#and I feel like my flesh is trying to leave my bones

[magicwithered]

Pairing: Remmick/Reader

Summary: He’s no wolf, and you are no Little Red Riding Hood.

WC: 8.6k | ao3

There’s a white man walking behind you. He’s always there in the dark when you make your way back from Annie’s house, but you often choose not to say anything. The ancestors crowd your mind with their fussing and grumbling as you follow the dirt path back to your cottage. The catfish she packed you rustling in the warm Mississippi night. You see him from the corner of your eye and an auntie snaps in your head to look straight ahead. 

Keep your eye on the path, babeh. Don’t go lookin’ at that devil, she grumbles and your head aches with the warning. You wonder if Annie has to deal with this shit. You wonder how her connection manifests, because hearing them voices, often layered on top of each other, is not fun.

Still, you listen to them because they have always protected you. Even back when you had to run from them white men burning down your house. Even when you had to listen to the wail of your mother as the Klan burned their cross into your lawn. Way back when your daddy belted you so good you couldn’t walk for days and he got so sick he couldn’t go out and pick cotton for his work. They been keeping you safe, and they will continue to keep you safe until your last breath, whenever that was.

But that man, you can’t help but think about. Something about him tugging your awareness like a string you can’t snap. The leaves rustle for a moment and then–

Step, step, step.

Footsteps following yours, echoing exactly on time with the press of your feet in the dirt road. He’s not a second late, not delayed, matched so that it sounds like one. 

Don’t turn around.

“Excuse me, miss,” he calls behind you and you don’t quicken your pace but you don’t turn. Somebody somewhere, crowded in there, tells you to keep walking. You do.

“‘Scuse me,” he says again and you take a sharp breath in, blinking at the dark path before you. Some time to go before you get to your cottage. “I just need a place to stay.”

Something chills in your bones, makes you feel like rot is unfurling under your skin. Death.

If you keep ignoring that white man he gon’ kill ya, girl.

Shut the hell up, Jimmy. If she talk to da man she gon’ die, too.

I done tol’ you about speakin’ to me that way woman!

Your eyes roll to the sky, as each voice stacks itself on top of the other. Pounding in the right side of your temple causes you to squint as the man steps closer. Silence. 

Complete and utter silence. You’ve never felt such bliss before and you turn before you can stop yourself. 

“Lis’en,” you clear your throat looking at the man. Pale skin, pale eyes and tall. Taller than you, definitely not taller than Cornbread, but tall enough. Decay. Flies feasting on a corpse, maggots twisting under flesh, fire and screams. Laughter, but none of which is in pure joy. No, that ain’t right. It is in joy. Joy of the carnage, joy of the pain, but not the pure lighthearted joy of having fun. Joy of chaos. 

There’s a trail of blood against wooden floors, women kicking and screaming, men laughing as something screams itself hoarse trying to fight. You blink, stumbling back as the man catches you between two strong arms. The sweat sliding down your smooth skin is not from the heat this time, it’s from the vision. 

“There’s an Inn down the road wit’ folks that look jus’ like you.” The man looks at you, eyebrow cocked up as you continue to talk whilst orienting yourself. “Reckon they’ll let you in jus’ fine.” A pause. “Sir.”

He chuckles, resisting for a moment as you try to pull away. Biceps bulge for a moment, locking you in the cage of his body. 

“Don’t need to call me, sir, miss. Names Remmick.” 

The world around you is dancing, spiraling, twisting, screaming—

God, all those screams, pistols and children crying. The grunts of depraved men over sobbing and despondent women and children, men and boys fallen to the ground, blank eyes staring at the sky. Villages burning, pillaging—

You leave my granddaughter alone, devil.

The breath slams out of you, back hitting the dirt as the man stumbles away from you. You roll to a stop, elbow slamming into the ground with a soft thump and you look at the man for one, two, three seconds before, fast as you could, stagger to your feet and run. 

You should never turn your back on danger, especially when that danger is a white man, it’s something you know well. But it can’t be helped, you can’t run to your cottage backwards, and you need to be in the sanctity of your home. If he’s followed you, you wouldn’t know, tumbling into the door, slamming into the wood as your feet pass the threshold and your heart hammers in your chest. 

The sun feels like a warm balm to a freezing winter. Shoulders tucked into your chin, you hip check the door of Annie’s house, tipping your head to the grave marker in a polite hello as the woman hisses something in annoyance. 

“Stop bangin on my door,” she grumbles, cuffing the back of your head in affection and you duck, swiping the cornbread she was plating, off the hot rack and shoving it into your mouth. Grin infectious, your laugh fills the air as she fusses over you as if she can’t stand you despite the gentle hand she places just atop your head.  

“Gotta let you know I’m here, Auntie.”

Quit irritating that lady.

Annie catches the slight twitch of your eyebrow and hums, waving the voices off with ease. Your shoulders lose their tension, and she places offerings on the alter and you sit. For the longest time she was the only one who had the power to slice through the throbbing in your brain and quiet the ancestors. 

“Eat up.” A pause as brown eyes narrow looking at you. “You gon’ need it.”

“I ate,” you say with a smile, grabbing a piece of bacon and Annie tips her head to the side just as a group of children giggle their way into her house. “You got e’rythin? I gotta stop at Bo’s anyways.”

She nods as the kids give her their play money. It’s cute, a childs’ doodle on a fake bill. You crouch for a second as Suzy looks up at you, gently thumbing the spot between her shoulders. The skin there is hot, a blazing fire from an unneeded palm strike, bruised under cotton and dark skin and you scowl. Her smile is bright despite the bruise, the pain she seems to endure with childlike wonder and you hum softly under your breath, catching Annie’s gaze with severity. 

“Hey, lil Suzy,” you mumble, reaching up to grab the salve and rub it into her pained skin. She makes a soft sound of discomfort before relaxing in the gentleness of your hands. 

Oughta kill her damn daddy. Put his body same place ‘Lijah put his.

You sigh, looking up at the roof. Uncle Jimmy.

Knock that fool down that dirt road. 

Uncle Jimmy, you think again and the old man’s grumbles die down. There’s a bloom of appreciation as you take care of his granddaughter, soothing her aches and pains. “You still the best at Hide n’ Seek?”

Suzy gasps at the audacity of the question, pointing at her chest in pride. “‘Course I am! Daddy couldn’t find me ‘til mama called fa me two days later.”

You nod, smoothing the hairs in her face down and kiss her forehead. “Make it three an’ ‘ll get you one of ‘em candies from Bo’s.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Annie’s soft gaze burns between your back and you stand up, lightly pushing Suzy out the door with you. 

“‘Fore you go,” Annie calls out, and you turn, “‘rythin alright?” She gestures to the space around your head and for a second you’re reminded of the white man, Remmick, whose proximity silenced the connection for a moment as the folks up there quiet down. 

“They jus’ loud today,” you say after a moment of silence. It doesn’t soothe whatever she’s reading in you, but she nods letting you leave for the errands that help her get by being so far from the town. “‘Ll be back.”

This is the part you hate the most, the walking. You can’t buy a car, and you would rather rip your own tongue out than ask any of them boys near the church to help. It would help, of course, but it would cause a fuss. Rumours get around this town fast, and you would rather not have anyone thinking they’re a prospect for marriage when you’re not ready. Not that it stops the folks around here, gossipping about how you’re getting too old to still be single, and you know your days are numbered until someone stumbles on your cottage and makes it a problem.

The problem was that you shouldn’t have anything to your name unmarried, but you make due. You make it work, and the women who do know about it keep it mum. They keep your land and cottage a secret and you help them out. It was mutually beneficial until you marry (whenever that was). 

But the walk to the town is always the hardest, especially under the hot sun. The sweltering heat causing your clothes to cling to you until you finally get to some shade. You do your best to avoid any place that any white folks frequent, taking the path least worn until you hear the sound of your name being called by one of the church girls. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” Cassandra says, linking your arms together, “I aint seen you since I last seen you.” Discreetly you pass her the vile sitting in her your basket, lips twisted in amusement as she slips it in her glove. “What you doin’ in town today?”

“Goin to Bo’s,” you say slyly, eyebrows raised as the woman next to you wiggles her eyebrows, giving you the coin that was promised. 

“Now you know that Grace is a jealous lady,” she giggles as your hand snaps out, skin meeting skin in the humid air. 

“You keep joking like that and ion think Grace gon’ let you in Bo’s no more.”

Cassandra rolls her eyes, stepping in front of you to twist and twirl for a moment. Her dark skin catches the sharp glint of the mid-morning sun, glistening with a hint of sweat. She was a beautiful girl, and she knew it. Knew it so well she was keeping her husband from getting a child. That, and the fact that she was having an affair with his best friend(s) behind his back. Not that you cared, judgment was what the ancestors did. It was all they did in the afterlife, they were probably bored out their mind dead now. 

“Hush now. Even Grace can’t resist this.” Her hand slaps against her waist and you laugh, jogging to catch up to her. Shoulders bump into each other and she coyly waves at one of the many men eyeing her from their spot and they stumble over themselves to wave back. 

Something nudges your brain and you can feel–

Please don’t start, you think just as her grandmother goes to say something. You can feel the spirit still gearing up to say something before waving her hand and settling down. Thank you, Grandma. 

Don’t thank me when she die, she says, Girl ain’t got a lick o’ sense.

The bell chimes as you walk into Bo’s, Cassandra leaning enticingly against the counter as Grace’s eyes glance down to look at your friend. 

“Whatchu doin’ here, ‘Sandra.”

“Oh Grace, don’t start,” Cassandra says, waving the woman off. You’d think the two hated each other if not for the way they both lean in whenever the other was in proximity. The three of them had something odd going on, but you weren’t gonna pry, lest you be traumatized. 

“Bo!”

“I’ll be damned,” the asian man says, walking from the back of the store. He swings the long way, pressing a kiss to his wifes’ forehead, a hand brushing against Cassandra’s hand before enveloping you in a hot hug. Someone murmurs something you can’t translate in your head and you ignore it. “Ain’t seen you in a while, Hummingbird.”

“Too damn hot for all this huggin’” you say, despite not pulling away. 

“Then come by more.”

You wave him off, procuring something for Grace to give to Lisa, and then, with a huff, you lean in. “Just outta curiosity–” your fingers press against the tab of flour and yeast– “any weird white men come by las’ night?”

“Honey, weird white men come by all the time,” Grace says, rolling her eyes. But you know she’s not talking about your weird white man. If she was, she wouldn’t be so blase about it. He was unnerving, something that sent your hair straight. Grace looks across the street and tucks the gift for Lisa in her apron. “I gotta head back.” She looks at you for a moment, taking in your stance and nods to herself. “I’ll keep an eye out for any weird white men, kay?”

“Thank you.”

Cassandra can’t follow Grace to the other store, even if it’s obvious she wants to. The two share a look before your friend sighs loudly, grabbing the flour you’d been eyeing and placing it on the counter. 

“Need anythan else, Humminbird?” She knows what you pick up better than anyone else, she so often accompanies you to the shop when you make your way to the town. 

“Seeds,” you say absentminded, staring out the back window for a moment. Something felt off, like you were being watched, and you catch the sound of a spirit, something angry and vitriolic. Something spitting mad at the presence of so many colored folks walking about, and you duck between stocks, grabbing Cassandra’s arm. 

“What the he–”

Bo sees what you see a few seconds later, watching a few of the other black people in the crowd slowly start to congregate to the other side of the walkway, far from the man seemingly uninterested in the chaos he was causing by his presence alone. It didn’t matter how much the white folks liked to pretend, you knew a klan member from looks alone. So, it was obvious, did the rest of the folks as Hogwood rolls into town. He likes to pretend he’s some benevolent guy. Easy going and happy to be there. But his hatred for your people was told by the twitch in his eye and the pull of his lips. 

Too many men and women had been lost to Hogwood to risk getting on his bad side. On the drop of a dime he might accuse someone of something, the poor men getting dragged into the sheriff's office only to be forced out in the blazing sun and work for whoever used to own them or their parents. 

Not everyone made it back when their time was up. 

When it’s safe enough Bo waves your coin off. 

“Pay me back by comin’ over more often!” 

You’d cuss him clean out if you weren’t so fond of the family, shaking your head and slapping 50 cents on his counter and running out the door. 

“I’ll visit more when I got more time!” You yell over your shoulder, eyeing the afternoon sun. The walk here took much of your time, and the walk back will call the sun to drift lower and lower to the horizon as you make your way back to Annie’s. 

It’ll be dark when you make your trek back to your small cottage, and you know what that will cause you. 

There’s a white man following you. Again. The moons waning light just barely lights the way, and you look up at the sky, starlight illuminating just enough that you do not have to worry about where you step. It doesn’t matter how many times Annie tells you to stay, how dangerous the dark can get, you simply must sleep in your own bed. His foot falls a half second after yours, and you know he’s doing so to alert you of his presence. He could walk quicker, but he won’t. You’re not sure if he’s doing this because he wants to scare you, but you know he’s aware you know his presence. 

“Ma’am?”

“Please don’t start with me today, sir,” you say with a sigh. Your footsteps don’t falter, even as his breath suddenly hits the back of your neck. 

“I told you,” he says, with a southern accent just south of normal, “call me Remmick.”

“Sir,” you say again, firmly, stopping suddenly and turning, “what do you want?” What do you want from me?

Remmick smiles, charming, off–

Death.

— “Just looking for a place to stay.”

“Still?” You gesture, taking a big step back. “I tol’ you. There’s a Inn down the way, wit’ folks jus’ like you.”

He blinks once, twice, three times before laughing. “I don’t want folks who look like me.” I want you.

“Can’t help you with that.” A pause. “Bes’ get on your way.”

“Well at least let me walk you home.”

Deep breath, smooth and annoyed, turning your back to him. Dangerous, but protected. He cannot do anything to you. He walks so close you can feel his breath, the brush of his chest against your back. “I been seein you around. Live alone?”

You don’t answer him.

“Not safe for you out here by yourself, you know that right?”

You open your mouth before snapping it shut.

He huffs a laugh, amused at your silence. The ancestors are forced quiet for once, again in his presence, disconnecting you from them with his presence. Remmick mumbles something under his breath before gently grabbing your wrist. “Stubborn,” he says, turning you around to look up at him. He’s handsome enough, you can admit that. Not necessarily your cup of tea, but his danger is not yours, not for you to fear. His danger is something other, primordial for something, someone else. 

Your jaw works for a moment before: “What do you want, Remmick?”

He smiles. His teeth are long, you blink, short. You blink again. Blood on his mouth. Blink. Gone. “A place to stay,” he says and you shake your head. 

“I can’t help you there.” Silence. “Why are you following me?”

He tilts his head left, then right, bones cracking as he thinks. “You don’t want to help me? I thought your people were the helpful sort.”

A snort leaves you, and you shake your head. “Not to your kind.” You shake your head, clutching your basket tighter. “Not to a haint like you. No.”

He nods slowly, still smiling before shrugging. “Worth a try.”

Your steps echo as the two of you approach your house from the trees, pushing past the foliage that hides it away from view. “How many have you tricked?” You nod towards him, eyebrow raised. “Me or mine wouldn’t help you.”

Remmick stands at eye level with you now that you are on your porch and he chuckles softly. “Enough.” Blue eyes look past you to the door that keeps your home safe and then back at you. “You gonna let me in?”

“You gonna go up the way?” No. But he knew that already. “Why are you following me, white man?”

“I can’t follow a pretty girl now?” He looks aghast, shocked in a way you can tell is comical. He’s charming when he wants to be, but you see right through him. Maybe that’s why you’re even entertaining this conversation. He doesn’t let you say anything, instead he takes a step on the lowest stair so he’s back to being taller than you. Blue eyes look up at the ceiling of your porch, painted a soft blue and he takes another step, forcing you back until your back is to the door and he is under the soft protective blue of your ceiling. “Haven’t been drawn to something like this before.” 

His head dips to the side, breath skimming the skin of your neck as he inhales. “I can smell the power on you.” Hands grip the fabric of his shirt, pushing him away suddenly and you stumble back, opening your door and falling in. The wooden floor hurts you when you hit it, but you slam the door shut, chest heaving, head resting against the door as you try to breathe through the sudden fear. The door jostles as Remmick, too, sits against it. “I’ll be out here,” he calls through the door, “until you let me in.”

Do not let that devil in, your grandmother says in your head, a crack of pain splitting down your temple just as Remmick says, “All that power in such a fragile body. Let me help you.”

When you next see Annie she’s frowning at you, and you look around to see what seemed to be pissing her off. “Annie?”

She makes a sound under her breath, walking over to you. Her hands press against your shoulders gently and you withhold a flinch before she remembers and slides them down to hold your bicep. “Somethin’s off witchu.” She squints, waving a hand in the air around your head. “Com’ere.”

“Annie,” you sigh and she raises an eyebrow that makes you chuckle awkwardly, “Okay.”

“Jus’ wanna check on you, babeh,” she says, pulling some fabric out and pushing you to the seat with her spices. “Gonna make you a mojo bag.”

“Annie, I don’t need a mojo ba–” A rough palm covers your mouth, something sweet on her face as she continues to grab the rest of the ingredients she needed. 

“Hush, Hummin’bird.”

She makes you a mojo bag, and you know that you will wear it everyday until the day you die.

Remmick walks you home at night, sits on your porch, rocking in your rocking chair from then on. He’s annoying, but it feels good to have a break. Annie has to wave the elders away, she has to coax them away with sheer stubbornness and determination. But Remmick doesn’t have to. His proximity is enough to muffle the connection, and selfish as it is, you relish in it. You find comfort in the silence after being battered with it all. 

It would be smarter to sit behind the threshold of your doorway, and sometimes when Remmick is eyeing your neck a little too long, and a little too hungry, you do. But most of the time, you sit right next to him, listening to the crickets rub their wings together and the ebb and flow of the fireflies illuminating the night sky. It’s something you enjoy, even when you can feel your grandmother's sharp disappointment when he leaves before dawn and you hate that you can’t help it. Remmick is charming, even if his charm is carefully crafted. 

“Stop starin’,” you mutter, swatting at the man as he grins. 

“Can’t help it,” he says, wiping the drool off his chin when you roll your eyes. “You are delectable, you know that?” A snap hits the air as he cracks his neck. “Pretty thing.”

Full lips curl into a grimace and you shake your head. “Don’t call me that, Remmick. I ain’t food.”

He nods to himself before shrugging. “No.” A pause and he leans in and takes a deep breath. If it was any other man, you would have hit him in the face. You would have flinched away and threatened him with the switch Annie had given you when you were 14 and had cried in her arms about a mean old man who tried to touch you weirdly. But he’s not any man, he’s Remmick. That shouldn’t mean much but it means a lot to you. It means a lot of silence when he’s around. It’s something pulling you to him despite all the common sense in your body telling you not to. “No you’re not food. You’re somethin special.”

“Is that what you say to all your victims? They special?”

“Don’t much talk to my victims,” he says easily, “but.” Another inhale as he seems to vibrate around you, a maw of a predator watching and waiting for the right time to pounce.

“So you want me to believe you don’t want to hurt me?” You turn to look up at him, resting your shoulder on the wood of your house, and Remmick makes no move to shift backwards. Instead, his chest brushes against your shoulder with each breath he takes. He lets out a huff of breath, something akin to a laugh and shakes his head, resting his hand on the jut of your hip. 

“Don’t wanna hurt you, pretty bird.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You want to kill me, my apologies.”

His lip curls in a snarl, nostrils flaring as he takes a step back. “No, I don’t want to kill you either.” Blue eyes trail down the length of your body as he thinks. “What I want will hurt, I will not lie. But my intention is not to hurt you.”

“Oh.” A pause. “I apologize. You don’ wanna hurt me, but you will.” Your eyes roll and you cross your arms. “Bullshit, Remmick.”

“You and I both know if it were not for this damn—” his fingers sizzle as he reaches for the mojo bag— “I would have already done what needs to be done. But that does not mean I want to hurt you. I would kill anyone who wants to hurt you.”

“Remmick–”

“Anyone,” he repeats sternly, gripping your wrists and bringing it close to his mouth. Lips press against your pulse, tongue sweeping out to lick the skin there. You pull your hand away, partially scandalized, heat rushing through your body as you do so. “When you’re ready, when you’re tired of all that power in your delicate body.” He does not finish his sentence, instead running his tongue along the points of his teeth as he stops hiding behind the facade of being human. 

You should take a step away but you don’t. You can’t find it in you to feel the fear you did when you’d first acknowledged him. Beyond that you can feel the fissures of disconnection thread themselves close, bonds frayed suddenly healing in your skin, between teeth and tongue, you can suddenly feel them once more, fighting to get to you despite Remmick’s presence. 

“You and I both know that ain’t the reason you can’t bite me,” you whisper into the night air. 

There’s a white man following you. But it’s not your white man. It’s too early for him to be walking about, and even if it wasn’t you can hear the slow growl of those who have hated you and yours. Complaints despite the man ignoring them. The man watches you from his vehicle, slowing it down as you make the pivot to walk to Annie’s instead of your home. 

Men like him, like that, are much more dangerous than most people give them credit for. They hate you, but they want you viscerally. They can’t stand the way their dicks harden as you walk past, can’t handle the sudden pressure in their chest and they make it your problem. Sometimes they make it your problem by antagonizing you. Sometimes…well, it’s a story you’re more than aware of. Pretty little mulatos born of a violence their mothers cannot say. Pretty children with eyes bright, and skin brighter from a man who does not take no for an answer. Does not think of those of you can tell them no. 

He follows you until you’re far enough from him and his to say something. 

“I can give you a ride, miss,” he calls out. Maybe the tone works on other women. Women who have skin paper white like him, loose hair and bright eyes. But even if you were one of them, you’re you. Who you are so intuned with the world around you can read behind the tone. Lust and entitlement coats his tongue. He will take it with or without your approval. “Getting late out.”

You hum a small thing, hiking the bag up as you glance at him. You keep him within your line of sight, not allowing a moment of unawareness. “Thank you, sir.” A smile, quick and fleeting. “But I’m all good. My momma not too far outchere.”

