#Watch out she’ll bite your head off if you piss her off

[l0nesome-dreams]

When I say I’m working I actually mean I’m drawing Solstice whilst procrastinating 😔✨

[chris-slut]

OR NAH

pairing; dom!matt x sub!reader

summary; you’ve been needy all night. matt’s been on the game all day and it’s pissing you off. all you want is for him to eat you out— so you do everything to get his attention.

! reader x 3rd person p.o.v !

!warnings!; SMUT, oral (fem!receiving), pet names (good girl, ma, baby, pretty girl, slut), no p in v, praising, daddy kink?

authors note; writing this instead of doing what i need to do. 😭 also, i’m not using “y/n” so every story will have a made up name! also— does anyone wanna be tagged?

THE WAY matt’s fingers move around on his controller and gripped onto the desk every time he died fucking killed me. i would do absolutely anything to have those fingers inside of me right now.

i move around in the bed, trying to grind against everything while his veiny fingers move around. of course his teasing ass wears no shirt so every time he gets mad his slutty back muscles tense up.

i feel myself get wetter and wetter every time he curses out, picturing his head between my thighs while my hand is roaming around his hair. god i can’t focus on anything else.

* 3RD PERSON *

MATT’S HANDS roam around on his controller, slamming his hands against the desk every time he dies. he peaks over to look at his girlfriend, naomi, noticing her lips swollen from biting them. he smirks to himself as he watches her from the dark part of his screen.

she stares at his fingers, imaging the dirtiest shit she could ever thing of. his hand wrapped around her throat, his fingers inside her, his lips wrapped around her clit. fuck she feels like a slut thinking of this but she can’t help it. it’s been weeks since she’s had her boyfriends head between her thighs.

“baby, you okay?” matt smirks as he looks over at the girl, her biting her lip and nodding. he shakes his head at her and turns his chair so his gaze is going from his game to her eyes, “words ma,” matt teases as she bites her lip once more. “mhm!” naomi mumbles out.

matt’s eyes shift down to where she’s sitting, noticing the wet spot on his bed she’s trying to cover. he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, getting up from his chair. naomi’s eyes widen as she see’s matt inch closer.

“what- what are you doing matt-“ naomi mutters out as matt climbs on top of her, placing gentle kissing down her jawline to the middle of her throat. the girls breathe hitches as he gets closer to her lips. he places a teasing kiss to the corner of my mouth— then the other side— and then right above her top lip.

matt leans away from her, noticing the cherry color now plastered on her cheeks. “stop teasing matt— please,” naomi begs as she looks at him through her eyebrows. that’s matt’s only weakness which causes him to dip his head down and place a hard kiss against her lips, his hands coming up to wrap around her throat perfectly.

“want your tongue in me so bad matty— all i want!” naomi pants out, breaking away from the kiss as matt’s hands leave her throat— a slight bruise replacing it. “you want me to eat you out? you wanna be my little slut huh?” matt growls out and she bites her lip, nodding quickly as many times as she can.

“can you be a good girl and stay quiet for me, you think that’s possible pretty girl?” matt tells her as he places sloppy kisses down to the line of her shorts, leaving a little hickey just above her waist line. “mhm— yes daddy,” naomi moans out which causes matt to let out a small groan. “fuck baby,” matt replies to her.

he removes her shorts with his teeth, sliding her panties off while at it. naomi whimpers as the cold air hits her clit, matt smirking at the noise. “what did i say? keep fucking quiet.” he tells her as he places wet sloppy kisses down the insides of her thighs.

naomi’s hands quickly reach and fall into matt’s brown hair, him letting her grab and do whatever she wants with it knowing she’ll do it anyway. matt grabs her legs and places them on her shoulder. “gonna eat you out,” he whispers as he places a kiss right on her clit.

a whimper passses her mouth from the teasing manner, wanting more and more. he swipes his tongue up her folds and down once, taking in all the juice’s she let out from watching his hands move around while playing his game. he rubs her thighs up and down as he places another wet kiss right onto her clit, practically making out with it. her hips buck as she grinds against his face— him nuzzling his mouth into it more.

“s-shit, DADDY!” she moans out as he sticks his tongue into her, grabbing her ass enough to leave a handprint. he flicks it up and down as fast as he can, sending her straight to heaven. “so good for me baby, look at you,” matt tells her as she bites her lips, trying her hardest to suppress her moans and whimpers.

matt’s stub on his face rubs against her thighs and pussy, making her let out a louder moan then necessary. “what did i fucking say? stay quiet you slut,” matt tells her as his hand shoots up and slams over her mouth to keep her as quiet as he can. which doesn’t work that well.

as he sucks on her, naomi’s legs begin to shake, signaling she’s close to cumming. matt takes note of this as he fastens his pace, eating her out like his life depends on it. he moves his head to stimulate her with the stub on his face— knowing the littlest shit sends her over the roof. “fuck daddy- so close. let me cum please!” naomi groans out as matt nods against her clit, letting her know she can cum. “cum baby, you’ve been such a good girl for me,” he tells her which makes her slowly release on his tongue— a little getting on his face as well.

naomi’s legs begin to calm down as she lets her juices squirt onto matt, him swallowing everything that comes out and licking his face clean. “such a good girl, took my tongue so well,” matt praises as he places one last kiss on her cheek. “go get cleaned up, i’ll be in bed soon okay?” he tells her, the quietest “okay” coming from her lips.

[the-avengers-not-the-nazis]

Said, I was sorry

Summary: You’re pissed at Dean, and Sam and Bobby find it amusing.

Word count: 0.9k

A/n: Once more not my favorite, but still hope you guys enjoy :)

༺═────────────═༻

The silence you gave off aggravated Dean to a higher level. And he didn’t know how to fix it. He’d apologized, tried to cheer you up with a slice of pie, he even listened to both Sam and Bobby on how he could make it up to you. 

But to no avail, you barely spoke to the poor man. 

He knew it was his fault, anyone could have told him that. In fact you reminded him plenty of times on the ride back from the case. God, that ride back to Bobby’s was dreadful, you made Sam sit in the backseat and wouldn’t even let Dean turn his music up all the way either. 

But, he would take that as punishment, if that would mean you would speak to him again. 

“So,” Bobby started, voice low as he watched you leave the small library of his. “What did you do to her?”

Sam bit back a laugh, hand coming up to his his smile from his brother. “Shut up.” Dean told him, hands coming up to rub his face. The long quiet drive back having drained his battery. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Bobby leaned against the desk, arms crossed over the other as he stared at the younger man. “What do you mean, ‘I don’t want to talk about it’? She’s barley looked or even spoken to you since you’ve been here. Now, what the hell did you do?”

“I- I messed up on the hunt, ok.” He finally told him, head hanging low for a second before meeting the man’s eyes again. “We were hunting the shapeshifter, and we were lead to an old drinking well out at a farm.”

Dean let out a deep sigh before continuing, “And you know Sam and I were to big and too heavy to go down the well, so Y/n had to do it.”

“So you, what? Forced her down the well, threw her down?” 

“No.” Dean muttered, slowly pacing the small library. “No, we tied a rope around her and we hoisted her up and over into the well, and-“

“We?” Sam asked, a playful smile dancing across his lips. “I think I went back to the farm house and tried to find the shapeshifter.”

“Ok, then, I hoisted her up and into the well.” He corrected, shooting an annoyed look at his brother. “And it was going great, I had a firm grip on the rope, she didn’t slip. But…”

Bobby quirked an eyebrow, “But?”

“But, we found the rope in an old shed, and as I was lowering her down the well, I saw- I felt a uh.” Dean lowered his voice, embarrassment seeping its way into his body. “A spider.”

“A what?”

“A spider.” Dean told him a bit louder. 

Bobby looked between both Dean and his brother, taking in the shame one had and the other trying to hold in his laughter. “Dean, what did you do?”

“I let go of the rope, by accident.”

A chuckle forced its way past his lips, a hand coming up to hide his ever growing smile. “So, what your telling me is that you dropped Y/n down a water well, because you saw a spider?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Dean tried to defend himself, his tone rising as both Sam and Bobby erupted into fits of laughter. “It crawled up my hands, got under my shirt. It was gonna bite me.”

“She had to ride the whole way here in soggy clothes, because we didn’t bring any dry clothes with us.” Sam told Bobby, 

Bobby laughed a bit more at the younger man actions, a hand coming up to wipe away at his eyes. “Look kid, just be nice to her, she’ll have to forgive you sooner or later.” He told Dean, keeping his voice low as he heard you make your way back to them. 

You came back with three beers in hand, passing two off to both Sam and Bobby before opening your own. Dean held out his hand expecting you to place a glass bottle in it for him, but just watched as you sit behind the desk taking slow deliberate sips of your drink. 

“I would like a beer.” Dean told you, hand coming back down to rest by his side. 

“Ran out.” You told him bluntly, flicking through a book that sat on top the desk. 

Dean pulled his lips into a thin line, dodging both Sam and Bobby’s eyes. “What do we have?” He asked, needing something to quench his thirst. 

You looked up at the older man, pretending to ponder the question. “We have water.”

“Then can I have water?” A cough came from his side, glancing over he caught Bobby and Sam giving him a look. “Please?”

A sigh left your lips before you got up once more, disappearing past the doorway and into the kitchen. “See,” Bobby told him, taking a quick sip of his beer. “Just be a little nice and she’ll forgive you in no time.”

You retured quickly, placing a cup onto the bookshelf next to Dean. Reaching over he picked up the cup, twisting it in front of him, a small scowl resting on his face as he faced you. “This is ice, Y/n.”

“Yep.” You told him, returning to your seat. 

“I asked for water.”

“You can wait.”

Dean let out a sigh, placing the cup back onto the bookshelf, “I can wait.”

[haechvn]

shuri having an attitude is so interesting to watch. her eyes get dark and filled with anticipation but the only thing it killing is you.

“ya! what do you mean I can’t taste you right now? what do you think I put my grills back on for? you are really starting to piss me off.”

you can��t deny how alluring she looks at the moment. long diamond studded chains dangling lowly, swinging between her v-neck tank and your lips. as she speaks, you get to see a glimpse of the fang-shaped grills she wants to so desperately seep into your skin but teasing her is so much fun. why give in now?

her slender hands grip at the sides of your waist, softly rolling the flesh between her fingers, unable to hold back the desire to be one with those favorite lips of hers. she whines as you push her head away from your hips, whispering about lightly she’ll make you come three times more than before if you just give her a chance. she promises to be good for you.

she traces her lips along your neck, sucking and biting until she leaves her print on you and no. you better not think about pushing her away this time or she might have to start using her strength on you.

“just one taste,” fingers tracing over you clit in an infinity motion because she wishes to suck you up for the same length of time. “I won’t bite you too hard this time my love. please.”

she’s already slipped your panties off and within a matter of seconds as your scent fills the air, and she completely and embarrassingly soaks hers.

her clit jumps in recognition of her home, wanting nothing more than to make the nastiest mess possible but oh you just can’t stop pretending. pretending like you don’t want her lips swallowing you whole and spelling out of much she adores you.

frustrated, she brings her hips to the edge of the bed and begins grinding, hissing softly and swearing in annoyance that she still can’t feel you. her mind is fuzzy and lost knowing that she’s two milliseconds away from bursting and she hasn’t even been able to slowly slide her slick, sopping pussy across your — ughhhh. the effect you have on her is unlike anything she has ever felt before.

“how many more ways can I beg you? why can't i just…," she whines, throwing her head back, curls bouncing in the air the way she wants to bounce on you. she’s rocking the bed with her slightly weighted thrusts, getting ahead of herself and insisting on needing to feel something. the diamonds in her mouth are staring down at you as her jaw drops in pleasure and oh fuck it. her lips need a place to stay and who are you to deny them of that any longer.

