#being in the presence of this man would cure me

[darlingjmiller]

the way i’m losing my fucking mind right now

[kakushino]

The Queen

Ryomen Sukuna x F! Reader

He never orders you around - rather, he requests.

Tags: slight gore, suggestive, fem reader, true form Sukuna Word count: 1,7k

Masterlist

AN: Fanart used in banner made by the amazing @innaillus - be sure to check out their divine fanart Written as a Secret Santa's gift for @zoyakuna - Merry (early) Christmas! (and pls stop slandering Giyuu, it's causing me undue stress)

There was little to amuse you in your secluded throne room underground. 

Correction - there had been little to amuse you out of your throne room, so you had retreated back into your palace - and even then, was it a palace, when there were no servants, no great halls, no music, and no consort?

Just you - the Supreme Sovereign - and your throne made of roots and vines. 

Which made it odd to hear a sound echo in your chamber. You feared nothing, no one, and your heart remained steady, not a beat out of place, your eyes closed as you rested from lifetimes of exhaustion.

“Who goes there?” you called out, not moving from your reclined position. 

You were it to him, the holy grail of his searching - the Queen of Curses. Your name was feared enough that it had been scratched out from all written sources, the feats accredited to you terrifying… yet thrilling to Sukuna. He had needed to meet you, though he knew not why… A deep hunger for companionship, another who could stand at his level, who could reign with him from his Shrine, a craving so consuming he nearly went mad with his searching. 

And he did find you, though hardly in the condition he thought he would.

“This is what You have become? The cynosure of all mortals reduced to a wretch.” 

The voice was rough, forceful - distinctly male - though the tone held a hint of remorse and confusion. “All beauty is short-lived,” was all you said, a slight irritation churning your stomach for the first time in - decades, centuries, millenia? Who knows?

“Not for curses. We are eternal.” You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, and intense. It lashed out at your own, but like water parting around a blade, yours did too, accepting and redirecting the angry force, dispersing it, and eventually absorbing it. It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after being suffocated under the weight of the world, a drop of water quenching a soul-deep thirst in the desert of life.

You opened your eyes and sat up properly as you studied him.

The man - curse - was tall, broad, and regal. A king would be a title befitting his posture. His hair was a light color you could hardly make out in the darkness of your abode. The dark marks adorning his face stood out starkly against his skin, as did the shape of the disfigured flesh on the right side of his face. Four gleaming eyes were focused on you, four arms relaxed at his sides.

This man was fascinating, and beautiful; he could easily sway the hearts of humans, bring them to their knees. Too bad you were not human.

“Join me, your Majesty.” Despite the wording, it was a plea. How odd. 

“Who are you to ask anything of me?” You blinked slowly. You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, intense, … defensive, lonely. It enticed you, spoke to you in a language you understood all too well. It wasn’t in your nature to deny an honest request.

“Ryomen Sukuna, your Majesty,” he introduced himself. There was a sense of pride in the way he spoke, as if his existence was created, carved out, into the world by his own hands.

Perhaps Ryomen Sukuna would be the cure to your continued boredom. 

You stood up from your throne, your figure hardly atrophied as your cursed energy kept you in peak form. The roots and vines retreated into the cave walls, leaving no trace of your royal seat, the chamber empty again for centuries to come.

“Very well.”

Living with Sukuna was hardly boring. Each day, you felt your apathy falling away as you spent time with the King of Curses, until you smiled freely in his presence. The day you realized he softened you to this degree came all too suddenly.

His cruelty to humans who sought to undermine him was but a flimsy curtain of who he truly was. Like a displeased cat, claws exposed, he scratched up those daring to approach him, but with you -

With you he was as playful and borderline affectionate as the tabby you used to feed back in your human days. It warmed your heart, and your cheeks, to feel his eyes on your figure. It made you feel unsteady on your feet. It made you question who was the ruler of the other, who held the power over the other; the power imbalance slowly became a balance - your energy dimmed by the way he could play you like a puppet.

All these feelings weaved together and knotted around your heart, snaring you in a complex web too tight to escape, exposing your throat to him like a delicacy to be gorged upon.

Only if you let him know, that is.

You somehow felt that a man like him wouldn’t settle, and more importantly, he was a man; just another one of the hordes who wanted a demure consort, you could bet. You were not a dainty flower he likely sought; you were a weed - growing strong despite the harshest of conditions, clawing out a place for your existence where there had been none before. The Curse of Curses.

So you buried those feelings like a female buried herself under layers of junihitoe - though you refused to wear that monstrosity despite the latest fashion in Japan, as all the fabric was too heavy for comfort. You made do with the yukata you stole from Sukuna’s wardrobe. It was definitely not because it smelled like him. 

You kept away from the humans and the ruling in his Shrine, spending time with Uraume, him, or alone in the gardens - until you could not. He’d left you in charge of his Kingdom when he had business to do. 

Human men were deplorable, thinking you were just a weak curse to be manipulated and slandered. You didn’t raise your voice at all, yet it shut everyone up in the hall - save for one local lord thinking himself too mighty to listen. No amount of flattery would have kept him alive after that. A wave of your hand made vines grow out of his guts - burrowing through his flesh as easily as tearing paper apart; sweet-smelling white flowers bloomed from the mess of red-coated plant matter in the middle of the chamber. 

You sat in Sukuna’s throne of bones, regal and untouchable.

That was how he found you - presiding over his subjects like the Goddess you were, and bloody Spring sprouted in front of him, rubies glinting upon the stone floors like a grotesque decoration. 

At first, he had wanted to study you - the Queen of Curses, the Supreme Sovereign, older than him, wiser, more powerful. Forgotten, yet not forgotten enough for him not to find any sources mentioning your title. He had been curious about you, and then he became curious about the feelings you evoked in him. Your presence in his home converted from an adornment into an emollient to him, smoothing the rough edges and softening the spikes of his defenses against you, yet you remained the centerpiece of his attention, even when you weren’t in his presence. He found himself thinking about you in all his waking moments.

“Everyone, out.”

He could not hide his devotion to you if he tried now - it had grown roots in his soul and fed off of his life-force, yet strengthened it twice as much. His heart was set ablaze every time he laid eyes upon your form, the blood in his veins searing hot, branding him from the inside - a slave to you forevermore.

And so he knelt at your feet, the bottom two of his arms supporting him as he leaned forward, his top pair carefully reaching for your foot and raising it to his face.

The King of Curses kissed your ankle, closing his eyes in silent worship to his Goddess, his World. 

“Your Majesty,” he greeted you in a whisper, his lips caressing your skin.

Your eyes grew soft as you studied him, your posture proud but your expression fond. “Sukuna.”

Wet, hot tongue darted out to taste your skin, making you jolt and tear your leg from his grasp with pursed lips. The tabby was particularly impertinent today.

“You have no respect for your Queen, do you?” 

“On the contrary, I hold all the respect for you.” His smirk was mischievous, he knew as well as you did neither of you were serious about this. Just a harmless teasing, if a bit skewed. 

You used your foot to lightly push against his chest to tip him over onto his back - which he let you do, for he could have as easily resisted. Even falling down, he looked graceful. It made you feel warm inside your ribcage as you pushed a joyous smile down.

Sukuna turned the fall into a backwards roll, ending up on his knees again.

“At least you know your place - on your knees before me…”

“I-” he licked his lips, “I would gladly be on my knees for you all day, Your Majesty.”

Oh? It was your turn to give him a smile full of mischief as he slowly moved back to you. You remained silent.

“Has a cat got your tongue?” 

Sukuna shuffled forward on his knees, his top pair of arms resting on the bones of his throne as he came even closer. Palms trailing to your thighs and covering them with his hands - an easy feat with his size. 

You could do naught but marvel at the contrast of your limbs and his - each powerful and deadly in their own right, each in a different way. There was no tremor of fear in your muscles, only anticipation, even while he lightly spread your legs to fit his torso between them as you lounged on his throne.

“Let me feast on your nectar.” His voice, smooth like silk, a plea rather than an order, the nuance of his tone telling all you needed to know. He appeared unreadable to others, but he was as exposed and vulnerable as a newborn babe to you at this moment.

Even so, your lips parted in surprise at his request for you didn’t expect him to say it out loud at last. “Forward, aren’t you?”

His carmine eyes - all four of them - focused on yours with an intensity you were only just getting used to with him. Sukuna said nothing as he waited for your response.

The devil didn’t bargain, after all.

“Very well… Show me how you would worship your Queen, my King.”

dividers by the divine @benkeibear

network: @enchantedforest-network

[pinkberrytea]

He had tasted you once; now, he craves every inch of your being, his hunger insatiable.

Little death—a gift he bestowed upon her, and which she bestows upon him in turn. As her lifeblood touches his lips, Astarion reminisces about the fateful eve when he first sank his fangs into her pretty neck.

Come, gentle night; and when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars.

Astarion x Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 3.1k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: I can't be the only one who is convinced my man is down bad since the very first bite, right? he is so interesting to me! I wanted to explore this idea further, hopefully I did it justice. thank you for reading!

tags: blood drinking; fluff & smut; possessive behavior; masturbation; body worship; mildly dubious consent; dry humping; somnophilia

“Later on, when we are at rest, I will eat you right up. Just enough to give me strength, and just enough to leave you wishing for more.”

Footsteps. You hear them approaching, although in your half-unconscious torpor, you can’t tell if they’re near or far. You’re likewise unsure of what has disturbed your sleep, even if as of late, nights have been restless and plagued by nightmares, the worm etched in the recesses of your brain a constant, unforgiving reminder of your plight. Your mind is still hazy, fragments of your dreams clouding your thoughts, so you rely on your primal instincts instead—you smell nothing but the crisp evening air, feel nothing but the cool breeze caressing your warm body, see nothing but endless darkness from behind your closed eyelids, but your ears don’t fail you. You instinctively hold your breath, muscles tensed, staying as still as possible as if playing dead; the footsteps are now almost upon you, the crunching of leaves growing louder and muffling the noise of the crickets singing, and your skin becomes covered in goosebumps in anticipation, the pit of your stomach twisting and turning. Whoever it is, you seem to be their intended target.

Suppressing the mounting panic rising within your chest, you try to gather your bearings and make sense of the situation. You know where you are—Elturgard, or more specifically, a camp in the wilderness, somewhere between Elturel and Baldur’s Gate. Finding a cure for the parasite wriggling in your head is the reason you’re here, and the companions with whom you’re sharing your camp are afflicted by the same condition. Ah, your companions—the footsteps must belong to one of them, surely. The soothing heat of the campfire has significantly dwindled compared to how it was when you turned in, its crackling so low you can barely hear it, and the night is sufficiently chilly that your bedroll fails to offer enough shelter, so you wonder if they are about to tend to the dying flames, or maybe ask you to help them do so. You wait expectantly, pricking up your ears, but suddenly, the crunching sounds come to a halt, and you sense a presence looming over you. A shiver runs down your spine, and your heart starts beating faster, thumping so loudly you’re afraid it may give away your awakened state. The presence silently kneels down beside you, crawling even closer, too close for comfort; and then, you feel it—cold digits ghosting over your cheek, their featherlight touch almost tentatively soft.

Astarion.

Now you remember. You offered to let him feed on you earlier, a habit which you’ve unexpectedly picked up in recent days, although the reason for such eludes you. Perhaps it was his pained expression when he asked you the first time, or maybe something else—you’re not entirely certain, but the fact of the matter is, he is here, except unlike other nights, you are fully aware of your surroundings. Not only that, it has been no more than a fortnight since your little tryst in that pretty clearing, which it seems both of you are intent on pretending never happened. You more so than him—it would be insincere of you to claim you haven’t noticed the dangerous glint in his eyes, how he leans closer when you talk, the cunning smirks and wistful glances. Truth be told, you’re still unsure what to make of it all; none of it is how you expected it would be, not your time together, and certainly not the aftermath. Him, too—though it may be bold of you to assume so, you can’t help but think that his show of vulnerability, however brief, had not been intentional. Ever so often you idly muse over the raw perplexity etched across his face when you invited him to drink from you then, how he looked at you in utter disbelief, letting the mask of a debonair lover slip for a split second; how his kisses became more fervent, his touches less calculated, the confusion never truly seeming to leave him until you were done. And then, the morning after—the hurt in his voice, the complex feelings he appeared to be trying to suppress seeping from every word, as if he had been prepared for anything and everything but genuine yearning, and you ruined it all for him.

“This isn’t about hunger. It’s about pleasure.”

The digits on your cheek slide downwards, gliding across the curve of your jaw and towards your slender neck, where they stop for a brief moment, only to then press down on it, feeling around as if searching for something—an artery, pulsing so very tantalizingly with your precious crimson, a feast set out entirely for him. With his other hand, he gently runs his fingers through your hair and brushes it behind your shoulder, exposing his prize, and repositioning himself to straddle you, he lowers his head until his mouth is hovering right above it. He stays like this for a while, and your blood runs cold as it dawns on you that he may have noticed you are not asleep, but before long, his skin finally comes into contact with yours—however, rather than the sharp pain you’d been expecting, you feel only the pillowy softness of his lips; a tender kiss, which is then followed by another, and then another. One of his hands stays tangled in your hair, cradling your head, and he splays the other on the ground beside you to support himself. His fangs lightly graze the throbbing vein with each peck, almost teasingly, until finally, he sinks them into the sensitive flesh, carefully and steadily so as not to wake you. The uncomfortable sensation is not foreign to you, although it is clear he has become more accustomed to this, even if you have not; his technique has significantly improved, and after the initial stab, it hardly hurts anymore, other than a dull ache every time he swallows, which he does quite enthusiastically.

“Just you and me and—well, maybe a little death?”

Letting out low grunts and guttural moans as he drinks, Astarion sucks ever so vigorously, seemingly more at ease due to your apparent lack of consciousness. Your face gradually grows warmer as you notice tension building up low in your stomach, the noises he makes and the feeling of his plush lips and wet tongue against your skin causing your body to react with pathetic wantonness. You try to stifle the impending arousal, doing your best to remind yourself that he is only feeding, nothing more, nothing less; until you notice the hand on which he had been leaning make its way from its place on the ground to rest on your waist, gingerly moving upwards until his long fingers brush against the plump of one of your breasts, almost as if by accident—it is, however, no accident when two of them then pinch a pebbling nipple through the thin fabric of your nightshirt, delicately massaging the pert nub while the others knead the squishy surrounding flesh. The ache between your legs swells with desire, and you flusteredly bite back the whimper threatening to escape the confines of your closed mouth; believing you to be deep in slumber, he has no reason for such restraint, and his vocalizations increase in frequency and volume alike. 

Having to now use his upper body strength to keep himself propped up, he decides to instead gently fall on top of you, momentarily unlatching from your neck to then slightly push you to the side and press his strong chest flush against your back, one hand woven in your hair and the other cupping your breast still. With almost desperate keenness, he hooks one of his legs over yours, shoving his crotch against your rear, and immediately you notice the rock hard bulge nudging the space between your buttocks. The tips of your ears burn bright red at this realization, making you wonder how common of an occurrence this must be; as your mind wanders to the night when he first bit you, he sinks his fangs back into the bruised vein, and your eyes water a little due to the sudden pain, which you quickly forget about once you feel his hips start almost imperceptibly grinding against your own. Wedging the bulge deeper within the valley of your ass, he moves it to and fro, almost in rhythm with his sucking of your blood, the digits on your bosom earnestly playing with your nipple and those in your hair tenderly caressing the tousled tresses. 

“Hm—hnng…” Astarion groans lewdly, lasciviously, making suggestive wet sounds while sensually lapping at your crimson. No longer satisfied to feel you up through your clothes, he sticks his hand under your shirt, and his cold fingers quickly resume fondling the soft skin of your breast, in response to which shock waves shoot up your legs and arms. Freeing the digits tangled in your hair, he brings them to your ribs, sliding their pads along your navel and down towards your groin, where he then firmly grabs one of your supple thighs. That’s when it occurs to you how unlike your night together he seems to be acting—eagerly exploring your body with almost adolescent clumsiness, his movements sloppy and impulsive, he appears to be entirely focused on taking rather than giving; having no reason to try to impress you, he acts greedily instead, intent on achieving his own personal ecstasy above all else, a fact that doesn’t bother so much as instill in you a puzzling sense of relief.

Increasing the pace of his thrusts, he tightens the grip of his leg around yours, and for a short while you all but forget that your crimson is running down his throat still, unable to focus on anything but the heat irradiating from his skin as it becomes ever warmer the more he feeds. When you notice you can no longer feel the tips of your toes, it is far too late—a tingling sensation spreads across your heavy limbs due to the loss of blood, and holding onto a single thought proves far too difficult, your mind now a messy whirlwind of memories and abstractions. Your arousal persists even as your conscience starts to wane; slick soaks through your underpants, the sweet scent of which causes Astarion to immediately stop moving, freezing as if caught with his fingers inside the cookie jar. After what seems like an eternity, both his hands and fangs leave your helpless form, and he shuffles behind you, presumably looking for something—before you can even begin to wonder what, you feel him press a soft piece of fabric against the fresh set of bite marks on your neck, which he uses to gently wipe the thick red blooming from the small wounds. 

Worried that any further stimulation might disturb your sleep, he decides to attempt a less bold approach instead, pulling away slightly, although your legs remain twisted together. Barely awake now, the echoes of the forest reach your ears in hushed, distant hums, but you can still hear him as he brings the bloodstained cloth to his nose, taking in your scent deeply, eyes closed and a libidinous moan falling from his pretty lips. One of his now freed hands hastily makes its way to the waistband of his pants, only to then slip under it, and as soon as his elegant digits brush against the velvety crown of his cock, he wraps them around its engorged girth, squeezing lightly and drawing pearly droplets of precome from the weeping slit. 

“Mngh…” he croaks, his voice raspy and hoarse, and you can’t tell for sure, but a whisper that vaguely sounds like your own name wafts through the air and vanishes into the evening sky as he starts sliding his hand up and down his length, smearing the clear liquid seeping from the leaking tip all over himself. Prior to your night of passion, this is how he would choose to relieve the painful erection inevitably provoked by his daily feedings, only he would retreat to his tent then; once you became more intimate, things changed, and raw eroticism would percolate into every session, images of your moments together sweeping through his mind and springing his aching sex to life with each gulpful of your lifeblood. The instant you offered him your neck, all he had ever known suddenly came into question—drinking from you while balls-deep into your tight cunt was an experience unlike any other, to the point of almost completely resignifying the concept of pleasure for him. By owning your body, he had made you his, even if only temporarily; your blind trust was something he had never before experienced, and not once had he felt so powerful as with you squirming under him, completely submitting to his whims. 

“Astarion, please…” he recalls you whimpering, the sound of his name on your pink tongue so enticingly sultry, stirring up in him all sorts of conflicting feelings; lust, infatuation, guilt, anger, all blended together and indistinguishable from one another. How beautiful a vision you had made then—such a pretty, luscious thing, flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes glinting with coquettish longing. The more he finds himself caring, the more he hates you for it; the more his hatred for you grows, the more he wants you by his side. Choosing to manipulate you into a tactical alliance was the culmination of careful and meticulous deliberation—at once deadly and most pleasing to the eye, yet seemingly unaware of either fact; a naive, kind fool, lost and alone, his perfect target from every angle, you were the obvious candidate. He had no way of knowing at the time—how you would unwittingly beat him at his own game and steal your way into his undead heart, without even really trying. 

