#and every meeting from then on out was a punishment for him

[fushigurhoez]

𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍—𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐄𝐗!

ft. satoru gojo, toji fushiguro, + nanami kento

inc: mating press, rough sex, talking you through it, squirting, mentions of a safe word but it doesn’t get used, use of the word slut (gojo), loss of virginity, age gap between nanami x reader (20/27), not proofread yet sorry

𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨-

You were the only one who got to see him like this, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a sight to behold. His blindfold tossed haphazardly somewhere in the living room, white hair fucked up and falling into his eyes, his gorgeous crystalline eyes that were squeezed shut in pleasure as he slammed his hips to meet yours. His strong arms were hooked under your knees, holding you in a mating press that was downright nasty. He had been panting harshly into the crook of your neck, occasional groans of your name caressing your ears as he forced himself balls deep into you, hard abs meeting your clit with every thrust and it took everything in you not to scream. The movie the two of you had been watching was long forgotten as your manicured nails scraped down his back.

“mm, s-satoru! slow down” you gasped, having the air knocked out of you every time he rutted into you. He chucked humorlessly, keeping the same pace. “you’re saying slow down but this pussy clearly likes what I’m doing, baby”

He pulled his face out of your neck, sitting back on his heels as he fucked into you with a newfound greed. “gripping me so fucking tight—fuckkk!” He tossed his head back, hands finding your hips without even looking and his hold was bruising as he made you fuck him back, pulling you down on his dick as your mouth fell open in a silent scream. Upon hearing your silence he looks down at you, his pulse quickening when he sees the look on your face.

“You love this fucking cock don’t you— s’ written all over your slutty fuckin’ face” he growled, balls slapping against your ass lewdly when he raises your hips off the couch, pounding into you deeper and just like that you found your voice again, a raw and primal screech of his name when the tip of his dick assaulted that one spot inside you prompting your hands to slap over your mouth, head turning away from his intense gaze.

He kissed his teeth in disapproval, already missing your cries for him and the blissed out look you adorned when he was in your guts. He used his thumb to draw quick, punishing circles on your erect clit and your hands immediately fell from your face in favor of grabbing his wrist, trying to pull his hand away from your slippery bud to no avail and your legs shook violently as you came. His eyes never left your face once throughout your orgasm, even foregoing blinking as he took this version of you in, like he needed to cement it in his memories.

“that’s it, show me that pretty fucking face. Don’t hide from me”

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨-

“c’mon doll..I gave you simple orders didn’t I? Keep your fuckin’. head. up.” Toji’s ministrations growing harsher, as he became increasingly annoyed with your seeming inability to follow simple instructions. Keep your eyes on his in the mirror. That’s all he asked. But it was too much, it was all becoming too much. Your legs hooked over his to keep you open for him, one hand fucking two of his thick fingers deep in your gushing cunt, the other working your sensitive clit just the way he knew you liked? Your body felt boneless, how could he seriously expect you to do anything but take it, your ass almost numb as you sit on the floor between his legs, pathetic pussy leaking all over the floor while he plays with you. The four fingers glued to your clit press down harder, in tandem with the two fingers curling inside of you and expertly abusing your g spot and you can’t help but weakly grab at his wrists trying desperately to pull them out of your panties that he didn’t even bother taking off. They were so soaked that they became transparent, sticking to his hand.

Your hazy eyes met his in the full length mirror, pleading with him to have some sort of mercy on you. “T-toji, I can’t. I can’t!” He only dug into you deeper, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach for the third time in 25 minutes.

“yes you can doll, I’m right here with you. ‘can feel that pretty pussy squeezing me so good..know you wanna cum again.” His voice rumbled through your ears and you involuntarily throbbed around his fingers again, proving his point. You squirmed desperately, wanting to get away from the pleasure but also become closer to it as the gnawing feeling in your tummy got stronger, a building pressure.

“Toji stop. I- feel something, please stop!” You cried, back arching up off his chest. He didn’t stop, knowing you knew the safe word if you felt like something was genuinely wrong. Instead he kept he same pace and the same motions, his strong thighs keeping you spread when you tried to clamp shut around his hands. You felt mortified, the feeling in your abdomen meaning only one thing as far as you knew.

“Toji I’m gonna pee, stop!” You whined, and he laughed smugly as you fought against him weakly, the forearm resting on your tummy being pressed down right where you felt that delicate pressure, feeling helpless with no way to make him stop or get away from what he was doing to you.

Your pussy clenched wildly as you came for the third time, clear squirt spraying messily on the mirror in front of you as he groaned satisfied in your ear and if not for your screams, it almost sounded as if he was the one cumming.

“That’s it baby, good girl cumming all over my fingers like that? fuck..” He rubbed and fucked you through it until your nails dug into his skin, begging him to actually stop.

𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨-

You couldn’t help but feel shy, observed even as you sat on top of your boyfriend naked for the first time. Your hands were clammy and pressed flat against his chest, his own rested confidently on your hips as he looked up at you lovingly. Your legs trembled slightly on either side of him, having been eaten out until you he deemed you ‘wet enough for him to penetrate you’ and although he waited patiently for you to become accustomed to him being inside of you, you could feel him throbbing with need.

“Breathe, baby” he instructed and you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you had been holding. His thumbs caressed your skin soothingly as you tried to get used to the slight burn between your legs. You were plenty wet, but taking nanami was still a feat due to his size and your inexperience.

“How do you feel?” He asked softly, taking note of the way you trembled against him.

“Full, ken. I feel really full.” You whispered, as though sinking down on him had taken every bit of energy out of you. “I don’t think I can move” you confessed and he felt a pang in his heart. You were so fucking cute.

“That’s okay love. Let me take care of you.” He awaited your confirmation, before he lifted his hips up off the bed, pressing in to the hilt and pausing to appreciate the way your jaw went slack at the feeling of him that deep inside of you. Your legs tensed and you were already gasping for air, looking down at where the two of you met with astonishment. He let out a grunt at the feeling of your gummy walls squeezing him like that and the sound went straight to your core, somehow clenching even tighter around him. “Fuck, y/n..you gotta relax some baby”.

With how tightly you were gripping him he could hardly move, your greedy cunt already opposed to him pulling out for any reason. You nodded quickly, willing yourself to relax slightly so he could pull out some, pushing himself back into you and repeating the motion slowly to get you used to it. Your head fell back momentarily, lolling forward to look at him with low lidded eyes as uncontrollable noises escaped from your mouth, open in an ‘o’ shape as your clit kissed his firm abdomen with every slow grind of his hips into yours. The way your body writhed on top of his, along with the way you rested your hands over his on your waist as he started to make you bounce on him made his dick impossibly hard, guttural moans leaving you as your face began to twist in pleasure. “Kento..feels so fucking good!” He dug into you further, heavy balls pressed to your ass and he could feel your arousal dripping down his sack. You were louder than he thought you’d be, high pitched cries punctuating each one of his precise thrusts.

“mm, mm, mngh! ken!” You covered your face with your hands as his pace increased, still gentle but more than enough to reduce your inexperienced body to nothing in his arms. God you were driving him insane. He wanted to plant his feet into the bed and fuck into you so good and so hard, that no amount of covering your mouth would hide the way he was making you scream on his cock. Instead he gingerly pried your hands away from your face, lacing his fingers with yours as he savored the look on your face, mascara mixed tears drying on your cheeks before a new wave would replace them.

“Cry for me baby, let it out.”

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤOBSESSIONㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere COD Men x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : Ranking them from worst to best as a Yandere.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Simon "Ghost" Riley, König, John "Soap" MacTavish, Captain John Price, Keegan P. Russ.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— 1. KÖNIG ⋆

You never stood a chance. From the moment König laid eyes on you, it was over. The obsession creeps in quietly, like a predator stalking its prey, and before you even realize it, your freedom is gone. König is an anxious, socially awkward mess in public, but when it comes to you? He’s terrifying. No one touches you. No one looks at you. No one even gets the opportunity to think about you.

You try to leave? Cute. He saw that coming. König’s thought of every escape route, every rebellious act you might try. You wake up with reinforced locks on the doors, cameras watching your every move, and his massive body always between you and the outside world. It’s like living in a cage with a beast that adores you—until you resist, then it’s not so cute anymore.

He’s not afraid to hurt you. Not enough to break you (he’d never want to damage his precious treasure), but enough to remind you who owns you. And if anyone else tries to interfere? They disappear. No hesitation. No mercy. König is not sharing you. Ever.

If you give in, if you stop fighting, he’s the most affectionate, touch-starved nightmare you’ll ever meet. You’re smothered with love, whispered praises, and overwhelming adoration—but you’re never free.

— 2. SIMON RILEY ⋆

Ghost is calculated, methodical, and patient. His obsession doesn’t explode all at once—it festers. It grows, creeping into every aspect of his mind until you are the only thing that makes sense. He watches you for months. Learns your habits, your routines, your fears. Ghost doesn’t act on impulse—when he takes you, it’s because he’s already ensured that nothing can be traced back to him.

And the worst part? You won’t even realize you’re trapped until it’s too late.

Simon is a gaslighter. He makes you doubt yourself, makes you believe that the world is too dangerous for someone like you. That you’re safer with him. If you run, he finds you. No matter where you go, he always finds you. His punishments aren’t physical, but they’re just as terrifying. He isolates you, takes away your choices, makes you so dependent on him that leaving isn’t even an option anymore.

And when you finally break? When you look at him with trust instead of fear? That’s when he knows he’s won.

— 3. KEEGAN P. RUSS ⋆

Keegan is a shadow. A silent, watchful presence that never leaves your side. You feel him before you ever see him—watching, waiting. Unlike the others, he’s less about physical control and more about mental domination.

You’ll hear noises at night. See things out of the corner of your eye. Feel a hand brush your skin when no one’s there. Keegan is an expert at psychological warfare, and he uses it to break you down piece by piece. He wants you to need him. To crave him the same way he craves you.

And when he finally steps out of the shadows? It’s not with chains or locked doors—it’s with a smile. A gentle voice. A promise that he’ll protect you from the world, from all the dangers that lurk in the dark. From himself.

And by the time you realize he’s the danger, It’s already too late.

— 4. JOHN MACTAVISH ⋆

Soap is different. He’s not cruel. He’s not cold. He genuinely believes that what he’s doing is for the best. He’s the kind of yandere that truly thinks you love him back—you just don’t know it yet.

His obsession is overwhelming. He needs you, and that need makes him reckless. Soap is the type to act before he thinks, to grab your wrist when you try to walk away, to hold you too tight when you resist. But the moment he sees your fear? Your hesitation? It breaks him. He doesn’t want you to be scared. He wants you to be happy. With him.

Soap is the kind of yandere who begs for your love. Who looks at you with desperate, pleading eyes, asking why you won’t just see what he sees. And when you finally smile at him, tell him you love him?

He’s the happiest man alive.

Soap isn’t the worst yandere to have—but he’s still a yandere. You’ll never be able to escape his overwhelming love.

— 5. JOHN PRICE ⋆

Price is the best yandere to have—but that doesn’t mean you’re free. He’s possessive, but in a way that feels comforting. Price is older, more experienced—he doesn’t let his emotions control him. He’s rational about his obsession. Smart.

Price doesn’t steal you away. He makes you want to stay. He builds a life around you, gives you security, makes you feel like the outside world isn’t worth the trouble. If you fight? He sighs, arms crossed, telling you that you’re being dramatic. That you’re safest with him.

And when you finally accept that this is your life now?

He kisses your forehead, murmuring, “That’s my girl.”

You’re not leaving—but at least he makes the cage feel like home.

— Final Ranking

König (Completely unhinged, no escape)

Ghost (Tactical, manipulative, and always in control)

Keegan (Obsessive stalker who wears you down mentally)

Soap (Desperate, emotionally driven, smothering but not cruel)

Price (Protective, controlling, but still somewhat gentle)

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[cosmicaura7]

COME RIGHT ON ME, I MEAN CAMARADERIE

Pairings : pedro pascal (joel miller) x reader

Genre : f/m, smut, overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampie, use of sex toys, ass play, anal sex, double penetration in one hole

Synopsis : In where Joel loves the sight of his pretty little wife all filled up by him.

Word Count : 5.4k

The bedroom was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the moon filtering through the curtains. The sheets beneath you were warm, tangled around your legs as Joel loomed over you, his broad, solid frame casting shadows against the walls. His hands, rough and calloused, traced slowly over your bare skin, making you shiver in anticipation. "You alright, darlin'?" Joel's voice was thick with lust, his deep brown eyes locked onto yours as he brushed your hair away from your damp forehead.

You swallowed hard, nodding, but your body betrayed you, hips twitching, thighs squeezing together, aching for him. "Y-Yeah." You whispered, voice breathless. "Just… you're so big."

"That so?" Joel huffed a low chuckle, smirking as he traced his thumb over your swollen lips. You whimpered as he teased your entrance, pressing the thick head of his cock against your slick folds but refusing to push in just yet. "You always say that." He murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, his tone dripping with amusement. "Yet you always take me so damn well."

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he pushed forward, stretching you inch by inch. Your back arched off the bed, toes curling at the slow, delicious burn of him filling you up. "Fuck, Joel." You gasped, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure and pressure coiled deep inside your belly.

"Shh, baby." He cooed, pressing kisses along your jaw as he sank deeper. "Let me take care of you." Your breath hitched when he bottomed out, filling you so perfectly it made your mind hazy. Every thick inch of him pulsed inside you, stretching you in a way no one else ever could. "Feel that?" He groaned, rolling his hips just enough to make you whimper. "Feel how tight you are around me?"

You nodded frantically, nails raking down his back, overwhelmed by the way he fit inside you too much, yet not enough. "You feel so good." You moaned, rolling your hips up to meet him.

Joel let out a guttural growl, gripping your waist as he pulled back, only to thrust into you again, deeper this time. Your walls clenched around him, your body desperate to keep him inside, to savor every inch of him. "Greedy little thing." He murmured against your lips. "Obsessed with how I stretch you out, huh?" Your cheeks burned, but you couldn't deny it. You loved how big he was, how full he made you feel how he ruined you for anyone else. And as Joel set a slow, punishing pace, rolling his hips in deep, deliberate strokes, you knew you’d never get enough of him.

-----

The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the flickering flames casting golden hues over the sweat-slicked bodies tangled in the sheets. The air was thick with heat, Joel’s deep gravelly moans mixing with your breathless whimpers as he pressed his weight over you, hips flush against yours.

“Goddamn, darlin’.” He groaned, voice thick with desire. “Look at you, fuckin’ made for me.” His large hands gripped your thighs, pushing them open even wider as he sank deeper, filling you completely. Every slow deliberate thrust had you gasping, your body trembling beneath his. He was so thick, so perfect inside you, stretching you open in a way that left your head spinning.

Joel watched with dark, hungry eyes as your lips parted, your hands clutching at the sheets. He could feel the way your walls squeezed him, desperate to keep him buried inside. The thought of pulling out, of not spilling himself deep in your pretty little cunt, was damn near unbearable. “You love it, don’t you?” He rasped, his thumb brushing over your swollen clit, making you jolt. “Love how full I make you?” You could only nod, too lost in pleasure to find the words. But that wasn’t enough for Joel. He leaned down, nipping at your jaw, his breath hot against your ear.

“Say it.”

A shudder wracked through you as he rolled his hips, hitting that perfect spot inside you. Your fingers clutched at his back, nails digging into his skin. “I…I love it.” You gasped. “Love how big you are… love when you fill me up.”

A guttural growl rumbled deep in his chest, his control hanging by a thread. His thrusts grew rougher, more desperate, his need to claim you consuming him whole. “That’s my girl.” He muttered, kissing you hard, his beard scraping against your soft skin. “Gonna give you every fuckin’ drop, baby, make sure you feel me for days.”

The thought sent a wave of heat straight to your core, your body tightening around him as you teetered on the edge. Joel felt the way you clenched down, the way your breath hitched. He wasn’t far behind, the need to pump you full driving him wild. “Come on, darlin’.” He urged, his movements growing frantic. “Milk my cock, baby, take all of it.”

And as pleasure crashed over you, your cries muffled against his lips, Joel groaned deep in his chest, spilling into you with a few final, shuddering thrusts. He stayed there, buried inside, panting against your skin as he pressed soft kisses to your shoulder. “Fuck.” He murmured, rubbing slow, soothing circles against your trembling thigh. “Ain’t never gonna get enough of this, enough of you.” His words sent a lazy, satisfied smile across your lips as you curled against him, already aching for him to claim you all over again.

Joel never had much restraint when it came to you. Not when you looked at him like that, all soft and desperate, like you needed him as much as he needed you. And especially not when you were already spread out beneath him, body trembling and stuffed so full of him that he swore he could see the outline of his cock pressing against your lower belly.

“Shit, baby,” he groaned, voice thick with arousal as his rough hands smoothed over your stomach. “You feel that?”

You could only whimper, your body hypersensitive from how many times he’d already filled you. But he wasn’t done, not even close. He pressed down just the slightest bit, making you cry out as the sensation of being impossibly full sent another wave of pleasure through you.

“You’re takin’ me so good.” Joel muttered, leaning down to nip at your jaw. “So damn tight, baby, fuck, I can feel how much of me is inside you.” His hips moved slow and deliberate, dragging every thick inch along your sensitive walls before pressing deep again, making sure you felt every bit of him. Your fingers gripped his shoulders, nails raking down his back as your body shuddered beneath him.

