#ah they look deranged enough

[basilbellona]

Two hearthians alike in imprisonment, facing the great, wide dying universe. Why would you ever want it to go, Gabbro? Fanart for @tippertot 's fic "warp to me", which held my heart in a harrowing horror for at least three days. It's a really gripping AU! Definitely recommend it during this spooky season. (Will reblog to my main blog, cap-the-winged.)

[kisakis-boyfriend]

🎃 ga ming from genshin impact in encountering a monster male reader and gets butt fucked

Author's Note: One butt fuckin' coming up! I made the reader some type of bird monster, to hopefully do something a bit different from my other monster readers 😅

Pairings: Gaming x male reader

Warnings: Male bird monster!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Gaming, noncon, no prep, primal sex, too much cum

In his line of work, Gaming has to have sharp senses. Anything could happen while he's making a delivery or escorting someone back to their village. Kids get into trouble all of the time — if your hearing isn't trained well enough, you might not pick up on someone's cries for help.

Anything could happen as the sun beats down on the energetic man who walks along a riverbed. His hands absentmindedly mess with an empty food wrapping and, in his trance, he doesn't notice the large shadow closing in on him until–

“Whoa! Hey!” Gaming shouts, steadying himself after your gust of wind nearly caused him to topple over into the river.

When he finally sees what almost flew into him, Gaming's hand reaches for his weapon.

A man… no, a bird– or maybe… a birdman? A human-bird hybrid stands before him; taller than him and rather imposing. Its facial features sharp, and a deranged look in its eye.

Your knees bend, then you once again take flight — this time, you do manage to knock the smaller man over. He tumbles to the grassy area below, but before he can stand back up, you rush over and pin him by his shoulders.

“Ah ah ah! Struggling never helped anyone!” you squawk. Keeping him pinned, you use your talons to rip a hole in the back of his pants.

The action startles poor Gaming. The open air hits his vulnerable hole, and his blood freezes thinking about all of the potential scenarios that could come next.

Anything could happen as your wild, grating laugh pierces his ears — your sharp talons dig in, marking the flesh of his ass cheeks as you spread them apart. “Nononono just hold on a sec—!!”

Gaming cries out as your wet tip slides against his ass; searching for his entrance. You thrust at the air a few times, trying to line yourself up and make it inside. Meanwhile, your prey looks like he's about to cry — large tears pool in the corners of his eyes and his limbs flail around as he searches for an escape. But you both know there isn't one.

He chokes on his words as your cock finally pushes in. Every new inch that enters him burns as your impossibly long monster cock stretches his muscles wider. Your dick only swells more as the human's tightness squeezes it without mercy.

“This is so much better than those winged mates from before! Do all humans have a pussy this tight?” But your prey doesn't answer. His voice has seemingly left him too soon. Only sobs and moans find their way out of him as you continue to ram yourself into his little hole.

Gaming can easily feel every vein on your dick. The shape of the head, and the way it seems like your entire length is going straight through his body, are forever etched into his memory.

His ass bounces with every snap of your hips, turning his skin a darker shade of pink as the abuse goes on.

You speed up, ignoring the human's pained voice as you use his insides to pleasure yourself. Finally, you spill inside of him — shooting an ungodly surge of cum into his womb. Not even human sperm, but thick, fertile monster seed that sloshes around with his every move.

With a wet plop noise, you pull out. The human's hole is gaping, pulsating as some cum dribbles out and creates a small puddle between his weary legs.

But everyone knows that most monsters have far more stamina than humans do.

Gaming's ass is ravaged once again as you slide back into him with an insatiable hunger. Your cum acts as lube this time, and every deep thrust inside is sickeningly wet — the sheer size and length of your cock simultaneously fucks the sperm further inside, and pushes the excess out, leaking down his trembling thighs.

Again, you spill your heavy load inside, adding to the gooey mess that's crammed into his tiny hole.

Anything could happen as Gaming's voice becomes scratchy from all of his crying and screaming, and you slide back in for another round. Pounding and pounding, with no obvious end in sight.

[multifandomme]

In The Shadows

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Female Reader

Summary: Sometimes, rude awakenings can be a welcomed surprise.

Genre: Smut, (mommy kink, strap ons, choking, light degrading, pet names, face-slapping, somno vibes), not suitable for minors.

Word Count: 1k.

This piece is for day 5 of kinktober under the 'mommy kink' prompt. This is a modified version of a work I originally posted in 2022.

More works from me here. || Masterlist here. || Kinktober 2024 Masterlist here.

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Robust was the force that tore you from slumber, a pair of frantic hands grasping hard around your ankles as they dragged you to the edge of the bed. A dazzling simper peered out from the surrounding dimness, pale features eclipsed by the swaying of branches beyond the window, projected upon her skin like a canvas.

Deep, brown irises stirred with something unbeknownst, glimmering as ephemeral bursts of light cast upon them. They transfixed you, she possessed you, enough to have you returning to a state of half-sleep.

“Ssshh, baby,” Emily cooed, the familiarity of her voice able to pierce your dreams and lull you awake, burgundy-painted fingernails etching a downward line from your sternum. “Go back to sleep, Mommy just wants to play with you a little, hm?"

Shivers flurried over you, more fervently so as you felt the woman’s fingers pause in place as they reached the hem of your underwear before gingerly slipping beneath them. Subconsciously, your mouth fell agape, the smallest of whimpers exuding until Emily occluded it with a finger smothering against the flesh of your lips.

“Ah, ah,” she chastised, dulcetly, her tone enough to render you docile, compliant, melting into a shapeless puddle below her. “You look so pretty when you’re sleeping,” She cooed, the weight of her lust beclouded by the faintest of smirks. “Mommy just couldn’t help herself, you understand, don't you, princess?"

Emily traced languidly across your clit, hypnotic, feather-like touches willing you into madness. Unbridled amusement cloaked her features as she stalled to marvel at the way your hips bucked and thrashed pathetically below her careful ministrations.

“You’re soaked,” she observed in faux surprise, seduction setting her dark eyes alight as she lifted her fingers to her mouth and suckled in delight. “Such an easy, little thing, aren’t you?”

Any semblance of coherency was long forsaken, your throat vibrating with moans that threatened to spill out, uncontrolled. But the way Emily ogled you so overtly kept you silent, restrained, aching.

“Are you going to be good for me?” Emily queried, a devilish smirk fused to her lips in the knowing that the question was redundant in any case. “Answer me, darling.”

A zealous nod was all that you were able to muster as you felt Emily roughly prying open your thighs, slender fingers ripping away the material that separated her from what she desired.

Cool air breezed across your bare skin, the familiar feeling of something large pressing roughly into your pussy. Emily wasted no time as she collapsed on top of you, the intrusion pushing in to the hilt as an all-encompassing pain-pleasure rippled with vigour. Soft lips trailed against your neck and punctuated each merciless thrust, a hand soon finding refuge around your throat and tightening in sporadic motion.

“Mommy,” you breathed, the groan lost amongst the sound of feral movement, Emily's teeth buried harshly into your pulse point, nipping at your skin and bound to leave bruising thereafter.

“You want more, don’t you?” Emily coaxed, persuasively, the pace abruptly increasing as you wrangled for breath. “Nothing but a toy for Mommy to use.”

Emily's tongue flickered across her lips as your eyes rolled into your head, dizzied with exhilaration as she slammed into you with brute force. Carnal desire had her driving into you like a woman deranged, a sadistic smile never too far away as she cinched your throat harder and had you clinging onto consciousness by the flimsiest of threads.

“Please, Mommy,” you croaked out pathetically, a blurriness infiltrating your periphery as you fought to stay present, fought to keep your eyes securely upon Emily's to no avail. “I think I’m going to pass-”

A stinging sensation racked across your cheek, a sudden alertness drawing a gasp from you as you noted the absence of pressure around your neck. Emily grinned widely and slapped you mercilessly across the face once more, a pitiful whine fleeing from you as the pain furthered the visceral pulsation between your legs.

“Fuck,” you blurted, the pleasure slowly superseding every other sensation as you grappled with Emily's shoulders in pre-warning, your fingernails digging desperately into her back.

The woman merely chuckled, the force behind her hips so strong, so unwavering that you knew that your body would ache for days in the aftermath. Silver-grey strands tickled your face as you tried to jostle free of her, arms holding you in a vice grip to reiterate just how powerless she had rendered you. Nothing but a rag doll below her tactful tantalisation.

“Aww, am I being too rough, baby?” Emily mocked, wholeheartedly humoured by your strife. “Just a little longer, darling," she promised, sweetly, a sinister smile befalling her in contradiction. "Mommy isn't finished with you, not yet."

The taunting tone of her voice sent you into a spiral, your legs knotted around her as you bounced yourself upon her length, consequences pushed aside as you came undone below her.

“Mommy!” You squealed, your hands flailing as they grabbed at every accessible part of her, your thighs quaking in flexion.

Emily quirked an eyebrow, silence engulfing the room as she drew backwards to feast on the sight of you, disheveled, humiliated, breathless. Her fingers lingered between your legs, touching directly upon your clit only to revel in the way you recoiled from the unbearable intensity it inflicted.

“Oh, my darling,” she whispered, a gentle kiss pressed to your temple. “You’re going to pay for that.”

It was only then that you realised that you had failed to ask for permission, your features flooding with terror as Emily regarded you with a victorious glint in her eye. The debt would undoubtedly be collected, though you wondered just what Emily had planned for your punishment.

"What are you going to do to me, Mommy?" You mumbled, nervously, the sudden emergence of Emily's thumb swiping softly against your lips, a deep hum emanating from her.

"You seem to have forgotten the rules, sweetheart," she crooned, tenderly, "but don't worry your pretty head about that," she assured, shoving her thumb forcibly into your mouth, your eyes widening at the sudden infiltration. "Mommy will make sure you remember all of them, hm? It's only fair, right, baby?"

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[moonstruckme]

AH if ur taking halloween requests for steve… how about steve and reader going to a haunted house and him “protecting” reader (he’s a scaredy cat) or something of the like

Yes halloween requests for all! Thank you gorgeous <3

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 496 words

Haunted houses are perhaps the best excuse for hand holding ever contrived. Really, you might need to find the creator of this one and send them a fruit basket or something, because Steve has not loosened his grip on your hand since you went in the front door. It’s a bit harsh, actually, almost bruising, but you like him just enough not to mind. 

“There’s definitely something around that corner,” Steve mutters. The hand not holding yours is flexing like he wishes he had a weapon. “Definitely.” 

“They don’t have corners in these places for nothing,” you agree. “Don’t, like, hit anyone, okay?”

“M’not gonna hit anyone.” His steps grow slower as you come to the corner, as if he thinks he’s going to sneak up on whatever’s waiting for you. 

You’re both peering around the corner when the clown surprises you from behind. 

You shriek delightedly as Steve whips around, yanking you behind him. You’re pressed between the wall and his backside, a not-unpleasant place to be. You set a hand on his shoulder, peeking over as the clown howls with deranged laughter and your boyfriend wields him off with frantic hand gestures. 

“Shit,” Steve pants once the thing sinks back into the shadows. 

“Yeah.” You’re similarly breathless, anxious giggles fizzing in your chest. “Shit.” 

“Where the fuck did he come from?” He steps away from the wall, from you, and turns to look at you. Pushes a hand through his hair. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

You shake your head. “Nope.” You pull him closer by his hand, kissing him on the cheek. “That was very sweet, how you protected me.” 

Steve makes a quiet scoffing sound, but even in the dark you can see some color rising to his face. “Uh, yeah, that’s kind of my job,” he says, like duh. 

You smile and move your grip up his arm, squeezing his bicep as you advance forward. His skin is smooth and the muscle firm under your touch. Steve’s hair glows purple as you finally go around the corner, thinking, logically, that the big scare in this portion of the house is over. 

You’re wrong. A woman in a tattered wedding dress jumps out at you, shrieking bloody murder, and Steve lets out a short scream as he jumps back. 

“Ow! Steve, my toes!” 

“Gah!” Steve reacts as though this is equally as scary as the bloodied bride, jumping off your toes and holding out his hands to keep her at bay. She streaks past the two of you, going to haunt some other part of the house. 

“Sorry.” Steve isn’t looking at you now, head on a swivel for the next threat. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” You pat his arm, stepping around him. “I’m fine. I think I should probably take the lead for a while, though.” 

Steve grabs your shoulder before you can get far, urging you back behind him. “I really don’t think that’s going to help.”

[mdsbabygirl]

“I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN AND I'LL FOLLOW YOU UNTIL YOU LOVE ME”

HANMA SHUJI X F!READER

Synopsis: you didn't think that rejecting your biggest fan Hanma Shuji could spiral into him kidnapping you and making you his.

Wc: 4k

Cw: reader is a famous influencer, vulgar language, heavy smut, dark contents: kidnapping, drug use, violence, mentions of stalking, degradation, Hanma is a psycho yandere, uses of pet names (doll/ sweetheart/doll face), hard sex, spanking, clit play, nipple play, fingering, missionary, doggy, creampie, etc...

Note: this is my first time writing smut after a long hiatus so feel free to give advice!

"Wake up .. wake up doll face!" You faintly heard a man's voice say, as you struggled to open your eyes. Your body felt extremely heavy and tired, to the point that even breathing was way too exhausting.

You felt a few nudges on your shoulder that managed to stir you awake from your drugged state, finally getting the strength to open your eyes and blink a few times to adjust your vision to the lighting. "Took you long enough to wake up, pretty doll!" You heard the same voice say, chuckling.

You turned your head to look at the source of the sound and you finally saw him..Your kidnapper.. A tall, muscular man with raven-black hair adorned with blonde streaks,  amber-flecked eyes that seemed to penetrate your very soul, chiseled hands, covered in black ink tattoos, sat on a chair beside you..   

You attempt to move but find yourself incapacitated, wrists chained to the bed. Disoriented and confused, you mumblingly ask, "Where am I?" Hearing an unnerving metallic click, you look down to find your wrists bound.

you start to get anxious, nervously pulling your arm, trying to free yourself from the restraints your kidnapper had put on you... Hanma chuckled, finding your reaction rather silly and cute.

His hand reached to grab your wrist, stopping your movements, "ah ah! You're gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing that!" He cooed, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your wrist, as if trying to soothe the pain.

you scowled looking at this deranged man pretending to care for you after kidnapping you.. "GET AWAY FROM ME!" You shouted, desperately trying to put some distance between the both of you, but to no avail..

he giggled, shaking his head, as his hand grabbed a strand of your silky hair and swirled it around his slender finger. "When will you learn that you can't get away from me, hm? Why did you have to make me go to such lengths to make you understand it?" He asked , leaning his head forward  making you face the other way.

He clicked his tongue,  grabbing your chin w his punishment tattooed hand, forcefully making you look at him.. "doll face.. why won't you just accept it? You're mine..you've always been mine, and you always will!" He added, a sly grin appearing on his face, as he caressed your soft cheek. "YOU'RE A SICK MAN! WHO TF EVEN ARE YOU TO SAY SUCH THINGS TO ME?" You yelled at him, tears welling up in your eyes, as the overwhelming emotions of fear and rage collided within you.

