#absolutely hammered and sloshed

[totaleebookedout]

take a shot everytime vis describes another man as ‘handsome’ or ‘burly’

[turcott3]

wrapped around your finger

luca fantilli x fem! reader (ft. umich hockey team and gfs!!)

warnings?: cursing, alcohol, unprotected sex (p in v, public sex, spanking, choking (not really but kinda?), hair pulling, happy ending🥳

masterlist

-

“are yall ready yet?” rutger yells from the foyer.

“yes one second.” you yell back, deciding against the extra setting spray. it wasn’t hot outside, it’s not like you were going to sweat it off.

“we gotta go, i want a good view.” luca says grabbing his keys out of the bowl and heading outside. you opted to ride with luca since the group had to split but you always found yourself gravitating to him. the two of you had never spent time alone together but you always had a slight attachment to him, better described as a little bitty crush.

“have you looked at the set list yet?” he asked you, who got lucky and sat shotgun. the group was going to see post malone, and everyone was excited to go and get sloshed.

“i haven’t, i’ll check now.” you simply state opening spotify and reading it out to him.

“fuck this is gonna be so good.” he says, excitement lining his tone.

“does this venue id?” tyler asks from the backseat.

“no.” you answer quickly.

“may i ask how you know this?” luca giggles.

“i’ve been before, got absolutely hammered.” you say, reminiscing the last concert you attended.

“sweet, tj you’re off the hook,” he says patting the ginger on the back.

“thank god. they would’ve thought i was a fucking alcoholic buying all of those drinks.” he says, relief practically oozing out of him. you pulled into the venue closely behind your friends in the other car.

“everyone got their shit?” rutger asks and everyone replies ‘yes’ before shutting his trunk and locking the car. you made your way inside the venue, quickly finding a place to sit with a decent view of the stage. you loved that this tour was all outdoor shows considering the temperature in michigan in the summer was perfect. you laid your towel out and sat down, luca sitting his towel right next to yours.

“you’re gonna be my designated concert buddy?” you ask laughing at the position he sat in.

“sure am, we never really spend any time together so i figured this was a perfect opportunity.” he smiles and you giggle in response, keeping your cheeks from turning too red.

“drinks for the lot of ya!” jacob yells in a tacky british accent, approaching the group with tj, multiple beers and seltzers for everyone in hand.

“a seltzer for you of course.” luca says, handing you one of the drinks he grabbed.

“you just know my drinking habits so well don’t you.”

“we’ve been to parties together and how many times have i held your hair while you threw up?”

“it was twice luca.”

“and? i still did it.” he says and you roll your eyes, a smile spreading in your cheeks. it didn’t take too long for the openers to begin their set. you had never heard of them so you talked through it. you spoke with a couple of the guys and their girlfriends, luca talking to adam on the phone, sipping his beer. you couldn’t help but notice that he chose to sit with you, but you didn’t want to overanalyze. you drank and drank some more, without even realizing it. you were already somewhat drunk by the time the openers were finished, which wasn’t your intention.

“hey y/n.” luca asks nudging you.

“huh?”

“are you already drunk?”

“yep sure am, you?”

“a little buzz, nothing too crazy yet.”

“i am fully prepared to be absolutely fucked tonight.“ you reply, his expression becoming more difficult to read.

-

when post malone’s set finally began, you cracked a tall boy open, shot gunning it as well as you could. when you sucked the can dry you threw it on the ground out of breath, almost instantly feeling more drunk than before.

“luca.” you said, your words dragging out in a slur.

“what is it?” he asks, shoving his phone back in his pocket, his eyes reading drunk. you step closer to the boy, wrapping your arm around his back, singing whatever song was playing. you felt him do the same, his hand resting just above your ass on your hip.

the two of you sang together loudly and obnoxiously.

“can i try that?” you ask about the beer he held.

“yeah here.” he says, watching you intensely as you took a large sip.

“that is disgusting.” you reply, wiping your face with your hand as he chuckles. you leaned your head on his shoulder as you listened to the loud music. once the song ended you looked at yourself in the snapchat camera, makeup still in place just as you hoped. you couldn’t tell if the alcohol was clouding your judgment but you were feeling things. all the touching and flirting that had gone on over the last hour had your mind spinning.

“fuck i need a bathroom. luca come with me, i don’t wanna get kidnapped.” you say with a glimmer in your eye. a smirk grows on the boys face.

“okay, hey guys i’m taking her to the bathroom.” he yells at the group before you drag him off by his wrist.

“what’s got you in a hurry, we’ll still be able to hear it.” he giggles, jogging after you. you find a single stall, family restroom unoccupied. you open the door and pull the brunette inside with you.

“ive been wanting to get you alone all night.” you admit.

“i can’t say i haven’t felt the same way.” he replies, slurring his words. you two were both plastered but you know what they say about drunk words. in an instant, the boy pushes you by your biceps against the cold cinderblock wall, attaching your lips hastily and sloppily. your hands find their way into his hair, gripping at the strands as he swipes his tongue over your lip begging for entry. you swear hours pass by before he backs away.

“you look so fucking sexy tonight y/n.” he smirks as you two find your way to the sink.

“fuck you make me so horny.” you mutter, squeezing your thighs together as he picks you up and places you on the counter. your short skirt gave him easy access to your throbbing core, running fingers over your soaked panties and sucking them clean.

“god you taste so good.” he smirks, reconnecting your lips again, giving you a taste for yourself. he pulls away with hazy eyes, squatting down quickly and pulling your panties to the side.

“oh my fucking god.” you yell at the contact. his tongue twisted your already swollen bud in circles, sucking and rubbing it in a rhythmic fashion.

“fuck.” you say, gripping onto the boys hair as you finished, quicker than you could’ve imagined. he stands back up, his face soaked in your cum.

“you’re fucking incredible.” he says and you grab him by his shirt, which you unbuttoned hastily after you aggressively reattached your lips. he helped you finish the job as he pulled away, unbuttoning his denim shorts and pulling his throbbing cock out as quickly as he could. you stared at his tip as it leaked with precum and the pure size of him. he rubbed himself harder with a few strokes before looking back up at you.

“fuck me luca. please.” you beg and he instantly caves, pushing himself into you, his hands pressed against the mirror as he pushed into you for the first time. you moaned at the sensation. his tip hit the sweet spot buried deep inside you without even trying.

“god.” you moan out and he grunts. he thrusts into you deep and hard as he pounds into you at a decent speed. your moans snapping a high pitch after the first few thrusts. the music was quickly drowned out by the sounds of your yelps in a bathroom with poor acoustics.

“such a good girl taking me like this.” he smirks at you.

“you feel so good, god lu.” you say, your fingers gripping the hair on the back of his head.

“do you think anyone can hear me?” you ask.

“i fucking hope so.” he smirks, sloppily landing his lips back on yours as he stretches you out with every thrust.

“get down and bend over for me pretty girl.” he simply requests and you do so, resting your stomach on the edge of the counter. he pushes your skirt up further.

“look at that ass, god damn.” he says spanking you once before placing a gentle hand on your, now bright red, ass cheek pushing himself back into you. he grabs onto your hips pulling you onto him as he thrusts. your eyes roll into the back of your head with overstimulation, your sweaty hand slapping onto the mirror for better stability. he pounds into you at an unforgiving speed, wanting to get a good climax out of it. he wraps his hand around your hair, pulling you up flush against his chest as he continues his quick thrusts into you, turning you from moaning to practically yelling. gently he wrapped a hand around your throat as you looked in the mirror at the two of you. your mascara now smeared around your eyes, his cheeks red and forehead dotted with beads of sweat from the steamed bathroom.

“look at you, taking me so fucking good huh?” he asks, making eye contact with you in the mirror. he bucks into you sharply, a yelp leaving your mouth in an instant. carefully, he picks you back up, placing you on the counter. you could tell by the speed that he was getting closer, but the fact of the matter was that you were even closer. he pushes back into you easily sliding back in, a sensation you could never get used to. the way he hit your sweet spot was almost more intoxicating than all the alcohol you drank that lead you to this moment.

“fuck luca, i’m gonna come.” you moan, your nails digging harshly into his back, your speech broken up by his spastic and deep thrusts. moments later, you feel your body relax as a knot came undone in your abdomen. he fucked you right through your high into his own climax. spilling his seed deep inside you. he pressed his forehead to your chest as the two of you sat, gasping for air for a few moments. he runs his fingers through the salty mix of your climaxes between your legs attempting to somewhat clean you up, his drunk mind not thinking about the toilet paper that sat on the back of the toilet 2 feet away from you. you grab his hand and suck his fingers clean, surprising him and showing him that you swallowed every drop of the nasty mixture.

“fucking god y/n you’re gorgeous, let me help you down.” he says, tucking himself back in his pants, lending his hands for you to hop off the counter. you pull your panties back over your sensitive core, and tug your skirt down.

“lu, can you help me fix my makeup.” you whine, referring to the black streaks that formed around your eyes.

“yes baby, hold still.” he says, your heart fluttering at the pet name. he licks he thumb, gently wiping away the mess from around your eyes.

“how does that look?” he asks as you turn around.

“good enough.” you giggle turning back around.

“luca your hair. i’m sorry.” you giggle as he smiles, wrapping his strong arms around you.

“i don’t care about my hair.” he says as you press your cheek to the warm skin of his chest.

“we should go back.” you say patting him on the chest.

“yeah they’re probably getting suspicious by now.” he giggles, taking your hand and unlocking the door, seeing a long line outside the bathroom. the two of you chuckle as you jog past the impatient people in line, back to your spot on the lawn.

“you missed like 6 songs, where the fuck were you gu- oh.” rutger started before getting a good look at you two.

“what?” you ask.

“oh nothing.” he giggles, whispering to his girlfriend who he stood next to.

“girl where did you go?” franks girlfriend asks, tugging you away from luca’s side.

“i had to uh-“ you start and then turn around to see luca dapping up his teammates, clearly spilling what had gone on in the bathroom, “we fucked.”

“in the bathroom?” jacob’s girlfriend says interrupting.

“yeah we did.” you smirk.

“well was it at least good?” frank’s girlfriend asks.

“oh my god yes. his dick is so big, i don’t think i would wanna fuck anyone else like ever again.” you giggle with them, your drunkness seeping back into your vocabulary.

“you guys would be cute, i see the vision.” she says stepping back and looking at both of you.

“i think we would be too, not to be vain or anything.” you joke.

“go for it babe, luca doesn’t fuck just to fuck. or at least that’s what jacob’s told me. he fucks to date.” she says nudging you on the arm.

“honestly i probably will go for it, let’s see how this goes, hey lu?” you call out, catching his attention instantly. he walks over, hugging you to his side.

“what’s up?” he asks, his thumb grazing over the fabric of your skirt.