While pumping his now glistening cock, your precious face is all Astarion can think of, every detail of it perpetually burned onto his retinas—long, thick lashes, curtaining doe-like eyes; sweet little freckles speckling the bridge of your nose; smooth skin and plump rosy lips, so soft and kissable. And your scent, oh, your scent—delicious and intoxicating, such a lovely, delectable bouquet. Although now warm, his hand could never compare to the feeling of your slickened walls clenching and fluttering around him, and no amount of pressure would ever be able to replicate the sensation of stretching them open, coaxing yelps and cute whiny pants out of you with each nudge of your cervix. He wonders for a moment what other expressions he has yet to witness you make; in what other manners he has yet to take you, in what other positions he has yet to watch you come undone. Maybe on all fours, that round ass of yours sticking out so very invitingly, begging to be devoured; maybe on your knees, darkened lips wrapped tightly around his cock, eyes watering and drool dripping down onto the swollen peaks of your perky breasts as you accommodate all of him like the good girl you are. Each idea is more enticing than the one before, and the very thought of acquainting himself with all the ins and outs of your body makes him feel alive, bulging veins and tumid cockhead pulsating madly against his sweaty palm as he goes over the endless possibilities. He had tasted you once; now, he craves every inch of your being, his hunger insatiable. 

“Mine…” he growls possessively, picturing your tits bouncing and the rouged knot atop your dripping core throbbing for him as he feels his climax draw nearer, rubbing the cloth sullied with your crimson against his nose, your taste still fresh in his mouth and a trail of red running down his chin. You are not his, not yet, but although he curses himself for it, he would bring his simple plan to fruition, for all the wrong reasons; he wants you, he needs you—his own little bundle of joy, his light in the darkness, his glimmer of solace, his, his, his, and his alone. He won’t share your kindness, not with your companions, not with anyone, and he cares not if his greediness makes him unworthy, for he never deserved any of it in the first place; regardless, you’d still extend a hand to the wretch who put a knife to your throat, toyed with your emotions and sucked you dry, in more ways than one. You may not realize it, but in sharing your life essence with him, you breathed color into his world, roused within his soul a vital spark he’d long forgotten had once ever been there. He may not be entitled to it, but he’d still have it all—he’d still have you, to the bone and beyond.

“Oh, gods…” With one last stroke, Astarion empties himself on his hand and stomach, legs convulsing and hips stuttering, letting go of the cloth to then nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, lips pressed against the bloodied gashes maculating your otherwise flawless skin. The inside of his pants is now covered in come, yet even as the thick fluid runs uncomfortably down his thighs, he feels strangely at peace—happy, even. His softening cock twitches and jerks still, but fearing that his luck may soon run out, he lets go of it and wipes his fingers on the hem of his shirt, which he learns is also stained with his seed; once they’re sufficiently clean, he wraps both of his arms around your waist in a tight embrace, focusing on the gentle raising of your chest as you inhale ever so softly, finally at rest. 

“This is a gift, you know.”

He won’t forget it. Regardless of what may lie ahead, he won’t. Warm flesh, beating heart; as your crimson courses through his veins, the thread of life now connects you both, your fates forever intertwined. When morning comes, all will be back to normal, but for now, he shall hold you, cradle you, as he would a lover. A true lover—though what would that be, if not prey that wakes by his side once the dawn breaks? Disturbing as that thought may be, it is of little import for now; basking in the clarity of death, he allows himself a moment of reprieve, for your time together is far from over. What treasures will the future bestow? Why—finding out is but a matter of waiting.

[baby-tini]

I really like imagining Chuuya to be just. Such a gentleman. To the point of it almost being cheesy and old fashioned, but it's not because it's him doing it. He tries not to curse around you because "you're a lady" but then spews absolute filth when you're fucking. Also doesn't mind if you speak crassly, he can't, he's the man here, he should show restraint. Early on, he uses honorifics with you until you explicitly state that he can drop them, always takes his hat off in your presence if you two are alone, always pays for everything (he's got a thing for that one in particular) etc.

I'm also really into the whole him basically being your bodyguard when ya'll are out thing, but it's subtle (Of course, he has a gun in his waistband, but that's to be expected) I'm talking the sidewalk rule, always the sidewalk rule, I'm talking opening doors, I'm talking constantly surveying his surroundings for potential threats or exits, giving death glares to guys who stare just a bit too long and then turning back to you with a smile as you continue to ramble on whatever it is you're talking about (he loves it, it's so cute), When he has the time and if you two aren't living together, he's coming over to fix shit. Kitchen cabinet closes weirdly? Car needs repearing? Heavy furniture needs to be moved? He's on it. Why would you pay some dickhead who's probably gonna fuck it up anyway to do it when he can?

It's the same in the bedroom. A giver through and through. Just wants to make you feel good, wants to get you cockdrunk and limp, to overwhelm you with pleasure, to bruise your cervix, you feel so good to him, it strokes his ego to see you fall apart all because of him, because of his mouth and fingers and dick.

I was very tempted too keep this to myself, too think about it constantly- cause that's all I've been doing with this post. I don't think I've seen a better characterization of Chuuya, this is literally perfect. Also the "you're a lady" thing made me think of this.

Chuuya is a gentleman at heart, he was taught too treat women like royalty, seeing as though, he was basically raised by a woman, Kouyou. Chuuya, I agree, is pretty old-fashioned, he definitely comes off as that old-fashioned mobster that you see in movies. But when it comes too how he acts, he is literally the inspiration for the cheesy male role in rom-coms. As for his curing.. we all know that he does that a lot, it's a pretty nasty habit of his that he won't break anytime soon, but he tries, especially for you, because you're too pretty too hear the utter filth coming out of his mouth, but you don't mind and he knows you don't mind especially when his cock is fucking into you. Leaving you breathless, unable too speak from just how good he feels inside of you. His gruff voice in your ear, telling you how good you feel- how good you make him feel. He's so soft with you though, careful not too be too harsh because even if you do like it rough, he's never left bruises on you; ever. Sure, he never leaves you unsatisfied, never- not once. Because bruises are for him too deal with, they're for him too come home with. They shouldn't even be spotted on your soft skin, the thought of it makes him upset. But, yes, he'll pull out your chair at the restaurant, open the door for you. Also the paying for you is such a him thing, because he makes more then enough money for you too spend he just has so much, why would you spend your hard earned money when he has loads for you too spend on whatever the fuck it is that you want.

He knows that his job in the mafia is dangerous, and you could be hurt just by association and he can't have that, and as much as he'd like too just relax and have a good time with you, he knows that's not the most achievable especially given his high ranking position of being an executive. His eyes are constantly shooting left and right, checking for any suspicious behavior coming from anyone, or anything that just looks a little too out of place. Now, Chuuya doesn't really need a gun, sure he keeps one in the drawer next to the side of your guys shared bed, but a gun would poke out a little too much for his liking, so that's where his ability comes in, he also, canonly, has a knife on him, at basically all times, so you can rest assured that you are very safe. Now I do like the sidewalk rule. Because he would!!! He doesn't even let you think about walking close to the road, you stay near the wall, and if you're someone that tends too drift as you walk, maybe can't walk in straight line, that's fine because he'll just move your you to the side by your hips- or even better, he'll hold your hand so you don't stray too far. He also lays on the side of the bed that's closest to the door, so if there is a problem he can just quickly jump up and deal with it, also you'd be behind him, so if they did shoot, he has his ability and if you're small enough, they might not even see you; which is what he's betting on. I also think that he guards the door while you use the bathroom, he doesn't care if it's a big, multiple stall womans restroom, no is allowed in while you're in there. He, in his own right, is your own personal little handy man. Like you said, fixing up the things around the house, he also is the type too fix your things before you notice there's something wrong with them. Like if something of yours had fallen, a vase of roses perhaps, had broken he'd buy you a new one and replace the same flowers so that it looks like nothing ever happened, or if you had a stuffed animal that you treasured he'd attempt too sew it for you- he doesn't wanna buy a new one right away cause it's special and he knows something like that can't just easily be replaced, so he tries his best. But, he wouldn't pay a man too do something that he could do- and Chuuya would do it better, best believe.

Chuuya has always been a giver, anting too make you feel good in anyway he can. He makes it his job too learn your body fully. He wants too know your body better then you do, he doesn't ever want you too be one of those women that feel like they have too get themselves off because they're partners don't care enough too make them cum. Chuuya does care and this is one of the little ways he shows that. I also hc Chuuya too be the type of person that doesn't do... sex. He makes love. Sure he'll fuck you, especially if he's pent up from work, but he makes it his mission too make love to you at some point in the night. Whether that be the soft kisses in between bites to your neck or rubbing and caressing the area that he had just spanked. He never wants the thought of sex for you too be mentally or physically exhausting, like you're just doing it too please him. But, he does also get a kick when he watches you push at his chest and then tug and pull at the sheets because you just don't know what too do with yourself. Your so overwhelmed with how good it is that you just lay there and take it or you just can't hold still. That's what he enjoys though, when you just can't hold still so he has too hold you down with his ability so that you physically can't move, but the aftermath is his favorite. You calling for him so that he can carry you to the shower because you can't move or him coming down the stairs shirtless, with his grey sweats low on his hips, seeing the love bites on your neck and on your thighs as you cook him breakfast.

[juletheghoul]

crossing the line

a/n: I have been possessed by this man, he has singlehandedly cured my writers block. This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for joining in the hysteria with me, thanks for cheering me on my love Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus jerking it so right, creampie, vaginal fingering, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance), Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.1k

reblogs are appreciated

Prev chapter Masterlist series masterlist

Maybe someone else would have been upset to see how little they owned in the world, but it made no difference to you. The tunic on your back, an extra one to swap out for cleaning, a shawl, and a pair of sandals. That was all you had, that was all you needed, not much to fill your new quarters, modest as they were. Only let you get accustomed to your duties all the quicker. 

You held no melancholy at having been sold into the service of another, it was the story of your life and had happened before. You had no doubts that it would happen again. Instead, you focused on learning the layout of the new villa that would be your home, on learning the moods of your new Dominus and praying to the Gods that he was not heavy handed with his slaves. 

You’d been purchased by none other than Marcus Acacius, the General of the army of Rome. 

Getting used to being in his presence took great effort, meeting his gaze was akin to being struck by lightning. He had the unique power to make your stomach roil like waves, but it wasn’t always an entirely unpleasant feeling. He was older, his hair streaked with gray and his face lined with age but it did nothing to diminish his beauty, or his prowess. You could almost believe he was a marble statue, an Emperor of the past, come to life. He’d caught your eye instantly. 

Months passed, then a year, and you did indeed learn his moods. You learned all about his needs and did well to anticipate his wants, so much so that eventually, he had you follow him around like a shadow. Your prayers had been answered, although his moods could get quite dark, he never raised his hand to anyone in his service. He had no need to. He could correct any misstep with a look. There was a cloud that loomed over him though, an intensity, an air about the man of bottled energy. Any words he did speak were short, and cut to the heart of the matter and despite the fact that he never hurt you or the others, you thought it might only be a matter of time before someone got the brunt end of his misplaced wrath. 

“He has been away from the battlefield for too long, pay him no mind. Do your duties, and he will settle.” One of the older women in the house noticed the way you wring your hands at his dark temperament, seeing her unbothered by it did much to calm you. 

You didn’t notice it at first, but more and more often you felt his eyes linger on you. Felt him follow as you set the table with his meals, when you helped him dress in the morning, more still when you helped him with his night time rituals. He was unabashed and unrelenting, his eyes traveling the length of you, lingering on the swell of your breasts when you stood before him, on your backside when you walked away. You knew the look, had seen it in countless men in the houses you’d served before. You’d seen on the boy that served with you when you were both coming to the age of such things, when young men stretched and grew overnight, and girls flowered, breasts blossoming and blood coming at the turn of the moon. You had seen it in the young man that had taken your chastity, fumbling at your tunic when everyone had gone to sleep.

At first it had shocked you, not because of some notion of propriety or disgust, this was something that happened in every house. The Dominus was there to be served, no matter what they wanted, it came with your station in life, what shocked you, was how welcome his gaze was. How much you relished his heated stare, how much you wanted him to look at you, always. He’d been the object of every heated fantasy you’d had since stepping foot in the house but you’d been under the impression that he was a solitary creature, uncaring for the company of anyone, except his hounds, two great big beasts that he doted on. He never pressed the matter however, and so you contented yourself with your dreams. 

-

He’d been gone most of the day, leaving you to help the other attendants with their duties, and the time passed quickly, and with the moon rising you thought it best to go to sleep–trusting that by this hour, surely he’d be staying put. With your own clothes washed and hanging to dry for the morning, you settled into bed. It was not to last however, one of the older women came through not long after you’d undressed and gotten into bed and announced that he’d arrived, looking for you. 

“God’s be damned.” You swore under your breath, “Gratitude, I will see to him shortly.” 

You had no choice but to put on one of the damp tunics, hissing at the frosty touch but running off to tend to him just the same. 

With a light knock to announce your presence, you entered his private chambers. 

“Apologies Dominus, I had thought you would be gone until the morning.” You bowed your head in deference to him, “Shall I fetch food and wine? Or will you be going to sleep?” His eyes were narrow slits, fixed on your body. You looked down to where he stared and noted that the wet fabric left nothing to the imagination. The dark patch of hair between your legs was clear as day, as was everything else. “Apologies Dominus, I had washed them when I thought you would be gone.” You stood there, the room pregnant with tension as he looked his fill. After what felt like hours, he looked up to your face and the expression made your nipples harden, a fact he did not miss. 

“No, Girl. I am not hungry.” He set about undressing and you hurried to help him, doing your best to keep your touch from lingering too long. “I will cleanse and go to sleep. Snuff out some of these candles, and be off to bed.” His voice was low, and it opened a river between your thighs, the arousal for him so sharp it ached. 

“Yes Dominus.” You did as he asked, leaving only a couple of candles burning near his bed, and leaving him there. You were just closing the door to your quarters when you realized his basin had not been filled, so you ran back to make sure he had the water he needed. It would have to be cold at this hour. 

This time, you did not knock, hoping that he’d still be preoccupied enough that you could just slip in, fill his basin and slip out. 

There was a slick, rhythmic noise that greeted you, along with a low, guttural groan. His chamber was darker without as many candles but the sight that greeted you was clear as day, and would forever be burned into your mind. Him, bathed in candlelight, his cock thick and shiny with his pearly arousal. 

His strength could never be denied, but like this, with his arm flexing with each long stroke, his muscles glinted. You’d seen all manner of people nude in your service, there was no shame in it. The human body was a work of art and growing up and giving into desires meant you’d seen men nude and ready to rut, but this was something else. The young men you'd been with were callow boys. This was a man. 

You stood there, frozen, and aching with an emptiness you hadn’t felt this keenly in so long. 

He felt you then, and looked up to see you watching him and before you could say anything he focused on the place so clearly visible through the wet fabric between your legs and moaned a filthy moan. You didn’t know whether to drop the jug of water and run, or mount him like you would a wild horse. You bit your lip, willing him to beckon you forth to him.

“Did you come back just to torment me, girl? Or would you lend a hand?” He watched your face, letting you decide what you wanted, you put the jug down and walked towards him. 

“I live to serve you, Dominus.” His brow furrowed with every step you took until his face tipped up to look into your eyes. 

“Take that off–” He grunted the last word, squeezing his cock in his fist while you obeyed. “Put your foot right here.” He gestured to the spot beside his thigh, and you did. “Spread it open. I want to see it.” He watched your sex, his mouth opening in a silent ‘O’ when you complied. “Are you wet for me, girl?” He sped up, fucking his fist in earnest. 

“Yes Dominus.” You slipped your fingers down, dipping them inside for a moment before showing him. He moaned again and your heart felt like a hummingbird in your chest. He grabbed at your fingers with his other hand and shoved them into his mouth, eyes closed and groaning around them and it was almost too much. 

“Take it Dominus, take me.” You whispered, watching his rapturous gaze with unwavering desire. You had no time to think, because within a second, he was up and pushing you down onto his bed, settling between your spread thighs. His sex hung heavy, an angry red and for a moment your stomach dropped imaging it inside you. 

“This will be quicker than I would wish it to be,” He grasped himself in hand, almost trembling as he lined himself up and sunk inside with one, quick thrust. “Gods above, girl, this little cunt was made for me.” He couldn’t hold himself back or give you time to adjust to his size, instead he set a brutal pace, and you held on, with arms around his neck and legs high on his hips for dear life. 

Your fingers ached with how tightly they gripped the curls at the base of his skull. You pulled him closer, needing to feel his weight as he stretched you open on his length, over and over, making everything bounce with the force of it. He was right about it being quick though, a handful of pumps was all it took for him to seize up, one hand palming your breast as he seized with a growl. You felt it, the spurt of him deep inside.

“It is a gift, my gift.” He watched himself, hissing with discomfort as he pulled himself out. “My seed, just for you.” His breath came in pants as he drew himself out, softened and spent and you were struck again by his beauty. With the flush of exertion blooming on his cheeks, and the rare smile on his lips, you couldn’t help but mirror the expression, even as your own climax slipped away with every passing second. “Your turn, now I must see pleasure on your face.” He huffed out the words before laying on his side to your right, resting his head on one hand to gain a better view of you spread out beside him. 

His fingers found the source of divinity between your legs. 

“Spread those pretty thighs nice and wide for me, girl, I would have access to all of you.” He spoke low, pressing his lips to your temple as his fingers used the slip of his own mess to stoke the fire spreading through your veins. “So lovely.” 

The reverence in his tone was so at odds with the confidence in his fingers, his skill was no tawdry thing and within a few moments the euphoria was so close you could taste it. You turned your face to him, silently begging for his mouth and he obliged, his kiss sweet as summer wine and all at once the wave crested. Your legs closed of their own accord, but this only bolstered him to slip two fingers inside, pumping through his seed and your liquid desire, laughing softly at the way you clutched at his arm. 

All of the times before, had been a jest. It was hard to know if anything you felt before could even be called pleasure. 

“Can you walk?” He pressed his lips to your shoulder, lowering them until he took a nipple into his mouth. You nodded. 

“Yes Dominus.” He placed a final kiss to the soft skin of your breast, the whiskers on his face tickling you. 

“Very well, off to bed.” The smile was gone, but it was replaced with a sleepy, satisfied look, one that you were sure would be gone in the morning. 

“Yes Dominus.” You rose, on shaky legs, grabbed your damp tunic, and slipped out of his chambers. 

—

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[reiderwriter]

can i request for a mean!spencer x bau!reader? like they are not enemies but there's just this really intense sexual tension with prompts 2, 30, 48, and 49? thank you!

#2 "I wouldn't fuck you if you were the last person on earth.” #30 "You're not as hot as you think you are.” #48 "You belonged to me before I even made you mine.” #49 "I'm so fucking obsessed with you.”

A/N: Thank you for requesting! Sorry it took almost an entire season to get it done 😭 I hope it's as good as you expected it would be :D

Warnings: slight BDSM themes, Dom!Spencer, dry humping, choking, thigh riding, finger sucking, cum play, facial, penetrative sex, use of contraception, probably more that I don't remember right now... 18+ Minors DNI

There was no one you wanted to spend the night with less than Spencer Reid.

He was annoying, and frustrating and most importantly never knew when to shut the fuck up.

No one was better at getting under your skin, and no one seemed to relish it quite like he did. It wasn't that you hated the man, just that he had the presence of an unkillable mosquito in your life.

He was irritating.

“Y/N, are you even listening to me?”

