#and that's enough to fuck with anyone's head

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're No Good

Pairings - Cult leader/clan Leader Geto x F! reader

Summary - You have been promised to marry the psychotic, human hating leader of the Geto Clan, Suguru. Your heart sinks at the wedding when you realize you're likely to be ended once you've fulfilled your duty, giving him an heir. He detests you on sight, as do you, but something happens the first time you lay together, Suguru swears you're some witch, because he can't get enough of you. He becomes consumed with fucking you, with the excuse of 'having an heir' but you begin to wonder just where the lines are blurring. Would you survive this- and will Suguru survive being with you?

CW- Arranged marriage trope, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, psychotic Geto lol- lots of hate sex, Suguru calling you a stupid monkey, angsty, FULL of smut. Reader is a virgin bc she's sheltered due to been promised to him. Reader is FEISTY asf and mean right back. Explicit sex and Geto being whipped/insane/obsessed and psycho. This part- Heavy angst, hate sex, cum licking, oral (m and f recieiving) choking, smacking, say hi to Gojo, toxic relationship. WC this part- 6.5k

Will be six parts <3 Plz share/comment/ like if you enjoy!

<<<Part Two - Playlist - Masterlist - Part four (soon)

Part Three

“Fuck…” Suguru’s moaning as he’s filling you, and it’s just too much, too intimate, his silken long locks falling against your skin, his lips hovering over yours, one of your legs wrapped on his hip.

“Fuck you…” Is what you mutter back, as his cock fills you, hitting every damn spot all at once, you’re soaking him, hands gripping the blankets, trying to avoid that desire to grip him instead.

“You love it, don’t you?” You shake your head and he chuckles, slipping his hand down your tummy to toy with your clit, pressing it in circles, making you cum so damn easily. “No?”

“Who c-cares- mnh!” You’re screaming out as he overstimulates you, those lazy lidded violet eyes devouring your face, your nails grip his back on instinct, making him hiss in pleasure.

“Fuck.” He huffs again, as he feels your walls, so slick and tight, pulsating all around his veiny length. “Feel perfect-” He pauses himself, as you gasp, he’s burying his face in your neck again, fucking into you deeper and harder now, taking over all your senses while he hides his feelings.

That he’s obsessed with you should be obvious, it is obvious to fucking anyone besides you, clearly. You haven’t noticed the way he’s non stop in your presence, even as there’s a knocking on his door now, he scowls over at it, you release your nails and he glares at you.

“Put them back.” You scowl right back.

“You’re needed M-Master Geto- oh! Ah!” He’s slamming his cock deeper, using one arm to balance, as the other grabs you by your throat.

“Put them back, now. Are the sheets fucking you?”

“I like them better than y-you.”

“Annoying fucking brat…” He grumbles, shoving his cock so deep as the door knocks again. “What is it!?”

“Plans for Kiyoto, Lord Geto. We have been waiting for an hour.”

“I’m not done yet.” The wet sounds of his cock splitting you in half fill his chambers, as he chokes you harder, looking as you lose oxygen, big hand taking your pretty little neck more and more. “I’ll come later.”

“Kiyoto?” You murmur, and he squeezes harder, slamming his cock even deeper as the bed creaks with the force.

“You can still speak?” He raises an arrogant brow, you’re helpless as the fuzziness of him choking you makes you feel like you’re floating as he slams his cock so deep, tip pressing into your spongy cervix, you pulse all around him screaming silently in pleasure. “There, shut your stupid mouth.”

Suguru releases your throat, slamming his lips on yours, and you’re too weak to fight it, you let him kiss you, clinging to him desperately, and letting go for just one blissful moment. Where you inhale the scent of the sex filling the room, where you feel his taste buds on your tongue, and your tongue moves back, earning his soft little whimper that he hides.

You wish you could let go.

But how do you let go with a monster?

Suguru’s big hand comes to your thigh now, gripping it and shoving impossibly deeper as you whine out, your hips rolling for more. If there is ever a time the two of you aren’t declaring your hate or scowling, it’s when he’s fucking you into that bed, deeper and deeper, kissing you like he could love you. A mix of hatred, desire, and more and more feelings you both suffocate.

A month married to him, in his bed constantly, in whatever position he had you in, last night you’d been on top of him, as he’d laughed while you tried to ride him, but when you’d rolled your hips a certain way, you got that look. The look of whatever real Suguru Geto is inside of this shell, you got a glimpse of his tenderness when he came inside you.

Even now, it doesn’t feel all like hate, not when he slows, and he parts his lips, murmuring something that sounded like beautiful, but when you ever looked at him, asked him what he whispered, he’d shut down and flip you. He’d fuck you harder until you couldn’t remember whatever tender words may have spilled from lips that only produce hate.

You gasp now, looking up at him, when he entwines a hand in yours, it’s too much pressure in your tummy, it’s too intimate really, he shouldn’t fucking do this, and he knows it. “D-don’t…”

“Don’t hold your hand, but I can cum in you?” He whispers back, and you gulp now, nodding, while he shakes his head. “Rather me choke you again?”

“Yes.” He scoffs, slamming his lips back down again, rhythm slowing. “Stop kissing me, fuck…”

“No.” You turn your face and he exhales, biting your throat now, sinking fully in and throbbing inside you. “Fucking brat, I swear.”

“Shut up and finish- mnh!” Suguru leans up and shoves you in that mating press now, looking down at you as his hair falls loose and silky and long, brushing the backs of your thighs.

“Need my cum so bad, pathetic girl?”

“Monkey.” You finish, and he pauses, it’s been weeks since he’s said it during sex to you, shit a week since he said it at all. Any time someone else said it he’d end them, so people don’t talk that way anymore.

But the irony is it’s his creation, calling others that.

“You only shut up when I lick you, even dick apparently doesn’t work.” You flush at that, and he’s spitting down between your thighs now, obscene as he does it, running that rough thumb on your clit again as you scream out. “There we go, you can’t help yourself, feels too good.”

“Hate you. Hate you.” You’re whispering even as you shatter, milking his cock so that he cums right with you, groaning out loud, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Perfect little cunt, fuck…” He’s whispering, as he watches the creamy stripes already oozing from your little hole, moaning as he sees it, releasing your thighs. “You took so much, but you’re just pushing it all out.”

“There’s enough cum, you cum so much, ugh.” You grumble, voice breathy as he chuckles so cruelly, finally pulling out of you, dripping with your slick and his seed, sticky and glistening.

“Clean it up then.” He gets on his back now, yanking you until you’re on his face, you gasp then.

“Suguru…”

“Fuck…” He’s parting your drooling lips as you brace yourself on either side of him, feeling the tip of his tongue flick on your overstimulated clit. “Saying my name? Are you only sweet when I eat you out?”

“Shut it.” You lap at his sticky tip, he jerks in your hand, still mostly hard as he’s moaning against you, making you drip out more of his cum right on his lips, mixed with how slick you are.

“Pretty pussy so beat up.”

“Pretty, hmm?” You are met with him shoving up his cock deep, as you suck as much as you can of him, you’ve sucked him a few times now, times when you can’t help yourself.

You love to.

But you don’t want him having the satisfaction.

Though you’ve never done… this, sitting on his face while he laps you up, his huge hands on your hips, while his tongue scoops the cum pouring, only making you closer again. Your eyes roll back as you suck him deeper, losing yourself in the sensations again, it's hard to remember when his tongue devours you that he’s a mass murderer who ‘hates you’.

“Suguru…” You’re pulling back for a moment, pulling away as he flicks your clit again and again, hot breath right on your core, and he glares, yanking you back.

“Don’t run, now, let me get her ready for me again.” You just whine, pathetically, shaking your head.

“M’gonna cum-”

“Cum, then. Now.” You sure won’t be taking his orders, but he sucks your tiny clit in his mouth, shoving his cock up with a thrust of his hips, and you are cumming, just like he fucking said. Your thighs shake on either side of his pretty face, as he licks you clean, his own cock fully hard and ready again in your throat. “Finally being good?”

“Mmm, never…” He laughs at you, tapping your hips as you shakily get off him, just to yank you on top, sliding his length between your puffy lips. Your hands brace on his chest, your flushed face so gorgeous he can’t think for a moment. “Must we… so frequently? Shouldn’t I take a test?”

Suguru pauses then.

“And if you are, will you stop your duties as my wife?” He asks, while you grind on him, and you’re exhaling, trying to focus.

“What’s Kyoto?”

“Jesus… just fuck me, don’t talk.”

“That’s all we do!”

“That’s all I enjoy to do with you, it’s the only time you’re not a mean little bitch.” You glare now, leaning back and slapping his cheek, he slaps you right back, while he drags you on his cock, and you scream in pleasure, tits right in his face bouncing with the motion. “There you go, can’t help yourself.”

“Hate you… what the…” He slaps your tits now, as you whine out in pleasure, he leans up to suck one in his mouth, moaning, cheeks hollowed as he does. “Tell me nothing, hmm?”

“It’s an attack, okay? Will you focus on riding dick, your technique is pathetic.” You scowl again, rolling your hips just so and grinding with him bottomed out, smirking as you elicit a whimper.

“Whining like a little bitch, the almighty Lord Geto.”

“God I hate you.” He whispers, pulling you by your hair and kissing you again, so brutal and bruising while he shoves his cock up inside you, skin sweaty and slick from the two of you.

“Attack for what?” You whisper, close to cumming again.

“A thousand curses, will take out every non-sorcerer… f-fuck you feel so… mmm… and anyone who stops me.” You pause at that, unmoving, looking at him in horror now.

“What!?” You earn his scowl, he flips you on the other side of the bed, on top again, a hand on your mouth, as you yank at it.

“I’m killing everyone in that city that’s human. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe, you’re with me.” Your parents live in Kyoto, he doesn’t even let you argue, sinking deeper, shaking his head.

“My parents-”

“Your parents, my parents, baby they’re all gonna die soon.” You’re in horror and shock as the door knocks again, and Suguru rolls violet eyes. “I said I’m busy!”

“Satoru Gojo is here, Lord Geto. You may want to… see this.” Suguru freezes over you.

“You’re gonna kill our parents!? Everyone!? Really!”

“Have I ever made it a secret?” He scoffs, pulling out of you and making you flush in embarrassment as he looks at your body. “I said I’d make an exception, why is that not enough? What more must I constantly do?”

“I don’t know- not be a murderer psycho!?” He’s scowling again as he gets dressed, and you hastily follow.

“I’ll be out there in just a moment.” He says gruffly and you’re following him out, earning him constantly glaring back at you. “I’ll knock you out with a sleeping curse if you don’t stop.”

“Thought I was supposed to go everywhere with you, as your wife, hmm?” His jaw locks as you two step outside, the brightness blinding for just a moment, as several of Suguru’s cult members are ready to fight Gojo, who’s just smirking, turning his attention to the two of you then.

“You paid me a visit, figured I’d return the favor buddy.” Satoru says with a big grin, and Suguru smirks so damn evil, while Satoru eyes you behind the veil of white thin material, face softening a bit. “Who’s the pretty girl, and why is she near you?”

“My wife, okay?” Satoru pauses, while Suguru steps closer, crossing his arms under his wide robes. “What’s it to you?”

Satoru pulls up his white wrapped blindfold, one cerulean eye meeting yours, swirling storms that you could never forget, looking back at Suguru, glossy lips turning up in a smirk. Suguru scowls right at him, when Satoru puts his hands in the pockets of his dark blue pants, tilting his silvery locks as he steps just a bit closer, his shoes glinting under the light with each step.

“A non-curse user married to the infamous Suguru Geto.” Gojo whistles now, walking closer until he’s right in front of you.

“Arranged marriage.” Suguru says, making you tense, feeling sick to your stomach, sure you know it’s true, but…

Perhaps you thought you were a little more?

“Ah, need me to take her off your hands?” Satoru taunts, grinning as he puts his blindfold back on, and you watch Suguru stiffen, before he glares.

“The fuck you say?”

“You hate humans, I’ll take her with me. Sure she’d prefer that over certain death, hmm?”

“You won’t take her any fucking where.”

“Why, it’s forced, right?” Satoru’s lilting voice was laced with sarcasm, as he looks right through Suguru, the way you do, the way Shoko had so casually the day he last saw her, the way only people…

People he loved did.

Fuck he can’t, he doesn’t, but as Satoru brushes your hair back gently and you eye him curiously, he grips one of Satoru’s wrists tightly, and he can feel the goddamn gaze behind that blindfold. Knowing, still caring somehow, though Suguru doesn’t deserve his care, nor does he deserve you.

If he loved you enough, he’d let you run the fuck away with Satoru, perhaps he could keep you safe, from the monster Suguru had become.

But he can’t stand the thought of you gone.

“Is it because she’s pregnant?”

“What!?” Suguru demands, and he lifts his blindfold again, eyeing you with those powerful six eyes that everyone knows the Gojo heir has, as you touch your tummy, looking at Satoru in shock.

“It’s brand new, won’t even show up on a test, but you are.” Satoru’s voice is just a little soft, you could feel how he felt horrible for you, but also you could still feel the love he had for his former best friend.

“You can see?” You murmur softly, as Suguru’s lips are parted.

“I can see a lot. I see you care about her, hmm?”

“You need to leave, to prepare for when I come.”

“Suguru!” His name on your lips makes him pause, as you look at him with tears now. “You can’t do it.”

“Oh I can’t hmm?” Suguru’s struggling to remember his motives, all he can think of is that there’s a fucking baby in you already.

“You can’t do this, what life will this baby even have?”

“A better one, when the scum is off this earth.”

“Including her?” Satoru says now, and Suguru’s jaw locks, violet eyes narrowed with his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, the wind starts whipping around the three of you, as you feel Satoru’s immense energy. It’s far surpassing Suguru’s, intense to withhold as it surrounds him. “If you hate humans, you hate her.”

“That’s… she’s mine.”

“Your human?”

“She’s my…” He stands in front of you now, as Satoru grins, chuckling just a bit. “She’s my wife and has my heir, she won’t leave my fucking sight.”

Suguru never wants you to leave him, the thought makes his heart clench with fear, his very energy shifting, and Satoru picks up on it. “Oh so you’ll just kill her once she has your heir?”

“No I…”

“Why not, care about someone again?” Suguru bristles at that, at his friend seeing everything with one glance, Satoru has always been that way.

“So perceptive now, are you?”

Satoru’s jaw locks. “Now, yes, and you are blinded, can’t even see what’s here for you, can you?”

“Satoru fuckin leave, go prepare now because I sure the fuck am coming prepared to kill everyone in that city, including you.” Suguru stomps away, as Satoru sighs, stepping closer to you.

“Are you alright here?” He murmurs, you nod then, carefully. “I can get you out of here.”

“You what?” You blink just a bit, and Suguru is shouting your name, glaring at the two of you.

“You love him too, don’t you?” Satoru’s question makes you question yourself, your own heart, things you’re trying to shove back, to avoid. But it’s as if Satoru knows you better than yourself and almost like you can feel the love he himself has, the care radiating under his powerful energy.

“No! God no…” You falter, and Satoru exhales, brushing the backs of his fingers across your cheek, and you feel Suguru summon a curse right around you, making you gasp.

“Back the fuck off.” Suguru speaks through gritted teeth, Satoru just smirks, waving off Suguru’s curse like it’s nothing.

“You see them.”

“Yes, I can, some… family trait.” You murmur softly.

“Hmm, interesting. I can still take you away, just say the word.”

You hate Suguru.

Suguru is a psycho murderer.

Right?

“Or…”

“Or?” Suguru’s now got his people around him, his cult, his minions, making you sick as they gather, as if they’re putting a dent in Satoru Gojo.

“Or… you try to stop him.”

“Me!? He fucking hates me, he thinks-”

“Nah. He certainly doesn’t hate you, in fact… maybe only you can get through to him.” He rubs the back of his neck, as Suguru and his group start stepping forward. “I’ve tried, I’m… fucking tired.”

“If you don’t get through, how can I?” Your voice is hoarse, Satoru leans down a bit, voice dropping to a murmur.

“He feels something. Try to… just buy me some time could you?” You gulp now, as you touch your stomach again.

“I’ll try, Gojo.” He smiles at you then, the smile you remember has changed he's… sadder now.

“You have something on here…” He brushes long fingers against your neck, making you tremble a bit at the contact, then blush. You'd only been with Suguru and it wasn't either of your choices, so you wonder if it's just … someone else touching you? Or if it's his intense energy, but soon you notice a little piece of paper that he's placed there. “In case you need me.”

You nod, tucking it in your robes. “Thank you…”

“Good luck with… all of it.”  He disappears with one more sad look at Suguru, who's now scowling as he walks over to you. “Go to your room until I say you can leave.”

“What!?”

“Now you’ll be seen as a weakness.” He says, in disgust at the thought, looking at you furiously.

“Why, when you don’t care?” Your words make him furious, how can you not know what he feels?

“I do care, that’s the problem.”

“Oh, I’m a problem!?”

“Go. Now.” You shake your head at him, and he grabs you by your chin, squeezing it tightly. “Go to your room for the rest of the night, I will not repeat myself, or would you like your parents dead earlier?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You say through your sobs that are rising in your throat, and Suguru pauses, guilt flashing as he sees what he’s already done to you, and he hasn’t even started.

“Now.” You rush off as he stares, and the others gather, he aches to follow you when you slam that door, when he hears your cries, but he does nothing. “Someone lock her doors from the inside out.”

******

It’s been all night you’ve been stuck in this goddamn room, and of course you have no phone in here, Suguru lets you use a cell phone to speak to your parents but he never really lets you keep it in your room. Finally, it’s gotta be late, you’ve lost sense of time but the locked windows of your room show it’s dark out, the door opens with a resounding click.

You peer and see him then, furious at you as he stands there, and you step up to the doorway. “Locking me away like this is beauty and the beast, huh?”

“Might as well be, isn’t that what we are?” He raises a brow, and you gulp now, shaking your head.

“No, you’re beautiful. On the outside.” You watch Suguru pause now, face softening a bit. “If I’m pregnant, shouldn’t I be allowed to eat?”

“I didn’t say… you think…”

“You’ve locked me in here for hours.” Your tummy growls as if on cue, and Suguru feels like…

God worse than shit.

His best friend had just been there, and now the girl he’s fallen for is starving and apparently… pregnant. If Gojo is to be believed, there’s life inside of you already, and what sort of life would it be when you’re living in constant terror from him? But Suguru is too far down this path, as much as he will make an exception for you, he will not do that for anyone else.

His family and yours included, eventually.

“So you know, your parents are on vacation.” You exhale in relief, but then instantly feel guilty.

What about everyone else?

“Can I have a phone to talk to them, please?”

He shrugs then. “Sure, I’ll have one brought to you along with dinner.”

“So I have to stay here!?”

“Until you calm down.” He shuts the door again as you glare at it, and he’s resting his head on the other side, despising himself.

“Suguru, really!?”

It’s of no use. With dinner and a phone in a little bit, you devour it, realizing then that you are starving, you’d fucked the man all morning and are apparently… carrying his baby, and haven’t eaten anything. The door opens and Suguru stands there once again, crossing his arms and looking down at you.

“You can come to my chambers if you behave.” You’ll behave alright.

Knowing it to be your chance to attempt to get to him in any way, you agree. As you walk down the halls, seeing his daughters giggling as if everything’s fine, Suguru pats them on the head as he pauses, and when they leave, he looks at you. “So if they were human, what would you do?”

“I asked you to behave.”

“Did you think of Gojo and-”

“Forget who you belong to?” He says angrily, hands on your shoulders now, heat burning you through the silk of your robes.

“It’s just all arranged, yeah?” Your retort leaves him breathless, sputtering, as he catches you by your wrist.

“It was arranged, but let me explain-”

“Nothing you say makes any fucking sense!” You're yanking your arm, now he is dragging you to his room, you're stumbling helplessly, following his quick pace until he's slammed the door behind you.

“You are mine, all mine.” He whispers, huge hands on your face, as you bite a trembling lip.

“Suguru, you can’t do this. Please.”

“Stop telling me what I can or can’t do. Why, think I’m not powerful enough?” He slams a hand on one side of your head, making you tense.

“Is that all this is, who’s more powerful? Does this mean nothing?” You take that hand putting it on your stomach now, as he gulps audibly, his already tired eyes even more heavy.

“The heir.”

“The baby, say it.”

“Baby…” He murmurs, almost in wonder for a moment, before stepping back, as you feel your heart shattering. “You’ll stay here, you’ll be safe. I’ll have guards if they come to retaliate.”

“Oh, so it’s all fine then, you’re gonna what, kill other kids!? Pregnant women!? Does that make you feel good, Suguru, so fucking strong?” You shove at him now, and his dark brows lower, jaw clenched.

“You will be safe.”

“For how long, until your hatred overtakes you, and you remember what I am. Say it, huh?” He’s squeezing your wrists, shoving you off him, pinning them above your head as he leans down, the ticking of the clock on his wall matching the rhythm of your pounding heart.

Tick tick tick.

How long until your heart stops beating?

“You’re… more.” He wants to say it then, that he loves you, a human… that he’s never felt like this, even with the love of his friends.

Nothing like it.

You scoff right at him. “Tiny, pathetic, useless, but you’re different, okay? I know that you are.”

“I’m a human. Say it. Say monkey, isn’t that what I am?” He glares at you now, shaking his head, and you laugh then, a mean little laugh. “Can’t now, why?”

“You’re… I… just shut the fuck up.” He slams his lips down on your brutally, your arms are going numb until he releases them, his tongue diving inside your mouth, drinking every bit of you up as you whine softly. “I need you.”

You blink a bit, disoriented at his words, as he picks you up in his arms, and you cling to him, tears filling your eyes. “Why? I’m pregnant now, remember?”

“You think Gojo knows?”

“He knows a lot. He knows you.” Suguru glares now, your back against that wall, as his hands grip your ass, and you feel his hard body against you. “He loves you.”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” He’s kissing you again, as you exhale, trying to catch a breath, trying to control the storm inside of you. “No one should love me.” He murmurs against your neck, teeth sinking in, making you cling to him, nails scraping against the silk of his robes.

“Why n-not? You’re not t-too far-”

“Baby, I’m no good.” He whispers now, in your ear, and you know it’s true, you know that Suguru Geto is a fucking monster.

But you also know one thing too.

You’re in love with him.

In love with a monster who wants to end the world.

“Then why do you need me? Huh? Go get one of your girls, I’m pregnant already.” Suguru scowls as he leans back, and you bite back a moan as he moves against your hot, eager cunt.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?”

“Shut up.”

“No! We won’t.” You wriggle until you’re out of his hold, and heading for his door, he presses your front against it, hand on yours on that knob. “Let me go. You said once I got pregnant, you were done. Remember?”

Suguru said a lot, a lot of bullshit.

He called you disgusting, useless, trash, a monkey… but as you look at him the way you do, you’re breaking him, in between making his desire to take you grow by every fucking minute. He cups your face, brushing aside your tears, you always cried over him, didn’t you? He’s not worth them, he’s not worth any of you, yet he’s so obsessed and greedy he still takes.

“We don’t have to stop. We both enjoy this, don’t I make you feel good?” He’s slipping his fingers, moaning when he finds your soaked panties under your pretty yukata, and you clench your teeth, eyes rolling back. “We can give this a chance, having this baby.”

“A chance?” You whisper, in between hiccups of pleasure as he keeps teasing your clit over and over, and you find yourself arching against him.

“To be together. I know they’ll be special- like you.”

“I am a fucking human.”

“No.” He’s sinking two fingers in your slutty little hole, as those sticky walls grip his thick digits so good, as he loses himself in your scent, your feel, the sound of you, every fucking bit. “You’re special, you’re more, I know it.”

“Mnh… I hate you…” You cry out as he pumps more and more, thighs shaking while he works you so damn well.

“I know you hate me. You should… go ahead, cum f’me.”

“Call me it.”

“No.”

“Useless, pathetic- weak, worthless-”

“Beautiful.”

“No!” You’re fighting it, turning in his hold, as he sucks your juices off his fingers, getting on his knees for you, and you’re faltering again. “Don’t call me that.”

“You are beautiful. Do you not know?”

“Shut up. I hate you more for it.” Your tears stream further down your face, as he tries to grip you by the hips, to drag you closer to him. “You act as if you could ever love me.”

Suguru blinks then, pressing a kiss on your tummy for a moment, making you both pause. “We can have a perfect world.”

“It’s a massacre, it’s murder, it’s not perfect! Killing everyone that doesn’t meet your standards? Suguru please just stop. Stop it.”

He scowls now, standing tall, looming right over you, your breath catches in your throat in fear. “I will not stop my plans. Gojo got you this fucked up from one meeting? Maybe you did like him then.”

You scoff now. “Your audacity is batshit. How can you be jealous of your arranged wife who is a human, that you said you didn’t wanna touch!?”

“I… you know I didn’t…”

“I don’t know shit, Suguru Geto. Except Gojo loves you, and fuck, I see glimpses of how and why. I do.” You cup his face then, he jerks back for a moment, like your touch is fire, as you cup the other side of his face. “If you love Gojo, and if you care for me one little bit, you won’t.”

“You assume I love anyone.” His words, lies, tear you apart.

You blink more tears, as Suguru lies right to your face. “You care.”

“So what!? That’s why you’ll be safe.”

“And Gojo? And those damn kids from Jujutsu high, and the people of Kyoto, children, you’ll kill them?”

“Just go. You don’t want to now that you’re pregnant, right? Leave.”

“It’s not that, it’s that I want to know if anything good is fucking inside you, Suguru please just this one thing. Just don’t attack.”

His jaw sets as he pulls your hands off, and they fall to your sides, while he glares down at you. “I’ll give him another week to prepare, you can let him know since you’re suddenly his friend, hmm?”

“He loves you. Don’t you see it? Can’t you still be worthy of it? Of… my love?” You whisper, after he’s turned away, and Suguru laughs darkly.

“You could never love me.”

“How do you know- if you’d just try, Suguru!”

“I’ll give it a week. That’s the best you’re getting.”