Hanma's eyebrows shot up, feeling a bit startled from your reaction. Did his doll face really forget him that easily? Was his love not enough for you to remember him?

"You hurt me sweetheart! You really do!" He said, his psycho smile replaced by a small pout, as his grip on your face tightened, "how could you forget me so easily?!" He asked in disbelief,"thinking I've done so much for you! supported you when no one had, sent you gifts, gave you the attention you deserved, even confessed my love for you!" He nervously listed, recounting his numerous attempts of showing you his twisted affection, amid sadness, denial and a tinge of anger.

Horror washes over you as your mind is racing, finally connecting the dots.. your kidnapper.. he.. he was your stalker!! Past memories came rushing through your brain, images of him sitting at the back of all your social events, the numerous spam likes and comments left on all your posts, the myriad of calls and dms he'd send, all those suspicious love letters and expensive gifts at your doorstep, and yesterday's sick love confession at your latest event, made you recognize your capturer's true identity.

That twisted grin of his made its way back to his features, a sinful glint in his eyes, "I see you finally remember me now doll face!" He spoke, his voice tinged with deranged delight as he took a strand of your soft hair and swirled it around his slender finger. "You look so gorgeous, doll" he cooed, tilting his head as he admired your helpless state, his eyes brimming with wicked affection. He leaned down to press a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, a strangely gentle gesture that clashed with his twisted actions.

He leaned back in his chair and opened the nightstand drawer, pulling out a pack of your favorite snacks. He opened it and took a piece out, chuckling as he recalled overhearing you mention them to a friend when he'd been following you around.

"you know, I gotta admit you really have good taste doll! This snack is very delicious!" He said cheerfully, biting it before he brought the rest to your mouth, and asked w a smile on his face "you hungry?" You looked at him in shock, how could he act so calmly as if he didn't just deprive you of your freedom, treating you with such kindness that betrayed his twisted actions?

You glared at Hanma with pure hate and disgust, wondering how a person can be so sick to their core. "I'm not hungry!" You retort, your voice laced with rage as you look down at the mattress... "Are you sure?" He asks again, pressing the piece of food to your lips "you might need some energy for later!" He said, his voice tinged with sin as his eyes twinkled in lust..

your mind raced with the possible implications of his words, anxiety and fear washing over you, making your body quiver "I said I don't want any!" You reply sternly, looking away from him.

Hanma sighed, putting down the pack of snacks, before he pulled out a small vial from his pocket and twisted the cap off. "IG we'll start right away then!" He spoke, an emotionless expression plastered on his face as he harshly grabbed your face, forcing your mouth open, and pouring in that clear liquid before he quickly muffled your mouth and nose, forcing you to swallow the potent aphrodisiac.

Tears started rolling down your cheeks, as you felt the drug go down your throat and into your system, fogging your mind and making you more vulnerable than you already were. "What.. what did you give me?" You sobbed uncontrollably, unable to move and think straight. "Hmm? Oh it's just something to make you feel good!" He replied, his voice tinged with greed as his tatted hands grabbed your breasts, groping them, making you gasp loudly.

"It shouldn't take long before the effects start showing up!" He added, a sly grin appearing on his face.

His head quickly found its way to the crook of your neck, biting the soft flesh so that it left a purplish mark. He chuckled lowly, "you belong to me now! I can finally do you as I please" he spoke in a sultry tone, his breath feeling hot against your feverish skin.

You tried to push him away but the drug had already weakened your body, reducing you to putty in his hands.. your intoxicated state made you enjoy his teasing , betraying your want for escape.

He laughed at you, mocking your miserable attempts of getting away from him, "you're so pathetic, sweetheart! Just accept it!" He spoke teasingly,  as he lifted his head to meet yours, his lips ghosting over yours, "just admit that you crave me as much as I crave you!" He added, this time w a huskier tone, before your lips met in a tender, lingering kiss.

The touch of your mouths sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and arousal washing over you. Hanma's lips were soft and gentle, yet firm and commanding. His tongue seeked entrance in your hot mouth, brushing over your lower lip, making you gasp softly and slightly pull away.

His hand swiftly grabbed the nape of your neck, tangling into your hair and keeping you in place. "Don't try to fight it y/n.. just kiss me!" He whispered lowly, his seductive voice sending a jolt of tingles to your core that made the wet spot on your panties get bigger and bigger. Your drugged body obeyed to his lustful requests, opening your mouth for him, eagerly welcoming his tongue in, to which he grinned proudly.

Your tongues met, dancing a slow, sensual tango. Hanma's other hand cradled your face, pulling you closer, as your kiss deepened, feeling the intensity building between you, the raw, primal need that drove you both.

His kisses trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a delicate, erotic way. You let out soft moans, your body trembling under his touch. The line between captor and captive blurred, as the intensity of your connection grew.

He planted kisses on your soft skin, leaving behind love bites and hickeys in a mixture of red and purple marks. Each time he applied too much pressure with a bite or suck, he always soothed the pain by licking and gently kissing the spot. After all, he didn't want to cause his precious doll any real pain - he loved you too dearly.

Hanma lifted his gaze, his cock throbbing from the sight of your flushed state, panting heavily.So He  took this as a sign to proceed with his twisted plans. His tatted hands quickly made their way to your body, pulling down the straps of your dress and exposing your chest to his lust filled eyes..

Your cheeks blushed even more as you felt his large hands knead your breasts, your nipples already perked up from the drug. "Damn doll face! Your nipples hardened already?" He mocked you, his chuckles echoing through the room.

You felt humiliated, not only were you at the mercy of your psycho stalker, but that damn aphrodisiac was making his twisted actions feel incredibly pleasurable..

you panted, as his long fingers toyed with your nipples, pinching and squeezing them as he pleased.. "oh come on sweetheart, can't you give ne some better reactions?" He inquired, taking your left nipple between his thumb and index finger, twisting it hard just to get a reaction outta you.. that surely made you moan loudly, which made him laugh.. "that's what I wanna hear doll face!" He said as he kept groping your tits, his dick getting harder and harder by each passing second.

your moans were filling the room, and your body was growing hotter w each passing second, your panties soaking up further.

Every suckle, every flick of his tongue on your hard nub, every twist of his long fingers, sent a jolt of pleasure cursing through you, making you arch your back into his mouth, to which he grinned in satisfaction. He finally got you.

You instinctively started grinding your hips on the mattress, desperately looking for some friction to ease the tension you were feeling between your pretty legs.

Hanma quickly caught up to your actions, stopping his ministrations before he grabbed your hip, tightly squeezing the flesh to make you stop your movements "what are you doing?" He asked in a stern way, almost as if he was mad you were so needy for him.

"I.. I..nothing!" You managed to mumble, your mind way too fogged from the potent drug to even form a coherent sentence, the only thought in your lust filled mind was getting off to him.. quick.

"Nothing? Looked like you were being a needy little slut grinding like that on my bed" He replied in a low degrading tone.

Your breath hitched as you felt a sharp sting on your skin and a slapping sound echoed through the walls... Did he just spank you? You were too high to even comprehend what wicked things he was doing to you, but that sharp pain surely did feel pleasurable.

A high pitched moan left your plush lips, as you felt another spank on your hip, making your body jolt. Hanma quickly grabbed you by the face again looking at your hazed state. He chuckled lowly as he admired all his hard work, adoring the girl he so much longer for.

Your teary eyes met his greedy ones, needy gaze falling on his grinning face, mentally begging him to fuck you already, to completely ravish you  until there was nothing left... His sick smile widened further, as his pants became impossibly tighter, his dick aching for some kind of attention.

"Hanma.. please fuck me! Please fuck me already I can't take it anymore!" You whine, eagerly taking his hand and putting it between your legs, making him feel the pool of wetness dripping out of your needy pussy.. 

Your action took him a bit by surprise, although he wasn't the least bit bothered, he was actually very pleased. "Aww, my little dolly whore wants my attention hmm?" He cooed, the fingers of his sin tatted hand lightly grazing your clothed cunt, teasing you on purpose, just for the fun of seeing you buckle your hips into his touch.

"Please Hanma.. I need you! Please!" You cry out, begging for him to take you then and there, to ruin you like the good little slut you are. He chuckled, who thought those damn aphrodisiacs were so useful? He thought to himself before he ripped the nightgown from your body, leaving you almost bare In front of him, if it wasn't for your soaked panties that he quickly ripped off  too. "Now we're Talking!" He said in a sultry voice, as he admired your naked body before him, so beautiful, so gorgeous, all for him to enjoy..

he always had this reaction when he saw you naked, it's almost as if it was his first time—which obviously wasn't he saw you naked before many times but you never knew you had hidden cameras in your house— seeing you so vulnerable like this, made his cock throb in anticipation and his mind flood with the images of him pumping his hard dick in and out of you until you couldn't think walk anymore.

He pushed you onto the bed, falling on your back, as you looked at his undressing form, the sight of his toned chest and abs sending tingles of excitement to your throbbing clit.. you breathed shakily, reaching out to touch his chest but unable to do so from the chains that restrained you..

Hanma laughed at your actions, finding them cute, "look at you! You're so far gone you're willing to touch your kidnapper! Such a horny slut I got here!" He spoke mockingly, leaning in to press his lips onto yours, capturing them in a fiery kiss, full of lust. Your mouth greedily welcomed his tongue in, your wet muscle swirling around his and engaging in a sinful dance that sent shivers down both of your spines.

He pulled away looking at you intensely "if I take that chain off of your hand, do you promise me you'll be a good girl and obey everything I say?" He whispered lowly, his gaze so intense he could burn holes into your skull..

You eagerly nodded, feeling excited about the idea of being freed—partially— from his restraints.

He smirked, quickly opening the locks on your chains and letting your hand fall beside you. Before you could even think about moving it, you felt both of your wrists get held over your head, restricting your movements once again. You gasp at the sudden action, looking at a grinning Hanma who simply said "well... At least my hands won't hurt as much as the chains!" Before he leaned in close, his lips meeting yours in a forceful kiss, stealing your breath, and asserting his control.

The taste of your lips, slick with saliva, only fueled his desire. Hanma's free hand traveled down your body, his fingertips finding your moist, quivering entrance. Gently, but assertively, he began to stroke you, your moans muffled by his own mouth.

As his fingers danced against your throbbing clit, your hips instinctively bucked, craving more. Hanma broke the kiss for a moment, whispering in your ear, "You're going to enjoy every second of this, no matter how it started."

He kissed your neck, biting down softly, sending shivers down your spine. The kidnapper continued to tease you, his thumb flicking back and forth against your swollen clit. You squirmed under his touch, yearning for more.

He slid one finger inside you, curling it, before adding another. The stretch of his long fingers making you gasp loudly,  arching your back , and fluttering your eyelids shut as you felt pleasure curse through your body, sending sparks of pure Bliss through your nerves. He began to finger you in earnest, his touch firm and precise.

As your orgasm neared, Hanma suddenly removed his fingers, leaving you wanting and confused. His voice, a smug whisper in your ear, told you, "No, darling, you won't cum on my fingers. You'll cum on my dick."

He quickly repositioned himself, his erect cock sliding into your slick, waiting entrance. The sudden intrusion caused you to gasp, but it wasn't in discomfort. Hanma began to move, his powerful thrusts matching the intensity of your desires.

As he rammed into you, your moans grew louder, a crescendo of your arousal. You could feel the edge of your climax, and with each thrust, Hanma's cock brushed against that gummy spot inside you, teasing you even further.

In a frenzy, he grabbed you by the jaw, and your lips met in a fierce, passionate kiss. Your eyes fluttered shut as you reached the precipice of an earth-shattering orgasm. Just as it crested, Hanma held you even tighter, forcing you to endure the pleasure without release.

"Not yet," he growled into your ear. "I'll let you cum when I'm ready.."

Your kidnapper continued to ravage you, his need for control in every movement, every thrust. Your body quivered, the tight knot in your stomach threatening to burst, as Hanma held you on the edge, denying your release.

It was too much, way too much! The pleasure was way too intense you couldn't stop yourself from cumming, your arousal juices oozing out of your abused hole, squeezing around his throbbing length making him reach his climax too, involuntarily forcing him to join you in your twisted pleasure, and to spill his thick semen inside you, pumping you full of his cum—just like he imagined — even tho he explicitly told you not to do so, yet..

You felt his thrusts become faster than before, his moans louder and filthier echoing through the walls of the room, "unghh.. ahhh shit, fuck! Fuck you, you little slut! I told you not to fucking make me cum didn't I?" He shouted at you in between moans, his fucked out state preventing him from fully focusing on you—which is considered good luck— and scold you further.

His pace became even harsher than before, his thrusts hitting so deep inside you you think he could bruise your cervix. He didn't care if he was overstimulating himself, he didn't want this to end, he wanted.. no he needed to keep going..

You felt a painful spank on your butt, followed by a harsh thrust that made you scream so loud, then another spank followed by yet another hard thrust of his, "you filthy little slut, how dare you disobey me?" Thrust. "Answer me!" Thrust. "Who gave you permission to cum?" Spank.

You cried out, feeling so overwhelmed by the intense feelings you were experiencing, taunting pleasure mixed with blissful pain.. a powerful combo that made your body shake uncontrollably, and scream so erotically loud, even the sluttiest pornstars would be jealous of you..

"No one" he growled, "no one gave you permission to be a lil bitch and cum unannounced on my dick!" He spat out, "I'm gonna have to punish you!" He said huskily before he pulled out, and flipped your weak body, so that your perky butt was on full display for him. "Now doll face, I'm gonna teach you what being a little slut does to pretty girls like you ok?" He spoke in a stern tone, his punishment tattooed hand harshly slapping your already reddened skin..

you whined, your body jolting from the intensity of his slap.. it hurt.. it hurt so much but it felt so goddamn good in that blissful state of yours. His large palm made contact once more with your freshly bruised skin, the slapping sound echoing through the walls.

You tried getting away from his harsh touch, gathering all the strength left in your weak quivering body, to crawl away from Hanma, but he was quicker than you, stronger than you. He forcefully grabbed you by the hips, and shoved his cock back inside your slippery hole, the sudden fullness making you scream, gasping for air.

"That's what happens when.. unghh.. pretty dolls don't obey their masters" he muttered through gritted teeth, trying his best not to moan as loud as you,  the endless squeezes of your overstimulated cunt feeling so heavenly on his throbbing cock.

His rhythm was harsh; deep thrusts hitting all the way up your cervix, his hard length rearranging your insides as it pleases. His tatted hands were tightly gripping the flesh of your hips, bruising it with how much he was squeezing.

He still didn't recover from the earth shattering orgasm he just had, which made him more sensitive than he wanted to be. Hanma wanted this sinful  moment to last forever, he needed to have you under him, moaning like a slut as you got your pussy pounded by him. That's the only thing he'd need.. he craved you for so long and thinking he finally got you like this felt like a dream he never wanted to wake up from.