He parks the car in the middle of the path and hops out, feet pattering up to you with a slimy smile. “Well at least let me walk you home,” he says and you shake your head. 

“Thank you kindly, sir,” you say firmly, “but ‘s no need.”

His easy-going expression changes suddenly and he grabs your forearm, roughly pulling you towards him. 

“Now listen here, ni—“

You push him away, eyebrows raising up in surprise as he makes a soft sound when your palms hit his chest. He laughs, something low and mean, hand raising and slapping you just as quickly. It winds you, the flesh of your cheek stinging as you grip it. It’s not shock. It’s not not shock. Taken you off guard for sure, but not unexpected. From the corner of your eye, you watch as he deftly tugs the string of his pants to pull himself out. If you don’t move now you’ll be forced to live with something irreversible. The switch Annie had given you way back when is in your hand, your body on autopilot just as—

Kill him before he kills you, someone says it. Someone who doesn’t speak often, but one you know chose violence over chains every time. And make it hurt, hummingbird. 

You do, the knife stabbing into his shoulder as you rush him. He screams in pain and you bring your thumbs up, fingers digging into the hollows of his cheeks as words, those unknown to you, come spilling out of your mouth. It’s clarifying, suddenly, the path that you see before you. Webbing out in whites and blues as the spirits of his spiteful ancestors try to fight against it. 

A curse so violent, that it turns their souls to ash as it digs its way into his pores, his bones, his bloodline. It’s painful for him, though he probably thinks it’s from the knife wound, as it burns its way across lineages, latches on to cousins, uncles, unborn nieces and nephews. It connects to the wife he’s left at home and the family she has all the way in Alabama. It makes itself a home in their bloodstream, in the curl of their mouths, the flick of their wrists. A curse with no cure until the ancestors decide that enough is enough. 

Or you heal them. 

You know you never will. 

He screams and screams as you scramble off him, pulling the knife out of his shoulder with you. You want to run but instead, you grab the keys out of his car, tossing them in the dark foliage of the forest surrounding you. 

“Bitch! Bitch, I’ll fucking kill you!” He swears, snot and drool running down his face as he sobs in pain. You say nothing, taking off into the depth of the forest, making your way back to your house. 

You should go to Annie. You know this, but you don’t. The sun is almost fully set, and Remmick will look for you if you're not home. You two have a pattern, one neither of you are willing to break. And you hate to say it, because Annie is the only safety you’ve ever known, but you need to see him. 

You need it. 

You don’t need that white devil, your grandmother says and you stumble into your house with a sob. Go to Annie’s. Go to Annie’s and be with your—

“Will you fuckin stop?” You cry, clutching your hair, frizzy and falling out of its style from the heat of the day. “I know, okay? I know. But I.” You clutch your hand close to your chest as if it could stop the panic. “I can’t. I can’t, I c—“

You hear your name from the door. You forgot to close it when you made it through and Remmick stands there all happy like until he sees the swell of your cheek. He forgets himself, trying to walk over the threshold, hitting an invisible barrier that keeps him from doing so. 

There is no fanfare, no asking. He looks at you and any trace of humanity, the one he so often likes to pretend he has if not to keep from scaring you, leaves him completely. 

“Let me in.”

You shake your head, taking a step back as your chest shakes from the force of your tears and fear. “I-I can’t, Remmick. You know that.”

He rests his forehead against the barrier keeping him out, staring at you. Something grim and violent under all of it. It reminds you of some weeks ago, back when he’d asked you for an invite with all the joy of a man who knew he would have to work for it. 

“You gon’ let me in?”

You shake your head with a laugh. He shouldn’t be entertaining, truly. He’s all charm and wit, and you shouldn’t be fond of him. This white haint who can’t seem to take no for an answer, but also walks you home every night. Who walks around the perimeter of your house just before dawn and seems to clear any evidence of a path to your front door. 

“You gon’ stop tryna turn me?”

He looks at you with fake surprise, but you both know the answer is no. You don’t fault him. Remmick is, despite the role he’s taken up, is exactly who you understand him to be. He can trick many, but you’ve never been any of the others, simply by way of your connection to the other side. Simply by way of what you were raised in. 

You rub the palm of your hands against the cotton of your skirt as you stand up, eyeing the night sky. It was getting late and you had a busy day tomorrow. You’d promised Annie to help her with the farm animals. You thank the gods every day you didn’t have to think about being a sharecropper, you’re not sure you’d survive it. Not really. Not with all that you already have to contend with, a connection to the other side that disables you on some days. 

“Tell ya what, Remmick,” you say, stepping away from him, “you stop speakin in that fake accent an’ ‘ll give you the invitation.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes as he stares at you. Whatever emotion that sits on his face is a new one you’ve encountered and you pocket the thought for another day as he smiles, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, so unlike the others he gives you. “Don’ know what you talkin’ ‘bout.”

You nod and step past the threshold. “Then there is no invite.” The door closes decisively as you lay on your cot for the night. 

“Let me in.” He’s looking at you, red eyes wide and pleading. “Let me in, Pretty Bird.” 

It’s not what he says that makes you cave. It’s the way he says it. Gone is the southern accent he’s put on since he first started talking to you all those months ago. It changes, rolls his r, dances over the letters in a way you’ve never encountered before. It’s something new. Something real. And you made a promise. 

Eyes lock as you take in a sharp breath, blinking once in apprehension before you say it. “Come in, Remmick.”

He raises across the entryway, the thick of his hand wrapping delicately around your waist as the other grabs hold of your chin. He tips your head this way and that, silence settling in the air around you. A piece of you knows it was always going to be like this. He was always going to make his way into your sanctuary. The moment you started thinking of home as him. The moment you started associating your house with him, you knew it was a matter of time. But you’re happy it’s this. Not the circumstances, his thumb brushing against the heated flesh of your cheek as the look on his face gets more and more angry. As his anger turns to hunger, to rage, to something all consuming you know he will do what needs to be done. No, your happiness has no rhyme and reason, it’s just the slump of your shoulders as he takes on your weight. The knowledge that he is…sturdy. 

His teeth elongate and he buries fingers into the thick of your curls, pressing your foreheads together. “You’re okay?”

You make a sound, the answer eluding you as well. “‘Ll be okay,” you correct softly and he nods. 

“And this?” Remmick touches your fingers, the blood on your dress and you shake your head. 

“His.” 

He lets out a sigh of relief, lifting you up and placing you on your cot. He presses a kiss to the curve of your wrist, then your shoulder, then, delicately, brushes his lips across your swollen cheek before standing up. “I’ll be back,” he murmurs, looking at you. He takes a couple of steps before you reach out and grab his hand. 

“Remmick, I cursed him,” you say, “‘s fine.” You did more than just curse him, but the words are…jumbled. Confusing as you let the truth of it sink into your body. You didn’t just curse him, you cursed everything connected to him. Everything that shares the same blood that runs through his veins and then some. 

It looks like it’s enough to stop him, he hesitates, fighting between wanting to stay and leaving. But it’s not enough. Remmick’s entire being was created by a deep violence that you have no knowledge of. One that he is sure you can comprehend and empathize with. One he does not want to sully the safety of your home, the privilege you have given him to walk through those doors. 

Besides, he made a promise after all. 

—

He comes back with blood covering the front of his shirt. He does not ask for you to wake, though you do the moment your dream suddenly cuts off. You wake suddenly, with a gasp as Remmick sits against the far wall watching you. He shushes you, walking towards you within silence. 

“Remmick.”

“Hush, pretty bird,” he mumbles, sinking his clean hand into the plush of your skin. “I’m here.” He hums a soft tune, something soothing and gentle. 

“You’re covered in blood,” you grumble, body slumping down, “clean yourself.”

He laughs, gently massaging your muscles. “They put up a fight.”

“They?” You blink at him, bleary eyed and confused and Remmick pushes you down to lay on the bed. 

“Go to sleep, pretty bird.”

“‘F I sleep, you’ll be gone.”

It’s quiet for a second as he looks at the way your cottage is built. Windows that will shine light all the way to the far side, except for the corner he had found himself sitting in watching you sleep. “Nawl, pretty bird,” he says softly, the fake southern drawl back in his words, “‘ll stay the night. Shower and stay the night.”

He makes good on that promise. 

Some nights he stays and presses you against the wall, pressing lips and teeth against your throat. Only when his intention changes does the mojo bag keep him from going any further. Every time his teeth elongate and push to press into the skin of your neck, he hisses with an annoyance. 

He takes it out on the skin of your thighs, pressing tongue and teeth into the plushness of your skin. He sucks hickeys into them, covered by your clothes during the day. There’s a thrill in your blood when you remember it, when you brush your thighs together as wives and night women alike find you for help. A piece of you thinks it’s crazy that you’ve let a white man, a haint, no less, cause your blood to rush the way it does in your veins. When Annie sees you she squints, trying to figure out what changed in the months since she’d given you the mojo bag. 

Your ancestors are angry. 

Angry at his proximity, angry at the permissions you’ve given him to your body. Angry that you would betray them like you are. Your guilt ails you, their ire hurts you. Hands pressed together as you ask for forgiveness time and time again. Your knees bruise as you kneel against the floor, forehead pressing against the fabric of your bed.

You would let a white devil touch you? After the things he’s do—

Tch. When he hurts you don’t ask us to—

A haint! A slaver probably! After everything those people have done!

You moan in pain, body curling as they batter your brain. It feels like it’s seeping out of your ears, blood dripping out of your nose. Your grandmother won’t even talk to you, her disappointment clear through the bond. Ironically enough, it’s Jimmy who comes to your defense when they batter your body to the hells and back.

Leave the damn girl alone, Mabel! God damn! If you could see him you’re sure he’d be waving the woman off. Something gentle blankets your soul and he makes a sound. Now I ain’t sayin give him no pass. But you saw what he did, now! Took care of our baby girl afta that man tried t-ta take advantage. Ripped that whole town apart. Leave the girl alone.

It’s not Remmick, but Annie who finds you in pain. She scoops you up, pressing your head against her sternum and mumbles something softly, rocking you as the pain crescendos and unfolds. 

“Hummin’bird,” she murmurs, calloused hand gently sweeping sweat stained curls closer to your scalp. 

“Hurts,” you whine, trying to bury closer to her. It reminds you of when you were a child, after running from the Klan, after they burned your home to the ground and killed your parents. It reminds you of when she found you, told you she knew you were coming, that she had a dream and that she was going back up to Mississippi. She told you that she’d take care of you, this woman who only seemed to be about a decade older than you at the time, just barely hitting 17 to your 8. 

“Ya been cursed,” she says softly, “by a haint.” A soft tsk, non-judgmental, sweet in the way she soothes you. “That’s what you been hiding, hm?”

You say nothing, squeezing your eyes shut as she pats the blood of the nostril of your nose. 

“Hummin’bird.” This time, she says it firmly, grabbing both your cheeks and making you look at her. “You been hiding a haint?”

Your mouth screws up and you look away. “He’s nice.”

“A haint is a h–”

“I know,” you cut her off, coughing, “I know. But he helped me. Hurt the man who hurt me.” Your face crumples as you say it, lips curling into a quiet sob. “They’re so angry at me.”

Annie hushes you, sliding in the bed beside  you, despite it being much too small for the both of you comfortably. “Oh Hummin’bird,” she murmurs. It’s comforting. She says nothing much after that. She doesn’t offer platitudes or sweet nothings. But she does offer sweet silence and no judgement despite her being within her right. You sleep to it. Right through the day and night.

Annie offers only understanding. 

(And a prayer for your safety.)

Remmick does not like that you won’t take his offer to turn. He hardly respects it, but he can do nothing about it. You know this by the curve of his lips as he looks at you many nights later. He says nothing, though, despite his clear disapproval.

“Hummingbird,” he says after moments of silence and your head snaps to his, neck cracking from the force in it. “That’s what they call you.”

“H-how did you—?”

His face goes through a series of expressions before settling on one. Something a mixture between despair and anger. You can’t get a read on the rest of his face even with it. 

“Was here the other night,” he says, sitting on the floor by your bed. Your hand reflexively tangles in his hair, and he rests his arm against the bend of his knee. “When they were hurtin’ you.” 

A pregnant pause. 

“They’re killin’ you, y’know?” This time, he turns, lifting to bracket his arms around you on the bed. “That power you got there. ‘S too much. You should just—”

“Remmick,” you cut him off and he hisses, ripping himself away from you to pace around your cottage.

“I know,” he snaps, scrubbing his face, “I know you don’t want it. But what am I to do? Hm? Watch ‘em kill you? Watch you perish?” He’s back over you, bringing your hand to his mouth, pressing gentle kisses to your knuckles. “You want me to be okay with it?”

You sigh, reaching up to press your hand against his cheek. “I don’t want you to be anythin’ but who you are, silly haint,” you grumble, bringing him down to meet you. “I like you. But I don’t want forever. I got people who want to see me. People I ain’t seen since I was a child.” You shake your head. “No matta how angry they are, I got family. Ion want that curse you got. Got it?”

He doesn’t answer, kissing you instead. His lips trail down, lower and lower. His continued muttering of “fine, fine.” Soft fingers, calloused but well kept, push your dress up, bunching it around your waist. 

“Remmick.”

“Lemme taste ya, at least,” he grumbles, “so when ya gone I always have the memory.” 

“Jesus Chr—”

In the middle of the night, Remmick left you with a kiss on the forehead and a promise to return. Eventually. 

“Got some things I need to take care of,” he mumbles in his native accent in your ear. Whatever he’s got to take care of, you don’t want to know. You swat him away, grumbling as you bury your face into the pillow and fall back asleep. Something buzzers under your skin when you wake for the day. The hot Mississippi heat, even this far into the year, pooling the sweat on your skin. 

You make your usual rounds when you hear it, a voice you haven’t in seven years. He’s in a blue hat, coming out of Annie’s shop with a shaky hand. You rest your hand on your waist and tip your head to the side. “This here Smoke?” Your head tips to the other side. “Or Stack.” 

The man before you sighs and it echoes the sigh in your head. Leave that man alone, babeh, your grandmother says. The first words she’s said to you in weeks. 

“Smoke it is, then,” you say with a smile. Smoke looks older than his days, eyebrows raised as a baby’s laugh echoes in the air. 

“How you know that?” He flicks the cigarette into the ground, stomping it out and Annie shuts the curtain to her shop. 

“Grandma gets happy when she hears you,” you say, “what you doin’ here? Thought you was in Chicago.” He nods slowly, walking over to you with measured steps.

“Well, I’m here now, ain’t I?”

“Why?”

He stands in front of you, towering as he always has. A symbol of strength, an immovable object in the face of the heaviness of the world. “Girl c’mere and gimme a hug ‘fore you start interrogatin’ me.”

You do, wrapping your arms around him and sighing. “Missed you.”

He’s quiet and the baby laughs once  more. “She missed you, too.” You don’t specify who the she is, but he gets it nonetheless. He sighs, deeply, pulling your face up to check for injuries and tsks. 

“Miss you, too, Hummin’bird.”

Smoke doesn’t smile. Not often. You can name on one hand how many times he has. But the look on his face is as close to one as you know he’ll get without prompting. “Annie told me you got a cottage now. ‘S not safe.”

“It’s never safe,” you wave it away, “but ‘m an adult. Been one for the last seven years. Now, where Stack stupid ass at?”

Smoke shakes his head as Annie comes out the shop. “Porlly botherin’ somebody. Hummin’bird, need you to watch the shop for the night.”

“Watch the shop? I was gonna–”

Annie levels you a serious look and you stop. “The twin’s opening a juke. Want me to cook catfish. Ion like leaving the shop that long.” She hands you the key and kisses your head. 

“So I ain’t invited?” You say as Smoke opens the door for her and she waves a hand out. 

“You want that headache. Hummin’bird?” Her words are said amused, and she half leans out the window. “‘Cause if you want it…”

She got you there. Though Smoke makes a face. It don’t matter how long it’s been, he’s never liked witnessing you in pain or around the wrong type. 

“‘S no place for you anyways. ‘S full of sin.”

“Now I’m 25, not 5, Smoke.” You wave a hand out and shake your head to look at Annie. “‘Ll watch the shop. Yall better be back by the morn’, ya hear?”

Something feels wrong as you say it. Something feels final when you wave them goodbye. It’s not until dead in the night you’ll know what it is. It’s not until Stack and Mary that you wished you would’ve gone with them. Maybe then you could’ve made a difference.

[rafeysvenicebitch]

TV in Black & White

summary: When a man stalks you at the store and try’s something, Rafe defends you with brutal force, and gets arrested for it. Now he’s behind bars again, and you’re back to prison visits with your baby girl in your arms. The world is black and white without him… but your love refuses to fade.

cw: creepy guy, Rafe beats him up(yay!!)

You knew something was wrong the moment that man looked at you — not like a stranger, but like he knew you. Like he had every right to follow you down the frozen food aisle, say your daughter looked like his, smile like this was some twisted reunion.

You picked her out of the cart, held her to your chest, and turned your back.

He followed anyway.

“You gonna introduce me to my little girl?” he said, trailing you straight through checkout. “Don’t be like that, baby. You always did run hot. Hey, I can help load the car—”

You screamed his name.

“RAFE!”

You didn’t see Rafe run out of the corner store. Didn’t see the rage bloom. Only heard the crash — a wooden bat splintering against bone, metal, flesh. Heard Rafe scream, “STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY FAMILY, YOU SICK FUCK!” over and over again while people yelled and your daughter cried in your arms.

They arrested him covered in blood.

The guy lived. Barely. Enough to press charges.

Now it’s back to prison bars and scheduled visits. A glass wall between you and the only man who’s ever made you feel like more than a good girl gone wrong.

You dress your baby girl in pink, tie her hair up with a ribbon, and drive out to the facility with a stitched Bible tucked in your purse, you bring Rafe some lemon bars and warm mac and cheese for while you visit. You hand over your ID and wait for the buzzer. The second you walk in, he’s already there.

Rafe sits behind the glass, bruises healing, hand pressed flat to the barrier like he could still touch you.

You place your daughter’s tiny palm against his. She gurgles. Reaches for the receiver. You hold it to her ear.

“Say hi to Daddy,” you whisper.

He watches you like a dying man — like you’re the only color in a black-and-white world.

You don’t say much. Don’t need to. Just hold your daughter, whisper how much you miss him, how you’re proud of him for protecting you, how you’ll wait as long as it takes.

He finally speaks, voice cracked and low.

“If you get lonely… think of me only. Prison ain’t gonna keep me from you.”

You smile through the tears, remembering that day on the beach, how he carried you into the surf until the waves turned blue and your sins washed off like sand.

When you leave, your daughter kisses the glass. Rafe touches his heart.

And you swear, no matter what the judge says — this is still your family.

Because living without him is like TV in black and white.

And your world?

It’s always been colored by him.

Tagging Moots: @memoirofasparklemuff1n @rafesbabygirlx @ilovefiction4lmen @strawberries-and-lots-of-kisses @cameronsbabydoll @harkovsangel @drtyelvisfantasy @supasolaa

[thehoneybeestings]

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩!𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞’𝐬

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Word Count: approx. 640 Content/Warnings: nsfw, porn w no/little plot, brothel worker!reader x service top!sev, bottom!reader, oral (sev & r receiving) strap (r receiving), pillow humping, reader has female anatomy, reader referred to as girl, doll, like 75% of afabs can't cum from penetration alone so this is for us A/N: OKAY okay since everyone is asking (no one asked girl), i guess i'll give you guys some service top!vika x brothel worker!reader while we wait for the kassandra poll results. since everyyyone is asking. service top!sevika holy fuck save me. enjoy!

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who frequents the brothel to blow off steam in a way that has the girls fighting over who gets her for the night

୨ৎ You've only been working at Babette's for a month now, so you're not really sure what the hype is all about…

୨ৎ Until, she comes in one evening and everyone else is already with a client, leaving you to take care of her

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who walks into your room through the beaded curtain that's twinkling like the grey eyes traveling up and down your figure

୨ৎ “You new?” She asks, unbuttoning her cloak to reveal a beautiful arm of bronze

୨ৎ Beautiful, but intimidating; this is made clear by the wide eyes you sport when responding with a hesitant, “Y-yes…”

୨ৎ She takes note of your weariness and makes quick work of easing your worries 

୨ৎ “Not gonna hurt ya;” she states, throwing her cloak over the wingback chair next to the door, “not what i’m here for.” 

୨ৎ “What are you here for then?” You respond; this time, more confidently 

୨ৎ She strolls over to the bar cart, and you don't miss the smirk that appears on her face before her back is to you as she pours herself a glass of whiskey

୨ৎ “That depends on you.”

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who’s got you baffled, because it’s been a long time since someone asked you what you liked

୨ৎ She's got you sprawled out on the velvet couch, her head between your legs, only coming up for air to ask if you if “You want it faster?” “You want another one of my fingers?” “You're gonna cum for me, aren't you doll?”

୨ৎ No fucking shit you're gonna cum; this is the best head you've ever gotten

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who's got you on your knees in front of her, wetting her strap so it's nice and ready for you

୨ৎ You're quick to coax every inch into your mouth, eyes watering as you try your best to breathe through the jabs to the back of your throat 

୨ৎ But then, she's cupping your jaw with her flesh hand, pulling you off of its length

୨ৎ “Slow down, doll,” she soothes, “you're gonna hurt yourself.”

୨ৎ You'd sputter out an apology, explaining that you were only doing what your other clients liked

୨ৎ “Don't care what they like. Take your time; just need my strap wet enough to make you feel good.” 

୨ৎ Of course, you show your immense appreciation for her consideration by giving her head so good she swears she can feel it through the strap

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika whose got you babbling on her cock, completely drunk off of how good she's fucking you

୨ৎ She's got you in a prone bone, (because she asked what your favorite position to take strap in was) leaning down to tell you how good you're doing, how well you're taking her

୨ৎ “Can you cum like this?” She suddenly asks, slowing down 

୨ৎ “Not usually,” you pant, “need something on my clit.”