“maybe you guys are right.” you laugh and he appears confused. the two of you enjoy the rest of the concert, hugging onto each other and singing your hearts out for the final few songs.

-

“everyone’s asleep.” luca giggles as you pulled back into the driveway.

“awe look at them so cute.” you reply.

“are you gonna regret what we did tonight?” he asks, his voice in a whisper.

“not in the slightest.” you say placing a hand on his cheek and connecting your lips softly for a moment.

“you have no idea how badly i wanted to hear you say that.” he smiles as you pull away slightly.

“i can’t let anyone else have that dick or that hair. or just that boy in general.” you say locking eyes with him. instead of replying he reconnects your lips once again, the kiss lingering for a what seems like an eternity. an eternity that you hoped would never come to an end.

“we should wake them up.” you whisper on his lips.

“yeah probably.” he smiles, pecking your lips one last time before waking everyone up to come inside.

-

[bapple117]

Velvette Slang Masterlist: for the fandom

A gift from a humble Brit to anyone (not from the UK) wanting to write Velv convincingly ~

Hello you wayward sinner!

Are you looking to write Velvette into a fan fiction, comic, roleplay or something else? Would you like to make her sound legit but you have no idea about British (or indeed, South London) slang? FEAR NOT! I, Bapple, am here to hold your hand and guide you through the wonderful world of British slang so you can have fun making Velv sound legit. Let's proceed!

Not all of this will be limited to the UK, of course, and it's not an exhaustive list of ALL British slang either - it's just the kind of things Velv WOULD say as someone from South London.

Insults

For men: bastard, prick, wanker, knob, dickhead, wankstain, bellend, git, tosser, sod, cock, pillock, numpty, codger (means old man)

For women: bint, bitch, slag, wench, slut, tart, trollop, scrub

For anyone: arsehole, arse, twat, sket, muppet, minger (means ugly), bugger, gobshite, cretin

The absolute worst thing you can call someone else is cunt - this is very strong and isn't used in casual conversation, unless you are in VERY informal company, in which case it's thrown around like it's nothing at all. (Come here you cheeky cunt - playful)

Terms of Endearment

Babes, hun, luv, darlin', sweetheart, mate, sweetie, mucker, pal, blud, fam, dear, dearie, honey

Eg: "Alright babes? How's it going darlin?'"

British people often use insults affectionately, too, especially with close friends as a way to tease / banter. (You silly sod, you useless prick, you cheeky git, you daft muppet, etc)

Slang Words

Drunk: trollied, smashed, pissed, wasted, legless, hammered, sloshed, battered, bladdered, merry, shitfaced, arseholed, plastered, lashed

Good: banging, well good, mint, the dogs bollocks, ace, blinding, cracking, brill, fab, neat, beast, fresh, hench, jokes (that's jokes innit), lush, peng (good looking), sick, wicked, peak, wavy

Bad: grim, naff, shite, shit, crap, tat (useless old tat), minging, rank, dry, nasty, humming (means gross)

Pleased: chuffed, buzzing, tickled pink, sorted (I'm sorted mate)

Annoyed: gutted, miffed, pissed off, fucked off, fuming, raging, ticked off, well annoyed, bovvered (used more sarcastically eg: I aint bovvered), vexed

Curses

Bollocks, fucking hell, bloody hell, bugger, piss off, any of the insults used above

Other random words

Bare = a lot of (eg bare money)

Chirpsing, grafting = flirting

Garms = clothes

Lips = kiss (are you tryna lips me?)

Peng ting = good looking person / high quality thing

Standard = of course, yeah no duh (Yeah that's standard mate.)

Tight = cheapskate (Don't be so bloody tight!)

Yard = your house (Come over to my yard)

Banter = conversation that's funny, casual, playful (S'just banter innit)

Convo, chinwag, chat = conversation

Defo = short for definite (Oh he's defo up to something)

Other random phrases

Are you taking the mick? = are you mocking me?

Stop faffing around = be serious and stop messing about

That's mad = wow, I can't believe what you just said or that's amazing

Allow it = just leave it, it's no big deal (Whatever mate, allow it)

Other helpful pointers

When British people (who talk like Velv) swear angrily we do so many times in a whole sentence and add a lot of qualifiers, eg:

"Fuck off you fucking prick, you absolute fucking useless arsehole!"

"Don't piss me off babes or I'll fucking end your shitty little life!"

Making a crude observation about something nearly always a curse in-front of it, eg:

"That's fucking rank."

"It was fucking buzzing mate!"

The Magical Use of Innit:

Innit is a wonderful word that can be used everywhere, especially for someone from South London. It basically means "isn't it?" but it has MANY uses. It can be used to mean an agreement, like "I know right?"

"That was well good innit"

"He's a right twat" - response: "INNIT!"

"It's fuckin grim in here" - "Innit mate"

Adding "well" to words

That was well good - that was well bad - that was well grim

(You get the idea)

That's about it for now!

If I think of anything else I will edit this masterlist and if anyone has any questions please feel free to pop them in my inbox. Happy writing!

[vecnuthy]

Steddie first kiss scenario

Accident: mistaken identity due to Steve being absolutely hammered | wc 893 |

Two hours into a Harrington house party, Eddie was getting near the end of his inventory and his social battery. The cup of punch-colored alcohol he'd been nursing had kept him nice and fuzzy for a while, but with the end in sight, he dumped the rest down the kitchen sink, tossed the cup in the trash, then turned, opting to walk out the back yard rather than navigate through the packed house.

But his progress was stopped in an empty hall by the man of the house himself, Steve Harrington.

A very drunk Steve Harrington, at that, considering the extra droop of his pretty eyes, lazy smile, overly loose movements, and the way he crashed into Eddie, pinning him against a small table, slurring loudly, "Nance! There'y'are."

He looked and smelled absolutely sloshed as he swayed further into Eddie's space.

"Steve, wha-"

"Been loogin for y' everywhere."

Before Eddie could even do anything, Steve's hands were buried in his curls and pulling him in until their lips met and - wow, that was definitely Steve Harrington's rum-soaked tongue in his mouth, making his stomach swoop, the heat from Steve's flushed face igniting a fire that tore across Eddie's skin, burning faster with every movement of Steve's lips. Lips that were soft, unlike the fingers curling, pulling Eddie's roots enough to make Eddie's hips press into Steve's, make him want to moa-

"You taste different. Like smoke and.....and peaches, hv'you been smoking?!" He frowned and shook his head. "S'not good for you."

He paused in thought as Eddie's heart hammered in his chest, mouth and scalp tingling from Steve's onslaught. His brain refused to make sense of anything happening. Were he not half propped up by the table against the wall and Steve's hold, Eddie would probably be on the floor.

"Wanna smoke now, achlly," Steve said as he put enough space between them to pat at his pockets before realizing with a laugh, "Oh wai', you've got 'em!"

He started patting at the pockets of a very shell-shocked Eddie as he continued to ramble, "And peashes. Where'd you ge' peashes? Y'llergic to the fuzz. You 'idn't eat that, d'you?"

Steve patted a little too far over the front of his jeans, making Eddie, honestly on the verge of blacking out, yelp. Steve giggled out, "Ticklish," then added, "You're taller," before pouting, "Ugh, your pockets 'r so full. When d'you put jeans on?" Steve let out a frustrated whine before huffing, "God, I can't find'em, just - "

Steve paused then smiled like he remembered the secret of life, and muttered, "You've got the smoke."

And just like that, Eddie's face was smooshed between Steve's hands, breath barely ghosting over Eddie's lips before he breathed Eddie in, eyes closed, probably imagining nicotine flooding his system.

Eddie would make a run for it if he were able to move, but he couldn't will his body to do anything but buzz from shock yet sing for Steve's touch.

Steve opened his eyes, and he took a long, glazed-over look at Eddie's face, settling on his lips.

"You kind of look different. Your lips....they're bigger." His eyes closed slowly then grew comically large. "D'you eat the fuzz, Nance?!" Steve panicked, then looked Eddie in the eyes again, and took a shuddering breath. "Your eyes, though, they....th' look, look kinda brown like -" Steve's face softened "- like his."

"Steve?"

To Eddie's immense horror, a very confused Barbara Holland had appeared behind Steve.

"Barrrb! Hey, guess what? Nance's been smoking!" he giggled.

"What?" Barb's eyes flicked back and forth between a very panicked, frozen Eddie.

"She tastes like smoke! Nancy Wheeler, smoking!" He cackled gleefully, but made it known that he was proud of her by turning back to Eddie and slurring, "You're so cool, 's like it's Halloween. Dressed up like Munson? Y' look so cool, baby." And he swooped in and kissed Eddie one more time.

"Okay, Steve!" Barb shrieked and pulled him away. "Let's get you some water!" She shot Eddie a wide-eyed questioning look and steered a stumbling Steve toward the kitchen.

"He's so wasted, he thought I was Nancy!" Eddie rushed out quietly, which made Barb snort.

Eddie's face burned, numb to everything except where Steve had touched him. Which was kind of everywhere, actually, so he felt on fire. "And it happened before I could even- I didn't know what to d-"

"Eddie!" She cut off his rambling, then sighed. "Don't worry, you're fine. You're fine. Understand?" She was waiting for a response.

Eddie, head still swimming, nodded cautiously.

"Good," she said, letting some of her tension melt away, which Eddie tried to copy. "Doubt he'll remember any of it, anyway. I know I don't want to."

Eddie winced at that.

"No, it's not you, it's just-" she huffed then shook her head. "Don't worry about it. Drive safe, Eddie."

And just like that, she was gone.

Eddie followed suit with Steve's voice echoing in his head, an overlapping manic cacophony of

"Your lips....they're bigger."

"Your eyes, though, they....th' look, look kinda brown like...like his."

"Dressed up like Munson? Y' look so cool, baby."

Two kisses because Steve thought Eddie was his girl.

And her best friend had seen the second.

Actual fucking kisses because Steve thought he was his.

Thought Eddie was his.

Said he tasted like smoke and peaches.

Eddie drove home in a daze.

[mistydeyes]

smth abt your recent 141 post gave me a thought.

somebody need to get these boys into a club, flashing lights, music and dancing, fun drinks and flashy y2k reader who’s lowkey an absolute party animal?? or an ex party animal, teehee anyways,,

imagine how fun it’d be dragging johnny onto the dance floor, drunkenly screaming that “this is my FAVORITE song!!”

i just see fics of them at bars and i just need to see them up in a club😫😫

thank you so much for requesting! i LOVE drunken club energy so much (something about going to a club and drinking a weak rum and coke on a thirsty thursday really does it for me). this totally fit the vibe of a previous request so please enjoy a little cameo of the best 2000s aesthetic character, Storm!

