#I would be a smug asshole too if I were in his position

[dorenarox]

As DoesHotter said himself, you can't ban what is already banned.

[ellaa-writes]

The Beast Withiń

author note: Part 2. Part 1 here I rewrote this so many times. Some of them didn't end up saving but I like how this turned out. Not sure how long the series will be but going with the flow for now. Reminder this is an Alternative Universe to the cod franchise. Alpha König headcanon found here. masterlist

summary: Omegas are rare, in a world full of Alphas and Betas. Being a Omega was not only dangerous but they were highly sought after. After living your life has a Beta in disguise, you meet a scary Alpha, but not any normal alpha. But a gaint Apex Alpha who won't stop at anything to make you his.

tags: a lot of angst in this one. brief mentions of death. Cocky König. König asking for consent (he's trying). Mention of psychical violence. Mention of rape but not to reader or by König. Slow burn, still no smut yet but I promise it is coming. World building, relationship establishing. König is a crime boss/war criminal. I think that's all, enjoy! :)

Konig squeezed himself on your small livingroom chair. His knees well above his hips, his arms clamped to his sides. If this were any other circumstance you would have laughed at the sight. But right now you were pissed, no not pissed furious. Your fist clenching and unclenching, your nails digging into your palms hard enough to draw blood. You stomped your foot and pointed at the giant in the too small of chair.

“How dare you!” you yelled at him.” You son of a bitch!” you continued to yell. König didn’t take well of you calling his Mütter a bitch, rest in piece her soul he thought. All he did was raise his shoulders and roll his neck. This chair wasn’t comfortable at all and he’ll be paying the price for it. You could tell he wasn’t taking you seriously. His dumb smug face and his eyes blinking at you with indifference. You wanted to smack him, no you were going to smack him. You walked right up to him, nearly eye level with the sitting giant. You raised your hand and swung it through the air. Waiting for the stinging impact but it never came, instead König own hand wrapped around your wrist. Squeezing just enough to feel the grind of bone on bone, just enough to leave a slight bruise that’ll be healed with in an hour. His fingers thick around your arm, he brought your hand to his mouth and gave it a small kiss. You yanked it back with disgust, turning away from him as he rose from the chair. His hips clicking a bit from the uncomfortable position. “Have you calmed down?” he asked. Brushing off your temper, your sweet scent had turned sour and he did not like it. But seeing you stomping around trying to act tough, he thought it was cute. It might even had turned him on if you hadn't tried to hit him.“You must be hungry” he proclaimed as he walked past you and into your small dingy kitchen. The light above the stove has burnt out the first week you moved in and you never bothered to replace it. It still buzzed every time you turned the switch on. König poked his head under the hood and yanked the bulb out, tossing it in your over flowing garbage bin. You scoffed at his response, yes what a smug asshole you thought. But you also became self conscious of how you apartment looked right now. Sure you haven’t cleaned up in a few days but you planned on doing a deep clean during your heat. Fuck, you almost forgot about your heat. It should be here in a few days, but now that you’ve been claimed and marked you didn’t know how that was going to play out. Still fumming, the only thing missing was the steam coming out of your ears.

König began rummaging through your cupboards, opening and closing the doors. Trying to find something he could feed you, giving up and moving to your fridge. He was shocked to find leftover take out containers and cheap premade food. Unhappy with his choices he gave up all together, bringing out his phone and typing away his orders. First he wants a car dropped off in front of your house, having ran to your apartment. He also ordered for plenty of food to be stocked at his place. Tons of fruit and vegetables and he couldn't forget protein. He knew your heat was only a day away, having smelt it at the night club. You were staring at him while he did all of this. “Get out.” you told him. He still completely ignoring you until he put his phone away. You still smelled sour, your anger hadn’t resided. “Are you not going to say anything?” you were going mad. “About what?” he finally spoke. Leaning against your counter, his arms crossed over his chest. His biceps and pectoral muscles bulging out from the tight long sleeve dress shirt he had on. This was the first time you actually got a good look at him. He had a scar running from his top lip up to his nostril, a childbirth defect he’s lived with his whole life. His hair was cut short, buzzed to the scalp a mixture of light blonde and grey hair. He was scruffy, sporting a five o’clock shadow the same coloring as his shaved head. His eyes were deep set, dark but bright at the same time. “Done checking me out omega?” he asked, his cocky attitude coming to the surface again. He smirked at you as a flush began rising from your chest and across your face. That’s it your going to slap that smug smirk off his face. Moving fast across the kitchen you reached up high, your hand connecting across König face. The loud crack and sting followed shortly after. Once again König grabbed you wrist in his bruising grip. Shoving you back against the opposite counter. He towered over you, completely trapping you in. “Get the hell out of my house.” you whispered. König's grip on you loosened a bit, but he still held you to his chest. Cradling you like a father would a wounded child. Running his hand through your hair, a low purr coming from his chest. The only time König ever purred was for his mother when she was sad. It’s been years since that moment, and honestly he didn’t believe he’d ever hear it again.

The adrenaline pumping through your body began to chip away, your shoulders sagged and your knees buckled but König held you in place. All the emotions running through your veins, you wanted to cry, scream and beat him bloody. But you couldn’t, you just wanted to be held. The dam holding back your tears finally broke and you began sobbing. Not caring that you are soaking the front of his shirt. Your new reality finally sinking in, the fear of what this Alphas intentions are. Your mother told you horror stories about groups of Alphas taking one female omega at a time. Raping her over and over again until she gave them enough pups to satisfy them. It scared you senseless as a child and still scares you now. You enjoyed the freedom you had, sure it wasn’t luxurious but it was yours none the less. “It’s ok omega, everything will be alright.” König tried to soothe your worries. Noticing the shift in your scent again, instead of the sourness from your anger it is now bitter, biting and snapping at him. “Stop calling me that.” you sobbed. Sniffling and wiping your nose on the back of your hand. You pulled away from the Alpha, suddenly feeling very vulnerable like you were a sheep waiting to be slaughtered. How could this have happened you thought while walking to your couch and throwing yourself down. Still only in the shirt König managed to put on you and the same panties from last night. Not caring if he sees anything, not like he didn’t before. You curled yourself into a ball, letting your emotions take control while you crawled back into your mind, into the darkest corner you could find. Everything you worked for, the years of masking your scent and blocking your hormones. Poof, gone in a second and the man responsible is now looking at you like a sad puppy.

You stayed in that position for what felt like hours but it was only a couple of minutes. König left you in your spot and went to your bedroom. Finding two small suitcases in your closet. Stuffing them with whatever he thought would be importance. His phone dinged, he went to the window facing the street. The car he ordered was parked neat in front of your apartment. He turned his focus back to your bedroom. He knew he couldn't fit everything in the car, not now anyways. And he wasn't sure if he even wanted most of this stuff at his place. His eyes lingered on your bed spread, you'd need something fimilar to nest with. Yanking them off and into a ball, König began moving stuff from your apartment to the car. You still hadn't moved an inch from your spot, only coming to when your tummy began protesting its hunger. Oh right, you were supposed to go grocery shopping today. To stock up on not only food but other supplies for your upcoming heat. You’ve always done it alone, as a child your mother would lock you in the basement. Lining the windows and doors with fresh lavender and honeysuckle, hoping the sweet scent of the herbs helped mask the scent of a female omega in heat. You heard König call your name, your real name and not omega. You crawled out from the dark corner of your mind, eyes focusing on the alpha that is now squatted in front of you on the couch. “Let me take care of you.” he wasn’t asking he was pleading. He can smell your hurt and see it in your eyes. This place wasn’t safe for you anymore, it never was. He got himself angry earlier thinking about another Alpha or let alone a lowly beta breaking into your apartment and having their way with you. He ignored the fact that he was the one that broke in, but he viewed himself has different. Not letting his cock and lust control him. But he won’t lie, he was very attracted to you. The moment his eyes locked onto your body moving through the crowd. It took him a second to single out your scent among the hundreds of bodies in that club. He was there on business, or he would never be in such a place. He hated crowed and loud spaces, his business partner knowing that chose the location out of spite. That’s why he’s now chopped up and fed to dogs, in his defense it wasn't the only reason. But there was something different about your scent, it was sweet like most females but there was something lingering underneath it. It burned his nostrils and filled his lungs, musky and heady. It was your incoming heat, he couldn’t believe it. An omega.

"I'm scared." you finally admitted. Hugging your arms around yourself, trying to comfort and self soothe. König didn't like any of it, not one bit. "You can trust me omega. I want to only love, cherish and worship you." now it was Königs turn to confess. As a child he dreamed about finding a mate, preferably an omega. To love her and take care of her. Someone to worship and kill for. And right now that someone was you. You took in his words, looking into his eyes. The burning flames swirling around the blue, the rich scent rolling off his body. It's not like you had a choice but you let yourself believe you chose this. You chose him. You nodded your head, which made König smile. It was a genuine smile and not that smug smirk from earlier. Up close he was attractive as hell, finally allowing yourself to feel something other than anger. He had to be at least 200cm tall, weighing as much as a brick house. Thick in all the right places, his shoulders wide and legs strong. "Can I carry you?" he asked. Hesitate to touch you right now, you were so fragile he was scared your crumble in his grip. You nodded your head again, too tired for words and still hungry. A cramp began forming deep in your lower stomach, causing you to gasp a little. It was coming to the surface, spreading out across your lower abdomen and down to your uterus. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Not now, please not now. You begged the holy mother that watched over her children. You felt the slick heat slowly making its way down to your panties. Finally becoming self conscious in what you were wearing in front of the Alpha. König was taken back, the sent of your slick filling the small space. His head began spinning and his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. The beast clamoring to get a taste. But he was in control, shoving the beast down and focusing on the present. Ignoring your sweet and heady scent, König carried you out of your apartment. A few people were up early enough, watching has a giant alpha emerged from the door. Bringing you to the car and setting you down in the back were he shoved your bedding as well. Closing the door behind you has you untwined your fluffy duvet and wrapped it around you body. Burying yourself in the warmth and softness of the materials. König sat in the driver seat, locking the doors and starting the car. Pulling away front he curb and towards his home and now your new home.

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: racer!john b x s/o!reader x racer!jj

cw: dom/sub undertones, spanking, dp in one hole, goes without saying but… unrealistic sex lol, threesome, armpit action (jj with john b), BOYS KISSING 😨, written in the middle of night while watching the powerpuff girls so once again don’t think just vibe, f1 racer john b & jj coded but i didn’t care enough to make it super accurate 💀, fucking on the hood of a car, possibly ooc since this is my 2nd obx piece, implications of plus sized reader

wc: 999

block & move on if uncomfortable !!!

don’t repost, translate, or give ai my work

kinktober masterlist

“C’mon dude, be careful, ‘m gonna hit my head on the windshield if you don’t slow down.” JJ moans, lazily sucking your tongue. Every one of John B’s thrusts sends you further up the hood of his race car, which the three of you are recklessly fucking on top of. They just wanted to celebrate their positions on the podium with their biggest fan.

The garage in which the car is being kept is so cold your nipples could fall off, but the body heat being shared between the three of you will probably keep it at bay. Probably.

Both John B and JJ were drenched in sweat and some kind of grease, the smell only makes your pussy clench tighter around JJ, his hips shoot up in surprise.

“Oh F-fuck! Just like that, mama~ So tight….”

John B’s pace in your ass slows so he can smack JJ upside the back of his head, “Told you to be fuckin’ quiet, don’t wanna get your bare ass on the news, maybank.”

Before JJ can retort that he very much would not mind him accidentally mooning whatever poor race track employee stumbles upon them, John B is grabbing his hair in one fist with the hand that’s not clutching at your fat ass and shoving his smug face into his hairy armpit.

The lesson does nothing, like usual, JJ just moans as his boyfriend’s strong musk invades his senses. He can wet smacking sounds that are obviously you and John B making out while John B rams your asshole. Since JJ already came before the two of you earlier, he busies himself with cleaning John B’s armpit and weakly slapping his balls against you when the friction fades away too much.

“Always yapping our baby’s ear off for no reason, when you know what else your mouth should be doing instead.”

The unabashed freakish behavior tests John B’s resolve, and he slaps JJ’s face to signal him to stop so he can drag him into a sticky kiss. Your clit throbs at your favorite sight of your boyfriend’s tongues curling around each other, especially when the string of spit that connects them when they pull away snaps and falls on your face.

You’re suddenly taken hostage into a threeway french kiss, which you pull away from to gasp when out of nowhere John B gropes your jiggling ass before harshly spanking it. You moan and try to stick your hips out as far as possible in your sandwiched position, earning you more rough spanks that leave the flesh stinging like hell. Just what you wanted, with a red handprint to match too.

“Yeah I know you like that, baby. This pretty little ass looks so good in red.” John B coos, smoothing his hand over the raw skin to soothe the welcome pain.

JJ pouts at the display, despite his cock seeming to harden inside of your creamy cunt. You lean down to suck on his nipples to placate him, silently communicating that he always gets spanked after you anyway.

JJ threads his hands into your hair, making sure you keep his chest lookin’ pretty as he mentally prepares himself to start fucking up into you again. You’re just so heavenly and wet and warm and tight, he really does think you were put on this earth to drain the life outta him via his balls.

John B’s warning glare stops him, and when he obeys and keeps his hips still, the former’s gaze softens and JJ’s rewarded with a soft kiss on his forehead.

