in the most steady voice you can muster, “I hope to be a worthy wife to you.”

Marcus smiles, a small but genuine expression while he ignores your obvious distress. After all, this is not a matter in which women have a say. He sounds ever so confident in you, encouraging even, in a way you guess is to soothe your impending tears, “You will do well, I am sure.”

When you do not respond, he tries again. You must look like a scared little girl, desperately in need of being approached like a frightened animal and your heartbeat certainly imitates the one of a rabbit.

“I see you wear flowers in your hair,” he notes, finding the least threatening subject to discuss.

“Yes?” You furrow your brow, arms already falling down your sides. You link your fingers together in front of you. 

“I made sure to have the gardener do extra work on each of the flowers in case you were interested in flora and fauna,” he elaborates, “Does the garden please you, Carissima?” 

Carissima. The Latin word for dearest. He seems to be trying it out, collecting information from how you react to it, and making a move based on it. Your brows knit even further together but you use the opportunity to seem less scared and more relaxed after hearing it.

“It’s very beautiful, General. I shall be very fond of it in the future,” you say genuinely because, despite your ignorance of its charm right now, a rational part of you knows that it is gorgeous and enchanting. You will come to love it wholeheartedly.

“The birds that land in the trees here sing you awake in the early hours of the day,” he continues and mirrors you by also softening a little, looking around with a surprising fondness toward the gentle coos of the doves sitting on the rooftops, “If you are very lucky, you might hear a nightingale amongst the doves’ coos.”

“Nightingales are common back home,” you tell him with longing in your heart, closing your eyes for the briefest second but being able to see your backyard so clearly in that fleeting moment. Marcus senses it, shifting a bit on the spot with a concerned expression so you force a smile to let him know there’s no reason to worry about getting a sorrowful wife. You will cry tonight but you will be ready when he needs you to.

“So you know their song well,” he answers thoughtfully, “Good. I’m glad. It will remind you of home in these new surroundings. Will you let me show you the rest of the garden? Perhaps we can get to know each other a little before the weekend’s ceremony.”

He holds out his arm for you and you hesitate for just a moment before taking it, swallowing thickly at the feeling of how strong he is. His muscles flex gently underneath his bare skin, nicely soft wrapped around the muscles of his bicep when you expect everything about him to be rough and worn out by years of service to the empire. His smell envelops you, near-dizzying to you because you’ve never been in such close proximity to a man before and you don’t think you can imagine being any closer than this even though you have to soon. To think that you were nervous about him stepping close just minutes ago and now he is touching you and it feels… fine, not scary at all.

As he walks beside you, you can see the lines on his forehead when he speaks in concentration. He still looks good for his age, you find yourself thinking, blessed by the deities Venus and Apollo for his well-aged beauty and the golden radiance of his skin that reminds you of the sun. You notice his nose now that you see his profile, it curving in the way of Jupiter’s and making you swallow thickly at the power his mere appearance gives him. 

Some things speak to the young girl in you too; his beard has patches, one formed in a heart shape that you would tell the girls in your village back home about if you could. To this, they would giggle delightedly like they were still the age of getting tutored. 

Then there are his brown eyes, deep as the darkest of amber you have collected on the shorelines in your youth. They shine with sincerity, more than once filling yours with their honey glow as you walk together. You begin to see beyond the fearsome reputation and the sternness that he first approached you with. He speaks of the flowers surrounding you with surprising tenderness, admitting to the jasmine being his favorite, and of how he had the garden designed to remind him of his childhood home in the countryside.

You think that your responses seem trivial compared to the anecdotes that he is able to share but he seems to enjoy hearing tales about your childhood home. He nods in understanding and adds the words of someone well-reflected even if he is known for brutality when at war. You let down your guard, “We must have more in common than I initially thought, Gene—“ 

“Marcus,” he corrects when you come to a stop, “You may call me Marcus when we are alone.” 

“Marcus,” you repeat. You look down briefly as warmth settles in your cheeks, your heartbeat speeding up in your chest because you realize he has led you to a small, secluded area of the grand peristyle garden. The sun is lower now, casting a warm, golden hue over the marble fountain before you. It is small yet majestic in its simplicity, surrounded by vines of ivy and jasmine. It seems to be his favorite spot on all of his owned property.

“What are we doing here? Are we supposed to be this hidden from everyone else?” Your grip loosens on his arm.

“Never mind that, Carissima…”

There’s that name again. 

“Look, I know this isn’t the Trevi Fountain of Rome but I thought we could wish for Fortuna to bring us good luck and happiness together,” he reaches for his belt where a pouch hangs in a string that pulls it closed. He digs his thumb and index finger into it and digs out a coin, its front decorated with an engraved picture of a peacock’s feather; a symbol of Juno, the Goddess of marriage and childbirth. 

He holds the coin between his fingers, the sunlight catching its glimmering surface, and offers it to you with a gentle expression that’s not quite a smile in case it might scare you off. You take it, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your palm. This is your future husband and he is trying, doing everything in his power not to unsettle you but invite you to give yourself to him in the next coming days.

The coin is mostly cool against your skin but still holds the tiniest amount of warmth from Marcus’ fingers, its edges smooth and worn from years of handling. 

“This is a tradition,” Marcus explains, his voice carrying reverence, “We make a wish and toss the coin into the fountain. It is said that Fortuna, the Goddess of luck, grants blessings to those who seek her favor.”

