#calf cage

[rmspeltzfarm]

Goats in the Horse Trailer?

[lastmurianwarrior]

((Been the wildest couple of weeks. The animals I mentioned in the last ooc post have all either found forever homes or been taken in by a rescue.))

[thebluester2020]

Blue... Blue.... Alex and the squirting farmer did something.... Can i ask for the other male's reactions to that :3 pwease

SDV Bachelors x Farmer Who Squirts

Summary: How the bachelors react to a farmer who squirts for the first time. Warning(s): S M U T, Sam being a bit of a horndog / perv, Munch Elliot and Sebastion (it's my favorite headcanons of them and I'm dying on that hill), Shane being a bit of a dom, Harvey being a slight sub. Side note(s): I love it when y'all have big-brained ideas 💙

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Elliot

Oddly confident?

I imagine he has a diverse collection of books. Erotica is definitely on his bookshelf somewhere so mentions of a girl (or guy) squirting aren't uncommon to him. In his mind? You squirting is a sign that he's doing something good and he would take pride in it.

So follow the vision, the two of you have been dating for a while and you finally work up the nerve to stay over at his cabin for the night just to spend some more time with him, as well as hear the waves at night.

One moment Elliot was reading to you, steadily getting to a particular spicy scene in the novel, and the next?

His head was in between your thighs slurping and sucking at your clit.

♡ - In the silence of Elliot's cabin, lewd squelching and feverous moaning could be heard.

What started as a simple visit. Elliot had sent you a letter that he had received a new book in the mail and wished to read it with you, a simple and impromptu date night that steadily turned more sensual as your lover continued to read.

Mentions of the woman in the novel being touched by her lover...his fingers slowly trailing up her legs until they reached her twitching sex before the man's fingers teased her folds, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as he fingered her to orgasm. You hadn't realized you were panting like a bitch in heat until Elliot teasingly mentioned the redness in your cheeks, questioning if you wanted to recreate the scene.

You couldn't imagine a scenario where you said no.

"Ah~! Elliot, oh fuck..." You moaned, your hands gripping onto Elliot's hair for dear life as he sucked and kissed at your clit, hums of appreciation escaping his glistening lips as his fingers teased your entrance.

Alone, his tongue proved his skill in pleasuring you. The whispered words of his love told to none other than your pussy as if it were capable of talking back to him, but, you oh so desperately wanted him to touch and scratch that itch inside of you. "You're twitching so much my love..." Elliot said, pressing one more kiss to your bud before he kissed up your thigh until he reached your calf.

"Elliot..." You whispered, teary-eyed and begging much to his amusement.

He leaned forward with a smirk, caging you in with his body as his free hand traveled back down to your pussy. "Yes~?" He smirked.

"N-Need you..."

"You already have me dear, what more can I give you."

Your blush only increased as your eyes looked away from his from both embarrassment and to gesture to the hand that was touching you everywhere but where you needed your lover the most. "T-There..."

"Your pussy? Aren't I already doing that?"

You pouted. "N-Need you...inside..." When his brown rose with that slow rising smile of his, your sex-dazed brain quickly remembered its manners as you whispered a shy 'Please' to him. And, without further convincing, Elliot's fingers plunged into your pussy, tearing a moan from the confines of your throat as your hands gripped the pillow behind you.

Elliot pressed sensual kisses all over your face, eventually focusing on nipping the shell of your ear as he felt your sex begin to clamp around your fingers. Your hands eventually left the pillow and moved to wrap around Elliot's neck as your moans suddenly increased in volume and frequency. "E-Elliot!" You keened. "S Something...oh fuck! C-Cumming!"

Without warning, there was a gushing noise, Elliot's attention swiping from your face to your sex before his eyes widened at the sight of a clear liquid spurting from your pussy and your legs shaking ferociously. His mouth fell open at the arousing sight, his cock twitching in its confines at the gorgeous sight before he looked back to you.

Your eyes were unfocused and cloudy, unshed tears brimming the edges of your eyes as your chest heaved up and down.

"My love..." He whispered. "Care to give me such a show again~?"

Sebastion

Flustered (his cock literally gets as hard as a diamond)

I like to believe that Sebastion is a virgin but he isn't stupid.

He knows of people being able to squirt, but he doesn't have experience due to him being a shut-in and never being intimate with anyone. When the two of you started dating though, his mind shifted as y'all got more handsy with one another.

The feeling of you cumming around his cock, the taste of your pussy. It all drove him nuts and eventually awakened something in him that screamed "Can they do more?".

And one night, when his family was out and you and him were getting hot n' heavy in his bedroom. Your body tucked into Sebastion's front as he looked over your shoulder as he fingered your lewd pussy, he got his answer.

♡ - He couldn't tear his eyes away from you.

And by "you", he meant your pussy that was clamping so tightly over his fingers if it feared of letting go of him! Such a lewd sight was a rarity- nay, an impossible scene for him to fathom for a shut-in like himself unless he watched porn or used his imagination. Of course, this was all before he got to know you.

Now? As you whined and moaned so prettily for him, your arms looped around his head in a subconscious way of trying to ground yourself while you practically fucked yourself on his fingers...his cheeks were so red that he felt as if he were on fire, he hadn't the slightest clue how he hadn't cum in his pants yet.

Sebastion pressed a sensual kiss to the corner of your lips. "You're so pretty Y/N...y'know that?" Sebastion whispered before his eyes went back to the scene before him as his fingers steadily grew more and more coated with your slick.

However, it was when a keen escaped your lips that he knew there was something different about the way your pussy twitched around his fingers then. How your hand raced to try and stop his hand and you began to whisper and beg for a break.

"Huh?" He said almost like a confused puppy. "You've never asked for a break before..." Cruelly, the thrusts of his fingers sped up as a smile cracked onto his flustered features at the sound of your moans increasing in volume.

"S-Sebby...!" You whined as your legs started to thrash and your cunt got sloppier, wetness started to coat his hand more and more as Sebastion's eyes were glued to the unfolding scene before him.

Yet before even he had a chance to predict what might happen, his hand was soon coated with the warmth of your gushing juices. His eyes widened in both shock and arousal as your legs shook and seized, the very scene stealing the very breath from his lungs as he struggled to not cum in his pants and save his load for when he was fucking you.

"Yoba..." He whispered as he brought his hand up to his face.

"Sorry..." You whispered, barely even coherent as you tried to will the energy to look at him.

He scoffed as he licked your slick off from his fingers. "Sorry?" He scoffed.

"Don't be~ let's do that again, but on my cock this time."

Sam

Excited (my favorite lil' perv)

I'm going to stick to my own personal theme of Sam being a bit fo a pervert and say that you squirting has been on his mind for a while now, along with the other nasty ideas floating around inside his head.

Some nights, when he's fisting his cock to the thought of you in a sundress or that time when he visited your farm and found you bent over to pick something up. He'd think about the 'What if?' moments of where he's behind you.

Beads of sweat dripping down your skin from the summer heat as he plunged into you repeatedly, his hand coming down to rub circles onto your clit as he got drunk off of your moans and begs for release.

Up until, much to his surprise, he felt a wetness splash onto him and drip down his thighs, your thighs quivering as he had to hold you up to keep you from collapsing.

Poor you, now you had to go at least three more rounds with him!

♡ - A pornographic moan escaped his lips when you squirted for the first time.

As sweat dripped from Sam's forehead as his cock dragged against your warm walls, he couldn't help the delirious moans that left his kiss-swollen lips. Almost as if he were the one who just squirted and not you. "B-Babe?" He said, lazily wiping the sweat from his eyes with the back of his arm before he leaned forward. "Can you do that again...? Fuck...you have to do that again" He begged, needy whines leaving his lisp as his thrusts picked up speed with a fervor more ardent than moments previously.

He couldn't even begin to explain how long he'd been waiting for this moment!

Since the first time he slipped into your pussy all those months ago!

When his imagination finally became reality.

From then on, he felt like a dog in heat. From a brief whiff of your perfume, to those rare-spotted moments where you bended forward in front of him. Your pussy was far too addicting for him to let go so easily, his aching cock always hard and at attention when he was around you as the thoughts of what he wanted to do next, what he wanted to experience next with you plagued his every waking thought!

But...now that he's seen you squirt? All the times he's had sex with you prior seemed to pale in comparison as the memory replayed again and again in his mind.

"S-Sam...!" You gasped. "S-Slow down- Ah!"

He pouted. "I can't..." He whined in your ear. "I just can't, fuuuuckkk, your pussy feels too good." He said, watery blue orbs looking into yours as a dopey grin slowly crawled its way onto his blushing features.

"You'll squirt on my dick again, right Y/N? Oh pleaassee say that you will..." To accentuate his begging, the side of his face dug into the valley between your bouncing breasts as he moaned at the feeling of your pussy clamping down on his dick and the sound of your fucked-dumb pleas of 'More' or 'Go faster' rang in his ears.

"Don't worry Y/N..." Sam chuckled as his grip on your love handles tightened to the point you knew in the back of your head that you'd have some bruises there in the morning, his balls slapping against your sex echoing throughout his room. "I'll make sure that you feel really good."

Harvey

Similar to Sebastion, he's flustered but like way more.

You were taking control for the night and were fucking yourself onto his dick. Yet, the deeper angle pressed into a delicious ache inside of your cunt and caused you to become a little more...greedier than you typically were.

To the point, you were unconsciously overstimulating your poor lover as he was too fucked-dumb to even still you how you were fucking him too good. How, like yourself, were beginning to feel strange as his balls tightened up at his oncoming unexpected release.

But by the time you got off his cock, that last feeling of friction suddenly made him squirt just as, if not more than you had.

He was squirting allllll over his stomach.

♡ - When you squirted on Harvey's dick, your warm wetness splashing against his thighs as you threw your head back to let out a keen of sheer ecstasy. He felt like he was in pure heaven.

Yet as you slowly came down from your high, the aftershocks from your orgasm still washing over you as your pussy clenched and unclenched around Harvey's cock. When your gaze finally settled back onto your lover, you could've sworn you saw hearts start to appear in Harvey's eyes as you steadily began to roll your hips on his still-hard cock.

"Harvey?" You spoke breathily. "You okay?"

He was more than fine.

But, it took a long minute for the doctor to express that as he lazily looked up at you as if you hung the very moon and stars just for him. After all, he was far too focused on how your hips were rubbing against him oh so perfectly. How your sloppy pussy was so warm and so tight even after the countless times that the both of you had been together...so much so that he was slipping further and further into the fogginess that his pleasure-ridden brain provided.

"Harveeyyy~" You said his name like a siren as you caressed his cheek. "Feelin' good?" You purred, giggling when Harvey answered honestly with an eager nod and an 'Uh huh'.

At his honesty, you began to speed up your hip rolls, a choked-up whine just barely escaping Harvey's throat as his grip upon your hips tightened as he ground up into you in search of more friction. Yet, you knew your lover, although he was more vocal than your previous partners. This time? He was a lot more vocal than he typically was (not that you were complaining).

You almost wanted to be concerned.

But the sight of Harvey's eyes starting to roll into the back of his head?

It was far too delectable for you to give up on.

"So cute f' me baby~" You praised as you pressed your hands onto Harvey's chest, your hips falling and rising more rapidly onto your lover as more and more unashamed moans left his lips. "You should be this shameless more often." You giggled.

"I love how shy you are but I think I like this side of you a lot more." You giggled before you quickly snapped back to Harvey's face as his moans and occasional whines began to increase in pitch.

"Oh....shit, Y/N. H-Honey, I feel weird...please don't stop!"

"I think something- Oh fuck, d-don't stop...!"

"Yoba! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-"

Quickly, you dismounted your lover before finishing him off with your hands, wanting to see the amount of his spend before you were met with the unexpected scene of him squirting. The white liquid sprayed all over his stomach and just underneath his chest as Harvey's screamed to the point you feared he'd wake your animals. Your eyes were as wide as saucers, yet...as your gasping lover struggled to catch his breath.

A part of you begged to see him do it again.

Shane

RIP to your pussy

He's definitely fucking you harder after that little display.

But how he reacts in other ways definitely depends on the location. If you two are having sex at your place? I like to imagine that he'll get really kinky with it and try to make you scream as loud as possible, making sure that everyone within a ten-minute radius of your farmstead knows who made you squirt.

If you're fucking at Marnie's house, however? That'll be the time you find out just how good (and sexy) slow sex with Shane can be.

Ultimately though, when you squirt, Shane is in the business of making sure that you continue the party alllllll night long until he's satisfied or you passed out.

♡ - Ohohoho...he's been waiting for this moment since the second he had access to your tight little cunt.

