#firmly gripping them in my paws

[ridefourth]

@deathweaved​

Familiarity does not make a home (he knows: years had made him familiar with the lower levels of the Undercity, with the cage he was kept in like an animal - and like an animal his former Ranger-General and queen meant to train him, an obedient weapon loyal to her alone). His loyalty would have been hers, without it, though Koltira cannot argue with himself she had been wholly wrong. Sylvanas may have been his leader in life, but Thassarian was a comrade, treasured even before they had been free to treasure anything. If it came to a choice, how could he not choose the one who chose to save him repeatedly?

Acherus feels familiar, in a different manner — a home you had not visited in many summers, a place that held memories both good and bad. Known, but not quite the same; yours, still, in a way it will inevitably always be.

It would not feel like home without Thassarian. He knows with a certainty unspoken, and it makes him feel foolish to have tried to believe the Undercity could be where he belonged. Whatever they had been in life, death made it meaningless. Brotherhood, Thassarian had once called it, though the word makes it no justice. It is a different kind of companionship; how could it not be? Death had forged it, rather than done it part.  

Others would have abandoned him to his luck, to rely on his strength alone, perhaps deservedly, in face of his repeated failure and display of weakness. Still, the elf knew that would never be true for Thassarian. He had saved him before, when it went against everything they were. The year had not abated the certainty Koltira possessed that he would be saved again, no matter how long the wait would be.

It had been long, indeed, and hard on him as well. His body no longer heals as it did in life, and though there had been enough care to keep him whole, plenty of marks were left behind. They are old things by now; he had been of little interest to the Banshee Queen after a while. They are new in the eyes of his companion, likely. But the words denounce his captivity left marks in Thassarian as well, less obvious at a glance. It is not your fault, he almost replies, though the words are less direct dismissal of the implication, more directly resolute in that there is nothing to absolve. "You were there in the end," He replies, gaze meeting the other undaunted, but never unforgiving. "As I always knew you would be."

"It is enough for me." He will not offer forgiveness where there is no cause for it to be requested, and regret is faced with similar denial. Koltira will have none of it; none, except for the very ending. How foolish indeed, to seek the path that put them at odds once more, when easily they could have remained together from the start. Softness has no place in his speech anymore, nor even his demeanor; yet there is undeniable fondness, that he can't quite care to hide after so long apart. "Yet I wouldn't be opposed to having you by my side once more, instead of across the field again."

At Andorhal Thassarian had still recognized every wound on Koltira’s form, at least those which were visible — familiar to him like his own. An old notch in his ear; the cut of a runeblade in his hand; innumerable others that he could count one by one all the same. They had not been parted long then. Maybe at the time he’d thought it to be, still unaccustomed to the absence of his friend at his side. He would learn. He would learn about absence. About how he would never grow accustomed to it, and the black gulf of guilt that settled in it, a gluttonous animal filling the space where Koltira should have been. It was not the first loss he had known, but from it there was no recourse, because he was not there, his eternal companion, Koltira, whose fate matched his own. Their names are Death, and so Death could not take him away.

But something else could. Did.

And as he looks upon him now, he sees innumerable wounds he cannot count, that he does not know. A strange pressure bears down on the inside of his ribs. It is an old friend: sorrow. Her twin, remorse, finds a home crawling up his throat. It was not in a death knight’s nature to become so mournful, so vulnerable, not when anger was far more becoming and just as potent in their hands. But he had been angry. Angry at Koltira’s captors, angry at every obstacle and political caveat and collar around his neck that kept him from taking his own action. Angry at himself. Now, laid bare to him, it all unwinds. There was no revenge to take, no will or justice to enact, none of any consequence above having Koltira here now, reaching out to him. Shame keeps him silent, if only for a few moments, but the shadows on his face (still so young, beneath the brands, beneath the rough beard — as young as the day he died, as gentle) say enough. What terrible things you have known. What I would not give to shoulder them for you.

But Koltira had always seen him. Had always known him, could strip away the steel. Even silence could not conceal his grief. It was something he had named in him the very day they met, in the bloodied woodland of Quel’thalas. Even when it had killed him. Because Koltira is a sentimental fool. Just like Thassarian.

So he knows, too, that he needn’t seek forgiveness. That doing so would violate what Koltira was already telling him, his voice tinged with something like affection: there is nothing to forgive. There never has been. We are bonded. Brotherhood… but not quite. Not really. He felt that for all the Ebon Blade. Koltira is something else. He wonders if he will get to know the new wounds. To count them, innumerable though they might be. Another thing you have overcome, Koltira.

“…I have no interest in leaving the Ebon Blade again, Koltira.” He wished he’d never had. What little good it had done. What paltry things he had gained, starker compared to what he had lost. The Alliance did not bring him his sister, and it certainly didn’t bring him camaraderie or fulfillment. And still…

“In leaving your side. If you will truly have me there once more.”

That was the important part.

[dante-mightdie]

simon doesn’t really enjoy clubs or loud bars, but you like to go dancing and what kind of man would say no to their seeing their woman dress up all pretty and dance for them?

the image is so clear in my mind of him leaning back in his chair, thick thighs spread to accommodate the pretty thing stood between them. one paw firmly gripping your hip whilst you sway to music and the other gripping his drink tight

makes you hold your drink right inbetween your bodies so he can keep an eye on it as efficiently as possible whilst you just focus on having fun

simon doesn’t dance, but he loves to watch you dance. loves to grip your hips and spin you around, pulling your ass flush against his crotch so you grind against him as he eyes your figure with those steely eyes of his

do you guys see the vision? please tell me you see the vision

when you’re facing him, arms slung around his neck as you yap in his ear about how much you love this song he knows, he requested it whilst you were in the bathroom because he knew you’d spend 15 minutes just complimenting random women in there. you’ll tell him all about your new friends and instagram followers when you come trotting out to find him waiting for you with an outstretched hand and another drink

feeling his big hands sliding up and down your sides, over the small of your back before shamelessly groping your ass in front of everyone with no shame. yanking the bottom of your dress down when he feels it ride up in view of unwanted stares, giving your ass a gentle pat to signal that he’s got you taken care of

sigh when will it be my turn

[moechies]

oh please more bunny reader and toji they’re so cutesy. maybeeeee reader has really sensitive tail/ears and toji really takes advantage of that?

tamer! toji who’s the roughest with his little client bunny. well, your previous owner is to blame. he claims that you’re the pickiest, messiest, neediest bunny that needs to be put in her place ; with none other but a little bit of force.

tamer! toji who doesn’t really like rodents , but he assumes he could make an exception for you; since you’re cute and fluffy. just this once though , bunny !

tamer! toji who doesn’t let your brat antics slip past him, and makes sure that you know your place at the end of the day. he can’t let your owners tedious cash payment go to waste !

“d-don’t touch my ears !” you whine, soft sobs spilling from your pouty lips. the man has both your ears in a strong, unforgiving grip, looking to teach you a lesson for sneaking into his washroom for a peek.

the thin, white towel he has around his waist hangs dangerously low and not to mention, loose, and your wandering eyes can’t help but notice the fat chub that shows through the fabric.

“fuckin’ perverted bunny. ya need a whoopin’ to learn yer place ?” he sneers, lowering his face to face yours. you paw at his hand, thumb slipping against his burly fingers, “hn— no— it hurts ! w-was an accident , swear ! i got lost !”

toji can’t help but grin at your limpid lies; he can see right through you, little bunny.

y’r gonna learn not to lie t’me ever again tonight, bunny.”

tamer! toji who carries you towards his bed as you writhe in his grip, ignoring your little mewls and complaints about your sensitive ears as you rub incessantly at the sore flesh.

tamer! toji who bends you over in the grossest arch against his towel-clad lap, feeling his warm skin against yours as the towels knot grows weaker and threatens to slip. he tugs off your soft shorts, revealing that soft, chubby bunny butt.

tamer! toji who’s surprised when he sees how fluffy your little cottontail is, twitching nervously under his gaze.

tamer! toji who even more surprised when he takes a sneak peek at your bunny cunt , just to see how slicked up your chubby folds are, soft hole throbbing with your carnal needs. what a pervert.