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summary: The 141 decides to allow you to pick the place for some drinks while on leave. You take the opportunity to get absolutely hammered and sing your heart out to some 2000s hits.

pairing: Taskforce 141 x reader (codename: Storm)

warnings: swearing

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

"I thought they said we were going for drinks," Gaz shouted to Ghost over the loud 2000s dance music that blared on the dance floor. Gaz had found his way back to Price and Ghost after you had dragged him to the beats of Low by Flo Rida. After the chorus, you and your low-rise jeans and Harley Davis tiny top had disappeared with Soap in hand. He figured you would emerge eventually as he took a large gulp of his beer that appeared to be hot pink underneath the neon lights. "I am never letting Storm pick again," Ghost said and Gaz strained to hear him. But by the look of how drunk he was getting over the sugary drinks, it was clear Ghost was trying to make the most out of the experience.

"Here they come," Price yelled, almost as if he was delivering a warning, as you emerged from the crowd. Sweat coated your face and perfectly complicated the loose glitter from your makeup and the mingling crowd. Soap followed close behind, somehow losing his shirt after the three-minute song. "What happened out there?" Simon couldn't help but ask as you and Soap chugged the remainder of your dirty shirleys. "Met some Scousers," Soap breathlessly answered, "shirt went with 'em." The group laughed loudly as Soap fanned his sweating torso. "How'd you find this place, Storm?" Gaz asked, leaning forward closer to the group. "Went here a lot in sixth form and the summer before enlisting," you answered. You remembered the long nights and the hoarse voices you left with. You also remembered the paracetamol and glass of water affectionately left on your bedside table.

You continued to exchange wild stories about your drunken adventures including the time you threw up in someone's designer Juicy Couture bag. "And you still party like a teenager," Price couldn't help but tease as you threw your head back in laughter. "Don't see you complaining about all the compliments you've been getting, Captain," you quipped back. Almost on schedule, a young woman passed by the Captain and sent an air kiss his way with her glossed lips. You held your drink in the air and shared a toast with the group as you celebrated the woman's flirtations. Before Price could respond back, you could hear the beginning of your favorite early 2000s hits.

You jumped up, sloshing the drinks on the small metallic table. "Oh my god," you screamed, "this is my favorite song!" Unfortunately for Price and Soap, they were the nearest to you and your hands immediately began tugging them to the dance floor. Your sneakers squeaked against the floor as Soap relented but Price remained firmly in place. "I'm too old for this," Price said as he shook his head in dismay. "Whatever," you rolled your eyes, letting him fall back onto the plush couch, "but the next time there's a Britney song, I better see your boonie hat on the floor."

[cuubism]

A heist for a crown for a king? 🤔👑

yes. dream deserves a crown. dream insists he doesn't need a crown, everybody knows he is king. also he has his helm. hob says how many times i gotta tell you it's not about NEEDING it. it's about how fucking sexy you'll look. that's the priority. also you deserve it. dream is still flummoxed.

may i propose a DREAM heist for a DREAM crown.

--

Hob was... definitely going to get in trouble for this.

"We're definitely going to get in trouble for this," said Matthew, perched on his shoulder. He tittered nervously. And Matthew was one of the most ride-or-die people-- birds?-- Hob had ever met, so this was not a good sign. "Like. Getting my wings cut off trouble."

"He's not going to cut your fucking wings off, Jesus Christ," said Hob. He crept through the dreamspace, keeping to the shadows so as to try to avoid alerting the dream itself to their presence. "Drawing and quartering is a lot more entertaining."

"HOB. What the fuck." Matthew's claws dug into his skin like he really did mean to separate Hob's arm from his shoulder.

Hob shrugged. "Didn't live through 'ye olde medieval times,' as you put it, for nothing."

"I didn't call it that."

"Yeah, you did. That's what I get for agreeing to watch A Knight's Tale, I suppose."

Matthew squawked. "It's a good movie!"

"It was a good movie right up until it managed to convince you that "We Will Rock You" was actually sung at jousts," said Hob.

"In my defense--" started Matthew, then clacked his beak shut. "Nah, actually, I don't have a defense for that. I must have been totally sloshed."

Hob snorted. "Oh, you were."

"Well, who decided it was a good idea to feed Bailey's to a raven?"

"There was no point at which I thought it was a good decision," said Hob. He couldn't help his grin. "I just don't mind making a bad one."

"And here I thought we were friends."

Hob slipped through a doorway, ducking around the next corner. The dream castle was significantly more winding than a real one. It was slow going.

He started humming to himself, an incongruously jaunty old execution ballad. "His quarters stand not all together, But ye mai hap to ring them thether..."

"I'm begging you to stop," said Matthew. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a serious problem?"

Hob laughed. "Many times."

A small group of people -- figments of the dreamscape -- strode around the corner. Hob ducked into a tiny alcove, one which hadn't been there before he'd thought of needing it. He was gradually getting better at manipulating the Dreaming.

And his heart was hammering. Dream theft or not, it was thrilling.

"Never thought I'd be part of fucking Inception," grumbled Matthew, peering to see if it was all clear.

Hob crept back out into the hall and up a spiral staircase. "This is way more fun than Inception."

"And way more dangerous."

"You loved the last outing!"

"Yeah, that one didn't involve sneaking around in my boss's subconscious."

Hob rolled his eyes. "It's not Dream's subconscious." Finally at the center of the absolute maze that was the castle, he spied his prize, and slipped right through the bulletproof glass to get at it. On a stand at the center of the room sat the most gorgeous tiara, a winding thing of diamond leaves and ruby berries. He grinned. "It's the Princess's."

He swiped the thing from its stand, leaving a weight in its place for the pressured alarm he was sure still existed even in a dream.

"Dream is the Dreaming, dude. We're gonna get caught."

"Well, that's why you're here, isn't it? It's normal for you to be in dreams, it's not for me. You're my cover. You'll make it way less likely for Dream to--"

And they were yanked from the dream.

"Drawn and quartered!" Matthew squeaked, and then they were standing in the throne room.

Dream was, of course, standing a few steps up on the grand staircase, glaring at them. Glaring at Hob, really. Matthew squawked again in fright, puffing up his feathers. Hob just grinned back at Dream.

"When I gave you free run of the Dreaming," Dream started, some of the menace Hob had heard him use with rogue nightmares on display, "this was not what I meant."

Hob wasn't afraid of Dream, though. Never had been. "Don't take it out on Matthew," he said. "Wasn't his idea."

Dream's stormy gaze flickered over to Matthew. "Matthew, you are dismissed. I will deal with you later."

Matthew didn't need to be told twice. He winged away out of the throne room, calling back, "Good luck with getting drawn and quartered, Hob!"

Dream raised an eyebrow. He still looked dreadfully unamused. "Drawn and quartered?"

"We've watched too many medieval movies," Hob explained.

"Ah." His gaze found the tiara clasped in Hob's hand. "What, exactly, is that?"

He obviously knew. It was made of dream stuff, after all. Still, Hob knelt and held it out to him. "For my liege."

Dream strode down the few steps separating them, fluid as water streaming over a fall, his long cloak trailing behind him. Majestic creature. Majestic king. Did he really expect Hob to be at all normal about it?

Dream plucked the tiara from Hob's hands. He tilted it back and forth. The light through the stained glass illuminated it in every color imaginable and cast refracted rainbows on his face. "You stole it from a dream."

Hob flashed him a crooked grin. "Guilty."

Dream tipped his head up with one fingertip under his chin, until Hob's neck was craned back and he was meeting his gaze. "That," he drawled, his eyes flashing dark, "is very disrespectful."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes." Dream didn't release Hob's chin; if anything, he leaned closer so Hob had to look up even further. "Did you think you would not be caught? Creeping around in my halls?"

"We'll, I'm very good," Hob said. This was hardly the first thing he'd stolen for Dream, though it was the first one he'd attempted in the Dreaming.

"Or perhaps," continued Dream, and the darkness in his eyes looked hungry, now, though no less dangerous. "Perhaps, you wanted to be caught."

Hob winked at him, cheeks heating. "Well. I may be good, but I could hardly expect you not to feel it when it's your skirts I was rustling under."

"Is that what you were doing?" Dream swept his thumb along Hob's lip, dipping into his mouth. "Fiending for punishment?"

"Just trying to please my lord. Are you pleased, my love?"

"That is not quite the word I would use, dearest one." A sharp smile was creeping its way onto his lips, eyes burning with a dark warmth, like smoldering coals.

He placed the tiara on Hob's head.

Shadows dripped from it, falling over Hob's shoulders and back. Dream's hands lingered at Hob's temples, stroking his hair back behind his ears.

"Devoted one." His voice rumbled pleasantly through Hob's body, and Hob shivered. "Mischievous one. What am I to do with you?"

"Only whatever you want," said Hob, leaning into his touch. "As usual."

"Hmm. I think..."

Shadows fell around the throne room, dropped from the ceiling like banners and speckled like blackened stars. Hob knew those shadows, knew the way they were meant to intimidate though they did nothing but make him want more, make him hungrier, make him want to hold Dream close in every meaning of the word.

And he knew that bright darkness in his lover's eyes, too. The sky during an eclipse.

Dream drew him back to his feet. Hob stumbled in so they were a breath apart.

"Whatever prize you were seeking when you embarked on this foolhardy task?" Dream hummed, just before pulling Hob in to meet his lips. "I think you should claim it."

[planetharrie]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Partied a Lil’ Too Hard

Available to read on my Wattpad @PlanetHarrie

In which Harry’s possibility of holding his liquor is tested to the limits and he leaves a thoughtful gift for his fiancée the following morning.. 🍾🧺😷

Warnings: Mentions of vomiting

(not quite sure why I put Niall as character when Harry’s not famous, oops!🫣)

⭐️

"Alright big guy," Niall wheezed as an unstable Harry began drooping from his drunken grip, "lean on me—that's it, buddy."

They were both drunk; Harry more on the plastered side. Tonight was Niall’s birthday celebration and he'd been drinking like it was his 21st birthday party and not Niall's. The said birthday-boy was holding up Harry's entire body weight on his right side as they stumbled down m the plastered-man’ lamppost-lighten street.

"Here we are, H." The ex-blonde pushed Harry into his front garden when they arrived at his and Lucille's house and had him lean against the frame of the front door. Before knocking, Niall fished his phone out from his pocket; it was about to hit 2 A.M on the dot and he winced. The likelihood of Lucille being awake at this hour was far from high.

Despite his doubt, Niall rapped two of his knuckles on the oak and stepped back while biting his lip. He scanned the house for any lights or sign of life inside and breathed a sigh of relief when the hallway light beamed through the glass of the front door. Rustling of keys was heard on the other side.

Niall's drunk eyes wandered over to Harry who's body was slumped and looked like it was about to kneel over. His chest hitched with a drunk hiccup.

"Mate, brush your teeth when you get in; for Lucille's sake if not yours." Niall grimaced at the putrid stench of booze practically radiating off of his friend.

