#and I just fucking CROAKED ON THE TRAIN

[tojisun]

simon grunts, his chest heaving as he palms at his chub, tracing the twitching muscle of his cock and letting out a hiss at the muted pleasure that razes through him. he shivers at the heated look you give him, your pretty eyes awash with desire, scalding as it trails down the lines of his bulk until it settles on his flesh.

“ah,” you whisper and simon nearly moans at the awe in your voice.

“s’right, baby,” he says, feeling the way he pulses underneath his low-hanging sweats. “s’all f’r you.”

there is a whine that drags itself from the base of your throat, so primal in the way it scratches your vocal cords, and simon has to fist his cock to stop himself from rutting against his palm.

“i can’t,” you whine, pouting, your eyes still trained on his groin. “‘m gonna be late for work.”

“please,” he croaks out, breathless himself. “how about jus’ the tip, love? jus’ give daddy a taste of you ‘round me, yeah?”

simon knows it is playing dirty to pull this card on you—to exploit your one weakness—but simon’s guilt is tucked underneath his stretching need, the desire bloating as it leaks past his rationality, leaving him with thinning restraints.

your sharp inhale is all the answer he needs.

he bites the inside of his cheek to tamp down the smirk dancing to the corners of his lips.

“okay,” you reply, tentative and quiet. “but just the tip, you promise?”

“swear,” simon murmurs.

like a goddamn liar.

he relishes in the squeals dripping from your parted lips, only for them to be muffled into your pillow.

he’s got you on your knees, your front all but pressed flat on the bed, your arms having lost the energy to keep yourself up as simon fucks you from the back. he’s got fistfuls of your ass, using them as sweet, sweet leverage as he manhandles your body back to his cock.

“so good f’r daddy, sweet’art,” he rumbles, his voice so deep it even sounds foreign to him. “so, so fuckin’ good, love.”

he punctuates his words with hard thrusts; drawing his cock out slowly, deliberately torturous so he can watch the way your hole grips at his cock, not wanting to let him go, before punching it back in. he doesn’t stop and keeps pushing his cock past the gummy press of your walls until his hips are pressed flush to the fat of your ass.

then, he repeats the process—sharp snaps of his hips leaving you twitching, and simon watches with a crazed giddiness as your hands uselessly scratch at the sheets as though that could tether you.

he bends forward, his bulk covering your trembling body. “such a cute darlin’ for me, lovie.” he ruts his cock along a particular sweet spot. “say ‘thank you’ to daddy?”

he hears a warbled reply from where your head is pressed to your pillow.

“hmm? wha’s ‘at?”

simon cups a hand on your forehead and carefully pulls, tipping your head up just enough that he can hear you.

he hears a hiccuped sob, then, “than’ you, daddy.”

simon giggles and presses a kiss on the back of your head. “what a good doll y’are.”

something about that makes your body tremble, spasming in his hold, and simon watches with awe as your toes curl, before he has to let go of you at the sudden tightening of your walls. his eyes go white, his ears ringing with a sharp static.

he feels so, so overwhelmed at the expanding euphoria that washes over him, lapping at the synapses from the back of his skull to the cavity of his ribs.

“you came,” simon mutters in awe, his voice passing through his teeth like a gritted hiss. “christ, lovie-”

-

[mostly-imagines]

The Morning After The Venus Drug

You wake to an ache that runs straight through your muscles and into your bones. Your eyelids feel weighted as you try to blink yourself to consciousness, the fabric of the pillowcase an unexpectedly tough barrier.

You lay on your stomach, bed sheets pooling around your waist. You recognize the weight of Jason’s arm over you before you see him, hair tousled and face scrunched up against your same pillow.

His cheeks are flushed pink and he’s still perspired, but he looks peaceful. You press the back of your hand to his forehead, frowning at the heat you’re met with.

You try your hardest to unwrap his arm from around your torso without waking him, an action that requires far more energy than you were hoping to capitulate to. But that movement turns out to be nothing compared to the ache felt when you try to move your legs.

A slight shift has you immediately stilling, the soreness between your legs proving to be more severe than anticipated. You stifle a groan, slowly pushing yourself to sit up. You have to take a moment to rest your muscles as your legs hang limp over the side of the bed.

Your legs are shaky and unstable as you try to stand and you nearly fall back onto the bed. You need a few practice steps before you’re able to pick up any actual pace towards the door.

You sit on the side of the tub while you clean yourself up, the skin of your thighs almost too tender to bear the ruggedness of the rag. You can’t be sure of how many rounds you went last night, but if you’re in this kind of shape, he must be worse off.

On your way to toss the used cloth in favor of a new one, a glance in the mirror has you double-taking. The hickies scattered across your neck and collarbone are blossoming dark and to be expected. However, the sight of bruises littered across your waist and hips draw some extra attention. They don’t hurt, really, the marks mostly bring forth warm feelings.

But you know that Jason won’t feel the same upon discovering them, so you figure it's best to cover them up for now.

You quietly shuffle through the bedroom drawers and pull out one of his gray shirts that’s even a little big on him. It drowns you out, more than enough to cover your rembrandts from last night.

The floorboards creak as you make your way to the kitchen, steps stiff and awkward. The warm orange light flowing in from the living room curtains is soothing, if not far too bright.

With a restrained pull, you pop the fridge open, careful not to let the unseal make too much noise. You collect a bottle of water and dampen the extra rag with cool water from the faucet.

You tiptoe back to the bedroom, supplies in hand. The mattress springs squeak slightly as your weight returns to them.

One hand comes to rest on Jason’s back as water from the washcloth drips down your other arm. “Hey,” you trace nonsense patterns into his skin, hoping the sensation will be enough to rouse him like it usually is.

But he doesn’t so much as stir, still breathing deeply. “Jay?” you shake him lightly, “You gotta wake up, baby.”

His eyes squeeze shut harder and a groan reverberates from deep in his throat. “Fuck…”

“Hey pretty boy,” you murmur, brushing his hair back. His face burrows further into the pillow as his hand comes up to blindly search for your thigh, kneading your skin once he finds you. “How you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a train,” he croaks, turning his head hesitantly into the light to look at you. He squints as he takes in the sight of you, slowly shifting onto his back. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head tenderly, “Just sore.” You hold the water out to him, “Here.”

He looks at the water, then back to you. You huff, “Just drink it. I’ll have some after.”

He perches himself up on his elbow, taking the bottle from your hand with a pout. He chugs down three gulps before pushing the drink back in your hands expectantly. You feel his eyes on you as you take your own sips, only moving to sit up completely when he’s satisfied with your hydration.

He grunts as he adjusts his muscles to the new position, holding a hand out. “Lemme see you.”

“I’m alright,” you tell him, trying to mitigate his worry before it begins.

But his face only sterns, voice becoming serious. “Then let me see you.”

You’re ready to argue more to save him from the sure-to-come guilt, but he tugs your shirt up anyway, blinking a few times to get a clearer look at your skin.

Delicate hands come to hold you by the sides of your ribs, nudging you this way and that to examine the bruises littered across your skin. “Oh fuck, baby..”

He leans in close, running featherlight touches over the marks. “I don’t…” his chest drops, “I don’t remember doing that.”

You nod in understanding, taking his hands in yours and pulling them away from your body. “They don’t hurt. I like seeing them.”

He peers up at you skeptically and you nod again. “I like them. A lot. I like anything you give me.”

He closes his eyes and drops his head, “I should give you nicer things. Less painful.”

You gently push his face up to look at yours, keeping hold of his cheeks. “You do give me nice things,” you tell him before pressing a slow kiss to his lips. You rest your forehead against his, “But I like the rougher things too. Especially when I get them while you’re feeling good.”

His hands cover yours, moving them back down and turning them so he can hold them properly. “You’re okay?”

“I’m better than okay. Can guarantee I’m feeling better than you are anyways.” You pull back, scanning over his flushed face. You pick up the rag from your now considerably wet thigh, dabbing his forehead with it. “You look overheated.”

He relaxes a bit against the coolness, “Yeah, the effects of the toxin take a little while to wear all the way off. It’s not so bad anymore though.”

You nudge him to lay back down, draping the cloth over his head. He looks over you fondly as you lay a light kiss on his collarbone before tucking yourself into his side with closed eyes.

[pellucid-constellations]

If You Cared to Ask

Azriel hasn't been listening. You got hurt. Sometimes, an argument can't be boiled down to just one instance.

Part 2

“You never listen! I have tried over and over to get you to understand but it’s like you don’t even care.”

Azriel’s brow twitched in irritation, the only tell on his otherwise passive face. “That is not true. We have sat down and discussed this at length, y/n. I listen.” 

You laughed, an incredulous pressure weighing down your shoulders. “Okay, fine. You listen, but you never hear me, Azriel! I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall most of the time.” 

“I can reiterate every word you’ve ever said to me. I hear you and I listen to you.” 

Anger twisted through your gut at his nonchalance. You clenched and unclenched your fists and tried to ignore the heat slowly encroaching upon your ability to remain composed. Although, compared to Azriel, you were not even close to the picture of calm. 

“Tell me why it bothers me then,” you seethed through clenched teeth. “Reiterate it for me, Shadowsinger.” 

Azriel’s jaw shifted as he clasped his hands together in his lap, the faelight in the kitchen clashing harshly with the planes of his face. He leaned back in his chair and let out a tortured sigh that almost sent you reeling. 

“You seem to believe,” Azriel began, his voice a low drawl. “That I am blatantly avoiding you—that I am choosing to serve my high lord in place of spending time with you. Both of which, I am not doing. I simply have a duty to this court, y/n. You know that.” 

“Oh, fuck you, Azriel,” you rolled your eyes. “Making this about duty and honor. Making me seem like I’m the crazy one for being angry when you promised me—” 

“You know there is little I can do about promises,” Azriel snapped, a hint of anger finally showing through in the darkness of his eyes. “You knew when we were mated that I have responsibilities that go beyond our relationship.” 

You pushed back from your seat at the table and set to pacing in the kitchen, fighting the urge to tug at the roots of your hair. “Yes, obviously, Azriel, but this was so important to me. I needed you there and this isn’t the first time I’ve been abandoned without even a word.” 

“Abandoned,” Azriel scoffed. “I would hardly call not showing up to your clinic at the camps one day abandoning you. Rhys needed me to—” 

“I needed you!” you shouted, your hands pressed to the countertops and your gaze frantic as you stared at Azriel’s unmoving figure. “I needed you, Azriel. I had every eye on me in that camp and when Devlon’s men had me yanked from the clinic for what I was doing I needed you to—” 

“He did what?” 

“Oh, don’t act like you care now.” You waved off the staunch posture he had adopted and rolled your eyes for a second time at the piercing hatred that had taken over his expression. “Don’t you dare act like you have the right.” 

“You are my mate, y/n. If anyone put their hands on you—” 

“Well, they did. Bruised up my arms and everything. But you were so busy with your duty to your high lord that you couldn’t give a shit until after I was thrown into the mud surrounded by the women I was supposed to be helping up there.” 

Azriel’s hands turned white as he clenched them in his lap. His lashes fluttered and his brow furrowed and he looked utterly lost at the situation—unable to formulate any kind of response to what could be considered his failure. 

“I thought you were simply setting up the back rooms. I didn’t know you were starting the practice or speaking to the camp,” he croaked, eyes downcast and searching the floor. 

“Except I told you I was. I told you two weeks ago and then again right before I left.” 

“I—I can’t remember you saying that.” 

“Of course you can’t. Because if it isn’t Rhys giving you orders or Cassian leading training you’re absent. You stand right in front of me and you’re not even here.”

Azriel finally looked up from the ground and met your eyes with the same torture his sigh made you privy to earlier. But this time it was rooted in something else—this time, he seemed to finally grasp the weight behind your words. 

But you were utterly sick of trying to get him to this point. “I’m so sorry, my love,” he expressed, pain in the furrow of his brow. “I hadn’t realized—with Rhys just returning to Velaris I’ve been so caught up in—” 

“I’m sorry too,” you cut him off. 

Azriel froze. “What?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek and felt the dread begin to rise. You knew you were going to hate this part, but you hadn’t expected Azriel to apologize. He hadn’t apologized for anything in months. You’d been alone in this relationship and he chose the day you’d packed your bags to show remorse.

“I can’t do this, Azriel. Not right now.” 

“Can’t do what?” 