“no ! d-don’t look there !” you squeal, frantic paws attempting to scurry away from the man’s grasp.

his hand comes down unexpectedly with a hard smack across your ass, the soft flesh growing raw to the touch. your throat elicits a small gasp of shock, falling pliant against the man’s lap. you’re quick to burst into tears, even if you don’t want to; but it truly hurts so bad!

��bad bunnies need t’learn.” toji coos, kneading at the raw skin. it makes you flinch against his touch. “bad, perverted bunnies.” he whispers against your soft ears, making them twitch.

he tugs at the soft tuft of your cottontail, exposing your puckered asshole soft to the touch.

“n-no!” your tail twitches against his hold, shaky hand coming behind to cover yourself.

“hey.” he spits, a rough hand grappling at the chub of your ass almost like a threat, “y’think y’r in any place to tell me no right now ?”

his hand slaps down against your plush ass once again, the sting inevitable as he holds you firmly. your hands ball into fists that shoot up to your eyes, furiously wiping away at your newfound tears, soft hiccups that accompany your cries.

“that’s it, y’r learning.” you submit helplessly below him, watching intently at your softened ears pliant against the cushion. “y’know what you need to do?”

“m—m sorry. ‘m sorry mister…!” you burst into tears once again, little toe pads curled up into ‘c’s in a fear of feeling his punishing hand on the hot burn of your ass yet again. you don’t know if he’d punish you for your loud cries yet, but you simply can’t hold back. he’s breaking your little bunny heart.

“oh..” he sighs, he feels a tad bit bad; he supposes. he watches as your forearm slaps across your face to hide your expression, your other hand in an attempt to protect your burning cheek. “hey.”

you peek up at him with a tiny stare, hiccups still reverberating through your body causing you to bounce against his lap. you ignore the fat chub that pokes at the side of your tummy, flaunting shamelessly through the fabric of toji’s pants.

“come to this room t’ night after yer duties. y’took yer punishment well.” toji grimes, and he adores the way your eyes light up like diamonds. his friend down below seems to adore it just as much as he does, too.

tamer! toji who sees you peek in half of your head at the designated time that he asked you to come, nervously treading along the glazed floors with a glint of fear that he’ll continue his punishment.

don’t think of him so lowly, bunny. he really isn’t that mean!

tamer! toji who takes care of you that night; after a bit of coercing and getting you on your tummy, ripping your frilly panties from your bruised butt and pressing in a thick plug. he thinks the pink diamond is terribly gorgeous in contrast to your soft tail, twitching with pain at the unfamiliar feeling.

tamer! toji who preps you briefly, leaning down to block your view of his hefty fingers slipping in between your chubby folds. “s—sir!” it’s not like you don’t feel it, but he loves to make a little face at you that makes you look crazy!

tamer! toji who fucks you brutally against his soft matress that night, relentlessly humping into the depths of your gushy cunt. he can’t get enough, truly. you’re one damn bunny.

he watches you skillfully, the little plug snug in your ass squeezing against his cock from the inside. he feels the hard metal that bulges from the other side of your soft walls, grunting at the tightness.

tamer! toji who can’t help but cum fat loads in your cunt when he hears your little cries, sweet yelps for your ‘mister’ to come and save you. it’s even better when they slowly grow to cute moans and pleads to cum all over. don’t worry, bunny. your new mister will be sure to tug at your cottontail and rub your clit, just to ensure his bunny a good time.

[ctimenefic]

I'm going to need everyone to go look at this picture please

Done that? Thank you. Now you may understand why I was gripped by the need to write 3k of landoscar fisting in the middle of the night. If that's your cup of tea, please enjoy!

“Mate, I thought you said you’d prepped already?”

“I have-”

“I can barely get two inside, Osc.”

Oscar had got to four. Four of his own fingers, crammed inside himself in the bathroom of his stale flat, teeth locked on the sleeve of his hoodie because Lando had leaned over in the McLaren jet and said-

Said they could try it. What Oscar wanted. What he knew Oscar wanted, because he’d fucking nicked his phone and looked at his PornHub history like a cunt.

Well. They’d done it the other way round, first. Because Lando had assumed and Oscar- Oscar didn’t know how to want out loud, like Lando did. To bitch and beg and coax his way into things and somehow come out charming at the end of it. 

It’d been fine, anyway, the other way around. Oscar had come. Lando had come, with a bit more pizzazz. Ticked off, sorted, not one for the repeat list but good to have tried it. 

Except. Lando had looked across at him, when they’d taken up strategic spots either side of the wet patch, and that lax, open face had tightened up. It was still astonishing, how much Lando’s face moved when he was thinking.

“That wasn’t how you pictured it, was it?” he’d asked, quiet. Oscar can’t remember now, which hotel it was – after all, it wasn’t a night for the scrapbook. It’d had soft lighting, the kind that made Lando look improbably handsome, even when he was curled like a speech mark towards Oscar, all his softnesses on show. 

There must’ve been some kind of tell. Oscar’s not sure what it was; wants to know, so he can train himself out of it. Practise in the mirror until it vanishes into his smile. Whatever it was, Lando had reached out and wrapped his big hand round the top of Oscar’s thigh where his bent leg kept him from toppling into the space between them. The tips of his fingers stretched far enough to graze against swell of his arse, pinky at the line of his taint. 

Oscar had shut his eyes against the noise he’d made. 

“Alright,” Lando had whispered. “Good to know.” He’d squeezed, then retreated; rolled onto his back. “Triple header soon, but after the season? When I- when we’ve won.”

So. Four weeks, and one FIA gala later: Lando whispering in his ear on the flight back from Rwanda, shirtless and slutting it up as Oscar squirmed. Getting a separate car to his fucking hotel, like he wasn’t going to hop straight back in another car to get to Oscar’s. Telling Oscar to start without him. To send pictures. 

And now he’s pussying out. 

“Osc, I’m not sure we should.” Lando’s mouth is twisted in concern, even as he slides the pads of the two fingers he’s managed to squeeze inside back and forth over Oscar’s prostate, faint and damning. “What if it’s, like, proper- nah, that’s not it. Propriat- Proportional?”

Oscar is breathing too heavily to gape at him, but it’s a near thing. The leftover lube on his hands has gone tacky, but he’s sweating; his fingers slip on the outside of his own thighs. “What?”

“You know. Like how you’re not meant to put stuff in your ears that’s smaller than your own elbow. Or, like, up your nose.” Lando puts his spare paw over where Oscar’s still holding himself open for him. His pale palm disappears entirely under Lando’s hand. 

“Do you think my arsehole is directly proportional to my hands?”

“Could be! I mean, could be anything, like George has big feet and he’s eight feet tall, and I’ve got big hands and a massive cock, and you’ve got-”

“Also a massive cock,” Oscar says, firmly, because Lando has tried humiliation kink out of the blue before, even if he can’t remember it didn’t get him fucking laid. They’re not even that different, really; it’s just the perspective, when Lando’s hand is on him, versus his on Lando. It’s what had got him thinking about it all in the first place. “That’s not how it works, we’ve got different feet and we’re the same height, you fuckwit-”

“Yeah, but maybe it does for arseholes, I can google.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, if it worked like that you’d be gaping-”

“Took all of you, didn’t I?” And he’s looking around, distracted, like he doesn’t remember dropping his phone on the sheets when he came in, a blown up picture of Oscar’s wet fingers still on the screen.

“Lando, if you fucking touch your phone,” Oscar growls. Lando makes worrying movements towards it, even though he’s still knuckle deep in Oscar’s perfectly normal-sized arse. His wrist jostles; Oscar grunts, and suddenly Lando’s frozen, eyes back to where they should be, on the spot where his fingers slip a few fractions further inside. 