“Is there any room for me or this baby in whatever heart you have left, with all that hatred inside you?” You whisper, he turns to open his mouth, but you storm out of his room, sobbing as you rush down the halls, leaving him alone, picturing his friend brushing your hair back.

Gojo would be better for you, wouldn’t he?

But Suguru doesn’t think he could ever let you go, even when he brings you to tears, even when he himself feels moisture that hasn’t been there in so long, memories and images of happiness filling him. Of you and a baby, maybe they look pretty like their mom, maybe they’re fiery like you, maybe they’re…

Human.

He sinks to the ground then, head falling against the door.

What if they’re human?

You’re collapsing on your bed, in tears, trying to pull yourself together, finally getting the number Satoru had conveniently hidden in your collar, pulling it out and dialing it, sniffling. “Hello?”

“I tried… I tried but…”

“Shh, hey, calm down.” Satoru sits up in his empty home, hearing your cries, some odd ache to comfort you filling him.

If anyone knows what it’s like to love Suguru Geto, despite all his flaws and his intentions, it’s Satoru Gojo. But also… you seemed so fragile, so small in a home that all hated you. And yet he saw it in your eyes, pretty eyes, full of fear but also feelings, and then he knew that you care for him, as much as Suguru cared for you, so very clear to Satoru.

“It’s okay… it’s not all on you.” Satoru says, his voice comforting your aching heart now.

“He said another week he would give you.” Satoru sighs then, nodding.

“A week is better, more time to prepare.”

“I tried, he doesn’t… he won’t…”

“I know. You love him.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Neither should I, but I remember my best friend, the only friend I had.” Your heart tears apart for the person Suguru used to be, and now for Satoru, who you barely know, but you feel it, the longing, the loneliness.

“I don’t know if he’s in there. I don’t know if I can face him if he does it.”

“You bought me time, sweetheart, thank you okay? You can only do so much right now.” He says softly, and you take a shaky breath.

“I see why you two were close, you’re kind of comforting.”

“Comforting hmm, I don’t think I was back then.” Satoru remembers being a little shithead, conceited, cocky. “I don’t think I was there when he needed me, when he needed someone. I can’t forgive myself for it.”

“You should.” You lay on your back now, staring up at the intricate patterns on the ceiling, as the warmth of the phone touches your cheek. “What are you gonna do, Gojo?”

“Try to save everyone, of course. Should be a piece of cake.” You snort then, as he laughs a bit, deterring the situation some. “I meant it, I can get you away, somewhere safe.”

“Why would you?”

“You didn’t choose this. You’re just… a girl. You know?”

“Pregnant, really?”

“Mmm, yeah I’m pretty sure. It’s a certain energy I can pick up on, like more than one in your body.”

“I should go, I’ll be fine, I don't think he’d hurt me… in any way other than… hurting others.” He hurts you in his own ways, sure, but Suguru doesn’t realize how much he’s hurting you, pushing you away. You shouldn’t care, you should have known he was this way, but something in you loves him, against it all.

Do you love the monster or the man still inside?

“All right, if you’re sure.” Satoru says softly, cutting your thoughts off as you blink a bit.

“Satoru, will you… kill him if you had to?” He hears the fear, the thoughts he has in his own mind clearly connecting with you, the last thing Satoru ever wanted to do was kill him.

“I’d try everything else first, but I have to defend the kids, and everyone else… if it comes to it, I… shit I don’t wanna think of it.” You hear his emotions, sighing as you come to understand his meaning.

“Is there any of him left?” You ask softly, Satoru takes off his blindfold, pouring himself a drink and leaning against the counter, pressing you against his ear.

“You want to know if the Suguru you met that day is in there?”

“What was he… like, even?”

Satoru laughs a bit, without humor. “He was a little shit.”

“Well, he’s still that.” You both laugh softly, shit it’s the first time you can recall laughing since you’ve been here almost.

“He was arrogant, but he was kind, he thought we should help the weak, I argued with him. He stopped me from… doing some rash things. We lost a few people, and he grew distant, I wish I noticed… or…”

“He wanted to protect the weak?”

“Yes.” You can’t fathom that it's the same man, sighing a bit now, shifting in the bed as sleep starts to tug at you somehow, though you’re scared to even close your eyes. 

“You really loved him.”

“I still do.” He clears his throat a bit now, Satoru’s never really shared how he felt until you, a stranger on a phone, married to his former friend, but for some reason he feels you understand more than anyone. Your voice alone, speaking the words, are something he didn’t know he craved.

“I will keep trying if I can, but I can’t face him right now.”

“Just get some rest, if you need me I’ll get you away. But I hope… I hope he’s still him, somewhere.”

“Me too. Good night, Satoru.”

“Good night.” You hang up, leaving his mind whirling, thinking of your pretty forlorn face, wishing he could save you, wishing he could save his damn best friend, and everyone else. “An extra week, huh…”

You curl up and pass out shortly after, in nightmare after nightmare, hating Suguru, loving Suguru, images of Satoru in there too, of them killing each other, hurting each other. Villages burning, a city in ruins, Suguru’s curses everywhere, so vivid and real you’re tossing and turning, unable to wake up, even as you scream out loud in your sleep.

Suguru is in your chambers then, watching what he’s done, sitting by your side as you toss and turn, gently touching your forehead, sweaty from your exertions. “Shh, Princess…”

Princess.

Why’d he say that?

Why couldn’t he call you it- monkey- anymore?

“Suguru don’t… I love you…” He pauses at your words, on your lips incoherent, tears glistening in the dark room. “Don’t… you’re hurting me… never loved me…”

“I do, fuck I do.” He leans down, holding you, he’s never spent the night with you, of course you wouldn’t allow it, but he’s never even held you.

What’s he done, but fuck you good and try to make you forget how horrible he truly is? As you calm now, blinking a bit, in and out of a daze. “Suguru?” You whisper, fear in your pretty eyes, mixed with more.

He caused this.

How could you even have a baby like this?

“Go to sleep, you were screaming so loud everyone is up.” He huffs, lying to you now, and you pull back.

“I’m fine. Just go, sorry I was having nightmares.” He pulls you back against him now, his strong chest, warmth you ache to sink against, all while you try to picture a world in which he wasn’t evil, wasn’t insane, wasn’t bloodthirsty. A world where he’s just a boy and you’re just a girl, cuddling in bed.

It’s a lovely dream, but you know it’s fake.

“Get to sleep.” His soft order is met with him pulling you even closer, covering you both with a blanket, and for one moment, you let yourself believe the lie, that Suguru could be himself again. That he’d give up this insanity for you.

A beautiful lie, really.

You nestle against him, wrapping an arm around his waist, burying your tired face against his neck, and Suguru feels himself breaking in two. Part of him wants to just… go back to how things were, to be good for you, but there’s still such hatred that’s eaten at him for years. Consuming him.

He knows hatred will win.

But as he holds the girl he loves, he hopes she’ll forgive him for what he's about to do.

More angst cominggg- this will be 6 parts loves <3

taglist #1 @ur-1fav-girl @gradmacoco @arabellasolstice @saitamaswifey @rjreins @uarmyhopeworldwide @makkiihehe @dabisdolly @angelzrulez21-blog @juicu @meme848 @arcanedx @satxoru @jeon-blue @longlivegojo @silvarys @enhasrii @inthedarkshadows000 @shokosmokes @schlokki @ashdiamashi @socutesotall @staarflowerr @you-need-namjesus @pkcoleight @tasteofapplecider @erenspersonalwh0re @makingtimemine @boobsbeesbongos @sjstg3 @msniks @hhhhhhhikariiiiiiii @l1v1ngzomb1e @lilbxtchsyndrome @voideddd @maddyhehehehhe @nanamiskentos @yenayaps @alygator77 @slamonwords @nonamevenus @sugurumylove @shibataimu @spicy-woodland-queen @nonamebbsblog @notyuralycat @beabamboo @satttanx

[princessflorida]

saying they've "lost their final bargaining chip" is so incredibly ludicrous and revolution fantasy to me honestly. no they didnt. their final "bargaining chip" is extortion and coercive force. it's how they got to where they are now. and force will be required to stop them. fascists dont just run out of bargaining chips. WE are the chips. and they're doing a very successful job at farming us. they wont run out.

if they truly had lost THEE FINAL bargaining chip for "keeping the masses working for them", then they'd lose. because we wouldn't be working for them. but we still are. literally no one has stopped. because we have to have a roof over our head and food, especially people that have kids. or people that have meds they HAVE to pay for or they die, etc.

IF they EVER lose "the final bargaining chip keeping the masses working for them" it will be because it was taken by force. the final chip is being allowed to stay alive. the final chip is not starving to death or dying from exposure.

i can tell when people say stuff like this they've never been homeless or lived poverty at best, and at worst are usually chronically online kids who have never had to pay bills and have never had to choose between having a roof or eating. i can telk they've never once had to worry about where their next meal was coming from, have never had to steal food to stay alive, had to do risky fucked up shit not to die in the heat or the cold, etc.

our compliance will not be rewarded with anything other than JUST barely getting enough food and sleep to stay alive. alive, not well or healthy. just alive. starve an animal and watch what it's willing to do to get food. itll do anything. so will we. our coercive forced compliance is rewarded with not dying. and the vast majority of people, especially those who have kids to make sure don't starve to death, will stoop to any level to make sure those mouths get fed. and i don't mean the snitch bitch from mcdonalds. she can rot. i mean that saying "theyve lost the final bargaining chip keeping the masses working for them" sounds like the chronically online teenage revolution fantasy from someone who's parents pay their phone bill, and their way through college, and bought them a car etc. like you're really not convincing me you've ever gone hungry once. clearly the masses are still working for them. nothing has changed.

the adjuster (luigi is innocent til proven guilty can yall stop saying he did it sybau snitches youre as bad as the mcds lady by doing that), whoever he is, did a heroic and powerful thing. and "the masses" simply ARE NOT willing to organize and follow in his footsteps. they'd rather keep working bc they need food and a roof NOW. until we combat that with community mutual aid and organization on a large level, their "last bargaining chip" is our lives.

think about what you're saying before you say it. seriously. the chronically online revolutionary fantasy shit pmo so bad. all i see nowadays trying to organize w people is that no one wants to ACTUALLY do anything, they just want to keep working for the masses while pretending that bitching online is some sort of radical revolutionary activist shit that actually does something (it doesnt). and those of us who actly are willing are so outnumbered and poor, disabled, sick etc that WE'RE the ones who need the fucking help. anyone above our tax bracket, middle class, who pretends to be into this shit when it comes time to try to do that? crickets.

let me know when yall are ACTUALLY ready to adjust the world in favor of humanity's sustainable survival ourselves. ill be waiting. ill probably die waiting. the adjuster has shown us we cant change the world alone. we need numbers. big numbers. enough of us that they can't just throw us in prison and make an example out of us.

bc right now the rich/elite/1%/politicians are sitting and laughing at dumbass tweets like this knowing the people posting them won't even break a single misdemeanor law much less do worse. they don't let the snitches in the club, and they know the people against them won't crash the club either. even losing 1 of their own, did that stop UHC? did it stop for profit healthcare? no. a lot more deaths will have to happen for any of that to stop, bc they will not stop for any reason other than being dead. and they know their club is untouchable both to snitch asskissers and those against them. bc we dont try. bc of the threat of violence and death. the end.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

⃠ CYBER SEX. (SEVIKA + VI + READER ) ⃠

➤┆pairing: sevika + vi + fem reader

↻┆word count: 3k

⚠︎┆warnings: dom! sevika + switch vi + sub! reader, sevika guides you and vi through phone sex, degrading names (whore, slut) and nicknames (angel, good girl, Sevika is called 'Vika once), teasing, fingering + clit stim + strap-on sex (r! receiving), slight pain kink, mentions of vi receiving from sevika, threats of punishment from sevika, mentions of sexism from sevika's male coworkers (she's in construction).

Description: Sevika is the main breadwinner in you, her, and Vi's. She makes a lot of money, but is also often busier than the both of you. The week-long business trips are something she doesn't look forward to-being away from her girls for days to weeks at a time. You and Vi decide to make matters worse for her when you get feel neglected on a call that was supposed to relax your exhausted girlfriend.

You'd think after countless business trips away from home that Sevika would be used to the separation, but no. She misses you and Vi more than anything. She finds a stupid grin forming on her face when she imagines the both of you on the couch, probably watching something she would make fun of and eating junk food. She keeps telling herself she only has two days left to go. Then, it's the four hour road trip until she can finally give her girlfriends some attention.

Sevika's longing is loving. It's soft and sweet, though anyone else would find that to be rare from her. You and Vi just bring out that ooey-gooey part of her heart out. With that lead to sweeter-than-chocolate kisses and late nights that she knows she shouldn't be awake for, having to wake up at 5 in the morning, but ends up between the two of you anyway.

Her current mood is anything but horny. She is tired after a long day of construction work and being around dickhead coworkers, and she could use a shower to wash off the sweat from her body. Sex isn't exactly the priority in her mind.

Still, she imagines that it'll be like to return home. You and Vi must be so needy. You always are after a week without Sevika. The routine is all the same—walk through the door, take a quick shower, and fuck the brains out of you two.

You're a bottom through and through. You couldn't top even if someone was pointing a gun to your head. Vi, on the contrary, has no reason to. She could if she was in the particular mood for it, but why would she? Sevika takes care of both of you best. She knows that you love being held down and fucked, how you like Vi's thumb on your clit adding onto the pleasure. Sevika knows that Vi likes it more complicated. Vi likes to pretend like she isn't as flustered as she truly is when Sevika has her legs open and her pussy on display, but the girl can get even wetter than you can at times. Everything is in routine, and that is just how Sevika likes it.

Sitting in her hotel room, Sevika waits impatiently for the call. Earlier, Vi sent a dry text requesting a facetime. That didn't raise any suspicions in her head. Almost every time Sevika leaves for a trip, either you or Vi send something asking when she is available. It makes her heart jump to think of her girls being without her. She wonders how Vi fares without someone to tell her not to punch a hole in the wall, and instead use the punching bag Sevika spent a ridiculous amount of money on. She wonders how you fare without the constant reassurance. You're on the overthinking side, and Sevika has probably said enough to put into a book. She doesn't mind it one bit, though.

This time, Sevika feels extra excited to talk. She just wants to kick her boots off, see you and Vi's faces, and forget about having two more days of hard labor.

She wants a distraction.

You and Vi have been dying without Sevika.

Usually, the days go by fast. You're both able to wait for Sevika's touch. You don't have to think too much about the way her fingers would feel in you, and Vi doesn't have to fuck herself on the dildo attached to Sevika's strap to manage. Today, however, both of you seemed to break.

It started with Vi.

(EARLIER..)

"She wouldn't know if we did it. How would she?" Vi inquires, leaning in. Her hand that has been teasingly rubbing your thigh for the past 30 minutes is creeping upward. Her voice is quiet, as if Sevika is able to hear her from countless miles away.

"C'mon, Vi.." You shoo her away, moving her hand back down to safe territory. "We can wait two days. Plus, I think it's only you that's all horny. I've been doing fine."

Vi snorts at that. "Are you fucking kidding me? Babe, you've been all over me all day."

"Okay!? What does that have to do with being pent-up?" You scoff at her, punishing her by breaking eye contact. Your gaze falls back onto the tv in front of you.

Vi doesn't scooch away to her personal space. Instead, she leans in. Her breath tickles your ear, making you swallow back your guilt because fuck, just her proximity is making you wet.

"What do you mean, 'what does that have to do with being pent-up'? You're basically begging to be fucked. All the hugs and kisses..the way you've guided my hands to your waist each morning when we wake up.." Vi tests you by inching her hand back up, just enough to make your breath hitch.

You turn to face her, and that is when Vi knows she has you. You're like a fish she can just reel in. Your bait runs cheap, too. "But, Vi..I don't wanna keep anything from Sevika. We would be fucked if she found out." And no, not in a good way..

The smile that spreads across Vi's face scares you. She has something going on in her head—it's that same face she makes before she goes Christmas shopping, the same glint in her eyes that sparkles on April Fool's day.

She cups your face to hold eye contact, and then she leans in until your lips are nearly touching. Your most pathetic but natural instinct is to squeeze your thighs together.

"Then let's make sure she knows what we're going to do tonight."

When Sevika answers the call, she is greeted with the familiar sight of you and Vi on your shared bed.

She can immediately tell that Vi is using her laptop to call because the quality is slightly better, and she can see both of your bodies instead of just faces. Vi usually never uses the laptop for calls unless it's for a specific reason, but she doesn't question it tonight. She just wants to see her girls.

You're seated comfortably in Vi's lap, where it isn't exactly rare for you to sit. Still, something feels different about the view. You don't have the same excited expression. You look nervous, as if you have something to hide from Sevika. Perhaps if Sevika wasn't so exhausted from the job today, she'd notice the scheming written all over Vi's face.

"Hi, baby. Hi, Vi." She greets you both, her voice thick with a fatigued rasp.

"Hi, 'Vika!" You smile at her, making her heart melt slightly. All feels right when she can talk to the both of you.

"Any sexist comments today?" Vi asks her.

Sevika scoffs. "Wouldn't be a normal day without one."

Conversation is normal and comforting for Sevika. It always is.

You tend to remind Sevika how much you miss her when you talk. You ask her if she misses you, if she's tried the cookies you baked for her trip, if she has been thinking about you. Vi asks the work related questions. The sexism question is always a go-to.

"Of course. What was it this time, something about how your coworker's wife just stays in the kitchen and you should, too?"

Sevika shakes her head. "Nah, not today. That was last month's. It was this guy, really short and ginger. Overheard him talking shit about women with muscles on them. I guess he didn't want me to hear, 'cause he looked all pale and skittish. Super fuckin' quiet. I could hear the dumbass, though."

Sevika goes on about her day to Vi, and Vi visibly nods along. She doesn't seem to pay too much attention to it at first, but as she complains about her coworker Ricky not knowing how to read a blueprint, she sees Vi's hand almost fully between your legs. In those pajama shorts you're wearing, it leaves nothing to the imagination. She can see the way Vi's hand almost slips inside them from the bottom, rubbing teasing circles on the inside of your thigh.

"You're pretty handsy, don't you think?" Sevika snorts, not thinking much of it.

Vi's answer catches her surprised, "well, this thing has been begging for it all week."

Sevika's eyes narrow and her face heats up, but you seem caught off-guard by Vi's words as well. You don't comment on them, though. You don't make a move to pull away from her embrace. In fact, Sevika can now point out the way you almost instinctively move to shut your legs around vi's hand. Vi will tap your leg and you quickly open back up to Sevika's view.

Sevika sighs, brushing it off. "Anyways, just wanted to say I missed you both. It's been a long fuckin' week. I was planning on going to bed soon, but-"

You let out a short, but noticeable moan when Vi's fingers circle your clit through your shorts.

"Alright, what the fuck is going on with you two?" Sevika demands, annoyance clear in her voice. But behind it, you can hear some ounce of arousal.

"I told you. This slut's been all over me, Sev." Vi simply states, not giving away any future plans. She doesn't stop with her ministrations, and Sevika has to helplessly watch as you needily writhe under Vi's touch. Three hands firmly rub your clothed pussy, and all you can do is whine and whisper in Vi's ear for more, too scared to speak up loud enough for Sevika to hear and have a reason to bend you over her knee when she gets home. Sevika notices, though.

"Are you seriously about to fuck her on camera? I'm not messing around, Vi. Cut the shit, or I'll make you regret it the moment I step through the door." Sevika growls.

"What's wrong with me taking care of her? She needs me, Sevika. Look at her. I gotta give her what she wants before she's your problem on Friday." Vi abruptly peels your pajama pants off of your body. Even in the slightly grainy video, Sevika can see the wet patch on your panties. You already know you'll still be Sevika's problem when she gets back home, but you don't care. You want to get fucked now, and Vi's touch leaves you a bit forgetful when it comes to the potential consequences of this.

Now, Sevika is pissed. She is both pissed off that she has to deal with you and Vi's bullshit, but she is also turned on. That makes matters worse. She wants to say fuck it and just let herself enjoy the show, but if she does, she'll have bigger problems to worry about.

Since you, Vi, and Sevika have established the sexual dynamic of your relationship, Sevika has had a reasonable amount of control over you and Vi. She has dished out her fair share of consequences when either of you acted up, and eventually, there was a clear dynamic. You've always been Sevika's angel: listening to everything she says, laying down and taking it like a good girl, not complaining when you don't get fucked or when Sevika is in the mood to tease.

Vi has always been on the brattier side. She likes to complain. She enjoys testing how much is too much, but even this situation is shocking to Sevika. She'll have to spend hours putting the two of you back into place when she comes home instead of fucking you and falling asleep with you in her arms and Vi on her side. But maybe that is exactly what the both of you need.

"Go right ahead and fuck her, Vi." Sevika says, finally causing a stop in Vi's movements. You whine in protest, but neither Sevika or Vi pay any mind to it.

"Seriously? You're okay with it?"

Sevika shrugs, adjusting on the bed. "Just know that there will be consequences. I'm too tired to threaten you now, Vi."

That should scare Vi. She knows that Sevika is tired, and that is where the sudden leniency comes from. If anything, Vi should take that as a sign to just call it a night.

Instead, she chooses wrong.

"That feel good, baby?" Vi coos, two fingers pumping in your wetness. There's a strap-on adjusted around her hips that wasn't there earlier, and Sevika is mostly silent as she takes in the view. You let out a whorish sound, and Vi laughs down at you. "Yeah, I know. It's exactly what your needy little cunt needs."

"No more teasing, please." You try to clutch Vis' wrist and pull her hand away from your dripping cunt, but her playfully smacks your hand away. "Just fuck me!" You whine.

"Jesus christ," comes an exasperated sigh from Sevika. Watching the scene in front of her, she pretends like it doesn't make her just as wet as your leaking pussy. She has to keep some level of control.

"Are you hearing this, Sevika?" Vi refers to the embarrassingly loud squelching noise coming from between your legs. Vi's fingers don't let up, though. She likes listening to the wetness and feeling your clit twitch underneath her thumb.

"I think the neighbors can hear it."

You moan at the sound of Sevika's voice. It sends a lightning bolt to Sevika's poor cunt, but she won't give you the benefit of the doubt of masturbating to the scene in front of her. No, she'll wait until after the call to get herself off in the hotel shower..

"You heard her, Vi. Fuck her." Sevika orders. Vi rolls her eyes, but relents in her teasing torture.

Vi's fingers slide out of you, and she pulls your now naked body down onto the bed to lay on your back. The mushroom head of Vi's (Sevika's) strap teases your glistening folds and you try your best to move your hips up enough to slip it inside of you, but one of Vi's hands pins you down on the bed.

"Beg Sevika." Vi demands, grinning above you.

Your face turns towards the laptop on the edge of the bed, and you can't help but moan when you feel the silicone tap your swollen clit.

"Please, Sevika. Please tell Vi to put it in me." You beg.

"Will you be a good girl for her?" Sevika asks you, and it takes everything in her not to rush out of the hotel and into her car to fuck you herself.

"Yes! Fuck, I promise, Sevika. I'll be a good girl for you, too."

I'll be a good girl for you, too.

The sentence echoes in her head. You don't see this as only a you and Vi thing. The thought of you wanting to please Sevika too has her hot and weak.

"Fuck my good girl, Vi."

The toy slides in you with ease, no lube necessary. Vi groans above you as she pushes her hips forward, slowly sinking further into your pussy. She feels like a starved woman after not fucking a girl for so long. Sevika takes great care of her needs, but she can't deny that this situation has been a fantasy for her for a long time.

"Fuck, you take this cock so well. Your pussy needed me. Needed to be fucked like a whore." Vi grits through her teeth, beginning to fuck you at a steady pace. Her hips snap forward and pull back, only to slam back into your greedy hole.

You only answer her in a series of broken moans. Sevika watches the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, and she imagines her own hands groping them or her tongue swirling over your nipples while Vi fucks you.

"Give her tits a small smack. She likes that."

Before you can process the instruction, Vi's hand lands a slap on one of your tits. You gasp, peeking down at the now reddened skin. She doesn't do it again until Sevika encourages. "There you go. Do it again, the slut likes it when you give her some pain."

Vi alternates between your tits, shooting delicious bolts of paint throughout your breasts as she fucks you. Her thrusts grow more erratic and deep. Her hips meet the back of your thighs each time they move forward, and you can feel the curve of the toy brush against your g-spot while the tip kisses your cervix. This is what you were neglected of.

"She looks like she's about to cum, Vi. Give it to her nice and deep. She likes it that way, that's how I always get her to cum hard." Sevika says, and Vi fixes up her pace, nearly slamming into you each thrust until your bodies become flush when they meet.

"Vi!! Oh my fucking god-" you moan, your orgasm washing over you. Vi fucks you through it, and Sevika stays quiet as she admires the show. You writhe underneath Vi, pawing at her back and mindlessly begging for more cunt-numbing treatment. She gives it to you until the overstimulation kicks in and you beg otherwise.

Vi, now a breathless, crazy-haired mess, collapses onto you. She buries her face into your warm neck and hugs you tight, particularly clingy after sex. You feel calmed down (and satiated) now that you just feel the sweet Vi that you know and love. Her chest presses against you, but the intimacy that comes from it is more soft and gentle than anything sexual.

"You okay?" Sevika asks the both of you. Vi gives a weak thumbs-up, and you nod. When Sevika is assured that both of you are okay, she lets out a slightly scary laugh. At least, you think it's a laugh.

"Both of you are so fucked when I come home."

taglist: @waitaminuteashh, @witzs, @bewareofmyglock, @ruelezz

[pythonmoth]

cw: anxiety. post-traumatic stress disorder (torture). reader is traumatized. reader is a bit unreliable. military inaccuracies. hurt/comfort (I guess?).

simon riley x f!reader. implied simon riley x soap. implied simon riley x f!reader x soap.

First | Last | Next

Being home is incredibly boring, especially if you can't move much.