“I try not to make a habit of it,” you rolled your eyes, pushing past the man as you both finally made it to your motel room for the night.

You weren't sure if this was divine punishment or Emily's idea of a joke, but you'd ended up with Reid as your roomie for the next week.

As your case location was remote and as back waters as it could get, you'd ended up needing to bring Penelope Garcia along with you physically. And with only four rooms available, the eight members of your team had to all scramble for acceptable roommates and, having gotten off the jet last, you'd drawn the short straw.

Rossi had been quick to pair up with Luke, citing Spencer's snoring habit as reason enough, and the girls had happily fallen into two pairs. It was your lucky day.

With your hands busy with your bags, you tossed the key to Spencer quickly and waited for him to unlock the door, eager to escape the cold chill of the night.

“Hurry up, Spencer, or we'll both turn into popsicles out here.”

“Not only is that physically impossible, but it also isn't that cold out here, Y/N. Don't you think you're being a bit sensitive.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and he let out a sharp chuckle as he finally managed to unlock the door.

Despite your best wishes, stepping over the threshold didn't solve your problems. Instead it seemed to present even more.

“Fuck, how is it colder in here than it is out there?” You said, shivering violently as you stood in the doorway. If you thought that was reason enough to cure though, you thought you'd practically spit fire when you saw the sleeping arrangements for the night.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your body forgot its fight to keep warm, letting your blood run cold as you found yourself face to face with one singular, though large, bed. Another cursory glance around, and the heart motifs on the walls and pink themes cushions on the bed suggested that this was likely the motels joke of a Honeymoon Suite.

“Emily did mention that we booked out their last four rooms.” Spencer said, walking up beside you and frowning deeply as he took in the same scene you did.

“She said nothing about the rooms being igloos though, Spencer. I never thought hypothermia was going to be my cause of death after spending the night with you in the room.”

“You think I'd shoot you.”

“I think I'd shoot myself.”

He scowled a little at that and moved to check the room's thermostat. Although it was presently reading 215° so you didn't know how much good that could do.

“There's no sofa,” you grumbled as you watched Spencer move to the small bathroom.

“And there's no hot water. And according to the sign on that table, there's nothing we can do about it until the morning.” You picked up the sign yourself, just to verify and practically moaned in frustration.

“This is insane, we'll freeze to death.”

“It has to drop below 32° in here for us to even possibly freeze death. There's no wind, rain and we have blankets, so maybe you should focus less on being dramatic and more on what we can be doing to warm up.”

“I'm sorry, Doctor Genius, whatever can I do to warm up? Please impart some of your wonderful knowledge on me, I beg.” His eyes flashed with some annoyance and you quietly enjoyed the expression, happy to have affected him as much as he affected you.

“You can start by stripping.” It was his turn to enjoy the abject look of horror that crossed your face in that moment, and you were convinced that of he let even a hint of a laugh out, you'd throttle the man.

“I'm sure you'd just love that,” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well, there's no water, no thermostat and no other source of heat, so if you're so worried about hypothermia, there's only one solution viable to us right now.”

“You're joking. You want us to huddle together for warmth?” You backed yourself into a corner as you tried to distanced yourself from him as he suddenly began divesting himself of clothing.

As soon as he reached the top buttons of his shirt, you let out a quick squeak and turned around.

“Unless you want me to watch you get undressed too, I suggest you hurry up and do it before I get into bed.”

You quietly cursed and started unwrapping each of your layers, fingers fumbling with the cold already seeped into your skin.

“I am not getting naked, Spencer Reid.”

“I didn't ask you to. Just get comfortable.” You turned around to shoot him a glare, but when you noticed his back was turned - and bare - you lost all memory of the purpose of the movement.

You'd never quite realised before how broad his back was. His shoulders looked strong despite his lithe frame, twisting rather attractively as he pulled his nightshirt over his head. You were almost disappointed that he wasn't facing you, suddenly curious about Spencer Reid's happy trail.

You snapped yourself out of it and continued to change, wrapping your coat around your waist to hide your legs as you switched your pants to your sleep shorts. It was an awkward fumble, but at least the lights were low.

When you were finally ready, your steps back to the bed were hurried and near painful as you felt colder than ever.

Spencer was already there, and without a second thought, you pulled the quilts up and plastered yourself to his side. He was the only thing in the entire room offering you a modicum of warmth, and you weren't going to let your personal hot water bottle go just because everything that came out of his mouth was hot air.

“So you're a big fan of this now, huh?” He said, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in. Your back was pressed against his chest as you both laid on your sides, piles of duvet and blankets laid out on top of you. You hated to admit it, but this position was comfortable.

Maybe it was just months of working cases non-stop and perpetual singleness, but the feeling of a man at your back was infinitely pleasing.

“Don't expect anything more Spencer Reid. I wouldn't have sex with you if you were the last man alive.” The words were harsh, and if you were being honest, a little bit untrue. Your small peak at his back earlier had definitely sparked an interest in you that was bubbling up in your throat. Like bile.

“You don't have to worry about that. You're actually not as hot as you think you are.” His words were tinged with the same faux bitterness as yours, but you refused to hear it. Instead all you felt was another unpleasant heat spreading throughout you, quiet anger plotting in your stomach.

You knew you probably shouldn't push it, but you needed Spencer to eat those words. Desperately.

Your mind ticked through a few options before landing on one. If you were so unattractive, then surely there's no way he'd physically react to you.

Scooting your body closer to his, you take advantage of the less than comfortable bed, making each of your movements similar to ones you would make when getting comfortable. Except, of course, with the added bonus of making sure your ass pressed directly up against his crotch, moving up and down and grinding into him.

You felt him slightly stiffen behind you, and decided that a few we'll time groans of frustration could go a long way to spurring him on.

So you began letting little gasps and sighs out, graduating to moans when you thought he wouldn't question it, each small movement rubbing against him deliberately.

What you'd failed to remember though, was his hand on your waist. Although you knew he was awake beside you, despite the now late hour and somewhat comfortable bed, his hand held you firm. Or it did until you risking bounced yourself gently against him, and his now limp hand slipped underneath your shirt.

The moan you released then was genuine, the cool touch of his fingers against your burning skin causing you to flush and shiver at the same time. You cursed your earlier self for valuing your comfort over your general peace of mind, because as Spencer's hand once again settles centimetres away from the edge of your boob, you desperately wished for your bra back.

You stopped moving, hoping that if you just pretended to sleep for a few minutes, his hand would reach higher and he'd prove to you that he did think you were attractive. He didn't though, showing off how gentlemanly he was. It pissed you off. Most of his good qualities pissed you off, and you were sure that said more about you than him .

You tried your best to just give in, to even out your breathing and let the black haze of sleep take over but his hands on you were maddening, and you found your body reacting in much the same ways you'd wished him to react.

It didn't help that he'd casually shifted his lower body away from you slightly in your stillness, letting himself fall onto his back rather than his side. As he made this shift, his hand trailed across the expanse of your body before cutting all contact with you altogether.

So much for huddling for warmth if all he had to do to return you to record heats was stroke you like that.

You needed to feel him again, so, feigning the most realistic sleeplike movements you could muster, you turned your body in his direction, and placed your head over his chest. You weren't finished, just proceeding with caution. Your hands obviously fell over his chest, if slightly lower than you'd expect.

It was only when your leg finally came up over his that he broke his silence.

“I know you're awake, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear, a solid hand on your thigh holding it down right over his crotch. You felt your prize and grinned in your sleep.

He was hard. You'd won. It was time to play.

You opened your mouth to purr victoriously at him, but he moved so abruptly you were never expecting it.

Shifting his hands to your ass, he hauled your body over him, letting his hands stay on your hips as he began to help you shift them back and forth. You moaned at the friction, even as your head stayed rested on his chest. The movements were shallow, just a teasing but you already felt more aroused than you had in months. Slowly, your hips started moving for themselves and his hands moved onto more important things.

“Am I suddenly the last man on Earth, Y/N?” He smiled, tipping your head up so you could make eye contact with him.

“Go to hell.”

“I think we're already there, don't you?” With that, his large hands sat you up, meeting with no resistance as you let yourself become pliable.

“Show me.” He whispered, hands right on your hips, pushing into your flesh just a touch part forceful.

“Show you what?” You narrowed your eyes, but you knew exactly what it was he wanted and that you weren't going to out up much a resistance before giving it to him.

“Show me how much you want to fuck me. Since your mouth isn't honest, I'm going to have to listen to your body.” You let your hands fall to his chest, pushing lower until you reached the hem of his shirt. He'd pushed the quilts off of your torso, letting the cold air attack your upper body, so you knew your hands were cold, and the hiss he let out at the contact was satisfying enough to shut up and actually start following his directions.

You shifted your body up and down, grinding and dry humping his crotch, wishing for him to stop being a tease and just get it over with.

He wasn't letting you compromise, though. Each small sound that left your body met with a soft smirk from him, each halt in your movements a prod from his hands. You'd tried to still your hips entirely once out of frustration, but he'd delivered a slap to your ass that had you gushing, desperate to reach a release even if he'd only allow you it this way.

“I don't think you're trying hard enough.” His voice was lower than before, something gravelly to it as he began pulling your clothing off one item at a time. Your sweater went first, before he flipped your positions and shimmered your shorts off your body, taking underwear soon after and then you were bare to him and he was rolling you once again.

“That's better. Now, where were we?” He moved your hips for you again, but his eyes stayed focused in the rigid peaks of your nipples, bouncing with each rock of your hips. You weren't sure if it was the cold temperature of the room or your sheer need to cum that had them reacting, but you knew he was seconds away from wrapping his tongue around one and giving into you, so you just accepted it.

His hands stayed put, still on your hips, though the direct contact was heating you slightly more. If you looked down, you were sure you'd see a wet patch against his sweat pants, so you didn't.

You just moaned and whimpered searching for your orgasm on top of him.

“What's wrong, Y/N? Do you need my help to finish?” He noticed your every insecurity, your weakness and exploited it. You were running close to inconsolable, desperate to hit that climax now, more than ever before, so you just nodded at him profusely, desperate for him to touch you in whatever way he could.

It wasn't his hand you felt on your clit, though. It was your own, he wrapped a hand around your fingers and bought them up to the correct stop, showing you exactly what he'd like to see.

“Touch yourself, Y/N. Touch yourself and wish it was me.” With the friction from grinding against him for so long, the satisfaction from the rigid tent underneath you and your hands taking his guidance, it was really not long before your pussy finally twitched familiarly and sighed, soaking his pants underneath you as you shuddered in delight.

He had to ruin your moment of bliss by talking.

“Is that enough, slut? Or do you really need to be filled right now?”

You didn't care if he saw you sticking your tongue down his throat as you collapsed on top of his chest as an answer to that question, or if he saw it as what it was - a desperate attempt to shut him up. All you knew was that he tasted sweet and hot, and that his hand wrapped around your throat was also hot as he pulled you up and off of him.

“Let me be clear. I am in charge.” A simple shift of his legs was enough to flip your positions, landing on top of you ungrateful, but you didn't care.

Using his new high ground, he wedged your legs open and slid a single finger inside you as you moaned. He too found success in silencing you by sticking his tongue down your throat, forcing you to battle him for dominance you knew he'd never allow you.

Having cum only moments before, you truly believed that there was no way he was going to push another one out of you after so little time. The night was full of surprises though.

As you relaxed into his intrusion, he opened you up with a second finger, then a third. You already felt yourself building towards your end goal, but it was his head dropping to tour cold nipples that finally had you cumming around his fingers. His mouth was wet, tongue warm against your skin, and he toyed with you so effectively, you practically forgot your previous qualms.

“See? You belong to me before I've even made you mine.” It irked you that he was right. Had this been any other man, you're sure you'd be bragging about such passionate sex for weeks with your friends. You were resentful that it was him, but you didn't want it to end yet.

Your arms pulled up to hide your face as he traced kisses up and down your chest, fingers coming free to pay attention to your since abandoned nipples.

“I can't wait to fuck you. You're going to feel so good wrapped around my cock,” he whispered into your ear as he pulled your arms away from your face, making sure your eyes were focused on him before his next line.

“You have no clue what you started. I'm so fucking obsessed with you.”

His hands fell to your face, where his thumb pushed against your lips, slipping into your mouth where you sucked on it, getting it wet as his cock teased the folds of your pussy, running up and down with each gentle push of his hips. You entertained him for a moment before pushing up slightly, his thumb falling from your mouth as you blindly reached for the bedside table. Pulling it open, you were relieved to find what you were looking for.

“If you're so fucking obsessed with me, Spencer, show me.” Carefully unwrapping the package, you grabbed his dick and gently slid the condom onto him, making sure it was secure before you propped yourself back on the pillows, waiting for him to initiate once again.

“Pillow princess. You're acting like I haven't been dreaming of exactly this for the last 12 months.”

You couldn't waste time processing those words before he again ran his cock through the folds of your pussy, then sank himself deep inside you. And you meant deep.

The sudden impact robbed you of your thoughts, pushing out every miserable thought and leaving you with just Spencer and pleasure. The two concepts soon became synonymous as his hips lazily sent him careening in and out of you.

His strokes gained speed gradually until the only words shared between you were the animalistic pants of pleasure, his voice driving you insane as you tried not to get overstimulated before you could cum for a third time.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, Spencer-” your moans turned to screams as your orgasm rolled over you, his dick hitting just the right spot inside you that forced your nails to bite his skin, and forced your voice to scratch at your throat as it pushed up from your gut.

Noticing your relentless twitching, Spencer immediately pulled out of your cunt, allowing you a moment of reprieve. Pushing up to his knees, he moved to your side, his crotch parallel with your face as he rolled the condom off his dick.

Stroking himself to completion, he came right over your lips, your eyes dripping with lust as you licked them clean, catching the dribbles that fell down your chin with your fingers and popping them into your mouth as well.

After your whorish display of desperation, it took a full ten minutes for your brain function to resume.

In that time, Spencer had cleaned both of you up speedily with a hotel towel, wrapped an arm around you and began spooning you once again, his chest warm and comfortable against your back, his scent intoxicating.

It didn't stop being so when you finally came down from your post-cum bliss.

“You're not allowed to tell anyone what happened tonight,” you said, turning over to look him in the eye.

“Nothing from tonight, got it. What about tomorrow?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, am I allowed to tell them how I plan to wake you up tomorrow, and how your current state of dress made it possible, if not directly invited it?”

You flushed at his words, tingling already at the mention of tomorrow.

“We're sharing a room, Y/N. If you think I'm not going to be inside you whenever were both free, you're entirely mistaken.” His voice was clear - not even a hint of hesitancy in his voice.

“I'm not letting you go that easily, Y/N.”

[redcoralpot]

Tougher Than Nails - Mike Schmidt X M!Reader

Warnings/Details: NSFW content, implied substance abuse, alcohol, cowboy!reader, hankie/cowboy hat code.

Summary: Mike goes to a bar downtown in hopes of getting his mind off of court, but instead finds something much healthier.

A/N: Everyone should thank my boyfriend for this idea; he's always the one that reminds me that I am technically a 'cowboy'. He saves a horse very often.

Word Count: 1.8K

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Bars weren’t really Mike’s thing. Any alcohol he’s ever had tasted like crap, and becoming an alcoholic would just be another check on Aunt Jane’s list to prove to the court that he wasn’t suitable for custody. Hell, he swore her perfume was still clinging onto his nose hairs, and all he wanted to do was escape her. Escape reality, too. Mike remembered when his father used to do just that after Garret disappeared, drowning himself in the bitter liquid at night, his speech slurred. That’s why he was here, at a bar in downtown Afton, while Maxine stayed with Abby. He was desperate.

The building was crowded, delightful chatter and jazz music filling the air. Lights were strung along the wooden walls, narrowly dodging the black and white photos hanging by themselves. More customers squeezed in behind him; Mike frantically searched for any open spot in the room. Hallelujah– a single stool was left vacant near the serving counter, and Mike shuffled into it, shoulders tense. The bartender seemed to notice his presence, as she leaned towards the man, still shaking another person’s drink. 

“You’re a new face,” she rattled, “may I see your license?”

Mike fumbled with his wallet, sliding the card for her to see, “Uh, sure.”

“Right, you’re all clear; would you like to open a tab?”

A man cut in before he could answer, and for the first time, Mike got a good look at the person sitting beside him, “Just add whatever he orders to mine, Molly.” 

She shrugged, the key hanging from her left pocket jingling, “Easier for me.”

You chuckled, the brim of your hat covering your eyes. It was decorated with embroidery and leather, complimenting your purple button up shirt, though that was partially hidden by a black vest. Two hankies hung out of your back, left pocket, similar to Molly’s keychain. One was rust colored, but the other was a complimentary gray; Mike thought it was an interesting stylistic choice. 

“I’ll just have a beer, thanks.”

As the bartender turned, scribbling in a notebook, you inquired, “So, what’s a fine boy like you doing ‘round these parts?”

Mike grabbed the foaming beer that was placed in front of him, “I live nearby.”

“That’s not the only reason, is it?”

He hesitated to answer, instead choosing to take a long sip of the beverage. It burned down his throat, the flavor making his lips curl and his head a little more dizzy. Somehow, it loosened his will, and he found his lips moving without his permission. Your energy was just hypnotizing; he felt himself being pulled in.

“Needed a break from stress,” Mike admitted, picking at the glass’ label.

You cocked your head to the side, your hat tipping upward, “Just ‘cause you’re in a hole, doesn’t mean you gotta keep digging. Alcohol isn’t the cure to what you’re feelin’.”

“What am I supposed to do? Not even my medicine works anymore.”

“I go here for stress relief too,” you assured, downing a shot, “but not necessarily for the drinks.”

Your hand hovered over the small of his back, looking at him for consent. When he didn’t move away, you settled your fingers there, feeling a shiver run through Mike’s body. Some of the previous tension released from his shoulders, and he almost leaned back in relief. Many of the customers in this bar were paired with the same sex, unlike most of the movies he’d seen that included the subject. So, he supposed it wouldn’t look too weird if he did.

You elaborated, “People can be cruel, can’t they, sweetheart? Comin’ to a place like this, where everyone’s like me in some way or another, is a damn good bonus.”

“Like you?”

“Y’know,” you gestured to your handkerchiefs, “queer and such.”

He paused, “Ah.”

“You didn’t know this was a boy bar?”

Mike replied, “I kinda just looked up the closest bar to my house.”

…

“Good to know.” Your hand fell away from his back.

He almost chased it. Mike liked the feeling, the weight of your fingers pressing into such an intimate spot. However, he wasn’t tipsy enough for that, and controlled himself. He watched as you spoke to Molly, the lady’s eyes flicking towards him and back, and you slipped her the money needed to cover the tab. You tipped your hat towards Mike, a respectful way to put distance between you, before disappearing into the suffocating crowd. Molly side eyed him, sweeping away his bottle, before leaving as well. Mike swallowed, pulling loose skin from his bottom lip with his teeth. It was now, or never– perhaps alcohol wasn’t the only way, after all. You were right. 

Mike could still see the very top of your hat swerving above the crowd, and he trailed after it to the best of his ability. A random girl almost elbowed him in the face, and he was sure his shins would be bruised after tonight. Your shadow was reflecting in the glass door, growing fainter and fainter as you walked further away, your hips swaying. Mike pushed it open, the vision dissolving, and cold air stung his cheeks. The moon reflected off of car hoods, the only way he was able to see where he was running. His hand reached out and grabbed your arm, as you flinched.