“Three,” Oscar bargains. “You’ve done three before, it’ll be fine.”

Lando abandons his phone to scrabble for the lube instead. Oscar just about avoids clenching his fist in victory. Lando’s always generous with lube, hates a chafe, but now he slathers it on; when he cranes his neck to look between his knees, Oscar can see it run down his wrist, bright and shiny. 

The stretch of the third is real, past the point he’d reached on his own. Four, he’d managed, four to the second knuckle, and just the tips of three of Lando’s is more. He loses the ability to shut his mouth, has to let his head fall back to the pillow and just take. Breath through it, find the place where he can relax and still hold onto the heat of it, the way every millimetre makes his cock twitch against his stomach. 

The flare of pressure as Lando eases in his knuckles makes his eyes roll back. “Jesus, Osc. You really like it.” 

“Fucking love it,” and he means to sound flat, maybe chuck a mate on there for good measure, but he’s breathy, voice cracking. There’s a hint of dampness at the back of his throat, past the drool building under his tongue. Lando groans, high and whiny, in response; shuffles forwards, so his shoulders can help hold Oscar’s legs up and apart, give Lando room to stretch him out. 

“Lemme-” He wiggles, slightly; one finger drums on Oscar’s prostate and a thin spurt of precome stains his belly. “Just this, for a bit? And then, if you’re up for it…”

Oscar couldn’t be more up for it. But Lando’s eyes are still a little apprehensive, a little wild. Oscar can play the long game. “Sure. It’s not a sprint.” 

Lando, inexplicably, snickers. “Kinda like one though. Cause, you know. You gave it to me-” He slides his fingers out, until it’s just the tip of his middle pressed where Oscar’s body valiantly tries to close up “-and now I’ll give it to you.” Oscar’s tongue cleaves to the top of his mouth for the push back in; the noises he makes can’t strictly be called words. Lando drops a kiss to the side of Oscar’s knee, just a soft one, lips together. He gets sentimental about sprints now.

That’s why Oscar brings them up. 

The ache of the stretch eases with each steady move, in and out. Lando reaches for the lube again and Oscar almost wants to stop him, chase the burn – but he’ll never get to four without some compromises. When he can trust his voice again, he tries his best to be encouraging. “It’s good, Lando, it’s really good.”

“I know,” Lando groans, like he’s in pain, face twisted up. “Fuck, if you could see yourself, Osc, you’re fuckin’ dripping everywhere.”

It’s easy now, to bear down against Lando’s thick fingers. “More,” he pants. Rephrases. “You can- if you want-”

“Oscar.” Lando’s head drops forward, curls bouncing as he stares at Oscar’s arse. At his hole. It must look like a hole now, dark and wide. Not a furl, not a clench, or a pucker. A hole. Open. “Oscar, Oscar, Oscarrrrr.”

It works though. Another slosh of lube – not even cold now, warm from where Lando’s keeping the bottle close at hand between his knees – and that’s Lando’s pinky joining the rest, all four sliding inexorably in, all the way down past the first knuckle, the second, on and on and on.

Oscar loses his grip on his legs, but Lando keeps him splayed open with the span of his shoulders. Oscar scrabbles at the sheets instead for something to hold onto. It’s brutal, the ache. He wants to thrash. But Lando will bolt if he does. He locks his ankles together high on Lando’s back, just in case. Clamps down on the howl in his chest. 

Lando stops moving. Oscar can’t see, couldn’t lift his neck if he wanted to, training be damned, but he thinks they’ve reached the base of Lando’s fingers. The point where all he needs to do – such a little thing, really – is draw back and tuck his thumb. 

“C’mon,” Oscar- it’s not a whine. It could, perhaps fairly, be called a wheedle. He can’t quite pull off coquettish, not like Lando can when he flutters up at a camera, bites his lip. He can’t measure out his need into acceptable quantities. But it leaks out all the same. “Please, Lando. You promised.”

Lando shudders, and they both shake with it, Oscar’s body rolling like an aftershock. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.” He looks up, right at Oscar, and the fear hasn’t gone, but there’s something else there now, wildness abandoned for a softer, darker look. Oscar’s heart kicks in his chest. There’s saliva running down the side of Lando’s chin and then he bows his head again and spits a mouthful, frothy and white, onto Oscar’s arsehole. 

Oscar shouts, “Jesus fucking Christ” and quite possibly some other words his neighbours won’t appreciate, and when he’s got a grip on the situation again, Lando’s panting nonsense words against the inside of his leg, and the stretch is back, the stretch is good, and it must be- he must have- It’s so slow, but Oscar thinks he can feel it, pressed up against the others but oriented differently. Lando’s thumb. 

Lando rocks his way in, tiny shifts, back and forth. Past the first knuckle. The second. Down to the widest span of his hand. The palm that has sat heavy on Oscar’s shoulders, at the centre of his chest, on his throat. 

Just a bit more, and it’ll be inside him. 

And then Lando looks up and stops pushing. “Fuck. Osc. Are you- shit, I’ll.” He starts drawing back, careful but still too fast, Oscar’s body making sucking, needy noises around him.

In a panic, Oscar shakes his head. Not a neat side to side, but rolling his neck like a spooked horse, wild with it. Begs. “Don’t, Lando, please-” It comes out wet and squeaky and- Oh. He’s crying. That’s new. The kind of thing he might be embarrassed by, if he didn’t need Lando’s fist inside him with an urgency that borders on lunacy. “Please. I’m okay. I- Please.”

“Tell me you need it.” Lando’s hoarse with it, dark eyed. His free hand is shaking, but the fingertips still inside Oscar are rock steady. “Tell me it’s good.”

Oscar gulps for air. Beneath the howl in his chest there’s a twittering, fluttering panic. It’s too visible, his need. If he takes it all, he’ll be seen. Won’t be able to hide. 

“Yes,” he offers. There are still tears sliding down the sides of his face. It’s not enough for Lando’s sudden solemnity. Oscar breathes against a sob. “It’s good. I want it. I need you.”

A sharp gasp. Lando presses forward again, eyes locked on Oscar’s face. In and in and in. And Oscar takes it.

The first time, the other way around, Oscar hadn’t been able to watch when his fist disappeared. He’d felt disconnected from it; like it wasn’t a part of his body, inside a part of Lando’s. Like it was a toy. He’d been gloved up almost to his elbow, because Lando’s latex fetish was as poorly disguised as all his other cravings, but that hadn’t been why. Lando had still been hot and tight and impossibly delicate around him. He’d still been able to feel.

But Oscar had done so much work to hide his petty jealousies. To make sure he made it good. Tutorials and magazine articles and advice forums, and watching Lando charm a room with half a smile and remembering he was lucky, he was so lucky, to get this close to what he really wanted. So perhaps he hadn’t let himself get carried away in the prep, in the build; perhaps he’d let Lando carry the conversation, goading and filthy and a little bit cliché, as he got to the point. To the fist. 

And then, when he was sure he was doing it right, he’d instead been caught by the way Lando’s back had twisted, how his shoulders shook, all the strength of him pushing him down like he needed downforce to stay on the bed. He’d had the pillow between his teeth, getting it wet. Sloppy. The shine of it, of his chin, when he’d turned his head, had been the thing to rouse Oscar’s flagging dick. 

Lando had asked, then, for Oscar to touch him. Said he’d needed more. Not that it wasn’t good, mind you, he’d stressed that, said it was so fucking hot, being on Oscar’s hand like a fucking puppet. But. A touch. Something on his dick. Because it wasn’t enough for Lando, to be filled. Not with Oscar’s dainty hand. 