[izvmimi]

cw: selfship-coded. part 2 of a sort to this meet-ugly. reader is a doctor and knows nami from her past.

“So what you mean to tell me right now is that you’re calling me when the medicine floor is full to bursting to admit a… reindeer to the hospital?”

You keep your voice neutral and professional as you talk through the transponder snail, who has picked up the characteristic protruding ears of one of your closest friends and coworkers.

“It’s complicated.”

You grimace.

“I’m not a vet, bestie, and neither are you.”

Your friend pauses on the phone for a moment, and you can tell the full force of the ridiculousness of the situation has finally hit him, but there was desperation in his voice, so you bite your lip, waiting for his response before you agree to go see his patient. Hopefully, it won’t take too long, you think, given that you’re alone managing the unit for the rest of the day.

Out of kindness, you sent your intern home early about an hour ago, thinking that today would shape up to be a quiet Sunday, possibly a piss poor decision. Things are still relaxed however, and as you gather up your things to leave the workroom, you listen intently to the rest of your friend’s report before you formally take a look at the purported animal patient. 

“Its friends say that it apparently has a more human form, even if it looks the way it does today?”

Human form? “You think it’s Zoan Devil Fruit maybe?”

You’re marching down the stairs, almost tripping on the last two, when he replies, “Typically they revert to their human forms when they’re sick though, this looks like the opposite.”

“Humans are animals, too, I guess,” you muse. He doesn’t answer immediately, and you hear a sudden commotion in the background. 

“Shit, gotta go,” he offers and he’s immediately off, and you watch the Transponder Snail stop responding. Setting it down at a nurse’s station in the emergency department, you locate the bay you were told to check in and find a bunch of people huddled, but not resuscitating, a few nurses clearly idling and chatting. 

Pushing through gently until you can introduce yourself, you give your name, 

“Hi, I’m Dr. ___”-

And before you can even pull back the curtain, the first person you see is not the reindeer that is sprawled out, eyes closed but still breathing with a steady, stable rhythm, but one of the most memorable people from your childhood’s striking tangerine hair, and you lose your breath temporarily. 

“No fucking way,” she says, rising, and you, also shocked, in her all the memories of the past you try so hard to erase in your day to day, rushing back, until she throws her arms around you, and you throw your arms back around her. 

She’s supposed to be in disguise, and later she’ll admit to you that it’s because she has a terribly large bounty on her head, but you don’t forget a face, especially around the eyes. 

Even if it’s been years and years.

Sniffling, you pull away and thank her, before turning your attention to the bonafide reindeer - admittedly the cutest one you’ve ever seen - with a high fever sitting in front of you.

“Hey, Nami… tell me everything you know about him,” you say, your voice warm and thankful. “And let’s catch up later.”

—

“You know, part of me always wondered what became of you.” Nami states, once the three of you have been situated in a proper hospital room, an IV drip started by a somewhat reluctant nurse while other floor nurses and staff peer curiously through the window. You smooth the wrinkles in your scrubs and smile at her again, taking in the fact that the last time you saw each other you were just on the verge of turning 14, and you’d been trying to help her store a load of jewels she’d swiped from a jewelry store.

It was the second to last time you ever used your Devil Fruit powers for wrongdoing, and you try not to think about the true last time. 

“I didn’t really imagine you’d become a doctor after all that,” Nami teases.

“It’s in my blood apparently,” is your simple response, one that warrants elaboration in the future. You tap the tubing of the IV and take another look at the young deer-man before you, who Nami says is named Chopper, pressing a finger to his calf to check for leg swelling briefly, then look back at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a pirate now.”

You blink.

“I thought you hated pirates.” Your voice has softened into a whisper.

Nami smiles, the kind that seems to hold back a story that is far too grand to share all at once.

“And I thought you were a drug smuggler,” she says, with a wink. Your mouth opens and closes for a moment, and you say nothing else. Now is not the time really to explain how you got out of that situation, the least of all reasons because there could be prying eyes. 

Changing the subject quickly, and also due to curiosity, you sit down ahead of her and ask for her to share to avoid having to spill your own dirty laundry, and your scheme works, as Nami recounts her years since the two of you parted ways and the pirate crew she’s grown to know and love.

And you hear one name more frequently than all the rest.

—

You take care of Chopper for three days and match a few more names to faces - Sanji, who somehow manages to toe the line of sexual harassment with all the nurses but never actually tips over it and Usopp who you wish would talk less and listen more. You have to admit that there’s a charm to the two of them that complements Nami well, even if she seems to be yelling at them half the time, and your talks with Chopper during rounding are fascinating as soon as he gets better. After the initial shock of a talking animal, you find that he is highly intelligent (probably more so than you), very susceptible to praise and also very kind. 

Linking the four together is that same quality, kindness.

—

“Don’t you think maybe you’re trusting me a bit too much?” you muse, your thumb running the rim of a cocktail while Nami sips on her own drink, and Chopper a glass of freshly squeezed juice. “You do have insane bounties on your heads and I might not be the same person you met years ago.”

“I doubt you’ve changed,” Nami says somewhat confidently. She looks around at the tavern, and with the lack of wanted posters on the walls anywhere and the relative reclusiveness of this town, her guard is down. She leans in. “Unless you’ve set us up already, and in that case perhaps I’d have to kill you.”

There’s a short pause, and the two of you burst into laughter, even if Chopper for a moment looks between the two of you with a mild concern.

“I’m glad you came with me today though, because I haven’t been here in a week since there’s a weird guy I’ve been trying to avoid here and I was starting to miss the food.”

Nami’s eyebrows raise.

“Oh, what does he look like?” 

“Like average height, dressed like it’s summertime, and-” you pause and duck.

Speak of the devil.

“Ugh, he’s here,” you whisper from practically under the table. Nami takes a look back, and to your horror she waves.

And her illustrious captain and your meet ugly collide into one person with a big wide smile.

“Great to see you again!”

It finally occurs to you that the names were the same - Luffy.

[pupyuj]

i can only think of roomate!yujin and bratty!reader :( reader always runs her mouth about everything and yujin has had enough and decides to put her in her place.. (screaming and whimpering for her in bed!!) <33

[cw: dubcon.]

it would take a special kind of annoying to set yujin off and unfortunately (or fortunately for you anyway 👀) you were just the perfect type of annoying 😔 you always had something to say about the girls yujin likes, dates, or brings to your dorm and sometimes bantering w yuj actually irritates her to the point that she spends nights away from the dorm just so she can’t see you 😒 but one day she does come home after school and oh, she was pissed… and ofc you were there to fucking run your mouth and you know what it cost you?? 🤩 well, a good day rotting in the couch watching bad shows on netflix bcs the moment you made one passing comment about yujin’s non-ideal grades she grabs you and throws you down on her bed and you best believe she’ll keep you there the entire night!

all the pent up stress from school and the frustration she has bottled up from being roommates with you would just show… little to no hickeys on your neck bcs yujin bites you 😵‍💫 and may i suggest… yuj dubconning not-so-experienced bratty reader? 🤤🤤 her manhandling you, flipping you around and forcibly undressing you :(( not being able to resist her bcs yujin is stronger :(( she’d also force you to sit on her face 😵‍💫 holding onto your thighs so you won’t go anywhere while she’s harshly sucking on your clit and fucking your cunt with her tongue :(( you’d cum three times on her face but she wouldn’t let you go 💔 keeping you seated as she continues her work while you cry and beg above her 😣

yujin would also love to just fuck your pussy w her fingers from behind… gripping your hair while she pounds you w three long fingers 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 her pulling your head up so your moans were free to be heard… she’d get sooo fucking wet hearing you sob and scream her name 😋 omg the things she would whisper in your ear…

“got anything smart to say to me now, whore? no? didn’t think so.”

“i like you better this way… all slutted out and helpless.”

“mm? you want me to stop? want me to stop?” she’d ask with a sickening grin knowing she wouldn’t stop even if you cried blood bcs in her head you deserved this :(( and with you making the tiniest movements to fuck yourself with her hand no matter how much it hurt and how she heard you whispering “daddy please”… did you really want to stop? 😋

and when i say she’d finger you for hours on end and then finish you off by using a strap?? MHM. turning you around so she could see your tear-stained face react to the sight of her strap,, yuj gets a massive ego boost from the way you slightly tried moving away from her bcs you knew she was about to destroy you… and destroy you she did! yujin would even make sure to choose a size that was just a little bit too big for you so she can watch you struggle to take it all in :(( clawing at her arms, nearly ripping her shirt by the way you gripped and pulled on it while she pounded you…

yujin’s evil ass giggling and staring with amusement while you creamed all over her strap… as much as she hated you she could not have enough of your pussy and your moans 😵‍💫 and dare i say she takes off the strap and have you clean it up w your tongue and taste yourself while she begrudgingly stares you down?? 🫠🫠

[k1sse-s]

TASHI DUNCAN

I’m going to strangle you.

› summary: she makes you hate her a little less after accidentally meeting you on the court.

! warnings: fem!reader, smut, no use of y/n, sex on the court/public place, fingering, obsessive!tashi, cursing, dirty talk.

Please let me know if I forgot something! ˎˊ˗

› wc: 1.5k

Your Wilson racket almost slipped away from your hand when you heard that weirdly familiar whistle behind your back. You didn’t turn your head around out of pure curiosity, no, there was also sense of irritation that made you do it. Because you knew that whistle damn well, and you knew from who it was from.

Tashi Duncan. And her cocky, irritating, arrogant twist of her lips.

“You should wear that skirt more often.” She said shamelessly. Eyes narrowing to get better view of your shiny, tanned legs and the way the muscles of your calves were flexing, making flawless collaboration with the sun that hit your skin. Tashi wasn’t even trying to pretend she’s not attracted to you.

But you had your pride, didn’t you? You had to ignore her just because how insufferable she was in your eyes.

Literal imagine of narcissism.

And you couldn’t stand her nor the way she was mercilessly scanning you from behind. Letting out a soft groan of disappointment when the wind didn’t blow your tennis skirt high enough to give her a good look at your ass.

“Solo practice?” She said sarcastically, pushing her tennis bag off her shoulder, letting it hit hard surface of the court.

She just had to put her gear next to yours, otherwise it wouldn’t be Tashi.

“Yeah.” You gave her unbothered scoff, your fingers intently following the strings of your racket as you walked forward onto the court.

“Should’ve known you’re here to play with yourself.” Her bottom lip going between her teeth while she teased further, riling you up.

Oh how she loved doing that.

“Fuck off.” You mumbled to yourself as Tashi’s lips slowly twitched into a smirk that grew only wider as you positioned yourself to serve. She watched you focused on the game, clueless of her gaze lazily moving along your slim legs, clearly enjoying how your little skirt lifted with your movement.

“Your footwork is a joke.” Playful sarcasm in her voice as her eyes dropped to her own racket. Both of you knew there’s nothing wrong with your footwork. It was amazing. Fabulous even.

“Try this.” She positioned herself next to you, her thumb moving with the fur on the green ball that was in her fingers. You took a look at her racket. There’s no doubt about it, Tashi only accepts the very best when it comes to her equipment.

And it fills you with pure envy. The only thing that goes in your mind while watching her serve is how you want to whip the racket from her hands and smash it against the court.

“I know how to serve.” You almost snapped at her. Why she was still trying to prove she’s better than you? She played more matches, had way more awards than you. Everyone knew no one can compare to her.

Everyone except you. Because you knew you can be better.

“I never said you don’t.” She has to stop herself from letting out a scoff at your exasperated tone. Instead, she let’s her dark eyes glance at your flexing thighs, toned arms, then back to your face. Still annoyed that your damn skirt was in the way.

It was always in the way.

It was almost unfair how hot you are, how effortlessly you make her bite the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from licking the sweat from your abs away. But oh God, she wants to have a taste. “You just suck at it compared to me.”

“Fuck you, Duncan.”