Hanma pounded into you with animalistic fury. Your bodies collided in a ferocious, primal dance, as your ass bounced with each of his thrusts, already raw and bruised from the countless spanks.

His tatted hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving dark imprints as he ravaged you. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his grunts grew louder and more frenzied.

Finally, he could hold back no longer. With a deep, guttural groan, he unleashed his hot, thick cum inside you, filling her completely. His seed spilled into you, an endless fountain of his desire, as his cock pulsed with each powerful thrust.

Hanma continued to ravage you, his relentless pace forcing you to the very edge of  endurance. When he finally collapsed against you, panting heavily, your body shook with spent, trembling pleasure.

Slowly, he pulled out, gathering the sticky remnants of his lustful passion with his long, slender fingers. He then presented his prize to you, smearing the cum across your lips. In a possessive whisper, he said, "I'm gonna have so much fun with you, my little cumslut!"

With that, he pulled you to your feet, your legs wobbly and unsteady. He guided you to a nearby chair and, with a wicked grin, said, "Now, you can clean up your mess, doll face" watching you with a predatory glee as he imagined how he'd push his throbbing length up your tight throat.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

©2024ᴍᴅꜱʙᴀʙʏɢɪʀʟ, ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ

[after-witch]

Surrounded by Hunger [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Surrounded by Hunger [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You're an artist, with no muse. Until Mahito shows up on your back porch.

Word count: 3500ish

notes: yandere, mild body horror, reader is a trans male

“I want you to paint me,” Mahito says, with an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. No smile, no leer today. Just a somber frown as he appears from nowhere--as he often does--and sits himself in front of you. 

The cool summer evening air would smell as clean as the breeze, but for the cigarette lazily perched in the ashtray on the edge of the porch. 

Smoking.  Your one vice. Or is it your eighth? You don’t keep much track of your vices, these days. If you did, you might actually try to quit them. But smoking is one of two current addictions that you can’t fathom letting go of right now.

The other one is sitting next to you.

"Like one of my French girls?” you murmur, lips quirking up. 

Mahito tilts his head towards you, still frowning. You wonder, idly, if he has an actual brain inside his skull. Do curses have brains? You’re not sure about the technicalities of how they function, but it’s not something you’d really like to ask Mahito, either.

But it’s like you can see his brain working from the minute movements of his body language. The body is one thing you’re usually good at reading, and you ought to be, considering your career. No one wanted paintings from someone who didn’t understand the basics of body movement.

“Ah,” he says, finally, with a small smile. “Titanic. Directed by James Cameron. 1997.” His smile gets a little perkier. On anyone else, that smile might look deranged. But it suits Mahito, you think.

“I liked the sinking part the best. The way they…” He flicks his fingers in the air, and makes an eerily accurate sound reminiscent of bodies banging against metal parts. “And the frozen baby!” He closes his eyes almost all the way, leaving just enough room for you to see his gaze slide over to you. “Humans do love representing their own misery, don’t they?”

Something squeezes in your chest. It might have been a barb about you and your work; and it might not have been. One of the trickiest things about Mahito was that you could never be sure when he was trying to hurt you, and when he wasn’t. 

The worst part was, you knew that it didn’t matter either way. It wasn’t like you’d ever ask him to leave. He knew that, too. Maybe that was the actual worst part.

He doesn’t elaborate on his statement. Instead, he leans his head back, looking at the darkening sky; the deep blue of the evening oozing away to make room for the blacker part of the night. His profile like this is fascinating--the way his hair seems to almost shimmer in the fading light, falling back against the side of his neck. 

“Well?” He asks.

You couldn’t say no. You were already imagining ways to capture him, like this. In profile, staring up at the sky with eyes that were anything but human. With a brain that was perhaps not a real brain. With a body he could change at will. 

Despite all that, here he is, sitting on your porch, breathing in your cigarette smoke and staring up at the ordinary evening sky.

What does he see that you don’t? That no human does? Why does he even come around you, when he could be off trying to--your brain fumbles for snatches of what he’s told you--battling sorcerers? 

Maybe you can capture something of the answer in your painting. 

“Okay,” you say, lightly, even though the answer is anything but. “But we have to go inside for the sketch. There’s not enough light out here this late.”

Mahito smiles. In profile, you see only the half of it, the edge of his lips curling, a glimpse of his teeth. 

You’ll be up all night sketching, trying to capture this expression. 

--

Your first finished painting of Mahito isn’t all that great. The evening skyline was done from memory because the next few days had been cloudy and they stole the sky’s normal colors away. And no amount of mixing could quite give you the right shade for his hair; you put something new on order, a type of shimmer pigment. That might help for future pieces.

The expression, though. There was something in that. Something not quite human that you managed to capture, although if you had to do it over, you’d reconsider taking your drawing from sketch to painting. The sketch had something raw to it, like Mahito might just turn his head and wink at you. 

As an artist, you knew that such a subject was rare. It was not always easy to find inspiration that kept you working almost relentlessly, eager and passionate rather than staring at an empty canvas and willing the world to send something to you.

Mahito was a gift, wasn’t he? To an artist. To someone like you, who needed something to make your work stand out. And it does, here. Mahito looks unusual--striking, beautiful, but with something unpleasant itching to get out from underneath his skin. 

But still. It’s flawed. 

And that’s not the standard artist humble-brag designed to avoid a reputation of pompous pride. Your paintings, as a whole, just aren’t good enough. 

It’s why the galleries rejected you. Why what few connections you had with other painters tended to fade away, becoming more and more untethered as they were invited to galas, as they held openings, as their works went to auction, and you…

You sat on your porch smoking and waiting, heart pacing, for a curse to show up on your door.

--

Mahito stands in front of the revealed piece, quietly observing it. His fingers reach out and skim the canvas, bumping along a few rough areas of paint. His mouth parts a few times, then closes. 

You expect him to be blunt with some kind of critique. He’s never been shy with honesty, no matter how hurtful. It was something you hated and loved all with one confusing, awful sameness.

Instead, his gaze flits over every square of the canvas enough times that sweat begins to bead down the back of your neck. Does he hate it? Is he about to tell you that you’d be better off doing something else, something more ordinary, something more mundane? 

No.

What he does is turn his head towards you, slowly, something that is not quite a smile on his face. An expression that makes you think of the back porch, sunsets and cigarette smoke. 

“Now do it again.”

--

You should hate this, really. Someone who sticks around and more or less demands that they be your muse. Most artists purge these types of people from their lives, unwanted flypaper hangers-on who pout and demand to be painted. 

But Mahito is your muse, and you don’t hate it, and you don’t think he’s clingy or desperate like others who have found themselves on your back porch before. 

He’s your muse simply because he exists. You could not fathom knowing Mahito and not committing him to the canvas. The only shock is that it was his idea, not yours; and maybe, deep down, you were too afraid to ever ask him. In case he said no.

So you draw him, and paint him. He drapes himself over your couch wearing nothing, spreads himself on your bed with winter clothes in the summer heat; perches on the end of the kitchen stool and watches gnats circle a bowl of bananas. 

The ideas are his, mostly. 

And the pieces are interesting. “Intriguing,” your regular art gallery said, when you submitted the one of Mahito sprawled out in a fuzzy scarf and hat and puffy winter coat while sweat clung to his forehead from the summer afternoon sun.

Interesting, intriguing, a striking model… and yet. They’re still not enough--not enough to get paid. Not enough to get noticed. 

Not enough to get you out of bed some days, when all you want to do is smoke lying down and hope the smoke alarm in your bedroom still has low batteries. 

This is how Mahito finds you this morning. Half-resting on sore elbows while smoke wafts up to your  ceiling, imperceptibly adding to the layers of brown and yellow build up. 

“Hey.”

He pokes your nose. You blink, slowly turn your gaze towards him. Then close your eyes and let out another puff of smoke.

“You’re being mopey,” he says, flatly. Not teasing or whining, certainly not with sympathy. Just a matter-of-fact. 

The options weigh heavy on your shoulders. It’s not like you two don’t talk about serious things. But God, with Mahito, the roles are reversed between artist and muse. You’re the clingy one, the one desperate to keep him around; afraid that the wrong word or gesture might make him blip out of your life as quickly as he came into it.

Who were you, if you didn’t have Mahito? Just another failing artist who could barely afford their cigarette addiction. 

But you trust him. Because he’s here. Because he hasn’t left yet. Because when you’re drawing him and you ask him to lift his arm up, he somehow knows the exact angle you mean, every time. So you lick your lips and look up at him with tired, reddened eyes.

“They’re not enough.” A pause. “The paintings, I mean. No one will buy them.” You drop the rest of your cigarette in the ashtray on your night stand. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

You do know, though. Your paintings aren’t interesting enough anymore. What little buzz you’d generated in your first break onto the scene from your fantastical horror work had long since faded, as had your inspiration for such pieces. 

It wasn’t enough to play with color and light, to perfectly capture the sun through an opaque curtain playing on Mahito’s hair while black flies buzzed onto overripe fruit. Of course not. People wanted more. You just weren’t more, now. If you were ever that. 

Mahito crawls onto your bed, languid; it’s not the first time he’s been so close, so intimate, but it gives you goosebumps nonetheless. He curls himself behind your back and runs a finger down your arm. 

“They like your older work,” he muses. You’ve ranted about this, and he apparently listened, which makes you feel at least a little least sour. “So why don’t you paint like that again?”

So much for feeling a little less sour. You curl inwards, eyes fixated on the dimming red glow of your cigarette in its tray. 

Mahito pokes your shoulder. Impatience. You can feel it building in him, in the way his arm muscles tense, just a little. When he gets bored, he sometimes leaves. 

You don’t want him to leave, so you force the words out, although you’d rather keep them private. Your mouth feels sticky when you talk, but you press on. 

“My old stuff was before…” You know he knows, but you’ve never pinned down a single way to explain it to him. “Before I figured myself out. Before a lot of things, I guess.” Mahito’s hand wraps itself around your stomach, and you reach out to intertwine your fingers. To keep him with you, if such a thing were possible.

“I haven’t had the same type of inspiration in a long time,” you admit. “So I don’t know how to just…” Flashes of your old canvases come to mind. Demons and ghosts and landscapes of terrible beauty. “Get back into that head space.”

There is a stretch of silence that begins to worry you. Maybe you are too boring, maybe you’re whining, maybe whatever this is has run its course and he’ll leave and you’ll have nothing to your name but this empty apartment and your empty life.

But then Mahito grips your shoulder and pushes you firmly, swiftly, onto your back. There’s a dull ache where he touches you and you stare up into his eyes, wide and bright even in the darkness. He’s grinning. He’s grinning, and it’s beautiful and ugly--

And on his side, arms sprout out; some with mouths sporting their own grins. Behind him, arms upon arms,  hands upon hands. A grotesque vision come to life in your dim apartment bedroom. You can see it now, on canvas. A creature with greedy hands outstretched to the world, taking what it wants, when it wants. 

You can see Mahito, posting, while you furiously work at the easel. You know you’ll work until your hands cramp, desperate enough to capture every microexpression in pencil before it fades. 

Mahito, the muse, painted again and again. Until your hands cramp, until your eyes are red and burning. 

“Does this inspire you?” he says, a bright giddiness in his tone fading into something lower and warmer as he leans down to capture your lips.

You’re not certain which of you tastes the most of ashes.

--

The paintings are perfectly grotesque. Inspirational. Disturbing.

“And yet,” the director continues, tapping his pen against his chin, “so life-like. You can hardly tell where the real model ends and your imagination begins.” 

Because, of course, humans cannot sprout extra limbs from their sides. Humans cannot stretch their tongues to wrap around their body like a rope. Humans cannot pull open the flesh of their stomachs to reveal what’s inside.

Not without dying, anyway. 

You’d almost asked Mahito if that was what curses looked like on the inside--if they had organs, like stomachs and lungs--but thought better of it. Knowing would be worse than pretending. 

When you pretend, you can ignore the growing sickness in your stomach as the paintings become worse--and better. As Mahito pushes you farther and farther, and you’re not sure if you want to turn back. 

When you pretend, life with Mahito doesn’t seem very fucked up at all. 

“Keep it up,” the director tells you, thumbing through the wad of ghastly cash he hands over for your latest piece. It’s enough to pay off your rent and bills and cover cigarettes and booze and some new books for Mahito, though you’re sure he just steals them when he’s not with you. 

And you do--keep it up.

Because Mahito wants to, and because despite all the disturbing dreams you begin to have after sessions of drawing and painting, your new works really are better. More visceral and alive; galleries want them. 

They want you.

You feel seen, finally, for who you are and what your hands can do--

How could you turn that away?

--

“I don’t know,” you say, slowly, watching the thing Mahito brought with him writhe on the table. 

It was soft and gelatinous, like a blob of moving goo. At first, that’s what you thought it was: something he scooped out of a container at a toy store that sold novelty slimes. 

But this wasn’t some gob of bright orange or neon blue with a telltale sticky sheen that told parents that yes, mom and dad, this was going to wind up sticking to the carpet by the end of the day.

This was light beige, with two big black spots that looked a bit like eyes. It was larger than you think a toy slime would have been and it--well it moved. Really moved. Not just from a slight breeze drifting in through the window or due to its own gelatinous nature.

It was--whatever it was--alive. 

It had eyes, and perhaps that bit of discolored beige was hair, and that was it. Two eyes, slick, shiny skin, and no mouth at all. 

“It’s a statement piece,” Mahito says simply, even happily, as he adjusts the blob to his liking on the table. He tries out a series of poses that you direct with hesitation--looking down at it with his chin resting in his elbow, holding it in his arms like some sort of stuffed bear, endless, restless poses, all punctuated by the strange writhing of the thing.

The two of you finally settle for Mahito looking one way, and the blob--were those its eyes?--facing another. A contrast between colors and shapes and Mahito’s lithe form and the writhing blob. But while there is a dim satisfaction in putting Mahito onto the canvas, a sense of self-worth and pride that grows with every stroke, you put off working on the blob until the last possible minute. Your body seems to know why, even if your mind doesn’t. 

At the end of the night, you start to ask a question that’s been on your mind the entire evening--

“Mahito?” 

But when he turns, a small smile on his face, blob in hand, the words die in your throat.

You say nothing as he leaves. You work a little more on the painting, avoiding half the canvas, not wanting to think about what it was that Mahito brought and why he brought it.

That night, you dream about a garden of squirming, writhing blobs.

--

Today, Mahito has no mouth. 

And today, you’ve decided, that this will be your last Mahito piece. No more. Not a single one. The singular lack of a mouth is not even as horrific as some of the other ways Mahito has posed for you, but somehow, it’s the one that terrifies you the most. 

Mahito has no mouth, and you can’t even ask him why.

Mahito has no mouth--

Mahito has no mouth, and he wants you to paint him.

He tells you this, in gestures. Maybe if he was over the top about it--if he was wildly waving his hands, if he made a game of it--then it wouldn’t make you feel so wrong. But he’s slow, methodical. Serious.

It makes your stomach clench on nothing but whisky and overcooked eggs. 