It’s enough for Oscar now. He howls. Clenches down on Lando’s broad wrist. He can hear it, the squeeze against skin and Lando’s insane application of lube. Every throb of his heart, every pulse in every artery seems to fall into time with the tiny movements of Lando’s fist. Inside him and through him and with him and all of him. He’s never been owned like this. Wanted enough for this. 

When he glances down, away from the ceiling, Lando looks like he’s been fucking raptured. “Oscar, shit, that’s insane, you’re- I can’t believe-” He sniffs, just once, but obvious enough Oscar has to crack a soppy wet smile at him; gets a lopsided gleam of teeth in return. “You really fucking like this,” Lando tells him, like it’s a secret. Then: “I really fucking like this too.”

When he twists his hand, his whole fucking hand, just slightly, Oscar’s orgasm hits like a thunderclap. Lando groans through it, so loud it’s like he’s been wounded; Oscar blinks up at him, worry surfacing between aftershocks, but Lando shakes his head, his free hand pressing soothingly to the back of Oscar’s thigh. Which. Fuck. When the power of speech returns, what might be a full minute later, Oscar has to chuckle. “Imagine telling Zak I broke your hand.”

Lando swats at him. “Don’t talk about Zak when I’m about to fucking cum all over you, Christ. Fuck, you look-”

A mess, he looks a mess, cum up to his neck, his face wet with sweat and tears and spit. But it must work for Lando, because he starts working his dick with his off hand, short fast tugs, not even stopping for lube.

“In me,” Oscar hears himself begging. “Inside, please.”

“It will not fucking fit!”

It’s hard to get his tongue working round the size of the thought, the way it presses at the inside of his mouth, his ribs. “No, just- pull out and I’ll. I’ll still be open. You don’t have to fuck me, just- aim.”

“Oh, fucking hell, Oscar.” But Lando does start drawing back. He’s slow about it, watching for every shiver. It’s almost better for Oscar, coming out, oversensitive, the long drag past every nerve ending and aching muscle. If he can’t keep Lando inside for hours – for ever – this will do, this shared shaking moment. Lando’s grip on his own dick has stilled, so tight it’s like he’s staving off the inevitable; like the sight of his own hand coming out of Oscar could be enough to send him over. 

There’s a final squelch of lube, and Oscar thought he’d feel empty, hollow, but his blood’s still singing with it, happy and sated. Now it’s Lando who looks desperate.

“Clench,” he orders. Begs. Oscar tries. He can feel it, where he’s still open. Cold. Lando moans, and then he’s stripping his dick, first with his left and then – Oscar’s whole body tightens and it’s still not enough to close up, but Christ – Lando switches hands, switches to the hand he had inside Oscar, hot and slick and massive, presses in close and comes, hot and shivering, against Oscar’s hole. 

Oscar catches him, when he slumps forward. There’s enough coordination back in his body that he can roll them out of the wet patch. The right side of the bed – Oscar’s side, usually – is largely unsullied. He curls them both up there, bodies aligned. Lando’s dopey with the afterglow, keeps trying to run his lubed up fingers through Oscar’s hair, letting out high, contented giggles. Oscar’s pretty sure his own smile looks loopy.

“More like you imagined it?” Lando asks, eventually. There’s a smugness to it, like he knows the answer. Oscar indulges him anyway. 

“Yeah.”

“Mint. You should- if you have any more ideas like that. Say. Cause we’re doing that again.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh?”

“Obviously, not like, all the time. But special occasions. Championships. And- I don’t know, other shit.”

Championships, plural, sounds good. So do special occasions. He wants that, with Lando. Things to celebrate. Dates to remember. 

He’ll find a way to say it, eventually. “And other shit,” he hums, for now. 

[ssweetleaf]

be nice to me.

steve harrington x fem!reader x nancy wheeler

includes: SMUT 18+, strap-on sex, mean!dom nancy, soft!dom steve, daddy and mommy kink (sorry), choking, i think that’s it

summary: a little insight on how much of meanie nance can be during your play time, whilst stevie continues to dote and coo over you.

—♡—

“Keep her legs open, Steve.”

You sobbed at the constant stream of arousal that surged throughout your body, your back pressed firmly against Steve’s sweaty chest, the course, dark curls that littered his pecs tickled your skin whenever you wriggled in his grasp.

He was holding you open, big palms spreading your thighs as wide as they could possibly go, gripping and squeezing the doughy flesh— keeping you nice and wide and open for Nancy.

“Oh, look at her little face,” she cooed, mocking your whiny pout with one of her own before lifting her hand and inflicting a short slap to your cheek. “So pathetic, aren’t you, baby?”

Nancy’s hips shifted, the black straps of her harness taut against her flesh, the fake cock (something she was terribly excited in purchasing) was getting sucked in by your pussy— every inward thrust hitting that special spot inside you, the spot you thought only Steve could reach with his ridiculously large dick.

Steve sponged fluttery kisses to your cheek in a quick succession, nuzzling his nose into the flushed pudge of your face, being so sweet on you, doting on you— Steve was always the sweetness whilst Nance had that harsh dominance.

A perfect contrast, you thought. Everything you needed during your play times.

“Don’t listen to her, honey,” he cooed, wrists twitching at your thighs, wanting so desperately to move from their place and fondle your pretty tits, watching them bounce with each rock of Nancy’s hips. “Y’not pathetic— you’re my perfect girl, isn’t that right?”

You whined, nodding, babbling incoherently into the stuffy air, the sweet smell of sex filling your senses whilst sweat trickled over your brow.

Steve moved one of his hands, gripping your face between his fingers and thumb, squeezing softly, letting your lips jut out into the perfect pout.

He shook your face from side to side, cooing at how cute you looked, making sure your gaze stayed on Nance’s.

“Look at her,” he sighed, “ain’t she such a good girl for us?”

Nancy scoffed like the meanie she could be, and you revelled in the way her meanness made your pussy throb.

“Wanna be good f’you, mommy,” you whined, reaching out for her, pawing at her hands, sighing when they enveloped yours.

“Acting like butter wouldn’t melt, hm?” She spoke, though both you and Steve saw the little quirk of a smile upon her lips at your sweetness.

Oh, how she couldn’t resist her girl.

“Tell her, daddy,” you urged, wiggling in his grasp. “Tell her how good I can be.”

She tutted, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, smacking Steve’s hand away from your face and replacing it with hers, yet a little lower, around your throat this time.

“Don’t go crying to your daddy, sweetheart,” she smirked, “I’m the one in charge— not your daddy.”

Your bambi eyes gazed up at her, ebbing with trickling tears and urging your mascara to streak down your flushed cheeks.

“You understand?” Her hand constricted around your throat like a snake with its prey, her manicured nails sharp against your skin and you felt your eyes roll to the back of your skull.

“Y-yes, mommy,” you sobbed.

It was Steve’s turn to click his tongue now, his big hand covering Nancy’s whilst it squeezed at your throat, trying to get her to ease up a little.

“She’s such a meanie, isn’t she, honey,” he smirked up at Nancy when she scowled down at him. “Don’t worry, sweet girl, once momma makes you cum, I’ll give you all of daddy’s attention, how’s that sound?”

[bunnyreaper]

merrier the more

pairing - john price x f!reader x john mactavish

wc -  3.2k

warnings - 18+/nsfw, double vaginal penetration, wife sharing, unprotected sex

notes - after a million years i've finally gotten this out of my brain and written out! underrated threesome imo, lets goooo!! proofread but definitely not enough ♥

Thursdays were date nights, almost every week without fail, unless John was on a mission. Even when paperwork keeps him tied to his desk into the dark of the night, you join him in his office with takeout and a good book, content to enjoy his company in silence. 

It was one of the keys to your marriage being as successful as it is, and both you and John agreed—quality time was a must. 

This Thursday was a break in routine—John's energy has been decidedly different since you stepped foot in his office. He's always a little on edge when you see him at work, his jaw and shoulders tight, but tonight there's a hint of determination in his eyes. 