“I-I can’t…” You gasped, voice weak, body spent from how many times he had already pushed you past your limit.

“Yes, you can.” Joel rasped against your skin, lips brushing over your ear as his hips snapped forward. “Takin’ me so damn well, sweetheart. Let me give you one more, just one more, baby.”

One more.

That was a lie.

Joel didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Not when your body clenched down around him like you were made to take him, like your body craved to be filled over and over again. His thrusts grew rougher and more frantic, his body tightening with the need to empty himself inside you once more. You could feel how deep he was, how every single drop he had already given you was pooling inside, stretching you out in ways that made your head spin.

Joel’s fingers dug into your hips, holding you steady as he gave you one last brutal thrust, a deep, guttural groan ripping from his chest as he spilled inside you. His breath was ragged, his heart hammering against yours as he collapsed over you, keeping himself buried deep. “Fuck.” He muttered, pressing soft kisses along your throat, his hand splaying over your belly, feeling the slight swell beneath his palm. “Look at you, baby, so damn full of me.”

You could only moan weakly in response, the sensation of his warmth spreading inside you making your body tremble. Joel smirked, rolling his hips just enough to make you jolt. “Think I can give you another?” He murmured against your ear, already hardening again inside you. Your body shivered in anticipation, knowing full well he wasn’t going to stop until he was satisfied. And that wouldn’t be for a long long time.

-----

Joel leaned back on his heels, hands spreading over your thighs as he took in the sight before him. His breath was still heavy, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks of his release, but his eyes, dark and hungry, were fixated on the mess he had made between your trembling legs. “Look at you, baby.” He muttered, his rough thumb tracing slow, lazy circles over your inner thigh. “So fuckin’ pretty all stuffed full of me.”

You whimpered, body still sensitive, thighs twitching as you felt the thick warmth of his spend trickling out of you. It smeared across your inner thighs, glistening in the dim light of the bedroom, pooling on the sheets beneath you. The sight had Joel groaning deep in his chest, his cock twitching at the way your body tried so desperately to hold onto him.

“Fuck.” He breathed, dragging two fingers through the creamy mess leaking from your core. “Did so good takin’ me, sweetheart. But look at this, you’re already losin’ it.”

"J-Joel…" Your breath hitched as he pushed some of it back inside you, his thick fingers curling deep, making you gasp as your overstimulated walls clenched down around him.

He smirked, lips ghosting over the inside of your knee before he pressed a soft kiss there. “Gotta make sure none of it goes to waste, darlin’.” He murmured, his fingers working slow, deliberate thrusts as he watched you squirm. “Worked too damn hard fillin’ you up just for you to spill it all out.”

Your fingers gripped the sheets, body writhing beneath him as the pleasure built again, sharp and consuming. Joel watched you, utterly captivated, his free hand pressing down on the slight swell of your lower belly, making you keen at the pressure. "You feel that?" He rasped, eyes locking onto yours. "All of me still inside, baby. Just sittin’ there, keepin' you so fuckin' full."

You could only moan in response, back arching as the pleasure threatened to consume you all over again. Joel chuckled, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your swollen lips before whispering,

"Think you can take one more, sweetheart?" He already knew the answer. And he had no intention of stopping until he was satisfied.

Joel groaned as he watched more of his seed spill from your fluttering cunt, the creamy mess smearing your already soaked thighs. His fingers had done their best to push it back inside you, but your body just couldn’t seem to hold it all. “Tch.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Can’t have that, sweetheart. Worked too damn hard fillin’ you up.”

You barely had the strength to respond, your body still trembling from how many times he had wrung you out. But when you felt him shift, reaching over to the nightstand, your hazy mind barely had the time to register what he was grabbing until you heard the distinct sound of a cap clicking open. Your breath hitched as you turned your head, eyes widening when you saw the toy in his hand. The dildo, one you had teased him about before, claiming it was a “backup” for when he wasn’t around. Joel had scoffed at the idea, muttering something about you not needing anything else when you had him.

But now? Now, he was dragging the head of it through your slick folds, gathering the mix of both your arousals as he smirked down at you.

“J-Joel…”

“Shhh, baby.” His voice was soft, but firm. “Need somethin’ to keep all that inside, don’t we?”

You whimpered as he nudged the toy against your overstimulated entrance, teasing you, pushing just the tip in before pulling it back out, watching the way your pussy clenched desperately around nothing. “So fuckin’ greedy.” He murmured, shaking his head. “Took my cock so well but look at you, still needy, still desperate to be stuffed full.” Your face burned, but the heat of embarrassment was quickly drowned out by pure pleasure as he finally pressed the toy in, inch by agonizing inch, until it was nestled deep inside you.

“Fuck, baby.” He groaned, watching the way you shuddered beneath him. He pressed a palm against your lower belly again, feeling the pressure of the toy deep inside you. “So tight, so full. Bet you can feel it all the way up here, huh?” You whimpered, nodding weakly.

Joel smirked, his fingers trailing down to press lightly against the base of the dildo. “There. Now you won’t waste a single drop.” He leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, lazy kiss. “Go on, sweetheart.” He murmured against your lips. “Get some rest. You’re gonna need it.”

Because he wasn’t done with you yet.

You barely had time to recover from the fullness between your legs before Joel’s large hands put you on your hands and knees and spread you open again, his thumbs kneading into your ass as he groaned at the sight before him. The dildo still sat snug inside your soaked pussy, keeping every drop of his cum deep inside you. But Joel? He wasn’t satisfied, not yet.

“Look at you.” He murmured, voice thick with arousal as his fingers ghosted over the curve of your ass. “So goddamn pretty, stuffed full like this. But you can take more, can’t you, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitched as his hand drifted lower, calloused fingers teasing over the tight ring of muscle. “J-Joel…” You whined, barely able to form words as you shifted under him, overwhelmed by everything and by him.

He chuckled, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lower back, his scruff scraping against your overheated skin. “Shh, baby. You trust me, don’t you?” You nodded weakly.

“That’s my good girl.”

You shivered as you heard the click of a bottle cap, followed by the cool drizzle of lube against your sensitive skin. Joel took his time, rubbing slow, teasing circles around your tight hole, letting you relax under his touch. “Gotta loosen you up first.” He murmured, pressing a single finger inside, groaning at the way you clenched around him. “Shit, baby, so tight.” Your body trembled as he worked you open, adding another finger, then another, stretching you until the slight burn melted into pure pleasure.

“That’s it…” He praised, his free hand stroking over the small of your back. “Doin’ so good for me.” You whimpered as he pulled his fingers away, only to replace them with the tip of his cock, nudging against your stretched entrance.

“Joel, please…”

“Shh, baby.” He soothed, pressing a gentle kiss against your spine as he pushed in, inch by slow, agonizing inch. “Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight.” You gasped as he bottomed out, completely filling you in a way that had your toes curling. The fullness and the overwhelming stretch, had your eyes rolling back as you clung to the sheets, breathless.

Joel groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. “So fuckin’ perfect.” He muttered, slowly pulling back before thrusting in again, setting a slow, deep pace that had your entire body trembling beneath him. You could feel everything, every inch of him, every twitch and every pulse. The mix of pain and pleasure sent shocks through your body, making you whimper his name like a prayer.

Joel leaned down, his chest pressing against your back as he tangled his fingers with yours. “You’re takin’ me so well, sweetheart.” He murmured against your ear, voice thick with praise. “So goddamn good for me.” You gasped as he snapped his hips forward, fucking you harder, deeper, until the only sounds in the room were the wet slap of skin against skin and the broken moans spilling from your lips.

Joel growled, his breath hot against your neck. “Gonna fill you up, baby.” He groaned, his pace growing erratic. “Gonna make sure you’re stuffed full everywhere.” And fuck, you wanted it. Your body trembled beneath him, your fingers gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles turned white. Every nerve in your body felt overstimulated and set ablaze by the sheer fullness that had you gasping for breath.

Joel was everywhere, inside you, around you and holding you down with his sheer presence as he filled you up in ways you’d never experienced before. The dildo still sat snug inside your dripping pussy, keeping every drop of his cum locked deep inside while his thick cock stretched your ass open, stuffing you so completely that you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

“J-Joel.” You whimpered, overwhelmed by the sensation, your body struggling to process the pleasure mixed with the intensity of the stretch.

“Too much, baby?” Joel groaned, pressing his chest against your back, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear as he murmured. You shook your head frantically, even as tears pricked your eyes. It was a lot, almost too much but you didn’t want him to stop. The pressure, the way he filled you to the brim and made your whole body burn with need.

“Use your words, sweetheart.” Joel coaxed, his large hands smoothing over your waist, grounding you. “Tell me what you need.”

You swallowed thickly, gasping as he rolled his hips, pushing even deeper inside you. “I…I need you to move.” You whispered, your voice shaking.

“Atta girl.” He praised, his fingers threading with yours against the mattress.

Joel pulled back slightly, the drag of his cock against your walls making you shudder before he snapped his hips forward again, setting a slow deliberate pace that had your whole body trembling. “Fuck, baby, so goddamn tight.” Joel growled, his breath hot against your ear. “Never felt you like this before.”

Your eyes rolled back as he pushed deeper, pressing down against your lower back to keep you in place, forcing you to take every inch of him. The pressure was overwhelming, your body stretched to its absolute limit, but the pleasure that came with it had your toes curling and your stomach twisting into knots.

Joel reached around, his fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles. “You’re takin’ me so well, sweetheart.” He murmured, his deep voice dripping with praise. “So fuckin’ full, aren’t you?” You could only nod, your mouth falling open as a broken moan escaped your lips. You felt wrecked, completely at his mercy, unable to do anything but take what he gave you.

“Such a good girl.” Joel groaned, his thrusts becoming rougher, more desperate. “Gonna fill you up again, baby, gonna make sure you’re stuffed full everywhere.”

“Joel, I-I’m…” Your whole body tightened at his words, pleasure coiling in your core and ready to snap. 

“I got you, sweetheart.” He murmured, his grip tightening on your hips as he slammed into you, burying himself to the hilt. “Cum for me.”And with one final stroke of his fingers against your clit, you shattered, pleasure crashing over you in violent waves as your entire body seized beneath him. Your vision went white, your scream muffled by the mattress as you convulsed and trembling from the force of your orgasm.

Joel groaned, his grip bruising as he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside your ass, filling you up even more. For a long moment, the two of you stayed like that, tangled together in a mess of sweat and heat, your bodies trembling from the intensity of it all. He pressed a lingering kiss against your shoulder, his hand smoothing over your stomach. “So goddamn perfect.” He murmured, his voice soft with admiration. You whimpered as he slowly pulled out, leaving you feeling empty despite the way your body was still stuffed to the brim. You barely had the strength to move, your body spent, your limbs weak.

Joel chuckled as he rolled you onto your back, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin. “Think I might’ve broken you, sweetheart.” He teased.

“You always do.” You let out a breathless laugh, your eyelids fluttering as exhaustion began to creep in. 

Joel smirked, leaning down to kiss you deeply, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “Get some rest, baby.” He murmured. “You’re gonna need it.”

Because knowing Joel, he wasn’t nearly finished with you yet.

-----

The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the bedroom. Joel stirred, his muscles aching in the best way after last night. His arm reached out instinctively for you, but the bed beside him was empty, the sheets cool to the touch. He frowned, lifting his head groggily. That was unexpected. After how he’d wrecked you last night, he was sure you’d be too sore to even think about getting out of bed.

Then a familiar scent drifted through the air, something warm, buttery and sweet.

Joel sat up, rubbing a hand over his face before pushing himself out of bed. Tugging on a pair of boxers, he padded down the hall toward the kitchen, his curiosity piqued. And what he found nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs.

You stood by the stove, humming softly to yourself as you flipped pancakes on the skillet. The sight alone was enough to make his chest tighten, you in his kitchen, making breakfast like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was what you were wearing.

Or, rather, what you weren’t.

You had on nothing but his shirt, the fabric draping loosely over your body and the hem just barely covering the tops of your thighs. Your legs were bare, your skin still carrying faint marks from where he’d held you down last night. And then, as you bent down to grab something from the lower cabinet, Joel caught a glimpse of something that made his cock twitch.

The dildos are still inside you.

His breath hitched. The sight of you plugged up, keeping everything he’d given you locked inside, sent a jolt of arousal straight through him. “Jesus Christ.” He muttered under his breath, his voice still rough with sleep.

You turned at the sound, a sly smirk curving your lips as you met his gaze. “Mornin’, baby.” You teased, flipping the pancake on the skillet like you weren’t standing there with two toys stuffed deep inside you.

Joel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as he took in the sight of you. “You…” He shook his head, chuckling darkly. “You’re somethin’ else, darlin’.”

“What? Thought you’d like the idea of me keepin’ myself full for you.” You arched a brow, feigning innocence. 

Joel let out a low growl, stepping closer until he was right behind you, his hands landing on your hips. His thumbs brushed over the curve of your ass, his fingers teasing the edges of the shirt that barely covered you. “You’re damn right I do.” He murmured, his voice thick with heat. His hands slid lower, tracing along your inner thighs before pressing against the plugs keeping you stuffed.

A shudder ran through your body, and Joel smirked. “You been walkin’ around like this all mornin’?” He asked, his fingers toying with the base of the toys, pressing them just enough to make you squirm.

“M-Maybe.” Your breath hitched. 

Joel hummed, his other hand slipping under the oversized shirt, his palm splaying across your stomach. “That’s real cute, sweetheart.” He murmured against your ear, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your neck. “Real damn cute.”

You bit your lip, pressing back against him, feeling the growing hardness beneath his boxers. “Breakfast’s gonna burn.” You reminded him breathlessly.

“Guess we’ll just have to work up an appetite first.” Joel chuckled, his grip tightening.  And with that, he turned off the stove, spinning you around to lift you onto the counter, where breakfast could definitely wait. Your breath hitched as Joel gripped your thighs, spreading them apart as you sat perched on the kitchen counter. The heat of his body pressed against you, his rough hands squeezing the soft flesh of your hips.

"You've been keepin’ yourself full for me, huh?" His voice was low, gravelly, thick with desire as he traced his fingers over the base of the toys still buried inside you.

"Wanted to make sure I didn’t waste anything you gave me last night." You nodded, swallowing hard. 

Joel let out a deep, pleased hum, his fingers gripping your chin and tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "That so?" His dark eyes roamed over you, his pupils blown wide with hunger. "You got no idea what that does to me, sweetheart." Slowly, he slid his fingers down, pressing against the dildo inside your soaked core, pushing it deeper. A whimper slipped from your lips, your body clenching around the intrusion.

Joel smirked, watching you carefully. "Still stretched out for me." He murmured, his other hand trailing down to the second plug nestled between your cheeks. His fingers brushed against it, teasing. "You really are my good girl, huh?"

"Y-Yeah…" Your breath shuddered out of you. 

That was all he needed.

Joel pulled his boxers down just enough to free himself, his cock already thick and leaking, the tip brushing against your inner thigh. He groaned at the slick heat of you, his hands guiding your hips closer to the edge of the counter. "Let’s see just how much you can really take." He murmured, rubbing himself against the dildo stretching your cunt. The sensation of him sliding alongside it made you tremble, your walls already fluttering in anticipation.

Then he pushed inside.

Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp as Joel slowly stretched you further, his cock slipping in beside the toy, filling you to an overwhelming fullness. Your body tensed, adjusting to the stretch, your hands gripping onto his broad shoulders.

"Fuck." Joel let out a shaky breath, his fingers digging into your hips as he bottomed out beside the dildo, feeling how impossibly tight you were with both inside. "Jesus, baby. Feels so goddamn good."

"J-Joel, it's too much!" You let out a breathy moan, your nails scratching down his back. 

"Nah, sweetheart." He murmured, pressing soft kisses against your throat, contrasting the way his hips rolled forward, pressing himself even deeper. "You can take it. Look at you, takin’ me so well."

Your body pulsed around both intrusions, pleasure sparking up your spine as Joel started to move, dragging himself against the dildo inside you. The pressure, the fullness, the sensation of being completely overwhelmed by him, it was too much and not enough all at once.

"You like this, don’t you?" Joel gritted out, his pace quickening, his cock throbbing against the toy nestled deep inside you. "Like bein’ stuffed full, like bein’ mine."

"Y-Yeah, fuck, Joel…" Your voice broke into a desperate cry as he angled his hips just right, hitting that sweet, aching spot inside you.

Joel groaned, watching your face contort with pleasure, drinking in every gasp, every moan. "Gonna make sure you feel me for days, baby." He growled, his thrusts growing rougher and more desperate. "Ain't lettin’ you forget who you belong to." Your body clenched tight around him, your climax barreling toward you with dizzying intensity.

"Come on, sweetheart." Joel murmured against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Come for me. Show me how much you love bein’ stuffed full."

And with one more deep, bruising thrust, you shattered and your body trembling, pleasure ripping through you like a wildfire as you cried out his name.

Joel followed moments later, a deep groan tearing from his throat as he buried himself deep inside you, his release spilling into you, mixing with everything already locked inside. He held you there for a moment, breathing heavily against your shoulder, his hands still gripping your hips like he never wanted to let go.

Finally he leaned back, his gaze trailing down to where he was still buried inside you, alongside the toy. A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips. "Look at that, baby." He murmured, running a possessive hand over your stomach. "Still so full of me." You shuddered, barely able to move, your body spent and boneless.

Joel chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before pulling back, his hands already gripping your thighs again. "Think you can handle one more round?" He teased, his dark eyes gleaming. "Or am I gonna have to carry you back to bed?"

