#Veins Full Of Static

[trevlad-sounds]

For the birds 012

02.08.2024

For the Birds 012

This weeks episode of avian adventures has an exclusive from upcoming Veins Full Of Static album A House Wrapped in Sleep.

Intro 00:00 Go Outside-inkling 01:31 Willebrant-Mimosa 05:07 Shakali-Aihkimännyt 08:04 Synthbiont & Anassimandrus-Whispers from the City 15:49 Lunar Cambridge-Nute Gunray 22:49 Matthewdavid-3_WINDFISH 25:56 Mason Bee-Are You Ok? 27:45 Vessant-Aquifer 30:49 Time Rival-Star Mother 37:53 Glåsbird-Lokoteraina 50:52 Veins Full Of Static-Ceaseless Collapse 53:36 Outro 59:53

The Spotify playlist now has 74 found tracks from all the episodes:

[arcadequeerz]

Sometimes I wanna wildly yell about scribbles and then I get too nervous to and just sit here like:

[izvmimi]

ember - izuku x reader

cw: spoilers to the end of the manga. reader with vaguely described quirk. izuku and reader are married. short and sweet. a/n: establishing my own new canon, tyvm.

On an evening out in September, six months after you tie the knot with Izuku Midoriya and three years after Izuku returns to active Pro Hero duty, you find out three crucial things about him.

One, Izuku meant it when he said he loves you possibly more than life itself; two, Izuku might not have lost all of the embers of One for All, after all, and three, Izuku is a fucking idiot.

Your body feels unbelievably rigid as though you were in a car accident, and in a way, you were, and your guts should be strewn all over this sparsely populated street if not for the fact that you’re wrapped up, safe, cocooned in your lover’s protective hold, his back curved over yours, and the truck that should have crushed you both instead is partially crumpled itself at its front end, metal twisting around Izuku’s raised forearm. The two of you are panting heavily, the adrenaline coursing through your veins giving you the sensation of having just run a marathon, and he’s looking at you with frantic eyes, scanning you for safety. That long familiar green spark in the air surges around him like electricity, the glow in his green eyes, fading quickly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breathlessly, not out of exertion but out of shock.

“I-Izuku, you’re not…”

He still hasn’t realized what has just happened, focusing on the fact that you’re alive and okay and didn’t turn into roadkill right in front of his very eyes. Unwedging his somehow intact forearm from the grille of the truck, he turns his body completely to you, rubbing his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, and helps you rise to your feet. The static feeling emanating from him slips away second by second and your lips wobbles as you’re at a loss for words.

“Are you okay?” he repeats again. He’s patting you over quickly, looking for broken bones, bruised skin, and your mind is still racing, computing what just happened and why you’re still alive.

He shouldn’t have been able to cross that distance so quickly - you were just waving to him from across the street, the road clear when you looked before crossing, and in seconds the vehicle had barreled at full speed out of nowhere; he couldn’t have moved before screaming your name fast enough, maybe years ago when you were both teenagers with impossible superpowers but not now, years later with superhuman gifts dwindled to nothing. 

He couldn’t have, but he did. 

“I-Izuku, the suit… you’re not wearing your suit,” your voice carries shakily, and as you see his eyebrows unscrunch and raise instead in surprise, he turns, and sees the stopped vehicle, the broken glass and distorted metal, a man hurriedly jumping out of the passenger seat and shakily apologizing, and finally his torn jacket sleeve and it occurs to him.

“Oh, fuck, I’m not.”

—

You watch Mei type on her computer, not bothering to try to decipher her thoughts from her facial expressions, knowing full well that she’s never been readable before. Even years after high school you find that this continues to be true, but the blank but friendly and entranced look on her face is somehow pleasant the more you think about it, and you let yourself let out the breath you’ve been holding.

It’s been just a few weeks since the night Izuku’s Quirk - at least some of it - flickered back into life for the first time, and after you’d berated him for using his literal body to shield you from a danger that could have killed you both, you’d taken the time that evening to use your own Quirk to see if something about his body had gone haywire. To both of your surprises, you’d gotten a flicker of something similar to the old him, but unsure and unwilling to get either of your hopes up, you’d decided to consult with Mei and other experts who worked with Quirk pathophysiology and augmentation (a few of which you’d taken courses with yourself years ago), and now you were back in Mei’s laboratory, trying to see if you could get to the bottom of this.

Since then, the following strange things had happened:

You’d dropped a plate and Izuku had dove for it, the wisp of a Blackwhip tendril just brushing it before it ultimately crashed to the ground, the two of you too stunned to speak.

A group of Izuku’s students heckled him as he leaned in to accept your kiss outside UA, and all of you ended up in a purple haze before you knew it.

Izuku’s midday nap on the couch found him face to face with the ceiling when you finally discovered him, and

A sudden unintentional use of Fa Jin made things very interesting in bed.

“I guess my baby’s doing a better job than I thought it would!” Mei grins. You hunch over her screen, while Izuku’s too hooked up to a tangle of wires to get a good view of the screen himself, and she compares Quirk levels from the beginning of the suit’s conception to now, a previously long-standing flat graph with a steadily rising bump. 

“A miracle,” you whisper under your breath.

“I find that personally offensive.” Mei replies, her facial expression lacking the cheek to compare to her statement as she watches Izuku watch you from behind the glass. She presses a button on the intercom; Izuku grins at you while Mei gives him the instructions to try to activate Blackwhip one more time, and you can feel warmed all the way through. 

—

Slowly but surely, over time, the Quirk levels start to recover, and you, Izuku and Mei try your best to keep it under wraps.

Of course, Katsuki finds out with direct questioning, the purple haze event showing up on an anonymous internet forum propelling him to show up at your doorstep and demand personally that Izuku tell him if he got his quirks back or not.

“We’re not sure how permanent this is, Kacchan,” he offers. Katsuki might as well spit on the ground before him in protest but you’re seated in the living room, and even Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight has enough decorum to not make a mess in someone else’s home.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Midoriya!”

“It’s not a lie!” Izuku insists, and he turns his gaze to you for backup which you swiftly provide.

“Listen, we’re not sure yet, and they’ll probably never get back to normal, but he’s doing his best.” Katsuki grimaces, which annoys you further.

“You’ll get your damn rematch, be patient.” you add, rolling your eyes. Katsuki leers, and his partner pats him on the shoulder.

“He’s just excited,” she translates for him, and Katsuki mumbles something about not needing her for translation every time which doesn’t waver her smile one bit.

“Excited to get his ass beat,” you murmur, reaching over to pour her some more tea. Izuku and Katsuki both stare at you, Izuku with nervous concern and Katsuki with irritation, and just like old days, you and Katsuki’s arguing match begins anew. 

—

As the two of you brush your teeth and prepare for bed, you do your nightly routine of checking how strong Izuku's reawakened Quirk is with your hand on his chest, and he presses his free hand over yours.

“You know, my favorite part of this is you’ll finally start to worry less.” He chuckles and squeezes your hand gently.

You let the water run and clear spittle from the sink, and gargle before you answer, your hand still captive by his, then look at him.

“To be honest, I’ll never stop worrying about you, Izuku. Even if you become God.”

But you understand what he means. You’ve had many a nightmare about suit malfunction, only a few of these you’ve shared with him, among other things that have to do with being a Pro Hero in the capacity he insists to be in. This is a small help. 

A small bit of providence.

He expected this answer, lips pulling into a smile as he takes your hand fully and pulls the fingertips to his lips to kiss them. 

“I’m glad that won’t change,” he replies.

Moments later, you’re laid in bed together, and as you both muse on the potentially altering future in quiet, love-flushed cheeks and hands intertwined, he turns to you suddenly.

“There’s one thing I’m still missing,” he says.

Your eyes refocus to him. He’s pensive now, not sad or upset, but thoughtful. You move closer to kiss him on the lips once before nodding for him to continue.

“What are you missing?”

“Danger Sense,” he says.

“But everything else is back,” you reply. He nods, letting his arm drape around your waist.

“Yeah, but I think I liked that one the most.”

You snort lightly. “Not being able to lift a train, or fly, but 'Super Anxiety' was your favorite?”

You’re making light of the issue to keep the mood from getting too heavy, but he frowns, and you frown back, apologetically. 

“Well, ‘Super Anxiety’ made it so that I knew when bad things were about to happen, and often these bad things could involve you.”

He has the tiniest scrunch to his eyebrows, one that in another situation would have compelled you to rub out with your fingertips, but now is not the time to be playful.

You twist your mouth to the side and a few more moments pass between you, before you add:

“I don’t think you need it, though.”

He raises an eyebrow, and you press a kiss to his forehead.

“All this came back because you wanted to protect me,” you remind him. “You moved without thinking, for me, as always, like you knew I needed you. That's better than Danger Sense by far.”

His face softens as he cups yours in his hands. You're thankful that you've reached him.

“Always for you,” he says.

Even if this miracle is transient and despite your best efforts, his quirk levels fall back to normal instead of steadily growing, the love he has for you, and the love you have for him, will never, ever burn out.

[delirious-donna]

tw: cockwarming and edging with one Satoru Gojo 😏

A warm hand spread your thighs further part, the slightest hint of rough edges gracing his fingertips. Such long graceful fingers and they looked especially skilful as they toyed with your shivering sensitive skin. His knuckles rolled in tandem, the joints shifting when you provide just that little resistance, having to use slightly more force to have you wide and vulnerable.

Nothing escapes that man’s attention, and the way your legs had been inching closed was halted by the warm palm on your bare flesh. Satoru kneaded, clearly enjoying the little indentations made into your yielding softness. A subtle mark of claim that only he would see, but even fully clothed, he would know they were there.

"You think I don't notice, baby?" he murmured in your ear. Satoru’s warm breath sent shivers skittering across your dewy sweat-slicked skin, lips chasing the sensation until they smacked wet against your jaw.

You had lost track of how long you had been sat here like this, impaled to the hilt on his cock. Every muscle strained for movement, ready for the pleasure only he could deliver. He was testing you—teasing you. You both loved and hated it; loved how full you felt, stuffed completely with that deliciously curved and girthy dick, but hated the absence of repeated friction and the static limbo you were imprisoned in.

Absently, you wondered if he was waiting to see if you would beg, and honestly, it wasn’t above you at this point. The feel of every ridge and vein shaping your cunt had you clenching, your body already pleading for more, betraying you.

“S-Satoru,” you whined, practically throwing your back head against his strong shoulder—a shoulder that was still clothed, unlike yours, much to your embarrassment.

The snowy-haired man at your back was still fully dressed, except for his cock that escaped through his lowered zip. You, on the other hand, had been stripped of your pretty new sundress the moment he laid his eyes on you.

“Uh-oh… using my full name? Am I in trouble, baby? Call me ‘toru, you know how much I prefer it from your sweet lips.”

Satoru ghosted his mouth over your pulse, sweeping across your shoulder. His hands touching and pawing at your sides and the bare expanse of your front. Everything was done with as little movement as possible, almost lazy strokes and pinches of your nipples, but you could feel the energy vibrating inside him even if he wasn’t keen on showing his hand quite yet.

He gifted you one—precisely one—circle of his hips and you near exploded. A hand flew to delve deep into his white locks as the knuckles of the other hand turned white with how tightly you gripped at his forearm. It almost felt like you could sense his heartbeat throbbing through his dick, twitching in an annoyingly erratic rhythm and causing your cunt to clench tighter and tighter.

“Please ‘toru, want you to fuck me! Please… please.”

He hummed softly; the weight of his celestial eyes seared into your soul despite how little you could see from your position on his lap. The menace, who you called your boyfriend, picked up his phone that lay idly on the couch cushions with an over-exaggerated sigh.

“If you can make it through my phone call with Nanamin without moving, I’ll give you everything you want and more.”

You could scream. Frustration welled up in your chest enough that you wanted to pound your fists on his chest, but goddammit you wanted to be good for him. His good girl… the one that was capable of making his breath catch in his throat when you walked in the room.

The meek nod you gave pleased him as his answering quiet chuckle brushed against your nerves.

“That’s my good girl, now—sit still.”

[mytheoristavenue]

MHA Mezo Shoji x Reader 🍋 - Make Believe - VIII

Summary: You ask Shoji to pretend to be your boyfriend for a dinner with your parents.

Warnings: language, slightly OOF, virgin!Shojix virgin!reader, fem!reader, oral (both receiving), 69ing, use of his quirk, cum eating, dirty talk, full nelson, corruption kink, perv!shoji, unprotected sex, p in v

"Shhhh...." Shoji's voice was low and gruff and you couldn't be entirely sure where it came from if you were honest. Not that you cared. Fingers slipped past your kiss-swollen lips, pinching your tongue between as a form of teasing. "Hush baby, you'll wake your parents up."

The snide remark typically would have had you slapping his arm but you were in no such position now, currently perched atop his face, hips grinding desperately as his tongue worked your nerves. You were an utter mess, stringing together loud attempts on his name that almost always came out mispronounced. "M-Meh-heh-zoh-hoh!"

"Try again, sweetheart," He encouraged, a hand kneading your breast, pinching the nipple and rolling it between his fingers. "Mezo."

"M-Meh-!" You tried. "Hah, ahhh!" You melted, slurring your speech as you felt his tongue breach, slithering inside you as a disembodied pair of lips laughed in your face.

"So close, try again." He mocked, peppering kisses on your sweaty, drooly face.

"C-Can't!" you sobbed, stumbling forward, locked in place by his arms around your thighs.

"Can't never could do a damn thing," he replied, kisses trailing down your throat.

"P-Please, Meh-zo..." you finally choked out. "C-Can't take it anymore!"

"That's my girl," he purred beneath you, heart swelling with pride as you finally said his name, somewhat properly. "Knew you could do it, baby, such a good fucking girl."

"T-Thank you..." you heaved, on the verge of creaming just over his praise alone. "F-Feels so good!" You crooned, dragging your pelvis along his chin.

"Oh, I know it does, baby." Shoji cooed, thumb tracing circles on your hip. "I bet this little cunt just aches to be licked-! F-Fuck!" You put his big talk to rest with one ghostly touch to his tip, still concealed by your brother's old pajama bottoms. "B-Baby, careful there,"

"W-Wanna touch you too..." you pout, dazed and lovesick, only thinking of giving him pleasure in return.

"No need, baby, I feel good just knowing you feel good." He reassured the thought of gaining pleasure without giving it foreign to him. Deciding his answer wasn't good enough for you, you suddenly wiggled free of his grasp, taking advantage of his distraction.

Laying your tummy, and his, you nuzzled his bulge, flustering him so much, you'd think his face wasn't just buried in your pussy. 'B-Baby, really you don't have to..." He said, body feeling like static under your touch. An embarrassing gasp left his lips when you suddenly yanked the hem of his pants down, his stone member springing up, giving your face a gentle slap. "Fuck..." he breathed, relieved to be free of the constriction.

Shoji's dick was massive, to say the least. Not only did it match his stature, it surpassed any fantasy you could have dreamed up. It was long, extremely thick, with a dark pink bell end, and a throbbing vein running up the side of the shaft.

He shivered when you exposed it to the cool air, and even more so when he could feel your hot breath tickling the tip. "Y-You don't have to.." he repeated against your labia, sending intoxicating vibration through your body. "Don't force yourself..."

"I want to make you feel good, Mezo..." You whispered, finding your wits as the thought of you potentially touching him distracted him from his 'meal'. "Wanna know what you taste like..."