“You wish.” Irritation appearing in her voice as she grabbed your arm and forced you to face her. The pressure of her fingers digging into your muscles felt amazing. “Watch your mouth, princess, because it will get you in trouble.”

Tashi was clearly pissed by your attitude now, which caused a lot of confusion, some of frustration and shock in you. She never acted like this. Usually you could curse at her and she’ll give you even more vulgar response. And this? This made you speechless. Not even a word could leave your dry throat.

“Are you gonna do this every time I try something, huh? Pushing me away like you can’t stand me looking at you?”

“You think you’re better than me?” You argued further, despite the obvious dominance she had over you because of the tight grip on your arm. “You think I’m not?” Tashi chuckled, leaning forwards a little to close the remaining space between you two. Her front brushing against yours.

“I’m going to strangle you—“ That’s all you managed to whisper through your gritted teeth before she pushed you onto her body. Her full lips immediately found yours and the lack of your protest revealed about what you were thinking at night while trying to sleep.

She’s completely and utterly melting against you, her hand shakes as it comes to cup the back of your head and pull it towards her, tugging you closer as she deepens the kiss, lips hungrily seeking for more. Her tongue moves against yours in heated and such intimate way, she feels unable to stop the low whine slowly leaving her throat.

She’s showing how desperate she is for you, how she craves you. And no matter how many things she wants to do to you right now she still can’t resist the thought of being ruined by you.

She takes the advantage to press you to the fence of the court, trapping your body between the cold surface and her heated body.

“You greedy bitch.” You pushed her face away from yours, only to get a better access to her neck. Your swollen from the kiss lips carefully following her sharp jaw as her hand skillfully slipped under the hem of your skirt that she wanted to take off so bad since she first saw you in it.

Her fingers moving inwards, to your sensitive lips without a warning, forcing a soft moan out of you. “Greedy?” She repeated after you, panting. “Huh, princess?” Tashi whispers into your ear, her finger circles your hard nub, making your body shudder.

Your lips parted, ready to give her another answer, full of attitude, but the only thing that left your mouth was a sharp groan that was muted by her skin, the sound vibrating in Tashi’s shoulder.

She was more than grateful it’s her fingers, that it’s her making you feel like this, and not anyone else. She loves it. She lives for it.

She fights with herself to not let out a sound of pleasure herself as she feels how wet she has got you. Her free arm wrapping around your waist to steady your shivering body as her middle finger circles your hole, not entering. “See? You can be good.” Hot breath met your ear once more, the feeling sending shivers down your spine. “That’s it, just like that.”

The fact you let her have you like this, take care of you, touch you like this and make you feel good — it’s more than she have ever wanted. She can’t resist the urge to push her fingers inside you, she feels almost obligated to remind you that it’s her, it’s Tashi Duncan that is touching you like this right now. And you moan when you think of that.

“Take it, take it all.” She whispers as her fingers dip inside you, the feeling of your slick walls clenching around her fingers, trying to get used to the stretch she just gave you is making her groan out loud. It’s like you’re perfect for her. Only her.

Your noises caused by the pleasure she was giving you are like honey to her ears. It almost makes her regret that she doesn’t see your expression now — eyes squeezed shut, lips slightly parted, because there’s no point in closing them — she’ll make them open again in a second. Subtle, pink blush spread perfectly across your cheeks. She could only imagine how lovely you looked.

Her fingers were busy with going in and out of your hole, meanwhile her thumb moves to brush against your clit, just to give you a little sensation. Her smirk widened in satisfaction when she heard your moans growing louder, fingers pushing all the way in only to leave in another second. “Look at you, taking me so well.” She praised, wanting to draw out more of those beautiful noises from your lips. She haven’t noticed with what pressure she’s pressing you onto that cold fence, the sides of the wires digging into your back, but the euphoria is not letting you feel any kind of pain right now.

Oh you’re going to be sore tomorrow.

Her lips met your neck, her tongue licking the sweat on your body while her fingers were still busy with your needy hole. Before you could beg her to let you cum you already reached the edge, and she guided you perfectly through the sudden feeling of relief that hit your shivering body. “Good girl.” She murmured against the nape of your neck, her own breath heavy and uneven.

“I’m going to strangle you.” Your lungs seeking for oxygen with desperate need, tongue wetting your lips while your own hand moved towards the hem of her shorts.

“Go ahead, pretty girl.”

[now-im-picturing-you]

switch nat who’s super proud and won’t let up the dominant act easily buuuut then…

switch nat who DIRTY TALKSSS (this is canon btw)

nat who’s with a girl for the first time and is LOVING eating pussy

switch nat with who you lose count of the rounds

nat who fucks you silly when you had a bad day

you who do the same for her

switch nat who is the horniest mf ever

like she’ll do it anywhere

car

locker room

a bedroom at Lottie’s parties

i also feel like she discovers a breeding kink and is so angry when y’all can’t do it (afab r!)

Switch Nat who for the first few times she's with a girl she only tops because she didn't really have an opportunity to with men. But one day you bite a certain spot on her neck and she is simply gone.

Switch Nat who can dirty talk so well sometimes but others she's sooo quiet

She'd give such good head I KNOW IT like kissing your thighs and pulling your hips so she gets a better angle

Both of you being switches and just going back and forth for HOURS because you don't have anything else to do

Either of you coming home pissed off and you'll fuck the anger out of each other. And then make dinner and watch a movie whenever you're finally done.

Dude she's so down to do it anywhere, because she doesn't want to fuck in her trailer and your family is always home, so she'll fuck you in your car, the bathroom at lunch, one of Jackie or Lottie's many unoccupied bedrooms at their houses. She's always ready.

The breeding kink starts as a joke, like she'll say shit like "I'm gonna knock you up" on nights she plans to fuck you, but once it slipped out while you were actually fucking and she was kinda into it. Glad she can't actually get you pregnant, but also a little annoyed.

[pristine-rose]

so heres ur thrist alice when ur ready to show the world fr (got multiple charcters in this i was bored af and horny af)

ahem

Tattoo artist arrlechino who loves it when you cry and beg to take a break when shes tattooing you she just sighs and puts the plastic wrapping over your healing skin and tells you to shut up before dragging you behind the counter and into the staff room just to eat you out roughly (bonus if she has a tongue percing and its freezing cold touching your clit) you have to watch her bite your thighs and lick them while all you can do is sit there and wince bc you wont let her do her job‼️‼️‼️

Idol miko!!

idol miko just wanted to rebel against those ugly old ass men at the agency (taking ur trope bc ong its so good) . She hated the fact that they had no common sense like sure she would be stalked but doesnt she have a private area besides..They cant keep treating her like crap in this industry and starving and making her feel like entertainment and lying is the best way to live her life, Then she meets you conviently she laughs at the way your easily manipulated into having sex with her going on dates while she despises you yet she cant stop thinking and thinking.

All she can do is kill the emotion off but as she would have it your too cute to let go shes desperate clawing your thighs arms and neck suffocatting you while you go along with it her degarding you and you go along with it will you ever hate her? She finds it annoying yet adorable and shes inlove now and just as obssesed as you are maybe even more. She might steal your panties at night and weae them to shows. She’ll even pin you in public as a fan service moment just to piss off the agency and let the public know your owned

brat tamer and god complex ei

ugh i cant get her out of my head frkm the event anw tho

brat tamer ei is annoyed at the fact your so smug and cunning with the way you play your just like miko so she decides to get her trust strap out and hold the musu no hitotachi right at your neck ready to strike lightning at any given moment not afriad to cut in an instant

she has no place for those who wont listen to their god even in modern day society you can change but you can never forget your beneath her and always will be your just a lowly mortal

you should be begging for forgiveness right now.

and one last one to make everyone happy fr🗣🗣🙏

yelan bc i need her

foreplay and temp play w yelan

yelan is so teasing yet so sweet having her hydro ropes and dice roll around your neck she should just roll the dice and play the game at this point shes being so unfair and rude its removing want from your thighs but now on your brain

you just want her to destroy you make you forget you ever were this needy for her. You just wanna ride her thigh and cum all night or even sit on her face its pure desperation at this point you dont even know your so lost and half registering everything around you wanting something or the woman behind you to stop tightening the wet ropes around your body arousing you more

all you can do was sit there naked and look pretty on her lap as she has her warm thigh underneath you and cold and wet ropes and dice wrapped around your body playing with you

maybe if she rolled a 6 or 5 she could finally fuck you but you know yelan

somtimes being unlucky is lucky for her

-🤲 (mayb im being a bit to nice ill send u angst one day alice fr)

🧍‍♀️

[sarahrogersevans]

Do We Really Hate Each Other? Bucky Barnes Avenger! xreader Rivals To Lovers fan fic

Summary: Bucky and Y/N get paired up on a mission & they can’t stand each other and are really competitive against each other but then Bucky gets wounded on the mission and things change for the both of them

Warnings: angsty, fluff, mentions of arguments, mentions of being injured and injuries, soft moments, some language and mentions of flashbacks, Let me know if I miss anything

~Bucky’s POV~

I finally got called to help fight in another mission though I was on my way to see Tony Stark because I was told I was getting a new partner to be paired up with and usually I partner up with Sam and I really hope I don’t get paired up with a newbie. I saw agent Y/N and Mr. Stark in the common room in the compound and I walked up to them and I rolled my eyes when I stood by her and Tony said “oh Mr. Barnes good you’re here meet your new partner for this mission.” He pointed to Y/N and I was pissed. “Stark cone on you can’t be serious, Y/N? Our skills and fighting techniques don’t match plus she’ll just be a distraction.” Y/N scoffed and teasingly said “what’s wrong Barnes? You worried you won’t be able to focus if you keep an eye on me?” I smirked and said “doll don’t flatter yourself plus I won’t be watching what you’re doing and I could care less.”

Tony interrupted us and said “I’m sorry to break up this happy reunion between the both of you but we have a mission to go save the world again so you two better figure out how to get along.” I groaned walking up the quinjet and said “whatever, just stay out of my way Y/N.” She shrugged and said “fine Bucky after this is over we don’t have to speak again.” A part of me hated her but when she said that I kinda got upset by those words and I could tell I was upsetting Y/N and maybe I should go a bit easier on her but I wasn’t about to completely go soft on her but I did worry about her during missions and I do feel protective of her. It’s a weird feeling of hating someone and wanting to kiss them at the same time.

We got to where we needed to be and we all split off with our teams and while Y/N and I covering ground and fighting enemies I started saying “Hey Y/N, doll look there’s something I wanted to say-“ before I could continue I got hit in the leg pretty bad and Y/N screamed saying “no! Bucky hang on I’m coming!” She came over to help me up and I limped while we hid in a different area and I looked at my wound and said “go on without me doll.” She shook her head and said “absolutely not!.. I can’t leave you don’t be a hero Bucky.” She helped me get patched up and we met up with everyone and got back on the quinjet to head home.

~Y/N’s POV~

I was so upset when Bucky got injured I felt like it was my fault, I kept thinking I didn’t look around enough but I remember shooting every enemy I could see. A few days after Bucky was taken to to recover I went to go see him. I felt really nervous thinking he might not wanna see me but as soon as he saw me in the doorway he smiled waving me in and said “hey doll come in, I’m not gonna bite.” I pulled up a chair to sit by him and I saw he had a crutch by him and a cast on his leg and I got upset flashing back to when he got hurt and I said “Bucky I- I’m so sorry you got hurt, this was my fault.. you were right.” Bucky shook his head and sat up quick saying “Y/N no I wasn’t right I was an ass to you before the mission doll and I can explain if you let me?” Bucky sounded so genuine so I nodded smiling and he wanted to get up and I saw he was in pain so I quickly got up to help him and he said “no Y/N i can do this it’s ok doll.” I ignored him and I had him put his arm around me so he could grab some water and I helped him sit back down and he tried denying mu help again but I helped him get comfortable and I whispered “just let me, please?” He nodded and said “thank you doll for being here helping me.” I smiled knowing he appreciated me being around, I was just relieved he was gonna be alright.