Your brother's been taking care of you, making sure you're eating, that you let your injuries breathe, and soon enough, the cuts on your feet allow you to move around on your own. It takes a whole month for your brother to leave you alone for longer than a few hours. It's a good thing, really, because if you want to spend hours just laying in your bed and crying in silence as you stare at the ceiling, you can. He would only come whenever you needed a ride, anyway.

Despite being able to move around and now even managing to use your sensitive fingers, you dread the idea of going outside. You have to wear sandals and loose pants, because your toes cannot, by any means, be touched by any kind of fabric yet, or else you're grimacing in pain. Feeling defenseless hasn't been a thing ever since you became part of the team. Not even your skills could take down Simon, but you could put up a fight with them all, easily; never won, but you were confident with anyone else on the street.

No doubt you could still beat them up, your skills are still there, but the idea of someone somehow restricting your movements felt like torture all over again. The idea of anyone getting a hold of you makes you want to throw up. Your mind and body betray you, making you remember those awful moments, and you don't realize you're pulling a face.

"You're spacing out".

You look up at the therapist, giving her a little nod as an apology, getting comfortable on the seat. Restless, you can't help but look around for a moment again. The office is incredibly white, clean, filled with mirrors for whatever fucked up reason, and the only thing that isn't grey or white is one of the cushions on the couch on the other side of the room. It's deep purple. It looks awful.

Seemingly realizing you won't be of much help with the question she just asked you, she gives you a smile. "How are your nails? I can see you're using your hands a lot more".

"They're healing" you reply, looking down at your fingers instead of focusing on the cushion. "I can use my hands pretty normally now, but I can't use the stove for long".

"Because of the heat". An affirmation. You've already mention it before, and you're not surprised she remembers that. Probably read it on her notes.

"It hurts, yeah".

"And how are your feet?" she asks, looking down at the way you absentmindedly drag your hands on your pants from your thighs to your calves in slow movements. You only realize what you're doing because you can hear the way her pen drags across the paper, distracting you.

"Well... I can only wear sandals. Doctor said I should be okay to move around with real shoes in three months".

"And what do you think?"

"He's the doctor. I want to believe he knows what he's doing, so I can't really question it. I do hope it heals sooner, though".

The therapist writes down on her notebook. With an uncomfortable feeling, you desperately want to know what she's writing, your eyes drifting to the movement of the pen, but you can't make out a single letter.

"So you trust the doctor, right?" she questions, moving one of her erasers to the other side of her desk. Your eyes are fixed entirely on it, on the little thud the eraser makes when she sets it down.

"He knows best, that's for sure. If he's there, must be a reason" you answer, tilting your head as she keeps moving her things around, making them fit somewhere else on her desk. The pencil goes to the left, then to the right, the eraser from top to bottom of the notebook, as if she's as antsy as you are.

"Do you apply that thought somewhere else? Like... at work? Or if you need help at a store and find an employee, maybe?"

The therapist's eyes are on you all the time, your hands, your anxious feet; your little habits coming to light with a single look. The way you bite the inside of your lower lip, the little double blink you make when she moves something in her desk yet again, even if you don't say anything.

"Of course. If they know their way around, it's only right that I ask for help, and trust that" you answer, frowning. You don't think that question is relevant at all, but she keeps writing, and writing.

"I see. Thank you. Now, you mentioned you've been texting G- Simon. Can you tell me how it makes you feel?"

You go silent for a moment, your fingertips dragging across your arm, so softly you can barely feel it. "It's better now".

During the first three months of being home, Simon would text you nearly every single day. He didn't expect a text back and you knew that, because you told him you wouldn't promise to be responsive. Simon would send you pictures of their plain meals, of Gaz sleeping on your bed, Johnny posing next to Price with their thumbs up, or terrible selfies of himself. Always without a mask.

Tuesday

11:27

"Price scolded Johnny because he had crumbs on his uniform. It was hilarious"

Saturday

03:26

"Just got back. Everyone ok"

Even Johnny would text you from time to time. It was mostly memes, awful stickers or ridiculous, random photos of Gaz mid talking, his face weird, or Price smacking Simon's head, or the entire team posing for a picture, Gaz' arm hovering to the side as if to hug your shoulders. You didn't even need to wonder why Gaz hadn't texted you; that man hated technology with a passion.

Still, you never texted back.

You didn't really pay attention to the texts, or the little voice notes, or the selfies. You didn't feel like reading them properly, always leaving them on seen or just grunting to yourself whenever you heard their distinctive tone. Why you didn't change it in the past few months, you don't know. Maybe that's a question for your therapist.

But then, the texts stop.

Monday

16:49

"Tough job"

"We leave at midnight"

23:42

"Text you when we're back"

Only, Simon doesn't text back. For days. For weeks.

You can't pretend you're not worried. It's impossible, really. You're half-tempted to call him, but you can't, you don't know how it will feel to hear his voice again. He said he'd text you and he hasn't, so he isn't back yet, and you don't want to feel vulnerable by opening up. Yet.

You go through Simon's chat, actually paying attention to whatever he sent you. You realize he sometimes sent you long texts, apologizing, accepting what he did, and even a few voice notes that you didn't notice before. They made your heart race as you listened.

"I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I love you, and you don't have to forgive me"

"Garrick told me to tell you that if you aren't eating he'll go and— shut the hell up, Johnny, I'm talking!"

"Tell her we'll go visit her by the end of the month".

That's Price's voice, you realize.

Feeling incredibly choked up, you check Johnny's chat next. You're expecting to find nothing but memes, as you've seen in passing, but when you see he sent you long, long texts, you finally let yourself cry properly.

He's been apologizing since the day you left, too afraid to face you but his texts are so poorly written you know he was in a rush, or crying, or both. His voice notes, however... they just make you break.

"I'm so sorry. I can't undo what we did. You don't owe me anything, I just... really hope you can at least tolerate me. If not, please know I'll always care for you. I love you. Goodnight".

Something inside of your chest eases, maybe moved to the point of forgiveness, even if just a moment. Your therapist has been helping you unveil whatever you missed during that day— during the torture. It's been a tough process, and she insisted you visited twice a week instead of once, but it helped. You could now understand.

Still, understanding the situation only makes your worry grow.

"Text you when we're back"

For two long weeks, there's nothing, from nobody. Only silence and fear. For the first time since you left, you're scared for them. Scared you'll have to open the door one day and it'll be Price, or maybe not even him, telling you the team is dead.

On the second week, your therapist says you can give them a call, or text them if it's more comfortable. When you say you can't, she advices you to write them letters.

"Tell them whatever you wish to say. If you're angry, write it. If you're worried, write it. There's no good or bad feelings, and it's only right to feel them. Write them for yourself, and then you can choose to give them to your team, or not".

And you did.

A whole notebook of messy writing, some tears staining the paper, and your hate slowly turned to understanding. Real understanding. Not forgiveness, not yet, but it's progress.

By the third week with no news, you just can't handle it anymore. You press call without a second thought and your heart squeezes painfully in your chest when it rings, and rings, and rings.

Hopeless, you lay in your bed, your mind working overtime as you stare at the ceiling.

A muffled dinging sound startles you awake, shifting on the bed to find your phone because that's Simon's tone. Adjusting your vision, you realize it fell from your hands to the ground when you fell asleep. You dive for it, grimacing when your sensitive fingertips brush against the carpet, but to see his name there is enough for you to endure it.

Thursday

01:22

"Safe. Couldn't text you earlier"

01:22

"You called me. Are you hurt?"

01:22

"Safe. Call me"

"Now"

His name pops up not even a moment later, his ringtone filling your ears. When you pick up, he's barely breathing, and you wonder if you're about to be told bad news.

Simon explains they were on a very tough mission, and that that was why he couldn't text you, or communicate with you at all. You could hear him shift, move around. Restless.

They got caught in enemy territory, surviving the best they could for two weeks, Simon tells you. Johnny was shot in the leg and Gaz was the one who helped him out, since Simon was too busy dragging Price, who was bleeding out because someone decided it would be fun to put a bullet through his left shoulder.

"I wasn't any better. Dr. Wilson called me a dick, and then made me lay down because I was shaking. Ridiculous" he grunts, his voice hushed on the other side of the line. "Got shot on my side, I just didn't feel it, but I was better than the other two".

He doesn't seem to expect you to speak, huffing and shuffling. You can tell he's in the clinic room, the echo incredibly familiar by now.

Of course, he doesn't tell you that the reason why he didn't text you the whole past week, is because he's been asleep, drugged out of his mind because of the pain.

"Everyone's okay. No risk. Garrick's the only one who didn't get hurt. I think—"

"I was worried, Simon. I'm glad everyone is okay".

There's silence for a long moment. Simon takes a deep breath from the other side of the phone, sighing deeply. You could hear the smile in his tone. "I wouldn't let myself get killed, luv. I'm sorry I couldn't text you before. We're safe now".

You two spend the rest of the night on the call, with you mostly staying in silence and listening. You can't believe how scared you've been for all of them, for Simon. You know it's gonna be hard to fully forgive them, if at all, but you can't help the way your body relaxes as you hear him breathing against your ear. You can't help the way your arms curl around the pillow, seeking his warmth. As before.

The call goes on for long hours. When your soft hums as he speaks stop coming to his end, Simon goes quiet, realizing you've fallen asleep. He sighs and shifts to look at the ceiling, holding the phone against his ear. Focusing on your soft breathing, he let's himself fall asleep, the gunshot wound completely unimportant if he gets to listen to you sleeping again.

He just wishes you were there.

im so sick y'all, my head hurts, but I obviously couldn't resist! also, you guys like Marina? her new song is so good! mowgli's road's vibes.

the therapist's room I'm describing in the story is actually my therapist's old room. I hated it so BAD. the mirrors were a terrible decision. also, if you can't relate to this type of therapy, that's fine. it's just my experience.

again, styling is fully intentional. can y'all tell how our reader is feeling?~

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @dorothy-rainbird-deactivated202 @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

(we're so many now, wow! thank you all ♡)

[bi-writes]

dark matter | ghost x f!reader

INSTALLMENT TWO — TIME ROT COLLECTION

type: one-shot, part of anthology series, can be read standalone (6.5k)

cw: dark!ghost, mature language and content, mature sexual language and content, mw3 spoilers, death, grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms, dubcon, size kink, manhandling, breeding kink, cumplay, unprotected piv (18+)

You don't know how long it's been. Maybe days, or maybe it's been weeks, you aren't sure, but it's hard to move when there is nothing that waits for you.

All that's left is a box that sits on your kitchen table. It has his name scribbled across the top, and when you opened it up, just seeing the photos of him tucked into the sides was enough to nearly make you sick. You haven't opened it again since. You haven't touched it. When you touch the cardboard, it burns, it stings.

You don't know what you're supposed to do when the love of your life doesn't come home. You don't know what you're supposed to do when there's bills on the table, when half of the bed is empty, when everything that was supposed to happen died along with him.

You used to sit on this very couch and talk about everything you would do and everything you wanted. You used to lay there, your head in his lap, looking up into those baby blues and tell him about what a good husband he would make, how it was going to be so hot watching him fixing the leaky sink and hanging up the new shelves you bought, being the house husband he was always meant to be.

Someone that pretty deserved to be at home all day, baking bread and fixing a vintage car.

He promised you so much. He promised you love. He promised you laughter. He promised you a lifetime of something more.

But there never really was anything more. He never married you. He never proposed. He just fucked you full before every deployment, whispering into your hair as you drooled about how, "I'll see ye when I get back, bonnie, 'n I'll tell ye how much I luv ye."

But he didn't come back. So you really aren't sure now how much he loved you.

You stand in front of the bathroom mirror, fluffing a brush over your cheeks. The makeup helps, but you look dead, and your eyes are dull.

You don't want to go to work, but you can't pay your bills, and Johnny wasn't your husband, so the box in your kitchen stands as a loving gesture from his mother, and that is all he left behind. And when you went to the service and asked for something, for anything, they said it was out of their hands.

You are entitled to no compensation—because on paper, you are nothing to anyone, and you belong to no one. And though his mother kissed you shakily, with tears in her eyes, you couldn't bear to ask her for anything, because she hurts, too, and you are nothing to anyone, and you belong to no one.

So you work; you work, and you don't stop, and you sleep only a few hours before you get up and do it all over again, and even after a long day, you count the pennies in your purse, and it isn't enough. You let yourself get comfortable, you allowed yourself to succumb to a man, a man you loved, and what did it get you?

Fuck all. You have fuck all, and you let a man do it to you.

Fate and destiny are a cruel reality. Unforgiving—they don't care about the choices you make because they happen anyways, and it's hard to be angry when this is how it was always going to be. It doesn't make you hate any less, and it doesn't make the dust collecting on the box any less thick.

When you do gain the courage to touch it again, you have a week left to find a new flat. You don't know where you will go, but you're packing, and you rip the top of the box off as harshly as a band-aid. Your eyes focus on the knick-knacks that Johnny must've kept. A few different sized sketchbooks, the nubs of worn and used graphite and charcoal pencils, a crystal and beaded rosary that his mother gifted him when he first enlisted. You pick up the crinkled and well-loved papers that are stacked at the bottom, and your eyes blur with fresh tears at the ripped out sketches that sit in your hands.

It's you, in different angles. Asleep, staring out at something, smiling at him. He captures your face beautifully, and you can see where he's smudged the shading with a thick finger to cast shadows and light over you. He sketches in exquisite detail—he always has, but he has always had a certain style, a certain eye, that made lead look like real life. 

It’s odd to see what you looked like through his eyes. Bright. Lovely. Soft. He draws with a breath of fresh air, and you can see where his finger has rubbed away all the harsh lines. When you see a few places where the graphite on his thumb has stamped his fingerprint onto the paper, you feel your throat close up. You want to feel those fingers on your face. You want him to brush the hair out of your eyes and look down at you. You want to feel that hand tracing your jawline, your nose, the lid of your eye—you want to feel the warmth that he always radiated, and you want to breathe in the scent of him until you forget the smell of anything else.

You pick up a loved and bound book, with thinner pages that you know can't be a sketchbook. You unwind the leather string on the front, flipping it open, and you swallow thickly when you realize what this is.

A journal. You never knew he kept one.

The first few pages are dated from when he first enlisted, a few years before he met you. He writes just as eloquently as he draws, and you settle into the couch behind you as you read about his enthusiasm joining, the purpose he finally has, the weight of the world lifting off of his shoulders as he thinks about all the things he will be able to do as he rises through the ranks. You let your fingers skim over the words, feeling how his pen has pierced the paper, and you try to imagine him—fresh shaven with less muscle, life in his eyes as he thought about serving his country. You smile a little, but it hurts after a few moments.

You flip a little further, your eyes skimming over times he cursed out his commanding officer, punched a private for sneaking into the women's barracks, the love he has for a detonator that began when he soldered his first pins. His personality shines, and it's like you can hear him talking to you all over again, and when he begins to talk about a love he doesn't know how to handle, you smile to yourself, because you think he's talking about you.

But when you look again, the dates are wrong. You hadn't met him yet, not at this point, and your smile fades when you realize he's talking about someone else.

He never says their name. He writes at length about them, someone who has captured his eye, someone he says he can't have. Someone unattainable, unavailable, and then there is his own reservations. You don't realize until his entries from a few months later that he's talking about a man.

never felt this way before. not about anyone. rosary i always look at is fucking mocking me, i think. i can hear mum, somewhere, telling me to find a good catholic bonnie, but this is real. i know it is, but i don't know what to do about it. not like anyone i've ever met. can't explain the bond. but i look at him, and i think he looks at me, and i just know. i know. it can't be just in my head, can it? i'm not mad. i'm not. but what am i supposed to do?

You flip the pages frantically. There's sketches of hands on one page, hands that hold a handgun, that squeeze a trigger. They're tame sketches, but you feel a little sick because you feel like you're looking at a part of his life that you're not supposed to be looking at. The intimacy of these sketches—just hands, and you feel like they should be censored to your eyes.

The sketches and the words, they morph as time goes on. Sketches of closed eyes. Of blonde lashes. A harsh brow, a scar cutting across a thin lip. There is no softness in these sketches. Johnny draws with an abrasive pencil. It cuts the shapes, jagged edges akin to glass.

i can't tell anyone. i want to tell the whole world. won't let me. want to scream it from the fucking roof that i love you, but you're such a stubborn bastard. so fucking stubborn.

The sketches suddenly become warped. Angry, spiked, and you can see the emotion from how hard he presses the pencil into the page. More hands, and you can’t help but notice how he draws them simply functioning. Hand over wrist. Holding a utensil. Picking nails. These hands tell a story, and you can see the bumps and bruises and the wounds that litter the surface of them—these hands are anything but delicate. They have wrought. They have dug until their fingernails bled. They have been stuck through barbwire, maimed to the point of texture and roughness and the blurring of scar tissue.

don't fucking believe you. it isn't just me.

You're blind for a few moments from the intensity of your tears. You wipe them furiously, you need to know more, you need to know. The dates skip, and you pause on the day that you met.

so bonnie. so beautiful.

Softer sketches. The delicate lashes that are your own, the gentle curve of your pouty lips. You recognize yourself, but only barely, because he draws you like you are out of focus. He draws you as if you are too far away, just out of reach.

she's everything i've ever wanted. so why can't i let it go?

Your bottom lip trembles when sketches of a butterfly overlap skulls. The motifs never disappear, not completely, and it's only obvious what his true feelings are when you smooth a finger down the sketch of a butterfly escaping its cocoon that hangs from the mouth of a discarded skull head.

haunt my fucking dreams. go away. go away. go away. the ring is right there, so why can't i give it to her?

You close it abruptly. It falls to the floor, the cover of it thudding as you cover your face with your hands. Was he thinking of someone else all this time? Every morning, every kiss, every time he looked into your eyes and told you that he loved you—was all of this meant for someone else? Someone he wanted but couldn't have? Someone that just didn't love him back?

You scream. You toss the coffee table. You shatter the flowers that have died, you pick up the box of his things, and you throw it. You watch the papers fly, the books fall, you hear the rattle of his dead memories meet the floor of the home he left behind, and you scream at all of it just to stop, please, stop, stop, stop—

You're not even sure if it's really Johnny you're angry at. Maybe yourself, because you've never really been good enough to be loved by anyone. No one has ever loved you and you only—you've only ever been additional, on the condition of loving another, never enough to be the one and only, and maybe that's your real problem. Maybe the real problem is that you want to die because you always give everything you have, and no one has ever wanted it enough to give you the same.

Maybe you just want too much. Maybe your dreams are too big, maybe it's just that no one wants what you are handing over. Packaged pretty, all shiny and new, but if no one wants it, you shelve that kind of love, and that's where it rots.

Maybe this kind of love died with Johnny. Not the beginning of something, but the reality of it, and now all you can do is accept the things you cannot change and tame the heart inside of you that isn't good enough to be for anyone else.

When you pick up his things off the floor the next morning, you find a scribbled address on the back of a torn sketch. So, you do the kind thing, and you gather his things back into the box, close the lid on what never really was, and you carry it with you out the door.

The door is unmarked. The paint on it is peeling, but you know this must be the place because there's a pair of dark boots caked with mud sitting out by the bottom step. You raise your hand to knock, and you tap it with your knuckles timidly, adjusting your hold on the box in your arms.

A few minutes pass by, but no one answers. You knock again, louder and firmer this time, and it finally swings open. From the dark flat emerges a large man, sticking his head out from behind the chain latched and glaring down at you. You think he's about to close it on you, but then his eyes flicker down, and you know he must read the name scribbled in big letters on the box that you hold.

It’s enough to make him pause. It’s enough to make him stay, rooted to that spot, even if you can tell all he wants to do is sink back into whatever void he came out of.

"Hi," you whisper, and you have no control over how broken the word comes out. "I...I just thought you should have this."

Because he never really loved me. Not really. Not the way he loved you.

The door shuts, and you hear the chain unlatch, and then he opens it wider. He emerges in the doorway, taking up the entirety of the width of it, and he snarls down at you from behind the mask he wears.

He opens his mouth to spit something at you, but then you hold it out to him with shaky hands, and he can see the tears that are coming down your face. You can't control them, he can tell that much, and he reaches out to take the box from you. You look at his hands, and you recognize them immediately. Uncanny, the resemblance, and you recognize the scar that cuts across the knuckles on his left hand. You know if you push his mask down, you could trace with closed eyes the scar he must wear that starts at his nose and ends at his chin.

He doesn’t know it, but you know what he looks like. You know what he is. If he took off that mask, you would see a face you know, even if Johnny never drew the entirety of it at once. Always bits and pieces of him, but you’d know them if you saw them put altogether. You have the puzzle pieces of him in the back of your mind, and you know you could put them back together if you really tried.

He would not be able to do the same for you. The pieces of you are scattered, and you know they are lost, and that there is no getting them back. Johnny took them to grave; you would never ask for them back, anyways.

You don't ask who he is. He doesn't ask you who you are; but when your eyes meet, there is some kind of understanding. Some kind of knowing. You almost don't want to leave—you know he mustn't be kind, not from what you’ve read of him and the way he looks, but Johnny loved him, and you want to cling onto anything that still breathes that might connect you to him. You hate him, but you love him, and Johnny loved this thing, so maybe...maybe—

The door slams shut in your face, and you catch yourself with the step railing as you crumple to sit there, on his dirty step, crying into your hands. You don't know how long you sit there, but it is dark when you drag yourself home.

It is much too dark outside for you to see the shadow that you pick up along the way—and you’re too in your head to realize it never leaves.

When you come home from work, your knees are weak when you see the letter that’s taped to the front of your door.

EVICTION NOTICE.

They give you until the weekend, a courtesy they tell you they don’t normally give to anyone. You aren’t allowed to stay, even if you come up with the money, and you’re in tears as you pack up your flat. The last place you shared with Johnny, and it’ll be gone soon. You don’t know what you’ll do with your things. You don’t know where you will go.

Johnny never married you. You don’t have any family. You’ll have to stuff your car full of as much as it can hold, and you’ll need to toss the rest. You’ll have to—

The knock at your door startles you. You get up off the floor, where you were trying to stuff all your dishes into a small bag. You pull the curtain back on the window beside the door, and your eyes widen when you see a giant man standing at your door. He feels your eyes on him, and he turns his head towards the window, tilting his head to the side menacingly when he looks at you.

You wipe your face, trying to dry the tears on your cheeks. You open the door shakily, poking your head out.

“Hi,” you say. You wish your voice was steady, but it cracks. “Can…C-Can I help you?”

The mask he’s wearing today is different. There’s a skull mouth painted on it, and his hood is flipped up over his head. He seems taller with his boots on, and he takes up nearly the entire width of your doorway. He’s got so much bulk on him—if you reached across and touched him, you know your hand would hit nothing but a solid wall. No give, just pure muscle and fat. His eyes are still dark, and he still looks like the most unapproachable man in the entire world. He clicks his tongue under the mask, and you swallow when he snarls a bit.

He fishes something out of his jacket. You recognize it—Johnny’s journal. He holds it out to you, expectant, and you open the door wider to take it from him. You feel tears come all over again at the sight of it, and you hold the leather to your chest, hugging it. Johnny never married you, but he would’ve taken care of you right now. If he would’ve known you were here, about to live in your car, he would not have hesitated moving you in with him. Getting you into his bed. Shielding you from the world that was much too scary, much too unforgiving. Johnny would know what to do.

Johnny’s dead.

Just as you are about to close the door, a thick boot stops it. You flinch a bit, looking up, and then a big hand presses against your door and pushes it open until it hits the wall. The man cranes his neck to look around you, and he narrows his eyes at the heap of your belongings huddled in the living room of your flat.

You sniffle, shaking your head.

“I’m just…moving.”

You step aside when he moves. He ducks his head just slightly to get through, and you watch as he walks around, taking stock of what’s in front of him. He seems to find what he’s looking for when he sees the notice on your kitchen counter. He snatches it up and and turns it around to face you, and you just stand there, frozen.

“I told you. Moving.”

His house is soulless. White walls. Beige carpet. Grey tiles. There’s one couch, one coffee table, and one TV mounted to the wall. There’s only dishes in the kitchen enough for one person, and he only has one bedroom. It’s the same lifeless place in there, too. His mattress is on the floor, but he has the decency to put a mattress cover and sheet over it. There’s one nightstand, with just a few cables where he must charge his phone, and one lamp. There are no decorations. There is no other furniture. His house is functional, not valuable.

He puts your bag in the bedroom. That settles that.

You cry that first night. You sleep early, curling up under his one measly sheet, and you cry. You cry because you’re sad. You cry because you’re lonely. You cry because you feel like you owe this man now, this stranger who hasn’t told you his name, and you have no idea how you will pay him back. You cry because you miss Johnny, and he never even loved you.

You jump when the bedroom door opens. He walks in, kicking the door shut, and you watch as he strips himself of his jeans and hoodie, tossing them onto the floor. You sit up on your elbows, meeting his eyes, but he doesn’t take off his mask. Instead, he comes towards the bed, plopping down on the mattress next to you, and you pull the sheet up to your chin. You hadn’t anticipated sharing a bed with him, but you’re also too afraid to complain.

“I can sleep…on the floor if—”

A big hand covers your mouth. You’re silenced, startled that he would touch you this way, and you start to cry again when he presses until you are laying on your back again, moving his hand back until it rests behind his head.

“Please—” You hiccup. “Please don’t hurt me.”

He hums at that. Satisfied. Pleased at your reaction. He could pluck your strings right now, and you’d play music. He falls asleep with that thought.

You try to give him money. He never takes it. You try to buy groceries. You find the notes you spent stuffed back into your wallet later. You try to pick up a broom to clean up, and he locks the supply closet after that. The only way you find out his name is when you find his dog tags in the bathroom drawer, because he still hasn’t spoken a single word to you.

Simon “Ghost” Riley. That’s who Johnny really loved.

You don’t know why the sex started—you don’t know why you let him in, not exactly. Simon had been gone, one of his usual spurts of absence that he occasionally had, but he came home earlier than you expected. Simon likes to shower as soon as he comes home, but you are already in there, under the hot water, leaning against the tile as you empty your head of any thoughts. Simon doesn’t knock, and he pulls back the shower curtain even though he sees your silhouette. There are no words exchanged as he comes in, getting under the hot water, and there are no words exchanged when he takes off his mask for the very first time, and he hoists you up against the wall and fucks you into it.