"B-But-" You could feel him tense under you before every single one of his muscles relaxed in unison at the sensation of your slobbery tongue licking a stripe along the vein. "Ahhh..." he sighed, head hitting your pillow as he lost the stretch to keep his neck craned. "Shit..."

Shoji had always known oral would feel amazing but this- this wasn't something he could have ever anticipated. Just your breath had him nearly in tears and now you were licking him like that much-needed lollipop after a brutal dentist appointment. His breath hitched as your licks became more and more shallow and finally your lips fount his bell, devolving into a shy suckle. "Fuck, princess..." he groaned, a duplicated hand finding the base of your skull as his fingers dug into your hair.

You continued to slurp on the tip of his cock, noting how salty his pre tasted, but recognizing that it wasn't a taste you necessarily hated. Over the span of what felt like years, you began to sink further onto him, swallowing more and more of his saft as the minutes ticked by. Shoji was eating his words, this was punishment for him teasing you so harshly. You were reducing him to a drooling mess without even trying, he couldn't imagine how unpreapred he'd be if you actually did have malicious intent like he had. "Shit..." he groaned, eyes threatening to roll back as he stayed intoxicated by your musk, his face still between your thighs. "So fucking good, baby..." he cooed nonsensically.

Finally realizing the power you had over him, you sunk your mouth lower onto him. You knew you had no shot at taking his entire vascular length, but from the sound of him unravelling beneath you, you guess you wouldn't have to. "Y-You should really learn to be more kind, M-Mezo..." you finally whispered, spitting his cock out momentarily.

This was it- this was his payback. He was dead in the water. "I-I'm sorry for teasing, princess, I-!"

Before he could pray for mercy, you refused it, pushing against his shins and planting your seat firmly against his muzzle. "E-Eat it," you demanded, cheeks burning. It sounded a lot sexier in your head. "A-And you better not stop 'til I say so."

No matter how you internally cringed at your words, they ignited a fire in Shoji's belly that not even self-gratification could put out. Before, he just wanted to hear you say his name, now he was playing for keeps. "Ditto," his voice came rumbling a low against your labia as he split it with his tongue. A hand came down and planted on the back of your head, forcing it down onto him, but not harshly. You just needed a nudge.

With that, the competition was on, who gave better head? How could make the other finish faster? Who could make the other lose control first?

You really did give it your best effort, poking your tongue out so it licked the underside of his dick as your head bobbed, hollowing out your cheeks, and kissing and fondling his arousal-swollen balls, but in the end, he did you in. You were just too overstimulated from his prior work that you didn't stand a chance, especially with how the adjusted position allowed his tongue to explore you deeper, finding that special bit of spongy tissue and abusing it.

"N-No f-fair!" you shuttered, tears slipping down your cheeks as you felt your climax begin to wash over you, even trying to push up from his face to stop it. It was futile, though, as two strong arms kept your thighs locked in place. Your eyes rolled back as the forced orgasm began to take hold, rendering you nearly brain-dead as you struggled to come up with coherent speech. "M-Meh...zoh!" You wept for him, silently thankful for his gentle thumbs caressing your skin.

"'M right here, baby, fuckin' ride it out for me..." he cooed, voice muffled for obvious reasons. "So fuckin' good for me, cumming all over my face? Say it, baby." You hardly noticed as you shrunk against him, that you'd neglected his cock, or the hand that appeared to wrap it in thick, calloused fingers. "Say 'I love cumming all over your face, Mezo,'" He, pleaded sternly. "C'mon, so fuckin' close...'

"I-I love cumming all over your pretty f-face..." you repeated, shy and fucked out without even officially being fucked yet. "M-Mezo..."

There was that word again, the one that made him lose all control in the first place. 'Pretty'. The extra adjective spelled his downfall as his head fell back against your pillow again, lips dripping with the prettiest, most desperate moans you'd ever dreamed of hearing. "F-Fuck..!" He wept, breath ragged as he fucked into his fist, hips wild and legs trembling, no care for were his milky ropes landed.

You'd have to have another bath for sure, but that wasn't on your mind yet. What was on your mind was the way you felt so incredibly shy atop him, frozen as his seed rested in strings on your skin. The pearlescent substance stuck to your knuckles, seeping into the crevices of your fingers. It congealed on your tear-soaked lashes. A spatter on your cheek and connected ropes across your lips and nose made for a beautifully shiny spider web. You felt incredibly...pretty with his jizz decorating your face, and though you didn't understand it at the time, it had awakened something in you.

"S-Shit, my bad," Shoji said sheepishly, pulling back his hand and opening his palm to assess the flood, realizing his load was largely missing from his person. "D-Did I get any on you?"

You looked back at him, love sick and flushed, showing him your own hands, clear strings sitting across the gaps between your fingers as if they strung them together. "I think so..." you answered, daze.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," he blushed, wide-eyed as he reached for your hands and frantically searched the room for anything to clean you off with. Finally, he remembered the towel on the floor and multiplied his arms until he could reach it without getting up. "Fuck, that's so gross, I'm so sorry, I-"

Nothing could have possibly prepared him for the site of you, his cum all over your face, with your fingers in your mouth licking it off. "O-Oh my God," Shoji breathed, breath hitching as post-nut clarity gave way to even more intoxicating lust. "Jesus fucking Christ, a-are you...?" He huffed, eyes now half-lidded and hungry. "Fuck, are you eating my cum, baby?"

You hadn't really thought of it that way, it just felt like the natural thing to do. "I-I guess so.." you murmured, shyly. "I-Is that weird?"

"Oh my God, no," he replied out of breath. "It's so fucking hot," He marveled. "I just have to fuck you, oh my God." It was almost embarrassing to see him fawning over you like this. He seemed so infatuated- so obsessed, chanting about how he had to have you now. "Please, princess, I need you bad, so fuckin' bad," he hissed, breath ragged as he rolled you over on your back, caging you again in his physique. "Lemme fuckin' have it, baby, please. I can't take it any more."

A small nod was all it took for him to capture you, repositioning you on his lap, back to his chest, legs held in the air by his many hands. There was no way, you thought. There was no way he was putting you in a full nelson to lose your virginity, surely not. You'd always imagined it'd be in missionary with you on your back, gazing into your lover's eyes softly as he breached. Yet here you were, doing absolutely nothing to stop him from living out his tentacle monster dreams.

"M-Mzo..." you winced as you felt his bell slide against your skin, parting you even further than the position did. "W-Will if hurt...?"

Yeah," he confessed with a love-drunk laugh. "Wish I could make it not hurt..."

You swallowed hard at his words. If he was on the giving end and even he was promising pain, you knew you were doomed. "Y-You'll stop if I say so, right?" You questioned, trying not to melt at the way him rubbing in your slick felt.

"Of course," he confirmed with bated breath.

"A-And you'll be gentle?"

"Promise," he nodded, one of his hands finding yours and hooking your pinky with his. "Ready, baby?"

With a shaky breath, you nodded as well, crying out when his tip breached. "M-Mezo!" you wailed, tears pricking your eyes. Already, onto just those swollen few centimeters, the stretch was agonizing. It crossed Shoji's mind that he probably should have fingered you first, trained your hole a bit better before stuffing his monstrous cock in, but that time was long passed. All he could do now was ease himself into you at a snail's pace, listening intently for any sign that you needed him to pull out and wait with a clenched fist to keep himself from cumming again, just by your sheer tightness alone.

"Ahh, fuck baby," he sighed, head hitting the headboard as his eyes rolled in ecstatic potential energy. "You take me so well, 'ts like you were fucking made for me..." he hissed, struggling to keep lucid as he sunk into you and bottomed out, holding oh so still to let you adjust.

You wanted to drool at his praise, but the searing pain in between your legs wouldn't allow it. You felt so incredibly full, like a balloon with too much air that pops when you try to tie it off. "So fucking tight for me, princess..." Shoji whined again. "Love the way you squeeze me so good, can't wait to fuck out this pretty little hole..."

"Mez...M-Mezo..." you heaved, head having long since fallen limp against his shoulder. His filthy pillow talk was finally beginning to melt your nerves. Though it wasn't enough to kiss the pain away, it made for a delicious distraction. "T-Talk to me..."

His muscles relaxed a bit, finding you asking for more. It let him know that, just because you weren't enjoying yourself at this moment, you wanted to give the pain time to pass, you wanted to keep going. "Do you one better," he smirked, bringing a dupli-mouth between your legs, its tongue dragging slobbery, soothing licks up your entire sex, not caring if he got a taste of his own cock- it wouldn't be the first time. Meanwhile, his true lips pepper kisses over every bit of skin they could reach, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. "My God, you're such a good fucking girl, taking my cock like this. Fuck, you've no idea how long I've waited for this. Baby, fucking you is my wildest dream come true..."

You hadn't even realized it when you began to rock your hips against his, so entranced by his words and his warm tongue easing your aching heat, you'd lost focus of the penetration almost entirely. "Atta girl..." Shoji exhaled through gritted heat, breath tickling your ear as he felt you begin to move, no matter how minuscule. "Doing okay, love?" He aksed, planting absent-minded kisses across your shoulder. "Tell me what you need, baby, I'm all yours."

"G-Go slow..." you finally consent, much to his delight.

"Anything for you, princess," he grants, shallowly rolling his hips up into yours, making sure his strokes are long, slow, and thoughtful. The exhaustion and overstimulation are almost enough to lull you to sleep, your eyes closing as if the lids were made of lead. "Shit, you're so fucking sweet, baby..." he muttered, uttering anything kind that popped into his head.

A disembodied eye slithered under his cocked knee to see between your legs, witnessing a sight that made his mouth water. Steadily, his cock disappeared within you and dragged back out, covered in a slick sheen each and every time. "Oh my God, so fuckin' pretty..." he remarked at the pornographic scene, eye occasionally glancing up to revel in your fucked out, overwhelmed expression.

To Shoji, you were a painting- one of those Renaissance ones that always depicted Greek orgies and women with soft tummies. He was Hades: dark and corrupt, and you were his Persephone: innocent and perfect and so very fertile. You were ripe for the taking and he was taking everything you had.

As is the natural progression of things, neither of you noticed much as slow and steady turned to winning the race. You were a drooling, incoherent mess, no longer even attempting words, not even his name as he bounced you on his cock, coming undone himself. He was all grunts and embarrassingly desperate sighs as he pumped into you, fingernails leaving dozens of crescent moons on your skin.

"Fucking shit baby," he hissed, face falling into your shoulder, pearly teeth finding sweet flesh to anchor to. "Oh my fucking God, gonna paint this little pussy white, I swear to fucking God, I will!" He rambled obscenely, gripping onto any bit of you he could find with all six arms for dear life.

"Please, please, please," was all you could muster, as you chanted for him to bust inside you, and to be honest, you would have let him in your stupor. "Cum inside, cum inside," you begged, feeling your second coming breach the horizon.

"You want me to fucking fill this little thing to the brim, baby?" He grunted, voice hoarse and beastly. "You wanna take all my fucking cum in this pretty cunt?" You muttered something akin to an 'Mhm!' and his speed boosted again, thrusts becoming sloppier by the second. "Fucking say it baby, fucking beg for my cum!"

"Please, Mezo, fill me up! Gimme your cum!" you wailed, magically finding speech again as your second climax hit, crashing against you so violently it left you sore and with tears streaming down your face. "F-Fuck, Mezo, I'm cumming!"

"O-Oh, fuck-!" Shoji sputtered, regaining self-control at the last possible second, lifting you off him as his cock slipped out, just in time to toss ropes into the air, twitching as it did. "Fucking shit, baby, oh fuck," He panted, voice high and needy. Exhausted, he let you back down, resting you against his chest again, ignoring the icky feeling of his jizz sliding against his skin between the two of you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, both on the brink of drifting off. Finally, he caught his breath enough to say something. "This isn't just the sex talking when I say," he paused, heaving. "I've never felt any more attraction and overwhelming love for anyone than I feel for you right now." You weren't in any shape to respond just yet, so you let him talk. "I don't want you to think I only said all that earlier because I wanted to get in your pants, I really do like you..." He confessed with surprising conviction for a man on the edge of sleep. "You mean everything to me, (Y/N) and I don't care what people say when we get home. I'd be proud for people to know we're together, I want to be with you."

Shoji continued to ramble and you just listened, heart swelling at his passion for you. "Please, give me a chance to make you happy beyond this," he finally begged, officially asking you out. "Don't send me back home with nothing to show for our time together, don't pretend this was nothing, anything but that."

"M-Mezo...I..." you hesitated, weighing the consequences of each option.

"I love you, (Y/N), and I want us to be together, achieve our goals, become heroes, grow old- together..." He said, trembling beneath you with anticipation. "Please, say you love me too, I know you do."

"I-I..." Finally, the dam broke and tears freely flowed down your cheeks. "I love you too, Mezo, I always have..." You smile weakly, glancing up and pressing a kiss to his lips. "You're intelligent, brave, strong, beautiful," you gush tiredly. "What's not to love?"

"So you'll be mine?" he asked, muscles relaxing at your confession.

"Of course I will, I never had a chance at not loving you."

[tojisun]

he calls you after every mission – you never told him that you knew his secret, afraid that he’d stop. afraid that you would lose the only line of confirmation you have about his safety. so when he calls, you gleefully pretend you don’t have a clue of its purpose and let him take full control of the conversation.

“hey, sweet girl,” he murmurs without fail, making your cheeks burn and your lungs constrict. he’s always so breathy when the line connects, softly panting onto the mic as he grunts out your name.

for a long time, you thought it was because he’s exhausted and spent, and that he’s using the last reserves of his energy to call you. but there is something so intimate, so familiar, in the way he grumbles your name – drawling out the sounds until they curl on his tongue, all grave whimpers and rough rumbles.

it took you a while to realize it is not exhaustion that coats his voice but quiet pleasure; thrumming euphoria peaking into his orgasm.

you remember gasping out loud at the realization, the sound of it making him moan. he growled out your name, murmuring soft praises that made your stomach clench in desire. you found yourself playing along, coaxing him into his orgasm as you told him that you love him. how you love him.

what happened never got brought up, but you found yourself falling into the new routine. loving it, even.

“hey to you too, baby,” you reply, your voice petering into a sigh as you stretch on your bed, your tensed muscles turning soft as the tension uncoils from your limbs.

you hear rustling from the other end, easily followed by the sound of zippers getting undone. you pretend that your cheeks aren’t on fire as want fills you up from the inside.

“you were asleep?” he asks. you fondly roll your eyes at the obvious prompting.

“about to,” you say. “wearin’ your shirt tonight, hope you don’t mind.”

you know he would never but you also know how much he loves it when you tell him that you’re wearing his clothes, effectively branding you as his.

possessive motherfucker.

“s’all y’rs,” he whispers. “tell me how y’r day went, sweetheart.”

so you do: you narrate your day animatedly, changing the pitch of your voice on occasions and being rewarded with his sultry hums that urge you to go on. you drawl out his name when he stops talking altogether only to shuffle on your bed when his grunts have gone a little deeper, a little gruffer.

you can’t help the pooling desire steeping in your veins as your hand slides down to paw at your damp heat. you go still when your hitched gasp pierced through, the following silence from the both of you ringing amidst the static.

then, “finally touchin’ y’rself, aren’t you, love?”

oh-

— toji, ghost (riley)

[churipu]

( OO4 ) ★ bloody mess , nanami kento

featuring. nanami kento x reader

warnings. mentions of blood, mentions of a lot of different pet names (sweetheart, love, etc.), hospital raahhh, anesthesia.

note. WHO'S BACK DOING THE 1K EVENT LAJSOS IM SO SORRY :< THIS ONE IS A BIT SHORT???