୨ৎ “Good. Want my mouth on you anyway.”

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who’s coaxing another orgasm from you, fingers massaging your walls, tongue drawing figure eights on your clit

୨ৎ Her arms are wrapped around your thighs, holding them down as you twitch and thrash with your release 

୨ৎ Only once you've ridden it out until you're reaching down to push her away does she crawl up to fall beside you on the pile of blankets, furs, and pillows 

୨ৎ Her breath is labored, eyebrows knit together, and her own thighs are twitching now 

୨ৎ “Your turn?” You ask breathlessly

୨ৎ She reaches down to grab a pillow before dropping it beside your head; and only upon seeing the dark patch on the pillow case do you realize that she'd gotten off grinding into it as she ate you out

୨ৎ “Already went. You wanna go again?”

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

୨ৎ Service Top!Sevika who is-naturally- your favorite client; and luckily for you, you're her favorite girl

──˚₊• 𝐄𝐍𝐃 •‧₊˚──

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

Spank me, Slap me, Choke me, Bite me

(Gojo, Geto, Toji, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna)

Gojo Satoru

As much as Gojo loved trying different sex positions. You always ended sex in missionary. He loves to have you stuck under him, not able to move because he’s pressing all his body weight onto you. He loves to watch your cute face as he’s deep inside you. He loves to hear all the sounds you make that bless his ears. He loves to caress your soft and silky skin, especially from your neck to your chest. He loves to bite. 

His hands travel down to grip your waist as he looks down at you with a smirk. Blue eyes sparkling with lust for you. “You look so good…” He buries his face in the crook of your neck. “And you smell so good…” 

“Toru…” you cry out. Your arms and legs wrapped around him, his hips snapping forwards as he sinks himself deeper into you, grazing your cervix with every single thrust. His tongue traces a path down to the top of your breast. “I’m almost there,” you utter into his ear. 

You suddenly feel sharp canines bite deep into your warm flesh. The pain and pleasure from your orgasm merge together deliciously as you come undone. A string of “I'm sorrys” and “I love you’s” leave Satoru’s lips like a chant as he fills you with his cum once again. The bite mark he left on your body to be forgotten until morning when you scold him even though you know he will do it again and again. 

Geto Suguru

Saying Geto loved your ass was an understatement. He worshipped it. Spanking your ass wasn’t anything new to him or you but his favorite time to do it was when he puts you in reverse cowgirl in front of a mirror. Making you watch as he fucks his hips into you tantalizingly, as he watches your face contort into the most fucked out expressions. One strong hand on your body for support and the other on the plump of your ass.

Smack

His hand lands on you with a delicious sting that sends a shockwave through your body causing you to let out a desperate whine. His body reacts to the sweet noises escaping your lips as he grabs your hips harshly, thrusting deeply into you. 

“You like that? Look at yourself, pretty girl.” he grunts, a free hand coming around your body to grope your tits. “You like when I spank you, don’t you baby? 

He never failed to turn you into a mess when you were on his cock. You could only give him a small nod before another heavy spank landed on the other cheek. His thrusts become more erratic as the hand from your tits falls down to your clit, rubbing as he keeps fucking you. 

“Cum for me princess…” 

Toji Fushiguro

Toji loved having you in a prone bone. He was able to feel the recoil of your ass against him as he slammed himself into you but still keeping the intimacy between you as he places soft kisses on your shoulder and praises you for how good you are taking his cock. He leans down to press his forehead against the back of your neck, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. 

“Fuck… this pussy feels so good,” Toji grunts as he keeps up the pace in his thrust, determined to make you cum. “You feel so fucking good around my cock.” 

Toji’s pace quickens as he feels you react to his words, your walls clenching tight around him. “Good girl,” he huffs with a deep rasp in his voice, his hand coming around to wrap around your neck. His hand tightens around your throat, restricting your airflow just enough to give you a rush of pleasure and help you reach your high. It took you a bit to realize he was choking you. 

“Such a good girl, can you cream around my cock f’me?” He teases you, knowing you can’t answer him but, oh did he know you would. His hips begin slamming into you with more force. As you feel your nth orgasm of the night build up inside you, Toji follows you over the edge. Thrusts slowing down into you as he spills his seed inside. Slowly he pulls out of you, once again placing soft kisses upon your body. 

Nanami Kento

Nanami liked when you would bring up new things to try in the bedroom. He lived to please you and if you liked something, he did too. So when you suggested he should spank you, he couldn’t deny you. Especially when you looked so pretty bent over his lap, in the prettiest lingerie and your ass all perked for him. 

“Are you sure about this?” He questions, running a hand over your ass. “What if I hurt you?”

“I’m so sure Ken… please,” you pout. 

“Okay” His hand comes up and lands softly on your ass. 

“Ken, like you mean-” 

Spank 

Before you can even finish your sentence. His hand lands harshly on your ass. So much harder than the first time, it shut you up real quick. “Like that, honey?” he asks you a hint of cockiness behind his voice. It took him a while to build the confidence to do it without you asking but, once he understood how much you loved it. He couldn’t stop and you didn’t want him to. 

Choso Kamo

If Choso could, he’d choose to die between your legs. The man loved your pussy. His pupils dilate at just the sight of you naked on his bed, spreading your legs open for him. Falling to his knees in front you, eyes like a predator hunting his prey, already salivating his meal. He gently gropes your thighs, his tongue begins lapping at your wet cunt. Desperates to taste every inch of it but, lately Choso had a knack for biting. 

It started off as innocent little nibbles to the side of your thighs but, soon enough his teeth grazed over your clit and he would slightly tug it. A sharp whine leaves your lips. 

“Did that hurt?” he coos. One look at that man and you could tell he was pussy drunk and you did not have it in your heart to tell him he couldn’t bite your clit. It didn't even hurt that bad anyways. Choso was always so gentle. 

“No baby… keep going” 

And he did. And he loves it. Decorating your thighs with bite marks, gnawing and pulling on your clit. He was so proud of himself for finding he could use his teeth to please you as well and your moans were only more encouraging for him. 

Sukuna

If Sukuna really wanted to hurt you, you’d be dead. You’ve seen how he tortures and kills other people with moving a muscle. So when Sukuna would slap you during sex you knew it was because he loved the way you made him feel. He didn’t know how to express himself any other way. And god, he loves that smirk you’d give him after he did slap you. 

“Yeah you like that brat?” He holds your chin in place so you can look at him, sharp nails digging into your skin as he allows your legs to come down from the mating press he had you in. 

Another slap lands on your face before he dips his head down to kiss you. His way of soothing the pain with pleasure.  He quickly picks up his pace again mercilessly fucking it you. He feels so good that tears start to build up around your eyes. 

“Such a curious little creature… you like when I slap you but then you cry?” Sukuna boasts as he punctates his words with rough thrusts. “N-no,” you whine. 

“Or is it because my cock makes you feel so good?” He whispers into your ear, his tongue lapping up the tear that threatened to fall down your face. It was about to be another long night. 

[dummy-daisy]

he uses his body to pin me down. his hands are all over me. fingers dig into my flesh, scratch my my skin, pinch my nipples. occasionally one slips into any of my holes, brutally invading, but leaving me empty seconds later. he's in no hurry, not even hard yet. he just enjoys hurting me and making me feel violated. he chuckles against my ear, one hand around my throat. “don't scream”, he whispers, “but crying is is fine. your tears and resistance turn me on.” i struggle to breathe, i struggle to get free. i don't scream because i am scared, but i don't cry either, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. he gropes my tits, i feel so used. i turn my head away as he starts kissing my neck, my shoulder, my collar bone. his lips are hot on my skin. his knees are forced between my legs, spreading them wide, exposing my wetness. i know he's gonna fuck me soon, i feel his cock hardening against my thigh. he pushes two finger into my ass, dry. i whimper in pain. he pulls his fingers out and forces them in my mouth next, making me taste myself. it's not even primarily about his sexual satisfaction. he just enjoys the humiliation. when his hard cock finally sinks into my pussy, i am almost glad, hoping it will soon be over. i am wrong, though. after just a few shallow thrusts, he pulls out again. i know what hole he's aiming to go for next, and i try to kick and fight and push him away. he slips his hardness past my resistance. for the first time since he started to use me, i scream. his fingers close around my neck, just like he told me. he laughs as he starts a rough pace. eventually i pass out, from the pain or the lack of oxygen i don't know. when i wake up again, he is gone. i feel fresh cum oozing out of my ass, and i reek of sweat and piss. my body is sticky and bruised. and yet, my pussy is wetter than ever.

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. ❞

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.8K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, (mdni), porn without plot, established relationship, lots of dirty talk, breast play, making out, biting, john walker’s praise kink, prone bone, unprotected p in v sex, creampie. sweet ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: yeah I’m not even sorry for being debauched anymore !! this is filth with a soft ending. this lowk got me biting my knuckles during the writing process so ,,, I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

Inky black paints the skies above the Watchtower, New York cityscape a canvas for thousands of stars. It’s a quiet night, a rarity that doesn’t seem to come very often, but you accept them whenever time allows.

Water trickles from the faucet in John’s bathroom, accompanied by the rhythmic noises of a toothbrush being scraped over teeth.

If it weren’t for trying to keep your relationship private for the sake of the team, you would’ve already relocated to his room. However, there’s still some thrill you get in sneaking over once it’s dark like a teenager.

Pinned beneath his sheets, you’re perfectly content to observe from your perch, gaze tracing over raw, sinewy muscle, over yellowing bruises.

He isn’t chiseled or godlike in the way that Bob is, but he’s real, physique attained from years of hard work, of pushing himself to the brink. Broad shoulders are smattered with light freckles, biceps flexing; you don’t stop staring.

John stopped wearing a shirt to bed, clad in a pair of plaid boxers that kissed the center of his thighs. He’s leaning over the sink, spitting a wad of arctic mint into the basin, washing it out with a swig of water.

The sight of this, of him bare and vulnerable, is inherently domestic, a life that you never envisioned for yourself. Something stirs within your belly, mere embers preparing to rage into flames.

His shirt hangs loose over your frame, still alive with his scent, a heady mixture of now-stale cologne and something husky.

When he turns, he catches your gaze with a lopsided smirk, cocking an eyebrow as you sheepishly turn away. You’ve been together for months, and you’re still acting a little bashful — he thinks it’s cute.

He used to convince himself that roughness was the only path forward — that being sharp, uneven like tilled earth, was how he needed to be. You’d convinced him otherwise, and he was grateful.

“You’re not subtle,” John echoes, switching off the bathroom lights before coming to join you in bed. He doesn’t crawl beneath the sheets, hands seizing your hips. “C’mere.”

“John!” You gasp through a mouthful of giggles, flesh crawling with heat as he drags you to him, pinning you against his chest. Face-to-face, he plants a kiss against your jaw, gaze softening.

Tangled in an amalgamation of limbs, you perch against him, letting your weight sink down as you trace circles over his collarbone. “God,” He murmurs, reverent. “You’re gorgeous.”

Behind closed doors, the swagger and temperamental smugness dissipate, leaving just John; he’s significantly softer in private. Whatever facade he wore before seems to drop, and it’s just the two of you — no bravado.

With a lackadaisical smile, you preen beneath his words, lashes kissing the skin beneath your eyes. His hand cups your hips, digits skimming over slivers of exposed flesh.

John stares at you; you’re grounding, an anchor that he never imagined needing. Irises glisten with affection, with a tenderness he still feels undeserving of, but he’s let that go.

He exhales when your hand cups his jaw, thumb tracing over the scruff of his beard, digits mapping his visage as if he’s a constellation. “You’re so perfect.” As the words rush from your mouth, he shifts beneath you.

He doesn’t feel perfect; he’s never felt remotely close to anything other than a fraud, a shell of a man, but you’ve helped him pick up those pieces.

John doesn’t define himself by past actions and merit anymore — he can’t. Inadequacy is the biggest chip on his shoulder, and he’s still learning to let that go. If it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t have changed.

A light huff escapes him, brows drawing together as he squeezes your hip. “Should be telling you that.” He sighs, lips twitching into a threadbare smile.

“Nothing’s stopping you, Walker.” Cheeky, you happen to wriggle closer, bridging the gap between mouths. Lips connect in a soft kiss, something tender; it makes his head spin, brain filled with static.

Through his mouth, his smile remains, a faint upturn that you feel between kisses. You’re still partially on top of him, slotted against his thigh, feeling his hands become emboldened through touch alone.

John’s chest blossoms with a stinging sigh, sharp, attempting to rein in the myriad of crass thoughts that float through his head. It’s difficult with your body against his, touching him as if he’s the only thing worth your while.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, sweetheart.” He challenges, though it’s exceedingly weak. To your delight, you’re prepared to follow through, lips stilling against his.

Sitting upright, your expression is one of incredulity, a smile finding its way to your mouth. “You started it,” A flimsy excuse, at best. “You started it as soon as you pulled me in.”

He lifts a hand in faux defense, blonde brows pinching together, chest erupting with a huff of laughter. “Not guilty.” John retorts, albeit playfully before watching you crawl away, laying beside him with a cheshire grin.

“You’re ridiculous.” You’re breathtaking when you smile; and John knows that it’s all for him. He covets that, a sacred look shared between lovers, knowing you’ve got him pinned.

In the still silence that falls between, John’s countenance glows with a beam, chest shaking with a huff of laughter. “Right — ridiculous.” He lulls, drawing out each syllable, grunting as he shifts to move on top of you.

His weight ghosts above, a warm pressure that sends butterflies surging through your belly. Bullying your legs apart, he’s perched on his forearms, staring down at you through a half-lidded glower.

The intensity of his gaze pierces through you, sharp and poignant, heat beginning to slither over your limbs. Wordlessly, he bends to kiss you, scruffy mouth claiming yours.

Something charged lingers within his lips, something hungry, as if he’s telling you what he wants without verbalizing it.

When your palms snake to settle over his biceps, caressing him as if he’s something precious, it all feels so raw. He doesn’t bristle at the softness like he used to — he embraces it.

Kissing him stitches your heart together in ways you never thought possible, mending years of a self-inflicted isolation.

He kisses you hoarse, hot and messy, like dry kindling catching fire. Arousal creeps between your thighs, damp and incessant, causing you to shift beneath him.

“John,” You sigh, shivering as teeth languidly scrape over your bottom lip, tempting you. The growing swell of his cock presses through the linen of his boxers, firmly slotted over your clothed core. “Please don’t tease me.”

Much to his embarrassment, it never takes much for him to get riled up, erection rutting against your groin, friction spreading like wildfire.

Through an open-mouthed kiss, his tongue wets your bottom lip, foreheads nestled together, his heart singing in his ears.

One hand shifts to snare within the hem of your shirt, dragging it toward your ribs, fingers tracing up until he gropes your breast. He’s kissing you as if he’s trying to win, ripping air from your lungs.

Your hips urge forward, and as if to torment him further, you’re grinding into his cock, pulling a husky groan from his chest. Hands rake to the nape of his neck, fisting into blonde tresses.

The rough pad of his thumb circles your nipple, gooseflesh erupting beneath his touch. It only furthers the ache that screams between your thighs, slick with a familiar heat.

Mouths continue to clash, a mess of lips and teeth, tongue when John initiates it, eliciting a moan from your throat. Passion overrides everything else, ardor replacing logic.

“Christ, you’re drivin’ me crazy.” He pants into your mouth like a dog in-heat, and it all seems to escalate with a fervent intensity. His Georgian drawl slithers in when he’s wound up tight.

“John, shit — do something about it.” It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did, your wanton remark — but it did, and he’s reaching to tug at your panties.

Serum-infused blood pumps through his veins with a renewed fervor, and instead of sliding them down your legs as he’s done many times before, he grips, grips tightly. “Hope you aren’t attached to these.” He growls into your ear.

His guttural snarl makes you want to press your thighs together, stopped by his musculature, and your eyes go doe-eyed, wide. Digits flex into the cotton material and pull, stitches ripping as he tears the fabric right from you.

A gasp rips through your diaphragm, coupled with shock and awe as he kneads into your breast, rolling your nipple between thumb and forefinger. “J—John!” You moan, feeling his lips wrap around your chest.

“Gonna fuck you until you’re hoarse.” John gruffs against your flesh, and you’re squirming, body buzzing with a teeming him. You’ve never heard him talk like that, but he’s thoroughly and utterly razed.

Needy lips harshly suck at your unattended breast, edged with the graze of teeth. You shiver, back arched, flesh crawling with heat, eyes half-lidded as you scrape your fingers over his scalp.

The floral scent that permeates your skin sends him into a near-frenzy, a smell he’s grown accustomed to. He gropes at your tits, kisses, bites — tension coils in his shoulders, and he wants a release.

“Turn over.”

He isn’t asking you, either.

Dizzy, your muscles feel molten, as if you’re going to melt right through the mattress. Eyelids twitch, your jaw unhinged, pushing a sharp gasp through your diaphragm.

As if to accentuate his command, his lips nip at your sternum, pinching at your nipple with enough stimulation to make you whimper.

He’s grabbing a pillow somewhere from the left side of the bed, relinquishing his weight from you, allowing you to roll over onto your stomach. John kindly manhandles you into place, shoving the pillow beneath your hips.

His name cascades from your mouth like a prayer, anticipation crawling through your spine. He walks a fine line between domineering and passionate, as if he’s solely in control, but you know how easy he falls apart, too.

Fabric shuffles behind you as he discards his boxers, reddened tip of his cock prodding against your slick cunt. It makes you shiver, his breath hot beside your ear.

Weight bears down on you again, more similar to a warm blanket, chest flush as he presses into your back. He’s so much larger, face just behind your own, hands locking in over yours.

The sensation of fingers intertwining sends another spike of liquid heat through your belly, cunt aching for him with desperation. “So wet for me,” He pants, teeth nicking the shell of your ear. “Jesus, you’re so pretty like this.” The grit in his cadence makes you throb.

John’s got a mouth, sure, but he’s never used it like this, torturing you with dirty praise that makes you writhe. As if to tempt him, you push yourself against him, cunt grinding into his cock.

“J—John, please …” He’s got you broken, thoughts scrambled, liquefied in the wake of crass murmurs. You’re undeniably soaked, flesh tingling, body craving him as if he’s air.

The tip of his cock rubs along your pussy, and you’re debauched, nails curling into the sheets, flexing against his fingers. Prone beneath him, he huffs, forehead nudging into the back of your neck.

With a forward motion, he pushes his hips into yours, cock meeting mild resistance. His actions are disarmingly sluggish — you expected something feral and rough, but he does the opposite.

He’s groaning into your skin, planting kisses there when he isn’t making noise. A moan shakes your chest, drawn-out and wanton, a sound that’s sure to be embedded into his mind for days to come.

The position forces you to feel every inch of him, and he’s infuriatingly well-endowed. His cock kisses your walls, cunt clenching pathetically around him the further he goes, bodies now entangled.

“F—Fuck, John,” Slurred, you’re drunk on your own desire, brain fuzzy with static, mouth slack to make room for throaty moans. “God, you fe—feel so good, please!”

John’s voice tapers off into a husky moan, the praise driving him crazy, and it’s almost enough to get him under control. “Jesus, takin’ me so well.” He roughs, kissing just beneath your ear.

The tightness of your cunt drives him to the brink of madness, huffing beside your ear, teeth grazing over your jaw. He’s growling, panting, his sounds mirroring that of a feral dog instead of a man.

As he fully hilts inside of you, cock bottoming out, he squeezes at your hands, mouth flush to the nape of your neck. There’s a second to adjust, the both of you lost within the haze of ecstasy.

Drawing his hips back, cock halfway gone, he pushes back in — deep, sensual. There’s a significant lack of roughness, but he doesn’t do anything in half-measures.

“Feel s’good, perfect,” Through a string of needy whines, you try to push your hips back against him, but the prone position makes it difficult. The pressure of his body is grounding, dizzying. “You feel so good.”

It’s an incoherent mess of babbles that leave you, singing his praises, and he buckles. That validation and praise he craves from you brings him to heel, brows pinched together.

“Keep talking, honey.” John groans, kissing a messy, wet string of kisses over your shoulder, finding a rhythm that makes your head spin.

Each thrust of his hips sends him deep, cock nearly kissing your cervix. Each ripple of your cunt makes him shudder, the sensations nearly overwhelming — all-encompassing, consuming.

“You — Shit, you fuck me so well,” The words feel foreign in your mouth, but it barely registers, emerging as heated whines. It makes him growl into your shoulder, teeth gently biting at sensitive flesh. “John, please, please.”

John’s reply was another snap of his hips, cock pounding away at your aching cunt. Each thrust is passionate — he wants you to feel everything, feel what you do to him.

He’s fucking you as if it’s the last thing he’ll do, grunts resonating beside your ear, breath hot as it tickles the nape of your neck.

As good as it feels, you wish you were looking at him — the image is drenched in sin, the one you conjure up. Each moan that keens from your lips is answered with a roll of his hips, cock working you open, kissing your cunt.

Scarlet clings to John’s features, handsome and pink, jaw strained as if something might shatter. He’s grunting, warm baritone slipping off into a half-moan when your thighs clench together.

Each slap of his cock lewdly urges against your slick cunt, arousal thick and honeyed around him, making everything easier.

The pillow pushed beneath your hips lets you take the brunt of his thrusts, his groin grinding near your ass, bodies sticky with perspiration. He exudes heat like a furnace, making you sweat.

Ecstasy builds, twined around his muscles, constricting him in some blinding haze. “You’re mine,” The snarl he lets out sends shockwaves through your cunt. “My girl.”

John is naturally possessive, and when he lets his claim fly between messy kisses to your shoulder, it sends you into overdrive.

“M’yours,” Receptive, you feel him fuck into you again, pace still bordering between sensual and vigorous, cock hitting new depths. “Fuck, John — so good at this.”

Your wanton praise goes straight to his head, fueling that subservient side to him that hungers for your attention. It’s more than enough to inflate his pride, and he releases one of your hands.

Beside your head, one hand remains interlocked with his, the gesture disarmingly tender between lewd clashes of bodies. His palm slides over your shoulder, slow, caressing until he finds your waist.

