#White night Documentary

[whereismyhat5678]

Wanted to doodle with some gray colors. Like make em’ feel dark- and I did this when I made the background grey since I thought it’d fit 🤷‍♀️

Peppino’s that are frustrated, I think the palette works well :] Also really like the white tank and hat how I turned them a nice grayish brownish cream color(?) I think it looks nice

[antisquilly]

[magentagalaxies]

the number of times i have cried over an old man in the past twenty four hours is not FAIR (/lighthearted but also this is definitely because i'm so stressed)

[rrrauschen]

Dziga Vertov, {1930} Ентузіязм (Симфонія Донбасу) (Enthusiasm: The Symphony of Donbas)

[junkyarddemento]

NALUJUK NIGHT

Krampus gets all the attention for terrorizing kids during the holidays, but have you heard of the Nalujuk? Masked, dressed in animal furs, and carrying spears, these terrifying characters appear out of the night to give gifts to the good kids, while also chasing and beating the bad kids. This beautiful and stunning mini-doc is a look into this little known fascinating cultural tradition of the Inuit communities. This felt like part horror movie, part docu-mystery series ala In Search Of, which I really love.

[dgoakill]

Roasting Marshmallows

[joemama-2]

this is not how you imagined your friday night would go.

you thought you’d be watching the stars by now after a nice dinner. maybe some compliments, maybe even a small kiss shared. or some held hands.

but no. because currently you’re seated on the expensive couch, eyes fixated on some random nature documentary because you don’t have the courage to face the six year old boy to your left and demand him to stop staring.

you like kids, but this one oddly makes you nervous, scared almost.

your date is in the bathroom taking way too long and you’re half tempted to up and leave. your posture is stiff, forcing yourself to find the screen interesting.

our of your peripheral, you can see the boy raise his spoonful of ice cream to his mouth, head tilting like you’re one of the animals being observed on the TV.

“are you the one he keeps talking about?”

confusion strikes you as you finally turn your head to face him. your titled head mirroring his own. “um…..i’m not sure.”

a part of you feels flattered by the sudden fact. is satoru really talking about you? but then an unsettling feeling takes place, one of hesitation and jealously. or is he talking about someone else?

“you have the black Cane Corso, right?”

ah, so it’s the former. you smile. “oh, yeah. that’s me.”

“what’s his name?” the little boy asks you, shifting his small body as the talk of dogs gains his attention by the second.

“sunny.”

his brows pinch together. “why sunny?”

“because he was a stray, i found him in a box on a very hot day.”

he hums and nods before asking yet another question. you forget how curious children can be. “is he nice?”

you chuckle. sunny has the stereotype of being aggressive due to his breed and size, but he’s anything but. he’s your gentle giant who gets scared of butterflies and plastic water bottles. “he’s really nice, he loves meeting new people and licking.”

you playfully stick your tongue out with a look of a faux grimace. this gets the small boy to crack a hint of a smile. it warms your heart almost instantly. “you like dogs?” you ask him, voice softening.

he nods automatically. “i really like dogs, i have two dogs. one is white and the other is black.”

“oh wow,” your eyebrows raise. “that’s so cool, are they big too?”

“mhm.” he nods.

you do a small look around. “where are they?”

he simply shrugs and answers, “they only come out sometimes.”

you want to ask what he means by that, but you figure satoru would best know. speaking of, he must be shitting a big one or he’s trying to calm his nerves inside that bathroom down the hall.

the little boy hesitates, like he wants to ask another question but isn’t sure if he should. you give him an encouraging nod and he sighs. “can you bring sunny next time?”

—————————————————————

“when you said you were fostering, i assumed a pet or something. not an actual child.” you tell Satoru as he’s walking you to your apartment door.

the two of you stop in front and he takes this time to grin. “do i not look like a boy dad?”

your eyebrow raises with an unamused expression. “no, first off, you look like a girl dad. and second off, does he consider you his dad?”

“nah, not at all. more like an older brother if anything. or maybe that annoying uncle everyone hates.” he reaches forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “did he like you?”

“i hope so.” your lips purse. “i wasn’t exactly ready to pitch myself as a good person tonight to some kid.”

satoru chuckles, thumb lingering on your cheek. “don’t need to pitch yourself, just be you and he’ll like you just as much as i do. well—actually—hopefully not as much. i’d hate to have competition.”

you can’t help but roll your eyes. “he did mention a next time, though. wants me to bring my dog.”

“you mean that oversized human on all fours?”

your hand collides with his shoulder. he laughs and intertwines your fingers with his. “kidding, kidding. don’t get violent, at least not now.”

leaning down, his lips kiss your forehead smoothly, they linger for a few seconds before he mutters against your skin. “his names megumi, i hope you’ll get along.”

your stomach flutters during this moment, relishing in the easy and comfortable intimacy. you nod and murmur back. “of course.”

he pulls back and smiles down at you. just as he’s about to speak another cheesy line, you beat him to it.

“so….you talk about me a lot?”

[sujiri]

₊˚⊹ ⁀➴ ᰔ‧₊˚⊹ random days with nanami kento

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: nanami kento x fem!reader, married life, fluff

ಇ. chocolates

“what are these for, honey?”

that was the first thing your husband says to you after you gifted him the homemade chocolates. it's valentine's day, day of hearts, expressing your affection to your family, friends, or even your lover. of course, nanami kento knows it. he damn knows it's valentine's day this very day.

“chocolates? they're meant for you..?” you confusingly spoke while a questioned look at him. you yourself feel a bit.. awkward. well, he knows about girls giving their crush or love interest sweets; especially chocolates in the heart's day, then it goes vice versa when march 14th comes, white day. he's just completely confused why the sudden gift, although you two have a some chocolates in the fridge. after a minute of awkward silence, you speak.

“oh just eat it, kento.” you huffed and walked towards him. he shakes his head, feeling a bit fuzzy and flattered to your sudden gift. “thank you, my love.” he mumbles and wraps his arm around your shoulder, and kisses your temple. “happy valentine's day.”

ಇ. late night movies

head rested to kento's arm while holding a pillow tightly. you thought this is pretty easy, watching a horror movie with your love in the late evening Friday and even decided earlier to turn off the lights to make it more thrilling. the movie haven't played for almost an hour and now, you can't even look straight at the tv screen anymore, since it awfully scares you so easily.

“honey, you watch documentary films about murderers and gore cases, yet you can't handle watching horror movies?” he softly chuckles while teasing you, suddenly his hand snakes around your shoulder to play with your hair to help you feel at ease to make sure there's nothing to be scared of. “it's a different thing!” you defend while simply looking away from the tv screen from time to time. “just think that they have a lot of bloopers while taping the video, my love.” he assured then you went silent. he has a point there.

while being focused on the movie for a while, your eyes slowly glances up to him to see his reaction, finding out that there's a small smile painted in his damn face. your lips curved into a small pout making him chuckle at your reaction.

“should i turn on the lights?”

“no”

ಇ. crushes

“kento, i have a confession.”

“honey, i know you like me and love me. we've been married for years now, yes i know that you love to remind me that, and i feel the same that i love you too.” he babbles as he sips his coffee. you went silent for a bit while staring at your husband. you don't know what to say from the past hour since everything has been boring you a lot. and now, kento sounds like he's been hearing you say that you have a crush on him from the past hour. after a bit of loud silence, he try to lift the mood.

“my love, i have a crush on you too.” he calmly says and glances at you. your face lits up and chuckles. “you're corny, ken.” you said as he went ‘surprised’, “oh and now i'm the corny one?” he says making you laugh. “probably.”

[pastryfication]

Hey hey hey! So, I was wondering if you could work your magic on this request? We all know Oscar LOVES sleeping whenever he can but what if he has a girlfriend with quite frequent insomnia such as moi? Maybe the piece could be about him searching for all kinds of serious and wacky methods to help her sleep - white noise, sound apps, black out blinds, counting actual sheep, a cold bedroom etc and eventually something so simple such as snuggling together after he's washed her hair or something soppy works? Thank you, you're an angel!

thank u for the request!! i hope i did it justice but i have no idea how insomnia works so feel free to correct me if i’ve written something wrong 🫶

5 things that didn’t help you sleep and the 1 thing that actually did | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x insomniac!reader

warnings: mentions of insomnia and the use of melatonin

oscar piastri treasures every moment of sleep he can get. cuddling up under the covers, catching up on much-needed rest between races, training sessions and team meetings is his sanctuary, a place where he can recharge. it’s entirely different for you. sleep often feels elusive, insomnia visits you regularly, and after trying to take melatonin, you feel like there truly must be something wrong with you when you’re still left you tossing and turning while oscar dozes peacefully beside you.

one particularly restless night, as you lie awake staring at the ceiling, you decide you’ve had enough. oscar, sensing your frustration, turns over and looks at you with sleepy but concerned eyes.