You nod. This moment feels intimate, a quiet ritual shared between the two of you amidst the grandeur of the garden yet still hidden away from everyone else. This is a ritual of lovers, of people whose fates are closely entwined. You look at Marcus, meeting his warm brown eyes, and find reassurance in his steady gaze and slow secure breaths. You find it shameful that you believed him to be violent with you, that he would do anything with anger because he is, you realize, the type of man who doesn’t have to take anything by force when it comes to women. In that moment, it makes total sense to follow his wishes, but even more, it makes sense to wed him and go to bed with him. 

“What should I wish for?” You ask softly. 

Marcus dares a smile, “Whatever your heart desires. A wish for happiness, perhaps. Or for our future together to be filled with understanding and respect. Perhaps, in our own way, companionship and love.”

Together, you approach the edge of the fountain and you lean over it to gaze at the many glinting coins on the bottom. A violet falls from your hair and lands on the surface of the water, floating effortlessly with such strong symbolism that your stomach does a flip.

Marcus steps closer behind you and you turn to face him, the rim of the marble fountain digging into the back of your thighs until you nearly fall backward in an embarrassingly young fashion. Marcus takes you by the wrist to steady you but the touch doesn’t last long since you’re supposed to throw the coin over your shoulder. 

With a flick of your wrist, you send the coin into the water behind you. The only thing you feel is the coldness on your skin where Marcus’ fingers were a moment ago, the slight breeze cooling down his leftover body heat quickly. 

The coin hits the water with a splash. You swallow your nervousness to say something for the first time that isn’t the answer to a question from him, “May Fortuna smile upon us.”

“May she indeed,” Marcus agrees, pleased. He motions to a bench close by, “Shall we sit for a moment? Your feet must be tired.” 

You agree, and he helps you to sit. Your hands touching sends a spike of energy through you before you are disappointed by him taking a seat beside you but maintaining a respectful distance. He takes his sword out of its place in his belt and rests it against the bench, getting comfortable with you. 

“Marcus,” you say his name before you even realize what you want to ask of him.

“Yes?” He waits patiently for you to continue, nodding his head in acknowledgment. 

When your request comes to mind, you are struck by the fear of ridicule but you shove it down in favor of letting yourself have this.

“I know this is most unusual to ask of you, but would you give me a kiss?” The second you have said it, panic makes you babble in his presence, “I know my duties as a wife, my mother has told me plenty, but I cannot bear the idea of the first show of affection between us to be in our chambers and with… with more to come.” 

If you are not to burst into tears at the festivities after your union or even worse, when he takes you to bed, you need to get this out of the way. You only hope to be successful in your attempt, knowing it is not customary to follow through on such an ask. It hangs in the air for a moment, the garden seeming to hold its breath along with you. It all comes down to your future husband’s view of modesty. 

Marcus watches you carefully with an expression that is a mixture of surprise and contemplation. He looks like he might say no at first, afraid that someone from his staff might spot you and start a rumor that deems you unworthy of this arrangement. It might be the sincerity and vulnerability in your request that convinces him and lets him take the risk.  

“Very well, I understand your concern,” he nods with determination. 

He shifts closer on the stone bench, his movements slow as if trying to put you at ease, as if approaching a deer in the forest and not wanting it to run. You can feel the warmth of his body next to yours as your thighs nearly touch, the scent of his skin filling your senses. It is leather, sandalwood… and something that is his own distinctive smell. Your heart races, your skin prickles underneath your gown, and heat spreads across your thighs. 

It feels like you only blink for a second but when you open your eyes again, Marcus is closer, his face inches from yours. You can feel his uneven breaths mix with yours, 

“Are you ready?” He asks in a whisper, his breath warm against your face and his eyes roaming over your features in case you want to stop.

Your voice has died in your throat, so you simply nod your head. Marcus swallows thickly while you are lost in the fact that you can count his eyelashes right now. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours with care and apprehension that takes you by surprise. The kiss is soft and restrained as if he is giving you the chance to pull away if you want to.

But you don’t. Instead, you lean into the kiss when you’ve gotten used to the scratch of his beard, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders and moving inwards towards his neck, sliding under the collar of his cape. His lips are warm and you feel a shiver run down your spine at a sort of contact you have never felt before. You wonder what he thinks of you, if your passion even in your inexperience is worth his time to broaden your horizon… but any doubt vanishes as the kiss deepens slightly, Marcus’ hand coming up from where it rests on the stone to lay on the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A tiny noise leaves you and something stirs in the pit of your stomach. You can feel the strength in his arm as he has it wrapped around you but there is no force or demand in his touch. Instead, there is a sense of him handing control over to you. 

An instinct tells you to get even closer, straddle him, do something, anything even if you are not sure what. One of your hands falls down to Marcus’ chest plate, his uneven breath evident in how it pushes against your palm like raging waves. Your hand travels further down until the tips of your fingers brush his belt.

It is only then that the General reacts, pulling back firmly but without hurting you. He creates some distance between you by pushing you gently away by the shoulders. The both of you are breathless. He shakes his head, “Carissima. That was not part of the deal.”

You are embarrassed by your actions, not sure if Cupid is playing tricks on you by blowing to the fires of forbidden desire that you were not even aware burned in your lower belly. Your body hums but you are mortified, “S-sorry, my legatus. I don’t know what came over me.”

You go back to general. It feels appropriate to use his proper title now. You have brought shame on yourself, might as well have let him take your maidenhead right here on the stone-cold bench and the worst part is that you are not sure if the fire in your loins would have fogged your brain enough to not stop him from doing it. 