ENTRY ( OO4 ) OF THE "INTO THE IPINVERSE" MILESTONE

"quick question, how much blood do i have to let out to be deemed hospital worthy?" "a lot." "oh, well — that's not good."

tags: @sad-darksoul @sweeneyblue1 @idkuluka @colorful-happy-shit @tomie-it-girl

the room reeked of blood. if you get a gist of it — you'd likely think of death.

you held your phone in between your shoulder and your ear, slightly trembling as your muscle stretched. chewing your lip in frustration, the device ringing.

once.

twice.

thri—

"hi, sweetheart."

you sighed out in relief, "hi kento, i have a really quick question because i'm trying not to freak out—"

nanami immediately cuts you off, "is something wrong? what happened y/n?"

"quick question, how much blood do i have to let out to be deemed hospital worthy?" you asked him, eyeing the trail of crimson streaming down your ring and pinky finger — blowing on it softly, foot drumming impatiently. what a bloody mess.

nanami was silent for a few seconds, but you could make out a brief, "a lot."

that's when you finally let out a panicked but calm, "oh, well — that's not good."

the male on the other line shuffled a bit, and you made out a few static noises, "what happened, sweetheart? did you hurt yourself?" he softly asks you.

"um . . . i cut myself cutting fruits. it's stupid but — i was trying to imitate fruit ninja . . ." you explained, full of shame. yet again, from the other line, nanami shuffled; creating out static noises, "i should probably head to the hospital, right?"

"apply pressure on the wound, i'm already around the corner, love. keep on talking with me." he replies back calmly.

you did what he told you to do without ending the call, wincing every once in a while from the jolt of pain.

soon enough, nanami burst from the front door — his eyes finding your sitting form, a cotton pad wrapped around your bloodied fingers. with rushed steps, he approaches you, softly grabbing your hand, inspecting the wound.

"come here pretty," he softly mumbles, tugging you gently, "we're going to the hospital."

two stitches.

because you decided to imitate fruit ninja — in your defense, it seemed really cool in the games.

with an IV attached to your other hand, you laid on the bed, half droopy as the anesthesia had already spread through your veins. limp and tired, a hard cast covering your wounded hand to press on the stitches.

"please keep watch of their hands, and try not to move it a lot during the healing process — come back in approximately two weeks time for cast and stitches disposal." you could definitely hear a doctor say — clueless to you or to nanami.

but you answered them nonetheless, slurring out incoherent words, "oh . . . doctor, yeah! okay, mhm, i got you, doc, i'll be back soon."

a few chuckling erupted and you shut your eyes, feeling fatigue take over, "how are you feeling, darling?"

fluttering your eyes open, you nod, "good. how about you, ken?"

nanami brushed your cheek gently, staring at your droopy state affectionately, his elbow prepped up on the hospital bed, "i'm good as well. are you still in pain?"

you shook your head with a stupid smile, "nope, just peachy," you smiled, "i have a dress on my finger—" proudly raising your index finger up, where the pulse oximeter was.

"it looks wonderful, sweetheart," nanami softly threaded his calloused fingers with yours, kissing your knuckles.

the wound was worse than he thought. at first, nanami didn't know whether to be worried about your poor choice of action or your wound in all honesty, but at this point — he's doing both at the same time.

the male was in the middle of a meeting with the gojo satoru when you called.

"right? and — i think they stole my fingers," you whispered, eyes darting around here and there before eventually trying to raise up your wounded hand. to which nanami prevented by carefully putting it down to your side, on the bed.

"i promise your fingers are there, darling." nanami chuckled at your behavior under the anesthesia.

"no, no. i swear, i can't feel them — the people stole my fingers while you were not here," you refer to the doctor and the couple of nurses who tended to you earlier, "go check them, i swear, ken. my fingers are gone."

cute. you were very cute. nanami knew he shouldn't be laughing at all, but the way you acted right now was . . . very out of character. the passion swirling in your eyes as you try to convince him that your fingers were stolen.

"angel, i promise. they're there, attached." he moved a few strands of your hair away from your face, "you can be angry at me if they aren't there."

bad choices of words. because the very next second, you were trying to pry open your cast to take a quick look at your fingers.

"no, no. darling, you shouldn't touch that," nanami stood up, carefully holding your unharmed hand. preventing it from gnawing at your harmed hand.

"'m trying to prove something here, ken . . ." you rolled your eyes, leaning back onto the bed, "let me go," your whines made him smile.

"darling, 'ts not good to touch it now. we'll get it taken off in a while," you softly whine at his words.

"'ts too long. my fingers . . ."

nanami cupped your face and pressed a chaste kiss onto your lips, "they're there darling, i promise." he held out his pinky.

you childishly nodded, intertwining your pinky with his, "okay. promise."

"are they there?" nanami asks, holding your unharmed hand as he used his other hand to steer the steering wheel of his car.

it had been at least a couple of hours, and the anesthesia was slowly leaving your system — enough for you to be dismissed from the hospital. here you were, sitting in his passenger's seat, "are what there?" you questioned back, still feeling a bit droopy.

"your fingers."

in confusion you stare at him, "of course they are, in here." you mumbled, raising up your casted hand.

nanami chuckled, this was only something he and you (under the influence) knew.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[tozettastone]

For the prompt ask:

1. Deidara & Sasori are isekai-ed into a fandom of your choice

Or

2. Any Naruto character is isekai-ed into a xianxia story

I'm going with 'Deidara & Sasori are isekai-ed into a fandom of your choice.' Except I actually asked @mixelation to pick the fandom, and they gave me Hannibal. :)

--

Sasori Akasuna, if that's actually his name, runs a tiny gallery that can't possibly be making enough money to sustain itself. It's three floors tall and skinny, built of dark brick some time shortly before the turn of the century, and it stands tall and straight among its huddling neighbours in an out of the way bend of an ill-favoured river, where the smell of refuse rises and falls over the course of the day as the current passes.

Will Graham parks across the river and walks there with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat. He is here to talk to the owner, a man with whom it is almost impossible to get an appointment — unless, apparently, you are law enforcement.

The FBI has reason to believe he might be connected to their latest killer.

The reason Hannibal has come along is... less constructive.

"He's a tremendously skilled artist," he says, walking at Will's side with a spring in his step. Will can't equal his enthusiasm, just as he can't equal his hand-tailored woollen coat. "But he speaks to nobody. I wonder if he finds other people distracting."

"I'm not here to talk about art," Will points out. He can't help himself.

He's also not sure that what Sasori does is art. Call him uncultured.

When he makes to Sasori's place of business, the front window is entirely taken up by a taxidermy chimera: the big cat's head separated from the cervine body and a pair of vulture wings that must be almost a metre each. In the gaps, there's a steampunk nightmare of gears and chains and strange brass designs.

It must be associated with some kind of motion sensor set-up, because as they approach, the mechanisms begin to move and so too does the chimera, piece by immaculately preserved piece: the head turns, the cat's jaws open to show long sharp teeth, the wings curve.

"Magnificent," breathes Hannibal. "Look how smoothly it moves: bird and beast all in one. It could be alive."

"It's certainly... unique," says Will, clipping the words.

He flashes his ID to the black eye of the camera in Sasori's doorway, ignoring the way the cat's head follows him from the window display, teeth bare and eyes utterly empty. The intercom hisses with static. The door clicks open, allowing them both into the building.

It isn't noisy on the street, but the second they enter all the sounds from outside disappear utterly. The river, the distant traffic and the crying of the crow perched upon the bridge railing are all equally lost to an oppressive hush.

The carpet is old. The floor creaks. There's a smell in the air of an old place that sees little daylight.

The air is the slightly cool room temperature familiar to conservationists everywhere. A dehumidifier waits like a silent sentinel for when its services are needed. And lining every wall, case after case, shelf after shelf, are relics of the dead.

Hannibal pulls off his dark coat and slings it over his arm, revealing a powder blue, three piece suit that fits him like a glove, and immediately goes to inspect a case full of colourful birds.

Will doesn't remove his outerwear. He is distracted. He spins slowly, taking in the room.

Dead things stare at him from case after case, climbing up the walls. Their veins and bones and guts are all internal machinery now, and their eyes are glassy and blank. Sasori is indiscriminate about his animal models: there are goats and bulls alongside wild cats, bears and the snarling faces of wolves. Some are combined with each other into fantastical chimeras; others are perfectly lifelike.

Will spots a dog. Its face is so well-preserved and lifelike that it might be about to bark.

The centrepiece of the room, standing tall and proud, is a stag. It is magnificent: four or five years old, with heavily muscled neck and shoulders and enormous antlers. It makes no noise, but its ears swivel to follow them through the room, exactly the way a live buck's would.

It sure is... something.

This, Will senses, is Sasori's design. Careful. Precise. A perfectionist. He is exacting in his demands for these works: You will not rot. You will last forever. Or else.

Will licks his lips. He glances at Hannibal. It's impossible to say if he also senses the driven and aggressive personality behind these artefacts. If he does, it won't show.

Will is so distracted by the vast array of creatures that he doesn't immediately notice Sasori Akasuna himself arriving.

The first he knows of him is a sharp voice saying: "Don't touch that."

"I apologise," Hannibal says easily, turning away from a dead lammergeier, which is frozen with its wings spread and its body hunched, as if defending prey. (It is the only bird whose diet is mostly bone. Sasori has made its bones into metal.) "The work seemed very fine, but I'm unfamiliar with the taxidermist's craft. These extraordinary specimens retain more mobility than I've yet seen elsewhere."

He might say he's unfamiliar, Will notes, but Hannibal is undoubtedly a man who has seen a great deal of taxidermy.

Will turns to look at Sasori, too.

Clearly Hannibal has found and sighted the man, but for the space of one whole breath, Will can't even spot him.

It's impossible to tell Sasori Akasuna apart from the rest of the room. In that second, he blends in seamlessly with all the perfectly-preserved creatures on display.

Then Will exhales. That's stupid. He can see Sasori just fine. He's the only other human being in the room. It's not that cluttered.

Although by all accounts he's been in this one spot for almost a decade, Sasori looks no more than twenty. He is a short, slight man with at least one East Asian parent, although he has no obvious accent. His hair is dyed a shade that could be called any number of things — dark cherry, merlot, garnet — but which Will naturally associates only with blood. His skin is as smooth and unblemished, like a doll's.

He's wearing a dark, oversize coat and sandals that reveal his toes, which seems like a strange combination.

"The puppets are built and preserved for performances," Sasori says, turning his face to Hannibal. "Art is my calling."

"So I see! I have heard your performances are magnificent."

Magnificent, yes, supposedly — but also invitation-only, according to both the brief from Jack and to Hannibal himself. Will himself is reassured by this idea, because he definitely doesn't want to watch these dead things all come to life.

"Yes. They are." Sasori's eyes drift from Hannibal to Will and back again.

Even to Will, who can empathise with a brick wall, it is challenging to read any expression on his face. Botox, he thinks. It explains how young he looks, too. A little. If you don't look very closely.

Will tries to match the man to the creations. There's something missing. He can feel it beneath his ribs.

But he's not here to think about what's wrong with Sasori. It's the man's broader network that seems suspect. A small favour. Still, he can't stop picking at it.

What's he missing?

"I have heard," Hannibal is pressing delicately even as Will furrows his brow and tries to make sense of the picture before him, circling around a fever dream of a creature crafted from the remains of a wild cat, a goat and a peacock, "that some performances have a guest list so restricted that the invitees are not permitted to know or speak to one another at all. That they must arrive in masks and veils, and are forbidden to remove them until they leave again."

Will startles and half-turns towards Hannibal. What?

Sasori doesn't even blink. "Yes. What do you want?"

There's a hesitation. The world pauses for breath. Hannibal goes quite still, but Will can see from the set of his shoulders beneath his immaculate pale suit that this abrupt demand has annoyed him.

Presumably he wants to talk for forty minutes about the nature of art before they get to the mass murderer.

"We have some questions about a man who used to live here with you," he interjects, before the interaction can go even further off the rails.

Sasori blinks, eyes rolling in a strange and unsettling display.

Like a doll himself, Will thinks. Then he blinks the thought away.

He can't be a doll. That's... ridiculous.

"Deidara," says Sasori. "What about him?"

He says it so certainly. He has only ever had one housemate here. It's unclear if they were only housemates.

Will takes in Sasori's entire person with a look. He glances around at the displays.

"A fellow artist, I'm guessing," Will says, taking a leap of intuition. Who else would live with a man like Sasori?

Sasori's doll-like eyes fix on Will. "Deidara believes himself to be an artist, yes."

'Believes himself to be' is a strange way to put it. Does Sasori have a leg to stand on, when it comes to who is really creating art? The distance might be very obvious to Sasori himself, but it's not particularly clear to Will.

"We believe he might have bombed a church and killed sixteen people," Will says, watching carefully to see how this statement lands.

Sasori does not look as though this surprises him in the slightest, but it's hard to say if that's meaningful. Sasori has so far displayed the flattest emotional affect of anyone Will has ever interviewed.

It's so marked, in fact, that the ancient reptilian part of Will's brain keeps insisting that Sasori has more in common with his artworks than the other humans in the room. Will would like to rise above the impulse to believe his instincts in this case. Flattened affect is a symptom of a wide array of disorders and disabilities, and none of them are inhuman.

"And?" Sasori prompts. "What questions do you have for me about it?"

There's not even a hint of doubt. Sasori clearly believes his housemate capable of building and detonating a bomb in an act of premeditated mass murder. That's important, too.

Frustratingly, Will can see why Jack wanted him to do this interview, even though on paper it feels like a waste of his time. Sasori is hard to read and very, very strange.

"We'd like to ask a few questions about the last time you were in contact with him."

Despite his entire personality, Sasori seems outwardly pretty cooperative. He has a precise memory, and seems to recall the details of text messages — the pair's primary method of communication, even when they were living in the same house — to the minute of their receipt. He is meticulous.

Will already told the behavioural analysis unit that the bomber was acting out some kind of aesthetic compulsion, but Sasori seems to understand it in more detail:

"Deidara uses art to embrace the transience he believes is the end state of all things by unmaking artefacts in the span of a second, usually explosively," Sasori says. Then, apparently unable to help himself, he adds: "Transience — the art of a single moment — is an incoherent and flawed thesis."

"The simple passions of a mind that cannot grasp eternity," muses Hannibal, running his knuckles over the glass that separates him from a dead monkey, which is trapped, forever, screaming silently in rage. This is a rather romantic assessment, but the statement certainly captures Sasori's attention.

"Yes," he says slowly.

Despite what he actually says, he does not sound entirely as though he agrees with this assessment. It is at precisely this point that Will realises Sasori and Deidara are not artists making ends meet as indifferent housemates. They are life partners of some kind. They are very probably lovers.

Sasori says hasn't seen Deidara for a week. This meets their timeline perfectly. Will doesn't — cannot — trust it. But he can either write the answer down, or he can tell Sasori he thinks he's lying right to his blank doll-like face.

He licks his lips and writes it down.

"Before we go, Sasori," says Hannibal, hesitating before he pulls his coat on again, "will you tell me something?"