“another bad night?” he asks softly, voice groggy.

you nod, feeling guilty for disturbing his rest. “i just can’t seem to fall asleep.”

determined to help you find the peace he enjoys so effortlessly, oscar spends the next day researching every possible solution for insomnia, and he ends up with a list. 5 things that have helped others who are suffering from the same problem, and over the next few weeks, he convinced you to try it all, hoping to find the one thing that will finally help you sleep.

1. white noise

the first thing he tries is white noise. researching the best possible brand, he buys a white sound machine and sets it to a gentle hum when you go to sleep one night. the constant noise fills the room, creating a soothing background sound and drowning out any distractions.

it’s nice to lay and listen to, and at first, you think it might work. you close your eyes, snuggle into the covers to find the best position and takes oscar’s hand in yours.

you try, you really do try your best, to let the sound lull you to sleep. everything is nice and calm, but after a few nights, it’s clear that the constant noise only makes you more restless. you lie awake, feeling like you’re trapped in a static-filled void, and you just want to cry.

2. sound apps

oscar is quick to notice your disappointment, and he therefore quickly moves on to the next point on the list.

he downloads several sound apps on his phone, experimenting with everything from rainstorms to ocean waves to forest sounds. he tries different combinations, adjusting the volume and mixing the sounds in various ways, bringing out his inner dj to make you as comfortable as possible.

you appreciate the effort, but none of the sounds seem to do the trick. you lie awake, feeling more like you’re in a nature documentary than trying to sleep. the sounds that are supposed to be calming just keep you more alert, your mind unable to quiet down.

3. blackout blinds

oscar then orders blackout blinds, thinking that maybe the slightest hint of light is the culprit.

the blinds plunge the room into complete darkness, blocking out any external light. at first, you think it might work. the darkness is comforting and you hope it will help you relax, but instead of soothing you, the darkness feels oppressive. you lie there, eyes wide open, feeling the walls close in. the complete absence of light only makes you nervous and the two of you quickly have to give up on that as well.

4. counting sheep

you insisted that counting sheep was silly. there was no way it was going to work and you told oscar exactly that. he didn’t agree though, and with the use of his best puppy eyes, he convinced you to try.

he decides to buy a small stuffed sheep and as you lie in bed one night, he starts an impromptu counting session. you giggle at the sight of him hopping the little sheep across the bed.

“i don’t think this is gonna work.” you hold back a laugh as he makes the sheep take a particularly long jump across your duvet.

“not even if he gives you a little kiss?” he asks, holding back his own giggle as he moves up to you on the bed, making the sheep “kiss” you all over your stomach.

you laugh at the ticklish sensation, and the two of you have to realise that the sheep counting feels more like a silly game than a serious attempt to help you sleep.

5. a cold bedroom

the last thing on oscar’s quickly disappearing list is sleeping in a cold room.

to make that happen, he insists on making the bedroom as cold as a freezer. he cranks up the air conditioning and piles extra blankets on the bed so you don’t freeze to death.

the room quickly becomes chilly, and you snuggle under the covers, head on oscar’s chest as his arms snake around you, trying to regain some body heat. you’re really hoping the cold will help you relax, but you find yourself shivering more than drifting off. the cold air makes you uncomfortable, and instead of helping, it only adds to your restlessness.

the 1 thing that actually did help

after trying numerous different methods, you’re ready to just give up.

“maybe i should go to the doctors,” you eventually suggest. you wish the problem would go away by itself, but it doesn’t seem like it will.

oscar finds himself running out of ideas too, until something dawns to him one night when he’s on facetime with his mom.

entering your bedroom with a book clutched tightly in his hand, you raise an eyebrow at him. “so mom just left to read to read my sister a bed time story, and i thought: why don’t i read to you as well?” he suggests.

you raise an eyebrow, skeptical at the suggestion but at this point you’re willing to try anything.

oscar shuffles across the bed, helping you adjust so your head is pressed against his thigh as he begins to read. his voice soft and steady, keeping a calm pace to his words and you can’t deny that it’s nice.

he plays with your hair as he reads, gently running his fingers through the strands and massaging your scalp. the combination of his calming voice and the soothing sensation of his touch begins to work its magic.

you feel your body relax, the tension melting away. his words become a comforting background noise and his fingers in your hair provide a gentle, rhythmic motion. for the first time in what feels like ages, you feel yourself drifting off, your eyelids growing heavy.

oscar continues reading until he hears your breathing deepen and become steady. he smiles, closing the book quietly and turning off the light, but he doesn’t move, terrified to wake you after you’ve finally found the peace you desperately needed.

sitting against the headboard starts hurting his back, but he still stays beside you, his hand continuously playing with your hair, ensuring you stay asleep.

as the nights go by, oscar’s bedtime stories and hair-playing become your new routine. you find yourself looking forward to bedtime, knowing that sleep is no longer a battle but a peaceful journey.

in the end, it’s not the gadgets or apps that help you sleep, but instead oscar’s gentle presence and unwavering support. his love is your ultimate lullaby, guiding you into the restful sleep you’ve been longing for.

[365filmsbyauroranocte]

A Night of Knowing Nothing (Payal Kapadia, 2021)  

[rougepearl]

SFW & NSFW Headcanons BSD Men

(Chuuya, Fyodor, Nikolai) MDNI

ᯓ★ Chuuya Nakahara

•Wine collection that dates back all the way to the 1920s

•Favorite season is fall

•Prefers to wear nice almost like dressing shoes

•Thinks older models of cars are nicer looking

•Would prefer to stay in and cook a nice dinner then eat out

•When someone is near his locked office, he'll have you stuff your mouth with his shirt that'll smell like his soft cologne while he fucks your tired pussy

•In bed he prefers to tie your hands with a tie he'll usually have around

•Around 5.6 inches, more girth than length

•Likes to bite your lip while he kisses you when he's going slow with you

•Probably has a small whip around in his room that he uses to slap your ass

ᯓ★ Fyodor Dostoesvky

•Definitely likes to keep flowers in vases around the house

•Likes to watch crime documentaries and criticizes where the person went wrong

•Seems like the type to have a small radio while doing some kind of hobby

•If he wasn't a psychopath, he'd wear a satchel around to carry his items such as books, personal items, etc.

•Likes to sit on public benches in nice areas and read his book or enjoy the scenery

•He likes to tie you up and eat your pussy out while he also watches you squirm

•Likes to wrap his hands on your hips and hold you down on his dick

•Teases you the entire way through it, then degrades you at the same time

•Likes to watch you play with yourself while he watches through the hidden cameras around your room

•Will have you keep your gaze at him and him only when he's thrusting into you

ᯓ★ Nikolai Gogol

•While liking magic tricks, he dosent know that many himself

•Most likely has a silver cigarette case even if he dosent smoke, uses it for collected items

•Is actually paler than Fyodor, considering he is anemic too. Results to him having a redder nose during winter

•Isn't actually white-haired, naturally is a level 9 to 10 blonde, but tried dying his hair very light purple during his teens years, and accidently neutralized it

•Has a thing for knitting sweaters

•Shows absolutely no mercy when going down on you, would cover your mouth and almost have you suffocate yourself with your own moans

•With his ability he would try to tease your inner thighs while he was just next room, but only when you were on a call with someone else

•Sucks the soul of your neck collarbone and upper chest, leaves very dark marks that wouldn't leave for the next days or so

•Favorite position is classic missionary, because he'll make you think it's vanilla for one night but then flip you over and onto the next position and the next

•Likes it when your juices mix with his while he's deep inside of you

[blughxreader]

I've been watching natural disaster documentaries and I'm so down bad for the idea of Platonic Yandere! Batfam during a blizzard.

They obviously have enough supplies to maintain a small village, so no one is pressed when sudden snow picks up. Batman has special cold-resistant suits for all of them but when the windchill drops to the negatives, their patrols are an hour at a time.

When the blizzard finally hits, they escort stranded cars to safety for as long as possible before the white-out makes it impossible to work.

That first night, they're all huddled in the the smallest lounge, fireplace roaring and hot chocolate in hand. You're pulled to the very front of the pile, bundled in blankets and Tim's various school hoodies and up against the rolling heat of the flames.

Despite the temperature breaking record lows, you've never been more toasty. Chocolate on your tongue and cheeks hot from the fire, they only let you unbundle yourself when you complain about sweating.

However much the others bitch and moan, Jason and Bruce are the ones at your side. They're packed full of muscle and do a great job of trapping in heat, so the skinnier Bats have to settle for watching you. Jason and Bruce take great pleasure in draping a big arm around you, pinning you so close to their sides that you have to fold your arms to keep them from getting squeezed.