Captain Price is present, rather than your husband, John. 

The second difference comes in the form of a knock on the door, usually, the two of you go undisturbed as your standing date is known among the 141, and none of the men dare interrupt and draw their captain's ire. On the rare occasion that a knock would come, words would be exchanged quickly before being dismissed. 

Tonight, John invites the guest inside.  

"Sit, Soap." John commands, his voice low and dripping with authority in a way that draws your attention. 

The younger man complies, seemingly not on edge—his usual cocky confidence is still in full swing, in defiance of your expectations of the situation. Whatever Johnny is here for, he's not to be reprimanded or to report something grim. 

Both men's eyes are firmly fixed on you, gazes roaming over the way you lounge in your pretty dress on John's shitty office couch, your legs exposed to both of them. 

"C'mere love," John speaks, rolling back his office chair and patting his thigh temptingly. "Need your help with something."

You rise uncertainty, leaving your book behind as you make your way over to your husband, your eyes darting between him and his subordinate. Neither man says a word, just continuing to watch you as you move closer to them. 

Your mind starts to race, thinking of just what John could possibly need your help with. Occasionally, he asks you to read one of his men's imperceptible handwriting or gets into a debate with you about whether his own reports make grammatical sense. 

Something tells you neither is the case this time. 

When you make your way around the desk, you fall into John's lap obediently, facing away from him and watching Johnny watch you. 

The look in his eyes is not something you're blind to, not now, not ever. John MacTavish has always wanted you. John Price has never let you forget it—he's teased you multiple times about his soldier's crush, and made you admit while being fucked mindless to being attracted to the younger man too. 

Your husband got off on knowing his power, knowing that you belong to him regardless of Johnny or any other man's wishes, and knowing that while your eyes can still appreciate other men, they'll never be enough compared to Price himself. 

You sit patiently and wait, deferring to John and his air of authority as you wait for him to speak whenever he is good and ready. The silence is thick, John's paw trailing across your thigh, up to your waist where he holds you still, his grip insistent. 

"Sergeant MacTavish here is about to become a Lieutenant." He begins again, graveled voice now right in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "If Soap is getting a promotion, I need to know he can get the job done." 

John snaps his fingers at the Sergeant, beckoning him around the desk as John spins you both to face where Johnny is now standing. His hands move back down your body to your thighs, parting your legs slightly by opening his own so that you sit spread. 

You know exactly where this is headed. Johnny's azure eyes burn into you as they spectate every single one of John's slow, luxurious movements—touches that slowly begin to undo you. The air in the room thickens, and your skin burns under John's fingers. 

Johnny's eyes flicker away, and you can tell the captain is holding his gaze. 

"Need to know I can depend on him, and that he can do what he needs." He purrs, his tone filled with intent. "That he'll take what he wants, yeah?"  

John pulls up the hem of your dress, exposing your now-soaked panties to his sergeant and delighting in the way you both shiver in response—you from being exposed, Johnny from finally getting to lay eyes on intimate parts he'd only dreamed of. 

You stay obediently frozen as John teases you further—the whiskers of his beard tickling at your neck as he smirks, his fingers stroking so softly up your inner thighs.

When you look back and catch Johnny looking you right in the eye, you swear you can feel yourself gush—he looks like he wants to devour you whole. 

"He's always wanted you, love. Isn't that right, sergeant?" 

"Yes, sir." Johnny agrees so eagerly, but the look he sends your way is anything but submissive. His grin is almost predatory, his anticipation and arousal clear after years of lusting after you from afar. 

Johnny finally comes closer, his hands settling on the arms of John's chair as his face stops inches away from your face—hot breath sweeping over your features. One hand moves to clutch at your jaw, demanding your attention as if it wasn't already entirely focused on him. "Tonight, you're mine." 

He growls the words before diving in for a searing kiss, his actions rough and hungry, bordering on violently enthusiastic. His stubble is so different from John's softer brush, nipping at your sensitive skin. 

"Only for tonight, MacTavish." Your husband growls from behind you, pulling your hips back into his hard cock as a reminder. He might be sharing you, but it's just this once. You'll always be his. 

As Johnny kisses you fervently, his hands begin to wander too, groping at your tits as John continues to hold you steady as he works his erection into your ass. While the sergeant occupies your mouth, John sucks kisses into your neck, humming at the feel of you falling apart under both men's touches. 

You gather just enough strength to surface for breath—panting and shaken under their joint attention. Neither of them shows signs of stopping. While your husband was offering you to another man, he wasn't going to sit back and watch either. 

"Both of you?" You gasp, words unsteady and breathless. Handling John under normal circumstances was hard enough, throwing Johnny into the mix might just break you. 

You shiver with need as the men share a laugh, and John's hand slips up to embrace the column of your neck. "Someone has to show him how to do it, love." 

The two men dive back into making you fall apart, a flurry of lips and hands tearing you apart at the seams and driving you mindless with each touch. 

"Fuuuck." Johnny practically whines, his hands falling to grope at your tits and pull them free out of the top of your dress. 

His hands are calloused and warm in a familiar way, but his movements are quick and rough and make you squirm under his touch. The two sets of hands on you are almost too much already, as well as John's erection rubbing against your core. 

A quick flicker of your gaze to the sergeant's jeans shows he's similarly affected, and the sight of his hard cock straining against the denim has you wanting. 

It's hard to think straight with every sensation you feel, every thought consumed by the two men ravaging you—yet your mind flickers back to the conversation you and John had months ago now, the one where he mentioned sharing you. 

You turn your head to the side, snuggling into your husband's cheek as you whisper to him. "I always thought it'd be—" 

He interrupts you with a greedy kiss, before freeing you to continue speaking. "—Simon, if you ever actually went through with this..." 

You sigh through your words, Johnny almost biting at you when he hears the other man's name fall from your lips.

The truth is, you had thought it'd be Simon that John invited into the bedroom first, as his trusted right hand and someone he knew would be discreet. Clearly, though, your husband had been paying more attention to your soft spot for the sergeant than you thought. 

How long had he been concocting this plan? Waiting for the opportunity to have you at Johnny's mercy too. 

Said man's voice pulls you out of your thoughts and back to the smirk on his face and the sparkle in his eyes. "Don't tell me yer disappointed, bonnie." 

You can tell from the way his voice drips with amusement that he knows you're anything but. The easy confidence has always been part of his charm, but as he toys with your breasts and stares down at you expectantly, knowing exactly what he's doing to you—that confidence feels like lightning down your spine.

"Far from it, Johnny." You whisper, finally taking an action of your own and pulling the man in for another kiss. It's sloppy and messy, more teeth and tongue than lips, but Johnny's mouth tastes so good, and his need is evident in every single brush of him against you. 

His hands climb to cup your jaw, holding you exactly as he wants you as his tongue explores your mouth and dances with yours—it's dirty the way he kisses, the way he groans into your mouth as you thread your fingers into his mohawk, the way he swallows your own moans as John bucks up from below you. 

Johnny pulls away, his chest heaving as he presses his forehead against yours and holds you in a tender moment. "Ye must have a thing for blue eyes, aye?" He smirks once more, and you wish you could protest, but the sparkling blues had been what captured your attention first about both men. 

One set belonging to the man that you married, one set belonging to the man you'll now get to fuck. 

The blue eyes before you flicker down, breaking the connection as his hands wander lower—down past your breasts, brushing past your husband's on their way to your thighs. He grasps greedily at your softness, kneading his touch into your skin as he parts your thighs, exposing your soaked panties to his burning gaze. 

"'m gonna touch that little kitty of yours now." He purrs, his curled finger brushing across your sensitive inner thighs in a way that makes your legs squirm—even more so when he traces up the hem of your panties.

"Didn't say you could, MacTavish." Your husband all but growls, his usual authority bursting through him.