His thumb traces circles into the silky skin there, ministrations never slowing — his pace remains unwavering.

John shudders at the feeling of your cunt, tight and warm around him, clenching around his cock with each roll of his hips. Pleasure mounts within him like a white-hot coil, burning through his belly.

You sob from the pleasure, ecstasy shooting through your body as if you’ve been struck by lightning, arousal seeping from your cunt.

It’s all flesh against flesh, accompanied by a cacophony of groans and whimpering, and you’re rutting into the pillow pushed beneath your hips.

The friction is stinging, lungs burning with each breath you take. “Keep going, please.” You sigh, delirious with desire, any shred of coherency surrendered to him.

John’s a good soldier — obedient, and he’s certainly not one to defy your command when he’s deep in your cunt. He’s rutting into you, passionate and needy, pleasure surging through his veins.

Muscles coil around you, and he’s caging you in between his body and the mattress, grunting when your cunt clenched around him.

His palm drags over your ribs, calloused flesh meeting your silky skin, and he’s head over heels. He can’t think straight anymore, logic thrown out the window, abandoned — you’re all he wants, all he sees as he thrusts again.

It’s a blissful rhythm, the best you’ve had, a constant rut of urging hips and a mouth that wanders over the juncture between throat and shoulder.

He bites softly, pulling a moan from your lips. “Christ, you’re perfect like this.” John gruffs, beard scratching ragged over your flesh, leaving you tingling all over.

He’s getting close, feeling the occasional spasm of your hips as you grind into the pillow, pushing against him as best as you can. You moan his name, again and again.

The pace of his thrusts seems to increase, jackhammering at your cunt when he’s pushed closer to the edge. You clench around him as if you’re sucking him in, and he’s enraptured.

It’s everything — it’s his mouth, teeth, body blanketing yours, hands intertwined, cock fucking you deep — you’re not going to last much longer like this.

“Close, m’close.” Panting, your diaphragm burns with labored breaths, muscles like jelly, body succumbing to his vigorous, sensual thrusts. Bliss festers within your belly, screaming.

Daring to lift your head, you decide to look — the sight is nothing short of mesmerizing, sinful.

Wisps of blonde hair stick to his temples, brow glittering with sweat, countenance contorted into an expression of sheer bliss. His jaw is locked, eyelids nearly shut, looking as if he’s just glimpsed the holy ghost.

Part of you wished you’d been treated to the picture of him all along, flushed and pink, handsome without a drop of effort. He’s even prettier when he’s fucking you hoarse, exertion poured into pounding away at your cunt.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” John rasps, throat thick with desire, coarse as he feels himself slipping over the edge. “Fuck, I can’t — Goddamn …” There isn’t any warning, but you don’t care in the slightest.

Every thrust is sharp, precise — he’s gritty, perspiration glittering along his neck, muscles pulled taut. John sucks a hickey into whatever flesh he can reach beside your jaw.

His cock pulses, throbbing incessantly inside of you as he snaps forward again, groaning beside your ear when he hits his peak.

It sets off a chain reaction — white-hot bliss, a buzz shaking your nerves, brain humming with static. Any coherent thought is promptly scrambled, tossed aside.

John’s forehead rests just behind your ear, hot breath curling over your throat, still hilted inside of you when he cums.

There’s something messy about it — reckless, incendiary, rapturous. He doesn’t pull out, fucking you full with his cum. Warmth floods your insides, crescendoing into your own release.

With another light grind against the pillow, friction grating right to your core, you moan, clutching onto his hand like a vice. Bitten by ecstasy, you feel like you’re floating, the coil within your stomach unfurling.

It’s as if you’ve been washed in fire, flesh feverish, the heat so intense you nearly collapse. He ruts through your shared release with sensual, sluggish rolls of his hips.

Ripples of bliss shoot through your veins even still, seeing stars through closed eyes, thighs quivering like leaves. John’s chest breaths ragged with each sigh, as if he’s exhaling fire, brows still furrowed together.

Entangled moans finally simmer down, tapering off into stinging huffs, exhales pushed through his nose. He presses a string of kisses over the back of your neck, to the top of your spine.

In the afterglow, it’s hushed — you’re catching your breath and so is he, feeling him stay inside of you for a few moments longer.

“You okay?” John murmurs, wondering if he’d pushed it too far. Roughened fingertips trace over your side, coming to affectionately squeeze your hip. “I didn’t take it too far, did I?” He asks, concerned.

Smiling to yourself, you’re flustered, feeling his cum and yours cool over your cunt, the ache diminishing into a dull pulsation. “No, no,” You soothe, feeling his mouth on your throat. “I’m really good.”

John nods, planting another kiss to your jaw before he reluctantly pulls out, leaving behind a mess of fluids that paint your inner thighs. The sensation is sticky, exceedingly wet.

He grunts, moving off of the bed to get you a towel — and new panties. The remnants of your undergarments are in scraps somewhere on the floor, you realize.

You lay there, razed, limbs feeling molten, as if the bone has turned to liquid. A pleasant buzz hums through your veins, breathing beginning to steady as you roll onto your side.

Framed by the golden glow emanating from the light above his headboard, he’s stunning — shadows accentuating raw muscle, body a canvas for yellowing bruises and fading scars.

Even afterwards, he’s exceptionally sweet, a natural caretaker as he brings you a towel and a pair of underwear you’d left in his room prior.

“Thanks.” You smile, awkwardly shuffling to clean yourself up a little bit, sliding on a dark, spandex pair of panties. Readjusting your shirt, you toss the towel into a dirty basket.

“You’re so beautiful.” John murmurs, retrieving his boxers, tugging them back on as he joins you in bed again, looping you into his side. His arm wraps around your hips, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

Smitten, you crawl closer, head nestling against his shoulder as your fingers trace over his chest. Hands intertwine somewhere over his heart, dog-tags hanging beside his collar.

“You’re cute like this,” You hum, and he scoffs instantaneously. “You are, John. You’re really sweet when you want to be.” He takes the compliment to-heart nonetheless.

Lips mold together, the kiss wonderfully tender, enough to make him melt beneath you. John savors it all, letting it linger, hand tracing the soft curve of your hip. “Cute, huh?” He utters, husky.

“Very.” Soft, your cadence quiets, leg hitched over his hips, anchored to his side, oozing with warmth. You keep the sheets off for now, letting him cradle you, hold you tight.

He laughs; a flash of pearlescent teeth, bleeding with a charm that makes your stomach erupt with butterflies. “Don’t tell the rest of the team about this.” John grouses, feeling your lips smooth over his cheek.

“They already know, John.” You hum, feeling his body jostle with a huff as he caresses beneath your shirt, palm dragging along the small of your back.

John doesn’t seem perturbed; if anything, he’s happy — content, even. “Your fault.”

[lumentears]

🔆 ohjoy Follow

okay since I recently found out that me and literally 5 other kids in my choir had a phase where we made serious plans to run away and become a 9th penitent - is this an 8th House thing or are teens just like that

🔆 ohjoy Follow

BONE CULTISTS? ON MY HELLSITE?

✒ blackquill Follow

It's more likely than you think.

♠ homefront-titties-of-the-4th Follow

i was dropping off the kids at the cohort seminar and the 2nd house recruiter saw my wheelchair and asked if I was a veteran ... like aye cap they gave me ms in the war

♠ homefront-titties-of-the-4th Follow

she asked me what front i served at and I said "the big one". she gasped

♠ homefront-titties-of-the-4th Follow

WHEN I CAME BACK TO FETCH THE SQUIRTS SHE HAD A VETERAN'S DISCOUNT STAMP READY FOR ME there were tears in her eyes i swear

🥴 badjokesbyjohn Follow

Why do milking stools only have 3 legs 

Because the cow has the udder.

⚪ the-redeemerrrrrr-deactivated

username checks out man you fell off. tf does that even mean

👅 one-flesh-one-smash Follow

fuck off back to deaddit. john has been trying to get an ARG off the ground for so long, let him cook. That ancient colour of the sky post was a banger

☕ fidelitea Follow

TIL that weird baby blue sky post came from the bad jokes guy

🌸 rigormortis Follow

feeling so aenemic today...

👄 what-that-mouth-of-the-emperor-do Follow

it's the year of our lord 10000, can we leave consumptioncore in the fucking dust where it belongs?! It's not cute, you're not giving Duchess of Rhodes, you're giving none of my friends want to spend time outside with me

🍖 drchuckshingle Follow

some sad news for y'all today. once again two of my shinglers, "pounded in the butt by the realisation that none of us will live to see a time of peace" and its sequel, "pounded in the butt by the realisation that the previous realisation must have occurred to dozens of my ancenstors and still we fight on", have been placed on the eighth house index of heresies. OH WELL! i will continue to write as long as there is one person waiting to read, and that person is ME!

📜 solace-in-thighs Follow

aw shucks that sucks! at least your works are in good company among other works of art on the index (or so i hear)

🩸 saints-alive Follow

dude we can all look up the index. "saint of seduction" "cavaliers off the leash" "pounded in the butt by a chainsmoking saint that remains otherwise unspecified and could belong to any fictional religion"

is that the good company you're speaking off? or are you just sad you can't jerk it to pervert porn anymore

📜 solace-in-thighs Follow

Nice try. Among erotic works, several priceless artifacts with immense cultural and scientific value have been indexed by the Eighth. E.g. the collected letters of General Duodecim to his spouses in the year of 3097, being one of the only firsthand accounts of the establishment of the first shepherd worlds. That's so long ago they still called them colonies! It's from before the divine edict of 4001!

🩸 saints-alive Follow

general duodecim was a weirdo who wrote self insert fanfic about himself getting his guts rearranged by the saint of duty TO HIS SPOUSES

📜 solace-in-thighs Follow

Psychometrists from the Sixth have affirmed the authenticity of the texts again and again. The Saint of Duty fucks nasty and raw, die mad about it <3

🍈 magnus-quinn-big-naturals Follow

I'm sad I can't jerk it to pervert porn anymore :(

💌 do-not-go-gently Follow

the good news: they're letting me go out tonight!

the bad news: it's for my great-uncle's funeral.

the secret good news: I met him twice and those were two times too many. Odious man!

💌 do-not-go-gently Follow

worse news: they've sat me next to Captain Deuteros I hate it here

💌 do-not-go-gently Follow

looooord undying she's talking about the weather. Nice yellow we're having tonight! Lemon, with a hint of cadmium - or is it cadmium with a hint of lemon?

💌 do-not-go-gently Follow

her shuttle journey was uneventful, if you were wondering. heaven forbid she experience two consecutive seconds of excitement.

💌 do-not-go-gently Follow

she saw me using necrumblr under the table and tutted at me. L-O-L!

💌 do-not-go-gently Follow

Maybe I should faint. I haven't fainted in ages!

💌 do-not-go-gently Follow

IMPORTANT UPDATE. The Crown Princess of Ida struck up a conversation with her from across the table and the captain dropped a dumpling into her lap.

💌 do-not-go-gently Follow

it's been five minutes. the Princess is still talking to her and the window in which she could have picked the dumpling up with minimal embarrassment has passed ages ago.

💌 do-not-go-gently Follow

dumplingwatch: it's still there. waiting. cooling. soaking through her trousers.

💌 do-not-go-gently Follow

RIP DUMPLING! The Princess is giving a speech and the captain kicked it under the table. She thinks nobody noticed

💌 do-not-go-gently Follow

WE'RE TALKING ABOUT THE WEATHER AGAIN I NEED THE CANCER TO GET ITS SHIT TOGETHER RIGHT NOW

[monstersholygrail]

HI HI HI I LOVED UR PUPPY BF BLURBO BTW- HI ! um food for thought... cat bf? maybe? like the total opposite of puppy but still absolutely needy lmao HI!

When you walk into your home the silence that greets you automatically unsettles you to the bone. While usually your Cat bf is all over you as soon as you walk in the door after you come home, now he’s nowhere to be seen. You close the door behind you, looking around the empty hall.

“Bubba, where are you?” You ask sweetly, even using his favorite nickname as you wonder if he’s upset with you for some reason.

Entering the living room you look around for him, thinking he has to be here. All his favorite napping spots, besides your soft squishy body, are in the living room. Just as you’re about to look behind the couch, a heavy weight pounces on you from behind and you both tumble to the ground.

A mix of soft purring and rough growling echo in your ear and vibrate into your back with your bf’s chest so tightly against you. Your bf grinds his cock into your clothed core, showing you how needy he had grown without you there. You can’t help but moan, arching into the girth of his length.

“You’re late,” your bf grumbles, his tail flicking in agitation before it curls tightly around your leg.

Your breath hitches as you realize why he wasn’t at the door. He is very much upset with you and by his hardness you know exactly why. So as soon as he starts clawing at your clothes and practically shredding them, you immediately help him get them off till you’re bare for him.

He stares at you, his pupils dilating wide at the sight of your glistening pussy already so wet for him. He can’t keep his hands off of you a second longer and he races to grab handfuls of your flesh, kneading them and watching your curves shift deliciously.

You yelp as he uses his hold to finally yank you back against his body. A shaky moan leaves you as his dick slides between your wet folds, catching every drop of your essence he can. You can hear him sigh and his body relaxes almost completely now that he’s about to be inside you.

He leans his chest over till his form is surrounding your large frame. The weight of him is comforting and a smile tugs at your lips at he nuzzles into your hair, taking deep whiffs of your scent.

“Waited so so long for you, it was torture. Weren’t back when you said. So unfair,” your bf whines and you can feel the pout of his lips on your head.

You gasp sharply as his tip rubs into your clit with every rock of his hips and you know it’s on purpose. Your bf wanting to torture you just like you had him.

“L-let me make it up to you,” you breathe out, arching your hips. Prepared for him to finally take you.

Before you can process the movement, your bf is flipping you onto your back, clearly needing to see your face. Trying to gain your senses your bf easily throws your legs over his shoulders and plunges into your wet heat. You mewl, back arching to take him inside you even faster.

“Just wanna fuck you, baby. Can I please fuck you? Wanna feel you clench around my cock and milk me dry,” your bf whines, his cock already fucking up into you with shallow thrusts. You don’t even think he realizes.

“Go ahead, it’s ok, it’s ok.”

With another whine he picks up his pace, his claws digging into your wide hips so he can pound away at your pussy like he’s been waiting to for the entire day. He ducks his head into your neck as if trying to get as close to you as possible. His whimpers quiet in your ear.

You moan, your hands clawing down his back in a way that has him hissing and pumping into your tight cunt with fierce determination. You meet his every thrust, wanting to reach so deep inside you that you feel him in your throat. Your bf’s whimpers grow louder and you try and squeeze his cock in reassurance.

“It always hurts being so far away from you. Just wanna stay with you, stay inside you, please,” he whines, rutting into you so hard the sound of your bodies meeting fills the room.

Your heart aches for your bf, even as your pleasure climbs higher from your mixed desperation to be together. You moan with every snap of his hips, barely even able to talk but you have to try.

“T-then come inside me. Fill me up to the brim so a part of you can stay inside me. C’mon, bubba. Need your cum. Let go,” you beg breathlessly.

Your bf growls and shifts to push your knees to your chest. Ripping a gasp from your throat as he stretches you even further. Your orgasm sweeps over you a few thrusts later and you scream, clenching onto your bf in every way. Forcing him to follow you into ecstasy. His cum gushing into your eager pussy and making you feel even more full.

Neither of you can get enough, your bodies still furiously meeting even as overstimulation begins to set in. When he whines again you relent and you both slow down until he sags on top of you. You stay like this for who knows how long and you know your bf doesn’t want to leave and risk his cum gushing out of you by the way he clings to you.

“How about you get the plug, love? Can make sure it all stays in. Then we can have some more cuddles.”

Your bf jerks up to meet your eye, a bright smile on his face. His attitude completely turned around from when you first walked into the door now that he’s had you. It won’t be for the last time tonight but he can’t resist cuddles for the life of him.

He carefully pulls out before rushing down the hall to your shared room. You watch him with an adoring smile, having hated being home late almost as much as he had.

[-harmonytbh]

the wayward kind still love deep

summary: Smoke returns to the Delta after years of war and silence, he seeks the woman he never stopped loving, but the past, both sweet and bitter, won’t let them move on without a fight. (angst, longing)

pairing: smoke x black plus sized!reader, platonic!stack x reader

warnings: cursing, mentions of war, sexual tension and suggestive content.

author's note: I haven't written fanfics since my Team Mindless days, but I'm a Mississippi girl obsessed with Sinners and decided to give it a go...be easy on me. will definitely continue this. Also, a comma hates to see me coming, so ignore any improper punctuation and typos. This was one of those do it scared moments lol

Nothing prepared her for the light rapping against her window shutters before dawn that morning. She leaned bleary-eyed over the windowsill trying to make sense of the dark figure gazing up at her from the dewy ground below her window. The cicadas were still screeching their nightly song, and lightning bugs flitted here and there.  Once her eyes acclimated to the inky darkness she knew instantly. Felt it in her bones. Felt it in the thump-thump-thump of her heart against her ribcage. It was Elijah…or “Smoke” now, she supposed. Some time around their thirteenth year, she watched the light leave Elijah’s eyes. She noticed the way the smooth brown surface of his face became a brick wall not even she could penetrate. Smiles were few and far between, laughter even more rare. That was Smoke. The Elijah she knew was foolhardy and goofy, the first to crack a joke or play a prank with his other half—the easygoing and charming Elias, or “Stack” now. Yes, the Moore boys were men now and with that came new identities and an air of mystique that alienated them. 

“Smoke?” She called out cautiously. She knew it was him. Of course, she knew it was him. She’d bet her left pinky toe on it, but the question was more of a inquiry about what the hell he wanted with her at the ass-crack of dawn after seven years of silence. 

“Yeah it’s me honey. Come fishin’ wid me,” he called back plainly. Like it was normal. Like it was broad daylight. Like it wasn’t THE ASS-CRACK of dawn. 

“So I s’pose them German trenches an’ Chicago gangways finally rid ya of whatever lil sense ya did have Lijah, huh?” 

“So I s’pose ya want me tuh make a scene in fronta God and evr’ybody, huh?” He retorted easily, and she had no doubt he would make good on his promise. She kissed her teeth and stepped away from her window. 

He sighed audibly as he saw the light from her oil lamp wash her room in golden light. Smoke swore to himself if he ever came back to the Delta for her that he would come proper. Ask her family for her hand and do all the typical gentlemanly shit. And there would be time for that, but he and Stack had just rolled into town an hour ago under the cloak of darkness with stolen money, beer, wine, and enough stories to fill a library. He wasn’t feeling too gentlemanly. He wanted—no—needed to see her as soon as the tires on the truck crunched to a halt at the gravel fork in their shared road. He would make an honest woman out her if that’s what she wanted, but for tonight, all he wanted to do was sneak off into the night like they used to do before all of this. Before he was one half of the notorious SmokeStack twins, before he was drafted to fight for a country that spit in his face when his shiny boots reconnected with the soil that was made of him and held his mother and father. Smoke shoved his trembling hands into the rough tweed of his neatly tailored pants and felt around for a cig to calm his nerves. As he flicked the lighter, she emerged from the house looking more beautiful than any woman had a right to look before the first tinges of daylight threatened the horizon. His heart slammed in his chest. His girl, in the flesh. Not in a fleeting fever dream under the barrage of artillery, not in the hazy memory of a daydream before running a play. She stood before him, all woman, every luscious inch of her. His eyes raked over her possessively, committing this new iteration of her to memory for later…hopefully there would be no need for later. She was all legs and mouth last time he saw her, but in his absence she had blossomed into a beautiful woman. Filled out was too loose a description for the way she had transformed over these past seven years, and he felt the male parts of him stirring at the thought of what other parts of her had matured while he was away. He shook his head to banish the thought, hopefully there would be need for that later. She cocked her head to the side, curls spilling from beneath a bandana she tied around the front of her head, a mild flash of annoyance in her eyes. 

“An’ how ya figure we gon’ fish with no poles or bait Elijah?” she rasped sleepily, looking around him for evidence of fishing materials and tutting when her suspicions were validated. 

“Yo Pa still keeps some fixins in the shed, right?” he said back hopefully, watching as she turned on her heels and switched toward the back of the house muttering under her breath.  

“Good God a’mighty,” he groaned just low enough for her to faintly make out. 

“Stop lookin’ at me like that Lijah, ‘fore I knock da fire from ya mannish ass,” she spat over her shoulder before gesturing at him to help her open the rickety shed door. 

After grabbing what they needed, they set off toward the creek on at the back of her family’s property. Their spot. An uncomfortable silence enveloped them as the meandered through the dark, the cacophony of the Mississippi countryside punctuating their steps as the full moon overhead washed everything in a dreamy milky haze. 

“I must be dreaming,” she thought to herself, “Surely I fell off that mare yesterday, and I’m laid up in my mama’s bed hallucinatin’.” 

“Where Stack?” She finally asked after several minutes of tense silence. She didn’t miss the quick smirk at the mention of his brother. Still partners in crime. 

“Restin' back at the house. Surely he’ll wait and come pay ya a visit at a more respectable hour, unlike his uncouth pig of a brother,” he joked back easily, and she found herself smiling despite herself. 

She had missed him—both of them. For their early childhoods they were inseparable. As time went on, and life got rough, she and the twins clung to each other. When Smoke was eventually drafted and Stack joined him in service voluntarily, it wounded her. She was unsure how she would continue without their company. Her days were filled with chores around the farm, learning roots at the feet of her mama, and missing the Moore boys somethin’ fierce. She’d send many a letter by Lil Sammie, hoping they made it all those miles away to them, but aside from a short postcard from Stack from Paris, she didn’t hear a peep. 

“An’ why couldn’t ya wait, Smoke?” She asked stopping to square her shoulders in his direction. He removed his cap and rested it against his chest. Her breath caught at the serious gaze in his eyes, the moonlight fanning out over his lashes that seemed to stretch further than any cotton field she’d ever seen. His jaw jumped in the way it only did when he had something to say and didn’t know how to spit it out. 