The next few days I would visit Bucky in his room and I’d help him get around and one day we were playing cards and I could tell he was reliving the moment he got injured and he said “hey doll would it be ok if I hugged you?” I was surprised to hear him say that but I went right over to give him a hug and wrapped my arms around his neck holding him close and I could feel him holding on to me tight and we didn’t even say much the next few minutes but we knew we didn’t need to. Bucky pulled away to look at me moving some of my hair away from my face and I smiled feeling a bit shy and I said “Bucky.. do we really hate each other?..” I was scared to hear his answer. Bucky looked at me shaking his head no and said “Y/N I gotta be honest a part of me hates that you drive me crazy but the other part of me has fallen hard for you and why I was such an ass to you was because I was scared of letting you in and if anything happened and I lost you doll..” I cupped his face in my hands and I said “Bucky hey I’m right here and I am not going anywhere I promise. I feel the same way about you, I love you Bucky. I was scared I was gonna lose you out there..” Bucky caught me off guard and pulled me closer and kissed me but I smiled and didn’t hesitate to kiss him back.

Bucky smiled at me and jokingly said “I still hate you.” I laughed and said “I love you too Barnes.” He kissed me again pulling me into his embrace and whispered “thank you for saving my life doll I love you always have.” I hugged him and looked into his eyes and said “Bucky I love you and I will save your life over and over and I know you’d do the same for me. Bucky kissed my forehead and leaned his forehead against mine and said “in a heartbeat my love.”

Hi lovelies!! So I was hoping to get this one out and posted sooner but thankfully it’s finally done 😌 I hope everyone will enjoy, I apologize it’s a bit short 😅xx ♥️

Taglist:

@lokiandbuckysdoll

@jessybarnes

@sunshine-on-my-mind

@nana1000night

@anotherfuckingmarvelfanaccount

@writersblog20

@delicatecoffeepeanut

@vrittivsanghavi

@marvelstarker-mha98

@chrisevansdaughter

@precious1610

[comfy-whumpee]

Losing Game

Whumptober Alt 6 - Playing Cards

-

He closes the door to the toybox. Inside there are no windows, only a small en suite, a sofa and a bed, and a chest of draws. Sometimes he puts a TV in there, but not for this one. Too volatile.

Her name’s Lucy, but Harvey calls her Minx. The nickname pisses her off. The first time he said it, she threw her dinner plate at him, but she paid for it in blood. There’s a scar in the side of her thumb that will never go away.

So he took out the TV because he didn’t want to replace it. She has nothing to do all day but lie and wait for him to get bored of his work or his weekend. She’s there for if he gets the itch.

Locking the door just in case, he leaves the toybox behind and heads to the living room. His evenings have been quiet, recently. He hasn’t been in the mood to go out on the town and cause trouble while there is a hole in his life. Someone will always be missing, now.

He stops off at the kitchen and washes his hands clean of blood, before grabbing a drink. Minx took surprisingly well to the muzzle. He had threatened her with it once already, of course, the first time she tried to bite him. This time, she had very nearly made contact, teeth flashing towards his wrist as he’d pushed her head back. She took the consequences in stride, her eyes always blazing hatred as he locked it on.

He sits on the sofa opposite the TV. He thinks about turning it on. There’s nothing to watch. Usually, he’d unwind with a hilariously unrealistic horror, or some thriller that will take his mind off the day. But he’s been feeling…lacklustre.

Cutting Minx open had been good fun. For all her bravado, she’s not good with pain. She stares him down all the same when the knife comes out, but it’s only two or three slices in that the tears start. She struggles as soon as he notices them, trying to hide her true feelings, and he enjoys that about her. If he pretends not to notice, she’ll cry for longer. But the second he cuts his eyes up to hers, she’s kicking and twisting to get away.

A cross-hatch of cuts remains on her back, thin and lazy, but covering from neck to waist. He’s been building it up over days. She used to take more before she cried, but he can see she’s getting worn down by him. She’ll get tired before too long, and then she’ll be that fatal thing: boring.

Everyone just feels boring. Work is boring. The numbers change, but what he does to them stays the same. People bring forms for him to sign. Contractors ask for their wages, payroll ask for the details, Harvey signs off on each outgoing payment. He goes out with people who aren’t as fun or interesting. He comes home to a captive who can’t fill the gaps.

He leans down under the table and grabs a deck of cards. He goes back to the toybox.

Minx is curled at the foot of the sofa, head resting back on its cushions, turned to the side. Blood is crusted in her unkempt hair. The bruises on her ribs rise and fall with her breaths. He looks at her and feels nothing.

He closes the door behind him and sits down opposite her on the floor. He sets the cards down. One of her wrists is tied to her ankle, but the other one is free, so she can play.

She stares at him, aggressive even while she’s confused. He smiles at her fondly. He’ll drive her body out to the lake, when the time comes. They’ll probably find her there, in a year or two.

“We’re going to play snap,” he tells Minx. “You can cope with that much, can’t you?”

She makes a noise that sounds very much like fuck you.

He lets his hollow smile widen. “Attagirl. You use your hand. I’m using the knife. We play until you win a game.”

It’s been years since he played cards for more than the odd game at the pub. For a few months, back in college, it was Alistair’s favourite trick. Poker, especially. He could get away with more, in poker. Pin it all on his cold reading. He made a killing from the students before Harvey guessed he was cheating, got him drunk, and discovered his secret.

They stuck to games like snap, after that.

Minx still looks uncertain, but when he sets half the deck in front of her, she flips the first card to start the pile, and he follows, knife in his other hand. She keeps her eyes on the cards as they come, and when the first match lands, she’s quick to slap her hand down onto the pile – before jerking it back as the knife stabs down.

“Very good,” he tells her, amused at her wide-eyed stare. He collects the half-dozen cards.

She makes him take two more piles as his mind wonders, remembering his adventures with Alistair at the casino. Seeing through his opponent’s eyes was one thing, but being able to see through Harvey’s was better. He could see other hands, and he could see himself, and monitor his own tells. They split the winnings. It was a fun summer.

On the next match, he’s not far behind Minx’s hand, and she flinches back before she even touches the cards. She takes the pile. Harvey tries to focus.

The next set, he slams first. She doesn’t even try.

They’re even again. The tug-of-war won’t end until she commits. But when she snatches the next victory, the knife stabs down between her fingers and she shrieks, pulling back against the sofa.

He fixes her with a stare and a smirk, and she looks back with those pretty wide eyes like a trapped animal, breathing fast. He spins the knife across his knuckles. “Want to forfeit?” he asks casually.

She’s shaking her head immediately. The alternative to a game is always worse.

“Then it’s your turn,” he tells her. He wonders if she’ll keep playing if the knife goes through her hand. He’ll have to burn these cards, once the game is done.

It makes him feel just a little better.

[drowning-in-cacophony]

Dive

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt 206: Sink or Swim

Summary: a girl prepares to dive

She sits on the edge of the cliff, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms loosely encircling. Below her the water roars, white rapids against harsh stone, and it’ll be freezing down there. Especially with this breeze that plays with the split ends of her hair, tossing them this way and that way.

Her body, in the waves, would be as powerless. The rocks would be a harder target than her shoulders.

“You’re assuming it’ll be a failure,” the architect says from behind her. She doesn’t turn to look, already knowing what she’ll see. Them, standing so tall and impenetrable behind her. Unmoveable by breeze or waves or even words. Nothing shifts them; she’d not be surprised if they outlasted the very cliffs they stand on, held up for millennia already.

“You were chosen for a reason,” they say, the same tone. Slightly disapproving, like she’s a kid refusing to wipe her face or something. But always so distant, with emotions and tones addressed through five feet deep glass, so it’s only the slight impression crashing down into her shoulders. The distance makes it worse, even if it mutes those more negative words. Emotions are meant to be vivid for a reason. How can she trust in their judgement when she doesn’t even know how they actually sound when they feel?

“This refusal to do your task is juvenile,” they say once more. “Fear is a logical companion, but we have taught you well enough to push that to one side. Think of the bigger picture.”

It’s always the bigger picture with the architect. They’ll tweak and focus in on those small pieces, like her and her dive, and they’ll put all their attention into it, but the bigger picture’s always there. The constant companion, the ever-reliable reminder. The bigger picture; it’s selfish not to prioritise how everything looks, stupid to allow a small feeling to ruin the overall look. There’s too much of the plan in their head, she thinks, and that’s why they can never truly stop lecturing about it. They see how it will all go, once all the small pieces do as asked, seeing that finished product of a mansion so well that they forget what it’s like being stuck in just one of the rooms and that being all you see.

The breeze lashes a end across her cheek. It bites as badly as the water will.

They get no response and yet don’t even check to see if she’s listening. She could not be – she could be caught in her own thoughts, her own dread and heaviness, because there isn’t a path that leads her away from this clifftop. There was never going to be a way back, only a way forward to whatever end. It’s not even an assumption that she will listen; they speak with the knowledge that no-one can quite resist listening. It’s like hypnotism, but it’s all voluntary, a warped version of ultimate trust.

She, all the others, trusts them. And the architect sends them off edges into possible doom, and she and all of the others will always listen and obey regardless.

She climbs up to her feet, slowly enough that it could be considered taking the piss, or slow enough that she’s savouring the last certainty. Once she dives-

It’ll be one of two ways. The thing the architect wants, the outcome she wants because it’s the one that ends with her still breathing and still fighting, and she’ll be stepping out of this room of the plan and out into the ballroom, ready to dance with bigger sections. Or it’ll be the other thing, where she smashes against rocks and pulls underwater and fails, messily and painfully. Horribly, while the architect watches with mild disappointment, always so distant.

That’ll be the worst thing. Seeing the world disappear as the water clouds her vision, just like the glass pane they must see the world from.

“Come now, no more delay.”

She still doesn’t look over her shoulder at them, even as she approaches the very lip of the cliff. Her boots disturb a few small stones, plummeting down to the punishing water. Her fingers curl towards her palms, nails biting.

The sky’s a dull grey. The architect’s distance for her eyes to suffer even with her back turned. She shouldn’t look towards the water, if only because it’ll make her heart jump to her throat, but she does anyway if only for something that feels. And there, the crowded blues mixes with daring whites, the way the current swirls so violently and the grey splattered rocks sit so sharp and waiting. Vibrant and unavoidable. Full force, full volume.

The wind buffets around her knees, and then she steps off the cliff-

-and into the pod. Electronic sounds spark, too loud in her ears and their lights too bright for her eyes. She blinks them open anyway, coughs on water that doesn’t exist in her lungs, and stares through the glass panel that’s over her face, over her whole body. There’s readouts on the other side that she can’t read, doctors bustling around somewhere outside this pod, the bigger picture unrolling even more-

And she’s facing that grey sky again, in its purest form. The architect’s eyes peer down at her, double glass with theirs and the sheet over hers.

“Good work,” they say, voice even quieter with the physical boundary. Words much more pleasant than disapproval, but that’s the thing. If distance mutes, everything’s caught. Positive sounds end up like useless sludge between her fingers. Useless.

She coughs again, tasting salt deep in her throat.

She says the thing expected of her. “What’s next, then?”

[necromaniackat]

Cruel Summer

Chapter 5: Pay for Arrogance

Word count: 2.9k

You were pulled away from your sleep by the feeling of pressure crawling up the bed. You were laying on your stomach with your arms wrapped around the soft pillow. Mindlessly you buried your face in the pillow when you heard the very loud purring coming from your cat, Bandit. Bandit was walking up the bed until she got to your head. You felt her fluffy white fur against your head then the vibrations of her purring in your ear as she lowered her face to your ear. Then she had to audacity to let out the loudest most irritated yowl directly into your eardrum.