The silence in the kitchen was oppressive. Azriel had leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and you were on the other side of the kitchen counter, protected by a barrier you knew you should have put up weeks ago. Your eyes never left his. 

“I can’t do this with you.” 

Azriel breathed in sharply, his eyes widening. “No,” he stressed, heaving up from the chair. “No, y/n, don’t—what do you mean you can’t do this? Explain it to me.” 

Your mate attempted to round the counter and reach for you, but you weren’t going to accept the affection…not when you had been begging for it for months. Not when he was only ready to give it to you now.

You backpeddled until you reached the hall. Azriel didn’t follow, afraid you would take off. 

“I’ve been telling you this was a problem for months now. I thought it was just an adjustment period—I knew that having Rhys back would change things at first and I was okay with that. Your brother returned from hell and you needed to be there to support him. To support your family. 

“But I’m your family, too. And you forgot that. I can’t—I can’t be relying on someone like that right now. I’m doing too much at the camps for you to… forget about me so easily. I can’t keep building you up in my mind just to be disappointed and hurt.” 

Azriel's jaw quivered. 

“Emotionally and physically. I would’ve asked someone else to come to the clinic with me yesterday, but I chose you. And you forgot about me.” 

Azirel looked as if he’d been punched in the stomach, his shoulders caving in with his anguished breath out. You pressed your lips together as you watched him, all of your anger morphing into a twisted sort of guilt that didn’t sit right in your gut. 

“Please,” Azriel whispered. His hands shook at his side. “Please, I’m so sorry, my love. I never wanted—Please, don’t leave me.” 

“You don’t get to have both, Azriel.” Your voice was as weak as his. “You don’t get to have me and treat me like I’m something you deal with on the side. I matter more than— 

Azriel shook his head and broke through your words. “You matter more than anything. I’ve been a fool. I know I’m an ass. Please, let me fix this, my love. Please don’t leave.” 

You clenched your fists so hard your nails embedded into your palms. 

“I need time to be alone.” 

Azriel was quick to nod. “I’ll give it to you. I’ll leave and—” 

“No, I need… more time than that. I have some things packed. I’ll be back, but… I need to leave. I can’t think clearly around you.” 

A choked cry left Azriel’s throat and the sound burned at your waterline. “Where?” 

You only shook your head. 

“Tell me where. Please. How am I supposed to know you’re safe?” 

“How were you supposed to know before?” 

Part 2

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Show me where it hurts (part 1)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.

warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo

a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker.  I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D

(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)

edit: I use the term "bichita" which I have been informed can be read not as I intended in Spanish. I'm not a native speaker so I want to apologise in advance. I'm doing more research for my future fics and leaving this up as a testament to my stupidity. Spanish speakers, feel free to correct me / clown my ass in the comments. My bad guys :(

wc: 3.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You think Miguel is avoiding you. 

One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point. 

"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."

She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it. 

"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"

"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow. 

"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.." 

He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here." 

"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?" 

"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?" 

"I don't have time for this-" 

"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?" 

"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans. 

"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks." 

"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now." 

This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching. 

"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-" 

"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."

"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."

He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "

Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!" 

When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall. 

"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly? 

Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out. 

~~~

Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big. 

He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing. 

Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm. 

"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain. 

Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies. 

"What happened?" He strains. 

"I don't even… it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-" 

"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"

"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"

Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye. 

"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-" 

"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."

Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple. 

"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."

When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile. 

You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you. 

"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."

You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."

"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."

You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?" 

He shrugs. " 'Course I was."

"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does. 

"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now. 

He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?" 

"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan. 

"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"

"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact. 

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-" 

"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-" 

"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"

"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-" 

"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "

He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it. 

"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.

"I don't… I d-don't…?" 

"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?" 

Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to. 

"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."

"Miguel-"

"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."

"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts." 

Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears. 

"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."

You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down. 

~~~

The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning. 

The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before. 

You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now. 

"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"

"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home. 

You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time. 

The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear. 

"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."

"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?" 

"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"

"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."

"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."

"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?" 

You hum.

"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"

"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."

He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?" 

"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me." 

"Naturally…"

"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."

"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"

"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."

"Shit."

"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."

"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "

"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me." 

" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."

"Good to know. I'll see you around."

He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard. 

Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes… 

You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.  

On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate. 

"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you. 

"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding. 

"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?" 

"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."

"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?" 

She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."

Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?" 

"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."

You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?" 

"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."

"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?" 

She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters." 

"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"

"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is… complicated." She gestures around that word. 

"I'm a little confused, Lyla."

She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface. 

It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head. 

Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…

"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "

You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla." 

"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."

Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning. 

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?" 

"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."

"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."

"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."

"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this." 

"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"

"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."

The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."

"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you." 

With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.

_

_

_

[beomiracles]

can I request a strength/breeding kink with older bf!soobin with afab!reader for kinktober? feel free to decide on the age gap !! I love your works!! thank you !! ><

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

DAY 2 : CHOI SOOBIN + BREEDING KINK — “You’re so perfect. Got such a pretty pussy, just waitin’ to be bred”, he huffs, cock twitching deep inside of you.

A breeding kink is an intense sexual attraction to the idea of getting pregnant or impregnating someone.

pairings older bf!soobin x fem!reader warnings heavy breeding kink, creampies, overstimulation (both f. and m.), age gap, "mommy" used to describe reader as pregnant, talks of starting a family and whatnot, manhandling/strength kink + bulge kink.

#serene adds ✎ .. oulala day two :> this one was sm fun to write !! as always let me know if i missed any tags !!

EVENT POST

Your limbs ache and burn, exhausted from the way they had been groped at and squeezed as your boyfriend manhandled you into position after position, thick cock using your spent cunt as he spills load after load into you. — When Soobin came home from work that evening, a small frown etched onto his face as he tore his blazer off, you already had a small idea about where this night was headed. But for this long? 

Through lidded eyes you peer up at your boyfriend, sweat clung to his naked torso, making his dark hair stick to both his neck and forehead. Despite that, Soobin looks far from content, his jaw visibly clenching as his gaze trains on the way his hard cock pushed inside your pliant little cunt. — “Come on baby, one more, just one more.” He practically pleads, though not even bothering to hear your reply as he snaps his hips against yours, causing the bed to squeak as you moan out into the bedroom. 

“Too much..” You gasp, nails tearing at his biceps as your head lulls back, completely docile in his grasp as his strong arms keep you against his chest. Soobin shakes his head, a small huff passing his lips as he grips you firmer. “You can do it, know you can..” He murmurs, his words cut off by a sharp groan as he feels you clench around him, orgasming for what you could only guess to be the fifth time that night. 

The way you cry out into the dark room only seems to spur him on further as he watches your arousal slide down his cock, making him twitch inside your far too overstimulated cunt. “Need to make sure..”, he grunts, jaw slacking as he feels his own high approaching. — “Need to make sure you have my baby… S’important.” He breathes, lips grazing your neck, his teeth sink into your supple skin when he releases inside of you; hot cum spurting from his cock as he continues to fuck himself through his climax. 

You knew that your boyfriend was eager to start a family, to make you pregnant. You couldn’t fault him, being well over 8 years your senior and entering his mid-thirties; it was all but understandable that he’d want kids, and who were you to deny him? — He remains inside of you, big arms loosening their grip around you as he lets you settle back against the covers. You wince as he shifts above you, his thick cock still nestled between your legs making your sore cunt ache. 

His breath is warm against your neck as he buries his face in the crook of it, making sure to uphold most of his bodyweight as he lays on top of you. The soft caress of his large hand on your stomach makes you shiver and Soobin hums in contentment. “Wan’ get you pregnant so bad”, he mumbles, his voice muffled against the skin of your neck. “Yeah?” You croak, fingers splayed in his damp hair and you feel him exhale. “I do”, he says, his voice filled with determination. “Bet you’d look gorgeous stuffed full with my baby.” 

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you consider his words. The thought of having a bunch of little mini-Soobins running around the house, it made your heart swell. — “I think I’d like that too.” Your quiet whisper is loud enough only for him to catch, but when he does, you immediately feel his semi-hard cock twitch as he lifts his head to peer up at you. “Yeah?” He counters to which you nod, watching as his eyes visibly darken with desire. 

It takes about half a second for him to flip you around, making you yelp, completely unprepared for his quick course of action as he has you straddle him. His cock, now fully hard inside of you, makes you let out a moan of surprise as his hips jerk up, large hands on your waist keeping you firmly in place. “Fuck, you’d be the prettiest mommy”, he groans, eyes focusing on the way your tits bounced with every thrust of his, already imagining them plump and filled to the brim with milk. 

“And I’ll take good care of you and our, -f-fuck-, our baby.” His words make your head spin and you feebly nod, whining in agreement as your nails rake across his large chest. — “You’re so perfect. Got such a pretty pussy, just waitin’ to be bred”, he huffs, cock twitching deep inside of you. Too lost to even register half of his words, you let your head fall forward as your arms struggle to keep you upright. — Your boyfriend’s hands are all over your body, touching and caressing your soft stomach as he feels the faint bulge of himself, instantly hardening further at the discovery. 

He makes sure to finish as deep inside of you as possible, fingers trailing down your back soothingly as he helps you calm down from your own high with soft words of praise. — With a loud exhale, you fall forward as he catches you, propping you on top of his chest. And with your eyes closed, you find yourself relaxing in his strong arms. 

You think you might be on the very verge of entering a comfortable slumber when you suddenly feel Soobin shift beneath you, hard cock sliding against your abused clit as he draws a quiet whimper from you. His voice is soft, a mere whisper against the shell of your ear as he says: 

“One more, just to be sure.” 

kinktober taglist (send an ask to be added) — @sweetpotatogyu @aduh0308 @joieouioui @inkigayocamman @bambammtori @hkplushier @gyusoulz @eliluvsjjunie @velvetmoonlght @izzyy-stuff @hwanghyunjinismybae @lunathewritingcat @ninitorih

© all rights reserved ─ @beomiracles 2024

[dreamermonica]

—gender neutral reader, teen gojo x reader hence the preferred use of glasses, established relationship, slight cursing, just a fluffy scenario i had to post with my crippling gojo brainrot before i hibernate once again

“ah.” GOJO says flatly out of nowhere. “my head's starting to hurt.”

you subtly glance at him from the reflection of the opposing side of the train's tinted windows, watching the way he removes his glasses and rubs at his eyes. you inwardly sigh.

“i can't tell if you're being serious or you just want attention.”

gojo gasps dramatically from beside you, “why would i lie about something like that?”

“can you really blame me for being distrusting?” you say blankly, giving him and and his offended face the stink eye, “especially with the amount of times you've whined out to me like some child who wants to get uppies from his mother?”

you silently relish in the way he stays silent, pouting at you whilst a victorious grin rests on your lips, your gaze returning back to the novel in your hands.

“told you so.”

he whines your name in defeat and lays his head against your shoulder, “my head does hurt though...”

the way he said it urges you to think that he is, indeed, not kidding, and most definitely wasn't just seeking attention—voice stripped of any type of cheeriness, coming out hoarse more than anything.

you pursue your lips as your gaze quickly flits to his face, before dropping to the sunglasses situated on his lap, folded neatly as his eyes are closed shut.

right. the object reminds you of what is probably causing him the headache. six eyes.

your heart nearly cracks at the small grimace on his expression, jaw clenched as his arms are crossed, head still leaning against your shoulder as he focuses on heaving steady breaths. you immediately feel bad now. terrible. horrid.

“toru,” you say, alarmed, slightly panicking as you drop your novel onto your lap, hand situating themselves on both sides of his face as his eyes still remain shut. “i thought you said the glasses helped?”

“they do,” he croaks out, the grimace slowly disappearing as he takes in the warmth of your palms, “but they don't just block out everything, you know.”

“did you overuse your eyes again?” you're ready to scold him, he can tell from the way your tone is slowly turning into one of a nagging mother hen. “this is why you should use blindfolds.”

he only breathes a noise of contentment when you start rubbing circles on his temples, practically melting in your hold.

“well—to be fair,” he starts, one eye opening, and sarcasm still evidently present even with a headache, “we were up against a pretty tricky special grade earlier. i may be the strongest, but that doesn't mean i should let my guard down. you told me that yourself.”

you hold back the urge to roll your eyes, instead staring at him unamused. you caress his cheek gently, “close your eyes, idiot.”

your annoying boyfriend deliberately opens both as if to spite you, cheekily smiling as he stares back at you, “i can still see cursed energy even if i do, babe.”

you still aren't impressed. he chuckles at your expression.