“Cause I missed ya honey, an’ I couldn’t go another minute without layin’ eyes on ya,” he replied frankly, not daring to break eye contact. So there it was. The perfect words…six years too late. 

“It only took ya half a decade to say that, Elijah. What in the hell that s’posed tuh do fuh me now? I’m happy. Livin’ my life. Don’t come disturbin’ me now cause ya figured out whatever is out dere in dat big wide world of your’n ain’t shit,” she spat back through hot tears. 

You could say many many things about the twins, but you can’t say they didn’t have audacity. Ever since they were boys, they bent the world around them to their will. They walked like God sewed gold into the seat of their britches, and they helped him hang the stars with their own hands. Damn her if she didn’t believe it herself for a while. That was before she met Titus. Now, she didn’t especially love Titus, but she liked him just fine. He was kind, thoughtful, and sensible. He wanted a simple life with her and maybe a few kids, maybe not. What more can she ask for? Not this, this being jerked around by Elijah. Yes she still loved him, never stopped and probably never will, but he wasn’t the marrying kind. 

“I know, baby. I know. I got all ya letters from Sammie. I still have every single one. They kept me from losin’ my good sense over there in the war. Knew I had someone waiting on me tuh git back, knew I had somethin' tuh live for,” he cooed lowly, stepping forward to envelop her into an embrace. 

She jumped back like he was a scalding hot pot. Just like that, the cage of his countenance returned, and he continued stomping toward the creek. 

“Knew ya weren’t gon’ be my biggest fan darlin’ but damn. I expected a warmer reception than dis heah,” he spat bitterly, shaking his head adorned in immaculate waves. 

“Well damn, Smoke. What did ya really expect? I wrote cha fuh years, waited on ya fuh years. Didya think time stops fuh Elijah Moore?” 

He stopped in his tracks and spun around quickly.  

“Nuh uh, never, but I thought it might fuh us,” he said simply before stopping down by the creek bank and unceremoniously dropping their poles and bait. 

“At any rate princess, somethin’ made ya saddity ass come out tuh come fish wid me, so might as well enjoy the moment, huh?” He grumbled before lighting another cigarette. 

“Fuck ya, Elijah Moore,” she said, jutting her chin forward, white hot shame blooming in her chest. He was right, he still had a hold on her and even though she wanted to hate him, wanted to tell him to take a long walk off a short ledge, she knew she would do anything to share this moment with him. 

“If only I was that lucky, baby.” 

Part Two

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

Kind of a request if you're taking those <3 Feel free to just vibe with me abt it tho instead lolll Idk how up to date you are with everything, but Katsuki's heart recovery and all that. Tbhhh I'm a little lost on it bc I'm not perfectly up to date with it all and have vague idea of it. But I feel like with the whole having to keep himself calm and stuff for his heart, he'd probably never really be 100% back to being able to constantly do things the way he was before. Like he'd have to take a day to relax his heart every once in a while when it's too overworked even when he's a pro. Imagine having to have him stay home when you notice his behavior's a little off. Like he's not acting feisty or trying to get into little play fights with you, because he's trying to stay calm without telling you. Idkkk, it's kinda cute to me (not the idea of a heart injury!) having him have to reluctantly take a day off bc you forced him to. Just turning on a corny little movie he grumbles about while cuddling with him. Or making him relax with you in anyway you can think of because you're not letting him leave yours sight until he starts feeling more okay.

heartbeat, my heartbeat..! ♡

synopsis : katsuki's stuck at home, and that sucks. but he's stuck at home with you, and that sucks way less.

an. okay twin first of all so sorry this is a really old ask i actually LOVED this ask sm...but then tumblr literally deleted my og draft and it made me lose inspo forever :> soz!!! i hope this makes up for it and that you enjoyed bc YOU KNOW I LOVE THIS!!!

cw. LIGHT MHA MANGA SPOILERS !! fluff, maybe a teeny bit suggestive ? kissing n smooches ! and into the spiderverse being my favourite movie, theres a little references to the movie towards the end :3

"you got a problem with your bladder today, too ?"

"...the hell are you on about ?"

katsuki scowls, looking down at you in surprise, his thumb rubbing your arm slows to a stop.

"oh katsuki, i'm not stupid. you've been to the bathroom like ten times since the movie started. if you wanted to watch another movie you could've said that." you giggle, desperately trying to hold in your laughter when he flushes at your accusations.

your boyfriend squints "...shut up an' watch your movie." he dodges, scoffing when you laugh.

katsuki's heartbeat is slightly irregular today, and you're watching spiderman into the spiderverse.

it's just slightly off beat, just a bit...off. not exactly in tune with your own when you try to match your breathing.

thump...ba-dump.....thump

just slightly off.

to him, it doesn't matter. it never does, because as long as he can keep moving he's good to go. as long as he could keep standing and as long as he was breathing nothing was impossible for him.

clearly, you don't think the same as him, you're watching spiderman across the spiderverse again.

it's a good movie, the best movie (in your humble opinion). and you're only watching it because katsuki had grumpily told you to "just pick whatever." when choosing a movie for your impromptu chill day but it's almost become a ritual of sorts, whenever katsuki gets a sick heart day, this has always been the movie you put on.

you've completely memorised the script by now but you're still just as excited about it. katsuki thinks that's the only good thing about being stuck in the house like this.

years ago, doctors had told him that while him surviving what he'd been through was a miracle, he was still only human. and being human meant giving his heart a break once in a while. once in a while, when his heartbeat felt too irregular and his chest ached just enough for it to feel uncomfortable and it'd hurt to breathe every few hours, he couldn't be dynamight anymore.

of course, to him, he was always going to be dynamight, day off or not, so you're here to remind him that on off days like this, he could just be katsuki. flesh and bone and slightly off kilter heart.

but katsuki had never been good at just...being: being quiet, being still...he'd never been the type to just sit still and watch a movie. he likes commenting on the acting or the characters actions, cus he would definitely not make the same mistake, but he's watched this movie so many times he didn't have much to say anymore. he's even caught himself repeating some of the lines with you under his breath. (it always makes you giggle when you catch him, but he pretends not to notice.)

besides that though, he's always a bit antsy, always ready to go and always on the move. which is always a bad combo for someone who desperately needs to sit down and rest.

that's why he was so quick to get up to "go to the bathroom"— you won't allow him to do anything else, because apparently he needs to do stupid stuff like "take it easy" and "rest"—just for an excuse to walk around and stretch his legs.

he's always ready to get up to grab you something to drink or eat from the kitchen before you can even stretch to do it. of course, you're always quick to tell him off "sit your ass down ! i got it." you'd laugh while he grumpily flops back into the couch and crossing his arms.

"if it's the bubble guts we have some—"

your boyfriend groans, he dips down to nip your ear "shut the fuck up. stop talking." you laugh, pushing him away weakly while he bites your ear.

"katsuki, stop being rowdy ! you need to—"

"yeah, yeah be careful. i fuckin' got it. yer startin' to sound like my damn doctor." he grumbles, he continues nosing around your neck to nibble at your skin like a dog.

"well, somebody has to remind you to take a chill pill once in a while. it's like you'll die if you're not moving, it's insane." you sigh, running your fingers through his hair when he settles down into your neck, breathing you in.

"you did not just say chill pill." he snorts, giggling into your neck.

you slap his back, biting back a snort "wh-so what if i did ?! shut up, you !" you desperately try to hold in your laugh but fail miserably and soon you both find yourself giggling like idiots on the couch.

when you both calm down, katsuki noses at your jaw, his teeth scrape against it. "m'fine y'know ? 'ts not like i'm incapable of doing anything. not gonna drop dead just because i'm moving too much," he mumbles a quick snarky "by your standards."

you sigh, he nudges his head against you, putting more of his weight onto you so you're taken in by his warmth completely.

"i know that...but i wish you knew when to..relax, you know ? you being here means a lot to a lot of people," you grab both sides of his face to get him to look up you "it means a lot to me. i need you to be healthy and ready to kick ass without risking anything happening to you."

his eyes soften when he looks at you, leaning into your palm after hearing your words "there's always gonna be risk, sweets. s'just what i gotta do."

"that doesn't mean i'm gonna let you chip away at yourself, not if i can stop it." you insist. "i've already almost lost you more than once, lord knows you've got no regard for your own safety, psycho."

your boyfriend flushes at the sincerity, he can't help looking away for a bit. you can tell he's got a snarky remark at the tip of his tongue, but he decides against saying anything, he leans into you more.

"y-yeah, yeah okay—i got it, alright ? i just...wanna be the best. and not just for this hero thing but for..." he trails off.

"for this...us..y'know ?"

he was just so cute, you're heart might start beating erratically next !

you smile sweetly, leaning forward to press a smooch to his nose "cutie." you coo.

"shaddup.." his nose bumps against you when he quickly leans up to get more of you "gimme a proper kiss, at least."

"you're so needy, whatever happened to saying please, hm ?"

katsuki grumbles, diving in for a wet long smooch, grabbing the back of your head to pull you against him. he pushes you downward to deepen the kiss, but you push his chest.

"kashukiii—" kiss "no—" muah ! "no—being rowdy !" you lecture in between kisses and giggles. your boyfriend groans. he pulls you up with him so you're positioned on his lap, hands on your hips.

"fine, just sit here then." he pats your sides, mouthing and kissing your neck. he squeezes your hips when you melt into him, humming into your mouth. his hands run up, up, up, 'till he gets under your shirt but he simply keeps them there, just to feel your skin. he pulls you to sit even closer, you can his heart beating against your own. slightly off kilter, not in sync. but you decide it was yours to protect like he'd protected you and so many others, until he'd be able to go off into the world and be dynamight again.

for now, you'll keep katsuki here with you.

thump...ba-dump.....thump

before katsuki can go back to taking the lead or possibly take things even further, you're pulling away suddenly with a squeal against his mouth.

"ou, ou wait ! this is my favourite part !"

"for fuck's sake...you watched this shit like four thousand times already !"

"katsukiii, you ever hear of the shoulder touch..?" you giggle pressing your hand and forehead against his. he rolls his eyes in response, but he's reminded of why he's doing all of this in the first place seeing you this happy and giggly. you win by saving right ? and katsuki would do anything to save your smile and keep it all to himself. so of course, he does the "hey..." with you at the same time.

you're the only reason days like this aren't hell on earth for him, no matter how many times you watch the same movie or how many times you joke about his bathroom trips, he wouldn't trade these days for anything else. despite how sometimes his chest aches and it hurts to breathe a little bit, you make him forget, even for a little while, and let him be your katsuki and your katsuki alone.

thump...ba-dump.....thump

taglist (if your names in bold i unfortunately couldn't tag you :(() :

@jastoo46 @cecelia77 @erenstitanweave @closehereyes @stoned-anime-babe @taxavoider @yannvi @sugurusmoon @allurearia @kaerotica @wonubby @cupidsblonde @catsoupki @ita606 @andysdrafts @omitea @lili-of-the-vally @serpent-hearted @ghostorchidd @shewki @pirana10 @witch-craft-works @kanvis @okkotsuus @dragonscribble @emmiesarchive @screaming-dough @napbatata @cacaandweewizzsstuff @redollface @meowsannie @katszumi @m-inluv @monchurie @the-hangry-otter @starlostlaiba @moonshuul @katsus-mistress @dondeh-zedonutqueen @liluvtojineteyam @aspiringwriter1111 @redvelvetstan1 @niktwazny303 @nemisimp @kit-katsukii @alphasage @milktea-academia @qyuin @bakugouswaif @themultifandomgirl @icey-wonders

[rafesbabygirlx]

Deep Tissue, Deep Desire

𝙲𝙴𝙾!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚜𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Masterlist

Summary- Rafe has been feeling the weight of Cameron Development on his shoulders. His assistant had booked him a massage assuming that it would be good for him. Much to his dismay, it turned out to be the greatest appointment he had ever had.

Warnings- MDNI, smut (rub and tug, hand job, doggy style)

“The massage is booked tonight at 7, boss. I think it’ll be good for you. Y’know loosen up the muscles, relieve a bit of tension. No offense, but you been a bit of an ass lately.” Damian, Kelce’s younger brother, now Rafe’s assistant said to him.

Rafe threw him a stern look. “I remember what time the damn appointment is. I’ll be there.” Damian nodded and began to walk out of Rafe’s office. “Oh and Damian? Don’t think that just because you’re Kelce’s brother you can talk to me like that. I’ll have you by your neck next time.” ∘

Rafe entered the salon, checking in and grabbing the towels and robe provided to him. He was directed to the locker room and instructed to undress completely leaving him in only the towel wrapped tightly around his waist.

He made his way over to the room. Once he entered he removed his robe and got on the table faced down. He waited for about 10 min before hearing the door open and close again. He naturally moved to get up to greet you but you spoke before her could.

"Hi Mr. Cameron, I'll be taking care of you today. Don't worry about getting up, I'm used to being greeted by the backs of peoples heads."

Rafe slowly moved back to his original position. His brows furrowing at the sound of your voice. It was sweet and soft. Young, nothing like what he pictured would step into the room.

"Full body right?" you asked just to confirm.

"Uh, yeah if that's what my assistant booked." he answered trying to seem nonchalant.

"You're just gonna feel some warmth on your back from the oil, then I'll get started."

You dripped the oil along Rafe's back. The suddenness of it made him twitch, but when he felt your hands on him he melted into the feeling. God, were you skilled. You massaged every part of him, kneading out all the knots he probably had for years. He was lost in the feeling. There was no sound but the generic spa music playing in the background.

After a while, your voice broke that silence. "I'm gonna lift the towel to keep you covered and I want you to roll over onto your back."

Rafe did as he said, rolling over then leaning on his elbows to steady himself. When he looked over and locked eyes on you, his eyes widened slightly and a soft "oh" slipped from his lips. You were stunning. The person that had be practically feeling him up was stunning and now he was shy all the sudden.

You looked back at him smitten. He was a gorgeous man, chiseled jaw, abs carved by the Gods themselves, bright blue eyes. You were taken back by his beauty. There was an understanding in the stare you held on one another but neither of you said anything.

Rafe laid back down as you moved to the foot of the bed. You lifted up his towel slightly as you applied more oil to him and began working on his lower legs slowly moving your way up.

You began to knead the flesh of his thigh. Running your hands up with pressure as your knuckles graze the length of his cock. He lifted his at you and a smirked flashed across his face. After meeting his eyes, you look back down pretending to focus on your work, hiding the flush of red that grew on your cheeks.

“That ok, Mr. Cameron?” You ask teasingly.

“More than ok, sweetheart.”

With his confirmation, you continue to softly touch him. Your fingers on him in a way he couldn’t see coming. He was in big trouble once your hands went to each of his thighs and worked from the bottom up to his pelvic bone. He fought it. He really tried. Tried so hard until he couldn’t control it anymore.

In between his legs, right in your face, his cock got hard underneath the towel. You didn’t mind it, especially with how far it lifted the towel from his body.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Rafe was at a loss for words. He didn’t know what he felt. Ashamed? Embarrassed? What he did know what that you made him so fucking horny. “Abso-fuckin-lutely.”

That made you smile. Your hands slipped back under the towel. This time grabbing the shaft with 2 hands and slowly stroking him. Rafe’s jaw dropped open a moan escaping his throat. He rips the towel off himself, propping up on both elbows so that he can watch you work him.

You continue to touch him and when you start to feel him twitch against the palm of your hands, he grips your wrist forcing you to stop. “I need you.” Rafe mutter’s breathlessly.

He hops off the table and stalks over to you completely bare. You can’t keep your eyes off of him. All of him. When he reaches you on the other side of the table he grabs your waist and flips you around. You instinctively bend over it as he rubs a hand over your ass.

“This ok?”

You nod desperately. Desperate to feel him you can’t wait any longer. You reach back pulling your scrub pants down. “Eager, are we?” He chuckles behind you.

You feel the tip of his head rub against your folds before he swirls it around your clit. Your heads drops to the table as you bite your lips stifling a moan from escaping. Rafe slams his entire length into you not giving you anytime to react before he pulls out and slams into you again.

Rafe pushed up your shirt and took your bottle of oil and dripped it onto your lower back, watching the way it fell between the crack of your ass and how he pushed it into your soaked hole.

He was relentless in his thrusts and you’re pretty sure you drew blood from how hard you were biting down on your lip. You felt yourself tighten in the lower part of your stomach. Tightening around the length of his cock, before relief washes over you and your legs shook hard as you came. Rafe followed right after you.

He collapsed onto your back before regaining his composure and putting his robe back on as you pulled up your pants. “You take standing appointments?”

You smiled up at him. “Every Thursday 7:00 reserved for you, Mr. Cameron.”

Tags- @rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @whydoesthemirrorhateme @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @nemesyaaa @inthelibrarybtw @littlelamy

[acosmicbee]

Black Sheep

(FYI, I have a couple of requests I'm working on rn (including one for a mafia mom which is top of my list) but I got my wisdom teeth out today so I felt like editing something to distract myself from the discomfort and also just because I felt like it so have some mafia/gang family while you wait. Enjoy! Also some TWS: Mention of harm towards Y/N, death threats towards Y/N, infantilism at the very end)

The basement was cold and humid. You could feel your clothes sticking to your skin, partially because of the moisture and partially because of the dried blood. They hardly ever took your blindfold and gag off, other than to feed you the bare minimum and give you some water. It had been this way for the past few... days? Weeks? You couldn't tell down here.

All you knew was that you had been walking home from school when you'd been grabbed. You knew why before they'd even talked to you: your family were leaders of a gang. Everyone was involved, well, minus you. You were just the accident kid who everyone pretended didn't exist. Basically, if your kidnappers, who were 100% from the other gang in the city wanted anything, no matter how small, they grabbed the wrong kid.

You could hear them coming again. Fancy shoes clicked on a stone staircase before the door to the room you were in was unlocked. You'd long since lost feeling in your hands and legs, both bound to the chair with a coarse rope that dug into your skin. It would leave permanent marks, you were sure, if you ever got out of here.

You flinched as the gag was harshly pulled from your mouth. The action caused your cracked lips to begin to bleed. You ran your tongue over it, tasting your blood as you waited for your captor to speak. 

"Who are you?" He asked. His voice was harsh and cold. "You're part of the L/N family, no?"

"Depends." He growled and in the next moment you found yourself soaked with ice cold water. You spluttered and tried to escape the frosty feeling that was creeping into your bones.

"Answer me!" He demanded. "Are you part of the family, yes or no?!"

"Yes! Yes, I'm a L/N!" You were shivering. Your body trembled against the ropes, causing them to dig deeper into your flesh.

"If you're truly a L/N then how come you claim to know nothing?! Tell me, what are your family's plans!"

"I don't know! I'm not part of the gang stuff!" You pleaded. Of course, you'd been trying to plead your case since you got here and no one had listened. You doubted they were going to suddenly listen now. 

"You're useless! At this point we should just kill you or put you up for ransom." He stated, clearly furious. "Wilson! Bring me the video camera!" 

You heard shuffling and talking for a while. You weren't paying attention, couldn't with how cold you felt. It would be a miracle if you didn't get sick... or die from cold. Finally, someone pulled your head back and something was pushed against your neck.

"Look L/Ns. We have your child, Y/N. If you ever want to see them alive again you will pay us $550,000. We will be in contact with payment details, but know this. If you try to attack us, or get the police on us, they're dead." You flinched when you felt pain on your neck, followed by the feeling of warm blood dripping from a new cut. "This time it was shallow. Next time? Next time it won't be." 

As he packed up, you heard him ordering his people around, you finally found your voice.

"T-they aren't gonna pay." Your voice quivered as you shook, trying to stop your teeth from chattering. 

"Excuse me?" He asked, sounding just as angry.

"They don't like me much. They aren't gonna pay you." You reiterated. 

"We'll see about that." He said, leaving the basement.

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"What...?" The Hartshorn family were all sitting around, reading a letter that had arrived from the L/N family. The ransom recording had been sent out earlier that day, and they hadn't been expecting a response so quickly. What was even more surprising was the contents of the letter.

'You thought that would hurt us? That they were worth $550,000?? Well, you're wrong. They're barely worth $55. Do what you want.' The letter was typed and they clearly hadn't spent very long on it. 

The family were conflicted. Of course they could do what was expected and kill you, it would be simple. However, they had taken you and tortured you when you hadn't deserved any of it. You had been right all those times you begged to be let go and claimed ignorance of your family's plans.

"Colton, are they still in the basement?" Calista asked. She was the middle child, three years older than you were.

"Of course? Where else would they be?" He asked, feeling a bit bad about that bucket of water he'd thrown on you.

"Colt you idiot!" She yelled, running from the room.

"What did I do?" He asked, looking to his parents for answers. His mother and father both had grim looks on their faces while his younger brother sat on his mother's lap.

"Colton... what temperature is the basement? On top of that, what happens when you mix soaking wet clothes with cold temperatures?"

"Hypothermia..." He paled, running after Calista. Bronwyn Hartshorn sighed, placing her youngest child onto the floor and waving him off to go play before she turned to her husband.

"We need to talk."

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"Have you come to kill me?" Your voice was weak and slurred. Your entire body felt numb. They'd forgotten to put the gag back in after they recorded the ransom video. You couldn't even make a noise of shock when the blindfold was pulled off your head. 

"No." It was the girl this time. Her voice was firm. Your eyes closed before she jolted you awake.

"You can't go to sleep right now. Stay awake." She demanded. "Colton! Go grab some clothes from my room! It doesn't matter which ones!"

You drifted off again before you woke up burning. You screamed, water splashing everywhere. Your frozen brain couldn't process you were in a bathtub full of warm water, not a boiling pot.

The girl talked to you the entire time, scrubbing off dried blood. By the time you were pulled from the bath, the water was pink. Your wrists and ankles were bandaged, along with the cut on your neck and the other injuries all over.

By the time you were redressed in warm clothes and tucked into an actual bed, not even a hurricane could've woken you up. You were completely oblivious to the conversation your 'new' family was having at that moment.