“I swear to God cat, if it’s before five I’m chucking you in the pond. I swear to f-ugh-k,” you muttered tiredly with a hint of bitterness. You felt Bandit begin to groom your hair, making her way from the ends to the roots and eventually your scalp. She mainly worked around your ear, sending you back into a lulled sleepy state. But it didn’t last long since your sociopathic cat decided that licking you wasn’t getting her food, so she decided to try biting your ear instead.

You groaned and pushed Bandit away so she couldn’t bite you again. Your eyes shot open to the sunny bedroom, a massive difference from yesterday’s cloudy day. Your gaze immediately found Bandit; you pushed her away with one hand and hoisted yourself up with the other. But she was just as persistent, swatting and batting at your hand impatiently.

“Argh, what the actual Hell?!” You exclaimed as you tried to fight off your feral hungry lioness of a house cat. She was persistently meowing at you.

“I hear you!” You quietly shouted at the cat. Bandit merely missed louder and more assertively. “–I’m up for the love of God, stop!” You groaned. The white furred cat pranced around the bed when you sat up, flexing and relaxing your back as you stretched away the night’s sleep. You yawned, rubbing your eyes. Usually you don’t do well with overnights in a new place. It normally takes a day or two for you to get back to your regular sleeping patterns. So to say you didn’t get much sleep last night would be an understatement. With everything that happened yesterday, it’s no wonder you didn’t sleep well.

You looked at your Fitbit watch to check the time; ‘5:15’. You narrowed your gaze at the drama queen at the end of your bed begging for food at five in the morning like she didn’t eat less than twelve hours ago.

“Today’s your lucky day, B. You’re not taking a pond bath but just barely,” you said with a very stereotypical American accent before making finger guns at Bandit. The annoyed looking cat just stared at you, judging you intensely. Shamefully, you lowered your finger guns. You sighed heavily and tossed the quilt off yourself before getting out of bed. It was far too hot for a quilt anyways. It was too hot for clothes last night. Which is why you woke up in your psychedelic “maple leaf” panties and your black bralette. You kept your hair up in a bonnet since it was prone to breaking, which kept your head nice and cool.

“Are you hungry?” You asked Bandit with a straight face. Bandit’s head tilted at the word food and she meowed extremely enthusiastically in response.

“Okay, let’s get you some food,” you groaned as you rolled out of bed and grabbed your phone off the nightstand. Bandit hopped off the bed and made a mad dash to the kitchen, leaving you in her dust. You quickly threw on an oversized military green graphic tee. You didn’t want to put on a shirt but knowing your mum she’s gonna want to “do the FaceTimes” at some point and if you don’t put a shirt on she’ll be pissed. You don’t understand why, your mum did some underwear modeling in the late nineties, early two-thousands.

The house was beginning to shine with morning light, flushing the shadows away for another day. The house was cool from the night but the residual heat from yesterday made it comfortably cool. You didn’t even need your housecoat; you were perfectly comfortable wearing your underwear. Besides, nobody’s gonna see you, so who cares?

You peered into both the living room and the study on your way to the kitchen. Bandit was still yowling at your feet. You paused at the mouth of the kitchen, your mind replaying the events of last night. You can’t explain it any other way besides someone came in the house last night when you weren’t looking. That’s not a very comforting thought to have. You were 100% sure you locked every door last night; unless they came in through a window or something.

You sighed heavily, raking your fingers through your hair. You made the mental note to go to the locksmith today to get the locks changed.

You frowned to yourself, adding yet another thing to your to-do list as you wandered over to the stove. You turned the gas stove on and placed the half filled kettle over the flame. You set your phone down on the counter as you gathered the things you needed to make a coffee and put them in a mug together. Luckily, it was just coffee and French vanilla coffee mate creamer you bought off Amazon. The persistent cat at your feet meowed annoyedly.

“Yes, yes, I’m getting your breakfast, take a chill pill,” you muttered at Bandit, who was still meowing like her life depended on it. You grabbed a tea plate from the cupboard and one of the cans of cat food you left on the counter yesterday, and emptied half the can of food onto the plate. You carefully guided Bandit away from the counter towards the wall you set up her food and water bowls. The cat seized meowing once her face was full of food.

You stared at the purring cat and shook your head at her. Bandit, much like other cats, likes food. It doesn’t matter what kind. If it’s edible, she’ll eat it. And even if it’s not edible, she’ll still try to eat it.

The kettle began to whistle, pulling you back to the stove. You switched the stove off, grabbed a tea towel and lifted the steaming hot kettle off the burner. You poured the boiling hot water into your mug; combining everything into a warm blanket hugging you in the psych ward of life. Just perfect.

The first sip of coffee was divine; a tad painful but absolutely worth it. You sighed blissfully, your eyes closing as you drifted away on a caffeine cloud. You were rudely yanked out of that lovely state of bliss when Bandit let out the loudest, most pathetic yowl. Your eyes shot open and laser focused on the fluffy white cat trotting up to you, begging for more food.

“You just ate! I’m not giving you more!” You exclaimed. Bandit yowled loudly again, still begging for more food. “–You insatiable fiend. I swear to God you nuke my bank account every shopping day. You need to be put on a diet you woolly mammoth polar bear lookin eggplant,” you swore at your cat as she begged at your feet.

“No.” Meow.

“Absolutely not.” Meow, meow, meow.

“Do not talk to your mother that way young lady,” you tutted as you turned to face your extremely vocal cat. You popped your hip out as you put your hands on your hips, giving you cat the deathly mom stare. Bandit meowed quietly before trucking off out of the kitchen. You pressed your lips together and sighed before turning your attention to your phone.

You hopped up onto the counter and sat pretzel legged with your coffee in one hand and your phone in the other. You found your mum was awake most of the night, either texting you or tagging you in things she sees on FaceBook. Your parents are very much early birds whereas you’re a night owl. When you were working nights there were only two times you could actually talk with your mum during the day; when you go to bed and she gets up, and when she goes to bed and you wake up. So she’d be awake right now getting ready for work.

You pulled up her contact and hit call before putting the phone to your ear. It rang once:

“Jesus, Mary and Joesph, Evelyn! For a girl glued to her phone you sure didn’t answer my messages,” your mum claimed boldly, sounding annoyed and worried. Again, this is the furthest you’ve ever been away from her. She didn’t even let you go on a school trip to France for a week for drama class.

“I was asleep!” You cried in defense.

“For nineteen hours?” Mum sassily interrogated you. Your eyebrows knitted together in disbelief. It hasn’t been nineteen hours, has it? You quickly check the time on your phone and confirm it was half past five in the MORNING.

“Excuse me, I did not sleep nineteen hours. I slept from ten o’clock last night to quarter past five this morning. That is seven hours, thank you very much,” you sassed back. You heard your mum sigh heavily when she realized you were right.

“Why are you giving me so much sass today?” Mum asked in a huff. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you stared at the island counter in the middle of the kitchen. An empty fruit bowl sat there collecting dust.

“I literally just woke up!” You proclaimed passionately. The line went dead quiet, you heard your mum curse to herself, asking herself what time it was. She quickly did the math. It was obvious to you that your mum took one of her heavy duty anti anxiety pills. She gets like this sometimes. Actually she only does this when you go away; one day you went to a new shopping centre with your friends across London and your mum had to take one of her anti anxiety medications to help calm down.

You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Besides, who answers the phone like that?!” You exclaimed playfully then mocked the way your mother answered the phone. You and your mum can joke about things like her attachment issues or your daddy issues, it’s not a big deal to either of you.

“I just miss you is all,” mum said honestly. You could hear in her voice she was on the verge of breaking down over the phone. You frowned into your coffee and sighed.

“A little distance makes the heart grow fonder,” you countered with the age old quote. Your mum chuckled through her tears.

“Yeah it does,” she giggled.

“How ‘bout this; you and Adam can come down for a few days once I get the guest bedroom in order,”

“–Oh! How ‘bout Adam and I come and help you do the guest bedroom. It’ll be like the old days.” You closed your eyes in frustration and tilted your head back. You wanted your mum to be a witness to everything she and your dad, and Adam have taught you about home renovations; you didn’t want her to actively be a part of this project. You have the funds now to actually mean business.

“Anyways I have questions about this hotel business adventure you’re embarking on.” Oh no. You inhaled deeply, keeping your head tilted back.

“Lay it on me,” you commented through strained breath. You heard your mum take a deep breath, as if getting ready to lay it on you and lay it thick.

“Where do you plan on living? You’re turning the mansion into a hotel which means you’re not gonna be living there. How do you plan on running a business if you live two hours away? You’re gonna need employees at some point, how do you plan on going about this? Will the business be paying these employees or are you gonna pay them out of pocket?” You were right, your mum did lay it on thick.

You mentally groaned.

“Mum, when I said lay it on me I didn’t mean seven layer dip me. It’s my first day here, I’m still figuring things out and ironing out the details. Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” you reassured her in an assertive way. You turned your attention away from your cup of coffee to look around the kitchen. Your eyebrows fell together when your gaze landed on Bandit. She was standing, facing a wall. She kept tilting her head from side to side as if she was hearing something you couldn’t.

‘It’s probably just a mouse in the walls,’ you thought, brushing your cat’s odd behavior off. Your mum was busy sounding off her concerns; you heard her voice but not what she was saying. Your mum had a lot of concerns. And you could do nothing but sit there and let her talk out her fears. You occasionally would check the time. 5:30 passed, 5:45 passed, 6:05 passed. Your mum was babbling on about anything and everything in hopes to calm her nerves. And you let her. You listened to her, providing input once in a while and finished your coffee.

Then all of a sudden, there was a massive thud that rang through the house. You damn near jumped out of your own skin. You even screamed a little.

“What?!” Your mum exclaimed. Your breathing was fast, shallow and shaky. You placed a hand over your racing heart.

“Something just fell,” you explained once your brain had a moment to actually think.

“Oh hunny, it’s an old house. I’m sure those shelves have seen better days,” she told you gently. You could hear the nothing smile on her face. You were prone to believe her until another noise filled the silence of the house.

“Mum, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tonight,” you told her, not even waiting for her response before you hung up the phone. You hopped down from the counter as you cautiously made your way through the kitchen towards the foyer.

“Hello?!” You called out hesitantly. You heard the bell from Bandit’s collar jingling up to you. You looked down at her, she stopped by your side, her green eyes beaming up at you as if asking what was going on.

You warily side stepped through the brightly lit foyer and peered into the living room, no one was there. You tiptoed to the mouth of the study and peeked in. Your blood ran cold and every hair on your body stood on end. The morning sun made the study’s dark wooden architecture that much more Victorian. You’ve always loved the architecture of Heelshire; you believed it was like being in a castle. But what you saw in that study that bright and sunny morning tarnished belief.

Open on your grandfather’s neat desk was a photo album. You knew for a fact that, that album wasn’t there when you came down stairs twenty minutes ago. You distinctly remember nothing being open on your grandfather’s desk.

Carefully, you tiptoed towards the desk, looking around for an intruder. The only explanation you had that was logical was that someone broke in. That did not sit well with you.

Your eyebrows rutted together when you looked at the scrapbook and saw pictures of yourself on a bubblegum pink page with your nickname ‘Evie’ spelled out in glittery 3D letters. It looked like a child made this page.

You smiled weakly at the page. It was almost like a collage of pictures of you with post-it notes of facts and stickers scattered around the colorful page. Mindlessly, you traced your fingertips over the page. You felt warm and fuzzy inside as you thought your grandparents probably made this for you, or at least to remember you by. But it didn’t take away from the nervousness you felt about the odd happenings around the mansion.

You sighed heavily, closing the scrapbook and taking it back to the shelves that lined the walls.

“Evie!” A young boy’s voice rang through the quiet house causing you to physically jump, dropping the scrapbook to your feet. You spun around and frantically glanced around, trying to find the source of that noise. But you couldn’t find one. It sounded like it came from either this room or the dinning room, which were conjoined with only a pair of wooden sliding double doors to part the rooms.