Bruce insists you sleep in his bed, since this is one of the few times he gets to fall asleep at the same time as you. Damian insists, on account of being the least efficient at maintaining heat (i.e. the smallest), he should join you two. Bruce relents with an amused smile. You fall asleep pulled almost fully across Bruce's chest with Damian wound tightly around you.

The whole situation would almost be reminiscent of a family enjoying the winter holidays, had it not been for the Bat’s palpable longing.

Normally, they're desperate to touch you, to hold onto some part of your person and bask in the closeness. But with their fingertips cold and a slight shake to their limbs—they're ravenous.

Their yearning mixes with the cold and spurs on their dark thoughts more than the heat ever has. They have to hold you or they'll die. They have to feel your warm breath fan their faces. They have to take your body heat and to give you theirs.

Physical intimacy seems so much more personal when they could die from the cold (never mind the fact that they're at a healthy temperature).

Fights break out faster as they get more clingy, and Bruce creates a rigid schedule. The Bats must follow the rotation by the second, no bartering time for favors, and no incapacitating others to extend your time.

The weak sun travels the sky and snow swallows houses whole. Almost two days in, the power cut and everyone was forced to move into the small living room. Using the back-up generators, they powered only a few important rooms in the house and set up space heaters in every corner. Blankets were nailed over windows and Damian and Tim had a mini bitch-session over the unusable internet connection.

Dick and Jason carried down mattresses, while Tim, Cass, and Steph found every blanket and pillow in the house. Damian and Bruce brought up laptops, monitors, and a radio for work. Alfred is forced into the recliner with an instant water heater and a teapot by his side. He hasn't complained once, but everyone knows the cold isn't kind to his joints.

Then there's you, sitting on a pile of blankets and pillows and wrapped in sweaters, throws, hats, and gloves. You almost threw a fit because you were warm enough, but Cass's darkened face silenced you immediately. She backed off when you settled into Steph's side, gloves and all.

The time passes slowly. On the third and worst day, the wind chill reached negative 50. The house rattled and creaked against the cold, and the Bats took turns nestled against you.

Dick flipped through his old high school year book and told you stories about the students, while Steph chimed in with made up-ones to add drama.

You and Damian played a game that involved finishing each other's drawings.

Tim pretended to be stuck on a video game level and let you help. Cass somehow procured a party horn that she honked to celebrate each victory.

Despite how hard Jason tried to avoid Bruce, they always finished their books at the same time and left to get more. They returned with arm-fulls of books and a frozen snack that they shared with you.

At the end of the week, when the sun finally began melting the snow and the were having an increasingly difficult time keeping Bruce from the cowl, they were all sick of each other.

It was slightly satisfying, considering you never caught a break from any of them and this was a taste of their own medicine. The Bats finally returned to duty after a spectacular meltdown from Dick after Bruce asserted his opinion one too many times.

You, however, remained locked in the living room nest for several more days because "it's still too cold for you to sleep alone" and "patrols will be very short until crime picks back up."

It was already safe to return to your room, but there was something so comforting about knowing precisely where you'd be at any given moment. And Bruce, settling into the couch after patrol to thaw his frozen limbs, melted at the sight of his kids all piled up together.

for more yandere batfam, visit my masterlist!

[bobbeshwar]

sorry i just wanted to hear you s(cream)!

☆ summary: ghostface is in town and it’s either fuck or flee… we all know what you chose…

★ warnings: ghostface!sukuna, fem-reader, reader is a serial killer fanatic, sort of same setting as scream 1(so early 2000s), smutt, dark themes, mask kink, chase play, weapon usage(knife), ghostface hates to see reader coming, a little bit of cuting, dirty talking, degradation, a little bit of voyeurism, sukuna is super mean(but like duh), oral, rough sex, dumbification, choking, spanking, suffocation, hair pulling, squirting. come eating/swallowing, etc.

☆ word count: 3.4k~

★ a/n: boomshakalaka yes gawwwwddd

also thank you to the loml @alainatranquility for the idea☺️

The grainy image of the masked killer flickering on your tiny television set should have frightened you. Should have had you double-locking your doors and crawling under your covers, praying to wake up safely. 

“We advise everyone to stay indoors...” The reporter's voice droned on, your gaze locked on that blurry photo. A ghastly white mask open in a scream, blood spattered on the knife clutched in the killer’s hand. You could feel your thighs clenching, breath hitching as you shuffled on your living room couch. 

This was a real life serial killer in your town. A murderer who killed people for sport. Not a person in a documentary or character in a scary movie. If he’d ever met you he would probably gut you like a fish and have no mercy doing it. 

You held your breath at the thought: those gloved hands, one roughly grasping your throat and the other driving his knife repeatedly into your side. Fuck, you were wet. 

You’d been following the masked killer for weeks. Waiting with bated breath for another news report to air out about his latest victim. Lamenting with your friends about the serial killer invading your town knowing you clutched your sheets and came nightly to the thought of him invading you.

You tried to find him multiple times, rushed to crime scenes in the wake of his murders hoping to catch a glimpse, get a glance at the man absolutely ruining the equilibrium of your small suburban town. 

But he was always gone without a trace. Nowhere to be found. The news gave updates on each new kill added to his list, but couldn’t figure out where he was, who he was. This ghost face—what the news began calling him—was like something out of a movie, a fantasy. 

And so you planned to do the next best thing: use yourself as bait. 

Ghostface killed mostly at night, so it was 1am when you found yourself trekking through the woods, awaiting your could-be killer. 

A distant howl had you gasping as you whipped your head towards the sound, the only source of light the full moon hanging distantly in the sky. Twigs snapped beneath your boot-covered feet as you shuffled through the seemingly endless forest, feeling a little stupid for standing in the woods, waiting for a serial killer to come find you. At this point, you’d instead be dead from an animal attack. 

But this is what attracted the killer, you thought. 

You tried to seem open, inviting, like you were some dumb girl, walking foolishly in the woods at night. Maybe you should have brought your ex, they’d put up a good front, and lord knows they were itching to see you again. You wouldn’t mind if Ghostface took them out. 

But no, this was better. There’d be no witnesses to your shame. No eyes as you lived out your darkest desire. 

You hear a twig snap behind you and you turn quickly towards the sound, heart thumping in your chest as your eyes roam across the patchy forest, silent despite the noises. You move ahead, your thighs slick and face hot as you hold your coat a little tighter, fear coursing through your body and setting it practically aflame. 

A rustle sounds and you jump, turning once again towards the source of the sound, just a bunny in the bushes. You heave a sigh of relief turning forwards to continue walking—

Your breath is stolen by the killer standing before you. How could he even be that quiet?? He was so…

Big. Enormous is the only way to describe him. Huge broad shoulders covered by black robes, so tall he could probably grab the highest branch of the nearest tree with ease. Towering over you, he seemed more monster than man. Or maybe that was the signature ghost mask covering his face and the gleaming knife in his big gloved hand. 

He was everything and more than what you imagined him to be. You crumpled to the ground as your legs give way and you try to look scared, to will away the smile threatening to consume your face and your eyes already clouding with lust. 

Ghostface approaches you, each step making your body tremble with need as he towers over you. You somehow twist your face into a terrified expression, taking in those big thighs straining the confines of his robes and the shadow cast over your face as he stares down at you and tilts his head. 

Fuck, you think you came. “P-Please don’t kill me.” You whisper, and Ghostface says nothing. Not surprising. 

But what is surprising is his gloved hand grabbing a tight hold of your hair and yanking you towards him. 

Pain flares in your scalp and you hold back a moan, but a whimper still escapes from your lips. Maybe you sounded pained(you probably didn’t). 

He leans down, masked covered face inches away from yours and you can’t even hear him breathing. His left hand clutching you like a rag doll by your hair and his right holding his knife. Which he brings to your neck, the sharp end nearly pressing into the skin just below your chin. 

You were practically trickling into the grass at this point. “Please, please…” you softly beg, and he pushes the blade into your skin, you let out a squeak from the contact, pain and pleasure dueling within you as you feel the blood dripping from your neck. But no, he couldn’t kill you just yet. 

You break free of his hold. Somehow. Darting off quickly away from him on your trembling legs. The cut he made in your skin wasn’t deep, you wouldn’t bleed out or anything. But if you hadn’t run the fun would have been over, he would have driven that knife into your neck and watched you choke to death on your own blood. 

And why did that thought make you more horny?? 

You stop to take a breath, propping yourself up against a nearby tree, chest heaving and skin sticky with sweat. You chuck off your jacket, goosebumps immediately rising on your flesh as you stand in nothing but a practically see through tank top and a pair of leggings. Perhaps he’d get a load of your tits transparent against the cheap fabric of your shirt, and want to brutally fuck you. 

The thought almost has you slipping your hand beneath your leggings and finishing against that tree. But you needed to keep running. You jog for a few more minutes, then break into a full blown run when you catch a glimpse of a shadow in the distance. 