-----

Joel never considered himself an addict. Sure, he had his vices, whiskey on a bad night, the occasional cigarette, and the way he indulged in work to distract himself, but this? This was different. This was an obsession.

And it was all because of you.

Ever since that first night, the night he saw you stretched and stuffed full, your body trembling, your breath hitching as you took everything he gave you, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The sight of you, the feeling of you and the way your body squeezed around whatever he filled you with.

Now, it was a craving. A need.

And tonight was no different.

You were lying on the bed, sprawled out and completely bare, your flushed skin glowing under the dim light. The dildos he’d put inside you earlier were still nestled deep, one keeping you stretched around his size, the other snug between your cheeks, locking everything in place.

Joel stood at the foot of the bed, his dark eyes drinking you in, his cock already heavy and throbbing in his hand. He stroked himself slowly, savoring the way you writhed under his gaze. "You got no idea how pretty you look like this, sweetheart." He murmured, his voice thick with hunger.

Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching as you instinctively tried to squeeze them together, only for Joel to grip your knees and spread them wide again.

"Don't go gettin' shy on me now." He teased, kneeling onto the bed, his large hands trailing over your body, from the soft curve of your waist to the plush swell of your thighs. "You've been lettin’ me stuff you full for days now. Ain't no use hidin’."

A whimper escaped your lips, heat pooling deep inside you as he leaned down, his lips ghosting over your inner thigh, his breath warm against your skin.

"You keepin’ me inside all day, huh?" Joel murmured, his fingers teasing the base of the dildo buried in your cunt, pressing it deeper. "Makin’ sure none of it goes to waste?"

"Y-Yeah." You whispered, your voice barely audible.

Joel groaned, his cock twitching against your thigh. "Good girl." He praised, his lips pressing soft kisses along your stomach. "So fuckin’ good for me." You let out a shaky breath, your hands reaching for him, needing more. He chuckled, shaking his head. "Not yet, baby." He murmured, pulling back just enough to admire the view, the way your body trembled, stretched and full, completely at his mercy.

"Need you…" You pleaded, your voice desperate, your hips rolling instinctively toward him.

Joel exhaled sharply, his resolve snapping. "Yeah, baby?" He lined himself up, slowly pulling the dildo out before guiding his cock to replace it. He pushed inside, groaning as your walls clenched around him, still sensitive, still so tight. Your moan was pure bliss, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he bottomed out.

Joel gritted his teeth, the feeling of your already-stretched walls molding around him nearly sending him over the edge. "Fuck, sweetheart." He rasped, gripping your hips. "You were made for this, made to take me."

He started moving, slow and deep at first, savoring every inch of you, every little gasp and whimper that spilled from your lips. "You gonna let me keep you full forever?" He murmured against your neck, his thrusts growing rougher and hungrier. "Gonna let me ruin you for anyone else?"

"Y-Yes…" You gasped, your nails raking down his back.

Joel growled, his pace quickening, his grip on you tightening as he lost himself in the feeling of you, his obsession, his addiction and his everything.

And he wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

[mahalachives]

Part 6: The Mother Strikes Again

Azriel x f!reader

Genre: fated mates, rom-com, crack humor, eventual angst, eventual smut

Summary: Azriel never expected to finally meet his mate and to be… this.

A walking disaster with a talent for tripping over air, an uncanny ability to charm even the grumpiest Illyrian, and a knack for throwing herself headfirst into situations that require his immediate intervention.

She is warmth where he is shadow, laughter where he is silence. And worst of all? She makes him smile without trying.

Azriel, Are you Okay? - Masterlist

You couldn’t breathe.

Not because the River House was crowded—it wasn’t.

Not because the dress Lira had forced you into was too tight—it wasn’t.

But because you had just locked eyes with Azriel across the room, and something in his gaze had short-circuited your brain like a squirrel gnawed through the emotional wiring.

He stood half-shadowed, wine untouched in his scarred hand, watching you like he could peel back your layers without so much as blinking. His wings were tucked in, perfectly casual, but you caught the way they twitched when your eyes met his.

Like maybe—just maybe—he felt it, too.

“—don’t you think?” came Rhysand’s voice, breaking your Azriel-induced trance like a slap made of silk and judgment.

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

Rhys smiled. Slowly. Pleased. “I asked if you thought the eastern training grounds should be expanded for the new Illyrian recruits.”

“Oh. Yes. Definitely. Expand away. Stretch them wide open.” You immediately wanted to curl up and die. Stretch them wide open?

Gods, just launch you into the Sidra.

Rhysand tilted his head, delight practically dripping from his expression. “How insightful. Especially since we’re not recruiting any new Illyrians this year.”

You choked on your wine. “I—I was being hypothetical.”

“Oh, of course.” Rhys took a slow sip of his drink, eyes twinkling with the kind of smug satisfaction that only came from being five hundred years old and still reveling in other people’s awkwardness. “Hypothetically distracted. Hypothetically staring at my spymaster like he’s the last piece of cake at a Winter Solstice party.”

“I was not—”

“You were.”

You hated that he was right. Hated it more that your gaze had already wandered back to Azriel. Again. Like your eyes had a mind of their own. A treacherous, Azriel-obsessed mind.

And then, as if the Mother herself had decided to punish you for every tiny moment of hope—Elain appeared.

Soft, luminous, springtime-in-heels Elain. With her perfect hair and radiant smile and infuriatingly effortless elegance. She approached Azriel like a breeze, leaned in to whisper something, and—

His shadows disappeared.

Vanished. Gone. Like they had collectively decided you’ve suffered enough and no longer wished to be witnesses.

And Azriel—he nodded. Set down his glass. Followed her out.

Just like that.

Something cold and sour twisted in your chest. You told yourself it wasn’t jealousy.

That it wasn’t insecurity tightening like a vine around your ribs. But the lie sat in your throat like a stone.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you muttered to Rhys, turning away before he could say anything else, before he could look at you with those knowing, pity-laced eyes.

The balcony doors were cool beneath your fingertips, the spring air brisk and sharp as you stepped outside. You exhaled slowly, gripping the railing like it might anchor you to the moment.

You were fine.

This was fine.

He could talk to Elain. Laugh with her. Look at her. Go off to gods-know-where with her.

You didn’t care.

…Except that you did care.

A little.

Okay, a lot.

Because Elain was softness and grace and gardens in bloom. And you were… archives. You were ink-stained fingers and off-key humming and the kind of awkward that made people pat your shoulder like you were trying your best. Which you were, thank you very much.

You stared at the Sidra, pretending the river didn’t look like a temptingly chilly escape route. You weren’t going to walk into it. That would be dramatic. Unhinged. Pathetic.

You almost did it anyway.

“Don’t even think about it,” came a familiar voice behind you. Heels clicked softly against the stone.

You turned to find Mor, radiant and golden, strolling toward you with two glasses in hand and an expression that said you poor, emotionally volatile thing.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were absolutely contemplating river-based dramatics,” she said, handing you a glass. “Drink this. It’ll either fix your feelings or make you forget them long enough to dance on the table and humiliate yourself in a fun way.”

You took the glass with the hesitation of someone who had once made the mistake of accepting Cassian’s idea of “just a little something to take the edge off.”

“Is this safe?”

Mor grinned. “No. That’s why it’s effective.”

You took a sip. It tasted like peaches, fire, and the sudden realization that you might not survive this evening with your dignity intact.

Mor leaned her hip against the balcony railing, eyes scanning the ballroom through the glass doors. “So. Az.”

You immediately regretted everything. “Please don’t.”

“I’m just saying,” she said, taking a sip of her own drink, “that if he had stared at me like that, I would’ve dragged him into the nearest closet and emerged an hour later wearing his shirt and a new life perspective.”

“Mor.”

“What?” she asked, all false innocence. “I support you. I just also support drama. And maybe some light kidnapping.”

You sighed and sipped again. Harder this time. “He left with Elain.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, unconcerned. “She probably asked him to help her move a flowerpot. You know how she gets when the moon is waxing and her begonias are emotionally unstable.”

You choked on your drink. “That is not comforting.”

Mor reached over and patted your cheek affectionately. “You’ve got this. Just breathe. Be mysterious. Look beautiful and unbothered. And maybe avoid Cass—he’s still smirking like he’s writing fanfiction in his head.”

You groaned.

“Drink, sweetheart,” Mor said, clinking her glass against yours. “There’s a whole evening ahead of you, and if you’re going to spiral, you might as well do it fashionably.”

The wine hit fast.

Too fast.

One second, you were quietly nursing your emotional damage on the River House balcony, trying to pretend that seeing Azriel leave with Elain hadn’t turned your insides into a soup of insecurity and delusion.

The next, you were standing on a dining table in the middle of the River House's very formal spring soirée, dramatically reenacting a battle that may or may not have been entirely made up and also may have featured a lot more dramatic flourishes than historically accurate swordplay.

Mor had given up on you. Entirely.

She was somewhere in the crowd, face buried in her hands, as you wielded a very fancy, catered poultry leg like a mighty sword.

“And then!” you bellowed, swaying slightly on your heels, “I single-handedly took down an entire battalion of—of, um—bad guys! With only my wits, my unparalleled combat prowess, and this drumstick!”

You raised it triumphantly. Some poor caterer looked personally offended.

A crowd had gathered.

Feyre, Nesta, and Cassian stood near the fireplace. Cassian was practically doubled over, laughing so hard he might rupture something. Nesta had her arms crossed and was muttering something that looked like “end me”. Feyre had a pained but weirdly fond look, like she was watching her toddler light something on fire and trying to decide whether to intervene.

Rhysand and Mor had fully stationed themselves near the dessert table and were watching the unfolding trainwreck with unfiltered delight.

Amren hadn’t moved from her seat in the corner, but she had acquired popcorn. Where she got it, you didn’t know. You didn’t ask.

Azriel, however, was simply staring.

Expression unreadable. Shadows curled around his shoulders like they, too, were judging you.

You forged ahead anyway.

“Did you know,” you slurred slightly, waving your turkey sword at no one in particular, “that Azriel is the most attractive person here?”

Silence.

Actual silence.

The kind of silence that sucked all the oxygen out of the room.

Mor made a strangled noise from somewhere in the crowd.

Cassian's laughter turned wheezy.

Nesta smacked his arm. Hard.

Elain—still somehow glowing and sipping tea like this didn’t concern her—arched one perfectly sculpted brow.

Azriel’s face? Still blank.

His shadows? Still twitching.

Your dignity? On fire.

Rhysand grinned. “Go on,” he encouraged, because he was an immortal agent of chaos.

You nodded solemnly. “It’s true. He’s unfairly attractive. It’s a crime. Someone arrest him. Put him in face jail.”

Cassian was now crying.

Nesta looked like she was considering pushing him into the Sidra.

Elain sipped her tea. Unbothered. Beautiful. Smelling like seasonal produce.

You, meanwhile, were full throttle into a wine-fueled meltdown.

You pointed directly at Azriel, nearly tipping over. “You. Have. A very. Nice. Face.”

Azriel blinked. Slowly. His wings twitched—just a little—and his shadows curled tighter around his shoulders, like they were trying to hide the fact that maybe the corners of his lips had moved.

Mor appeared beside the table and hissed, “Get down right now.”

“I’m not drunk,” you told her, swaying wildly. “I’m making observations.”

“Observations?” Mor scoffed. “You’re reciting a love ballad to his jaw like it belongs in the Hewn City Hall of Fame.”

“I have one more thing to say,” you declared, digging your heels into the table, which made an ominous creak.

“Please no,” Mor whispered, staring skyward like she was summoning divine intervention.

You pointed, blinking slowly. “You are very… very… emotionally constipated. And I mean that with love.”

And then—because the Mother was clearly on vacation—you lost your balance and tumbled off the table.

You braced for impact.

But it never came.

Instead, you landed against a solid chest. Strong arms. Warm hands gripping your waist like they belonged there. And a very unfair scent of cold night and cedar and oh no.

Azriel had caught you. Because of course he did.

You blinked up at him, face inches from his. “Oh,” you breathed. “Hi.”

His expression didn’t change—but his shadows stirred restlessly, like they were whispering gossip directly into his ears.

Behind him, Rhysand snorted. Cassian was fully collapsed against a wall. Feyre had her hands over her mouth.

Nesta looked like she wanted to slap you and him and probably fate in general.

Mor had backed into a corner and was mouthing I don’t know her.

“You’re impossible,” Azriel muttered, voice low and warm and, unfairly, just a little fond.

You grinned up at him. “You like it.”

He stared down at you, eyes dark and unreadable. His shadows coiled tighter. His grip stayed firm on your waist. His wings flared—just slightly.

And then his lips twitched. Barely. But enough.

Azriel sighed, like a man staring down the barrel of his bad decisions and finding them extremely attractive. “Come on, my unhinged little comet.”

And before you could say another word, he swept you into his arms—bridal style, because apparently you were leaning all the way into public humiliation now.

You yelped, then immediately melted into his chest with a pleased hum. “Mmm. You smell nice. Like shadows and judgment. Wait—are you blushing?”

“Cauldron give me strength,” Azriel groaned, carrying you through the stunned crowd.

From behind you came the sound of cackling, someone knocking over a wine glass, and Amren muttering, “I give it two weeks.”

As you were swept out of the room, your voice echoed back behind you— “For the record, I do not regret this!”

Far above, in the realm unseen, the Mother watched with a knowing smile.

The wind whispered around her as she observed the scene below—the drunken declarations, the clumsy affection, the way Azriel's shadows curled toward you, seeking despite themselves.

She had woven many fates, shaped many lives. But few amused her as much as this one.

“Oh, child,” she murmured, voice like the rustling of leaves, the turning of tides. “You are more entangled than you know.”

A chuckle echoed through the heavens, light as starlight.

The Mother lifted a hand, tracing invisible threads that bound two souls together—threads that had been frayed and knotted, but never severed. They shimmered, pulsating faintly, as if recognizing the moment for what it was.

Her eyes twinkled. “Soon,” she promised. “Soon, you will see.”

And with that, the Mother leaned back, content.

Below, in the world of mortals, you were still smiling up at Azriel, utterly oblivious to the divine hand gently guiding your fate.

Azriel had known many kinds of silence in his life.

The tense stillness before a kill.

The solemn hush after a mission gone wrong.

The kind of silence that settled over the mountains after a battle, when the snow fell red and the dead could finally rest.

But this—this was different.

This silence was laced with something soft and unbearable. Not sharp like rejection, but quiet like a door half-closed. A space he didn’t want to intrude upon but couldn’t bring himself to leave.

He had carried you home in his arms after the River House party, your wine-heavy laughter long since faded into soft breaths and sleep-mumbled nonsense. His wings stayed tightly tucked, his steps careful, as though any jostle might wake you or, worse, shatter the fragile permission he’d been given to be this close.

You hadn’t told him to leave.

You hadn’t told him to stay, either.

So he’d done what he always did—read the space between words. The way you’d curled into his chest without thinking. The way your fingers had clutched his leathers before slipping into sleep. The way you hadn’t recoiled from him. Not tonight.

He laid you gently on your bed, the scent of your room wrapping around him like a memory. Tea leaves, old books, lavender. The scent of you. He lingered as he drew the blanket over your shoulders, fingers brushing the edge of the fabric rather than your skin, though his hands ached to.

His shadows stirred, curling over your pillow like they wanted to stay, too. Like they recognized this as home.

Azriel swallowed hard.

Across the room, a gentle bubbling sound drew his attention. Gregory, circled his glass bowl with renewed interest, fins flaring in iridescent display. The fish paused, seeming to study Azriel with one glassy eye, as if offering silent approval.

"Don't worry," Azriel whispered to the vigilant guardian. "I won't disturb her."

Gregory flicked his tail once before resuming his patrol of the bowl's perimeter.

You looked so peaceful in sleep. So unguarded. A stray lock of hair had fallen across your cheek, and his hand hovered—wanting, not daring. He wanted to tuck it behind your ear. He wanted to trace the line of your jaw, to memorize the small details he’d never let himself learn in daylight.

He wanted to stay.

But wanting was dangerous.

So he stepped back. Quiet. Controlled. Careful not to wake you. He turned toward the door, toward the shadows that always welcomed him back when the light became too much.

But the door didn’t open.

Azriel frowned.

He tried again. Nothing.

His shadows curled back, wary now. Curious. The faintest shimmer in the air told him it wasn’t locked by any hand—it was woven.

Enchanted. A soft, powerful magic humming in the walls, in the floor. Centered around you.

It was not meant to trap.

It was meant to protect.

And right now, it had decided he wasn’t allowed to leave.

A test, maybe. Or a mistake.

But Azriel didn’t fight it. He could have winnowed. Could have vanished in an instant.

He didn’t.

Instead, he turned slowly, gaze falling back to you.

You had shifted slightly in your sleep, a soft sigh escaping your lips as your brow furrowed, like your dreams were stirring. One hand curled in the blankets, as if searching for something to hold on to.

His heart cracked open just a little more.

This wasn’t rejection.

This wasn’t goodbye.

This was the in-between. The soft space where hope dared to breathe.

With a quiet breath, Azriel crossed the room. He pulled the chair from your desk and sat, his movements smooth, reverent. His arms folded across his chest, but his gaze never left you.

He would not wake you.

He would not cross that line.

But he would stay.

Just for tonight.

Because it was enough to sit beside you and pretend—just for a moment—that he belonged here.