You know this, too. Your hands trace his back, and you can feel every scar you know will be there, and you can taste the same things Johnny said you would taste when you lick over his jaw. Tobacco. Citrus. Animal.

It almost feels like cheating, but you’re too empty inside to be sad about it. It really feels like lying, even though Johnny’s too gone to hear your excuses. At the same time, it feels like getting something back. Not in its entirety, but something close, something that doesn’t feel the same, but feels so good anyways.

You cry again when you realize you like it better. You cry more when you realize that you’re starting to lose your dreams of Johnny in favor of Simon. You see in the dark instead of in blue. At first, you used to mumble Johnny’s name into the pillow. You used to bury your face into it, muffle the sounds as Simon fucked you from behind, two big hands pushing your ass apart as he pulled you back over and over onto his cock. Now your head is turned to the side, and you’re crying Simon’s name, and he’s fucking you harder, getting down onto his elbows, pressing you into the mattress and using your throat as leverage so he can arch your back and get your ass shaking with how firm he pushes his hips against you.

You’re so delicate, but he can’t be nice. He can’t be gentle. He needs to see teeth marks on your thighs and on your back. He needs to taste your blood and your cum and your spit. At first, he thinks he was doing it because he was lonely, too, but now he just wants to eat and eat and eat.

Eat Johnny’s pretty girl. Fuck Johnny’s pretty girl. Keep Johnny’s pretty girl, because how dare he keep this one a secret, and how dare he try and hide her from him? Johnny wrote a lot of things in that journal, but he didn’t talk about Simon’s insatiable appetite, and he didn’t talk about Simon’s rules. He blamed the entire world for his seemingly unrequited love, but the reality was that Johnny was selfish.

Johnny didn’t want to share. He wanted it all for himself, so it’s no wonder he died for it. When your world isn’t in balance, it compensates. Johnny ended up on the wrong side of the scale.

That’s the fucking truth.

Simon’s got you on your knees again. He likes you this way, ass up, face down, on display. On your back, he stacks enough under your back that you’re nearly upside down, pussy in his mouth as he bends you in half and eats it like that. Now, he’s squeezing your hips, pressing down between your shoulder blades, thick tongue inside of you as he teases your ass with his thumb. Johnny used to love that, but you’re such a jumpy girl.

He’s going to fix that.

Johnny is so predictable. Letting you run around, spoiled, never telling you the way it should be. Johnny made you think you were a pretty princess. He probably intertwined your fingers and fucked you in missionary like a good Catholic boy, but soft, delicate things like you don’t need to be reminded of what they are. They need to be so cockdrunk and dizzy that they don’t know anything else but this place right here, in his bed. Simon knows that’s what you really need—to not know the world outside of this bedroom.

Love is useless. Love can be lost. Love comes and goes, it’s subject to change. Time bends it, rusts it like iron, and Simon doesn’t need something else that will slip through his fingers, no. He needs something that is latched onto him forever. He needs to take one of your ribs and absorb it. He needs to taste you on his tongue and between his teeth always. He needs your blood to be his blood, and he needs your eyes to be his eyes.

Marriage is not finality. Love is not permanent. No—it isn’t enough. He couldn’t keep Johnny, and maybe he can’t keep you, but there is something he can give you that will keep you with him. Even if you left, you would stay somehow, some part of you, and he can see it in some distant place.

Once Simon sees something, it’s as good as true. It might as well be real. Simon is something himself of a manifestation, and he realizes now that maybe he never really saw Johnny because it was you hiding in what he couldn’t see.

Everything is in focus now. He knows what he has to do. Johnny was too stupid to see it—to preoccupied with how beautiful you are between the legs, too mindless when he was cock-deep inside of you to understand what he had in his hands. They don’t make things like you. One of a kind. Once in a lifetime. Something that will never be again if you let go, if you look away.

Simon knows all too much about what it means to leave a scar. He understands permanence. It’s why he’s still alive. It’s why he’s got you here, right here, underneath him, wet-faced and sobbing and clenching so tight around him. Your nails are fixtures in his back, holding him here, and he knows that you understand, too. If he asked you, you would think about the answer, but your body knows. It knows who Simon is and what he wants. He’s certain it does because even if he wanted to, your cunt has him tight, barely enough give for him to pull out and push right back in. It doesn’t want him to leave, and he’s glad for it.

You cry so sweet. Blubbers and gentle tears. You want this; it’s evident in the way you claw at him and pull him back in every time he pulls out just enough. When you pull just that hard, he drops onto his elbows, caging you in, and you sob into his mouth as he grinds his pelvis into yours. The wet smack of his thighs has stopped, but the pressure against your clit has you whining so nice. Fuck, you are beautiful, and you look so sad. From the first moment you showed up at his door, you were all big eyes and sadness. You drag around an air of heaviness that hasn’t left, and Simon is so sick of it—Johnny wasn’t man enough to eat you whole, won’t you just fucking let it go?

Maybe Simon did love him, too. Maybe he did love him back. No, he must’ve—that feeling in his chest still hasn’t left. Simon made a thousand excuses. A man like him, simply unloveable. A soldier like him, just too busy and too dedicated to have anything for himself outside of duty. A victim, what a rotten word, but that is what he is; no one can want him, not really. He saw it, in the back of his mind, peeling back layers of himself just for someone to make a face. After everything, after breaking his nails crawling out of an early grave, rejection just might be the thing that finally killed him. Not a bullet, but the sheer pain from the cut of giving a nasty piece of himself over and not even getting everything back.

Johnny was careless. Loving two things at once, pulled in opposite directions. Too distracted by what he couldn’t have that he forgot about how good he really had it—what a fucking dog. Greedy. Naïve. Fucking delusional. Johnny gave up this to chase something that could never be real. It was pathetic. It was stupid.

It was mine.

“Look at me.”

You do. Your eyes, hazy and wet, meet his, and your hands are shaking as you cup his face and sob because yes, yes, yes, please—I need it, it hurts s-so good.

It does hurt. It burns. It steals. It takes. It swallows, like a brush fire against dry land, licking and eating and tearing apart whatever it can reach. Your moans enrage it, and your cunt feeds it, whatever the thing is inside of his chest that is begging to come out.

This isn’t love. This isn’t romance. This is necessity—survival. Without him, you will come apart, and without you, Simon will starve. He used to take bites out of Johnny. Just enough to make the screaming inside of him quiet a little, just enough to be distracted; but he hasn’t eaten in months, and whatever you’re made of is too good to let go of.

This time, he’ll make it permanent. He’ll make it forever. Where you end, where he begins, where his hands have sunk into you, where his teeth are stuck; he’s going to fix himself to this place, and then he’s going to make himself forget how to leave.

You’re buzzing. You’re somewhere else. You feel like you’re floating above yourself, but at the same time, you’re right here. Simon’s so big; he told you he would be, but it’s another thing entirely to have this man inside of you and hitting your squishy cervix. He’s nasty about it, too—he likes putting a big hand on your stomach and pressing; he likes to feel himself inside of you and laugh at how you cry, and he likes the sound it makes when you’ve come, and your thighs are wet, and his skin smacks against yours with a toe-curling squelch.

“‘s mine,” he says, and you whine, and you nod. You don’t know if he’s asking you a question, but you figure he isn’t. Simon isn’t the kind to ask. He just takes what he wants. He always has. When you come back from the dead, consequences don’t apply to you any longer. You’ve cheated reality, and now you get to reap your rewards.

“Yeah.”

Yeah. Yes. Of course. Yes. Yes, Simon, whatever you want, Simon, anything for you, Simon, yes, yes, yes, yes—!

It will take time. As Simon puts his thumb to your clit to hear you sing, he thinks about how it won’t take much of it. You’re already so docile. You’re already in his bed, eating his food, crying with his cock inside of you and your thoughts filled with nothing but white noise and his name.

Simon won’t be like the man before him. Johnny drew you as a butterfly—something in need, but something that would eventually fly away. Fuck that. If there is a light in you, Simon will snuff it out. If he has to keep you from discovering your wings, he will just cut them off. If it’s the blood inside of you that keeps you warm, he will let it drain from the wounds left behind by his teeth because I will keep you warm, I will make it better, no one else, just me—

His index and middle finger in your mouth silence you. You choke on whatever you are saying in favor of sucking on his wet fingers, your eyes crossing a little as he bites down on your ear and pants there. It’s rare to hear him; Simon tends to swallow any noises he makes in favor of concentrating on hitting that same spot inside of you, but you can hear him now. It’s low and rumbly, so much so that you can feel his chest vibrating against yours. A groan—fuck, he sounds so good. To know your pussy feels so good, it’s making him falter is enough to have you just at the cusp of something white-hot and blinding.

You come when he comes. Simon’s other hand has an iron-grip on the side of your thigh, hiking it up around his hips as he comes hot and heavy inside of you. You shake underneath him, sucking hard on his fingers as he presses his pelvis to yours. You can feel it dripping between your thighs, and the heat of it makes you come, too, a sob coming out of you as you spit his fingers out in favor of closing your mouth over his.

He tastes like you. You suck on his tongue softly, lapping it up, and he uses his wet hand to hold your jaw at an angle so he can spit into your mouth and kiss you again. You grip his dog tags hard, tugging him back to you when he tries to look down at where he’s inside of you. He suffocates you when he lays over you, but you don’t care. You need him skin-to-skin. You need his mouth on yours, his cock still this deep, sharing breath and spit and heat. If you lose it, you’ll lose something else, something more, and you can’t lose it again.

His weight crushes you, and you don’t register the significance of one of his hands underneath you and between your shoulder blades. He feels for something that you can’t see, and he kisses you again when he’s satisfied with what he finds. The lack of something. The killing of it. The knowing that you’ve gotten what it is you’ve been searching for all this time.

He holds you like that always. He keeps your eyes on his when he comes inside of you—always wants to look at you when that first spurt of cum fills you entirely. He likes the way your lashes flutter when he brands you. He likes the way you lose the ability to speak. He likes the way your entire body goes rigid and pliant all at once, seizing up and then melting underneath him until it takes no effort to turn you over onto your stomach and do it all over again.

He notices the change before you do. The tender breasts, the warmth of your lower belly. You are wet always now, eager to be bent over wherever you are because the ache between your thighs is tenfold now.

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long while, and you’re smiling, hips hiked up on the couch, your dress crumpled around your middle as his cum drips down the back of your thighs. Simon licks his lips as he sits back on his heels, thumbing over your puckering hole.

You lay underneath him in your cocoon. Death at your doorstep, and you let him right in. You draw it around you tight, tucked into this blanket of security and warmth and factitious love that you think will hold this time. Simon’s hand draws around your throat, but you easily fall into him. When he squeezes, crushing what you’ve built back up, you sigh with relief, letting yourself fall into his chest and stay there.

When you close your eyes, it feels like something familiar. Like a place you’ve been before. When you open them, it’s gone. Simon is there, staring at your curiously. Your shadow that never leaves. The thing that remains. Time passes, but you know this will stay, you know it won’t go away. When he bends you over again, his hand slides low, cupping your belly, and your mouth twitches—the ghost of another smile. You put your hand over his there and press, feeling the scars you know by memory alone.

You will give him new scars; and these ones will be only for you.

[the-silly-words-on-your-screen]

AND HERE"S THE OTEHR HALF WOOOOOOOOO

51: i mean like. i'm not super fond of em. but they're fine 52: TACO 53: TACO 54: i try to be clean. cooking messy tho 55: "I love you" to my partners <3 56: ...probably nya or meow 57: for what??? waking up and getting to my computer? like 5 minutes. going on a trip? days. nice date? like half an hour 58: i mean. i think i'm pretty neat. no need to shove that in anyone's face though 59: dont you dare cronch a lollipop i will murder you 60: i mean. not to myself. but to the silly people in my head, yes 61: heck yeah. sometimes i forget im not by myself too :P 62: not like. professional good. but enough to not cause ear bleeds 63: fuck unprotected heights. behind glass in a skyscaper? neat. cool. fine. standing on a bridge that lacks rails? fuck you. go away 64: nah not really. unless its soemthing important that people just. should know 65: i dunno 66: i like my hair long. it go wavy wheeeeeeee 67: on a good day 68: mATH WOOOOOOOO 69: all the introvert. leave me alone 70: i have remained solidly above the water for most of my life 71: not knowing things. just like. i crave infORMATION TELL MEEEE 72: girliepop i sneeze at the light i fucking love the dark 73: situational 74: yes but only in like. 2 spots 75: i dont think so lol 76: nah im just here to vibe 77: dad let me try a sip of bourbon at 11. tasted fucking awful 78: dont put a drug in me please 79: not going to disclose their name publicly on the internet 80: not a one 81: rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr hehehehehehehehehehehehehe 82: fast-ish 83: fast-ish 84: dirt 85: grey. or occasionally slightly blue in intense sunlight 86: caffeine 87: this blog is the closest i've ever done and it's pure nonsense 88: not my problem 89: I mean??? sure??? 90: seeing people i love hurt 91: i do! hence why i chose it lol 92: noup 93: i want em to be whoever they be 94: i refuse to answer job interview questions on tumblr. you dont get to copy my homework 95: see above 96: chose it myself :3 97: i dont think so?? if so then what the heck why didnt anyone tell me 98: bestie you already asked that one. see question 39 99: white 100: many

Get To Know Me Uncomfortably Well

PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FLOP AHHHH

1. What is you middle name? 2. How old are you? 3. When is your birthday? 4. What is your zodiac sign? 5. What is your favorite color? 6. What’s your lucky number? 7. Do you have any pets? 8. Where are you from? 9. How tall are you? 10. What shoe size are you? 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 12. What was your last dream about? 13. What talents do you have? 14. Are you psychic in any way? 15. Favorite song? 16. Favorite movie? 17. Who would be your ideal partner? 18. Do you want children? 19. Do you want a church wedding? 20. Are you religious? 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? 23. Have you ever met any celebrities? 24. Baths or showers? 25. What color socks are you wearing? 26. Have you ever been famous? 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? 28. What type of music do you like? 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 31. What position do you usually sleep in? 32. How big is your house? 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? 34. Have you ever fired a gun? 35. Have you ever tried archery? 36. Favorite clean word? 37. Favorite swear word? 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 39. Do you have any scars? 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? 41. Are you a good liar? 42. Are you a good judge of character? 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? 44. Do you have a strong accent? 45. What is your favorite accent? 46. What is your personality type? 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? 48. Can you curl your tongue? 49. Are you an innie or an outie? 50. Left or right handed? 51. Are you scared of spiders? 52. Favorite food? 53. Favorite foreign food? 54. Are you a clean or messy person? 55. Most used phrased? 56. Most used word? 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 58. Do you have much of an ego? 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? 60. Do you talk to yourself? 61. Do you sing to yourself? 62. Are you a good singer? 63. Biggest Fear? 64. Are you a gossip? 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? 66. Do you like long or short hair? 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? 68. Favorite school subject? 69. Extrovert or Introvert? 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? 71. What makes you nervous? 72. Are you scared of the dark? 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? 74. Are you ticklish? 75. Have you ever started a rumor? 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? 77. Have you ever drank underage? 78. Have you ever done drugs? 79. Who was your first real crush? 80. How many piercings do you have? 81. Can you roll your Rs?“ 82. How fast can you type? 83. How fast can you run? 84. What color is your hair? 85. What color is your eyes? 86. What are you allergic to? 87. Do you keep a journal? 88. What do your parents do? 89. Do you like your age? 90. What makes you angry? 91. Do you like your own name? 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? 94. What are you strengths? 95. What are your weaknesses? 96. How did you get your name? 97. Were your ancestors royalty? 98. Do you have any scars? 99. Color of your bedspread? 100. Color of your room?

[cloudyluun]

Press play (p2) | boyfriend!harry

Summary: The first tape wasn’t enough. Harry’s obsessed. One camera? Not enough angles. One location? Not enough variety. One night? Not enough time. This time, he films her in every room, in every position, with every toy he owns—and makes sure she begs for more. Because this isn’t just about recording anymore. This is about pushing her to her absolute limit while the cameras catch every second. 

A/N: So… if the first fic was a little spicy, this one is hellfire levels of unholy. 🫠 Writing this felt like a crime, but a crime I would absolutely commit again. 🔥 Hope you’re hydrated and emotionally stable because this is a lot—and yes, before you ask, there will be a part tree. 😈

Also, if anyone asks why my search history includes “best high-sensitivity microphones for ASMR,” no, you don’t.

Word Count: 7,8k

Warnings: 

Heavy BDSM elements – Bondage, impact play, restraints, gagging, plugs, edging, overstimulation… Basically, if it belongs in a locked drawer, it’s in here.

Spit, deep-throating, gagging, face-fucking – Hydration is important, folks.

Filming/recording during sex (consensual) – Harry’s got a passion for cinematography. Scorsese could never.

Public teasing & humiliation – Sex shop, car ride, open windows… Someone revoke this man’s driver’s license and curtain privileges.

Rough sex – Choking, spanking, forced orgasms… the usual scheduled programming.

Dirty talk, degradation, praise kink – A poetic balance of “good girl” and “filthy little slut.”

Multiple orgasms, overstimulation, breath play – Hope you weren’t planning on walking after this.

Aftercare – Because Harry’s only a menace 98% of the time. The other 2%? He’s feeding you water and telling you how proud he is.

(if i missed any, dm me please!)

[part 1]

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

You can feel his eyes on you again.

It’s been happening for days—catching him watching you, smirking like he knows something you don’t. He isn’t even subtle about it. He’ll stretch out on the couch, legs spread wide, fingers lazily tapping against his thigh as the screen flickers, bathing his face in dim light. He watches you on repeat. Watches the way you fell apart for him the first time. The way you begged, the way you shook. He knows every second by heart, every moan, every filthy plea.

And the worst part? You don’t even blame him.

Because the few times you’ve dared to look—just a peek—you were just as wrecked as he claimed. Eyes glassy, mouth parted, body trembling under his touch. A perfect mess. His.

So when you catch him again, he doesn’t look guilty. Not even a little.

“Can’t help it, angel.” His voice is rough, thick with something dark. “You look so fucking good coming apart for me.”

Heat licks up your spine, your thighs pressing together on instinct. But he notices. Of course he notices.

He cocks his head, dragging his gaze over you, slow and heavy. Then, as if deciding something, he stands and holds out his hand. “Come on.”

You blink. “What?”

“We’re going out.”

He doesn’t give you a choice.

--

The electronics store is bright, all sleek displays and humming screens. It smells faintly of new plastic, and if you weren’t so hyper-aware of the man next to you—the way his hand rests low on your back, the way his thumb strokes slow circles against your hip—you might have actually paid attention to the endless rows of cameras.

But Harry is focused.

Not just on you—though you can feel the weight of his gaze every time you shift—but on the equipment. He moves with purpose, eyes scanning through specs, occasionally nodding like he’s mentally checking things off a list you aren’t privy to.

You watch as he picks up a high-end camera, testing the weight in his palm.

“This one?” you ask.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, tilting it slightly, examining the lens. “Good quality, but not enough angles.”

The words shouldn’t make your stomach flip.

You know what he’s planning. Know this isn’t just about upgrading. It’s about more. More angles, more footage, more ways to capture exactly how wrecked he can make you.

Your breath catches as he moves onto something else—a small, discreet device.

“Is that—”

“A hidden camera?” He smirks. “Yeah. Could put it anywhere. Get a nice little collection going.”

You swallow hard.

He keeps going. A high-sensitivity microphone. A ring light. A sleek little tripod. He handles them with the kind of ease that makes your knees weak, like he’s already imagining exactly where he’ll set them up.

The sales clerk approaches then, offering a polite, professional smile.

“Can I help you with anything?”

You barely hear the question before Harry shifts behind you, his body pressing up against yours, his lips grazing your ear. His voice is low, for you and only you.

“Could fuck you right here.”

Your entire body goes rigid.

“Harry—”

“Bend you over the counter,” he continues, voice thick with amusement. His fingers ghost up your thigh, barely there, but your skin burns all the same. “Let the security cameras catch everything.”

Your breath stutters, a choked gasp slipping out before you can stop it.

The sales clerk clears his throat. “Uh… I can walk you through some of the settings if you’d like?”

You try to nod, try to play it off, but Harry doesn’t move. He stays pressed against you as the clerk launches into a dry explanation, and it takes everything in you to stand still. To keep your composure while Harry’s fingers tease the hem of your skirt, inching higher, higher—

You nearly jump when the touch disappears.

“Thanks, mate,” Harry says smoothly, stepping back like nothing just happened. “We’ll take all of these.”

Your head spins.

All of them.

Three cameras, a microphone, a ring light. Enough to film you in every angle he wants, from every perspective, with every sound recorded crystal clear.

You don’t even realize you’re shaking until Harry’s fingers brush over your wrist, grounding you.

“One more stop, angel.” His voice is warm, teasing.

Your stomach twists.

You already know where he’s taking you.

--

The sex shop is discreet, tucked between two high-end boutiques. The windows are dark, the sign subtle, but the moment you step inside, you feel the shift—the heavy hush, the intimate displays, the slow thrum of something low and pulsing over the speakers.

Harry walks in like he’s been here before. Like he owns the place.

And in a way, he does.

You can feel it in the way he moves, the way his fingers trail along the shelves, occasionally plucking something up, rolling it between his fingers, considering. You barely have time to register what he’s holding before he makes a quiet noise of approval and adds it to the growing collection in his arms.

Nipple clamps. A flogger. Silk restraints. A plug set.

Your face burns as he turns to you, offering one of the smaller plugs in his palm.

“Go to the bathroom.”

You freeze.

His eyes don’t waver.

“Put them in.” His voice is calm, steady. “Now.”

You hesitate for half a second—just long enough to see the flicker of warning cross his features.

And then you obey.

The moment the door shuts behind you, your hands shake as you follow his command. The plug is smooth, easy, but it’s the panties that make you squirm—just the thought of them in public, the knowledge that Harry could turn them on at any moment.

When you return, he’s waiting.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches. Then, after a long pause—long enough for you to start fidgeting under his stare—he steps closer, brushing his lips over your temple.

“Good girl.”

The praise makes your knees nearly buckle.

He smirks. “Let’s go.”

--

The drive home is torture.

You should have known it would be.

Because the second Harry starts the car, his fingers flick something on his phone, and suddenly—

“Oh,” you gasp, your back arching slightly.

The vibrations are low, teasing, barely enough to do anything but make you ache.

Harry hums, casual. “You’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn, but you nod, breathless.

He turns the setting up. Just a little. Just enough to make you squirm.

Red light.

The car slows.

His hand drifts over your thigh.

“You can hold it, can’t you?”

You bite your lip, nodding again, your thighs pressing together.

Green light.

The vibrations ease slightly, but the pattern shifts, unpredictable.

It continues like this—slow torture, relentless teasing, each stoplight an opportunity for him to push you closer and closer to the edge.

By the time you pull into the garage, you’re shaking. Your fingers dig into the seat, your breathing uneven.

Harry watches, amused.

Then, just as he parks, he leans in, his voice silk-smooth against your ear.

“Come.”

Your breath stutters.

“Now,” he murmurs. “And don’t make a sound.”

The vibrations increase, sudden and sharp, and it takes everything in you not to cry out. Your entire body trembles as the orgasm washes over you, your fingers clutching the seat, your lips parted in a silent whimper.

Harry watches it all.

When it finally fades, your body slumping back against the leather, he exhales, slow and satisfied.

“That’s one, angel.”

His fingers trace your thigh, teasing.

“Hope you didn’t think we were done.”

His voice is warm, teasing, dripping with amusement, but there’s something darker beneath it. Something that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter. That look in his eyes—the one that tells you he’s not even close to satisfied.

Your skin is still buzzing, oversensitive from what he did to you in the car, but he doesn’t care.

He’s already moving.

He steps out, rounding the car without urgency, and when he opens your door, he doesn’t say a word—just waits. Expecting.

You step out on shaky legs.

The air outside is thick and warm, but the heat that lingers between your thighs is worse. You can still feel the echoes of pleasure from the first orgasm he ripped out of you, still feel the way your body clenched around nothing when he left you empty.

He knows it, too.

He watches you carefully, fingers ghosting over your hip as he leads you inside, through the dimly lit hallway, past the living room where you’ve already let him ruin you so many times before.

The moment the bedroom door shuts behind you, the shift is immediate.

Harry rolls his shoulders, tilting his head slightly, studying you.

Assessing.

Your pulse spikes.

The room is different.

You notice it instantly—the small but deliberate changes.

The cameras.

One on a tripod at the foot of the bed. Another placed carefully on the nightstand, positioned just right. The third—mounted directly above the mattress. Overhead shots.

Your stomach twists.

Then your eyes catch on the microphone.

It’s clipped beside the camera on the nightstand, small but powerful, capable of picking up every gasp, every moan, every tiny, desperate sound you make for him.

Your thighs squeeze together.

And on the sheets?

Silk.

Black silk ties, draped neatly across the mattress. Waiting.

Your breath catches.

He planned this.

Your skin prickles as you turn back toward him, but he’s already watching you, already smirking like he can hear the way your thoughts are racing.

His hand lifts, his fingers brushing along your jaw.

“Strip.”

One word.

No room for hesitation.

A slow, creeping shiver spreads down your spine, and your hands move before you can even think.

You reach for the hem of your dress, slipping it over your head in one slow motion. The fabric pools at your feet, leaving you bare—except for the lace panties he forced you into earlier and the plug still nestled between your cheeks.

Harry’s gaze darkens.

His tongue drags along his bottom lip, and he exhales slow, controlled, fingers flexing at his sides.

“On the bed.”

You shudder.

It’s not just a command—it’s a promise.

Your heart pounds as you move toward the mattress, sinking onto the soft sheets. The moment you do, Harry follows, climbing onto the bed with deliberate slowness, his toned body flexing as he hovers over you.

The silk restraints are still lying there. Waiting.

He picks one up, twirling it lazily between his fingers before tilting his head, green eyes locking onto yours.