You’re no athlete, so it only takes a few more minutes before you’re toppling to the ground, heaving in breaths. He’d find you for sure. 

Crunch, crunch, the sound of footsteps, walking calmly in your direction. You tried to stand, propping yourself up against the nearest tree but you were spent. It’d only been what, fifteen minutes and your legs weren’t fucking working. Shit. 

Still you manage to crawl, hoping to keep up the fun as long as you could. His footsteps are getting louder and louder, till your vision is obscured by the shadow of his massive body and he leans down to grab you and throw you into the nearest tree. 

You let out a groan from the pain blooming in your back, but the sensation is driving you mad with need. He was so rough with you, no regards for your life. Treating you like a mere object. 

His hand comes up to your throat before you can even think another sinful thought, and your thighs feel damp. You barely manage a whimper, his hand pinning you against the wall by your neck. 

He’s trying to kill you, you remind yourself. Maybe don’t think about how close his big body is to yours and how you can hear the sound of his breathing. You wondered what he looked like under the mask, if he was as elated as you were right now. 

You’re struggling to breathe, remember? Oh right, your eyes roll back as your breath is stolen from you and your face almost purples. If you weren’t currently suffering from asphyxiation, you’d realize your feet were well off the ground and you were being dangled against the tree. 

“Pl…ease,” you gasp, grabbing at his hand. But his hold was like fucking steel, “don’t…kill me..u..se me.” His grip loosens for the slightest second and you take advantage of it, breaking free and tumbling to the ground. You inhale mouthfuls of air as you grab at your bruised throat. 

The jig was up it seemed, so you did not hesitate as you latched onto him, pressing your face into his crotch and glancing up at him with as innocent of an expression as you could muster, “Please? I can be really good.” 

He immediately shoves you off, your back smacking once again into the tree. You groan again, guess he was immune to your charm.

“Fucking freak.” You almost miss it as you rub at your stinging lower back. But it’s unmissable, the sound of his voice. Deep, possibly made deeper by the confines of the mask and so fucking perfect. 

And he used it to call you a freak. 

You can’t take it anymore, you prop yourself up against the tree, slipping a hand into your leggings and rubbing yourself through your already soaked panties. Moaning loudly as you looked up at him. 

You stuffed three fingers into your sopping pussy, and he watched. Body language slightly open, as if considering if you were even worth the fuck. 

“Please, please fuck me. U-Use me.” You moaned, absolutely ruining your leggings. “You can kill me after, fuck—I need you.” Your body arched into your own touch, head falling back against the hard bark as you practically rode your fingers, thumbing at your clit and whining as your orgasm practically took you—

But you didn’t get the chance, because he was grabbing you by your hair once again, roughly bringing your face into the huge visible bulge hiding beneath his robes. You looked up at him and he down at you, before he gestured with the knife in his right hand for you to get to work.

You quickly pawed at his robes and excitedly undid his pants. Hands trembling as you set that monster free. Fuck, he was huge, bigger than anything you’d ever seen. Would this even fit in you?? Long, thick and covered in veins, there was a black tattooed band around the base that somehow made him hotter. You wondered where else he had tattoos.

Your eyes were practically heart shaped as you gave a few shallow licks to his flushed tip, shuddering at the addicting taste of his precome on your tongue. Each stripe of your tongue along his cock had you moaning, slipping your hand between your legs to rub at your clit as you took him into your mouth. 

His hand was still dusted in your hair and he was still looking down at you, watching you drool all over his cock. He applied pressure to his hold, forcefully shoving his length down your throat. You didn’t even have a moment to protest as your eyes rolled back and you struggled to breathe. He was fucking his cock into your drooling mouth like you were some sort of sex doll. Sliding in and out of your mouth like you were just another fleshlight.

You could feel your mouth swelling from the friction, hear the sounds of your gagging on his fat cock, feel the tears rolling down your cheek as you nearly suffocated, your hands digging into him as you simultaneously wished for the torture to end and wanted it to last forever. 

It did end, both thankfully and unthanfully as he emptied into your mouth, fucking a few more shallow thrusts into your face before he indelicately let you go. 

You coughed immediately, struggling to breath as his cum trickled from your lips. His hand didn’t leave you as he brought it down to your chin, keeping it closed. He was silent of course, but you could feel the threat radiating off of him as he looked down at you: he wanted you to swallow all of it, despite the fact that you were struggling to breathe. 

You gleefully obliged, feeling his warm his come sliding down your throat. He propped your mouth open with his gloved thumb and you stuck your tongue out, showing him you’d done as told. 

“Have I been good?” You pondered, with the ghost of a smirk, you brought your hand to your mouth swiping your finger across your bottom lip before sucking it into your mouth. 

And to your surprise he had a response, “You fucking slut.” Your pussy clenched almost immediately, a moan making its way past your lips. Once again, he grabbed you by your throat, dragging you off the ground and pinning you to the tree. 

He brought his knife to the front of your lose tank top, dragging it through the fabric till it tore and your chest was exposed. You could feel the cool of the blade against your inner thigh as he pushed your legs apart, tearing apart your leggings. 

With no warning—of course no warning—he stuffed his cock into you. You could barely choke out the words, “you’re too big!” around his hand on your throat, before he’d pushed himself all the way in with a slight grunt. 

The stretch was unbearable, even stuffing three fingers into your pussy prior was practically useless. Still, the pain of his fat cock digging in you set pleasure shooting through your body, had you tightening around him as you ground into him and he bottomed out inside you. 

“There’s always freaks like you.” You heard him grunt as he pulled you down on his cock, “fucking whores that want to be filled.” You managed a strangled moan as he thrusted into you. “Is that right?”  

You didn’t respond, not like you could when he was strangling you and giving you the best cock you’ve had at the same time.

 “I asked a fucking question.” You heard him say and felt his grip loosen. You could moan freely now as his cock bullied into that spot that had you gasping. 

“Yes! Yes, I’m a f-fucking whore!” You slurred, dizzy with the perfect mix of pleasure and pain. 

“Oh shut up, slut.” He pulled his cock out of you, letting you fall to the ground like you were no more than an object. 

You couldn’t even be surprised, too cock drunk to do anything more than paw at him on your knees, “Please, I’ll be a good whore for you, I’ll let you fill me up—”

He chuckled, a low perfect sound. This time you couldn’t hide the whimper that resounded at the back of your throat in response. “Let me?” His gloved hands fisted his cock in a way that couldn’t have been comfortable, but he still spurted ropes of come that landed directly onto your face and chest. He pulled you towards him, shoving his fingers into your mouth so hard you nearly gag, “I’m gonna do whatever I fucking want to you, because you’re my kill. Mine to use before I end your useless life.” 

“Yes, yes, ’m sorry—” you gargled around his lips.

“Did I say you can fucking talk?” You quickly and frantically shook your head. “Get up and turn around.” 

You obliged quickly, standing on your shaky feet, nude as you could really feel the cold night air against your naked skin, goosebumps pebbled your trembling flesh, your chest heaving and nipples hard. You turned around, facing bark, shivering through the cold of the night as you awaited his orders. 

His hands grasped your ass and you gasped, “This is what you wanted, huh?” His fingers made their way through the holes in your leggings before effortlessly ripping them and your panties off. “Some sick fantasy that your whorish mind conjured up.” His hand was around your neck again, pushing your face into the tree until you couldn’t speak, then prying your legs apart to stuff his cock into you again. 

The different angle forced a moan from your throat, fuck, you could feel him practically in your stomach. If you pressed your lower stomach you felt there would be a bulge there, an imprint of his cock buried into you with no care for how deep it could actually go.  

 “Fuck, I hate freaks like you.” He grunted into your ear, hand tightening around your neck, as you weakly whimpered, “Everywhere I turn I run into worthless sluts like you.” 

If you weren’t struggling to breath and getting fucked like an animal you would have gave a snide response. Of course he had women trailing after him, you weren’t the only freak out there with a mask kink. It was a little annoying that your pussy wasn’t the only one he used and abused. 

But fuck, you couldn’t think about that now, his fingers found its way back into your mouth again as he fucked you, your eyes rolling back and lips sucking sloppily at them. There was this delicious sound of skin clashing as his hips roughly met yours each time he pushed his dick inside you and you wondered if there was anyone watching, if someone found themselves in the woods and could see you getting used like a slut by the town killer. 

“So fucking tight.” He ground out, “It’s a shame. I should keep you as my fucktoy, just come in all your holes whenever I need it.” You moaned louder at the suggestion, pressing back against his thrusts, “but killing you will be so much more pleasant.” 

“Mmn-ffuck, y-yes, yes, please use me.” You couldn’t help the words leaving your lips as your skin scraped against the bark, sensitive nipples stimulated with each thrust and his fingers still in your mouth, pulling you apart. 