"Shu'thefuckup. ." Was what Harry slurred back and swallowed warily afterwards with a hand placed on his sloshing stomach.

Lucille eventually opened the door, revealing herself wrapped up in her short, silk dressing gown. Her hair was falling out of its plait and she was squinting with tired and confused eyes under the warm hallway light.

"Hey, Luce." Niall started. He eyed Harry's fiancé carefully as he helped Harry stand straighter. "Sorry for waking you; he's absolutely hammered."

"I. . . can see that. . ." She stepped back and allowed Niall to nudge Harry inside. "Did he forget it was your birthday party and not his?"

"Ello, m'lovie." Harry slurred. Lucille could only attempt a smile but it turned into more of a grimace as she stared up and down her fiancé; he was shirtless, sweaty and his jeans were low and showing his boxers.

"Niall, where's his top?"

She was passed Harry's t-shirt which was clearly congealed with a portion of last night's dinner and drinks down its front. She sighed and draped it over the stair banister.

"Well, thanks for bringing him back. Guess I'm on babysitting duty for tonight." Lucille folded her arms.

"Well, he's your fiancé!" Niall sarcastically saluted as he backed out of the house. Lucille shoved his chest and pushed her front door shut, leaving her and Harry alone.

Now that Niall had left, she unwrapped her dressing gown and draped it across the banister on top of Harry's soiled shirt. She was left in a see-through white tank top that was bunched up around her waist from sleep and a pair of plain black panties. Harry cheekily cupped one of her boobs and smirked.

"Y'look so pretty, Baby. . ." Harry pulled her into his chest and kissed her hair. He'd always been a real cuddly person when he'd get drunk.

Lucille rubbed his bare back with a dry laugh but quickly froze and grimaced when he suppressed a drunk burp into her hair. Her eyes widened and she pulled back, staring up at Harry, who only looked back at her innocently.

"Gross, H!" She chuckled and pulled away, "it's bed time for you.”

"M'not tired, Luce!" He whined, "jus' wanna kiss you all over, Baby. . . m’pretty girl. . .”

Lucille gently took his hands from her chest, "No chance, Mister. Sleep; now."

Harry eventually trudged up the wooden hill and stripped his jeans off and climbed into bed. He'd actually fallen twice while trying to actually clamber onto the mattress but finally got settled with Lucille's help. She too climbed in and tried tucking him under the duvet,

"No, 's too hot." He pouted and rolled over onto his side, his back facing Lucille.

"Too hot for a cuddle?"

Harry's ears seemed to perk up and he rolled back over and spooned his fiancé. She giggled softly and stroked his cheek.

"Did y'have fun tonight?" Lucille whispered softly, breathing in his cologne and alcohol-mixed scent. The answer she received was a soft snore. Her face was gobsmacked and she rolled over with a joking scoff, squirming into Harry's big spoon and drifted off to sleep.

⭐️

When Harry woke up later the same morning, he was met with a face full of sunshine barging in through the window. He groaned and squinted while shakily covering his eyes with his hands.

Lucille was already awake and sat up against the headboard on her laptop when her hungover fiancé aroused from his post-drunk slumber. She set the computer aside and stroked Harry's bed-hair out of his face.

"Hey. . . how're you feeling?" Her voice cooed quietly. The reply she got was another grumble and her fingers pinched her reading glasses to rest them on the top of her own bed-head.

"The sun? Wha'the fuck?"

"Sorry, I opened the curtains; thought it would be good for you to have some vitamin-D on your face," She shrugged slightly, "I can close them if you like?"

"Yes, please." Harry mumbled. Lucille padded over to the window and drew the curtains shut before climbing back into bed.

"Sleep well? It's nearly one in the afternoon!"

Harry slouched himself against the headboard and rubbed the sleep from his eye as he recollected his thoughts. "Not bad; was sick at one point though.."

Lucille frowned and worry crossed her features. She shifted slightly so that she could fully face Harry; she couldn't help the flow of concerned questions that rambled out her mouth.

"You were? Where? Are you still feeling sick?"

"In the bucket." Harry simply replied with a yawn tailing. Lucille's frown only deepened; what bucket?

"What bucket, Harry?" She began subtly glancing around their bedroom for a puddle of stomach contents soaked into their carpet.

"The bucket you left out for me, Luce." Harry shortly snapped, his hand flopping to from his face to his side in frustration. He looked up at his fiancé and was slightly frightened at the complete confusion written on her face. "Lucille!The bucket at the end of the bed!"

His fiancée shook her head. "Babe, I didn't—" Lucille paused and crawled a little to peer over the edge of the bed.

She had been correct; she hadn't left a bucket out for Harry that night which meant that the said 'bucket' was actually their round laundry basket with a pile of freshly-folded, clean clothes inside. "Fuck, Harry!"

Lucille rounded the bed and picked up her basket as Harry swung his legs of the edge of the mattress and sat up. She had a look of disgust and horror on her face as she shoved her clean clothes under Harry's chin. His eyes widened.

"Shi-i-it. . ." He drew out and scratched his forehead shamefully, "God, I'm so sorry."

Crusty, half-dried vomit soaked into the t-shirt on top of the folded pile and Harry had to swallow a gag from erupting while he stared at his mess.

"Luce, I'm really sorry but can you please—" He swallowed cautiously and pushed the plastic washing basket away, "—get it away; it's making me feel weird."

Lucille sighed and dropped the basket to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed next time him, running her hand through his hair. He leaned into her touch and shut his eyes momentarily. "Fancy some breakfast then?” She offered softly but she knew the answer she was going to get.

"Nah, I-I'm good. For now at least.”

"I was thinking pancakes? . ."

"No—seriously I'm good, Lucille. . .”

"With thick maple syrup drizzled on top. ."

Harry gagged (ever so slightly) at the description of Lucille's ideal breakfast, earning a laugh from her. "Alright, alright; I'll stop." She glanced at Harry's features.

His face was an uncomfortable grey colour and his hair was suddenly plastered with sweat to his forehead, making it look like he had some kind of bowl haircut. "Hey. . . You 'kay?"

Her hand slowly began rubbing up and down his bare back while Harry slowly swallowed with a weary shake of his head.

He felt her lean across him and opened his eyes, only to be greeted by a glass of foggy water being waved in front of him. She told him to take a sip. Before he could listen to his nauseous stomach and decline, Harry realised how dry and stale his mouth and throat felt and took the glass in both hands.

The water slid down his throat; it felt good and refreshing so he took another two sips before placing the glass back down on his bedside table.

"Ergh—god. . ." Harry grimaced, his green eyes blinked slowly as he stared at a spot of the carpet intensely. The water wasn't feeling good in his stomach as it did going down his throat.

"What's wrong?" Lucille questioned, tickling the back of his neck softly.

"The water. ." His throat bobbed and Lucille watched the grey fade into green in his complexion. "it's hit my stomach like a rock."

Lucille hesitated before opening her mouth to suggest laying back down. That was then Harry quickly stood up with slight panic but slowed his walking pace when he began heading for the bedroom door.

"Where're you going?!"

An incoherent reply drew quiet when Harry walked down the landing and swiftly shut the bathroom close behind him. Lucille stayed seated, twiddling her engagement ring while listening for Harry to come back from the bathroom.

It was the agonising retch from down the hall that had her standing up and bounding into the bathroom. Harry was knelt in front of the toilet with his head hanging just above the bowl; his mouth opened with a gag and his shoulders rolled forward as he heaved up his second bout.

Lucille swore under her breath and bent down at the waist to smooth back Harry's sweat-soaked hair from his face. With her own hair in her eyes, she scanned the bathroom counter for Harry's mini claw clip and briskly pinned back his fringe. She then knelt down behind him and rubbed the nape of his neck while he panted over the toilet. Harry moaned and shifted closer to his safe-haven, holding his head in one of his propped-up arms on the toilet seat.

"Shhh, you're okay. ." Lucille cooed to her fiancé. Harry barely felt her kiss and rest her forehead on his bare, sweaty back before he rocked forward with another dire retch.

"Lucille." Harry called for her between bouts of projectile vomiting and her heart broke; she'd never heard him sound so vulnerable before. She watched in pity as he reached down and held his bare stomach while profusely spitting into his mess in the water.

"I know, Lovely; just get it all up and you'll feel so much better. . ."

"'S all jus' alcohol—no food." Harry breathily hiccuped at the swirling sight of his sick in the toilet. Lucille reached up and flushed away last night's mistakes before pulling Harry into her lap and tucking his head into her chest.

"Do you feel any better?" She whispered, stroking his hairline. He gulped and nodded, his warm breath fanning her collarbone. Lucille smiled to herself and rubbed slow, firm circles along his back.

The two sat for a few minutes in comfortable silence, Lucille rocking them both side to side ever so slightly.

Harry pulled away from her touch and sat up after a while and Lucille was on high alert, thinking he was going to be sick again. Her panic settled when he cracked his cheeky smile and tucked her hair behind her ear,

"Lucille, I think I'm ready to stomach some of those pancakes of yours."

⭐️

[daryascurse]

𝐔𝐧𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈

Ryoumen Sukuna x Reader // ♡ follow #ULSukuna for updates ♡ // ⁿˢᶠʷ mdni

POV: second person, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns Chapter tags: dominant Sukuna, submissive reader, themes of dubcon/ seduction, oral, teasing, dirty talk, rough sex, fingering, spanking, choking, biting Chapter length: 6.4k

You try to pull your head back, but his grip is strong. “See? I knew you had it in you.” “No,” you whisper through gritted teeth. But the word comes out a whimper as your eyes flutter over him. He’s handsome in a way that shouldn’t make your stomach twist the way it is. Another primal reaction, a very, very, wrong one. Your heart should've started to calm by now, but it gallops still in your ribcage. Even though his breath comes level, sweat glistens as it runs down his neck, disappearing on the black banded tattoos. The veins and muscles under his skin flex lightly as he tilts his head, the second pair of eyes closing, the other still intent on you. He moves his hand, turning your own head back and forth with strong fingers. So long and slender. Somewhere in the back of your mind, an ashamed thought flashes- they must feel good, and Sukuna breaks into a grin once more. "Well, you little slut,” he says, a terrible delight in his voice. “If you could see how you’re looking at me. You want this, don’t you?"

Read after the jump or on AO3 // set the mood (don't shuffle and start from "Exxus")

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please see the byf in my pinned.

Author's note: This is a repost of an old work of mine that I love dearly; I think that when I originally posted it in late 2020 it was one of the first Sukuna x Reader pieces on ao3 :,) started as a requested piece. I'm cleaning it up and posting it again. My gratitude to all the original readers and commenters, and my many many thanks to anyone reading it now.