Mike’s ears were red, probably from the alcohol, and you stared at him, “What’re you doing?”

“I don’t know,” was the only answer you got before your collar was jerked forward.

Your lips crashed violently with his; your teeth clicking as he struggled to pull you closer. Mike was still fisting your shirt as you brought your hands to cup his jaw and the back of his neck, trying to gentle the kiss. 

You mumbled against his mouth, “Better not be some experiment of yours, pretty boy.”

“Nope,” he whispered, the aftertaste of whiskey on his tongue.

His back hit the side of your car, and his hands moved from your collar to swinging his arms around your neck. Your knee found its way in between Mike’s thighs, pressing against his crotch, and his groan was swallowed by your lips. Mike whined when you trailed down, aiming instead for his neck. Dark marks and bites soon decorated the pale flesh, his blood dripping a contrasting splash of color. 

Tugging on his earlobe, you challenged, “Gonna come back to my place?”

Mike doubted he ever agreed to something so quickly.

The drive was long, too long in his opinion. Though, it was most likely only fifteen minutes, at most. Mike didn’t even have to walk up the driveway to your cabin; his legs were locked around your hips as you carried him through the door and up the stairs. He ground his groin against you, searching for any possible friction. You tossed him onto your bed, unbuckling your belt, holding it taut. The man in front of you wiggled back and spread his legs to make room for you. You snickered at how willing Mike was, considering his hesitation when you first met.

You regularly kept lube on the bedside table, just to be prepared for when you brought men home from the bar. However, this one was different in a way you had trouble putting into words, other than positive. His thighs shook as you massaged the liquid into his hole, a hand covering his mouth to prevent you from hearing his noises. Ah, now that wouldn’t do, would it?

In response, you tugged his hand off of his mouth, “Lemme hear you.”

Such pretty sounds from a pretty mouth, it was truly a shame. When Mike immediately went back to covering them up, you slid your fingers out of him, instead reaching for your abandoned belt. His eyes trailed after your hands as they bound his wrists together in front of him, almost akin to handcuffs. Mike couldn’t see much of your expression after your head dipped down, only the shit-eating grin playing on your lips. Of course, that was before you took your hat off by the crown and placed it firmly on his head, though it was a tad too big for him.

“Why don’t you keep that safe for me, sweetheart?”

For a second, Mike was confused. Keep it safe? Just what were you planning on doing? He felt a grip on his waist, right before his world spun around him, and the positions were practically reversed. The guard was now sitting on top of you, or more so your crotch, his thighs caging in your hips. Mike’s hair was disheveled and the light on the ceiling created a sort of halo around him, and fuck, did you think he was pretty. Only a few select people had ever gotten to wear your hat, and you could confidently say that he was the most beautiful in it.

You unbuttoned your jeans, letting your cock slip through the opening, “You ready?”

“I’ve never done this before.”

You had a grip on his waist again, slowly guiding him down. You didn’t thrust, didn’t force him to go fast, and allowed him his proper time to adjust, “How’s that feelin’?”

“G-good,” he shuddered, precum leaking from his tip, “think ‘m ready.”

“You haven’t seen the brunt of it yet, boy!” You grunt, thrusting the rest of you inside, brushing against Mike’s prostate. 

The man on top of you moaned, and the sound was so uncharacteristically loud that even he seemed surprised by it. Mike leaned down, resting his tied fists on your chest in order to keep his balance. His sweat dampened your collarbones, his drool smearing on your neck, and the pathetic excuse of a guard tried leaving kisses over the areas he could reach. You soon found a rhythm to your thrusts; groans were punched out of your throat on their own.

Mike could feel heat rushing through his brain, bringing tears that stuck to his eyelashes, covering any thoughts or hesitance he may have had before. That wasn’t enough for it– it spread like wildfire down his body, down to where your fingers were leaving bruises, and down to his red, leaking dick. Something deep was brewing inside of him, nothing he’s felt since his hormonal teenage years. Hell, he didn’t even have time to process it when you kissed his cheek, whispering in his ear that he’s such a needy slut; it exploded.

When he finally came to, he could feel his thighs twitching and your heaving, sticky abs below him. His eyelids felt heavy, and all he wanted to do was stay there with you. You were rubbing circles into his back, attempting to pull out, but a grumble from Mike made you stop. In fact, you were saying things, but it sounded muffled and far away. He took great comfort in your voice, no matter what you were talking about. It was getting farther and farther away, yet still managed to follow him into his dreams. For the first time since the incident with Garret, he did not have a nightmare. 

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Taglist: @cannabrisano @kai_beanz @fandomz-brainrot @slimemakermas

[runnning-outof-time]

The Special Touch | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

Summary: A small, small detail brings back memories of a person in Tommy Shelby’s life that was able to do something not many can.

Warnings: language, drinking

Word Count: 3102

A/N: the structure of this one’s a little wonky, but I think it reads cohesively…I hope it comes off that way for you. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: the italicized dialogue in the story is taken directly from season 1 of the show.

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

comment/message me if you want to be tagged!

(Y/N)'s food was the only thing Tommy Shelby actually ate.

Sure, he still didn't willingly sit himself at the table when it came time for a meal, but (Y/N)'s cooking coaxed him in more often than it didn't.

What started as a woman trying to impress the family of a man she dearly liked - that form of impressing coming through a lovely, homemade apple pie - quickly blossomed into (Y/N) being the Shelby family cook. Polly was probably the happiest about this - she no longer had to tackle the family meals alone.

Tommy was also happy about this - being that he quickly made sure that she was his - because it meant that he was able to spend much more time with her. Hell, he'd even happily endure the enhanced teasing from his family...Tommy hadn't spent this much time at home since he was a child. But (Y/N), and her cooking, had him coming home more often than anything else.

And he enjoyed it.

On this particular evening, she had decided to make some plum bread to bring to the Shelby family. It was one of her favorite recipes, one that she only brought out every once in a while.

Tonight would be a special night for it, she thought. She and Tommy had been officially together for eight months, but it was on this night one year ago that they shared their feelings with each other and decided that they’d commit themselves to one another.

She worked all day to make the bread not only for this occasion, but also because she wanted to see if his family liked it as much as hers did.

It was late afternoon when she made her way over to the house on Watery Lane. She hoped that everyone was home because with each step her eagerness was building - she wanted as many people as possible to try the bread she’d baked.

She could hear the inhabitants of the house before she saw them as she entered through the front door.

She heard Tommy speak in a low voice, “you’re alright,” as the sound of pain-filled hisses filled the room.

Then came a statement that made (Y/N) stop: “he said Mr. Churchill sent him to Birmingham. National interest, he said…something about a robbery.” It was Arthur who was speaking. “He said he wants us to help him.”

“We don’t help coppers,” she heard John chime in.

“He knew all about our war records,” Arthur continued, “he said we’re patriots…like him. He wants us to be his eyes and ears. I said—” another pain-filled hiss left the eldest siblings lips, and it was followed by a soft ‘shh’. He continued once the pain had been assuaged, “I said we’d have a family meeting and take a vote,” he finished his statement.

A pause filled the room. (Y/N), who’d been standing still and listening in since she entered the dwelling, couldn’t stand in the same position any longer. Despite her efforts not to, her weight shifted, making the floorboard creak underneath her foot.

Tommy looked up from the ground upon hearing the sound, and his intense gaze connected with her worried one instantly. “We’ll discuss this later,” he then addressed his family in a low tone.

“What the fuck is wrong with him lately?” Arthur asked, annoyance laced into his tone.

“If I knew, I’d buy the cure from Compton’s chemists,” Polly chimed in, her tone matching Arthur’s.

Tommy’s eyes were still locked on (Y/N), who now felt like she had to make her presence known. She took a few steps forward into the room before speaking, “I’m sorry I…I didn’t know what I was arriving to,” she hesitantly said, feeling several pairs of eyes now locked onto her. She tried to withhold her expression, but surely there was a look of pain present on her face as she took in Arthur’s bloodied one. “Goodness,” she gasped, the tension quickly becoming too much for her to bear, “I…I wanted to bring something over for the evening. I baked plum bread from scratch,” she said, holding the enclosed tray out in front of her.

“Well isn’t that just bloody perfect,” Arthur muttered under his breath.

Silence hung in the room and (Y/N) wasn’t quite sure what to do. It seemed like every person in the family was glaring daggers at Tommy, and Tommy was just standing, brooding in front of the free-standing stove.

“I can just…I can leave and come back at a better…”

“No!” John interrupted her, pushing himself off of the wall he’d been leaning against, “you’re here now, so let’s try some of this bread.”

“Ok,” there was still a great deal of hesitance present in (Y/N)’s voice, but she still allowed John to take the tray from her hands when he motioned for it. She then glanced in Tommy’s direction, seeing that he was still glaring at the floor. Above everything else, she really wanted to speak to him. The conversation she walked in on was still in the forefront of her mind. She wasn’t sure how to make the first move though.

“Oh, (Y/N), this is grand!” John’s review of the bread cut through her thoughts, making her focus on the small group that was now trying it. Ada nodded her head in agreement with her brother as Polly quietly ate her piece. She didn’t look displeased with it though. Arthur was still staring at the piece that had been placed in front of him. (Y/N) figured he wouldn’t eat it that moment though, given the state he was currently in. A small smile creeped onto her face as she watched them enjoy the thing she’d spent so long baking.

“Tommy you’ve got to try it! It’s absolutely amazing, as always,” Ada said to her older brother, hoping that her shining review would coax him into having a bite.

“I’ll have some later,” he brushed her statement off, his eyes finding (Y/N) again. “(Y/N), can I talk to you?” he asked her then, his brows raising slightly.

“Yes,” she answered softly, knowing there really wasn’t any other response she could give.

He nodded before tipping his head in the direction of the betting shop doors. She nodded in agreement, wordlessly following behind him as they went into that section of the building.

The walk felt so long, even though they were really only moving to the next room over. (Y/N) bit on her cheek as she tried to think of what to say. She knew she wanted to be the first to speak. “What did I walk in on back there?” was what she settled on asking as they both came to a stop.

“It was nothing,” Tommy brushed the question off.

“It didn’t seem like nothing,” she doubled down, not buying his diversion. “Who has Mr. Churchill sent?”

“It’s not a big deal,” he tried another escape route.

“You’re helping the cops now?” she asked another question.

“(Y/N)…” his tone held a warning.

“Why does Arthur look like that?” her exasperation finally shined through this question as she motioned to the room they’d just left.

Tommy exhaled a sigh as he looked away from his partner. It was already enough that his entire family was coming down on him…he didn’t need it from her as well. “This isn’t something you need to worry about, (Y/N),” he told her once he composed himself.

“You said you wouldn’t hold anything from me, Tommy,” she reminded him of a promise that he made to her in their early months. A promise that came as a result of him showing up to her family’s house broken and bloodied…over something he couldn’t share.

Her parents hated him from that day forward, but she found a way to continue to see him. He assured her that would be the last time nothing was withheld…until now it seems.

“This is different,” he shook his head.

“Different how?” she asked for him to elaborate.

“Different in the sense that if it all goes according to plan, we move up in the world,” his elaboration was still vague.

“That doesn’t tell me much,” she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Well it’s all I can share,” his tone was now dismissive as he lifted his hand, his palm to the ceiling.

(Y/N) stared at him for a few moments, silently hoping that he’d take that statement back and clue her in to what was going on. She had to bite on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering after those moments had passed and nothing more was said.

“Well I think I need to leave then,” she finally said, her voice just above a whisper.

Tommy’s brows furrowed at her statement, “what?”

“You promised that you wouldn’t keep anything from me, that there’d be no secrets in regards to what sort of business you’re doing,” she reminded him, “we agreed that that would be the only way we could work.”

“I said that this was different, (Y/N),” he argued his cause, “there has to be an exception for it.”

“I can’t make an exception, Tommy,” she shook her head, her tone slightly wavering, “because if I make one now, you’ll have me making another down the road.”

“(Y/N), I don’t need this…”

“Do you know what day it is, Tommy?” she cut him off, her eyebrows raised. He said nothing. “Huh?” she asked for a response. Silence was all she got. “You don’t…” she sighed in defeat, shaking her head as she looked to the floor. “It’s been a year…one whole year since we shared our feelings for each other. One whole year since I thought I found the person who I was going to be with for the rest of my life. But now I don’t know anymore…”

“(Y/N)…” he tried to get out but she wasn’t hearing it.

“This is your last chance,” she gave him the ultimatum, “tell me or I leave.”

The tension between the two was practically palpable. (Y/N) waited on bated breath for him to share what he’d been hiding from her. Tommy weighed his options in his mind - no one knew that he still had the guns in his possession. He was hoping that the last person who knew was (Y/N). But now since she stumbled in on that conversation, she wanted to know more. He’d remembered the promise he made those several months ago. And while the last thing he wanted to do was break it, he just couldn’t bring himself to reveal the secret he was withholding from the entire family. If she knew, everyone would know, was his thinking.

“I’m leaving,” she made her decision, cutting into his thoughts and making him realize that he hadn’t said anything.

She took one last look at him, honestly still hoping that he’d make some grand gesture and save everything, but he just stood there, a look of disbelief clear across his face. She had to follow through with her decision. With a deep breath, she walked past him and exited the building through the betting shop door. Turning and walking back past the family would have been too much for her. She needed to get away with the least amount of Shelbys seeing her.

Tommy blinked a few times after the door to the shop closed. He was frozen in disbelief. So much had happened in the span of a short time. And now (Y/N) was gone.

He remembered the bottle of rum that he’d brought for Arthur’s wounds. It wasn’t whiskey, but the last thing he wanted to do was go out now, so the rum would do.

Polly, John and Arthur were still sitting in the kitchen when he re-entered it. He didn’t make eye contact with any of them, instead making a b-line for the bottle of alcohol and bringing it to his lips the second he had it in his hands.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” Arthur questioned, looking less bloody now than he had before.

“She left,” Tommy answered before taking another drink from the bottle.

“Shame…this bread’s fucking amazing,” John shared his praises for the woman’s baking skills. “You should try some,” he insisted.

“I don’t want any,” Tommy shook his head.

“Try some!” Arthur shouted, motioning to the small portion of the bread that was left, “before we eat it all on ya.”

“Fine,” Tommy huffed under his breath, moving over to where the baked good was sitting. He took the knife and cut himself the smallest slice, putting it right into his mouth and eating it without giving any clue as to what he thought of it. He then walked out of the room, exiting the home the opposite way (Y/N) had.

The three remaining people in the room all watched him leave, wondering what exactly was making him even more vexed than usual.

“More for us,” John shrugged, his carefree comment clearing the tension as he moved over to cut himself another slice of the bread.

Tommy returned to the house on Watery Lane later that evening and let out a sigh of relief when he found what he was looking for.

There was still a small piece of the plum bread (Y/N) had brought over left of the table. He sighed as he sat down on one of the chairs before reaching out to take the leftover piece.

Another sigh left his lips as he ate the bread. He couldn’t get (Y/N) out of his mind since she left him earlier, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fighting with himself over what he should do now.

As much as he wanted her in his life, he had to honor her wishes. And even if she posed the earlier question to him again, he wasn’t sure if he’d give a different response. What was happening now was different…he had to keep his cards close to his chest. She should have understood that, right?

He couldn’t deny that he missed her though. The fact that he actually came back to have a second piece of the bread she made for them had him realizing that there would be many reasons why he’d be missing her.

“I have something for you,” the barmaid, Grace, announced as she entered the snug, where the three oldest Shelby brothers had been holed up for the majority of the day. She’d been working at the Garrison for several months now, and she’d quickly found her place within the establishment.

“What is it?” Arthur asked as he brought his glass up to his lips, his eyebrows raised in intrigue.

“Plum bread. I made it…figured you’d need something after all of the meetings that have been happening,” she answered, explaining the reason behind the gesture.

John and Arthur exchanged a look upon hearing what she’d brought. They hadn’t had plum bread since (Y/N) left it for them. Hesitantly, they looked over at Tommy. His expression wasn’t readable.

“Leave it on the table and then you’re good to go, Grace,” Tommy spoke up to instruct her. He felt his brothers’ eyes on him, and knew that they’d be watching closely to see what he’d do next.

“Ok,” she nodded, carefully setting the serving dish and accompanying plates on the table before she turned and exited the snug.

The three men looked at the bread for a few moments. John and Arthur both didn’t want to be the first to make a move, and they most certainly knew that Tommy wasn’t going to.

It was kind of Grace to bake for them, and they no doubt took it as one of her attempts to break the ice between her and the Shelby family. She’d been chipping away at it since she arrived months ago.

But the elephant in the room was looming large now, and it had made itself known via the choice of baked good that the aforementioned blonde woman had brought.

“Shall we try it then?” Arthur was the first to finally speak up. He took his eyes off the dish for a moment to look at his brothers.

“Might as well,” John shrugged as he replied.

Now they both were looking at Tommy. It became apparent that they weren’t going to make a move until he signed off on it. “Go on,” he finally instructed them, motioning to the bread with his chin.

That was all the two men needed. Arthur took on the job of cutting the bread while John divvied out the plates. They even cut a piece for Tommy, who didn’t seem like he was too keen on eating it.

What they did not need was an invitation to eat the bread. More silence filled the room as they did so. It took a few bites from both of them before they were sharing a look with each other. Something had been silently agreed upon between them, and now they were deciding whether they should share their thoughts with Tommy.

“How is it?” Tommy broke into their nonverbal conversation, knowing the looks they were sharing all too well.

“It’s…” Arthur started, finishing his statement off with a breath instead of continuing before he looked to John for assistance. Between the two of them, he knew the latter was a more colorful commentator.

“It’s not like hers,” John filled in the blank, shaking his head slightly as he looked down at the remaining piece of bread on his plate.

The name didn’t even need to be said. Tommy knew who they were taking about. He exhaled a breath before nodding his head. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the piece sitting in front of him.

“She ain’t got that special touch like (Y/N) did,” Arthur then added his thoughts, addressing the elephant in the room by name.

Tommy’s look was once again unreadable. Glimpses of the woman he’d lost were swirling around his mind, and they wouldn’t leave no matter how hard he tried. Sometimes he wished he would have done things differently. He wished she was still in his life.

What’s done is done was always what came to mind when he got to thinking like that. But even though that phrase came to mind, he still wasn’t going to try the bread, for his remembrance of how she made it was one of the only good things he had left.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings

@just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @mischievouslittlecreature

@stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder

@cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername

@depxiety @justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @mrs-bond @cljordan-imperium

@brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife

@shaddixlife @ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo @novashelby

[gor3-hound]

ETERNITY — SUGURU GETO

a/n: hiii !! first geto fic on this account maybe?? shocker bcs i love him so bad... commission for @nexysworld !! love her so bad, pls check her out <3

cw: 18+ content, father-daughter incest, possessive behaviour, sheltered reader, mildly dubious consent, yandere-ish themes, very teeny tiny amount of religious themes, too. p in v, creampie, brief choking

Suguru Geto is not a man you would consider to be unkind, but there was very little affection within his actions. Your father was often patient with you - strict, but forgiving. When he touched you, it was always cold and clinical; always born out of necessity. 

Your mother had always been irrelevant to him, nothing more than a means to an end. That just so happened to be you, his daughter, and one and only heir. He had sensed the cursed energy within you the moment you were born, and he took you in to raise you on his own. He had no need for that woman anymore - she had served her purpose and bestowed him with a gift greater than any other.