“Please, do not apologize,” he says to reassure, holding up a hand to stop you from protesting, “There is nothing wrong with what you feel. It is natural. But I want to honor my promise to your father, no matter the impulses that you give me. You are as beautiful as Venus herself. I shall enjoy our time together very much when it comes.”

“Thank you,” you say with a still trembling voice. The lump in your throat feels impossible to swallow. 

“Now. Shall we continue our walk?” He suggests while getting up from his seat, his tone light as if to ease the tension. He offers you a gentle smile as he ties his sword to his belt again then reaches to take your hand.

You get up with a simple nod. He acts like nothing for the rest of the day. 

—

You return home by carriage after dinner at Marcus’ estate. After a day with such complex emotions being explored, with how your new life seems less and less like a dream, and with how the sun hangs so low in the sky, you have already started to feel tiredness taking over your body. 

You excuse yourself to your room not long after you return to the comfortable familiarity of your home, brattishly avoiding conversation with your mother about how everything went when she starts asking a million questions. 

“I thought you might like to talk,” she says after you have gotten up from your seat in the living room, a few paces behind you as you make your way down the halls. 

“Mother, I just want some rest,” you stress, bare feet patting across the floor. You hold your skirt up to walk faster, nearing your destination but not wanting to slam the door in her face, “I do not wish to talk about anything with anyone. Ask Father. I bet he’ll be eager.”

“Dearest,” she tries, “Don’t be cruel.”

“Please,” you beg as you turn around in the doorway, “It was fine. I’ll be fine, it’s just a huge transition from this life.”

“That’s why I wanted to—“

“No,” you say more firmly than intended but your overwhelmed state leaves you with little patience. You hope she understands, know that she might because her marriage to your father started the very same way, “I promise we can talk in the morning but I really need some time for myself right now.”

Your mother looks slightly hurt like she is watching her child slip through her fingers during her last night at home. You swallow thickly but hold your ground. 

“Very well,” she says finally, eyes closing briefly to breathe through her nose. She forces a small smile and leans in to kiss your forehead, “Get some rest. We can talk tomorrow with this conversation forgotten.”

You offer the very same smile in return, then close the door behind you with a relieved sigh. You cross the room to the window, pushing open the shudders to overlook the buzzing garden. 

Carefully, you start detangling the flowers from your hair and laying them on the window sill. A few of them are taken by the wind, some landing on the ground while others delicately fly through the air. You watch them until a gasp leaves you, two eyes belonging to a man staring at you from across the garden but you don’t feel frightened. 

You sigh with annoyance as he steps out of the bushes and closer to the window, picking up one of the violets on his way, “You should not be here, Cassius.”

“I wanted to see you before tomorrow,” he admits with a little smile, boyish and inexperienced compared to the ones you have received from Marcus today. He places his hands on the window frame, about to crawl inside.

“Are you trying to get killed?” You whisper loudly and barricade the window, “You cannot be in here, don’t come in.”

“What if I never see you again?” Cassius huffs but doesn’t push it, “I just wanted to say congratulations on your union tomorrow.”

“We’ve known each other for years, Cass. Of course, I’ll see you again; you’re my oldest friend,” you say with exasperation but you know that it is naive of you to assume this is the way things work. Cassius grew up with a farmer for a father, living far away in the countryside where the houses are surrounded by fields of vegetables that they eat at the palace and a long way from the neighborhood that you have grown up in.

“Well, you can say it from outside my window,” you continue and tense up at a few footsteps outside your door. You hold your index finger in front of your lips, listening intently to see if they pass or stop in suspicion of who you are talking to.

A moment passes and the footsteps fade. You turn back to Cassius who now wears a troubled expression, eyebrows knitted together. You go a little softer, a little more quiet, “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Cassius hesitates just a second before speaking, “Your dear old dad has probably told you about this but things are changing around the outskirts of Rome. It’s growing more dangerous by the day to live out where I am. Geta and Caracalla’s combined ruling. They are not in their right mind and it is tearing the backbone of the empire apart. We’re angry and starving.”

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him. Your father has indeed talked about this during dinners in the past but always with no air of real concern and more with a scoff when mentioning the ungrateful people of Rome, their greed, their arrogance but mostly their lack of trust in their emperors who are right under the Gods.

“Why are you saying this?” You inquire impatiently.

“To ensure your safety in all of this when things break loose. You know how I feel about you,” Cassius looks down briefly. Yes, you know how he feels about you and while you have never reciprocated his love, you feel a tug in your heart about how he has waited for you for years with knowledge of how impossible your life together would be. A farm boy and the daughter of a senator? It is doomed from the very beginning.

“If things are as dangerous as you say then the General will be able to protect me, will he not?” You ask to push him away, make him let go of you. 

“Marcus Acacius is a powerful man, but even he may not be able to navigate the storm that’s coming to the citadel,” Cassius places a hand on the window sill, the violets flying to all sides from the force. It’s his way of trying to get closer. 

“And your solution is what? That I run away with you? Please,” you look down at his hand. This is not one of those moments where you realize your feelings after all this time, after years of childhood friendship, and run off together with the boy next door, so you let your hands fall down to your sides. 

“Don’t marry him,” he suggests with pleading eyes, “I don’t want you with those people.”

You laugh in disbelief and turn your head away, “Cassius, by the Gods, you know that I have no say in that whatsoever. Besides, who says that I don’t want to be there with him?”