John B slowly eases out of your throughougly fucked ass, his thick tip catching on the puffy rim. You look over your shoulder to watch as he gives his stupidly big cock a few quick pumps before aiming the head at your stretched pussy. You nod and bite your lip when he shoots you a questioning look, having been together so long at this point that none of the three of you really needed any words to speak to each other.

The look of sheer excitement on JJ’s face when he feels the other man’s cock slide up along his inside of you is almost better than how pleased your greedy hole is.

“Oh shit, are you sure you can take it, mama? You’re already shaking over me, ‘s cute.”

“They’re doing just fine, aren’t you, peach? So good for us, our little cheerleader.” John B answers for you, you moan out a ‘yes, babe i can always take it’ to JJ as you get used to the stretch.

You don’t indulge in this often, and truth be told your boyfriends are usually hesitant to give you both of their dicks. Winning never fails to get them so horny that they’d be willing to listen to the devils on their shoulders that are their cockheads though. It’s why you always run to jump in their arms with an extra pep in your step when they break through the crowd of press and racing personnel.

You wiggle your hips to indicate that they can move, and they start fucking with gentle thrusts. They speed up their pace soon after, both of your boyfriend’s moaning at the feeling of their cocks rubbing together inside of you. Not one of you is thinking coherently, you’re all too preoccupied with panting into each other’s mouths and scratching red lines down whatever parts of your sweaty bodies you can reach.

It’s a miracle you and JJ don’t slip off of his car’s hood, there’s countless kinds of fluids all over you and you depend on John B behind you to hold you up. JJ’s too fucked out to down to earth. You suck bruises into his neck when he throws it back against the car as John B hunches over to bite down your back.

Two sets of hands toy with your fat clit, and your orgasm makes you black out so hard that you miss the questioning shouts outside.

[lotusbxtch]

The Best Ride in the Galaxy (one-shot)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x f!Reader

Summary: You have a thing for Poe's flight suit. He decides to be a cocky asshole about it. Sexy shenanigans ensue. Word count: 2k

Warnings: Explicit 18+, MDNI! Mostly porn with a little plot // Established relationship, thigh riding/dry humping, vaginal fingering, swearing, name calling, use of pet names (English and Spanish), dom!Poe, brief light violence (slap to the face), Poe uses a Spanish pet name (bebita) which is probably not canon but idc it's hot, no physical description of reader besides being AFAB and being taller standing than a sitting Poe, Poe makes a corny joke, Poe being a cocky smug asshole comes with its own warning, no use of y/n

a/n: This picture of Oscar & his thick-ass thighs, and @for-a-longlongtime mentioning how Poe-coded it was, inspired this fic in its entirety. A little over 24 hours later and here it is! This is my very first posted fic, so please show it some love, send it to someone who might enjoy it, and feel free to give (constructive) feedback if you wish! If I missed any warning tags, please let me know and I'll add them in. Big big thanks to @for-a-longlongtime for beta-reading and cheering me on, it means the world to me.

You run outside as soon as you hear the X-wings land, your heart in your throat. 

It’s been 7 days, but when he left, Poe promised you it wouldn’t take more than 4 for his small band of rebel fighters to complete the covert mission. Of course he insisted on going with them; he’d been stir-crazy as of late, the endless strategy meetings and arguments amongst leadership boring him to tears. He jumped at the chance to get back into the pilot’s seat. You paced restlessly those last 3 days, imagining the absolute worst had happened to him, with no way of knowing if he was even alive.

So when you rushed out to the tarmac and spotted him climbing out of his X-wing, immense relief flooded your body, followed quickly by a potent swirl of both anger and anxiety. He spotted you, his eyes lighting up, jogging towards you with that brilliant smile.

“Hey good-lookin’,” he crooned as he approached, “didn’t miss me too much, did you?”

What he didn’t expect was for you to slap him straight across his face.

You surprised the both of you - Poe was staring back at you, open-mouthed and silent, a rare occurrence; you were staring at him, anger flashing in your eyes, your palm stinging slightly from the impact.

“Baby, I know you weren’t keen on me leaving,” Poe stammered, “but this seems a tad bit–”

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE FUCKING DEAD, YOU ASSHOLE!” you snapped at him, loudly enough for the people around you to look around for the source of the outburst. “You told me four days, Poe, and it’s now DAY FUCKING SEVEN.” You turned and started storming back to your pod, Poe on your heels.

“Bebita, I told you it was a small team,” Poe tried to explain while keeping up with you. “We hit some hiccups in the plan and had to hide out a bit longer than we thought. If I’d tried to contact you, it would have given away our position. You know how these missions go.”

You angrily punched in the access code to the door of your pod. “Yes, I know, which is exactly why as co-general you’re not supposed to be out in the field putting yourself in harm’s way.” The metal door slid open, and you walked forward, not even looking back at him. “I don’t care if you got bored playing politics, that doesn’t mean you get to go rogue and get back in the cockpit.” Slamming your hand on the button to slide the pod door closed, you finally turned to face Poe since slapping him. You let out a shaky breath as your rage subsided. Your stomach was morphing into a simmering pool of nerves and regret. 

“Look,” Poe said, “I just… getting cooped up on base listening to those talking heads was making me crazy. I miss flying and I saw the opportunity and took it.” You knew what he said was true, but it didn’t make it any easier on you. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you scanned his body for signs of injury, until you realized… he was wearing his flight suit.

Fuck. That damn flight suit always did things to you. Obviously he had to wear it for functionality’s sake, but god, it was almost like he was made to look good in them. His shoulders looked so strong and broad, and the unisex, utilitarian cut of the orange suit somehow did nothing to hide the curve of his ample, round ass, one of your favorite features of his. You felt your mouth water as you drank the sight of him in, arousal slowly kindling in your belly.

That suit was your weakness, and the cocky smile slowly dawning on his face let you know he knew, too.

“I mean,” Poe smirked,  “at least you get to see me in your favorite outfit of mine.” Walking slowly away from you to give you a clear view of his rear, he turned and sunk into the chair in your room. You followed, magnetically drawn to him while simultaneously being flustered that he caught onto your ogling. You crossed your arms and put on your best annoyed face.

“I’m sorry for slapping you, but I’m not sorry for being mad,” you said, pursing your lips and looking away. “And trying to seduce me with your stupid uniform isn’t working.”

It was, in fact, working too well. Your breathing got shallower as you tried to ignore the gentle heat filling your body from your center outwards. Poe’s smirk deepened.

“It’s a good thing you’re not a covert operative because you are the worst at lying,” he said, grabbing your thighs and coaxing you closer to him. You acquiesced, trying and failing to look irritated, the desire plain as day on your face. Poe ran his hands slowly up and down your legs from your hips to your calves. Sliding his palms back and around your ass, he squeezed and your breath hitched. You looked down and those liquid brown eyes were staring up at you, twinkling with mischief. “I know you better than that, sweet thing,” Poe teased. “You absolutely cannot pretend that me wearing this suit doesn’t make you cream your panties.”

You fought to control your traitorous body, breathing slowly through your nose as Poe lifted the hem of your shirt and planted soft kisses on your belly, right above your pants. “Fuck you, you cocky asshole,” you tried to spit viciously, but it came out sounding slightly strangled instead. This Maker-forsaken stupid man and his stupid bubble butt and this stupid suit, you thought, your fingers weaving into the curls on his head. 

Poe’s smile only turned even more predatory, like a cat playing with a mouse. “Oh, I would, baby” he whispered, nipping your torso lightly, “but I haven’t showered in days. How about this instead…”

Suddenly Poe grabbed your hips, pulling you down into his lap and forcing your knees to buckle, your legs on either side of his thick thigh. His right arm wound around your lower back, holding you in place while his left hand snaked up your neck and into your hair. He pulled you in for a slow, soft kiss, which snapped the final tether preventing you from melting for him like he knew you wanted to. You surged forward, kissing him deeply, licking into his mouth and tasting the minty aftertaste of the gum he always chews while piloting. He groans, biting your lower lip, then sliding his tongue along yours. This draws your first moans out from somewhere deep in your chest, and his eyes quickly darken when you begin grinding on his thigh.

“Oh, you like that,” Poe crooned, lips turning up into a smirk. “So fucking eager for me. So desperate to cum.”

“Fuck you, Maker-damn it,” you pant, burying your face into his neck, the smell of sweat, jet fuel, and him invading your senses. “This stupid suit is going to be the death of me.”

Poe smiles wickedly. “Why don’t you take a ride on the best pilot in the galaxy before you die, then, honey?” he purrs into your ear. You roll your eyes at his cheesy line until you feel him flex the thigh you’re straddling, creating the most delicious friction against your clothed core. You let out a breathy moan and clench your own thighs around his, starting to rock your clit against his ridge of muscle through your clothes. Slick starts dripping out of you with each roll of your hips against him. Poe moves your arms to brace on his shoulders, then slides both of his hands onto your hips to help you ride him.

The pleasure in your core starts to ratchet up, and you grind yourself harder into Poe’s thigh, throwing your head back with a moan. Poe leans to your ear, kissing and lightly licking just behind and below your earlobe, that spot he knows drives you wild. “That’s it, baby, ride it out,” he whispers into your ear. “Use all that frustration to make yourself cum on my leg.” You mewl, circling your hips and chasing your high. Your pussy contracts around nothing, and suddenly all you can think about is how much better it would feel if Poe was inside of you.

“Poe,” you whine, “I need more.” Your slick is soaking through your underwear, the smell of your arousal filling Poe’s senses. He groans, his cock painfully hard in his flight suit.

“What do you need, bebita?” he says, kissing your forehead sweetly while gripping your hips like a vice, a contrast that has you moaning wordlessly. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I need you,” you beg, “I need you inside of me, I need you to fuck me, please.” You can feel your clit throbbing, almost painfully. Poe moans into your neck. “Baby, I told you, you do not want me to unzip this suit,” he chuckles. “But I think I can still help. Lean back a little.” You comply, and watch with glazed eyes as Poe stares right back at you, slipping his middle and ring fingers into his mouth to get them wet. A shudder rips through your body when he slips both digits past the waistband of your pants and into your underwear. He groans loudly when he feels your slick folds.

“Fuuuuck me, baby, you’re absolutely drenched,” he breaths out. “Is this all for this dumb orange jumpsuit I’m wearing?” That cocky smirk reappears as he laughs at his own joke.

Letting out an annoyed breath, you huff, “it’s for you, idiot. You fucking drive me crazy. You’re the only one that’s ever gotten me this wet. Now fill me up before I lose my ever-loving mind.” 

Poe lets out another chuckle. “Yes, ma’am,” he quips, and then quickly slides the length of his fingers into your cunt, forcing a moan from your lungs involuntarily. He rocks you forward again so that you’re sitting directly on his fingers, with his palm cradling your pussy. “Fuck yourself on my fingers,” he commands. “Take what you need from me.”

You do exactly that, rising and falling on his thigh, swirling your hips over his soaked digits, your clit rubbing against the meat of his palm deliciously. He adds another finger, stretching you out and making you want to scream. Your hips speed up as you desperately chase your high. The wet squelching and slapping sounds of your pussy on Poe’s hand echo in the room. Poe’s panting fills your ears and your wanton moans fill his. You invade his senses in every way possible, and he can feel his dick pulse with every thrust of your hips against his thigh.

Suddenly, you start feeling the knot in your core tighten as you rocket ever-closer to your orgasm. Poe moans as he feels you clench. “Fuck, that’s it, honey, I can feel you getting close,” he whispers. “Give it to me.” His hips start lifting up, grinding, pressing his length into you as much as he can.

“Oh Maker, Poe, oh fuck,” you cry as your walls tighten. “You want me to fucking cum for you?”

“Fuuuuuuck yes baby, that’s all I want,” Poe pants. “Fucking cum all over my fingers, soak my hand, honey.”

The filth pouring out of his mouth finally snaps the knot in your stomach, and you nearly scream in ecstasy as your release shatters and blooms through your body. Poe moans your name as a rush of your slick coats his hand, and you feel him bite your shoulder as his body tenses. Sated, you slump against him, his hand still pinned under your body, both of you sticky with sweat and panting for breath. Poe uses his free hand to softly cup the side of your face, pressing kisses slowly and gently across your cheeks and nose.

You sigh as he carefully extracts his hand. Just as you peer down at him, he closes his eyes and slips his fingers into his mouth, sucking every bit of your essence off. You shudder in pleasure as you watch him. He locks eyes with you, and you lean in to kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips.

“Feeling better?” Poe asks, the warm molten brown of his eyes having returned. You sigh and giggle a little. “Yes, thank you,” you murmur quietly, “but I wish I could have made you cum too.” 

Suddenly Poe looks sheepish, something that’s a rare expression for him.

“Well, uh…” he starts, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck and averting his eyes. You pause, perplexed. He glances back at you, then down at the floor, and then back at you again. Poe clears his throat before he finally speaks.

 “I… actually did…”

You freeze silently, and then erupt into laughter. “Poe Dameron!” you screech. “The ‘best pilot in the galaxy’, commander of the Starfighter Corps, co-general of the entire fucking Resistance, fucking JIZZED in his pants like a teenager???” You start tittering uncontrollably, much to Poe’s embarrassment. “Shut the fuck up, idiot,” he grouses, which only makes you cackle even louder. He sighs, annoyed but begrudgingly satisfied.

“At least this suit needs to be washed anyway,” he mutters, mostly to himself, and you laugh so hard you start crying.