It’s the weirdest fluke, a total accident. An accident that you can’t begin to gather into a coherent explanation in your own head, let alone explain intelligibly to the figure towering over you from a colossal throne of skeletal ruin. He regards you coldly, head propped in his hand, eyes gleaming rubies in the darkness. It's how you realize that it truly is dark, that the only pale, sickly light from the tunnel of blackness - it comes from him.

The fear in your bones is primal. Feral. 

“I’ll ask again, little bitch,” his voice comes, a soft, dangerous purr, “how dare you enter my Domain?”

“Really – I -”

He sighs, crossing his legs beneath a flowing kimono. The gesture knocks something from atop the pile, and it clatters down to roll in the shallow water around you. A horned skull, the cracked sockets leering up at you when it comes to a rest at your feet. Your words shrivel and die in your throat. He adjusts himself again. 

“But - no, you don’t have the malicious aura of most trespassers,” he continues. He sounds almost curious in his musings, as if he’s speaking more to himself. “You’re not here to fight, are you?”

The intonation isn’t that of a question. In fact, he seems closer to laughter than anger, but you shake your head frantically, tearing your eyes from the horrors below to look back at him. Those eyes glitter with something unknown. “No, no, absolutely not.”

“That’s a shame,” he says. A smile curves over his mouth, and he leans forward with his chin high, gaze narrowed down at you. “I prefer women with a bit of fight in them.”

He looks hungry.

“Please, I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll get out, I’ll leave, right away.”

How?

He says it, or you think it, you can’t tell over the loud hammering of fear in your heart. You recognize him now, the black markings cuffing his wrists and streaking down his face, lining those shining eyes. The legends of Ryoumen Sukuna. The King of Curses.

Your knees shake, and you start to take a shuffling step backwards, liquid sloshing underfoot.

“How?” Sukuna says, clearly now. “I’d like to see you try." He pauses, and smiles terribly. "I’ll make a deal with you. If you can find a way out all on your own, you’re free to go. But if I catch you first, you’re mine to punish.”

“Punish?”

“I don’t like intruders.” Sukuna’s teeth bare in that grin, something deranged and wicked. “But I like a challenge. I’ll give you a head start, counting from ten.”

You can feel your whole body tremble, your hands shaking as they come together, clasping before you in a prayerful plead.

“Please, please, I promise I don’t–“

Sukuna waves his hand dismissively. He leans forward even further to rest his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. “Ten,” he says.

You find some strength, unknotting your hands and taking a step back.

“Nine. Better run, little bitch.”

Run where? You jerk your head back, wild, heart pounding in your throat. Puddles splash beneath your tentative footsteps. The walls of the cavern, cracked like a ribcage, yawn crimson and black over you, offering no open path. You turn back, the mountain of bones before you, glittering eyes in the darkness.

“Eight.”

Forward. The adrenaline pours through you, your fingertips shaking as you feel your legs move before you can consciously choose to. Forward, to the skeletal throne, and around, feeling the air move like a shockwave around you. Fallen fragments of bone crunch underneath your heels when they splash into the watery substance as Sukuna’s laughter echoes above.

“Seven!”

The call is fainter now as you run, blindly stumbling as your surroundings grow dimmer. The cavern walls stretch murky and black around you. Crunches still sound under your feet, vibrating up your legs, the murky shallow water dragging you down.

“Six!”

His voice is further, and it gives a wild burning hope in your chest. You’re running as fast as you can. Your feet are heavy. Your breath comes in cold huffs. The further you go into the labyrinth abyss, the icier the air gets, so cool it burns your lungs. You turn your head back, but the darkness extends behind you too, just as obstructive as your starting point. The next steps you take are lurching, wide leaps that almost make you fall straight on your palms. But you can’t see Sukuna now in the darkness, can’t hear him even as your heart hammers the countdown out, and it presses you forward.

Five… four… three…

Something begins to take on shape in the distance before you, an eerie blue glow that creeps across the ground the closer you approach, a dark structure like a shrine taking shape. Columns, a sloped roof, and behind it, the smooth enclosing wall of the cavern cracking red above you. More bones come into your vision as the light spreads. Maybe you could break through the curve of the wall, or maybe you could find some sanctuary in this shrine, with all these pillars, bury yourself among the mountain of bull skulls, hide in this twisted realm.

Two… one…

But as you approach, panting, your legs almost buckle with every step closer. Your pace stutters, stops, and you feel your knees give out as you fall on your hands, the puddles icy around you. The heels of your palms skid against the depths, almost knocking into the white-bleached skull before you. Despair crashes down through your body, leaving you cold.

“How…” you gasp.

Before you, Sukuna bends into a squat, the hem of his kimono falling into your line of sight as it floats in the shallow waters. His breath is hot on the back of your head. Your skin prickles, but you can’t force your body up. Sukuna reaches forward, grabbing your chin with his thumb and curling his index finger underneath, urging your gaze up to him. He stares at you in silence for a moment, a second set of eyes slanting against his cheekbones blinking open and rolling forward to meet you.

“I’m impressed you didn’t give up from the start. It was never going to be much of a chase, but you have some fight after all,” he says.

You try to pull your head back, but his grip is strong.

“See? I knew you had it in you.”

“No,” you whisper through gritted teeth.

But the word comes out a whimper, something weak and wanton, as your eyes flutter over him. Close up, seeing him clearly, he’s handsome in a way that shouldn’t make your stomach twist the way it is. Another primal reaction, a very, very, wrong one. Your heart should have started to calm by now, but you feel it galloping still as it hammers in your ribcage. Even though his breath comes level, and there’s no hint that he was running after you, sweat glistens as it runs down his neck, into the folds of his kimono and disappearing on the black banded tattoos. The veins and muscles under his skin flex lightly as he tilts his head, the second pair of eyes closing again, the other still intent on you. He moves his hand, turning your own head back and forth with strong fingers. So long and slender. Somewhere in the back of your mind, an ashamed thought flashes - they must feel good, and Sukuna breaks into a grin once more.

“Well, you little slut,” he says, delight in his voice as it slips into a laugh. It's deep, thick, hoarse. “If you could see how you’re looking at me. You want this, don’t you? You wanted to lose. You’re going to enjoy being punished.”

He grins as a yelp slides from you, still laughing. You feel your cheeks grow hot. “You – no, you - demon, no!”

Your words don’t have the bite they should. His eyes narrow on you, tongue licking his upper lip as the laughter settles back into the devious, hungry smile. “Save your breath. I don’t believe you, and there’ll be reason enough to scream later,” he says.

You toss your head again, failing to break from his iron grasp - but not really trying to. Sukuna just slides his body even closer to yours, forcing your face easily back to his. Your body has accepted futility before your mind is able to. His drooling jaws loom over your face, the sheer delight unbroken.

“This won’t be much of a punishment for you after all,” he says. “But don’t worry, you little slut, I’ll still enjoy myself.”

He’s kneeling above you now, forcing you back on your ankles as he leans further forward. He lets go of your chin, and reaches down to grab your wrists. His fingernails, blackened and thick, claw into your skin as he raises your hands almost to your shoulders. You writhe, but don’t try to shove him away when his chest pushes into you, the heat of his body radiating under his touch and rising to your flushed cheeks. You feel your lips part, and Sukuna brings his mouth down on yours.

His kisses are hungry, devouring the whimpers that spill from you as your lungs struggle to breathe. His tongue slides into your mouth, demanding access and claiming territory. You shiver in response. Some hot arousal begins to spread through you, coming in unintentional moans. He snarls in response, teeth almost clashing into yours as he bites your lower lip, letting go and coming back properly. It’s a hard kiss, wanting and taking, and you’re not sure when you begin returning his motions, not sure when your hips sink down, sliding your balance off your ankles and your legs into a W shape as your body starts almost grinding into the ground.

When he finally draws back, your face is burning below the skin. You reach up, straining with trembling fingers, and touch your swollen lips.

“I knew it,” Sukuna says. He wipes his lips with the side of his wrist, hand twitching. 

He stands, yanking you up with his grip still hard on your arms. You’re too out of breath, from the run, from the kiss, and you stumble after him as he pulls you in, upward over the pile of bones and into the mouth of the demonic shrine. Ivory jaws and teeth extend around you, an echo of Sukuna himself. The blue light pours from around you, giving him some twisted halo glow, the furthest thing from holy. He releases his grasp with a push, tossing you like a ragdoll to the unsettlingly soft ground. You lift yourself back to your knees, unable to tear your eyes away from his face, so cruel and so beautiful.

Sukuna tears his cowl from his neck, untying his kimono and letting it fall to the ground. He lifts his hands to his face and sighs. The broken lines of his tattoos rise and fall with the swell of his bare chest, pointing down, directing your vision to his cock.

“Oh…” he spreads his fingers apart, regarding you through the slots. “Do I really need to tell you what to do next?”

You totter, body falling forward uncertainly. He drops a hand, shoving hard against the back of your head, pushing you towards him.

“Suck it.”

He almost strokes your hair as he pushes his hand down, cradling the base of your skull as you open your mouth in response to the rough caress. The tip of his cock falls against your lips, and you squeeze your eyes closed as you open your mouth wider, heart hammering in your chest.

Sukuna sighs again. “Come on, you little slut.”

The arousal that courses through you is coupled with shame as you feel his second hand come to the other side of your head. His claw-like nails press into the back of your neck, locking your movement into forward motions. They prick against your skin as you begin to move your tongue over the tip.

“You can do better than that.”

It's hot at the back of your neck where he digs his claws into your skin, forcing you to take him deeper in your mouth. His scent is overwhelming, musky and unclean, something so disgustingly good that your mouth waters in response.

“Mmmph.” It slips out of you and vibrates around him.

“Rude to talk with your mouth full.”

Sukuna’s cock throbs in your mouth as you struggle to lick him, the strokes of your tongue thick and short and straining for space. Each push of your head forward takes him a little deeper, brushing against the roof of your mouth a little faster, and a little faster the next time. His hips have started moving into your face. His cock hits the back of your throat and you tighten your mouth in response, fighting the urge to gag as he begins to push himself further.

"Yes."

The pressure makes your mouth tight and sloppy, slurping over his cock as you suck him off, trying to take him as far down your throat as you can under his strength. Your hands reach up, searching for and fondling for the shape heavy against his legs, cupping what you blindly find and bringing the slick of your saliva down over them with gentle fingers. Above you, you hear Sukuna’s breathing become heavier. His hands tense at the back of your head.

His taste grows more and more bitter, seeping through your mouth as his cock grows hard and stiff. Tears begin to leak out of your eyes, and you force them open, blinking furiously to push them away. You roll your eyes up. Sukuna is looking down at you, all four eyes wide and wild and burning. The nails on your skin tighten, a piercing pain shooting down your neck and forcing your mouth even wider in a silent cry.

“Keep going, come on, come on, you fucking slut.”