You squinted your eyes as you peered into the dinning room from your spot by the bookshelf, leaning as far back as you could in order to get a good look in the bright room. The morning sun did a brilliant job of driving away shadows so you could see pretty much everything in that room. There was no one there; not a trace, not a crumb, not even a morsel of a person could be found.

For a second you thought you were hearing things but then you watched as Bandit trotted through the study into the dinning room which is where you heard your name being called. You cocked an eyebrow curiously as your dumbass of a cat debunked your insanity plea. Which only made the situation worse because that was someone calling your name from somewhere in the house when you’re meant to be here alone.

You rushed back into the kitchen to the island. A napkin was sitting on the counter with the phone number you needed written in sloppy black pen. You quickly dialed the number and held the mobile to your ear. It rang and rang, and rang.

“Hello?” The groggy voice greeted.

“Hey, it’s Evelyn. There’s someone in the house,” you cut to the chase.

“I’m on my way.”

~~~~~~~~~

Tagged: @hao-ming-8

[shybunny]

🔞 this post contains erotic writing intended for adults. do not interact with this post if you are a minor/under eighteen

😴 somnophilia, groping, fingering, male pov 🤔 no consent, pretty sus

You’re lying awake in bed, too horny to fall asleep. Your stiff cock is straining against your boxers, precum leaking from the sensitive head. You can’t remember the last time you were this hard.

Your girlfriend is fast asleep beside you. She'd be so pissed if you woke her up just for this... You turn your head to look at her. It’s a warm night, and she’s already kicked the covers completely off her naked body. Your cock throbs as your gaze falls on her perfect breasts, rising and falling slowly with each breath. If couldn’t hurt to just grope her a little, right?

Swallowing nervously, you reach over and slide your hand onto her breast. You stifle a groan as your fingers sink into the soft warm flesh. You’re lucky she’s such a heavy sleeper. As you carefully grope and knead her breast, your cock stiffens almost painfully in your boxers. You reach down to give yourself a squeeze and have to bite back a moan. Your fingers find her stiff nipple, and as you gently pinch and stroke, she starts to whimper under your touch.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe. You’re making her feel good, even while she’s sleeping. Will this make her pussy wet too? You abandon her nipple and reach between her legs to slide your trembling finger against her soft slit. Not quite yet.

Shifting closer so your reach is more comfortable, you run your knuckle up and down her slit, keeping your touch light, trying to tease her sensitive folds. Up and down, up and down, feeling her pussy twitching under your finger, feeling her breathing get faster, until a soft wetness starts to seep out of her, coating your finger, making it glide against her. You stroke her faster, harder, and she moans every time your knuckle brushes over her clit. To your amazement, she starts to gently undulate her hips.

You’re so entranced by what you’re doing to her that you forget all about your aching cock, until it twitches hard in your boxers, immediately reclaiming your attention. You stroke yourself through the fabric, biting back your needy groans as you finger her soft wet pussy lips and try to imagine them around your cock. Oh fuck… you need to be in her pussy. You need it soft and wet and squeezing around your swollen hard cock.

Trembling with nerves, you crawl on top of her, propped up on your arms to keep your weight off of her. She’s definitely still sleeping, but her face is flushed, her breathing shallow, lips parted and eyebrows drawn together in a cute little pout. You cock is resting right against her slick pussy, throbbing in time with your racing pulse. You slowly, slowly push inside, biting your lip to keep from moaning out loud as the soft wet heat surrounds your cock, gripping you tight as you push deeper. You can’t help whimpering, she feels so good, her pussy feels so good around your cock. Mouth hanging open, a needy whine caught in your throat, you start to thrust your hips, trying to go slow, to be careful, but it feels so good on your cock, and every time you thrust a little harder, she moans softly in her sleep. Her pussy is so fucking wet. You pump your hips faster and harder, panting, watching her big soft tits bounce up and down as you fuck her. You can’t believe you haven’t cum yet. What is wrong with you tonight? Normally you would be fighting not to cum from something that feels this good. You’re afraid she’ll wake up if you fuck her for too much longer.

You hold yourself up with one arm so you can place your other hand on her thigh, right next to the place where your bodies are joined together. You put your thumb on her clit and start stroking her, hoping she’ll squeeze you tighter.

It works. Her walls flutter around you before settling into a tight grip, squeezing your shaft and massaging the sensitive head with each thrust. She starts moaning low in her throat, even rocking her hips as you continue to stroke her clit. Her pussy is so hot and wet and tight, it feels so fucking good, but somehow it’s still not enough.

“Please cum,” you whimper, begging yourself, begging your cock, “please cum, please cum, please cum.” Beneath you she cries out low in her throat, and suddenly her pussy is spasming around you, her hips jerking against you. Oh fuck, she’s cumming. She’s cumming so hard around your cock. You start to unload into her, going hard and rigid against her and whimpering loudly as you pump her swollen pussy full of cum.

When you can finally breathe again, trembling as you hold yourself over her, trying to summon the will to pull out, she murmurs a few sleepy nonsense words and wraps her arms around you, pulling you close and trapping your cock inside her.

[jin0]

Peter gives off bed breaking sex vibes. Like he’s just going at it on his poor overstimulated girlfriend when the bed snaps and she’s upset but lowkey relieved??? bc now maybe she’ll get a break but he’s just like a broken bed is the least of her problems right now

think about it, you two were having a problem. you didn't really know why tho. he was pissed but refused to tell you why. now you knew it was because of something you had done because as soon as he came home from patrol, he had you pinned to the wall, glaring at you before throwing you on the bed.

you don't understand what's going on but you know he's beyond pissed when he basically rips your clothes off and his spidey suit before warning you.

"if you don't want me to fuck you, tell me now. i'll go to the bathroom and call down in there but be quick before i lose my patience."

you keep quiet and nod slowly, allowing him to touch you. except he doesn't fucking touch you. as soon as you nod, he's parting your thighs open and stuffing himself balls deep inside you channel. you're more than stunned, back arched and oxygen quickly leaving your body.

he's holding your neck with one hand and the headboard with the other and he just started going at it. he's rough and fast, you thighs are already trembling and sensitive from the violence of his skin slapping your. you're moaning loud, practically screaming in both pleasure and surprise. you liked it when he's handled you and nothing turned you on more than having him mad at you but you wish you could have an explanation as to why he was so angry at you.

he's not even letting you moan properly, forcing your mouth open and stuffing his fingers inside to muffle your sounds.

"shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear a single sound coming from you, slut."

in that moment you feel so weak, soaking wet around his cock because he degrades you. he knows you like that shit but it isn't the point. he's fucking you like you ran him over for a while, letting you cum as hard as you want but still preventing you from being loud which makes you even more wet.

each time he came, he'd pull out and cum on your stomach or force your mouth open to swallow his load. he was rough and angry and dominant and you should've probably been asking questions but he was fucking you beyond stupid and you were too fucked out to question him.

his grip on the headboard is still as strong as it was before and he's going even harder on your poor body. you're raw and overstimulated, your pussy too tender to be able to take more of his vicious backshots and his ways of toying with you.

"b-baby... peter ! please ! peter, please i can't ! can't take anymore ! ahhh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck ! please peter, can't cum anymore, pussy's too weak ! please !"

he's glaring down on you like you were some pathetic creature and keeps plowing into you, holding the headboard with one hand a'd basically slamming it into the wall. the bed is squeaking and you can hear the sound of wood ripping but he's going so hard on you, all you can do is roll your eyes to the back of you head and bite your lips until you bleed. he starts toying with your clit, twirling his fingers on it, rubbing it and rubbing your folds.

when you cum all around him he's smug but without even smiling. still very moody and very dominant.

"well, look at that. you keep saying that you can't take more but you're creaming all over my cock. pathetic. keep lying and i'll fuck you until your legs go numb."

you were crying in the sheets, begging for a divine intervention to give you a little rest. and the universe, being clement and always on time, decided to break the bed. it snapped under you in a loud sound that surprised you both.

peter watched the surprise on your face fade and turn into a relieved smile. absolutely fucking not.

"you think a broken bed's gonna stop me ?"

and there is the shock again. when he lifts you off the mattress, still balls deep in you, you squeal and hold onto him as tight as you can. he stands against a wall, pressing your back to it and whispering in your hear.

"the last thing you should be worried about is a broken bed. i'm not done with you until i say i am. the universe could send an helicopter flying through the room, i'll be done torturing that pussy when i decide it."

and there he goes again, and for at least two more rounds until you pass out of exhaustion. when you woke up he was nice again and a little worried for you. turns out, what you did was be a little too pretty through the window when he swung by. he saw you undress and dance naked with the blinds open and you teasing him never ended well. positive point was that he had apologized and now you were being cuddled and kissed all over.

"i'm sorry buttercup... i'm sorry, i love you... i love you and your pussy... and i'll fix the bed... and i'll massage your thighs too... i'm sorry... i love you baby... so, so, so much..."

you ended the night with a soft smile on your face, caressing him and trying to calm down his terrible temper. that spider bite did a number on his mood and the way he behaved.

[kassandras-one-braincell]

Dark!Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader - Inescapable Narcosis

Summary: You were hers - not officially, but Abby knew that you knew you belonged together. She was addicted. She still is addicted, even though you ended that harmony. Twenty-three days ago, and yes, she counted. But you'll come around. Any day now. [explicit]

In which Abby is mildly obsessive with a control complex and dubious morals. (She let the trauma win.) But there was a time where you looked past that in favour of sweet nothings beneath the bedsheets.

Warnings: unreliable narration, dubious morality and mild gaslighting.

Word count: 5250

AO3 link here.

Minors, men and ageless blogs DNI. You will be blocked immediately upon interaction.

You’re wearing her shirt. It hangs a little loosely on your frame, tucked neatly into your cargos. A couple of tiny moth holes are dotted about the neckline. It’s not a particularly nice shirt – standard issue, bottle green, a little threadbare by the shoulder seams – but it’s her shirt. The same shirt she lent you three-ish weeks ago after your last night together. She never asked for it back; you just had to sigh, snuggle into the fabric and murmur that it was so soft before settling down in her arms, and fuck it, it was yours.

Things are different now, though. You had terminated your sweet, sweet situationship, and Abby respected that. Sure, she mused in her head back then that she gave it a month, tops, before you would come crawling back to her. Begging, maybe, although that might have been wishful thinking. Until then, Abby will revert back to being your friend, no benefits attached.

But you’re wearing her shirt now, not even a month later, which means one thing: she’s in your head.

Abby has to bite her tongue to prevent herself from smirking at the notion. Hard. She can taste a hint of iron. The idea of still lingering in your thoughts…it’s a worm crawling under her skin. It has her hairs standing on end, a maddening tingle washing over her flesh, identical to the shivers she got from your fingertips ghosting over her skin— Fuck, she always had it bad for you.

The sheer fucking aphrodisiac that is you wearing her shirt is almost enough to distract Abby from your knitted brow, pouty lips and the inferno blazing behind those pretty eyes of yours. Almost – the fact is, she cares, and something is evidently pissing you off.

You approached her in the hall, short of breath, as if you tracked her down through the labyrinth of the stadium you considered home. Now, after a couple of moments’ pause, her ex something-or-other stares at her with a mixture of rage and incredulity.

“Seriously, Abby?” you breathe out, exasperated.

For a second, Abby mentally winces, wondering if her efforts to suppress her smirk failed her. She can’t recall doing anything to intentionally antagonise you. It isn’t often she finds herself taken aback.