"What?"

"Do these chimeric creations represent the pinnacle of your art? Are they what you display at your most secret performances? Or is something more challenging the star of your show?"

There are some dogs who, once they've bit down on a man's limb, have to be choked out before they'll let go. Hannibal occasionally reminds Will of just such an animal.

"No," says Sasori, tonelessly. "The chimeras are not my most important works."

That's when it happens.

It always does, with Will. Eventually.

For one hideous, dislocated moment, Will Graham understands this man totally. He can see what grotesqueries might lie in the workroom above this display, just by looking Sasori in his lifeless face. He can almost feel the hours of meticulous work in his own hands and back and shoulders, turning the coarse materials of the human body into works of art that will last thousands of years at least.

He has no respect for their bodies. He doesn't care about the person who inhabited each physical form at all. They are raw materials. It is the work of his hands that renders them art. His towering ego is in every touch.

For a breathless, hanging second, the hollowed insides and smooth articulated limbs and wired jaws of Sasori's victims are beautiful to Will, too.

Then that second is over.

Will's brain screams that Sasori isn't a person.

This time, Will believes it. Oh, he may once have been human. But he's not, now. Sasori knows it — he's proud of it. And because Sasori knows it, now Will does, too.

Will does not feel sick. Feeling sick requires internal organs. Right now, Will can't feel anything.

"That's all we need," he says, sounding just as flat and toneless as Sasori. The thump of his heart feels strange and hollow, like the heavy ticking of a metronome. Thump goes the meaty clockwork that moves his body, so loudly that Will almost startles at each shocking new beat. "Thank you for your time."

Sasori doesn't say they're welcome. That's because they're not.

When they exit the building at last, the outside sounds are deafening: the river roars, a dog barks. Will's heart is no longer the primary feature of the soundscape.

He goes back to his car, a little too fast to be polite. He sits in the driver's seat and clutches the steering wheel. Hannibal closes the passenger-side door with a thump a minute later.

"An interesting man, wouldn't you say, Will?"

Will starts the engine and gives it a few moments to warm. He talks when he pulls out from his car space and into the sparse traffic of the little-travelled riverside road.

"I'm not sure," he says slowly, "that Sasori Akasuna is a man at all."

"Ah," says Hannibal, unshakable and sanguine as always, "the perennial question of philosophy."

"I was thinking more about... biology," Will admits.

"Were you?" A pause. "And what did you conclude?"

He's a doll, Will thinks. He's a doll and he makes other people into dolls. If you cut him, I promise he won't bleed.

But these are not the kinds of thoughts a man tells his psychiatrist if he wants to keep doing field work. And so Will ignores the great shadow that passes between himself and the sun — the towering shape of Sasori's preserved stag, moving with all the beautiful mechanical efficiency of a polished watch escapement — and instead says, "He's lying about the bomber. They're close."

"Hmm," says Hannibal, as if he doubts it. But in the end he only raises his eyebrows and tilts his chin inscrutably. "I suppose we will have to see."

(Will isn't a gambler, really. But would bet virtually anything that Hannibal will be receiving an invitation to a performance very shortly.)

[billskeis]

˖ ࣪ ⟢ currently thinking about how bill lasts long, and i mean long. we’re talking about hours of hot sex

as much as he loves to take his time with you, there’s other days where he just, he just needs this. needs to feel you around him, craves the moans and whimpers that come from your honey filled voice. he fucking craves the sensation of your tight cunt squeezing around him as he pummels his cock into your already soppy n’ sensitive cunt.

“f-fuck you feel amazing.. been a’while hasn’t it schatz?” he holds down your waist, hitting it from the back as he smiles looking at how his hips slap into yours simultaneously, causing your ass to ripple from the impact. the head frame of your bed rocks against the wall, let’s hope the neighbours aren’t going to complain about it next morning once you’re done. if he’s even done with you.

there clearly wasn’t any point in putting a towel under the two of you as you ended up dirtying the sheets anyways. sweat, cum, squirt and saliva all probably in the mix of the fabric as you and bill have been going at it like rabbits in heat. bill could go on forever. fuck, he’d kill to die fucking you. you on the other hand, cannot. overwhelmed by the pleasure, bill uses your body to his leisure, and being the good girlfriend you are, let him.

hickeys litter your body, bite marks, swollen nipples and a tender clit, bill made sure to show love to each and every inch and millimetre of your body tonight. when does he not? he just loves you so much he wants to fuck you till you pass out.

raising your head from the pillow, you claw at the sheets from the overstimulation of like, what? your fourth or fifth orgasm? “bill.. p-please slow down.. i—mmpngh~ i can’t feel my fucking legs..!”

propping yourself on your elbows, you look behind you to your boyfriend with puppy eyes. electric static building in your core as he wouldn’t even stop thrusting as you spoke. biting on your tongue to not give him the satisfaction of you being in pleasure to how pussy drunk he is.

“how cute.. makes me wanna fuck you even harder hm? how s’that sound?”

shoving your head back into the pillows, bill angles himself to fuck into you deeper, rubbing the apex of your ass as he lets out a whorish moan on purpose. to tease you, of course. the tip of his cock abuses your poor cervix, definitely already bruised. your gummy walls however cannot help but contract around his length, feeling up every inch of his veins.

although not the biggest girth, bill makes up for it in length, the curve of his dick allowing him to hit your sweet spot that leaves your toes curling. distracted, bill ends up pinching your clit, as you only sob and soil the pillow with your tears and drool, “i-i’m gonna fucking kill you bill~~!”

“mmmhh—okay just let me cum first ‘kay?” licking a stripe up the spine and curve of your back, bill has a tight grasp on your ass cheeks as he moves you back and forth on his dick. he ensures you feel every single movement and inch of his cock as he grinds his cock into your cunt, so easily slipping in and out.

“billllll— b-bill ‘m gonna come—”

“ugh.. so wet, huh?? and you wanted to stop.. you love this don’t cha.. you fuckin—ngh—love this cock right..?”

he only giggles as he watches your body writhe and thrash under him, as he hugs you from behind somewhat in a mating press. his undivided attention all on you as he insists on going another round after telling you ten minutes prior to your last orgasm that this would be the final one. to your inability to say no to his pleads of ‘pleasepleaseplease baby one more time and then we’re finished.. just wanna fill you up once more’ you ended up nodding.

tummy warm and full, your legs shake and tremble in overstimulation as bill begins to move again.

“haahh.. so good f’me.. sooooso good baby.. i love this pussy..” kissing you, eventually letting his tongue slip in as you weep and cry wondering how long it’s gonna take for him to finally be done with you.

we r so up rn chat 🤓🤓

am i back ? perchance . will i try to b active ? we will see

[palindrome-alt]

Digital Stars on The Wall

|| Kieran x Reader ||

Your new dorm room in Blueberry Academy is outfitted with all sorts of futuristic technology. You still haven't wrapped fully your head around the fact that you're physically stranded in the middle of the ocean in a giant submerged dome, but hey, whatever they did to make these screens, the night sky looks almost how it'd be if you were camping out in the wild on a cool night.

||Mild Spoilers for the Indigo Disk DLC!||

Everything about Blueberry Academy feels like it came out of a separate, futuristic world. The chromatic metal that never corrodes, the blue... substance, that flows through the artificial veins in the walls and keeps the place running... Out in the middle of the ocean, it's sort of like the whole megalithic building itself is somehow... alive.

Despite that, there's no electrical interference, no static hiss at the back of your ears as you rest your head against the artificial glass sky displayed on the 'window'. How the director managed to even design the illusion of depth in these screens is beyond you, but instead of square pixels, gentle pinpricks hang above you in the false distance. The fact that they aren't plastered flat to a screen is a mini engineering marvel in itself despite the slightly visible panels if you look closely.  Hand shifting out from underneath deep blue sheets, you run your palm over smooth, slightly grooved glass. It feels like touching a bunch of small bathroom tiles, and though you logically know that there's really only a deep dark ocean stretched out for miles, you almost forget just how far you are from the home you've carved out in Paldea.  You're still somewhat scared of the scientists of this world. Somehow, you don't remember civilization being this... technologically advanced.  Cool air blows through the vents above you, tasting nothing of the slightly salty expanse of water above. With their filtration systems, this might be some of the cleanest air you've ever breathed. It's sterile, much less handmade and aged than your dorm room back in Mesagoza. But somehow, this place has started to feel so comfortable, as if it weren't ever foreign in the first place.  The sound of rustling next to you shakes you out of your thoughts, and you shift back onto your back to get a closer look at Kieran, who you almost forgot was there.

He's stiff as a board, his arms folded on top of his chest, his eyes wide and staring straight at the ceiling.  Aside from his shoes, he's still wearing his full school uniform, and his hair has only just started to slip from the tie he's put it up in. He popped in rather unexpectedly, and must not've thought you'd let him stay, so he didn't think to change into more comfortable clothes. Small frazzled black bunches drape onto the extra pillow you pulled from the closet, and the off-color purple no longer remains the dominant color. 

You shift again, this time gaining his attention by curling against his side and nuzzling into the mattress a little more. He stiffens under the touch, but you can feel his sharp eyes flicker from the ceiling to you, a little more of an edge to him than before that he might not ever let go of. 

You don't move, and he must think you're asleep with how you catch his eyelashes gently lulling, spine slowly losing its tension. He must be so sore from all the clenching he's been doing, if not from how he's been pushing himself up until recently. The events that transpired between you are probably still haunting him, even now. With a fresh set of new skin-deep scars, you know it has to be hard on him. Up until last week, it wasn't even certain if you were both still friends.  He sighs beside you, head sinking into his pillow. Unclasping his hands, he slowly reaches over, testing the waters. He hesitates, looking conflicted over whatever thoughts are running through his head. Whatever he was going to do, he must've decided otherwise as his hand drops just short of you.

His eyebrows furrow, pupils dilating a little when they land on yours.  "S-Sorry." He flinches away, shifting his gaze.  You don't say anything, but the following silence between you isn't entirely comfortable like before. Inhaling deeply, he stiffens back up a little, pretending to look around the room though his focus is still on you. He can't seem to pay attention to anything else right now.

He's been so consumed with thoughts of you for so long that he's a little scared that he can't be normal about it.  You can't know that.  He tries forcing his eyes shut.  He won't be getting any sleep tonight. 

[muzanswaifu]

Bittersweet

Demon! Sanemi x Fem! Reader

18+

Request: "I have been waiting to read something like this for so long. Demon Sanemi craving blood because fem!reader is on her period, so yk he eats her out without mercy❤️"

Demon Sanemi is so mean I love hiiiim :3 Need me a man who would eat me out on my period 😒 Jk jk that shit gotta taste nastyyyyyyy

NSFW Warnings: Yandere, Non-con, Smut, Sexism, Kidnapping, Forced Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Menstruation, Blood Kink, Forced Orgasm, Kinda Gross ngl

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The rhythmic pitter-patter of feet echoes through the green, a slow churn of water thrumming with the flow of the current. Even the thick noise of crickets and wind couldn't drown out the hint of life found deep in the brush, the figurative curl of a finger beaconing him to draw closer, to close the union of rarity.

He took a breath. A deep one. Taking in the pungent scent of weak males. And a female.

Shinazugawa could nearly taste the delectable meat already, the flavor settling on his tongue and seducing his taste buds. Drool nearly threatened his mouth, but he withheld himself. He wasn't an animal. Not technically, anyway.

But he might as well be. Only an animal could hunt as he did, track as he did, kill as he did. But a beast was not nearly as precise as he was, not leaving even a scrap of evidence in his wake. Only the crime scene would be found, a gorey scene of bone and torn flesh, remnants of his well-earned meal. But only the males would wither...

As for the female -

Oh gods, did just the thought of it make him salivate, his very bones trembling with need. Her scent alone made him feel weak with hunger, his tongue curling with horrid intent. The fragrance was familiar to him, a vague memory of his past existence of rare blood, the same unique trait only serving as a grand pillar toward his success as a demon. Her blood ran the same, her veins full of the powerful elixir that his kind would quite literally kill each other for. But he had no need for such rivalry.

The path the cattle strode upon was a hidden one, veiled by a plentiful layer of wisteria about fifty feet aways on either side of the trail. The effort wasn’t so useless, he supposed. Perhaps it served useful against weaker demons of no rank, the fiends not yet powerful enough to develop some resistance to it. But his godly build was stronger, the frail flower only giving his skin a lingering sting. His hunger far outweighed it.

He had long stalked his prize. The demon had patience in these rare situations, biding his time for the perfect opportunity to make his efforts all the more worth it. It had been several moons ago that he’d first stumbled upon her delivery across these lands, his keen eye catching the lingering dust kicked up by the horses that pulled her carriage. Even back then, the chance had been perfect. The men were unknowing, all walls of defense down as the car came to a halt, surely one of exhaustion. Shinazugawa drew closer, only a breath away from finally feasting when his vision was obscured by a heavenly vision.

A small thing she was, her skirts nearly catching under her feet as she gracefully stepped down from her traveling abode. The moonlight shimmered brilliantly off her glazed skin as she bent her delicate neck back, stretching out the aching tightness trapped there. Her (h/c) hair was frizzy across the outline, the static from the summer heat pulling at the threads and giving them a coiled curl. His maw fell open with his amazement.

He’d come across several humans of marechi blood in his infinite lifetime, and most, if not all, were nothing much to look at, quite ugly in his opinion. They all bore the same simplicity and naïveté, their only unique trait being their delectable composition that gave them their sole purpose of feasting. But she was so drastically different.

Everything about this female sang rarity, her natural features reminiscent of that of ancient goddesses that mortal men could only wish to touch. But here she was. Within an arm’s reach, he could have her, do with her what he wished. He was nearly disgusted with himself, being far more captivated with his food than he should’ve been. Sparing her of death would’ve been such a waste of opportunity, one that even those lower than him wouldn’t have been so idiotic as to squander. Yet, his own self-doubt swallowed him as he drew back into the dark wood, letting her little toy soldiers bring her back to the safety of the nearing daylight.

He’d gorged himself after that, consuming soul after soul at a nearby village in an attempt to quench his own frustration and need. There weren’t many options to consider. He couldn’t spare the thing entirely, he wasn’t that fucking stupid, but he didn’t very much want her dead either. Turning her definitely wasn’t an option, women just didn’t have as much potential as demons, and he had his own personal beliefs that women shouldn’t dirty their hands. But dear gods, her scent, her smell alone probably called upon hundreds of demons to her location daily, perhaps it would’ve been a mercy to take the female’s life.

Fuck.

He hated himself for how indecisive he was. Not once in his entire demonhood had he been at such a crossroad of hesitance. There had to be another option that held the best of both worlds, yes? Shinazugawa just hadn’t come across it yet.

But fate gave him a hint as he snatched up the severed half of a female he’d killed, her guts spilling into his lap as he gnawed on her fat ankle. His daggered eyes trailed up her cold thigh, lining the dark trail of blood that seeped from under her skirt. A small confusion fell over him as he mulled over the strange placement. His blade’s cut through her navel had been clean, her blood pooling into the muddy grass and not at all staining much of her clothing. Yet the chain of red kept its existence, running into the conjunction of her thighs. Cursing his own curiosity, Sanemi swept the pesky material aside, only to be met with the brilliance of a cruel idea.