“Oh shut it.” He punctuates his words with a slap on your ass and you nearly bite his fingers. 

“Sorry, s-sorry, ‘m sorry.” You fight a smile around his fingers as he lays another slap at your ass. “So good, so goodd.” You slur and another follows it, your ass stinging. “‘M sorry—I c-can’t.” You absolutely can. 

“You’re doing it on purpose aren’t you?” He grabs your stinging cheek and squeezes, “There’s nothing you’re not into is there, you fucking slut?” 

You can’t answer because you’re about to come, your thighs quiver, pussy clenching around his cock as you fuck yourself back on it, rutting into it again and again until you come on him with a barely there whine. He follows you soon after, emptying his balls into you until the warm cum spills out of you and drips down your thighs. 

He slips his hand between them, gloved fingers pushing the come back inside as you whine from the overstimulation. “Keep it inside, you wanted it, right? Now it’s gonna be the last thing you fucking feel.” 

He’s left you once again, and you’re on the ground, naked and spent. Stuffed full of come and trembling. 

You never heard him drop the knife, nor did you hear him pick it up. But it was in his grasp as he loomed over you, mask still on his face, still setting your pussy aflame. 

 “P-Please, not yet!” You begged, latching yourself to his thigh as you rutted yourself against him. He scoffed as he watched you, your plump lips wobbly, eyes wet and pleading up at him cloudy with lust. “I can do it again, stuff me full, please.” You begged, grinding your soaked pussy against his leg until you came, squirting your juices all over him and the ground below.  

“What a fucking animal.” He scoffed, kneeling down to you, “It almost makes me feel bad for wanting to kill you.” He murmured, fingers almost delicately clutching your sweat and come soaked face, thumbing at your numb lips. At this point you were practically seeing two. 

“Maybe I’ll keep you.”, he cocked his head, before reaching for his face and pulling off his mask. You’re so delirious you can barely acknowledge it, can barely take it the handsome edges of his face, the tattoos perfectly scrawled across his skin and his red eyes staring almost endearingly down at you. There’s a slight smirk on his pink lips and you’re blinking into unconsciousness before hearing his last words. 

“You’re my kill after all.”

[bonezone44]

Tender This (21+)

Uncle!Jack Whiskey x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have a bad dream and ask to sleep with your Uncle Jack.

Word Count: 2064

tags: dub-con/non-con somno. thigh grinding. coming in pants. Reader is the aggressor ! nicknames for Reader: baby, angel, niece.

+++

By the time you opened your eyes, the nightmare was gone from your mind. The foreboding visuals that caused you to feel cornered and terrorized were erased. Unfortunately, though, your body and heart were slower to rid you of the experience. You didn’t think twice before hopping out of bed and heading down to your Uncle Jack’s room. You didn’t care that all you wore were your cotton pajamas.

You could hear the drone of the TV from the hallway, lights flashing from the crack of his door. Knowing he was still awake was a relief, but it wasn’t enough for you to go back to bed by yourself. You rapped your knuckle on his door. He cleared his throat before answering.

“Come in!” he called.

You tip-toed barefoot inside with your shoulders high in your ears. Jack sat up in bed when he saw you–worry evident on his brow. He wore a white t-shirt and thin wire-framed glasses. He grabbed the clicker and turned down the volume on the TV.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked.

“I had a bad dream,” you pouted. 

He sat motionless with his mouth open–his heart nearly beating outside of his chest.

You wrung your hands together. “Can I come sleep with you?”

A few more stunned, heavy breaths before he answered. “I–well, angel–I mean–” he released awkward chuckles between his stuttering. “I-I don’t think you’d have a lot of fun in here with me–” he pointed across at the TV. “--I’m just watching a-a-a documentary on uh… saddles of the old vaqueros from back in the day.” He cleared his throat again and smoothed the thick quilt in his lap.

You glanced to your right at the TV that sat atop his dresser. On screen was an older gentleman in a white sombrero who was smiling and showcasing leather embossing. It took more effort than you’d like to admit to not roll your eyes–because of course Uncle Jack would be watching something like that in the middle of the night. You remained undeterred.

“Please, Uncle Jack?” You attempted the most pathetic look you could muster. “That dream messed me up. I really don’t wanna sleep alone.”

It was almost visceral the way his heart broke for you–brows all curled into his forehead and his eyes growing big and misty. “O-okay, angel,” he croaked, looking you up and down. “If it’s that important to ya.”

“Mm-hmm,” you nodded and scurried forth. You drew back the quilt, distinctly avoiding the look of nervous dread in his eyes as you climbed into the bed with him. Before he could think to put a pillow between the two of you, you scooted as close as you could and wrapped your arm across his middle. 

He choked on his breath and placed his hand on your arm. “A-angel, I don’t know–” 

“Please, Uncle Jack? It was a really bad dream,” you pleaded with your chin on his chest. 

Another yank of his tender heartstrings. His glittery eyes bounced between yours as he tried to find the words–but none came out of his pouting lips. He looked away and wiped his mouth with his hand. “O-okay, baby, just uh… just for tonight, I guess. But–” he cleared his throat a third time. “--but let’s try to-to-to watch the program, okay?” He locked his eyes on the TV. He twitched and tensed his jaw and neck. His lips were close enough that you could smell whiskey on his breath. You wondered what he tasted like this late at night. 

You tugged him closer and pressed as much of your body into his as you could–from your cheek on his chest, to the front of your torso against his side, down to your leg lining up with his. His breathing stuttered, but you ignored it. Instead, you listened to his rapid beating heart. You melted into his strong, steady heat and the scent of his skin. You watched the TV for a while like he asked, and it was actually pretty interesting to see an expert artisan craft a saddle seat out of leather. But really, the most interesting part came when the artisan had to measure and cut the leather pieces for the horn because that’s when Uncle Jack placed his arm around you–his large hand finding respite on your shoulder. You instantly released a small whimper and squeezed his middle.

“It’s alright, angel,” he cooed–his thumb caressing your bare skin. “You’re safe, now. Just keep on watchin the TV.”

“Thank you, Uncle Jack,” you murmured–daring to press a quick kiss to his chest before resting your head again.

“O-of course,” he coughed and squirmed, but his hand stayed steady on your shoulder.

You grew weary as the night went on. Your eyes drifting shut. But you could never quite fall back asleep–not with your body this close to your Uncle Jack. Wetness pooled between your legs. Your body burned so badly for him you were aching. You didn't know what to do. You were afraid of scaring him off, but you were patient. You could be patient for a man like Uncle Jack.

Once the credits started rolling, Jack turned off the TV. You felt him shift beneath you, but you refused to budge. “A-angel?,” he whispered. He tapped you lightly on the shoulder. He was trying to wake you up… without waking you up. “I–... shit,” He murmured. He clicked off the lamp on his bedside table–a soothing darkness blanketing the room. He tried to situate himself a little further down the bed and you did let him move–but only a little. You were determined to stay on him. So much so that once he had settled into a comfortable position, you faked a sleepy moan and wrapped your leg on top of his. 

You could hear him suck air through his teeth–but he didn't push you off or away. In fact, his arm moved from your shoulder down to your waist, rubbing the exposed skin between the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your bottoms. It felt like he was igniting you with his fingers, like each one was a matchstick. You wanted more, but you had to be coy about it. 

“Angel?” He tried again and you refused to respond. 

You counted your long, slow breaths, counted the heartbeats you felt in your pussy. You needed to give him time. Let him think it was all happenstance. You waited for as long as you could possibly stand. Then, you shifted again, another sleepy groan and stretch until you were half on top of him–your crotch on his thigh, your leg between his. His hardness poked against you.

“ssshit,” he whispered to himself. The hand that was once on your waist found its way to your shoulder. You couldn't see in the dark, but you knew his mouth was open. You knew he was stumbling over what to do. But he didn't push you away like he should have–like he would have if he truly didn't want you there.

It made you crave him–burning up and down your skin. It made you hungry to know that he desired you–that he wanted you so much that it made him all twisted up inside. That you had the power to falter the boundaries of a man so formidable. The roll of your hips was instinctual–your body so desperate to relieve itself from the ache, but the taste made you voracious. 

You rolled again and a whimper forced itself from your lips. You tried to muffle it by nuzzling into his chest. 

Jack didn't move. He still didn't push you away. He was gonna let you do it, wasn't he? Let himself pretend you were doing this all in your sleep. 

You pressed your swollen clit against his thigh and pushed upward from your knees, curling your toes, and grinding against him. It felt glorious, but you had to take it slow. No matter how much you really wanted to yank his pants down and ride him like the cowboy he was. 

And every little brush of your leg against his hard cock made him twitch and hiss. Again and again you thrusted yourself–rolling your entire body against his while he held himself back. He was braced and taking it. 