“plus, my headache disappears faster when i see pretty girls.”

“oh, fuck off,” you angrily pinch his cheeks in response as he yelps out in pain, before opting to cover his eyes with one of your hands instead. you feel his eyelashes as he blinks in confusion at the gesture.

“does this help?”

“not really. i can still see cursed energy.”

“oh.” you move to remove your hand, “my bad—”

what you don't expect next is that he keeps your hand in place above his eyes with his own, feeling your knuckles under his palm as he moves to rest his head against your shoulder once more, his eyes still covered by your palm.

“i thought it didn't help?”

“it doesn't but i like you touching me.”

you blink, clearly weirded out by the way he worded that.

“...seriously?”

“yeah, darling. now, as much as i like your voice—i really want to sleep right now, so be quiet before i kiss you stupid right here in public.”

you immediately and effectively shut up at that, hearing an awkward cough from the man sitting across from you. you send him an apologetic look, before glaring at gojo, who's now snoozing his way to wonderland.

you have an inkling that he probably won't be wearing blindfolds anytime soon. especially with how he's grinning like a madman even in his sleep with your hand over his eyes.

you sigh—noting to bring a blindfold each time you go out with the man from now on, not wanting a sore arm everytime you take the train home. you can already picture him pouting in response.

“the child that you are, gojo satoru,” you murmur whilst leaning against his head, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple.

“...you're lucky i love you.”

extra:

donning his sunglasses as he exits the train, he cheerily says, “that was the best nap of my life!”

his headache is gone, which is a relief—but unfortunately, yours is still standing right in front of you.

you clutch your numb arm—already feeling the soreness that'll come after shortly.

“i take it back. i hate you.”

“aw, love you too, bae.”

Zzzz...

[lisenberry]

141 when they find out reader has been crying:

(an earlier brain worm had me expanding this to all of them)

Price: He pulls you into his office and shuts the door. It barely closes before he turns on you, crossing his arms and looking down with his chin tucked against his chest. He rocks back on his heels once, twice, while he waits for you to spill.

You can only blink up at him, willing your tears not to fall while he's watching you so intently.

"What is it, sir?" You finally chance the use of your voice, but instantly regret it. Your miserable croak isn't hiding anything.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me why you've been crying." His tone is gruff, like sandpaper over rock salt, but his eyes soften imploringly.

For a minute, you want to tell him everything, but instead you just give in and cry harder. For a moment, he looks disappointed, but he simply pats you awkwardly on your shoulder and grabs a box of tissues from his desk drawer.

He motions to the sofa in the corner where you sob quietly for a half hour more while he finishes his paperwork. He doesn't know what's going on, but he's not going to let you do it alone.

Ghost: It doesn't matter where you hide, he finds you. The kitchen? He's in and out three times. Tea, a spoon for his tea, another tea. He crowds your space each time, no matter where you stand. Forcing you in circles as you try to keep your face averted.

For a silent man, he manages to make as much noise as possible to distract you to the point of almost asking him, "What the fuck, Simon?"

You finally move to a bathroom stall, but before long you hear the door open and two large boots stop just beyond the door. You know it's him by the size alone.

You hold your breath for a beat, and then two, so long that you wonder who is going to give in first. You know you've got about 3 minutes before you pass out. But just as you're about to stand up and face him, he turns and leaves without a word.

Exactly ten minutes later, he finds you in the rec room, dragging someone by the neck. It's not until Ghost kicks the man's knees out from under him, forcing him to kneel in front of you that you realize who it is. Some asshole from the other team who was giving you a hard time in training this morning.

With Ghost's knee pressed painfully between his shoulder blades, he grits out, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! It won't happen again!"

He's not the reason you're crying, but watching his face turn ten shades of purple does make you feel a little better.

Gaz: He keeps his distance and hates to see people cry because it always makes him cry, too. He doesn't know why. Movies, talk shows, commercials, they just get him right in the feels.

But every time you look up, his golden eyes meet yours, glistening with empathy. You simply shake your head at him and go about your day, until eventually, you get a text.

You mad at me?

-No, I'm fine.

You sure?

-Yep.

Fucking xxxx again, innit?

Of course he'd be the one to guess right. He paid the most attention, listened when you talked and remembered every detail. To be honest, he'd been the one you confided in the most for that reason.

He took your silence as a confirmation.

I hid some ice cream in the freezer. Unless Soap got to it first.

Soap: You head back to the kitchen again in search of the contraband ice cream, hoping it's the good mocha chip flavor you love, only to find Soap has beaten you to it. He innocently scoops out the last bite before seeing your face crumble and guiltily tosses it into the sink.

"Och, shit. Was that yours?"

"No, it's okay." Could this get any worse?

After dealing with these four, you just give up and slink back to your room.

"You know what you need?" He charges you before you can get any further.

"No, Johnny, don't!" Not one to listen, he pulls you up over his shoulder in one swoop and fireman carries you out to the gym.

"We're going to sweat it out, yeah? Always makes me feel better. Whether it's fighting or fucking is up to you."

You finally laugh at the absurdity of it, for the first time all day.

[prettiedup]

21+ yuji. dont like? dont read

yuji is an absolute sweetheart. he’s the type to give his seat up to an elderly person or pregnant woman on the train. he’s the type to help get a ball out of an extremely high tree when the kids in his neighborhood manage to get it stuck. he’s the type to give you his jacket the second you mention the weather. he’s just naturally a ray of sunshine, his bubbly and willing personality makes it hard to be upset at him for long periods of time. 

he’s a sweetheart, so, why is he fucking you like this? his hand is pressing into your mid back forcing a deep arch. every time his pelvis slaps against the fat of your ass you let out a loud moan. his other hand is gripping onto your wrist, you had the audacity to try and press his stomach in a weak attempt to get him to slow down. he’s fucking you like he hates you.

“d-daddy.” you croak out. “ah! i-i can’t..” you whine out.

“yes you can, baby. you always take daddy’s dick. keep being my good girl 'nd swallowing me. ‘mma give you all of my nut, baby. all of it.” he promises.

[spikesbicth]

Got Love Sick All Over My Bed

Astarion x F!Reader!Tav

Summary: Astarion discovers Tav having a private moment in her tent.

approx 1.5k words

cross posted on ao3

CW: 18+ Minors DNI, smut, masturbation, maybe a tiny bit voyeurism but only if you squint. biting. vampires.

A/N: I am just in the inspiration train so I banged out (lol) this quick one shot. just feeling so creative! once again barely proofread so excuse any glaring issues. Feedback always appreciated :) enjoy!

The smell of smoke lingers on your hair and the clothes lying in a pile at the foot of your bedroll. This was a usual occurrence, as nearly every evening was spent at the fire with your companions, discussing the day and what was to come. Conversations often went in circles, regardless of what had happened that day you often felt you were no closer to safety, always in danger. During these nights, you often found your mind and your eyes wandering to Astarion, whose pale skin and sliver hair was awash with a golden glow from the firelight. He was always entrancingly beautiful, but in this light he was truly ethereal, otherworldly. You were awash with love for him, and yet at the same time completely unsure if he felt the same way or would stick around long enough for you to find out.

These memories and feelings swirl in your mind as you try to relax on the uneven ground. It was difficult to remove your doubtful thoughts of Astarion. In an effort to gain closeness to him, you had offered your neck and your blood to him. Over time, for yourself at least, it had become something you anticipated and desired each night; you wished to steal a kiss from him before the ritual. Tonight, you imagine more. You close your eyes, picturing the crescent of his collar bones under his loose silk shirt he wore each evening at camp. The spot where his jaw meets his neck. The feeling of his body pressing against yours, his broad shoulders and chest that narrow delicately to his waist, his hips, his hands…

Tonight you want him, you want what you know he is capable of doing to you. He is to meet you tonight, in your tent, after the others have settled in their own.

You have time though, don’t you…?

You feel blood rush to your pelvis, a slick arousal beginning to pool between your legs.

Unable to curb your desire you trail your cool fingers down your abdomen, pushing up goosebumps as you progress. Already naked under your blankets, you find your clit and begin to rub small circles, gentle and delicately at first. You imagine the smell of Astarion’s hair, sweet with bergamot…

You imagine the smell of Astarion’s hair while he kisses you and touches you the way you touch yourself. A light gasp escapes your lips as the image sends a jolt of energy through your body and you press harder with your fingers. You move on for a moment, pushing two fingers inside of yourself, slightly shocked at how wet you have become. You slip further into your fantasy, imagining Astarion cupping your breast while he fingers you, playing with your nipple, kissing your jaw and neck. Gods, you wish for it.

“Oh my… now what do we have here..?” A voice questions in the darkness at the entrance of your tent.

Your stomach drops, and your eyes jolt open.

Oh. Fuck. You think, feeling your cheeks flush. You in fact, did not have time for this before the object of your desires arrived at your stoop. How long had he been there?

“I… uh, hi,” you croak, your mouth slightly dry from the rhythmic breathing forced by your touch.

Astarion widens the slack door of your tent and lets himself in, an knowing grin across his face. He immediately sits beside you near your pillow. No matter how unreasonable, there was no doubt to you that he knew your pounding heart was beating for him. You sit up, pulling your blanket up to cover your bare chest, feeling unusually exposed in front of him tonight.

“Shall we?” He asks, ignoring what you felt to be the elephant in the room. Though you felt embarrassment, the idea of him watching you touch yourself made your clit pulsate and wetness continue to flow from within you.

“Oh, yes… of course.” You answer, trying to hide your arousal.

Astarion moves behind you, sitting with one leg on either side of you. This was not his usual approach to feeding, and you wonder what he is planning.

“Darling, do lean back for me,” he requests, his voice deep and velvety. You lay back, resting your bare back against him. Your heart continues to pound in your chest and at this point, you were more than certain he could feel it. You tilt your chin back looking up at home with wide eyes and meeting his crimson gaze. He leans forward, and you anticipate the joining of your bodies with his bite.

To your surprise, he lays a gentle kiss on your neck. You gasp, and blink, was this a dream?

“Is that alright, my dear?” he asks, his lips brushing your neck as he spoke. You nod yes, rendered speechless by his kiss. “May I continue?” he asks again, and you nod once more, moving a hand slowly to touch one of his legs.

His kiss meets your neck again, kissing slowly, his fangs only occasionally catching your skin rather than piercing it. You feel your throbbing heartbeat between your legs, as you feel the blanket you had pulled across your chest begin to slip down as you arch your back to allow Astarion more access to your neck. The cool air grasps your nipples and they grow dense and hard in response.

“Would you like to continue to touch yourself?” He asks.

Yes Gods, Yes. You wanted to. You wanted him to watch you. Still, the bewilderment you felt of these fantastical actions playing out squirmed at the back of your mind.

“Please… I do,” you affirm. You send your free hand back down to your folds, and find them even slipperier than they were before. The blanket falls further down your chest until your breasts are fully exposed and it only covers your hand working on your clit.

Astarion moves a hand to one of your breasts, continuing to kiss your neck and jaw. His cool touch sends lighting through your body.

Your clit throbs under your fingers, swollen and sensitive. As much as you desired these moments to last forever, there was certainly no way you would be lasting very long. Moaning and gasping in Astarion’s arms, you rub yourself hungrily.

It doesn’t take much more to reach your peak, bursting into orgasm suddenly. Your hips sway, and you clench rhythmically around nothing. Your back arches and you press the back of your head into Astarion’s shoulder.

Your neck now even more exposed, Astarion sinks his teeth into you, your rich, crimson blood flowing into his mouth. You burn in pain, and you close your eyes, submitting to him.

Eventually, the rush calms, and you are left a panting, bloody mess in Astarion’s arms. You look up to his face again, this time moving to meet his mouth.

You join in a passionate kiss, and he slides his tongue into your mouth. You taste your own blood in his mouth and relish in imaging how much he enjoys the taste of you.

It was an explosion of passion, nearly as satisfying as your orgasm mere moments before. His soft lips sliding against yours, his fangs occasionally catching, his tongue touching and sliding against your own.

You pull away for a moment, looking into his ruby eyes.

“How…?” you ask, unable to find the words to describe your confusion at the sudden encounter, almost a recreation of what had occurred in your mind only moments before his arrival.