Tag list (it's here y'all!): @for-a-longlongtime @nerdieforpedro @lu62 @purelyoscar @clemdango04 @survivingandenduring @reggiesfilthylittlesecret @beezusvreeland @alltheglitterandtheroar @campingwiththecharmings @qveerthe0ry @agentjackdaniels @dizthemonster @beezusvreeland @queerponcho and anyone else who was interested!

EDIT:

Oh, you were looking for a part 2 to this one-shot? Well it’s your lucky day — Poe was being a total menace, so indeed there is now a part 2!

[takami-takami]

Accidents.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. suggestive.

warnings— daddy kink. predator/prey undertones. keigo being a meanie.

You wish the ground would just swallow you whole before his smug look does.

"Don't let it get to your head! Keigo—" You squeak, covering your own face with one hand and pushing his away with the other. Your palm does nothing to quell the mischievous laughing fit that your boyfriend doesn't seem to have the courtesy nor self control to keep to himself.

Don't let it get to his head? His head couldn't be any bigger in this moment.

He seizes the opening to situate himself on top of you with ease, keeping you caged beneath him so he can bear witness to the full extent of your misery. Your hands lie helpless, locked under his hold and pinned above your head to leave you wide open. He wants nothing obstructing his view of your dreadfully desperate squirms.

He considers locking your legs in place beneath his, too. It wouldn't be difficult at all to overpower you, but the butterfly kicks behind his back that ruffle the sheets beneath are just too delicious to watch.

Your bedroom has become a locked box of your whimpers and flails, and he loves it. What he wouldn't give to cage you here and throw away the key.

"Keigo...? Sorry, dunno who that is." His eyes roll in time with his shoulders, while that wicked grin never falters.

"Could've sworn you were just calling me something else," he sings above you. He purses his lips like he just can't catch his thought. Bastard. You'd be screaming into your hands if you had access to them. "What was it you said... What was it..." he hums a devilish, giddy tune, turning to catch your eye.

"Care to remind me?"

"You're an asshole!"

"No, that's not quite what you called me."

You huff in response, opting to stare at the ceiling behind him. Anywhere but that stupid, god-awful, pretty face of his. Maybe if you try to pull your wrists free, he'd take pity on you and— nope, still not giving an inch of leeway.

He notices your weak attempt. Poor thing, he thinks. You don't actually think there's anywhere to run, do you? Your halfhearted flailing underneath him is cute though, he'll give you that. So cute. Almost as cute as your little slip-up that got you into this fucking mess.

This is your mess, you know. You did start it, after all, and who is Keigo if not a man who finishes the job? It'd be criminal to not keep this game going for as long as it'll take to satisfy his instinct to torment you.

He's not a sadist, he swears.

He just knows prey when he sees it.

"Kei', I didn't— can you please just let this go?" You finally look at him with those puppy dog eyes. In another circumstance, they would get him to do whatever you want; but for once, he decides to be selfish. He's just having too much fun.

"Why should I? Don't tell me you're embarassed," he posits, as if you aren't the picture of shame incarnate beneath him. "Nothin' to be embarassed about, doll." He closes the gap between you, nose barely brushing the line of your jaw before he dares to have a taste. "Plenty of people would jump at the oppurtunity to call me da—"

"Hawks!"

"Oooh, yet another name and you still won't repeat the one from earlier. Gonna hurt my feelings, baby." Raptor eyes zero in on the juncture of your neck. When you strain to turn your head away from him, you leave your jugular completely exposed. He sighs. You're fucking helpless. He supposes that's why he's the pro hero, and you're just the little hare captured betwixt his talons. 

With a finality settling in his gut, he latches on and sinks his canines into you. You go limp below with the hitch of a breath, kicks slowing to a halt.

"You know, I think I like this." When his hands release yours, he's sure your muscles won't even twitch. Frozen under his spell, you are the moth to his proverbial flame; the rabbit in his headlights.

"I think that name is already one of my favorites. You'll say it again for me, won't you? Tell me..."

"Who's your fucking daddy?"

[travelling-wanderer]

・﹒・ i hate you

Summary: It's been a while since you joined the digital circus landscape and had made friends with everyone despite the situation of never returning home. However, you could never get along with Jax, he was an asshole. He always annoyed you and pissed you off. Yet, why can't you get him out of your head?

Warnings: None

Pairing: Jax x GN!reader

Notes: Hi I'm back...ish

In the world stored on a computer that you now permanently resided in, it was hard to find a private place to just relax. Sure, it was pretty big, but get bored enough and needing a break from everyone, you're bound searching for a place to find some peace and quiet. That's what you did and you found a neat little alcove far away from the main stage in the tent and as the digital days went by, you found solace in it. It was your little hideaway from it all and for you to just be yourself. Sure, you had your bedroom, but anyone can just bother you, and not to mention- Jax has keys to everyone's rooms.

Jax. You hated that rabbit. He always went out of his way to piss everyone off and annoy them just for his entertainment. Especially you- he picked on you so much it got on your nerves, you needed space. So here you were, sitting and messing around with a bouncy ball, throwing it on the wall and catching it. He especially got on your nerves today as he thought it would be a good prank to scare you by coming up from behind and screaming "Boo!" while you were talking with Pomni.

Sighing, you caught the ball and stared at it, thinking about your new life here again. You often did here, but also made sure to not think about it too much, as you still valued your life. You don't even know how time was passing outside of here, was it a week? Two? Three months? Years? Caine does have a day and night cycle to at least keep some sense of time for you guys, but it wasn't enough to not make some go crazy.

Your mind kept drifting back to Jax though, no matter how hard you try to not think of him, he kept popping up in your mind unwillingly. You hate him, that's that, so why did he continually keep showing up in your mind? The things you kept thinking about him had slowly started to drift from hatred to having this strange...warm feeling in your chest. Your thoughts started to spiral as you realized you actually missed when he wasn't around. Why was that? He had nothing positive or say or do, yet you felt a strange sort of longing for him despite the last you saw of him was him trying to scare you. There was a draw that you had towards him, not understanding why, you dare say you almost...enjoyed his asshole self.

"Day dreaming now?" You didn't realize how much your head was in the clouds when the voice startled you, causing you to jump and swivel your head around to face the rabbit you were just thinking of. Shit. How did he find this place? How did he find you? Jax had a smug smirk on his face as he walked closer, watching you with his black eyes. Trying to act cool, you rolled your eyes and took in a huge breath, turning back around to mindlessly throw the ball. In all reality, your heart was still beating incredibly fast. Why now?

"Oh come on, the silent treatment? Really? This is where you go to hide away from everyone?" His monotone voice made you sigh, he was really insisting on pissing you off extra hard today. Taking a deep breath, you turned your head to see Jax walking and standing right next to you. You really didn't want to deal with him right now. Growling, you throw the ball at him, hitting him in the shoulder, causing him to yell out.

"Hey! That was rude ya know?” You could tell he was genuinely getting annoyed with you, which peaked your interest greatly. He was always an asshole and abrasive, sure, but rarely he actually got annoyed with anyone back.

"Oh THAT was rude? As if you don't tick me off at any given chance and this is the result of it" You scoffed and shuffled yourself so you faced the colorful wall of soft blocks, wishing he would just leave. Why didn't he leave?

"Oh please, don't even start. You talk about me all the time, don't think I don't know" You freeze, his words hitting you like a wave of ice cold water. How does he know? Sure, you rant to Ragatha and Pomni and Gangle but, they wouldn't tell him. Would they? No, they wouldn't. Taking a deep breath in, you stayed silent as you exhaled, thinking of how to respond without making a fool of yourself.

"Well, it's nothing pleasent, but you would know that since you seem to know everything. It's not my fault I can't get you out of my head" Shit. Why did you say that? Your heart started to beat faster as you watch him smile and chuckle, you're doomed.

"You think about me all the time, eh? For some reason I don't think its just about how much you hate me, am I right?" He leaned closer to your face, causing you gulp and shuffle backwards, but he kept the closeness and only followed you.

"N-no! It's just about how much I hate you, of course! Everyone hates you!" You really were trying to save this, but the wall hit your back and he closed in, placing both hands next to your head as he stared at you with his dumbass smug smirk.

"Oh really? Why are you nervous then? If you hate me so much, you would push me away right now. Go on, do it" For some reason, you just couldn't bring yourself to do that, the seconds ticked on as he waited patiently, chuckling when he realized you weren't going to storm off in a rage.

"Oh I freaking knew it. You have a crush on me! Hah! You disguise your stupid little feelings for me as hatred, oh that's hilarious" You began to grew frustrated again, this time you were also extremely flustered and in no way put together. He just had to be an asshole for anything, didn't he?

"Fine, I do have a crush on you, ok? But if you're going to act like that then I will" You did it. You accepted that you liked him. He was totally right, you were disguising your feelings for him with hatred. But his attitude made you push him away, causing him to slightly stumble as you pick up your bouncy ball and start to leave your now comprised space before you felt his large hand wrap around your smaller one. Turning your head, you saw as his face was full of panic.

"Wait! Don't go. I'm-I'm sorry, ok?" He sounded strained as he apologized, obviously not used to it. Looking at him, you felt conflicted because what if he just continues to act like a dick?

"Look, I don't know what your deal is, but-"

"But, my deal is that...I like you too, ok? I act rude because I don't know how to fricking show affection, got it?" You narrowed your eyes at him, wondering if he was being genuine as it was incredibly hard to know with him. Maybe you should give him a chance...maybe. Maybe you should.

"Ok, fine. Got it. So uh- what do we do now?" He lets go of your wrist and you rub it, he wasn't gripping hard but it was still fairly firm, and look at him. I mean, where DO you know now? After all that?

"Well, we could ya know...do a little making-" You slapped him playfully before smiling and chuckling, shaking your head now relieved that the tension was gone. It honestly felt freeing to finally admit that you liked him now that it was all over, you were just in very heavy denial about it.

"Yeah, we aren't there just yet, Rabbit"

[seijorhi]

Wither and Bleed

sorry for the wait y'all <33 Daishou Suguru x female reader, Kuroo Tetsurou x female reader w.c 4.6k tw: dubcon, yandere themes, kidnapping, nsfw, stockholm syndrome, mentions of blood, alcoholism, mild smut

Daishou eyes the bottom of his glass dispassionately, watching the amber dregs of whiskey roll as he slowly tilts it – pointedly ignoring the sound of footsteps approaching, the low, mocking whistle that follows.

“I’d say it’s good to see you, Daishou, but I gotta be honest, this place is a dump and you look like shit.”

There’s a flush high on his cheekbones, his eyes are glazed, bloodshot. Despite the heaviness in his head, the liquor fuelled haze and exhaustion that makes pulling a coherent train of thought… somewhat difficult, he’s not so far gone that he can’t recognise the grating voice and accompanying laugh. 

One more. One more, and maybe then he’ll stumble off home to continue drinking in peace. That, or he’ll pass out the second he hits the couch. At this point, he’s not picky. 

“Another,” he rasps at the bartender, whose only response, aside from the surly look he sends Daishou’s way, is to unscrew the cap of the bottle of cheap whiskey and tilt it back over his glass. Glaring, all the while. 

Once upon a time, Daishou might’ve said something to that. Made some snarky remark, goaded him ‘til he got a rise – or got his ass thrown out.

(You’d chide him for it, too, in that exasperated tone of yours. He’d be tempted to think you were serious, but you’d sigh, call him hopeless and your hand would snake in his on the walk home anyway.)

Disdainful sneers, the staring, the whispers and pointing, baldie behind the bar wouldn’t be the first stranger to recognise him. Daishou can’t even blame the guy, really. A woman goes missing, all eyes turn to the husband. The boyfriend. The ex. He might be a piece of work, depending on who you asked –an asshole, arrogant, a conniving son of a bitch – but hell would freeze over before he’d ever lay a hand on his girl. On any girl. 

So, yeah, he gets why the guy’s staring at him like he’s the scum of the earth. Doesn’t make it any less of a bitter pill to swallow. 

“You planning on ignoring me, then?” 

“Trying to,” he mutters, accepting the drink with a short dip of his chin. The whiskey burns on the way down, warming his chest through. Bottom shelf liquor’s too cheap to enjoy for much else. Daishou closes his eyes, “Leave me alone.”

And that stupid, suit-wearing, smug asshole laughs, and pulls out the seat next to him. 

Fucking terrific.

Kuroo tuts, motioning at the bartender for a drink of his own, “Aw, c’mon. That’s no way to greet an old friend, is it?” He waits a beat for the reaction that doesn’t come, the mirth in his eyes fading somewhat, then sighs. In a more sober voice, he says, “I heard Yotsuya Motors dropped you. I’m sorry, man.”

The muscle in his jaw tightens, his knuckles turning white. Dropped was a good way of putting it. Closer to the truth than the bullshit story they’d peddled online and to the fans, the one wherein Daishou and the Yotsuya Motor Spirits had amicably reached the decision to part ways before the beginning of the new season. 

‘This isn’t a position any of us want to be in, Suguru. You’re a good player, you’ve done well this past season, but you have to consider how this looks for both the team and the V League as a whole. We’re not saying you’ve done anything wrong – of course not – only that the public perception holds weight these days.’

And so it went. He’d sat there, numb, and listened for fifteen minutes while the head coach and upper management explained that him ‘voluntarily’ stepping down was in his best interest. Pretending, all the while, that they were on his side. That they for one second actually believed in his innocence. 

The cowards couldn’t even look him in the eye. 

None of which makes enduring his old rival’s fake fucking sympathy any easier. 