"Shit farmer...didn't know you could squirt~" Shane groaned as he pressed a hand into the middle of your back, forcing you to arch even more as he drilled his cock further into your sloppy cunt. "How many other secrets are you holdin' out on me, eh?" He continued to interrogate you even though he fully understood you were incapable of answering in a complete sentence, much less uttering a single word aside from the breathless moans that escaped your hoarse mouth.

Yet as the local drunk fucked pussy, his full balls slapping against your cunt as the noises filled your otherwise quiet bedroom.

He couldn't help but remember the fact that he used to be so rude to you before he actually stopped and got to know you.

Suddenly, your face appeared in the forefront of his mind and as he became more drunk off how your walls squeezed his cock, the enveloping warmth began to make his hips stutter as he felt his release close in on him. All he could think about was making you his cute little farmer wife.

The two of you could raise allll the chickens you wanted.

But most importantly? And the most special little bonus that he and only he would get unlike the other people in this town who possibly had a crush on you? He'd have 24/7 access to your squirting little cunt, your moans that shamelessly told him to keep going despite your overstimulation.

He uttered out a guttural 'Fuck' at the idea. "Fuck pretty...we should get married after this, huh?" He smirked. "Ain't no way I'm losing this tight pussy, especially after figuring out what you can do tonight."

[unlosts]

Honey, you're familiar

Summary: Hotch takes the day off, you plan to take full advantage of it.

A/N: MDNI!

A calloused hand softly caressing your cheek is what wakes you up instead of your alarm, or more accurately Aarons alarm. 

The solid weight of him pressed against your back, his other arm caging you against him. 

“What are you doing here?” You mumble, sleep still coating your voice while you tilt your head backwards to leave your neck bared to him, and thread your fingers through his sleep mussed hair. Very pleased at the small groan you manage to pull from him. 

“I have the day off, remember?” He says against the skin of your neck, leaving a trail of kisses from right behind your ear to the base of your neck, the feel of it sending shivers down your spine, entirely too early to feel like this. 

“I did remember -” a yawn cuts you off “I just didn’t really believe you when you told me”   

He pinches you softly in retaliation making you squeal and try to detangle yourself from sleep, an arduous task given that you’ve entangled yourselves to fully  usually go to bed on different sides of the bed only to wake up in the middle as an incomprehensible mess of limbs. 

“Okay, okay I'm sorry, now get back here”Aaron uses the momentary distraction to draw you back into his arms, moving on top of you and caging you between his thick forearms. 

“Good to know all that FBI training isn’t going to waste” 

“What, you think I do this with suspects?” He asks with an arched brow

“Well, I should hope not” You say between laughs with the kind of carefree full teeth smile that drives him crazy. 

Here cradled by the morning sun, he remembers the morning he met you, and how that feeling he thought had long died in that old house, began to appear again.  

“What?” You ask a little breathless, your calf rises to slightly nudge his hip and his hand leaves your forearm to grip your thigh. 

Suddenly the morning sun feels scorching on your skin, your breath deepens as he lowers himself down to kiss you,  the solid weight of him on top of you a heady feeling. 

Aaron’s lips are all consuming, in a morning like this one he’s trying to make up for every late night and missed date even when you’ve told him that he doesn’t have to. His hand angles your jaw to deepen the kiss and yours go up to pull at his hair, causing a groan that makes your cunt clench. 

When you first slept together you discovered the sort of sounds you could pull from him so unlike the quiet and stoic man you had come to know, that you became devoted to learning him. Focused as a scholar, learning exactly where to press, pull or kiss to elicit the sort of sounds that would drive you crazy. 

His hand slides from your thigh, fingertips slowly trailing up leaving only goosebumps in their wake, up to your stomach. 

You separate only for a second as he leaves a trail of wet kisses up to your neck to suck a bruise there, making you hiss and pull at the hair in the nape of his neck once more. 

“You better not have left a fucking hickey Hotchner” you say between heaving breaths, but his only reply is a teasing grin against your neck. 

Aarons fingers play with the band of your sleep shorts while he goes back to kiss you unhurried even in the face of your growing desperation; his fingers run tauntingly back and forth, occasionally slipping a finger in to tug at the band of your underwear only to pull back out. 

They finally slip in to press against the patch of wetness forming in your underwear. You suck in a sharp breath when he touches your clit through your panties, rubbing more intently as you pull away from him to let out a weak moan.

“Aar” you gasp, breaking the kiss for a second, leaving his lips to chase after yours, kissing the corner of your mouth softly while you grind against his fingers. 

“I know” He says, his gravelly voice reverberating through your body “just relax honey, let me take care of you” 

He leans closer to you, braced on his forearm. Like this almost nose to nose he just watches you pant for a moment. Taking in this one sliver of time where his entire world is narrowed down to this bed. While holding your gaze he moves aside your underwear and finally runs his pointer finger against your cunt, collecting your wetness before going back to rub your clit. 

He swallows your moan with a hungry kiss, his calm facade abandoned when two of his fingers enter your cunt and feel your walls clench around them, the thickness of them still makes you dizzy even after so many times together. 

“Fuck” you moan, your foreheads pressed together when his fingers expertly twist to press against a spot that makes you feel like you’re on fire, his thumb going back to rubbing circles against your clit. 

“Yeah?” He asks, your hips bucking against his fingers, seeking even more closeness. 

your hands going to squeeze your breasts over your (his) sleep shirt.

He stares at your hands and you know exactly what he wants then, there’s no time to pull away and take off your shirt so you pull it up to expose your breasts to the cool morning air, Aarons lips immediately going to one, sucking softly while you arch into his mouth.

Whatever there was before in your veins replaced with something molten hot, every single part of you feels like it’s on fire. 

“Yeah”  You nod, unable to think of everything else, brain pleasantly emptied of any coherent thoughts. Your hands leave your shirt to caress his back, the nape of his neck, everything you can reach, you just want him as close as possible. 

He alternates between both breasts, sucking one pebbled nipple into his mouth only to let go and switch to the other, not before nipping at the side of your breast. 

After that your orgasm comes quick and loud, you don’t see it coming really, you only feel Aaron rub your clit sharply one last time before you feel it crest through you, leaving you to crash against the sheets.  

“Aaron”   You moan loudly, uncaring of the neighbors. 

“That’s it” He murmurs, his fingers have stopped moving but his thumb still rubs your clit until you can’t take it anymore.   

Despite his fingers still being inside you, you want him near so you pull him to you, the ensuing kiss sloppy and uncoordinated. 

“I’m going to need you to take time off more often” You say, smiling against his lips. 

[blueparadis]

~ :: ❛Electric Love ❜ :: ୨ content + warnings ୧ ~ f!reader, 3sum, dub-con, [un]protected sex, oral acts, use of pet names, specified tags with synopsis for each pairing utc, hc format; absolute filth that i havn't been able to get out of my mind. mdni & support banners by @/hitobaby· ʚ tag index. ɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

neuvillette + zhongli // syn : Two dragons who wandered the earth with certain purpose, stumbled upon a villager girl whose fate turned upside down when they laid eyes on her. // monsterfvcking, dubcon, double penetration.

If you had known that kindness would have you ended up being captured, chained and caged in a cave you would have never offered food and refuge to those young men. During days you were free to go anywhere and at night they would visit you, Zhongli and Neuvillette would talk and dine with you. And when the starts would bloom in the night sky they would slowly warm up to you, get cozy and handsy with you. Their touch definately had something, something boderly human yet compltely inhuman. Once, out of curiosity you tried to runaway, but ended up getting lost because everywhere you looked there were just vast stretches of forest whichever way you chose to go. Besides, if you wandered too far away from the cave the blue dragon would always bring you back to their nest.

At night, during the dark Zhongli would cover your eyes for a second with his hand and when he removed them all you witnessed was darkness. you can only feel them, the inhuman side of such affection. every time they visit you for mating, they would deprive you of your vision. You could feel their cool slippery skin against yours, long and powerful tongue licking your skin, sharp fangs digging your skin and marking you in your most intimate parts: inbetween your things, around your boobs, on your butt, and sometimes calf muscles. And when it is all over, you would wake up to a nest made of scales of different colors, but mainly blue and yellow, glowing in the dark, during the night providing you both warmth and light. But they never properly mated with you. It always ended up with overstimulating themselves with you; until that night when full moon shone at one starry night.

At that night, they did not blindfold you. Zhongli had your back against his chest as his golden-brown tail kept you in place, his hand toyed with your nipples while Neuvillette became busy in between your legs, his tail moving ocassionally as he slurped your juices. This is the first time your eyes are witnessing their inhuman form: to see them in this way after so many days was overwhelming and astonishing but not rebuking: all the while you could only feel them. You extended your hands to touch Neuvillette head but Zhongli grabbed both of your arms by the wrists. "Look at me, bunny." he commands, also gaining Neuvillette's attention. They share a moment of eye contact as he pulled you up, his cock nudging your entrance.

Neuvillette partly standing, on his knees, scooted closer speading your legs and pushing his cock inside you. His large, predatory hands that exhibitted so much strenght started touching your boobs so gently and so slowly. He has been playing with your tits for a while; your nipples are starting to itch and ache. His tongue wets his bottom lip as he twists and turns your taut nipples but he gives in finally. He hunches down to reach down to your boobs to suckle and mark them, like he usually does. Zhongli silences your moans and whines as he starts to buck his hips against yours.

Its wild how their cocks are grazing against each other inside of you as you slowly lose your vision. you can feel them being close, the cave being slowly full of echos of growls and moans, squelching of skins and low dragon squeals. You recognize the venus in the sky for a second. their wings flap open when the knot inside of you tightens, and a gush of cum leaks from between the skins when all of you climax together. They huff and pant, their cocks still throbbing inside you so does your body as they wait for their knot to slowly unwind. You are entirely covered by their wings, the scales from their body start to peel off and deposit to form a nest. They share a look before digging their fangs into your neck, both of them marking your neck, simultaneoulsy as you lull into deep slumber.

Next morning, you woke up naked, both of them curled up on either side of you. This is the first time they had spent the night as well as made it till dawn, their scales covering certain parts of your body and a stinging pain on both sides of your neck. Now you know they truly belong to you and only you, a sense of protection fills your heart as you run your hands over the both sides of your neck. An act of kindness that promised protection in return from any peril that your fate had to follow. What a gift! What a blessing life is!

kaeya + dainsleif // syn : In the absence of the owner of Dawn Winery, Kaeya offers special services to the Bough Keeper, Dainselif // nipple stimulation, spit k!nk, voyeur!kaeya, exhibitionist!dansleif.

The moon smiles brightly along with the sparkling stars adorning the night sky. Lord Diluc has already left The Dawn Winery around evening properly telling you the instructions and procedures for each and every little thing. On top of that, he has given you the privilege to ask Kaeya for help if you need. The clock has struck midnight an hour ago yet Kaeya has been sitting in the same seat when he first turned up late in the evening, his eyes moving along with you as you work. If only Lord Diluc knew what Kaeya has been up to behind his back, then he would not have informed his brother about his absence tonight.

Taking off your apron as you turn around you are met by a drunk Kaeya up close, standing inches away from your body. “Darling, why are you in such a hurry?” He chins up your face to meet your gaze. “You weren't in such haste while working though. . .” As he trails he takes a sip from the wine bottle before inclining towards you.

“Lord Kaeya please, not here.” you whine but all he does is to pout, squeeze your cheeks. It is not like he has not fucked you before. He did. Multiple times in multiple positions. Sometimes those memories ravage through your mind whenever he shows up during work, gets you worked up; your hopes too and then leaves. He keeps the bottle on the slab behind you and slips his hand under your skirt.

As he pushes aside your panty, his squeeze onto your cheeks becomes stronger forcing your mouth open. “Lord Kaeya,mmm-mgh”

He lets a drop of spit mixed with wine drop into your mouth, eyes never leaving your before finally sucking your lips. A little wine spills through the corner of your mouth as his arms rests against the slab caging you in but it does not stay there much longer. You grab onto his collar returning the favour, tongue dancing against eachother as his hands squeezed your ass cheeks. You can feel yourself getting wet, nipples getting taut and tight, Kaeya’s lips has moved onto your neckline to your chest. He tears off your blouse spilling your breasts in the air. You quickly sit on the slab wrapping your arms around his neck but he continues teasing you by kissing over your neck, chest and around the nipples; and suddenly a chime freezes your heart.

A customer. Lord Diluc did mention a special guest would turn up after midnight which why you were being a dilly dally while working. A cresent blossoms over Kaeya’s face. His crotch is pressed against your feminity while you cling onto him out of shame, out of concern for being seen. He has not moved an inch since the customer stepped in

“we're already closed but I think we can offer special services.” He takes the bottle of wine and pours it over chest. “What do you think, Dainsleif?”

The customer approaches you slowly, one step at a time his eyes watch the crimson fluid stain your dress, drip down to your tummy. Kaeya licks off the wine from your chest, your cleavage still remains stained with red. The customer wipes off some of the wine running his index finger from your tummy up to your cleavage.