—---------

Jack felt drunk. Inebriated. Boozed up. Three sheets to the wind. And it was all because of you.  Your desire for him made him dizzy. The way you tucked your chin and looked at him with the sweetest, most docile eyes. Your sugary pouting lips. It felt too good to have you so close and snuggling up to him. He loved knowing that he could protect you and that you wanted him to protect you. It comforted him that you sought him for comfort. That you trusted him enough to surrender yourself and all your worries upon his shoulders. How could he ever deny you? How could he ever say no to your tender affection?

He knew it was wrong. It didn’t matter that you weren’t blood. It was the principle! He knew his feelings for you were unrefined and not very Kingsman-like, but … you had this way of hypnotizing him–captivating every nerve and synapse in his whole got-dang body. All it took was one wayward look from you and Hoo! Buddy ! he wanted to ravish you in an open prairie, by a campfire, underneath the shining eye of the moon. He wanted to buck up into you from underneath, let you ride him like a stud bull til he filled your belly full of his seed. He wanted to lathe and lick your breasts with his tongue–suck hickeys into your thighs in the shape of the letter J. He wanted to stuff your mouth full of his cock so he could make love to your sweet, darling face.

But …

As it has been mentioned before…

These feelings were unrefined and not very Kingsman-like. 

Jack saw himself as a gentleman. And gentlemen uncles do not bed their nieces.

Yet there you were, grinding against him, moaning and murmuring in your sleep. He knew he should wake you up. He knew he should have made you go back to your own bed. He knew he should have done anything other than what he had done, but… he didn’t. 

He stayed as still as he could. His body twitching and stuttering every time you brushed his cock. He tried to angle his hips a bit to cause more friction and it worked for a little while–but then you started chasing your high. He could feel it deep down in his gut how much your hazy mind hungered for release. He didn’t know what you were dreaming about that would cause you to react in such a way. You were twisting your hips around and moaning, arms wrapped around his middle and your face resting flat on his chest. 

“Uncle Jack…” you cried and Jack’s fist flew to this mouth to bite back his groan. “Please…” you begged as you rode his thigh with deep languid strokes. 

Jack didn’t want to whip his dick out and make a big ol’ mess all over the blankets and sheets and you. But he was feeling pretty goddamn desperate for some relief. He did his best to avoid touching you–lest he wake you up, you poor thing. You were so close! And shit, he was, too! So he reached his hand down and gave his cock a gentle squeeze through the fabric of his sleep pants. Something to ease the ache until he could extricate himself from you and disappear into the bathroom for a few shameful moments. One squeeze wasn’t enough, though. Especially once you started whimpering and shaking and meeting the end of your delightful, filthy dream. He couldn’t wait any longer. Gentlemanly duties be damned! He gave himself a few quick tugs through his pajamas, squeezing the head of his cock in his big, thick hand. He huffed and puffed before grunting hard through gritted teeth, cursing as quietly as he could while come spurted from his cock and smeared into his sleep clothes. ‘Oh, angel.’ He thought, feeling the fabric of his pants cling to him. ‘You’re gonna be the death of your ol’ Uncle Jack.’

After cleaning himself up and changing, he came back to bed and put a pillow between the two of you. Instead of what he wanted to do, which was spoon you, press his cock between your thighs and grind against your slick. But he couldn't. What he had done was shameful enough as it was. He had to stop. He had to put an end to it all. Not that anything had really happened, ...had it?

He took a deep breath and started listing different types of saddles in his head before eventually falling asleep.

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@xdaddysprincessxx -- I thought this might be a fun one for ya. 😘😘😘

[ageofevermore]

OH, LORD SAVE ME

SUMMARY — after a night out with the girls, wanda gets possessive after learning maria couldn’t keep her hands to herself. oh, lord save me my drug is my baby i’ll get using for the rest of my life.

WARNINGS — nsfw minors dni, alcohol consumption, marijuana and cocaine usage, smoking a blunt, biting, face slapping, ass slapping, strap-on usage, vibrator usage, blowjob, brief nipple play, scratching, fingering, doggy/missionary, degradation, mommy kink, orgasm control, overstimulation, multiple orgasm, dom/sub dynamics, brat shenanigans

A floral aroma hits your nose the second you enter the bedroom. The rest of the house holds the scent of weed, and the scattered lighters in the living room tell you enough. The lights are low, and a nature documentary is paused on the television screen across from the bed, but no trace of your girlfriend is visible from the doorway. Remnants of white powder cling to the oak furniture you recently bought, and her credit card lies beside the evidence of a chased high. Wanda D. Maximoff is stamped into the card, already an obvious give away as to who the perpetrator is. The room spins as you walk deeper into it, and clumsily your body collides with the bedpost.

The fan is running in the bathroom, and the faintest tinge of yellow peeks out from beneath the door, shining into the room like slivers of sunlight hitting a prism. The shower isn’t running, and neither is the sink, either of the two an indicator that she’s ready to call it a night. It’s approaching two am now, and the sunlight that filled the bedroom before has turned to inky midnight. The spontaneous night out with some girlfriends from work has left you giggly, artificial cherry on your lips as your tongue swipes across them. You don’t bother knocking as you enter the bathroom, though the seconds you spend fumbling with the doorknob are enough warning that you’re coming in, not that she’d mind either way.

The sight of her, sprawled out on the floor, brown hair scattered about and bloodshot eyes staring at the ceiling gives you a pause for a second before you burst into giggles that shake the gold chains holding your dress up. The skimpy black number was one of Wanda’s personal favorites, but your girlfriend hadn’t been home when you left to comment on it. If she had been, your neck wouldn’t be as clear as it is now, only soft, healing hickeys remain from nights prior, not too bad for your usually bruised up appearance. Wanda startles at your added sound, but her eyes never peel away from their concentrated dedication to the fan on the ceiling. There’s an abandoned bowl laying next to her, and your customized red lighter is left on the countertop next to a bottle of water. Having to hear her whine about how dry her mouth is when she’s high is a nuisance, so you’ve begun to leave bottles of water in her favorite smoking spots, and clearly, it did you some good.

“Baby!” Your voice drags, slightly slurred together and raised in pitch as you tumble to the floor to lay beside her. Hating when your hair ends up in your face, you’d been proactive for a change, and had decided to braid it for your night out, and as you fall to the ground, it whacks Wanda in the face, but you don’t notice, too absorbed in trying to see what she’s so interested in. “I missed you!” When the fan no longer interests you, because why would it, you roll on top of her effectively elbowing her in the chest, and it’s enough of a commotion to finally break her concentration. The second her eyes are on you, a darkness blooms in the typically evergreen centers. Her huff of surprise for the air being knocked out of her lungs is only a half second long, before she's scanning your smudged makeup and biting down on her bottom lip that's in desperate need of some chapstick. “You smoked without me!”

“You weren’t home.” The accented edge to her words sends warmth spiraling down your bones. The alcohol having already flushed your cheeks and tickled your belly only amplified the desire that burned in your bones, igniting a flame so hot you were sure tomorrow wouldn’t see the light of day. “You look hot.” Her hands leave where they had been lying flat on the tile floor, grabbing your ass in rough handfuls that make you giggle.

“Mmm, wore your favorite dress. Maria got a little handsy. I think it’s a fan favorite.” You taunted her, dancing your lips across hers before pulling away to look at her face fully. Cocaine is still clinging to her porcelain skin, dusted between her nose in what looks like an attempt to wipe it away. Whatever makeup she’d been wearing before was gone, only a faint stain of black below her eyes that indicated she’d been rubbing her eyes before she took her mascara off. You shouldn't be so bothered by the state of her, but the combination of her wandering hands and hungry eyes was pulling you apart piece by piece.

Wanda growled at the mention of your mutual friend who was known for her wandering hands and sultry commentary, though it didn’t bring Wanda any amusement to hear about her interest in the dress. Not when she wasn’t around to remind Maria that you were hers. Your attention drops to Wanda's exposed neck, and your teeth find a home sinking into the soft flesh. Hints of her perfume twist with the scent of cocaine and marijuana, and it's entirely intoxicating. “Maria needs to learn to keep her hands to herself.”

“And what if she doesn’t?” Mischief swims in your eyes, and you sink your teeth into a particularly sensitive spot on Wanda’s neck, just beneath her ear. Her breath hitched, her hands grabbing at the fabric of your dress around your hips. Her entire body shudders, and for a moment, she freezes entirely to just enjoy the sensation that travels through her previously numb limbs.

Your tongue soothed the bite, dancing circles around the marks you’d left. Wanda’s eyes fluttered shut, bunching your dress up around your hips in favor of twisting the ridge of your lace panties between her delicate fingers. “Do I need to remind you who you belong to?”

“Why don’t you remind me?” You nipped her neck a final time before pulling away to watch her process your words, which were more like a silent invitation for her to have her way with your body.