Your life was free of troubles. Perhaps you did not get to play with the village children, but that was alright. You were allowed to play with the others within the compound. His followers were always kind to you, if not somewhat on edge in your presence. You did not understand it then, but now you realised the apprehension they held did not stem from your actions, but from fear of upsetting your father. You had been sheltered, yes, but you found you did not crave much else. You were well-fed, well looked after… It was hard to feel caged when the compound was all you had known.

Your youthful naivety could not last forever, and Suguru knew this. He dreaded your growth with each passing year, waiting for the questions that would come. He could keep you from the outside world, but he could not keep the outside world from you. He had many visitors, people looking to be cured of their ailments. He could keep you from watching these interactions, but he could see the way your curious eyes shone as you watched them come and go.

You asked him about the outside world only once, shortly after he had ‘cured’ a young child. You had been excited to see someone closer to your age, but his words quickly shut you down.

“The child has been plagued with demons,” He had told you simply, eyes cold as he glanced down at you. “I can keep them at bay, yes. But it would not do you well to socialise with others such as him. They will corrupt you.”

It had not convinced you entirely, and he could see that in your eyes. With a small frown, he kneeled before you, tilting his head to the side. “I extracted one from him. Would you like to see it?”

You nodded, as expected. Hopeful curiosity glimmering in your eyes, the idea of being shown something new and dangerous exciting to you. He sighs, allowing the cursed spirit he had absorbed free. He had no worry - he knew it was safely under his control. But he could see the fear in your eyes as it stalked towards you, the way you instinctively backed up, glancing at your father for protection.

“Daddy-” 

He lets its maw open inches from your body, the acrid stench of its breath filling the room as it goes to attack. He watches, unblinking, as you tremble and beg for his help, tears streaming down your face. Even still, he waits a few more seconds before driving his cursed tool through the spirit, exorcising it with ease.

“Do you see now why I cannot let you outside? It is far too dangerous for you.” You nod, clinging to him as you sob into the fabric of his robes. He lets you, holding you close to him. “I do not wish to see you hurt. Promise me you won’t ask to leave the compound again.”

“I promise.”

The years pass, and you do not dare mention leaving the compound again. Even as you reach adulthood, the memory of the demon you faced as a child keeps you biting back any requests of more freedom.

Something in your father has changed - you’re not sure what it is, but it leaves you with a lingering sense of unease whenever you cross his path. His gaze has become sharper, watching your every movement like he’s waiting for something. What it is, you’re unsure of. Your pulse is constantly racing when you’re forced to be in his proximity for more than a few seconds, but your brain can’t register what it is about him that’s making you so tense.

Your realisation comes to you slowly. You’ve seen that look before in some of them men that have wandered around the compound. Not directed at you, but you’re able to identify it all the same. 

Hunger.

Your realisation doesn’t come with any changes in his actions, but you can see in the subtle curve of his lips that he knows. He can sense that you act differently around him. Geto is an intelligent man, and it’s clear he planned for you to find out from the start. Months pass by without any changes in routine. You rarely see your father unless he deems it necessary to address you, his followers often being the ones responsible for ensuring you attend meals and stay within the compound.

Then, suddenly, he comes to you.

It’s the middle of the night when he wakes you with a gentle caress on your cheek. It’s one of the most affectionate touches he’s given you since you were a little girl, fingertips gently brushing over your cheekbones. When you meet his eyes, your heart stops beating for a moment.

His gaze is anything but kind. His jaw is set tight, and in that moment you realised how naive you were to think ignoring his glances would be enough to keep him at bay. Seeing your eyes widen with fear is enough for a sharp grin to spread across his face, his hand shifting to grasp at your hair, tilting your head back harshly.

“You're looking so beautiful these days, sweetheart.” Suguru murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, free hand grasping at your hip. “I thought about resisting my impulses, but it’s as if you were made to tempt me. Pure, kind, beautiful. Forbidden fruit is always said to be the sweetest, but I had never thought temptation would come to me in the form of my very own daughter.”

You stiffen under him, hands pushing at his chest. He tuts disapprovingly, his fingers slackening as he pulls his hand from your hair. Suguru slides his fingers down the side of your neck, delicately wrapping around your throat before he squeezes.

“Shh, calm down. It’s only me, bunny.” He purrs the nickname, one he has not used in years in an attempt to soften you, It works, momentarily, but your muscles still feel fraught with tension. He leans down, fingers tightening around your neck in a warning as he presses his lips to yours.

His mouth is hot against yours as he kisses you. He keeps the pace leisurely, almost teasing as he presses his chapped lips against yours, tongue coaxing your lips open. The hand on your hip slides under your shirt in a way that makes you jolt, immediately breaking the kiss.

“Daddy, wait-”

Suguru scoffs, raising a brow at you. “That makes you sound so childish. You're a big girl now, aren't you?”

“D-Dad?” You correct, feeling yourself squirm under his harsh gaze.

“Better.” He breathes out, lowering his head once more to lathe his tongue along the flesh of your throat, licking hotly at your quickening pulse beneath the skin. The hand on your bare slides higher, dragging the fabric of your shirt up until he’s cupping your breast, thumb brushing gently over your nipple. You gasp softly at the pleasure it brings, something that brings an unfamiliar heat searing through your veins as wetness pools in the gusset of your panties.

He grins at the gasp he draws from your lips, teeth gently nipping at your skin as he releases your throat. His thumb flicks over your nipple once more as he drags his other hand down, moving to feel the wetness seeping through your underwear.

“I promised I’d protect you, bunny, and I meant it.” He murmurs, tracing a finger down the middle of the dampened fabric. He feels you tremble as he brushes over your clit, so he presses down gently to hear you whimper.

“I meant it,” he repeats, “I won’t hurt you, I just want you to feel good. You trust me, don’t you?

It’s a question, but it sounds more like a threat. You felt that familiar sense of unease in the back of your mind. You hadn’t experienced these things before, but you weren’t clueless.  You knew this was wrong, that he shouldn’t be touching you like this, but as his thumb replaces his finger so he could gently rub circles into your clit, your apprehension melts.

“Good girl.” He praises, words smooth and sweet. His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties, and he slowly slides them down your legs. His eyes hone in on your cunt, slick with arousal that he caused. “Look at you.”

Shame burns your face as you close your thighs, attempting to hide yourself from his view. Suguru grabs your knees, prying your thighs away before sliding his body between them to keep them from closing again.

“What’s wrong? You said you trusted me, bunny. Why are you trying to hide from me?”

“I wasn’t, I… I’m sorry.” You reply, gaze dropping nervously. Your heart pounds almost painfully in your chest, feeling more ashamed for disappointing your father.

“I don’t want to punish you, darling. Don’t you want to be good for me?” He says quietly, his tone almost condescending. He doesn’t wait for a reply before he sinks a finger into your tight cunt, a groan rumbling his chest as he feels you squeezing the digit. “Such an innocent little thing. So tight and wet.”

Suguru pulls back briefly only to remove his clothing, settling between your legs once more. His thumb presses down the base of his cock, allowing himself to align the tip with your dripping hole. “This may hurt at first, but you need to relax for me. Can you be a good girl?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, voice soft and nervous. Suguru presses forward, sliding himself inch by inch inside of your tight heat until his cock is pressed to your cervix. Tears prick at your eyes from the sudden burn, your chest heaving with heavy breaths as he pauses to allow you to adjust to his size.

“Shh, shh. You’ll be alright, bunny. Your body was made for me, after all. It will feel good soon.” He promises, gently rocking his hips. “My sweet girl. I’d never have another have you like this. No, it has to be me. I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.”

He tries to be gentle with you - he has no intention to hurt his sweet little girl - but the way you squeeze around him feels divine. He’s sure he’s never felt anything so perfect before, feeling as though he’s being driven mad as your slick walls cling to his cock, sucking him greedily every time he starts to pull out. Suguru is not one to lose control, but he can’t find it within himself to hold back as he starts to fuck into you with earnest, pounding you into the mattress until you’re crying out with every thrust.

His hand falls to rest on your pelvis, thumb brushing your clit in a way that makes you mewl, arching into his touch. He grunts as you squeeze tighter around his cock, his hips stuttering as he rubs circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips buck, and he slams into you harder, bruising your cervix each time his hips snap forward. You’re so tight and warm and perfect around him, and he’s not sure how much longer he’s going to last inside of you.

He watches through hooded, lust-glazed eyes as your body coils up tight, the prettiest moans and whimpers spilling from your hips as you come undone around his length. His teeth clench at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, the grip on your hip turning bruising as he fucks into you erratically, chasing his own release. His hips stutter before he stills, spilling deep inside of you with a low groan. His eyes squeeze shut, hand falling away from your clit to grip the sheets as he floods you with his cum.

“There we go, bunny.” He murmurs softly as he returns to himself, slowly pulling out of you. He sighs shakily, brushing some hair from your face. “You’re mine forever, darling. I’m never letting you stray from my side.” 

His tone alone assures you his words are a promise.

[justaaveragereader]

Addicted

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Genre: Smut, Comfort Sex

Warning⛔️: Unprotected Sex (No Glove, No Love), Slight Choking, Cream Pie, Needy And Clingy Hongjoong, Marking, If I Missed Anything Let Me Know👀!

NSFW & Warnings Under Cut - Minors DNI!!! 🔞

————————————————————————

Your smile was enticing, your smell was perpetual, you were addicting. Everything about you was worth being addicted to. That frightened Hongjoong. He wanted, no, needed your presence to weigh down on him. He needed you to back him into a corner and suffocate him. He needed it, he wanted it, he craved it. He was addicted and he didn’t want to stop.

Not only did he have the crushing pressure of the company on his shoulders, he also had the responsibility of producing not only for his own group but also for Xikers. It’s not that he didn’t love what he did, sometimes it just got exhausting. You were a light, and he was a careless moth drawn into you.

You were always good to him, if he called, you came. If he needed you while he was halfway across the globe you tried your best to show up for him. He was convinced you could cure any and everything he went through with just a simple glance. He is a very intense lover, you knew that, and tried your best to match him and the thought of that made his eyes glass over.

Standing in the doorway of his studio, hands full of food amongst other small snacks and drinks. He could smell your perfume clouding the small studio, your eyes ogling over him. Not like he was a chore, not like he was a burden, like he was the only man for you. You jiggle the bag letting him know that the items inside are for him to enjoy.

“I figured you hadn’t eaten yet, so I thought I would stop by and bring you something to eat, and snack on for when you are feeling snacky.” You say while walking towards him placing the bags down, his eyes trailing over you like it’s his very first time seeing you.

“And…I missed you, I wanted to see you. So I thought why not knock two birds with one stone.”

There it was, that tug on his heart, he could physically feel you love him, still at times it didn’t feel like enough. He needed you 7 days a week, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Even if he had you all the time, it still wouldn’t feel like enough to him. He was always longing for you, and the thought of you missing and longing for him always made him just a smidge more addicted to you.

“You missed me?” He breathes out in a raspy voice, heart taking over his mind. Cock slightly growing hard in the thought of you wanting him.

“I always miss you Joong.” You turn your body full towards him, pulling his chair out slightly so you can stand in between his legs. Your eyes looking down at him with love, while he cocks his head back to fully take you in. A true goddess. Your words were enough to take his breath away, feeling his chest squeeze he brings his hands up to your hips. Slightly lifting your shirt so he can run his thumbs over your skin. He needs to feel your skin underneath his fingers tips.

“You miss me?” You say lightly, you know the answer, yet you want to hear him say it. Your fingers comb lightly through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp.

Bringing his face into your clothed stomach, inhaling your scent. He exhales, dopamine filling his inner body. His body always spoke louder than his words ever could.

“Morning, noon, and night.” He says through a muffle voice, face still pressed into your stomach.

“Miss me all the time it sounds like.” You speak quietly, hands now working their way down to run at his tense shoulders, your hands on his body immediately ease him, his shoulders loosening instantaneously.

“I miss you even when you are next to me.” He says pulling back from your stomach, your hands pausing at his shoulders. His hands coming down to undo the button on your jeans. He needed you to feel every word that he was going to say. His mask was slipping off, his true self and feelings were surfacing.

“I don’t think you understand how much I need you.” He whispers out, dragging your jeans down to your ankles, helping you step out of them. His lips place light feather kisses along your lower stomach.

“I love you so fucking much.” His voice slightly cracks at the end, a small smile graces your face. You were always enamored with Hongjoong, his intensity is a key reason why you were drawn to him.

“No matter how much I have you, it never feels like enough.” His wet lips leave a trail of small hickies behind, marking you for the future. So you can look back and see that you are marked by him. He would engrave his name into you if he could.

Standing up he pushes you down upon the small couch in his studio, cock throbbing hard against his pants, gripping his bulge to relieve some of the pressure. He wanted to carve this moment into his head forever, just like all the other moments spent with you. You had to be more than soulmates, you had to be made for him. Your eyes glaze over, a shine in them that even brings the sun to shame.

“You have me Hongjoong, you will always have me, for as long as you want me.” You breathe out. Voice far from sultry, but in his ears you spoke like sex each time.

“I want you forever, I want you now, I want you in the next life.” He breathes out, voice thick with need. His emotions were crashing quickly. His heart taking over as the pilot.

Freeing his cock from his pants, he’s dripping pre cum, the tip a vibrant red, almost as pretty as his lip color. His eyes scream predator yet lover intertwined. You lock eyes with Hongjoong, slowly pulling your panties off of your lower half, wanting to make sure he knows that you are all for him no matter what life time it is. It’ll always be Kim Hongjoong.

Usually he would give you more foreplay but today he couldn’t, he couldn’t bear the thought of being not in you. He needed this, just like he needed you.

Easing himself into you, letting you get used to the stretch. Your head falls back instantly, eyes fluttering shut. Everytime was like the first time. God, he was a love sick man. His hands gripping your hips, fingers more then likely to leave marks. Drawing his hips back, he slams back with a powerful deep thrust, savoring the way your back arches, you instantly cry out.

“I love you so fucking much. I want you all the time, I need you all the time.” He pants out, hips speeding up slightly, drawing his hips back far enough to make sure that you see stars. He was sure to make sure he hit every spot in you. He could be blindfolded, and would still know what spots on you to push.

The way your back arches, the way you are holding his wrist while he’s stroking you to heaven is so much to bear. The emotions are a cracking weight on him. You try your best to look at him through your hooded eyes, pleasure nurturing your body. You wanted him to feel you in this moment, you wanted him to know you were with him within this moment. Your cunt clenches, drawing out a loud moan from him. Trying his best to make sure his eyes remain on you. With each thrust the squelching noises bounce around in the small studio. Even though he was in his studio, the wet noises you were making were music to his ears, a song he could never replicate. His eyes glass over with unshed tears.

“I love you.” He grits out, trying to hold onto his orgasm so you can waltz into bliss first. You grip his wrist tighter to let him know you are there, that you are his.

“I love you even more Joong.” You rasps out through a moan, trying your best to remain coherent but the way he cock is sliding in and out of you it’s nearly impossible.

“I love you so fucking much, I need you all the time.” He grits out, tears now rolling down his face, his hips picking up speed, cock deep in your guts. Your back arches, eyes rolling back into your skull.

“I don’t think you understand how much I truly need you. I can’t breathe if you aren’t next to me. I can’t lead if you aren’t there.” Thrusts getting deeper, you needed to feel him. He was going to make sure you never forgot this moment.

“I can’t survive unless you are with me. I’m so in love with you.” He grips the side of your neck, tossing one of your legs over his forearm, hitting inside of you from a whole different angle. Tilting your head forward, he pushes his forehead against yours, unshed tears spilling onto your skin.

“I’m addicted to you, I don’t think you truly understand how much I’m in love with you. I need you with me just so I can function.” His hand on your neck comes to the sides of your throat, making sure to apply the correct amount of pressure that he knows you like. Your eyes start to water, not sure if it’s from his words or from your orgasm that is quickly approaching. Your toes curl, one leg locking him into place so he couldn’t move, you grab him by the front of his shirt, placing a desperate to his lips before shoving your tongue into his mouth. Pulling back slightly he breathes into you, panting heavily above you, his thrusts becoming sloppy.

“I love you so fuc-fucking much.” He stutters out, orgasm crashing down upon him, his stuttering hips push harshly into yours. Making sure that your walls milk him dry. He pulls back slightly, brushing some of the fallen sweat and tears off of your skin. Adjusting you so that he would slip behind you on the small couch.

Turning you over so your noses brushed, your hand coming to push back some of the sweaty hair that had fallen upon his face. Heavy pants are shared between you both, his hand finds its place on your hip again, brushing your skin as if to make sure you don’t fade away, that you aren’t just a figment of his imagination.

“I’m so addicted to you jagiya, and I don’t think I can stop.” He whispers out onto your lips, before running his tongue along your bottom lip. Savoring your taste on his very own.

“Good…I don’t want you to.” You whisper back on his lips. Smile taking over your face before driving back into his lips. Loving you was a addiction he would never beat.

————————————————————————

A/N: I just want to say thank you to @whatudowhennooneseesyou for requesting this, she wrote such a AMAZING piece like this for Bang Chan called Limerence go give it a read! She wanted me to write something like it for a Ateez member, and she chose Hongjoong which made me dizzy😵‍💫 bc why do I feel like it screams Hongjoong. I hope I was able to do you justice babes😚! Honestly while writing this I listen to Just Pretend by Bad Omens on repeat bc I feel like it fits this perfectly👀👀. I hope all you guys enjoy reading this!

DO NOT REPOST.

[petew21-blog]

Healthcare insurance

Doctor Green approached his oncology patient in the ICU. The old man, Benedict Brown, suffering from lung cancer, was in the hospital for his late diagnosis of his condition, which wasn't improving.

Dr. Green:"Mr. Brown, I don't have very good news. The tumour is a small cell lung carcinoma. It is the direct result of your smoking. Unfortunately it is very aggressive and in your case has been diagnosed very late. We can offer you a support group along with some pain medication..."

Mr. Brown:"Are you JOKING ME?!? When I came months ago, you said it was just... eh ehh ehhhh cough cough... Just cough. And now you're telling me I'm gonna die?"

Dr. Green:"I'm very sorry sir. We did everything we could, but the diagnosis is final in this case and overall the condition can be hard to diagnose in early stages"

Mr. Brown:"You're just trying to get out of this so you won't feel guilty. For not treating me as you should. You turned me away and you know it damn well"

Dr. Green:"Sir, if there was something I could do, I would. But I am out of my options"

Mr. Brown smiled. "Oh there is one option. Come closer I can tell you. But send everyone away."

Dr. Green hesitated. But did as he said. Dr. Green sat down on a chair next to Mr. Green.

Dr. Green:"Ok. So tell me."

Mr. Brown grabbed Dr. Green's hand and started the incantation. Dr. Green could feel how the man's cold hands started getting warmer and warmer. And suddenly, he felt the warm presence all over his body.

Mr. Brown opened his eyes. He was sitting now and looking at the old man on the bed. He looked down and saw a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck. He inhaled a big ammount of air. "What a relief"

As soon as he said that, his old body started coding. He pushed the button and started doing a CPR. The doctors did what they could, but couldn't save the old man. Or atleast his body

But Mr. Brown didn't really care. Because he was now a young healthy doctor. And this time. He was gonna live his best life

Dr. Green:"What's happening?"

Mr. Brown:"Ahh, you're here too? You were supposed to die in my body. Oh well, I guess I can handle one black passenger."