And as the moonlight traced the edges of your face, Azriel let himself fall just a little deeper. Into the quiet rhythm of your breath. Into the memory of your laughter echoing in his chest. Into the unbearable sweetness of loving you in silence.

He had always been good at waiting.

The Mother watched, perched on a shimmering cloud, her divine gaze locked onto the scene below with deep amusement. She crossed her arms and let out a sigh of exaggerated exasperation.

“Honestly, for someone who prides himself on being so clever, he’s shockingly slow on the uptake,” she muttered.

Beside her, Fate, who had been lazily twirling a strand of destiny’s golden thread between her fingers, smirked. “I told you he’d try to leave. He’s stubborn.”

The Mother rolled her eyes. “Well, he can be as stubborn as he likes, but he’s not leaving that house tonight. Not on my watch.”

With a flick of her fingers, a golden shimmer cascaded down to Velaris, weaving itself around the door like an invisible enchantment. The wood solidified, unmoving, as though it had been rooted in the very foundation of the earth.

Fate chuckled. “I almost feel bad for him. Almost.”

The Mother waved a hand dismissively. “He’s going to thank me for this later.”

The Mother merely smirked, whispering mischievously, “Good luck getting out now, Shadowsinger.”

The Mother and Fate exchanged a victorious glance before returning to their celestial tea, waiting for the dawn—and for fate to finally, finally take its course.

Azriel woke with a start.

The air was thick with the scent of your home—tea leaves and parchment, soft and comforting—but something was wrong. His shadows coiled tighter around him, restless, their murmuring a frantic whisper in his ears.

Then he heard it.

A soft, pained whimper.

His entire body went rigid.

He turned his head, scanning the room, his heartbeat a measured rhythm against his ribs. You were still in bed, the blankets tangled around your form, your face turned away from him.

But your breathing was uneven.

Another broken sound left your lips, barely more than a whisper, but it sent something sharp and vicious through his chest.

You were dreaming.

No—not dreaming. Nightmare.

In an instant, he was at your side, kneeling by the bed, his hands hovering over your shoulders. He murmured your name, voice low and soothing, carefully avoiding touching you lest he startle you further.

“Wake up,” he urged softly. “It’s just a dream. You’re safe.”

Your brow furrowed, lips trembling. The distress in your face, the way you curled away from whatever nightmare plagued you—it was unbearable.

His hands itched to pull you into his arms, to shield you from whatever ghosts haunted you, but instead, he simply pressed a palm to your wrist, grounding you in the present.

Your entire body jerked at the contact, your eyes snapping open, wild and unfocused.

“Azriel?” Your voice was hoarse, laced with exhaustion and fear.

“I’m here.”

Your breathing came in sharp, uneven gasps, but his presence—his touch—seemed to steady you. Slowly, recognition bled into your gaze. Your fingers twitched against his, uncertain, hesitant.

Then, before he could think better of it, he brushed his thumb over your wrist.

A slow, steady reassurance. A silent promise.

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as though trying to chase away the remnants of your nightmare. Your lips parted, like you might say something—like you might ask him why he was still here, why he had stayed.

But you didn’t.

And he didn’t offer an explanation.

Instead, he just waited. Waited for you to breathe. Waited for you to decide what came next.

And for once, he let himself hope.

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Your heartbeat slowed, settling into something steadier, though your skin still tingled from the dream’s lingering grip.

Then, with a hoarse whisper, you finally broke the silence.

“I dreamed I was being chased by a horde of angry geese."

Azriel blinked. Slowly. “What?”

You let out a shuddering breath, still caught between exhaustion and residual panic. “It was terrifying. They had tiny daggers strapped to their wings. Like some kind of rogue assassin squad. I think one of them was wearing a miniature cloak.”

His expression remained unreadable, but you could see it—the minute twitch at the corner of his mouth. The faintest hint of amusement in his otherwise impassive face.

“I take it that explains the whimpering,” he said dryly.

You huffed. “You laugh, but one of them was glaring at me like he knew all my secrets.”

That almost did it. Almost. His lips twitched again, his shadows shifting around him like they too were barely holding back their mirth.

Then, against all odds, a chuckle—low, quiet, but undeniably real—escaped him.

You gaped. “Did you just laugh?”

Azriel exhaled sharply, his composure snapping back into place. “No.”

“You did! You totally did!”

“I assure you, I did not.”

You sat up, pointing at him in mock accusation. “The mighty Shadowsinger, feared by all of Prythian, just laughed at my nightmare.”

“I did not laugh.”

“You did.” You grinned now, feeling lighter somehow, as if the weight of your dream had finally loosened its hold on you. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t be able to resist either. Those geese were menaces.”

Azriel shook his head, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed him. “Go back to sleep.”

You flopped back onto your pillows with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. But if I wake up screaming, you’re responsible for protecting me from the assassin geese.”

“I’ll do my best,” he murmured, voice softer now, lingering with something unreadable.

And as your eyes fluttered shut once more, you swore you felt it—the barest brush of a shadow curling around your wrist. A silent promise.

One he was not ready to put into words.

Yet.

Author’s Note: In my defense, the turkey leg was supposed to be metaphorical. But then the wine happened, and suddenly there were assassin geese, Mor was done with everything, and Azriel accidentally caught feelings and a drunk botanist. I regret nothing. Except maybe “stretch them wide open.” That one’s going to haunt me.

Thanks for reading—I promise the emotional damage is coming, but for now, let’s enjoy the chaos. 💕

Tag List: @songbirdpond @tothestarsandwhateverend @lovely-susie @kksbookstuff @ladycaramelswirl @gamarancianne @writtenbypavani @bubybubsters @moonlitscrolls @valyas-corner @iris-lavender @lreadsstuff @nebarious @azrielssgirl @lamimamiii @fantasydreamwalker @dallynjennasgirl @tenshis-cake @lilah-asteria @sweetsugarcoffee @fall-winter-heart97 @lovely-susie @lreadsstuff @sofi03 @songbirdpond @nico707 @justtryingtosurvive02 @yourlocalcancer @saltedcoffeescotch @thatacotargirl @happypeanutstrawberry @theverseoftheblackpearl @tele86 @highladyofhogwarts @fuckingsimp4azriel @thegoddessofnothingness @lovelyflower7777 @stressed-reader @karespocketboyfriends @lreadsstuff @yourdarkroses-blog @plants-w0rld @oldernotwiser26 @ashduv @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @adventure-awaits13 @thegoddessofnothingness @fuckingsimp4azriel @highladyofhogwarts @stainedpomegranatelips

[cyberyam]

hiiiii :3 have you done a threesome with toji and sukuna? 🥸

(i love your toji fanfics so plz, no pressure tho!!!)

pretty.

pairing: roommate!toji x fem!reader x roommate!sukuna cw: rough sex ; threesome ; fwb ; she/her pronouns used ; face fucking ; course language [MDNI!!! 18+!!!] ; praise ; pet names wc: 2.1k summary: roommate!toji has a bad day at work and needs an outlet, and roommate!sukuna doesn’t want to miss out on the fun.

when toji had a bad day at work, you were always the first to know.

you’d be lounging on the couch, a book in hand, half-lost in whatever story had caught your attention that week. then, the front door would slam open, rattling on its hinges. heavy work boots thudded against the floor as roommate!toji stormed in, cursing under his breath, his belongings hitting the ground in a careless heap.

his eyes found you immediately.

“you ready?” he grumbled, voice rough as he stalked toward you.

he didn’t need to elaborate. you already knew what that meant.

and that’s how you found yourself now, as you had every other time your roommate had a bad day. beneath him. before you could even set your book down, he had you pressed against the couch. and now, your legs were folded over his broad shoulders, his body caging yours beneath him. your clothes thrown carelessly to the floor as one of his knees sank into the cushion beside you, the other foot planted firmly on the floor as he braced himself.

each deep thrust sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body, the thick curve of his dick hitting that sweet spot inside you over-and-over again. white-hot sparks shot through your veins, your back arching instinctively, nails digging into his toned back.

“too deep—” the words barely formed between gasps and mewls, your voice breaking as he drove into you relentlessly.

“god fucking dammit,” he was angry, you could tell in the way he fucked, every thrust fuelled by the blinding rage that flashed in and out of his vision.

his grip on your waist tightened. as his footing started to slip, he huffed in frustration before hoisting you up with ease. the sudden emptiness made you whimper, but it lasted only a second before he flipped you over, pressing your chest flush against the backrest. your head lolled forward, arms trembling as he slammed into you from behind, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm.

“oh my god,” you choked out, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“fuckin’ pricks,” he growled, barely pausing between sharp, ragged breaths. “don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about—shit—” his words broke off into a curse as he fucked through his frustration, the grip on your hips bruising.

“tojiii,” you whined, your walls clenching helplessly around him. every thrust stretched you open, his cock kissing your womb with each relentless snap of his hips. your fingers clenched the couch as the coil inside you wound tighter—

then, the soft click of the front door barely cut through the sound of creaking wood and skin meeting skin.

“could hear you guys from the hall.”

your head snapped up, heat flooding your face at the familiar voice.

“meathead having a bad day?”

“'k-kuna—” you gasped, only able to choke out half of his name as toji didn’t falter for even a second.

roommate!sukuna shrugged off his suit jacket, his white dress shirt hugging tightly to the muscles that rippled underneath as his gaze flicking lazily over the scene before him—a sight he had now grown accustomed to coming home to. “fuckers telling you how to do your job again?”

toji let out a breathless, humorless laugh, only pausing to deliver a sharp slap to your ass. “yeah—shit—someone just got tighter—” his fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head up from where you’d buried it in the couch. “you like this, huh?” he rasped, voice laced with amusement as his breath fanned hot against your ear. “getting fucked while someone watches?”

you barely had time to process the words before sukuna tilted his head, eyeing you with an unreadable expression. then, his gaze dropped lower, his lips quirking as he adjusted his belt.

“her mouth free?”

from the corner of your eye, you caught the slow, deliberate roll of his shoulders as he made his way towards your gasping and moaning frame—the growing bulge pressing against the front of his navy blue dress pants.

toji’s palm came down hard on your ass, the sharp slap making you jolt with a startled cry.

“don’t hear any complaints,” he murmured, his pace slowing deliberately, taunting you as you instinctively rocked your hips back against him, desperate for more.

“pretty,” he mused, voice thick with amusement as his gaze roved over your flushed body, drinking in the way you trembled beneath him.

before you could respond, sukuna was in front of you, his clothed bulge pressing firmly against your lips. one of his large hands slid through your hair, fingers curling at the nape of your neck.

“yeah,” he agreed, a slow, satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he peered down at you. “pretty.”

your gaze flickered up at him through heavy lashes, heat rising in your cheeks as his grip in your hair tightened just slightly.

then, with a bit more force, he rolled his hips forward, pressing his bulge against your face.

“unzip me,” he ordered, his voice dropping the careless tone he carried when he first walked into the door.

your breath hitched, shame pooling low in your stomach at how eagerly your shaking hands moved to obey. but just as your fingers reached for the zipper, a strong grip yanked your arms behind you, pinning them in place.

“nuh-uh, pretty girl,” toji’s deep chuckle sent a shiver down your spine. his teasing barely masked the amusement in his voice as he punctuated his words with a sharp, deliberate thrust.

“teeth.”

the command came from the man in front of you, the gentle caress in your hair shifting into a firm fist, grabbing the base of your hair as he dragged you closer.

your tongue traced up the length of his bulge, slow and deliberate, teasing as much as searching for the zipper. your gaze flickered up through your lashes, watching the way his head tipped back, a low sigh spilling from his lips before he looked down at you again.

a groan forced it way from the back of his throat when he saw the way your teeth had latched onto the cool metal of the zipper, poised to pull it down.

“you’re a fucking tease, aren’t you?”

the hum of your response vibrated against his cock, drawing a sharp inhale from him as you dragged the zipper down, the movement agonisingly slow.

a shiver ran through you as a large, calloused hand ghosted down your spine, rough fingertips tracing the curve of your back with a tantalizing touch—just enough to make your skin flush in goose bumps. instinctively you rocked back, realising that the man who still filled you wasn’t moving at all now.

“aw, c’mon now, no reward before you’ve earned it,” the man in front of you teased, though his patience wore thin.

without waiting another agonizing second, he pulled himself free, his cock hard and heavy, stretching toward you before resting against your cheek. he smirked, tilting his head as if measuring just how deep he’d reach at the back of your throat.

another hand traced down your other cheek, rough fingers brushing over your lips before pressing inside, coaxing your jaw open with effortless control.

“good girl,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction.

“you’re gonna take me now, yeah?”

with his salty thumb pressing down on your tongue, stealing your ability to speak, and your wrists still pinned behind your back, all you could do was meet his gaze, eyes wide and expectant.

“uhu,” you hummed, the sound vibrating around his thumb in quiet obedience.

a deep groan rumbled from behind you, followed by a sharp yelp from you as a single, punishing thrust slammed into you without warning.

“hurry the fuck up before i get fucking soft,” toji growled, his tone edged with impatience, his grip tightening as he punctuated his words with another slow, deliberate roll of his hips. he loved teasing you, truly. but he was a man after all, and he wanted his needs met.

“she could’ve bitten off my finger, dickhead.”

“yeah? well, i thought you liked teeth play. now hurry up and stick your dick down her throat, or i’m just gonna fuck her without you.”

and so he did.

he pushed past your lips, sliding to the back of your throat as you sputtered and gagged, throat convulsing around him. but instead of pulling away, he only murmured praise, telling you what a good girl you were, how well you took him as he pressed deeper to the back of your throat.

behind you, toji set his own rhythm, mesmerized by the sight before him. he started slow, letting you adjust to being filled from both ends, before gradually picking up the pace.

sukuna's grip on your hair tightened at the base of your neck, his thrusts growing more insistent as he used your mouth. hot tears rolled down your cheeks, the overwhelming sensation making your whole body tremble.

“look at me,” his voice gruff, lost in the way your hot mouth felt around him.

your wet lashes fluttered open, meeting his gaze.

“so fucking pretty,” he groaned, the sight of you—eyes glassy, mouth stretched around him—sending a shudder through him. your muffled moans vibrated along his cock, each one making his hips snap forward on their own.

your body ached to writhe, to move, but you were held steady by the men crowding you. you barely had time to register the shift in toji’s hands—one wrapping around both your wrists, the other roaming lower, fingers tracing down your ass before pressing against the place where he was already stretching you open.

suddenly, a new pressure joined his relentless thrusts, pushing against your overstimulated hole.

you wanted to cry out, but your pleas were muffled by the man in your mouth.

the heat, the stretch—it was too much. your eyes rolled back, the blinding feeling drowning you completely.

“you like this, pretty girl?” the man behind you panted, between thrusts.

his finger pressed against your already-stretched hole before slipping inside, guided effortlessly by the slick mess dripping from where he filled you.

oh god— you wanted to cry out, to whimper it, but the words dissolved into a strangled sputter as the man in front of you held your face flush against his crotch, your nose buried in the coarse hair at his base.

“god, you’re so fucking tight,” toji groaned, his pace growing more desperate, becoming more sloppier as he readjusted his position, raising a leg onto the couch beneath you so he could angle himself deeper. “fuck.”

the familiar knot coiled in your stomach, winding tighter with every relentless thrust. your mind blurred, pleasure consuming every thought, heightened by the lightheaded haze of asphyxiation as the man in front of you kept you buried against him.

but he wasn’t a monster.

he would pull out just long enough for you to gasp for air, your chest heaving, your lips slick with spit and precum—before deciding you’d had enough and pushing himself back into your mouth, resuming his steady, merciless rhythm.

“shit,” he seethed through clenched teeth as your tongue dragged along the base of his cock, his breath hitching. his thrusts grew shallower, more erratic, his grip tightening as he pressed your face firmly against his body. with one hand, he loosened the collar of his dress shirt, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.

sweat beaded along his skin, his auburn hair clinging to his forehead, his need to cum intensifying as he watched you beneath him. you were a wreck—lips stretched swollen around him, drool spilling down your chin, tears streaking your flushed cheeks as you took it from behind, body jerking with every brutal thrust. even through the haze, you tried to keep your glassy gaze locked on his, the desperation in your expression sending another shudder of pleasure through him.

you were the first to come, your body wracked with tremors as toji finally let go of your wrists and pulled out his thumb. the ache from his grip barely registered over the waves rolling through you, but your legs threatened to give out beneath you, only held steady by his now firm grasp on your hips. your body jerked between them, raw and oversensitive, but they weren’t finished yet.

“fuck, just like that,” sukuna groaned, your muffled cries around his cock sending a shiver throughout his body. his hips stilled, pressing himself deep as his release spilled into your throat, forcing you to swallow around him with every pulse.

toji wasn’t far behind. your walls still fluttered around him, pulling him in with every drag of his cock, your body too fucked out to do anything but take it. that tight squeeze, the way you pulsed around him—fuck, it ripped his orgasm from him, thick and deep inside you, leaving you moaning softly at the warmth that spread through you.

sukuna finally pulled out, his cock slipping from your lips with a slick pop. he wiped the drool from your chin with his thumb, watching your swollen mouth part slightly as you tried to catch your breath. behind you, toji eased out, his eyes fixed on the mess between your legs—his cum dripping from your ruined hole, sliding down your inner thigh in slow, lazy rivulets.

“pretty,” he murmured, his voice rough as he exhaled, watching your swollen hole pucker from the sudden emptiness.

“feeling better?” sukuna asked, amusement evident in his tone as he tossed a glance to the other man.