Astarion opens his mind to you, psychically linking to yours through the tadpoles that swum in your brain. You needn’t see his thoughts to know what has happened. How could you be so naive, of course the tadpole. Of course. In your fit of sudden insatiable desire, you left yourself almost completely unattended. Anyone who was tadpole-afflicted that happened to be wandering by may as well had been broadcasted the images you had conjured in your mind.

Without words, Astarion interrupts your thoughts. You see into his own mind, and are flustered by what you see. The same feelings you hold towards him, the same desires, the same yearning, the same love - but all for you.

You sit up, turning to look at him straight on, completely at a loss for words. He had wished for this as much as you had. A gentle, warm smile spreads across your face.

“Will you… stay with me tonight?” you ask, your voice faltering, still riddled with disbelief.

“I want nothing more” He replies, reaching a hand out to cup your cheek.

Like twisting vines, the two of you entangle yourselves in each others arms, and cuddle into the bedroll. Exhausted and contented, the worries that plagued your thoughts earlier that evening were nowhere to be found, and you knew that you wouldn’t be kept up from them ever again.

[probablyintensemuses]

I Miss You, I’m Sorry.

Armando Aretas x black!female reader

🎧- I miss you, I’m sorry- Gracie Abram’s

summary: in an attempt to guard his heart, Armando pushes you away. But how far is too far? And will he ever have a chance to tell you his true feelings?

themes: angst and fluff.

warnings: gore and blood, kidnapping and murder mentioned.

authors note: I’m still obsessed with Armando. The more I think of him, the more I wonder how broken he must be and how confused and overwhelmed he might feel. I hope it can be explored more in future films <3

Hot and iced coffee was passed around to everyone in the compound, everyone but Armando.

You passed them out with a smile, never once looking his way.

The avoidance was purposeful, he could feel it in the way chills spread wide throughout his chest, desperate for the warmth of your gaze.

But you never gave it to him.

And maybe that had something to do with last night.

How he’d gone too far for the last time.

Last night, Armando was in a mood, working late at the compound. You’d found him crushing the weights, pressing out every dreading thought lingering in his head.

Like always, you’d been attempting to talk to him, let him see that he wasn’t alone.

You had approached him just as he was re-racking his weights and heading over to the treadmill.

With a small smile, you handed him a sweat towel. “What’s on your mind?” You asked, gently.

Armando wiped his face with the towel, tossing it to the side. “Nothing.” He grumbled.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “I know you’re lying. You only stay this late and train this hard when somethings bothering you.”

Armando eyed you, the fury of his troubles—his mothers lies and manipulation, all the innocence he’s lost as he killed for her, only for his life and legacy to amount up to nothing—glazing behind his eyes.

“Don’t try your psychologist bullshit on me.” He grumbled.

You swallow. “It is my job.”

“Not with me it’s not,’ he sizes you up with his shirtless frame.

“Armando, that’s not what I’m doing. I’m just checking on you, making sure you’re okay.”

“What do you even know about me?”

You place a hand on his chest, fingers caressing his heart. Armando tries not to melt at the touch, wishing he wasn’t so starved for this kind of affection all his life.

“I know your heart, and I know it’s heavy, because we’re friends.” You say.

Armando grabs your hand, removing it from his chest, before his body decides to suddenly combust.

He lets out a low, resentful chuckle. Armando didn’t have friends. He couldn’t even trust his own blood, let alone some stranger like you.

He didn’t know why you continuously tried to look for the good in him.

There wasn’t any.

He was a cold, hearted killer. And no amount of hugs, smiles, or coffee runs would change that. He wished you’d stop, because he would only hurt you with expectations in the end.

“Who ever said we were friends?” Armando says, coldly.

You frown. “I just thought—,”

Armando presses the treadmills start button, rubber fills the air with a stench.

“I’m surprised you can think, because if you could, you would have notice that our relationship is one sided.”

You frown, clutching at the bottom of your skirt. “Armando, you don’t mean the things you’re saying.” You croak. “I know you don’t.”

Armando takes a step forward, his rising anger pushing you back into a punching bag.

Cornered, Armando leans into. “I mean every, fucking, word.”

You slip past the punching bag, shaking your head. “No.”

Armando can see the tears building in your eyes. His heart burns, but a deep breath snuffs out the flames.

“Yes. Now leave me the fuck alone and get the fuck out before I say something we both regret.”

Armando points to the door.

You bite your lips, salty tears leaking one by one against your warm brown skin.

Armando’s fist shake at his sides, wishing he could punch himself as he watches you leave.

He thought, like many times before you’d be over the spat. But he was wrong, because you still haven’t looked his way.

And he’d kill just to have one last glance at your eyes.

By the time lunch roles around, you and Armando still haven’t talked.

The silence was killing him.

So the moment you hit the corner, walking back from your lunch break, Armando grabs you up, pulling you into a quiet room.

“What the hell,” you push away from him. “Did you just kidnap me?”

“Kidnapping would require me to take you to a second location.”

You roll your eyes, walking towards the door. “Please move. I’m leaving for my prison sessions soon.”

“You still working there part time?” Armando questions. “It’s dangerous.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe you should come visit for a session one day, considering your mental deficiencies.”

You attempt to leave, but Armando’s hand sticks out, blocking your exit. “You’re not going anywhere, not until you tell me your issue. Are you still mad about what I said last night?”

You pause, folding your arms over your chest. “I thought you wanted me to leave you the fuck alone?”

“So this about last night.’ Armando smacks his lips. “That’s petty.”

“Petty?’ You throw your keys and purse down. “More like downright disrespectful, Armando.”

“Do you want an apology or something?” Armando scoffs.

“No, actually, I came to terms with some things after I left you last night.”

Armando’s eyebrows raise. “Yeah, and what’s that?”

Your smile is crooked, hurt, and so unlike you. “That you were right last night, we aren’t friends.’ You grab your belongings and brush past him. “So let’s continue to act like it, yeah?” You slam the door shut behind yourself, leaving Armando more hallow than before you two had even spoke.

Armando rubs a hand over his face, his hands eventually finding their way to his hips as he lets out a loud sigh.

Had he made the right choice? Had everything he’d said last night been the truth?

Or was he just afraid of the possibility that his mother wasn’t the only one who could betray him? Or that one day you’d go against your gut and see that there was no light in him, at all, and all he’d do is snuff yours out if you got to close.

It wasn’t clear, the truth muddied by desire and fear, but maybe the space was safer for you in the long run. Neither of you could be hurt that way, anyhow.

May he should take you up on your offer and go for a therapy session.

Armando finds his way back inside the compound where he sees the team gathered around one of the large plasma screams, watching a large, bloody fight play out.

“What’s going on?” He asks, catching everyone’s attention.

The footage pauses and everyone remains silent.

Mike swallows, consoling Kelly as she wipes at the tears on her face.

“A riot broke out at the prison.” Dorn swallows hard. “And there’s not doubt that she’s been taken hostage by a patient of hers.”

Armando blinks, shaking his head. “Hostage?” He swallows, his throat drying up. “What the hell do you mean, hostage?”

“I mean the guards can’t find her anywhere in the prison and her office looks like a struggles taken place.’ Dorn sighs, taking a seat. “We can’t even get in contact with her.”

Armando’s fist curl up as he stalks over to Dorn with a fury. “Well you better keep fucking trying geek squad.”

Dorn stands, sizing Armando up. “You don’t think I’m trying. The place is a fucking dead zone right now, no one can get into anything!”

Mike slips between the two, asserting his weight and presence. Armando pushes against him, flashes of what could be your fate play in his mind. “Well try harder, we need her exact location.’ He turns, heading to the armory. “We leave in thirty.”

Kelly stands. “Hold on, leave and go where? We don’t have clearance there.”

Armando slams his hands against the cages guarding the Armory, sending a shock wave through the compound. “Listen here, I don’t give a shit about clearance, and neither should any of y’all. If it was any one of us in that situation, she wouldn’t hesitate, so we should do the same.”

The group is quiet before they join Armando in the armory. They work in heavy silence as they suit up, cleaning and checking their guns.

Armando’s mind reels and slips, imagining what could happen to you. You had no combat or weapons training in the fiel, your specialties lied in communications as a liaison officer for the department. You also oversee some of AMMO’s operations along side Rita.

Going back to school for a PHD in psychology was merely prideful, as you didn’t need too, leading you to work on a thesis in regards to the psychology and reform of prisoners, which is exactly why you were missing now.

If anything happened to you, Armando didn’t think his heart could handle the massive guilt of pushing you away last night and letting you leave today. If someone could grant him one last wish to cling onto you and never let you loose, he’d take it in a heartbeat.

“Armando,’ Mike says, his voice crashing over Armando’s thoughts like a wave. “You ready?”

Armando clocks his gun, shoving a knife into his pants pocket.

“Yeah.” He says.

Mike pats his shoulders. “We’ll bring her home, okay.”

Adrenaline didn’t allow for Armando’s pride to take control, he just nodded, following behind the team as they stepped out and began the pursuit to the hospital.

As the van nears the prison, kelly moves toward the back with an iPad in hand.

“When we get inside, Mike and I will coordinate with the other officers on sight to try and gather as many prisoners as possible. Dorn you’ll be air support with the drowns, and Armando you’ll find—,”

The van comes to a stop and Armando slings his gun around his body, adjusting it in his grip. “I know what I need to do.” He kicks the door open, rushing inside.

Armando slammed through the prison doors, doing a quick sweep of the halls before perusing down them.

The prison smelt of sulfur, gas and water leaking from the ceilings and floors as he walked past. He couldn’t believe this was a place you’d actively chosen to go to, no woman like you deserved to be here.

Armando pushed past a lot of broken cell doors and hiding prisoners, he was just about to turn the corner when a scream erupts from behind him.

Your scream.

His blood freezes over and his fingers clutch and sweat against his guns trigger.

What if he was too late?

What if you were hurt…or worse?

Panic carries him as he bounds down the hall until he reachers the only door.

He sweeps into the room, a large stage front and center, pointing his rifle at the front of the room.

You’re being held hostage by a man whose eyes are darkened and lust field. This must have been your patient.

Armando’s eyes sweep your body. Your cheek is scraped and bleeding blood, along with your forehead, smooshing curls to your face along with sweat and tears.

Your once white pant suit is soiled and bloody and your heels are long gone.

Armando just wants to shoot the man holding you, but he can’t, not without risking your life. The man holds a knife to your neck, pressing in and drawing blood, seeing Armando’s gun, he uses you as a shield.

“Back the fuck up!” He shouts. “Or I slice her open and spray us fucking both with her blood.”

Armando’s heat skips a beat at the thought. His mouth opens, the closes, he knows better than to negotiate as he couldn’t, he was used to just killing for these kinds of threats. But right now this man held the upper hand by holding on to you.

“Armando,’ you said, voicing weak and unsteady. “Leave us, okay.”

Armando shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you, not again.”

You whimper and your eyes shut, leaving tears to spill from them. Your cries alone were enough for Armando to drop a few rounds in this man, but he needed to be strategic. Something like you. He needed to try to use his words because maybe if he had used them earlier or last night he wouldn’t have anything to regret if this was the last time he’d see you alive.

Armando took a few steps forward. “What would make you let her go?”

The man shook, looking around frantically. “A way out of this fucking hell pit.”

Armando shook his head. “What if I said I could you that, off the books.”

The man swallowed, loosening his grip on the knife against your neck. “How? How could you possibly do that when this place is swirling with fucking cops!”

“The way I came in, there’s no cops stationed over there, so let’s make a deal.’ Armando drops his gun, letting it hang at his side. “You let her go and I get you out of here.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Give me your gun.”

Armando frowned. “Why?”

The knife presses back into your throat and you scream out in searing pain. “So you can’t shoot me fuck head! Now give it to me heart eyes, or I cut her open.”

“Armando! No!”

Armando takes off his gun, placing it on the floor. “It’s okay, el cariño .’ He says. “I’m gonna slide it over at the same time you let her go, okay?”

Armando slides the gun across the room and the man loosens his grip, giving you enough space slip out of his hold.

You limp across the room and fall into Armando’s arms, he catches you with ease, holding you steady.

“¿Estás bien bebé?’ He questions, frantically pushing your curls away from your forehead. “¿Dónde te duele?”

You don’t respond, instead you pass out on his arms. Armando lifts you up bridal style. Heat boils through him at the thought of this man hurting you.