It hadn’t been hard at all to follow along the woman’s usual route of travel again, her men taking the same path,  ignorant of its dangerous discovery. Yet the timing was unfortunately off, her smell still sickeningly sweet and clean rather than bitter and dirty. He’d have to wait for next time. And the next. And the next. He’d nearly given up hope entirely until the fated night his lungs were filled with the metallic scent that had his belly tensing with primal famine. Just the mere aroma of ichor had drool gathering in his jowls, his fists clenching with need. It only grew thicker as her quaint carriage drew near, the clicking wheels singing a dreadful tune with each snap against the road. Sanemi could already taste the woman on his tongue, her savory flesh plump and tender between his teeth… god, he was going to lose it.

He nearly did as she stepped from her carriage in the same manner as their first meeting, her hair knit in tight braids across her crown, framing her delicate features. She was dressed more eloquently this time, Her gown long and loose yet hugging her figure with a gentle tightness. He mused to himself that perhaps she was on her way to some formal event to maintain appearances, maybe even earn herself a husband. Yet the notion of such a possibility irked him all the same. He’d never felt a hunger like this before, if one could even call it that. This felt so much more significant, crucial even, as if his very life depended on it. And maybe it did, since he would most definitely not let himself live if he couldn’t get even a single taste of her blood. Her body was his to take.

It took him no time at all to do away with the weaklings, the men’s bodies falling one after the other into the gravel, making a sad splash as their vitals funneled out. The man ogling at her backside was the first to go, his head severed the instant his eyeline met the wide curve of her dress, dropping to the ground with a thud and rolling to a leisure stop to her heel. When the woman finally turned from her distraction of the ominous wood, she was met with pure, bloody isolation.

Her horrified scream echoed loud, her hands clawing at her own face as she looked upon the gory scene of blood and guts that surrounded her. Shinazugawa was almost impressed at her reaction speed as she quickly turned foot and bolted, running through the thick bush despite her frailty. He couldn’t help but snicker, so enamored by her utter foolishness of trying to escape. If the men protecting her couldn’t even survive, what made her think she was the exception?

“God, you’re fucking stupid, ha!” he cackled, leaping about the tree-line, nipping at her backside but giving her just the right amount of space to let her hope she could get away.

She was not at all athletic, her stamina quickly dwindling as her frail figure fought with itself to continue on. Her chest burned, her feet hurt, her will to keep moving dwindling by the second and feeding into the persuasive idea of giving up. Yet the monster snatched her before she could choose, slamming her into the soft, melted ground and caking her elegance in earth. His hand wrapped around her pretty neck firmly, another snaking down her bodice and tearing open the gold buttons of her dress. His tongue swept across his lip as he unwrapped her, taking his sweet time to unveil every inch of her pristine flesh to his ravenous eye, her little fists pounding at his chest as she sobbed and screamed for help.

“Shut it,” Sanemi growled lowly, surprised to see her actually listen, her lip wobbling and eyes flooding as she silenced herself. He could still hear her pathetic whimpers as he stripped her, her small frame shaking as he brushed down her stomach, removing the lacy undergarments that hid her delicate body from his sight. He could see her plush intimacy coming into view from beneath her coverings, her curved hips thickening her figure, her thighs trembling as they tried desperately to hide themselves. But there was nothing that could be done about that now as she lied there, helpless, powerless, weak.

He opened his mouth wide, exposing sharp canines and letting his hot breath wash over her firm abdomen as her tears began anew and wept down her flushed cheeks. The demon was pleased, relishing in her surrender and submission as he gently ran his tongue down her navel, sampling his meal and savoring the girl's pitiful sobs. He loved it when humans cried, when they begged and pleaded for their lives like the weaklings they were, it made things so much more exciting.

His tongue flicked out over her pelvis, gliding over the pudge over her sex as he breathed in the scent of her musk, tainted with ovulation. Sanemi could already feel the saliva gathering in a jowls as he began to peel down her underwear, a cotton cloth clinging to the crotch of it. Her breath stuttered.

"N-no, no, please! Please... please!" she cried out, shaking hard and grasping at her own face, nearly clawing her eyes out with panic. But she knew better than to try to fight him off again, clearly more afraid of what he would do then than what he was currently doing. He couldn't help but grin against her supple flesh, his edged teeth nicking her thigh. She jerked at the sudden pain and the warm sensation of blood trickling down her leg, soaking into the dirt.

"P-Please, p-p-please don't... h-hurt me," her words shook with her exterior, her sniffling likely a strong persuasion to those who had a heart. He obviously didn't but was still bothered by her pestering fear of being eaten. "If I was going to eat you, don't you think I would have done it already?" he groaned sarcastically.. The human slowly removed her fingers to peak down at him, her eyes red and welled with tears, lip trembling. He laughed.

"I mean come on, you think I'd let you bitch and moan this long just to kill you later? If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Quit fucking crying," he hissed.

She sniffled again. "B-but -"

"Zip it."

Her mouth snapped shut, quickly obeying before her brain could even comprehend him.

Sanemi growled. "Talk again and you get to join those fuckers back there." He nodded his head back to the direction of her abandoned carriage and dead guards. His claws dug into her thighs, pulling them to spread wider to encompass his presence. "The sooner you let me take what I want, the sooner I let you go. But I don't deal with brats. You either listen or you don't, 's up to you bitch."

He wasn't sure how he expected her to react, but it definitely wasn't for her to spread herself wider, without any instruction. It was almost touching how quickly she gave in, not even needing a moment to think it over before she opened herself up for him to do as he pleased. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she were eager for it.

His head fell down to her core again, his fangs pricking the surface of her skin yet again, drawing forth a shallow line of blood as he slid them down her inner thighs, his eyes locked on her frightened yet curious gaze. She shivered at the sharpness of his touch, her legs trembling as he moved further south, trying to appease his hungered excitement. He resumed pulling down her panties, reveling in the aroma of moon blood that filled his senses as he took away all obstruction. It was beautiful. The smell of blood. The sight of red dripping from her puffy lips. He could only imagine the taste, so eager in his imagination of its excellence. He'd never tasted pure ovulation blood before, never even thought of it actually. It would be stupid to use just his tongue when he could devour with his teeth in an instant and move on to the next meal. But this was a different situation entirely. This woman could satiate him for years, decades even, with marechi blood. It didn't hurt that she was a hot piece of ass either. If he didn't get himself together soon, he might end up fucking his food as well.

The woman's eyes lingered on his leisure movements, the drawl of his dangerous eyes along her sex as he studied the meal. Embarrassment quickly rose in her chest as she realized his intentions, praying that he’d move on with whatever he was trying to do so her dignity could recover. Although, she supposed letting him taste her menstrual blood was better than getting eaten alive... but hardly.

The demon felt her pulse quicken in his grasp, her breathing growing faster and her patience dwindling as she began to quiver again. He didn't blame her though, not in the slightest. But he had every right to  such a rare female, he deserved everything. And if the needs of others were sacrificed, so be it. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist her for too long. He was ravenous.

And he was horny.

He smiled as his head dipped down, his tongue flicking out to smooth against her swollen clitoris, barely brushing the top as he inhaled the fragrance of her blood. Her legs trembled, her muscles tensing as her hips buckled in response, shocked with the sudden feeling of sensitivity. She had to bite her lip to silence her noise of surprise. He chuckled as he teased her, dragging his tongue from one side to the other, teasing her wet folds and leaving behind a thin trail of saliva. He didn't really care for her pleasure at the moment, but he was curious of her response to it. Dinner and a show. That was fine by him.

She bit her lip harder, her thighs flexing to keep from touching him. Sanemi was excited at her reaction, watching her face contort with each and every careless stroke of his tongue, her hips subconsciously rising to feed herself into his awaiting mouth. A few times, she almost grabbed for him, but her arms were still pinned to her side by her own strong will to survive. He liked that, enjoyed her struggle as he continued to lick her up and down, her clit becoming more sensitive with each and every pass. Her blood was intoxicating, his head already growing dizzy as he drank her from the source. He thought it would be difficult to keep himself from biting down but the thought never even grazed his mind as he continued giving sloppy licks and sucks to her weeping heat. She was so tasty, so sweet, so ripe. It seemed like she would never stop bleeding as his tongue was eternally blessed with a fresh coat of red. He wondered for a moment if it was possible to drain her of it all in one night.

He growled, his head lowering down to her opening and his tongue falling out again as she whimpered in anticipation, eyes closed tight. She felt like she was losing her mind with every pass of his ravenous tongue. Her head was so foggy and light, her pussy so warm, she couldn't stop herself from letting out small noises of pleasure as he kept feasting upon her. It took every ounce of her being not to wrap her legs around his head and trap him into her center, forcing him to cease his cruel teasings. What little was left of her fear only heightened the experience, giving her a blissful taste of sin that she'd never indulged before, the sense of danger giving her such a rush.

Her ichor only grew sweeter on his tongue by the second, her slick diluting her blood in heavier batches that gave him more a taste of lust than power. He focused on her hole then, realizing that nipping at her clit certainly wasn't helping the situation. Yet, her pleasure rose none-the-less. His tongue worked hard, dashing inside of her, licking up every drop of liquor, drinking it down as if it were a fine wine. It was nearly too good to be true, this level of strength he felt. He looked down at the girl, his eyes burning into her as he watched her squirm and grip the earth. She was so delicious.

But he needed more.

His tongue pumped into her again and again, dipping as far as it could reach before retreating to her entrance to lick up anything that had escaped him. She shuddered, her hips subtly grinding on his face to chase her nearing end. It continued building in her belly, sending bolts of electricity up her spine and warming her insides. She couldn't even feel the pain of her cramps anymore.

Sanemi sipped at her wetness more vigorously, his tongue lapping at her like a dog, desperate for more of his meal. He slowed only for a moment as the woman gave a small cry, her hips and thighs quaking harshly and tensing in his palms. He wasn't even angry when her juices sprayed him, drenching his lower face and dripping down his lips. If anything he was amused, only a human could come from such little care. Yet, he stopped, her cunt hardly even bleeding anymore being so wet with arousal and relief. What was the point of pleasing her when he gained nothing in return.

He rose from his position on the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as his eyes raked down her sloppy appearance, certainly not that of a noblewoman. Her backside was caked with mud, her hair messy and matted, her face red and mouth leaking with drool. She nearly looked peaceful as she let out gentle pants, still softly shaking from such a strong orgasm. He rolled his eyes.

"Get up," he commanded, uncaring of her condition. "I don't have all fucking night."

The woman only rose when his growls became violent, her movements awkward and her head still in the clouds. She still attempted to cover herself, tucking an arm over her breasts and cupping her sex with another.

"I'm only going to explain this once so I suggest you pay attention-" he began, her eyes quickly lighting up with fright, "You are going to come back to this path every month during your menses. You will come alone. No guards. No friends. No nobody. Understand?"

She squirmed nervously in her footing, her fear beginning to crest again. "B-but I-I won’t be a-allowed to travel for n-no r-r-reason..." she stuttered.

"Not my problem."

"A-and how would I come back without anyone to take-"

"Not. My. Problem." he hissed meanly, making her cower away.

He stepped forward to her, towering over her little form. "I'm not here to negotiate. I'm just telling you what you're going to do. I don't give a fuck how you're gonna do it, but if you know what's good for you, you'll obey. You want anyone else dead because of you?" he sneered.

Her lip quivered and tears glazed in her eyes. "N-no."

Sanemi chuckled, looking down at her and pressing a strong hand over her lower belly and brushing away her small hands, dangerously close to her privates that were still glazed with his saliva.

"This is mine," he stated, passing two fingers between her puffy cunt lips, "Give it to anyone else and I'll kill them and make you watch. I'll make it slow too. You want that?" She violently shook her head, nearly on the cusp of pissing herself from the terror of such a suggestion.

He hummed with his approval of her response, giving her another once over with his eyes and a quick squeeze of her breast before backing away into the night, undisturbed with how on earth she was going to get back home. It would've been any second that he could lose control of himself and pounce, a desperate need growing in pants to satiate himself. He'd have to establish that as another rule - no fucking when she was edible. Maybe he'd pay her another visit later when her period was over, at her estate perhaps, just to take away her innocence and test out how useful she was to him. He could only imagine how pathetic she would look speared on his cock with nowhere else to go, but that would be for another night, he couldn't forget her main purpose.

And he couldn't wait to get a taste of that again.

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@acehyacinth

@chaik1

@tomiokas-lunchbox

@walkingtravesty97

@keimuras

@akazaapologist

@prostheticmind

@doumakiss

@uchihabucketlist

@tired-writer04

@magoliaomega

@bishishbored

@animeblog123

@sparklyphantom

@vividelreyy

@ledafox

@that-bih

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[trevlad-sounds]

For the Birds 8

05.07.2024

Intro 00:00 Veins Full Of Static-Ceaseless Collapse 00:03 Daou-Odyssey 06:18 Synthbiont & Anassimandrus-Whispers from the City 10:35 Willebrant-Inlet III 17:39 Lunar Cambridge-A Distant Mirror 29:00 Metamatics-Flow Motion 33:41 Time Rival-Nippersink Creek + Organic Loops (Prairie Trail 6-21-23) 41:09 CIALYN-GardenWall 46:06 Mitseliy-Blue Tape IV 48:53

[moon7jay]

hard heeseung thoughts 😵‍💫 non con with mean dom her AHHHH

THIS IS NON CONSENSUAL SO DNI IF U R NOT COMFY WITH THOSE THEMES

Boyfriend heeseung who has fucked you on every surface of your apartment and his own dorm.

Boyfriend heeseung who's always horny, ready to take you anywhere and everywhere.

Boyfriend heeseung who ignores your pleas asking to not do it today cuz u r sore from last night

Boyfriend heeseung who doesn't understand consent, you are his, so is your cunt and he can use it whenever he wants, even you can't stop him

Boyfriend heeseung who gets turned on when u tell him to stop, your lower lip wobbling "heeseung please, please don't"

Your whiny voice and real fear in your eyes as u scoot away from him makes him inexplicably hard in his jeans

Boyfriend heeseung who likes how you are so tiny, your soft little fists coming up to hit him on his chest to push him away but it only makes him laugh as u sob

Boyfriend heeseung who forcefully spreads your legs apart, not even bothering to take any of your clothes cuz he's only intrested in getting inside of your fuck hole.

"Don't act like u don't want this fucking tease, prancing around in nothing but my shirt, pussy all up in my face and u wanna act all innocent now? "

Boyfriend heeseung who traps you under his weight, thrusting inside of you, moaning at how you scream and thrash, your pussy burns from his forceful invasion

"It h-hurts, hurts so much heeseung please"

Your cries falling on deaf ears, he's growling like an animal in heat, eyes laser focused on how your lower regions connect, loving the way your tight cunt wraps around his dick. The sounds of skin slapping harshly music to his ears.

"Hurts yeah? Lemme make it hurt some more" Hitting your cervix brutally, going harder everytime you scream

Your arms flail around, full on sobbing and having a breakdown cuz what boyfriend takes advantage of his girlfriend? This is wrong on so many levels, but ur body betrays you, secreting fluids the more he fucks you. Fuck? No. Rapes you.

"Making a mess baby, u want this yeah? Like when it hurts don't you? Come on let's fuck some more"

Boyfriend heeseung who spits in your mouth, liking how u swallow on autopilot, sucking on your tongue forcefully, liking how messy it gets as you cry more.