Cassius ignores the last part of your sentence bitterly, “Then just be careful, my friend. I know your father has power but I know he favors the emperors which will not benefit him in the coming future. Those caught in the middle often pay the highest price and you’ll soon be at the very top, exposed.”

You shake your head to brush him off but something is looming underneath Cassius’ words. They don’t sound as delusional as your father might think them and you poke fun to maybe earn a confession, “You sound like you’re going to storm the palace tomorrow.”

It is Cassius’ turn to laugh but the sound is hollow, “Tomorrow is your wedding day. I would never be so bold as to make you hate me. No, I have no plans to go so far.”

“What are you planning?” You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Nothing right at this moment,” he replies quickly but unconvincingly. You can feel the tension in his voice and the strain on his jaw as he clenches it, “But I will do what I must if it comes to a point where I need to fight back.” 

“You make it sound like I have the power to fix everything. I do not,” you say with frustration.

“Then at least change your heart,” he tries one last time, holding his hand out for you like he wants you to take it and crawl out the window, never to show your face here again. 

You shake your head, “Cassius, you know our lives were never meant to intertwine like that. We come from different worlds.”

“But our hearts,” he whispers sorrowfully, “They’re from the same world. At least, mine has always belonged to you.”

“Cassius…”

“I understand,” he admits in defeat, “Marry him, have his children but stay out of the palace. I can’t stress that enough. Stay out of the palace.”

“You are speaking in tongues again, what does this mean? What do you know?” You stare at him.

Cassius steps back from the window, the distance between you growing both physically and emotionally. With a sad smile, he looks at you one last time. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Cassius,” you reply with furrowed brows. 

With that, he turns back into the night, leaving you with a mind filled with questions. You watch as he disappears into the shadows of the garden. 

You lean against the wall with a deep breath, heart heavy with uncertainty about who you thought you knew so well but you decide to ignore it completely to get some relief by rest. You will rather try to focus on the events of tomorrow as you start to undress down to your tunic, your thoughts swarming around Marcus instead of Cassius. The way that things are supposed to be.

Not long after, you lie down to sleep in your bedroom for the last time before moving into Marcus Acacius’ villa the next day. You should be feeling upset about leaving everything and everyone behind, nostalgic and melancholic even about Cassius, but all your mind does is replay the events that took place on the bench in the peristyle courtyard just half a day beforehand. It is so vivid that you cannot seem to rest, the images of Marcus’ beautiful, God-given eyes and mouth flashing on the inside of your eyelids whenever you try to fall asleep. The pictures are in such vibrant colors too, so intense that you resort to pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. The colors smear and blur together until they look like painting instead but you have to stop due to the ache. 

It doesn't matter anyway because it isn’t enough. Your vision isn’t the only one of your senses that he has taken as his own. The feel of his mouth lingers on yours, enough for you to let your fingertips trace over your bottom lip. It feels the same but then again, it doesn’t. Maybe he has left a mark on you that no one has dared to point out? 

As well lingers a feeling of a spark that cannot be extinguished once it has been ignited. The sensation has you restless under the covers, the woven fabric scratching uncomfortably against your arms and legs until you have to throw them off. 

It is a warm night tonight. The window shutters are still open to let in a night breeze that feels nice on your bare, burning, and untouched skin. You try to find sleep by listening to the usual chirping sound of the crickets but it is of no comfort this time. Marcus is still right there with you, his strong hand on your back and his eyes flickering down to your lips. In your head, he wants you and he lifts up your tunic to touch you where your pulse throbs and— By Jupiter, you need to calm yourself. 

You open your eyes to stare up at the ceiling. Everyone has gone to bed, your parents, despite your protests, having come in and kissed you on the forehead while expressing how proud you have made them feel. Yet in the familiar surroundings of your childhood bedroom, everything feels foreign now that you’ve stepped into new territory of desire, unlocking something that separates you from what belongs to the mind of someone’s child. You don’t belong anymore in this room with walls that contain all of your childhood memories. You are grown now.

You should feel sorrow about this, about never coming back here but instead, your body buzzes like a hive of bees, tiny shivers of lust provided by Cupid flowing through you as teasingly as the softest butterfly wings flapping around inside you. It’s a forbidden feeling that stirs guilt in you but also a strange anticipation that has your hand slipping down your belly. Has your skin always been this soft?

You wonder if Marcus feels the same turmoil inside of himself, if he is lying awake just as you are right now and replaying the way your fingertips danced around his waistband but never got any further. The thought makes your hand slide down between your legs, reaching up under the hem of your tunic until your fingers slide over the wet skin there. You breathe deeply in through your nose.

You have done this a few times before but you’ve always gotten to a point where you have to stop yourself, afraid of what might happen when you feel yourself start to reach some sort of pinnacle that you are at a loss for words to describe. It’s natural, you remember Marcus saying about your body’s response. But doing it alone? Isn’t what you are feeling as you touch yourself reserved for your future husband? What would he say if he saw you explore yourself like this? Would he be disappointed in you? Or does he do it himself? Naked in his bed with his thigh muscles flexing as he feels what you are feeling right now? No, don’t think about him like that. 

Your thighs fall out to the sides on their own accord. You find the spot that makes you gasp softly, the night way too quiet for you to be making such a noise when others are sleeping soundly. You tip your head back to open your throat, hoping it will make you quieter as you play with the sensation between your legs. Are the Gods watching you? Are they the only ones who can understand the complexities of your mortal longings? Can they tell you what will happen on the other side of this tightening in your gut? 