But you let him bring out one of your mirrors and set it up in front of a stool so you can paint him, looking at himself in the glass. There’s nothing else you can do but this, you realize; that’s what your life has come to. You are mingling with a curse and he could kill you in a moment if he wanted to--but right now, he wants you to draw him and paint him and put something monumentally distressing on the canvas. And you want to do these things--because he wants you to? Because you know the gallery owner is going to take one look at this last piece and ask you to open your own show? Love or ego or something awful and in-between?

You sketch quickly. It’s the final layers of painting that will take days, you think, if you want this to turn out right. Right now you’re worried about two things: capturing the tones while the light is just right, and how Mahito will react when you tell him you’re done after this.

It’s not like you can tell him now. He can’t even talk. 

What is it like, without a mouth? You bring cigarettes to your lips and wonder if he feels jealous of it. Would he get mad, if you told him you needed a drink? A snack? Eating and drinking--curses can do these things, and you’ve seen Mahito do them, but you don’t know how much of it is a want or a need. It’s hard enough to tell the difference with a human. 

If you had no mouth, what would you be? Your thoughts flit, briefly and then away again, to the blob. To its eyes. To the way it couldn’t stop moving and Mahito held it like a toy. 

You don’t want to think about that. 

It would feel wrong to talk while you work on this piece, you decide. Better to save it for when it’s finished. A few days, at most, with Mahito holed up in your bedroom--and no mouth at all. 

In these few days, you want to kiss him more than ever. Want to capture the memory of his lips, because surely, he’ll want to leave if you’re done painting him. Done being entertaining. 

The thought of kissing the awful, empty space where his mouth should be keeps you from even thinking about it.

--

It’s your masterpiece. You know this from the moment the last stroke is complete. You’ll never top this work, and some prideful part of you demands that you try, anyway. 

Mahito still has no mouth. Even as you pull the drape off the canvas, as he gets close to inspect it. 

“Mahito,” you say, suddenly. He doesn’t look at you. That’s better, you think. Makes it easier to stomach what will come next; the inevitable moment where Mahito drops you like an old toy. Usually it’s the other way around, an artist getting bored of its muse and flinging them aside. 

But you’re not bored of Mahito. You’re afraid of him. You want him here--but you don’t. It’s a big jumbled mess and maybe it would have been easier if he never showed up on your back porch, if you never saw him at all, if he hadn’t opened up some wound inside you that only he can stitch up. 

“Mahito,” you repeat. “I don’t think I can paint you anymore.” Stupid, weasel words. You cringe. “I mean. I don’t want to paint you anymore--after this one.”

Mahito tilts his head, and finally turns his eyes towards you--but still, there’s no mouth, no mouth, no mouth.

After a moment, you continue, mouth dry and sticking. “Did you hear me, I said I--”

Mahito’s hand slaps against your own, hushing you.

“Have you been wondering what it feels like?” It takes a few blearly, confusing moments for you to realize that Mahito is talking not with lips on his face, but on the hand that’s pressed over yours. “To be unable to speak?”

The awful thought hits you. Is your mouth even still there, under Mahito’s hand? 

Mahito leans in, and pulls his hand away. Slowly, like he’s revealing a prize .

“I want to paint you now,” he murmurs. He might even be cooing, eyes alight at what he sees as he lifts his hand. 

You want to answer him--you want to scream.

But you can’t say a word. 

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 20

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n this is dedicated to the three readers who left such lovely messages after the last chapter, particularly the one who left a long list of tags when reblogging the masterlist yesterday. just a reminder that i love and appreciate you, and your comments mean the world <3

previous | masterlist | next

---

You're sitting in a small, empty waiting room, away from the hustle and noise of the main room, when I.N flies through the open doorway and straight across the room, his feet moving so fast that you swear he almost crashes into the wall on the other side.

"Hide me," he says, sliding onto the floor on the far side of your seat.

You blink in confusion, frowning as you look down at him. "What?" 

"From Changbin," he says, his breath hitching in his throat like he's been running for miles, and aggressively waves a hand towards the door. "Don't look down here. Hide me."

"I.N-AH!" Changbin's voice cries in the hallway as if summoned by the very mention of his name, the final syllable drawn out long and loud. The sound, and the grimace that covers I.N's face in response as he sits there curled against the wall makes you crack a smile, your eyes tearing away from him and back to your phone screen just in time to feign innocence as Changbin appears in the open doorway, a wide grin on his face as his eyes search the visible parts of the room.

"I.N-ah~," he calls, cajolingly now, and leans through the door as if that will be enough to entice the younger boy out, to make him forget about the deranged yelling that had followed him down the hallway just a moment before. "Come on, I.N-ah. I just want to give you my love."

From behind him, you spy Hyunjin with a camera in one hand, hovering over Changbin's shoulder as he hesitates to come into the room. His other hand is covering his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. "He's not in here," you tell them, resisting every urge to look down at the boy hiding behind your chair - or to break, a laugh trying its hardest to bubble up to the surface of your lips no matter how hard you shove it down. "He ran past going that way." You point out to the hall again, in the direction Changbin had been heading.

Changbin stares at you for a moment, eyes narrowed like he's trying to figure out if you're lying or not. "I saw him come in here," he says, but only like he's testing the waters - not like he's sure of the fact, or willing to defend it with his life.

A smile creeps across your face. "You're seeing things again," you say, and watch him scoff and bluster, withdrawing from the doorway. 

"Our noona is lying to me," he says to the camera, and then giggles when he looks back to see the look on your face before he leaves, saying something to Hyunjin that you can't quite hear when their voices fade down the hallway, following their footsteps.

Several seconds later, I.N climbs out of hiding, circling around you to slump onto the other end of the couch in a sigh of relief. "I knew I could trust you," he says, a hand tossing his hair away from his forehead and then reaching to drag his own phone out of his pocket.

"Is this what you usually do for your vlogs?" you ask in return, your phone sinking into your lap. "A lot of screaming and running around?"

A wry smile crosses I.N's face. "Changbin does that anyway. Hyunjin just happened to be holding the camera when he grabbed me." He pauses, and then adds, "Isn't this how every practice goes too?"

You shrug. "There's usually less chasing. Maybe it's just because the practice rooms are smaller."

"And they can lock the zoo animals in with us." You snort a laugh and lift your phone again, your restless scroll continuing. Several seconds of silence stretch between you before I.N comes up with another question. "What are you doing in here alone?"

"Nothing," you sigh, and the phone drops away from your field of vision again, replaced with the sight of the other side of the room. White walls, folding tables covered in mess, abandoned chairs. Boring. Thoughtless. "Trying to find something to do that isn't thinking about tomorrow. I don't know, nothing important."

"You could always poke Changbin into tackling you," I.N suggests lightly. "Usually when that happens to me, I can't even remember what I was doing before."

You wince at the thought of it; so far, you've stayed away from the roughhousing that occasionally breaks out and you'd not intended to get involved in the future. Not as a victim, anyway. "I'm good, thanks," you reply wryly, making light of the curl of anxiety that rattles at your ribcage for no particular reason. "It was really loud up there earlier, so I came down here."

"I should have come with you," he sighs. "I didn't know we were being nervous in peace down here."

The way you look at him, head turning sharply and eyes narrowing as your thoughts race to catch up, makes him do a double take, confusion clouding his eyes. "You're nervous?" you ask; and sure, it's not so strange when you think about it and remember the jitter of nerves that crawls up and down your spine every time you go near that stage, but for him to feel like that too, a whole day before you go out there and do the job you came here to do? Surely, after three years, it got easier than that. Surely he couldn't be that nervous.

"Probably not as much as you are," he tells you, "but yeah. It's a big stage, and there's a new song-"

He stops like he is going to say more and then drops it, the end of his sentence hanging unfinished in the air. "I thought you'd be more...used to it, by now," you say, a hand waving in the air vaguely like that will help to explain your case. "Not that you wouldn't be nervous at all, but..."

"I think the others are," I.N says, leaning back into the cushions of the couch with a shrug that slumps his shoulders downward. His hands fiddle idly with his phone in his lap, snapping the case on and off as he thinks. "I feel like I'm still learning though, like you. That's why Lee Know teaches me a lot."

You're aware that you're staring at him like he's crazy, but he takes it in stride, not even flinching under your scrutiny. "If you're this good and still learning, I've got no hope," you tell him, and then you slump back too, one leg sliding up under you so that you can lean on your shoulder.

He openly scoffs at you. "You're just as good as me. And you came in here and just started...fitting in and working."

"That's a lie," you insist, but the absurdity of it all makes a breathy laugh bubble up from inside your chest, easing the tension that keeps building there. "I don't think I fitted in at all when I started. Sometimes I still can't believe that I'm actually going to make it to debut; or that I even belong here."

I.N's lips twist, his eyes softening. "Sometimes I don't either," he admits.

You laugh again, this noise far more undignified than the last one. "Wild thing to say when you've been in a successful group for three years."

The look he gives you is cutting, his eyebrows raised high. "Yeah?" he questions. "And you saying you're not going to debut is any different?"

"I haven't debuted yet, global idol," you point out. 

"Because tomorrow is so far away," he says with a roll of his eyes.

"Technically, I don't debut until an official comeback," you argue.

"You think you're just going to leave after performing with us tomorrow?" he scoffs. "Be more serious. It's embarrassing for you."

"I am being serious!"

"You're being ridiculous."

"I'm calling Changbin to come and get you."

"Not if I leave first."

You stare at each other for several seconds, your phone raised in the air between you like a threat. I.N is the first to break, lips pinching together tight in an effort to swallow the smile that eventually breaks them, the giggle that bubbles up at how stupid an argument this is. "Don't call Changbin," he says, breaking about as fast as you'd expected him to. "I'll break your phone."

"Who are you, Seungmin?" you question; your phone moves out of his reach anyway, just in case. "You spend too much time together."

"Only since you came," I.N throws out carelessly. "He won't leave me alone." The way he says it is innocuous, like he truly doesn't mean anything by the words, and you believe it; but still, it sticks in your mind.

"No one leaves you alone," you point out, carefully stepping around the implication that Seungmin likes hanging out with you. Or taking care of you. Or something. "You're too cute to ignore."

The face I.N pulls is disgusted, the mirror image of the expression he gives the other boys when they start paying him too much attention. "Maybe you spend too much time with Changbin," he suggests.

The dryness of his tone is funny enough to make you laugh, the noise bursting unbidden from your mouth. "I'm just stating a fact," you assure him. "You're cursed with that face. There's nothing you can do about it now."

"Have you ever toured in Australia?" you ask some time after Chan has taken over the laptop again, your career as Stray Kids' producer as short lived as it was spontaneous. You're sitting now in one of the armchairs from across the room, dragged over next to the table in the pretense of having any kind of input in whatever he is doing as he fiddles endlessly with the details of Han's song.

"We went last year," Chan says, glancing up at you. "Why?"

You shrug carelessly, leaning back in your chair. "Just wondering. I haven't been back in a while. It'd be nice to go one day."

He pauses a moment longer, his hands on the keyboard. "How long is 'a while'?"

You realise you might have made a mistake when your lips press together around the answer, reluctant to give it. "Since I came to Korea?" you spit out eventually, when the tension in the air reaches the breaking point between too late to answer and not saying anything at all. 

The look he gives you says everything he needs to, though his mouth opens to back it up anyway. "You haven't been home in - six years?"

"Sixish," you confirm. "Something like that."

"Why?" he presses. "You've never had a holiday?"

"I've never had time," you say defensively. "Every time my holidays came up, I was working on evaluations or something, so I just never got there."

He shakes his head, returning to his work. "We'll tour in Australia," he says, like it's a promise that is his to keep, not some employee of the company whose name you don't know. "And you'll get a holiday before that."

"Why do I feel like you're going to force me to take a holiday?" you ask, drawing your legs up underneath you.

The look that he shoots at you between edits on his computer screen is withering enough to belong on Minho's face - and without words attached, his gaze saying what it wants all by itself. "Did you take every holiday you had as a trainee?" you ask. 

"Most of them," he answers primly. "And I went home a couple of times too. Like a normal trainee."

"Don't call me weird," you say, but there's no heat behind your voice - only the weakness, maybe, when the realisation of how much time and distance has stretched between you and a place you keep calling home, brushes up against your mind. You hold it at arm's length rather than embracing it, unwilling to sit here and cry about it on a night like this. 

"You're not weird," he answers. "Just unsocialised."

"Unsocialised?"

The incredulous look you give him is met with a laugh, the sound of it high and infectious as it invades the room. "No one ever taught you how to do anything except work," he explains. 

"Hey," you say, as if you're offended. "I'm fun. I know how to have fun."

"How to have fun at work," he insists. 

"Are we not having fun right now?" you question.

"And what are we doing right now?" he fires back, pointing at his laptop.

It takes you several seconds to realise the corner he's backed you into, your eyes tracking from the laptop to him several times. "Working," you sigh in defeat and wrap your arms around your knee, drawing it up towards your chest like a shield as you sag into the back of your seat.

"It's okay," Chan says smugly. "At least you are fun to hang out with. Some people don't even have that going for them."

"I'm so fun," you insist, knowingly doubling down to avoid having to accept the compliment. "Companies can't resist me. Teachers never want me to debut and leave their classes. I'm the most fun person in the world."

"Everything you just said was about work," he points out with a wolfish grin.

You sigh again, loud enough that he can't miss it. "Maybe it's all I think about," you allow. "Maybe after this and comeback, I could make time for something else."

"After comeback?" he echoes. "That's another month away."

"And yet, it haunts me."

A smile pulls at his lips, but he doesn't reply, distracted by whatever he's fixing on his laptop. You wait as he listens to the song, running one part over and over again and fiddling with a fine detail you can't see or hear, even if you were the one looking at it. 

His voice catches you by surprise when he speaks a minute or so later, your ears just grown used to the comfortable silence that had fallen over the room. "I never asked why they took you out of Midnight."

"Oh." You sit back, rubbing at your tired eyes. "I didn't 'fit the image they had for the group'. Not pretty enough."

"I'm sure that wasn't exactly what they meant," Chan says slowly.

An acerbic smile twists at your mouth. "Maybe," you allow. "I don't know. It's the obvious answer - have you seen Midnight? They're all insanely beautiful, and I'm just - okay, I guess."

You have a feeling, as you watch Chan's brow furrow and his eyes narrow in thought, that you might have revealed your thoughts to the wrong boy first. Maybe you should have told Minho instead, or Seungmin or Jeongin, friends that would tell you you're wrong at an arm's length. Chan is a fixer, on top of everything else that he does, and that look in his eyes is only an indication that he's finally narrowed in on his next project.

"Well, you're a better visual than all of us in SKZ," he says, the firm tone of his voice only confirming your suspicions. "And I don't mind if we never look as good as Midnight."

"Lying is such a bad habit, Bang Chan," you say lightly, trying to lift the suffocating, sombre blanket of air that has fallen over the room. "I look at you guys every day. I know how pretty you are."

"You lied first," he scoffs. "Saying you're ugly. You can't just go around spreading rumours like that."