There was no way he was going to let him go now.

“Let’s go,’ the man says, clocking Armando’s gun. “Or it’s her fucking head, then yours.”

Armando walks you and the man towards the exit he came from, hoping to not run into any cops on the way.

His ears were buzzing, he needed a way to dead this situation without jeopardizing your safety anymore than it already was. That’s when he felt something searing in his pocket.

The knife.

Armando sat you down, tucking you against the wall behind a cell door.

“The fuck you doing!” The man shouted, jutting the gun at Armando.

Armando kneels over, pretending to be out of breath. “She’s heavy and I’m tired. I need a break.”

“Nah, muscle-head,’ the man’s says, putting the guns cold muzzle against Armando’s back. “There’s no time to be tired. If she’s too heavy, leave her and come back once you get me out of here.”

Armando smirked.

He’s just where he needed him.

In quick, trained motion, Armando whips his knife out. He turns, slicing the man’s wrist.

The man screams out in paid, dropping the gun. Armando uses his leg and sweeps his feet from under him, casing him to land on his ass.

The man clutches his wrist, crying out in pain. Armando takes no sympathy when he picks up his gun and shoots him thrice in the chest.

Armando scoops you up once more, calling into his coms.

“I’ve got her,’ he breaths. “Get a kit together, she’s pretty bad.”

Armando holds you tight as he walks you down and out of the prison. The warmth of the sun hitting your skin, the glimmer reminding him of just what he’ll never let go of again.

###

A stir shifts Armando awake.

His eyes open, blurry from the nights sleep before sharpening and focusing on you.

You sit up in your bed, holding your torso and groaning in pain.

Armando sits up, grabbing your arm and helping you reposition.

“How are you?” He asks, stuffing your pillows behind your back.

“Where am I?” You mumble, holding your head. You reach up and touch the bandages on your forehead, feeling a sharp pain spread, causing you to hiss.

“The hospital, you were hurt yesterday in the riot.” Armando says, taking your small hand in his larger one.

You nod, and Armando’s heart sinks when he feels you pull your hand from his.

“So what are you doing here?” You ask.

“I’m here with you.”

“Why?” You turn, glaring at him. “I thought we weren’t friends.”

Armando sighs. “Bebita, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How else could you mean it, Armando?”

His hearts pace quickens, last time he didn’t use his words, he nearly lost you. He didn’t want to risk it and waste anymore time with you. “I was scared.”

“What?” Your voice cracks.

Armando grabs your hand, squeezing it. “I was scared to loose you. I was afraid you’d see how fucked up I am, and just when I thought I had you, you’ll see the monster I am and push me away.”

You shake your head, squeezing Armando’s hand. “No, listen to me,’ you take his face in your hands. “You’re not a monster. You were lied to and you’re hurting.”

Armando melts into your touch as you stroke his cheeks with your thumbs. “I see the good in you, and I’ll always be there for you. I promise.”

A tear slips from Armando’s eyes, the truth of your words bleeding into him through the warmth of your touch. “I’m sorry,” he says, nuzzling into your touch and kissing your palms. “Cariño, lo siento mucho.”

“It’s okay,’ you sniffle. “Come here.” You pull him towards you.

Armando leans in, the hospital bed groaning under his weight as he takes you into his arms.

Armando takes your face into his hands, titling your head, placing his lips onto yours. You two melt into each other, kissing away the physical and mental pain you both harbor.

“I missed you,’ he moans against your lips, holding you tight. “Te extrañé mucho bebé.”

You slip your hands into his hair, pulling him down and on top of you.

“I missed you too.’ Breathlessly, Armando shivers, pressing himself into you. “So never push me away again.” You say.

Armando sucks in a breath, taking in how breathtaking you look underneath him. “Sí, mamá, lo prometo.”

[ponderingmoonlight]

Darlin', can I be your favorite?

Pairing: Sukuna x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: In a world full of death and tortue, wouldn't it be the easiest to seduce a man who is able to protect you at any cost? Ryomen Sukuna definetely is exactly that. Now, the seduction part...

Warnings: no really deep plot, just some teasing and a little bit of spice here and there, language, reader trying to seduce Sukuna with literally everything lol

Inspired by the song "favorite" by Isabel LaRosa

Your mission was clear since the first time you saw him in action, felt how strong he is: Get Sukuna to fucking adore you.

It might sound ridiculous to the untrained ear. Sukuna, the king of curses, the most frightful creature walking on this planet? To even consider you’d be able to warm his heart is worth a laughter. You know exactly how all the others would react when they hear your wild plan to seduce him, to get him to catch feelings for only you.

But what better defense than having the king of curses by your side? This fucking world is nothing but a battlefield and as a jujutsu sorcerer, you’re in the middle of it. Day in day out you risk your life in order to safe others. And even though it might sound tempting to simply haunt after Gojo Satoru, it’s not the same.

No, you want Ryomen Sukuna and no one else.

Your heels click against the floor as you make your way through Shibuya’s train station, Sukuna’s fingers lying in your purse comfortably. What better way to catch a glimpse into his heart than giving him back those? Well, to be exact you don’t have a set plan apart from getting him to like you. After all, love can’t be forced, right?

Well, that skin tight dress paired with those high heels you chose for today might do that, though.

“Now, where are you Yuji?”, you mumble to yourself, eyes darting around the worn-down area.

There is no doubt in the fact that a fight occurred here not long ago. The air still smells like blood and sweat, the wall is still hot from an enormous impact. But who? Was it Yuji? You follow a trail of blood with your hips swinging from side to side. You just need to find him, need to seduce the king of curses. This is your best chance to not croak in this shitty job.

Your heels stop in their tracks.

A tuft of pink hair rests against the entrance of the rest room, so minor that you almost missed it.

Almost.

You walk towards the beat-up boy while casually inspecting him. He’s definitely alive, but barely. Yuji’s whole face is covered in multiple cuts and bruises. Who on earth did he fight against? And where is that other person? No, it’s not your responsibility to think about that right now. With a swift motion you open your purse and reveal those oh so deadly fingers.

“Now be a good boy and swallow”, you purr.

Your hand grabs his neck and yanks his head upwards while you carefully feed Yuji Sukuna’s fingers. Please, let this work. You are tired to the brim of running away, of fighting curse after curse each and every day. How about a peaceful life with Sukuna by your side? Fuck Jujutsu High, fuck Satoru Gojo. You don’t want to die before you were even able to live properly.

“Get your hands off me, human.”

For a moment, your heart skips a beat. Just one look into his red gleaming eyes and suddenly so matured face is enough for you to realize that this isn’t Yuji anymore. No, the person you are sitting on with your hand wrapped around his neck is none other than Ryomen Sukuna.

Finally.

“Oh, you’re awake. That went smoother than I thought”, you reply with a cheeky grin, not moving an inch away from him like he told you to.

“Who the hell are you, brat?”

He has definitely seen you before, you are a jujutsu sorcerer without any doubt. But why are so damn close, why does your hand wrap so delicately around his neck? Your dark eyes rest on his face unpromising, lashes hanging into your orbs seductively. What’s that supposed to be?

“My name’s whatever you make it. But how about wife?”

Sukuna isn’t able to move, let alone speak. Did you really introduce yourself to the king of curses like that? He shouldn’t waste any time, wring your neck the way you deserve it, dissolve you into tiny pieces. Who the hell do you think you are to speak to him like that? You, a puny woman? Not even the fact that you reunited him with a few of his missing fingers is enough to spare your life.

But why…Why does he still sit there like he did before, allowing your hand to rest against his neck? Why is he unable to give you a sharp answer like he always does?

“I am the king of curses”, is the only thing he’s able to press out.

“And I’ll be your girl. Deal?”

He lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, eyes scanning your features up and down. You do have a pretty decent face for a human, your delicate eyes keeping him trapped. That confidence dripping from each and every pore of yours, the way your body is so near that he’s able to hear your blood circulate…

“What the hell are you talking about, stupid girl? If I wanted to, I could kill you without even flinching. Now get off me and run for your life.”

When Sukuna finally regained his threatening voice again, he expected your heart to shiver, your body to stumble backwards until you run away. But instead, you move even closer and dare to sit on top of him, gleaming eyes now staring him into the ground while your naked thighs rub against his pants.

“But you didn’t. Think I must be your favorite.”

The fact that he didn’t kill you right on the spot when you disobeyed his order is enough proof that your plan is actually working. Yes, you managed to confuse the king of curses, to arouse his interest. Now the only thing that’s left is seducing him.

“You are annoying as hell. Now get off me, I have some work to do”, he barks back at you.

His hand grabs your wrist roughly and removes your grip around his neck. But instead of simply throwing you off him, he holds your arm in place while keeping only inches of distance.

Oh, his lips are so close that you are literally able to taste them. Just one movement, one innocent flinching of your hips above his and the gap between you both is closed.

“Are you trying to seduce me, dumb girl?”, he breathes out.

He does it so well, keeping himself cool and composed while his mind races back and forth with your intoxicating smell penetrating his nose. In his long life, there was never a woman who actually tried to seduce him. After all, he’s the king of curses, so strong because of the fact that he never felt love or affection for anyone in all those years. He’s heartless, cold, a menace. Why would a woman ever get the idea of showing him affection? He came here to kill, to destroy this fucking city and make that brat suffer.

But now there’s you.

And apparently you couldn’t care less about the fact that he’s the king of curses.

“Actually, I am”, you purr, your free hand beginning to draw small circles onto his chest.

“Why would you do something so fucking stupid?”

“I mean, you’re the strongest, right?”

He has to blink a few times, the way you look at him as if he’s the dumb one catching him completely off guard.

“I’m the king of curses”, he reminds you all over again.

“And with being your favorite, you take me places-“

“What the fuck are you talking about?”, he interrupts you roughly.

You roll your eyes in sheer annoyance, nails now digging into his chest.

“Make me your wife so I don’t die”, you finally blurt out.

Is this the reason behind your questionable action? He could have killed you right on the spot and just one look into your gleaming orbs tells him that you know that all too well. And still, you risked your life for him to protect yours. Were you really so sure you’d be able to seduce the king of curses with a lousy dress and some high heels?

“Why would I do that?”

Enough playing. He should behead you right on the spot before torturing you for the time you wasted. You aren’t even worthy to breathe the same air as him, let alone being this close to his body.

But…Why isn’t he able to simply throw you off, then? Why is he even questioning what you’re up to, replaying your words over and over in his mind?

“Because I’ll let you taste-“

Your mouth is so close to his ear that your hot breath caresses his skin while the filthiest thoughts leave you with ease. His eyes grow wider and wider with each passing second, disgusted but at the same time…

“Enough”, he hisses through gritted teeth while grabbing your shoulders roughly.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Aren’t you at least a little invested? I have a lot to offer”, you reply, ignoring his last question elegantly.

The war inside his head makes him forget that he’s actually out on a mission for a moment. You…you are so different from all those other jujutsu sorcerers, risked your puny life so that he eventually watches over you. How ridiculously brave, how fucking stupid. But still, when your gleaming eyes rest on his face like that, that oh so cheeky grin plastered on your face you make him wonder. A wife, his favorite?

Before he’s able to think straight again, a wave of freezing mist darts towards you at neck-breaking speed. His heart skips a beat, eyes darting towards Uraume who fixates you with hate dripping from every poor of her warped face.

You won’t be fast enough. No jujutsu sorcerer except for Gojo Satoru himself is able to escape Uraume’s powers when surprised. If he doesn’t react, you’ll die. But isn’t that what he wants, that you finally vanish into thin air and leave him alone? You, the girl who just claimed him as her husband only because she doesn’t want to die.

“No.”

His body moves on its own. All of the sudden he finds himself standing in front of you, his hand deflecting Uraume’s Frost Calm with ease.

“Don’t you dare to hurt her, Uraume.”

You can’t believe it, breath getting stuck in your throat. He really did save you. Even though all you did was purring at him, trying to convince him with sugary words, Ryomen Sukuna stood up for you and defended you against one of his. Out of instinct, you push your wobbly legs off the ground, excitement filling you to the brim. With that oh so cheeky smile, you wrap your arm around his and eye the person in front of you up and down innocently.

“But she…she is a human being, Master. She’s a weakling, one of your enemies”, Uraume breathes out.

“Who allowed you to speak to your Master like that? Get out of my sight and do what you were taught to.”