Johnny ignores his captain entirely, his fingers pushing your panties aside to plunge deep into your weeping cunt—he curls them against your walls, a wolfish smirk directed at you, watching you flail as he continues to disregard John's words in favour of driving you crazy. 

"Don't remember asking, captain." He snarls in response, taking control. 

The sound of your cunt getting ravished by Johnny's fingers fills the room, drawing sweet whines out of you. One hand works to find the best angle to scrape against your spongy walls, his other coming to replace John's as he holds your neck and stares you down. 

You feel a shift, a moment where Johnny's attitude changes from cocky confidence to earned authority, him taking encouragement from the way you fall apart under his touch and writhe in the lap of your husband who isn't currently the cause of your pleasure. It has Johnny soaring, and you can tell he's falling into the new headspace with ease. 

"He's a quick study, John." You whisper. 

"Clothes off, yeah, lass?" Johnny tugs you to your feet, holding you steady in his arms for a moment before he eagerly strips you off your clothes.

Your dress comes off first, revealing your tits hanging out of the cups of your bra, and the way your panties settle on your hips, digging into your skin. Johnny's hands move to roam over each piece of your exposed body, kneading and admiring, his eyes ablaze like the hottest part of a flame. 

Then he works to rip off your underwear, leaving you bare before both men. "Fuckin' hell don't know how you tear yerself away from her." 

"Feels impossible some days." John purrs as he stands from his chair, paws falling to your waist once more.

Both men grope at you—Soap pulling you in for another kiss, John nibbling at your neck. Your legs almost give out from beneath you, and you know you'd be so unsteady were it not for being pinned between the two men's bodies.

It's overwhelming. John on his own is enough to bring you to your knees, but him and Johnny, with his blessing? Each touch, each kiss has you whining—high-pitched and almost brainless as your mind fizzles with pleasure. 

Johnny holds you close, pressing his solid body against yours—rough fabric and a hard cock against soft skin. He watches your expression as his fingers dip back into your soaked folds, as your husband's fingers roam over your ass and into your hole. The two men work in tandem to reduce you to a quivering mess, vicious fingers making you drip down their hands and your own thighs.

Johnny flicks your clit absentmindedly as his other hand moves to work on freeing himself from his jeans, pushing his boxers aside to reveal a long, slender, leaking cock. 

"Wow, bonnie girl. Yer that excited for me? Or dae ye just really like yer husband sharing ye?" He purrs as he strokes his length languidly, teasing you with the sight of his pre-cum leaking down the head, as well as the way he squeezes his member. 

You laugh breathlessly, unable to summon a real response until the men's fingers still inside you. "We'll see... how you fuck first, sergeant. Don't let me down." 

Both men share a chuckle, but Johnny is the first to act, with strong hands wrapping around your thighs and hoisting you into the air. 

Johnny gives you a devilish smirk as he hovers you inches away from his cock. "I never back down from a challenge, lass." 

He eases into you slowly, lowering you down and stretching you on his length, each delicious inch pushing its way inside in an almost torturous way. He’s not as thick as your husband, but he might just be longer, as he finally seats himself inside and the tip of his cock bullies your cervix. 

"Fuck, fuck." The sigh that releases from you is beyond shaky, betraying the deep effect Johnny’s cock has on you.  "So deep." 

"He feel good, love?" John asks, stepping up behind you, his voice close to your ear and his hands guiding you up and down the other man’s cock.

"Y-yeah." 

He clicks his tongue in approval, speaking again with honeyed words that make you keen. "Good girl, keep taking him for me." 

John mostly watches, his hands remaining on you, yet passive, as Johnny starts to move. The younger man thrusts with fervour, bouncing you onto his dick over and over and over again, not satisfied until he has you crying out for more and babbling. 

Johnny certainly knows how to move his hips, knows how to fuck—he eases off the second you show any discomfort, and is quick to learn the exact pace and motion that makes you moan the loudest. If you could think straight, you’d wonder if John had already given him strict instructions on exactly how to fuck you. Of course, he’d have planned this to a T.

Your nails scrape up Johnny’s muscled back, clinging to him desperately as he continues to shove his cock into your wet hole, as John’s hand snakes around your waist to toy with your clit. Both men are clearly intent on ruining you. Your insides twist, your head falling back into your husband's chest as you just feel.

Johnny’s hips abruptly stop, buried deep inside you in a way that blanks out all your thoughts. "Need your help, captain." He grumbles over your shoulder.

"What with?" 

"Think she needs her husband's cock inside her too. Stuff tha' pretty cunt completely full, yeah, bonnie?" Johnny raises a brow at his captain, waiting for the man to make a move. 

Each second drags as your husband considers the situation and you're left needy and waiting, Johnny's hips entirely still—John's hands on you inactive too. 

The idea of being stretched by both of them at the same time sends you wild, two gorgeous cocks stuffing your hole full. 

"Please, John." You start to babble, unable to control your own pleas. "Need you both, need you both, need—" 

John's cock slides between your ass, nudging forward until he knocks against where Johnny is buried inside you. The sensation on its own has both you and Johnny bucking.

"That kind of thinking'll take you far, sergeant," John whispers before his fingers crawl down your skin to where you and Johnny are connected, and he starts to guide the head of his cock into your hole. "Shhh, nice and slow, gotta stretch you out for both of us, love." 

“Gonna be a tight squeeze, bonnie.” Johnny mutters, his voice showing signs of further strain as his captain’s cock rubs against him.

The stretch is painful, John’s girthy cock bullying its way inside and forcing you to accommodate him alongside the sergeant—you know you won’t be sitting right anytime soon, and you couldn’t be happier.

Your hole burns with each inch your husband slides in, pleasure only beginning to come when his head brushes against your g-spot—after that, he slips right in, your cunt reshaping itself in acceptance and swallowing his cock.

"Fuck.” You pant, barely able to catch your breath, and no one has even moved yet. You can’t think straight, can’t breathe right, can’t even really contemplate the way your body is being overwhelmed by the two men. All you can do is whine and moan and cry out. "It's too much!" 

John holds your hips steady as he presses kisses to your shoulder, and Johnny runs a hand through your hair—both men cooing reassurances at you.

"Ye can take it, fer me and the captain. I know ya can." 

“You can do the work, sergeant, make her feel good, yeah?”

Johnny nods once before springing into action, his cock gliding out of your pussy before forcing its way back in, squelching against John’s length as it goes and drawing groans from both men.

It doesn’t take long Johnny's pace to escalate, as he shoves in repeatedly and thrusts both his own and John’s cock deeper inside you. You feel your brain slip into a haze of pleasure, all thoughts becoming incoherent as moan after moan makes its way from your throat. 

"There we go, love. Stuffed full of two cocks, how'd you like it?" Your husband asks before turning your head to face him, and then devouring your lips in a passionate, loving kiss.

"Love it, love it so much." You whisper against him. "Fuck me, John, Johnny, please."

The two men thrust together momentarily, forcing you to the limit of what you can take from both of them—smirks dance across their faces, both beyond pleased to have you pinned between them.

"Cannae wait until we're both filling ye with our cum."  Johnny purrs as he buries himself deep.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you, gorgeous girl?" 

[missmeinyourbones]

"we were supposed to be just friends." and gojo please?

WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE JUST FRIENDS (s. gojo)

a/n: slightly suggestive, will they won't they (they will), mentions of alcohol, satoru can't not be annoying for like three seconds

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

Everything feels hot. And it shouldn't.

Because it's the end of autumn and your dress flows down past your knees and the wine in your glass was supposed to warm you up but now Satoru is everywhere and everything feels hot.

He has you pinned against the wall, and how you got from the front door to the hallway, you don't remember, but his lips feel like fire as they dance along your neck and down to your exposed collarbone.

Even breathless and tingling, you know this is wrong.

You knew from the moment Satoru asked you out for a few drinks—as friends, he promised. The second he pulled your chair out for you at the bar, the moment you took too long to pick out a dress, you knew this was how the night would end.