“For what it’s worth,” Kuroo continues, “while you’ve always been a cheating rat bastard, you don’t strike me as the girlfriend murdering kind–”

One minute, his drink is in his hand, the next, he’s hurled it against the wall behind Kuroo’s head, the glass shattering on impact, cheap whiskey sliding down the paint, and Daishou’s on his feet, chest heaving, muscles taut. Hands shaking as they flex and curl around nothing. 

For once, Kuroo’s stunned into absolute silence. 

The whole bar stills, a deathly quiet falling over the room. The other patrons gawk at him, wide eyed and horrified – a violent unravelling they’re eager to glut themselves on – no noise but the forgotten hum of 80’s rock drifting through the speakers. 

No one breathes.

No one moves.

Daishou, shaking, trembling in the cold wake of his own dissipating rage, shudders out a strangled breath. “She’s not–” the words stick in his throat; tight, painful. He forces them out through gritted teeth, “She’s not dead.”

Kuroo, staring back at him with some inscrutable expression, says nothing. Does nothing, aside from slowly lowering his drink – still untouched – down to the bar, as though Daishou hadn’t just pitched a glass tumbler right past his head. At his head, technically. 

“Out,” the bartender snaps after a tense beat, jabbing one thick finger towards the door. “Get the fuck out!”

Daishou can barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. 

“She’s not dead,” he repeats, his voice hoarse. 

Through all of this, it’s the one thought he won’t entertain. No matter how many times he’s hauled back into the police station, or someone recognises him from the news and the dirty looks and whispers start. No matter how much hatred and vitriol and accusations are thrown his way, that thought alone is constant. 

You can’t be dead.

“Out!” 

Daishou doesn’t need to be told a third time. He spares the raven haired bastard one last look on his way out, sneering, and lets the door sweep shut behind him. 

The place was a shithole anyway.

And he can pretend, for a minute or two, that the churning, sick feeling eating away at his insides is the liquor, that the sheen in his eyes is purely due to the icy bite of the wind as he stumbles off in the direction of home.

Too much alcohol flooding his veins, too screwed up to register the prickling on the nape of his neck, or the footsteps that follow after him, down the narrow laneway – a shortcut he’s taken a thousand times.

When the blow comes, striking hard and fast at the back of his head, Daishou drops like a stone.

—

When Daishou was seven years old, he fell out of the tree in his backyard and broke his arm. He also managed to knock himself out – for all of about five seconds.

Long enough to scare the hell out of his parents, anyway. When he woke up, bleary and dazed, his parents hovering over him, Daishou didn’t feel any pain, not immediately. That’d come later, trying not to blubber and wail in the back seat of his dad’s car on the way to the E.R. At first, though, it was just… sort of like being shaken from a deep, deep sleep. Disorientating, more than anything else. 

This isn’t like that at all.

Coming to, all Daishou can focus on is the pain in the back of his skull. His eyes are too heavy to lift, his limbs sluggish and sore. From a dry, cotton mouth, a low groan escapes him.  

At first, he assumes he’s at home – lying sprawled on the bathroom floor, having hurled up his guts through the night. Wouldn’t be the first time, and considering his sorry state, he’d hazard a guess that it wouldn’t be the last, either. 

“Suguru.”

Warmth. A loosening in his chest. Despite the discomfort, the sound of your voice never fails to soothe. In the weeks that you’ve been missing, Daishou’s dreamed of waking up beside you. Of rolling over and cracking an eye open to find you right there, fast asleep and curled up beside him, where you’ve always been. 

Where you’ve always belonged. 

You stir when his fingertips trace along your jaw, smile in that sleepy way of yours, catching his hand, keeping him there. And even in his dream, when there’s no reason for his chest to tighten, a lump to settle in his throat at the sight of you, it does. 

“Suguru, listen to me!” your voice pleads.

There are other dreams, ones where you’re lying on the living room floor surrounded by a pool of blood. There’s a kitchen knife sticking out of your chest, and he’s the one holding it. 

Daishou prefers the ones where you’re alive. Safe. Home with him. 

“You have to wake up.”

Why? He wakes up and you disappear again. Cheek pressed to the cold bathroom tiles, sick to his stomach and head throbbing.

And you still won’t be there.

“Please.” Your voice sounds… different. Not soft and loving, not the sleep tinged murmur he usually hears. “Please, Suguru, you’ve gotta wake up! Open your eyes for me.”

Daishou doesn’t want to. Pounding head or not, he’d stay in the dark with you – your voice, strained as it is – as long as his subconscious would allow. But that’s not a choice he gets to make, leaden lids slowly prying open, squinting under the influx of light.

The first day or two after you disappeared, Daishou convinced himself that despite all the evidence to the contrary, you weren’t gone gone. An accident, a miscommunication, dead phone, fuck, a fight he didn’t remember picking; he clung to any excuse, any explanation that left room for you walking through the door, sheepishly abashed over all the fuss caused. 

He would’ve forgiven you – for anything. 

The days passed, the cops came by, dragged him in for questioning, and Daishou started to realise that you weren’t staying with your parents, or a friend. You weren’t pissed at him for something stupid he did or said. You weren’t coming home on your own. 

Which left the alternative. 

People who disappear like you did; out of the blue, no warning, no trace – they don’t come back unscathed. 

If they come back. 

Daishou’s had weeks now to sit with that – while he drowns himself in bottom shelf whiskey and cheap beer, wallowing in his own fucking misery, you’re going through an unimaginable hell. 

Blinking against the brightness, the room slowly comes into focus, his eyes adjusting, and Daishou’s heart leaps into his throat. He forgets the pain. Forgets that he’s spent weeks – months, now – thinking over every awful eventuality and drinking himself stupid in the process. All he sees is you; sitting up in bed, hair tousled, wearing an old, faded tee two sizes too big, looking the way you do in the dreams he has where you never disappeared. 

“Suguru,” you gasp, the noise choked, halfway to a sob, your wobbling smile mired by the sheen of tears brimming behind your lashes. 

But Daishou doesn’t see that. Doesn’t register it, not as he scrambles forward, his desperation to touch you, feel you, make sure you’re here and you’re real overriding every other sense–

Only for the cold, metal handcuffs hooked from his wrist to the broken radiator to pull taut, jerking him to a stop. 

“… The fuck?” he mutters, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. Experimentally, he tugs on it again. 

It doesn’t budge. 

Daishou swallows, mouth dry, blood running cold, and as this new, unsettling reality takes root, slowly drags his gaze from his cuffed hand back to the bed. To you, watching him with a devastation that has his heart clenching. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong, his subconscious sings, the warning bells tolling, and for the first time since he opened his eyes in this unfamiliar room, Daishou sees you.

The mottled marks of red and purple, fading yellow littered across your exposed collarbone, trailing along your neck. The shadows under bloodshot eyes, the pallor of your skin. 

And Daishou remembers.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him through tears, the words spilling out as though you’re confessing some great, unforgivable sin. “It’s my fault, Suguru. It’s all my fault.”

His mouth opens – all that comes out is a strangled rasp of your name, which only serves to make you cry harder, shoulders shaking and a hand clamped over your lips to stifle them. 

Daishou’s never wanted to wake up from a nightmare so badly. He’s never wanted so desperately to pinch himself and prove he’s not dreaming.

But at the sound of footsteps approaching, a change sweeps over you. You stiffen, freezing for the briefest of moments before you hastily set about wiping away the evidence of tears, shooting him a pleading, desperate look he doesn’t really understand.

Not until the deadbolt clicks and the door swings open, and Daishou’s confronted with the man who took everything from him.

One by one, the pieces fall into place with horrifying clarity. 

The bar, their ‘chance’ meeting, all that goading– ‘For what it’s worth, while you’ve always been a cheating rat bastard, you don’t strike me as the girlfriend murdering kind.’ 

A small, insane part of him wants to laugh hysterically.

He settles for a baser instinct. Strains against the chain at his wrist, face twisted into a feral snarl, and hisses, “You fucking asshole.”

Kuroo’s eyes crinkle with a grin, but his attention doesn’t remain on Daishou for long. On cue, you shuffle to the edge of the bed, shoulders low and eyes glistening. “I-I’m sorry, Tetsurou,” you murmur, meek and demure.  

The fucker laps it right up. Coos as he makes his way over, disregarding his other captive entirely. Two long fingers curl beneath your chin, tilting it upwards. He holds you there, lets his thumb brush along your lower lip. You shiver, and that too he greedily drinks in. 

He doubts very much that Kuroo’s forgotten about him, yet the way he stares at you – insatiable, a craving that goes too deep, a yearning too consuming – and you back at him, Daishou may as well have been invisible 

A wave of disgust seeps through his bones, tainting his blood, curdling in his stomach – but he doesn’t look away. He can’t bear that, either. 

When Kuroo finally decides to close that gap and kiss you, you don’t offer a shred of hesitation. You surrender to it, breath hitching when he catches your lip between his teeth and nips at it– 

(The way you used to when he’d do the same.)

–and when he breaks away, a strand of his spit still connecting you, and moves to cup your tear stained cheek, you nuzzle into him, peppering soft little kisses to his palm.

“I know, sweetheart,” he drawls, his voice a touch deeper, clearly affected by how sweetly you’re trying to pacify him. “But actions gotta have consequences. I warned you what’d happen if you brought him up again,” he pauses, and chuckles a little, “and you know I’m too much of a jealous bastard to let that kinda stuff slide.”

Hooded, hazel eyes flicker back to him, pinning him in place. The amusement in Kuroo’s face fades, leaving behind a blistering cold contempt as he regards his old high school rival. 

Daishou sneers back. 

“You said you loved him.”

“I don’t,” comes the immediate response. Too quick. 

Kuroo scoffs. “You still mumble his damn name in your sleep. He the one you’re imagining when I’m buried inside of you, making you cum, sweetheart?”

You’re fucking right it is, you piece of shit, Daishou thinks viciously. The words themselves sit on the tip of his tongue, prideful and sharp, itching to be inflicted. Damn the consequences, he might’ve said it just to see the look on that bastard’s face – except Kuroo isn’t even looking his way. Isn’t paying him the slightest bit of attention, idly toying with a lock of your hair as if you aren’t clutching at him, eyes betraying your panic like a deer in headlights, and Daishou feels sick all over again. 

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“N-no, of course not!”

“No?” Kuroo’s brow arches upwards. “You sure ‘bout that?”

There’s no answer you can give that’ll convince him, yet silence proves equally damning. You seem to realise as much, mouth opening and closing as you try and fail to conjure up the right words to diffuse the situation. Kuroo offers you no out, letting you dig your own grave with the shovel he’s given you, taking some kind of sick satisfaction in your distress. 

Unable to summon anything more than a choked squeak, you stretch upwards again, a delicate hand on his jaw, and kiss him. The action is desperate and clumsy, borne from panic over passion or affection. Kuroo accepts it eagerly all the same, one arm snaking around your waist to draw you closer – or rather, to keep you from slipping away ‘til he’s had his fill of your lips. “I love you,” you murmur against him. “Only you.”

Though they’re shaky, the words stand stronger than those that came before. 

His nose nudges against your own, a look of contentment gracing his features. “Not yet, but we’ll get you there. On your knees, pretty girl.”

Your face crumples in dismay, lips parting only to fall shut with an audible click. As Kuroo’s grip on you loosens, you obediently slide off the bed and onto your knees.

“Arms up.”

Trembling like a leaf and looking faintly ill, you obey, letting him tug your shirt – his shirt, from the looks of it – up and over your head, carelessly tossing it aside. And though you flinch, biting down on your bottom lip, eyes glossy, burning with shame and humiliation, you don’t make a move to cover yourself.

You must know better.

His blood roars, heart thundering violently against his ribs. There’s no pretending he doesn’t see the love bites and bruises spanning your chest, nor the smug, triumphant look in that fucker’s eyes when he notices Daishou looking, his body tensed, shaking with barely contained fury. 

Kuroo strokes your cheek, “Keep your eyes on me. Just you ‘n me, yeah?”

You nod. Without prompting you reach for his belt, the clinking of metal and the hiss of Kuroo’s zipper rattling in his skull, the deep, husky groan that slips from his lips when your fingers slide into his pants and curl around his cock, pulling it out.

“Good girl,” he purrs.

Daishou doesn’t want to watch you kiss a trail from Kuroo’s navel down to his cock. He doesn’t want to see the way your thumb swirls along the head of his dick, smearing his pre only for your tongue to follow its path, lapping it right up.

He doesn’t wanna watch you lick your lips, lean in and suck Kuroo’s cock like a well trained slut while he palms at your tits, but between the rage and disgust and the nausea crawling up the back of his throat, Daishou’s frozen in place.

Guided by the not-so-gentle grip he has on the back of your hair, you take more of him into your mouth with every bob of your head, your other hand diligently working away at what doesn’t fit. He allows it for a minute or two, watching you try your best to take all of him with a hiss of pleasure.

Eventually, though, greed wins out. Kuroo’s hips cant forward, bucking past your lips to force his cock deeper, grazing the back of your throat. Eyes widening, you make a surprised noise and try to pull back, allow yourself a little breathing room to set a pace you're comfortable with, but Kuroo’s having none of it. He growls once in warning, grip tightening around your hair, holding you in place, and begins to fuck your face in earnest.

“That’s my good – little – whore,” he grunts, each word punched out with another cruel thrust of his hips. 

The sounds of you gagging on the dick in your mouth, your choked little whines and whimpers burn through Daishou like wildfire, igniting something deep. A faint stirring in his gut he wishes, more than anything, he could smother entirely. 

He doesn’t look away. 