Wanda shoved you off of her messily, a growl crawling from the depth of her throat as she watched you smirk like you’d been caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “Get in the bedroom.”

“What? Don’t want to fuck me on the bathroom floor? Again.” Your breath tickled her wet skin, a cold shill crawling up her spine that she very narrowly avoided reacting to. “I’m sure Maria would.”

“Go.” Her tone left no room for arguments this time, and you scrambled to comply, although clumsily with your still strapped heels and spinning vision. Giggles spilled from between your lips when you rammed into the doorframe, completely absorbed in completing Wanda’s direction and not noticing how she spent a few extra minutes fumbling for something in the bathroom.

Your body sank into the soft bed, black sheets blending into the tiny dress you squeezed yourself into. The skin tight material still bunched around your hips in messy folds, exposing the front of your lacy black thong that left little to the imagination. Suddenly aware of how desperate you were without Wanda’s neck as a distraction, one hand slid between your legs while the other fumbled to grab your breasts through the thin material. Your panties were soaked through, sticking to your folds uncomfortably. Your thighs spread without any invitation, and you pulled them aside desperate for attention where you most needed it.

Eyes fluttering shut at the first stroke against your engorged clit, you didn’t hear Wanda shutting the cabinets and turning off the bathroom lights, only feeling her presence when a hand grabbed around your neck and startled you enough that your antsy fingers stilled between your legs.

“Did I tell you to touch yourself?” She growled, leaning over you with a dominating presence. Your head shook side to side quickly, your pussy abandoned. You ached for something more, but words failed you as you stared back at her. Something landed beside your head, but before you could look to see what it was Wanda was demanding more from you. “Use your words, you had no problem doing that before.”

“N-No.” You spluttered, fighting to keep your eyes open the longer she held your neck. Her fingers tightened, and it was then you realized she was still wearing her rings, the metal digging into your skin harshly.

“No, who?” The words pulled the breath out of your lungs, and you’re sure you looked like a fish out of water scrambling to find the right words to answer her. “Huh? Don’t make me wait. No, who.”

“N-No, Mommy.” You managed, gasping for breath when her hand finally left your neck, and it was only then you realized she had dug out your red strap, and her hand was holding the base tightly.

“Stupid slut.” She scoffed, moving backward so she was standing farther from the end of the bed. “Since you had so much to say before, I figured we’d put that mouth to use. Get on your knees.”

You dropped to your knees so fast you were sure they’d be bruised by the morning, but the only thing you could think about was how badly you wanted to feel her in your mouth. Bracing your hands on her thighs, you waited for her to instruct you to begin, knowing you were already playing a dangerous game. A smirk crept onto her lips at your clear impatience, and she was no stranger to making you wait. Spitting on her hand, she brought it down to the silicone cock, spreading it around teasingly. You whined, silently begging her to stop her torture and let you have a taste.

“What's wrong? See something you like?” Your girlfriend taunted, throwing her head back as she stroked the silicone cock, your favorite of the collection you’ve acquired since getting together a few years ago.

“Please.” You begged with hooded eyes, wanting to be the one that was turning her on and giving her pleasure.

“Please what?” Wanda cooed, voice dripping with lust as she watched you writhe in front of her, desperate for anything she wanted to give you. “Do you want to suck my cock? Feel it against your tongue? Let me fuck your mouth? Is that it?”

You nodded, tears pooling in your eyes the longer she made you wait. Your thighs pinched together, looking to relieve the aching in where you needed her most. She didn’t say anything about your actions, and for that you were grateful, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy you and she knew that. “Please. Please let me suck your cock, Mommy.”

“Get on with it then.” You wasted no time, one hand holding onto the base of the strap while the other stayed in place on her thigh. Her salvia has slickened the silicone, making it easier for you to take more of it quickly. She was heavy against your tongue, and for a second, you just enjoyed the feeling, before you began working the length with your hand and your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and letting the bulbous head ram into the back of your throat, desperate to please.

Wanda’s hand fell onto your head, a guttural moan leaving her lips watching you take her length. The strap wasn’t small by any means, one of your bigger ones, and yet you devoured her. Your eyes watered when she began to thrust at first shallowly, but losing her reserve the longer she watched you endure it. You gagged when she forced your nose to her pelvis, the cock practically down your throat, but she didn’t pull away, forcing you to feel her and remember who owned your throat. She pulled away with a pop, ready to absolutely obliterate your pussy.

“Strip. Panties and heels stay on.” You scrambled to comply, rising to your feet with shaky movements, not only from the anticipation of finally getting what you want, but the alcohol that was still coursing through your system. “Hands and knees. Ass up.”

Your dress ended up in a puddle on the floor to be dealt with later, and the bed sank with your weight as you got into position, impatiently pushing your hips backward to meet the scarlet strap. A slap left your ass cheek tingling, your body jolting forward in shock.

“Patience.” Wanda demanded thickly, sokovian accent twisting her words into something dangerous. Your entire body shuddered in anticipation, keeping your eyes forward knowing how much she likes it. You jumped when her fingers found your panties, tracing the lace design before slipping lower. Wanda groaned at how wet you are, thighs glistening with your arousal and panties clinging to your folds. She pulls them to the side, fingers toying with your lips and narrowly avoiding your clit each time she makes a pass around your pussy. “What got you this wet, moya lyubov'? Hmmm?”

With shaky breath, your head dropped onto the comforter, fists balling up the cotton material, “Y-You, Mommy. You did. You got me this wet.”

Her fingers pressed against your weeping entrance but never farther, pushing you farther and farther toward the edge of desperation, and from experience, you knew it was a steep fall. She wanted you at you breaking point, she wanted you to remember who owned you the next time you decided to fuck around. “Not Maria? But I thought you liked her touching what's mine?”

Brattiness tempted you to fuck with her, but your desperation to be touched was winning the fight, and you bit back your sarcastic answer in favor of finally feeling her and being given some relief. “N-no. I like when you touch me. I’m yours.” You gasped when she slipped two fingers inside of you, giving you a second to adjust before she began to scissor your sopping pussy. Every ridge of your pussy fit her fingers like a glove, and Wanda yearned to hear your whimpers as you sought out pleasure at her control.

“You gonna let Maria get handsy with you again when I’m not around?” Her fingers were set at a brutal pace, but still she avoided your aching clit that was begging for attention. Your hips stuttered, your eyes pinched shut so impossibly tight you thought you were seeing starts. When her fingers caressed the sweet spot inside of you, all thoughts vanished from your mind as you whined for more and less at the same time. “Are you. Going to. Let her. Get handsy. With you. Again?” Wanda repeated, annunciating each word with a harsh stroke against your g-stop.

“N-no! No I’m n-not! Please. Please!” You needed more. You needed her cock in your pussy, pounding you into the bed, or her fingers on your clit, you needed something more than just her brutal pace going in and out of your cunt knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to cum from just that.

“Please what, moya lyubov'?” She taunted, stilling her fingers all together but not pulling them out, just leaving you full enough to want more.

“Fuck me already!” You sobbed, turning your head to meet her eye, watching how she enjoyed breaking you down for her to play with.

“Are my fingers not enough for this slutty pussy? You need more? Desperate whore wants to get fucked?” She teased, pulling her fingers away from you completely and watching strings of wetness bead between her knuckles as she plays with your slick. She moans when she tastes you, fingers running your wetness across her tongue. “Get on your back.”

You watch as she walks away, pulling out a pre-rolled blunt and a lighter she stole from Natasha the last time the redhead was over. The black design stood out in the otherwise near darkness, the gold snake that wrapped around your favorite design in the stolen collection you both kept adding too. Wanda lit up, grimacing at the first hit that burnt the back of her throat. She blew the smoke out in a near perfect o shape, taking another drag before she came back to you. She passed off the blunt, climbing over top of you when you accepted it and took a drag. The grungy taste of smoke filled your mouth, adding to the heaviness in your limbs almost instantly.

“You ready?” She asked, positioning the bulbous head of the dildo with your entrance. You nodded, taking another drag before offering it to her. Her lips wrapped around it angelically, a stark contrast to how filthy the both of you were being. Wanda wasted no time, burying the dick in your pussy in one thrust, and setting a brutal pace as she fucked you.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, the blunt burning a hole in the comforter as ash fell off. You gasped at her brutal pace, reaching to set the blunt in the ashtray on your bedside table, immediately bringing your newly free hands to her back, digging your nails into her bare skin. Her tits bounced with each thrust, hanging over you with an invitation to pinch her perfectly pink nipples. Wanda's hands squeezed at your hips, gliding down your body until they reached your thighs. Pulling your legs further apart, the head of her cock rammed into your cervix, shooting white ropes of pleasure through every nerve in your body. Your back arched off the back, nipples pointed to the sky as you searched for more. The pebbled buds taunted your girlfriend, who leaned down hungrily and took one between her teeth, pulling at the sensitive flesh that was a one way shot to your clit.