Your breath quickens, shallow puffs of air coming out as you near the pinnacle quicker than ever. A noise close to the sound of a hurt animal escapes your lips and your fingers start to move in earnest, quickly back and forth over the little nub that you think is far too small to have such an effect on the rest of your body. How are you so soon covered in a sheen of sweat? How is your soul already teetering on ripping from your body, a mere vessel?

“Ah,” you moan a little louder, catching it in your throat by biting down on your lip. You feel the pleasurable buildup gradually increase in intensity and suddenly you’ve rolled around onto your front to grind your pelvis up and down on your fist. 

Marcus. Marcusmarcusmarcusmar—

No. Clarity comes to you right before you lose it, fear too as it feels like your spirit might leave your body completely. You force yourself to stop your hips’ rapid movements against your hand, surprised at how quickly the sensation of something so unfathomable can ebb away from your grasp. It leaves both a physical and emotional ache. You pant against the bed, nearly creating a damp spot where your mouth rests against the linen. 

You roll onto your back once more, wiping your slick fingertips on the sheets before pulling your tunic back into place around your thighs. You suddenly start to freeze, the air from outside your window starting to cool down the sweat on your skin. 

It takes a few minutes for your heart rate to drop again. Tomorrow, you will marry Marcus Acacius and a new chapter will begin - a chapter where the tingling ache between your legs will belong to him - but for now, you let the fatigue of managing to hold off lull you to sleep. 

You pull the covers up to your chin, feeling smaller like this but it doesn’t comfort you like it did when you were a mere child. You cannot stop the tears that spring to your eyes, starting as a tightening in your chest, a thick swallowing, only to come out in quiet sobs. 

You feel the drops slide down your face, running freely down to the sides of your cheekbones and over your ears. Your hair dampens slightly, your nose grows stuffy and sensitive but despite all the telltale signs of your distress, there’s mainly relief as you let go to cry harder about your new life.

.

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[theemporium]

♥️47 w/ Nico Hischier… please and thank you

this is inspired by the return of the moustache but fuelled by my brain being fried from uni so the smut is mediocre at best🤠thank you for requesting!

47. "You heard me. I want you to sit on my face."

.

To be perfectly candid, you were less than subtle about admiring your boyfriend’s new look for the off-season.

But, as his girlfriend, it was your right to helplessly ogle your boyfriend after he decided to shave the rest of his beard short and leave his moustache to be accompanied by some stubble. Add in the fact he had still put off cutting his hair—thank every fucking superior being for that one—and had a new glow about him since the stress of the hockey season was finally off his shoulders, it was impossible not to stare. 

He was just so pretty and he was all yours. And, yeah, you really fucking missed staring at Nico’s face with no practices or games or meetings getting in your way. 

It just never occurred to you that Nico would ever call you out on the blatant way you would ogle him since he brought back the moustache, which is why his words completely caught you off guard.

“What?” 

Nico grinned at you, so fucking smug and sure of himself as he placed his hands on his hips like you were talking about the weather. “You heard me,” he said, his voice low and sweet and far too fucking melodic for you to really concentrate on his ego when he sounded like that. “I want you to sit on my face.” 

You blinked, standing in the doorway between your shared bedroom and the joined ensuite bathroom. You stared at him, your mind whirling with a million different thoughts but you couldn’t bring yourself to say a single word. 

“Been thinking about it all week,” he continued as he started to close the distance between you, his eyes glinting with an emotion that made your stomach twist in desire. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking, baby. Tell me you haven’t thought about it too.” 

“I—” You stuttered out, your face burning in response. Because truthfully, you had been thinking about it. But your thoughts had been based around Nico pinning your hips to the mattress, to settle between your legs and to let you feel the scratch of his beard across your sensitive inner thighs until you were left begging and panting and whining for more.

It never crossed your mind for you to be the one on top.

“Just want my pretty girl on top of me,” Nico hummed as he reached for you, his large hands engulfing the back of your head and it made your brain short circuit for a few moments. “Let me have a taste, hm?” 

“Nico,” you murmured, and the hesitancy was clear in your voice. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea—”

He frowned. “Why not?” 

“I–” You let out a noise before shrugging. “What if I squish you or—”

You barely had a chance to react to the snort he let out before his hands dropped from your head, reaching for your thighs and lifting you into his arms with an ease that didn’t feel human at all. You blinked, left speechless as Nico shamelessly grinned up at you, walking back towards the bed with you in his arms.

“I can handle it, baby,” he said, squeezing the fat of your thighs as he emphasised his point. “Now, be a good girl and sit on my face, hm? Wanna fucking drown in you.”

And you really couldn’t be blamed for being unable to say no to those pretty brown eyes staring up at you like he wanted to devour you. You could, however, be blamed for that naive voice in the back of your mind that told you that you’d be in control because you were on top.

It took all of five minutes for that belief to crumble the second Nico got his hands on you. 

“Fuck,” you let out a high-pitched whine, head tipped back and lips parted as you felt his lips wrap around your clit and suck, humming deeply as he did. 

His arms were locked around your thighs, keeping you in position with his hands pawing your ass and guiding your rocking hips. His hair was dishevelled and messy, spread across the pillow like some twisted angelic painting whilst those pretty brown eyes were now glued to you, watching as he licked and sucked and kissed every single noise out of you. 