It’s only when the lack of oxygen becomes too much and you claw at Kuroo’s thighs, tears streaming down your face that he finally relents, letting you pop off his dick with a heaving gasp. With nothing else to tether you, you collapse against his legs, boneless and panting, your eyes fluttering shut. 

They crack open, however, looking up when his hand comes to a rest on the crown of your head, “Say it again. I want to hear it.” 

The demand takes a moment to process, but you swallow and tell him what he wants to hear. “I love you, Tetsu. More than anyone.”

He grins, lazily stroking your hair, “I know, sweetheart. Now c’mon, up on the bed. I’ve been been dreaming of your perfect little pussy all day, wanna fuck you properly.”

—

Hours pass. Half a day, a day. Maybe longer. There’s no light down here, no windows to track the path of the sun, the shadows creeping across the floor, but he can feel the endless drag of seconds and minutes ticking like a slow suffocation. 

After fucking you to the edge of exhaustion, Kuroo had carried you out, cradled to his chest like something precious, and left him alone in the dark. 

Left Daishou to scream and rage and cry like a fucking baby. It doesn’t help any. His bones and muscles ache, the skin of his wrist rubbed raw trying to move to a position that doesn’t scream with discomfort, the cold, unforgiving floor beneath him offering no relief. Mere feet away lies the bed Kuroo fucked you on, with its pillows and blankets, soft, plush mattress.

With his eyes adjusting to the complete lack of light, Daishou can only make out a vague shape in the darkness. In some kind of fucked up way, he decides it’s a blessing in disguise.

Being able to see the bed’s another cruelty, the promise of comfort and warmth when he’s shivering and cold and lying in his own filth, placed just out of reach. And while the thought of lying in the sheets he’d fucked you in (raped you in, a voice reminds him) makes his stomach turn, he’s not so sure that given the chance, he wouldn’t shove those thoughts aside for a soft reprieve and a few hours of rest.

Some messed up part of him wonders if the pillows and sheets still smell like you.

So no, it’s a good thing he can’t really see the bed, or the door, or much of anything, really.

Besides, it isn’t the hunger pangs or the lack of sleep or the dull, throbbing pain from his joints that bother him the most, it’s the feeling of inhaling razor blades doused in fire he’s subjected to with every shallow, rattling breath. The last taste of water he’d had… would’ve been before the bar, however long ago that was. Too long. More than a warm bed, more than food or freedom from the cuff around his wrist, Daishou thinks he’d just about kill for a single sip of water to wet his throat. 

More than likely, that’s the whole fucking point. 

Left to rot in the darkness, Daishou has plenty of time on his hands to think, musing over the bed in this little windowless room, and the other door he suspects must lead to a bathroom. That asshole went to some effort in getting him here, he’ll admit, but he doubts all this was solely for his benefit.

You were here when he came to; obviously he’d kept you down here, the question was for how long? Did he keep you chained up and hungry in the dark when you wouldn’t play nice? The way you’d melted for him, the affection, the goddamn look in your eyes when you’d said that bastard’s fucking name–

The fear that’d shone there when you’d said his. 

Daishou knows from the depths of whatever’s left of him, that he could never, ever hate you. If he starves to death alone down here, if you’re the one to plunge a dagger into his heart yourself, if you forget all about him and buy into the delusional fucking nightmare that psychotic prick keeps peddling, he’d love you. That much is immutable.

But hatred’s too soft a word for the thorn riddled vines that sprout and twist inside of him, ripping away at muscle and flesh, choking his organs, his veins, everything that he is – because of Kuroo. 

When he hears those footsteps again, the clicking of the altogether unnecessary locks, Daishou can’t help the wide grin that cracks at his face. “Was wonderin’ when you’d come back down to gloat,” he croaks, manages a laugh too, though it feels like dragging his vocal cords over sandpaper.

Having flicked the light switch on (half blinding Daishou in the process) Kuroo fixes him with a sardonic smirk. “Missing me already?”

“Hate waiting around.”

“Ah well, what can I say? I had better things to do.” His smirk broadens, a cruel glint under too bright fluorescent light as he plops himself down on the bed Daishou’s been doing his utmost to ignore and stretches out, rolling his shoulder and neck. “Prettier things.”

A stab of something dark and ugly wrenches between his ribs. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he spits through cracked, dry lips, and before he can think better of it, adds, “Mommy didn’t love you enough, Kuroo? That what this is?”

Kuroo doesn’t snap the way he expects him to. He doesn’t lash out like he would’ve when they were hot headed teenagers desperate to grind the other into the dirt and lord it over them. The muscle in his jaw jumps and his eyes narrow, sharpen – but his expression is quick to smooth over. Water off a duck’s back. He lets out an amused snort, rising from the bed. 

“Y’know, as entertaining as it was watching you self-destruct, losing your volleyball career, your fans, friends, all those nights you spent searching for her at the bottom of a bottle – and it was entertaining, believe me – I think I like this better.” 

A short, sharp burst of pain. Warm copper spills over his tongue. 

“You’re not gonna survive this. Even you’re smart enough to have realised that much.” He crouches down low, at eye-level, just out of reach, appraising him with a tilted head – as though Daishou’s some whimpering puppy at the pound. 

Daishou’s not a fucking puppy. 

“Most likely it’ll be the dehydration that kills you first,” Kuroo continues. “That only takes a few days, but with water, you could probably make it two, three weeks before your body starves itself to death – plenty of time for your muscles to begin to atrophy, which’ll be painful as hell, not to mention how bad the isolation’s gonna fuck you up. And who knows, maybe I’ll be nice and bring you something to drink every now and then, throw you some scraps from dinner. I might even let you out of those cuffs for an hour or two, so you can walk around down here, stretch those legs of yours before they completely shrivel up… But you won’t see her again, ever.”

Scowling and hateful, Daishou spits at Kuroo and bares bloody teeth. 

Kuroo wants to treat him like a dog, fine – but wolves gnaw through flesh and bone to free themselves from hunting traps, and he ain’t about to just keel over with a whimper and make this easy for him.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Tension crackles through the air like an oncoming storm. 

Daishou falls back against the radiator, breathing heavy and Kuroo wipes at his cheek with the pad of his thumb and huffs out a dry laugh, eyeing the bloody digit. Looking back at Daishou, he stands. “You look thirsty, I’ll go get you some water. Can’t have you croaking on us just yet.”

He’ll bite his fucking throat out if he has to. 

[andypantsx3]

quick interlude from the bakugou barbarian-verse.

for @procrastination-artist bc your last drawing of feral bakugou made me go berserk ���

"He's a prince?" you ask incredulously, gaping at Izuku. "Bakugou?"

Izuku nods that head of wild green curls, blinking guilelessly back at you. "The closest thing his people have to it, anyway. Their custom isn't quite like Yuuei's," he answers.

You glance over your shoulder to where Bakugou is wrestling Kirishima into the dirt, apparently trying his level best to gouge the dragon's eyes out while he's at it. It's only your knowledge that Kirishima is basically impenetrable that stops you from rising in concern.

"That? That is a prince?" you repeat, hopelessly lost, as you watch Bakugou shove a literal fistful of dirt into Kiri's face.

"His mother is their leader," Izuku tells you, a smile in his voice. "It's mostly a hereditary position, with some fighting necessary to succeed. Kacchan's next in line."

"And stay down you spiky-haired shit!" Bakugou's crow reaches you as you turn back to Izuku, mystified. Izuku's mouth is twisted up fondly in the firelight.

"Well he certainly won't have any trouble there," you say emphatically, moving to turn your sausage over the fire. Drippings of grease sizzle off the sides of it, hissing where they hit the flames.

"The fuck I won't," Bakugou growls from behind you, pointedly loud so you can hear it.

You feel your ears go hot, embarrassed that he's heard you discussing him. But it's only natural, considering you're now legally married, according to the customs of one deeply batshit village.

Not that either of you have acknowledged it, however, short of Bakugou snarling that you were his as he'd won the village marriage tournament. He'd hauled you into his arms, carrying you out of there, only to drop you the second you'd cleared the village sight lines.

And neither of you have spoken of it since. But you can't help but be more curious than ever, now, about the man who sort-of-is, sort-of-isn't your husband.

"I'll wipe the floor with anyone who tries for the seat," Bakugou says, stalking over, his booted stride heavy and sure. "Like those assholes in Dagoba."

You chance a look up at him as he drops onto the log next to you, running a hand through his ash blonde hair. He glows in the firelight, the hard planes of his chest glinting with sweat, and he swipes at a patch of dust high on his cheekbone with the back of his hand. The shadows pool in the divots of his arm muscles as he does so.

"So you really are some kind of prince," you echo disbelievingly, reaching back for your sausage skewer, just for something to focus on. "Who would have known."

Bakugou's smile is white and knife-sharp in the light of the flames as those scarlet eyes find you, hot and intent. Your cheeks heat despite yourself.

"Yeah," he says, sounding smug. "Guess that makes you a princess."

You startle. Your sausage goes flying into the fire, hissing and crackling, and your face flames even hotter than the campfire.

Bakugou's smile is far too self-satisfied in the dim.

[sunflowersatori]

kiss it better

sukuna x nurse!reader

contents: modern au, f!reader, sukuna is just a guy™️, he keeps getting in fights and coming to the clinic you work at so you can patch him up, some swearing, shoulder relocation (not graphic but it happens)

a/n: i do not know enough about walk-in clinics or joint relocations to be writing this but i hope y'all enjoy (also i have a follow up blurb ready if people want to read that)

//

When you checked the patient walk-in list you tried not to grit your teeth upon seeing the name that was next in line.

You stepped out from behind the desk and into the reception area.

“Ryomen Sukuna?”

It was easy to spot the tattooed man, who smirked slightly when he stood.

“Please follow me.”

He followed as you led him back into the clinic and into a treatment room.

You closed the door and turned around with a frown, “Alright you asshole, what did you do this time?”

He fake gasped, “You need to work on your bedside manner, Miss Nurse. Aren’t you happy to see me sweetheart?”

“No I am not! Don’t you know I have patients to tend to?”

“Yeah, and I’m one of them,” He had a lazy grin as he leaned against the bed. You could see that he had a cut on his forehead with a bruise blooming underneath it. He was cradling his arm as if trying to hold it in place, and his lip was split. To top it off, there was blood on his knuckles too.

He’d obviously been in a fight, just like all the other late nights he’d come into the clinic.

You sighed heavily, “Other than what I can see, what’s wrong?”

“I dislocated my shoulder,” he nodded his head at the arm he was cradling, “but don’t worry, the other guy looks worse.”

You shook your head, “Sit, and I hope that fight was worth it because this is going to hurt.”

He sat and you moved over to his injured side. Even sitting on the table he was taller than you and his broad shoulders made you feel smaller than you were. You took his arm as gently as you could, ignoring his comment about you treating him so well, and manoeuvred it into position. With one push, you popped it up and back into the socket. 

“Fuck!” Sukuna barked out a curse at the pain, and you gave him a pointed look. 

He inhaled through his teeth as you wrapped up his arm in a sling.

After gently securing the sling with a knot at his wrist, you looked up to find him watching you, still grimacing a bit but clearly trying to play it off, “Damn sweetheart, what else can you do with those hands?”

You chose to roll your eyes and not comment. You did feel bad for him for having to go through the pain of relocating a joint, so you let it slide. Instead, you gathered some more minor supplies to tend to the rest of his injuries.

The blood on his knuckles wasn’t his, so it was the easiest to fix with a gentle rub of a disinfecting wipe. The cuts were also relatively simple to deal with, and didn’t even require stitches. You cleaned everything and grabbed a small ice pack for the bruise that was now fully settled on his forehead.

When you were done you took a small step back to survey him, “Does it hurt anywhere else?”

“Yeah right here,” he pointed to his face, “maybe you should kiss it better.”

“Why would I do that?” You scoffed and turned to dispose of the trash from your used supplies.

“A kiss always makes it feel better.”

He was grinning at you when you looked back at him, though it was a much less smug expression than he usually had. You wondered if the late hour or the pain was making him a little softer.

“That’s not a service we provide at this clinic,” you said, voice soft and trying to hold back a blush as you opened the door to the treatment room, “You’re all set to go Sukuna.”

“You mean you don’t want me to stay?”

“Sukuna.”

“Fine, fine, you’re a busy lady, with people to help. I get it,” he stood and walked toward the door, but paused in the doorway.

You felt the fingers of his good hand tilt your chin up so you were looking at him, and he leaned down to get close to your face. You felt your breathing stop.

“Thanks for taking such good care of me sweetheart,” Sukuna murmured, low and soft and right next to your lips. Then he was heading back toward the reception area.

You watched him until he turned the corner and was out of sight, and then you stepped back in the treatment room. You closed the door, even if you only had to quickly sanitize the place he had been sitting before the next patient came in, but you needed a moment to compose yourself.

It felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest. Sure you usually had to get close to him when you treated him, but this had felt different. He’d been a bit sweeter than usual tonight, some of his normal swagger put aside.

You couldn’t deny that you found him attractive, but normally it was easier to brush aside your thoughts and focus on your work. Now, you weren’t so sure.

What you did know was that you were, against your better judgement, looking forward to seeing him the next time he came into the clinic.