Because while you and Satoru are supposed to be friends, that's never been quite the case.

With eyes closed and a heaving chest, you manage to pant out a pathetic, "This shouldn't be happening—"

"Y'know, I'm not judging you or anything," Satoru chuckles against your sticky skin, his lips moving faster than the speed of light as they crawl up your neck and below your ear, "but if that's your idea of dirty talk, we might need to teach you a thing or two."

When he gently paws at your earlobe, you disguise the wanton whimper as an aggravated sigh, attempting to paw at his broad shoulders and remind him.

"This is a bad idea, we both agreed that it's a bad idea."

"Impossible," he gently smirks against your jaw before sinking his canines into the bone with a smug exhale. "It's half my idea, and I've never had a bad idea in my entire life."

Wrong, you immediately note.

You can think of a minimum of seventeen bad ideas Satoru has had, and that's just off of the top of your head. And of those seventeen, at least ten of them ended up like this—with the two of you gnawing at one another like animals.

Still embarrassingly breathless, you try to regain the upper hand, "So you're just talking to hear yourself speak?"

"Well, I can think of a few sweeter things to say," he smoothly mumbles against your jaw, relishing in the way his teeth gently scrape the skin lovingly.

His (huge) palms find your thighs with ease, and just as he's about to lift you in his arms and inevitably fuck you raw against your shitty apartment wall, a miracle happens.

With every ounce of strength you have, you're able to push him far enough away from you to actually look at him. Both of you panting and warm to the touch, you're able to look into his eyes with a telling frown.

"Satoru, we are supposed to be just friends."

And though your tone is stern, his reply is light and airy as he leans back in, insistent.

"We are friends."

When his tongue prods at your swollen lower lip once more, you pull him back by his hair. Not missing how he whines at the tugging, you raise your eyebrows, unamused.

"You kiss all your friends like this?"

"Only the ones as pretty as you," he coos immediately, leaning back into your mouth. But your grip on his hair prevents him from reaching what he wants, and when he notices the stern look in your eye, he softens.

"No," comes softly from his chest as he pulls away to properly look back at you. "No, I don't."

You exhale deeply, catching your breath and attempting to firmly plant your feet on the floor. Satoru's listening to you, or at least he's doing a good job at pretending to, and your gaze can’t help but fall to his swollen and spit-shined lips.

"We agreed to take things slow, to be friends for a while and not rush into things like we—"

Conveniently, his eyes do the same and flicker down to your own distracting pout.

The words meekly crawl out from his throat when he practically whimpers, "But you're wearing that lipstick you know I like."

"I shouldn't know you like it," you coldly remind him, "because we were supposed to be friends."

Satoru moves his hands from your thighs to your hips which, believe it or not, is a conservative improvement for him. Though his hands made a safe choice, his eyes falter back down to your neck when he presses a feathery kiss to your pulse point.

"Baby," he coos and you despise that you feel yourself clench around nothing. From a sixth sense or eye, Satoru somehow knows, because he smirks against your skin and brings his attention right before your lips.

"From the moment we met, we both knew we were never gonna be just friends."

He doesn't give you the privilege of a kiss, but lingers just above your lips as if his infinity is still on. You know enough to know it's off, it always is around you, but with the way he's so close and denying you his actual touch, you don’t quite know the difference.

When you don't answer, he prompts you tenderly. "Right?"

Stubbornly, you turn your head to look away from his stupid face, but all that does is further expose your neck to him.

Practically singing with mockery, Satoru's tongue dances along your jaw when he grins.

"Your silence is more telling than you think."

You gently shove him off of you, rolling your eyes in frustration at his cocky (yet correct) statement. He jokingly stumbles back at your shove, hand over his heart as he huffs out a whine.

"I can't stand you," you grumble.

With a shit-eating grin, Satoru sighs and lays back on your sofa, spreading his legs comfortably wide and patting his thick and barren thigh.

"Then come sit."

[yuu-kantokusei]

~The mischievous predator~

Jade Leech x gn!reader

Reader is yuu

Story: one shot

TW: none

Summary: After a magical mishap leaves Yuu transformed into a cat, an evening walk takes an unsettling turn when they cross paths with someone who seems far too amused by their predicament.

The day had been an ordeal, to say the least.

Yuu had accidentally transformed into cat during potionology class, their spell ingredients mixed up while Professor Crewel’s sharp eyes were momentarily distracted. Grim, surprisingly sympathetic (and amused), volunteered to translate their distressed meowing to Ace and Deuce. The trio carried them around from class to class like an unwilling mascot until the day’s lessons finally ended.

Ace and Deuce headed back to Heartslabyul after classes, complaining about the weight of carrying both Yuu and Grim. Grim, now more of a reluctant caretaker, waddled alongside them on the way to Ramshackle Dorm.

"Alright, you can rest up for the night," Grim said, flopping onto the couch as they arrived. "And don’t expect me to babysit you forever. I’m a mage of great renown, not a cat-sitter!"

Yuu meowed back insistently, their tone sharp.

“What? You wanna go for a walk?” Grim translated, squinting. “Sheesh, it’s dark already! Fine, fine—just don’t get into trouble, okay? I don’t have time to rescue you from some stupid tree.”

They pawed at the door until Grim opened it. A chilly evening breeze greeted them as they stepped out into the quiet grounds of Night Raven College.

Yuu padded along the cobblestone path leading away from the dorm. They didn’t intend to go far; the cool night air was refreshing after an exhausting day of meowing and being carried around. Their thoughts drifted to the potion class debacle, wondering how they'd explain the incident to Crewel when they returned to human form.

Just as they considered turning back, they heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind them. Before they could react, a low, amused voice reached their ears.

“My, my… what do we have here? A little stray?”

Yuu’s fur bristled as they backed away from Jade, their tiny body trembling with both fear and anger. They let out a low, warning growl, their tail lashing behind them. But their attempt at intimidation only seemed to amuse him further.

“Oh, don’t look so upset,” Jade said smoothly, his voice like silk laced with thorns. “You’ve always been the curious type, haven’t you? Wandering out here all alone, so vulnerable… Surely, you knew someone might come across you?”

They hissed, their eyes narrowing. If they could speak, they’d have had plenty of colorful words for him, none of them polite.

Jade knelt down to their level, his mismatched eyes gleaming in the moonlight. His smile widened as he reached out, his long fingers brushing gently under their chin. “Now, now. Is that any way to greet a friend? I’m hurt, truly.”

Yuu swatted his hand with their paw, claws extended. They managed to scratch his glove, leaving faint marks across the leather. A small, victorious feeling bubbled up in their chest—until they saw his reaction.

Instead of being annoyed, Jade’s grin only grew sharper. “Oh my, such sharp claws. Feisty as ever, I see. How charming.”

Before they could dart away, his hand shot out, and in one swift motion, he scooped them up into his arms. Yuu yowled in protest, their paws batting at his chest, but he held them firmly.

“My, my,” he said, his voice laced with mock concern. “You’re heavier than I expected. Have you been indulging a bit too much, Prefect? Not that I mind, of course. You’re quite… soft.”

They froze for a moment, utterly mortified. Then, with renewed vigor, they wriggled and kicked, trying to free themselves. But Jade only chuckled, adjusting his grip so they couldn’t escape.

“Relax,” he murmured, stroking their back with an unsettling tenderness. “You’re rather adorable like this, you know. It’s a rare opportunity to see such a side of you. I’d be a fool not to enjoy it.”

Yuu let out a furious growl, their ears flattening against their head. If Grim were here, they’d demand he claw Jade’s smug face for them.

“Oh, don’t be so angry,” Jade teased, his thumb trailing along the top of their head in a gesture that was almost affectionate. “You should consider this a valuable learning experience. It’s not every day you get to view the world from such a unique perspective.”