“Did I do something?” she tries, a touch of sardonicism peppered-in out of habit, to her immediate regret. Grimacing, Abby watches expectantly as you close your eyes, inhaling slowly to compose yourself.

Through gritted teeth, you mimic her words. “‘Did I do something?’ Yeah, you fucking did something, Abby.” She can place the irritation in your tone, but it lacks any raw venom. Abby knows you – that from your intonation, you mulled this conversation over in your head before seeking her out.

If you were anybody else, Abby would not be holding back on the expletives and sarcasm at the cryptic reply. Her reputation doesn’t stem from her unequivocal patience, that’s for certain. For you, though, she’ll wait as you dance around the issue rather than spitting it out.

Sighing, she rubs the back of her neck. The magnetism between your eyes and the tendons of her forearm does not go amiss. “Enlighten me,” she exhales, gesticulating with her unoccupied hand for you to continue chewing her out.

Your posture slumps. Your arms fold in on themselves as you glance over your shoulder, sweeping the hall for eavesdroppers. As your nail digs into your elbow, Abby frowns, a needle slowly working its way into her heart. She’s anxious, she thinks. And she isn’t able to do a damn thing to alleviate it.

“You took me off my patrol route again,” you respond, hushed, eyes still honed-in on the end of the hall. “Don’t deny it.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Abby mutters under her breath. “I thought I did something wrong.”

Nostrils flaring, your attention fully snaps to her. “Abigail,” you warn.

“Is there something wrong with keeping my friends safe?” Lying doesn’t feel good, even if it’s just a white lie. Actually, it’s a combination of both shitty and stupid, because you can see right through her. She spent years keeping her book closed, adding padlock after padlock to the cover, only for you to have all the keys.

Huffing, you shake your head. “You know what, I’m not gonna insult you by listing the friends who you patrol with on the regular—” As you grip your – her – shirt for comfort, Abby’s heart sinks. “You’re getting me special treatment. And people are starting to resent me for it.”

That brief flash of guilt erupts into anger. “Who?” A promise of broken bones is left unspoken. The image of anyone giving you shit gnaws at her every nerve. You pull double your weight when it comes to your duties as a soldier and citizen, yet people have the audacity, the fucking audacity—

“Does it matter who?” comes your voice, a hell of a lot softer than before. Like aloe vera, it soothes the infuriated spiral burning into her brain. Abby breathes out what she can of the red mist, grounding herself with your…everything, really.

Besides a few tell-tale signs of stress, you haven’t changed one bit since you last spoke. There was a time when Abby didn’t believe beauty could come in a living form, that cordyceps and its aftermath had stolen that away from humanity. Then you waltzed (limped would be more accurate in hindsight – you met in the med bay) into her life, and that cynical belief vanished. Even now, with dark circles under your eyes and a frown plastered on your lips, you’re the epitome of beauty to her. Every scar, every blemish, every mole adorning your body makes you a work of art. She misses the feel of your perfectly imperfect skin beneath her lips, the finest silk on the planet, always so soft from the moisturiser you like to make. She misses the delicate giggles she would elicit from you as she pressed a roadmap of kisses over all those little things.

She misses you.

You weakened her resolve to the point where Abby sometimes ponders if she’d be better off if that first night never took place. If, perhaps, you had been assigned different temporary lodgings in that converted FEDRA outpost after your mission. Hell, if she had been thrown on a different mission entirely to the prettiest damn person she had ever laid eyes on. Maybe if the weather wasn’t so fucking cold, you wouldn’t have had to rely on body heat for warmth. Your lips – the first dose – would have never found hers. She would have never discovered the blissful escapism from a shitty world that was you.

The delusion of no-strings-attached was a persuasive one, but Abby knows that your liaisons were never purely sexual. Prurient intentions were the basis of things, absolutely. Then emotions began to bleed into every kiss, vulnerabilities seeped into every hushed word against one another’s skin, every breathless “don’t stop” held an unspoken “don’t leave” beneath the surface, and she found herself addicted to you.

And it was…it is an addiction, by nature of the word. You eat away at her thoughts. The memory of your taste haunts her tongue. She could cope back then, counting the hours until you next fell into her bed and arms. Now, though? Nothing. You torment her, day-in, day-out, but ultimately, Abby is left with nothing except the pain of withdrawal.

She should have seen it coming, too. You never stuck a label on things; there was no illusion of permanence.

Abby came to terms with the fact that she isn’t a good person long ago. It wasn’t a hard conclusion to reach, either. A minute of remembrance, a well-illustrated reel of the Scars she killed, the abhorrent shit she did for Isaac without so much as questioning his decisions, committing her entire body and livelihood to avenging her dad, that was enough. In this regard, you are her very antithesis. Your concept of stress relief consisted of tending to the dogs in the kennels; hers was beating prisoners and traitors. She shielded you from as much of this as possible. It wasn’t enough.

“I can’t let myself be with someone who hurts people, Abby. I’ll always care about you, but I can’t— I can’t settle down with someone who enjoys killing Scars. I don’t want to watch someone lose themselves to that. It’s not healthy. So…this, whatever you want to call it, this needs to end. I’m sorry.”

There were tears in your eyes as you spoke. Shrapnel; jagged, rusty shrapnel to her veins, because comforting you would have overstepped a newly enforced boundary. She had to retract her hand as it instinctively reached out, thumb poised to wipe away those pained droplets. No word of a lie spilled from your lips. The truth was a fucking bitter pill to swallow – it’s still stuck in her throat, clinging for dear life, undigestible – but she cared. And because she cared, she respected every syllable.

In this moment, however, as Abby’s blood cools, she speculates if she might care too much. Cutting the last string keeping you tethered to her would destroy her.

Thus she swallows her pride, silencing the warped voice screaming at her to demand the names of the people giving you grief. She folds her arms, only to give her something to dig her fingertips into, to suppress the incessant pulsing under the callouses from the rage-induced cortisol plaguing her bloodstream.

Calm, Abby.

Forcing herself to soften her frown, Abby wrestles with your question. Does it matter who?

“Yeah, actually, it does matter,” she breathes out, voice lacking any aggrieved tremor to her immediate relief. “Because some people can take that resentment too far. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Every muscle in her body freezes awaiting your response. The torture of watching you close your eyes at her words, as if you anticipated them in their entirety, and they disappointed you, made any physical pain she had endured over the years feel like child’s play. She hates it.

With a conflicted exhale, you bring the neckline of her shirt to your lips. Seeing that she can still offer you comfort, even if via the medium of her old shirt, rids her of some of the tension.

Your grip on the fabric pales your knuckles, persisting as you move it away from your mouth to speak with clarity. “If I have to compromise my safety or my happiness, then fuck safety,” you lament. “So I’m asking you to stop interfering.”

“You shouldn’t have to compromise,” Abby mutters. Because you shouldn’t - you deserve both. She wants to give you both.

“But I do, Abby, it—”

A jolt surges through her at a realisation. “Wait, I’ve been keeping you off active duty for months,” Abby interjects, shaking her head. “Have people always given you shit for this?”

“No. They’ve only made it clear this past week that they’re not happy,” you reply, pinching the bridge of your nose. A tacit fact hangs thick in the air: while you were seen with Abby, anyone who gave you grief might as well have had a death wish. With her out of the picture, some cowardly morons clearly saw an opportunity to strike.

Abby rakes a hand through her hair in frustration, offsetting some of the tension in her scalp. She welcomes the bout of relief as her braid loosens. “If I had names, this would stop. You know that, right?”

An exhausted string of ‘no’s leaves you as you shake your head. Massaging your temple, you scan the corridor for something. “Fuck, you don’t underst— I’m not having this conversation with you where someone can hear,” you mumble. She watches as your gaze fixates on something behind her, a glint of an emotion flickering in your irises.

You set off towards the object of your gaze, grabbing her wrist to lead her along. Abby’s heart skips at the contact; your hand is as warm as she remembered, fingers too small to fully encircle her. If she wasn’t as sturdily built, she would have stumbled as you half drag her to what appears to be a supply cupboard.

After fiddling with the door for a moment, you slip inside of the dark room, taking her with you, letting it slam shut behind you both. She winces at the sounds of a thud and a subtle grunt of pain, reaching behind her to trigger the light-switch by the doorframe.

A singular halogen bulb flickers on the ceiling, pulsing a few times before engulfing the closet in a faint surgical glow. With most of the room occupied by boxes of powdered bleach and cleaning rags, you aren’t permitted the luxury of separation. You stand no more than two feet apart, backs against ice-cold grey concrete, isolated from the world around you.

Abby can pick up on your shampoo from here. Raspberry.

She breaks the silence. “Well?”

“I can’t escape you,” you groan, massaging your temple. She cocks her brow, hoping you would elaborate. Your tired eyes meet hers. “It’s impossible. You’re getting me special exemptions. You’re offering to play bodyguard. You’re still affecting every single day of my life,” you laugh in exasperation. “People are starting to talk now that, and I fucking quote, ‘She’s not Abby’s girl anymore.’”

“Then tell them that we were never together to begin with,” Abby puts as bluntly as she could, her words a betrayal and then some. Hearing herself say them makes her knuckles want to clench.

“We both know that’s a fucking lie—”

Rolling her eyes, Abby rests her weight against the concrete wall, folding her arms. “I’m offering you solutions here, sunshine.”

“Don’t ‘sunshine’ me.”

“Then we’re gonna have to compromise, because there’s no fucking way I’m putting you back on the draft register. Scars are getting smarter, and they’re using more of our tech. It’s dangerous.”

“Okay, okay,” you concede, sighing deeply with chagrin. “I’m not gonna waste my time getting you to change your mind.”

“Good.” Pensively, Abby taps her finger against her bicep, waiting for a sign of resolution to wash over your expression. But there’s nothing of the sort; your lips are still curved into the same frown, your eyelids heavy and your eyes bloodshot, either from fatigue or an earlier episode of tears. The former definitely, the latter possibly. “This goes deeper than me taking you off patrol, right? I can tell you haven’t been sleeping,” she comments.

“Please don’t psychoanalyse me, Abby,” you whisper, intriguingly void of anger.

“Tough shit. I’m worried,” she states honestly.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” you scoff. “You care. You still care, even after what I said to you. And you shouldn’t, because it was hurtful—”

Abby shakes her head. “It was fair—”

“—That doesn’t mean it wasn’t hurtful.” When her gaze meets yours, there’s a silent apology in your eyes. An unwarranted apology by anyone’s standards but your own. Regret. “I just… I can’t move on from you knowing that you still fucking care.”

Abby’s face is steeled as she dissects your words in her head, delving deep into the emotion laced in every syllable. That glimmer of regret distracted you from your point, she ponders, so the hint of aggression must have been forced. The exhaustion, well, that isn’t purely a residual effect of poor sleep – there’s mental exhaustion, too. You’re thinking about your words, if the hesitation meant anything at all, but your feelings are slipping through the cracks. Damn…she really is in your head, isn’t she?

It's terrible. Half a second of deliberation told her this is far from the right thing to say in this moment, but she has to pry further. She wants to strip you – not just metaphorically, but that can wait – of any avenue to escape her presence in your mind.

So she asks, none too gently, “Is that why you got me alone, wearing my shirt? Because you want to move on?”

Your jaw clenches. The cupboard is silent, so silent that Abby can hear the grinding of your molars. She shouldn’t have said that. She should not have said that. Fuck, if she had handled this with a shred more delicacy, and a lot less sarcasm, you wouldn’t be—

“No, I don’t.”

It takes her a moment to register the words, to dismiss the intrusive thought that they aren’t truthful. But they are, aren’t they? You can’t lie for shit.

There it is. The cusp of nirvana.

You open your mouth to continue, and Abby is latched onto every word. “Pathetic, right? Not even a week after I ended things, I wished I hadn’t.” Her heart skips a beat. She unfolds her arms – she can’t appear guarded and closed-off, not right now. “I thought it was for the best, okay? But it wasn’t, and now we’re here in this closet that reeks of fucking peroxide because I miss you.