“yeah, much.”

you collapsed onto the couch, body spent, chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths. a flicker of guilt curled in your stomach—because as exhausted as you were, you knew you’d be looking forward to toji’s next bad day.

an. i had way too much fun with this, i'm sorry anon (i wrote this while at work lmfao)

© cyberyam

[fangdokja]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫 ~ 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒

Sukuna’s morning routine is simple: wake up, drag you out of bed, and ruin you before the day even starts.

Today is no different.

You barely get a moment to breathe before he’s got you caged in the bathroom, the steam curling around his broad frame, water trailing down hard muscles inked in black. He’s grinning, already dripping from his own shower, and you know what’s coming.

You always know.

Your fingers clutch the towel around your body, a feeble shield against the inevitable. His gaze flicks down to it, then back up to your face, amused.

“The fuck is that for?” His voice is thick with sleep, lazy and deep.

You step back. “I-I just need a—”

He snatches the towel in an instant, yanking it off, leaving you bare, exposed—helpless.

A sharp inhale, your arms flying up to cover yourself. His hand catches your wrist before you can, twisting it behind your back. His chest meets yours, skin-on-skin, water slicking between your bodies as he presses you against the cold shower tiles.

“No more excuses, princess.” His breath is hot against your ear. “You know the rules.”

The rules.

There are no fucking rules.

Only his rules.

He forces you under the spray, water drenching you, stealing the air from your lungs. You shudder, heart hammering as he grips your chin, tilting your face up.

“Relax,” he drawls, thumb smearing water down your cheek. “You act like I don’t do this every morning.”

You do know.

And yet, you still flinch when he turns you around, pressing your front to the cold marble wall.

Still, you gasp when he drags his cock against your slit, teasing, spreading your wetness that has nothing to do with the shower.

Still, you whimper when he forces himself inside you—slow, inch by inch, making sure you feel it.

The first thrust is deep, punishing. You arch against the tile, a choked cry escaping as he fills you, stretching you too much, too fast.

He groans, fingers digging into your hips.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, dragging out before slamming back in. “Let me hear you, baby.”

You don’t want to.

You can’t.

But he doesn’t care.

He grips your throat from behind, forcing your head back against his shoulder as he fucks into you, the slap of wet skin obscene against the walls.

You claw at his wrist, struggling, choking on moans you refuse to let out.

He laughs.

“You’re so fucking cute when you try to fight.” His teeth graze your ear. “Like you actually think you have a choice.”

His pace picks up, ruthless, brutal, forcing your body to take him whether you can handle it or not. Your legs tremble.

He doesn’t stop.

Not until you’re gasping.

Not until he breaks you.

Not until he’s satisfied.

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles

Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @imnotabot28 , @han11dh , @call-memissbrightside

[golddustwomanwins]

Say Yes to Heaven

Innocent Art Donaldson x Experienced Reader

18+

This turned out so much different from what I imagined and it might have more parts since I'm incapable of writing short stuff. Need to warm up Art a bit. Really unsure if I like this or not.

Art was a good kid. He prided himself in his faith and his ability to stay away from temptation. He was focused in his classes, dutily writing every single word down the professor uttered. While he did have a social life (Patrick) he rarely went out, rather staying in his dorm and finishing his essays early.

He caught your attention in one of your shared classes. He sat in the front row, only his golden locks in view. His eyes were trained on the board, nothing could deter his attention from the lesson. A golden crucifix dangled at his neck, the only thing out of the ordinary about him. The light of the lamps caught a reflection in it and for a moment it looked like it was on fire. When you asked your friend if she knew him, Tashi laughed.

“That’s Art Donaldson. He’s not your type, sweetie.”

You turn surprised to her. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s a faithful boy. Doesn’t look at any girl longer than would be polite. Real uptight.”

You looked back at him. How his long fingers gripped the pen tightly, veins running through his hands. As if feeling your gaze he turned slightly, wide eyes meeting yours.

His cheeks flushed furiously crimson as he caught you staring. You only smiled, wiggling your fingers at him in a wave and he quickly turned his head again.

Tashi laughed. “You’re diabolical.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you mocked her and you both broke out into quiet giggles.

*

This wasn’t Art’s usual scene. He spent his Friday nights in his dorm, reworking his essays and rereading his notes from his lectures. But ever since he saw you looking at him in class he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He knew who you were, of course he did. Everyone knew you.

One of the most gorgeous girls on campus. Despite your popular party girl persona, you still had good grades. He saw you mostly with Tashi, arm in arm walking around campus. Once he started to notice you, you seemed to be everywhere.

Writing his essay, sitting on campus ground, you and Tashi walked by. A way too short skirt swished around your tan legs, the gentle breeze lifting the fabric once again and he flushed when he saw the edge of your panties.

He looked away immediately, cheeks flushed but he couldn’t help his eyes from jumping back to you. A pit of disappointment opened in his chest when he saw that your skirt was back down.

And he surely wasn’t the only guy noticing you. Half a dozen eyes were trained on you every time you walked by or sit in class. He overheard some of them talking about you, saying vile things that made him sick. And some things that made him listen in secretly. He didn’t know if the things people said were true. That you’d liked your fair share of men, a man eater some would say.

Forbidden thoughts consumed his mind day and night. He was laying in bed late at night wondering what you were doing at the moment. Dressed in a silk slip dress hands traveling beneath the skirt and into your panties.

Art groaned at the imagery, cock growing hard. He refrained from touching himself, groaning and moaning as if he was in pain. He’d have to change his boxers every time, too much precome oozing out of his tip and making a mess out of it.

It happened over and over. He’d see you in a short dress bending over, at table talking to Tashi and he was immediately hard. He cried himself to sleep every night trying to refrain himself from easing his anguish. This was his punishment for his lewd thoughts. It was good that he was in pain, he didn’t deserve anything else.

One night he couldn’t stop himself. He would never touch himself. Instead he started rutting into his mattress, groaning your name until he came in his boxers, cum soaking the fabric. He cried again at the sticky feeling, doubling his prayers that night.

Now he was standing here. The music was buzzing around him uncomfortably, people pushing their sweaty bodies together, grinding their hips in desperation. It smelled like cheep beer and perfume and Art wanted nothing more than to go back to his dorm and bury himself under his comforter.

But there it was, his sole reason to stay. You were across the room, pupils blown wide from the liquor swishing in your cup. Pink glitter littered your eyelids sparkling like the gloss swiped along your plump lips. You had one of your short dresses on again and he swallowed hardly at your cleavage almost spilling over.

Art was standing in a corner awkwardly, hoping no one would notice him or try to talk to him. A few girls sent him flirty looks but he either ignored or didn’t notice it.

Art’s eyes were stuck on your form, talking to a frat boy, his hand on your waist, leaning down to talk in your ear.

You nodded your head enthusiastically at whatever the guy was saying but your eyes were wandering around the room. It struck him in his chest when your eyes found his across the room.

To his horror he felt himself flush again and his eyes widened when you parted with the guy and started approaching him.

“Hey, Art.”

You knew his name. How did you know his name? Art melted slightly as you smiled up at him, your cheeks flushed and lips glossy. There was a foreign sparkle in your eyes, your pupils dilated and gaze not entirely trained on him. It kept flitting up and down as if you weren't able to focus properly.

And he still hadn't said anything.

The smile on your lips tilted slightly the longer he didn't say anything. Finally, he managed to get something out. "H-hi." What a way to go Donaldson.

Despite his complete inability to talk, the smile fixed back on your lips. One hand of yours found his bicep and you suddenly leaned up to talk in his ear. A soft cloud of perfume hit his senses and he stiffened in his jeans as his eyes focused on your carefully manicured nails on his skin.

"I was just heading out for a smoke. Do you want to join?" You turned your head to look at him, face far too close.

No. That was what he should have said. Decline politely but surely. In no way would it be a good idea to be alone with you in such proximity.

"Y-yeah, sure."

You beamed at him, lighting up your whole face and he couldn't regret agreeing to join you in that moment. Your fingers found his wrist and you dragged him after you. People parted for you naturally, some of them throwing surprised looks at you both. What did you have in common with prissy Art Donaldson? Nothing.

Art flushed at the attention but kept going his fingers reaching for yours. You turned and shot him a sweet smile as you entertained your hands.

Once you stepped outside the music grew quieter, only the dull thrum of the bass shaking the ground beneath your feet. The cold night air hit Art's flushed face and for a moment it was easier to form a coherent thought.

He watched you step out of your high heels, kicking them to the side before pulling him down to sit on the patio. You buried your naked feet in the soft grass, due drops trailing along the green blades.

He almost sighed when you pulled your hand from his, putting the cigarette between your lips. Your lips gloss stained the brown part as you cupped your hands to light it up. For a moment the flame flickered along your face, opening a pit in Art's stomach. He should leave. He will leave. Just a moment longer. Just for one cigarette.

"I didn't think you a party goer," you spoke up after inhaling slowly. You pulled your knees up to put your cheek on them, watching him closely.

He smiled embarrassed, only one side of his lips tugging up. Your eyes caught on the half smile. "This is my first." You grinned. "Your first party, huh?" Taking another drag you kept watching him, making Art squirm in his seat. You were different from what he imagined. Much more softer. Gentler. Still, there was something inquisitive in your eyes that made the alarm bells ring in his mind. Danger, danger, danger.

"What changed your mind, to try it out?" you asked, smoke passing along your lips. You noticed him glancing down once and again, small dimples forming in your soft cheeks.

Art glanced down at his fingers, pulling at a thread of his shirt. He had pulled out his best shirt, ironed it and tried in on in front of a mirror before deeming it perfect for the night. Unknowing of how must guys came in lazy attire, t-shirts and old henleys.

"I don't know," he whispered. He looked up surprised when you laughed.

"Don't lie."

The flush on his cheeks travelled down his neck when you caught him in a lie. Your eyes snagged on the necklace dangling from his neck. You reached out, nails scraping along his skin as you took the pendant in your hands. Art shivered and watched you inspect his necklace.

"It's pretty," you said, smiling softly up at him. Art inhaled shakily as you watched him through your impossibly long lashes.

"My nan gave it to me," he mumbled.

"She did? So it's true, you're a faithful boy." You put the cigarette back between your lips. Art's eyes dipped again. "Yeah."

"What a shame," you mumbled. Suddenly, you got up, letting the half smoked cigarette fall to the floor.

"What--" Art shot up to his feet surprised that you were leaving. He watched you bend over to retrieve your shoes, quickly looking away as a flash of pink greeted him.

"Where are you going?" Art asked desperately and you smiled up at him, shoes still dangling from your hands. "Back inside."

"I-it's nice out, isn't it? We can stay a bit. I don't mind," he rushed through the words. He said he'd stay with you for one cigarette but you hadn't finished it. It was half done, lying on the ground, sad smoke still billowing up from it.

"You're a nice guy, Art," you said. "Go home and do whatever you usually do on Friday nights. This isn't your scene."

Art deflated. This was the first time he was genuinely interested in a girl and she turned him down. What was he thinking? It was good that you were turning him down. Nothing could've happened anyway.

He inhaled slightly, hands tugging at his crucifix. "I like talking to you. Let's just stay out here for a little," he begged. You eyed him warily.

"I'm not the right girl for you," you told him. Your cheeks were growing flushed and he didn't know if it was from the cold or not. Your words had a deeper meaning. Did you think you weren't worthy of him? That you would ruin him?

"We can talk," he persisted and you smiled sadly. "Just say yes."

"Usually boys don't just talk to me," you said. His heart sunk at your words, knowing exactly what you were implying with your words. Your eyes dipped back to his necklace. "But you can."

Art beamed at you and for a moment it looked like a halo glowed from above him, golden curls lighting up with his joy. You both sat down again, shoulders brushing, your shoes dangling from your fingers.

It was an unfamiliar sight. A few of the party guests looked out of the glass doors offering a strange look on the patio. You're silhouette sinful, shadows dancing along your curves, swallowing you. Art was submerged in the moonlight, features soft and relaxed. The only point where shadow and light touched were your shoulders, brushing against each other shyly.

Part 2

[yannaryartside]

Carmy’s guilt arc in s3 is incredibly unearned.

I am not against a guilt arc, but the way the show presented Carmys, the length they brought to it, and the analogy of it all...its extremely out of place/theme.

Many people have mentioned this..

Carmy didn’t do anything to Claire.

He had the bad luck of her hearing a mental breakdown/suicidal ideation episode. The whole of him feeling bad for it throughout the whole season and saying he cannot apologize is like saying it is your fault that your significant other read your diary and was troubled by its content. Like saying a person should feel bad for what they confided in a friend or therapist. Even if he were to break up with Claire later, we can all agree he would not have used those words; that's not Carmy.

It is awful to hear that a relationship was a waste of time for your significant other. Still, Carmy could only be guilty for hurting her if he said that to her, like, on purpose, more, even if he ever had the intention to hurt her.

Also, that scene when he is in the anon meeting and hears an abuse victim being (rightfully) guarded around their abuser and Carmy comparing himself to that, feeling he was a bad person not worthy of forgiveness….He is comparing himself to Donna and how Donna hurt him so much and for so long.

That’s is so fucking unearned. Incredibly out of place. Like giving 80 years of prison for an unarmed robbery.

He is missing a relationship that was shallow but made him feel less defective, and now that he is spiraling and hallucinating his previous abuser, he doesn’t have any option but to think back on Claire as the only one who could fix him/love him. He is mistaking the comfort and absence of mind Claire gave him as peace.

But he is ultimately just using the loss of this relationship to hate himself even more because how could he let go of this good thing? He thinks he is inherently a bad person, an unworthy partner, and a bad son. It's funny how is Donna who planted the idea that once you make a mistake, you should be (unjustifiably) punished to no end; that is the point of gaslighting.

For a show that seems to care and understand the subject of abuse, how all redemption has to respond to the gravity of your acts, making Carmy go on such a self-destroying/self-deprecating cicle for just basically thinking out loud while he was also dealing with a triggering event and thought he has in a safe space just venting to an old friend...It’s honestly horrifying.

The analogy just doesn't hit. He is comparing himself to an abuser (Donna) who actually used her struggles to manipulate people around her to make them feel guilty so they would do things to please her.

People can go on periods of reflection on the people that they hurt and what they meant to them, but it doesn't help to this supposed analogy of ‘earning love’ when every clairexcarmy scene is just shallow as fuck. It doesn't help that he hasn't earned her resentment, acting out of ignorance, his flaws or malice, just bad luck.

He hasn't even gotten to reflect on the things he is actually doing wrong, like pushing away his loved ones, isolating himself, and betting the whole house and their futures on a trip to defend himself from his abuser, former chef (Chef David) standards. An even when he gets to do that, reflection has to be more on the "you can do better, we are here for you" because he is not acting out of malice. Carmy has never, ever been an abuser. The way the script constantly shows him being kind to people who were inferior in the culinary industry, even when he wanted to be the best, speaks volumes on how he is incapable of becoming Donna precisely because he is not a bad person. He is not manipulative, selfish, or dismissive.

I think this is all on purpose, for the sleight of hand that would come later.

I think this is a trauma bonding "love" that carries an unearned punishment because codependent and toxic relationships are precisely that. We may get to that later. I have to find more time for reading.

[makeila04]

I was playing as Adler in Liberty Falls, and when he drank a macchiato, he said, “Who wants to be my punching bag?” To which I thought, “Wait… that means, that… ADLER BOXES?!?!?!" (It should’ve been obvious, but whatever…)

So I started thinking about this, and I want to share it with you:

I imagine myself walking into his gym—or wherever he practices privately, alone, empty, probably in the dead of night. I imagine that after so many wars, especially Vietnam, he struggles with insomnia… so he takes it out on the punching bag late into the night… burning energy and… partly blaming himself… for something that happened nearly 30 years ago.

He… overthinks it, but then again, it’s not like he can just “turn it off” and move on.

Adler is so focused he doesn’t hear me. Or if he’s noticed me, he doesn’t care.

I walk in slowly. I’m behind him, so he probably doesn’t see me. Russell is 54 years old, and I’m so young… He’s a giant—6’1” (1.85 m), 209 lbs (95 kg)—while I’m barely 5’5” (1.65 m) and very slim…

The scene is hypnotic.

The gym is empty at this hour, lights off except for the dim glow of an industrial lamp hanging from the ceiling, casting long shadows on the walls. It smells like leather, sweat, and a faint trace of tobacco mixed with something else—something that’s just him.

Russell is there, in the center, facing the punching bag. His torso, clad in a plain white tank top clinging to his body, glistens with a thin layer of sweat, every muscle defined by years of discipline. His skin, weathered by age and scars that tell a lifetime of violence. Every punch he throws is sharp, precise, controlled. No wasted movement. No grunts or heavy breathing like others. Just hits. Over and over.

He doesn’t seem to notice I’ve entered. Or maybe he has, and he just doesn’t care.

His mind is elsewhere. Maybe in a suffocating jungle thirty years ago, when he was still young and the weight of the world hadn’t fully hardened his face. Or in the latest mission, replaying mistakes he’ll never admit aloud. Or in his own reflection in the gym’s cracked mirror, wondering how much longer he can keep doing this.

I step closer silently, knowing any sudden noise might trigger his instincts. Small beside him, a shadow dwarfed by his imposing presence.

I stay. Watching.

Maybe he finally notices. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t stop. But for a split second, his icy blue eyes flicker in my direction—brief, fleeting—before snapping back to the bag.

He hasn’t kicked me out.