Lord Dainsleif is not an old customer of the master of Dawn Winery but he is a new customer to you. If anything you two shared was some accidental glances in past and now you two are going to share same air. The thought makes you welp.

“Not bad,” Dainsleif exclaims tasting the wine from his index-fingertip. His legs fold, knees touch the ground as Kaeya holds up your skirt for him. You still do not move, neither bother yo cover yourself up, but only look at Kaeya. “Tsk, focus.” he says before taking one of your nipples in his mouth and suckling hard enough make you bite your bottom lip as Dainsleif licks your pussy clean of wine.

Kaeya holds your hand, fingers interlaced as he watched Dainsleif eat you out. “C’mon darling, spread your legs. It would be rude to not to offer Mondstat hospitality to our guest, hmmm, don't you think?” Kaeya exclaims watching your eyes begging more of him as Dainsleif gets himself drunk on you. The night feels incredibly warm despite cold gusts of winter striking the city. The moonlight vanishes as the cluster of clouds shrouds the moon, enveloping g the stars; even such natural harbinger of time can not seem to bear such obscenity.

[moondirti]

animalic (1)

series masterlist

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader rating: mature word count: 1.9k summary: he won't stop until he gets you warnings: enemies to lovers, injuries, kissing, minor ATSV spoilers, size kink (?), mentions of gore and death, not spell checked nor edited, honestly not my best work but the horny is all that matters notes: stayed up all night for this because i had to get it out of my system before finals. there'll be a few more parts, i promise i'm not this cruel haha

“I thought grace was a prerequisite for your little spider-club.” 

Your quip sounds disjointed – even to your own ears – entwined with wheezes that rattle your splintered rib cage. In all honesty, the circumstances don’t seem to be favouring you; he’s got you confined upon the wreckage of your own fight, hanging off the remnants of a crane that dangerously tips over a quarry. And though this isn’t the worst you’ve faced, Miguel’s presence always seems to make things more complicated than they need to be.

You’d had a stable hold on the beam, ready to pull yourself up and dematerialise to wherever he wasn’t. Until, of course, the asshole kicked your elbows off. Now, your fingers remain as your only attachment to the structure, shaking violently with their diminishing strength. Your torso isn’t faring any better, either – the bleeding both internal and trickling from the gashes in your hoodie. 

(You wonder if he’s toying with you, like a panther with its food. Of the rare times he’s assigned another spiderman to pursue you, they didn’t tend to drag it out for this long. 

But, you suppose, Miguel’s different.) 

He takes a small step forward, lifting his foot over your digits. He could crush them like this, turn the bone to powder and keep pressing until it macerates in the gore. You can’t put it past him, really, not if you utter one more self-sabotaging word. You’ve seen him rip through steel and silk alike, fueled on the resentment that simmers deep within his very essence. Yours is merely the same fate that’s befallen every other obstacle that’s dared to come his way. 

But the tension buzzes between you two, thickening until it’s palpable enough to taste. Miguel is quiet as ever, completely still save for the flickering light of his dimensional travel watch. You envy his position – that resolute stature, brimful of power as his shoulders square, his calf rippling with subdued strength, still stretched over your hand. You blame that, or the mask, slick with sweat and humid as it sticks to your nose. Or the glasses that slowly slip to reveal your squinting eyes. You blame anything apart from what it is; that fear that steadily begins to flood your senses, numbing it all into one, cohesive panic. 

You’ve never been good at life or death scenarios. 

“Or, maybe, the big boss thinks he can break his own rules?” 

The air snaps. With an infuriated roar, he lunges at you, razor-sharp talons swiping at your face. In your frenzied dunk to avoid them, your fingers drop. 

You plunge to the bottomless chasm below.

Okay. Let’s try to get this right, one last time. 

Your name doesn’t matter. It hasn’t, not for a while now. 

For the past year, you’ve been on the run from the Spider Society. You don’t exactly blame them for it, either. Every world you’ve crashed has gone to shit, despite serious lack of trying. Food-barren wastelands, borderless warzones. Truthfully, after the mantle of Earth 7BB-1 convected in on itself, you were inclined to turn yourself in. 

Independant of the fact that Nueva York seems to be the only place you can’t fuck up. Regardless of the relatability you have with the residents of its lobby. You were bitten by a radioactive spider just the same, and for all the good you’ve tried to do, you’ve never been a spider-hero. If it meant that no one else got hurt, you really would have been able to cope with lifetime confinement.

(Greater good and all that.)

Would’ve. Could’ve. If it weren’t for Miguel O’Hara’s interjection, and his goddamn alternative solution, things just might have turned out that way. 

You’re not dead. 

The realisation whips your consciousness into high alert, eyes snapping open to survey your surroundings. You process the light first, its brilliance piercing through the bromine-doused cotton that stuffs your skull. Then, it’s the pain that, up until this point, had been thrumming in the background. It crackles, marrow-deep, tearing down the tendons in your shoulders to the throbbing area around your ribs. They’re in doubtlessly worse shape than they had been at the quarry, the ache searing across to engulf your spine too. 

He had let you fall on your back, that dickhead. 

But– 

You’re not dead. 

It doesn’t take you long to figure out why that is. 

A red forcefield entraps you, droning its monotonous hum, partially obscuring everything beyond your own reflection. You can see the faint impression of a silhouette – no, multiple – stalking you on the other end, a great shadow court. They warp and grow with every passing second, gorging on your offered vulnerability, awaiting some wordless signal from the harbinger of death, to execute justice upon the one who’s been causing them so much trouble. Jess Drew. Hobie Brown. Ben Reilly. 

(They’d been more forgiving, once. Willing to negotiate peace, to treat you more than the screw up you’ve proven to be. 

His voice overrode theirs. Always.)

It’s easier to make out the devil himself – more so than the others. You’ve come to memorise the slope of those shoulders, how his fists clench at his sides as he circles you. You imagine the smug set of his jaw and those eyes, just as luminous as the cage you curl within. The puck at the base is recognisable, akin to the capture weapons he’s thrown at you previously. He’d saved your life, then.

On a technicality. You’ll bury that thought to rage over later. 

“How–”

The question hardly forms before you’re ripped in two, the atoms of all but your spirit splicing into one another in a defect of blue and orange. The glitch exacerbates the fractures that threaten to knock you out, racking through your system as it rearranges your matter into amorphous forms. It’s only when something is thrown into the enclosure do you snap back to. A bracelet clatters to the floor. 

“Didn’t know whether you’d be used to the glitching yet.” A disembodied voice remarks. It’s at a particularly whiny pitch – you assign it to Ben. 

“We… tried to get it on you, kid. But you–” A feminine inflection crops up. Jess sounds the same since the last you spoke. 

You glower at them from the corner of your eye – unsure if they can actually see you – and snap the day pass on. Your spectral abilities were handy at the best of times; to shift from the corporeal, coming into immateriality, makes the most complicated situations evadeable. You credit it for your continued survival, if nothing else. Yet to speak like you could control it, especially while unconscious, was pushing it. You clearly weren’t able to activate it when you needed it the most.

And now you’re here. 

“I’m not going to ask what you want, so let’s keep this short– y-yeah? Either you let me go, or this Earth’ll be the next to unravel.” Despite your intentions, the demand escapes you in a long-winded croak. You hear Hobie snicker, the laugh teetering the edge of approval. Anyone can tell the promise has no foundation.

“That won’t be happ–” 

“Leave us.” 

The room clips into white noise. You fail to focus on anything but that echoing order. 

His voice comes across clearer than all else, too, cadence resonating past any natural boundary, tugging your heart right where it’s tender. There’s that fear again, that singular dread, only ever triggered by his indifference. Perhaps more potent than fury, his patience gives away an all-assured determination. Deadly. 

You bite your cheek, steeling your expression into one of similar apathy. It feels like a child’s attempt at dress up, grubby hands clutched around mother’s lipstick, painting on a clown’s complexion. Crackling apprehension brushes across your most vulnerable parts; layer by layer, you’re skinned as the group files out. Bare nerves are all that’s left for your faceoff with the hulking man.

He throws another puck to the floor. His own forcefield conjoins to yours. 

His cheeks have gotten hollower, you notice, emphasising the cheekbones that are just as keen as everything else about him. He offers no smile, no grand boast of victory. Instead, he breathes – calmly, fixedly, and lets you absorb the overwhelming magnitude of his size once more. He’s aware of what it strikes in you, can see it in the way you falter upon every reintroduction. Miguel is colossal, a reality that has never been more apparent than in this cramped enclosure. 

You know that if you stop to ponder it, it’ll ruin you. 

Rearing on your heels, you bounce from your place on the ground, making a grab for his watch. He anticipates it, having caught the decision blaze in your pupils, and side steps, pivoting to gain the upper hand while your back is still turned. You rebound off the field wall, stumbling back when he yanks you by your hoodie. Your shoulder presses into his chest, and he moves to wrap himself around your form.

Your skin prickles. His body passes right through you. 

His recovery time is nearly nonexistent relative to your last fight – quick learner – but you’re still swift on your feet, bolting to his watch again. It’s a millisecond too slow, for his talons sink into your forearm when you start to pull away. 

Your pained yelp loses momentum as he slams your back against the wall, using a knee to pin your other arm in place, his free hand wrapping around your neck. 

He’s close. Too close. Your stomach flips, pushing up on your oesophagus until you choke with the bile that sears its lining. Your breaths are as deep enough as his clutch will allow, index and thumb cutting off the circulation on both sides of your neck.

Ichor blooms from the puncture points at your wrist, the warmth puddling at your palm, not yet heavy enough to drip down onto the floor. You don’t think he realises how deep his claws are, how near he is to scratching bone. You don’t think you do, either. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should, and while you’re sure you’ll regret not prioritising it sooner, you don’t think– Don’t think–

“I-I’m not goi…going home,” You gasp. 

“It’s not up to you, Wraith.” Miguel growls, chokehold loosening.

It hits you, then. Animalic. He smells addictingly animalic. Like musk, a blend of brine and hot air and hints of a patchouli aftershave that still clings to his jaw. Your eyes flutter, seeking all you can get of the latter. Unwittingly, you move in closer. 

You haven’t been this close to anyone in a long time. 

His expression oscillates between a sneer and a grimace, nose pulling up to reveal the very pointed ends of his two canines. Set side by side with plush lips, you zero in on the thought of experiencing the contrast with your own. 

He’s huge. 

Closer. 

Completely overwhelms you, in size and presence and–

Closer. 

Your ribs ache. Your back groans. You’re quickly losing feeling in your fingers, and movement – soon – if you don’t do something. 

Your breath weaves with his. He doesn’t reciprocate when your lips brush, but he doesn’t pull away, either. 

You kiss him for longer than you should. Longer than you need to. It’s firm, and not unlike what you expected. 

(World-shattering, all the same.) 

Your skin prickles. It takes all of your rationale to pull away – dematerializing out of his grasp, and into the portal you’d activated from his wrist.

chapter 2 →

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[solbaby7]

Rhysand x shy!reader

warnings: nothing really, maybe some swearing

summary: just you giving a massage to a tired Rhys and the usual sexual tension that comes with two best friends who definitely wanna fuck

—

Poor Illiryian baby, Rhys.

Sinking into the couch with a deep sigh, he beckons you over with two fingers. His exhaustion is evident, shoulders slumped and head thrown back into the thick couch pillows, fingers subconsciously toying with the soft fabric of one of the throw blankets you’d insisted on during a shopping trip a few weeks back. “Do me a favor, yeah?”

The way your head nods immediately in response is a little pathetic, borderline embarrassing if it weren’t for the fact that Rhys had barely looked up. “Yeah.”

“Why don’t you go grab those little oil jars of yours and rub my back for me?” It’s not really a question judging by how he says it, voice low and breathy but still commanding—cocky almost like he was certain you’d do it either way.

You leave for a moment, rushing to your room to collect a few oils from the growing rack in your bathroom and head back before you can psyche yourself out of it. Your hands on his body—Rhysand’s shirt was off by time you’d set the bottles on the table and he’d laid out on the large couch, his stomach down and face stuffed in a pillow. “Long day?” You murmur, the casual conversation doing little to stave off the nerves, your hands shaking at the thought of being so close to him.

“Long week.”

You hum in sympathy, glass bottle clinking against one another as you popped their lids open, corks perched to the side and poured a few drops of the oil on his back, across broad shoulders and down his spine. “Poor thing,” His body responds to your words—or maybe it’s just the oil when he shifted slightly, muscles flexing slightly when you finally touch him.

You start at his shoulders, slick hands smoothing the scent of lavender and mint over tanned skin. The angle is a little awkward, your back aching from the strain and as if the High Lord had sensed the same thing, one of his hands lift from under the pillow, reaching behind to tap at your calf, fingers grazing the bare skin there. “Sit on me.”