His chin and lips were glistening with your release, that moustache fucking soaked and his tongue branded with the taste of you—and fuck, Nico truly believed he was in heaven. Because that was the only reasonable explanation for this: for the sight of you on top, your hips rocking and your soaked cunt at his mercy, your hands squeezing your tits and your mouth moaning his name. 

It was fucking heaven and it made him rock hard in the flimsy shorts he had put on earlier, probably seconds away from busting a load despite not even touching himself once. 

His only coherent thought was that he should have shaved earlier if this was what he could gain from it. 

“Fuck, Nico, baby,” you stuttered out, all breathy and panting as you reached one hand down to tangle in his hair, tugging lightly as he groaned against your cunt. “Shit, I-I can’t.”

“One more, schat,” he murmured, his warm breath fanned across your core and it made your legs twitch, and it made Nico smile against your cunt in response. “Please, baby, let me taste you. Let me taste my pretty girl.”

And you were fucking putty in his arms, letting yourself tip over the edge as you clung onto the headboard to keep yourself from keeling over. 

Yet, all he could think was that he definitely wasn’t getting rid of the moustache anytime soon.

.

[bunny-jpeg]

Hi bunny! Love your bakery, if request still open can I get a loaf of whole wheat bread with shortbread squares and some espresso shot with earl grey with Toto please please please 🎶 it’s been hard to find new content with Toto lately

bakery menu!

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! there are tons of items to choose from so please! feel free to submit them! i write for drivers & more who are over 18, from the rookies to the beloved toto wolff! so thank you so much for submitting this <3 <3

also, if you're a big fan of toto like i am. please think about joining the wolff pack <3

loaf of whole wheat bread: "you're going to shut that mouth and take me." + shortbread squares: "you're just mad that that my cock fits perfectly in you now. must be a blow to the ego that we're a perfect match." + espresso shot: dirty talking + earl grey: big cock

cw: smut/pwp, size difference & kink, big cock!toto, age gap (20s/50s), slight daddy kink, dirty talk,

toto liked when eager young women were all talk. he loved when the pretty things he got to bed talked big game about being able to take the close to nine inches in his pants.

he had heard it all over the years, some even dared to call him small. but that was all done away with when he eventually got them into a mating press and they really got to feel what over eight inches felt like. the airy gasps, the loud moans. he demolished them and left them a fucked out mess on the bed.

and you were no exception. but the fear in your eyes when you saw toto's erect cock, even after months of getting familiar with it.

"ho..how big did you say it was?" you asked as you looked up to toto from your spot on the bed. you got a good look at his impressive length. it was painfully close to your face that you could feel the saliva in your mouth in a mouth water anticipation, "i still think it's too big."

his large hand was in your hair, he gripped onto the strands tightly and you rubbed your bare thighs together. he knew how to turn you into a hot slut. you could feel the throb of want under your skin and how badly you wanted him. he leaned in and forced you to look up at him once more, "now, schatzi, you're going to shut that mouth and take me. i know you can be a good girl for me. take me the way you were meant to."

you said, "but, it's really big. what if you hurt me."

"i would never hurt you. not in a real way. the only time i ruin you is when you're screaming my name. why are you so shy now? you've had me before and happily too every inch." he held onto your head a little tighter, "i only ruin you because you ask for it. no, beg for it."

you laid back on the bed with toto standing at the edge. he just grabbed you by the hips and got your legs up to your ears. you were bent with your bare cunt on display for him. he could see the wetness catch in the soft light of the bedroom. he licked his lips at the sight of you.

this was his favourite position, where he could simply bully his cock into you until you were seeing stars. until your poor little pussy was bruised, unable to take anyone else but him. he had been training your sweet cunt for months now so everyone else would be ruined for you. that you could never have another lover because you'd always be thinking (wanting) toto's cock.

he sank into you and you tensed up for a moment. he was able to get into you with ease, and despite that he still felt pleasure well up in his chest at the feeling of you. pressed into the bed at an odd angle, while his cock nudged against the softest parts of you. toto wolff could be a scary man, he was large and intimidating. even in the bedroom he held power over you like a leash and you were happy to get your sexual kicks anyway you could. you'd always be toto's good girl.

you whined, "toto." and squirmed under him. but you could never get far.

he chuckled as he pressed into you further, you swore his cock was bruising your cervix. and it made you whine more. he only laughed at the sounds of you, so pathetic. "you're just mad that that my cock fits perfectly in you now. must be a blow to the ego that we're a perfect match."

"no." you whined, "you're just so deep in me!"

"good. i am touching areas no other man has ever or will ever touch. i've ruined all other men for you. it's impossible to get off any other way now, no? you're too busy thinking about my cock. how it makes you feel, how it makes you squirm. you are a eager little girl who wants nothing more than to cum over and over again."

you felt heat in your face as he fucked you quickly. his words bled into your brain as you felt the heightened pleasure in your core. you panted heavily when he thrusted up into you. you felt your legs quiver from the angle he had you in. you didn't even want to think about the psycho-sexual reasoning for all of this. you couldn't care less. you felt amazing.

"daddy."

"shh, shh." he said. he continued his pace. he watched your expression change as the pleasure really gripped you. you looked like an angel under him. like he stole you from the heavens and placed you on his cock. he asked, "is it hurting just right?"

you nodded dumbly, "of course, you always make it feel good." you shifted a little, but couldn't move much with how he held you. even now his weight on you was oppressive. you could feel the heat zap through your body as he worked your sweet cunt.

he felt the pleasure in his bones. it forced him to fuck you even harder. you were feeling a similar high as you clutched onto your thighs for support as you were fucked. you cunt was clenched around his cock as you felt the pleasure really take over your body.

your noises became louder, a higher pitch with want as you felt the heaviness of pleasure. it clotted your brain perfectly. you felt the climax come over you like a strong wave. you whined loudly as you came, and when you closed your eyes, you could feel toto's hard gaze on you.