"I didn't say ugly," you argue. "I just said I don't stand a chance next to those other girls."

"Liar," he insists, and struggles to swallow a grin.

"I'm not!" You sit up straight in your chair, the energy that suddenly rushes to your voice unexpected. You realise only a moment later that you've spoken too loud for a hotel room in the middle of the night and swallow down the way that your heart picks up pace and a smile fights for control of your face, lowering your volume before you continue. "I'm telling you, the bar is so high. I waited four years for that debut, and some of those girls just walked in and got a place. Not that they didn't deserve it, but like..."

"Lee Know did that," Chan points out. "Debuted in six months."

"Do you know Ellie?" you ask; and to your surprise, he nods. "I think she was here for weeks before they added her to the predebut lineup. I feel like I don't even really know her, she's been here for so short a time. And she knows idols from all kinds of groups already - the more I think about it, the more I'm like...how did I even think I had a chance? Maybe I should have just known I wouldn't debut."

"Maybe you were just always meant to be here with us," Chan offers before you can spiral any further down that particular rabbit hole - pulling you out into the light, shovel and all, like it is nothing to him. "Lee Know nearly got taken out of the group too, you know. Maybe the people making these decisions just don't know what they're doing."

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. "Really?" you ask, distracted by this new piece of information. "I need to watch your survival show. I've missed so many key points."

"No," he groans again, burying his head in his hands. "We're not watching that. Forget anyone ever mentioned it."

"All of you need to get your story straight," you tell him. "Seungmin says I need to watch every piece of content ever filmed, you tell me not to watch any of it; how am I supposed to know what to do?"

"You should know not to listen to Seungmin by now," Chan says. 

"I think we should watch it," you counter just as quickly. "I think it's a great idea."

"No," he insists. "It's four AM. Go to bed. Don't watch bad TV shows."

"You just told me I need a new hobby."

"Get a normal hobby."

"Watching reality TV is a normal hobby."

"Don't watch the show."

You swallow a smile, struggling to keep a straight face as you stand and stretch, your feet wandering one step at a time towards the door. "I'm going to watch the show," you tell him, deadpan. "I'll tell you all about it in the morning."

"No," he complains again, like if he says it enough he'll be able to stop you. He makes no effort to do anything else though; just sits there and looks pathetic, weighing up whether whining is worth it or not. "Go to sleep."

"Are you going to sleep?" you ask pointedly, taking in the sight of him sitting there at the table, his work still open on his laptop.

The moment that he notices, he closes the laptop, dragging himself out of his own chair. "Yes," he claims, too bold for someone who is always up at this hour. "You know what I'm not doing?"

"What?"

"Watching that show in the middle of the night."

The way he says it makes you crack, a laugh huffing from your throat just before you choke on it and the effort of holding it down. It makes him laugh too, the sound escaping all too easily from his mouth. "Goodnight," you say before he can celebrate his victory, backing towards the door. 

"Goodnight," he echoes, his smile softening his voice and lighting up his face in a familiar, joyous way. Your feet don't hesitate at the sound of it, but your heart does, your chest aching for something you don't think you've ever had, but maybe you have found - your spine crawling at the thought of it being over, even though you will wake up in the morning and he will still be here, and all the others will be around you too, and-

And you will debut, on that stage, in front of the thousands of people that love them even more than you do.

You try to leave the thought behind you as you close the door, back there with Chan, who will have the sense to throw it in the trash where it belongs, but it sticks to you, echoing in the hallway as you take the short walk back to your own quiet room, slinking around incessantly in the shadows when you turn off the lights and slide underneath the covers of your bed, resolving to at least lie here until the alarm goes off in the morning.

Tomorrow, you will debut.

Tomorrow, you will debut.

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[chixkencxrry]

kiss goodnight

Summary: Miguel breaks into your apartment. NSFW.

Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI. they’re both insane. Blood play. Fingering. P in V. Dirty talk. Mutual degradation. Mutual bad behavior. I wrote this instead of sleeping, so there WILL be errors.

His hands rested on your hips, fingers sprawled has he touched as much as he could, the rough skin of his palms feeling, feeling. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breathe. The scent of the lavender candles you’d lit seemed overwhelming. His lips whispered on your skin, begging alms with his want of you.

“Miguel…” you murmured, making fists of your hands. “How did you get into my apartment?”

“You forgot to lock your spare room window.” He mumbled, hands rucking up his t-shirt you’d been sleeping in, cupping the globes of your ass. His fingers massaged the flesh, groping it as he kissed your clavicle.

You groaned, hands now pressing onto his massive shoulders. “I changed my locks for a reason.”

“Hmm.” He hummed, nipping at your neck. “The reason being you’re a brat.”

At that, you almost giggled, but you stayed strong for a full minute before he kissed you. His lips soft and tongue seeking, he tasted of beer and his mouth was a familiar spark of desire. You hadn’t been a brat. Well, at least not by your standard. Miguel hadn’t spoken to you in over a week so you reacted sanely. If you’d really want to be a brat, you’d have burnt his precious Spider Quarters or whatever nerdy name he’d called that ugly ass skyscraper downtown . But no. You’d been sweet. Merely changing the locks and throwing out the apology lilies he’d sent you in day five.

Biting down on his lower lip, you drew blood, making him pull back and red eyes glared at you. At his faux anger, you giggled. Mouth stained with blood.

“Brat.” He cursed, hands pulling themselves off your body to rip the t-shirt from you. “I knew you were naked under here. You were just waiting for me to come in here and fuck you like some deranged psycho?”

“Like?” You mocked, sucking tour lower lip to taste his blood. Your hands ran down the length of his bare torso, down to the waistband of his shorts. The crazy bastard had climbed into your bed in his underwear. “Baby, you are a deranged psycho.”

He growled, resting a hand on your mound whilst his fingers rubbed your centre. He rubbed the growing dampness all around before he began to target your clit with his index and pointer. Miguel smirked down at you as your breath slowly hitched. He kept a circular motion, watching you twitch and shiver. So weak for him. So responsive. He’d fuck you all night for your attitude and mark you warm him cock all morning.

Miguel grinned when you gasped as his index finger slipped inside you. “You’ve been playing with this pussy while I’ve been gone?”

Through your lashes you teased. “What else was I suppose to do?”

“Fuck,” he muttered. Thumb pressing against your clit. “Insatiable slut, you couldn’t hold off for a week.”

“Fuck you.” You mumbled with less confidence as he added a second finger and your orgasm neared. Fuck him and his big ass fingers. Your vibrator had been a loyal friend for the past few days. “You didn’t even call.”

He sped up, the moment growing closer as you grinder on his hand. “Liar. You didn’t answer.”

“That’s not…ah…that’s not…oh my god…fuck…Miguel…” stars dotted your vision as he dragged your orgasm from you. Even his fingers did you better than your loyal little vibrator. Not that you’d ever tell him that.

“Pathetic. You didn’t even last long enough for another finger.” He condemned, pulling your hips close to his and unfurling himself. Miguel let the heavy warm rod rub against you, dragging the tip along the length of your pussy. You bit your lip, finger nails dragging along his stomach to the root of his member. You watched as he teased it, hissing as the sensitive head went in and out of your weeping centre. The feeling making you tremble.

“Look at that,” he mumbled, watching your essence coat him. “This pussy missed me, huh?”

Flickering between want and rage, you spat at him but screamed a moment after when he filled you to hilt. “Jesus!”

“So fucking arrogant.” He snapped, hand winding itself in your hair. “You’re going to pay for that.”

You couldn’t even speak. The bed rocked as he fucked his thick cock into you, spreading and burning through you with quick, deep thrusts. Miguel’s teeth grazed your neck as he pulled your hair back, teeth in your skin. When they broke the barrier, you cried out, muffled by your own sobbing from his pace.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Taking my cock so good. Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Your nails scraped at his skin, filling beneath them with dirt and blood. You tried to hold onto something for sanity. Clenching round him, a jolt of pleasure went through you as he groaned in your ear. Miguel kissed you, tasting his blood in your mouth and you tasted his anger. Good, you thought, he should feel half as angry as you had.

The bed creaked and slammed into the wall with a steady tattoo. It created a song, creak, slam, creak, slam. Your hands went down his back, gripping the firm cushion of his buttock as he fucked into you. His fingers went between the tight space of your bodies to your clit and began to rub the swollen organ.

Between the passage of his thickness going deep and harsh into you, and his steady rub that began to build, you were powerless. Eyes burning of tears, you wept to your second orgasm.

“You look pretty when you cry in my cock. Look at that little face, crying like a good dirty whore.” He spat but his face was kind in the dark as he kissed your tears, licking the salt clean. Miguel’s hips began to move again, making you cry some more in subtle pain. This seemed to egg him on more. “I’m going to fuck you broken.”

masterlist

[valentinoappreciator]

Vox / female reader / Valentino smut

Sooooo... that "Vox hypnotizes me" post? Yeah, I made it into a fic. Sue me 😎

Media: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Vox / female reader / Valentino + Vox / Valentino + onesided Vox / Alastor

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: none apply, everything is consensual

Tags (among others): threesome, hypnotism, electrocution, erotic electrostimulation, multiple orgasms

Where else to read: AO3, username: TheWeirdDane, title: A Shocking Outcome

Enjoy the filth, my lovelies <3

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

You had a feeling you were being obnoxious. Again. Vox wouldn’t say it, but you could hear it in the way that Valentino sighed louder and more often behind you.

“For fuck’s sake, Vox!” he suddenly exclaimed, making you jump and look at him. You couldn’t help a smirk; you would never admit it, but you secretly loved riling up Valentino when he couldn’t touch you. Vox would never allow him to hurt you. 

“Can you keep your fucking pet in line?” he growled, taking a deep drag of his cigarette, a deep scowl on his face. 

“Oh, but I’m hardly doing anything, Mister Valentino, sir,” you giggled and blew him a kiss before focusing on Vox again. You kissed the side of his monitor, wrapping your arms around his neck. Valentino cursed. Vox was quiet, furiously tapping away at his keyboards. That is, until he abruptly turned in his chair, looking straight at you. You swallowed hard, for the first time in a while feeling a slight current of fear going through you. 

A step back wasn’t permitted, because suddenly, Vox stood up, towering above you, with a hand clutching your dress. 

“I think,” he said slowly, “that Val is right. You’re not behaving properly, now, are you?”

Your mouth opened and closed several times. Your eyes widened. 

“Perhaps I should let my... business partner have some fun with you.”

“Vox, please, I didn’t mean---”

“What you meant,” he barked, interrupting you, “is irrelevant. You’re being a brat. We can’t have that attitude around here.”

His eyes glanced towards Valentino, and you shivered when he got up, the couch creaking slightly. He quickly closed the distance between you, all four hands grabbing you. 

“Vox, please, I---” you tried again, but were silenced by a sharp click of Valentino’s tongue. 

“Let your owner speak, darlin’.”

You bristled. 

“He’s not my owner, you sleazy piece of---”

“Ah-ah, that’s quite enough of that, my dear,” Vox said and let go of your dress. Valentino had a firm grasp of you with all hands, so you couldn’t move away. “He’s right. I think you need a... little break. Don’t you agree? It’s so hard being my assistant, after all.”

His claws caressed your chin, making you shiver. 

“I know I’m a tough boss, but you’re always doing so well for me. Actually, I think you deserve a break.” He grinned widely, and his red eyes began pulsing slightly. As you looked at him, a big black spiral inside his eye moved through it, in an... oddly comforting rhythm. It pulsed rhythmically. 

“Listen very carefully,” he purred. You nodded, staring at the slowly moving black circle. It was somehow very soothing. As you looked at it, all worries seemed to ebb away. 

“You’re being so good for me. But tonight, you’ll be good for Valentino and I, won’t you?”

You blinked a few times, then frowned slightly. 

“Vox, what do you---”

“He said listen, honey,” Valentino purred into your ear, two hands on your shoulders, and the other two on your hips. 

When Vox spoke again, his voice was lower and more staticky. The black ring still moved through his eye, a tad faster now. You were transfixed. 

“You’ll do whatever Val asks of you. No matter how deranged or depraved. Because I know you’ll be into it. You won’t be able to get enough. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes, Vox,” you mumbled, staring into his eyes. The longer you stared, the heavier you started feeling. You couldn’t believe your legs could carry you, actually. Your eyes were suddenly feeling like curtains of lead. Impossible to keep them open, you wanted to close them, but Vox slapped your cheek gently. 

“Look at me, baby. That’s it. Good girl. We’ll be good to you, and you’ll be good to us. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Vox,” you mumbled again. The longer you stared into his screen, the more carefree you felt. It felt as if your mind steadily threw out everything with it, until you were left with a pleasant buzzing going through your entire body. 

“What will you do, baby?” 

His voice sounded as if coming from afar. 

“I’ll be good to you and Mister Valentino,” you drawled. 

“That’s right. He’ll fuck you to within an inch of your life, probably, and what will you say?”

You shivered. 

“Thank you, Mister Valentino.”

“That’s right, baby. Now, go on, let Val have his fun. I need to work.”

“Yes, Vox.”

Valentino allowed you to turn around before he grabbed you again, this time to pull you towards his luxurious, spacious couch. 

“Look at you, being so pliant and obedient,” he purred, quickly pulling your underwear down and off of you. You breathed a little harder. “Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with you...”

“I thought you liked it when your girls resisted,” Vox commented. Valentino chuckled darkly. 

“Oh, I do, I relish it. But change can be nice.”

Vox laughed, and Valentino’s grin widened. 

“Now, spread those gorgeous legs, babygirl.” 

You shivered and nodded, parting your legs. It produced a wet, sticky sound that made you blush. 

“Oh? Could it be that you’re already hot and bothered?” Valentino teased. “Already wet for me?”

“Please, Mister Valentino,” you whined. 

“What is it, baby? You can tell daddy what’s wrong.”

You whined louder and looked up into his face. 

“I want you!”

“Aww, come on, baby, I know you can do better than that. Try again.”

A shudder wrecked through you, making Valentino snicker mockingly. 

“Oh, aren’t you just the most adorable little whore this side of Pentagram City? Come on, try again. For daddy.”

You licked your lips with the tip of your tongue, already feeling your pulse pick up pace. 

“Please, daddy, I need your cock inside me!”

Valentino’s grin filled your vision when he leaned down to kiss you. His tongue was long and slimy and prehensile, and it quickly moved to the back of your mouth, slithering into your throat where it got you to gag. Yet, even as your stomach jumped, you moaned and grabbed his face to haul him closer. 

Two of his hands grabbed the couch tightly, the remaining two grabbing your waist. The grip was harsh and made you gasp, before a gurgling sound was pulled from your throat when his tongue started thrusting into your throat. 

Your legs trembled, as did your hands, and you closed your eyes, relishing the whitehot pleasure that sloshed through your veins. A shuddering sigh left your lips when Valentino pulled back, then a soft when of disappointment. 

He cooed.

“Oh, don’t worry, my little darling, I’ll make sure you’ll feel so good. Daddy always treats his girls well, doesn’t he?”