Boyfriend heeseung who doesn't just make out with you but eats your mouth, his tongue fucking your throat making you choke as saliva drips down your chins, sucking on your tongue forcefully cuz God damn he loves the way u taste in his mouth.

Boyfriend heeseung who rips your(his) shirt off and slaps your tits till they turn red, while rutting into your cunt as your screams of pain turn him harder inside of you.

Boyfriend heeseung who bites and gropes your soft skin, sucking and puncturing your skin with his teeth from anywhere he can get his mouth on, leaving bruises all over you, too lost in the pleasure your body is giving him.

Boyfriend heeseung who manhandles your body onto all fours, focusing on his dick and his pleasure, least intrested about your pleasure or how u keep begging him to stop

"Scream louder for me whore, ask me to stop-oh fuck yeah- gonna rape u all night long" His grunts and groans of satisfaction now sound static to u as u keep sobbing but no longer resisting, letting him bend u and use u like his own cumdump .

Boyfriend heeseung who takes you 3 more times throughout the night, slapping you when u try to run away from him, the veins in his neck visible from how much he loves forcing himself inside of you, beating your insides red.

Boyfriend heeseung who doesn't bother cleaning you up or making you cum, just tucking his dick in his pants and leaving you a crying mess once he's satisfied. Telling you to keep his cum in you or he'll rape u harder the next time he comes over.

Boyfriend heeseung who knows u will come crawling back to him again cuz he's broken you. Turned you into a perfect sex toy. Only existing to pleasure his dick.

[chronicowboy]

guilty feet have no rhythm | 1k

Eddie doesn't remember the last time he felt like this. Happy, uncomplicated, free. The world is fuzzy, warm where it wraps around him, dips under his feet like it's making way for him. Everything is so easy tonight. And it's not just the alcohol, not the tequila running warm and smooth through his veins.

No, it had been so spectacularly easy before he'd even had a drink. He'd been easy and full of joy the moment Buck had showed up on his doorstep with two freshly dry cleaned suits that they'd destroyed within the first hour of the party. It had felt, for a moment, like the house had taken its first deep breath in weeks when Buck had stepped inside.

They're in the bathroom again. Eddie has lost count of how many times they've ventured to the toilets tonight. All that alcohol, wreaking havoc on bladders and hand-eye coordination and stomachs. This time, Buck's sleeve has been soaked through by tequila, and Eddie hadn't really had an excuse to follow him in here except the thought of peeling himself from Buck's side had sent a wave of wrong through him so powerful he'd thought he was about to throw up the steak dinner they'd sat down for before karaoke.

So, he follows Buck to the bathroom, falling back against the wall when Buck notices him there and smiles brighter than the neon paint on the walls. He watches Buck shove his sodden arm under the hand dryer, and the steady whine of it fills Eddie's brain with a static that leaves him defenceless.

"What does it feel like?" The words slip out the moment the dryer shuts off with a click.

"Warm, wet," Buck answers with a cute little twist to his eyebrows. He tilts his head to the side, looking every bit like the stray puppy on their street Eddie had fallen in love with when he was twelve and his dad had called Animal Control on. "Have you not... used a hand dryer before?"

"No, Buck," Eddie groans, tastes the name on his tongue like a burst of colour. Yellow like a sunflower, or golden like sunlight itself, or pink like a birthmark as familiar to him as breathing. "What does kissing a man feel like?"

"Oh!" Buck grins, bouncing on his feet a little. He almost topples over with the energy that fills him at the question, and Eddie curls his hands into fists to resist the urge to reach out and hold him steady only because he doesn't feel so steady himself all of a sudden. Buck leans back against the wall opposite Eddie, getting a little lost in something Eddie can only imagine. "It's..." He sighs, long and dreamy. Eddie wants to catch it in his hands, press it to his chest, feel whatever certainty Buck is feeling now.

Certainty. The word lodges itself in Eddie's throat. That's it. That's what he's been missing. That's what's been making the world feel so... Uninhabitable recently. Eddie hasn't felt certain about anything since that solid weight had dropped through his chest at the graveyard. And even now he's still not certain what that weight was. But he'd been a hell of a lot more sure about that than he has been about anything with his girlfriend.

"It's... What?" Eddie prompts, suddenly, certainly desperate for the answer.

"Life-changing," Buck breathes, eyes the colour of an endless sky.

"How?"

"I don't know how to explain it." Buck shakes his head. "It's not really all that different except for all the ways it's different."

"Like what?" Eddie feels like a little kid, boundless in their curiosity, about to get an answer to a question they can barely comprehend.

"Like the stubble," Buck begins, eyes dropping to Eddie's jaw. "The tilting your head up instead of down, the hard chest against yours, the big hands on your waist." His voice turns dreamy, breathy. Eddie understands painfully, feels like he's just run a marathon. "But it's not really..."

"It's not really what?" It sounds like a plea in the muffled silence of the bathroom.

"It doesn't feel all that different when your eyes are closed, you know?" Except Eddie doesn't know. He doesn't know anything anymore. "But that empty space that's been inside you your whole life suddenly feels full."

"Oh." Eddie rubs a knuckle down his breastbone like he's trying to wake himself up with a sternal rub.

"You should try it, Eddie," Buck says then.

"What?"

The world disappears out from under his feet.

"You should kiss a man. It's—"

Eddie takes two steps and changes his life.

Eddie kisses Buck, and it's everything Buck had said. The delicious scratch of stubble, the slight upwards tilt of his head, the hard chest against his, the big hands around his waist, the filling up of that empty space. Except it's all that and more. It's Buck's stubble, it's Buck leaning down to breach that tiny gap between them despite the shocked noise that Eddie drinks from his mouth, it's Buck's firm chest under his hands and Buck's heartbeat pounding against his, it's Buck's calloused but endlessly gentle hands burning through his shirt just above his hips, it's the empty space in his chest not just filling up but overflowing with right right right —

Wrong.

The blast of the hand dryer rips them apart, and Eddie stumbles backwards, wild and free and oh-so-complicated. Every moment of his life before that kiss is rewritten into a writhing mass of wrong as everything else becomes entirely clear. For the first time in his life, Eddie is certain. Certain of two things: he never wants to kiss a woman again, he never wants to kiss anyone but Buck again.

"How was that?" Buck whispers, chest heaving despite the fact that it hadn't really been anything more than a brush of lips.

"Life-changing," Eddie croaks, the sound of it lost as Chim comes stumbling into the bathroom with a blast of Careless Whisper.

[seouljazzbar]

candy drip (m.)

about— seunghan is a greedy little munch

author's note— just something light, i can’t stop writing about pussy worshippers :(

warning— just a lot of oral and fingering (f. receiving), and a pinch of ass play! technically sacrilege since they get it on in a church bathroom whoops 18+ MDNI!!!

word count— 1.3k

It was your fault, technically. You were the one who got bored during Sunday service with Seunghan's family, and you were the one who started whispering about what you would do to him if you weren't in the middle of the sermon. But you were, and Seunghan kept reminding you of that fact, alongside the fact that his parents were just a pew away. It still didn't stop you from rubbing his thigh just a tad too close to where you really wanted to touch. From the outside looking in, you were just caressing your boyfriend inattentively. It almost looked sweet. But it wasn't sweet to Seunghan, who was whisking you away to the bathroom after approximately thirteen minutes of incessant touching.

Your hips wouldn’t stop bucking against his hand, but that only spurred him on more. “Hurry.” You buried your head in the crook of Seunghan’s neck, trying your hardest to muffle the moans that your teeth in your lip were barely holding back. His fingers slipped along the outside of your pussy lips, gliding to your clit before slapping it roughly. Your teeth sunk into his shoulder, bottom lip not cutting it anymore and you knew you were playing with fire. Anyone could walk into the bathroom at any moment, and they’d see your boyfriend playing with your pussy. You could feel his boner pressing against the underside of your thigh, mocking you as Seunghan rolled his hips forward to taunt you. “Please, Hannie, give me something. Wanna be full so bad.” 

He let out a shaky moan at your horny induced anguish, his lips finding yours mindlessly in a searing kiss. You felt pathetic, begging him for something you knew he was gonna give you– but you were impatient, bratty. Selfish. He loved how wild you were, how insatiable you were. His lips drifted to your jaw, then your neck, kissing hard enough to leave his signature in bruises all over your delicate skin. Your blood ran scorching hot as his thumbs toyed with your nipples through your shirt, static current running through your veins as he tortured you. “Want me to fuck you, baby doll?” He was getting off on this, a sick sense of pleasure inflating his chest at the sight (and feeling) of you squirming over nothing. “Mm? That what you need?”

The noise you let out was strangled, like you were throwing a tantrum over his refusal to give in just yet, and it only goaded him. He laughed in your face, a dark chuckle accompanied by a stiff slap to your ass. “Seunghan, please. Please.” You maintained eye contact with him as you reached for his hand, guiding it to your lips to suck on his fingertips. His weakness. “Please don’t make me wait anymore.”

“Oh, baby, you know that’s not how this works. I asked you a question, and you’re being a very bad girl not answering me.” 

He takes his hand back from your mouth, snaking down to your clit to rub just lightly enough to drive you crazy. It leaves you speechless, struggling to get the words out as you press your nails into his shoulders. “Please…. Hannie, please fuck me.” You finally say, moving your hips against the tip of his cock as you moaned. “I want you to fuck me, need it. Need you inside of me so bad.”

Seunghan, a man of few pleasures, was finally satisfied. He’d made you beg enough and it had finally satiated him, his sadistic streak cooling off as you looked up at him with your big, round eyes. He spun you around, lifting up your skirt as you rested against the sink dopily. His wet fingers spanked the smooth surface of your ass cheeks until he felt the heat rising to the top of your skin. God, he would never get enough of your ass. Especially the view of your arousal dripping between it from behind. “Gonna let me eat you out, or are you too impatient for that?”

Your hips wiggled frenziedly, trying your best to remind him what it feels like to have you squelching around him; but he was too focused on the stickiness dripping all over his fingers. He dipped his head down, sticking out his tongue to lick up all you had to offer. “Oh, baby, you taste so goddamn good.”

“Mmnh,” You weren’t sure how much more you could take, your knees buckling as he spread your ass cheeks apart for better access. “Seung– fuck! Seunghan, please. I’ll do anything, just fuck me already.” Any concerns about sounding downright pitiful went down the drain ages ago, only caring about getting your cunt stretched out. 

“Oh, c’mon, baby, I wanna taste you first.” He slurped away at the mess between your legs noisily, darting his tongue as far into your hole as it could reach. “Will you let me? I promise I’ll fuck you just as soon as I’m done.”

He drew back just to spit on it, purely out of habit seeing that you were dripping enough slick for him to lap at. One of your arms wrapped around to shove his head even deeper, causing him to snicker at how easily you folded to his every whim. Your other hand was occupied with grabbing onto the edge of the sink, knowing that you could slip at any time. You rolled your hips against his mouth faster while he sucked, nuzzled, licked and swirled your clit. He was torturing you in the best way possible, milking you for all you could give him.

“Wanna cum.” You whimpered, “God.”

He chuckled, flicking his tongue side to side before straight up sucking on your clit. “No, it’s Seunghan.”

You could feel your body tense up when he inserted two of his long fingers inside your dripping cunt, then another in your puckered ass hole until you flopped against the countertop. He still didn’t stop though, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit as his fingers pumped ruthlessly in and out of your holes.

“I could eat you out all day. ‘Til I’m covered in you.” He groaned before slipping his fingers out and looking up at you, your juices dripping down his chin pornographically. 

Seunghan dipped his head between your legs again, forcing his tongue into your wet cunt as he licked, slurped and sucked your clit, tasting your sweet juices all over again like a rabid animal. He was a liar, a big fat liar who wouldn’t be fucking you any time soon. Seunghan just loves watching you cum. Even if he doesn’t get anything out of it, he’ll do anything to make you writhe over and over again.

And the thought of you trembling above him was the finish line he chased as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, speeding up with a low growl as he sunk his fingers in all the way past to knuckle, your velvety walls hugging him perfectly. You weren’t even trying to cover up your cries of pleasure anymore, letting your moans echo against the walls for everyone to hear. “You okay, baby?”

“Hannie,” You squeaked, your climax rolling over you in iridescent waves. You couldn’t hear anything as you rode the pleasure out until the very end, Seunghan’s arms wrapping around you to make sure you didn’t slump into a puddle on the floor. His hands wrapped around your mouth just in case anyone happened to walk by while his fucked out girlfriend screeched in pleasure. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Once you landed back on Earth, Seunghan glanced up from his spot between your legs and offered you a bashful smile. “So… how was it?”

You blushed in embarrassment, trying your best to ignore his cocky smirk, “It would’ve been better if you’d actually fucked me. But it was alright, I guess.” You smiled down at him, knowing that he’d take the bait.

He rose to his full height, kissing you so you could taste yourself in all of your glory. The stickiness of your arousal didn’t bother you at this point, not when your makeup had already been ruined from tears of pleasure. “Alright, fine, I’ll bite. But not here… I think we can make do in the parking lot.”

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Teeth

Part 20!

Masterlist

Warnings: Angst (god, I'm so sorry), discussions of stalking, mentions of nightmares, kissing, sex dreams, more angst, Billy's sad childhood.

In the early hours of Saturday morning, Dinah knocks on his front door.

He knows it's her, he can almost smell her impatience. 

You haven’t woken up yet, and Billy really wants to let you sleep. You’d had another nightmare- he’d heard the moment you woken with a sharp gasp last night. He’d waited, waited patiently to see if you’d come to him, if you’d ask to crawl into bed beside him. He’d listened to your footsteps as you’d made a cup of jasmine tea.

He’d wanted to go to you, but he didn’t want to make it seem as if he was… monitoring you.

Lying on his side, he’d listened to you sigh, making sure you were okay, using his keen sense of hearing to listen to your racing heart.

He wasn’t too sure what to do. How did he reassure you that he wanted to be with you, that your entire relationship was built on something stronger than pity?

Perhaps, he could encourage you to seek out therapy, help you through your erroneous thoughts and make you see reason.

He shuddered at the reminder of therapists, and his failed relationship with a certain one in particular.

He’d listened to you have your tea and go back to bed, then he’d listened to you toss and turn and make little sounds of irritation that made the beast inside of him alert, tugging at him to go to you, to lie beside you, soothe you into sleep.

He thought about how you’d feel in his arms, the way he’d bury his nose in your hair and wrap his body around yours, a smile pulling onto his face the more he thought about it.

Then, he’d remembered what you’d said, that you might just take his actions as pity, and not the movements of a man utterly and hopelessly obsessed.

In a way, he sort of understood the insanity that being deprived of you could cause, shaking his head as he fell asleep, knowing exactly how unhinged his thoughts sounded.

Billy pulls open the door, wearing only the grey sweats he’d fallen asleep in, rubbing at one eye with the base of his palm.

“Madani.” He greets grumpily, the first peek of sunlight just starting to light up the street behind her.

She looks unbothered by his prickly greeting, in her red shirt and sensible work pants, a coat thrown over the ensemble to shelter her from the chill of the oncoming winter season. Billy steps to the side to let her in, the glint of her badge on her hip when she moves.

“You got coffee?” Dinah asks, eyes scanning the area, most likely looking for changes in his home. It had been years since she’d set foot in his place.

“Upstairs.” He answers, and she nods, pulling her gloves and coat off, hanging it on the little hanger near the door.