“But what if—“

“Please,” It comes out gravely, voice muffled by the pillow and filled with exhaustion. “I really need you to do this for me.” A little smirk quirks on the side of his face that’s still visible, eyes still shut as he followed up with, “Your High Lord commands it.”

A blush burns at your cheeks, movements hesitant before complying. One bare leg wrapped around his waist, thighs caging him in on either side and you prayed he couldn’t smell the affect this was having on you. How casual he was being about such proximity. How compromising this looked if anyone walked in.

Relax.

Just breathe.

You’re just friends and if anyone walked in you’d tell them exactly what was happening. You were helping—just like friends did.

“You’d think for a High Lord who can command such things, you’d have already had a masseuse on your payroll.” The joke earns you a laugh, his body shaking under you slightly but you ignore it as you get back to work. Fingers kneading at the knots in his shoulders, forcing yourself to stop thinking so hard about the whimpers that sounded from him when you ran a firm thumb down the slope of his shoulder, squeezing and rubbing over and over until that area was completely relaxed.

Rhysand’s back was all hard muscles, his groans going more guttural when your touch grows firmer, working out knots and stretching sore muscles until all the oil had dried. “Don’t stop.” His hand clamps around your calf when you try to slide off and while the grip isn’t painful the way half-lidded violet eyes peer at you, lips a little pouty when he continues. “I haven’t felt that kind of relief in months—just please don’t stop.”

His hand doesn’t leave your calf when you continue and the little sigh of contentment he lets out when you continue is enough to have you clenching around nothing, praying that he couldn’t feel it.

You keep going until his breathing has evened out and his body has gone lax, soft huffs fanning out on his forearm as sleep finally took over, hand falling limp at his side.

That’s how they find you, still gently rubbing at Rhys’ back and Cassian immediately groans next to Azriel. It takes no more than a second before his shirt is tugged off and thrown to the side. “Me next.”

[peachesofteal]

The Pit

2/2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.7k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dubious consent. Smut - M/M/F. Forced breeding and kink (but we're soft). Medical inaccuracies. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Misery inspired. Horror-ish. Whump. Caretaking. Imprisonment/kidnapping. Forced comfort. Addiction. Feelings of fear, panic, anxiety, hopelessness. Simon calls the shots.

It’s snowing.

The forest floor is covered in thick, white cotton, heavier than cement. It sticks to your clothes, your knees, soaking you to the bone. You slog through the snow; the forest grows longer. Taller. Trunks of trees enclosing you in a cold grave, a cage. 

You have to try. You have to. 

The moon illuminates your path, a swath of silver light refracting through weeping frozen branches, their backs bowed with the heft of the snow, cracking and shivering under their burdens. 

They’ll snap eventually. They’ll break. 

Just like you. 

Wolves howl in the distance. It makes no difference; how close they are. You can’t take much more, newly healed leg already spent, lungs heaving for what little air there is in this elevation. 

They circle. Blood-soaked maws snap at you, herd you closer and closer to the start, to where it all began, to where it continues to begin, again and again. 

The house. 

Your knees find ground. 

You’d rather die now. Freeze in the snow. Or… 

A jaw snaps. You hold out your hands. For freedom. For peace. 

The last thing you see is the flash of pearlescent canine, ripping into your flesh.

“Shhh, jus’ a nightmare.” Simon’s thumb works across your brow, concern shining on his face in the dim lighting. You shiver, even in a room like a sauna.

“Did- did I wake you?” He shakes his head. Of course, you didn’t. He’s always awake. He’s always watching. 

“Close your eyes.” He tucks you close, blazing heat from his massive, pillowy chest bleeding into your back, your ribcage expanding slowly. It’s rhythm, sick, twisted rhythm, syncing you together, your breathing evening out, steadying in his hold. He reaches for Johnny, who’s curled on his side, and strokes through some long, loved pieces of mohawk. Lips muss your hair. “Sleep, little dove.”

The floorboards in the hallway creak.

They talk to you, whisper about comings and goings, each spot singing a specific frequency just so, hitting the right pitch at the right time, a chorus of shifting weight echoed by hackneyed groaning.

The creaking is didactic in nature. It exists to teach you something, to plainly expose the things you should have been paying attention to all along: footsteps in the morning, in the evening, shuffles versus steps. Schedules, routines, things you didn’t pay close enough attention to, things you didn’t care enough to notice, all laid out very carefully in front of you. The weeping wood of the floor practically begged you to notice, but you were too distracted by the never-ending reminders of your agony, and the cups of tea that made you woozy. You were too busy craning your neck to catch a glimpse of the outside world beyond the window, too preoccupied with trying to stand on your own without vomiting all over the floor (again) to catch what the hallway was trying to say.

If you had listened, you would have stood a chance.

“Alright, here we go.” Johnny murmurs, an arm under your knees, another around your back. When he rises, cradling you into his chest like a child, you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste blood, desperate to tamp down the whimper that breaks free. “I know, I know. Almost there.” He soothes, lowering you to the couch where the pillows are all placed in very specific positions. One of the goes under your calf, another your knee, and they line the sides of your ribs for your arm to rest elevated, comfortably. He cups your cheek, warm thumb gently moving across your skin, sweet, molasses thick affection, like the cough syrup you used to swallow when you were young. “Do ye want some tea?” Yes. God yes, a thousand times yes. Yes, you want the tea. Yes, you want to fall into the bleak darkness of drugged sleep, the vat of unconscious swallowing you whole every time. You want the buzz of numbness, the shadow of an orphic, endless pit. You want to slink away from everything, from them, from whatever this is, from what’s happened to you.

“Yeah, I-“

“Johnny.” Simon says his name softly from the kitchen. “Let’s wait a bit on the tea.” His brow furrows, light venetian blue eyes tracking across your face. They catch the light just so, sparkling downward, sea foam, sea glass and ocean spray, all mixed together into kaleidoscopes spiraling outward from his pupils, and when he frowns, you swear they darken.

“She’s in pain.” He protests, straightening to full height. There’s something happening above your head, something he concedes to with a sigh, shoulders relaxing, a regretful glance cast your way. “I’ll get ye some naproxen, dove.” He promises with a kiss, and then you’re alone in the living room, unable to move, snuggled against the worn leather couch.

Your leg is in a cast. Paper and glue, you think, makeshift at best, and they both remind you of it all the time, how it’s not medical grade, how you can’t attempt to walk on it, how the bone is incredibly fragile, and will be, for a while. It’s in worse shape than your arm, which at least has a black brace on it, covered from elbow to wrist, immobilized with a dull ache, a pain consistently throbbing, but doesn’t make you cry. Not the way your leg does. Your leg screams with agony, still, pins and needles and buzz saws in your bones, a haunting torment keeping you awake at night, making you second guess your desire to live.

The tea helps though. The tea makes everything less, makes the pain round, instead of sharp, makes the fear feel farther away, instead of right on the tip of your tongue, like a monster on your doorstep.

Simon says your name, broad shoulders stationed in front of the fireplace, glass of water in one hand, two pills in another.

“Do you want to sit up?” You blink at him, and he kneels before you can answer, perching right next to your shoulders. “Open.” You give the pills a dubious glare, unsure, lips zipped tight. It could be the naproxen, but it could be something else.

After all, the tea is not just tea.

He sighs in the same exasperated sentiment, and then his thumb and forefinger are grasping your cheeks, cold shiver erupting down your spine at the contact, and he pushes your mouth ajar. “Don’t be like this, sweet girl. Thought you were going to be good today?” He’s referencing something you remember vaguely, a discussion from last night in the dark, a promise you made when the world was coated in sap and too far warm, sticky like the sweat clinging to your neck-

“Ye dinnae need to cry, little dove. Don’ we take such good care of ye?” Johnny cooed, eager. “Ye just need tae be good for us, and we’ll do everything else.” He was holding you tight, too tight against his skin, heat radiating from him like the sun. 

“I don’t understand.” You moaned, unable to move or twist away, trapped in the cage of his arms, Simon sitting prim on the edge of the bed, one hand on your hip. 

“You will, in time. By spring, we hope.” Simon told you, dark sympathy in his eyes, words stretching into a mixed-up sentence jumping around in your mind. By… spring? What does that mean? Johnny’s hands roamed over your skin beneath the blankets, stroking across your breast to delicately pinch at your nipple, before dipping further south, slipping into your folds without warning. 

“Ah!” You gasped, tense, frozen beneath his touch. 

“Shhh.” Simon pats your hip. “Let Johnny put you to sleep, dove. You’ll feel better after a rest.” Johnny’s fingers stuffed in your pussy, thumb dancing across your clit, would lull you into tea addled sleep, and warring emotions swirled in your head. Your desire for this, your acceptance of this, is sick. 

You’re sick. 

You think of the snow. The reflection on the floor in this room, crystallized shimmer on the ceiling. The sun has been out, and you’re dying, wilting, from not feeling it on your face. 

“Tomorrow.” You croak, and Johnny pauses. “Tomorrow can I… can I go outside?” 

“Will you be good?” Simon’s thumb rubs at a spot on the corner of your mouth, and you nod. 

“Yes… I- fuck.” Johnny’s breath hitches, and your walls clench up tight, squeezing. Small explosions of light dance across your eyes, pain mixed with pleasure, peaks and valleys rolling through your muscles. “Fuck.” A big, scorching hand spreads across your lower belly, just beneath your navel, and pushes. 

You come immediately. It’s overwhelming to keep yourself relaxed, to prevent the spike of pain from your injuries, but an orgasm dulls everything else, and you cry with its intensity. 

You’re sick. 

You don’t miss the way Simon’s hand lingers, how his eyes don’t leave that spot, how Johnny’s hand covers his, and they hold there, lost in their own world for a second. 

“If you’re good, sweet girl. We’ll take you outside.” He whispers, arranging limbs and waists and feet to his liking. 

You fall asleep dreaming of a blizzard.

The pills go down so easily.

And you suppose they help. For a while, anyway.

Enough time for Johnny to get you set up on the porch, zipped up in their clothes and propped up on a loveseat rocker.

You wonder if they sit out here in the spring. In the summer. Do they drink their tea and eat their biscuits and watch over their domain like kings? It’s so American, so southern, to envision, and you almost laugh at the idea of either of them swapping their black bitterness for something iced and sweet enough to rot the teeth right out of their head.

“Dove? Can ye look towards me?” Johnny sits half on his knee across from you, on another outdoor, plastic chair. He’s got his sketchbook and pencil in hand, excitement brimming from eyes to lips, like a child. Full of wistful bright light, the sun itself.

Simon’s sun, it would seem. 

You’ve noticed it, how Simon is the earth, but Johnny is the sun. The whole world, revolving around one ball of light, one eager, wild Scot, a star, the only, in Simon’s sky.

He draws you with efficiency. Moving and directing you just so, not daring to jostle you or cause you discomfort, but still ensuring he gets the best light. The barely-there dew drops of dawn. The glisten of a million frozen crystals at your back.  

He handles you like glass. He stares at you like you’re a doll, a fragile one, like you had when you were a girl.

In the quiet moments, which are many, you catch them staring at you. If they’ve brought you down to the living room, they lurk in the kitchen, murmuring to one another in voices too low for you to catch. If you’re in the bedroom, they curl around you like wolf pups, pawing and petting until you’re asleep.

You don’t understand.

They won’t even talk about it with you now. How you came to be here, how they’re insistent you’ll have to stay until spring, when the pass opens.

Their words are a sickness, infecting you, spreading through your system until they’ve touched every piece, inside and out.

It’s madness. The kind of madness that pushed you to the brink already, made you feel like you’re losing touch with reality, with yourself. The kind of insanity that nearly got you killed.

You test the weight. Just barely, just enough that it screams under the pressure. 

If you could make it to the door. 

If you could make it down the hall. 

If you could get out. 

You grit your teeth. 

The house has been silent for hours. No creaking floorboards. No heavy footsteps. You close your eyes, hold your breath, listening one last time. 

They must not be here. 

They go out, every once and a while. Bring things back. You’re not sure where, or how. 

You shuffle a step, dragging your foot. It’s more a hop, but you use the bed to offset the inevitable thump of your body weight, managing to make it to the end, fingers deathly tight on the wrought iron. 

You can do it. You can. 

It’s only three, four hops at most to the door. On one leg, in a weakened state, it’s harder than you thought, but when your fingers lay on the door handle, the release of relief in your chest is overwhelming. 

Yes! Yes. You can do it. Just- 

The knob does not turn. You pull, applying more force, trying to jiggle it, see if maybe it’s stubborn or just old. This cabin is certainly old. Even though it’s been hollowed out anew inside, the bones are ones of a hunting cabin. A long-forgotten place, now housing horrors anew. 