You vaguely registered Vox’s snort, but were too focused on Valentino to really care.

“Yes, daddy,” you whispered. You were so unbearably horny and wet, and it was so unfair that Valentino wasn’t shoving his cock inside you right this second! 

“Please, daddy,” you whined again, seemingly taking Valentino by surprise when you spoke without being prompted to. “I need you, I need your cock inside me! Please, I’ll be so good!” His eyes widened slightly, before the widest grin pulled them into narrow slits. His tongue wriggled past his sharp teeth, slithering over your lips. 

“You sound positively divine when you beg, babydoll. I could get used to that.” 

You arched your back, your cunt practically dripping with need when you spread your legs even wider, uncomfortably so. 

“Oh, but you were not kidding! Look at that pretty, little cunt. You need daddy to fill you so badly, don’t you, hmm?”

“I do!” you almost cried, feeling mortified but impossibly aroused at the same time. 

“Val, don’t you know it’s not polite to leave a woman waiting?”

You blinked, looking towards Vox as his voice drifted across the room. Blinking again, Valentino was suddenly holding a modern, high-tech video camera. This made a cold shiver run down your spine, but the frisson of fear didn’t alleviate the burning need in the pit of your stomach. 

“Oh, Voxxy,” Valentino snickered, pointing the camera at you. “Say hi to your fans, baby.”

You simply mewled, staring into the lens. 

“Eh, good enough. Remember, darling, I could make you a star. You got the makings of a proper movie doll.”

Vox groaned somewhere behind you. 

“Val, it’s not polite to play with your food.”

Valentino laughed. 

“Oh, you’re such a spoilsport. But, if you insist...”

With two hands, he pulled down his black thong to free his cock. You nearly salivated at the sight, knowing it would soon be buried deep inside you. Valentino was able to decipher your expression, because he grinned widely and rubbed the head of his cock against your oh so sensitive cunt. You jerked with a mewl. Valentino hissed softly. 

“That’s right, baby, daddy is going to fuck you so good,” he hissed, pressing lower until his head caught on your hole. Wasting no further time, he shoved himself inside you with a single, rough thrust that had you howling. 

His cock drilled into you, splitting you open, and although you knew it was supposed to hurt, it... didn’t. Not as much as it realistically should have, anyway. No, the pleasure was so much stronger, and made you moan loudly. You grabbed at his coat, throwing your head back against the couch. 

“Daddy!”

Valentino snarled quietly as he continued to push inside, burying himself so deep you swore you could feel his cock in your belly. He throbbed hard, the tightness of your cunt meaning you imagined you could feel all the veins along his shaft. 

“I don’t hear you being so smug now,” Vox snickered. “Is her hole that good, Val?”

“Shut it,” Valentino growled, aiming the camera at your face. 

Then began the real deal. 

He wasted no more time. He pulled back until just the head was still inside you, and then slammed hard forward, pushing all the way inside and pulling a wretched cry from your lips. 

“That’s it, my little bird,” he rasped, “sing for me!”

You howled again, your legs trembling and your hands grasping desperately at the front of his coat. 

“Daddy, please, it--- it feels so good!” 

“Yeah? Does it, doll? Why don’t you tell me about it?” 

You whined loudly, lifting your legs to wrap them around his narrow waist. 

“Harder, daddy, please, fuck me harder!”

He groaned, pushing you hard against the couch before he, indeed, began plowing into you with so much force that the couch began creaking. You cried out, and now the pain was starting to increase, his thrusts so hard it bordered on ruthless. 

“Break the couch, and you buy me a new one.” 

“Fuck off, Vox, unless you wanna join in on the fun,” Valentino snarled. Much to your surprise, you suddenly felt claws in your hair, pulling your head backwards. You opened your eyes just in time to see Vox standing behind you, a wide and ominous smile on his screen. He bent forward and kissed you harshly. His tongue was different from Valentino’s - shorter, thicker, and much more slimy - but it made you moan all the same as it pushed into your mouth. You could barely breathe, and your lungs burned. Every single of your nerve endings seemed to have caught fire as well, making heat surge through you in violent waves. 

You clenched hard around Valentino, and he growled deep in his throat, shoving himself oh so deep inside you. 

You couldn’t speak. You could only make such utterly pathetic sounds as Valentino fucked you and Vox kissed you like their afterlives depended on it. The longer it went on for, a knot appeared in your stomach, winding itself so painfully tight it made you tremble and gasp sharply. One of your hands let go of Valentino, instead reaching behind you, fumbling around for a bit before finding Vox’s coat. You grabbed it tightly. 

“Oh, you really are into this,” he snickered after withdrawing his tongue from your mouth. “Maybe I didn’t even have to hypnotize you.”

“Sh--- shut up,” you managed to croak and opened your eyes to look up at him. 

“Eyes on me, amorcito,” Valentino growled, before straightening up. He grabbed your legs to press them against his chest, not missing a single thrust. The new position made you see stars, especially when Vox’s clawed hand decided to join in. A claw pressed against your clit, and you inhaled sharply, writhing violently. 

You knew, despite the fogginess of your mind, that Vox had a thing for electricity - which made sense - and you knew he wasn’t afraid of taking it out on you. 

Yet, you wanted it so badly! There were no thoughts in your head; only desire. 

So, when Vox sent a slight current of electricity through his claws and into your cunt, you moaned unashamedly, clenching hard around Valentino who also seemed... affected by the sudden spark. 

“Oh, Voxxy,” he purred breathlessly, grinding hard against you. 

The knot in your stomach tightened. 

“Who knew you would want to play with your own assistant, hmm?” 

“You kidding? She’s a fucking goddess, Val!” 

Your heart skipped a beat. Valentino snorted.

“You always were so sentimental. Come ‘ere.”

You looked up at the two Overlords, and couldn’t help a shuddering moan when they kissed. It was messy, and slobby, and so fucking hot. Their tongues pressed against each other, saliva dripping onto your face and chest, making you shudder with arousal. 

“Touch me, Val,” Vox demanded, and Valentino snickered. 

“So bossy, too! But, if you insist.”

Then, Vox grunted, and you saw from the bend of Valentino’s arm that he was jerking off Vox. 

The knot grew ever tighter. Breathing became increasingly difficult. You could only pant and gasp, pleasure crashing over you as an orgasm rapidly approached. 

“Daddy,” you managed to get over your tongue, but he didn’t pay attention to you, aside from fucking you into the couch, of course. 

Another spark of electricity went through your cunt, and that was all it took. 

You cried out hoarsely, your entire body jerking so hard Valentino had to grab you with two hands to force you to stay in place. Your cunt clenched and spasmed hard around Valentino, who in turn growled into Vox’s mouth, who then moaned in that wonderfully staticky way. 

“Yes, fuck yes” they both growled, their voices raspy and deep. 

Feeling you come so hard, Valentino thrust even more violently into you, gripping the camera so tightly it groaned. 

“That’s it, baby,” he hissed, and you had no way of knowing if he was talking to you or to Vox. Either way, it was insanely hot. 

Valentino kept fucking you, and Vox kept electrocuting you, until yet another orgasm swept through you, not even half a minute after the first one. You gasped sharply, fairly certain that your nails were cutting holes in their coats. But if they did, neither Vox nor Valentino admonished her. Not yet, anyway. 

When Valentino finally reached his own end, he flooded your cunt with his warm, sticky cum with a thunderous growl, and you arched your back, breathing rapidly. 

“Thank you, daddy,” you whined, “thank you!”

“Good doll,” he rasped.

There was a soft ‘beep’, and he tossed the camera to the couch. Pulling out of you with a filthy sound, his cum immediately began dripping from your gaping hole. You shuddered and blushed, closing your trembling legs and turning your head to look after him. 

Turned out, he went behind the couch, grabbing Vox by the waist. Soon enough, Vox was naked, and moaning hard and loud when Valentino was fucking him as well. You didn’t know how in Hell Valentino could already be hard and ready to go again, but then again; he was the Overlord of sex, drugs, and depravity, so it shouldn’t really surprise you. 

Breathing hard, you sat on your knees on the couch, watching the show with half-lidded eyes. 

Suddenly, Vox grabbed your chin, and he kissed you rather harshly. Each thrust from Valentino was followed by a grunt into your mouth. 

“Oh, come now, Voxxy,” Valentino teased, “are you really that head over heels for your own assistant?”

“Fuck off,” Vox groaned. 

“Just sayin’, the two of you would do nicely together in a movie.”

The thought made a shiver run down your spine, and you mewled softly, much to Vox’s and Valentino’s amusement; they both snickered, although Vox’s sounded rather labored. 

“Haven’t had enough, hmm?” Valentino cooed. You blushed fiercely, averting your eyes. “Don’t worry, darling, you can watch. I won’t charge you. Not this time.”

Vox hissed, and the kiss turned messy. Saliva dripped down your chin. 

“That’s it, Val, right there, that’s so fucking good!” 

Valentino chuckled darkly, and sunk his sharp teeth into Vox’s slim neck, sending sparks flying everywhere and making Vox moan loudly. 

In a moment of boldness, a moment where you weren’t sure you were still under Vox’s influence, you decided to join in. 

“Come on, sir, won’t you come for him?” you whispered against his screen. “Come for us?”

Vox’s claws tightened on your chin, pulling your lower lip down, and Valentino visibly shuddered. 

“You dare talk to your boss like that? My my, you’re a brave one...”

You blushed and moaned when Vox shoved his tongue into your mouth, and you couldn’t help but caress the side of his screen. 

“Don’t cause a power outage, Voxxy,” Valentino teased when Vox’s entire body went rigid. “We all know you’re so close, so why don’t you just let go?”

He groaned loudly, trembling all over.

“Come on, sir, we know you want to,” you chimed in, your tongue pressing against his. 

With a loud crackling of electricity, Vox groaned, and Valentino snarled, pressing himself flush against his back. 

“That’s it, Voxxy, you feel so fucking good,” he hissed, “milking my cock like that. Who knew you could be so desperate for someone who isn’t the Radio Demon?”

Vox shuddered. 

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” he growled. Valentino simply laughed, thrusting hard into Vox a few more times before he pushed Valentino enough, albeit rather weakly. However, Valentino obeyed, taking a few steps back from Vox. 

“Now, baby, what do you say?” Vox sighed and straightened, looking down at you. 

The look he sent you made you blush. You fiddled with your fingers.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you, daddy.”

Vox’s claws ran through your hair. It was almost tender. 

“Good girl. Now, go get cleaned up, and don’t interrupt us again. We’re both busy.”

[finniestoncrane]

Practice Makes Perfect

KTJL!Boomer, word count: 1.1k hng losing my little mind over the idea of digger practicing sucking himself off (because what else is there to do in prison?) 💙 also I fucked up the banner let me live sorryyyy request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: mentions of porn, masturbation, i made him disgusting because it's what i want ok tell me he wouldn't aim his load AND ALSO he's a fuckin goober like hc-ing it now digger talks to his penis, cum play, swallowing, self-fellating aheem heem and maybe if everyone is good and anyone wants it, we get a part 2 where he achieves his goal

George rolled over in his metal frame bed, thin mattress offering no support as he lay on his back. It was dark, around 3am he figured, and despite how hard he was trying he knew there was no way he was going to get back to sleep.

"Well, might as well indulge."

His voice sounded strange as it bounced off the walls of his cell, but there was a comfort in it, in the lack of response, in the emptiness. Being locked up was boring, it could be dull, isolating, and it drove him insane sometimes. But, if nothing else, it meant he had plenty of time alone to do one of the simple pleasures he enjoyed.

Reaching under the bed, at the side closest to the wall, he retrieved his stash of contraband. Everyone knew he had it, everyone knew it was better if he did. He could be, as he so politely put it, "a right miserable cunt" if he didn't have his release regularly. With his fingers clinging to the slightly crinkled pages, he teased the magazine up above the mattress and pulled it over to his chest, where he bagan to flick through the slightly stained pages.

With a bored sigh, he pushed down the band of his orange prison issue pants and began lazily stroking his cock, letting it go from soft to semi-erect in his hand. A shower, not necessarily a grower, but there was plenty of him to get a grip on either way. The featherlight touch he gave to the tip when his strokes reached his head made him shiver, a crooked, self-satisfied grin spreading over his face, pushing into his lightly freckled cheeks.

Skimming through the pages clumsily with one hand, he tried to find one he wanted to settle on. They all felt used though, old news, the same bodies he'd been jerking off to for months now. He needed some new material, something different, something a little bit exciting just to change things up.

Not that he had any difficulty in getting to where he needed to go regardless. Within minutes his fist was pumping along his length faster, gripping the shaft tighter than was comfortable, releasing the tension when it felt too much to give himself that feeling of respite that made his chest feel lighter.

Predictably, he could feel himself reaching the climax of his practiced labours pretty quickly, and with a lopsided smile he held his cock up straight. Each stroke was slow and the grip was strong now, easing up the shaft as though he were squeezing his release out.

"C'mon... c'mon... ah, fuck, c'mon!"

This was now the somewhere close to the tenth time he'd been aiming for the ceiling, hoping his load was explosive enough to reach it. It felt like a challenge now, something he couldn't not try. It did, however, lead to a lot of mess. Not necessarily much clean up, but definitely a lot of mess.

Looking down at his bare chest, George swiped at the droplets and strands of cum that decorated his torso. Not quite to the ceiling, but he was sure some of it had landed on his face, close to his lips. A quick investigation with his tongue proved him correct, as he tasted the sickly, salted flavour on his tongue.

"It's not even that bad."

He reached down, swiping up some of the splatter on his finger. He held it in the air, tapping his thumb to it and watching the viscous, white substance spread between them. Then he shrugged, popping it into his mouth. As if he were some kind of deranged sommelier, he shifted it from cheek to cheek, letting it rest on his tongue before he swallowed.

"Yeah! Not bad at all. Gotta start advertising that, just in case it helps convince anyone to give the little fella a suck."

Then it hit him. He couldn't believe he had forgotten about the last project he had been working on. He'd gotten distracted by the repetitive strain injury he'd given himself in his ribs, but that pain had subsided, which meant he could continue.

"Aw yeah! I was gonna suck it!"

George excitedly sat up in the bed, legs crossed, cock still semi-erect. He wondered if that was better or worse, and settled on it being the perfect state. Not too stiff, bit of stretch to it. Focusing on the tip of his cock, he took in a few deep breaths, soothing, focusing. Then he sat up completely straight, letting his spine elongate before he bent it quickly into an almost perfect arch.

And he was still a bit away from his goal.

"Shit."

He pushed his neck out, groaning with the strain, his tongue sticking out over his lips as far as he could get it.

"Just... a little... closer..."

The past injury, the one he thought had healed, began to twinge again. His entire side felt solid, like the tendons connecting the muscles might snap at any second. But he was determined.

"Come on you little cunt..."

One final urge, and a blatant disregard for his physical wellbeing, was all it took, as the tip of his tongue ran along the head of his cock. It was the briefest of connections, only managing to taste the slightest amount of salt from the his slit. But it was something.

"Holy shit!"