He leaves her in the kitchen for a moment so that he can grab a shirt, not wanting to be exposed to her for longer than necessary.

She’s sifting through his collection of coffees when he finds her again.

“So, how is she?” Dinah asks, not looking up. He watches her open a bag, take a small whiff and shakes her head. Billy studies her for a moment, gathering his thoughts, making sure to keep himself calm, stoic. He’d already had an idea of where this conversation was headed, and he didn’t want Dinah prying too much.

He clears his throat.

“She’s alright- yeah- shaken, which is understandable, but she’s a fighter.”

“I know, I saw her background. Hell of a girl.” Dinah says, raising her head with a light smile that suggested she knew something that he didn’t.

“What are you implying?” 

Dinah makes a sound of amusement, selecting another bag of coffee, this one,  harvested from the mountains of Peru.

“I read her file, Billy. Her statements, her firsthand account of that night. I saw the autopsy report for those two muggers. I know.”

He keeps his emotions in check, wrapped tightly with a rubber band and shoved deep down inside of him. His head is full of static, denial in his veins.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” He says measuredly.

Dinah has the audacity to laugh, full blown, head tossed back, he’d roll his eyes if he was a little bit more comfortable with the direction of the conversation.

 “I forgot how easy it is for you to lie to yourself. Don’t worry, Russo I won’t tell a soul.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Dinah.” He says, inching closer to her, desperate to make the were-cheetah understand his words. “There is nothing to read into, nothing to know. She means nothing to me.”

Dinah’s eyes slide from his face to something behind him, he turns his head, stomach twisting as he spots you, having just come upon the conversation.

God fucking dammit, Billy swears internally.

.

“Good morning Agent Madani.” You greet evenly, pretending that you didn’t hear what you definitely just heard, “Is everything going well with the investigation?”

She says your name in greeting.

“Are you doing alright?” She asks, grabbing a bag of coffee from Billy’s selection.

“Peachy.” You respond sarcastically, with a smile, entering the kitchen, unable to look him in the eye at all.

You watch her set up his coffee machine, as you slide onto one of the stools at his kitchen counter, unlocking your phone to look through your notifications.

The place is silent, save for the hum of the coffee machine, you can feel Billy’s eyes on you, but you refuse to acknowledge him in any way, shape or form.

I’ll show you nothing.

“So,” You say, clearing your throat, “any news?”

Dinah turns, looking at you both, before stepping over to an unmarked cupboard, opening it to grab a mug.

You blink, tilting your head in acknowledgement that she so easily knew where to find things. Maybe they were in a relationship before.

“We have a… working theory that maybe you’re not the target.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, waiting for her elaboration.

“When we assembled the timeline of events, and analysed the photos properly, we noticed that Billy hadn’t been around at any point that the stalker was there. Every time something happened, he was nowhere around.”

“Are you implying that he’s the stalker?” You say dryly in disbelief, looking down, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“No, more that the intended target of this harassment isn’t you… but rather… Billy.”

At that, you finally look up.

“How does that make any sense?” You prod at Dinah.

“Thing is, Billy is a security expert, catching him off guard would be really difficult. But, threatening a close friend of his, forcing him to watch your fear… we think that was the goal the entire time.”

You blink, looking down.

This wasn’t about you at all?

“That’s why taking several photos of you being mugged was so important,” Dinah continues, “Your fear, they’re using it against him.”

“Which reminds me,” She mutters, turning to Billy, “Can you send me a list of any enemies you have? We’ll start big and work our way down.

“You kidding?” Billy asks, raising a hand to wipe at his brow, “That list would be ten pages long. I’m not in security to make friends.”

“We have to start somewhere.” You hear her mutter to him.

“So… this is good right?” You say interrupting their little conversation, with freshly sprouting thoughts, “This means that I'm- I'm not being obsessed over, yeah? So I'm not in as much danger as I thought? No one is learning everything about me because they like me?”

There's a stagnant silence between the both of them that makes you think that you weren’t very correct in your assumptions.

“Not exactly.” Billy says, glancing at Dinah who looks back at him and makes you think to yourself that they really made a cute couple. The thought makes you press your teeth together angrily.

For a moment, it feels like someone's taken a hammer to your chest again, more and more you realise that maybe Billy had never really desired you.

“If this person isn't actively interested in pursuing you, and just trying to hurt Billy, then they have nothing to really gain from keeping you alive in the long term.” Dinah explains.

It just makes your heart sink more.

“Well it makes sense that my death would be worth much more than my life.” You grumble, crossing your arms.

In your peripherals, Billy turns away, when your eyes follow his movement, you catch him shaking his head.

Great, now you’d disappointed him.

“What if I left the city? Got as far away as I could and never came back?”

You watch his shoulders stiffen.

“You’d probably be safe but there’s a chance the person doing this could go after your friends to make a point, or maybe they follow you, we’re not entirely sure about anything, all we have right now is just a working theory.” Dinah answers.

“Oh.” You mumble, “So you could be wrong, and I could still be the main target.”

She’s silent for a while.

“We’re still exploring every option, but based on analysis, Billy does seem like the real target.”

Great. 

You turn away with a nod of your head, trying to figure out how to excuse yourself from the conversation and retreat into hiding.

“Wait a minute,” You say, turning back, “Why me? I’m sure there are a lot of people they could target that mean more to him than me.”

His head drops, and Dinah glances at him with a wry smile on her face.

“I think you might be his only friend that isn’t ex-military.”

Are we even friends? You want to jab.

“Actually, the harassment might have even been orchestrated to get you both closer together, knowing that Billy might have taken you in if he knew you were being stalked.”

You think you were going to be sick.

The idea that you were just being used as a pawn in someone else’s game this entire time, like a mouse in a maze, with doors shutting all around you, forcing you to go in one direction, made you want to sink into the nearest abyss and never be seen again.

You wanted to claw at the walls, you wanted to scream.

You take a deep breath, holding it, closing your eyes and pressing your face into your hands. You let it hurt, you let your lungs beg for air, you feel your body begin to sag under the weight of itself. When you can’t keep it in anymore, you let the breath out in a rush, feeling your mind calm down, too busy focusing on the mild oxygen deprivation to keep panicking.

“Alright well, it was a pleasure seeing you, Agent Madani, I look forward to speaking with you again.” You say diplomatically, sliding off the stool and stepping purposefully back to your room. You don’t stop until you’ve collapsed onto your bed face down, your face buried into a pillow, hoping that you could close your eyes and have all of this go away.

.

A while later, there’s a soft knock on your door.

You raise your head, sitting up and facing the door.

“Yeah?” You answer.

The doorknob turns, and you feel your throat tighten as you meet his eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“Great.” Is your clipped answer, “Things have never been better.”

He says your name on a sigh, opening your door wider to step into your room.

You look away, down at the spot on the floor where the glass of water had been smashed to pieces a few nights ago. You wonder if you would still find any remnants of splinters there.

“You and Dinah look nice together.” You comment softly.

“I suppose we might have,” He accedes, coming to sit beside you on your bed, “A  long time ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile.

“She's really pretty, I almost want to congratulate you on being with her.”

“She's alright.”

You make a sound of disbelief, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

He tilts his head in curiosity.

“What?”

“Well if you think she's alright, it's no wonder that I mean nothing to you.”

The silence is stiff, like the air is made of honey, trapping you both in place.

“I'm sorry you had to hear that, but it wasn't true.”

You shake your head.

“Look- It's alright- you don't have to say anything to make me feel better I get it-” You stand, fighting the thick feeling of the air around you both, “-I'm probably not pretty compared to all the other women you've dated, and maybe you've just realized that-”

Your voice cuts off when he stands too, your body freezing up once more as you catch the stern expression on his face.

He's like a predator, the way he moves forward, corralling you until you're pressed against the bedroom wall.

You try to appear calm, though you can feel each time blood pulses into your brain.

His eyes are so dark, you can barely see his pupil, you have to tilt your head up to keep eye contact the closer he gets.

He gets close enough that you can feel the soft brush of his breath on your cheek, his arms pressed to either side of you to cage you in.

“Dinah and I were only together for a few months. I wouldn’t open up to her, and she wouldn’t open up to me. She once told me that I was incapable of making a real connection with someone, and maybe I carried that into my next relationship, but you… are the first real connection I’ve made in a really long time.”

You blink, your insides responding positively to his words.

“I said those things to her because what you really mean to me, is absolutely none of her business.”

“And what do I mean to you?” You ask softly, a depth of challenge in your voice, a silent plea to mean more to him than you think you do.

The corners of his mouth just barely tilt upwards, one of his hands move to cup your cheek.

“So much more than you know. It hurts me to hear you talk down on yourself, it pains to hear you suggest leaving.”

He leans in further, his face beside yours so that he can whisper in your ear.

“I want you, more than I can even understand and I've been thinking about you from the moment we first met.”

You gulp, raising a hand to touch his shoulder, smoothing down the length of his arm.

He takes your wrist in his hand, pressing it against the wall beside your head.

You gasp, turning to look at him in surprise at the meaningful way he moved.

His nose brushes yours, and you can't help tilting your face up in hopes that he kisses you.

“It's not easy to find words for,” he thinks for a moment before smiling, “If I liked you less, maybe I would talk about it more.”

“That's Jane Austen.” You whisper.

The corner of his lip twitches.

“Yeah, maybe she's on to something.” 

You feel his thumb swipe gently over the fluttering pulse at your wrist.

His head moves, his nose trailing a path over your cheek, to your ear. You stay perfectly still, heart hammering, but unwilling to break him from whatever thoughts he seemed to be in.

He drops his head till his face is pressed to the base of your neck, you feel and hear him take a deep breath.

“You smell good.” His voice is a low grovel.

“Thank you.” You whisper in response, feeling him take another slow breath, your body growing aroused at your positions.

He lets out a soft hum of appreciation, you stand there a little surprised at his actions. Was he just breathing you in?

His lips brush your neck and you feel a jolt of heat spear into your stomach. 

Your skin tingles, all you can feel besides his mouth on your skin and his breathing in your hair is your body begging him for more.

You wanted him to touch you, to trail his hands over your skin. You ached to just be felt, and not even in a sexual way. You wanted him to learn you, explore the feel of you so you would know what that felt like.

Do people even do that? Do they explore each other simply for the pleasure of it? You're not sure, but more and more you want to know everything about him.

You feel his grip tighten on your wrist, feeling him lean more against you as if he can't bear the thought of being apart. He stiffens, raising his head from its place, buried in your neck. His eyes are…

strange, there's something a little odd about them, but you don’t get the chance to investigate further.

“Excuse me.” He grunts out  before he's drawing away, and stepping out of your room with meaningful steps.

This time, your stomach fills with warmth and affection to watch him go. Almost intuitively knowing that his departure is based on a heavy desire for you, one that he was worried about losing control over, and not dislike, as you might have previously thought.

He really likes me, is what you think to yourself as the door closes.

.

You swear you're not trying to torment him on purpose, but it's funny how things work out like that.

You tap your pen against your lips, raising your eyebrows curiously when you glance over at him and find him already looking at you.

He looks so calm, except you know him a little bit better now, you watch his eyes drift to your lips, the same dark red you'd worn before.

Somewhere at the front of the room, there's a presentation happening, some routine safety briefings being spoken about.

You smile, looking down, and when you glance back at him, he's still got his eyes on you.

You could feel it in your bones, in that spot behind your navel- it was only a matter of time before you gave in to the tension between you.

The image of it just pops into your head with no warning, the way he might tug at your clothes frantically, breathless kisses, low groans as he gets you naked. His firm press of your body against his desk, or the first flat surface. The reminder of the way his hands feel on your skin, his mouth- you blink, swallowing, looking down at the pen in your hands as you let the memories of him overwhelm you.

You wanted him in so many ways, over and over, you almost felt insane with need. All you could feel is the ache inside of you, a space craving to be filled.

Your body responds eagerly to your thoughts, you swallow, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as arousal dampens your underwear.

You try to avoid looking at him as you let the debauched thoughts consume you. The imagery of him naked, all those delicious scars on display for your mouth to explore, the way you wanted to taste the path from his cock up to the base of his navel. You press your thighs together, aching for his touch. 

He'd probably touch you too, if you asked nicely enough. Maybe he would give you just what you needed.

You fight the groan of desire that builds in your chest, blinking and looking up to reorient your mind in the room. The HR rep is on his closing speech and you're thankful that this is almost over. Your eyes drift to where Billy is sitting, and your breath halts suddenly when you find his eyes on you.

You feel warmth flush in your face, his eyes are heated, the expression on his face is calm but- but the look in his eye promises pleasure beyond comprehension.

It’s like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, and for a moment you wonder if he can hear your thoughts.

The sound of a binder closing breaks you from your daze. You blink, breathing in a slow breath, looking around. You meet some of your coworker’s eyes, smiling at them, hoping that they hadn’t witnessed you and Billy basically eye-fucking each other into next week.

You spare a glance at him, wondering if you should take the time to say something, or just leave. You’re unsure of how to navigate here, knowing that no one else knows how close you really are to each other.

You decide against causing any drama- or give anyone a reason to chat about you. You suck in a slow breath, gathering your items before rising to a stand, to walk out of the conference room.

You feel his eyes on your back all the way out.

You keep your breathing even as you walk, there’s a pounding in your ears, the thump of your footsteps on the ground.

When there’s a sudden grip on your arm, you gasp, head swivelling in shock and mild fear to see Billy right beside you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He hums, pressing you somewhere. Your legs move where he guides, trying to stay upright with his firm steer on your body.

It doesn’t really register that he’s pushed you into a dark supply closet until you hear the door locked behind him.

“Is- everything okay?” You stutter out, heart hammering in anticipation.

“No it’s not.” He grunts out, taking the little items from your hands and placing them onto the shelf above your head in a meaningful motion.

You open your mouth to ask him what he was doing but you don’t get the chance. His fingers grip the back of your head, pulling your body against his, Your hands reaching up to steady yourself on his shoulders.

His forehead pressed to yours, you feel his breath on your lips as he exhales.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, voice almost hoarse, “please say yes.”

You’re shocked at the desperate way he sounds, as if there’s no sanity left in him.

“Please please please, let me kiss you.”

Fuck. Did you really have him this way?

“Yes.” You rush out, before lifting your chin to seal your mouth to his.

Absolute sparks, tingles where your lips meet his. You share a groan, before drawing back so that you can kiss him again. His other hand raises, both gripping your neck with such tender attention that you get lost in it so quickly.

It's not enough, none of it is, you rise onto the tips of your toes, a smile on your lips as you press your body to his. A shared breath between you, remarkably slow for two desperate people.

His mouth leaves your lips, a kiss to your cheek, another right below your ear.

“I'd get down on my knees right now if you asked. Workplace etiquette be damned. Just say the word and my tongue is yours.”

You groan.

Holy fuck was he real? You tilt your head back as his mouth peppers kisses over the column of your neck, you're not sure who moves, if it's you looking for purchase, or him guiding you, but your back presses to the door, nowhere to go. 

Your hand dips into his hair, pulling him close, he hums, one firm hand drifting down your body to grip your hip. 

You're about to give in, tell him that you need him so badly that you can't wrap your head around it. However, at the same time, you stiffen when you hear several footfalls outside, and laughter as clear as if there was no door between you.

If you could hear that, then it's no question whether you'd be heard, maybe discovered before anything really good happened.