You watch in awe as the person standing in front of you crumbles, their hateful gaze almost piercing through you like a knife until their gone as fast as they came.

“So, I really am your favorite, huh?”, you hum.

“Shut up brat, I’m the only one who can kill you. Now get going, I have a lot of work to do.”

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@okay-it-is-ivy

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING GREEN !!! CHARLES L. X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: it was his turn to play once, and now he has to beg too.

content warning: use of explicit language, smut under the cut (minors dni!), sub!charles, themes of jealousy and friends with benefits, brief descriptions of oral sex (m receiving), possessive!reader, not filthy enough… i think, pwp

note: i really should be writing my papers rn. enjoy xx

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

his eyes weren’t the only greens that made their presence known in the party tonight. no, it was also not just the dress that she had slipped on in hopes of catching his attention and taking him back to her place. 

her emotions were, in fact, turning into a form of jealousy as she watched him dancing with some other girl on the dance floor. her eyes forming into a heavy scowl as she sipped on her daiquiri, watching as charles smirked at her and attached himself to a stranger while they dirty danced.

he was having too much fun with someone else as if he hadn’t done called her to his room the other day only to dominate her.

he was acting like this and she had no control over that; he wasn’t hers after all. they were nothing but “friends” who casually fucked each other’s brains out as a pastime.

but then again… if they were friends, then he wouldn’t have marked her neck until she couldn’t go on a date with some stranger from an app, right? he wouldn’t have done that knowing that she had a date a day or two after— that those marks would last longer than intended. friends don’t do shit like that. 

if they were friends, then maybe… maybe she’d make him realize that she, too, could mark him to the next week— so he wouldn’t go to that date that their stupid friends set him up to because “he needs to get laid.” 

it was his time to play once, but they were taking turns— and it was now hers. 

“ngh~ amour,” his voice croaked as his mouth gaped open, feeling her mouth wrapped around his cock as she hummed. the bassy vibration around his cock made him whimper in desperation. the urge to cum was just there and she was torturing him. “‘m gonna—“

he whined quietly when her mouth pulled away with a ‘pop’, her hand replacing her mouth as she wrapped it around the base of his cock. she firmly said, “keep your eyes on me, charles.” 

“i ca- c—“

“sure you can,” she laughed. if he could even think right now, he would’ve said that she wasn’t like this days ago. she was an angel begging for him to let her cum days ago— and now she was a vixen who wanted him to die a slow death. 

she continued to give his tip kitten licks as he whined. “i want you to look at me so you know who’s the only person that can make you feel like this.” 

“i- amour,” he whimpered, urging himself to open his eyes as he peered down at her. his adam’s apple bobbing when he caught sight of the lust and possessiveness that washed through her features. 

her tongue traced over the saliva that dripped down his cock, eyes still trained on his hazy green ones before her gaze trailed down his purple-marked chest and abdomen. she had too much fun nipping at his body that she hadn’t realized the difference between marking him and seeing the aftermath of it. 

“so beautiful,” she murmured quietly, stroking him continuously as she gave him a mocking pitiful look. “quite a shame that others would see you like this.”

“n- no,” he shook his head frantically, his brain short circuiting and heart desperately wanting her as he babbled, “no- no one’s seen m- me. no o- one will. i promise, m- mon amour-“ 

“that right?” she teased, her hand moving up for her thumb to rub on his tip as she continued, “what about the lady earlier? you were so ready to give it to her, charles— as if you’d already forgotten about me.”

“no! she- i- wan’ to make you jealous,” he whimpered, his eyes shutting closed again as his head dropped back at the pleasure. “ple- please, amour~ i want to be inside you.” 

“oh? you wanted to make me jealous?” her eyes darkened a little before leaning up to him and giving him a sweet kiss on the lips. “you sure did. you sure made me jealous...” 

she sunk back to her knees and said, “and i’m going to make sure you wouldn’t have to do it again. after all, nobody would be able to see you in this state if it isn’t me, hm?” 

she let her mouth devour his cock once more, bobbing up and down as charles moaned aloud, begging for her to let him cum inside her as sounds of squelching escaped her mouth and dribbles of saliva fell down her chin. he was writhing under her, and he was too fucked out to even say anything— he loved it. 

he loved her.

if she was going to be this controlling in bed, then he might as well continue to make her jealous. at least now he knew that she wanted him to want her and her alone.

[on-leatheredwings]

House Arrest

Yandere! Batfam / Bruce Wayne x (Fem!) Reader

For a request, Munchausen's syndrome by proxy with Bruce? Like, he keeps reader sick so she can't leave him or interact with someone outside the family. And maybe the rest of the batfam is in on it?

[a/n: Didn’t know if you wanted this platonic or not so I didn’t specify! In my head its romantic with bruce though lmao]

> word count: 1581

> Tw: gaslighting, munchausen’s syndrome by proxy, yandere-typical behaviors!

You sit in anticipation, foot tapping against the stone floor. There’s an entire miniature hospital set up for you down here in the Batcave. Respirators, diagnostics machines, and other expensive medical equipment that would be better served in Gotham General. 

Helping people recover. 

So patients could some day leave. 

You used to love being in the Batcave. It was the family’s little secret. When you officially joined the family, the Batcave was now your secret as well. But ever since falling ill months ago, bedridden with a sickness whose cause continues to elude everyone… being here is depressing. You now notice it’s damp down here. Dark. Lifeless.

Bruce sits at the Batcomputer, the screen’s light painting over his face in a green wash. You watch his eyes scan line after line of your results. Reminds you of a typewriter. Methodical. Orderly. Nearly inhuman. When he sighs, your heart stops. 

Fuck.

He turns to you, face grave. “You’re still ill.” 

Your eyes start stinging with an onset of tears that you furiously try to blink back. 

“... H-How ill? How bad? Am I any better?” you ask, as if bartering with him will make the situation any different. As if bartering with God ever made any difference for mere mortals such as yourself.

Bruce’s face is still. 

“You haven’t improved.” 

Your hopes crash down around you like glass. You aren’t better at all? Even though you haven’t had a fever in weeks? Even though you’ve been working out with enough energy to keep up with Damian? He was exerting perhaps only 10% of his effort, but still. Your lymph nodes aren’t even swollen anymore. Tim had told you as much, accidentally contradicting Bruce’s insistence that they had been earlier that morning. 

“But I feel better,” you croak. You hear footsteps behind you approach and you swallow drily, nearly hissing at the offender. It’s Dick, and damn him. You don’t want to be placated right now.

“Are you experiencing any headaches? Shortness of breath?” Bruce asks, eyes still trained on you. You try to recall. 

“... I may have had a migraine this morning…” At Bruce’s weary shake of the head, you blurt, “But it’s passed. I’m perfectly fine. And no shortness of breath.”

“... I’m sorry. But if you’ve been having symptoms like that, along with your being immunocompromised…” Bruce doesn’t even have to finish the sentence. You won’t be leaving the Wayne Manor grounds for a long time. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

You feel a hand on your shoulder. You look up and see Dick, whose face is somber but offers an encouraging smile. 

“Well, I’m back in town for the time being. We can hang out all the time.” His expression brightens as an idea pops into his head. “And I can call Tim, Jason, Duke–! Maybe even Cass and Steph… We can have a board game night tonight!” He sounds as chipper as you are miserable.

Damian approaches from behind, leaving the shadows. His arms are folded. “If that’s the case, I’ll humor Grayson and let him capture some of my fleet for once.” A popular choice was Risk, perfect for the family who’s entire lives revolved around combat and strategy. But you didn’t want to play Risk again. You didn’t want to have a board game night, no matter how many of the family came. You wanted to see people. 

Other people. Everyone here is your family. 

You want fucking friends again. You wanted a job again – a sentiment you would’ve laughed at even just five months ago. You wanted any semblance of a life again.

Bruce’s eyes haven’t left your trembling form once, two chips of slate-gray peering over steepled hands.

“Thank you, Dick. Damian. But I think she could use some time alone.”

Dick’s hand releases your shoulder, retracting as if burned. None of them are the boss here. It’s Bruce who is my warden, your mind whispers darkly. 

“Right! Don’t want you to feel overwhelmed.” Dick sees himself out, taking Damian with him. “See you tonight.” And that feels like a sentencing to your fate.

Now the two of you alone, Bruce stands, offering his arm wordlessly. You know what this means. You take it, linking yours with his without thought or protest. Bruce liked to ensure you were always within his reach, as if you were prone to fainting spells. This was less humiliating for you than him carrying you through the estate, you suppose. 

“Why, yes, let’s take a turn around the grounds!” you used to exclaim, making your voice posh and British, mimicking the regency romance movies you had been watching all the time. 

Now, months later, you just sullenly allow him to lead you. Your surroundings pass by and you vaguely recognize that you are exiting the Batcave, walking through the manor, and out into the never-ending expanse of a well-kept lawn. 

It’s a sunny, idyllic spring day after months of overcast winter. 

And thank god you could still traipse outside when you wanted, even if fenced in. Bruce told you when you had first fallen ill that he had installed some high-tech, anti-air pollution gadget. Wayne Manor was effectively your own personal bubble. Fresh air was the only thing keeping you sane, lately. 

You two pass by the garden, a labor of love Alfred started. You and Damian tend to it now… and mainly the latter, these days. You haven’t had any energy for gardening as of late. Fatigue is a symptom, you hear Bruce’s voice whisper in the back of your mind. But you don’t feel fatigue… rather, just depressed. But of course, isn’t fatigue a symptom of being depressed…? A familiar brain fog crawls into your mind. Your head was starting to hurt.

You look across the lawn, onto the horizon. Gotham’s dark skyline sits there, enticing. When night falls, it’ll glimmer and twinkle with light. There is a whole world out there. And, God, you love the Waynes, but they aren’t the world. You need to distract yourself. Bruce, ever the lover of pleasant silences, is going to have to distract you from thoughts that make you want to leap off the second story balcony of your bedroom.

Should you ask, “How’s work?” No. You find you don’t care. 

“How’s Jason?” you say instead, feeling Bruce stiffen at the mention of his most tenuous relation.

He wasn’t around as much, but when he was, he was always relaxing with you in your room. You have a whole shelf for the knick knacks he brings. “Don’t worry. They’re clean,” he’d snort at his former mentor, because Bruce required everything to be thrice sanitized before coming into your possession.

“... Better.”

You’re glad. That’s one good thing, you guess. 

“Bruce,” you croak. 

He looks at you, face alight in expectation. 

“Maybe I should just go,” you say, small and weak. Your eyes don’t leave the sight of Gotham skyscrapers, stretching to the sky. Bruce stills, stopping you both in your tracks.

“What do you mean, ‘go’?” he says carefully.

You remove yourself from his arm and gesture to the city. “Just go. Leave. I mean, I can’t stay here forever.” Bruce looks genuinely confused, as much as he can. 

“Of course you can.”

“No, I can’t!” you screech. Frustrated, you tear at your hair. “I can just be an outpatient somewhere– I can go for hospital treatments every week– or everyday– whatever!

Bruce places his hands on your shoulders.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Rage flares in you and you gnash your teeth at him. By now, that all-too-familiar brain fog has flooded your brain. But you try to fight it. You have to fight it. Like trying to crawl out of rapidly-sinking quicksand, you fight it.

“I-I know what I’m saying. I’m saying–”

“You’re saying to just let you die,” Bruce sharply returns. “To give up, let you die, and leave us to grieve.” 

“No–”

“Stephanie.” 

You meet his eyes again at the name, which are resolute and as blue as ever. 

“Cassandra. Duke.” Your stomach churns, imagining their smiling faces, turned into ash as your hypothetical passing. “Barbara.” 

“Bruce,” you croak, pleading inwardly for him to stop. 

“Damian.” 

“Tim.”

“Jason.” 

“Dick. Alfred.” You duck your head and your eyes meet the ground. The listing of all your loved ones pinches your heart, and you feel nauseous. You weren’t trying to leave them. You didn’t want to leave them at all. 

“... Me.” 

Your eyes sting with tears again. Why did he have to make it sound like that? Like you were seeking some selfish want, rather than trying to improve your quality of life. You feel your ambition and desire wane under the weight of guilt. You feel all sense of struggle start to disintegrate, lost to the fog in your head. Lost. You’ve lost.

Bruce’s eyes scrutinize you.

“As I suspected. You’re acting delirious. Manic. Delusional.”