Dr. Green:"How did you do this? Mr. Brown, you have to get out of my body!!!"

Mr. Brown:"You know what? I don't have to get out. This is my body now. And I'm gonna enjoy it"

Mr. Brown:"Fuck yeah, look at me in these sunglasses and a vest. Now your body has atleast some style, doctor. You should thank me. You were in desperate need of a makeover."

Dr. Green:"My wife will know it's not me. She will figure it out"

Mr. Brown:"Right. She won't last with me for too long. I can tell you that"

Mr. Brown:"The same goes for your job. I won't stay in healthcare with a body like this. That would be a waste of time. Now, I really wanna smoke so bad."

He got out of the car and lit a cigarette. He coughed

Dr. Green:"My body isn't used to it. You can't smoke"

Mr. Brown:"Oh don't worry about it. I'll get used to it pretty soon. Also, I don't need to smoke right now. Just need it to get some photos for Grindr"

Dr. Green:"Grindr? Isn't that for gay people?"

Mr. Brown:"Great job, Dr. Green. Exactly"

Mr. Brown:"Man, look at me. I look good. The jeans, the leather. The smoke. I look so fucking good. Thanks for the body doc. Since you killed mine. Oh yeah. Look at that. That's the one for Grindr"

Dr. Green couldn't believe what was happening. His own body was smoking and doing things he would never do. He was controlled by someone else, possibly forever. What was he gonna do? He can't stay like this forever. But what if he has to?

In the nearby alley the two men were kissing passionately. The younger one pushed the other against the wall, pressing his hard dick against his.

The man:"Aren't you a bit young for me?"

Mr. Brown laughed:"Well. What can I say? I'm an old soul"

Could you make a story in which a man who suffers from lung cancer takes revenge on his young doctor for not being able to cure him, possessing him and turning him into a smoker and gay? You could do the perspective of the old man in his new body and the young doctor being possessed and forced to see his changed appearance. I really like this guy by the way. https://www.tumblr.com/male-meat-suit/724018661918195712/maybe-a-story-with-this-one?source=share

[ramonathinks]

who’s your god? — geto suguru (oneshot; no part two)

summary: suguru geto is the reincarnation of a powerful god or so he claims, using his abilities to prey on as many weak minded housewives as he can.

warnings: (18+, minors/ageless/blank blogs will be blocked) mention of church/religion, sex, adultery, cult like themes, sacrilege(?), begging, pet names (good girl, slut), corruption, finger sucking, public sex, people are watching, geto refers to himself as god, spanking, manipulation, race isn’t mentioned but i envision all my y/n’s as black so yeah. yes, repostttt

A-are you sure?” You swallow and gulp, staring at the man in front of you. His dark hooded eyes staring back at you.

“I have no reason to lie to you.” He says in a hushed tone as your husband walks up the stairs. With every painful creek of the staircase you can’t help but to wince. “Your purity… is in danger, has been for a long time… many of those in higher powers have spoke to me, they do want to help you to remain pure… to be in a good standing of course. That’s why I’m here.”

“Is there anything I can do?” With pleading eyes and shaky hands you scoot closer to him. You children deserved a pure mother, one to help them cross over when the time approached. You longed to be reunited with your husband when time was right.

“Why, of course.” He did a sly slimy smile. “We’ll sit some time aside and pray on this together at the temple.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much sir– eh, master geto.” You could see his lip curl at the name change and seen his nails dig into him palms. Pulling out a simple cross necklace from the insides of his black robe, he handed it to you, placing it into the center of your palm and closing your hand to form a fist.

“Keep this. Wear it. Don’t take it off until we next meet. It’s vital for the ritual we’ll have to preform.”

So you did. You wore it everywhere and didn’t take it off. Anything to keep your purity safe. You showed with it on, wore it underneath all your shirts and dresses.

“The gods spoke to me,” A phone call on the early morning after three weeks had passed. “It’s time.” It wasn’t even dawn yet, just a little past 3am and you were drowsy. “Wear something light. Very thin.”

You swallowed and looked over yourself, all of the sudden nervous and self conscious. Your body a bit more full and plum since the birth of two babies, everything thin you owned was tight against your body.

But you slipped into a long sleeved dark old dress you owned, that covered your entire body and hugged your figure.

You couldn’t help but feel so out of place and so weird when you walked into the sacred temple. Masked and cloaked individuals stood still, you could barely tell that they were breathing yet alone alive.

Swallowing, you made your way to the center of the temple, where you knew Geto would be waiting.

He stood with great posture and a small cross between his fingers, pressing his lips against it before rubbing his fingers against it, up and down. Your core tingled and you gripped the sides of your dress, feeling too hot to keep walking. Your knees buckled and your hands clutched at the wall by your side.

“Master Geto, he—lp!” You slipped and fell to the floor, landing with a small oof that left your mouth. A buzzing sensation on your clit and even feeling a rough hand on your folds. Massaging and pulling them apart.

“Just let it over take you. Just be glad, I didn’t do this while your husband was around. I’m being mighty merciful to you, my dear.” His voice is a shiver up your spine and his presence overtakes you, you feel him all over and he hasn’t even walked over to you yet.

“Tell me, my dear…” His voice cures your ails, making every moment more breathable again. “If I told you that the only way to keep your purity intact would be the touch of a god, would you still be willing?” His voice is sly and cocky.

You squeeze your eyes tightly, a light relief of touch making you moan heavily before it’s quickly snatched away. “That was just a taste, a small taste of purity that could welcomed back into your little soul.”

Something stirred up inside of your chest and a heavy weight made you groan, making you painfully uncomfortable and aware of just what you were missing.

“I need it.” You voice hoarse and detached, you weren’t sounding like yourself. “I’d do anything for it—!” You voice faded.

You felt several hands on you all at once but nobody was there. Solar bright hotness scarred your chest while the cross marked itself into your skin, the smell of burnt flesh all around you.

As if hours had passed, Geto finally approached you. Putting your head in his lap. He crouched and whispered in your ear, “I’m going to fuck the purity back into you.” Licking the insides of your ear before biting and sucking on the lobe. “You’ll be clean again.” He promised.

Slipping your dress up and removing your dainty underwear. “Already so soaked. You’re already ready for me.” His finger caressed your lips and he kissed you. His tongue licking throughout your mouth and sucking on every inch of your tongue.

Cloaked and masked individuals circled around you both and you clang into his grasp, shivering.

“They have to watch. They have to be here.” He explained calmly. “They’re praying over us, praying for you and your purity… shall I ask again, if you really want this? Remember the feeling that you felt…” That feeling was all you could think about, his touch and his voice amplifying everything.

He knew you wanted it. Hanging it over your head. Watching you pant and groan, your thighs sticky and your head spinning. “Please… you know I need it.”

“What would you husband think of you now…” he twists his fingers in your mouth, drawing them in and out. “Watching you beg like a little slut for me to fuck you… would he like it?”

You couldn’t bare to answer. “Please just fuck me already…” you pleaded with him, your eyes clouded with lust, his filled with sin and all he could do was drink it up.

The dizziness continued as the people watching stepped closer, you gulped and trembled, feeling like you can’t breathe.

“I’m going to give you exactly what you need to be pure again.” He pulls his robe off quickly and your eyes follow. His body sculpted to perfection, lean and a perfect built. Your eyes trailed down to his cock and you tried not to moan aloud.

Long and girthy with a dark pink tip, standing curved and full at your attention. You swallowed hard.

Leaning over you, he rubs himself between your cool wet gooey folds, lining his cock against your entrance. “Ready?” He murmurs and your eyes look between his then to his cock before you look to the lingering eyes around you.

“Yes. I’m ready.” Your voice strong and steady as your hands grab at his shoulders.

He slipped between your thighs and all of the heat and sweat around your body disappeared when a small moan left your lips. His cock completely splitting you open and his fingers digging into your thighs. Your legs spread wide as his hips thrust forward, hard.

Burying his nose into your neck he does a deep laugh. His hips wild with ever thrust, the splashy wetness from your pussy echoing around the temple. Moans bounce around with each time he plunges in and out of you.

Clenching around him, he groans, pulling himself out before quickly tapping his cock against your wet folds that open wide for him. He feeds your deprived insides his merciful cock with a sinister smile before he says:

“Tell me, who’s your fucking god now? Huh? Who do you belong to? Who is fucking you, hm? Who’s fucking this pussy pure?”

Gripping his shoulders harder and meeting his thrust you finally whisper, “You… you are, master Geto.”

His hips stutter when you tighten up on him, “Oh, so tight… so fucking tight.” He squeezed your thighs and ram inside of you, both of your moans loud. “Gonna fucking cum inside this pretty pussy.” He promises, jerking his hips and fucking deeper inside of your core.

Feeling every twitch from you, he uses two fingers to rub at your needy swollen clit. “Oh you like that? You like when I fuck this flower open?”

He plants kisses up and down your throat. “Please just…” you lock your legs around his waist, tightly. Wetness sliding down your thighs.

He shutters and sighs, rocking his hips and thrusting harder inside. His eyes intense as they glare down at you. “Such a good girl,” He says, his voice guff and his cock throbbing hard.

Your nails dig into his skin and your pussy squirts as he works his way in and out of you.“Take it.” He tip kissing your womb ever so gently before he’s pounding inside again, watching your thighs jiggle with every moment.

“Take my cum.” He growls, stilling over you. His body shakes and so goes yours, once his cum is planted inside of you, your body feels cool again.

Panting, you look into his dark eyes. “Am I pure?” Your eyes shining with hope and pleasure.

“Far from it.” He says and your face falls. “Turn around.”

Embarrassed and confused, you turn on your stomach.

You feel his rough hands touching on your ass and squeezing the plushness of it before he does the unexpected. A loud slap rings throughout the temple and you grown in pain. ���Count.” He does another one to the opposite cheek.

“O-one…” Your soaked folds growing even wetness. “Two…”

Rubbing his cock between your ass he does another slap. “Three—!”

“I’m going to have my way with you for the rest of the day… until you physically can’t anymore.” He says with a deep chuckle. “Ready?”

[chronicallyonline101]

hi its me, i LOOVEEE the way you've characterised everyone in DK and it makes me wonder how many HCs you have for them all????? because theyre so unique down to the littlest of details, like Formaggio liking Smashmouth and Ghiaccio preffering Warhammer over DnD! i want to hear ur headcannons. share them with the class

hello again !!!! i will share !

I've got... a LOT. so i'll put them under cut!

La Squadra Headcanons!

Risotto HCs:

Started the hitman team at age 21 in 1994.

- Lived with his Aunt and Uncle growing up because his Catholic parents thought he was a 'bad omen'.

- Started a band with his cousin when they were around ten or eleven, stopped playing instruments after his cousin died.

- Was technically 'kidnapped' by Passione after killing the man who hit his cousin, emotionally manipulated under the guise that the organisation had 'saved' him from being sent to prison. This is one of the reasons he turned traitor.

- Likes writing poetry and short stories; particularly graphic, gory horror stories. When he was younger, he had wanted to be an author. Nowwadays he can't really see a future for himself.

- Keeps one of those diaries where when you input the code a song plays and it opens.

The song he chose is Enter Sandman, by Metallica. It's his favourite because it reminds him of himself, but if anyone asks him his favourite song he'll say something obscure like Creeping Death because he doesn't want to be seen as some basic poser.

- Forced Prosciutto to listen to The Grateful Dead.

- He's normally quite cordial with his workspace; the Hideout and his office are clean and proper, but his bedroom is extremely messy. It's his own space, so he lets it get tatty because he doesn't want to associate it with the stress of work.

- Has a really bad posture because he always has to hunch over to do paperwork.

- He's always quiet, not because he's mysterious and cool but because he was very isolated as a teenager and has ZERO social skills - he's always scared he'll mess up and say something weird, so he's very reserved.

In turn, he's created a sort of 'Boogeyman of Passione' name for himself. He's learnt to embrace his timid nature.

- The bells on his coxcomb are a test of stealth for himself. When you put a bell on a cat, it learns to hunt without ringing it; he's done the same.

On the contrary, though, it's not uncommon to hear jangling inside the hideout as he goes about his business because he doesn't feel the need to conceal himself within the presence of his teammates.

- Had anaemia growing up, was shot with the arrow and obtained Metallica; it cured his anaemia, but then he developed haemochromatosis - which is a result of too much iron building up in the blood over a prolonged period of time.

Since Metallica is his stand, his case of haemochromatosis isn't too severe and the symptoms aren't bad. It doesn't affect his work too much, but he can often become very fatigued and experiences a lot of joint pain.

- He is an artifical stand user (hit by the arrow.)

Prosciutto HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 19 in 1994.

- Pesci and Prosciutto are half-brothers; they share the same mother but have different fathers. Pesci looks more like their mum while Prosciutto looks more like his father - this caused a rift in their family because Pesci ended up being the favourite child.

- Was raised Catholic; claims to be atheist, but in truth upholds agnostic ideologies that he will sometimes accidentally project onto his teammates.

- Doesn't like smoking, but it's a habit he's gotten stuck into. He doesn't know how to quit.

- Joined La Squadra two years before Pesci, during this time Pesci thought he had died.

- Often uses their late mother as a way of manipulating Pesci: e.g. "What would she think of you behaving like this?" , "She'd be disappointed in you."

He doesn't realise how bad this behaviour is, he thinks he is doing the right thing in trying to mentor Pesci.

- Unlike Risotto, Prosciutto didn't know what he wanted to be while growing up. He was very focused on his classes in school, often earning lots of rewards and prizes but he only did it to try and earn his mothers affections. He never actually liked school.

That being said, his intellect is natural. He has always been very smart without trying.

- He has a gap in his front teeth and he HATES it because everyone tells him it looks cute and he doesn't want to look cute he wants to look scary and cool.

- Doesn't understand why Pesci is so morally upstanding. Why is it so hard for him to kill? Look, Prosciutto just killed twenty people! In one go!

Because of the Grateful Dead, it is very easy for Prosciutto to kill and not face the moral consequences of his actions. His kills are indirect and 'merciful', as he puts it - whereas Pesci has to get physical. He needs to come into direct contact to kill, so he has to deal with the moral turmoil that comes with murder.

- I also like to think he's got really prominent eyebags and forehead wrinkles because of how often he is subjected to the effects of his own stand.

Like, he seems to be able to control how his own body ages and shifts between old and young whenever a situation negates it, nd I don't think it's very good for his skin to be doing that all the time.

Maybe he has an extensive moisturising routine to combat the effects of his stand?

- Cleans messes on instinct; even if it isn't his own, he cleans up after everyone. He knows this is bad because it just gives everyone else a reason to be slobby, but he can't help it - nobody else ever cleans to the degree he likes anyways, so he might as well do it.

- He is an artifical stand user (hit by the arrow.)

Formaggio HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 23 in 1995.

- Gwess and Formaggio are also half-siblings! Different mothers, and about twenty-years difference between the two of them so Formaggio probably didn't know she existed until a LOT later in life.

ALSO. when i first watched Stone Ocean i kept mishearing Gwess' name as Gwyn, so I headcanon her to be Welsh, which means by default I also headcanon Formaggio to be Welsh !!! But that's a HC i tend to leave out of my fics cuz it's really outlandish.

- If he'd lived until 2012, I like to think he would have tried to break Gwess out of prison. Probably would have failed.

- Got his cat as a gift from his mother when he was a teenager, it's the only thing he has left from his mother and so he tries his hardest to take care of her - even if he is struggling to take care of himself.

Despite this, he still shoves his cat into bottles and jars and things. It's a really cool party trick! Everyone always thinks he's so cool, like some kind of magician!

- Unlike Risotto and Prosciutto, who were both raised Catholic, Formaggio's parents were both atheist. His mother attended Church, but it was mostly an excuse to get away from his father and he never bothered to go with her.

- Has joint pain and muscle soreness from how often he has to shrink himself and then re-grow himself.

- Like's to collect mini-things; like those little baking kits. He thinks they are so cute!

- He is a natural redhead, like in the manga, but dyes his hair grey, like in the anime, so that he doesn't get bullied.

- He is a natural stand user (born with ability.)

Pesci HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 19 in 1996.

- Pesci would rather be doing ANYTHING else. He never wanted to be a hitman. He doesn't like killing - not because he's all soft and sensitive like people make him out to be, but because he has morals and??? killing people? is wrong?

So why is he a hitman?

Well, I think Pesci has had the WORST life humanely possible. At twelve, his dad died in a boating accident. At sixteen, his brother 'went missing', presumed dead. At seventeen, his mother died. He was so lonely, and isolated, that when he realised his brother was in fact alive, he was willing to do anything to try and give himself purpose.

- Despite joining the team years beforehand, Pesci only had his first kill in 2001. This was because Prosciutto still coddles him as his little brother and he can get away with doing less on hits.

It's kind of manipulative - like, weaponizing faux incompetence, but he doesn't care.

- He wanted to be a fisherman when he grew up, like his father had been; he rarely has time to go fishing since joining the hitman team.

- If he could leave the team, he probably would.

- That being said, I think if he had lived past the events of VA he would have had the potential to become one of the most powerful hitmen on the team - and that is why Prosciutto never gave up on him, despite his supposed 'cowardice'

- His hair matts really easy so he tries to keep it short; he'll spend hours before bed trying to brush knots out of it.

- He is a night-owl, and likes staying up until quite late into the night listening to music or doing some of his other hobbies, like painting or drawing - he is extremely creative!

But because of this, when he does go to sleep, he often ends up sleeping until the late hours of the day. He is always criticised for this by Prosciutto.

- He is an artifical stand user (hit with arrow.)

Melone HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 18 in 1994.

- Pookie... where do I even start.......

- I think he has mild heterochromia; one of his eyes is a blue-ish green and the other is blue. He used to be bullied for it, which is why he covers it.

Since joining the hitman team and meeting Risotto - who, yk, has funky eyes - he has learnt to like his eyes a bit more.

- Melone wanted to be a doctor or a scientist when he grew up. He loves biology and chemistry, particularly in regards to the creation of human life: reflected in his stand, Babyface.

I like to think that he had toyed with 'creating life' even before he got his stand; as a teenager he would do old fashioned experiments with homunuculuses and other alchemy.

- Since Junior is not connected to his body, he often does not get injured during missions. He is the least muscular and most lithe out of everyone on the Hitman team, however, maintains a semi-athletic built as he maintains a very firm exercise routine - being a Hitman takes a lot of muscle, so he can't get away with not exercising in the same way his teamates do, even if he experiences less threat than them.

- He also has a lot less scars than the rest of them for this very reason.

- His teammates are hot-headed, quick-thinkers; he is not. He is slow, cold and calculated. Since he is almost never in the heat of a battle, he is allowed to sit back and think. He has the time to calculate his next move.

This is his downfall, however; when Giorno's snake finds him in the trainstation he isn't given a chance to think through his next decision. The attack is quick and painful. ☹️.

- Unlike the rest of the team, he didn't know his parents that well. They sold him to Passione when he was very young, so any memory he does have of them has been soured.

- They were likely atheists, though.

- He can be quite manipulative at times, and he knows exactly what he's doing. In fact, he has a chart on Babyface which shows him the traits and weak-points of all his teammates; he knows near everything about them, and can poke and prod in a way that gets him exactly what he wants.

- His outfit squeaks whenever he walks. He's really bad at stealth missions.

- He also has REALLY bad posture (which I think is semi-canon tbh cuz, during that one scene where they are searching Donatella's house he walks into the room and HE LOOKS LIKE A SHRIMP.)