[levisjinchuriki]

take it

summary: jiraiya teases you for not being able to pleasure yourself without his help. you’re determined to prove him wrong

warning: nsfw, fem!reader, light humiliation, spanking, dom!jiraiya, sub!reader, light punishment, overstimulation, reader calls jiraiya an asshole

word count: 1.5k

the night started out like any other, you and jiraiya in your shared home enjoying each other’s presence. he laid on his back while you laid on your side facing him, softly stroking his bare chest. the conversation you were engaging in was about sex, of course, and he had mentioned that he feels bad going on long missions because he knows his girl isn’t being pleased thoroughly. you frown at him, claiming you “don’t need him to cum”. this causes jiraiya to coo at you. 

“c’mon honey, you know you can’t without my help”, jiraiya laughs. your brows furrow at his comment and you sit up, pulling the covers over your body. of course you can. you had done it long before jiraiya came, and after… well you haven’t really put it to the test since the man’s hunger for you never ceased. 

“yes i can” you fold your arms and pout at him. who does he think he is?

jiraiya shakes his head and brings his hand to your cheek. “i don’t think so, honey. you like me dominating you too much” he softly strokes your cheek. the action would be sweet if he wasn’t making fun of you. you push his hand off and swing one of your legs over his, straddling him. 

“i’ll show you”, you say under your breath. jiraiya’s ears perk up at the challenge.

“you’ll show me, huh?”. you nod quietly as you take hold of jiraiya's large member. you line yourself up with his tip and slowly start to sink on his member, already stretched out from earlier this afternoon. jiraiya is enjoying how determined you are. that smug smile won’t leave his face. he places his hands behind his head, enjoying the show. “go on”, he encourages you.

you mumble how much of an asshole he’s being under your breath, which he ignores for now. the thought of being on top for tonight excites you, your thighs already lightly coated with your slick. it takes you a moment to get used to the feeling since he always filled you to the brim. your eyes close as you take deep breaths. 

“i’m waiting”. you can hear the smile on his lips as he says it. you frown before slowly moving yourself up and down his length, hands resting against his broad chest for support. the position squeezes your breasts together, making them appear larger than they already are.

jiraiya hums in approval. even when you’re giving him attitude, he can’t hide the fact that you feel so good around him. if he wasn't trying to prove a point he'd lift his head up and suck dark marks into the sensitive skin on your chest.

gradually you pick up speed and start to moan freely above him. the sound of your skin slapping against his thighs spurs you on more. jiraiya doesn’t know if he should focus on your face or chest as you bounce on him. he bites his lip to keep his comments to himself. if this was any other night he would’ve been praising you and helping you by meeting your thrusts. but tonight was different. you told him yourself, you didn’t need his help. so he wasn’t going to give it to you. 

your fingertips dig into jiraiya’s pecks as you use him. your eyes can’t help but shut tightly as you feel the knot start to form in your stomach. you want to gloat and show jiraiya that you can pleasure yourself as well as he can, but your mind is too focused on bringing yourself to the edge. 

your brows furrow as you bounce as fast and hard as you can. your body feels sticky considering all the energy you’re exerting. your legs are shaking, cramping. it’s getting harder to breathe. and still, he feels so good. and you want to cum so bad but something’s missing. 

realization hits you. you groan and hit a fist against his chest in anger, stopping your movements momentarily. jiraiya lets out an amused chuckle. your legs twitch at your sides, already exhausted. it’s clear to you both that you’re having a hard time, but you have a goal in mind. you don’t want to give jiraiya the satisfaction of proving his claim to be true. if you’re gonna prove to him you’re right, you need to cum soon. you can’t continue for much longer. your muscles are sore already from doing all the work in these last few minutes. 

you let out a growl in determination, picking up your pace once more before he can offer a smart remark. jiraiya smirks at you, he’s thoroughly enjoying this. not only are you pleasuring him, you also aren’t able to pleasure yourself. you try your best to ignore the severe burn in your thighs as you continue bouncing in his lap. you wish he would at least speak, talk you through it. his voice alone can put you over the edge.

the knot in your stomach returns, but you don’t have enough energy to chase the feeling. your rhythm becomes sloppy as your legs ache. riding jiraiya alone isn’t bringing you any closer to finishing. you let out a loud groan in frustration as you stop again, your hips jerking violently as your thighs tremble.

jiraiya lets you catch your breath for a moment before moving. “can’t cum?” he asks, full of amusement. he takes one hand from under his head and holds your jaw up so you can look at him. “need my help?” he chuckles. he’s making fun of you again, but you can’t bring yourself to care right now. you need him. your eyes are pleading ‘yes’ and you nod your head. he hums at your confession. 

“what’s wrong, honey? i thought you were a big girl”. a whine escapes your throat as your walls unconsciously squeeze him. you want to cry. all you want- need- is to be dominated right now. instead, jiraiya is teasing you about not being able to make yourself cum. 

“jiraiya, please”, you whisper desperately. he shushes you, opening his arms for a hug, which you immediately accept. your cheek rests on his shoulder and chest press against his large one. he wraps his arms around you, tightly engulfing your body. you can’t free yourself if you try. 

“i’ll take good care of you, don’t you worry”. jiraiya shifts, firmly planting his feet on the mattress before he’s rutting into you. you gasp at the sudden pace, fingers gripping his biceps tightly. he’s being mean, roughly snapping his hips up to meet yours. you love it so much.

“needed me after all, huh?” he asks in a cocky tone. you hum in agreement. this is exactly what you needed, him to overpower you in every way. to take over your senses and just make you feel good. 

“gonna act smart again?”, he asks. the mattress is squeaking under you. the headboard is banging against the wall behind it. you’re sure there’ll be a dent in the morning, but you can’t bring yourself to care. it just feels too good. 

jirayia’s right hand leaves a nice red print against your ass cheek as he gives it a harsh spank. that was for calling him out of his name earlier. “answer me”, he tells you.

“n-no!” you choke out. you can barely remember the question, dizzy from how good he was making you feel. he spanks you again.

“gonna keep acting like a brat?”. there's tears in your eyes. he was pounding into you so hard, so fast, so perfect. you shake your head. 

“no!”, you cry. the knot in your stomach returns for a third time. its intensity grows as jiraiya continues to hit your spot just right. you’re moaning, shaking and cumming hard before you realize it. but he doesn’t stop. he needs to teach you a lesson. he needs you to know that no one will ever pleasure you as well as he does, not even you. 

the feeling of your walls tightening around him is almost pathetic. he’s just getting started and you’re already soaking his dick with your release. you whine as he fucks you through your orgasm, your slick making him slip into you easier than before. jiraiya’s pace doesn’t falter. he’s got you right where he wants you.

“only i can make you feel this good. isn’t that right?” he growls proudly.

you can’t move, his grip on you is too strong. he wants you to remember this moment the next time he’s on the road for weeks at a time, or when you’re home alone, trying your best to feel even a fraction of how he’s making you feel right now. he’s drilling it into your brain. it hurts so good and jiraiya doesn’t show any sign of stopping. 

all you can do is take it.

-

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ thank you for reading!! everyone is welcome to leave feedback and requests in my inbox!! also, let me know if you want to be added to my permanent taglist! ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

[bisexual-horror-fan]

(seems like a good place to leave this) Billy edging you until you're nearly screaming, then handing you over to Stu, who overstimulates you until you're definitely screaming. Thoughts?

So you throw two of my favourite boys, my all time fave poly ship at me with my favourite kink ever and expect me to not write something for it? You would be extremely mistaken Anon. I have so many thoughts about all this and this is literally THE place to leave a thought like this. So let’s get into it.

—

Rating. Explicit. Length 2K. Billy Loomis X Stu Macher X AFAB! GN! Reader. They/Them Pronouns. Poly!Ghostface. Warnings: Dirty Talk. Edging. Orgasm Denial. Vaginal Fingering. Vibrator. Toy Use. Overstimulation. Hitting. Punishment Play. Pain Play. Begging. Crying. Forced Orgasm. Vaginal Sex. Billy And Stu Being The Worst/The Best.

—

A Battle Of Wills.

—

This is your fault.

At least that is what he keeps saying to you, continually tells you and reminds you, that this is all because of you. To quote him about ten minutes ago when you were whining, “If you’d just kept your mouth shut I wouldn’t be doing this to you.” 

You are positive that he thinks he is making a good point but no one is forcing him to do this, he made this choice of his own free will and speaking of will that is how this all started. Claims over who had the strongest will, who could last longest in this scenario, and you are coming to realise that perhaps you were too confident, okay, not just confident, leaning more towards outright cocky and now you were paying for it. 

You were just so sure that Billy wouldn’t be able to have the self restraint for this, you thought that being naked and below him, moaning and squirming, fully on display. You thought the feeling, the view, hell even the smell would draw him in and make him cave before you did, and yet, you were, fuck, you aren’t even sure how many edges deep at this point. Billy was showing no signs of wanting to slow down or stop or even release himself from his jeans, that smug look on his face, between your splayed legs, two fingers lazily pumping in and out as his thumb circles your clit as he asks, “How you holding up?”

Asshole. 

You open your mouth to speak and his thumb presses harder as his fingers curl just so and it makes you let out the most pathetic sounding moan as opposed to any actual proper words and he laughs, “That’s not a real answer.” 

Sucking down a deep breath, brows stitched together as you try to ignore the pleasure coursing through your tense body as you try to push out a response that won’t have him mocking you. The words that leave you sound rushed and strained, “M’ fucking fine.” 

“Oh yeah, you totally sound fine.” Your eyes run down the length of your body to him, staring up at you with that look that makes you clench around his fingers, something he of course notices and naturally comments on, “I felt that.”

Before you could say anything else another voice is cutting in that has both you and Billy’s attention snapping towards the bedroom door, seeing Stu leaning against the door frame looking all too amused, “Now what is going on here?”

“A battle of wills.” Billy says before his attention is returned to you along with the quickening of his fingers once more, “Oh really?”

“Mmm.” He hums out as Stu pushes off the door frame and comes closer, his gaze feels predatory and somehow makes you feel even more naked than you already are in your totally bare state. 

Billy hadn’t stopped and Stu watching now was adding to this, pushing you to the edge quicker, pleasure spiking at an alarming rate. He was watching every small movement and reaction with great interest, the way your chest rose and fell, the stuttering of your words when you try to speak, the hitching of your breath.

"Hi." He greets with a small wave, playful and totally him and you push out the response of, "Hey Stu."

The sensation rises, climbs, you are almost there, you are too keyed up at this point to do anything to hide how you approached that ultimate moment and thus he knew just when to stop, just when to pull his fingers out. He was cleaning them off, a groan against his own slick digits, revelling in the taste of your pure unfiltered frustration as you fight off the urge to sob. 

Stu was beside the bed, hands in his pockets, head cocked to the side slightly, eyes roving over your sweat soaked form and he spoke again, “Soooo, name of the game is who can break first? He edges you till you beg to cum or he breaks first and has to fuck you?”

Still breathless you nod, eyes falling closed as you try to regain some composure, Stu snickers, “Musta really pissed him off this time. How long you been at it man?”

“Oh what would you say? Getting near an hour now.” He admits and you huff out a weak, “Feels like two.” 

“And you still haven’t given in, it’s honestly impressive.” Billy praises and the warm feeling of pleasing him washes over you briefly before he says, “But I gotta get going soon, so let’s wrap this up, okay?” 

“Shit yeah, it’s Wednesday, you got a class soon.” Stu said as if he just remembered and Billy grunts in acknowledgment as he was shifting on the mattress, you hear the nightstand opening, hear him rooting around for something and then it snapping closed again. “Yeah, but don’t worry, after I break em then I got a treat for you Stu.” 

Stu points to himself with a wide grin as he lets out a pleased, “Ooooh, for me? You shouldn’t have.”

Billy is back between your legs and the bright flash of colour in his hand catches your eyes before the item he got from the nightstand is between your thighs and the sound of consistent humming fills the room. As soon as candy coloured silicone touches your overly sensitive clit your head is thrown back against the pillows, body is immediately taut, legs jerking from the sharp rush of sensation and the bliss hits like a ton of bricks, weighing you down, rooting you to the spot. Stu laughs as he exclaims, “Jesus, you’ve done a number on em. So loud!”

Were you being? You hadn’t even realised you were moaning until Stu pointed it out, long and low, curses and panting breaths and unable to stay still. It took all of two minutes for you to approach the edge, and that is when you break, that is when you beg at last, “Please, please, please, fu-fuck, I can’t take it, I can’t, no more, please!” 

Closer and closer still, he didn’t look like he was going to move away, was holding the vibe just right on you and your eyes stay locked on him, still begging, still pleading, completely and utterly desperate, “Need it so b-bad, need to cum, please, please, M’ sorry! Just let me finish, let me feel it, please Billy!”

He had this look on his face, as if he was considering and that shift in his eyes like he might pull away again it makes you more frantic as your legs begin shaking. Your fingers are tugging on the sheets, back about to arch your volume increases, as if begging louder would make him listen. You were two seconds from tipping over, “Fuck, fuck! Right there, gonna cum, yes-”

That is the moment he turns it off. 

You nearly scream, the heels of your hands press to your eyes and you want to break something, you cannot believe how bad this is, how in need you are as you fight back tears, laying slack on the bed and leaking an obscene amount you bite out, voice breaking, “You fucking asshole!”

“Awe, touchy, touchy.” He admonishes you for your comment by laying a firm smack down between your legs, the hit lands on your extremely sensitive cunt and the tips of his fingers catch on your clit and your legs respond to the rush of pain with a twitch as you yelp. He then tells you, “No one likes a sore loser.” 

Somehow you restrain yourself from flipping him off but just barely.