“Let me tie you up, angel.”

It’s not a question.

It’s a test.

You swallow hard, feeling the last shred of control slipping away, and nod.

But he doesn’t move.

His smirk deepens.

“Say it.”

Your breath stutters. The words feel thick in your throat, but when they finally come, they’re barely more than a whisper.

“Tie me up, Harry.”

Something flickers in his eyes. A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at his lips, and then—

He moves.

Swift. Effortless. Expert.

He grabs your wrist, looping the silk around it, securing it to the headboard with a practiced ease that makes your stomach tighten. Then the other wrist—soft but firm, tight but not painful. You test the restraints. No give.

Your breathing is already uneven.

He shifts down, grabbing your ankle next.

You jerk instinctively, but it’s useless.

Harry likes you like this—helpless beneath him, vulnerable, completely at his mercy.

By the time he secures your other ankle, your body is already trembling. Spread wide. Exposed. Completely at his mercy.

You test the restraints again.

You can’t move.

The realization sends a sharp, dizzying pulse of heat straight between your legs.

Harry notices.

He always does.

He hums, pleased, dragging his knuckles along your inner thigh. His touch is featherlight, teasing, barely even there.

And then—

He reaches into his pocket.

Your breath hitches.

The remote.

Your stomach drops.

The plug.

He clicks it on.

The vibration is instant.

Low at first—deep, pulsing, sending sharp, concentrated pleasure straight through your core. Right where you need it most.

A helpless whimper rips from your throat. Your hips jerk automatically, body arching against the restraints, but there’s nowhere to go, no way to escape the relentless stimulation.

Harry watches every second of it.

The way your thighs tremble, the way your lips part in desperate little gasps, the way your stomach tightens.

And then—

He turns on the camera.

You freeze.

The red light blinks.

Recording.

Your stomach clenches, heat flooding your skin, because this moment—your wrists tied, your legs spread, your body already writhing from the toy still pulsing inside you—is being captured.

For him.

Forever.

Harry tilts his head, smirking.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dragging his fingertips along your trembling thigh. His voice is low, smooth, hypnotic. “So fucking pretty like this.”

You let out a broken whimper.

His hand slides higher, teasing along the waistband of your panties. Not touching you where you need it most.

Not yet.

He licks his lips, watching you squirm.

“Think you can come like this, angel?”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly. You don’t answer. You can’t.

But Harry doesn’t need one.

He just turns up the vibration.

And watches.

The vibrations deepened.

Your breath hitched—sharp, desperate, a ragged little sound that barely even made it past your lips. The plug was already relentless, pulsing deep inside you, the sensation twisting tight in your stomach, coiling lower with each slow, calculated increase of the setting.

You were already trembling. Already aching. Already so close.

And Harry hadn’t even touched you yet.

He watched you squirm, wrists and ankles straining against the silk restraints, body arching involuntarily.

Completely at his mercy.

Completely his.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, his voice slow, measured, but dripping with hunger. His knuckles skimmed along your inner thigh, grazing just close enough to where you needed him—but never quite there. Just teasing. Just watching.

And the camera?

Still rolling.

Still capturing every little gasp, every tremor, every desperate little attempt to chase the pleasure he was holding just out of reach.

The red light blinked.

Recording.

His smirk deepened.

“Such a pretty mess, angel.” His voice was low, approving, hypnotic.

You whimpered, hips twitching, but the restraints left you helpless—spread wide, open, exposed, your body reacting instinctively to the overstimulation.

But Harry?

Harry was calm.

Patient.

He sat back, admiring his work—admiring you—as if he had all the time in the world.

And then, finally—finally—

His fingers traced over your panties.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips, your entire body jolting at the sudden touch. Even through the soaked lace, the warmth of his fingertips sent electricity crackling through your veins.

Harry hummed, pleased.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” His fingers pressed lightly, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the fabric. “Been like this all day, haven’t you?”

You nodded frantically, swallowing back a sob. “Y-Yes.”

He chuckled, dark and satisfied, rubbing just a little harder.

“Good girl.”

Your thighs quivered, muscles tensing, your wrists tugging at the restraints again. Every little movement sent shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through your body.

And then—

He ripped your panties.

A sharp tear, the lace splitting effortlessly beneath his fingers. The fabric vanished in an instant, and suddenly, there was nothing between you and him.

Nothing stopping him from touching you—truly touching you.

And he did.

Slow. Gentle at first. Just his fingertips, gliding over your drenched folds, exploring.

Spreading you open.

His thumb circled your clit, barely any pressure at all—but after everything? After the teasing, the buildup, the vibrations inside you?

It was too much.

A strangled, helpless sob ripped from your throat, your back arching clean off the mattress.

Harry’s breath caught.

He groaned—actually groaned—watching you break for him.

“Fuck. That sensitive, angel?” His tone was teasing, but there was something else there. Something hungry.

He dragged his fingers through your slick, slow, deliberate.

“Bet you could come just from this.” His voice was silk and sin, completely entranced by the way your body shuddered, twitched, begged.

Your head jerked frantically, desperate, pleading, already teetering on the edge.

“P-Please—”

But before you could even finish the sentence—

He slid two fingers inside you.

Your vision blurred.

The stretch—the depth—the angle—all of it was perfect.

The moment he curled his fingers, you screamed.

The sound punched out of your lungs, raw and wrecked, as he pressed against that perfect, devastating spot.

Harry cursed under his breath, watching every second of it.

The way your body clenched around his fingers, the way you writhed against the restraints, the way your chest heaved, nipples peaked and sensitive beneath the cool air—

Every. Little. Detail.

Captured.

The red light blinking.

Recording.

He moved faster, fingers stroking deep, precise, thumb circling your clit in tight, merciless patterns.

“Come for me,” he growled.

It wasn’t a request.

It was a command.

And you had no choice.

The pleasure slammed into you like a tidal wave, tearing through every nerve ending in your body. You came with a sob, a scream, a desperate, shattered cry, your body convulsing, legs shaking, clenching so hard around his fingers it was almost unbearable.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept fucking you through it, fingers relentless, dragging out every last tremor, milking every last drop of pleasure until you were shaking, sobbing, gasping for air.

And only then—

Only then—

Did he finally slow.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your wrists trembling against the silk. Your whole body felt like static—shattered, floating, buzzing.

And Harry?

Harry was grinning.

He kissed your knee, slow and lazy, as he finally pulled his fingers out of you.

“Such a good girl.”

Your lashes fluttered, vision still hazy, but you could barely even register his words. Your body was spent, ruined, completely undone.

But Harry wasn’t finished.

Because then—

He licked his fingers.

Your stomach plummeted.

He hummed low in his throat, savoring, before grinning.

And then—

He reached for the camera.

Still rolling.

Still capturing everything.

And he smirked.

“Hope you didn’t think we were done.”

Your pulse was still pounding in your ears.

Your body was wrecked, trembling, every nerve ending overstimulated and raw from the orgasm that had just torn through you.

And yet—

Harry still wasn’t done.

He loomed over you, tall, broad, completely in control, the red recording light casting a soft glow over the sharp lines of his jaw. His eyes devoured you, taking in every little detail—

The way your chest heaved. The way your thighs still trembled against the sheets. The way your wrists flexed instinctively against the silk, as if you could stop him.

You couldn’t.

And you didn’t want to.

The bed dipped as he climbed over you, the heat of his bare skin searing against yours.

His cock—hard, leaking, thick and aching—dragged against your swollen folds, notching at your entrance, but not pushing in.

Not yet.

You whimpered, body arching instinctively, desperate for him, but he just chuckled—low, deep, indulgent.

“Mm. Look at you.” His voice was warm honey, slow and deliberate, each word sinking deep into your bones. “So pretty when you beg, angel.”

You bit your lip, hips shifting, trying to chase him.

He smirked.

And then—

The first inch.

You gasped, eyes flying open, head tilting back against the pillows.

He was thick, stretching you open so slowly that it almost burned.

But Harry didn’t give you time to adjust.

Didn’t give you time to think.

Because then—

Another inch.

And another.

Until he was halfway inside you, filling you, the intrusion both devastating and perfect.

Your nails dug into your palms, your body trying to take more—needing more.

And then, Harry reached for the camera.

Still recording.

He angled it down, making sure to capture the way your body was taking him, stretching around him.

His cock twitched.

And then, his voice—low, thick, wrecked:

“Fuck, angel. Look at this.”

You tried to, tried to open your eyes, tried to focus, but then—

He pushed all the way in.

The breath punched out of your lungs.

A sharp, desperate gasp—loud, needy, broken—tore from your throat as he bottomed out, pressing so deep you could feel him everywhere.

Your body clenched around him, still too sensitive, still feeling everything from before.

But Harry just groaned, deep and guttural, hips rolling in the slowest, most devastating grind.

Your toes curled, pleasure sparking white-hot under your skin.

You were still tied up. Still helpless. Still completely his.

And now, you were full.

So full you could barely breathe.

Harry pulled out—slow, deliberate—before thrusting back in just as slow, pushing you open all over again.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, watching you, watching the camera, watching everything.

Your body twitched, squirmed, begged.

He just smirked.

And then—

He set the pace.

Deep, slow strokes, hitting every spot just right, dragging against the oversensitive nerves he’d already ruined.

Your mouth fell open, pleasure crashing over you with every slow thrust.

Every inch of him pressing deep, stretching you so perfectly it hurt.

The camera blinked.

Recording.

Capturing the way your body was shuddering, the way your fists clenched the silk, the way your lips trembled around the moans he was pulling from you.

He leaned down, breath hot against your ear.

“Gonna give me another one, angel?” His voice was taunting, dripping with amusement. “Think you can come for me again?”

You shook your head wildly, chest heaving, eyes glazed over.

“I— I can’t—”

Harry just hummed, lips brushing your temple.

“Yes, you can.”

And then—

He fucked you deeper.

Your back arched instantly, wrists straining, a sob ripping through your throat.

The pleasure was blinding, white-hot, unbearable.

“Harry—”

His teeth scraped against your jaw, his voice gravel and smoke.

“Say it.”

Your breath hitched, nails digging into your palms, body trembling from the sheer force of it.

“Y-Yours,” you gasped.

His hips snapped harder, cock grinding against that devastating spot over and over—relentless, unforgiving.

“Again.”

A strangled sob.

“Yours—fuck—I’m yours.”

His groan was low, wrecked, dangerous.

“Good girl.”

And then—

His hand dropped to your clit.

Your vision blurred.

A sharp, overwhelming cry ripped from your chest, your body jerking violently, pleasure spiraling out of control.

You were gonna come. You were gonna fall apart for him again. You couldn’t stop it.

Harry knew it.

He wanted it.

He fucking needed it.

His fingers worked your clit in tight, ruthless circles, hips grinding deep, pushing you further, further, further—

And then he stopped.

Your body shuddered violently, the cruel absence of release ripping through you in an aching pulse. Your wrists strained against the restraints, fingers curling into fists as if grasping at the pleasure he had just stolen from you.

“No—Harry, please—” Your voice was wrecked, trembling, broken.

He only chuckled, slow and dark, as he withdrew from you completely, leaving you empty and throbbing.

“You were about to come, weren’t you?” he murmured, running a single finger up the slick seam of your cunt.

Your thighs twitched, trying to chase the friction, but the spreader bar kept you locked open, helpless. A desperate whimper crawled up your throat.

“Y-yes, I was—”

Harry tsked, tracing idle circles around your entrance, not giving you what you needed. “Shouldn’t have done that, angel. Didn’t I tell you? You come when I say.”

Tears of frustration burned behind your blindfold. “I c-can’t take anymore—”

A sharp slap landed between your legs, a quick sting against your soaked, sensitive cunt. You gasped, jerking at the impact.

“Oh, you can take more,” Harry said smoothly, rubbing the heated skin where he had just spanked you. “And you will.”

Your whole body quivered as he slid his fingers down, pressing them against the plug still nestled inside you. A strangled sound escaped your lips when he pushed it deeper, rocking it in place.

“Wanna stretch you out properly, baby,” he mused, voice thick with something dangerous. “But first—”

You heard the rustling of fabric, the creak of leather as he stood from the bed.

“Up.”

You barely had the strength to move, but you forced yourself to obey, arms shaking as you struggled against the restraints. The blindfold remained in place, leaving you vulnerable as you listened to him unbuckle something, the unmistakable sound of a belt sliding free from its loops.

Then—his hands were on you again, untying your wrists, removing the spreader bar. Your legs instantly trembled, weak from the overwhelming denial.

“Good girl,” Harry murmured, massaging the sore skin where the restraints had been. “Now, come with me.”

He grasped your chin, tilting your face up as he pulled the blindfold away. Your eyes blinked open, pupils blown wide as you took in the wicked smirk on his lips, the lust-darkened green of his gaze.

Before you could catch your breath, he scooped you into his arms. You barely had time to register the movement before he was carrying you out of the bedroom, past the cameras still recording every second.

The bathroom door swung open. Steam clung to the air as he stepped inside, turning the shower knob until hot water cascaded down, filling the room with a thick, humid heat.

Your back hit the cold tile a second later. You barely had time to react before he pressed his palm against your sternum, urging you down, down, down until your knees met the wet floor.

He grabbed the camera from the counter, flipping the screen toward him. The red recording light glowed as he aimed the lens at you, already kneeling and dripping with arousal.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice a slow drag of filth.

Your breath hitched.

You obeyed.

The second your lips parted, Harry’s smirk deepened. He took his time, letting the camera capture every little detail—the way your tongue flicked out, the way your breath came in short, desperate little pants, the way your lips glistened from the mix of your own arousal and the steam filling the room.

“Fuck, angel,” he murmured, palming his cock, stroking himself right in front of you. “You look so pretty like this.”

He tilted the camera slightly, making sure it caught the way you were already trembling, still wrecked from everything he’d put you through in the bedroom. He hadn’t even touched you yet, but your body was still in pieces, still aching, still on the brink.

He tapped the head of his cock against your bottom lip. “Go on. Take it.”

You leaned forward instantly, eager, desperate to please, desperate to have some part of him back inside you. Your tongue darted out, licking the swollen tip before wrapping your lips around it.

The deep groan he let out sent a shiver straight down your spine.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he praised, one hand still holding the camera, the other coming to the back of your head. “Messy, baby. I want to see spit dripping all over that pretty face.”

You hollowed your cheeks, sucking him in deeper, bobbing your head as your hands found purchase on his thighs. The hot water pounded against your skin, the steam thick, making the whole room feel like a fever dream.

The camera shifted in his grip, the angle catching the way your lips stretched wide around him, the way your throat fluttered as he pushed deeper.

“Shit—” He exhaled sharply, fingers tightening in your hair. “Keep going, angel. Take it all.”

You did. You let him guide you, let him control the pace, let him push further and further until the tip of his cock nudged against the back of your throat. You gagged around him, eyes watering, but you didn’t stop.

Harry groaned, low and wrecked. “Fuck, you’re so good for me.”

He pulled back, just enough to let you breathe, before pushing in again—this time rougher, faster, with more force. You moaned around him, the vibrations making his hips jerk forward. Spit dribbled down your chin, mixing with the hot water that streamed over your face, but you didn’t care.

“That’s it, baby. Get it all wet for me.”

He adjusted the camera again, angling it downward, capturing the way your lips were red and swollen, the way his cock disappeared between them over and over again. He licked his lips, voice dropping to something even darker.

“Gonna fuck your throat now, angel. You ready for that?”

You could barely nod, but you did, blinking up at him with big, watery eyes.

Harry growled.

“Good girl.”

Then he snapped his hips forward, holding your head in place as he started fucking your mouth.

The force made your throat tighten, made your gag reflex threaten to fight back, but you took it. His cock dragged against the back of your tongue, thick and heavy, every thrust sending you further into the haze of pleasure and submission.

Tears spilled down your cheeks. Drool dripped from the corners of your mouth. Your nails dug into his thighs as he used you, each thrust more relentless than the last.

“Fuck—look at you.” His voice was wrecked, barely holding on. “Gonna come down your throat, angel. Gonna fill you up nice and fucking full.”

You moaned, the sound muffled around him, but he understood.

“Yeah? You want that?”

You nodded desperately, tears spilling freely now.

Harry cursed, deep and rough, before pulling out just enough to let you breathe—then pushing in one last time, shoving himself as deep as you could take.

With a low, guttural groan, he came, hot and thick down your throat.

“Don’t swallow,” he panted, pulling back just enough to see the mess he’d left on your tongue. He angled the camera, zooming in on your wrecked, ruined expression.

“Show the camera, baby.”

You opened your mouth wider, letting him see everything—the cum pooling on your tongue, the spit clinging to your lips, the way you were completely, utterly wrecked for him.

Harry groaned. “Fuck.”

He smirked down at you, lowering the camera slightly, his thumb tracing the edge of your mouth.

“Now swallow.”

You did.

His gaze darkened even more.

“Good girl.”

The moment your lips closed around the last drop, Harry grabbed your chin, tilting your face up toward him. His thumb swiped over the corner of your mouth, catching the mix of spit and cum before pressing it back against your tongue.

“Still so fucking messy, angel,” he murmured, his voice rough, raw. “I should make you lick it off my fingers.”

Your tongue flicked out before he could even tell you to, taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking obediently. Harry groaned, his free hand fisting in your damp hair as he tilted the camera, capturing the way you looked up at him—wrecked, desperate, willing.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth with a pop, gripping your jaw tight before hauling you to your feet.

“Not done with you yet,” he muttered, voice dripping with something dangerous. “C’mon.”

He dragged you out of the bathroom, still naked, your legs barely steady after everything he’d put you through. The cameras in the bedroom were still recording, red lights blinking as he led you straight through and into the living room.

The moment your bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor, your stomach flipped.

The windows.

The massive, floor-to-ceiling windows, wide open, stretching across the entire room.

Anyone could see.

Your breath caught as Harry maneuvered you toward the couch, his grip firm, unyielding. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t even give you a moment to protest before pushing you down, bending you over the armrest, pressing your chest into the soft fabric.

“Stay.”

A shiver rolled through you.

You didn’t dare move.

Behind you, you heard him shifting, placing the camera down, adjusting it for the best angle. Then—his hands. Rough and warm as they skimmed over your hips, down the backs of your thighs. His palms kneaded your ass before spreading you open, exposing every inch of you to both him and the camera.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at you.”

Heat flooded your body. You squirmed under his touch, your thighs already sticky, already aching.

He didn’t like that.

His palm cracked against your ass, sharp and sudden.

You gasped, jolting forward.

“Be still,” he ordered. “Wanna make sure the camera gets a good look.”

You bit your lip, your body thrumming with anticipation as his fingers slid between your legs, teasing, testing. You were still soaked—already wrecked from the way he’d used you in the bedroom, the bathroom, every fucking room he wanted.

And yet, you still wanted more.

He chuckled darkly.

“So fucking needy,” he murmured, rubbing slow circles against your clit before pulling away.

You whined softly.

“Patience, angel,” he said, his tone taunting.

He reached for something—a bottle of lube, cold as he drizzled it between your cheeks. His fingers smoothed it over your skin, teasing your hole, making you twitch beneath him.

“One day,” he murmured, leaning in, voice just for you. “One day, baby, I’m gonna fuck you here too. Gonna stretch you out nice and slow.”

You whimpered, fingers curling into the couch.

“But not tonight.”

Instead, he pushed inside your pussy in one hard, punishing thrust.

You cried out, your body arching at the overwhelming sensation. He was still thick, still hard, still relentless. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, but he didn’t give you a second to adjust—his hands gripped your hips, holding you still as he set a brutal pace.

The wet sounds of skin against skin filled the room, mixing with your gasps, your whimpers, the deep groans spilling from his lips.

The camera was still recording.

Harry reached for it, lifting it with one hand, angling it down to catch everything—the way he filled you, the way you took him so fucking well, the way your body trembled beneath him.

He smirked, never slowing down.

“Wave, baby,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “Let them see how good you take it.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, a sharp spike of humiliation cutting through the pleasure. You could feel the heat of the camera on you, the weight of his stare, the way he watched you through the lens, utterly transfixed.

Your fingers gripped the couch tighter, your body burning with the mix of overstimulation and the sheer, undeniable thrill of it all.

“Go on,” he murmured, his voice a dangerous purr. “Be good for me.”

Shame curled in your chest, but the need to obey—to give him exactly what he wanted—was so much stronger.

You lifted one trembling hand from the couch and waved.

Harry groaned. “Fuck, look at you.”

He rewarded you with a brutal thrust, his cock slamming so deep it knocked the breath from your lungs. Your arm dropped, a broken sound slipping from your lips as he kept going, his grip tightening on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin.

The angle was devastating—his cock hitting deep, rubbing against every sensitive spot inside you, his pace merciless. The obscene sound of your slick filled the space, your body taking everything he gave without resistance, already so fucking ruined for him.

The camera was still rolling.

He moved it slightly, shifting to get a better angle, then pressed it close to where your bodies met, capturing the way he disappeared inside you over and over again.

“See that, angel?” he taunted. “See how fucking good you take me?”

You couldn’t even form words, your forehead pressing into the couch, your entire body trembling.

He leaned down, his chest flush against your back, the camera still in his hand. His breath was hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You were made for this,” he whispered. “Made for me.”

Your walls clenched at the words, your body betraying you completely.

Harry groaned, his hips stuttering for just a second before he caught himself, before he pulled back and gave you a particularly sharp thrust—one that had you gasping, your hands gripping the couch for dear life.

His free hand snaked between your legs, finding your clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles.

Your whole body tensed, the pressure inside you coiling tighter, tighter, so close to snapping—

And then he stopped.

You sobbed, your body shaking, your walls fluttering helplessly around nothing as he pulled out of you completely.

You felt him shift behind you, setting the camera back down, letting it capture the way your body trembled, the way your thighs clenched, desperate for more.

Then his hands were on you again, flipping you over, pressing your back against the couch cushions. His weight caged you in, his gaze dark, predatory.

“Not done with you yet, angel,” he murmured, dragging his thumb across your swollen lips, watching the way you panted beneath him.

The camera was still rolling.

His hand slipped between your legs again, teasing your slick entrance, rubbing the head of his cock against your overstimulated clit just to watch you squirm.

“You want more?” he asked, voice rough, teasing.

You nodded frantically, too wrecked to form words.

He smirked.

“Then get on the counter.”

Your legs barely worked as you scrambled up, body still trembling, overstimulated and desperate as you obeyed his command. The moment your feet hit the floor, Harry grabbed you by the waist, guiding you toward the kitchen with effortless control.

The counter was cold against your burning skin as he lifted you onto it, positioning you exactly where he wanted. Your thighs fell open instinctively, the evidence of everything he’d done to you glistening between them, your body still slick, still aching.

Harry groaned at the sight.

“Fuck, angel. Look at you.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he reached down, grabbing something from the bag on the counter. Your stomach flipped as he held it up.

The large plug.

Your breath hitched, anticipation and overstimulation clashing in a way that made you shiver.

“Color?” he murmured, his voice softer now, more serious.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe past the haze of it all. “Green.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before he smirked, trailing his fingers up the inside of your thigh, teasing.

“That’s my girl.”

He kissed you then—hot and deep, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing the air from your lungs. His free hand worked between your legs, rubbing slow, lazy circles against your clit, making you whimper against his lips.

Then, without warning, he pressed the plug against your entrance, pushing it in.

Your whole body tensed, a broken gasp spilling from your lips as the stretch burned for just a second—before the pleasure hit. The fullness, the pressure, the way it made everything more intense.

Harry pulled back, watching your face, drinking in every reaction.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured. “Taking it so fucking well.”

The praise sent another shiver down your spine. You clenched around the plug instinctively, and Harry groaned at the sight, gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he taunted. “How much better it makes everything?”

You nodded weakly, barely able to breathe.

But he wasn’t done.

Reaching down, he clicked a button—and vibrations pulsed deep inside you.

A strangled moan tore from your throat, your body jolting against the counter as the sudden stimulation hit all at once.

Harry just chuckled, watching you squirm.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Already falling apart for me.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust, to catch your breath—his hands were already on you again, pushing your legs wider, lining himself up.

“Just one more, angel,” he whispered. “Just one more.”

Then he thrust inside you.

You choked on a gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as the sensations overwhelmed you. The vibrations, the stretch, the way his cock filled you so perfectly—

It was too much.

And yet, not enough.

Harry grunted, his grip on your hips bruising as he set a punishing pace, fucking into you deep, fast, relentless. His free hand shot up to your throat, his fingers curling around the column of your neck, squeezing just enough to make your pulse race.

Your vision blurred at the edges, your body trembling beneath him.

“S’this how you wanted it?” he growled. “Getting fucked so hard you can’t even think?”

Tears streamed down your face, your body wracked with pleasure, every nerve alight, every inch of you burning with overstimulation.

Harry groaned at the sight, leaning down to capture your lips in a messy, desperate kiss. His pace never faltered, his thrusts deep and brutal, fucking you through it, dragging it out.

Your walls clenched around him, the vibrations pushing you closer, closer—

And then you shattered.

Your entire body convulsed, pleasure slamming into you like a freight train, the orgasm ripping through you so violently you nearly sobbed. Your nails raked down his back, your thighs squeezing tight around his hips as he fucked you through it, chasing his own release.

Harry cursed under his breath, his movements growing erratic, rougher. He pulled out at the last second, groaning as he spilled across your stomach, his chest heaving, his body tense.

For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was your ragged breathing.

Then, slowly, Harry reached for the camera—lifting it, angling it down, capturing the absolute wreckage of you.

“Fuck,” he murmured, tracing a hand down your trembling thigh. “You look so pretty like this.”

The camera clicked off.

And then, he lifted you into his arms, carrying you straight back to bed.

The sheets were cool against your overheated skin as Harry laid you down, his grip still firm but gentle. Your body felt weightless, trembling, drained from everything he had put you through—but he wasn’t finished.

Not yet.

He reached for a towel, wiping the mess from your stomach, his touch softer now, deliberate, taking his time as he cleaned you up. You shivered under his hands, your body still sensitive, overstimulated beyond belief.