Billy pauses, raising his head having felt you go stiff in his arms, you study his dark eyes for a few moments, longing to live within the few seconds you'd gotten with him.

“We shouldn't.” You whisper, hands smoothing over his broad shoulders.

He nods, accepting, a hand raising to push an errant strand of hair out of your eyes.

“You're… really beautiful.” He responds next, and it feels like a cord’s been looped around your intestines, tangled in your heart, tugging gently in any direction it can.

You can only give him a shy smile, before looking away.

“And you,” you reply, lifting your head to return a compliment, eyes catching on his mouth and you notice something is off. You smile, raising a hand to the corner of his bottom lip, “-have lipstick on your mouth.”

He grins, teeth on display for you as you work carefully to rid him of any lipstick remnants.

“I'd wear it with pride if I could.” He confesses, studying you intently.

All you can do is smile in response, feeling so light in his presence.

.

He's lying in the forest, thinking about your cunt.

He feels at peace here, body lying in the dirt with the trees all around him, the sound of rushing water somewhere in the distance and he sighs, thinking about your wet little cunt.

It's like you hear him, your slow footsteps approaching, the crunch of grass beneath your bare feet.

Another dream, he realises, when he lifts his head to look up at you and he finds you naked, realising that he's naked as well.

He watches you approach, and when you're beside him, he extends a hand to help you remain balanced as you seat your body on his, that delicate cunt of yours pressed to his adonis belt.

Your fingers trace his skin, he can feel his cock swelling at the sensation.

Your hand drifts up, cupping his face your thumb pressing against his lips.

He feels like yours, wholly, lying in his most peaceful spot, ready to give himself over to any whim, any desire, parting his lips so that you can press your thumb into his mouth.

He feels a connection building in the back of his head, swears he can almost feel you there, and he wishes with every fiber of his being that it could be possible.

He reaches to grip your hips firmly, no words need to be said as he guides your body upwards, your thumb slipping from his mouth as he settles your thighs around his face.

He takes a deep breath, basks in the scent of your desire, of a cunt just as desperate for him as he is.

His eyes roll back in his head as his tongue darts out to taste you. A sweet sigh from your mouth that only encourages him. He starts slow, he wants to savour this, he wants to wring every drop of pleasure from your flushed body.

You whine his name. He grips your hips to press your cunt more firmly to his tongue.

So good, so good, is the only thing his brain can formulate, licking your clit repeatedly, getting high on your moans and the tart taste of your cunt.

He feels you rock your hips against his face. He simmers with the delight, loves his precious mate using him for her pleasure, taking what she needs.

He is yours, after all.

Hands tighten in his hair, you must have gripped it at some point, your grinding growing sharper, desperate. He keeps his tongue out for you to rub against.

Gripping your ass tightly in anticipation, knowing you're right on that edge and he'd do anything, anything to taste your orgasm.

He's alone when he wakes up. Upset and unhinged, he angrily climbs out of bed and is out of his bedroom in seconds. 

He wants you, he wants to barge into your room and drop to his knees so he can bury his face between your thighs.

He needs this- he needs- he feels his body shudder at the desire that spreads through him. The panther awakens fully, growling in his head, reminding him of every detail of his dream.

The smell of strawberries fills his nose as he gets your door open quietly.

There you are, asleep in your bed, he tilts his head at the peaceful way you look.

It's what makes him pause, blink in realisation of what he was about to do. He backs away in shock, the predator surging forward angrily, urging him to go to you.

He takes another step back at the way he feels himself losing control. Something was wrong with him. 

He blinks, sudden awareness of what day it was, or rather, what phase of the moon was almost above head.

Billy backs away from your door, cock swollen and aching, needing a cold shower more than anything.

.

The full moon was close. 

He'd verified it after an icy shower, the panther demanding he give in to his base urges, clawing at him to feed, to fight, and most importantly, to fuck.

He squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head, he couldn't give into it now, who knows how rough he might be, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to go softer if you asked, and that was the most sobering thought of them all. The first time he'd been with you, he'd bruised your wrist, and that hadn't even been near a full moon.

It was safer to wait this out, keep you at arm's length until he had his full sanity back.

But of course, the universe is seldom kind, especially to him, and he watches as you step into his line of sight from his spot in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a towel.

He watches you evenly, fingers tightening on the mug of coffee in his hand, his sensitive hearing warns that the cup might shatter if he squeezes any tighter.

“Going for a swim. You can come if you like?” 

He keeps his expression calm, tries not to think of how you look naked, fights the panther for the braincells necessary to respond.

“You go ahead, sweetheart, I've got some work emails to glance at really quickly.”

You smile at him, and he feels like the air has thickened, slowing time in his head so that he can look at you for a few moments more.

“Okay.” You say happily, turning to make your way down his staircase, the smell of your skin lingering in the air.

The panther isn't kind to him this time, pushing images of you, lying in your front below him, face pressed into the bed while he fucks into you from behind.

Billy stifles a groan, thinking about the sweet sounds you make, about how tight your delicious cunt is.

He was in so much trouble.

.

He's a little distant, you notice.

Not unbelievably so, but it's definitely there.

He can't seem to spend time in a room with you, always finding an excuse to leave, or maybe work really had gotten stressful for him.

He was a CEO after all, maybe he was just busy.

You sit in his sunroom, looking out with a sigh, you'd been feeling antsy lately, stuck between his house and your work and the occasional visit to Amy’s. Other than that, you'd felt really stagnant.

For a moment, you find yourself wishing you were in the woods camping again. Exploring with your friends, photographing any amazing thing you'd find. You frown when you remember the way your lungs felt while running away. 

Maybe you could do something for him that would help you take your mind off of feeling this way. It couldn't hurt to show him how appreciative you were of his protection and it would hopefully help him feel better too. 

To lift your phone to your face, smiling as you begin planning.

.

He's been sitting in his office, listening to your heartbeat for the last two hours.

As a precaution, he'd shoved his desk against the door, to slow the panther down if he somehow managed to take control of him. 

His nails are embedded in his palm, the pain keeping him locked into his body and all he can hear is the thumpthumpthumpthump of your heart.

His office is the one place your scent is weakest, he can't even go into his own bed without scenting you in the sheets. You're everywhere, like his home is yours and though on a normal day he'd relish the thought, today it's torture.

Would things be different if you were actually together? Maybe. He wouldn't have been so frustrated in the first place.

Billy tilts head back, sucks in a deep breath. He can't see this desire for you fading. He worries that he'll always be this unhinged around you on a full moon.

He squeezes his eyes shut, giving the panther the right moment to push more thoughts into his head.

He'd stalk you through your home, enjoying the scent of your arousal in the air. He'd tear your clothes to shreds, bury his face between your soft thighs and listen to you cry with need. 

He'd hover above you, ask you for permission, make you beg to be fucked as hard as he wants to fuck you. 

The sounds you'd make, as his hips met yours furiously, he'd feel you clench around him, he'd lick the sweat off your skin.

Your eyes, full of tears as he gives and gives, ridding you of any doubt of who you belonged to.

He doesn't realize where he is until his nose is pressed to the column of your neck.

You make a small sound of surprise, turning to look up at him, he's somehow found himself in the kitchen, an arm wrapped around you as he stands behind.

You smile up at him, unaware that his control is crumbling, you tilt your head up, a silent ask for a kiss.

The panther purrs in his head when your lips meet, he feels you sigh into the kiss, your body relaxing.

His hand grips your jaw when he tries to move away, keeping your head tilted up for him, so that he can kiss you for just a little longer.

“Sorry.” He says- can't believe that's the sound of his voice, “Got a little carried away.”

You turn in his arms, smiling up at him.

“That's okay.” You hum, your hands wrapping around his shoulders as best as possible.

The smell of raw meat catches his attention.

“What are you making?” He asks

“Steak for you, chicken for me. Just something to say thank you for all your help.”

The panther purrs louder in his head.

“You're- cooking for me?”

“Mhmm, we can't go out much, so I could use a distraction, and you've been so caught up working. I just thought I'd make you something.”

“Thank you.” He hums, still in disbelief.

He's not sure why he's surprised, you've cooked many meals together, but usually he's there to help. The idea that you'd feel comfortable enough to use his kitchen without him, only reinforces how comfortable you are in his space.

You smile, turning back to what you were doing, and before he can make a second thought, the panther shoves the image of his cum dripping from your cunt into his mind.

He backs away, retreating into his office quickly before you even notice that he's gone.

.

Something’s so weird about him right now. 

For the first time you can see anxiety written into his movements, unsure and hesitant when he reaches for his glass of water.

You’d worked hard, maybe turned the steak just a little bit past rare. Placed beside some creamy asparagus and some crispy fries that were amazingly delicious and it was safe to say you were proud of the final product.

You’d taken the food up to the sunroof, lit candles all around the table and the space heater running,  hoping to warm up the space with winter almost upon the city.  

You’d knocked shyly on his office door, letting him know to come up, and you’d grabbed some drinks on the way back.

He’d given you such a happy smile, one that had looked so gorgeous on his face, made you want to kiss him right then and there. 

It had made it worth it, and then his further delight at tasting the food made your insides flutter all over again.

He stops looking so unsure of himself the minute he starts eating, you can tell he’s focused on the meal for the time being, and you get to relax and enjoy each other’s company.

“So, you told me you liked cats- are they your favourite?” You ask, giving him a smile as he looks up.

It’s light, you know that, you don’t want to pry into any deep personal questions right now, you just want to hear the sound of his voice as he sits across from you.

“I think so. I can’t think of another animal I like more.”

“Interesting.” You say, leaning forward to grab your glass of wine, “I don’t know a lot of men that like cats.”

He nods in understanding.

“It’s the consent. It’s hard for some people to wrap their heads around the idea that animals need their boundaries respected too.”

“You’re not a real person.”

It’s such an absurd thing to say that it makes him laugh, which in turn puts a smile on your face.

“Did you have any pets growing up?” You ask.

Your heart sinks when he stops smiling almost instantly.

You can see the memory of it cross his face, the heartbreak of it all. You can tell whatever it was is ingrained into his psyche so deep that it’ll never leave him.

He swallows, looking down.

What do you say? Tell me more? It’s okay if you don’t want to? What would be the right words?

You stand, his eyes flit up to observe you as you thump across to his side of the table, before dropping into the space beside him and pulling him into a fierce hug.

He takes a deep breath of surprise, one hand moving cautiously around you, before he goes all in, pulling you into him, pressing his face into your neck.

“It can’t hurt you now. I promise.” You mutter against him, and his hold tightens in response.

“Her name was Della. She was a- a little kitten searching the dumpsters for scraps just like I was. Her fur was soft, so soft that I can never forget the feeling of it.”

Tears spring to your eyes, being soaked up by his shirt almost as fast as they come.

“The group home didn’t allow pets, I snuck her in anyway. I’d feed her before I would eat. Every potential foster that came by, I’d ask them how they felt about cats. If they were against them, I’d act out. Until I finally found a family that would take me and her.”

He’s quiet, shaking his head.

“When they found out they were expecting, they put me right back in the group home, but they kept her. After a few months, they moved away, and I never saw Della again.”

“It was probably for the best. I could barely take care of me, I would never be able to help her if she got sick but…”

“But you loved her.” You finish for him.

“I did. I do. I don’t say that much, but she was everything to me when I had absolutely nothing.”

You bury a hand in his hair, holding onto him tightly, wanting him to feel some semblance of the adoration he’d had back then.

Even more, you want to take that pain away from him, you wished you could soak it up, all of his hurt and his endless supply of trauma and replace it with something good.

After a long while of you holding each other, you finally find the willpower to pull away. There’s an understanding between you now, a line that’s been crossed. 

You smile up at him, and you turn, reaching across the table to grab your plate of food, settling against him as you continue your meal.

“You’re a good man, Billy.” You say after a while, deep in contemplation.

“Maybe the best man I’ve ever met.”

You can almost feel his fond smile.

.

You finish dinner peacefully, using small talk to avoid deep conversations. You spend the evening enjoying his presence, laughing with him, leaning against him.

Kissing him.

You can tell there’s something there, beneath his cool exterior, something that urges him to press his mouth to yours harsher than he usually does, his fingers so easily gripping the back of your neck, demanding your submission.

He manages to keep himself in check though, despite the fire in his eyes, he doesn’t do more than kiss you.

Yet, you find yourself yearning for it more and more.

You bump his shoulder as you wipe a dish dry, staring at the distorted kitchen sink through the wine glass.

He makes a sound of amusement, gently bumping you in return.

“I’ve been thinking…” You start, and struggle to find the right words to finish your sentence.

He passes you another dish when you find the right spot for the wine glass.

You hesitate for too long, deep in your own thoughts, fear and the worry of rejection holding your mouth hostage.

He bumps against you playfully, and you almost drop the dish, cupping it securely after a moment.

A quick laugh of surprise and you glance at him to see that playful look on his face.

“What is it?” He asks, reminding you of what you had just been about to say.

“Oh god, nevermind.” You groan, feeling embarrassed.

“Tell me.” He pries in a light tone of voice.

You shake your head.

“I was only going to say- that I think I might be ready? Well, I know I am, I just said ‘think’ because I didn't wanna come on too strong but uh I've never really had to say this out loud so forgive my awkwardness about it and I just wanted you to know- I mean- we don't have to do anything now and maybe you might not even want to but I just wanted you to know with no doubts in case it gets lost somewhere-”

The sound of your name on his lips interrupts your mindless rambles, and you give him an apologetic look. He takes the very dry dish from your hand and puts it in its proper place calmly before turning back to you.

His hands on your cheeks, cold and raisined from having his hands in the water, but you smile up at him softly.

He studies you, eyes tracing across your face like you're a book he wants so badly to read.

“What do you mean by ready?” He asks.

“For… us.” You confirm hoping you get your point across. 

“Us?”

“You and me.”

“Us.”

“Yeah.”

He stands still, studying you, as you can feel your beating heart, squeezing in your chest, pounding in anticipation of what he's going to say.

“I- would really like to be an ‘us.’” 

It makes your heart beat that much faster.

He closes his eyes, a look of regret briefly crossing his face that makes your stomach twist.

He presses his forehead to yours, and you're forced to look down or get a headache from trying to focus on him.

“I can't stay. I have to go.”

You blink in surprise, drawing back so that you can look him in the eye for an explanation.

“For work,” he elaborates, “we were having such a good time I didn't want to mess it up before I really had to.”

You feel sadness overcome you.

You take a deep breath in, slowly let it out.

“Oh.” It's the most you can voice.

He has to leave for work, in the middle of you asking to be with him?

“I'm sorry, please believe me when I say I'm not running, I want to stay. I want to be with you. I won't be gone long, just three nights. I'll ask Dinah to increase patrol outside, and you can go anywhere you want in my house, treat it like it's yours.”

Agony twists inside of you at the idea of being away from him, paired with the shock of having this dropped on you so quickly.

Your head spins, you're not sure what to say, all you know is that you'll regret it if you let him leave on an upset note.

You reach out to take his hand, smiling up at his beautiful face.

“I get it. You manage a lot of people's safety, not just mine. I'll be fine, and we can talk about it later.”

He lets out a shaky breath.

You reach for each other at the same time, his hand on your cheek, yours to his.

The kiss is soft and earnest, open and vulnerable, a parting gift between you.

“I'll see you in three days, yeah?” You whisper lightly, trying to squash the undeniable despair threatening to choke you.

.

.

.