Any semblance of protest dies in your throat. 

“What?” you say. But Bruce is already leading you away towards the looming doors of Wayne Manor, away from the green of the grounds. Away from the light of the sun, and away from the skyline. He comforts you with familiar lines on the way to your bedroom. 

You need rest. Alfred will brew his tea for you. I’ll call the kids to come tonight. We can play Risk. He pats your shoulder, stroking soft, deceptively warm circles with his thumb.

“You just need some rest.” 

And not for the first time, you believe he may be right.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

We got each other (and that's a lot)

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 18

Prompt: Hurt/Comfort

Rated: M

CW: Violent imagery; aftermath of injury

Tags: Steve got vecna'd (he's okay, though); Angst; Trauma; Fluff

Notes: Continued from day 3. They'll be fine, they just need to kiss some and get a lot of therapy, probably.

Wanna see these soft, broken boys sleeping? Check out the heartwrenching art by @house-of-the-moving-image

Eddie drifts.

Inky blackness surrounds him like cotton, every sound, every thought muffled. His neck and fingers and arms still hurt, but it's the dull kind that comes with exhaustion, the tingle of adrenaline finally rushing from his body. Some distant part of him is still stirring, demanding that they stay alert … but the darkness is warm and soft and alluring as it pulls him under. 

Something cold touches his hand. 

Eddie flinches awake, heart kickstarting in his chest, fear zapping into his limbs like an electric current.

He fell asleep, he realizes, and the terror of it claws its way up his throat like a slimy, rotten tangle of vines. He fell asleep and when he opens his eyes it'll be to find Steve floating under the ceiling again, to find Steve's mangled corpse on the bed, eyes sucked from their sockets, face twisted in an eternal, grotesque scream, it's too late and he fell asleep, he fucking fell asleep while- 

Steve is awake. 

Steve is awake and he's looking at him and he's alive and his hand is lying on top of Eddie’s. It's cold and there's a needle in it from the IV cord and he's ghastly pale against the sheets, but he's smiling softly and he's alive, he's alive and Eddie wants to scream, to cry, to kiss him and never stop, to hold him and never let go-

"Hey," Steve whispers. 

"Hey," Eddie croaks. "You look like shit, man."

"Aw," says Steve, and the corners of his mouth twitch and Eddie thought he'd never see his smile again and shitshitshit don't cry, Munson, don't cry. "Thought I was pulling it off real well." 

He jerks his head in the general direction of the cast on his right leg, the one on his left arm. Eddie thinks he'll hear the sound of the bones breaking in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

"Typical," is what he says. "Half dead and still worried about your looks." 

Steve hums a not-quite-laugh. His fingers caress the back of Eddie’s hand. 

"Is he …?" 

"Dead," Eddie blurts. "For real this time. It's over." 

"The kids?" Steve's fingers twitch.

"Fine," Eddie says, watches how Steve's entire form sags with relief. "Buckley and Wheeler, too. And everyone else. It's over." 

"I- good." Steve screws his eyes shut, gulps. Draws a shuddering breath. "That's good." 

Eddie watches how his shoulders start shaking. Following a sudden impulse, he flips his hand and tangles his hand with Steve's, careful not to upset the needle. Steve blinks down at their entwined fingers. 

Eddie forces himself to smile and rambles on before either of them can question the gesture. 

"El was so fucking metal, you should've seen her. Like, the way she obliterated that douchebag? Remind me to never get on that girl's bad side! Seriously, man, I don't think any of us would be here if she hadn't-" 

"Well, I don't think I would be here …" says Steve. "... if it hadn't been for you." 

Eddie’s words barrel to a stop. Steve’s fingers tighten against his, trace the callouses on his hands. Steve’s smile is small and soft, but his eyes are serious, trained stubbornly on the ugly pattern of his hospital gown. 

"I thought you hated Bon Jovi." 

Eddie huffs. "Fuck, yeah, I do. Forcing me to besmirch my Sweetheart's strings with that mainstream shit? You owe me big time, man. Better start thinking of ways to pay me back."

"Yeah?" Steve raises their tangled hands lightly. "How's this for a start?" 

And then, before Eddie can even wonder what he's about to do, he ducks his head and presses a kiss to his knuckles. His lips are soft and warm. 

Eddie blinks. Waits for the world to stop spinning. 

"For … a start?" he repeats dumbly. 

Steve's eyebrow quirks. 

"Dude, I'd like to do so much more, but I'm glad I managed to lift your hand, to be honest. We should also first talk about stuff, I guess." 

"Oh," Eddie says intelligently. "You mean … like that thing you wanted to tell me?" 

"Yeah, like tha- … that thing." Steve needs to interrupt himself for a huge yawn halfway through. Since one of his arms is in a cast and the other hand is refusing to let go of Eddie’s, it ends up open-mouthed and adorable. "Probably'll have to sleep some more b'fore that, though …"

"Sure thing," Eddie is out of his chair and fussing with the pillow before he realizes what he's doing. Steve's eyes are already drooping as he helps him settle down. "I'll … I'll be outside, tell the others you're-" 

"Eddie?" Steve's grip around his wrist is light as a feather, but he still stops like he's been tethered in place. When he turns, there's fear swimming in those pretty eyes. "Stay? I don't … I'd rather not be alone." 

Eddie is back in his chair before Steve can finish the sentence. 

"Can you…" Steve's eyes are slipping shut again and his words are slurred, so that Eddie must lean closer to catch them. "D’you think you can sing? So I can find my way back, if- … Your voice is like light."

Eddie doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know if there's anything he could possibly say to that. So he says nothing. Just swallows around the lump in his throat and takes Steve's hand and starts singing softly. 

By the time Steve's breath evens out and his fingers go limp, Eddie’s other hand has found its way into his hair. 

Eddie keeps singing for a long while.

For as long as he's here, Steve will always have someone to guide him back.

Part 3

All my holiday drabbles

[monstersholygrail]

Wholesome thoughts, but I've been really stressed lately because of too much shit lol. I'm so burnt out. Having a large monster boyfriend that I could just cling to while cuddling in bed despite me being soooooo short would be amazing. He'd hold me nice and tight and call me a good girl and everything pleeeeease

Awww, hun, I’m so sorry. I hope things get better and that you get the rest you need and deserve. But in the meantime, I hope this can possibly help a bit!

You’re practically glued to your work, your eyes furiously trained on the screen. In fact, your Monster bf isn’t actually quite sure when the last time he saw you away from the screen was. Your body is practically shaking with the over exertion in which you’re forcing on yourself.

It pains your bf to see you like this, to see you so clearly exhausted and yet refusing to take a break. Your eyes drooping every few minutes before you blink rapidly and force your eyes open wide and it happens all over again. When your face accidentally smacks against the computer screen, your bf knows he can’t sit around and watch any longer.

With a heavy sigh he stands up and heads over to you. You don’t even lift up your head to look, you’re so sucked into your work. It’s only as his hands land on your shoulders do you snap out of your thoughts.

“C’mon. Let’s take a break from work for a bit,” your bf urges, sliding his hands down to your waist. He helps lift you up out of the chair before you can say a word.

You frantically look back and crane your head up, wondering what the hell is happening. But you calm down seeing it’s him. Still not really understanding what’s going on, your exhaustion causes you to easily misread his expression and you bend over the table as if he came to have his way with you.

“Oh, baby, I wanna fuck you too. But I can’t stop working right now. So how about you just go at it while I keep doing this?”

You turn your attention back to your computer, your butt popped out and lifted up for his convenience. Your bf looks over you like you’ve officially gone insane. Though your position is enticing, fucking you is the last thing on his mind.

“Love, I’m not gonna fuck you.”

Your body falls back down to your normal very short height in comparison to your bf. But your body continues to fall until you’re sagging against the table, looking even more tired than before.

“Well then what the hell is the point of a monster boyfriend if there’s no free use where he can just take me whenever and wherever he wants?” You exaggerate, your voice croaking with emotion. Your emotions all over the place with everything you have going on and your bf frowns, knowing he’s gotta take care of you asap.

With his height also comes great strength. So your bf picks you up into his arms with ease. Dragging you away from the computer and your work. You weakly fight back to stay at the computer but he easily moves you away, bringing you into his arms as he walks you two to the bedroom.

“Okay, okay. I think your lack of sleep is making you delusional.”

At this point you’re far too sleepy to resist anymore so instead, you curl into his embrace, your face burrowing into his chest.

“Hmm. Well, maybe a few minutes.”

Your bf laughs, seemingly always knowing exactly what it is you need. He’s your safe place, your comfort. The person who cares about you more than anyone else and who you care about the same way. He cuddles you close to his chest as you walk through your home.

“There it is. Good girl. Let’s go rest.”

He slides the both of you in your big bed that can comfortably fit his large form. You snuggle into the soft sheets, your limbs clinging onto your bf in a way that has him chuckling fondly.

His frame curls around you till he nearly encompasses you entirely. You’re barely see as he completely surrounds you in his presence. He nuzzles against you, getting as close to you as possible. Giving you all the comfort and support he can within the silence. But it was enough and before you know it you’re out like a light.

Your bf doesn’t sleep though as he watches over you. His clawed hands smoothing down your hair and keeping you close to him. His heart resting much easier now that his mate is finally letting him take care of her.

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 6

DUN-CON BY VIRTUE OF THE SOMNO CONCEPT

Moniker: Gaz Risk Level: Low. Gaz has never been detained and is visiting freely. Brief: Somnophilia, anal Safeword: Refer to first brief.

Gaz will not hurt you and he is the safest man I have ever met when it comes to the bedroom, enjoy him - Price

The first time you woke up before he even got his tongue on you. Just the puff of breath on your tight little hole was enough to have you flinching out of sleep.

You were desperately tired on account of being told to stay awake last night in preparation for today. It turned out what that meant was this stupidly charming man wanted you to sleep through him fucking your virgin ass.

Pretty fucking ambitious you thought as he held you tight until you drifted back off to sleep in the very cosy bed.

—

God you were so fucking delicious looking. Gaz had never felt such an ache in his teeth to bite someone before, but looming over you as you slept he was considering abandoning the plan all together and marking you up. Would you squeal as he tore into flesh? Keegan had boasted about how you sounded when he spanked you and he had been painfully hard just listening.

He hadn’t even intended on coming back to the Kennel if he didn’t have to. Yes he liked seeing Ghost but he hated being here, knowing that he got to leave and Ghost didn’t. He had been angry at Price for a long time when he had been detained. Had raged at him. It was Ghost himself who showed him the photos in the end of what he had done to that poor girl.

Gaz was pretty sure it was actually Soap and Ghost blamed himself for not controlling him well enough so took the fall, but he respected the sacrifice enough to keep his mouth shut about it.

Now here he was in the Kennel. How could he not when Soap had called and waxed poetic about the pretty girl with the prettier cunt? When he whined about how Price barely let him tongue fuck her soft arse before stopping him? That was it for him, he had to have a taste.

He tried to hold back his groan when he got behind you and managed to get his tongue on your hole without you waking up. He knew you had never done this before and it made you being unaware of it happening all that sweeter. Soap never would have had this level of patience, but he enjoyed the challenge of it, the tense pain of being so fucking hard but having to take his time before his cock could get inside you.

“Jesus, tight even in your sleep pretty girl. Come on, relax” he said, damn near pulling his tongue from eagerly trying to get it inside and being met with resistance.

Fuck he should have negotiated some poppers into that brief but at the time, like a fucking fanny as Soap would say, he was so sure he would be able to open you right up as you relaxed into sleep. His arrogance was going to be his undoing as he desperately licked and sucked and tried to get that little pucker to stop bearing down so hard against his attempts to get inside.

You startled awake.

“What’shappenin’?” you croaked, still thankfully half asleep which meant if he was very careful it wouldn’t take long to lull you back.

“Shh, hush now. Go back to sleep pretty girl hm?” he said, sweet as anything as he ran a soothing hand up and down your flank.

You weren’t so different than the skittish mare he had ridden during horse training. She was always so easily soothed with sweet words and the reassuring weight of a hand on her rump. He was salivating at the thought of how smooth a ride you would be.

“S’wet” you mumbled, feeling the spit pooling around your ass.

“Must’ve been having a pretty dream” Gaz said with a chuckle, dipping a finger into your slit and finding you wet all on your own. “Go back to it, shh, there you go.”