“Please Wands, touch my clit.” You begged, tears welling in your eyes as pleasure built. Wanda's pace was brutal, and you were impossibly full, but she had still yet to touch your clit and every nerve in your body was burning with need.

“Hand me the vibrator.” She grit out through clenched teeth, leaving your nipples in favor of pointing to the scarlet vibrator she’d thrown on the bed before. Your hand fumbled to grab it, limbs shaking not only from the power of her thrusts but from desire. “God, I love this pussy.”

Wanda switched the vibrator to its second highest setting, settling it right on your sensitive nub. A sharp whine left your lips, back arching and hands searching for her skin. Your nails dragged marks down her back, your orgasm approaching quickly as she worked your over sensitive body.

“O-Oh, o-oh! Right there, r-right there!” You gasped, digging your nails into her hips, hips writhing to meet her thrusts and fall over the edge that was just out of reach. A hand slapped your cheek before moving onto pinch your nipples, your body alight with so many sensations you didn’t know how to react. “I-Im gonna cum! Mommy! O-oh I'm so close! I'm so close!”

Wanda slapped you again, shaking her head with pinched shut eyes, “Hold it.”

“I can’t!” You moaned, head thrown back and neck perfectly exposed for her to grab. Her fingers wrapped around your soft skin, squeezing in all the places that made you melt and worked you up simultaneously. Your head felt so heavy, your limbs each weighing a couple hundred pounds as they dropped onto the sheets and grabbed handfuls. “Wanda! Wanda I’m gonna cum! Im gonna cum!”

Minutes passed without a response from your partner, and the coil in your belly was desperately close to snapping with or without her permission, but before you could warn her, she was speaking, “Cum for me. Cum for me, slut.”

You came with a screech, but Wanda’s thrusts didn’t stop, they only seemed to amplify as she worked you through your climax and fought for her own, switching the vibrator to the highest setting despite the tears already falling from your eyes. “It’s too much. W-Wands it too much!”

Your body was alight will the combination of marijuana and alcohol, and your second orgasm was being pried from your body with a force that could break bones. Your teeth bit into your bottom lip so hard you could taste the metallic tell of blood, but the pleasure was so intense you didn’t care. “C-cum with me! Cum with me, dorogoy. Fuck. F-fuck.” The both of you exploded with a scream, Wanda dropping the vibrator somewhere on the bed and falling on top of you, heaving to catch her breath. The clock on your wall said it was after five am, and the drugs mixed with general exhaustion was pulling on her muscles.

“I love you.” She gasped, pressing soft kisses into your skin and wiggling until her feet weren’t dangling off the edge of the bed anymore. Her thighs were sticky from her orgasm, but neither of you cared to clean yourselves up. You kick your heels off, and Wanda undid the strap, throwing both objects somewhere in the room to clean and put away later.

Shimming out of your soaked panties, you grimace as the cold wetness brushed against your sensitive clit. “I love you too.”

A beat of silence fills the space, and you think she’s fallen sleep before she speaks again, “Did Maria really grab your ass?”

A giggle rustles your chests, and you shake your head while brushing your fingers through her tangled and sweaty hair. “She was too preoccupied with Nat to spare me a second glance.”

“You could’ve just asked to be fucked.” Wanda laughed.

“This was more fun.”

[delusional-fantasising]

I Do Love You (Soldier Boy x GN reader)

Summary: Reader tells him 'I love you' and he gets overwhelmed and shuts off.

Warnings: Soldier Boy kinda being an asshole/biggot, angst no happy ending, trauma, sexual undertone at one moment, slight misogyny, self hatred and emotional shut off

Word Count: 1176 words

The night was young, Soldier Boy had agreed dating you during his time with your team, The Boys. But one thing was obvious, under his brave and dominant bravado he was scared of loving ever again. He didn’t want another betrayal, another heart break, it just wouldn’t let him sleep to the idea of ever loving again. He was terrified of the thought that you, the one person he had slowly began to trust without any benefits could love him.

Every woman’s words rang out in his ears whenever you smiled at him;

“They don’t and they never have. The woman are either humouring you or they’re scared of you. But none of them like you.”

“I didn’t love you, I hated you. We all did.”

Soldier Boy was sitting near you with an arms reach of you, sure there was a part that did somewhat loved you but another part of him was sabotaging himself, ‘They don’t love you. They are afraid of you.’

He wasn’t looking in your direction, he was watching a documentary with you about all the years he missed. It was hard for him to watch to learn everything that changed and forced to change so fast. He had slowly gotten used to the race change not that he had too big of an issue, sorta. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around the gender roles, he found it absurd that men were no longer expected too much to have an income but more rather be expected to be emotionally available, talk things out when things get hard, respect boundaries, and empathy.

“Phht back in my day I never had to do that, women where at home and I would give them pleasure and necessities,” He scoffed as he listened to the feminist rallies that happened. You almost choked on your drink when he mentioned the whole pleasure thing, it was no joke and there was rumours from past lovers of his that his only green flag was that he was the one to go for pleasure.

“Soldier Boy, you can’t be saying that!” You laughed with very much flushed cheeks, he rolled his eyes at you telling him what to do. He wasn’t a big fan of being bossed around, he had to be in control not someone else. But then you say something that made him freeze, his hands gripping the couch arm till his knuckles went white.

“You are so lucky I love you enough to let that slide for now but you seriously got to get with the times. Women don’t want just pleasure, they want emotional connection.”

I love you…

Love.

Soldier Boy just looks away without responding to what you said initially, he was focusing on what his therapist says whenever he feels like he’s going to have a PTSD episode. (The boys forced him to go)

Breath in for four seconds

Hold it in for four seconds

Exhale for four seconds

Hold it in for four seconds

Repeat

Once he felt himself mostly calmed down he just gave a rude snarky response, his tone sarcastic, “Love. That’s a pretty big word, isn’t it? Especially for someone who barely knows me.”

“What? C’mon we have been dating for a month, you have told me some deep stuff. I just want to express some of my love for you,” You chuckled sounding confused at his sarcastic outburst but not taking it to heart since you knew that he sometimes does this to cope. You didn’t know you hit a trigger since the only one you knew about was nothing Russian around him especially the song ‘Escape’ as it triggered one of his worst episodes of exploding. Soldier Boy snapped at you and laughs with a mocking gesture as he waves his hand, “Oh so I opened up a few times and now you know me. This is crap and everyone now and days just throw that around with no meaning. I’m not some person who you can google and get all the real information about me, you don’t know anything about me besides what I want you to know.”

The bitter tone, the sharp cold glare as you could tell he was closing himself off emotionally off from you again. Trying to get distance to avoid a pain you never wish to bestow him.

“Benjamin, I want to know you then. I can’t do this if you just shut me out, I want you to feel safe around me. I really do love you,” You begin, bringing his real legal name to show how serious this conversation was. To show honesty to him and not some fake love that he has gotten in the past by a certain woman.

“Save it, I heard it all well too many times before, ‘I love you, Benjamin.’ Then follows is a knife to my back after you kick me down,” Soldier Boy spat the look of hurt in his eyes and his lip quivered slightly as he wasn’t ready for hearing someone say that to him ever again. “Benjamin I’m not Crimson Countess, I’m not going to hurt you like she did.”

“You can’t promise anything, no one can. Love is just a word, a filthy fucking lie people tell themselves to make them feel better. It doesn’t and will never mean anything to me!” He spat getting up from the couch to pace angrily not looking you in the eye anymore. His eyes getting watery at the thought of going back in the box.

The box

THAT FUCKING BOX

“That’s not true. Love means everything to me and Ben I mean it when I say I love you. Every little imperfection, even when you can being a raging asshole and slightly biggoted you have been changing for the better and I’m proud of you for it.”

Proud, he stopped in his tracks. His trembling hands at his sides turning into fists. He felt his walls of defense cracking at how much he wanted to believe your words but he just ended up muttering, “I used to believe that but love’s just a precursor to disappointment, it’s something to avoid the harsh reality of the real world… I don’t want to lead you on to disappointment”

He was avoiding being vulnerable but it was hard keeping everything bottled up. A tear was slowly building up threatening to spill, his muscles tensing up. Maybe a joke or another witty comment to brush off the stupid feelings. The feelings that made him weak.

“Ben, you won’t disappoint me.”

“Shut up. Just shut up,” Soldier Boy grumbled trying not to set off any alarms with you since he wasn’t facing you, he didn’t want you to see him cry, see him weak.

He isn’t in control

His feelings were going rampant.

You got up, sensing those tears practically going up to him softly cupping his face to make him face you. There was so much emotional turmoil brewing underneath the cold hard wall he placed up. He was scared.

Scared of you.