His body almost sprang back into a natural position as he let himself relax, a reward for his efforts and his success.

"Ah, Digger! You dirty fuckin' bogan! Well done, mate!"

He was close to patting himself on the back, but he realised the stretch might inadvertently cause further strain, and now that he was back on track with his self-satisfactory plans he didn't want to cause any further interruptions. Just a few more months of this and he'd maybe be able to get the tip in his mouth. For the first time, he was glad he had a long sentence ahead of him.

Smiling down at his own cock, ever pleased with the work they put in together as partners, he spoke out loud.

"There'll be some disappointed Sheila's when they find out I don't need them anymore. Disappointed fellas too, I reckon."

He nodded wistfully, well aware in the back of his mind that there weren't too many offers to begin with, but a little delusion never hurt anyone.

[disgustingtwitches]

DEAD DOVE

MDNI

Shout-out @ohbo-ohno for the idea :3

Read this and I started thinking...

Noncon with Johnny except he thinks you're just playing hard to get and you don't really mean it when you say no.

He gets what he wants. He gets anyone he wants. People don't tell him no, not even his hard-ass Lieutenant, if he begs enough. And that's how you ended up on the couch, getting pounded out by him while your boyfriend left the both of you alone to grab some beers down the street.

"C'mon...jus-just fuckin take it."

He gets increasingly agitated, pressing the back of your knees up, spreading you open more.

"Quit fighting it; ye can stop playin' hard tae get now bonnie..."

He's so, so very selfish, hitting your cervix painfully and repeatedly. Ignoring your big fat tears, thinking you're just overstimulated from his dick. He lays all his weight down on you, grinding his hips against your pussy.

"Stop squirmin. Cannae fuck ya properly lik' this."

Mascara runs down your face while you whimper into his hand.

"What's wrong, hen? Daes it feels tae guid? Know ye've bin dyin fur it."

He's deranged, digging himself into you, biting your face and neck. He's confused as to why you still are acting like you don't like this, roughly rubbing circles on your clit in an unpleasant way. He tries doing it the way Kyle showed him, but he lacks the finesse his fellow teammate has. He pinches his eyebrows, jaw clenched.

"Stop cryin', bonnie... Gaz said it was okay, ah promise."

He says in a soft voice, his thrusts still relentless. He wipes away tears, leaving too-rough kisses on your face. The front door creaks and you whip your head to make eye contact with your boyfriend, the man who supposedly gave his blessing for this to happen. Your eyes burn with salty tears and anger. He gently sets the case of beers down, walking over and unbuckling his pants, caressing your face while looking directly into Johnny's eyes,

"Look at what you've done to her Soap, is this how you treat things that aren't yours?"

[darlingofsatoru]

DRESS UP DARLIN’

⊹ synopsis: Various Jjk characters & how they’d react to you in certain halloween outfits.

⊹warnings: Implied fem!reader, very short drabbles, Reader uses makeup+ wears dresses in most, potentially ooc characters.

SATORU GOJO- ANGEL

Satoru can’t help but pause as you step out your room, eyes darting all over you shamelessly as you rummage through your handbag.

There’s only a few words that he can even think to describe you in that moment: Pretty, gorgeous, ethereal even..

“… I agr.. ee .. so I s— Satoru??” Your voice awakens him out of his thoughts, suddenly right in front of him.

He’s not even sure how that got past his senses but he lets out a content sigh, adjusting the collar on his outfit before beginning to admire your outfit once more.

An all white dress, no straps and a feather-like look to it along with matching wings

So this is why you told him to dress as a devil, matching outfits..

“…Huh, even prettier up close. I better keep you near today, huh, don’t want anyone stealing you!” He grins playfully, gently tugging you towards his embrace.

Halloween has always been fun but he’s sure it’ll be 10x better with you here.

RYOMEN SUKUNA- DEAD/CORPSE BRIDE

Truthfully, Sukuna has no interest in halloween.

It’s a silly tradition and he barely bothered to dress up, the only reason he did a little bit being you.

By barely bothered, he simply means that he’s wearing a light change of outfit that could probably be considered creepy (as if Sukuna himself isn’t scary enough) if you looked at it long enough.

Thinking of you, he groans as he gets up from his feet and goes to open his mouth to speak, stopping when he noticed you come into the room excitedly.

A white dress stained with fake blood (that doesn’t really look accurate to Sukuna, but he can appreciate the effect a bit, he supposes), not too long but also not too short for a wedding dress, paired with a classic veil covering your lipstick covered lips.

“Not half as bad as the deranged outfits most wear, I might even like yours, dare I say.” He smirks, enjoying the lift of spirit in your face from his words alone.

Maybe he doesn’t detest Halloween entirely..

YUJI ITADORI- WITCH

Yuji smiles widely, adjusting his top-hat excitedly.

He feels like Halloween was ages ago so the prospect of dressing up, especially with you, is great and has definitely put him into a good mood for the last week or so.

He actually wasn’t sure if a magician was scary but you’d suggested it could be, saying he could pull out weapons on unsuspecting bystanders (which, in his opinion, did sound pretty creepy).

“Hey, you okay in there?” He yells to you, rummaging the cupboard for the trick or treat buckets.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute!” You shout back, taking a few moments before you emerge with a broomstick in hand.

Yuji blinks for a few minutes once he catches sight of you but quickly smiles wider, waving enthusiastically.

He’s seen plenty witch costumes in his life but they don’t seem to compare with yours, the lovely black and purple dress having a matching hat and broomstick to come with it.

“Woah, a witch? That’s cool, the dark purple really suits you, you know?!” He immediately starts, gaining an appreciative smile from you.

He finds himself paying more attention to your smile, the pretty shade of purple once more showing but on your lips this time.

“Oh yeah, ah, I forgot to ask about the trick or treat buckets.. Where are they again?”

NOBARA KUGISAKI- NURSE

Nobara leans forward in the mirror, enjoying putting a bit more makeup than usual.

It’s not that she couldn’t but more that there’s no reason. What’s the point of being dolled up every day anyway, it’ll just ruin the fun of it!

So she works gently on her eyeliner, making sure not to smudge it whilst her mind wanders to what you’re doing..

Probably getting ready like she is or on your way here, likely the latter since Nobara happened to be a tiny bit later in getting ready today.

The doorbell goes before she gets to dwell on it, making a classic ‘ding-dong’ sound.

“One second, I’ll be right there!” She yells down the hall, quickly getting to the door and opening it.

It reveals just who she expected, you in a rather pretty nurse costume.

“I’ll grab my bag and we can get going!”

This Halloween is definitely gonna be the best, Nobara thinks.

CHOSO KAMO- VAMPIRE

Choso crosses his arms, embarrassment itching on his face at dressing up in general.

Being half-curse meant he didn’t do these things much if not at all, getting into a skeleton jumpsuit-like outfit.

“You still sulking?” Your voice echoes the hall immediately, his face picking quickly.

You’ve always known how to calm him, even unintentionally..

“It’s just a bit itchy, I’m not sulking.” He replies, pulling at the sleeves.

You nod in understanding, meeting his gaze as he finally looks up.

“…Ah.” He murmurs, eyes trying to be discreet as he studies your outfit.

A classic vampire suit, coloured black and red with a large collar.

“Do you think it’s alright? It took ages to find an eyeshadow to match the shade of red.” You sigh, gesturing to your eyes.

Choso nods, embarrassment seeping onto him as he notices he has a small blush engulfing his cheeks now.

“I think it’s more than alright,” He says, pushing the skeleton hood up.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO- BLACK CAT

Megumi sighs, growing bored of the high volume of noise rather easily.

He’d been dragged to this party by Nobara and Yuji to have some fun but it was anything but so far, having only felt bored the whole night.

Plus there was the fact you were apparently going to show up, likely dressed up like most people at this unpleasant party are.

“Megumi, hey!! You look pretty gloomy, you know?” A familiar voice awakens him out of his thoughts, revealing itself to be you immediately.

“I almost thought you weren’t coming.. Not that I blame you, it stinks like alcohol and sweat in here.” Megumi breathes out, taking a quick glance at you before avoiding your gaze and outfit entirely, cheeks too likely to heat up in front of you if he looked straight at you.

You chuckle and shrug, “I sort of expected something different but it’s not too bad, might loose my cat ears here though.”

He nods, he wouldn’t be surprised if anyone lost something in here, there’s people all over the place.

“So.. Wanna step outside? It’s pretty warm, you look like you’re melting.” You suggest, gaining a nod of approval from Megumi.

Maybe it isn’t so bad, at this overcrowded party, he’ll need to make sure to keep an eye out for your cat eats though..

A/n: First work, hope it’s not too boring!! Might not post for a bit after this but I do have a few drafts :D

[bigassmoth]

Sebastian Michaelis x phantomhive manor resident, gnc reader. 2nd pov r18

contains: obsessive behavior, invasion of privacy/personal property, scent kink, deranged pining, monster anatomy, monster fucking. Not proof read im sorry

You tolerated him most days. Some days you treated him as if he were irredeemable, as snarls and cold shoulders. But on some rare days where the weather suits you, your linens are laundered, your work complete, and your skin hydrated- you are amicable. He treasures those rare and unpredictable days where you humor him with your curious gaze and relaxed smile. Sebastian was trying to increase the frequency of those occurrences, which is why he had taken to washing your sheets (along with his own and his masters since he is doing a batch anyway) once a week. In the past he had offered to always strip and dress your bed for you but you refused with a warning hiss. So he waited until Finny had stumbled across a bees nest in a briar patch (how did that get there?). You were half-heartedly jogging to Finny with a first aid kit, the urgency of his injuries more important than your weekly bed wash.

"Ah, today is laundry day. Have you put it in the basket?" He called out to you from the window. You skipped to a halt and barely cast him a glance.

"No I didnt have time. Dont worry about it." Ah, of course you wouldnt have the time, he didnt let you.

"Very well, I will fetch it for you then." Sebastian finished with a soft smile and quickly moved away from the window. Outside you were shouting your grievances, still not wanting him in your room, but he pretended not to hear it. Although his heart did quiver when he heard you not so quietly growl out 'snoopy bastard'.

So, he had time while you patched up Finny, time which he spent curled up on your bed. Of course he entered your room frequently, especially while you slept. But it was a new experience to replicate your position and bury his nose into your sheets. He fondly nuzzles your pillow and contentedly sighs.

For 15 days you had not given him one of those wry, warm smiles. For 10 of the days you were indifferent, speaking to him when spoken to, meeting his gaze and then sliding away in easy distraction. For the other 5 you were oppositional. Your eyes held unveiled annoyance everytime he called your name. You would click your tongue when the someone else spoke his name. You were short, clipped, and slipped away from him at every opportunity. No doubt if you saw him like this now your mood would be soured for weeks. You would look at him with disdain and shower him with insults.

Just imagining it sent blood to his cock and left him panting. Sebastian shamelessly pulled his pants down and bit into your pillow while he rocked into his hand. The fantasies grew unchecked.

He hopes to someday have you subjected to his sexual whims. He would pull you into a closet and tease you then take your underwear- leaving you bare for the rest of the day. If you were to take off your underwear and place it into his waiting hand, your expression would be beautiful. It would be annoyance, anger, and the subtle look of pride knowing articles of clothing was enough for him to bargain over. You wouldnt give him anything until he proved himself to you first. A favorite dessert, a nice pen or jewelry piece, a full spa. On the other hand if he took your underwear, your reaction would be exquisite. Eyes wide in surprise, instinctively jerking away but unable to escape him, so focused on his invasive fingers caressing your sex that you dont notice he has stolen your protective fabric until the wetness hits your thighs.

In your bed, Sebastians cock has shed its human appearance. It is a surface of warty bobs and viscous slime atop the soft-scaled purple fleshed tentacle. It curls around his wrist and fucks itself into his hand. Your smell compels it, the demonic organ drawn to rubbing itself against your sheets until Sebastian is fully grinding into your bed.

He misses your teasing grin and gentle joking from 16 days ago. He imagines your breathy laughter as his infernal body rubs against yours in unrestrained lust. Would you say something sarcastic? Would you chide him in good nature? Would you compliment him? Your amicable moods are unrivaled in sexy appeal. Teasing but sweet, relaxed yet curious.

Of course he loved it when you were mean too, if you would degrade him for behaving like the inearthly animal he is. If your presence in bed was orders and dissatisfaction until he pushed you to the brink of your bodys limits.

But in your bed smelled like peace, it was safe and warm. He wished he could feel your fragile arms wrap around him as he drilled into you. Hold your trembling legs while you sigh into his neck. He would bury himself into your glistening warm, he would hold you in his darkness. So satisfied and enraptured with him those 10 days of indifference would never happen again.

Sebastisn cums hard and gasping. His claws had come out along with several of his limbs. Your sheets...no, your entire bed, was ruined. With his own hellish musk filling your room, your scent vanished. Sighing at his lack of self control, Sebastian resumed the shape of his butler self. And spat out the feathers from your pillow.

With the inhuman speed and precision he was known for, Sebastian cleaned your room and moved his mattress into your bed frame. He tenderly spread on the new sheets and fluffed your new pillow. A shudder of pleasure rippled down his spine, you would be sleeping in his bed, in the object that occupied his space and vulnerability (well, as vulnerable as a demon pretending to sleep for fun can be). His scent fills your room, his cum is designed to be deep and tempting. The scent only outmatched by the unholy flavor meant to appeal to the human palette. On top of that is his chosen signature scent, roses and cedar wood. A floral and woodsy smell that drew the attention of men and women alike for its complexity.

As one hell of a butler he leaves you a small vase of roses from the garden (from the briar patch Finny fell into-). You would return to your room and feel at ease seeing that all of your belonging are untouched. Sebastian had made a mistake, he tells you, and the sheets had to be tossed. These new ones are from storage, explaining the non-laundered linen scent to them. You assume the roses as an apology. The bed you sleep in is just as comfortable as its always been, and you even got plenty of time with your hand. The next day you feel (sexy?) Safe and sufficiently destressed.

Sebastian is happier than usual. Much more smug than usual too. After breakfast you delicately nudge him with your elbow.

"You look like the cat that ate the canary, Sebastian. Good news?" Your comment earns you a most blood-chilling smile.

"Oh, nothing in particular. Did you sleep well?"

Ah, your poor head butler. Always looking nefarious and evil even when doing the most mundane things. You pat his back.

"I slept wonderfully. Dont worry about the sheets, the ones from storage are just as soft."

He seems happy to hear it, too bad his happy face looks like he just got away with something sick and depraved.

[fuckyeahaudiodrama]

☀️JUNE LISTENS☀️

i still don’t have a brain! ah!!!! but i do have ears for listening! i actually listened to a lot of stuff that i ended up not liking as much, last month, but i still have plenty to rec.

Remnants — (ep1-2 early access) a dark fantasy mystery anthology. hard to describe without giving anything away. i love everything by Hanging Sloth (creator of SBR, NQD and Clockwork Bird), so i knew that i was very likely to enjoy this regardless of the premise… but my god, absolutely surreal vibes. the sound design is breathtaking! feeling very grateful to be a HS patron right now. keep an eye out for this one coming 15th july! subscribe now and don’t miss it.