So I stay.

The sound of his punches echoes in the empty gym, each strike against the bag muffled by aged leather. There’s a rhythm to his hits, a precise cadence betraying years of practice. Not the wild swings of a novice venting frustration, but the calculated strikes of someone who’s trained until movement became instinct.

But his expression isn’t calm.

His eyes are focused, but the slight furrow of his brows, the tension in his jaw, suggest his mind isn’t truly here. It’s as if every punch is aimed at an invisible enemy��one he can’t reach or knock down.

Maybe he knows. Maybe he senses this isn’t just exercise. Not just a way to stay fit.

It’s punishment.

For his body. For his mind.

For the mistakes he can’t undo.

For the decisions that haunt him three decades later.

Sweat trails down his skin, dripping from his neck to his collarbones and down the grooves of his muscles. His back tenses with every motion, skin stretching over scars and knots of accumulated strain.

Then, finally, he stops.

He exhales slowly, dropping his bandaged fists to his sides. At first, he doesn’t look at me—just lowers his head, letting sweat drip onto the concrete floor.

But then, with the same deliberate slowness, he lifts his gaze.

His eyes meet mine.

There’s something in that blue stare—something unreadable. Not surprise, not annoyance. Not even acknowledgment. It’s like he’s trying to decipher *me*, to understand why I’m here, why I’m watching, why I haven’t spoken.

He drags a hand over his face, wiping away sweat, then speaks—his voice low, rough, edged with exhaustion.

- “Can’t sleep, or do you just like watching me hit things?” he said.

It’s a deflection. A wall he instinctively puts up.

Because he can’t sleep either.

But I know it’s more than that.

Estaba jugando con Adler como operador en Liberty Falls y al beber Machiatto dijo “¿quién quiere ser mi saco de boxeo?” A lo que pensé “Espera, eso significa que… ADLER PRÁCTICA BOXEO?!?!?!?” (En realidad debió ser algo obvio, no una sorpresa pero en fin…)

Asi que empecé a pensar en esto y se los quiero compartir:

Me imagino yo entrando a su gimnasio, o al gimnasio o dónde sea que practique mientras sea privado y solitario, todo vacío, seguramente de madrugada. Me imagino que por tantas guerras y especialmente Vietnam, tiene problemas de insomnio... así que se descarga en el boxeo hasta tarde... gastando energía y...en parte culpándose a si mismo... por algo de hace 30 años ya casi...

Él...lo piensa demasiado, pero claro, tampoco es como si pudiera "apagarlo" y ya...

Adler está tan concentrado que no me escucha, o si me ha notado, no le importa.

La imagen es hipnótica.

Entro despacio, estoy a espaldas así que me imagino que no me ve. Russell tiene 54 años y yo tan joven... Él es gigante, mide 1.85 y pesar 95 kilos...y yo mido 1.65 apenas y soy muy delgada....

El gimnasio está vacío a esa hora, con las luces apagadas excepto por la tenue iluminación de la lámpara industrial que cuelga del techo, proyectando sombras alargadas en las paredes. Huele a cuero, sudor y un leve rastro de tabaco mezclado con algo más, algo que es solo él.

Russell está ahí, en el centro, frente al saco de boxeo. Su torso pegado a una camiseta blanca y lisa, entallada a su cuerpo, está cubierto de un brillo tenue de sudor, marcando cada músculo trabajado con años de disciplina. La piel curtida por la edad, las cicatrices que hablan de una vida de violencia. Cada golpe que lanza es seco, preciso, controlado. No desperdicia movimiento. No resopla ni gruñe como otros. Solo golpea. Una y otra vez.

No parece haber notado que entré. O quizá sí, y simplemente no le importa.

Su mente está en otro lugar. Quizá en una jungla sofocante hace treinta años, cuando aún era joven y el peso del mundo no había endurecido su rostro del todo. Tal vez en la última misión, en los errores que no admite en voz alta. O en su propio reflejo en el espejo agrietado del gimnasio, preguntándose cuánto tiempo más podrá seguir haciendo esto.

Me acerco en silencio, sabiendo que cualquier ruido fuera de lugar podría hacer que su instinto lo lleve a reaccionar. Pequeña a su lado, una sombra mucho más ligera en comparación con su presencia imponente.

Y sin embargo, me quedo ahí. Observándolo.

Tal vez él finalmente me nota. No dice nada. No se detiene. Pero hay un instante en el que sus ojos azules se deslizan en mi dirección, fugaces, volviendo al saco de inmediato.

No me ha echado.

Así que me quedo.

El sonido de los golpes resuena en el gimnasio vacío, cada impacto contra el saco de boxeo amortiguado por el cuero envejecido. Hay un ritmo en su manera de golpear, una cadencia precisa que delata años de práctica. No es el descontrolado de un novato que solo busca descargar frustración, sino el golpe certero de alguien que ha entrenado hasta que el movimiento se volvió instintivo.

Pero su expresión no es la de un hombre en calma.

Sus ojos están enfocados, pero hay algo en la forma en que sus cejas se fruncen levemente, en la tensión en su mandíbula, que sugiere que su mente no está realmente aquí. Es como si cada golpe que lanza estuviera dirigido a un enemigo invisible, uno que no puede alcanzar ni derribar.

Tal vez lo sepa. Tal vez pueda intuir que este no es solo ejercicio para él. Que no es solo una manera de mantenerse en forma.

Es castigo.

Para su cuerpo. Para su mente.

Para los errores que no puede corregir.

Para las decisiones que lo siguen incluso tres décadas después.

El sudor recorre su piel, escurriendo desde su cuello hasta la línea de sus clavículas y bajando por los surcos de sus músculos. Su espalda se tensa con cada movimiento, la piel estirándose sobre la forma de su cuerpo como un mapa de cicatrices y tensiones acumuladas.

Y entonces, finalmente, se detiene.

Exhala lento, dejando caer los puños envueltos en vendas al costado de su cuerpo. No me mira al principio, solo baja la cabeza, dejando que las gotas de sudor caigan al suelo de concreto.

Pero luego, con la misma lentitud, alza la vista.

Su mirada se encuentra con la mía.

Y hay algo en esos ojos azules, algo indescifrable. No es sorpresa, ni molestia. Tampoco es simple reconocimiento. Es como si estuviera tratando de leer algo en mi, de entender por qué estoy aquí, por qué lo observo, por qué no he dicho nada.

Se pasa una mano por el rostro, limpiándose el sudor, y entonces habla, su voz baja, rasposa, marcada por el cansancio.

—No puedes dormir, ¿o solo te gusta verme golpear cosas?

Es un intento de desviar la conversación. Un muro que levanta por instinto.

Pero sé que no es solo eso.

Porque él tampoco puede dormir.

[reveryfics]

anything with smut for clint (mcu)?

shield agent reader !!

Heat Of The Moment

Clint Barton x Male Reader

Summary: Clint finds you in the bathroom after a mission from S.H.I.E.L.D didn't go exactly as planned.

A/N: Loving all the requests that are flowing in.

TW: Gay Sex - Public Sex - 18+ - Females DNI

Clint leaned against the cool tile wall opposite you, arms crossed, his gaze unwavering. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension and lingering adrenaline. He watched you scrub at your hands, the water turning a faint pink before swirling down the drain. Finally, he pushed off the wall, the movement drawing your attention.

"Desk duty, huh?" he remarked, his voice low, almost a murmur. "Guess they figured that was light punishment for an 'unwanted death'." The air quoted the last two words, a bitter edge to his tone.

You rolled your eyes, a familiar weariness settling over you. Without a word, you reached for the hem of your blood-soaked vest, the fabric stiff and uncomfortable. The buttons of your once pristine white shirt followed, revealing the defined muscles of your chest and abdomen. Clint's eyes followed the movement, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

"Take a picture, Barton," you drawled, tossing the discarded garments onto the floor. "Heard those last longer." Turning back to the mirror, you ran a hand through your hair, still damp from the steam.

You didn't see him move, but suddenly he was there, leaning against the sink beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. "Still look good, even covered in blood," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. "Suits you, actually. Makes you look…dangerous."

A chuckle escaped your lips. This was a familiar dance, a ritual played out after every mission that pushed you both to the edge. Clint's way of apologizing, of acknowledging the unspoken bond forged in the heat of battle. It was always physical, a raw, visceral connection that cut through the tension and left you both breathless. And you never objected.

Turning to face him fully, you placed your hands on his hips, the denim of his jeans rough beneath your fingers. You tugged him closer, closing the remaining space between you, and initiated a kiss. It was immediate and fierce, a desperate meeting of mouths. He responded instantly, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You lifted him onto the edge of the sink, the ceramic cool against the backs of his thighs.

Breaking the kiss, you dropped to your knees, your gaze locking with his. You reached for his belt buckle, the metal cool against your fingertips, and slowly unfastened it. He mirrored your actions, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his own shirt, discarding it carelessly onto the floor. You tugged his jeans and boxers down around his ankles, revealing his already hardening cock. You took it in your hand, the length surprisingly smooth, and began to stroke, your thumb tracing the sensitive underside. You pressed kisses to his thighs, his hips, the taste of him already intoxicating. He leaned back against the mirror, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his fingers tangling in your hair.

You licked the underside of his shaft, the vein throbbing beneath your tongue. He groaned, his legs tightening around your head, trapping you in his embrace. Slowly, deliberately, you took the tip of his cock into your mouth, the taste sharp and musky. You moved your head up and down, a steady, rhythmic motion, savoring the way he bucked against you. The sound of his moans filled the small space, echoing off the tile walls. It wasn't long before he pulled you away, his grip on your hair firm but not harsh.

You sighed, a frustrated sound, and stood, your own desire now a burning ache. Quickly, you undid your belt, the leather snapping open. You yanked your jeans and boxers down, the fabric pooling around your ankles. Taking a step forward, you positioned yourself between his legs, the hard ridge of your own cock pressing against his thigh. You pulled him into another heated kiss, the urgency between you palpable.

Clint moved his hips slowly, grinding his cock against yours, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through you. His hands roamed your body, tracing the lines of your back, the curve of your shoulders. The air in the small bathroom crackled with unspoken need.

A distant sound, the muffled thud of footsteps approaching the door, snapped you both to attention. You froze, holding your breath, waiting until the sound faded.

"You're taking blame this time if we get caught," you murmured against his neck, your voice husky with arousal. He only nodded, his eyes glazed over, lost in the moment.

The kiss deepened, tongues tangling, moans escaping your lips and his, filling the small space. You gripped his hips, pulling him off the counter just far enough to thrust upwards, stopping halfway to allow him to adjust before sinking all the way in.

It was slow, deliberate, each thrust a calculated exploration. You peppered kisses across his bare chest, hissing softly as his nails dug into your back, a sharp, pleasurable sting.

Clint's legs wrapped tighter around your waist, pulling you closer, your hips grinding against his. "Fuck," he moaned, his voice thick with need. "Harder."

You grunted, your hips snapping upwards to meet his with each thrust, the rhythm building, the tension coiling tighter.

You wrapped your hand around his shaft, jerking him in time with your thrusts, the added stimulation pushing him closer to the edge. Your lips trailed down his chest, leaving a trail of wet hickeys in their wake, before returning to his mouth, the kiss frantic and desperate. Your hips stuttered, his body clenching around you, and you both cried out, your names echoing in the small room as you reached your breaking point. You thrust once more, burying yourself deep inside him as you came, his own climax following hot on your heels.

You pulled out slowly, the slickness of your bodies creating a soft, wet sound. You took a moment to compose yourself, your breath ragged, and helped Clint slide off the counter. You both moved with a practiced efficiency, cleaning up the mess, wiping away any trace of your encounter.

Helping him off the counter, you made sure everything was clean before redressing yourself, the clean clothes feeling strangely alien against your still-heated skin.

Clint leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. "Bet you were a little turned on by the thought of getting caught," he murmured, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You rolled up your sleeves, a small smirk playing on your lips. "Wouldn't exactly complain," you replied, your voice low and husky. You reached for the handle, unlocking the bathroom door, and stepped out, leaving Clint standing there just as another agent walked in, a confused look on their face.

[disappearinginq]

Working on any fic involving characters with parental issues where even though they still hate said parent/al figure they still want approval is proving to be a challenge I was not prepared for

[sixic]

"did you just spank me?" ☆

choso has wide eyes in the mirror's reflection as they meet yours. glossy and blown out with lust, but wide—nervous, like a deer stuck in headlights. you're bent over, back arched down as your boyfriends hands rest gently on your hips. there's a sting that lingers over your ass, and choso is holding his hand out like he's committed a crime with it.

it's not like he's vanilla—you're being fucked ass-up in front of a mirror so that you can watch him take what's his—but he's frozen still like he's appalled at his own actions.

"oh," he's flushing a gentle pink. "i'm sorry, i don't know why i did that. it was just so much and you were so—i mean... i wasn't thinking and—"

"do it again."

he's still balls deep inside of you—hips pressed tight against the flesh of your ass: his cock pulses inside of you, each veiny ridge filling you out like you're made for him. "why would i do that?"

“because it feels good,” you shrug, pushing back onto his cock a little. "cho, baby, i'm asking you to spank me, not commit a war crime."

"might as well be," he mumbles under his breath, looking down at the curve of your ass at his face scrunches up into an expression you've never seen on him before. is that... restraint?

your poor choso has never been all that good at controlling his wants and whims. he's a man whose body often betrays him: he couldn't hold an orgasm back to save his life, nor can he ever stifle those pretty moans of his. much like how he couldn't stop his hand from smacking against the flesh of your ass.

so, of course, you goad him on. clenching tight around his achy cock as you meet his gaze in the mirror. "i want you to spank me again, choso. be mean. make it hurt when i sit down tomorrow."

"i don't want to hurt you."

"don't you? you spanked me first, cho. i think you want it even more than i do."

his eyebrows furrow. its devastatingly cute for a man balls-deep inside of you. "shut up," he says with no real bite. "i didn't mean to."

"your hand just slipped and landed on my ass?"

"...yes."

you roll your eyes, and offer choso a smile in the mirrors reflection. “you look all embarrassed. just like that time you came just from kissing m—fuck!”

a sharp sting radiates over your ass cheek, and once you blink the shock out of your eyes, you’re met with a very sudden snapping of chosos hips into yours. he somehow manages to fuck you even deeper than before. with every thrust he sends you forward on the bed, until you’re no longer holding yourself up with your arms and your face is pressed right into the mattress.

“you always-” smack! “-make me feel-” smack! “-so nervous around you.”

your face screws up. “what?”

he stills, leans forward to take the sheet away from your face so you can look back at him properly. “i’m punishing you.”

“for what, giving you butterflies?”

“yes.” the sweetest of smiles pulls at his lips—you’d think it endearing if not for the way his hand slaps down onto your ass again, and he resumes his mean pace.

live and let cum, you suppose. choso drills into you in such a way that you’re cumming both quicker and harder than you ever have with him. your orgasm, the sweet way your pussy grips him in pleasured need, sends choso over the edge right after you. “mmm iloveyouiloveyouimsorryforspankingyouiloveyou”

of course with another mean spank to your ass, choso pulls out and exhales the prettiest moan you’ve heard from him as he releases all over your tender ass. you’re spent, and fucked so dumb you don’t chide him for then using his fingers to rub his cum around in soothing circles over your ass. you won’t admit it, but it feels kinda nice.

“sorry,” choso whispers as he reaches for something to wash you down with. “you should slap me as payback.”

“you’d probably like it.”

“…yeah.”

[s0dium]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔

Synopsis: Ever wondered what JJK men with a heavy breeding kink would be like? Characters: Toji Fushiguro, Monsterform!Sukuna Ryomen, Gojo Satoru, Getou Suguru, Choso, Nanami Kento Warnings: Breeding, rough sex, praise, cum kink, Monsterform!Sukuna, masturbation, PUSSY DRUNK, fingering, nipple play, edging begging, mentions of pregnancy, mating press, overstimulation, marathon sex, degrading, cum kink, subspace, mirror sex, cowgirl

Toji Fushiguro 

It's almost a little game of his, how many times can he cum in you.

Loathes condoms. Toji hates the plastic flimsy things, but after Megumi he would probably be more cautious, his pull out game becomes stronger

The type to keep you plugged up for a bit with his dick after he cums

If any slips out he will use his thumb to slip it back it

Probably doesn't even ask. Every time you fuck him he is gonna cum into you. Such a slut, you deserve it.

“You're doing such a good job baby, taking this like a champ,” Toji moans between grunts, his eyes closed, tips of his ears bright red from the pleasure, and his black hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. How long has Toji been dreaming about this exact moment? How many times did he fuck his fist to the image of how your pretty face looks right now? More importantly, he realizes, this is it, this is when he can fulfill his biggest fantasy that's been gnawing at his brain like a parasite; he can finally pump his cum into your sweet belly like he has fantasized about.

“Ngh~ too f-fast~” Tears trickled down your face and yet your hips were needly bucking up to take his dick like there was some how more of him to take. What a glutton for punishment you were, but soon that burning pain became something just as good, even better actually, delicious pleasure. You started to arch you back off the bed like a bow and you lock your legs around his back, holding yourself in place so he could fuck you like an animal. The sound of your hips meeting was so loud, that you were sure if any of your neighbors walked by would know what you were doing. Like you cared.