- I also have a transfem hc for Melone, but the last time I shared that with someone they started tweaking and told me it was weird so I mostly keep that to myself now  😭

- If he had lived, I think he would have had a MySpace and Tumblr, I think he'd of liked how you can customise your own blog and how it's your own little space to yap about whatever!

- Has a HORRIBLE sleep schedule. Not because he has insomnia or anything, but just because he always gets distracted on his laptop right before bed and ends up staying up until 4-5am.

Like Pesci, he is more of a night-owl anyways. The two often end up bumping into each other in the middle of the night.

- He is an artifical stand user (hit by arrow.)

Ghiaccio HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 20 in 1994.

- His brash personality is a result of his bad upbringing. His parents were very abusive, and so he is used to having to bite back at those around him; he is constantly in 'defence mode' and snaps at the people around him often unintentionally.

He feels bad about it, but doesn't know how to stop. It's especially hard to recover from this habit when his teammates are always plucking at his nerves.

- With that in mind; his parents are rich.

Like, how else could he have that convertible??? La Squadra was getting paid PENNIES and then he rolls up to HQ in his shiny new eighty-one-million lira (i did the math for this) car????

- His parents seemed to think buying him nice stuff would win his affections. He got the car for his 18th birthday, and still uses it despite having since cut off his parents.

- He went to a private school growing up and is objectively the most educated on the entire team.

- Because of the way he was raised, he detests authorative figures. He didn't like Risotto when he first joined the team, but has since learnt to respect his stoic leader.

- Reads play-scripts for fun. (im projecting)

- REALLY likes tabletop RPGS, but would rather die than tell ANYONE about his little hobby.

He finds it to be a good distraction, especially after getting mad and blowing up at someone; painting the figures, or reading the rules, or playing the game can be a good way for him to focus on something else and relax.

His favourite is Warhammer, though. He doesn't like D&D, he thinks its for mainstream wannabe nerds. Not him. He's cool. (he's not.)

- He pretends to hate Fallout, but secretly loves it. I've talked abt it on my blog before, but I think when the first game came out in 1997 he was SO mad that RPG games were getting popular - Formaggio got into it and he felt like his interests were getting invaded, so he refused to play the game for like a year until the second Fallout came out in 1998, and he realised it was actually a really good game.

He is probably rolling around in his grave watching how Bethesda is slowly destroying the franchise.

- His family was Catholic, but he is an atheist.

- If he had lived, I like to think he would have DEFINITELY had a Reddit and 4Chan acct, but he wouldn't use it often because it would piss him off how stupid everyone is on there.

- He desperately needs a hug but doesn't know it and refuses to ask anyone for it. He is SO touch starved.

- Unlike Melone, he has a really good sleep schedule but suffers with insomnia. He takes melatonin gummies to go to sleep.

- He has a very good schedule in general; he exercises regularly, eats healthily, showers every day - with special shampoo to retain his curls, and likes to go for at least half an hour walks outside. A routine keeps him stable, he would fall into bad habits if he didn't have complete dictation over his own life.

- Because of this, he can grow extremely irritated when there are disruptions to his routine. Which happens often, since being a Hitman can be quite unpredictable.

- His stand is natural (born with ability.)

Illuso HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 19 in 1995.

- Knows everything about everyone and WILL use it as blackmail.

- He is EXTREMELY nosy and will stick himself into EVERYONES business. Nobody is safe.

- Can be quite rude at times, but he never actually means it. It's just his way of showing affection. He has quite a sarcastic sense of humour that other people on the team *COUGH* GHIACCO *COUGH* don't get.

- Had to become very independent from a young age. He didn't have a father, only his mother which meant that when she developed a deadly sickness in his teens he was forced to support for the family by himself.

- BUT because of the fact that he was raised by his mother, he respects women! Yay! It's why he's into more 'feminine' stuff, he's never really seen an issue with being girly, and sometimes the others bully him for it but he doesn't care.

- He was probably raised Catholic, but doesn't really care for religion.

- He is a sleepwalker AND a sleep-stand-user (a term I made up), and will routinely freak everyone out by showing up in their mirrors in the middle of the night.

- He is so self-centred, yet blindingly insecure, that he thinks anyone who so-as-much spares him a glance is interested in him. With that in mind, he is oblivious to people who actually show interest in him.

- Illuso didn't know what he wanted to be when he grew up. He was forced into a role of authority so quickly, that he was never actually given a chance to think for himself.

- If he did get given a chance to pick his own career, he would likely stay on the Hitman team. He doesn't have the school-grades to get any job that is actually worthwhile, and he doesn't see a reason to leave his team.

- Refuses to let any of his teammates use two-in-one shampoo. If he sees it, he's throwing it. He once caught Formaggio using three-in-one and almost had a heart attack.

- Like Melone, if he had lived he probably would have owned a MySpace account.

- He is a natural stand user (born with stand)

Sorbet & Gelato HCs:

Joined the hitman team at ages 21 in 1995.

- I don't have a lot for these two, BUT, i could never forget them.

- I like to think they met in secondary-school, (high-school, for the Americans) but they didn't get together for a WHILE.

- This is because they were in totally different social circles. Gelato was quite popular and chatty, he knew a lot of people and was invited to parties like every weekend - yk, classic airheaded blond - whereas Sorbet was a social outcast and didn't have a lot of friends.

- But they are both extremely virile and violent.

- I think Gelato used to get a kick out of hurting other things. It started with animals, but eventually turned to that of people - he likes having control over things, knowing he is more powerful than those around him. He was a rampant bully, and took to hurting those he saw as 'less-than' him.

- Sorbet on the other hand, while he didn't actively go around hurting people for control, was into very grotesque things. He liked those weird, sexual slasher films of the 80's and took extreme interest in blood and gore and the likes.

- BECAUSE OF THIS, when they did eventually find each other, they clicked immediately! I'm not gonna share how I HC them having met, because it's spoilers for DK  🤭 but it's dramatic, it's bloody, and it's romantic!

- A lot of people interpret them both as being money hungry, but I don't think that's the case! In the series, when asked where they are, Ghiaccio suggests they might be "Playing hooky" (i hate that phrase sm), BUT THEN Risotto says "Gelato, maybe, but Sorbet always comes for his cut of the pay."

- Which makes me believe that out of the two of them, Sorbet is the greedy one. I think that Gelato doesn't care about money, and if he had been in charge the two wouldn't have tried to go against the Boss - but he loves Sorbet, and he wanted him to be happy. So when the discussion was first brought up, he had his reservations but trusted that they could pull this off.

THATS ALL. its all i can think of rn... i probably have more somewhere but ong I can't remember :(

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day seven: edging kink

>>> i can just see kento being such a punishing dom like i can't help it?? i really hope you guys r enjoying so far! this marks the first week of kinktober &lt;3

>>> starring: kento nanami x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: uh edging probably, possessive nanami, jealous nanami, he hates gojo lmao, one pussy slap, creampie, punishment. >>> wc: 2.8k >>> event masterlist

the way other sorcerers talked about nanami pissed him off. they always spoke about how boring and strict he was, so plain and simple. sometimes they even went so far as to question how he even managed to score you in the first place, much less keep you satisfied. how much more could you insult a man? sure, he kept to himself. he enjoyed keeping his private life private, and there was no harm in that. he found little reward in wearing his heart on his sleeve or bearing all that was important to him out in the open, considering that you were probably the only thing in that category anyway. his friends from school should find themselves grateful they even know about you, but to criticize the way he loves you? that’s intolerable. 

if his friends or coworkers asked you about your relationship, you would gush for hours about how attentive he is, list all the ways he spoils you rotten, sing that you’re the luckiest girl in the world. not to mention your sex life, goodness—he was by far the best you’ve ever had. that’s the best part about a boring mask, looks can be oh so deceiving. nanami was insatiable, and he had so many different moods. he was skillful, tender, and loving always, but that comes across differently in missionary than it does with you bent over the kitchen counter, doesn’t it? your body just so happens to be the cure for all his ailments, any concerns or worries that plague him are usually abandoned once he crosses the threshold of his home to see your sweet smiling face happy to see him. 

keyword being usually. today was especially bad. gojo’s insufferable as always, but now he even has yuji questioning him about you. all planned by the special grade sorcerer, no doubt, but still grating on his last nerves, nonetheless. 

“i didn’t know you were dating l/n-sensei!” yuji says, walking alongside his favorite mentor. gojo trailed them, trying to contain his giggles as he watches nanami’s back straighten. 

he sighs, adjusting his glasses up his nose a bit. “yes. she is my partner.” he says, letting his eyes slide to the side to examine itadori’s perplexed expression. 

“but she’s so—” 

“youthful, exuberant, charming and fun?” gojo interrupts as yuji struggles to find the words to explain his sensei-induced-confusion. itadori nods vigorously. 

“yeah! and she just seems like the type to be adventurous! you guys make a funny pair i guess! i always thought l/n and gojo sensei would end up together!” yuji explains with his signature innocence, no idea how biting that sentence felt. meanwhile gojo just watched with a fiendishly satisfied smile, able to recognize the clenching of nanami’s jaw for the jealousy that it was. and yuji kept going. “they just seem so close! they always laugh at each other’s jokes and eat lunch together!” 

kento’s brow drew up to his hairline at that, the infamous swells of envy stabbing deep in his chest. “oh? i had no idea they were such good friends. you know they say opposites attract. i suppose my maturity is what attracts her to me.” 

he doesn’t fool anyone, not even himself. all he can think about is itadori’s words and the smug expression on gojo’s face when he looked at him. and as tender and loving as nanami is, nothing can calm the jealousy running through his veins. as soothing as your presence is, nothing can keep the anger off of his face when he enters his home. 

your grin dissipates at the sight of his stoic irritation, and you wonder what could have happened at work today to garner this level of rage. he watches as you rise from the couch, where you already have your favorite show to watch together queued and waiting for him, no understanding of why he watched you like a predator. your smile is hesitant now, because you can read him so well and can tell he’s pissed. you approach anyway, taking his coat off with a peck to his cheek. 

“rough day, my love?” you frown, hanging his coat on the hook. he debates on what to say in response. is he angry? of course. at you? moderately, but he knows it’s unreasonable. he knows you love him more than breathing, and he trusts you more than anyone on the planet. but, you also know better than anyone how much he disdains satoru gojo. he’s been a pain in his side since he can remember, and you have quite literally always known that. even in school, you would tease him over his annoyance over the sorcerer. it got worse whenever you started working at the school with gojo. nanami was sure the white-haired menace would flirt with you if only to get under his skin—not to mention the possibility of him actually wanting you for himself. but it wasn’t your fault. you couldn’t help the fact that you’re gorgeous and bubbly and wonderful and all those things gojo described you as. you also couldn’t help the fact that the special grade sorcerer was the only person around that could stir up nanami’s feelings of high school envy and inadequacy. 

but you can help him get control back. 

“go get in bed for me, darling.” he replies, the muscles in his jaw ticking with every passing second. he’s staring through you, in a mental place far away from here. you know better than to question that tone, and the heavy set of his brow coupled with the intensity swirling in his woodsy brown eyes has you nodding obediently. you walk towards your room, feeling his angry stare against your back the entire way. you wonder if this has something to do with you, given just how irritable your fiancé seems. still, you can’t deny the flicker of excitement shooting down your spine as you peel your clothes off. you can hear the click of his shoes approaching as you crawl rather provocatively onto the bed. 

“itadori tells me you and gojo-san are so very close.” he says as he leans against the door way. he thinks it’s so cute how you wiggle your ass a bit to try and get out of the trouble you know is coming. gojo is a sensitive subject, and though you can’t see his face, you can tell by the tone of his voice that he is indeed sensitive about it. a slight fear creeps through your veins, but it tickles a dark corner in your brain. 

“he’s mistaken.” you purr back easily, laying flat on your back to look at him. he’s absolutely brooding, those deep set brown eyes boring holes into yours. he’s roughly loosening his tie, a mockingly amused smile tugging at his tightly drawn lips. you look good enough to eat, and he certainly plans on it. your body is such a treat, all spread out with that deer in a headlights look on your face. he can’t wait to show you why gojo could never come close. 

his brows inch upwards as he slips his tie off and starts working on the buttons of his shirt. typically, that would be your job, but this all played into nanami’s game. you’re already sucking in a deep breath at the sight of his toned and tanned physique, his dark blue button-up falling in a pile on the floor. 

“is that so? gojo himself seemed amused by the notion.” he drawls, the smoothness of his deep tone so silken and even you almost forget the storm brewing in his gaze. you watch his deft hands move towards his belt, undoing it easily as he waits for your next rebuttal. 

“we’re coworkers.” you enforce, looking at him with such surprise in your eyes. you knew kento had his issues with gojo, but you never thought he would seriously doubt you. “don’t be ridiculous, darling, please. you know how much i love you.” 

“and you know how much i hate him.” he spits out in reply, dark clouds covering the room. you gulp in an effort to escape some of the tension, your mind caught in between genuine worry and the heat you feel licking up your body at his possessiveness. you’re struck silent by the weight in his voice, the near growl that comes out. he slides his pants and boxers down in the same push, his erection almost as angry as he is. your thighs start rubbing together automatically at the sight of him, he’s perfect. he’s  long and curved, his hair perfectly trimmed to accentuate his pretty length. “yet i’m told you eat lunch together every day.”

there’s that tone again, that gruff snarl at you for playing right into the special grade’s hands—he’s warned you about this, about gojo’s manipulation. you shake your head in an effort of apology as at last, he pulls his glasses off and sets them carefully on the desk slowly to torture you with the sight of his god-like body. 

“more like once a week–kento please, it’s not like that at all! we lesson plan! he’s just trying to get to you.” you assure, biting your lip to keep from pleading for his touch. you’ve been laying here neglected for ten minutes now, but begging could possibly only make it worse. 

“it’s working.” he grumbles, his hateful stare making the desire multiply in your gut. he was always so tender and caring, but you had a feeling he would be anything but tonight. he sits at the edge of the bed and you subconsciously spread even wider for him. he rests his hand on your shin, rubbing rough circles on the flesh. nanami had to remind himself that you were his, and clearly you needed the reminder too. he lays flat on his stomach, aggressively keeping your legs parted. “always laughing together, hm? i hope you find this humorous, then, my love.” 

you go to respond, to try and sing your innocence one last time, but your feisty lover’s wet tongue silences any protests as it glides through your folds to bump up against your nerve bundle. your legs jerk up a bit in surprise, but his harsh grip keeps them from reacting too violently. normally, between your legs is kento’s favorite place to be after a long day, the ambrosia taste of you was the cure to any and everything, even now, he moans out in satisfaction. this time though has a frenzy to it, his tongue flicking over your swelling clit as his fingers dig into the plush beneath him. he knows the grip will bruise, but he couldn’t be bothered to care all that much at the moment. 

your hands fly to his honey locks, the feeling of his teeth grazing your need skillfully had the knot in your stomach coming loose with every passing second. he’s making animalistic noises as he devours you, the air quickly filled with the sounds of your meek pants. it’s so cute how you rut your hips into his face, desperately trying to chase your high. you’ve always been this way, so addicted to the feeling of his mouth on your sex that your body can’t help but beg for more. he can tell by the sounds that you’re making that you’re close, and he can’t help but grin to himself. 

you tug on his hair a bit harder, your other hand fondling your chest. he’s hungry and rough as he nibbles and laps, and you know you won’t make it much longer. that is until he pulls away, looking stern when your eyes fly open to meet his. you’re pouting already, tugging his hair again. “baby, don’t be mean.” 

he chuckles darkly at the whining, shaking his head. he likely won’t respond either, all part of the torture. you frown even deeper if possible, so annoyed with gojo right now that you may quit your job altogether. 

“kento–” you chide, wanting to fight for your right to cum, but he interrupts you with a harsh slap to your cunt. it makes your body jolt forward and a little squeal tears out of your throat, the sweet pain making your mind a little dizzy. he sits up, tapping his length against your clit now. it still makes you jump a little every time, the hazy look in your eyes after just one denial was so sweet it almost had him rethinking the punishment altogether. “i’m sorry, he’s just my friend, i won’t even talk to him any—” 

he stuffs his cock into you all at once, the burn and surprise making you gasp instead of finishing your sentence. his jaw is still hard set as he puts your knees over his shoulders, not caring about the vicious angle he makes while lifting your hips off the bed. he doesn’t want to hear any apologies, he doesn’t want you to make any promises, he just wants you to be so marked up and unable to walk when you see gojo tomorrow that no one ever questions him again. he plants his foot on the bed and starts driving into you, brutal and quick. his need to claim is obvious, he can’t stand that smug look on his fucking face ever, but especially not in regards to his woman. 

you don’t even have the opportunity to scream, his pace so punishing you can’t form a thought to speak out anyway. it hurts so good, how heavy he feels inside you, the sting from him colliding with your cervix over and over until your eyes are scrunched closed in pleasure. your core burns again, your hole flutters around him so prettily he knows he’ll only be able to go through with this from sheer determination alone. he can tell you’re about to come undone again, the little pants coming from your lips and the way you claw at his forearms is all the evidence he needs. he draws out to the tip, stilling and watching with slight amusement as you whine and pout again, moving your hips in an effort to keep him going.

“so mean to me, baby..didn’t even do nothing, please!” you huff, frustrated with his relentless denial. he knows exactly how to drive you crazy, sending you spiraling quickly. perhaps this is what he needed, to control you utterly and completely, to make you plead for him. “please ken, just wanna feel good, just want my man to make me feel good, i’ll be so good for you, i promise, won’t even talk to him no more!” 

he chuckles a bit, thrusting back in to stop your stupid babbling, as cute as it was. and yes, the begging was a slight boost to his ego. besides, you’ve almost learned your lesson, and he’ll need to let you cum for it to really sink in. he fucks you like he hates you again, turning you to your side, folding one leg over the other to make you his own personal pretzel. it lets him hit so deep you’re almost scared your organs will take permanent damage. you can’t hold back your wails, colorful orbs dancing across your vision as you mindlessly scratch at the headboard in front of you. 

“if you want to cum at all, do it now.” he commands, the roughness in his voice may have been enough to bring on an orgasm all by itself, but you have no problem following his orders with the way he pounds you. you nod because it’s all you can bring yourself to do, squeezing down on him and coating him in all the pent up release you’ve been denied. he quietly groans, dick jumping until he covers your insides. 

“oh darling, you can talk to him. in fact, i want you to. tomorrow, i want you to waddle into the teacher’s lounge and answer all of his questions.”