"that's it, princess." he said as he continued to thrust into you. he was egged on by your post-orgasmic noises as he felt the rush of pleasure through his body. he fucked you until he came himself. he made sure to shove every inch into you. you'd keep every last drop safe.

when he stopped his movements, he looked down at you before he dropped your hips. you laid panting, half on the bed with your heart racing. you looked like perfection.

"not so scared of anymore, right, schatzi?" he said as he looked a this still hard cock that was coated with your wetness. he licked his lips at the sight of you, the need to devour you sexually once more was prominent in his mind.

you blinked up at him and between heavy breaths you said, 'it's still a bit scary." and toto knew what that meant. you wanted another round <3

[minimomoe]

How to Train your Demon

Pairing: trueform! Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Life has all kinds of wins and losses. You don't know which category to put your new demon husband in though.

Tags: MDNI!, red string of fate trope, true form sukuna, librarian reader, soul mates, reincarnation, accidental summoning, love at first sight (but it's one-sided (until it's not)), Sukuna is demon, but he's v much in love, smut and stuff eventually i guess....

AN: smut in this chapter!! p in v sex, some fun with hand mouths, oral (fem receiving), Sukuna may or may not have a praise kink. also blood drinking it isn't a part of smut (just walk with me)

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII XIII. (completed)

Revisit rule: "Never Leave Him Unattended"?

“Yeah, I’m not feeling too well. My foot is killing me way more than before and I think I’m coming down with something.”

A barely concealed moan left your lips that you covered up by clearing your throat. You glared at Sukuna who was stuck on your back like a koala bear. You were laying naked in bed, limbs upon limbs tangled up in the sheets, his hands roaming over all the planes of your body. He tweaked your nipples while other hands dipped into your sex, making it impossible for you to stay on the phone with a steady voice. 

“I will make sure to stop by the ho–hospital today,” you shuddered. Sukuna made good use of his hands, and last night you learned of one of his many quirks. One of them being the mini mouths which appear in his palms that have been tormenting you if his mouth on his face was preoccupied. You took deep breaths in to control the mounting wave of arousal building up as he toyed with your clit.  “I’ll try to come in tomorrow. Thanks for underssstanding.” After wincing at the sound of your squeaking voice at the end of your sentence, you practically threw your phone across the room once you hung up. 

“Sukuna please,” you whined.

“If you wanted me to stop you would have used your fists,” he smirked. He rolled you over until you laid beneath him, his arms caging you in with nowhere to hide. On his arms and the tops of his shoulders you saw faint bite marks and scratches that you had left behind. You lost count of how many times you went at it last night. The soreness aching in your bones signalled that maybe you had overexerted yourself, but seeing Sukuna’s eyes roll back when you took him in your mouth only spurred you on, and he wasn’t satisfied until you were a breathless, boneless mess, so you found yourself wrapped up in each other until the wee morning hours.

“Now watch carefully,” he purred at the apex of your thighs. He bit into your flesh, not softly but with real teeth and tug that made you hiss. You were going to reprimand him— maybe finally give him that knuckle sandwich he was begging for earlier— but he shoved his face into your cunt and lapped you up with a reverence that had your complaints melt out of your brain. Your legs crushed the sides of his head, so Sukuna pried your thighs open and kept them wide, pushing them as far as they could on the bed. His other hands were busy marking you up once again, whether it be with his nails or the tongues that he could make appear in his palms that sucked on your skin until you were shivering. 

“Fuck– that feels so good. Just like that, baby.”

You were too busy with your mouth hanging wide as you writhed around in the sheets to see Sukuna’s eyes widened at your words. Your praise did wonders for his already large ego, and in no time he lifted you up to the heavens and back with his name screaming on your tongue. When he climbed up your body to fuck you once more, Sukuna held your chin and licked up the side of your face to catch the tears that were streaming down. In one swift motion he pushed inside of you, still holding your face to force eye contact. It was intense and all consuming, almost too intimate like he wasn’t deep seated inside of your cunt. 

“Why are you staring?” You nervously laughed. Despite the molten pool of arousal building up in your lower half, you couldn’t help but to tease your lover. “‘Baby’ is all it takes to get you blushing like that?” 

You hooked your leg around his wide waist, raising your hips to his rhythm and matching his thrusts. The bed squeaked dangerously underneath your motion. Sukuna’s arm steadied himself right next to your hair, and you turned your head to kiss his wrist with a mischievous smile. “Or would you rather Your Highness?”

You were driving the demon wild. He quickly cuffed the back of your leg to perch on your shoulder, reaching a new depth inside of you. Your eyes rolled back into your head and Sukuna latched onto your shoulder with his teeth. 

“Stop talking,” he growled. Sukuna could barely hold it together. You were gripping him like your life depended on it. He couldn’t last much longer with all your teasing and still you giggled. 

“Are you gonna make me?” 

His hand slid down and rested heavy on your neck. You grinned, your hand laying on top of his, matching his movements. 