It's as if a primal need has taken hold of Toji, your pleas for him to slow down only go in and out of his ears. With every snap of his hips a creamy ring of arousal forms at his base from your arousal and his precrum. Each movement creates intense friction that heightens the pleasure and the collision of your bodies sends waves of ecstasy through you, making it impossible to hold back your moans. Each motion brings a profound sense of connection and exhilaration, intertwining you closer to the brink of overwhelming joy. The friction of Toji's dick rubbing your walls is enough to leave you breathless and eagerly anticipating each subsequent moment.

"G-gonna cum baby, your gonna take it." He is practically tumbling over his words now from the vice grip your pussy has on his cock. Thank god you are also nearing your peak because you don't know how much more your body can take, you need to use your legs tomorrow.

"Fuck fuck FUCK!" With a loud moan, Toji buries himself deep into your creamy pussy, relishing in the warm feeling, before pumping a heavy load of warm cum into your womb. His cum doesn't stop until your belly was swollen with the hot liquid and your toes curled from the pleasure. The heat spreads through your body, driving you to the edge of pleasure. The overwhelming sensation finally takes over, pushing you into a state of pure ecstasy.

As your pussy convulses, Toji doesn't leave the warmth of your cunt for a second, keeping you plugged and stuffed with his cum.

"Fell so good princess, ya feel like heaven."

Gojo Satoru 

You question whether this is all a dream. It's utterly euphoric, enveloped by every aspect of Gojo—his heady scent, the warmth of his skin, and his mesmerizing voice echoing in your ears. It's a sensory overload that feels almost too intense to be real.

“Oh, where did you float off too, princess?” he coos, watching the glossy, faraway look take over your eyes. Despite this, Gojo keeps up his brutal pace his breathing becoming jagged and irregular. There’s no warning when he comes.

"Love you," you babble, "Love you so much please c-cum in me." Your words are strung out on your lips from how fucking good you feel. As you succumb to each of his forceful, fast movements movements, waves of intense pleasure cascade through you.

“Shit” Gojo spoke through a gritted smile as he blew his load. Almost as if he was unfazed by his ejaculation, Gojo keeps sliding his member in and out, his milky semen leaking out as he continues to push into you relentlessly, not loosing a second of speed.

The sounds, god the sounds where sinful. Wet skin against skin echoed through the room the sloshing of cum trapped inside you, his thrusts are not only slicker and frictionless with the help of his hot cum,

“M-mhm..” your humming earns a guttural groan from the male above you, “m’ Please don't stop Satoru please don't stop” you cry, and how could he not? Of course, he was going to fuck his second load into you especially when you asked so nicely.

Geto suguru

Above all else, Geto Suguru is a family man

There is nothing more he wants than to see your belly round with his kid, to watch your breasts swell with milk

“Fuck princess you feel so fucking good.” Geto’s words come out accompanied with a chuckle, basking in the way your walls hug his dick.

Straddling Geto Suguru, you feel the solid strength of his arms as he effortlessly lifts you up and down his dick. Each controlled movement is a testament to his power, his hands firm and guiding. Your body has gone slack at this point, the muscles in your legs too tired from its constant tremblings and tightening due to how deliciously he fucked you. Good? Try Euphoric. You were in heaven from the way the tip of his fat dick collided with your gspot. He uses you like a sex toy, shaping your walls with his cock.

Long stray black strands of hair fall from his loose bun as he leans over to whisper into your ear. “Want me to fill you up don't you? Watch you grow round our child—” One of his thumbs rolls over your hardened nubs as he gropes at your chest, causing you to keen at the added stimulation, "These will fill with sweet sweet milk, we’ll make sure there’s enough to share with me. Isn’t that what you want?”  Geto’s balls slap against your ass every time you bottom out on his dick.

“Oh fuh-“ His voice comes out breathless. You can feel each harsh contraction of his balls while he creams inside your pussy, such a tight fit that a ring of it seeps out at the base of where he’s connected to you. 

Choso

Choso cant count the number of times he’s touched himself to the thought of filling you up with cum over and over again, till glistening tears streamed down your pretty face and you were meekly begging him to stop. 

He doesn't know why but to Choso, its almost instinct to breed you up, and how could he resist? From the way your hips swayed to your honey-coated whines that escaped your mouth when he aggressively kissed you, you were practically asking for it. 

“Cho~!” you coo, reaching up and planting messy kisses along his chin. Heavy, hot pants escaped both of your mouths as your hips struggled to meet his brutal pace, to no avail.

Quite frankly Choso didn't know how much longer he could keep this up, of course, he knew you’d feel good, but not this good. Fuck, his fleshlight felt like sandpaper compared to the way your gummy walls sucked and spasmed around him. 

“Fuck me fuck me fuck me please don't sto-” You cut yourself off with as squeal when you felt Choso pull out for a quick second before slamming back into you with a grunt; the nearly inhumane girth of his cock making you dizzy at the surprise entrance. 

“Mm’feel so good baby, m’so good y/n” Choso whines were muffled due to how his face was buried in the crook of your neck, your scent only serving to bring him closer and closer to the edge. “m’ gonna cum- princess m’gonna cum inside.” he cuts of with a groan of his own, shooting thick white ropes of his cum into your walls.

Nanami Kento

See the thing is, Nanami didn't even know he had a breeding kink

It wasn't until he came in you for the first time, it wasn't until he watched it spill out and cover your pussy in a creamy white glaze that he became addicted. 

From that point on, Nanami loathed condoms. 

The side of your mouth was a mess of dripping drool. Legs spread apart by the crooks of his elbows, you let our a strangled whine as you watched Nanami hammer himself into you like a starved man. 

“Nanami!” you sob, reaching up to bury your face in his neck, “Please cum in me please!”

“F-fuck y/n, what did you just say?” He groans, brows furrowed and arm muscles straining as he continues to hold your hips in a death grip and fuck you. You met his stare, breathing heavily with sweat dotting your brow.

“I-I, want you to cum in me… please.” Brown eyes widen at your words, causing a warm rush of pleasure to spread through your tummy and tighten the coil.

“Oh, you filthy little fuck.” His movements began with renewed vigor, hips snapping against you almost painfully as you moaned without restraint. You felt full; completely stuffed by Nanami as he stretched your hole with every thrust.

Sukuna Ryomen

One of the many kinks the curse has

Nothing, and he means nothing is more satisfying than pressing down on your tummy and watching the load of cum spill out from you.

And whats the harm if you get knocked up while he’s at it? The king of all curses needs an heir anyways. 

A hum of satisfaction escaped as he watched your used battered body twitch in the reflection of the mirror every time Sukuna teasingly rubbed your clit in half circles with his thumb. 

“Beautiful girl, such a natural submissive”.

Two of the curse's other muscular hands played with your nipples, twisting and running over them with his index finger and thumb, flicking over them like one would turning on and off a light switch. How long have you been sitting in his dick, letting fingers work your clit and nipples to the very brink of a mind splitting orgasm, only for the high to be snatched away from you?

“Look at you” Sukuna hummed, his giving a teasing thrust right into your cervix making you gasp for air. You needed more movement, you needed friction; sitting on his dick spread in front of a mirror wasn't enough. “So needy, so fucking greedy for everything that I’m giving you.”

“I want m-more!” you sob, your body hyper-aware of how fast his fingers moved over your clit.

“Don't worry little thing, I’ll fill you up soon.”

[citrus-writing]

surrender to me

Thinking about how utterly humiliating it'd be to be forced to ride your yandere-

Tw: non-con, dub-con, extreme feelings of guilt and shame, reader is an active participant in their own assault 

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

It's bad enough when he pins you down to whatever surface is nearby, taking whatever he wants from you, forcing you to take whatever he gives you. It's bad enough that you're helpless to his advances, that he can so easily overpower you, use you like his own personal toy. It's bad enough that he fucks you so good, hitting that spot that has you nearly screaming, keeping up the relentless pace until your legs shake, and making sure you always cum at least once, though he always always tries for more.

It's worse when he pulls you on top of him. At least when you're underneath him you can say it's not your fault, that you have no hand in what happens to you.

But now, as you straddle his waist, his cock buried deep inside you, he tells you to "ride me, come on, just the way you like it" you feel shame wash over you. He's your kidnapper, he took everything from you, and now he wants you to be an active participant in your torment. Everything in your rebels against the idea, tells you to fight it, to hold onto your pride at any and all costs. But it's not like you have a choice, you know what disobeying him means- you've faced too many punishments to risk another.

Shame eats at you as you begin to move, hesitant and humiliated, but unwilling to disobey. You rock your hips, trying not to shutter with every drag of his length along your walls. You're so wet for him and you know he can tell. You close your eyes, you don't want to see the way he's looking at you, can't bare to see the adoration in his eyes when you fuck yourself on his cock and he can't help but whisper that you're "such a good girl for me".

You hate that it feels good, that even your leisurely pace is making you bite back moans and fight the urge to ride him harder, to make yourself cum, and to feel him cum too. He grabs your hips, guiding you to pick up the pace a little, and you curse that he knows exactly what you like. He knows just how to guide your movements to make you tremble and whimper as he fucks you, he knows exactly what will have you moaning and gushing around him. He knows exactly how to make you his perfect little whore.

It's too much- the absolute misery of the situation is more than you can bear. You're riding your kidnapper, moaning and crying out for him, feeling your orgasm creep up on you too fast. It’s humiliating in a way that nothing else can compare to, nothing he’s ever done to you has been quite so potently horrid. 

You can't tell if he's still forcing your hips into the rhythm or if you've given into it, can't really tell if he's thrusting up into you or if your just bouncing on his cock that hard- but you're so close, and he feels so good inside you, and you want to cum so bad. You should be fighting this, but you’re not. You’re rocking your hips against his and whining his name and begging for more. 

"Gonna cum?" He asks, voice a little bit teasing but mostly breathless at the way you move above him and the way you feel around him. He tells you all the time that he loves you, that you belong to him, that he’d do anything to keep you all to himself. In moments like this, it’s easy to believe that. You nod, desperate for release. "Go on, then,” he encourages, moving his hips against yours to meet you halfway as you move. 

You do- with a desperate cry of his name you feel your orgasm wash over you, crashing down on you and you can think of nothing else but his length filling you up, hitting so deep inside you and stretching you out so wide. It's so dirty; knowing you threw away all your morality and pride for this- you let yourself be used by man you should hate just so you could get off, you practically begged him for it. 

Because no matter how your mind tries to convince itself this isn't what you want, your body knows this is exactly what you want. 

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

[muntitled]

Indebted

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: He wouldn't call it jealousy... He just wasn't very fond of sharing his toys.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Jealousy Language, Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Caning, Forced Orgasm, Controlled Orgasm, Dumbification, Impact Play, Blood Play, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Rough Sex, Blood Play, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Overstimulation

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume

4k words

"Seriously, if it weren't for your help, I'd probably fail this module-" you meet him at the door, your Salesman, who's come to play one of his games. He arrives just as you're ushering someone else out.

"It's honestly my pleasure," you say, "You've made me feel useful."

As you speak, you open your front door to reveal your Salesman standing on the opposite end of the threshold.

You hadn't been smiling, not until you saw him standing there in a crisp, well-fitted navy blue suit. He's not looking at you. Not immediately. His eyes are trained on the boy you're standing beside. The one who's slipping on his sneakers, still murmuring about how incredibly grateful he is for your tutoring.

'It's nothing,' you replied modestly, even though it was most definitely not nothing to dedicate your entire Wednesday afternoon to tutoring. The boy is a first year and budding with the need to get better in psychology. His essay would have been flawless, had it not been for the grammatical and spelling errors that plagued the page. You'd both sat for the majority of this Wednesday afternoon hacking through the issues and improving on his spelling. It was endearing. To be in university and still need a spelling tutor.

"Thanks so much for the help." The boy tries to maneuver his lanky frame past your Salesman who takes up the majority of the space by your little doorway.

"See you next week." He shoots you a small smile before giving an uneasy glance to your Salesman.

"Hello." Says the Salesman, so painfully formal it causes a wave of unease to swell. He peers down at the boy like a tiny little thing.

"H-Hey." Your student replies before thanking you once more.

When he leaves and it's just you and the man you're paid to please every Wednesday evening, an uneasy sort of silence settles between you both.

You're smiling up at him.

And he's smiling down at you but it's different somehow. Tighter. Not a genuine smile at all.

Although admittedly, none of his smiles were genuine. His entire face was a carefully orchestrated scam, to get any suspecting victim to trust him.

And yet somehow, this smile feels more phoney.

Like a tempest is brewing beneath.

Before you're able to dissect it further, he's already stepping closer, letting his large, elongated shadow fall on you. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"The last time you came to my house, you killed someone." You lean against the door, your hip leaning against the wood as you fold your arms over your chest. His eyes zero in on the movement and a rare occasion occurs: You feel powerful. That's the last thing you've ever been made to feel in his presence.

"It took a week to get the smell of blood and death out of my room." You continue.

He lifts his hands in front of you, showing the briefcase that hangs from his heavy fingers and the blisters coating his palms. Like a magician convincing you his hands were clean, "I come in peace." That deep and gravelly vibrato veneering his voice causes a tantalizing hum to run all the way down your spine, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. You step aside, staring blankly ahead of you as he steps into your house, bombarding everything with his presence.

From his brisk walk alone, trudging into your apartment like he owns the palace (which he regrettably does) you almost immediately realize that something is wrong. You are not under the impression that you've done anything to make him angry but unease still rolls in your stomach like a tempest that's brewing. When you make it into your adjoining living that bleeds into the kitchen, you find him standing in the kitchen. He lowers his briefcase onto the counter before resting both his heavy hands there.

You move to the other side of the counter, leaning down- giving him a more than perfect view of the cleavage spilling from your dress. You hope it might appease him as you try to wrack your mind for possibile slip-ups that would've caused this terrible silence.

This little-to-no-conversation between you both makes your dynamic feel like the transaction that it actually is: a girl, who needs her university fees paid and a sadist who wants his needs met. Feelings weren't in the equation and yet, your heart stops when he asks,

"How was school?"

"School was school." You reply, sounding pathetically excited to finally hear his voice since the moment he entered your little home.

"Although," you peer down at your jittery fingers on the counter. Your nerves are shot to hell as you admit, "I don't know how proactive I'm going to be tonight-”

He was a ruthless dominant, never failing to leave you absolutely spent by the end of the night. It left you with great discomfort to not be able to perform to the greatest of your abilities during these sessions. “I'm so tired... I've got this psychology quiz and-"

"Who was that?" His questions cut through yours like the tip of a hot knife.

“Who was who?” You ask.

He only smiles before turning his back to you, frantically pulling open cupboards as he says, “Rice. Where's the rice? Do you have rice?”

“The cupboard in the bottom row- Who are you referring to?”

He pulls out your tall container of rice and you watch him round the counter with it in his hands. “This place is so fucking small.” He says, popping the lid of the container, “Reminds me of my childhood home.” He stands right in the only open space in your apartment and all you do is watch as he tips the container over, watching millions of rice grains scatter to the bare floor.

“THAT'S MY FOOD, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU-”

His voice is like molten lava when he looks down at you and points toward the ground. “Kneel.”

You feel nothing but cold air slide across your exposed arms when he trudges back to your little kitchen. Your mind reels and your stomach sinks and sinks and sinks- burning a hole through the rest of your organs.

“Am I being punished for something?”

“Be a good girl and kneel on the rice.” He says and because you were nothing but a slave to the dominance in his voice, you slowly lower yourself to the ground. From behind the kitchen counter he watches your face contort into unmistakable pain as the rice grains dig into your knees. He takes a while but soon you're fully kneeling on the floor. He rounds the counter once again until he's standing before you.

“That… child that was just here,” his voice is eerily calm as he caresses your cheek, “Who was that?”

Had you been in any other situation, under vastly different circumstances, you might have looked for the urge to laugh. His blatant jealousy of some university first-year was nothing if not laughable.

“He's just a friend from class- ah.” It almost becomes unbearable but for the sake of your self preservation, you know not to get up.

He continues to caress you, loosening his tie as he asks. “Which class?”

“P-Pardon?”

“You mean to tell me you only go to one class?” He snaps and you fight off tears, “What the fuck am I paying for?”

“You're paying for me to get my psychology degree.” You reply with feeble words, trying to put away the thought of all the little stabbings plaguing your knees.

“And does that entail sleeping with your classmates?”

“What?!” You screech as he walks away. You're suddenly left without nothing to hold onto and you sway forward, your palms landing on more rice.

“Y-You know I don't do that.” You cry, feeling the sting more from the accusation than the pain of all this bloody rice, “Y-You know I don't sleep around- You know I don't talk to anyone-”

You hear his briefcase click open. From your vantage point on the lowly rice-filled floor, you cannot see what he's taking out. It fills you with more dread than you've ever experienced before. Which was utterly ridiculous.

With him, dread is a thing you ought to be accustomed to. Dread is where you live now. You ought to get comfortable with it.

“Such a shame.” He tsks as he finally rounds the corner to reveal whatever it is he's gone to go fetch. His dress shoes clack against your recently varnished floor and you breathe heavily. The pain had subsided- or perhaps you've gotten used to it- which scares you more than anything. He's messing with your pain threshold. Causing you to build a tolerance for certain things and that terrifies you.

Hidden under all that terror was unmistakable lust.

God help you.

“I thought we were making progress, you and I.” you see the cane first. Made of rattan, it hangs from his strong hand corded with tense veins. A gleaming watch is secured around his wrist and you're already shaking your head as you slowly look up at him. Now the tears are right by the doorway. No matter how much pain he forces you to get accustomed to you could never survive this. Your body still has limits.