Sukuna fully has control now, gripping you between his hands and thrusting his hips into your face as you kneel before him. You close your eyes again as the watery tears sting you. Your tongue is the only agency you have, and your movements are weak as your saliva comes choking out of you, slobbering down his cock as he thrusts it to the back of your throat and further down. You drop your hands to your knees, pressing your thumbs into your skin and leaning forward in support as your face collides with his body with every thrust.

You press your tongue blindly upward, feeling the ridge of one hard vein protruding hard along his shaft. He groans louder. You whimper around him, finding it harder and harder to breathe, but straining your tongue along it.

“Ah!”

The grunt is wordless, his hands hard around you, and Sukuna comes hot and bitter as he keeps thrusting down your throat. Your involuntary whines choke and vibrate around him, throat convulsing as you swallow. It tacks around your cheeks and lingers at the front of your tongue. Swallowing again doesn't rid the taste. 

Sukuna pulls out, pressing his hands into the base of your head, forcing your neck sharply back and up at him. His chest is heaving with panting breaths. He releases his grip, moving a thumb to smear across your lips as his mouth breaks back into that devilish smile.

“You’re such a mess,” he says, his voice raw. “A fucking pretty little mess. You like being at my mercy, don’t you?”

You nod, humiliation and lust knotting together in your stomach. Your mouth feels sticky and wet, but you fight the urge to scrub it against your hand.

“You’re mine to play with, mine completely. I already know what makes your cunt wet and your hips pop. I bet you’re absolutely dripping now,” he says, crouching down once more. He rests his elbow on one knee, the other leg folded beneath him, all four eyes keenly forward as he reaches his other arm forward. One extended finger dances down your collarbone, down your body, curving at your hips and scooping down between your clothes. Your thighs shake, threatening to take you off-balance.

“This is just in the way,” Sukuna notes dryly. “Take it off. Take it all off.”

You nod again, adjusting your kneeling position to fumble at your shoes, your pants. As soon as they’re free, Sukuna lets out a dark, disgruntled sound and reaches forward, his expression darkening.

“Too slow.”

“Sorry -” you start, your voice muffled as he grabs at your shirt. It’s like tissue to him, sharp nails scratching against your skin as he tears it off with ease. Instinctively your shoulders roll in, your hands crossing over your hips before Sukuna grabs you by your wrists again and forces your palms to the ground, squeezing your bone until you cry out before letting go. All four of his eyes roam hungrily over you, and his hands move up, locking around your hips.

“Now let’s see how wet your cunt is, you pretty little slut.”

He pushes, urging you roll onto your back. The ground is soft, but the immediate force still makes you gasp at the impact. Above, the blue light reels, the ridged roof of the shrine’s mouth cascading shadows down Sukuna as he kneels over you. Your legs splay awkwardly around his body. Shifting your knees doesn’t make it any more comfortable, and you whimper again. He brings a hand to your face, dancing his fingers over you as his other hand pushes down at your hip, forcing you into the ground. One finger trails a line from your temple, down your jaw, re-visiting the journey over your collarbone on naked skin. It leaves you sensitive and shivering, as if ghostly fingers still dance over you in the wake of his movement. Lower still, the uneven rhythm of breath from two sets of lungs echoing into the yawning cavern, and his finger spirals lazily, trailing down, down, and to your cunt. You bite your lip as he moves through your folds, collecting your leaking arousal.

“Just as I thought. You filthy little slut, you almost got off just from sucking my cock,” Sukuna says. His voice crackles with delight, his breathing getting heavier again. You can feel your face flushing, heat spreading down your body, collecting below your abdomen. Sukuna begins moving his fingers through you, teasing down to your entrance and back up. His fingertips press into you. Your hips shake under the force of his hand, knees struggling to bend and writhe.

“You’re not coming until I say you can,” he says, fingers finding your entrance and brows lifting as another moan escapes you. He moves in slow circles, just barely, just almost sneaking into your body as you shift your hips in response to the trembling heat rising below your skin. “I’ll keep you strung out until I’m ready for you.”

“Oh…”

“Tell me you understand, you fucking slut.”

“Yes,” you force out as his finger suddenly dips inside you, just barely, before withdrawing. Your eyes cross as Sukuna’s face drops behind the brilliant blue shadows, a halo shining from behind his face as he lets go of his grating hold against your waist. You try to sit up to keep him in sight, but the hand quickly pushes you back down, hard against your stomach. You choke back another gasp and fall flat on your back again.

“You’re so fucking desperate. Do you understand the rules I set before you?” Sukuna’s hand stays hard on your stomach, pushing down, lower, and lower, almost painful right below your navel. “Let’s test your intelligence. I’m not going to touch your cunt until you beg me.”

You moan, more in frustration than anything else. Sukuna’s shifting above you, adjusting his position, one knee still between your legs. He leans it forward, your thighs struggling to lift in response, hips rolling into the ground as best as you can. His fingers rest against your cunt, teasing at the folds, just barely pushing them apart.

“You want to hump my leg like a dumb, mindless animal, don’t you?” His voice is sardonic, mocking with bites of laughter. “Dumb little bitch. I told you to beg.”

His knee comes right up to you, almost grinding into you, and his hand below your stomach pushes harder, elbow digging into the top of your thighs.

“I know what it does to your body,” Sukuna continues. “I want to hear you say it.”

“S-Sukuna, it…please, I’m begging you to touch me, I need it.” You’re almost surprised to hear the words fall from you, but it’s your own sound. It babbles from you on his command, your voice growing shrill. “I do, I do, please.”

His knee sways, knocking into your thighs, just barely feeding the friction your body desires. You feel yourself clenching, his fingertips so close to you. He lightly grazes your skin, dancing over your sensitive folds. “Hmm,” he says, a toying sound, and then finally, finally, plunges his fingers into you with a sigh that echoes your own raised cry.

Sukuna’s fingers slide in easily, and after a few shallow, teasing pumps, he curls them, moving in a beckoning motion that feels as if he’s summoning you up off the ground. The sensation hooks right below your belly button, trapped by his other hand still pinning you down. His thumb swipes up, rubbing through your slit and searching lazily upward, twitching up and down over you in time with his fingers in you. Your hands fly down, searching to grab against his shoulders, to pull his hand firmly in you, but you can’t find the strength to hold him.

He laughs, guttural in his throat, moving his knee back and forth between your legs. Your thighs rise to instinctively meet his touch, body clambering for more. “Oh!”

“I didn’t say you could stop begging,” Sukuna says, his voice rasping and low. The growl sends thrills through you, and you roll your hips in response as his fingers begin to curl faster and faster. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you say faintly, the word taking on more syllables than it should as the heel of his palm pushes down. Weakness shoots through your body, the back of your knees feeling limp as the heat begins to burn in your core, coaxed from you by Sukuna’s beckoning fingers.

“You say that, but your cunt betrays you,” Sukuna says, derisive. His thumb strokes right over your clit, and you moan. "I think you could satisfy yourself like this."

“Please!”

“Do you know how many of my fingers are in? Two, just two. Isn’t it frustrating that my fingers aren’t reaching where it feels best?”

He moves faster, pressing into you and letting go. Your eyes roll back, the sickly blue light around you going momentarily black when he brushes back and forth on your clit, your back arching. A sharp ache goes down your back as your neck convulses right where his nails clawed you before, but it’s forgotten as he moves the side of his thumb faster and faster on your clit. Your body is hurtling towards orgasm faster than his permission, and you cry out again.

"Or is this what you're used to? Little human cocks pushing you this open and no further? Maybe you would just break."

“Please, Sukuna, please, I’m begging you, I’ve been begging you, I need you, p-please.”

Words spill foolishly from you again, pushed out by his searching fingers spreading you apart, buried in you and holding you down. You strain your eyes down, searching for his gaze in front of the blinding blue light, and whimper when you find his eyes locked on you crouched low over your hips and holding you under him. He completely owns your body.

“Please,” you moan again.

He’s watching your face ravenously, the black tattoos streaking across his face almost disappearing in the shadows. He presses hard on your clit and rocks back, letting his knee slide away from the embrace of your thighs, lowering his face to your hips behind the casual barrier of his anchored hand.

“You keep saying that, but the way your body trembles under me… you like this,” he says, amused and staring at his you, his little plaything. “I knew you would. You like the torture, the slow, long, chase of pleasure, drawn out at my mercy.”

He turns his head, bites the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh. It stings, sending a shooting pain up through you, hot under your skin. The coiled heat gathering in your core winds tighter, and you force out another, weaker, “please.”

“Your cunt is squeezing my fingers. You desperate little slut, I didn’t tell you you could come yet.”

You blink rapidly, trying to force your gasping breaths to come smooth, to bring your body back from the edge. “Sukuna,” you say again, barely breathing his name.

Sukuna presses and lifts his thumb from your clit one last time, pulls his fingers slowly out, dragging them down across your hips. You feel the slick trail of yourself, cool against your skin, and shiver. The pounding pleasure in you begins to ebb, fading back from that hurtling ledge as his pressure withdraws.

“Your body was expecting that, wasn’t it?” Sukuna sounds almost impressed. He lifts his hand from below your stomach, coming to grip your thigh. His thumb presses right into where he bit before, and you bite back another yelp of pain. “Don’t worry, you’re going to feel good. In the end.”

Without any more resistance, you draw your elbows back and prop yourself up, wincing and using your arm strength past the aching in your stomach. He was pushing you so hard down that you wonder fleetingly if you might bruise. The “ouch” that escapes you in a breath is ignored.

“Stand up,” Sukuna says. He doesn’t help you stagger to your feet, but scoops you by the waist from behind once you’re up and begins walking you towards a corner pillar of the shrine. The pallid blue light comes behind you now, stretching out into the piles of bones beyond. The muscle of his arm digs into your stomach as he carries you off like a conquered bride. You shiver and stumble when he lets go, reaching for the support of the pillar. It’s smooth beneath your palms, and you bend your elbows, resting against it. You didn’t realize you needed rest.

“I’m going to thoroughly ruin you,” Sukuna growls. You tilt your neck back as far as the pain of his scratches allows, and lock eyes with him as his left arm comes over you to grab your right shoulder, trapping you right in the crook of his elbow. “Step back.”

Your feet slide against the ground, almost crashing into his own as you try to move against the constraints of his grip on your upper body. His chest is sweaty against your back, and his other hand palms your ass. He slaps you sharply, and you gasp, throwing your head back down, his bite mark flaring hot again.

“Come on, spread your legs.”

He pulls against you, urging your hips apart, and you try to widen your stance. You can feel his cock, hard against your inner thigh, and after another spank, he releases his grip. He guides his cock up between your legs, pushing right between the shallow valley of your thighs.

“You’re dripping. Sloppy little slut.” His fist, slick and sweaty, knocks into you, knuckles rubbing against your thighs as he moves the head of his cock through your folds. You roll your hips, breathing heavily into his elbow right under your chin.