You twist and tug again. Every time it doesn’t budge, you try a little harder, each metallic scrap and jangle louder than fireworks. 

You tug and you fiddle. You close your eyes and push down the rising panic.

The truth comes rushing over you all at once. 

It’s locked. It’s always locked. That’s why Simon ensures it’s shut completely, each time they come and go. 

They never intended to take you home. They never are going to give you your phone, or theirs, they’re never going to get you back over the pass. 

You’re locked in here. With them. 

The tugging becomes something else, something wired and frenetic, until you’re jerking the door handle with all your might, shaking the frame, screaming. The motion destabilizes you, and your lack of strength does you no favors. 

Before you can self-correct, you stumble. You fall, instinct forcing your bad leg down, and when you try to catch yourself, you howl so loud you think the mountain shakes. 

Your head smacks the frame of the bed on your way down, and then… as always now, everything is dark. 

The first time you open your eyes after, Simon is seated in the chair. The same one he was in when they brought you here, severe and terrifying. The room is spinning, and you’re just as nauseous as the first day you laid eyes on him.

“I- I’m sorry.” You croak, but he only shakes his head, rising from his seat without even giving you a second look. 

For a fleeting moment, the indifference stings. 

“You’ll wear that,” he motions to your foot from the end of the bed, the good one, and you peek down to see a metal shackle clamped around your ankle. “until you can be trusted again.” 

Johnny crawls into bed with you at night. He cries, hot tears on his cheeks, and coos over the leg with the break in it, and then over the shackle. 

“I told him, ye dinnae mean to be bad.” His fingers shake as he traces your cheek. “Ye just cannae help it. It’s not yer fault, I know dove. Ye dinnae know any better. We have to teach you.” 

“Johnny-“ Please. Let me go. Help me. 

They all die in your throat when he presses his wet face to your neck like a dog, rutting his hard cock into your hip.“Ye’ll be right as rain by spring, I told him. Gon’ be such a good mum for the bairn, I know ye will.” 

The world fades away. The silence suffocates, and you pray to die. 

You cry the rest of the night, even when he shucks your pants down and licks your pussy until you’re coming on his tongue. You cry until he falls asleep, and Simon returns, settling in his seat, watching you both. 

“How do ye feel about chicken soup tonight?” Johnny draws you back to him, sweet boy smile on his face, and your stomach clenches involuntarily.

Stupid handsome Scot. 

You’re sick. 

“That’s fine.”

“But do ye like it?” He’s so eager, back straightening with interest, really trying to learn, trying to figure out what you like and dislike, what will earn him your good graces, and what won’t.

You shrug. “Sure, it’s… it’s good.” A thought occurs to you. “Where do you get the chicken?”

“We’ve got ‘em in the barn. Can’t roam in the winter but we keep ‘em warm in there. Along with some ducks. A goat.”

“Farm animals?” “Aye. How else we supposed to make sure you’re healthy?” He waggles his eyebrows. You try not to grimace. “Si slaughters ‘em fresh. Everything tastes better that way.” A soft light shines in his eyes, a wolf’s instinct, and the shudder trembling down your spine makes your hands shake. “Ye cold?” He clocks it immediately, as he he does with every other single thing.

When he gathers you into his arms to bring you inside, tucking you back into the couch, you don’t even argue. You just sit there. Like a doll. Theirs.

Night is the easiest. It’s simple, to give in to your body, let them take over, take control of the parts that have long betrayed you. You close your eyes as they touch you, kiss you, make you come.

You even enjoy it. 

That’s the worst part. You like it, when there are hands and fingers and tongues all over your body, like you’re being worshipped, like you’re some sort of god.

You like it, when Johnny gets overexcited and Simon settles him, guides him with a hand on his cock to your entrance, whispering slow in his ear, encouraging him to take his time. You like it, when Johnny’s pulse flutters under his jaw, when Simon holds you steady, when they get lost in each other, in you- you can almost pretend it’s not real, it's some fantasy, from a book, something dark and delicious-

Not your reality.

Tonight, Simon holds you in his lap on the edge of the bed, broken leg lying flat, his elbow crooked under your good knee and wrenched upwards, nearly pressing against your chest. The angle is intense, and Johnny grunts, muscles flexing with every thrust,

“Ah- fuck.” You moan and twitch, locked inside a cage, a confinement, the arms of your captors… your saviors. Simon swirls the pad of a finger over your clit, mouth open on your cheek, teeth nipping over your skin. You clench, Johnny cursing, some bitten off dialect you’re not familiar with, Simon’s voice dripping with smirk.

“Good girl, squeeze our boy, jus’ like that.” He does it on purpose, the talking. Knows how it makes you gush, long ago figured out the way to make your pussy clamp down around whatever he’s got worked inside you, his cock, Johnny’s, fingers, tongues.

Together, you’re an orchestra. Johnny is the strings, the violin, the viola, a cello. He plucks so perfectly, a harmonious blend of beauty spills from his bow, rising in the air until the audience is on their feet. His music trembles. It quivers and cries, like the wail of grief.

Your grief.

You’re the piano. An entire world, nestled in one instrument, but you play off tune, broken and sharp, pitch all a mess- you don’t even belong here.

Simon is the maestro. He directs each note, each melodious ring exactly as he wants it, working the music up to a brilliant crescendo, and it comes crashing like the force of a wave breaking onto sand. He conducts you, Johnny, the day, and night. He orchestrates the flow, lyrical give and take evolving in the house, your captor status slipping farther and farther away each night you take them into your body.

He knows you like it. Knows he’s in the lead, knows they’re winning-

And he doesn’t let up.

“Harder.” He coaches, and Johnny obliges, mouth open in bliss, eyes nearly rolled backwards. His fingers clamp down on your hip, too close, and you hiss in fear, the preparation of pain.

Simon snarls, yanking it away, holding to him tight before discarding it in exchange for the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” Johnny pants. “Sorry, dove.” You want to tell him to fuck off, to tell him you hate them, you hate them both, but you're only able to give them a high pitched moan of pleasure. “I’m gon’ come.” He grunts, and Simon yanks him forward, lips smashing together, tongue snaking messily between teeth.

For too long, the three of you hold fast. Johnny’s reckless, furious thrusts shove you backwards, over and over again. “Pull out.” Simon commands, flat palm on his chest. “Do not, Johnny.” He pushes him away from you like a dog, shoving him backwards with a firm forearm, a piece of rebar turned flesh.

He comes all over your belly, splashing thick white splatter across the mound of your cunt, up past your navel, choking on gasps of breath as Simon heaps praise onto the two of you.

Later, after they’ve bathed you, given you another orgasm, and all are almost tucked in, you whisper in the flickering fire light.

“Can I… can I have some tea?” Simon starts. It’s small, barely visible, but you feel it, in your bones. The echo of him in the room.

He holds your head between two palms, and you wonder if he’ll crush your skull. Decide it was all too much trouble. You’re too sick, feeble in your mind, too weak to survive.

“To sleep?” He asks softly, eyes darting over your shoulder for a split second, heavy with worry.

“Please?” There’s something in his eyes you don’t understand, a whirling mist of hell and desperation, and then it clears, and he motions a go ahead to Johnny.

“Alright, dove.”

The tea settles you into silence. With it, you can exist. You can survive.

It numbs you from the inside out, and as time passes, you feel no pain. You’re tangled in a dark web, a viscous manner of thing weighing you down from all angles. You feel nothing, and days turn to weeks, weeks to a month. Soon, the world is thawing. Snow melt turns to river and mud, greenery fighting for its chance to sprout and survive. Your leg is healing.

Spring comes. 

The day you roast a chicken is the day your life ends, for good.

It’s domestic, the act. An olive branch to Simon, who’s angry with you, again. Who’s frustrated, took himself outside to chop wood.

Johnny mopes inside the house.

“I hate it when the two of ye fight.”

“Well, if he wasn’t such a stubborn asshole.” You hold the wooden spoon like a wand before returning it to the cast iron, swirling it around in the mess of butter and onion. “Then there wouldn’t be an issue.” You swallow the sting of his earlier refusal. The quick rejection of your request.

All you wanted was to go on a walk. It’s a beautiful day. 

Why must the leash be so tight? 

“He’ll be happy ye’re cookin’ again.” Johnny grins wide, pretty face beaming over the counter, and you sigh.

Maybe. 

You’re watching out the window when Johnny approaches him in the yard. You can’t make out anything their saying, but the body language paints enough of a picture.

Johnny is rigid, angry.

Simon is calm, placating.

Words are exchanged, brows shifting with sympathy, sweetness.

Johnny erupts with glee. He shines like the sun, and Simon smiles, a real, true smile.

They’re beautiful.

And you’re sick. 

The three of you tangle together in the dark. It’s a sailor’s knot, thrice over, difficult to understand which piece is which, where one begins and the other ends.

Simon’s anger is long melted. A glacier, gone leaving only a gash in the rock behind.

It’s this gash, this quiet undercurrent, keeping you focused on the wrong thing, pliable in bed until you realize Johnny is murmuring something in your ear, two arms banded around your waist from where you lay on your back, atop his chest.

“We cannae wait,” His hand strokes over your belly with reverence. The words cut through the thick, heady haze, and you try to twist to look at him. “watch ye get big with our bairn, goin’ be such a good mum.”

“Wh-what?” you choke, tensing. They try to settle you, sweet words and mouths everywhere, but you cannot get away from the fear.

From them.

“You- ahh.” You’re on fire, a finger rubbing your clit, Simon’s width between your thighs. He spears you open on his cock, unrelenting, making you keen and cry, face wet with tears.

“Waited long enough,” He grunts. “Been wastin’ it for months.” He steals your whimpers, swallows them, takes them inside like you take him, like you’ll take him-

“- until you swell. Until you’re heavy, dove, round with us.”

Until you’re forever theirs.

It’s a snarled promise. A prayer. Your eyes find the ceiling, fire flickering in shadow across old texture, and you breathe.

He shoves your knees towards your chest, Johnny still lock tight around your ribs, tongue in the shell of your ear.

“Need to be still, cannae lose a single drop." His palm is searing beneath your navel, and he's practically singing, vibrating. “We love ye so much.”

They’re conducting Beethoven. Ode to Joy.

You’re playing Bach. Come, Sweet Death.

Simon comes in you for the first time, and you come too, clenching down around his cock as he praises you, holding onto him like you can’t let go. Like your body knows. Like you’re craving it.

“Good girl.” He croons, spooning whatever slips free back inside, shoving it deep, wet lips on your own. “Gotta keep me in, dove… jus’ like that, there you go.” You throb, squeezing again, pulsing for him. For the words.

You’re sick. 

When they switch positions, and Johnny smiles at you over your knees, his canines shine nearly red in the fire light. Two predators, one prey. 

Your heart cannot help but flutter.

Sick. 

Eight months prior: 

The bar is packed. Summer music festival, the banners say. The park is thriving, alive with melody, musical acts rotating on and off the stage, children running amuck with candies and balloons, families relaxing in lawn chairs.

An Americana tradition. 

They sat there themselves, for a while. Watching. Burning desire growing hot under his collar every time he saw a mum and her bairn, a small, precious thing cradled close to a chest, an overexcited five-year-old having a catch with his Da.

Eventually, they retreated to the darkness, hiding away in the one bar in town, it’s small windows and dim light practically a calling card.

And what they found inside, well... 

“Hey, what can I get you?” You’re perfect. Sweet and soft, like a dove. Kind faced; kind spoken. You make Johnny’s cock twitch just looking at you, and he pictures you on your back, legs spread wide, exposed for them to feast on. To fill. He can’t wait to taste you, hold you, kiss you, have all his firsts with you.

Will you fight them? Will you squirm? No, you'll be good. You'll be so good for them, their perfect, sweet girl. He knows it. 

How did they get so lucky?

Simon tucks his ballcap lower.

“Sorry, there are a million people in here!” You half shout over the raucous noise. “You’ll have to speak up!”

“Just two beers.” His yank accent needs work, but it does fine when there’s one hundred other faces next to his. A sea of forgettable memories.

Just as intended.

Your fingers brush his when you deposit two drafts on the bar top, shooting off a total, and for a lingering second, he stares at you.

Simon caresses the back of his neck, thumb circling a loving touch into his skin.

A warning. A reminder.

Can’t make ourselves stand out. Cannot be remembered. 

Johnny peeks at the name tag pinned above your breast, and files it away. Files everything away as they finish their pints, how you scrutinize the crowd, how you’re constantly working, looking for things to do, cleaning. Taking care of everything. The people at the bar, your coworkers.

His heart overflows with love. With warmth, and when they take their leave, he can’t help but look back one more, catching a glimpse of your profile, singing a silent goodbye.

See you soon, dove. 