“He just asked me to help him with his spelling- Please!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Spelling, you say?” he pats down on your head, eliciting a dizzying wave of subordination as he says, “I think you've just given us our game for tonight, Doll.” He bends down, knees bending until he's somewhat closer to your height. He's still far too big for you. Far too much. You try to crawl backwards, you try to crawl away but he grabs you by your face. You're quite literally being expertly manhandled as he turns you around until you're on your knees in the opposite direction.

“Please…” You're begging but you don't know what for. Once his games were set in motion, nothing could stop him.

Your movements still when you fill him lower his large hand onto your backside. It's so big and warm and you momentarily forget about the rice digging into your skin. He slowly lifts up the skirt of your dress, revealing your underwear beneath.

“Our little Spelling Bee,” he lowers your panties down your thighs, causing a shiver to wrack through your entire body. It's pointless to hide how affected you are by every little thing he does.

“For every word you spell right,” he lifts your leg for you, giving you momentary reprieve from the pain as he manoeuvres you out of the underwear, “You get to cum.”

You'd never felt more degraded: being forced onto doggy style onto a million grains of rice while this man lets his fingers graze over your exposed cunt. He parts your folds and a wave of embarrassment rolls over your face. It's all so normal to him though, just sticking his fingers inside your cunt. He does it with the professionalism of gynecology and all you're able to do is stare blankly ahead while he prods at you.

“We can't make things too easy, though, so you're gonna keep this little thing warm for me while we play,”

You're craning your neck back, trying to get a look. “What thi-”

You release one hoarse gasp when he inserts something round and bulbous and vibrating, straight into your cunt.

“Th-This isn't a game. It's a punishment.” You say through gritted teeth, trying to fight off a moan as the vibrator hums inside you, “I've only ever had sex with one person-”

You. That voice pipes up in the back of your head, feeble as you felt. You think back on the time you gave him your virginity. It had been a bloody affair.

The second his cock ruptured your hymen and the blood began to coat your thighs, it only made him ravage you more. You'd gone to bed crying that night, your tears soaking into your pillows. You were unable to get up and head to classes the next day. All that pain and yet you also felt so incredibly fulfilled. The pain was a godsend.

But this pain? It's angry.

He's angry and he's punishing you for it.

Silence follows your pleas.

“Are you done?” He asks and your shoulders slump as the tears begin to fall. The urge to grind down onto the vibrator coupled with the rice stabbing your knees puts you in an odd predicament. The inner workings of your body is being made a fool of and he's the root cause.

“I'm afraid you've gotten too comfortable with me-”

“Comfortable?” You scoff, whipping your head back to glare at the man watching you with calm eyes and raised eyebrows. “I could never feel comfortable around you.”

“And you've forgotten your place.” He smiles before standing to his full height, “Letting little boys over to your place-”

“We were studying-”

“I've gone soft on you as of late.” He lets his other hand drag across the length of the hard cane. “Shame on me. It's clearly deluded you into forgetting about our arrangement.”

He steps around you until he's once again standing in front of you. “You've forgotten your place as a thing.”

He grabs your face. “My thing.”

You do a very wrong thing then.

You moan.

It's soft and insecure and so dreadful but you moan

His eyes search yours. You can see the pleasure diluting them. Causing them to go as round as saucers.

He wants to lean into that sound you just made, but he's still furious with you and that sends you into a spiral.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay-”

“So you admit you're a slut?” He asks, inches the buttons of his blaze as he readies his assault. “You whore yourself out to that little boyfriend of yours.”

"Boyfriend?” It's laughable. “Me?”

“Are you condescending me?” He asks darkly and you screech in frustration.

“You know I don't talk to anyone- Why are you so angry with me!?”

“You haven't seen angry, Little girl.” His face is calm. Dangerously so. “You haven't fucking seen angry.”

A shiver wracks through your body as you look up at his cold dead eyes.

“Fine.”

Whatever it takes.

“I am a slut-” you really weren't and the words barely register as truth but you're scrambling as he steps away from you. His hands folded in front of him and he appears oh so in control as he says, “Your first word is Gorgeous.”

You breathe out as you try to refocus enough to successfully spell the word.

“G-Oh.. fuck.” Your cunt spasms around the device and your eyes roll back. You're rocking backwards and forwards, frantically searching for friction that just isn't there. He loves the show you put on for him, writhing on the floor like a puppy in heat. He barely contains his glee as he raises his hand and says, “Wrong.”

“W-What!?” you blink, trying to shake away your pleasure-filled daze, “N-no that wasn't my final-”

“G-o-r-g-e-ou-s,” he says smugly as he moves until he's behind you. Your body tenses and the world shatters when he darkly repeats, “Wrong.”

The cane cracks through the air before it ever lands on your backside. The word ‘sting’ doesn't begin to cover the utter agony that blossoms across your asscheeks. All you know for all those seconds is white hot pain. Everything is at attention, and your body vitaly tries to urge you to take care of the inflicted wound but you can't.

“Sane.” He's breathing heavily as he walks over to stand in front of you. He's getting riled up, a strand of black hair falls in front of his almond eyes. His shoulders rise and fall and rise and fall. Seeing you get caned once does unspeakable things to his resolve. “Your next word is sane.”

Too easy.

"W-Which one?" You blink through the pain, trying to will the tears away. The second you slipped into self pity, it'd be over for you. "S-Sane is a homophone.” You say thickly. The pain. The pain. The pain. “There's Sane,” you glare up at him through wet lashes, “Which you very much aren't-" that amuses him greatly. You're regrettably far too happy to hear the dark chuckle. “Then there's Seine, like the fishing variety-”

He places his hand on your head. “Clever girl. I thought you didn't have a dad.”

“I don't,” you hiccup, “I just like fish. Men aren't the only fishers in the fucking world.”

“Smart mouth.” He pulls away again until he's standing at his full posture. “You use it like that with the boy from Psyche?”

Your shoulders slump and you don't care about the desperation in your voice as you reaffirm, “I'm telling you I haven't done anything-”

“Seine as in the fishing practice. Spell it.”

“S-E-I-N-E” your eyes are squeezed shut as you take a strike from a whip that never comes. Your eyes that had once been squeezed shut, slowly flit open and you're amazed to see his grinning face right in front of you. Every wrinkle running like tributaries around his eyes. The smile lines. He's so handsome it's devastating.

“Correct.” He says. “You're allowed to cum. Congratulations.” Just those few words have your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as you begin to rock back and forth. You lean into the pleasure like a warm and fluffy blanket during aftercare. It's a godsend and it has you moaning and whining into the air.

“Let me give you a hand,” he says, before stopping to deliver that signature, “My little winner.” He brings you in close, your hands cling onto his forearm while the other reaches behind you. He delivers a kiss to your forehead as his fingers find your puffy clit.

“I'm gonna-”

“Cum for me my Clever girl. Cum for me before I change my mind,” There is nothing but him. He consumes you as you fervently hump against his hand on all fours like the animal he reduced you to. Your hips move on their own accord and in his eyes, you can see his own pleasure mounting. Its in the gravel in his voice when he clears his throat and says, “Thank me for letting you cum.” your orgasm crashes down on you and it's ferocious. It's vicious. It's guttural. The rice underneath you still serves as a reminder of your punishment and that somehow has you coming harder.

“Thank you for letting me cum Sir,”

his eyes flutter shut and his chest expands as he basks in your servitude. He breathes it in, letting it settle in his bones, making him feel as important as he needs to.

“N-No more, please,” you whisper once the orgasm passes. He doesn't switch off the vibrator and soon the pleasure bleeds into a painful discomfort. the aftershocks rattle through your body as you drift into overstimulation, “Please-Done-” you became horribly useless with your words when he had you like this, and he watches you so intently as if not only turned on by your torture but so completely intrugued by it. You intrigued him.

“Stop-” You begin but he chuckles as he moves away from you. He straightens his suit and readies the cane, “Why? You’re not even bleeding yet.” He says, “Suck it up.”

“Oh my god, I need to come again,” it rolls through you quite literally out of nowhere and you gasp as you try to keep it at bay. Cumming without having won a round was a breach in the rules of the game and you didn't wanna do that.

“Well then, I guess you better spell the next word for me.” he says with a smile.

You swallow thickly. Your previous win elicits a tiny sliver of confidence and spelling is something you excel in so you steel your nerves. You breath in deeply and stare blankly ahead.

“Honorificabilitudinitatibus.”

You immediately look up at him.

“Latin words arent-” another aftershock rams through you. You're so close to cumming completely hands-free. “L-Latin words aren't allowed.”

Nothing but a dark chuckle escaped him at your expense. “I had no idea you were making the rules.” He says sarcastically. “Had no idea the cane's in your hand.” That draws your gaze to the cane, leaning in his palm.

Point made.

He could throw in whatever wild-card word he wanted because he held the cane.

“H-o-n-o-r-” you make the mistake of looking up at him then. He's gazing down at you with his head tilted slightly to the right. His cane behind his back as he leans down slightly.

“No cumming,” he tsks, shaking his head. “Disqualified.”

“B-But I didn't-” even as you say those words, you feel it. The lightning zipping through you like a phantom. A ditzy sort of smile flashes across your face as you succumb to the pleasure being forced out of you. “F-Fuck-” its so painful and so fucking good you're seeing stars. He runs a hand through his messy hair and the cane comes down on your backside. This time it draws blood.

“I'm a rusty old man, glad to see I've still got a firm grip,”

“P-Please-” You're still caught in the world of unicorns and rainbows. Your orgasm is center stage, in spite of all the pain. You didn't even know your body could cum for this long. You didn't think it was possible but here you are, riding wave after wave of pleasure induced by a vibrator in your cunt while he canes you almost mindlessly.

He transcended every realm of physical possibilities.

He's breathing heavily now as the cane falls to the floor. The end is bloody. You stare down at the floor while he moves behind you.

“Don't forget, this is a transaction,” Behind you he kneels behind you, his fingers graze your backside, “This is about you avoiding student debt for the rest of your miserable life. A life you'll probably spend married to some depressed drunk who beats you and doesn't even let you cum.” A hand pulls you back by your hair until you're seated on your haunches. Skin had broken.

Your blood drips down your backside like a marble statue in the rain. There were marks. Scars.

“You're indebted to me.” He says behind you. “Say it.”

“I'm indebted to you.”

“Thank me for hitting you, Doll.” His hands drift over your body. The softest touch after these moments of brutality.

Th-" You struggle to catch your breath as he digs his fingers in your cunt, finally freeing you of the vibrator that rattles to the floor, “Thank you… for hitting me.”

He hums into your hair, smelling you, feeling you. “You're welcome, my little winner,”

You hear the sound of his zipper, and frantic movements behind you. You're utterly spent. You'd let him do anything he wanted. Anything at all.

“You look so pretty, Baby. Look at you,” his fingers swipes down the arch of your back. He brings his hand around to show you the crimson dropping from his index. Almost automatically as if the two of you were in communication far beyond that of human understanding, he brings your finger forward the same time you dip your head lower and roll your tongue out. Until the taste of your own blood drawn from all his sadistic torture is wiped along your tongue.

He groans. “I wanna jerk off with your blood.” He admits, “Fuck-”

You gasp, beginning to rock on haunches as if you could still feel that vibrator inside you, “Please- don't say stuff like that-”

This was bad enough.

You were bad enough.

He's already corrupted you to a point where you didn't even recognize yourself.

Where is the quiet, shy girl you had been? She's drowning under all the blood he'd spilled to make himself cum. She's buried under all the pain, all the turmoil and all the damn torture.

You don't miss her

"Pl-lease fuck me, I need it." Your voice is hoarse and you realize you're making demands but still you peer at him over your shoulders. Your tired eyes plead with him.

“I never ever ask you for anything. I've let you control everything.”

While you speak, your voice deep and hoarse, his hand is already moving over his erection. He bends you forward, until you're in doggy style again. Fabric rustles. Your limbs are trembling.

“For once, just grant me th-” the words are barely out your mouth before he's shoving his cock all the way inside you.

“O-Oh God!” Your eyes squeeze shut as he fucks you on the floor like a rabid animal. You try to crane your head back, to watch him ravage you.

His hair is a mess, his tie completely undone. He's everything he tries to hide from the rest of the world. Nothing but an untamed beast.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight-” he says, resting his hands on bloody ass. He guides your movements, pulling you roughly down on his cock until you're screaming into the open air. You're both like animals. You've both regressed to the very basis of your instincts.

“I need to see your blood on my cock,” He's already pulling out of you. The sound reverberates with finality all around the apartment and you cry. It's all you're able to do as you crane your head back to watch him stroke his cock with a bloodied fist.

“Are you ready to cum for me again, baby?”

Your lips are quivering as you rock backwards urging his cock in, “L-Like you won't believe,”

“Then cum for me, Princess.” He says, sliding his cock back inside your overstimulated cunt. Your orgasm is instant and swift and it rocks through you, tightening your cunt around his cock like a vice. His movements grow more frantic as he fucks you through it, keeping a firm grip on your ass.

Your mouth falls open when you realize he's fucking his own cum and your blood back into you and its all too much. He throws his head back when he cums, letting his hips stutter against your ass and the world spins.

“You're s-such a fucking slut,” he laughs manically. You've quite literally given yourself to a sadistic monster and the post nut clarity is vicious.

“I want to take you out,” he says, way softer than he had been a minute ago.

Your body tenses. “Out? Where-”

“Dinner.” He says. “You deserve it… my little winner.”

If you knew anything about anything, you knew it wouldn't just be any ordinary dinner.

But who were you to refuse?

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

[fuckfriday]

tw stepcest

stepdad!kento catches himself one evening at the bathroom door as you're showering. his wife, your mother, is out for the evening and he's been tasked with trying to bond with you—his moody stepdaughter who has yet to warm up to the prospect of a man in the house.

everything you did seemed to be to spite the poor man. he had dedicated so much of himself to this marriage, and still you can't offer him even a chance. he had planned on sitting you down this evening to watch through a movie with him—he'd make popcorn and let you choose whatever dumb film you pleased. but he knew that would get him nowhere.

because you hated him. at least, he had thought.

but as he had walked past the bathroom to find the door cracked and the softest of humming sounding over the running water, kento started to wonder if your actions have been from a place of hate or from somewhere else entirely.

like that one time last week in the kitchen. he had been holding a tall glass of water, and you deliberately walked right into him, making him spill it all down the front of your thin pyjama top. you made such a drama about him watching his fucking step, but as kento thinks back on it he can't quite remember your expression. he had been staring, albeit unintentionally, at the way your nipples hardened through your now wet and now see through top. and you didn't say a word about it.

kento shakes his head. he's just being perverted: you have no intentions of riling him up in any capacity outside of innocent displeasure. you're not some horny young woman with eyes set on her step father, and kento is a nasty man for even entertaining the thought.

until you moan his name.

a sweet and prolonged "kentooo," that drips down the shower walls and reaches his ears just as his blood rushes south. is he hearing you right? maybe you're calling out for his help. maybe you're shaving and you cut yourself bad. or you fell and he was too in his own head to hear it.

that's the justification he comes up with in his head when he decides to push the dor open just a little wider and peek in. if you were hurt, he'd be decent about it: cover his eyes the best he could and treat you with the modesty you so deserve and—

you have the shower head tucked between your legs. with your free hand, you run your fingers over your perfect tits, tweaking a nipple here and there as you arch into the jet-setting that pulses against your clit so perfectly that you almost don't need to imagine it's your stepdads tongue instead.

but you do, and you moan his name like a bitch in heat because he brings out a part of you that makes you feel like exactly that.

poor kento can't help himself either. what kind of man is he, to stand behind an ajar door with his cock suddenly hooked out of his slacks and being stroked at a punishing pace as he watches his stepdaughter pleasure herself. how filthy is it that you pine after him: that you have no clue he's watching you stimulate your needy little clit to the thought of him? he wonders what you think about, whether it's detailed or a vague taboo that keeps you going.

he wonders if your mind reels at the dinner table when his feet accidentally brush against your legs beneath. he wants to know what you think when you greet him in the mornings, and he's stretching out and showing off his happy trail and mussed blond hair...

he wonders if he's going to hell for this. or if a divorce is right around the corner. his wedding band feels cool against his otherwise searing hot length. god, this is bad.

your mother would flip. you would too, if you knew he was only a few feet away and peering around the room in search of your discarded panties. if you knew he was contemplating the merits of sneaking in and stealing them to jack off into later. would you scream? call him every name under the sun? tell your mom?

or would you meet his eye sin the bathroom mirror, like you are right now, and fucking smile.

he thinks his heart stops. but again it beats and your eyes don't leave his in the reflection, and your hand doesn't pull the shower head from your sweet little pussy and kento doesn't stop fucking his fist in return.

it's straight eye contact. it's the exchange of everything wrong with whats happening right now until the two of you build into a mind-blowing shared climax that has kento biting down on a moan and you letting one rip raw from your throat.

so you don't hate him.

he hates himself, though. guilt weighs him down as he, still without breath from his heavy orgasm, steps backwards and leaves you wondering if you really saw your stepdad in the mirror or if your wishful thinking has just become too much these days.

and he cleans up in the master bathroom with a headache and a newfound urge to read the fucking bible again. you join him later that night for the promised movie night bonding experience—just to put on the cheesiest film you can and insist on sharing a blanket to save the energy of going to get another.

and he keeps his eyes locked on the film the whole time. and you pretend that you don't see the sliver of your lace panties poking out from his pocket.