He was ever so careful, his finger working to relax your body rather than get you worked up. He did consider if a quick orgasm might get you tired out, maybe if you woke up again he’d go for it. Price would indulge him some wriggle room outside of the brief because, as he was unashamed to admit, he was his favourite. But he didn’t want to push it if he didn’t have to.

And yeah maybe he knew it would do a number on his confidence to eat you out after Soap had already had a go. Gaz was good, but that boy was a fucking savant at eating pussy. Eating ass he could use a bit more refinement though, so he knew he had him beat for this.

You were so cute with how you drifted back off that he was once again resisting the urge to bite, leave an equally cute set of teeth marks on that very, very cute arse of yours.

“Bloody hell luv, not even got inside yet and I think I’m in love” he cooed as he grabbed your cheeks and spread them again to give your hole a thorough appraisal that would have mortified you were you conscious.

Maybe it was through the sheer power of his will, but you relaxed finally and his tongue was able to break through that ring of muscle to push inside of you. Fuck, so dry and tight. His tongue felt like it was turning to sandpaper and he was throbbing from imagining how that would feel on his hard cock.

“I’ve got lube for you luv” he whispered to your ass, “but let’s see if I can’t get you wet enough for a finger without it.”

There was something about spitting on a clenching hole that made him rut against the bed like a fucking teenager watching their first porno. Something about tonguing his own saliva into you that made him moan low and lewd.

“Want you in doggy” he mumbled between thrusts of his tongue.

He liked how you looked on your side, all curled up with your tits and stomach melting down into the mattress, but he wanted better access. He wanted all of that cute arse at his disposal, none of it against the bed hidden from him.

You woke up as he started to try roll you and as he cooed instructions you blearily did as he asked and got onto your front, not how you would usually sleep.

“Uncomfortable” you yawned.

“Can’t have that” he said with a grin, flashing a wink to the camera.

Was it really an issue if he was doing it to make you comfortable? Just to sweeten the deal he used his fingers to spread your labia and moved his body to give the camera an excellent view of all that wet, plump flesh. He knew he wasn’t about to get in trouble because he saw how the lens contracted. Dirty old man.

“Now isn’t this a nice dream” he whispered as he licked your slit to get a taste before using his clever fingers on your clit.

You moaned lightly, still floating between the waking world and sleep. God your little fluttering hole was so eager now that it knew what it felt like to be full. It was winking at him, massaging nicely around two of his fingers when they slipped inside your pussy with no resistance.

You startled a little when there was a beep and he chuckled lightly, using the hand not currently finger fucking you to pat your ass.

“Shh it’s ok. Not doing anything wrong luv, he’s just annoyed I’m blocking such a pretty view.”

He knew he was correct because the only thing he changed was to shift over so that his fingering of your lovely, dripping cunt wasn’t blocked by his shoulders and there wasn’t another beep.

“S’nice” you mumbled, liking how he massaged you inside and out with his fingers.

You were trying to fight wakefulness because somewhere your subconscious knew that you were terrified of him in your ass and if you were fully awake you’d clench up. There was a fuzzy sort of concern that he was fingering your pussy because you didn’t remember reading that as the brief. Had he given up on your ass?

“Ah ah ah, no furrowing” he said, wet fingers going to massage the furrow in your brow away.

You whined just a little that he had used the fingers he had just taken out of your pussy rather than his other hand so he was essentially rubbing your arousal into the space between your brows. You were still on your front, one cheek pressed to the mattress, which meant now that his fingers were not in your pussy he was grinding himself against your ass.

“Fuck you’re cute” he said, licking right between your brows where the slick had been left to clean the skin. “Now back to sleep luv.”

He went back to work, nestling his fingers inside your cunt and rubbing just right with his thumb on your clit to have a gentle orgasm roll through you and send you drifting off. He resisted against lapping up that trickle of wetness that was dripping out of you, instead dragging all that slick to your little puckered hole.

For a long while he just played with the hole, letting you sink into sleep. But then he lost all patience when he saw it relax just a bit, coated his finger messily in his spit and started pressing inside.

“Come on, open up luv. Let me in, let that tight arse take me” he whispered fervently, his face practically shoved between your cheeks as he watched how you hole started to give.

Fuck you looked so good with a finger wriggling its way up your arse even if he could only get to the second knuckle. You’d look perfect with his cock sinking into it. He was drooling at the thought, letting his saliva drip down onto you. Christ alive he was hard. Would he get away with a quick fuck? Your cunt was already loose and ready from the fingering before, if he could just get off once it would take the edge off.

He got his cock out, stroked it a few times with a groan. Suddenly every inch of clothing on him felt itchy and wrong and he threw it all off. He should have put a mirror on the ceiling, gotten a birds eye view of how gorgeous your naked bodies looked together. Like a fucking oil painting.

“Yeah you’d like it wouldn’t you? A load for your pussy first hm?”

He started playing with your cunt again, fully ignored that little beep in the background as he scrambled to get himself in position to fuck you. He just needed to cum then he’d have patience again, then he’d get back to work. He let a string of drool fall down onto your pucker and hooked his thumb inside. There, nice and snug so she didn’t get lonely while he attended to your pretty pussy.

“We both know Price won’t let you misbehave that much.”

Well if Price thought that sending Farah was going to do anything to help with his current situation he was wrong. Or maybe this was a punishment, make his cock weep even more. Her light snort of a laugh made his dick twitch and he was sure he was about to explode when she walked in and ran a loving hand across your head and then his.

“Somno, anal - that was the brief she agreed to no?” she sighed as she stepped back from the bed to grab the lube from the bedside table and hold it out for him. “I’ll speak to Nova, make sure you get first go when she gets her hands on her.”

He took the lube but held Farah’s hand there so he could lean over and lick that new bead on her bracelet.

“Oh look at you Garrick, you’re lovestruck” she said, running her other hand through his hair while he went a little brainless licking at that bead.

“And you’re not?”

They both grinned at one another knowingly. How could they not be instantly enamoured? Price had chosen very well with you.

“Stick to the brief Kyle” Farah said, letting the bottle of lube go and leaving the room after planting a soft kiss to the side of your head.

You shifted a little in your sleep, a soft sigh leaving you. Gaz took a breath and moved back to pay attention to your ass where his thumb was still hooked. Comfortably he might add, like the intrusion wasn’t a bother anymore.

“Just one without lube luv, you can take one. So perfect, so fucking perfect and pretty.”

When he gently pried his thumb from that tight squeeze your hole flexed, not quite closing straight away. What a good fucking girl you were for him he thought as he used that to push a finger in.

Your pretty hole was still a mess of saliva, your own arousal and now the pre-cum still sticky on his fingers from pumping his cock, but even so your channel was still so dry and resistant. He worked up to the first knuckle and within a few slow pumps the second.

He groaned when you fucking crushed his finger once it sunk to the third knuckle, definitely waking up and feeling the intrusion. He usually was more patient than this, but he was getting so frustrated. He couldn’t even fuck your throat a little to take the edge off with Price watching and there was no way he’d be getting himself off with his own hand with you laying naked in the bed.

“W-wait, oh my God” you choked out. “Are you…?”

“In your cute arse? Only a finger luv.”

“What?” you cried, because there was no fucking way that was only one finger, you’d die in that case if he tried to work up to his cock.

“I know, not enough huh?”

He popped the cap from the lube with his teeth, in a hurry to drench you in it. Fuck he was so done, there was no way he could keep taking his time if you were already whining over one finger. The second one he slid in with no preamble, enjoying the way your body spasmed with the shock of it.

You bucked and he moved to straddle your ass, keep you right where you needed to be. God his cock was so close, he could just take his fingers out and fuck you bloody before you woke up enough to know what was really happening. Jesus, you were going to land him being detained in here if he fell any more in love with your arse.

“Fuck, fuck Gaz I, it’s so much” you gasped.

You were trying hard to relax. You had drifted back in somewhere around ‘so fucking perfect’ and the affection in his voice had just really affected you. Logically you knew this was all just sex, he didn’t know you, he didn’t care about you. But your stupid little heart wanted to please him, wanted him to keep that affection for you.

So you had feigned sleep until his finger, which you had thought must be his cock, had pushed in and you couldn’t hold in the cry. It felt like there was so much inside you, too much, far too much. Your poor cunt was clenching and gushing slick for a stuffing that wasn’t there, maybe it was your body attempting to lube up the hole that was actually being fucked.

“Shh I know, but you can take it. I know you can take it.”

At the start of this you had discussed limits and being drugged was one of them, but you wished you had allowed it now. You wished you could drift off back to sleep like he wanted because right now there was no chance you could, not with him pumping those two fingers inside of you with his cock heavy on your thigh.

When he took them out you sighed in relief, thinking he would cuddle you back to sleep again. Maybe if you were lucky give you another relaxing orgasm to speed things along. His hand went to your ass cheeks, pulling them apart to appraise you. That was fine you supposed, what use was embarrassment at this point? You closed your eyes and let the adrenaline start to taper off so you could try get back to sleep for him.

And then he fucking rammed himself inside of you.

“Fuck luv! Fuck fuck fuck!”

It burned, everything burned. He was tearing you apart, rearranging your guts. You half expected organs to spill out when he pulled back, but there was only the wet squelch of an ocean of lube being dragged in and out by his cock.

You couldn’t fucking breathe with him shoving his way into your lungs, couldn’t formulate a thought.

“You’re fine, you’re fuckin’ fine luv. You can take it, fuck you’re taking it!”

You were taking it like a multiple stabbing victim, just trying to stay alive through the assault. Although you didn’t suppose they usually did so while trying to please the knife sinking into them.

“G-Gaz” you choked out, “please, please I can’t-”

With him pinning you down so hard you couldn’t get your hand under you to play with yourself. You needed to. You needed something, anything to distract from how painful this was. God you needed to sink your fingers into your spasming cunt and hope your body would forgive you for what you were letting happen.

“I’ve got you baby” he said, knowing what you needed and hiking your hips up so you were face down arse up and could get your fingers sunk into yourself.

“F-full” you choked, not realising just how much something in your pussy would make you feel.

“Hold on a little longer, take it a little more” he hissed, thudding against your ass with every brutal thrust.

You had never expected him to be so violent in how he fucked, but you shouldn’t have judged him by his charm and sunny disposition. Just because he had never been detained did not mean he wasn’t associated with the Kennel. This man was still one of the most dangerous people in the world.

It was a miracle that you didn’t safeword out. You were sobbing into the pillow from the pain of it, feeling lightheaded from how little oxygen you were getting. Fuck, maybe he’d get you sleeping again after all at this rate. You were never going to cum from this, but you were just trying to edge enough pleasure in that the fullness didn’t completely overwhelm you.

“Gonna cum on your arse. Fucking perfect arse” he moaned.

It took three more hard and impossibly deep thrusts before he frantically pulled out which made you scream. Your poor, abused hole was unable to close immediately, still gaping open from the assault, so you felt some of his cum hit your insides as he exploded all over you ass.

He could not possibly have so much cum and yet you felt yourself drenched, rope after rope hitting your cheeks, your hole, your insides as your hips collapsed down without him holding them up.

Gaz wasn’t sure he had ever cum so hard in his fucking life. He damn near blacked out with the force of it and was about ready to collapse until he heard you sobbing and hiccupping, trying to hide the worst of it into the now damp pillow.

“Shit.”

Oh he had royally fucked this one up. He usually never lost control like that, he was the master of slow and patient right up until today. Why the hell had Price not sent Farah back in? Christ he should have barged in here himself.

He sent a bit of a panicked look to the camera and used one hand to touch each of his fingers to his thumb while using the other to start very gently rubbing your clit since you were still fingering yourself, almost like you were on autopilot.

Price came in barely a minute later and his hand running through Gaz’s hair along with his soothing voice telling him it was okay, he hadn’t done anything wrong, you hadn’t safeworded and he hadn’t caused permanent damage was what he needed to not spiral into a panic.

Lucky for Price, Farah had hung around just incase so he had an extra set of hands to deal with the extra aftercare from this particular session. She spoke Gaz through gently getting you off, letting your brain get away from the desperation to cum because that’s what it needed to release the tension and move on to aftercare.

Maybe the two of them enjoyed it a little too much, getting two overworked and vulnerable people to look after, but hey they were both caregivers at heart.

As Price finally tucked you in for the night he reshuffled things in his head. You needed a break. Or if he was honest with himself, he needed you.