Harry hummed, low and satisfied. “You did so fucking good for me, angel.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he brushed damp hair from your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The shift in him was stark, a complete contrast from the dominant force he had been just minutes ago. Now, he was patient. Tender.

He grabbed a water bottle from the nightstand, twisting the cap off before bringing it to your lips. “Drink.”

You obeyed, swallowing the cool liquid, letting it soothe your raw throat. Harry watched you carefully, thumb stroking over your jaw.

“There you go,” he murmured. “That’s my good girl.”

Your heart squeezed at the praise, warmth curling in your chest. Even now, with your limbs weak and body wrecked, you craved it.

Harry must have seen it on your face, because he smirked, setting the bottle aside before slipping into bed beside you. His arm curled around your waist, pulling you in, pressing you flush against him.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, running his palm up and down your back, soothing, grounding.

You sighed into the touch, relaxing against him, sinking into his warmth.

His lips ghosted along your shoulder, pressing soft kisses up your neck, along your jaw. He traced every mark he had left on you, his tongue flicking out to soothe the sensitive skin.

A deep, contented sound rumbled from his chest as he held you close, his fingers lazily tracing patterns along your hip. “Proud of you, angel. Took everything so well for me.”

A sleepy hum slipped past your lips. You barely had the energy to respond, too far gone, your body melting into his.

Harry chuckled, the sound low and raspy.

Then, you felt it—his fingers reaching for the remote, grabbing it from the nightstand.

A moment later, the TV flickered to life.

Your stomach flipped.

You didn’t need to look to know what he was playing.

Heat crept up your neck as the sounds of your own moans filled the room, the unmistakable echo of skin on skin, the filthy words he had murmured against your lips now playing back in crisp, high-definition audio.

Your breath hitched.

Harry smirked, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, hungry, still burning despite everything.

“Look at you,” he murmured, watching the replay, his hand trailing down, fingertips ghosting over your still-sensitive core. “So fucking wrecked. So perfect.”

Your cheeks burned, embarrassment and arousal clashing, twisting deep in your stomach.

Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We’re keeping all of this,” he whispered against your skin. “Our own little collection.”

You barely had the strength to respond, your body too heavy, your brain too foggy.

But just before sleep claimed you, you heard him murmur one last thing—

“Hope you know… there’s going to be a part three.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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[kiss4tell]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓, simon riley.

summary: behind closed doors, simon isn't the hardened soldier everyone assumes—he's soft for you, utterly pliant beneath you, content to let you take whatever you want from him. cw: fem!reader, riding, soft bottom!simon, praise, mild teasing. wc: 862 note: sorry this took so long. twas a bit busy this week, i fear.

People assumed Simon Riley was always the one in control. His presence alone commanded it—the broad frame, the intimidating quiet, the sharp cut of his words. No one in their right mind would believe he ever let anyone else take the lead.

And yet, here he was.

Splayed out on the couch, head tipped back against the cushions, half-lidded gaze heavy with something thick and dazed as he watched you sink down onto him. His hands rested on your hips, fingers twitching like he was holding himself back from gripping too tight, from guiding your movements.

He wanted to. You knew he did. But Simon never took unless you let him.

“Christ,” he muttered, voice already wrecked, his head tipping forward so his forehead nearly brushed your collarbone.

You exhaled a slow, shaky breath, taking a moment to just feel him—thick and heavy inside you, stretching you open inch by inch, filling you perfectly. Your hands smoothed over the broad plane of his chest, feeling the way it rose and fell beneath your touch.

“You okay?” you murmured, rolling your hips experimentally, relishing the way he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose.

His hands flexed against your hips. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, just—fuck. You feel good.”

You hummed, a smug little smile tugging at your lips. “I know.”

A quiet huff of laughter rumbled through his chest, but it dissolved into a low groan when you lifted yourself just slightly before sinking back down again, setting a slow, teasing rhythm.

Simon all but melted beneath you, his hands tightening against your hips, guiding but still not leading, letting you take whatever you wanted from him.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmured, breath warm against your throat. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

Your heart swelled at the reverence in his voice, at how utterly gone he sounded. You cupped his jaw, tilting his face up so you could press a lingering kiss to his mouth. “Only for you,” you whispered against his lips.

A low, desperate sound rumbled in his throat, and then his hands were sliding up your back, pressing you closer until your chest was flush against his. His lips trailed along the curve of your jaw, your throat, teeth scraping lightly before his tongue soothed over the same spot.

The slow, deliberate pace was maddening, the steady drag of him inside you, the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way his hands roamed your back, your waist, your thighs like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch you most.

“Simon,” you murmured, voice breathy as you shifted, planting your knees more firmly against the couch cushions for leverage.

He hummed, eyes fluttering open to meet yours, dazed and hazy with pleasure.

“Touch me,” you pleaded, and that was all it took for whatever restraint he had left to snap.

A deep groan rumbled in his chest as his hands slid down to your ass, gripping firmly as he helped guide your movements, lifting you just enough before pulling you back down onto him, forcing him deeper.

You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, pace picking up as you rocked against him faster, chasing that molten heat coiling low in your stomach.

Simon was unraveling beneath you, his breath coming in short, uneven puffs, his grip tightening like he was barely holding himself together. His head tipped forward, burying between your breasts, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the swell of them, teeth grazing before he sucked lightly, leaving faint marks against your skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice barely more than a rasp. “M’close.”

“Me too,” you breathed, rolling your hips just right, angling so the thick drag of him hit that perfect spot inside you, making pleasure spark white-hot through your veins.

Simon was a mess beneath you, hands gripping desperately, breath ragged, murmuring a litany of praises against your skin.

“That’s it, love,” he panted. “You’re fuckin’ perfect—feel so good, so fuckin’ good—“

His words sent a sharp pulse of heat straight to your core, and then you were falling apart, pleasure washing over you in a dizzying wave. Your back arched, nails raking down his chest as you gasped his name, body trembling with the force of your release.

Simon wasn’t far behind. The moment your walls fluttered around him, pulsing and squeezing tight, his breath hitched, and then he was gone—gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a broken moan muffled against your chest.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the harsh, uneven pants of your breathing, the faint rustle of the couch cushions beneath you as you slumped forward against him.

Simon was the first to break the silence, a quiet, breathless chuckle vibrating against your skin. “Y’tryin’ to kill me, love?”

You grinned, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of his head. “Maybe. But what a way to go, huh?”

His chest rumbled with laughter, and then he was wrapping his arms around you, holding you close, perfectly content to stay just like this for as long as you’d let him.

[slut4megantheestallion]

JJK Characters React to Their S/O Going Down on Them in a Risky Place

→ pairings: satoru gojo, suguru geto, shoko Ieiri, nanami kento, yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, nobara kugisaki, choso, Sukuna

→ a/n: finally had the time to write something for jjk!!! because I haven't done it in a while because I stopped watching the show and because of school.

GOJO - Under the Meeting Table.

Gojo loves a good thrill, so when you crawl under the table during an important Jujutsu High meeting and unzip his pants, his smirk falters for just a second. He adjusts his sunglasses, spreading his legs slightly to give you better access.

When your tongue runs along the underside of his cock, his fingers twitch against the table. Yaga is talking about school regulations, but Gojo barely hears a word. Instead, he struggles to keep his voice steady as he quips, “Mmm, I think we should be more… flexible with the rules.”

When you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, his foot nudges yours under the table—his subtle way of telling you he’s getting close. He’s gripping the edge of the table, and his voice is just a little too breathy. Shoko side-eyes him suspiciously.

“You good, Gojo?” she asks, raising a brow.

“Oh, I’m doing great,” he grins, though his muscles tense when you swirl your tongue around the tip. He shoots you a warning glance under the table. Behave, it says. But his hand finds your hair, pushing you down ever so slightly.

Suguru Geto- Private Dinner Party.

A private, high-end restaurant, soft candlelight, and a table just long enough to keep you hidden. Geto is mid-conversation with some important higher-ups when you decide to slip beneath the table and surprise him.

The moment you pull down his slacks and take him in your mouth, Geto’s expression doesn’t change—he’s too damn composed. But his hand drifts under the table, fingers brushing against your cheek as if to praise you.

“You were saying?” he asks smoothly when someone calls his name, voice utterly controlled despite the way your tongue flicks over his slit.

His thigh muscles tense when you take him all the way in, his breathing just a tad slower. He’s good at maintaining a poker face, but the way his fingers tighten in your hair gives him away. “Such a needy thing, aren’t you?” he murmurs down at you.

If you push him too far, he’ll grab you by the jaw afterward, lips brushing against your ear. “Couldn’t wait until we got home, hm? You’ll pay for that later, sweetheart.”

Shoko Leiri- Doctor's Office

Shoko leans back in her chair, puffing on a cigarette, not even bothering to hide her smirk as you kneel between her legs in her dimly lit office.

She exhales a slow drag as your tongue flicks against her clit, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. “You really are bad for me,” she chuckles, voice husky.

When you suck a little harder, her thighs twitch, and her free hand finds your head, fingers tangling in your hair. “Mmm, right there—fuck, yeah, keep doing that.”

She doesn’t hold back her moans, the door unlocked, knowing anyone could walk in at any moment. But that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?

When she comes, her cigarette is half-burned, forgotten in the ashtray. She takes one last drag before crushing it out and pulling you up by your chin, pressing a kiss to your swollen lips. “Next time, I’ll return the favor on your desk.”

Nanami kento- After hours at the Office

Nanami is a disciplined man, but you? You’re his one indulgence.

When you drop to your knees in his office, pushing his chair back slightly, he sighs deeply. “This is highly inappropriate,” he murmurs, but he’s already unbuckling his belt.

He watches you intently, jaw clenched as your lips wrap around him. His fingers twitch when you take him to the base, resisting the urge to grab your head and thrust deeper.

“You’re making this—ah—very difficult for me,” he says, voice strained. When you suck harder, his grip tightens on the armrests, knuckles white.

When he finally comes, he exhales a long, heavy breath, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “You are insatiable,” he mutters, pulling you into his lap. “Now, let me make you come undone.”

Yuji itadori- Movie Theater

Yuji is nervous as hell when your hand sneaks into his lap during the movie.

“W-We’re in public,” he whispers, glancing around. But when your fingers unzip his pants and pull him free, his breath hitches.

He grips the armrest, eyes wide as your mouth wraps around him. “Oh, fuck—” he mutters under his breath, quickly covering his mouth to muffle a groan.

He keeps his eyes on the screen, but he’s not watching the movie at all. When you swallow him down, his hips buck slightly. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me,” he breathes.

When he comes, he bites his lip so hard he nearly draws blood. As you sit back up, he looks at you with dazed, half-lidded eyes. “You’re evil,” he whispers. “And I love you for it.”

Megumi fushiguro- car ride

Megumi grips the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white.

“This is so dangerous,” he hisses, trying to keep his eyes on the road while you lean over and take him in your mouth.

His breathing is ragged, jaw clenched as you suck him deeper. “Fuck,” he groans, his free hand gripping your thigh. “You’re gonna make me crash.”

His body shudders when he finishes, eyes squeezed shut for a second. When he pulls over afterward, he glares at you, cheeks red. “You’re making me drive home like this?”

Nobara Kugisaki- Dressing room

“You are so bad,” Nobara giggles, biting her lip as you kneel between her legs in the dressing room stall.

When your tongue flicks against her clit, her nails scrape against the mirror, a muffled moan escaping her lips. “Fuck, keep going,” she whispers, legs trembling.

When she comes, she tugs you up, breathless. “You’re buying me something expensive after this,” she teases, kissing you deeply.

Choso Kamo- Alleyway

Choso leans against the wall, panting as your mouth works him over. “Shit,” he mutters, fingers threading into your hair.

His red eyes burn with hunger as he watches you. “You love making a mess of yourself, don’t you?” he groans.

When he finishes, he pulls you into a deep, slow kiss. “You’re mine,” he murmurs.

Ryomen Sukuna- Throne Room

Sukuna watches you with predatory amusement, his fingers tangled in your hair. “On your knees before your king—good pet.”

When you take him deep, he growls, throwing his head back. “That’s it—fuck, just like that.”

He doesn’t let you up until he’s satisfied, pulling you into his lap afterward. “You’ll be doing that again later.”

[dearru]

do u guys know that one song by doja cat that goes “like fortnite ima need ur skin.” that’s what inspired this. hope u enjoy. | mlist

imagine you, an aspiring singer, starting to date the wildly influential streamer, kodzuken. you two are the definition of a picture perfect couple, and you start to make lots of content together. as a result, your career begins to take off, and kenma’s content grows in popularity,

everything’s great— until it isn’t. the relationship ends up crashing and burning in an embarrassingly public breakup.

people are devastated. video essays are made. diehard fans even claim the split is the equivalent of “parents divorcing.”

it’s a whole ordeal.

but as time passes, the wounds heal. and in true internet fashion, it becomes old news. some people still whisper about how they believe you two are soulmates, but for the most part, kenma’s chat and your comment section don’t get flooded with invasive questions about whether you two will get back together anymore.

fast forward to two years or so after the breakup, you and kenma end up growing in your respective careers. his several business ventures have grown exponentially, and you’re now selling out stadiums.

kenma doesn’t stream as much as he used to when you two were together, but he chalks it up to having to juggle so many different commitments now. fans speculate as to whether or not that’s the true reason, but as a collective, they agree that they’ll take whatever content they can get from the elusive creator.

despite not streaming as frequently, kenma still likes to indulge his audience every once in a while by hopping online. normally, he likes to decide what to play, but every once in a while, he’ll let chat decide.

tonight is one of those nights.

on a whim, he gives in to requests for him to boot up fortnite— an old favorite of his— for the first time in months.

big mistake.

the second he opens the once beloved game, he gets jumpscared by something that even his worst nightmares couldn’t have fathomed.

you.

everywhere.

to his horror, and the chat’s delight, he finds that you’ve become the poster child for fortnite’s newest campaign. your face is on the menu screen, banners of you flash in bright colors, and you’re plastered everywhere in the item shop.

they say men are constantly haunted by the ghost of their first love, and in a cruel twist of fate, it’s a saying that has become ironically true for kenma as he realizes that epic games has made you into a fucking skin.

he debates the consequences of throwing his pc into a wall, but his screen flashes with an overly excitable chat faster than he can make a decision. old fans are freaking out, new gen fans are wondering what all the fuss is about, and someone donates just to type “YOU’RE FUCKED.”

kenma has half the mind to laugh as the notification illuminates his face because he knows the donor is right.

he’s not an idiot. he knows that you’re popular now, but to be so famous that you have your own skin? he’s in absolute disbelief. there’s no way the universe hates him this much. it’s bad enough that you’re on every headline and radio station. now you’re in his favorite video game?!?!

he is so unbelievably, irrevocably fucked.

—a/n: i think that kenma’s viewers are evil and they all band together and emote on kenma with ur skin whenever they see him online.

—a/n #2: has anyone written abt this concept before. pls lmk. i would love to read it bc i giggled so hard when the thought popped in my head HAHAHA.

—a/n #3: guys i don’t play fortnite, watch streamers, or write for kenma at all so pls don’t hate on me ok thx love u

[stxrkiss]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀꯬⠀ׄ⠀ೄ⠀ֵ⠀ׄ⠀𝗁ִ꩝ׄ𝗍ֵ⠀ׄ𝗍𝗁ִ݀ᦸ⠀ໍẜ𝗅ֵ𝗈݀ׄ𝗈ִɾ⠀ׄలֵ͜⠀ໍ⠀ִ〫⠀ू⠀ׄ⠀

他の誰にも君を渡さない。

# 𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 : 𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝒮ℴ𝓁𝒹𝒾ℯ𝓇 ℬℴ𝓎 𝑥 𝐹𝑒𝑚 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 ☆

# 𝑺𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑷𝑺𝑰𝑺 : 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥?

# 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 : 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘮 𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘦. 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘦𝘥. 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘋𝘕𝘐 ⚠

# 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑺 : 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦.

Ben never thought he could love someone the way he loves you.

Not that he ever wanted to love anyone. Love is weakness, a distraction, something soft and delicate that makes you vulnerable to betrayal. He saw what it did to others, how it made men beg, how it turned the strongest warriors into spineless fools. Love was a sickness.

But you?

You ruined him.

He doesn’t even remember when it started. Maybe it was the way you looked at him like he was something more than just a weapon. Like he was human. Maybe it was your voice, soft and kind, even when he was covered in blood. Or maybe it was the way you smiled at him, not with fear, not with caution, but something dangerously close to trust.

You never should’ve done that.

Because now?

Now, he can't let you go.

It starts slow. A lingering hand on your waist when he walks past you. A sharp glance at any man who gets too close. An unspoken rule that you don’t leave his sight, that you always stay within reach.

But then it gets worse.

The first time he hears you laughing at another man’s joke, something inside him snaps. He doesn't even realize what he's doing until the poor bastard is on the floor, coughing up blood, barely breathing. You scream at him to stop. Your hands push against his chest, trying to drag him away.

And God, it feels good.

Not the violence—he’s always loved that—but you. Touching him. Clinging to him. Pleading with him.

For a second, he thinks you finally get it. That you finally understand you’re his.

But then he sees the look in your eyes.

Fear.

You’re afraid of him.

It makes his blood boil.

Not because he cares about scaring you—he doesn’t give a shit about that. No, it’s the reason why.

You don’t fear him because he’s strong. Because he’s powerful. Because he could destroy you with a flick of his wrist.

You fear him because you think he’d hurt you.

And that? That’s fucking unacceptable.

Ben never touches you in anger.

That’s what he tells himself.

Sure, he grabs your wrist a little too tight sometimes. Sure, his hand lingers on your throat when he kisses you, pressing just hard enough to feel your pulse. Sure, he shoves you against the wall when you try to run, his breath hot against your skin as he growls warnings in your ear.

But he doesn’t hurt you.

He’s not some goddamn monster.

Everything he does is for you.

For both of you.

Because you don’t get it. You don’t see it.

The world is cruel. It’s ugly. It’ll chew you up and spit you out without a second thought.

But not him.

Never him.

He keeps you safe. He protects you. He owns you.

So why the fuck do you keep trying to leave?

The first time you try to run, he drags you back by the hair, shoving you onto the bed. You fight, thrashing under him, screaming, but he just pins your wrists above your head, eyes dark with something dangerous.

"You got a death wish, sweetheart?" he growls.

You shake your head, eyes wild with terror.

"Liar." His grip tightens. "Look at me."

You do.

And it wrecks him.

Tears stream down your face, your lips trembling, your body shaking beneath him. He swears he feels something snap inside his chest.

Fuck.

He hates this.

He hates how fucking weak you make him feel. Hates that he gives a shit about your tears. Hates that the sight of you crying makes his stomach twist in ways he doesn’t understand.

His jaw clenches.

"You wanna leave?" His voice is lower now, calmer, but there’s an edge to it. A warning. "You think anyone out there’s gonna protect you like I do?"

You stay quiet.

He laughs. It’s humorless.

"You think they’re gonna love you like I do?"

At that, your expression crumbles.

"You don’t love me," you whisper.

Something inside him snaps.

His fingers tighten around your wrists, and for a moment, just a moment, he wants to break you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans in, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Don’t say shit like that."

You tremble beneath him, and he loves it.

Not the fear.

The submission.

The acceptance.

Because you’re his.

You always have been.

And you always will be.

After that, things change.

Your attempts to run become less frequent. Your fights become weaker.

He rewards you when you're good.

His hands become gentler, his kisses softer. He holds you close at night, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. He tells you how perfect you are, how much he loves you, how you’re the only thing that keeps him sane.

He tells you he’d burn the world for you.

And you believe him.

Because when you wake up, curled against his chest, feeling his strong arms around you, you realize something terrifying.

You’re starting to believe that maybe—just maybe—he’s right.

Maybe the world is cruel.

Maybe he does love you.

Maybe you should stay.

Because no matter how much you fight, no matter how much you resist, there’s one thing you can’t deny.

You belong to him.

And he’ll make damn sure you never forget it.

© stxrkiss ☆ don't copy, translate or use my works here or any other websites.

[cxzsr]

𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 - 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮..𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞? - 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐲𝐨𝐮

[𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨] [𝘥𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨] [𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘦] [𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘭] [𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧!][𝘴𝘪𝘳 / 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭] [𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶] [𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦] [𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭] [𝘢𝘧𝘢𝘣-𝘴𝘩𝘦/𝘩𝘦𝘳] [𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩] [𝘸𝘦𝘵, 𝘯𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘺 𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘺] [𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳: 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭, 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘱𝘪𝘱𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘢𝘬, 𝘣𝘶𝘣/𝘣𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘢, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺]

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐢’𝐦 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫, 𝐢 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝…𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞..𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐡𝐚..𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐰 𝐦𝐞..

your mind kept racing..tossing and turning, these thoughts, that little voice in your head, it wouldn’t shut up. you figured caleb might be up so you decided to head to his room to cuddle with him, a big teddy bear was what he was and you needed him tonight. “can i just lay with you tonight?” you quietly called out to caleb as you were standing in the doorway of his bedroom. you were stiff, debating and going back and forth in your head about bothering him. ...he didn’t answer for a minute so you assumed he was in a deep slumber. you made your way over to him, crawling into bed behind him..it was pretty cute, you being the big spoon. caleb felt so comfortable, you kept pressing up on his bum and wrapped your arms around him, holding him as if he was your big plushie. he was stirring and shifting in his sleep, but you held him close to you, not wanting to let him go. as some time passed, you still couldn’t sleep, all you smelled was his scent, a mix of cinnamon and freshly baked apple pie..fuck he smelled divine, mixed in with his own personal musk. the two of you were obsessed with the smell of one another. but you were more intense with it, it dawned on you one day when you caught yourself humping your pillow while you had held his DAA jacket up to your nose..inhaling his scent. you couldn’t control your secret desires that day, putting the jacket beneath you, leaving your personal mark.

you were so fucking shy after you saw the stains you left on his jacket, throwing it in the wash quickly. he still doesn’t know and you don’t plan on telling him either, it embarrassed you a bit too much. all these memories started pouring back in of your little adventures with some of his clothes. it was setting you off, you couldn’t hold it in any longer and you were mindlessly grinding into his ass. “fuck that feels good” you hissed under your breath..you had on some black pajama shorts and a old tee, but the friction was intoxicating. you were wearing nothing beneath your clothes so it was like easy access for anyone. but you only wanted him, you craved him, his lingering touch, the way he’d slip his tongue into your mouth, how he’d caress the curve of your back. squeezing your ass even when you two are out in public, he wanted everyone to know that you were his, only his. he was madly in love and so were you, it was like the both of you would burn heaven, hell and earth just to be by each others side. but for some reason self-doubt just kept creeping in, those horrid thoughts that everything is a lie. this nagging feeling has been bothering you for months on end, ‘am i good enough’ ‘for him or anyone else’…constantly yelling and screaming at you. all you could do was just shake it off and try to lock it away.

“you like that angel?” caleb caught you off guard, that hoarse morning voice of his, you could tell he was groggy but he knew exactly what was happening. you stopped grinding on him abruptly as you heard his voice crack through the air like lightning. shock came over you and you realized how you were feral n’ humping his bum..you looked down between your legs and saw the wet spot on his grey shorts..you scooted away a little bit and looked at him. caleb turned around to face you, grinning at you as if what you did wasn’t enough to faze him. “I- i’m sorry caleb, i was…fuck..” you didn’t know how to lie yourself out of this one. this felt so embarrassing, your face was heating up rapidly, making you sweat a little.

“you were just what? huh pipsqueak? humping my ass?” he leaned towards you shaking his head chuckling and kissed your forehead softly.. “it’s alright bub..i didn’t say i didn’t like it. you act like you can’t come in here whenever the hell you want and do whatever the hell you want.” he winked at you..you knew consent was already enforced and that you both trust each other immensely.

you still felt that pang of guilt, feeling as if you’re too much sometimes, that he wouldn’t appreciate you being bold or taking the lead. caleb saw those wires firing up in your head as you fought your own thoughts. “baby c’mere…” caleb opened his arms inviting you to come closer, you hesitated for a moment but then you went over to him. as you embraced him, there was this heavy sigh of relief, you felt like you made it home and landed safely. “i love you pipsqueak..please understand that. i’m always going to be here, no matter what.” he made sure to enunciate every word and make it clear to you. you felt so protected, to be in his arms, feeling him wrapped around you “i know i tease you a lot angel but that doesn’t mean ill poke fun at my girl when she’s feeling down.” caleb caressed your eyebrows, gently tracing them with his fingertips.

nothing could ever take you away from him, you’re all he sees, looks forward to. the way you let yourself be unapologetically you is what he loves the most, nothing will ever change it. he couldn’t understand why you’d put yourself down like this. caleb pulled away gently, scanning your face trying to see what was running through your head. you kept avoiding his eyes..those beautiful purple eyes that were always so hard to gaze at. the way he looked at you with such intensity always made you feel uneasy. “bub, look at me…what’s happenin’ up there in that lil noggin of yours? you can talk to me.” before you spoke up, your were fiddling with the comforter, pinching and pulling at it. he instantly recognized your discomfort but he didn’t say anything, he let you take your time to gather your thoughts together. “caleb…i’ve been having dark thoughts again…really terrible thoughts, my inner voice has just been bullying me lately.” caleb reached out to rub your back…those heavy warm hands soothing that tension radiating from your back. “angel, are you embarrassed for waking me up by-“

“no no no..it’s just..i feel like im behind, i know i have so much to be grateful for and i understand that but i genuinely feel like im not doing enough for myself or anyone else..” you raised your head…still avoiding him. you just stared at the door, thinking of your escape plan from this annoying conversation. you felt like you weren’t doing enough for him deep in your heart, but you didn’t feel the urge to tell him.

“please look at me pipsqueak.” caleb gently turned your head towards him, his grip was firm though.