[moonstruckme]

Hi!! I love your writing and wanted to request something for any of the marauders with a reader who’s scared of dogs but wants to get over it so they go to like a local shelter or smth to meet the dogs and help r get comfortable with them?

Thanks for requesting sweetheart!

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 913 words

The dogs start barking as soon as you enter the room, which isn’t supremely helpful. 

You flinch backwards. Your back hits Sirius’ chest, your heel touching the toe of his shoe. 

“It’s okay,” he assures you, nevertheless relishing the opportunity to wrap his arms around you. “They’re just excited to see us.” 

You don’t move, eyes sweeping over the rows of kennels as if searching for some hidden threat. Some of the dogs are so eager they’re standing on two legs against the doors, paws hooked in the metal fencing. The bare walls make their barking echo loudly. Sirius can see how it’s a bit overwhelming. 

“Why do they have to sound exactly the same when they’re excited and angry?” you ask.

Sirius almost laughs. He takes a couple of small steps forward to let the door swing shut behind you, and you go with him reluctantly. “They don’t,” he says, “but you can’t really hear the difference if you’re not used to dogs. That’s the point of this, isn’t it, gorgeous?” 

You hum, anxious and unsure. 

“Yeah,” he answers for you. He’s attempting to counterbalance your apprehension with an excess of pep. Sirius gives your middle a reassuring squeeze before stepping out from behind you and going to the nearest kennel. 

“Look, this is Juno,” he reads off the slip of paper on the gate. Juno is practically beaming at him, her tail wagging restlessly as he crouches in front of her. She stops barking as soon as Sirius sticks his hands into her cage, letting him scratch at the fur around her neck and flop her ears this way and that. “Oh, hello, lovely girl.” 

If Sirius was hoping this would inspire some jealousy, it doesn’t seem to be working. Evidently, your claim on the title of Sirius’ lovely girl does not take priority over your wariness of Juno. He pets her for a while longer, trying to showcase how gentle and happy she is, before looking over his shoulder at you. 

“Come here,” he encourages. 

You actually lean back a bit, so slightly Sirius wonders if it’s unconscious. Your face is tight with nerves. 

It’s hard to take your fear seriously when he can’t fathom feeling it himself, but the reality of it is undeniable in your eyes. Seeing you so scared makes Sirius’ chest hurt. 

He softens his tone. “Come here, sweetheart, it’s okay.” 

You approach like you’re certain Juno is going to snap her teeth at you as soon as you’re near, stopping a good couple of feet away from the kennel. 

“Look,” he says, retracting his hands through the metal wiring despite Juno’s protests, “you can start by sticking your hand just nearby, like this, so she can sniff you.” 

You remain standing as you do, looking between Sirius and Juno all the while. Your hand is actually shaking, his poor girl. Sirius reaches for what he can, rubbing up and down on your calf in a way he hopes is encouraging. 

Though the barking of the other dogs is still echoing noisily around you, Juno seems to know to be quiet. She sniffs your hand through the gate for a moment before looking up at you eagerly. 

“Why don’t you sit down here with me?” Sirius prompts.

You retract your hand. One of your fingernails begins picking at the other. “I don’t really want my face in front of her face,” you say. 

“Fair enough.” He sticks one hand back through the bar, scratching between Juno’s ears demonstratively. “Wanna try petting her? She’s friendly.” 

You really are brave, the way you’re quivering like a leaf and yet you do it anyway. Sirius moves his hand to her neck so you can take over the prime spot. When you start to get close Juno bumps her head up to meet you, and you flinch but don’t pull away, petting down the fur on top of her head hesitantly. 

“Try ruffling her fur a little,” he suggests. “You saw how I was petting her, yeah?” 

You take his advice with some grains of salt, migrating your touch to behind her ear and scratching only lightly. Only, you seem to have found the magical spot. Juno’s head turns into your hand, and you take in a quiet inhale as nearly her entire body follows, leaning heavily into your touch. Small, whimpering sounds start to come from the back of the dog’s throat. 

“What’s wrong?” Your hand stills, horror written across your face. “Am I hurting her?” 

“No, no, you’re alright.” Sirius can’t keep from grinning as he watches your fingers begin to move again. Juno looks like she might well flop over. “She’s just happy. She wants to be pet.” 

“Weird,” you breathe, but the majority of your nerves seem to have finally gone out of you. You crouch beside Sirius on the floor, sticking your other hand through the gate. “The sounds they make are so confusing.” 

“You’ll figure it out,” he promises you. “But look at you, baby—you did it!” 

“Mostly,” you hedge, but you’re beaming, both hands buried in Juno’s fur as the dog closes her eyes blissfully. You look to Sirius, bordering on bashful. “Thanks for helping me.” 

He wraps a hand around your thigh, pulling himself closer to kiss your cheek. Both of your hands are going to smell like dog after this. “Don’t mention it, sweetness. After we’re done here, we can go to the puppy room if you want. As a treat.” 

[heartfullofleeches]

Bet these hounds found reader's evil scientist laugh cute and/or sexy, no doubt nor questions.

They definitely love when their master laughs since Mad scientist Reader is rather stoic and rarely expresses anything other than their frustration.

-

[Mad Scientist Reader stands over the trespasser their pets brought to them - clicking their tongue as blood pools on the floor beneath them]

Mad Scientist Reader: You can't say I didn't warn you.... I've already told you that nobody in this town will do a thing about my research, and now...it looks like you don't have a leg to stand on at all.

[Mad scientist Reader drives their heel directly into the bite wound on their new subject's calf, laughing to themselves as their hounds watch on with wagging tails]

Hound #1: Master is so cute! Do you guys think angels earn their wings whenever master laughs?

Hound #2: master.. is laughing. We did good today. I wish we could make them smile more often....

Hound #3: It'd be nice if they laughed more instead of pretending we don't exist.

Hound #4: I like to think of master's laugh whenever I touch myself while wearing their coat.

Hound #3: ...how do you keep getting out of your cage?

[crushmeeren]

❆ Master List Link

Everyone involved in this aged up/18+.

❆ Note; JUST a reminder that this work involves ⋆ * CONSENSUAL ⋆ * drunk sex, enjoy. [ FEM READER ]

It’s late Christmas Eve, although technically it’s really early Christmas morning. It’s close to 2:00 am when you and Megumi stumble in through your front door. You’re a bit too loud, a bit too clumsy, and you’re giggling at every single stupid joke that comes out of your boyfriend’s mouth.

It’s too fucking hot in your home and as soon as Megumi can get the front door shut and locked with his wobbly fingers, you peel off your coat. There’s a layer of chilly sweat covering your arms and you fling the jacket carelessly onto the back of your couch as you pass by. You brace a hand on the wall, letting it guide you as you attempt to shuffle one foot in front of the other just to get to your bed.

Your cheeks are practically little balls of flame and and sweat annoyingly beads on your forehead. A dull throbbing starts up behind your eyes. It’s like an ice pick to the temple, not to mention your limbs lag as if in a video game and you have to squint to see anything.

You vaguely make out the sound of Megumi tripping behind you and slamming his shoulder against the door frame on his way down the hall. He lets out a whiny “ow,” and you can’t help but giggle.

“Careful Gumi.” The words come out only slightly slurred as you flip the light on. He snickers in response and hums in agreement.

“Oops,” he whispers cutely, but you’re not sure why he is. The dark haired man was obnoxiously loud a mere 10 minutes ago.

Your mind refocuses on the singular task of shedding off your suffocating clothes right the fuck now. So you do, even slipping off your panties, because why the fuck do you feel like you’re boiling in a soup right now?

Either way, you manage to get completely nude and face plant into your soft sheets. Your head spins at the abrupt change in direction and you groan. You lift your head up slowly and begin inching your way to your beloved pillow and flop down on it ungraciously.

A soft sigh of relief spills out of you once you finally stay still and the cool air from the air conditioner dances over your back. You seem to remember you’re not alone and try not to feel nauseous as you twist your neck to look at Megumi, curious as to what he’s doing.

You watch him pop out from under his crew neck sweatshirt, only in his black boxer briefs now. All his pale skin is on display and the lean muscles of his stomach clench as he twists to get the shirt off.

A thick warmth swirls in your belly instantaneously and the only thoughts filling the space in your brain and pushing at your skull is how attracted to him you truly are.

“Megumi….c’mere, please,” you request, words muffled by the pillow. His eyes widen when he trails his eyes over your naked frame. Megumi stares at the curve of your ass for too long before his gaze flits back to yours.

His cheeks are dusted bubblegum pink, his eyes hazy, but he sends you a dopey smile and nods half heartedly. He barely remembers to turn the light off.

You can’t see where he’s at in the dark but then he’s slipping under the blanket and pulling you under until he can comfortably press his too warm frame to yours. His arms settle around your waist from behind and he shoves a leg between your thighs, digging his chilly toes under your outstretched calf.

Your pussy aches when you realize he’s lost his briefs and his half hard cock is pushing into your lower back.

He’s so soft and slender fingers tickle the skin of your ribs and you just really want him inside you right fucking now. Fire blazes through your belly and it’s not from the alcohol you consumed.

Your heart thunders against your rib cage and you tug on his wrist urgently.

“Megumi,” you murmur. “Want you so bad, can we have sex? Please?” Your thighs clench tight around the knee in between your legs. Megumi’s arm squeezes your waist, breath catching.

“You sure sweetheart?” He whispers, low voice husky in your ear. Still, he slides his hand down your stomach, through the patch of curly hair below your belly button and places two deft fingers on your clit. He circles it slowly, tight and precise as a shiver shakes down your spine.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “C’mon baby.”

You reach a hand down to hold his wrist, not stopping him but wanting to feel the way his bones shift as he teases your clit.

He doesn’t hesitate, he lays you out on your back and slides in between your legs, settling on his calves. His cock is hot and full when it drags over your thigh, precum slick on your skin.

You wrap your fingers around his shaft when he plants his hands by your head. You drag the warm tip through the lips of your pussy and you both moan desperately. Megumi apparently can’t help himself either, because all at once he’s shoving his cock inside you and wrenching a gasp from your chest.

“Fuck! Megumi!” The raw stretch is intense, setting your blood alight and you dig your nails into his shoulders from the slight ache in your pelvis.

“Baby,” Megumi whines, voice high pitched and breathy as hell. As if he needs more, as if he’s overwhelmed with the desire to fuck you into the mattress but he’s hanging on for your sake. He lowers his head and buries his face in your neck, snaking his arms under your back and over your shoulders to grip tightly.

“Go ahead Megumi, it’s okay,” you murmur, lacing your fingers into his pitch black hair and holding his face securely to your throat. He pulls his hips back shallowly before thrusting back in.

The whole world starts to move in slow motion with him, your brain turning to mush as Megumi rolls his hips and drags his cock in and out smoothly. Your thighs fall open so he can move easier and he digs his nails into your shoulders and presses plush lips to your neck.

Megumi moves fluidly, tilting his hips up so he can strike your g-spot with each thrust and you cry out his name like a chant.

Megumi huffs into your throat, warming your skin and you tug brutally on his hair until he hisses. He throws his weight into his thrusts, not any swifter, but enough to get you even more cock drunk than you were.

“Sweetheart,” Megumi pants. “You’ve gotta cum, you’re so tight and I-I’m going to cum,” he all but whines. You nod and then your eyes are rolling back in your head when he starts snapping his hips frantically.

The added sensation of your nipples sliding over his sweat slick chest pushes you to the edge. He whispers about how much he loves you, begging you to cum on his cock and you can’t take it.

Your pussy flutters, the ominous knot that had built up behind your pelvis shattering as you cum. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as your entire body goes taut and you turn your face into his cheek as he works you through it. Megumi moans throatily.

“Oh. Oh god. Oh my god, I’m gonna cum.”

Your muscles relax one by one as he babbles, becoming pliant underneath him as he continues to rock against you. Megumi whines and then he’s pressing into your pussy to the hilt while his cock jerks and he fills you with sticky warm cum.

You both lay there for several minutes, chests heaving in tandem to attempt and catch your breath. Megumi’s forehead digs at your sternum and you scratch at his scalp affectionately. Unfortunately your head is still fuzzy and you’re sure you’re about to pass out due to how content you feel.

You’re reminded how much you love Megumi when he tries to be somewhat coherent enough to turn you both on your sides so you face each other. Megumi pulls your soft blanket up to cover your waists and settles in on his pillow.

Neither of you make a move to clean up. Instead you lazily slip a leg over his waist and his warm palm meets your thigh instinctually. Megumi kisses your forehead and you hang on to consciousness long enough for the two of you to exchange I love you’s.

You’ll deal with the mess in the morning.

[emjiroki]

☆Part 2☆

Original Post Part 1

Warnings: biting/marking, breeding mentions, CNC, yuuji fluff at the end

"I- Y-Yuuji" you stammered, shivering against the hard body behind you as he dragged his pointed nails along your side, moving up to grope your breast over your shirt.