You feel him shift again on the bed and your hands pull away, looking to see him tossing the toy aside and stretching, looking again, very fucking smug. “Looks like we proved who has more will power because while you-” He gestures to your still trembling form, “-are a fucking wreck who is practically crying to cum, I’m gonna get up and go off to class totally fine.”

He does just that, gets up and he pats Stu on the shoulder, “And I’m tagging Stu in who hopefully is in the right mood to help you out.” 

“Seriously man, this is a great gift, our favourite slut already on the brink of tears and dying to get off? You’re too good to me.” Stu sounded genuinely touched and it makes you want to roll your eyes, the guy will take any chance to ham up a moment for a joke and take great pleasure in it, king of improv thy name is Stu Macher.

“What can I say, I’m a real generous guy. Have fun, I’ll see you two kids later.” A kiss pressed to Stu’s cheek before he is leaving, you are focused now on the tall blonde, a lecherous and sadistic grin splitting his features as he sing-songs out, “Bye Billy.” 

Your body still feels weak, limbs heavy but you try to move back on the bed, get away from him but he is too quick, hands lock on your ankles and he pulls you down the mattress, “Hey, hey there’s no getting away from this sweetheart. I got no plans this afternoon and nothing sounds as fun as fucking with you does.” 

His hands ran up your legs as he pressed onwards, “Don’t look so scared, Billy was the mean one today so I’m gonna be nice, alright?”

Why didn’t you believe him?

Billy was in no rush to get home. 

Class was fine, he got a late lunch, and he was out of the house for around two hours, he wondered if you were both still going at it until he got into the hallway outside your apartment and he could hear you.

He unlocked the door, meandered his way towards the bedroom to find the door was wide open and you still spread out on the sheets and Christ even with the gag Stu shoved in your mouth you were this loud? 

Turns out Stu’s idea of being nice was making you cum over and over again until you literally couldn’t fucking think anymore, forget about speaking.

It was nice to begin, the first orgasm had you thanking him, babbling with the relief the washed over you as you came with his fingers buried in your cunt and his mouth on your neck. It was still good when he didn't stop, merely slowed as he worked you up to and through your second and even enjoyable when he first picked up the toy for the third and fourth he wrung out of you.

But those happened over an hour ago and before he even got his pants off.

Now you were sore, exhausted and thoroughly cummed out, dried tracks of tears down your cheeks and forced to just take it as Stu worked on getting his own hard earned pleasure.

“C’mon man, haven’t we tortured them enough today?” Billy asked, Stu’s head jerked up, a look over his shoulder, a smile spreading on his face as he sees the brunette now watching the scene making him slow his hips, “Almost done, swear to God.”

Billy scoffed, a roll of his eyes as he started to come into the room, “Yeah I take you swearing to God real seriously.”

“What should I swear on to get you to believe me?” Stu was back to it, sounding a little breathless, a harsh rolls of his hips, one of your legs propped up on his shoulder, his hand near your knee as he fucked into you and his other hand holding that same toy Billy was using earlier to your throbbing and over worked clit. “A stack of your favourite porn maybe?”

He snorts out a laugh, a harder slam of his hips into yours and another broken moan tears out that he talks over, “You think M’ that sex obsessed? That I can swear on porno like it’s the fuckin’ bible?” 

“Think? I know.” Billy sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand reaches out, sweeping some hair off your sweaty forehead, “How many times did you make them cum?”

“I had em keep-ing count but once they, ugh, couldn’t form words anymore-” Stu’s sentence stops with a moan, your body was forced through another brutal orgasm and you cry into the gag, it barely felt good, mostly it hurt, just painful clenching and flexing of your cunt around his cock plunging in and out of your abused hole. His pace was uneven, thrusts sloppy, he was going to cum soon, thank God.

Billy nods as he watches your body shake through the feelings Stu was forcing onto it, your eyes unfocused, drool down your chin, throat ruined from all the incessant moaning and crying and screaming into the gag, “Yeah once they start sobbing like that all bets are off, bet they aren’t even listening to this right now.”

“Ohh, you gonna want a turn after I cum in em?” Stu asked and Billy said, “I mean I didn’t cum earlier did I?” 

Seems the afternoon is far from over and one thought breaks through your overstimulated haze, you have got to stop making bets with them.

[smad-lesbian]

Can you write smth for this trope?

Like, Ronica, who is voicing out her annoyance towards the Heathers but then someone she's with in the room voices their disdain for them loudly and very obnoxiously. And Veronica who suddenly forgot she shouldn't care about them as people glares and with the most condescending voice you would ever hear from her goes "Say that again."

And the Heathers may or may not have overheard.

YES, PROTECTIVE VERONICA MY BELOVED!!!

---

Veronica grumbled as she glared down at the note in her hand.

'Come to the parking lot after school, we need to get you actual clothes bitch

-H.C'

Veronica felt a falte of annoyance as she glanced at the note again, re-reading it as if it would magically change the words.

Well, it's not like she could ditch this time, she was already "on thin ice" since the party, if she missed this Chandler might show up at her house with an ax and murderous intent.

Veronica sighed in resignation. She opened her locker, with slightly more force than was necessary, cursing under her breath as she did.

"-Exactly! She obviously only got the position because of it, it makes sense, right Ronica?"

An obnoxious voice broke Veronica out of her thoughts. Veronica whipped around, facing the source of the voice, a shorter freshman, leaning against the locker beside her own, a far too cocky expression on his face, his friend, or at least Veronica assumed was his friend, standing on his left, wearing a notably more nervous expression.

"Pardon?" Veronica asked, raising an eyebrow at the young boy, not many people came up to her these days, at least not casually, everyone had left her alone since she joined the Heathers,apart from a few football players trying to gain a quick fuck or a country club kid trying to start small talk.

"Heather McNamara, everyone knows that she only made cheer captain because she spread her legs for the coach."

…

The kid was suicidal, it was the only possible explanation of why he would spout such bullshit, surely he wasn't that fucking stupid.

Veronica felt the thin sheet of patience she had left snap as she glared daggers at the kid.

The hallway went silent.

The freshman's friend, apparently the one with the common sense, looked Sorin wildly, seemingly searching for a possible escape route. The freshman himself still had a cocky grin on his face, apparently too stupid to realize he had just written his death in stone.

Veronica put her diary back into her locker turning to face the kid fully, her height now clearly displayed as she towered over the freshman.

"Say that again, even hint at it really, and I will make your life a living hell, you will be wishing for death by the time I'm done with you, I will make sure your can never even breathe normally again," Veronica said, her voice resembling a tone that you would use on a small child, it was loud enough for the freshman, and a couple of students that were nearby, to hear.

The confidence of the kid's face crumbled, his eyes now wide with fear as he stayed in shock at Veronica's word's.

"Do you understand me?" Veronica demanded more than asked, the kid could only nod rapidly.

"Good, now leave before I tear you a new asshole," Veronica said, apparently breaking whatever spell he had been under, making the kid scramble away, his friend close behind.

Veronica glared at them until they were no longer in her line of sight. Veronica turned back to her locker, reaching for her once again for her diary.

"Aww, who knew you were so protective, Sawyer."

Veronica froze momentarily at the familiar voice, she turned around to find Heather Chandler standing just across her, a smug smile spread on her face, just behind her were Duke, who had an unreadable expression, and Mac, who was completely red in the face.

Veronica's gaze lingered on Mac, was she sick? Embarrassed because of what the Gresham had said? That last thought made Veronica want to go in the hunt for the kid and make good on her promise.

"Come on now, we still have to go to the mall after all."

[di-daynamic]

@hinnymicrofic May Day 21: Drunk

“Alright, Weasley?” Potter smirked at her. “Not too despairing, I hope? I won’t catch you if you faint.”

“Ha fucking ha, Potter,” Ginny snarled. “Just because your team got this shot doesn’t mean you’ll win. Wait and watch. We’ll be winning today.”

Potter smiled that absolutely infuriating smug smile of his. “You go on dreaming,” he said in a faux soothing voice. “But I have to go fly. And win.”

He flew seemingly erratically and dismantled her teammates’ formation with next to no effort.

Ginny gritted her teeth.

Harry Potter was a legend in quidditch. He’d been selected for his house team in his first year, led Ravenclaw to a victory several times, missed a catch only a handful of times and had been picked as reserve seeker straight out of school by the Pride of Portree before starting for the Ballycastle Bats.

The first time, Ginny had been excited to play him.

That had been before she’d realized what a Merlin damned asshole he was.

Well. Famous prodigy or not, she and her team would beat him and his.

Ginny seized the quaffle mid switch of the Bats’ Chasers. She passed it to Val who passed it back to her right in time and position to score. Fans roared and booed. She turned to Potter and made a violently rude gesture at him.

He only smirked back at her.

For some reason, that sent a shiver down her spine.

The next forty minutes were a deadly dance of taunting and dodging and scoring and flying. Ginny’s blood sang in the air. Flying brought a thrill to her she never got anywhere else, except for from Harry Potter’s scorching glares and mocking.

He seemed to delight in frustrating her. He was edging her, blocking her, ruining her plays ever other second. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was unnervingly concentrated on her, despite him always being an active seeker in all his matches.

A Bat scored again, and Potter did a loop-de-loop in celebration before shooting in a slanted line towards the centre of the pitch.

Ginny’s heart skipped a beat. The Snitch!

Potter was widely regarded as the best Seeker in the League. Melissa was good, but Ginny wasn’t being cruel when she thought she was no match for him. Their only hope was the score: which was currently two-ten to sixty in the Harpies’ favour.

If Potter caught the Snitch, they would lose.

Ginny dove down, and her stomach dropped and rose all at once at the terror and thrill and joy of the act. She buzzed the opposing chaser, nearly Blatched another, grabbed the quaffle and threw it at the hoops.

It was a long shot – but the keeper had been distracted by the Snitch chase and the quaffle sailed through the left hoop right as Potter’s fist closed around the Snitch.

The spectators roared. There was a great deal of confusion. But finally, the referee declared the Holyhead Harpies to be the winners.

Ginny whooped as she took her victory lap. Her eyes met Potter’s, and she tilted her head towards him cockily. His gaze was burning. Hate and, somehow, admiration. Ginny’s heart flipped unnaturally, and she ignored it as she sped towards her celebrating teammates.

She spent the next few hours at the Holyhead unofficial pub, getting congratulated and mobbed by fans and drunk with her teammates. Vision blurring a little – she’d perhaps had one drink too many – she flooed to the nearest public floo point to her apartment.

Her head spun as she walked back home, dazed and drunk on joy and alcohol.

“Weasley,” came a slurred voice. “If it isn’t the bloody heroine of the hour.”

Ginny turned. If she was drunk, Harry Potter was completely plastered. His hair was more of a rat’s nest than usual, his features were slack, but his green eyes were as blazing as ever.

“Potter. Why, here to expend your Loser’s Lurgy?” She instantly regretted referring to one of Luna’s wild stories. To her surprise, Potter just barked a laugh.

“You’re friends with Luna too, huh?” She stared. Why the hell had she never told Ginny Luna was friends with Quidditch Star Harry Potter? “Nothing like that. Mates an’ me got drunk, and Dad and Mum and Sirius will never let me hear the end of it if I go to them, and Hermione would kill me for drinking dangerously. And Nev’s out of town. So just. . . Wandering ‘round.”

In one sentence Potter had told her more than she ever wanted to know about his life.

“Like I wanted to know, Potter,” she jeered. She turned to go.

“You asked, Weasley.” Came his teasing voice. Ginny pressed her eyes shut furiously. She supposed she had. “Not going to bitch or gloat about your win?”

“Me, gloat?” Ginny’s voice was taut as she went and pressed her finger to his chest. He just smiled at her, giving her that damned smugly superior look she hated. “Says Harry Potter, the sorest winner in the whole world!”

Potter laughed incredulously. “Coming from Ginevra Weasley, the most morally superior too good for everyone player?”

“The worst—”

“Bloody crazy and arrogant—”

“Infuriating asshole—”

“Self-righteous shrew with attitude problems—”

“Smirking like the bloody devil himself, why are you so—” Ginny breathed heavily. “So incredibly good at quidditch—”

“And why are you so. . . .” Potter’s voice dropped to a ragged whisper. “So. . . so fucking pretty?”

Their eyes met. And the next moment, they were kissing.

Potter kissed like a storm. He kissed her like she was the last thing left on earth. He kissed her like she was water in a desert.

Gasping, they tore away from each other as someone called at them to get a room.

This was a terrible idea.

Her brothers would encourage it, which was a warning all in itself. Her parents would be very sternly horrified. They were on opposite teams, facing in the league.

She didn’t care.

He was a drug she wanted to get high, delirious, drunk on.

This was a terrible idea.

“My apartment’s that way,” she said.

[xbalayage]

Last Night

Silvio/Reader Angst WC: 1,107 A/N: From the perspective that Silvio didn't change from the initial way we were introduced to him as but still fell for the charm he held anyways. It's tame while he's sober but during nights of drinking when things are supposed to be fun, he's drank way too much and it comes out with a force. Inspired by a song I listened too - pretty sure anyone could potentially guess what song it is.

[ - - . - - - . - - - . - - ]

Frivolous parties were what this kingdom was known for; constant music, extravagant sights, the liveliness was unparalleled to any other kingdom in comparison. But when they swam in untold fortunes and had a flourishing economy of frequent trade, why wouldn't they? Last night was no different - they'd spend it together under the glittering lights of a balcony, indulging in the finest wines and liqueur but food went untouched as she stared blankly off into the distance, no longer even listening to the words coming from his mouth. He was feeling it a bit more than her and that was saying something for once.