[scintillasofbeomgyu]

⟢ to swallow a star | c.bg

pairing: wizard!beomgyu x apprentice!f!reader. genres: fluff, romcom, fantasy. wc: 1,7k. warnings: this is so silly and unedited 💀. an: i was trying to make a point with the last paragraph but my brain isn’t working, but i am a howl girlie so just pretend u get it 🤣 found the last photo on pinterest with no credits, so credit to the original artist 🫶🏻

it is late afternoon down by lilac lane. the spring sunlight douses the cottage in gold, lighting up the grassy hills and fields, glittering off a nearby rushing creek. it allows warmth to seep in through the windows.

normally, on a cozy sunday such as this, you would be curled up on the soft upholstery armchair in the sitting room, with tabby purring in your lap and a volume of the Wizard Howl’s Why One should Not Swallow Stars series between your fingers. But today you were not, and it vexes you greatly to think of it. rather, you are standing on the tips of your toes, leaning over the sink, to squint through the kitchen window.

a great deal of time had passed since you saw the Wizard Beomgyu, under whom you were serving an apprenticeship. he had disappeared into the fields behind the cottage earlier that very afternoon, promising to teach you a new charm once he had returned. and this promise had pleased you.

for the first few weeks in his care, you and beomgyu had gotten along remarkably well. he would teach you spells and enchantments, you would prepare meals and you would share chores and tending to the cottage equally. in your free time you would tag along on his jobs in town, or you would read and he would paint.

but in the next few weeks that took you up to the current third month at the cottage, his behavior had changed drastically. the good-natured, occasional prankster of a man had reverted to a sulking, misbehaving teenager who had not taught you a thing in days.

so the thought of his unhappiness being cured and him now having the time to teach you, enlivened the witch in the exasperated nurse you had become. but that excitement had long since met its end. and as the clock struck five o’clock, your blood boiled.

a flash of green sweeps through the open window and you drop onto your heels. tabby lifts her head from where she had sat napping between the potted plants near you on the sink, one eye opening slowly to follow the squawking bird.

“toto,” you say, relieved to see the wizard’s familiar. you follow him into the sitting room, where he glides around once more before taking his perch. “where have you been? where is your master?”

he squawks. “miss (y/n), master requests your presence at poppy hill.”

“poppy hill?” you say in surprise, “i thought he was in the fields. is something the matter?” then your eyes shine, “is it time for my lesson at last?”

toto lets out a nervous squawk. “you should take your leave before last light, miss.”

“will you guide me to him, toto?” you ask politely. the parrot nods his head before hopping from his perch and sailing through the kitchen window once more.

you tighten your boots quickly, pausing only to check on tabby. “are you coming, girl?”

her countenance was such that, if she were a person, you’d imagine she would sigh unenthusiastically. but she nevertheless hopped off and ran after you at your heels.

you follow toto deep into the fields and up onto poppy hill where the Witch Karina grew and nurtured her genus of wild flowers. it pales you to imagine he had spent the entirety of his afternoon here, but you perk up when toto leads you down the windward side of the hill.

you come to a stop as you find the Wizard Beomgyu seated amongst red common poppies, the last light catching his features and making them glow. the gentle breeze brushes through his long, golden brown hair as he soaks it up. when the light disappears behind the mountains at last, toto settles atop his head and his eyes flutter open. he greets toto with a smile, then turns to you and his eyes light up. you gulp.

“(y/n)!” he says, climbing to his feet. as his hands clear the grass and dirt from his trousers, he starts toward you and continues, “i’m glad you could make it. i was just talking to karina and—”

you fix your hands on your hips and a severe expression on your face. he stops, fear in his eyes. you march toward him and he shrieks. “where have you been! you promised you would teach me today, beomgyu! what is the meaning of this!” you say, poking a finger into his chest.

“i was—”

“i have been patient! so patient with you these weeks and you go and leave me at noon until evening! what have you to say for yourself, sir!”

his frown morphs into a smile and you are simply flabbergasted. but before you can berate him further, he takes your hand into his gently. he presses his lips to your knuckles and then rubs his thumb over them gently.

“i have left you? why, i could never do such a thing my dear,” he says and your face burns red.

“wha– wai– i beg your pardon!” you exclaim. but he maintains his hold on your hand and leads you further down the hill until you reach the middle of the slope. “do you think you can treat me like those swooning ladies in town!”

the sky is now dark and the stars are twinkling above, the moonlight shimmering silver against the blades of grass beneath your feet. you try and use the fragrance of the flowers and the earth to distract you from how warm and soft his hand feels, but then he takes your other hand and pulls you toward him.

“there is going to be a meteor shower tonight.” he says excitedly, as if it explains anything. but you are much too distracted by his closeness and his touch and his prettiness to argue. “i have planned it all with Karina. she will—“

you finally manage to yank your hands from his. “i do not care to be in your presence now, sir. you refuse to explain your behavior! i am your apprentice, you are supposed to teach me. if our arrangement— if my company is not to your liking anymore simply say so and I will take my leave.”

you start your walk back up the hill, which, being now by your full senses, proved to be a lot more taxing than the journey down it. it only aggravates you more. but you gather your dress in your hands and push on. he rushes after you.

“i will swallow a star!”

you stop in your tracks. you turn to him. “what?”

“i will swallow a star,” he repeats, folding his arms across his chest with a resolved expression on his face. “so that i may compete with that pretty boy you like so much.”

you blink. “compete? with that pretty boy? who– The Wizard Howl? Pendragon?”

he does not answer, but turns his face up to the night sky with a pout. your jaw drops in absolute bafflement. then you burst out laughing. his cheeks turn pink.

“oh, beomgyu,” you sigh, taking his face into your hands and turning it to you. “howl’s books are about why we should not contract deals with demons for power; his own autobiography. and you are a powerful wizard of your own accord, why should you need to be like him?”

toto squawks. “that is what i told him, Miss.”

“you shut up,” he snaps, swatting his familiar away. when your hands drop from his face, he returns them to their place and he leans into your touch, still pouting. “but you like him so much. you’re always reading those things and talking to tabby and mrs rochester from the bakery about him.”

you grin, a blush glowing in your cheeks. “beomgyu, the wizard howl is a happily married man with a sweet two-year old son. the story of his life is remarkable to me, so I read about him.”

he stills. “really?”

you drop your head and giggle. when you look up again, he is watching you with a look in his eyes that makes your chest flutter.

“and what about you?” you say, fixing your hands on your hips again. “what were you doing all day with Miss Karina?”

he perks up. “oh! i spent the afternoon trying to convince her to let us borrow her field for the evening. she agreed on the condition that i promenade with her in town tomorrow.”

you glare at him and smack his shoulder. “And you said yes? i cannot believe you! courting couples promenade together! i—“

he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest. “i am a cunning wizard, darling. i may have pulled one on her,” he shrugs, “besides. how could i dream of courting anyone else when you are right here.”

then his eyes flit to your lips, asking, and when you nod, he takes them between his own in a sweet kiss.

when you break apart your breath is shaky and you think that if he should remove his arm from your waist you would fall straight to the ground. he smirks, as if he reads your mind.

“sh- she’s going to curse you once she figures it out. d-do you not know of howl and the witch of the waste?”

at that moment the meteor shower begins, like glittering diamonds shooting across the heavens. you stare up in awe. tabby meows and rubs her head against your legs, while toto perches on beomgyu’s shoulder.

he gently takes your chin between his fingers and draws your attention back to him.

“do you know of the wizard beomgyu and the apprentice who stole his heart?” he says softly, bringing your face closer and closer and closer. “they say she was was vivacious,” he kisses one corner of your mouth, “unyielding,” then the other, “a powerful witch in the making who was not wise of what she was doing before it was far too late.”

your breathing is heavy and your eyes hooded, “w-what happened to them? the wizard and the apprentice?”

his lips curl into a soft smile. “the apprentice and her wizard’s fates became inseparable, and they were destined to love one another in this and every lifetime.”

he pulls you in once more, this kiss much different from the first. he holds you impossibly close, a hand buried in your hair and the other lifting you up to his lips. it is enrapturing and toe-curling and your insides melt.

you decided then and there that the Wizard Howl Jenkins Pendragon was a charlatan. for if this is what it felt like to swallow a star, to give your heart to another and share a life, you would choose it with beomgyu, every single day.

scintillasofbeomgyu © all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, alter, or repost in any way.

[vampiricgf]

KNUCKLE VELVET - LEON KENNEDY

SYNOPSIS... ❛ trapped in a rotting cathedral with a man more beast than human, with all the decayed promises of long ago. there's one rule of the world you're still certain of: pain will always be met with equal reward ❜

WARNINGS... blood, blood consumption, vampires, violence/bodily pain, choking, puncture wounds, kinda dubcon, mutual toxicity (they have a fucked up relationship), creampie, no prep, sacrilegious themes/loss of religion (I know damn well his ass is a lapsed catholic)

WORD COUNT... 2.5k+

˗ˏˋ kinktober masterlist ˎˊ˗

The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than god. - St. Teresa of Ávila

~

The human spirit possesses a remarkable ability to adapt. 

You stopped marking the passage of time long ago, it only served to drive you deeper into despair and slowly it became clear the only choice left was to make the best of being trapped inside the rotting cathedral that has become your “home”. 

So be it.

Things became less horrid between you two once that shift occurred, he was kinder, for one thing. Less bouts of intense fits of rage, although the ones that did occur were not remedied by your obedience which led you to believe it was less about you and more so to do with his continued frustration that there was no cure for what he was. During his melancholy episodes he allowed you more free reign, although only within this decrepit place. 

You suppose it would make sense that he would choose this place as a prison for you both. What you couldn’t understand, however, was his continued devotion to a deity that did not create him nor hold any love for him. 

“Leave,” he greeted you, slate colored eyes never even shifting to acknowledge your presence as your footfalls carried you into the altar area. It made you feel miffed that he couldn’t even properly rebuke your presence. 

“I didn’t know you were here,” you lie. He’s always here. Always in the shadow of this tabernacle when he’s not slipping into your makeshift bedroom, attempting to find a much different form of salvation. 

This place had clearly been quite resplendent once, but years of abandonment and neglect have reduced it largely to rubble. This main area of the cathedral was nothing more than a half cracked maw, sucking in the freezing night air through jagged stone teeth. 

“I can’t sleep.” You murmur, half confessional half excuse. 

You both know it’s another lie, his acknowledgement of your words coming as a bland, dismissive hmph. It was strange, to hate and revile a man so much yet also ache for him in the same breath, especially when he would move with all that silent, predatory grace into your room for the night. After what truly felt like years of isolation, you depended on him as your sole point of contact. No matter how unpleasant it was. 

When those eyes finally train on you, full of venom, it makes you briefly reconsider the act of seeking him out. Coming to him like this may have been a mistake, if you don’t tread carefully-

“You’re just as disgusting as you say I am.” He sneers from a broken, dust layered pew and you gape in response, shame flaring hot as a heated knife slid into your gut. “How many times have you called me a monster? Yet here you are, waltzing around looking for the monster to fuck you.” 

You were caught out, most likely by the superior sense of smell, much to your horror at the realization. But is it even really your fault, when he’s made you this way? He is all you have anymore. It’s blurry, even just trying to retrace the threads from the beginning to now, it feels like all you’ve ever known is these decaying stone walls and the equally decayed man in front of you. 

“That’s not what I want from you-”

“Then leave.” It's worse that there is no snarl in his voice, no passion in the command, he can’t even throw you another glare. You suddenly wish you had the nerve to hit him. He knows perfectly well that you can’t leave, you’ll never be able to leave. 

Your own lips curl up into a sneer, settling on something more effective then just raising a hand to him. “You’re nothing but a pathetic creature, not even a fucking monster. Just a dead man kneeling for a god that can’t hear you.” 

You don’t stop, not even as he rises to stand, every miniscule movement radiating aggression and anger. You don’t stop because it feels good, to hurt him even a fraction of the way he’s hurt you all this time, and the ugliness of it twines together with your arousal, twin snakes squirming in your belly. 

“You’re beyond pathetic, it’s why you do this, isn’t it? Keeping people in cages just to have even one person acknowledge you because you know god never will-”

The words die in your throat, replaced by a garbled sound of surprise as you're pushed back against a half rotted support beam, the hand at your throat feeling more like an iron band being tightened. The position itself was oddly intimate, that didn’t escape you as you caught the familiar smell of him, the absence of body heat and that shameful arousal spiked at the way his fangs became visible from how harsh his breathing was. He even kept the habit of manual breathing, despite not needing to. 

“Like you’re not the dog barking for attention.”

The stone floor suddenly at your back was roughly fractured in sharp contours, horribly uncomfortable but it didn’t matter to you. That needy, greedy part of you he’d nurtured all this time was too busy preening, even as you blinked tears out of your eyes from the breathtaking sensation of being laid out flat. You always forgot about his strength when so much time passed, but any display of violence from him whether great or small was thrilling to you in a peculiar, vile way. So was the pain. 

But despite the haze of lust, a noxious cloud swirling over your brain, a part of you was uncomfortably aware of your surroundings. Namely, what they meant. The look on his face was beyond dark, no longer blase in the face of your deliberate attempt to rile him up, his flaxen hair was haloed by the cracks of moonlight beaming from the crumbling ceiling. For a millisecond you swore he looked like the stained glass depictions of angels. 

“Not here.” You eek out between heaving breaths.

“What? Are you scared god will strike you down for it?” His voice dropped to a half whisper, dripping with mockery. 

You swallow thickly, noting how his eyes tracked the movement and the way his pupils had dilated so much only the thinnest ring of jewel blue was remotely visible. But there was no taking it back, you’d deliberately poked the proverbial bear and there's no way to ask for it’s claws to be retracted. 

In the tense quiet he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, the act so gentle, nearly loving, it almost worked to make you forget that you were nothing but a glorified meal and a thing to fuck. The faint stench of old blood curled in your nostrils brings you back into reality, knowing what it meant. 

His faux repentance was brought on by yet another killing. The same as it always is. 

It breaks your heart because it wasn’t always this way. In the beginning there was no death nor blood or violence, only an incredibly exciting affair with a strangely secretive yet tactile man that easily worked his way into your life, your heart. You hadn’t known then that this was what he really was. That this was what he was really promising you. 

That blood crusted hand glided down the column of your throat, making you flinch. You could tell by the hardening of his eyes that it was the wrong involuntary action to have, but there was nothing you could do. That same hand dipped below the neckline of your shirt to trace the curve of your breast before stilling just above your heart, wildly pounding like a bird frantically flapping its wings in a cage. 

“You’re always so scared.” His words almost sounded regretful. “You know I don’t mean it, right?”

“I don’t.” You hate the way it comes out, all whimpered, but it is the truth. For all his occasional sweetness, his nicety, it always wound back around to pain. A pain you got used to, tolerated, even sought out like you did tonight, but you could never be secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t or didn’t mean to harm you. 

He laughed then, a mad sound that ricocheted off the frigid, indifferent stone and made you flinch yet again. 

“You’re just as fucked up as I am, do you know that? Waltzing in, acting on your own desires then pretending you’re not. Pretending you don’t like this,” His words were coming out more rapidly, half crazed. “I could tear you to pieces, leave nothing but some parts, and there's nothing you could do about it.”

It was sick, how delighted he looked as you shrank back against the floor, but despite your own terror and disgust your defiant streak reared its head once more. 

“You won’t.” But you hardly sounded sure.

“Do you want to find out?”

You clenched your jaw, so tightly you could hear the internal sound of your teeth groaning from the pressure. It did very little to stop your trembling.

Too busy focused on trying to control your own body you failed to realize he was rearing back, icy hands moving up and down the contours of your body, subtly lifting the thin fabric of your shirt and pulling up the skirt you wore. A twisted, ugly delight washed over you, infinitely worse than the chill that bit at you from the night air, that your scathing back and forth had given you just what you wanted. 

Frantically you raised your hips, chasing after his hands, yelping as he yanked you down, scraping your back against the stone and lifting your legs up, resting them up on his shoulders as he fumbled with the waist of his own pants. Terror and excitement kept you cemented in place, eyes wide as you saw how erect he was in his own hands, thick and flushed tip beading precum that you felt smearing over your skin as he rubbed the head of his cock against you. You felt the sting, distantly, as you bit your lip in anticipation of fresh pain. 

As he roughly guided himself inside of you, the push much less than gentle, it caused you to struggle a bit, body not yet catching up to your brain and the tangles of pain, fear, arousal, and desire became too twisted to properly make out. You couldn’t help but cry out at the unprepared stretching, the way the girth of him forced your body to accommodate, but the way he fully slots inside calms you slightly, like some sort of soothing object. The familiar weight of him, sitting heavy against your slick walls, made your muscles finally relax, going a bit more limp beneath him as he leaned forward and pushed your knees to your chest. 

His movements started slow, once again the faintest whisper of gentleness leaking through, and you could hear his breaths getting ragged as your cunt immediately clamped down around him. When his movements picked up more vigor the back of your head scraped painfully against the stone, making you yelp as cool tears pooled in the shell of your ears after marking their trail down your cheeks. You hadn’t even been aware you were crying.

It hurt the same way it always did, bringing a pounding pain that flowed throughout your entire body, like your skin was stretched taut over a drum someone was beating relentlessly. It was raw, disgusting, being fucked against the floor like an animal as he bit and sucked at the tender flesh of your throat and chest, decorating you in a necklace of purple and red. A mockery of intimacy, but all the same it sustained you. Feeling his balls rest against your ass with each deep thrust, gasping his name in broken syllables, feeling his fingers slip down to dance over your throbbing clit: it was all a guarantee of survival. 

As you shift to lace your arms around his neck an aggressive sound rips its way past his lips, his pace becoming nonsensical and telling you he was rapidly coming close. All the discomfort made you arch your back, trying to escape the ground while at the same time providing him a deeper reach that brought you a burst of ecstasy, so strong you felt momentarily blind. That familiar jumble of pain and love muddled your mind as your helpless body clung to him, jostled like a ragdoll with every movement.

All this pain would be rewarded, there was solace in that.

With no space between you the scent of old iron returned, pairing with the smell of your own acrid sweat and his strands of golden hair tickling your cheek as he bit the side of your neck with intent this time. 

The wail that rang out against the vacant cathedral was more like a long, echoing scream of indiscernible origin as it bounced back at you, reverberated a thousand times over. It was an animalistic response to the searing, mind numbing pain of the small pinpricks that widened into gaping wounds as he forced his teeth through your flesh. Sobs leave you in spurts as you feel his teeth detach and his mouth latch onto the wound, prodding the sore edges with his tongue to encourage a greater flow of lifeblood. Your nails clawed at his back but to no avail, his pace never broke completely, your struggling only made his fingers circle your clit with even more determination as your cunt spasmed around him. 

It was strangely beautiful, feeling yourself coming completely undone and slipping away as your eyes rolled back, your lids fluttering in a way that only gave you choppy, discombobulated flashes of the world around you. The brief glimpses of the star dusted sky through the shattered ceiling were a comfort. The pain ebbed into the background, as if it had simply always existed and maybe it had. Faintly you could feel the wet, sticky warmth of your own blood sluicing down your neck, he’s always been a sloppy eater. 

It makes you crack a smile, delirious. Fucked out, bloody, grinning up at the sky as the beast devours you, doesn’t stop pumping inside you for even a moment, doesn’t stop groaning against your skin. A barbaric grotesquerie beneath the unsympathetic eye of the moon.

Though there is a kind of happiness in knowing the dance played out the same way it always does. That tomorrow you’ll wake up feeling sore, so sick to your stomach you’ll probably vomit, but alive. 

With that thought your muscles relax fully, feeling a different sort of warmth flooding your abdomen as his hips still, although still grinding against you like he just can’t stop himself from trying to fuck more of it inside you. 

Something shifts, but you’re no longer aware enough to catch it. 

To him, it’s always been a background thought that perhaps the suffering of an eternally damned existence may be less unbearable if you were also eternally present for it. Your body aches, your nervous system all wrung out and strung up, as he keeps drinking past his fill and past the point of no return.

You’ll wake much, much later than you anticipated and as not much more than a lesser fledgling beast but it does thrill him to think of your anguish, your biblical anger once you regain a sense of self and realize what’s become of you. 

What he’s done to you. 

But you have to understand the gift he’s giving you and you will, eventually.

All pain will be rewarded, in the end. Especially if it comes from a place of love.