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Soft classical music was playing somewhere. You felt so light, almost like you were dancing along with it. Only the music never stopped and you just kept on spinning. Faster and faster, round and round until your eyes opened with a start and you rolled onto your side, spluttering up stomach acid.

You coughed, throat burning, before collapsing back onto your back. Still the music continued, drifting on and on like some wordless lullaby. Your mind drifted with it, feeling free to fly. After being in pain for so many days, not feeling the sting of cuts or the throb of bruises was bliss. You could barely register being lifted from a bed as someone changed your clothes. You were placed back onto clean sheets and gently tucked back in.

At one point a straw is gently placed into your mouth and you taste a rich broth. Your mind never truly surfaces during this time, your consciousness just below the surface. You can hear talking, but you can't process it. You can feel yourself being moved sometimes, but you can't protest. Until one day, the hazy mist begins to lift a little.

You start to remember the conversations you hear. Then, you can finally twitch your fingers as you slowly begin to wake up. Your eyes open and slowly adjust to the room you're in. Theres a projector going that looks like a stuffed animal, making green stars, moons and comets dance all over the ceiling. You can barely make out anything in the dim light minus the bed you're laying on, the nightstands on either side of the headboard, the chair beside the nightstand closest to you, and a wardrobe.

Your body trembles as you sit up, still a bit weak as you start to recover. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your feet sinking into the cozy carpeting as you try your best to stagger over to the closed curtains along one wall. Pulling them open was hard, but when you did you could see the moon outside. 

It had been so long since you saw the sky that you just stood there, leaning against the wall staring up at the full moon. Despite the city lights blocking out the stars, you could still imagine them there, above the lights and clouds, twinkling away. It was an enchanting view, one you'd taken for granted before how ever many days or weeks you'd spent in that... torture room.

You absentmindedly reached down to itch your leg only to find it covered with a bandage. You were momentarily distracted from the sight of the moon as you began to inspect your body. Every cut you'd received had been tended to. Including... your hands found the bandages covering your neck. Immediately you were back in the basement, tied to that chair as a knife was dragged across your neck.

You only snapped back to reality when someone grabbed your shoulders. Even when you tried to struggle to break free, you were just lifted into someones arms before being shushed and rocked back and forth. Tears streamed down your face and you couldn't tell if it was due to humiliation or the trauma you had suffered.

It took a while before you stopped shaking and tears stopped falling. Then you were left staring at the ceiling covered in the projection of the night sky, pitifully sniffling every few seconds. The same classical music was still playing in the background, slow and never changing.

"You're okay, sweetheart. It's just the pain medication messing with your brain a little, hm? Although it is relieving to see you up and moving." A deep voice said. It was obviously a man, but it didn't belong to your father or any of his men that you knew. Now that you thought about it... where were you? Did your family pay the ransom? Did they actually love you?

"W-where?" Your throat was dry and scratchy and your voice shook. It was probably from whatever meds the man had mentioned, which was also why you were so fuzzy headed. The man chuckled, carefully walking back over to the bed and setting you back down.

"You're where you need to be, honey. Just close your eyes and sleep." He said, tucking you back in. You made a noise of protest, trying to sit back up again. You didn't need sleep, you needed answers.

"Who are you?" You asked, fighting as hard as you could when he tried to push you back down. He sighed, apparently realizing you weren't going to play along without the reply you wanted. He sat down in the chair at your bedside. You could barely make out his face in the light from the projector.

"I am your dad, Y/N." He stated.

"No, you aren't. I know who my father is." You said.

"If you'll recall I said 'dad' not 'father'." He said, leaning back in the chair. "Your father essentially gave you to us, so we will step up, as your new family."

"What does that even mean?!" You demanded. You were getting worked up when a woman entered the room. She sighed, looking at the man, after giving you a weak smile.

"I just managed to put Andy back to sleep only to find you here keeping them awake. Let the child sleep Dominic. You can explain more in the morning." The woman lay her hand on your forehead, her fingers cold. "Your temperature is coming down. You've had a bad fever for quite a bit, dear. I promise, you're safe here, so go to bed and all will be explained come morning."

"Ah, Bronwyn is right. It is rather late. Good night Y/N, we will talk more in the morning." The man said, ruffling your hair before leaving the room.

"Good night, dear. I promise you'll get your answers and that nothing will hurt you here. Sleep tight darling." She kissed you on the forehead before exiting the room herself. You were left all alone with the projection of the sky, the classical music, and the storm of thoughts raging inside of your head. 

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At some point you must've managed to drift off to sleep, because the next time you opened your eyes you were being gently shaken awake. The classical music had stopped at some point, you faintly realized as you began to wake up. When your eyes finally opened you were a little surprised to see a child, kneeling on the edge of your bed, shaking you.

When the kid saw that you were awake he grinned before hopping onto the chair beside your bed. He looked to be possibly five or six, which only confused you more. He sat in the chair, picking up a teddy bear that had been placed there, and toying with it in his lap as he stared at you. You stared back, still waking up and trying to process what was going on.

"Breakfast will be here in a few minutes." He finally informed you.

"Where are we?" You asked. He just blinked up at you for a second before shrugging.

"Mother and father will tell you that kinda stuff. They said I'm not allowed to." He answered, playing with his bear's arms. With that answer, and him clearly being interested in his bear, you took a moment to look around the room you were in.

You were laying in a large, cozy bed covered in fluffy blankets and quilts. There were practically a million pillows between you and the headboard as well as a few stuffed animals. There was a beanbag in one of the corners of the room and the whole floor was covered in a white rug. The walls were lined with some bookshelves and there was a large desk and a desk chair on the other side of the room. Three separate doors lined the walls, you assumed a closet, bathroom and the exit.

Muffled talking slowly became more and more audible outside the room. It sounded almost like bickering. The voices were familiar but you couldn't exactly place where from. Beside you, the kid just rolled his eyes, jumping from the chair.

"I'll go get mother and father." He said, going to the farthest door and opening it. You got a peek into the hallway before your eyes locked with another person and suddenly, you were back in that room. You were still tied to a chair with those cruel eyes looking down at you as you were cut and hit. As a knife slid across your neck... As... As you froze... cold. Why were you so cold all of a sudden??

You flinched back as you felt a pressure near you on the bed, striking out when someone touched your shoulder. The blow never connected, as whoever was touching you gently gripped your wrist, slowly moving your hand to rest on their chest.

"There you go, breathe with me." A voice coaxed you. It was gentle and kind. Your mind slowly began to work again, you felt your lungs burn, forcing yourself to take a stuttering breath. Your cheeks felt wet, yet you couldn't remember if you started to cry. When your eyes finally opened again, when the world finally came back into focus, you were staring into unfamiliar green eyes. Your captor wasn't here, yet you'd already figured out where you were.

"You're Bronwyn Hartshorn." It was a whisper. You watched as her face tightened for a moment before she took a deep breath and nodded. A tense silence settled over you as you pulled your hand back, watching her warily.

"Yes. I am." She stated. "I believe... there have been some major conflicts and misunderstandings. For that, I as the mother of Colton and Calista Hartshorn, deeply apologize. My husband, Dominic, feels the same. Especially after some... details have come to light."

"Your parents said they didn't want you." The same kid said, entering the room. Bronwyn gasped and gave the kid a sharp look. You felt like your emotions had just been hit and run over by a train, yet you couldn't find it in yourself to be surprised.

"Andy, that is not the kind of thing we say." She said, picking the kid up and placing him in her lap. "Apologize."

"I'm sorry your parents don't want you." He said. Bronwyn placed a hand over his mouth.

"I'm sorry. We hoped to break the news to you a little more gently... Andy isn't at the age where he fully knows what he should and shouldn't say."

"I... I knew it. I knew they wouldn't come for me." You murmured. Despite that, it didn't make the truth of the situation any less hurtful. Now you were stuck on enemy territory with no way out. At least it didn't seem like they were trying to kill you anymore...?

There was a knock at the door before it opened. A man came in, kissing Bronwyn's temple before he smiled at you. Behind him a maid trailed in, pushing a cart with some food and a tea set on it. He didn't seem as effected by the tense air and waited until the maid left before speaking.

"Are you settling in alright? How do you like the room? I know the walls are a bit bland and the bookshelves are pretty empty, but once you feel up to it you can help decorate. Is there anything you feel you need to be comfortable in this room right now?" He asked. The questions confused you but you could barely get a word out before he pulled a small wooden tray from the cart and set it up, forming a bed tray table. He then placed the plates and a teacup onto it.

"I would offer you some coffee, but with all the fever reducers you've been on the past couple of days I'm not sure it's the best idea." He said, finally handing you a fork.

"Wait, can we go back to the room thing? Why would I need to decorate?" You asked, pushing away the sinking feeling in your stomach. "Speaking of which, what's with the sudden good cop act? What is going on?"

"Its simple, we've decided to become your new family." Dominic stated, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. Bronwyn rolled her eyes from where she sat on the edge of the bed.

"What?! Why?! Is this some sort of guilt thing? I'm fine. If anything, I'd probably be better alone." You argued, the sinking feeling returning with a passion.

"Sweetheart," Bronwyn ignored your glare, holding Andy on her lap as he played. "You deserve a family. Even if we didn't meet through the best of means and we have a lot to atone for, this could be the start of something beautiful. We want to not only make it up to you, but make you feel loved."

"Although, we should probably work on helping you move on. Calista and Colton tried to come by earlier to apologize. Do you remember what caused your panic attack so we can try to remove it?" Dominic asked. 

You couldn't see a way out right now so you had to force yourself to comply. Maybe in the future there would be some instance where you could find a way to freedom. "Eyes... Their eyes..."

Dominic blinked. His eyes were similar to theirs, but a shade lighter of blue. Just different enough to not fully cause you to panic. "Well, we'll see what we can do."

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The next few months were hard to adjust to. Colton and Calista had eventually been allowed to visit you, although they'd been wearing colored contacts since then. The entire family seemed to swarm around you, trying their best to make you feel welcomed. Your room had been filled with your favorite books and hobbies. It would seem like a dream come true on the outside, but you knew better.

They had gotten you a phone, but it had every tracking and monitoring app on it known to man. Dominic offered you free use of his black card, but you knew he would know exactly what you ordered and any packages would be checked before they were given to you. The clothes you were given had little trackers sewn into the seams in places you wouldn't have noticed if you weren't looking. 

As the months flew by you felt more and more trapped. Your mind was deteriorating a little everyday. You needed to be outside alone. You needed to go somewhere alone. You just needed to be completely alone. So you 'borrowed' some clothes from Colton and Calista, waited for the right moment and the second the family was busy and focused on some major issue with your 'old' family, you slipped out the door and disappeared into the night. Hopefully, never to be found by them again.

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It was warm inside the small cafe next to the bus station. You kept your hood up the whole time you purchased a bus ticket across the country, lying to the ticket person about divorced parents when she asked why someone your age was traveling alone. You used the rest of the cash you swiped on your way out the door to buy a nice hot cup of tea and some sandwiches for the ride.

Outside snow was steadily falling, landing in powdery drifts. Every so often a snowplow would drive by and you would hear the shovel scrape the road as they went. You wish you had grabbed warmer clothing, but these were the best you could do in your situation. You were wearing one of Colton's sweatshirts, with one of Calista's shirts and a pair of her sweatpants. You made sure to take a clean pair of Colton's socks as well as Calista's snow boots, which were a size too big. The scarf and mittens were Bronwyn's and the large hat you wore was Dominic's.

The cafe was cozy and warm, thankfully, and had a large screen displaying the bus arrival times. Soft jazz music was playing through the speakers, and the overhead lights weren't too harsh. All in all, it felt safe but you refused to let your guard down. You know that by now someone would've discovered you were missing. The only good thing about the snow was that your footprints would be hidden by the time anyone came looking.

The real struggle would be deciding what to do when you finally got to your destination. You had no more money. No phone, wallet or ID. You had nothing but the clothes on your back and the few sandwiches you'd bought for the trip. However, you decided that would be a problem for future you to deal with.

'The 10:45 bus is now arriving. All ticket holders please proceed to boarding area A with your luggage. I repeat, the 10:45 bus...' A voice spoke over the small intercom, interrupting the jazz. You took the last sip of your tea, throwing the empty cup into a recycling bin as you made your way to the boarding area.

You were one of the first people on the bus as you didn't have luggage to load. The bus driver gave you a once over as you handed him your ticket, but ultimately decided he didn't care enough to question where a teen your age was going by themself at 10:45 at night. You chose a window seat near the front of the bus, happy that it wasn't too uncomfortable. You pulled your hood further over your eyes, leaning on the window as the bus loaded. You were lucky to end up with an empty seat beside you, so you fastened your seatbelt before closing your eyes and falling asleep.

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When you woke up, you had the feeling something was wrong. It was pitch black outside, probably the middle of the night. It seemed you and the bus driver were the only ones awake at the moment. As you continued staring out the window you saw headlights on the road behind the bus. The car was going fast and your heart started racing when you saw the black sports car pull up beside the bus. The same sports car Dominic had been so happy to drive you around in whenever you let him.

You knew you hadn't brought any trackers with you, you had been so careful to cover your tracks, so how had they found you? They wouldn't have planted a tracker in you... right? Slowly, in the dim light of the bus you ran a hand along your arms and neck, feeling for any kind of raised bump you didn't remember. You wouldn't find it until you checked your legs, feeling a small lump right above your left ankle.

At the moment there was no way to take it out. You didn't have any kind of razor on you, and even if you wanted too there was no guarantee you wouldn't cut something important and bleed out. In fact, you'd likely pass out from the pain before you could even get it out. There was no way out of this, you realized.

The car shot forward, before pulling ahead of the bus and slamming on the breaks. The bus swerved, unstable on the icy road. Before you knew it, you felt weightless and then the bus slammed into the ground. Your head hit the window and you blacked out for a few seconds. When you came to you heard people screaming and talking. Blood dripped down your forehead and you had to take a moment to remember what had happened.

Your hands shook and you realized you couldn't undo your seatbelt without falling. The bus was on it's side and you were on the side up in the air. Your ears were ringing and you grabbed for anything to steady yourself as a wave of nausea passed over you. You couldn't move, couldn't think. You just wanted to take a little nap, just a teensy tiny sleep.

That was when the window beside you shattered. Tiny shards of glass cut your cheek and sliced your hands. You couldn't even react as someone reached in and pulled you out of the bus. The wind was cold and the snow stung as it melted on your wounds. You could see the snow on the ground turning red as you bled onto it.

Someone was holding your face, trying to talk to you, but your mind was just too spacey to hear them. You were cradled in someones arms as they brought you to a car, ignoring your whimpers as the crash replayed in your head. That... that had been your fault. You had caused all those people to be put in danger, possibly killed.

A hand ran through your hair, shushing you as tears fell down your cheeks. The car sped off down the road into the snowy night as you were brought right back to where it all began.

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You could barely recall what happened after the bus crash. It was mostly a blurry haze of pain and too-bright lights. You remembered being shook awake a few times, muffled voices talking around you and a persistent ringing in your ears. Eventually you were carefully fed some medication and allowed to rest. You fell asleep with gentle talking around you and a hand playing with your hair.

The medication made you tired and hazy. The few times you were awake you were either being fed, being helped to the bathroom or crying. You felt immense guilt for what happened with the bus, you didn't know if anyone had died or not. Even if they hadn't, any injuries would've been your fault. 

It was always the worse when you woke up crying from a guilt induced nightmare. In a second someone would be by your side, shushing you as they gently tucked you in again. You'd have to listen to them coo words of love and affection, knowing it was this same obsession that caused the accident in the first place. You shouldn't have tried to run. You shouldn't have fought back. 

Slowly you were weened off the pain meds as your brain healed. You'd had a pretty serious concussion, Dominic told you when you were lucid enough to understand. You were lucky though and their doctor didn't seem to think you'd have any lasting damage. 

The first day you were finally sober enough to do simple things like stand for a bit and walk around, the family had finally confronted you about what happened. They'd pulled up chairs alongside the bed, minus Dominic who sat on the edge of the bed and Andy who cuddled into your side.

"For how far you got, it was a good attempt at tag." Dominic said, as if this was a game and not an attempt at escape. "Next time, lets reduce the amount of collateral damage, okay?"

"Tag?" Your voice was shaking with confusion and anger. Was this just a game to them? People had probably gotten hurt in the crash if your own injuries were any sign, yet they were treating you like a kid who was upset they lost a game. 

"For the time being, we'll have to move your room sweetheart." Bronwyn said, reaching for you only to retract her hand when you flinched away. "We just think the room you're in right now is a bit too dangerous for you. Especially since you proved you can't be trusted with something as simple as random clothes."

"You're going to be moved to the room next to ours and across the hall from Colton's room. That way theres a bit more surveillance. We don't want you to accidentally hurt yourself trying to 'run away'." Dominic said. The way he spoke gave you the impression that he didn't believe in you at all. He truly believed that your running away would fail and they'd always manage to drag you back here.

"Now that you're off the meds enough to move and thus be a danger to yourself, we're gonna move you to your new room, okay? We already decorated for you which is why we hadn't moved you before." Calista told you, waving Andy away as she began to untuck you.

"Don't worry darling. I made sure the projector and music box made it into your new room. That should help you sleep the first few nights while you adjust to the new space." Bronwyn said. As you were hoisted into Calista's arms. She was shockingly strong for someone who looked to be only a little bit older than you and carried you like it was nothing.

The new room was much of the same, except for the security camera in the corner which could see the whole room. On top of that the decor seemed more attuned to a child, not a teenager. There were more bright colors and fluffy stuffed toys than had been in the first room.

"There's an en suite bathroom for changing." Bronwyn showed you. "But this way we'll be able to monitor you almost 24/7."

As you stared into the blinking security camera, pointed straight at the bed you had been placed on, you could only wonder where your life had gone so wrong. 

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"Y/N! Y/N! Colton took my teddy bear!" Andy barged into your room yelling. It was something you'd gotten used to over the past few months here. The general lack of care for your privacy still made you uncomfortable some days.

"Hey! Y/N isn't involved in this. You can get your stupid bear back when you tell me where you hid my phone you little thief!" Colton hissed, barging in after him. You just groaned, realizing you weren't going to get any sort of peace and quiet. 

"Boys!" Bronwyn hissed, appearing in your doorway with a tray of apple slices and other small snacks. "You can argue about this in your own rooms. Leave Y/N alone, you know they enjoy their quiet time."

The boys bickered as they left, Colton swiping a few apple slices as he went. Bronwyn groaned, setting the tray on your bedside table. "Honestly, you'd think they were both seven with the way they act. I brought you some snacks since you didn't seem to eat much at lunch. Calista is still on her... 'business trip' but your father should be home for dinner tonight."

You apathetically nibbled on an apple. You knew full well where Calista was, she was out training to take over leadership of the gang from Dominic when the time came. Apparently you were 'too fragile' to just be told that.

There was a sudden crash out in the hallway followed by more yelling from the boys. Bronwyn groaned, rising to her feet. "Honestly your brothers are going to drive me mental one of these days. Enjoy the snacks while I go sort this out, okay? I'll be back soon and then we can spend some bonding time together."

As she left the room all you could do was finish your apple slice as you stared at the blinking camera, hoping that one day this nightmare would end.

[luvsupa]

001 | THE GARDEN

tags: trueform!sukuna x servant!fem reader, angst, smut(ish), pet names, lots of tension, teasing, mentions of death, mdni.

w.c: 3.9k (damn)

a/n: sorry for not posting in a whilee💔💔 I’ve been so sick and still am 🤧 😓 but this is req from this ask! (I will be making multiple parts to this i was writing a lil too much 😟)

+ likes and reblogs are appreciated!

part 2!

“sukuna-sama expects his dinner,” one of sukuna’s subordinates announces, pushing open the heavy wooden door to the kitchen. you and several other servants are already hard at work preparing the meal.

everyone tenses at the reminder, knowing that sukuna’s patience is thin. this is your first time preparing his dinner—usually, you’re assigned to gardening or cleaning. the sight before you is almost too much: bones, flesh, and organs stacked on the plate, creating a grotesque pile. the stench of death fills the air, making your stomach churn as you try not to gag.

as the meal is finished, you grab the edges of the heavy plate, bracing yourself for the weight of the revolting flesh.

“you’re not worthy to deliver the king’s food,” yorozu sneers, snatching the plate from your hands with a flick of her wrist. “you might upset him and end up as his next meal,” she adds, carrying the plate effortlessly while laughing as she exits. her mocking tone stings, and you can’t help but think of her with contempt as you and the other servants clean up.

bitch.

unable to bear the stench any longer, you leave the kitchen early. the other servants understand and let you go, knowing the smell has become too much for you. as you walk down the dimly lit hallway, you look up at the open ceiling, where stars shine faintly against the night sky. an eerie wind howls through the corridor, its sound both creepy and mesmerizing.

you glance towards the servant quarters but are drawn to the door leading to the garden. it feels like something is beckoning you, so you decide to take a detour. opening the door, you’re greeted by the moonlit garden—a stark contrast to the darkness inside. the flowers and fruit glow vibrantly under the moonlight, and the trees sway with the force of the wind.

walking deeper into the garden, you stop on the wooden bridge over the koi pond. you peer into the water, watching the koi fish below. as you look closer, your reflection shimmers in the rippling water. the fish suddenly dart away, disappearing in an instant. your confusion grows as you focus on your reflection and see four red orbs glowing ominously behind you.

frozen in place, fear grips you tightly. your heart pounds wildly, and you’re paralyzed by the chilling presence that seems to lurk just out of sight. your mind races, but you remain utterly silent and immobile, trapped by the eerie, haunting feeling that you are being watched.

you stand there frozen, the chill of fear gripping your body as your heart pounds furiously. you’re paralyzed by terror, unable to make a sound, not even a whisper.

“awh, i wish to get more of a reaction out of you,” the unknown voice murmurs darkly. slowly, you turn to see an extremely tall man with an array of unsettling features. the sight nearly makes you faint. the king.

“my lord,” you stammer, bowing deeply in respect. he chuckles at your rapid attempt to regain composure.