“Things have been so hard without you, Abby. And I can’t – I can’t talk to people about this, because I brought it on myself, and frankly I could do without the humiliation. So all I have to comfort me is your shirt, alright?” Poor thing, you sound so disappointed in yourself. Defeated. A hairline fracture away from shattering like glass. The trace of belligerence in your tone thinly masks a fear of rejection that Abby finds rather delicious, but she won’t push you further. Not when you’re so close to being hers once again.

Panic flickers in your eyes. “I’ve been talking too much, fuck—”

Quickly, Abby, before she backtracks. “You still have me,” she assures you. “You can always come back to me.”

I want to be the only one to make you happy.

You tense with caution. “Do you really want that?” you manage, half-choked in your throat.

A dozen replies cycle through Abby’s thoughts, all of them too wordy, too convoluted and emotional to risk you slipping away. Every neurone crackles with a lightning impulse to spill her guts, to confess her visceral need for you. A yearning to see you smile. To bring laughter to those soft, petallike lips. In unabridged, unadulterated truth, part of her wants this apocalyptic nightmare to never end, just for the privilege of being your only sanctuary.

Do you really want that?

‘Want’ barely begins to encapsulate it. But she doesn’t have time to deliberate a better turn of phrase. If another second ticks by, you may take her silence for dismissal, and that would kill her.

“What I want…” She has you gripped onto every word, if your statuesque stillness is indicative of anything. “…is for you to figure out what you need. Whatever it is, you can come to me with it.” Okay, that’s something. It sufficiently cleaved through the silence, anyway. A modicum of tension relinquishes itself from your shoulders, and some of the apprehension dissipates from your eyes. You both let out a steady breath in synchronicity. Still, Abby flinches with the lingering fear that her words weren’t enough. You always craved that little bit of additional reassurance. So she offers, as a hidden plea more than anything else, “Even if you haven’t got it all figured out, I’ll still be here, okay?”

The harsh halogen glow seems to soften as you nod slowly, faintly miming something with your lips, mulling over her words. With the olive branch on the table, the stench of peroxide from the boxes of powdered bleach is no longer overwhelming. The cramped closet, a hostile environment just minutes ago, doesn’t feel like a battleground anymore.

“As long as you think that’s fair to you,” you say, the corners of your lips ever so slightly upturned into a shred of a smile.

“I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise,” she returns, concealing the delight thrumming through her veins. “You know where to find me.”

“Thank you, Abby. Really.”

She planted the seed, and already it has taken root in your mind. The tendrils may be infinitesimal, but they have sprouted, the notion of comfort sinking into your brain. Very soon, the flower will blossom: you’ll be back in her embrace, back where you belong. And while the wait would feel like an eternity, and the withdrawal would continue to gnaw away at whatever sanity remains, Abby knows you won’t be able to stay away for much longer.

It takes some mighty force of nature to keep a smirk from unfurling across her lips at the prospect of your imminent desperation. Instead, she smiles warmly, keeping things casual.

“No sweat.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

After you parted ways from the grimy supply cupboard, Abby hazarded a rather cocky guess: you would come crawling into her bed by the end of the week.

Six hours later, your thighs are splayed across her shoulders. Her lips are slick with your honey as your clit throbs under the relentless pressure of her tongue. And she can’t even think about the pathetically short period of time when right now, you taste so fucking sweet.

The human brain is a miraculous organ. Just how hers reinvented its entire perception of beauty the first time she laid eyes on you, it decided the nectar between your thighs would be her favourite meal. You are crisp strawberries on a summer’s day, sugary and sharp all at once, melting against her tongue. The psychology of it all had always fascinated her. Perhaps your addictive taste is influenced by those pitchy little moans falling from your lips – or the hand fisted in her hair, tugging at the roots just how she likes it, is having some kind of wonderful physiological effect. Whatever it is, she’s thankful for it, humming unabashedly as she sloppily makes out with your cunt, devouring everything you have to give her. Twenty-three days she spent locked out of heaven. Abby is going to take her damn time in her indulgence.

Oxygen is nothing more than an inconvenience, the faint burning in her lungs a tinnitus she can never fully suppress. With a savouring lick, she pulls away momentarily for breath, allowing her eyes to wash over your reclined body on her bed. Your chest rises and falls gently in tandem with the breathy sounds escaping you. The exposed skin where her shirt rides up your abdomen is decorated with a few faint imprints of her teeth. The possessive marks aren’t necessary. They aren’t the best indication of a healthy mind, either, but the way your hips bucked as she raked her teeth downwards, followed by a kiss just above the hem of your underwear…wasn’t that a pretty sight.

Panting, Abby presses her lips to your inner thigh, suckling gently on the skin. “I missed this,” she avows in earnest, muffled by your warm flesh. “I can tell you missed this, too,” she chuckles lowly. Her eyes flutter shut as your nails emblazon crescents into her scalp. Abby hisses at the delightful sting when you tighten your grip, dragging her tongue over the bud peeking through your dripping syrupy folds, wanting you to feel the effect you have on her.

Something strangled breaks free from your throat as she closes her lips around your clit and sucks softly, keeping your hips effortlessly pinned to the mattress with one hand as the other kneads your thigh. A breathless curse leaves you in a whine. She smiles against you, high on the dopamine injected straight into her bloodstream by your hips gyrating under her palm.

The saccharine river trickling from your heat is ceaseless, threatening to drown her, not that she would object. Suffocating against your sweetness would be a blissful death. Abby would welcome demise if it was delivered by your trembling thighs, even though you are always so worried about hurting her, like you ever could.

“Have you ever been this wet before, baby?” she laughs, unable to help herself. Those meaner tendencies make a habit of slipping through whenever she has you caged beneath her. She knows the answer to her question, but she wants to hear it from your lips in a moan: a pretty confession wrapped in an even prettier sound. An avaricious inferno burns in her heart, craving your acknowledgement that your body debauches itself for her of its own accord.

Without allowing you a moment to collect a coherent thought together, she resumes her onslaught, suckling on your sensitive clit, laving her tongue over the nerves that her lips can’t caress.

“It’s – fuck – been so long, Abby,” you mewl, those darling sounds heightening in volume and pitch as she gets a little rougher.

And it has. Not by normal standards; one might attribute such mutual desperation after three-ish weeks to nymphomania. Abby came to terms with her addiction long ago.

“I knew you wouldn’t last a month,” she muses out loud, pulling back for air.

If you were anyone else, you might have taken offense. But you are as drunk on pleasure as she is on pussy. The chains to your body’s chemistry reside firmly in her grasp. Who is she kidding? You both know Abby is the only person with a hope in hell of satisfying you.

There isn’t a trace of apprehension when she growls, heated and arrogant, “Nobody else could fuck you like I do.”

Arousal rips through her at the breathless agreement you relent like a sawblade: that blissed-out admission has fucked her up for life. You are hers. You see yourself as hers. It was implicit, she knows it. She wonders how many sleepless nights you spent needing some stress relief, a hand wedged between your pretty thighs, fervently trying to alleviate that tempestuous ache to no avail, because Abby ruined you for anyone else, even yourself.

You’re mine.

You’ve always been fucking mine.

Wantonly, your velvet heat pulses under her tongue, and she decides enough words have been spoken for now. In voracious earnest, both hands moving to grip your thighs, she doubles down.

Pain ripples through her scalp, a pestering ache sets into her jaw, yet Abby wouldn’t have it any other way because your sweet cunt is undulating against her lips, toes curling against her back. Your moans are music to her fucking ears, muted only by your thighs pressing against them. Crush her, she doesn’t care. She’ll make you come if it kills her.

“Abby,” you wail, all drawn-out and pitchy in about four different keys. Every morsel of your self-control has been gifted to her to handle how she knows best. That’s it, sweetpea. Fuck my face just how you need it.

It’s all worth it when your orgasm seizes you like a maelstrom, jolting with lightning as ecstasy washes over you. She may not believe in any god, but watching you succumb to pleasure is something of a divine transcendence; it makes her worship all the more worthwhile. Abby hums, pulling away from your clit so as to not overstimulate you – she can afford a little patience – leisurely lapping up your nectareous spend. She sighs as your hand unknits itself from her hair, ignoring the soreness at the roots.

Trembling, you shudder as she ghosts kisses along the tops of your thighs, trailing up until her face hovers above yours, lips still dewy with your essence. Warmth blankets her heart as your eyes flutter open, still heavy and half-lidded in a haze, long lashes framing the kaleidoscopic irises staring up at her.

“Beautiful,” she whispers beside herself.

A gentle smile settles onto your lips, but only briefly, faltering almost as swiftly as it appeared. A pang of fear strikes her heart. “What’s wrong, babe?” Abby frowns, the fragility of her concern steeled by her tone, the name rolling off her tongue out of normalcy.

Your brow knits with apprehension. “Are you sure you’re not…” you trail off, reaching up to touch her cheek. The delicate pads of your fingertips dance over her freckles, sunlight against her skin. “…mad at me?” She offers you a sympathetic look. You sigh, troubled, adding, “I would be mad at me.”

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs, leaning into your touch, caressing your hair. “How can I be mad at you?”

There it is again: that incessant buzzing. The unshakeable tinnitus of the possibility of you slipping away rings through her ears, needle-sharp. Shrill, distracting…she needs to get rid of it before it seeps through the cracks of her visage.

You need convincing. A little encouragement, a little persuasion, a guiding light or a serpent to whisper in your ear…anything. Whatever works, as long as those doubts leave your mind. Fuck, you’re not afraid of her, are you? Well, come on, Abby, who wouldn’t be? But you shouldn’t be.

Stay grounded. Let’s be…tactical about this.

Perhaps the suggestion that you should figure out your own needs was ill-advised. There is far too much risk involved. Her heart would shatter if you concluded that the thing you needed was, after all, space. Abby needs to be gentle with her words, else you’ll end up thinking too hard.

A clause comes to mind. The words will not leave her guiltlessly. They are, morally, wrong. Objectively manipulative. But after this ambrosial dose of you, Abby doesn’t think she could survive another withdrawal period. What’s the harm in playing into psychology when you will both be happier with the result?

Reassurance, that’s what you need. It’s your crutch. Always has been.

“You were a little confused, that’s all,” she coos without a trace of judgement. Her hand drifts from your silken hair to cradle the smaller hand caressing her cheek. She moves your hand to her lips, dusting a kiss across your knuckles, closing her eyes, praying it’ll suffice to mask her dishonesty.

When she allows them to flutter open again, her eyes are met with a look of gentle perplexion, but no hostility. “Confused?” you frown. She scours those pretty irises for a change in emotion as her pulse quickens. But instead of recoiling, your unoccupied hand moves to her back, sweeping soothing arcs across her skin. Some of her anxieties are immediately quelled, clearing her head enough to formulate her next words with appropriate caution.

“You were stressed, overworked, and I wasn’t around as much because of patrols,” she says softly, delicately squeezing your hand. Gradually, to her delight, your brows begin to unfurrow. “And since I wasn’t there for you, you started to think I cared more about killing Scars than taking care of you. You forgot how much you mean to me,” she whispers, the manipulation of the truth sounding more believable with every word. “But that’s okay. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

You nod, your bottom lip subtly quivering. Just like that, the marionette strings are back in her palm. “I just—” you hesitate, eyes beginning to glisten, “I can’t believe I even started to think like…you were some sort of monster, when you’ve always been so good to me.”

“No matter what I do on the field, you will always come first, okay?” she smiles, sighing with relief when you return it, blinking away the tell-tale signs of tears.

“God, I missed you so much, Abs,” you laugh softly, arching your neck to seal the gap between your lips. Abby wants to laugh too, motivated by something entirely less sweet.

It worked.

It fucking worked.

Any residual guilt from her sugar-coated, twisted truth dissipates as your lips collide. No harm, no foul, right? Because body and soul, you are hers once more. This is normalcy.

This is home.