“Sukuna, please…” you say, shifting your weight. The tip of his cock pushes against your slick folds, which achingly succumb to the pressure, forced apart and letting him slide right to your entrance.

“Greedy,” he breathes, and with his right knee almost crashing into the back of your own, he thrusts right into you.

Your gasp turns immediately into a cry as he stretches you. He grunts, moving his feet with muffled thuds behind you, and leans back as he pulls out before thrusting in again harder. His hand comes back to your ass with another smack, palming at your skin as he grabs you, adjusting his grip until his fingers are splayed over you, thumb digging into you and pushing you almost into the pillar. Your hands slip down around the smooth black stone, your vision obscured by his arm jostling with his thrusts.

“Fuck,” Sukuna hisses in your ear. His hands roam but keep you firmly in his grasp, never breaking contact with your skin. The one at your shoulder is tight, nails scratching almost into your back with each thrust. He pulls his elbow away, dragging his claws over your collarbone, and comes to rest his hand against your throat. You try to swallow, try to compose yourself, but your body is weak, melting like candle wax as he pumps his cock in and out, leaving your core aching with every stroke.

“Is this good enough for you? Your voice, your body, you’ve been begging with all you have,” he says, jagged, his voice panting as he thrusts. “You better be fucking – grateful – you – little – fucking – slut !”

His fingers drum around your throat, squeezing lightly, and you roll your head back, wildly searching for his eyes, for any of them. Ecstasy crawls down your spine, pure pleasure, or just trickles of sweat.

“Yes,” you choke out. He’s so deep in you, each thrust with his thighs colliding into yours feels like he’s pushing straight to your core. “Sukuna, yes, yes, it’s good – it’s so good.”

His teeth graze against your ear. “Good,” he says huskily, and you feel his sharp teeth close on you. He tugs, sharp on your lobe, and you cry out again.

He’s fucking you ruthlessly, and your legs are losing the last semblances of strength. You can barely arch your back, let alone move your hips back to meet him. When you try, he slaps you again, a burning sensation over the previous spankings, and your words melt into senseless yelping. His hand flattens against your throat, pushing into your windpipe, and you let out a harsh cough. He lets out a sound like a laugh, nestled next to your ear, and his hand closes right around your neck. Your eyes bulge as the blackness over your eyes.

“Sukuna…” your words gurgle, and you try again with even less success. His hands are pressure on you, the savage thrusts of his cock still pushing up through you, but it’s all muted and slipping away.

“Oops,” Sukuna grunts, still with an edge of laughter in his voice, and releases you. You gag and cough again, sucking in air, feeling his hands strong and hot on you, his cock thick and heavy as he pulls back and slams in once again. Your knees buckle, your hands sliding down across the pillar.

“Giving up?”

“No – ”

Sukuna’s hand on your ass moves, grabbing roughly at your hips and waist, and his other finally comes off your throat to the top of your back. “Then down, back down, little bitch, I’ll make it easy for you.”

The words are derisive, disgusted, and you find yourself choking back tears as your ears burn. Sinking to the ground again, your only thought is beating dim - is he disappointed? He pulls his cock from you as you collapse on your hands and knees, and slaps your ass again. You moan painfully, still gasping for a clear breath. His arms come down on either side of you.

“You’re not giving up. This filthy cunt is mine,” Sukuna says with a growl, breath hot against you. He reaches up and kneels back, crossing his arms over your chest and lifting you back with ease. You turn in his arms as he drops you on your back again, lowering his torso over yours. His arms are a cage, looming over your head as he rests on his forearms, and he easily knocks your legs apart with his knee. You whimper as his face comes looming to meet your gaze, lined with blue shadows and black tattoos and inescapable.

He’s devilishly beautiful.

You feel his cock come down to your sore and swollen entrance and he pushes inside with ease. His hips roll down, and you push your shoulders into the ground as his cock strokes into you, suffocating pressure and concentrated pleasure right to your core. Above you, his eyes glitter, lips split in a triumphant smile.

You reach up, almost automatically, and grab him by the back of his head to pull his lips to yours.

“Oh!” Sukuna squares his shoulders and rolls his head back, easily tearing away. Your hands fall back to the ground. “You’re growing bold, little slut.”

But he’s still grinning, his eyes still shining, still driving onward between your shaking legs. He’s ramming into you even harder, too hard for you to care, or get caught up in hurt feelings, trapped here beneath his body on the floor of this unholy shrine. Because it feels so fucking good, his cock filling you, his body over you. With every stroke of his cock in you, it pushes more babbling cries out of you, mindless praise and pleads.

Sukuna revels in it, adjusting his palms almost against your shoulders as he leans back. It’s a new angle driving so deeply up in you that your words turn into a scream.

“You’re mine,” he pants, swaying over you as his pace slows, each thrust deep, deliberate, making your thighs quiver and eyes roll. “This cunt is mine.”

“Yes,” you say, a dumb reply, thick and drunk with lust. Anything he says. “Yes, Sukuna.”

He leans back on one palm, the other coming down to trail down your body. He drags the back of his hand rough and lazy down your stomach, turning his wrist as he reaches your naval and pushes down hard once again. You wail, a mix of pain at the returning ache, and pleasure as his hand ribs in time with his strokes, feeling his cock pump into you over your skin. Sukuna keeps it there for a while with his eyes locked on you, trapping your body between his cock and his hand, before dragging it down again, and you gasp at the release. He stops again at your full and aching cunt, pulling tightly, almost painfully again, to find and rub at your clit. You slide into a wordless cry as his thumb comes heavy again right over your overstimulated body, and pinches hard.

“Oh!”

“Mine,” he repeats. “If another man makes you dirty with his touch, I’ll just clean you with my cock.”

“Yes!”

His thrusts are merciless, and his fingers moving simultaneously over you are almost enough to pull you apart. You’re wholly at his control, every part of you belonging to him. Your body aches under him, deliciously throbbing pain, and you moan wildly as he moves harder, faster, his eyes a hot fire.

This pleasured pain is damn intoxicating. 

“Come for me, pretty girl, come, you slut,” he snarls, and it’s as if the words break an invisible barrier, some curse gets lifted, some cord inside you snapping as the hot coil below your stomach breaks. The scream that comes from you is feral and raw as relentless waves of cramping ripple through you. You can feel yourself twitching around Sukuna’s cock buried deep in you as he groans, dimly above you, coming hard and hot at the same time. Your skin feels hot, the bite marks he’s left pulsing in time with your orgasm as it ebbs through your veins, out of time with your rapid heart.

It isn’t until he pulls his cock out and lifts his sweaty, heaving chest off you, and blinks down at you with both sets of eyes, that everything he’s said, everything you’ve responded, begins to sink in.

The silence stretches.

“Sukuna…” you start, licking your lips nervously. “Please. Please let me go.”

He blinks, barks out a sharp laugh, as if it takes him a moment to understand. “Oh. Oh, you really are just a dumb slut, aren’t you?”

His elbows dig into the ground, forearms resting on either side of your head, and you stare, wide-eyed and wild, into his unreadable face. The wicked smile fades, his four eyes focused on you.

“You’re mine, and I meant it,” he continues.

Despair and dread wash over you once more, just like the first time you collapsed before the shrine. Minutes, hours ago? Days ago? You can’t tell how time has passed. Your entire body shakes, and you’re unable to drag yourself up. You’re pushed past your breaking point and shattered in a thousand pieces, and Sukuna, crouching over you and catching your head in his hands, knows it.

You’d lost the race long ago.

“Let me out,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and desperate.

“Oh, I will,” Sukuna says after a beat. He sounds soothing, a deadly demonic promise you can’t let yourself believe even as you hear it. “For now, in exchange for your memories of this place, and a tether to bring you back, I’ll let you go.”

Sukuna’s hands are hard on the side of your face, squeezing tighter and tighter as tears run down your cheeks and reach his fingers. You reach up with quaking hands, grabbing for his wrists, but somehow not able to make contact. The mouth of the shrine seems to stretch, yawning further, turning the world around you black. His words fade as he does, the markings bridging across his face blurring together as darkness swallows him, leaving only those glittering eyes on you, the sound of his voice a ghost drifting away from you.

“You’ll forget about this in daily life, you’ll move through your world in foolish ease. But you're still mine. Oh my selfish little slut, the memories will find their way back. In your excited days, at your most euphoric moments, it’ll all come back to you, and you’ll come back to me. And I’ll be waiting.”

chapter ii

[the-tiniest-demigod]

the visual of bill getting absolutely sloshed off time punch and calling someone a faggot is really funny to me . do you think he’d call kryptos a faggot

all the henchmen are getting it but i think kryptos is getting it the worse

this is not to say that kryptos wouldn't be hammered also and throwing it right back at him

[wolfishmoon]

@messrsmcrauders

It didn't happen often that Remus got this drunk or high, as he didn't like loosing control of himself as a rule - a mental kind of scar left by his monthly transformations no doubt. And he wasn't even sure what had got to him tonight, whether he had drunk too much, or if any of his drinks had been spiced with more than he had thought was in the cup. But the fact was he was absolutely sloshed, finding his way to a quiet corner... and realising with delight that it was the same spot Sirius had chosen to catch a moment of rest too.

"I think they spelled the whiskey." He informed him as he dropped on the tiny sofa beside him, the world spinning a little. "Or I've caught Pete's lightweight disease between last week and today."

Shifting, he threw his arm around the backrest of the couch, getting his long limbs more comfortable, and leaning against Sirius in the process. He tilted his head to watch him and if Sirius replied anything to his comment Remus didn't catch it. His attention was captured by the way the dim lights played in Sirius' grey eyes, by the shape of his nose, the line of his lips and height of his cheekbones. So fucking pretty, he thought to himself, for a hundredth, thousandth time perhaps. Pretty in a way guys had no business being, and frankly not so many were. Mostly it was only Sirius who caught Remus' attention so, his intense eyes, his cocky smiles, his loud laughter and sharp jokes. The dizzying wonder of his affection.

Remus wanted him, and he had wanted him for years now.

He wasn't sure what exactly prompted him to move. The proximity? The enticing curve of Sirius' smile? The warms of his shoulder against Remus'? Finally, the excuse of his drunkenness giving him a false sense of safety, perhaps? He moved and cupped the other's face, and breathed him in for a second, face hovering close, before closing that distant in a flash. A kiss, swift, intense, and thoughtless. Sweet with Sirius' taste, the heat of his lips, tinge of alcohol on both their tongues.

And then - the reality of what he was doing, the depravity of it. He pulled back, head spinning and heart hammering in his chest. What had he done? He got up to his feet on shaky legs, brown eyes panicked. The consequences... oh they were bound to be dire and Remus couldn't face them. In his cowardice, he stumbled away, near tripping over his legs, catching his balance with a hand on the wall then away, away from that corner they shared, away from the shame, the fear. Through flashes of faces, passing through the party, through the deafening music and conversation, and deafening hammering of his pulse in his head. Out, out - to gasp the cold air and try to ease the unbearable knot in his stomach.