“i don’t want to do this right now caleb! i can’t, i don’t even know how to articulate what i want to say when…when i feel like no one will truly listen to me” your face was heated, it felt like someone put you into a human sized oven. it was always like this when you were anxious, your mouth getting drier and parched. your palms were sweating, how your throat felt like you swallowed a full bag of pebbles, it was tight. you couldn’t take it anymore, especially the lingering feeling that’s been sitting with you for months..feeling like you’re. not. good. enough. caleb was getting frustrated but not at you, at whatever was making you feel this way, he couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault, like it was his responsibility to find the culprit and teach them a lesson. but the culprit was your brain, those limiting thoughts you believed more than the man who was sitting right in front of you…

he finally spoke up “who is it?” caleb had that look in his eyes. the look of someone who’s plotting, calculating their next move. he had that dangerous menacing glare in his eyes.

you grabbed his hand “caleb! you don’t need to do anything to anyone, i can already see you’re getting ideas..” you had to reassure him, making it crystal clear “and it’s no one, well it’s nothing physical…not unless you can fight my inner demons tormenting me.” you laughed dryly, you saw no amusement relishing in your own pain and sorrow. he knew there was no way to fight your mean inner thoughts, he knew there was nothing he could physically do except just being there for you. “well even though i cant fight them, we can work together and i can have a little chitchat with that brain of yours.” you scoffed, little giggles escaping your lips.

“youre gonna have a chitchat with them babe?”

“hell yes! scoot over, let me sit in front of you.” he shifted himself on the bed, caleb held your hands. he was so delicate and soft, it made you feel even more safe and protected knowing he was there, he was here. “okay my love…now listen here mean brain torturing my sweet angels thoughts…” caleb got himself into it. he was talking to your forehead as if it was a human being getting a lecture from their parent. after a while of him using his best effort to wash away your thoughts he rested his head on yours. you could feel his pain, it hurt him…the way you were feeling, its something he always tried to help you block out, but he could only do so much on his end.

it never lasted though, they would creep back into your mind, making you spiral and overthink. he knew that the overwhelming thoughts would eventually lead to you questioning his motives and how he truly felt about you. even though he expressed it every day, at any moment that he could see you, that ‘i love you’ meant more than words could even explain. although it was sweet hearing it, after looking out for yourself for so long and finally having him here wth you, you still believed that it was going to be short-lived, like all of this would be taken away within seconds. caleb kissed your forehead, as tears kept spilling from your eyes, you couldnt hold it in any longer…”caleb i love you so fucking much but i feel-“ he cut you off, interrupting. “listen here angel, no matter what demented thought that comes up about me, having you question my love for you…know that its bullshit.” he stated it so bluntly. “and i dont mean that in a derogatory way either, what i mean is that im right here, im right fucking here baby, and knowing that even though im sitting in front of you, those thoughts still continuously throwing you down this hole making you doubt yourself. im still going to be right here.” he went on… ”we dont have to do anything tonight okay? just lay here with me, let yourself be here with me..okay?” you cupped his face while your other hand was still holding onto caleb’s. “okay baby…okay..” caleb couldn’t help himself, leaning in to shower your face with light kisses, it brought a light smile to your cute face.

as you felt his soft lips on your cheeks, temple, nose, and chin..he stopped for a brief moment in front of you. his eyes boring into yours, he leaned in, pressing a gentle sweet kiss on your lips. caleb didnt want to let go of you, not now and not ever, you were his and his only.. ”fuck baby, i love you i love you i love you, please, dont shut me out, i will always be here and i mean that, for eternity, until we both grow old and wrinkle, watching our grandchildren. i. fucking. love. you.” your heart was swelling with emotion, you were almost sure it was about to pop out like a chestburster.

“caleb…fuck, i know you dont want to feel like youre taking advantage of me in this vulnerable state but..” under your breath whispering “but i want you baby, i want you so bad…please..” you were basically begging him. but that begging, coming from that pretty little mouth of yours, it made him grunt under his breath, but it was barely audible. you saw this as a need more than a want.

“yo- you want me?” it surprised you that he struggled to get what he wanted to say out “in what way pipsqueak? enlighten me..” ‘did he want me to vocalize it and tell him my desires?’ that made your body tense up, overthinking what he wanted from you. as you were lost in your own world, you didnt even notice him lean down, whispering in your ear “remember how you woke me up?” realization set in, you did come into his room to lay down with him, but instead your horny ass ended up humping his ass. recalling the wet stain you had left on his shorts.. “you- you want me to hump you?” now you were all flustered, your face felt all flushed out. “theres no need to be embarrassed my love, i actually liked it, feeling your sexy ass grinding on me…leaving your lil mark on my shorts..hmm” he was making you blush hard, biting your lip unconsciously. caleb laid back on the headboard, sitting up so he could see you. he needed to see your face, how your body moves atop him, seeing your hips roll and thighs clenching around him.

“go ahead love, come over here and stop bein shy.” caleb reached out to grab your arm softly, pulling you closer to him so you could get on top and straddle him. “like this baby?” he felt your weight on him, enjoying the feeling of your thighs wrapped around his, feeling the heat of your pussy made his dick rise. little did you know, he wasnt wearing any underwear underneath his shorts either. “fuck caleb, i can already feel you poking me, are you sure?”

“mhmm, fuck yes princess..go ahead..show me, and dont fucking hold back. i want to feel you. i want to see you unravel and get messy for me, mmkay?” he came closer, landing a soft kiss on your lips, moving his hand to your hip encouraging you to grind into him.

you began to work your hips, starting off slowly..to keep you present and in the moment he kept kissing you, and only held his hands on your ass, squeezing them, gripping your bottom. “aah, fuck caleb, like that yeah?” as you both released each other for a moment he said “mhm, mhmm just like that baby…”he kept groaning into your mouth”just like fucking that.” you could feel your pussy starting to leak, your own arousal pooling, making you feel gushy as you kept humping his hard dick. it was like this man couldnt stop growing, the more you kept grinding on him, his dick was getting harder and thicker, that hard feeling pressing into you made your hips twitch, he was hitting your clit through your shorts. “that feeling” you whined, “oh fuck that feeling!”

“what feeling baby?” he pretended as if he didnt know what he was doing to you, a smug smirk plastered on his beautiful face. “dont play like that caleb, you know exactly what the hell im talking about.” you kept panting, your bodies heating up becoming slick with sweat. he could see the tiny droplets on your forehead and licked your face, this fucking guy! “caleb ew! why would you do that”

he looked at you amused, you dont like that bbay?” he chuckled, “every part of you tastes sweet baby, even your sweat.” gosh, you didnt realize how obsessed he was with you. “well thats good to know i guess hehe..” he pulled you down on him harder, holding your hips firmly, you knew there were gonna be some slight bruising once he was done with you, even though his grip hurt a little, it added even more pleasure to the experience. that grip he had on you was telling you how much hes been holding back, how much hes been feigning for you. “ohhh fuck baby! you feel so fucking good, let me see more of you..please? i wanna look at your breasts baby.” he lifted your tee, revealing your swollen breasts. your nipples poking out, caleb groaned at the sight of you, instantly grabbing your titties. he was taking it all in, the way your hips were rolling and grinding into him, both of you were mutually soaked, you could feel the wet pre-cum leaking through his shorts and he could feel you, your shorts were ruined, it was an obvious fact, but you craved more. “bubba..i wanna, i want us to watch each other cum.” you were insinuating having a session of mutual masturbation, you wanted to watch him cum on himself as he watches you play with your pussy until you’re dripping wet. “you sure angel?” that idea had him going insane on the inside but he had to keep himself cool in front of you so he didn’t come off as some impatient hornball.

“fuck yes im sure!” as soon as you said that he helped you take off your tee and shorts, revealing your beautiful body…then you did the same with him. “youre so gorgeous baby, oh my god let me hold you like this..just for a moment.” you agreed and you both hurriedly embraced one another, feeling each others sweaty bodies, the scent of each others arousal lingering in the air, making it even more intoxicating and intense.

“okay, get in front of me bub.” caleb held you in position with his evol so you didnt feel any back pain while you were sitting up. it was uncomfortable at first but then your body eased into it, letting go of that tense feeling. you spread your legs revealing your soppy wet pussy, the way he fucking hissed at the sight of you opening up for him made your tummy flutter and tighten up. caleb was already stroking his dick, fuck he looked so sexy to you. both of you were slow and deliberate with it, not wanting to rush anything at all, just dragging it out. as he was stroking his cock, you let your hand drift to your entrance, playing with your wetness, you felt yourself and it was surprising how wet you were because of him.

“caleb look” you held up your fingers, spreading and parting them showing him how sticky and wet you were. “can i have a taste baby?” he gave you no time to answer and pulled you even closer with his evol, bringing your arm up so your hand was positioned right in front of his mouth, caleb leaned in and sucked your fingers clean, moaning at the taste of you, grunting because he wanted to be inside of you, pounding your pussy as he heard your naughty noises coming from down there. he never expressed it too much but he loved the sound of you, every fucking part of you, even the most nastiest of noises coming from your pussy as he slams his dick into your wet heat. he released the hold of your arm and lt you touch yourself again. you were slowly circling your clit, that gentle rub, nothing too intense or hard. as you were going at your own pace lost in thought, caleb saw how your eyes were shut and your legs were beginning to close slightly. you were daydreaming in your own land. “eyes over here pipsqueak!”

“hmm?!” he pulled you out of your thoughts, looking a bit jealous bc whatever you were thinking about had your pussy fucking creaming and leaking, creating a wet spot on the sheets beneath you. looking at you with a firm smile “i said…eyes. over. here…don’t make me say it again..” his tone was low, menacing even, why the hell is he acting all weird..?

you caught his gaze, trying your best to keep those beautiful eyes of yours open…”is this better colonel?” you tested him, he liked the idea of being ahead and in an authoritative position but right now, he was just caleb to you nothing else but only your caleb, and he wanted to remind you of that. “much better pipsqueak…god you’re fucking adorable..look at how drenched you are” he didn’t have to tell you, your fingers were insanely wet. you then decided to slide down further and slip a two fingers in, slowly pumping your fingers in and out of your cunt. seeing the way your whole body was squirming set him off, you could see dribbles of cum leaking from his tip but he didn’t fully orgasm yet. he wanted to know something “so what were you thinking about?” you gave him a cheeky smile, he knew you were about to spill, but then you hesitated a moment before you opened your mouth again “you really wanna know? nosy..”

“yes i wanna know, you’re fucking soaked angel, so what was it..let me into your mind.” caleb was eager to hear you say it aloud…the way his eyes never left yours, fuck..he always had to make it so hard and especially in a moment like this. where you’re both vulnerable and naked, alone in the dimly lit room, he was driving you crazy. “i was thinking about you…you taking me…but in my ass..” fuck that was unexpected…you swear you saw his dick twitch as he heard that “ohhh so you’re into anal huh? no need to be shy with me babygirl..keep that thought in your head, i want you to let your mind wander and create that image of us together. me slowly sliding in and out of that tight hole…your pussy clenching around nothing, just dripping onto the bed…keep that that thought in your head princess.” as he let you close your eyes and drift off into your daydream…caleb pumped his dick harder, squeezing his shaft, imagining exactly what you told him. all you could hear were the filthy sounds of your pussy and his dick squelching as you both let yourselves fall into this deep abyss of lusting after one another. you were tensing up, the way your mind was so imaginative, seeing the entire scene in the darkness, those images forming together in your mind, you didn’t even hear him panting “fuck fuck fuck angel…i’m- i’m about to fucking cum! i’m gonna cum for you my love…all for you…” it was blocked out…grinding your hips into your own touch, the feel of your slick cunt making you more insatiable, chasing that beautiful release…

“CALEBBB…please…bubba pleaseee…” but what were you saying please to? you’re whining and sobbing but he isn’t even inside you. but the thought of him fucking you in the ass is too real, seeing him lube you up..taking his time with you. seeing him delicately kiss your shoulders from the back, trailing his hand down the curve of your chest, squeezing and pinching your nipples “mmm…FUCK! i can’t baby, i cant-“ you heard his sweet voice “yes you can angel.” you opened your eyes to see him right next to you, he let you go, letting you fall into his arms as his evol vanished…your body felt lighter. caleb was holding you tightly as you kept circling your clit, picking up so much speed. “let me do it baby, i’ll finger you and you can keep playing with that pretty pussy…mkay.” you looked up at him innocently biting your lip nodding “yes sir..”

he admired your submissiveness and praised you “ugh you’re such a good girl for me huh? my good little princess??” he gently slapped your face with his other hand, then grabbed you, leaning in closer to plant a wet kiss on your lips. he lowered his voice some “you wanna cum on my fingers while you make out with me angel?” you couldn’t help yourself, feral like some horny dog, grinding on his fingers as you kept rubbing your clit “yes! oh my god yes please…please baby…don’t stop…” he chuckled lightly at your response, pressing his lips on yours again but longer this time. the both of you were in such an intense trance. you couldn’t hold it in any longer, the mix of him finger fucking you, your fingers circling your clit and the way he held you as you both were sloppily making out. it all made you squirm, that tight feeling was there again, “cal- cale- caleb im gonna cum! you’re gonna make me fucking cum…please…plea..!” as he whispered against your lips, still fingering you with that slow deliberate pace “then cum baby, i want to feel your pussy clench around me..go on baby..cum.”

”oohh fuck! fuck! CALEB IM-!!” as your orgasm crashed through you, his dick was already hardening up again… “atta fucking girll!” he felt it, the way your whole body jolted, how you were shivering against him…he fucking loved every damn second of it, but to drag it out even more as you took your fingers off your clit because of the sensitivity. caleb kept fucking you with his fingers…adding a third to stretch you out more…watching you cream all over them…

“caleb! it’s tooo…it’s too much!” you begged him to give up and let you go but he kept overstimulating you, your bodies reaction to him was lighting a fire under his ass. he couldn’t get enough of seeing you like this. in such a mocking tone “it’s too muchh?? but you were just begging me for more pipsqueak..i know you have a few more in there for me huh?” all you could do was let your body succumb and surrender to him, that’s all he wanted, to see you let it go. “i know you can do it my love…” he impatiently kissed you…watching you whimper and squirm was such a beautiful treat.

it went on until it was light outside…the sun peeking in through the sheer curtains..showing off that golden glow to your skin, showcasing how much of a mess you both made. caleb spent some time admiring how your folds looked, all puffy and wet. the scent of you filled the room, he didn’t want to creep you out, but he kept inhaling your pussy like an addict “you’re so mesmerizing princess, i could watch you like this all day and never get bored of it.”

he cleaned you up afterwards, drawing you a warm bath, he didn’t want you lifting a finger after how many times he made you fucking cum back to back. you were really sensitive but it felt nice soaking in the water with him…being able to cuddle with him and get all wrinkly together..

“please never have to feel like you can’t confide in me my love..please…don’t ever forget that angel..” he was sitting behind you, petting your soaked hair “i love you pipsqueak…i want you to seriously understand that from the deepest depths of my heart, i mean it with every fiber of my entire fucking being, i don’t care how cliche it sounds…i fucking love you..” you both spent the rest of the morning snuggling together, hearing the his heart beat, it brought a sense of peace to your mind…feeling clearer and lifted…caleb felt like home, your safe haven.

𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐥..𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐡𝐞…𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐠��𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐥

[covenofagatha]

The psychology of love (Part 4)

A rainy day leads to an unexpected encounter

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: masturbation

You think your heart might have stopped beating. 

Agatha put her phone number in her email signature. Something small that might be unnoticeable to anyone else and could’ve been there all along—plausible deniability at its finest—but you see it. You know she just added it. 

Is it for you? Does she want you to text her? Is this her way of putting the metaphorical ball in your court? 

A million thoughts go through your head, ranging from text her right now, you idiot, what are you waiting for? to what if the university just made a new policy about putting all the ways to contact a professor in the sign off? It might not even be her personal number, it could be her office number. Maybe she put the number there for someone else. 

What should you do? Can you get in trouble for texting a teacher? What if it’s about the course material? 

You rack your brain for anything you could ask about, but there’s not a good enough question that would warrant this. 

Fuck. 

You could text her about the presentation, tell her again how excited you are for it. Seems too desperate, though, too transparent. 

Maybe it’s just a game. She knows about your little crush on her apparently—the comment about transference making that clear—and this could be her way of catching you in the act. 

The door to your room opens and you jump with a yelp before immediately dropping your phone on your chest like you might get caught doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. 

It’s Wanda. She gives you a bemused look as she strolls to her bed before dropping her bag on the floor. “What are you doing?” she asks suspiciously. 

“Nothing,” you say hastily. 

She smirks. “If you’re watching porn or something, I’m more than happy to give you a few minutes alone.” 

“You just startled me, that’s all,” you mutter, picking your phone up and turning it back on. It comes back to life zoomed in on Agatha’s phone number and your cheeks heat up. 

Chewing on your lip, you tilt your head to Wanda and then back to your screen. You think about asking her for advice but there’s a voice in the back of your mind nagging that Agatha could get in trouble. 

If she did give you her number, she took a risk. And although she could play it off and there’s no actual way to tie it to you, you don’t want to take that chance. 

So you make a new contact for Agatha, choosing not to add a last name just in case. You open a new message and the space bar blinks at you, making your heart beating fast and heavy. 

Even just the thought of sending something makes your stomach twist. 

Letter by letter, you type out an introduction text and your finger hovers over the send button. It feels like time is slowing down, like your head is spinning. Should you do it? 

You think you might throw up from the ball of nerves growing inside you. 

“How’s Morgan?” Wanda asks casually while scrolling on her phone in her bed. You swallow hard and glance over. 

“She’s good I think,” you rasp and then clear your throat. “We haven’t talked since our date yesterday.” 

Wanda glances over at you. “You didn’t text her or anything?” The judgement is clear and you vaguely remember seeing a message from Morgan earlier that you forget to respond to. 

Whoops. 

Even when you’re trying to be invested in Morgan, your thoughts still find a way back to Agatha. 

“I will in a bit,” you mutter and Wanda snorts because you both know it’s a lie. You turn your attention back to your phone where your text to your professor is still waiting to be sent or deleted. 

The butterflies in your stomach come back with a vengeance and you feel like you’ve been torn in half. What the fuck should you do?

There’s not a good enough reason to text her. But you want to. What would you even say? Come up with a question about the presentation. What if she thinks you’re acting too desperate? What if you’re completely off-base with how you’re perceiving this? 

The metallic taste of blood fills your mouth and you realize you’ve broken through the skin on your lip with how hard you’ve been biting it. You start to chew on your nails instead, still staring at your phone. 

The screen starts to go dark and you tap it, a burst of panic flashing through you when you realize that your finger almost landed on the send button. Eventually, your heart rate returns to normal but it feels like your typed out message is mocking you. 

You can’t do it. It’s too much of a risk and you don’t want to look like a fool when it turns out that Agatha doesn’t actually like you like that. 

Deleting the text, you turn your phone off, slightly disgusted and disappointed with yourself. If only you were someone who didn’t have to overthink every single possible thing that could go wrong if you decided to take a chance. 

Your phone buzzes and you have a momentary lapse in judgement in which you think Agatha somehow texted you first. You grab it quickly, breathing quickening, and scan it. 

It’s just Morgan. 

Hey. Just wanted to check in again. Maybe we could do something this weekend if you’re free? 

Rolling over onto your side to face the wall, you quietly groan and turn your phone off, ignoring her. 

—

On Sunday afternoon, you decide to go for a run. The August air in New Jersey is nice and cool and you really need to clear your head. 

You spent all yesterday in your room pondering what to do about Agatha. You had come to the conclusion that you weren’t going to text her—not unless there was a good enough reason to. And you weren’t exactly sure what that would look like, but you were now hoping more than anything that you’d get one. 

Wanda barely looks up when you change into a white tank top and athletic shorts and leave the dorm room. She was with Nat all of Saturday and you remember her saying that they’re going out for dinner tonight as well. 

She had invited you and Morgan to come as a double date, but you still hadn’t responded to Morgan and you felt like you couldn’t just ask her if she wanted to go out again. You’d have to say you were really sick or something. 

Once outside, you stretch your legs, wincing at the burn. Working out is never something you really enjoy doing, but every now and then, you get in the mood for it. You think a nice run, maybe a mile or two, will do you some good. 

You put your airpods in your ears, click a song at random to start your playlist, and take a deep breath. 

The moment you start running, you regret it but the burn in your legs is doing wonders to get you from thinking about Agatha so you push through the pain and keep going. The thump of your shoes against the pavement becomes a rhythm and before you know it, you’ve gotten off campus and you’re now running down the side of the road. 

Sweat stings your eyes and your lungs ache so you welcome the darkening of the clouds above you and the light drizzle that starts to come down. 

Until the drizzle turns into a downpour and puddles are drenching your shoes and socks and you can hardly see two feet in front of you and you have to stop. You’re almost a mile away from your dorm and there is no way you’re going to be able to get back in the rain like this, but luckily, there’s a grocery store a few hundred yards away. 

The cold air hits you the second the doors slide open and your teeth begin chattering. Your clothes cling to your body, water droplets running down your arms and legs, and you make a beeline to find a jacket or anything that will warm you up. 

Heat from the deli counter radiates and seeps into your bones so you go stand next to it, pretending to check out the fried chicken while you’re actually getting feeling back into your limbs. 

“Late lunch?” someone says next to you and you inwardly roll your eyes before turning to look at them, about to make some polite but passive aggressive comment but instead your mouth falls open. 

It’s Professor Harkness. 

She’s staring at you amusedly, eyes wandering over your soaked body. Her stare pauses and you glance down and notice, in dismay, that your white shirt is almost completely see-through and your green bra is very noticeable. 

Along with your hardened nipples from the cold. 

“Following me around?” you joke and don’t miss the way her eyes darken. 

Agatha takes a step closer and her perfume overwhelms your senses. She’s wearing a blue shirt tucked neatly into jeans with Keds and her hair down and a little frizzy from the rain and humidity. It feels like you’re sucking air through a small straw. 

“I thought I’d test out the mere exposure effect on my favorite student,” she says, a teasing smile playing on her lips. Your heart skips a beat. 

Her favorite student?

You hum, pretending to be nonchalant, trying to maintain eye contact. “Is that the one where you like things the more familiar you are with them?” 

“Exactly. Is it working?” 

It’s hard to tell whether or not she’s being serious. “I mean, you are my favorite professor so…I guess?” 

Agatha snorts, but looks silently pleased. “I’m kidding, hon. As Freud may have said, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. I just came to get some groceries,” she nods at the basket in her hand that’s full of fruit, lunch meat, and chips, “and I saw you standing here. Thought you looked a bit wet.” 

Your cunt actually clenches around nothing and your breath hitches in your throat.

“Just got caught in the rain on a run,” you say finally, your thumbnail finding its way between your teeth. She tracks the movement with a knowing smirk and you feel your cheeks heat up. “The one time I actually go work out. The universe is out to get me, I guess.” 

Agatha nods conspiratorially while you shift your weight between legs, both from the cold and from the awkwardness settling. Should you ask about the phone number? Is she upset that you didn’t text? 

“How much do you know about the idea about the locus of control?” she asks suddenly. 

You eye her a bit wearily, the gleam on her face signaling nothing but trouble. “I mean, I’ve heard a bit about it. An internal locus of control means you think you have authority over your life and external doesn’t?” 

Agatha nods and your stomach twists pleasantly. “Internal versus external locus of control. How much control do you think you have over your life? Do you wait for things to just happen—or do you make them happen?”

With the way she’s looking at you, like you’re the only person in the world, you think for a second that she could be talking about you pursuing her. 

Which would be insane. 

She sees your confusion and gives you a coy smile. “I don’t think the universe is out to get you, hon. I think you’re perfectly capable of getting everything you want all by yourself.” 

“So, you’re saying I should get back out there and run back to my dorm in the rain?” you ask, swallowing roughly at the dark glint in her eye. 

Does she know that she’s everything you want?

Agatha glances toward the front of the store where you both can see the downpour through the sliding glass doors. “No. I can’t have you getting sick. I’ll drive you back.” 

Before you can say anything, she motions for you to follow her and you do—you trail after her like a lost puppy, like one of Pavlov’s dogs that salivates at just the sight of its owner. You stand obediently by her side while she pays for her groceries after asking if you need anything and then you jog after her to her black Range Rover parked close to the front of the lot. 

Once you slam the door shut, Agatha turns on the car and reaches over to turn on your heated seat. 

Is she even allowed to do this? 

Will anyone know?

She gives you her phone with the maps app pulled up for you to put your address in. You type in the name of your dorm and hand it back to her. 

“Are you from here?” she asks, effortlessly backing out of the spot and you’re distracted by the way her hands move. 

Agatha glances at you and you realize that you’ve been staring at her. You clear your throat. “Um, no, I’m from out-of-state. I knew I wanted to go somewhere up north, though, for the cold and to get a little distance from home. I just fell in love with Westview when I was touring places. It’s a really cute town and I really like the school. And I read good reviews about the psychology department so it just seemed like the perfect place.” 

She nods like she’s in agreement. “It is really nice here.”

“What about you? Have you been in Westview your whole life?” 

Agatha tilts her head from side to side like the answer is complicated. “Most of it. I understand wanting to get some distance from home.” 

You study her face, running your eyes over the lines on her forehead and the slight wrinkles by the corner of her blue eyes and her pointed nose. She seems unguarded right now, unlike the way she is in class. 

This might be the first time you and her have had a conversation outside of impromptu ambiguous psychology lessons and school. This might be your favorite version of her. 

“You’re graduating in the spring, right?” she breaks the silence and you’re once again startled to find out that she knows that about you. First your name and now what year you are in college?

You looked her up, but what are the chances she looked you up? 

She’s probably just being a good professor. She probably knows all her students’ names and years. You push the nagging voice out of your head. 

“Yep! Kind of crazy. I still don’t know what I’m going to do after this.” 

Agatha pats your leg, her palm on your bare skin, and you freeze. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You’re very bright, hon.” 

“Thank you,” you stammer, cheeks burning with a ferocious fire. She takes her hand back but you can still feel the ghost of her touch. 

She tosses you a wink. “And if you don’t find something, I could always use a research assistant. The pay isn’t great but you do get a stipend and if you wanted to go to graduate school here, it would help with that.” 

“What kind of research?” 