“it’s very easy to get into your head,” he observes, scanning your trembling form. “is there nothing up here?” he laughs, knocking your head playfully. you wince at his touch and rub your head, frowning at his mockery.

“there is,” you retort, turning your gaze away from him. you’re not trying to be disrespectful, but his subtle insult stings.

your heart still races as you focus on the rippling water beneath the bridge. sukuna towers over you, his presence as oppressive as the dark night sky. the garden around you is shrouded in shadows, illuminated only by the faint glow of the moon and the shimmering koi fish gliding silently beneath the water’s surface. the air is eerily quiet, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of insects.

“so, what brings you to my garden, little one?” sukuna’s voice slices through the silence, smooth but laced with a sharp edge. you turn to look at him; this time, he’s also peering down at the fish.

you hesitate, unsure of what to say. the truth is, you hadn’t meant to end up here—you were simply drawn in by some inexplicable force. but could you really admit that to him? that you felt something calling you?

“i… needed some fresh air, sukuna-sama,” you finally reply, your voice barely a whisper. it’s a weak excuse, but it’s all you can muster.

he chuckles darkly, the sound low and rumbling, as if he can see right through your flimsy explanation. “fresh air? after dealing with my dinner? you must have a stronger stomach than i thought,” he teases, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief. he steps closer, the wooden bridge creaking under his weight. “or maybe you’re just running away from something?”

you stiffen, his words cutting close to home. he’s right, of course. you’re running—from the stench of death, from the sight of flesh and bone, from the reality of serving someone like sukuna. but admitting that feels like exposing your most vulnerable self, and you’re not ready for that.

“no, my lord,” you say, shaking your head. “i just needed a moment to clear my thoughts.”

sukuna hums, clearly unimpressed by your response. he circles around you, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey. you can feel his gaze lingering on you, making you hyper-aware of every breath you take, every inch of space between you.

“clear your thoughts, huh?” he muses, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “what could a little servant like you possibly have to think about?” his tone is mocking, almost condescending, yet there’s a genuine curiosity in it.

you swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on you. what could you say that wouldn’t sound trivial to a man like him? you’re just a servant—your worries are insignificant compared to his vast existence. but something about his question—and the way he seems to revel in your discomfort—makes you want to push back, just a little.

“i think about a lot of things, my lord,” you say softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “like the stars, or the way the wind feels at night. or the flowers in the garden.” you pause, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “even… even what it must be like to be someone like you.”

the last part slips out before you can stop yourself, and you immediately regret it. your heart skips a beat as you brace for his reaction, fearing you’ve crossed some invisible line. but to your surprise, sukuna doesn’t lash out. instead, he halts, staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“someone like me?” he echoes, his brow arching with a mix of curiosity and disdain. “and what do you imagine it’s like, little one? to be someone like me?”

you hesitate, unsure how to respond. you hadn’t really thought it through—your words had just spilled out in the heat of the moment. but now that he’s asking, you can’t back down.

“i imagine it’s lonely,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “to have so much power, but no one who truly understands you. no one who dares to stand by your side, except out of fear.”

the garden falls into silence, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air. you can feel sukuna’s gaze boring into you, but you don’t dare meet it. your heart races, fearing you’ve gone too far.

then, sukuna does something unexpected—he laughs, a low, dark laugh that sends shivers down your spine. “lonely?” he repeats, as if the concept is foreign to him. “you think i’m lonely?”

he leans in closer, so close that you can feel his breath on your skin. “let me tell you something, little servant,” he murmurs, his voice soft but laden with menace. “i don’t need anyone to stand by my side. i don’t need understanding or companionship. all i need is power, and the fear it brings. that’s what sustains me.”

his words are harsh, but there’s something in his tone—a hint of something deeper, something he’s not willing to admit. you feel a pang of sadness, realizing that beneath all that power, there’s a void he refuses to fill.

“you should be careful, doll,” he says, his voice low and warning. “curiosity can be dangerous. especially when it comes to me.”

with that, he straightens up, turning to leave. but before he can take a step, he pauses, glancing back at you with a smirk. “perhaps i’ll visit you again. after all, i find your little thoughts quite entertaining.”

your breath catches as you watch him disappear into the shadows, leaving you alone in the garden once more. the night is still, the stars shining brightly overhead, but the fear that had gripped you earlier has lessened, replaced by something else—something you can’t quite put into words.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *-

the next evening, you enter the shared servant quarters with a basket of clothes, overhearing yorozu and your other roommates gossiping about what happened in sukuna’s chambers. you pretend not to listen as you place the basket on the bed and start folding the clothes, trying to catch snippets of their conversation.

“he’s a maniac,” yorozu boasts loudly, “he even made love to me until sunrise—oh, how incredible it felt.”

you raise your brows at her blatant lie. after your encounter with sukuna, you had carefully snuck into the room to find yorozu and the others fast asleep.

what a liar.

the girls listening to yorozu gasp in awe, pleading for more details about her so-called night with the king. their excitement fades, however, as the door swings open, and uraume enters. the ladies quickly notice their presence and bow in respect.

“sukuna-sama has requested you to give him his bath,” uraume announces, looking directly at you. you glance around, wondering if uraume might have mistaken you for another servant.

“me?” you ask, pointing at yourself in confusion. the other servants exchange glances of barely concealed disgust. uraume nods, and they take their leave, closing the door behind them and leaving you in an awkward silence.

you smile to yourself as you hear yorozu’s incredulous question about why you’re the one chosen to assist with sukuna’s bath. you’re not a high-ranking servant, let alone someone who should be in his presence for more than a minute, much less during a bath.

discarding the basket of clothes, you rush out of the room, a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation bubbling inside you about what might unfold between you and sukuna.

the walk to sukuna’s chambers nearly left you breathless, so secluded is his room from the rest of his vast estate. the wooden double doors, adorned with menacing skulls, creak open as uraume gestures for you to enter. they guide you past the threshold and direct you towards the private pool area, marked as the exit.

as you step into his room, you’re struck by its enormity. it’s so grand that it seems like a small residence in itself, complete with its own living area, kitchen, and even a staircase leading to what you assume must be his private quarters. the room boasts a massive balcony overlooking the villages below, offering a breathtaking view. to one side, a door leads to his expansive garden. 

fear courses through you as you sense his overwhelming presence grow stronger. your gaze is drawn irresistibly to the garden door, and something compels you forward. you push the door open and step into the garden, which is bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. 

there, in the center of the garden, is a large, dark pool. steam rises from the bubbling water, adding an ethereal quality to the scene.

and there he is.

sukuna sits in the pool, his eyes closed. his two arms rest casually on the edge, while the other two are submerged beneath the surface. his chest, covered in ancient tattoos, glistens with water droplets under the moonlight. the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest with each breath is the only movement in the otherwise still night.

“there you are, my little one.”

you stood there, swallowing hard as he opened his eyes to meet yours. his hand motioned for you to come closer, and you obeyed, lowering yourself to your knees beside him.

“something disturbing you?” he asked, feigning concern as he searched your eyes for a reason. “nothing, my lord. I’m just surprised you requested me instead of yorozu.”

a smirk played on his lips as his fingers lightly brushed the fabric of your kimono. “join me,” he said, his tone laced with a provocative edge. your eyes widened at the request, and you stumbled over your words, unable to form a coherent response. all you could hear were the faint pops of bubbles in the pool.

“unless you’d prefer I call for yorozu,” he added, a hint of amusement in his voice that sparked a pang of jealousy in you.

with a deep breath, you carefully stood up, untying your kimono and letting it pool around your feet as sukuna’s gaze remained fixed on your bare figure. he bit his lip, watching as you hesitantly stepped into the steaming water. the heat was intense, but you pushed through, your entire body soon engulfed by the water. sukuna’s arms, hidden beneath the surface, wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer until you were resting on his lap. you flinched at the unexpected contact.

you could feel his cocks.

he chuckled at your reaction, his laughter carrying a hint of cruel amusement. “does her name strike a nerve?” he taunted as you glanced around, avoiding his gaze while taking in the garden’s beauty. without warning, he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I don’t like being ignored, woman.”

“it doesn’t seem fair that you have sexual relations with her and then summon me. you’re only going to make the other servants despise me,” you confessed, your voice trembling. his expression was unreadable, leaving you unsure whether he was angry or merely contemplating your words.

your pulse quickens as sukuna’s intense gaze pins you in place, his four crimson eyes gleaming with dark amusement. his massive form looms over you, every inch of his heavily tattooed body radiating power and menace. the steam swirling around you thickens the air, and the bubbling water at your waist feels like it’s vibrating with the tension between you.

“jealousy doesn’t suit you,” sukuna murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine. his tone is laced with condescension, as if daring you to challenge him. one of his hands tightens its grip on your waist, while another trails a sharp claw along the side of your neck, dangerously close to your pulse.

you swallow hard, trying to maintain composure, but your voice betrays you with a slight tremor. “i’m not jealous,” you lie, even as your heart races. “i just don’t understand why you would entertain her lies.”

sukuna’s lips curl into a cruel smirk, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. “entertain her lies?” he echoes mockingly, leaning in so close that his breath fans across your face. “you think i care about what that pathetic woman says? the only reason i acknowledge her existence is to see you squirm.”

he moves one of his lower arms to grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him. his eyes bore into yours, and the sheer intensity of his gaze makes your knees feel weak. “you’re nothing but a fool to her,” he continues, his voice dripping with venom. “a pawn in her petty games. but you… you’re mine.”

your breath hitches as his words send a jolt of heat through your body, leaving you torn between the urge to slap him and an even stronger, confusing desire. the steam rises thicker around you, wrapping you both in a cocoon of suffocating heat, and the bubbling water feels like it’s boiling against your skin.

“i’m not a toy,” you manage to say, though the words sound weak even to your own ears. sukuna’s laugh is low and menacing, and you feel his upper arms encircle you, pulling you closer to his enormous chest, his wet skin slick and warm against yours.

“oh, but you are,” he purrs, his voice both mocking and seductive. “my toy. my plaything. and i’ll do with you whatever i please.”

the heat of the water and the intensity of his gaze create a pressure that feels almost unbearable. his four crimson eyes lock onto yours with a predatory gleam, while his massive, tattooed form looms over you. the steam from the bubbling pool rises in thick clouds, obscuring everything but the two of you, wrapping you in a suffocating cocoon of heat and desire.

sukuna’s hands continue their torturous exploration. his lower arms grip your waist, holding you flush against him. his touch is deliberate, almost maddeningly slow, as his fingers trail lightly along your sensitive slit, spreading your folds making you whimper at his touch. every brush of his fingertips makes you shiver, your body reacting instinctively to the teasing pressure.

“you feel that?” sukuna growls, his voice rough with dark pleasure. his fingertips linger at your entrance, grazing the sensitive area with tantalizing slowness. “every inch of you is responding to me. don’t try to deny it.”

the water around you bubbles more furiously, the heat intensifying as sukuna’s touch grows bolder. your breath hitches with every pass of his fingers, your hips slowly grinding on his fingers for something more. the tension between you thickening until it feels like it’s pressing down on you from all sides. the steam is stifling, making it hard to think, and the heat of the water feels almost like a physical presence, amplifying the pressure of sukuna’s touch.

you try to maintain your composure, but your voice betrays you, trembling with barely contained desire. “i’m not yours,” you manage to say, though the words sound weak against the backdrop of his dark amusement.

sukuna’s lips curl into a cruel smile, his sharp teeth flashing in the dim light. “oh, but you are,” he murmurs, his voice both mocking and seductive. “and deep down, you know it. you can’t hide from what you want.”

his lower arms grip your hips firmly, pulling you snugly against him. you gasp as his fingertips graze your clit with a teasing touch, sending a shiver of electric pleasure through your body.

“my precious brat,” sukuna growls, his fingers continuing their teasing caress, barely making contact but just enough to drive you wild with anticipation. the sensation is maddening, the heat of his touch against your sensitive skin making it hard to focus on anything but the overwhelming need building within you.

you try to maintain control, but your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps. “’m not yours,” you repeat, shutting your eyes, hoping he would do something.

sukuna’s eyes glint with cruel satisfaction as he increases the pressure slightly, his fingers brushing over your clit with a teasing rhythm. the dizziness increases as the pressure of his touch and the intensity of his gaze combine. 

sukuna smirks as he brings his hand from the water to pinch your neglected breasts, pulling and teasing your nipples until you gasp loudly. simultaneously, his fingers rub circles on your poor clit with a harsh rhythm, each touch sending sharp jolts of pleasure through your body. the sensations blend together, leaving you dizzy and disoriented, as if you’re drunk off his touch. 

the steam seems to wrap around you tighter, making it hard to think clearly. sukuna’s touch is relentless, the teasing strokes sending waves of heat through your body. your mind is spinning, caught between the heat of the water, the pressure of his touch, and the oppressive weight of his presence.

his fingers trace along the edges of your entrance with agonizing slowness, the touch making your body quiver with anticipation your breasts aching at the teasing. sukuna’s hands grip you tighter, pulling you closer, and the sensation of his body against yours only adds to the unbearable pressure.

“say it,” he commands, his voice rough and demanding. “tell me you’re mine.”

the words catch in your throat, the intensity of the moment making it almost impossible to speak. the steam, the heat, the pressure of sukuna’s touch—all of it overwhelms you. the tips of his fingers push into your hole, your body instinctively wanting more. the tension breaks, and the words slip from your lips, barely audible over the sound of the bubbling water.

“f-fuck yours- ‘m yours ,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of the admission. he widely smirks as you gave in, knowing that you’re his. the heat of the water, the intensity of sukuna’s touch, and the oppressive presence of his gaze converge, leaving you breathless and dizzy, completely trapped in his embrace.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

the next morning, you and the other servants were summoned to the kitchen by the higher-ups. as you prepared, memories of your night with sukuna kept making you smile, his words-you’re mine- echoing in your mind. sukuna wanted you, and only you.

in the large, cobblestoned kitchen, you and the servants gathered around the wooden island table where uraume had called everyone. chatter and gossip filled the room as you stood with your friends, one of them clutching your arm nervously as everyone waited for uraume’s arrival.

the wooden doors creaked open as uraume and several guards filed in, immediately commanding attention. “good morning, everyone,” uraume said, silencing the room.

“sukuna-sama has been keeping an eye on a few of you while you worked,” uraume continued, causing a collective gulp of fear to ripple through the room. whispers of suspicion and dread filled the air, as many feared sukuna’s scrutiny meant trouble.

“and he is beyond pleased with one of your skills,” uraume added, and the room erupted in gasps and murmurs of relief. you heard whispers behind you—could it be me? it has to be me.

you couldn’t help but chuckle at their eagerness. most of the servants slacked off when uraume or sukuna’s subordinates weren’t around, but you always made sure to be diligent. you weren’t trying to be a suck-up; you were just keenly aware of the consequences of falling out of favor. after all, many had met grim fates.

was this about me? had the king of curses been watching? you think.

uraume walked closer to your side of the room, maintaining their usual emotionless demeanor. a few of the other servants' smiles faltered as uraume pushed through the crowd, making a beeline for you. their eyes were filled with a mix of envy and disbelief, and you straightened your posture with a slight bow, a wide, hopeful smile spreading across your face.

“i’m very thankful for this—”

“move.”

you choked on your saliva, your face flushing with embarrassment as you froze, head down. the realization that you were not the one being recognized hit hard as uraume moved past you to the girl in the back. murmurs and chuckles spread through the room, and you could feel your cheeks burning with shame.

i just want to disappear.

uraume pulled one of the servants deemed ‘skilled’ to the front of the room. you slowly raised your head to see yorozu, standing there with a beaming smile, clearly thrilled.

“sukuna-sama is beyond satisfied with your skills and dedication,” uraume announced. “he has requested a personal dinner with yorozu.”

what?

[ditzyrafe]

i neeeed nerdy sub rafe like rn holy shit

— giving nerdy bsf!rafe head in the library

warnings — sub!rafe x dom!reader dynamic, oral (male!rec), public sex, petnames, cum-eating, lewd language

rafe sits rigidly in his chair, pretending to study the thick textbook open before him, but his knuckles are white where he grips the edge of the table for dear life. his other hand rests trembling on his thigh, dangerously close to where your head is nestled. you run your tongue slowly around the smooth head of his cock, tasting the faint saltiness, and feel his entire body jolt.

rafe makes a choked, guttural sound deep in his throat, trying desperately to swallow it down. his eyes dart nervously towards the front desk before snapping back to the dense text of his book, pretending fierce concentration. his hand on his thigh clenches and unclenches rhythmically, mirroring the frantic pulse you can feel throbbing against your tongue.

you chuckle softly, the sound muffled by his flesh. you drag your tongue down the underside of his shaft, deliberately slow, savouring the way his hips give an involuntary little buck, forcing him to press himself harder against the rigid edge of the library chair to stifle the movement. he shifts slightly, angling his textbook more obviously over his lap. he looks so pathetic.

his free hand shoots out, gripping the table edge even tighter, knuckles turning bone white. you hear the faint noise of two girls talking extremely close to your table, heading down the adjacent aisle. rafe freezes completely, every muscle rigid, eyes wide with terror behind his glasses. he holds his breath, feeling your hot mouth continue to suck him. he holds his breath until the footsteps fade away.

"you scared, rafey?" you whisper, pulling back just enough to look up from where you are. "gonna cum in my mouth?" you tease before enveloping him inside your mouth again. you bob your head gently, sucking him slowly enough he's tries chasing the friction by thrusting upward slightly.

he lets out a shaky exhale, head dropping forward slightly as if the tension is becoming too much. "please," he mouths silently, the word barely formed, eyes pleading with you when they flick downwards for a fraction of a second. please stop? please continue? please don't get caught? it doesn't matter; the plea itself is enough.

"please what, baby?" you murmur sweetly against him. "use your words." you slide your hand down, cupping his balls gently, feeling how tight they are. his entire body tenses again, a low groan finally escaping, barely audible but definitely there. he quickly coughs, trying to cover the sound, nervously adjusting his glasses.

"don't stop," he finally whispers, the words barely audible, strained with effort and desperate need. "please… don't stop… m'so close, mommy."

"good boy," you praise softly, rewarding his plea. you increase the pressure, sucking harder now, using your tongue and lips with practiced skill, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat. his breath hitches repeatedly, coming in short, sharp pants that he tries to stifle. his hand leaves his thigh, snaking down to help guide your head softly.

he's close now. you can feel the frantic pulsing against your tongue, the tell-tale tightening of his muscles, the sheer tension radiating off him. he's completely lost in the sensation, the fear of discovery being overtaken by the need for release. his head tips back slightly, eyes squeezed shut behind his glasses, lips parted in silent gasps.

you take him as deep as you can, throat muscles working, milking him with a steady, insistent rhythm. you hear the faint noise of someone reshelving books just one aisle over. rafe's eyes fly open, wide with panic, but he doesn't pull away. he can't. he's too far gone. his hips give a desperate, involuntary jerk upwards, bumping against the underside of the table with a dull thud.

he makes a strangled sound, trying to bite it back, but it escapes as a low, desperate groan. his grip on the table tightens impossibly, his entire body going rigid. you feel the first powerful pulse against the back of your throat — hot and thick. he surges again, harder this time, flooding your mouth with his release. his body shudders violently, head hitting the table with a soft thud.

you hold him steady, taking all of him, swallowing as he completely comes undone beneath the quiet hum of the library fluorescents. after the last pulse fades, he collapses back into the chair, utterly spent, trembling slightly, chest heaving silently. his face is flushed bright red, eyes still wide, glazed with a mixture of residual pleasure and sheer, mortified terror. you sit back on your chair, tasting the salty evidence of his seed still coating your mouth.

"thanks for the meal, baby."

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© written by ditzyrafe — do not steal or claim as ur own, stealing will result in me blocking u, any resemblance to any other story is simply coincidental!

[adragonprinceswhore]

Soft & Hard

Aemond Targaryen x Ex Girlfriend

Summary: How do you forget about Aemond Targaryen when he’s everywhere you look?

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, emotional infidelity, descriptions of self-hatred, situationship, intoxication, smut, heavy petting, drunk sex, P in V, (some) size kink

Word Count: 4000

A/N: This has been plaguing my mind for weeks now, so I really needed to get it out of me and into the world. This can be read as a continuation of my Hockey player Aemond drabble, but can also be read as a standalone. Aemond is a hockey player in this modern AU! 🩵

You prop your feet up to rest on the sides of your bathtub, angling the shower head just right so it hits that spot that sends pleasurable shivers rippling through your body.

Your eyes are closed, and you’re desperately trying to visualise the hot guy from the TV series you’d just binged; mind racing through any arousing scenario you can come up with.

It’s not an easy task; keeping yourself occupied enough to not drift towards the very man you’ve vainly tried to erase from your memory. 

You don’t want to think about him. 

Thinking about him always leads to missing him. 

It leads to longing for him. 

No matter how badly he hurt you. No matter how much you rationalise your reasons for leaving, your stupid heart yearns to fill the hole he’s left behind. 

Pathetic.

You shut your eyes with more force, thinking of the hot TV character. Upping the pressure of the shower head, you imagine it’s him going down on you that’s causing the pleasure building inside. Your hips begin to shallowly sway back and forth, and low whimpering moans slip from your lips. 

As the pleasure builds and builds, the image in your head morphs; the hot TV guys’ hair turns silver, no matter how hard you try to stay focused. 

You’re close, so close, and just as you’re on the edge of pleasure, you hear him,

“You’re so pretty like this”

And you cum so hard you drop the showerhead in your grip, legs shaking as your hips jerk upward aggressively. 

Water sprays across the bathroom as the shower head falls, but you’re too lost in your own bliss to truly care, giving yourself a moment to just disappear into the fleeting, fierce pleasure consuming you. 

After a while, when your legs have stopped shaking and your cunt has stopped clenching around nothing, you turn the rampant shower head off with a sigh. 

The satisfaction of your orgasm is short-lived, promptly followed by the lonely reality of you chasing pleasure alone in your bathroom. You could stay in the tub and make yourself cum 10 more times and it wouldn’t change the loneliness residing inside of you. 