"No no no little bunny, you're in my hands now," he purred, gathering your hands behind your back, "address me correctly".

"S-Sukuna" you whimpered, a tremor running up your spine as he sucked up a dark bruise against your throat.

"That's right" he said with a chuckle, "and it's the only name you'll know once I'm done with you".

You gasped as he turned you to press face first into the couch, your cheek against the cushion as he mounted up behind you, sliding his thickness in deep with a fluid thrust of his hips. You squealed as he bottomed out, the crown of his cock kissing your cervix. The couch creaked and groaned with every savage movement, your moans muffled into the cushions.

"This couch is too fucking small" Sukuna growled, swiftly pulling out and gathering you up in his arms to carry you to your bedroom, throwing you down onto the mattress before shouldering between your legs.

Your face burned as his deep wine colored eyes gazed between your thighs, his face lowering to bump his nose against your clit and drag his tongue along your slit, a quiet groan rumbling in his chest.

"Now I see why you're in this kids every thought" he said with a wicked grin, "this fat pussy is too sweet not to think about".

Your face burned deeper at his roundabout compliment, a soft gasping whine breaking from your lips as he suckled around your clit for only a moment before he grasped your thighs and lifted until your ankles were by your ears.

The hunger in his eyes had your heart pounding, looking more like he was going to devour you whole. He tapped his cock down against your clit, his mouth moving down to your calf and sinking in his teeth. When he didn't get the reaction, he wanted he slapped his hand against your ass, leaving a red mark in his wake.

"Please," you cried out, your pleading tone seemingly pleasing him.

"That's right, beg for me,Feed me your desire," he growled, "I want to relish in every sound you make, every squeal and every moan."

Without another word, he was sinking in deep, your breath catching as he pummeled in past the soft spot Yuuji usually hits. You watched him bite back a deep sound, his fangs tugging at his bottom lip as your walls convulsed around him. You could feel every ridge and vein along his shaft as fucked into you slow, seeming to savor the pleasure scorching through him. Your brain felt fuzzy at the sloppy sounds of your cunt sucking him in, mewls and moans spilling from your drooling lips nearly overshadowing the creaking of the headboard as Sukuna wrapped a strong hand around it.

The splintering of the wood had your eyes snapping open, Sukuna's hips never stilling as he threw the piece of the headboard he had torn off onto the floor with a growl.

"Cheap mortal crap, my bed was made from stone and furs" he said, replacing his hands on your thighs to keep you spread, "a much better place to breed you full of my spawn, but I suppose this will make do".

"Sukuna fuck" you whined, right on the edge of orgasm as your legs clamped down against his shoulders.

"If you're going to cum, to do it, I won't give permission twice".

Your eyes rolled back as your walls squeezed him, a debauched high-pitched moan flooding the room as you creamed around him. A shiver ran up your spine as you felt his warmness fill your belly, a savage bite to the plush of your thighs and a stifled groan being the only indicator that he reached his peak. You breathed a soft sigh, relief rushing through you at the thought of Yuuji coming back.

"Oh, missing your boy toy already?" Sukuna crooned, condescension dripping from his dark tone as he let your legs down only to flip you over onto your stomach, caging you in with his muscular thighs as he rutted his still throbbing cock against your ass, "the first pussy I've had in a thousand years isn't getting away so easily little bunny".

He threaded his fingers through your hair and tugged as he leaned in close, "we're done when I say we're done".

Exhaustion was over taking you, your eyelids have as your pussy throbbed and your legs cramped, Sukuna's cum leaking out onto the sheets between your legs when you suddenly felt Yuuji's warm hands touching you.

"You okay?" He asked quietly as he pressed soft kisses against your shoulder.

"Yeah" you croaked, your voice hoarse.

"Want me to start the shower?" He asked, tracing the bite mark on your shoulder. You nodded, giving him a kiss before he left the bed.

The warm spray of the shower seemed to bring you back to life, along with Yuuji kissing and sucking against your skin tenderly.

"I really don't know what happened, I guess I just lost control of him for a minute" Yuuji said, his eyes wracked with guilt.

"Really love, it's fine," you promised for the tenth time, even though you flinched when he touched the bruises. It had been seven pm when the switch happened and now it was four am, to say you were tired was an understatement.

"The way she was screaming for me I think she enjoyed herself" Sukuna's voice spoke from Yuuji's hand, "get used to it, this won't be the last time".

Yuuji leaned over and pumped a squirt of body wash into the curses open mouth, Sukuna splattering for a moment until he disappeared.

"Pain in my ass" Yuuji muttered, helping you wash your hair. You laugh together for a moment, until an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach. You really hoped you wouldn't have to give Yuuji a positive pregnancy test in a few months.

[archangeldyke-all]

okay i’ve seen people talk about werewolf sevika but what about werecat sevika like she gives off such cat vibes she’s an introvert who so would love sitting by her window or on her porch watching things also i’ve always headcanoned that she literally purrs when you scratch her head so werecat sev just makes sense to me

YES i fucking LOVE THIS

this is what i think sevika would look like in cat form btw hehehehehe (send me cats u think sevika would look like too! i want to see all ur ideas)

men and minors dni

it all starts with a loose lab-cat. singed had pumped the thing with shimmer and underestimated its strength. he returned to the lab the next morning to a broken glass cage, quickly followed by hissing and hollering coming from the bar.

sevika stepped on the cat's tail where it had been sleeping beneath a table. in return, the cat sunk it's claws into sevika's calf-- four deep scratches running down her leg-- dripping half blood red, half shimmer pink.

singed told her she'd be okay.

he told her to go home and sleep it off and that she'd be fine.

singed is a fucking liar.

the next full moon, sevika turns into a cat.

not a panther, or a lion, or a fucking tiger or something cool. a fucking house cat. and a tiny one too.

she didn't tell anyone. who could she tell? singed would just try to strap her to a lab table and start experimenting on her. silco would probably just laugh. jinx might be her best bet if she wanted answers, but she fears that jinx would do something horrible like pet her or something.

so she just... deals with it.

the more full moons that pass, the more used to it she gets, and the more she can transform herself at will without the moon's powers.

she kinda likes being a cat. it's useful as fuck in the undercity, with all it's steep walls and drop-offs. it gives her crystal clear vision, even in the deepest darkest streets; it gives her great instincts, even in her human form, and...

there's nothing quite like finding a stray beam of sun and curling up for a few minutes to snooze on a peaceful day. both in her human and cat form.

which is how she meets you.

you live on a high floor of a big apartment building in the lanes. it's miserable climbing up and down the stairs multiple times a day, but the nice thing about it is you're high up enough to get some direct sunlight in your home for a good few hours a day.

you don't have a cat-- your landlord would kill you. but you keep a two little pots of catnip and catgrass growing on your fire-escape, a little tin of water and some tuna or chicken when you've got scraps to spare.

you've got a few cats that come to visit you a few times a week, all varying levels of friendly.

the white stray visits every afternoon to snack on your plants, sometimes bringing a skinny orange friend along with her. you let them be, watching fondly through the window as they groom each other.

there's a fat tuxedo cat that you know has an owner somewhere in the neighborhood, that seems to know when you set out food scraps-- always there in a flash to gobble them up. he's friendly as hell, meowing incessantly at your window until you open it up for him and let him come in to get pets for a few hours before returning home for dinner.

there's a new litter of calico kittens you've caught sight of. you think there's five or six separate kitties, but you can never keep track because they grow so and change so much between your sightings of them.

and then there's your newest visitor.

she's a unique cat, silver eyes, only three legs, her left front leg missing completely. there's blue scratches running down her left side, shimmering in the sun when the wind blows her fur away enough for you to see them.

and she doesn't eat any of your plants, or drink any of your water. most of the time, you come home and find her sleeping in a ray of sun. and every time when she wakes up and realizes you're home, the cat will jump up on your windowsill and simply watch you; her tail twitching occasionally in the wind, purring loud enough for you to hear through the little window as her silver eyes follow your every movement inside.

.....

sevika's fucked.

she's so, so, so fucked.

she's been fucking stabbed, twice, and she's loosing blood so quickly that she's starting to see spots.

the men who stabbed her are chasing her, and she's leaving a trail of blood right to herself. no matter how fast she runs, she's not going to lose them.

she's so woozy that she almost forgets that she's got fucking magical powers. she ducks into an alley and quickly transforms, before sprinting away. that takes care of those idiots beating her to death-- but it doesn't change the fact that sevika's dying.

she doesn't know where to go.

the last drop is way too far for her to get there before she bleeds out. she's got no friends in this neighborhood-- and people down here don't have the spare time, money, or sympathy for a dying street cat.

wait.

she knows someone who likes street cats.

someone sweet, and pretty, and always smiling and talking to her like she can speak human language. she can, but she knows your other cat visitors can't-- and it just makes her like you all the more- - the idea of you talking to some clueless cat, just like you talk to her.

she makes it to your fire escape just before her three legs give out.

and while her vision starts to fade completely, the clouds overhead move and a beam of sun shines down on her, the smell of your cat plants wafting over her as the wind blows.

well, sevika supposes. if i'm gonna die i guess this is the nicest place to do it.

you come home and find a dead woman on your fire escape... which isn't a total surprise in this neighborhood.

it's only when you go out to prod at her that you get really freaked out-- because she's not dead, just barely breathing.

you scramble to pull the woman inside your apartment, spreading her out on your bed and nearly throwing up at the sight of two deep stab wounds in her sides.

you've got some shimmer stored in your medicine cabinet in case of emergencies, and you quickly slide the liquid down her throat before scrambling to find something to stitch her side together with.

you aren't sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing when she starts blinking awake, groaning in pain and weakly trying to shove you away from her wounds.

"hey hey hey, wake up." you say, shaking her shoulders. she grunts and scrunches her face up. when her eyes blink open, your stomach twists.

you've never seen eyes that silver besides on the cat that comes to visit you. they're different on a person. much more attractive.

"uh..." you say, trailing off for a second suddenly realizing that the woman beneath you is very naked. and now that you're looking at her, the blue scars on her left side seem awfully familiar. you clear your throat. "uh, wake up." you say again, gently smacking her cheek.

she gasps awake when you start stitching up her second wound. "fuck!" she shouts. and then, she seems to process where she is. "fuck." she says.

you gulp. "uh, i'll get you a blanket." you offer.

sevika nods numbly as you-- the woman she's been shamelessly peeping on for the past year-- stumble out of your bedroom.

"i thought you were dead, honestly, and then you started moving and i got really freaked out. gave you some shimmer-- i hope you don't mind." you ramble as you walk back into your room, throwing a blanket over sevika. "is there anyone i should call for or...?"

"you're even prettier up close." she says. then she cringes.

fuck she didn't mean to say that. it must be the blood loss. and the shimmer. and your pretty eyes.

"uh..." sevika watches as you start to back away like you're scared, and she huffs before she gathers all her energy and transforms into her cat form. "what the fuck?!" you squawk as the woman in front of you disappears in thin air.

and then, a little lump under the covers starts to move.

and the three legged silver eyed cat comes crawling out, two new wounds on her side.

"what the fuck?" you ask, immedietly reaching forward to pet the cat in front of you. you don't consider that the cat is a woman-- it's your natural instinct-- you see a cat, you pet it.

but then the woman's back and your hand is in her hair and she's blushing all the way down to her tits which you can see because she's still naked.

"wha--"

"i'm sevika."

"hi, sevika." you giggle, slightly hysterical. sevika's blush gets even darker. "i'm--"

"i know." she cuts you off, then bites her lip in embarrassment and presses her head harder against your hand, like she's a cat. well, you suppose she kinda is. "i... sorry for stumbling into your life like this. i thought if i died as a cat i died in real life." sevika shrugs. "guess the whole nine lives thing is true, though."

"i don't--"

"i can leave, if you give me a pair of sweats or someth--"

"no!" you squeak. sevika smiles, and now you're embarrassed. "i-i mean... you're injured. you should stay until you're better..." sevika raises an eyebrow at you. "plus... you're kinda cute."

she grins. "as a cat or...?"

"fuck off." you giggle, crawling into bed beside her. "you've fucking... been watching me for a year! it's only fair i get to interrogate you, too, you creep."

"i-i'm not a creep!"

"you've seen me naked!"