Oh what had he done?

[s1desn4cks]

ooo i'd like to see that pred narrator and stanly thing! (and do you mind more predcannon requests? maybe some on pvz)

I don’t mind more predcannon requests! And I’m 100% using this ask to post my fic of the drunk Narrator and Stanley.

Little Tipsy (A Stanley Vore-able fic)

Narrator sat at his desk, a glass in his hand and a half full bottle of Champaign on his desk. He popped the top off and poured some more in his glass, before taking a large sip. He swished the liquid around in his mouth, washing away a familiar taste on his tongue that he couldn’t quite place. He felt pleasantly full, but after downing half the bottle in front of him he assumed the pleasant fullness to be from a belly full of liquid. He hadn’t seen Stanley in a while, his hand unconsciously going to rest on his stomach as he thought about the small man. He shook off the strange feeling, assuming Stanley was either in his office or off somewhere exploring the parable without his guidance. He didn’t mind at the moment, though, being too tipsy to worry about what the small man was up to. After a while of drinking, he leaned back in his chair, his mind blissfully foggy. His hand unconsciously went to his stomach again, even in his sunken state. He felt the liquid slosh around within him as he moved about, as well as something… strangely solid. His head lolled to the side as he giggled slightly, seeming more high than dunk. He felt the flutter of something on his stomach walls, the solid thing sloshing around with the liquid seemingly trying to get his attention now. Wait… something solid was sloshing around… and Stanley had been missing for a few hours now…. Oh. Oh no. The tipsiness of the Narrator was quickly forgotten as he realized hat Stanley had been within him the entire time… and there was now an empty bottle of Champaign sitting in front of him.

“Stanley?!” The Narrator hiccuped. “Stanley are you in there?” His hand hovered above his stomach, concern clear in his voice. A small flutter of movement was his answer, and his face flushed red from both the alcohol, and the realization that Stanley had likely been swimming in Champaign for hours now. “O-oh Stanley, I’m sorry, truly. I… forgot you were in here.” Narrator rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he felt the now identified hands of Stanley trying to get purchase against his stomach walls, “H-hold on, I’ll get you out.”

A moment later, there was a soaking wet Stanley sitting in the Narrator’s giant hands. Stanley’s small form wobbled about, unable to sit up properly. He was absolutely hammered. The small Stanley looked up at Narrator, a drunken blush spreading across his face as he tried to sign. “It’s fine,” Stanley tried to say, his movements sloppy as his hands seemed to have minds of their own. Narrator looked down at Stanley, concern clear on his face along with his tipsiness. “Stanley are you alright? That was… that was a lot of alcohol for someone so small…” Narrator looked him over, turning the small man around in his hands as Stanley hiccuped and smiled, drunk out of his mind and dazed. “I am truly sorry, Stanley.” Narrator mumbled. “How could I forget you were in there? It’s not like me to forget about you like that.”

Stanley just looked up at Narrator, hugging his thumb as Narrator held him close. Stanley smiled and hiccuped again, startling Narrator. “How about we get you some water… and maybe some for myself too now that I think about it.” Narrator hummed. “This is going to be a killer hangover for the both of us in the morning.” Narrator hummed, causing Stanley to chuckle.

[classic-maya]

I would like to point out that in QaF 2x14 Brian gets absolutely sloshed while Justin is at Sap’s place. Obviously Brian doesn’t know that Justin is going to get roofied but he is terrified that Justin is in over his head. He also knows the only thing he can do is to let it play out and hope Justin knows enough to keep himself safe. And to take his mind off how afraid he is, he gets hammered. The last time we see Brian this out of control is in the first episode after Gus is born and he gets high to distract himself from how much being a father scares him. 

[buildoblivionthenwewilltalk]

See, the thing about Crowley living in his car in s2 is that I left the s1 finale with the impression that both of them finished their lunch, staggered their way back to the book shop (gently sloshed) and spent the night getting absolutely hammered. Like drain the wine cellar, night on the town, capital-P Pissed.

It’s all a bit ‘rambunctious’, as a fussy and well read angel might say.

Crowley wakes up on Aziraphale’s sofa a week later - covered in a blanket, various papers and a copy of the Sunday times.

A pot of tea’s just finished steeping, there’s cake in the tin. Somewhere across the shop, a tartan-clad figure hums (rather untunefully) to himself as he pours over a crackled hardback book.

If you asked Crowley, it’s all quite civilised, if a tad “country living magazine”. A little gauche. A bit twee - not really his ‘style’.

But he doesn’t reach for his glasses, or pat his jacket for his keys.

After all, he thinks, stretching what’s probably the correct number of limbs and reaching out for a bone china cup, why on Her green earth would he ever want to leave?

[furaflictedhost]

Can I recomend "Dad turned into a zombie again" combined with sleep deprivation?

Absolutely! Here's Sleep Deprivation and "Dad's turned into a zombie again."

Late nights weren’t exactly a first for William, but this was a new one. 

He hadn’t missed this many nights of sleep in a row since finals week of college. Between organizing the opening of the new Freddy’s, personal projects, and building the new animatronics, he’d hardly gotten a moment of downtime.

Now he was practically asleep on his feet, a mug of coffee in his hand, glaring at the clock. He’d lost track of how long he’d been standing there, and the clock kept jumping whenever he blinked. 

Blinking a couple times, he tried to comprehend what that incessant beeping was, and after a moment realized it was the coffee maker turning off. Coffee. That sounded like a wonderful idea. He poured himself a mug and sipped the caffeinated substance. 

It tasted wonderful, and gave his vision a bit more clarity. He continued working on the project that had taken up so much of his time, and was working as a distraction from his body’s outcry from being kept awake so long. The mug was warm in his grip, and he paused, considering the feeling. It was comforting.

The next thing he was aware of was the mug clattering to the floor, sloshing hot coffee all over his shoes. He jumped back, startled by the sudden loud noise, and the scalding liquid suddenly drenching his pant leg. Heart hammering, he leaned against his desk, and turned to Henry. 

Looking around for his friend, He found he was alone in his workshop. Leaning heavily against his desk, he stared down at the remains of the mug at his feet. Two little shoes invaded the edge of his field of view. Glancing to the side, he saw his youngest staring up at him.

Evan was clutching his Fredbear stuffed animal as usual, and was looking at him like his head was on backwards. 

“Papa?”

The young boy looked at the mug, and then back at his father.

“It broke. Are you ok?”

William tried to respond, he really did, but the words got lost somewhere between thought and speech. 

“Hgn.” 

He was vaguely aware of his youngest wandering out at some point, and something that sounded like ‘Dad turned into a zombie again!’ being called upstairs. His alarm started beeping loudly, indicating it was time for work again. 

Pushing himself to a full stand, he held out his arms for balance as his vision swam. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, to avoid watching the world go topsy-turvy. His head hurt like someone had taken a jackhammer to his temples. 

Once his vision had straightened, he opened his eyes, and headed to his room to grab a new pair of slacks, ones that didn’t have coffee on the cuffs. Trudging his way upstairs, he barely made it to his room without falling. 

As he headed to the wardrobe, he caught sight of his reflection in the floor length mirror. He was a mess, hair all over the place, tie askew, and shirt wrinkly. He’d apparently removed his vest at some point, he wasn’t sure when. Time seemed to run together at this point.

Normally his appearance would’ve appalled him, being so unkempt. However in his sleep deprived state, he found it deliriously amusing. He chuckled, quietly at first, but then just dissolved into depraved giggles and sank to the floor in front of the mirror. 

He was vaguely aware of a presence behind him, before he felt a hand on his head, gently tousling his hair. In the reflection he could see his wife standing behind him, looking down at him with a heavily concerned expression. 

“Are you alright, hon?”

Clara knelt down next to him, and he grinned up at her. She sighed, and looped her arms underneath his, and hauled him towards their bed. William struggled weakly, but to no avail.

“I…I have to go to work. Le-go.” His words slurred together in an almost drunken manner.

She hefted him onto their bed, and straddled him to keep him in place. 

“Absolutely not. You haven’t slept in 4 days, you are not safe to drive, you are staying right here.”

He fixed her with a wide eyed stare, and then blinked a couple times. Checking the date on his alarm clock only proved her right. 

“But what about-”

“No.” She cut him off. “I’m going to call Henry and tell him you’re deliriously sleep deprived. You,” she pushed her hand to his chest, forcing him to lie back down. “are going to sleep.”

He tried to protest but she gave him a stern look that left no room for discussions. Feeling a tad put upon, William rolled onto his side as soon as she got off him. 

“I am not that tired…”

The next thing he knew he was waking up the beeping of his alarm.

~~~~~

Henry hadn’t expected to be working alone today, so Mrs. Afton’s call came as a surprise. He needed the extra set of hands, and Scott wasn’t around. So he sat there for a moment, contemplating how to handle the situation. William was usually the one who handled this sort of thing, so he felt a bit lost.

“Charlie?”

His daughter stepped forward, holding up two cans of spray paint. 

“Don’t worry, dad. I gotcha covered.”

[kowaindar0u]

(last one promise) 🍸 Muramasa, how much do you love/want your dear saniwa? Tell us your truest feelings/desires for him. (@zantedeschia-praesul)

[ Send 🍸+ a question and my muse will answer while drunk. ]

Sengo Muramasa is absolutely hammered, sloshed, wasted. Turnt. Shitfaced, even. He clutches his current bottle to his chest, spilling it a little as he lays down on the floor with a loud, longing whine. Despite the obvious slurring, it seems like maybe he has thought these words many times before.

"Soooo much... Ohh... I just want to hug him...hold him... kiss him... taste him and please him in any way I can... I wanna protect him... I want him to protect me... I want... I've heard people say that the ones they love know them better'an they know themselves? Yeah? Huhu... I want him to know me better than I ever could, inside and out..."

He sits up, with the same suddenness as being startled awake.

"I should go tell him this!"

And then he lies back on the floor. He's out like a light.

[ultramaga]

Hammering out a deal with The Enclave. So far, so good, although the tensions are rising. They don't recognise any authority beyond their own, which, let's face it, is very like the BoS, and they are almost as fanatically anti-ghoul as Maxson's faction. Unlike Elder Maxson, however, they don't even pretend to care about the people they want to rule over. Still, so far I have sweet talked them into co-operation.

Danse looks very skeptical though, and Valentine thinks I'm walking on thin ice. He wants absolutes, and has no idea how foul the waters I've had to slosh through, to save, not just him, but synths and ghouls alike. It's a hard thing to smile at men and women who I might have to kill later. See that soldier in the distance? That's Deacon. You can barely recognise him.