Incredibly insensitive and rude comments escaped past in his drunken haze all while wrapped around his smug smile, not even realizing the damage he'd be creating. She told him time and time again, yet she kept her rage to herself, focusing on the dazzling glow of lights with her hand cupping to support her chin. Radiant eyes refused to look his way. Now wasn't the time to stem out in that kind of talk, but she couldn't help the underlying resentment that whispered past her lips. "--I wish you were somebody I never met."

He heard it, of course he did. But, surely, she didn't mean that. Just like tonight's affairs, it was just the alcohol talking. She loved him. It was just one mistake he'd apologize for and wouldn't do again.

Right?

Just earlier that night when the mood was right, they both had their cheeks flushed with the passion they shared as she gripped the sea of sheets to their bed, crying out his name that he drank up like the sweetest song he's ever heard. Settled in what felt like miles of robes, she sat in his lap, fingers curved into his hair as they gaze lovingly into each others eyes. No one would know the wiser that they'd ever fight. Splitting a drink shared between kiss bruised lips, promising futures they'd hope to keep and sharing secrets of life that'd been left unspoken.

How did it come to this?

Their regular banter now turned into a verbal sword fight of who's right or wrong, positioning their sharpened words into the most vulnerable spots to hurt. He yells over her, she yells over him - neither of them were listening. The verbal warfare leaves a lasting scar forever etched into her mind, while he simply forgets like it never happened; like the wine wasn't laced with poison and shifted their tongues into pitchforks of hate. She couldn't bare another night like tonight.

Tonight was no different from other nights - she just refused to indulge in a fruitless endeavor after fighting. He's completely hammered and not listening to reason, or paying attention to those nasty comments he keeps spewing. Rio was right, and she should've listened sooner but that damn heart of hers always tried to see it through. 'Just let him go. He'll grow a pair and see how much of an asshole he's been once you finally leave him' his words rang fresh in her mind, trying to blink away the tears by the thought of the truth.

Silence beat in her ears for a few moments before her gaze turned back to him, curious to know why everything all at once seemed to stop. Like time had frozen in the moment to give her a reprieve to run. Her eyes met a passed out figure, snoring as he laid lazily in his chair. The urge to punch him square in the jaw but kiss his stupid face at the same time was too strong - she had to shake her head and stand, heading inside to pack her most treasured things.

Finally, she had enough. This would be the last night she would endure this. But she couldn't leave, not like this. Scrambling to find a pen and paper, her letter stated words intertwined with both love and sorrow; when their love was great, it was great - but when it was bad, it was like inhaling water with a ball and chain strapped around the ankle, pulling her down to the depths of her death. She undone the collar around her neck that she both hated and adored for multiple reasons, looking over once more at his slumped body on the balcony before resting the item with the note on the bed covers.

And almost as if he'd been listening in, Rio was at the door once she opened it, staring deep into her tear stained eyes that ran past her cheeks. His eyes gazed down at her luggage in hand before reaching her face again. No words were spoken, just a simple nob and Rio knew. He knew it was finally time. Her eyes turned once more for the last time at the man she loved the most, her heart ached - but she had to put a mental foot down; she couldn't change a man that didn't want to change. Or didn't know how to, even with her gentle guidance.

With her resolve strong, she slammed the door as she left, her resentment staying to linger in the absent room. He was too out of it, a simple action like that wouldn't have awoken him. She left, to never return.

Morning broke as he woke up, his body sore and mind swirling with no recollection of the previous night. He found himself on the floor, chair sprawled off to the side, empty wine bottle littered the floor. He lifted his head to find the food untouched on the table. His first thought was her, but he couldn't find her anywhere even when calling her name. As he got up slowly, he scratched at his head and groaned. Finally able to stand on his feet, he noticed a note and her collar placed on the bedding.

He read the note with a heavy heart; had he gone too far last night? What had he done? What had he said for her to have to write a note, leave behind the present he got her and vacate all her belongings as well, to leave in the middle of the night? For her to finally leave him. He gritted his teeth and held the note close to his chest, his other hand thumbing the beautiful collar that glittered in the sunlight. His eyebrows furrowed as hurt ridden eyes stare at the rising sun longingly.

Something told him that this wasn't the end of them, he held onto the hope that she'd forgive him. That she would come back to his side. This couldn't be. There's no way... that this was their last night.

taglist; @nightghoul381, @yvelk, @celiciaa, @drachonia, @alvieeru, @aquagirl1978, @here-for-gilbert, @widowbunny, @exhausted-courtroom-mom, @randonauticrap, @maries-gallery, @violettduchess, @strawberry-scum

[disneyanddisneyships]

Happier

Warnings: implications of (g)r^pe, and abuse, Jason being a decent guy, Alastor being an ass, alastor being ooc probably. Not proofread.

Summary: after aponi and alastor get into a small tiff at the studio, Jason takes it upon himself to try and let her express her emotions through dance. Part 2 to "Me Too".

Taglist: @gyubby99

Pairings: Huskerdust if u squint, chaggie, Alaponi angst, and a bit of jasaponi (ik julia. Im sorry.)

"There you go! Yes, wonderful form Vaggie! Good rhythm angel!" Aponi called out as the music played.

The group was practicing their dance. An activity Charlie had forced everyone into to get them to enjoy one another more.

Angel, Vaggie, and Nifty were having the time of their deaths, and they were quite good with the song they were dancing to.

Husk was trying his best, but couldn't focus when he kept bumping into angel and kept getting a face full of the spider's chest fluff.

Charlie was mixing up her steps.

"No, mi Vida, like this," Vaggie stated as she moved to the rhythm in the simple steps aponi had layed out for them.

"Right!" Charlie exclaimed as she tried her best to copy what her girlfriend was doing.

"Good job, Charlie! You're getting it. Try putting your hand here instead-" Aponi stated a she helped Charlie get into a better position.

Alastor however barely even tried.

"This is absolutely preposterous! This dance is horribly choreographed and much too modern!" He sneered, his smile becoming strained.

"Well maybe if you gave it a shot you wouldn't be such an asshole about it, deer boy," Aponi replied.

"Maybe I would try if we had a better instructor!" Alastor replied, his smile becoming triumphant and smug.

"Well maybe if you didn't argue about every single song I picked, everyone would've had a better time!" Aponi practically shouted.

"Aha! Well maybe if you weren't such a bitch, we'd all enjoy the class!" Alastor cursed.

"You are SUCH A-"

Aponi was cut off by a hand on her shoulder. Turning around to see her ex, Jason, standing behind her with a small smile.

Jason was an asshole when the two were together. Abusive. He was even the reason she was down here, but Aponi didn't have it in herself to hold in that grudge, no matter the shitty things he did. And he did some REALLY shitty things.

"What do you want, Jace?" Aponi snapped, still seemingly calming down.

"I know its.. not my place, but.... everyone is pretty tired, and its almost 6pm... Maybe it would be best if everyone went home for the night?" Jason stated.

Aponi sighed. He knew her signs. Of course he did. They've known each other for years....

"Alright..." her eyes softened before she turned to the group. "Today's session is over. You can all go back home," she stated.

Her regular dancers began packing their stuff while Charlie walked up to her.

"I am SO sorry about alastor! I mean if I'd have known before that you two used to uh..... y-you know.. I never would've put either of you in that situation!" Charlie apologized.

"Oh, honey don't worry about it. It's not your fault he's such a self absorbed prick. Why don't you all go back to your hotel, yeah?" Aponi reassured.

"FINALLY! you've said something clever!" Alastor exclaimed as he immediately walked out of the room, forgetting his microphone in his rush.

As the rest of the hotel patrons walked out, Jason stayed.

"....... you wanna talk about it?" He asked as aponi walked to turn off the lights in the studio.

"To you? No. Absolutely not," Aponi stated as she started to pack up her stuff.

Jason chuckled. "Okay okay. Fair..... but I see the way your nose is scrunching up. You need to let off some steam," he replied.

"Maybe I do...... what's it to you?" Aponi asked as she zipped up her bag and walked over to the speakers to make sure they were off.

"Lilly,"

That made her pause.

"....... he just..... hes.... he was my-......" aponi tried before wiping away the tears in her eyes. "And after you did what you did he was the first person to......"

Jason looked down in shame.

"..... you wanna work on the dance that we've been practicing? No one's here. You could scream at the top of your lungs. As much as you want," Jason offered.

"........ yeah.... okay yeah... that's a good idea, Jason," Aponi replied before turning the speakers back on, along with the music.

.......

Alastor froze just outside of the hotel when he went to mess with his microphone, only to realize it wasn't in his hand.

He cursed himself internally. In his haze of storming out he must've forgotten it in the studio....

Usually he would just summon it to him, but the implication of snooping around the studio that he bought and handed the deed over to the love of his death, was too enticing. Especially when he figured she wouldn't be there.

As he made his way back to the building, his smile grew at the sight of it being pitch black inside.

It was only when he walked through the halls, closer to the studio did he hear what sounded to be.... music...

With a raised eyebrow and a relaxed smile, he sunk into the shadows of the room, spotting Aponi and Jason starting a dance.

As the music played, aponi stood in the middle of the room, turning slowly.

From where he stood, Alastir could see that she was.... crying.....

He unwillingly felt a pang in his chest at the sight. He always hated when she'd cry.... and now he hated that he hated it...

As she cried, she took hold of the choker around her neck.... Alastor's eyes widened at the sight.... he had given her that when they had first began dating..... was she wearing it this whole time?

As the music went on, aponi collapsed gently onto the floor, where Alastor finally noticed Jason sitting as well.

Alastor tilted his head as the music picked up.

Alastors eyes widened at the choreography. He had always loved watching her dance... even now....

However, the sight of Jason laying his hands on her in the way he was.... even though it was a dance, it struck something inside of alastor....

Alastor flinched at the scream Aponi let out. It was drowned out by the music.....

As the dance went on, the two ended up on the floor, Jason cradling aponi tightly before she screamed so loud the windows may have broken.

Alastor felt something in him feel a tinge of regret.

His head perked up when he saw Jason get off of her, concern on his face.

"Shit.. did I hurt you?" He asked.

Aponi layed on the floor in tears, the flashbacks of their mortal life running through her head.

"Hey, Aponi, it's okay. I-...." Jason stuttered. He promised himself he'd never hurt her again. "Aponi?"

Still no response, other than the tears falling onto the floor.

Jason gulped. "Lilly?" He asked before sitting down on the floor and gently heaving her onto his lap, rocking back and fourth as she clung onto him, digging her nails into his skin as she cried.

Alastor shook his head as his smile strained, summoning his microphone I to his hand and melding into the shadows so he could get back to the hotel.

.......

Alastor morphed into his room, tears in his eyes.

He was so confused. He felt everything at once. Guilt, anger, jealousy, pity, regret. Every emotion except for happiness.

Why was it whenever SHE was near, alastor could barely breathe.... he hated her... she broke his heart. He had given her a contract. They would give their souls to one another as a marriage certificate, but she refused.

So why was HE the one feeling guilty?!

Alastor's eyes softened, as if he finally realized why she was so mad at him that day....

Her whole life she's been confined to someone.... her abusive mother, Jason, Valentino......

Alastor took in a shaky breath.

Oh..... That's why...

[vole-mon-amour]

chapter 67:

those looks and smiles at each other. :')

lmao. you tell them, Sebastian. a bit too late, but you just gotta tease your master, huh.

more reading under cut.

chapter 68:

this is so CUTE. it's like they're home but this is even cuter somehow. the devil has to be a nanny to all of those kids & and it's cute not because of the kids, but because of the way Seb is drawn? his expression and the pose are doing something to me.

these two, I swear.

chapter 69:

honestly, what's with this? like, in the anime it makes zero sense. doesn't make much more sense in the manga, either.

never thought i'd see Sebastian mad, annoyed, and tired because of some homework. dude, you're literally a demon. you were doing all of that at home with easy while also taking care of the staff. pull yourself together.

that little left remark is hilarious and should've been in the show.

Yeah... I would like to see his real teaching method, too. I can't unsee this in a sexual context. *Professor* Michaelis. The arched back, the position of the hand. The look from under his lashes. This moment in the anime should've been sluttier.

"if you order me" so basically Seb wants to be his lap kitty on a short leash.

Ciel is so smug & Seb just likes being ordered around and be his (and spend time with him).

"give me written proof" now THAT makes sense. did I miss this or they didn't add this to the anime?

chapter 70:

what I don't understand is what's the point of being someone's fag? like, you're a butler in school where you still need to do your homework, go to classes, all of that? couldn't be me.

this? is sexual(ized).

also, all those "pretty boys"? long(er) hair, feminine beauty. even the name, "Joanne". you're telling me that's a boy? there's a pattern, just like Ciel in a dress. Maurice, too. straight up a female.

this is a cute moment tbh.

this is so wholesome. a friend, almost. though yeah, in another situation i'd ship.

The Husbands (TM) are regretting every second of this, lol.

Soma literally said, "Hey! Get back here!" I feel bad for the elephant.

"you bastard, I shouldn't have called you" "pretending not to know them" lmaoooo. #married

chapter 71:

Soma, you're soooo sneaky. x) So adorable though.

"I'm free!" lmaooo

gotcha! asshole.

oh, Ciel. x) if he was sleeping, he could've went to bed at least.

I need this piece of shit to die immediately. where's Sebastian? jfc, that last one throws me back to when Ciel was raped.

ugly ass bitch. you deserve this.

Seb, you chose this. x)