“Oh, this and that,” she hums and turns onto the street that your dorm is on. The rain has slowed down. “I want to do practical, real-life work based on theories from psychologists like B.F. Skinner and Mary Ainsworth and such. I’m always looking for students to recruit and I think you could be a great fit. If you’d be interested. Obviously I don’t want to rob you of something that you’re actually interested in.”

You shake your head adamantly. “No, that seems like something I would want to do.” As long as it keeps you close to Agatha, you think you might do anything, even without knowing what it is. And the idea of getting something lined up for after graduation is also very enticing. 

Agatha grins and pulls up right in front of your building, shifting the car into park. “I’ll be sure to keep you in mind then, hon. Have a great rest of the weekend and I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” 

You give her a smile and her gaze drops down to your lips and the tension becomes palpable. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of your own breathing and heartbeat and then she leans over the center console. 

Biting your lip, you’re stuck frozen in your seat as her perfume wafts into your nostrils and she reaches around you, her dark blue eyes meeting yours. 

There’s a click as the car door unlocks from behind you—all Agatha’s doing—and she pulls back to settle into her seat, a smug smile on her face. You’re disappointed but also strangely relieved—if she was going to kiss you, you’d want it to not be in her car while you’re still wet and freezing from the rain. 

“See you tomorrow,” you rasp before wrenching open the door and trying to walk as calmly as possible to the door. When you turn around, you see her still parked out front, watching and waiting for you to go inside. Your heart warms at the gesture and she doesn’t drive away until you’ve safely gotten in the building and pressed the button for the elevator.

You strip off your still-drenched clothes the second you get back to your dorm and grab some new ones before going to take a shower. While the water warms, you stand there shivering, not thinking of anything else but Agatha. 

Internal versus external locus of control. How much control do you think you have over your life? Do you wait for things to just happen—or do you make them happen?

Is it about the phone number? You can almost convince yourself that she wants you to text her, that she wants you. 

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. 

Are things really just what they seem? Is Agatha really what she seems? It’s like she’s telling you something, spelling it out for you, but you’re missing the final piece to make sense of it all. The phone number could be the cigar. The way she looks at you and makes ambiguous comments could be the cigar. Is there a chance she’s being so obvious, so real, and you’re just not able to accept the fact that your professor might like you?

You think you might be losing your mind with this obsession. 

The shower burns your skin but does little to clean off the growing feeling inside you that threatens to swallow you whole. Even through your confusion, there’s still the fire in your stomach, the embers of your conversation with Agatha fresh and making you reel. 

When you accidentally brush your legs together, the slight pressure on your clit makes you jump and you realize just how wet you are. Your upper thighs are slick and you run a hand through your folds and pull your fingers away dripping. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. You put a leg up on the tub and begin to lazily rub at your clit, hips bucking, and you almost slip. Holding onto the wall with your other hand for balance, you’re able to get more leverage without the risk of hurting yourself and you feel your walls clench around nothing when you resume your motions. 

It doesn’t take long for you to get close and you’re about to slide a finger into yourself when there’s a banging on the bathroom door. 

“Can you hurry up please?” someone shouts and you jump. You and Wanda share a conjoined bathroom with another dorm and sometimes they have the worst timing. 

“Yeah, sorry, just a second!” you call back over the rush of the shower but the knocking continues. You grumble and step out, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself. 

You swing the door open to find your suitemate Chelsea standing there, a panicked look on her face. 

Before you can ask if she’s okay, she rushes past you into the bathroom and closes the door. “I really need to pee,” she tells you and you clench your jaw in frustration, both at her and not being able to cum. 

Quickly throwing on your clothes, you climb into bed and bend your legs up. You’ll just have to finish what you started. 

The first brush against your clit has you lightly moaning, still worked up from the shower. You try to think of Morgan at first, the way she fucked you at the party a week ago. Her fingers had twisted skillfully and her thumb had rubbed against your clit in a way that made you keen. And god—her smell. The vanilla and coffee and something else, something dangerous. You can see her in your mind, the slight smile on her lips as she watched you while she fucked you. Your hips move in an attempt to feel more but it doesn’t work. 

But then her face morphs into someone else—someone else with dark hair and blue eyes and the same addictive scent. 

Agatha. 

A gasp escapes you as you involuntarily jerk, a flash of pleasure bolting up your spine. 

“Oh, god,” you murmur. The picture of your professor with her fingers inside you makes your walls violently clench and electricity cackles under your skin. 

Your mind wanders and you swear you can see Agatha in front of you, clear as day, smirking while she condescendingly coos psychology facts at you and fucks you. 

Her fingers would fill you so nicely, her tongue on your clit would feel so nice, and your head tosses on the pillow as your back arches off the bed. 

“Fuck,” you whine as you slide a finger into yourself and curl it up, your palm bumping against your clit. Your eyes roll back—it should be her touching you right now, claiming you. 

Your hips move faster, taking your finger as deep as you can and you add another one into your wet cunt. Squelching sounds fill the air along with your pants and your wetness trickles out of your pussy and down onto the bed. Your other hand pinches your nipple the way you imagine she would. 

The Agatha in your mind scrapes her teeth against your breast and then swirls her tongue around your nipple while she chuckles at how breathless you sound. She makes her way down, biting and sucking on the expanse of your stomach so you know exactly who you belong to. 

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss as you twist your fingers and stroke your clit with your thumb. You’re fucking yourself fast and hard, giving up all pretenses of trying to take your time. You need this too bad. 

You need Agatha. 

Pleasure tingles in your veins and your chest heaves as you now think about what she would taste like, what it would be like to make her feel good. You can see her writhing under you, thighs tensing up as you tease her clit with your mouth. Is she loud? Would she moan your name when she cums? 

Imagining it’s her guiding you, teaching you, you yank on your hair and the sting makes the euphoria more acute. You gasp loudly, hips bucking, walls clenching around your fingers. You know you look like an absolute mess right now, completely and utterly ruined for your professor, but you don’t care. 

For a fraction of a second, you wonder what she would do if you took a picture of yourself and sent it to her. 

Would she instantly block you? 

Or would she fuck herself to the sight? 

A guttural moan tears itself out of your throat at the thought. You can visualize her confusedly clicking on a text from an unknown number, only to find her student masturbating, and then sliding a hand into her pants to relieve the tension. 

The same tension that’s building in your lower stomach. 

You turn your head and pant open-mouthed against your shoulder and your hips keep moving furiously to match your thrusts. 

Agatha’s hair would be sprawled beneath her, the veins in her hand prominent and outlined as she fingered herself. As much as you want to touch her and taste her and make her feel good, you also want to watch. You want to watch her be in control of her own pleasure the same way she commands your class. 

You press against your special spot and rub and keep doing that but something is missing. It feels so fucking good but you’re right on the edge and you need more. 

Your subconscious knows it before you do and you pull your fingers out of you and roll to face your nightstand. Yanking open the drawer, you begin to rummage through, knowing that you threw it in here somewhere. 

Finally, through the pulsing of your clit, you manage to find the box and you rip it open. The small, dark vial of Black Opium lays in your palm and your breathing becomes laborious. 

It’s like you’re in a trance as you twist the applicator out and spray it. Instantly, the sensual smell of coffee, vanilla, and spice fills the air and you inhale deeply. The scent lingers as you close your eyes and your cunt aches to be filled. 

Now, it’s even easier to imagine Agatha when you slide your fingers back into your waiting pussy and the sensations are heightened tenfold because of the perfume. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” you cry, the muscles in your stomach tightening and your hips rolling. Everything is so much clearer now, like the pleasure you were feeling before was muted. You can hear Agatha’s voice showering you with praises like she always does and it’s like she’s right there—you’re right there and with one more thrust, you fall over the edge, the dam of tension exploding and rushing through your body. 

You keep rubbing your clit and fucking your fingers fast to prolong the feeling and you can’t help the name that falls from your lips. 

“Agatha.” 

The aftershocks of your orgasm make you twitch until you finally come down from your high and you lie limply on your bed, completely spent. You know you should feel guilty and maybe a little bit shameful for that, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not after you just came harder than you ever have in your whole life. 

There’s no denying that you are absolutely and irrevocably fucked for your professor. 

Your phone vibrates on your nightstand and you crane your neck to look at the lit-up screen. 

It’s Morgan, again. You still haven’t responded to her. 

Chewing on your lip, you grab your phone and do possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your life. You open a new chat and your heart pounds in sync with each letter you type. 

Hey, Professor. Thanks for the ride today.

You re-read your message until the words don’t even make sense before hitting send and then you immediately throw it back onto the nightstand, praying that you didn’t just fuck everything up. 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @filmedbyharkness @autbot @claramelooo @dandelions4us @agathaallalongg @jujuu23 @21cannibal @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @jeridandridge @hannibalcanniballz @chloeelou02x

[bigmoon-is-bigwife]

Ros and Bad's relationship is so sweet. Ros always gives Bad the benefit of the doubt and doesn't let other people's opinion of him affect her's and I think it does mean a lot to him. Bad often gets accused of being far worse than he actually is and gets blamed for things he didn't even do. She is open and honest with him and he's more willing to try and be the same for her in return. He's paranoid and has a lot of secrets and plans he doesn't want anyone knowing about but he generally does not outright lie to Ros. He'll twist the truth for things sometimes but it's generally when other people are involved. He's not naive enough to take risks and reveal information that could come back and bite him. He likes his plausible deniability. When it's just Ros however, he will usually give her his honest thoughts and opinions. He genuinely wants the best for Ros and will sometimes bend his own self governed rules to help her. When Ros stood between him and Foolish he was the one to try and end the conflict so he wouldn't be forced to shoot Ros. He would have because his rules state he must not let anyone come between him and Foolish, but he'd like to avoid killing Ros. If it was anyone else I don't think he would have hesitated to shoot anyway. He also frequently tells Ros that she should communicate with her faction more and that they value her. It would have been beneficial to draw her away to his own faction but he knows Ros values the people on Yellow. Multiple times Bad has commented on how he wishes he had Ros in his faction but he hasn't made any serious moves to convince her to leave Yellow despite having opportunities. He is a very selfish person but he is willing to be inconvenienced for Ros's benefit.

The problem though, is Bad is a demon and a very fucked up individual. He gives her advice but his idea of "good advice" is not universal. There are times he gives her good advice about friendship and relying on others and communication but ultimately he is an immortal demon with skewed morals. A lot of his advice revolves around killing people and hoping it works out. Someone is causing you problems? They can't cause you problems if they're dead! That works for Bad so surely it would work for Ros!

And now it's becoming even more obvious because Ros has come back with memory loss and is sick. Bad knows about memory loss and being sick! He wants to help her! His help includes interrogating her, hitting her over the head with various object and scaring her! This is his genuine best and Ros knows this. She doesn't really like the methods but she appreciates that he is one of the few people actively trying to help her.

[rin-eko]

Take Care of You - Caleb x Reader

Desc: Caleb taking care of you when you're feeling anxious and overwhelmed

Content/Warnings: light main story spoilers, non-sexual nudity, reader feels overwhelmed, comfort

WC: 2.4k

The silence was worrying.

Not a soul was in sight on the rumbling train speeding toward Linkon, the rhythmic clacking of the wheels on the track accompanied by the drizzling rain hitting the windows.

Caleb was the only one in this train cart this evening, and the dark grey sky seemed to match his mood just as the lack of the train’s usual noisy chatter from the public seemed to match the dead silence in his inbox.

He checked his phone again, where several messages still sat, bereft and unanswered.

4:05pm

Me: Pipsqueak, can I come to Linkon this weekend to visit ya?

4:15pm

Me: We can go to the old markets you love tomorrow and pick up some dinner ingredients on the way home. I’ll make your favourite :)

5:10pm

Me: Are you off work? Be safe on your way home. 

5:31pm

Me: Hellooo? 🤨 Earth to pipsqueak..

5:32pm

Me: There’s no way an addict like you has lost her phone. What’s up?

5:35pm

Me: Is something wrong? I tried calling you. Call me back, I’m starting to get worried.

The messages continued until 7pm, at which point Caleb had just decided to get on the bullet train and head straight to Linkon, continuing all the while to text and call you. With every missed call and message left unanswered, the suffocating feeling in his chest continued to grow, his fingers fiddling as he stared at his phone, willing a message of… literally anything. A full stop would do at this point.

Another minute changed on the time, mocking him.

7:46pm

Me: I’m on my way to Linkon now. Call me.  

His thumb scratched the furrow between his brows. Sure, your relationship had been… less than perfect since you the two of you reunited, but you always answered his messages, even when you were angry with him. This radio silence was agonizing. Flitters of panic seized his lungs as long minutes continued to tick by.

He forced himself to take a breath. You were most likely fine. He wouldn’t be surprised if you had just lost track of time while hanging out with your friends, or if you were currently collapsed in your bed after a hard work day, not bothering with either dinner or a shower. You were fine. You were fine.

He took another deep breath. He let it out. His hand flexed.

Should he just put a tracker on you?

…

Caleb’s strides sounded a lot more relaxed than he felt as he made his way to your apartment door, casually rapping on the door in his usual rhythm.

Silence.

His jaw tightened as he knocked again. And again.

Fuck, this shit isn’t funny.

He picked the lock and entered, greeted by more of that damned silence along with the dark living space. You were nowhere to be seen.

It wasn’t until he heard a small noise coming from the bedroom that his chest loosened slightly. He made his way there, pushing open the slightly ajar door.

You were in your room, dusting your shelves when you heard your name in that familiar, steady voice.

Your head snapped to the doorway, where he was leaning, arms folded across his chest. His hair appeared slightly messy, as if he had been running his hand through it, and his deep purple eyes held an intense glow you almost felt compelled to look away from.

You took out the one earbud you had playing classical music and frowned.

“Caleb, what are you doing here? You can’t just enter someone’s apartment like that.”

As soon as he had seen your face, the tightness in your jaw and your tired eyes, Caleb had recognised that something was wrong, but your harsh tone confirmed it.

That, and your death glare that would have anyone else shaking like a leaf.

But he only felt relief that you were okay, at least physically. He knew you well enough to know that glare was only a surface-level protection, like a cat arching its back with its hair standing on end in attempt to make itself look bigger.

But beneath that he knew something was wrong. Even when you tried to be strong, you always appeared so vulnerable to him.

“You weren’t answering my texts or calls, I was worried,” he kept his tone soft and soothing, but you were having none of it, your frown deepening fiercely.

“Do you seriously think that’s enough of a reason to just show up here and barge into my home without permission? What is wrong with you?” you were snapping at him, hissing at him, looking so, so pained and exhausted to him.

This was different to the petty fights you had occasionally been instigating with him since you reunited. At those times, he could tell you were just struggling to find a place for him in your life again. You wanted him close, but he had also hurt you. Perhaps your instincts were telling you he wasn’t what was good for you.

He didn’t mind when you snapped at him, recognising you were desperately trying to regain some semblance of foothold in your strange relationship neither of you could really put a label to anymore, so he rarely commented on it or argued back.

But this was different. You just looked exhausted, filled with a tension that didn’t allow you to rest.

Your head hurt.

It hurt, but it wasn’t a physical pain any amount of paracetamol could fix.

You didn’t understand. You rarely felt like this, so when you felt the lowness creeping in throughout the week, you figured it was manageable. Nothing a good meal and some rounds on the claw machines at your favourite arcade wouldn’t fix.

But now, you didn’t even feel like leaving the house.

Maybe it was harder for you to handle precisely because you rarely felt this this. You were at a loss. You didn’t want to feel this way, but you also didn’t know how to fix it.

And your head continued to throb, anxiety clouding your mind, only heightened when you started to worry that you would never be able to stop feeling this way.

Why had this happened? These pressures you couldn’t even name kept piling up. You were on the verge of tears from thinking and thinking and thinking some more, and yet unable to come to any solutions. You just wanted to stop thinking, for your mind to be quiet once more.

You wanted to scream into your pillow to drown out the noise in your mind. Scream until you faded into particles, peacefully floating around. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel this awful disquiet.

You cracked a half-smile. Were you reverting to your angsty teen years or what?

You sighed and dropped the cloth you were dusting with, muttering as you walked past Caleb toward the bathroom.

“Whatever, I’m having a shower. I don’t think I need to tell you to make yourself at home considering you’re already acting like this is your home.”

He stayed silent, watching you disappear into the bathroom and hearing the shower turn on.

Looking around, he decided to clean up a bit and make you dinner. Your apartment was as messy as ever, and after peering into the fridge and taking note of the minimal ingredients, he made a mental reminder to go out the next day to buy your groceries. You were always telling him not to worry and to stop treating you like a kid, but how could he when this is how you took care of yourself?

He sighed and grabbed some ingredients from your freezer to make you a simple hotpot, perfect for the rainy day.

However, when the hotpot was bubbling and ready, and you still had not emerged from the shower, his concern grew once more.

In your room again, he could hear the shower still running. He waited ten more minutes before deciding to knock on the door just in case you had… he didn’t know, drowned yourself in the shower, maybe?

His overprotective imagination knew no bounds when it came to your safety.

You didn’t respond so, despite your earlier scolding, he decided to enter the bathroom.

His heart dipped.

Through the condensation clouding the glass shower door, he could barely see your small figure, curled up in a ball in the middle of the shower. You held your head as the water pounded onto your back.

You didn’t see or hear him, focused on having the scalding water pummel you so you had no room to think. You didn’t want a relaxing, soothing shower, but one that would silence your mind because you couldn’t do it yourself.

He went to you, unable to do anything else. He couldn’t stand to see you like that. You looked so lonely and lost. He wanted to be your anchor. As many times as it took, even if it took forever.

You didn’t notice him even when walked further inside the bathroom, quietly grabbing a towel and opening the shower door.

You only looked up through wet, blurry eyes when he reached in to switch the shower off, wincing at the searing hot water.

“Staying in a hot shower for so long isn’t good for you,” he murmured, not an ounce of scolding in his voice. He stood tall above you, wearing a loose white tank tucked into faded jeans, white socks on his feet and his silver dog tag gleaming as if reminding you of something.

What? That he would always come home? That he would always be there?

You didn’t say anything, your wet hair sticking to you as he held out a hand to help you up before holding the towel open and looking to the side, considerate of your nudity.

You walked straight into the warm, fluffy towel, and he immediately wrapped it around you, holding you steady.

Still seeing you were dizzy from the hot shower and steam, Caleb picked you up, bridal carrying you into the cooler air of your bedroom.

There was no room for anger in you anymore, only pure exhaustion. Though you expected you wouldn’t be sleeping well tonight, just as you hadn’t been for the previous few nights.

You sighed and rested your head on Caleb’s shoulder, tucking your hands to your chest and quietly enjoying the little comforts such as the familiar rhythm of his confident yet relaxed stride. He gently deposited you on the bed before making his way to your closet to find sleepwear for you.

You remained lying down, head turned to the side as you blearily watched his figure.

He returned with an oversized shirt that could well have been his, and a pair of comfortable underwear, leaving to the bathroom while you dried and changed.

He returned with your hairbrush and dryer, gently helping you sit on the floor next to the bed so he could sit on the bed and dry your hair.

It was a routine the both of you were very familiar with, and for the first time in days you felt a tiny semblance of yourself returning.

Since you had reunited with Caleb, you had become reluctant to rely on him as had become second nature to you growing up. As for Caleb’s second nature, it was taking care of you as well as everything you yourself should be taking care of.

So having you finally rely on him for something again, even as small as drying your hair, sparked a new light of hope and affection within him.

The only sound in the room was the comforting whir and hum of the hairdryer, sending waves of warmth to your head and skin. His legs remained comfortingly on either side of you, and you rested against one, hands fidgeting in your lap.

After a while, he switched the hairdryer off and used the towel to gently dry the water in your ears. He smoothed your hair up into a loose bun before helping you up onto the bed once again.

You immediately burrowed into your pillows, kicking the blankets over yourself.

He sat beside you, stroking your hair.

“I made food, do you want to eat?”

You shook your head. “I just want to sleep.”

“Okay,” he whispered. You sensed he was about to get up and quickly grabbed his hand.

“Caleb,” you croaked. “Don’t go.”

What anyone else may have been annoyed with, or held against you, he never did, taking your quick-changing attitude in stride.

He smiled lightly and tightened his hold on your hand for a brief moment. “Don’t worry, pipsqueak, I’m just turning the lights off.”

He returned to the bed once the room had darkened, only the glittering city lights outside providing small light grids around the room.

You both lay under the covers, facing each other. His arm loosely wrapped around your waist, your hands tucked against your chest.

He stroked your waist soothingly and started, “I… know I am the reason for your stress and sadness and-”

You immediately shook your head and buried tighter to his chest, speaking muffled into his shirt.

“No. I mean, yes, but not this… usually I’m fine, but just the past few days I’ve been feeling… I don’t know… and I don’t know why, either. I just want my brain to be quiet.” You were so tired, and it reflected in your hoarse, forlorn voice. You were desperate for some peace, were helpless against this thing that had gripped and trapped you. You felt blocked from any good emotions, wanting to recover them but unable to feel them as you usually could.

You held your head. “It’s so noisy,” your voice cracked, broken. Tears stung your eyes, running down your temples as you peered up at him.

Hold me tighter, and his strong arms immediately squeezed you.

His chest tightened painfully. He wanted to protect you from everything, but how could he solve what you were feeling?

“Can you… stay the weekend?” you murmured.

His lips brushed your forehead. “Of course. I won’t go back to Skyhaven until you feel okay.”

He wanted you to need him, to rely on him, but not like this. He detested this invisible cause of your pain. Hated that he couldn’t see it and feel it in his hands as he rid you of it so you could return to your bouncy self. He would take any arguing over this, would rather be Caleb-the-Loathsome so long as you didn’t lose the spark in your eyes.

Your eyes were already dipping when he spoke again, with a quiet conviction you somehow caught between dreams and reality, his breaths comforting against your hair.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he murmured. “Relax and let go for as long as you need.” You felt the whisper of a light kiss press to your head.

“I have you, always.”

You drifted to sleep.

[rosenclaws]

Heey! I think your requests are closed, but when you open them, do you think you could write about Logan (any variant) with a reader who has a bad relationship with food? I kinda need the comfort right now, I have to eat to survive, but I hardly ever want to eat, and when I do I feel guilty about it, specially if it's not something super healthy or low cal.

I think Logan would be a really good partner and show support, make sure his partner eats well or doesn't slip meals and even cooks for them :')

Hi! Absolutely I can, I understand what you're going through and I want to know that you're loved and you have my full support <3 I picked origins Logan for this, he just gives off the softest vibes and would be a completely supportive and sweet partner. It's a little short and I apologize but I hope it helps <33

warnings: eating disorder/bad relationship with food, please don't read if this would possibly trigger you

Logan could tell something was off from the moment he walked through the door. His stomach rumbled as he smelled whatever delicious meal you were making for dinner. As he entered the kitchen he saw you pulling a pan out of dinner. Lasagna, his favorite.

"Smells fucking amazing," He purrs as he wraps his hands around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

He still smells like pine needle and dirt from work. Normally he doesn't get back till way past dinner time but today was an easy day. How lucky he gets to eat dinner with the love of his life huh?

"Logan! You scared me." You huff as you gently push his arms off your body.

"Go clean up dinners almost ready." He frowns as you shoo him away.

Lately things have just felt off. You smiled and laughed like you always do but there were little things that just didn't feel right. Especially around meal times.

"Okay sweetheart, I'll be right back." Logan can't help but wonder what could possibly be wrong.

Are you sick? Is something bothering you? If so why wouldn't you tell him? Worries start to invade his thoughts. What could be going on that you can't even go to him about it? After a quick shower and a change of clothes he heads back to the kitchen. Only to see one plate of food sitting on the counter.

"I made it with the sauce you like, not the off brand one." You say with a smile but Logan's worry remains. He sits at the counter and takes the plate.

"Where's yours?" He asks. Your face falls for just a second. Anyone else would have missed it but not Logan. Not when it comes to you.

"Not hungry." You try and play it off, pushing the plate closer but Logan grabs your wrist.

"Logan, I had a big lunch. I'll eat later." You try and tug out of Logan's grip but he remains firm. Never enough to hurt you but enough to keep you there. To keep you from running away.

"I don't believe you. In fact, I've barely seen you eat anything in the last couple months."

The memories come flooding back. He's seen you eat, but its never much and it's always healthy. Shame starts to creep into his bones as he realizes he's failed to put the pieces together. All this time.

"Please sweetheart, whatever is going on you can tell me." Tears start to well up in your eyes as Logan speaks.

You never meant for him to find out. You thought you could handle this on your own. You had been so careful and eat just enough so that he never caught on. But the truth is you're exhausted. Food is nothing more that a means to survive. Everyday you force yourself to eat just enough and no more. Its been exhausting. Especially if the food you eat is too many calories or just plain unhealthy.

Logan almost jumps across the counter the moment he sees the tears, fearing the worst. He abandons his dinner in favor of wrapping you in his arms on the couch. Cooing softly as you cry and explain everything to him. He doesn't say a word, he just listens. Rubbing your back and letting you soak his shirt with tears.

When you're done you prepare for the worst. What if Logan leaves? I mean it would certainly be easier for him to not have to deal with. All of this. But he doesn't. With gentle hands he cups your face and dries your tears.

"I'm so sorry." He mumbles. Sorry that he didn't notice sooner and sorry you've been carrying this for so long.

"Are you mad?" You ask quietly.

"No, of course not." Logan presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Listen honey, this isn't healthy." He knows that you know that but its not as easy as just a flip of a switch to change habits that had been built for years.

"I'm going to be with you every step of the way alright?" He says, tilting your head up so you can look him in the eyes. He wants you to know that he truly means every word.

"Okay," Logan pulls you into a tight hug, whispering sweet words over and over. He wishes he could take all your pain away in an instant. He'd bear it for you without even asking, but he can't.

But he stays true to his promise. Logan is there when you need him, to remind you to eat and taking it upon himself to make meals for you and with you. Some days were harder than others but Logan carried the weight you couldn't.

Things still aren't easy, but with Logan by your side you think you might be able to do anything.