“What a brat,” he gritted out, but he loved it. Whether it was audacity or confidence, you had it all. Sukuna reveled in it as he brought you over the edge, your orgasm sucking him in deeper, allowing him to bury himself in you. With a sharp kiss he finished inside of you, but you melted all the same. Even with all his edges, the gentle undercurrent couldn’t be ignored. You coaxed Sukuna to lay on top of you like a weighted blanket to bask in the afterglow. As you combed through his hair with your finger you laughed to yourself. The noise made him look at you with a raised brow. 

“I’m just happy that you found me. That’s all.” 

Sukuna gazed at you intensely. Heat began to prick at your face once again, but he spoke before you could crack a joke to lighten the mood. 

“You are not allowed to leave me again,” he said very seriously. You smiled softly and cupped the side of his face. 

“I doubt I had any say in the matter the first time,” you laughed. “But I can promise that I’m not going anywhere. This time you’re stuck with me.”

It was a promise. Despite the curve of your lips you truly meant the words coming out of your mouth. The start of your relationship didn’t make sense, and there were many logistics that needed to be sorted out later, but as of right now, you knew that you wanted to make this work with Sukuna. You had a feeling that everything would fall into place. 

Sukuna laid his cheek back on your bare chest. His deep voice rumbled through your body in a way that reminded you of Cleo’s purring. 

“Sleep. You will need energy for the ceremony.”

The idea of genuine rest coming finally within reach made your eyelids droop. You wanted to fight the sleepiness off but it was futile. The last thing you remembered before going under was a soft kiss pressed into your palm. 

~*~

You were gently woken up by the feeling of Cleo’s whiskers tickling your face. She gently pawed at your nose, then waited for you to sit up. Beside her you spotted black robes carefully placed at the end of your bed and you blinked. 

“I guess I’m supposed to put this on,” you muttered. The material was thick and soft. Cleo meowed and jumped off of the bed, going to who knows where. You stood up and slipped the garments on. It didn’t swallow your entire frame as you expected, and there were ties to cinch in your waist. The dress was made for you.  

As you were putting on the last piece of the ensemble, a veil that stopped middle of your chest, a soft knock came from your closed door. 

“Come in!”

Uraume scuffled inside, glad to see that you were already dressed. You did a quick twirl for them with a smile.  “How do I look?”

“The stars pale in comparison, ma’am,” they said with a tug on their lips. 

“You flatter me too much,” you gushed. “I guess it’s time to get this show on the road. What do I have to do?”

“Everything else has been taken care of. Please follow me.”

Uruame took you outside to your backyard and you realized it was much later in the day than you had thought. The sky was a bright pink with streaks of orange clouds cutting through the horizon. Sukuna stood at the other side of your yard in a kimono that was in the same colored garbs you were in, the dark reds and blacks flowing around his physique. All his eyes watched you intently and your heart rate quickened. With your hands held together in front of you, you carefully walked behind Uraume down to where Sukuna was, trying hard not to trip because of the fabric that swished at your ankles. When you stood across from Sukuna you, a small table with an obsidian bowl and a dagger laid inside separated you. 

Uraume wasted no time getting started once you had stopped moving. They held the book that started it all in their hands.You only caught bits and pieces of what they were saying as they spoke quickly, moving through prayers and chants from eras of ancient times. While you were caught in a trance from the words Uraume was saying, Sukuna’s eyes never left your face. Uruame spoke of combining two souls and you gasped. You remembered Sukuna mentioning the string of fate the very first night you had met, but it wasn’t until now that you could faintly see the glimmering red string from your pinky to his. It was barely there, hidden by a very thin veil of the world as you know it and all the possibilities out there. 

Uraume stopped talking and looked towards Sukuna. He grabbed the dagger from the table and held out his hand for you to take. 

“This will hurt but you will be fine,” he stated. You watched as the jagged teeth of the blade tore through your skin and hissed. Drops of blood pooled in the bowl, and Uraume quickly wrapped your hand and wiped the blade clean. They handed you the blade, and you gingerly took Sukuna’s awaiting palm. 

“Let me know if I’m hurting you,” you mumbled. 

“Impossible.”

After a few deep breaths you managed to cut through Sukuna’s skin and his blood joined yours in the bowl. Once again, Uraume wrapped Sukuna’s hand and cleaned the blade. Sukuna lifted your veil and brought the plate up to your lips. The smell of iron filled your nose and you took a small sip. The metallic liquid covered your tongue, and Sukuna kept his eyes locked on yours as you consumed it. He brought the plate down to place in your hands, and you fed him your blood the same way. 

You didn’t know what to expect. There was no cloud of smoke, or flashing lights, or anything that showed a major transformation had occurred. Sukuna looked as handsome as ever, but you did notice that he no longer had four eyes. You turned to Uraume with a quizzical gaze. 

“What now?”

“I believe this when they say, ‘You may kiss the bride,’” Uraume smiled. 

“Finally,” Sukuna grinned. He wrapped his hands around your waist (only two) and kissed you like he hadn’t in centuries. And maybe he hasn’t. The kiss marked a new beginning that started and would end with you. 

You broke apart when you heard loud complaining from your cat that watched from the patio. Cleo laid over the cement floor flicking her tail back and forth, watching the two of you with disdain. You laughed at her call to stop and Sukuna told her to go away. 

“God, there is blood all over your lips,” you shook your head. You wiped it away with your hands and Sukuna couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Your blood all over my lips.”

“And yours,” you giggled. “It’s official now. You are my husband–”

“And you are my wife,” he said against your mouth. 

Thanks for reading loves!! lemme know what ya think xx

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII.

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