You could try to picture that hot guy from the show fucking you for hours, still you’d feel the same. 

Still, visions of him would cloud your mind. And the chill of loneliness would penetrate your bones, as it does right now. 

Because no one kisses your forehead afterwards, or holds you tight, or whispers sweet things into your ear. 

You're alone, and the warm water quietly splashing around you doesn’t stop the cold porcelain of your bathtub from chilling your heated flesh. 

You shiver. 

Sick of yourself; of your self-pity and hatred, you leave the tub and throw on a dressing gown, already on a search for a new distraction. 

Anything to take your mind off Aemond Targaryen. 

Forgetting Aemond was nearly impossible. 

Not only did your mind remind you of your heart’s longing for the man that broke it. The world did as well. Like when you overheard your colleagues discussing his latest game, and how skillfully he tackled his opponents, landing a blow on them so precise yet hard that they flew into the rink. Or when you got home after a long day and turned on the TV, greeted by him giving a post-match interview all sweaty and panting. 

The only way you knew him. 

Being restricted to seeing the man you’d spent countless nights together with through the TV screen has brought you to the conclusion that ultimately, your relationship hasn’t changed much. 

Sure, you don’t send him nudes anymore. Nor does he fuck you into the mattress of whichever hotel room he brings you to. 

But the distance is the same. The loneliness isn’t new; it always existed between the two of you. He never really cared to let you in. 

You were convenient. 

Pliable. 

An easy fuck. 

You should’ve realised it sooner. Like that time when Alicent Hightower, Westerosi socialite and Aemond’s mother, stopped by one of his practices. You were helping him lace his skates when she appeared, and as soon as he noticed his mum approaching, Aemond’s large hand gently but firmly pushed you away. 

Ms. Hightower’s curious gaze had asked about you, and her son huffed out, “She’s an acquaintance”

An acquaintance. 

Not even a friend. 

To you, Aemond was the first thing you thought about in the morning, and the last thing you thought about before going to sleep. 

To him, you were an acquaintance. 

Pathetic. 

That should have been the last straw. But you kept seeing him. Not even the humiliation and hurt you felt as you excused yourself and ran to the bathroom with tears in your eyes could stop you from craving him. That was the power he had over you.

The power he still has over you, even in his absence. Even if you blocked his number 6 months ago and haven’t seen him once since. 

The actual last straw was a message you’d gotten from an unknown number, asking if you’d send more of those “hot slutpics in dat black thong”. For a second you thought it was Aemond having a laugh, but the message didn’t sound like him, and he isn’t exactly known for being a guy that appreciates humour, or ‘pranks’.

Turns out, the number belonged to Aegon Targaryen, Aemond’s older brother and notorious fuckboy. Word around King’s Landing was that every girl who’d slept with him had gotten chlamydia, and still he seems to find a new conquest to throw his arms around each weekend. 

Perhaps the sleaziest guy in the Seven Kingdoms.

Turns out, it runs in the family. 

You blocked Aemond’s number that night. After swearing to never let your desire for him get the best of you again, you begged your friends to take you out and get you so shitfaced the humiliation Aemond had inflicted on you would be washed away. 

It didn’t work.

You’re still tainted by his touch. 

So you switch tactics. You look for someone else. 

About a month after you’d called things off with Aemond, you thought you’d found a good replacement. A nice, inconspicuous guy who was eager to please; eager to make you like him. You would’ve felt guilty, really, if the dark hole of lonely self-hatred in your chest didn’t outweigh your selfishness. 

And still, Aemond Targaryen was everywhere. 

You’d find him in that adoring look your new partner gave you as you sucked him off in the shower. You’d find him in bed, when you couldn’t sleep and imagined it was Aemond’s heavy arms holding you tight. You’d find him in your fantasies, seemingly incapable of coming with your new partner unless you closed your eyes and pretended the short, curly strands greeting your hand between your legs were actually long, silky and silver. 

Ultimately, your conscience caught up with you, and you broke things off with the new guy as well. He had told you that he loved you, and the sweetest of confessions felt like the sharpest of needles prickling your heart. 

Aemond never said it. 

Oh, how you wish it was him saying it. 

Sometimes, even after six months of not seeing him, you’re still surprised by how incredibly piteous he’s rendered you. 

Yearning for a man who only saw you as a plaything. Who only ever cared for you when you were conveniently there for him to do as he pleased with. Who refused to expose your relationship to his mother, and shared your nudes with his brother. 

Fucking prick. 

Today’s Friday. 

Single and lonelier than ever, you beg your friends to go out dancing with you. It’s become your new weekend ritual; go out and dance until your feet hurt and you’re so tired you collapse on your bed, mind delightfully empty. 

Now, you're back on the dancefloor, drink in hand, eyes closed as you sway to the music. 

You always drag your friends to the same place, The Three Towers, a nightclub of the slightly more exclusive kind, with proper DJs and strong drinks. 

They must’ve figured out by now that it was Aemond who introduced you to this place. You see it in the pitiful looks they give you every time you insist on coming here instead of going to any of the many other places in Oldtown. Their eyes say what you’ve known to be true for over six months;

Pathetic. 

It’s not like Aemond likes to go out anyway. He hates crowds, dislikes strangers, loathes the fake people gathering around him to tell him empty words of adoration. 

But that one time you’d wanted to go dancing, he’d brought you here. 

Maybe he brings all his “acquaintances” here. 

You tell yourself that you don’t come here for him, that it just happens to be a great place, but still, every time you catch a glimpse of something silvery in the corner of your eye, dread punches you in the gut. 

Why do you seek him out when you know actually meeting him would destroy you? What if you saw him here with another girl? Maybe one of the models his brother so often gifts his infected cock to? 

Tumultuous thoughts swirl in your mind until you notice that the flash of silver isn’t Aemond’s hair at all, and ease settles over you. Well, something akin to ease. The self-hatred is still there,

Pathetic. 

Your feet quickly carry you to the bar, eager for more of the numbness only alcohol provides. You order another G&T and almost spit it out after the first sip; it’s basically all gin.

Good.

You take three large gulps and move back to the dancefloor, searching for your friends who you’ve lost in the crowd of intertwined bodies. 

You scan your surroundings, and then it happens again. A flash of silver. Only this time, it’s him. 

You remember the first time you saw him. TV appearances and watching him on the ice doesn’t do him justice. In person, his ethereal beauty’s blinding. Just like it is now. One of the spotlights over the sofa he sits on hits his hair, causing it to glow like the beacon of a dark night at sea. 

Calling you in. 

Your feet work by themselves as they walk towards him. You panic, desperately searching for any excuse to talk to him. 

What do you say? 

Suddenly you’re right before him, drink in one hand and the other nervously touching your hair as you dumbly stare at him. He looks up from the drink in his hand, a whiskey on the rocks you’d guess, and meets your eyes. 

His gaze is cold and stoic. 

Unimpressed. 

He raises an expectant eyebrow. 

And yet you say nothing. All the witty, insightful, hard-hitting truths you’d wanted to tell him for the last six months vanish as you stand before him frozen in panic. 

Pathetic.

Pathetic. 

Pathetic!

You have nothing. Your mind’s empty, the only thing you can do is feel. Feel the self-hatred, the loneliness, the insecurity he’s inflicted upon you. 

He rolls his eyes. Aemond’s not known for his patience, “If you’re looking for that new boyfriend of yours, he’s not here”

“I don’t have a boyfriend”, you blurt out, prompted by the shiver running through you caused by the venom dropping from his words. He sounds so hateful. 

He stands abruptly, forcing you to take a faltering step back as he tower over you,

“Come”

He takes the drink in your hand and places it on a nearby table before grabbing your hand and leading you out of the rowdy club. The chill of the night air hits your scarcely clad body as he drags you towards a cab waiting outside, your ears still ringing from the loud music in the club.

He opens the door and pushes on your arm to get in. His touch is still impossibly warm; just as you remember it. 

He slams the door shut and walks around to the other side, getting in and grunting an address you’ve never heard of to the taxi driver.  

You know your friends would be furious if they knew who you left with, so you send them a quick text stating that you’ve left ‘cause you didn’t feel well. 

You place your phone back in your purse and look outside. It seems like you’re driving towards the north part of the city, a place you hardly know. 

The deafening silence in the taxi is so tense, any sane person would ask the driver to stop and get out in a heartbeat. 

Aemond, sitting next to you with his jaw clenched and fidgeting with his customised black and red lighter, sends nervous ripples of fear through your being. You know he’s contemplating something, yet you wouldn’t dare ask. 

Any sensible person would get out. 

But you can’t. 

Because he still smells the same. And it’s everywhere in the stuffy cab. And your heart hurts, a tear threatens to spill, because you’ve missed it all so much; his smell, his hair, his voice, his touch. 

Him.

The silence persists, until you're finally freed as the taxi driver stops and Aemond hands him a few copper stars. 

You get out and take a deep breath of the late summer night's air. The buzz of alcohol still clouds your judgement somewhat, yet you feel more aware of yourself than ever before. 

You look around and see Aemond approach the entrance to a sleek building in that brutalist, modern design, and you follow in tow. He still hasn’t said anything, and neither have you.

You get in a lift, go up to the top floor, and enter a dark flat with only a small table lamp lit by the entrance, obscuring your view of the place. 

Just as you make way to move further into the room, Aemond hinders you. 

He doesn’t allow you entrance to the rest of the space, cornering you against a low side table by the entrance door. He’s so tall, and so broad, you disappear into the wall as he steals all the space around you. 

“Why did you agree to come with me?” 

He’s so close you feel his breath tickle your skin. It’s too dark to truly see the expression on his face, but the shadows cast on him makes him look stern. The smell of him intensifies. You feel warm.  

This is all you’ve wanted. All you’ve feared. 

You still desire him so.

“You told me to”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you know it’s because your reply’s caught him off guard. He’d assumed you’d fight back, jab at him in some way. He tries again,

“My mate saw you at that club last week, you know”

Is he keeping tabs on you? 

“What happened to your boyfriend?” 

How does he know about that? 

You swallow, “Nothing. It just wasn’t right” 

“Hm”

Your eyes are locked together, his mismatched gaze just as alluring as you remember it. Without looking away, he brings a hand up to gently stoke the cold skin of your arm. 

The harshness of his stare falters, 

“Did you miss me?” 

“Did you miss me?” 

The retort leaves your lips before you register it forming in your head. Can’t give in to him that easily. Can’t make your suffering known to the person causing it. 

The harshness reappears. 

“Did he fuck you the way you like?” 

His tone is cold, yet heated with anger. The same hateful tinge from before. 

Your drunk mind works without you operating it, 

“He wasn’t you”

The confession slips out, and so does the pitifulness. The loneliness. The pathetic mess you’ve become. 

Aemond didn’t expect your admission either, eyes narrowing in suspicion, 

“What do you mean?”

Is this the time? 

To tell him how utterly devastated you’ve been without him? How he plagues your mind? How your entire being is tainted by him? 

No. 

“Why did you bring me here?”, you ask, foggy mind finally cooperative enough to let you change the subject.

“Because you wanted me to”, he replies, the gentle hand on your arm suddenly travelling down to caress your exposed thigh before  harshly cupping your cunt. 

A startled gasp espaces your lips. 

His touch is so nostalgic it travels from your aroused core to your heart, and squeezes it painfully.  

His hand is big enough to cover you entirely, and with the heel of his palm, he pushes harshly where he knows your swollen clit lies obscured under your panties. His long finger taps against your hole, and he huffs a quiet, condescending laugh as he feels how moist the fabric is.

When did you get this wet? 

You feel the heat of his touch radiate from his palm to your cunt, so persistent it finds its way through your underwear. He only moves his hand to stroke you over the fabric and press at your clit, but the gratification of finally being granted his touch works you towards release at a speed you’d thought impossible. 

“Still a little slut for me”  

He brings two fingers up to press right over your clit, rough circles demanding that you obey his touch and come for him. 

His breathing hard through his nose, the look in his eye is hard to decipher, 

Arousal? 

Fury? 

Fuck it feels good to be pushed against a wall by him. To be subjected to his rough treatment. Anything to feel his touch on you again. 

Your hips move upwards to meet his fingers; you’re so close to falling apart. 

“You missed me. And that fucker you were seeing couldn’t compare to me. Isn’t that right?” 

He spits out the words, teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he leans even closer. 

Your arms have been hanging limply at your side, and you have to fight the sudden urge to grab him and press him against you. To feel him closer. 

“Did he make you this wet?”

Aemond’s tongue licks the sensitive spot behind your ear and you moan loudly, fully consumed by the way his fingers push you towards release. 

You angle your face so that his mouth is right by yours. With parted lips, you look up at him pleadingly, begging him to kiss you. 

Something in his eye shifts, and a victorious smirk breaks out over his face, 

“Come”

And you do. So hard you see stars and your legs give out. The pleasure is intense, it steals everything from you; your breath, your senses, your self-discipline. 

Your hands fly to Aemond’s biceps, anchoring yourself to him as your body twitches forcefully in the pleasure rupturing you. It’s cathartic; a long awaited release only his hands can coax out. 

When you come back to reality, to the dark hallway you're trapped against Aemond’s body in, the dreaded self-hatred you’d gotten to know so well makes itself known again. 

The brutal reality of exactly how far your pathetic infatuation with Aemond has driven you crashes over you like an ice-cold wave of regret. You feel hot tears well up in the corner of your eyes as they stay casted down, refusing to look up at the man who’s greatest pleasure in life seems to be to torment you. 

Why had he brought you here? Why did he enjoy hurting you? Why had you fallen for it? 

“What did I do to make you hate me so?” 

It’s the alcohol talking. Or maybe it’s the last thing you need to hear from him before you can finally let go. The last shard of your heart crushed in his grip. 

Silence is the only answer he gives you, and without looking up, you push him to move so you can get away from him. Instead of allowing you to leave, he brings one hand to your cheek, engulfing it in warmth, and drags your face upwards to meet his eyes. 

Before you can read his expression, he ducks his head down, letting his lips graze over yours. His tongue comes out to swipe over your lower lip in a slow, gentle caress that feels more sensual than anything you’ve ever experienced, and in retaliation your greedy arms pull him closer, eagerly kissing him back. There’s a slow urgency to the way his tongue seeks out yours, bending your body backwards to taste you deeper. You relish in it. 

You want him to eat you up. To devour you completely. You’re his anyway. 

Without breaking the kiss, Aemond leads you down the dark hallway and into a dimly lit room. The only thing you register is a large bed in the middle, where he takes a seat and keeps you standing between his legs, still kissing you. 

His hands roam over your body; over your exposed arms and legs. They find the zipper at the back of your dress and pull it down, slowly undressing you until you're completely bare. 

He stands for a brief moment to rid himself of his own clothes, and then sits again, guiding you to climb onto his lap. 

You follow his every command in enchantment. You grant him every kiss he seeks, allow him every touch he craves. He can have it all. 

He guides you to sink down on him slowly. You’re still so wet, yet he’s so hard your insides are forced to mould after his stiffness. 

Once he fills each part of you, he wraps your legs around his waist, sighing in satisfaction as he presses your body so close to his the skin of your torso sticks to his. 

“I won’t last long-”, he whispers into your ear, “-a 6 month wait is excruciating”

The touch that you’ve known as harsh and demanding is now so soft. So delicate it slowly picks up the shattered pieces of your broken heart and mends them together again with each gentle caress.

Your hands cup his cheeks, gazing into his lilac and blue stare as you slowly begin to move. 

Aemond doesn’t say anything, doesn’t say that one phrase that you want him to, but the look in his eyes is mesmerising. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable. It’s intimate.

He’s giving himself to you. 

You wrap your arms around him, accepting him. You want all of him, all to yourself. You’ve wanted him for half a year. You’ve wanted him since the first time you met him. 

He meets your hips each time you sink down, and the otherwise carnal pursuit for pleasure feels dreamlike as Aemond’s arms envelop you and you disappear into him. 

You want to say it, but not yet. You don’t dare. Would he retreat again? You know it to be true, but it’s too early. Maybe someday. 

Instead, it’s Aemond who speaks over the moans and sighs of pleasure,

“Don’t leave me again” 

You don’t know how long you fuck, but each orgasm feels more consuming, more powerful, than the last. Ultimately, you collapse together on the bed, legs and arms still intertwined. The familiarity of Aemond’s heavy arms over your waist soothes you, yet the soft sheets of the bed provide a stark contrast to the stiff, clinical sheets of the hotel rooms he’d always brought you to before. 

There’s nothing left between you, no more layers to shed, so you ask him about everything that had led up to your separation. About how he dismissed you in front of his mother, and about the text from his brother. The latter seems to genuinely surprise him, 

“I’ve never shared your pictures with anyone, especially not him” 

Guess Aegon Targaryen isn’t above snooping through his brother’s stuff. 

You talk all night, and Aemond tells you about his strained relationship with his family, “My family has an ability to ruin things for me”, he confesses, “I didn’t want that to happen with you”

As the rays of sunrise begin to seep through the window, you admit to the loneliness that’s been eating away at you since parting from Aemond. 

He cups your cheek again, thumb stroking your cheekbone,

“I fucked up. I’ve missed you more than I thought possible”

Your loneliness hadn’t been solitary. He’d felt it too. You’d shared it. 

You lay your head on his chest, listening to the slow drum of his heart. Before it lulls you to sleep, you remember the last thing you’d like to ask him,

“Aemond, where are we?”

“My place”

A/N: I never know if I should write it as come or cum? After some studious research (not), I decided that come is the original and therefore works better! Thank you for reading, I write these drabble for fun to improve my writing, so don't be too harsh please 🫶🩵

[bunnygirllover45]

— The shape of love. ﹑◌﹒WARNINGS﹕Kidnapping, implied punishment, ugly jealousy, some descriptions of body harm ( just wounds or bruises, and it doesn't get too graphic), lots, and lots of deranged ramblings, it gets very dark at times. This is narrated from the POV of the Yandere, you can read this as a 'letter' of sorts.

♱ ✧ ⤷ Word count: 997 (felt lazy and I didn't reach 1k lmao.)

There you go again, looking at me with the same eyes as always.

I don’t know how many times I’ve repeated moments like this inside my head since the last time. It's been a while since I've been this close to you.

The trembling of your body lets me know that your excitement is as big as mine, is your body perhaps unable to contain all those bubbling feelings?

I grab your legs, my hands softly pressing against the flesh, feeling it under mine —so soft and delicate, for a moment I thought that maybe if I pushed my fingers inside of it I could spread it like a cloud made of cotton— when I pressed I could fee the shape of your bones underneath just a little, the sensation made my own body tremble.

It’s a shame you’re still shy to my touch, even if it’s something simple like a small caress or a kiss on the cheek you’re always trying to push away from me, I would love if you to cling onto me more when I do it or have you begging silently to do something more. I know you wouldn’t tell me with words, you’re not good with them.

Now that I think about it, I’ve never heard you say my name since I brought you here, no?

I should tell you what it is now so you could say it between sighs and I could engrave the sound on the back of my brain forever — those sweet sounds could captivate me forever.

I wonder if you’d say my name with a kind voice, or you’ll just talk to me with the same indifference and fear that’s so characteristic of you. I do admit that is kind of endearing, wild animals were always more interesting than domesticated ones thanks to their hostility, it makes me want to approach them, stick my hand, and see if they’ll bite me, or would just run away and hide in a corner.

I wouldn’t mind if you bit me, I would love to bite you as well in fact, I would wear that mark proudly and I would make sure you do it as well, we could bite our fingers and pretend the marks are our wedding rings, a testament of our love engraved on our skin.

Hahaha — I’m rambling again, please don’t get nervous, you know I usually get lost in my thoughts when I’m here with you, especially when my hands are idly dragging across your skin  — nails and all — leaving red marks behind.

I’m just tracing small invisible circles on your skin and you’re already getting goosebumps, I think that when I touch you delicately like this is when you fear it the most, right? I’m always keeping the momentum, you’ll never know when I can dig my nails into your skin or grab you and never let go.

I press a simple kiss on the skin of your heel, dragging my lips across the length of your leg, what a celestial feeling, there’s nothing in this world that could compare to this mere sensation. You’re trembling again, that makes me smile.

Sometimes when night falls and there are no more thoughts left to think inside my head my mind begins to wander off the path, usually it doesn’t lead me anywhere in particular, but since some time ago I’ve had this constant thought; there are other  —people— that had touched you like this before?

I would like to think that I’m the only one who had the privilege to enjoy all of you, that no other mark of fingers or teeth that doesn’t have the shape of mine has been on your skin.

Thinking like that makes sleeping easier for me.

I’m thankful that right now you can’t speak to me, because if I made you that question and you responded to me that yes, other people had marked you like I did, I think I would had the impulse to tear apart each part of you that has been tainted by them.

Not because I hate you, on the contrary, I just think I couldn’t live with the idea. That you belonged to someone else even if it was just for a moment, what am I saying? I don’t even like the idea of you belonging to yourself.

But if I were to do that, I think I’d like to go to extremes no other people could; kiss your open wounds or taste your blood, that would be romantic, don’t you think?

I press my face against your thighs while I keep dragging my nails up and down your legs, I sigh again, tilting my head slightly to take a better look at you, I can see myself reflected in your own eyes now, how romantic, just like in the movies you like to watch.

I like the me I see in your eyes, I like the idea that it belongs to you alone, the idea of you keeping each small expression I make just for you, each blink would be like a small photograph you take of me and keep inside your head, aaaalll yours.

My mother used to tell me that love is only true if you can see it reflected in the one you love,

From your red cheeks — was I too rough last night?

Your bruised knees — If you would just learn how to sit properly at the table already, it would make our meals more easy.

Your beautiful hands — You should stop trying to take off your handcuffs.

Your shining eyes — Is that a small tear I see? Maybe I should reach it and lick it, I wouldn’t like to go to waste.

Yes, I think for the first time something she said made sense, now that I took a better look at you, I don’t think there’s any better proof of this —

You’re the truest, most beautiful form of ‘love’.