"you didn't seem to mind at the time..." sevika pouts.

you can't believe how ridiculous this whole fucking situation is. sevika's blood drying into your mattress underneath the pair of you, but her skin is becoming more vibrant as the shimmer works through her system, flashes of pink sparkling in her silver eyes. she's practically purring as you scratch her scalp. you burst into laughter, and sevika grins up at you.

when you finally catch your breath, you shake your head and look down at the only sorta-stranger beneath you. "so, what are you... a werecat, or something?"

sevika groans before bursting into laughter with you.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @claude999 @nhaaauyen

[tteokdoroki]

hello beloved aali, for your prompt game i am humbly asking for— ❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜ —with best boi kirishima eijirou <3 whatever kink you think fits best :P i hope u are well ! kissing u ! 😽💞

☆༉ — EIJIROU KIRISHIMA: 0-800-HOT GUY-HOTLINE.

line. ❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜

extension. marking kink + fem!reader + nsfw.

things to note. thank u sainty baby!! hope u enjoy hehe

when he faces the world, kirishima is kind and gentle. he’s a favoured amongst all for his bright ruby eyes and friendly smile. 

but when you’re alone in your bedroom, he transforms into a completely different person — he can be rough, and mean and everything you need to get off.

“that’s it baby, lift your leg for me,” kirishima coos down to you condescendingly, the pads of his fingers sinking so deep into your fleshy thigh that it might bruise. it’s one of his favourite things, seeing all the places he’s left his claim on you the morning after — just the sight of every scratch or bump and bruise sends blood rushing straight to his drippy cock and love hormones to his brain. 

when eijirou gets like this — you can barely even think about the flash of pain shooting through you as he hoists your leg up high on his shoulder, overwhelming you with the feeling of how much deeper he can get at this ankle. his head shifts to the left, condescending smirk spreading across his lips and revealing pretty rows of sharpened pearly whites. “you like it like that, don’t you baby?” 

he presses a kiss to your calf, nipping it with his teeth and smirking when your buck upwards in response. 

your brain literally lags, barely able to handle the size of kirishima has he hangs over you — pressing you into the sheets as his heavy cock stretches you open. he pushes on despite the resistance of your tiny, weeping little hole. the public wouldn’t believe you if you their beloved red riot got like this, panting like a dog in heat, a drooling mess over you whenever he got the chance to fuck you. the sight is a picture of scandal, your cream foaming a tight ring around the base of his shaft, smearing about the place every time the red head plunges into your welcoming heat. 

“oh, baby… listen to you, so fuckin’ soaked for me, oh god?” eijirou simpers lowly, a growl brewing within his broad chest at the feeling of you tightening around him. his dick slots perfectly against your squelching walls, and the crude and lewd sound of your sexes smacking together makes him so dizzy that his head drops to your neck weakly. 

“uhuh, all f’you,” you manage to gasp out from underneath him — trapped between kirishima’s bulking body as he pounds into you and the sweaty sheets that stick to your back, tainted with both of your arousals. 

the way you sound so breathless drives eijirou insane, you’ve got him losing his cool and losing himself in you — brutally swinging his hips into you without giving your swollen, salacious cunt a second thought. “god, fuck— c’mere baby, c’mere,” he seethes meanly as if you’re not already impossibly close. a weighty hand snakes around your neck, a thumb resting on your subtle Adam’s apple as kirishima pulls your throat up to his hungry mouth. “gonna mark this pretty fuckin’ throat up, needa— holy shit!”

he cuts himself off, your ribbed walls fluttering around his monstrous dick, suffocating him inside of you. instead of rambling on with slurred speech— kirishima pacifies himself by sucking on your neck, his teeth scraping your supple skin, sinking into it to leave his mark. his groans change to sweet, high pitched moans and pleasure smooths over his frenzied brain. 

he doesn’t care now, that his teeth are sharp and pointed — he only cares for the way you wail in surprise as he leaves dark hues up and down your shoulders and neck. it’s his mark of possession, that you’re his and only his. eijirou’s hot tongue soothes the blistering love bites that he leaves on you while his arm wraps around the back of your head to keep you caged in beneath him. 

“you're mine,” the red head growls between panting in pockets, lungs heaving in sync with yours — chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis. “you've always been mine.” he reaffirms, sucking just under your ear too. mostly anywhere he can get access to. “love seeing you covered in me, no one else can have you like this. right, baby?”

you’d reply if you could, but you’re too busy choking on your pitiful groans that tell him you’re close to cumming. your nails scale their way down the muscles of his back — marking eijirou up in your own way too. letting him know he’s just as much yours, as you are his.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[sugarcoatedstarkey]

for request ⊹ maybe someone makes a comment about how reader looks so rafe shows her just how beautiful he thinks she is.

I hope this was what you were wanting 🖤 thank you for requesting!

Beauitful -

warnings - people calling reader ugly, language & fem receiving oral. (18+)

“Baby! Where did you- why are you crying? What happened?”

It feels like the world stops spinning when his eyes land on you, tears soak your face, harsh lines from where your makeup once sat perfectly blended where smudged and wet. Your eyes bloodshot and sad, Rafe is pulling you against his chest, your tears start falling harder the moment his hand cradles your head. “Can we please go?”.

He’s escorting you out of the party, wrapping his arm around your head to shield you from prying eyes. He sent angry glares to anyone trying to take a peek at you. “What happened baby?”

You shake your head, you know you shouldn’t be crying. People have been cruel your whole life, always picking on something. Most of the people who were rude were people jealous of your family's wealth, jealous of your relationship with Rafe. “It doesn’t matter”

Rafe stops you abruptly, cupping your jaw tightly. He has a deep crease between his eyebrows as he stares at you in annoyance. “No.. you're not doing that. You don’t get to cry and then tell me it’s nothing.. you wouldn’t be crying if it was nothing”

Squeezing your eyes shut in shame, it was such a pathetic reason to be crying. He was just going to laugh and tell you to get over it. “Just a stupid group of girls being bitches”

Rafe steps closer to you, caging you against the car door. “What did they say?”

“That they don’t know why you love me.. that I’m worthless.. that I’m ugly” you hiccup the last part, biting down on your tongue to stop the sobs.

The words sting your throat as you repeat them back to him, heart pounding harshly against your chest in embarrassment. You can't bring yourself to look at Rafe, you knew he was rolling his eyes. “Hey.. look at me. Don’t listen to those fucking idiots, your perfect, your beautiful.. I love you because your the light to my darkness”

Looking up at him through your lashes. The corner of your lips curve into a smile, surprised with how he was reacting to your words. “You’ve never let anyone’s words affect you before, don’t let it affect you now. Not when your the most beautiful person on this island”

His lips are on yours before you can comment, pressing his body to yours. Your mind goes blank for a moment, letting the taste of his tongue blind you from the hateful words floating in your head. “So beautiful baby.. look at these goddamn perfect lips” he grunts, pressing a chaste kiss to your swollen lips. Running his hand down the length of your arm and curling his fingers around yours. “Look at these perfect hands.. the only hands I want to touch me”

You're grinning now, staring at him with bright eyes. He returns the smile reaching around to grab the car door, he pulls you against him as he opens the door and escorts you to the back seat.

“Let me show you how beautiful you are”

He crawls over you, closing the door behind him roughly. The car shakes slightly as he settles between your legs, kissing your ankle and up your calf. “Beautiful, so fucking beautiful” he kisses the side of your knee, pulling you closer to him. All words have become liquid and pooled in your panties, he leaves open mouth kisses up the length of your thigh. Leaving your cunt untouched, raising your hips to chase his lips only for him to press you firmly against the back seat. His nose brushes your dress up past your belly button, biting softly at the skin of your lower belly. “Beautiful”.

Slipping his hand under the strap of your dress and tugging it down, your nipples hardened under the intense gaze of his eyes. “These… these are extremely beautiful” his tongue drags up and back down between your tits, using both palms to push them together on his face. “So perfectly round, so soft and so beautiful”.

His mouth envelopes your nipple, sucking and biting softly. Your hips tilt upwards until you create a delicious friction on his belt bucket. “Fuck” you breath, arching your back from the seat. “Your fucking moans are even beautiful… never listen to those assholes baby girl.. your so fucking perfect”.

He skims up the back of your thigh grasping the material of your thong, yanking it down your legs and tossing it to the front seat. Hands gripping the back of your thighs to angle your wet heat to his face, his eyes locked on your soaked hole. “I don’t know how many times I can say this but it's beautiful.. this pussy, absolutely magic. The only god damn pussy I need or want”.

He licks a harsh stripe up the length of your cunt sending shivers up your spine, eyes going crossed at the action. Sucking your clit into his mouth with such force has you jutting from the seat, he holds you firmly against his face. Your body convulsing from his abuse, tongue and mouth working overtime on your sensitive pussy.

Without warning he pushes all three fingers into you, scissoring and pounding. A dull ache finds home in your lower belly, thighs clamping around his head as your orgasm forms. “RAFE… holy shit- I oh fuck” your a sobbing mess, grinding your cunt into his face and fingers. The sound of your wet pussy edges you further into bliss. “That’s it baby girl… show me those beautiful sounds”

“Yeah.. yes yes yes oh fuck like that Rafe! Harder shit”

The moans and cries from your lips has Rafe painfully hard, but this was about you. Not him, so he pounded his fingers into you harder, curling them until they caressed the soft spongy part of your cunt. “oh my fucking god- I’m cumming!” You screamed, eyes screwed shut, toes curled and body shaking as your orgasm flooded you. When it finally settled and his fingers slipped from within you, you dropped back to the seat dazed and fucked out. “So beautiful baby.. do you feel beautiful?”

You nod your head, finally bringing your eyes to his. His mouth and chin glistened with your arousal, his pupils blown out. You reach for his belt buckle, wanting to free his aching cock.

“Nuhuh this is about you.. making you feel good baby”

“Please” you whine, palming him through the material of his shorts. His fingers grip your wrist, pulling them above your head roughly. “I just made you cum, isn’t that enough?”

“Your cock makes me feel good.. so fucking good Rafe, please”

That’s enough to have him reaching in his pants and pulling his hard heavy cock out, your mouth salivating at the sight. “Do you understand how beautiful you are yet?”

“Yes Rafe.. so beautiful. Now please put your cock inside of me”

[solarsa1nt]

𐚁֙࿐ APPEARANCES

ryōmen sukuna x fem!reader

Tags — fluff , cuddling , innate domain , soft sukuna

Notes — none

It's ironic, Y/N supposes.

How one of the most insufferable beings to her was the one who brings her the most comfort on nights like these.

There was an unspoken arrangement— Y/N wasn't sure how it even started, mostly remembering vague images through the tears that had blurred her vision that night.

Of the sea of blood that coated the ground beneath them, of the ribcage trapping them inside like the cage, of the soft white of the kimono she clung onto.

Y/N shifts her leg so her calf was no longer pressing into one of the sharp horns that constructed the throne they were atop of.

The arms around her waist tighten at the action, unconsciously pulling her closer as a small sigh leaves Y/N's lips.

She didn't even know Sukuna could sleep. Y/N thinks to herself, unamused gaze tracing over the curse's features— vaguely noting how they seemed sharper than Yuuji's.

Actually, he seemed to be overall different than Yuuji. Sure, it's undoubtable that they looked uncannily similar, but Sukuna makes Yuuji seem older— the way he wore Yuuji's skin was so different that after truly looking at him, it's a surprise that they're meant to be identical.

And their faces... Y/N raises a hand, curiosity making up her expression as she goes to grab his face— wanting to tilt it to get a better angle.

Her plans come screeching to a halt as a tattooed hand grabs her wrist.

The hold was tight, yet somehow not painful. Two red eyes peer open, the bottom pair narrowed at her as the main set stays closed.

"And what do you think you're doing, brat?"

Y/N stays silent, continuing to stare at him wordlessly as her lips part slightly in surprise before closing once again.

The top set of eyes eventually open to glare at her directly, puddles of red that showed mild annoyance mixed with something unreadable deep within them.

"..Your face is different from Yuuji's." Y/N voices her observation quietly, as if she were still only just processing that fact herself.

"Oh? And that's what made you grow bold enough to touch me without permission?" Sukuna questions, yet still lets go of her wrist, allowing it to fall between them.

The one hand still around her waist tightens, the other raising to lean his head against as he continues to stare at her.

Y/N blinks back at him with an unfazed expression, "Is it because of the amount of fingers he consumed? Can you alter your appearance— if so, why only slight changes? Could you return to your original appeara—"

"Enough questions." Sukuna cuts her off before she could voice the rest of her thoughts.

An agitated frown tugs on her lips, but Y/N remains reluctantly silent. She knew what limits she could and couldn't push— she couldn't bring herself to risk whatever was going on between them.

Moving his hand that was propping up his head, he pushes her head against his shoulder— momentary confusion stemming from Y/N before she decides just to accept whatever was happening.

He's comfortable, so who is she to complain?

Vaguely, Y/N wonders how anybody else would react if she told them about using the king of curses as a pillow— a comfortable pillow, at that.

Well, whatever, it's not like she plans on telling anybody about this. Ever.

© 𝓢OLARSAINT 2024 ─── all of my works belong me alone! do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or spread any of my works in any other social media platform. these have only been reloaded on my own accounts on ao3 and wattpad