Mockery Manor — (3 seasons, 37 eps + miniseries, between seasons) a murder mystery set at a theme park with a comedic twist. i didn’t think this was going to be my thing and i was so wrong. the protags are twin sisters with plenty of baggage between them. their shenanigans and banter keep the tone light even when the plot takes dark turns. looking forward to s4!

Limelight: The Specialist — (5 eps, complete) self-described as a “dark medical thriller” set in rural wales. Limelight series are generally good but satisfying endings are hit or miss; this one was VERY well-paced, with a satisfying payoff, and gave me hope for a series 2 in future. i loved the execution of the gruesome mystery and i loved the protagonist to pieces.

Close Your Eyes — (1 season, 9 eps, s2 in production) having recently listened to RQ’s Neon Inkwell: The Pit Below Paradise, which also centers around cult dynamics, i found this to be a very fun contrast. here we see how someone can be immersed and isolated by a cult, regardless of their personal skepticism or strength of will. the suspense was so delicious i had to listen to all nine episodes in a row. ends on an incredible cliffhanger — can’t WAIT for season 2.

The Silt Verses — (44 eps, finale soon) a grim religious fantasy dystopia. some of the most intricate and fascinating worldbuilding i’ve ever seen. huge cast. i know that everyone in the AD space has rec’d this pod a hundred times over, but i can’t stress enough how it’s one of my very favorite stories in the medium. the penultimate ep left off on an absolutely deranged note and i have no idea what’s coming! so exciting, if you’ve been waiting to check this one out — now might be the time!

Dice Shame — (2 seasons, 200+ eps, ongoing) classic dnd actual play ft. Harlan Guthrie of Malevolent fame, and his equally charismatic friends and family. i don’t listen to a lot of APs bc i have trouble focusing on such long episodes but i just love the chemistry of this party. slapping it on the rec list bc the current storyline has me hooked!!

Bridgewater — (1 season, 22 eps, ???) supernatural mystery, notably starring Misha Collins as the protagonist. this one has a lot of complicated family dynamics read: mommy AND daddy issues. the length of the series is just enough to let you spawn several of your own theories, which is fun, and i was really pleased that i was able to predict the true conflict and identify the antagonist. excellent use of foreshadowing etc, biggest props to Lauren Shippen of The Bright Sessions fame.

Consumed — (12 episodes) small town horror/mystery through the eyes of a stranded newcomer. this one did NOT go where i expected it to, because i started it before i listened to Bridgewater; they’re set in the same universe, so the same worldbuilding applies. i would honestly recommend listening to this one FIRST because if you do listen to the end of Bridgewater, it will kind of spoil the twist in Consumed.

The Penumbra Podcast — (5 seasons, 2 storylines, both ending this summer) still barreling toward the finish line for both Second Citadel and Juno Steel. as a patron, i was notified of early release for the SC finale this morning, which i know is gonna wreck me. just wanted to feature this because i don’t see it recced as often anymore and that’s a fucking crime. one of my top AD recs for sure.

Red Valley — (While You Were Hypersleeping 3) three ep miniseries featuring our main best boy, warren, who has been notably absent from most of this season! so nice to hear from him and to get a glimpse of what might be coming in the next part of the season.

Observable Radio — (11 eps, ongoing) my favorite recent sci-fi/horror anthology by far, tied up in a terrifically dreadful meta narrative. afaik this is a limited series but i’m really savoring each and every episode; the most recent, “Earworm”, was one of my favorites. very dark and dystopian. mind the content warnings!

The Network Defenders — (ep1) the debut of a new Planet Arcana miniseries, featuring some new voices and a fresh new tarot-based system (crowdfunding this year!) has all of the appeal of PA in terms of prod. quality, vibes and emotional depth, just new mechanics. 2nd ep is out now so i’m hopping right on that as i post this!

Waterlogged — (ep1) a new indie horror that i’ve been waiting to drop for a while now, and i really enjoyed the soft-spoken eerie vibe of the pilot. there’s a couple more things in the feed now so i’ll have to go catch up.

[neege]

Wolfstar Lesbian Prom AU

Umm, so this is the first time I've ever really written anything for fun, and especially for a fandom space, so please be gentle 💓

Basically, I've been sitting on this idea of Remus trying to impress Sirius by getting all dressed up for the Prom, and I thought I'd just be brave and write it myself!! This is really short and I might write more later.

Also: since I only really have knowledge of US highschools and proms, that's kind of the setting this takes place in—my apologies if this bothers you!

Remus's legs ached from where she was folded up on the bathroom floor before the mirror. She examined her reflection in the mirror—her hair frizzy in some places, wet in others. There was currently only one curl on her head that had come out decent, but it was now crunchy from the copious amount of hairspray that was used to keep it in tact. Now it just looked fake. Like creepy plastic doll hair. 

Remus felt tears of frustration sting her eyes, and squeezed them closed before remembering that she'd applied mascara, and that it was probably all smudged now. 

She unplugged the curling iron from the socket—useless fucking thing—before starting at the sound of a knock on the door. 

"Remus? All good in there? It's been over an hour-" Remus yanked open the door from where she sat on the ground, and twisted herself to face Lily's expression fighting itself into a neutral one.

"Lily I'm begging you to fix me!" Remus turned back to gesture frantically at herself in the mirror, "I look horrible! I look like maybe I used to look fine, but then got stuck in a washing machine. And then a dryer."

God, this is all Sirius's fault...

She felt herself get worked-up again turned back to Lily—who gently pulled Remus's hands away from where she was frantically trying to rub off the smudgy mascara. She gave her most reassuring—least reassuring—smile before speaking.

"Remus, look at me—it'll be fine! Hop in the shower really quick and wash your face, and I'll finish getting ready so I can help you with your hair and makeup, okay?" Remus sniffled a little pathetically, but nodded, "Plus we still have about an hour and a half until we need to leave for the Potters, we have plenty of time to get you all pretty!" 

Ah, Remus thought, leaving for the Potters.

To pick up James and Pete.

And Sirius. 

Jesus. 

Because that was the whole thing wasn't it? Remus didn't just wake up one day with the deranged idea to spend her free Saturday in an uncomfortable dress, with uncomfortable hair—can hair be uncomfortable?—dancing awkwardly around a hot, stuffy gym with people who she doesn't even like that much—who don't even like her...

She's not doing this for the memories—she's not Lily fucking Evans!

No, this can all be blamed on the only person who could ever make Remus participate in something so far out of her comfort zone, she can't even see it anymore. 

It started with Sirius—newly gay and newly kicked-out of her parents house—slowly getting comfortable enough to start talking girls with the one and only James Potter.

In fact, it was nearly two whole months ago when Remus first heard the words that would inevitably lead to her losing the weak, frail grip she still had on her remaining sanity: 

Emma Pierce is pretty hot don't you think?

[thegnomelord]

17 with Phillip Graves I'm begging🙏

also I just found out about your account and your writing is so good what??? in love w your work

You have no idea how long I've wanted to do something with Graves but couldn't figure out what lol :D Play the game HERE.

Prompt: Oral as punishment.

CW: NSFW, sub Phillip Graves, GN reader but you get referred to as 'doll' but as far as I'm aware it's gn sooo, oral, feminization, semi-public sex, humiliation, cross dressing, mentions of masochism/pain play.

Phillip Graves is a fucking brat.

For weeks now he's been trying to rile you up, sitting next to you whenever you go to eat in the mess hall so his hand can safely wander beneath the table. He's all confident when he does this, laughing along with the other shadows like nothing's wrong, feigning worry when your breathing grows stuttered and heat ravages your skin as if the bastard's not unashamedly groping your crotch.

The little shit knows you won't react in public; he knows what he's doing.

And you know what he wants— the little masochist loves the humiliation of being brought over your knees like a boy as much as he craves the sting of your palm on his ass, the sharp bite of your belt leaving welts on his thighs, the lingering nibble of pain from healing bruises decorating his pale skin like paint flicked by a deranged artist —each lick of pain left by your hands is like a drop of a drug he's addicted to, each session leaving him needing more.

You know you've been indulging him for too long when pulling him into his office has victory sparkling in his eyes, goosebumps spreading across his skin like he's already expecting a slap to the face.

You don't reward him with what he wants. "You're a real menace." You growl, closing the door but leaving it unlocked. "Acting up like a little brat."

"Ah don't know what yer talking about Doll," Graves says smoothly, his eyes lingering on the door. "Just bein' my charming self." He notices you don't lock it, that self-preserving part of his mind catching on faster than he does; you're up to something.

"Sure you are." You grip him by the hair, your lips only an inch apart. "My baby girl just wants to be punished, right?" Tugging on his hair just enough to tease him with what he wants you quickly pull your head away when he attempts to kiss you, shoving a small bag into his hands. "Put this on." You suddenly say.

Graves blinks rapidly, heart stuttering at your words, and he's both worried and aroused by the look in your eyes; like an old trickster god. He looks down and reaches into the nondescript bag, careful as if you've stuffed a bear trap inside it, confusion flaring in his eyes when he feels soft fabric and softer lace.

"You've got to be kidding me-" He snaps sharply, almost insulted, ears and cheeks as pretty pink as the gstring and skirt he now holds in his hand. "-I don't- doll, I can't- I-"

"You can and you will." You cut off his sputtering, yanking on his hair to shut him up. "You wanted to be a brat, I'm treating you like one." Your eyes narrow, pointedly ignoring how your harsh voice has a shiver running down his spine. "Now quit bitching and put that on. Right here."

Graves opens his mouth to argue with a retort burning like hot coals on his tongue, but the self-preservation portion of his mind kicks in from one glance into your eyes and before he knows it he's dropping his pants, embarrassment flooding his chest at how his cock bobs to stand at attention.

"Slut." You huff when you notice he's gone commando again, "I wonder how much the others would like to know their commander's such a whore."

He bites his tongue to silence himself and to stop himself from whining as he slips the panties on, the soft dainty lace trapping his cock, the light pink color darkening the fading bruises on his legs. The skirt comes next, so short it doesn't cover anything, and Phill resists rubbing his thighs together when he sees his cock poke out beneath the skirt's frilly fabric.

"Look at you, pretty girl," You chuckle, reaching down to fondle his cock like he'd done to you, the mix of your rough grip mixed with the silky soft fabric of the panties forcing a moan out of his throat. "Ready to stop being a brat and be a good girl?"

"Yes, please-" Graves quivers, clutching your shoulders and moaning while you continue to grope him, only stopping when there's a prominent damp spot at his tip and swiftly taking your hand away. "Fuck, doll."

You ignore his whining, moving him to sit in his chair, using his jeans as an impromptu cushion for your knees as you get beneath his desk. "Now, you've still got work to do." Your words has dread bubbling in his chest and his cock twitching when you pull his chair close to his desk, throwing his naked legs over your shoulders so he can't roll away. "You're finishing your work, oh, and you don't get to cum."

"Fuck-" Graves sucks in a sharp breath as your lips tickle his tip through the panties, "An' if I do?" He can't help himself, needs to rile you up even as a blush crawls down his neck.

He feels you grin against his tip, nearly jumping out of his chair when you roughly grip his balls, the tight string of the panties pushing down the middle of them to make them more grabbable. "Then this little clit is getting stuck in a cage until I decide to forgive you." You chuckle, slowly and leisurely licking him from base to tip, adding your spit to the liquid soaking the fabric. "Now get back to work."

He roughly brushes a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands to get his focus back before his bleary eyes settle on the laptop. He tries to type a report, but he keeps missing letters because it's fucking hard; you're consistent in your inconsistency, switching up the way you pleasure him with your mouth each time he's beginning to get used to it— lapping at his shaft like a dog one second, lewdly sucking on the tip the next, breaking off periodically to bite his fading bruises or tease his hole.

And all the while you keep his cock trapped in the panties, the constant strain of wet fabric adding to the building pleasure in his gut. Your hands keep him still when he attempts to wiggle or squirm, leaving fingerprint bruises to reward him for staying still as you suckle on his length and pulling moans from his chest.

He forgets the door is unlocked, moaning and groaning and squirming at how your spit cools, sending shivers up his spine. His groin is wet with your spit, from the tip of his cock down to his hole, his muscles spasming beneath your fingers as his body tries to buck into your mouth.

He's breathing like a racehorse and barely able to finish one report out of a few hundred when there comes a sharp knock on the door, followed by "Commander Graves?"

Fear and arousal floods his veins, his eyes quickly falling to you, large like dinner plates as he remembers; "Doll-"

"What are you waiting for?" You ask, teasing and smug like he'd been the entire week. "Go on pretty girl, call them in." There's no room for argument in your tone, and Graves gulps, his thighs tensing around your head and clenching his teeth.

"Come in!" He says and thinks-hopes- his voice doesn't sound as shaky to the as it does to him. He keeps his focus on the laptop, whole body tense and ears straining to hear his door open and close, mentally following the shadow's movements. "Report." He says.

You choose this time to lightly nibble on his tip, but he manages to clamp his mouth shut and the shadow doesn't notice anything. They prattle on about several things that could have been sent as an email and all the while Graves is stiff as a board trying not to squirm, trying not to show how your hot mouth on his cock is affecting him.

"Are you alright sir?" The shadow asks, bringing attention how flushed he looks. Graves briefly catches your smug gaze as you purposely open your mouth to rest his leaking tip on your tongue, the panties wet with your spit and his precum.

"Peachy," He grinds out, fingers balled into fists in an attempt to keep from squirming when your thumb presses against his hole without penetrating, trying to make him break. "Dismissed." He says sharply.

"But sir-"

"I said dismissed." He growls, hopes and prays his voice doesn't crack, ears burning and refusing to look at the shadow because he's so close, his balls and cock twitching in your hands.

The shadow hesitates, almost leaning closer and Graves nearly flinches, beath catching in his throat; the shadow would only need to take a half-step to see the pink skirt and panties, and just the knowledge of that, of his shadows knowing how much of a whore he is, has more precum leaking from his tip.

"Yes sir," The shadow says and salutes before leaving. The door closes with a resounding 'click' bringing with it heaven and hell.

Graves slumps back into his chair as if he'd run a marathon, his breath of relief broken by a moan when you dig your nails into a bruise on his thighs. "Good girl," Your smooth praise has liquid pleasure flowing in his veins, your nails digging deeper into his bruises feeding his addiction for pain and building a second need for more humiliation. "Did so well for me."

"Doll, please, I need-" He whines, head falling back against the backrest of his chair and a pitiful sound escaping his chest when you pull your lips from his cock. "-please just let me cum, need to cum."

"Oh no, you're not done yet," You're like a devil between his legs, grinning up to him. "You've still got a few hours of work left."

"You're evil," He breathes out, but he's hopeless to submit, leaning in to reach his laptop, groaning when your lips return to his leaking tip, his belly tight with heat that he's desperate to hold off. "Alright, yes, sure-"

"Good girl." You press on his bruises and suck on his tip again, and maybe you'll let him cum in a few hours...