They swiped at him again, their claws catching on his uniform this time. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he tilted his head, studying them with that same predatory smile.

“Hmm, still so full of spirit. I wonder… how much fight do you have left, little cat?”

Yuu twisted and turned in his arms, trying to escape, but Jade’s grip was unyielding. Their frantic meowing filled the quiet night, but no one came to their rescue.

“Shh,” Jade said softly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “There’s no need to make such a fuss. No one’s going to hear you out here. It’s just you and me.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down their spine, and they stopped struggling for a moment. Jade noticed, of course, and his smile became almost triumphant.

“There now,” he said, stroking their head again. “That’s better. See? I’m not so bad, am I?”

Yuu growled low in their throat, but the sound came out more like a pitiful rumble. Jade’s fingers trailed down their back, and they couldn’t suppress the involuntary purr that escaped them. They immediately regretted it.

“Oh?” Jade’s expression lit up with amusement. “Enjoying yourself now? How delightful. I suppose even you have your weaknesses.”

Their ears flattened, and they glared up at him, their green eyes blazing with indignation. If looks could kill, Jade would have been long gone. But he simply chuckled, clearly enjoying their frustration.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, his tone almost scolding. “You’re the one who decided to wander out here all alone. Surely you knew the risks?”

They meowed sharply in response, their tone accusatory.

“Ah, blaming me, are you?” he said, his smile widening. “How cruel. I’m simply taking advantage of the situation you created. It’s not every day I get to see the Prefect in such a… vulnerable state.”

Yuu’s tail lashed furiously, but their efforts to escape were futile. Jade’s grip was too strong, his touch too deliberate. He was toying with them, and they both knew it.

As they continued their strange standoff, Jade suddenly shifted his grip, cradling them in one arm while reaching into his pocket with the other. Yuu froze, their instincts screaming that whatever he was planning couldn’t be good.

“Now, let’s see…” he murmured, pulling out a small, shimmering object. It was a thin, silver ribbon, its surface catching the moonlight.

Yuu’s eyes widened in alarm. They meowed frantically, struggling harder than ever.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Jade said, his tone soothing but entirely insincere. “It’s just a little accessory. Something to make you look even more adorable.”

Before they could react, he looped the ribbon around their neck, tying it into a neat bow. He held them up, examining his handiwork with a satisfied smile

“There. Perfect,” he said. “You’re quite the picture, Prefect. Perhaps I should take a photo to commemorate this moment?”

Yuu growled, their tail whipping back and forth like a metronome of fury. Jade’s laughter echoed through the quiet night as he set them down, finally releasing them. They bolted a few steps away, turning to glare at him with all the venom they could muster.

“Oh, don’t run off just yet,” he said, his voice teasing. “You’ll miss all the fun.”

Yuu hissed at him, their fur bristling, but Jade didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. He leaned casually against a nearby tree, his mismatched eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Go on,” he said, gesturing with a lazy wave. “Run back to your dorm if you like. But do remember, Prefect… I’ll always find you.”

Their heart raced as they turned and fled, his laughter following them into the night. The ribbon around their neck felt heavy, a constant reminder of his lingering presence.

Yuu didn’t stop running until they were safely inside Ramshackle Dorm, their chest heaving as they tried to calm down. Grim looked up from his spot on the couch, his eyes narrowing as he saw the ribbon.

“What the heck happened to you?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

Yuu meowed weakly, too exhausted to explain. They curled up in a corner, their tail wrapped tightly around their body. The sound of Jade’s laughter still echoed in their mind, sending a shiver down their spine.

They couldn’t wait for this nightmare to be over.

[therealslimshakespeare]

The kids aren’t alright

Summary: Ida wakes up and takes stock

October 1943

Requested? ✅ 18+ mature (thematic material)

Warnings: a lot of bodily injuries mentioned, way too much use of vomiting sorry, mentions of an intentional dog bite, past references to sexual abuse, very brief mention of an object being used to rape someone…if you read that sentence? it’s about that bad, I tried to keep it vague

When Ida woke for the first time, well and truly and fully, it was to the feeling of muggy warmth and a comforting snugness pressing to her chest. Her body ached but only in the way that suggested that moving would make it far worse, and so she tried to remain still, clock her surroundings, its smells and noises and the likely extent of her injuries by pain alone. Her cheek hurt the worst, a raw sort of agony that increased with each breath until she switched to inhaling through her mouth to make it stop, her right rib smarted in the way of an open cut, and her mind scrambled to supply a cause for this, quicker than it had for her cheek. Most sluggishly it tried to alert her to the all encompassing throb of her pelvis, a pain too intense and easily provoked by thought alone that she summarily shoved it down for the time being.

She would try to open her eyes, and then move off her cheek, and if that was possible, only then perhaps could she shift her hips. Her lower belly felt as if filled with glass shards, and if she were to jostle them, they might begin slitting her open anew. Take a peak Ida, she told herself, see where you are, see who is near.

With that plan of action barely in place, Ida willed an eyelid open.

Foggy sunlight filtered in, wether the window pane was filthy or the weather overcast she could not discern, but there was a blurry expanse of lumber before her and as things began to slot in place she recognized the camp. Not the horrid one, no, the stalag, the prisoner of war camp -she had made it, they had all made it. Almost all, that poor corporal and her warm brains hadn’t. The nurse either. Forsyth either.

There were bunks and lumber and a fuzzy stack of dishes and someone moving in a chair at a hulking object that was likely a table.

She held her breath, hoping her vision might clear if the smarting of her cheek would stop, and in response the arms that seemed to be bracing her together squeezed all the tighter. She let out a grunt of pain at it and moved her frozen hand to tap at the large paw interlaced over her sternum.

She really shouldn't be able to guess its owner so accurately considering the professional nature of the relationship they shared, yet she could: "I see you decided to join us, Egan." she rasped, throat feeling made of sandpaper.

The iron tight grip spasmed in response before loosening. "Oh hell Ida,” Bucky sighed heavily behind her, “scared me, ya stopped breathin’, -thought you were dead there for a minute."

"So you already took over my bunk?" she was passibly amused by his presumption, it was too relieving that he was even alive.

Whoever was at the table rose and came nearer.

"No,” Bucky countered firmly, “I didn't want them to find you cold and take your body away."

That was touching. And like him. She must’ve been in poor shape. "Bucky, you've got the heart of a child."

The figure from the table stooped over her and the back of a gentle hand she’d know anywhere, ran along her hairline, “Hey.” her brother greeted softly and Ida felt a sudden burn to her eyes at the relief of seeing his cherished face and feeling his doting touch. She knew she had met him, reunited with him here, but it was such a blur and she had no idea how long she’d been out for. It hit her now, Johnny and Bucky had her. She was alright, and so were they.

“Jack.” she croaked to him, trying to kiss his knuckles in sheer gratitude to their creator for allowing them both a little longer together. “Johnny you- you’re ok? And you’ve got legs.” she reaffirmed to herself and he laughed in agreement, watery and happy.

“Yeah,” he got to his knees by her bunk so they might be at eye level, his grin the homiest thing she’d ever seen, “all in one piece. God, it’s good to see you awake, Ida. You ok? Want some water?”

She could manage a nod but was loathe to let go of him, Johnny only managed to laughingly extract himself after he’d kissed her forehead twice over and “-jug is just on the table, I’m not going far-“

“Is everyone alright?” she asked of them both as he went to fetch it, tracing over the broken skin of Egan’s knuckles, the one part of him she could see without shifting. She wondered how he’d gotten here, how long after. “Everyone? My girls are -are my girls ok?”

“All settled, all fine.” Johnny assured her as he kneeled back down, tin cup filled with the brackish camp water they’d taken to filtering through an undershirt. It was the best they had to offer. “Cleven’s got all sorts of measures in place, there’s been no trouble.”

“How long?” She sighed in relief, trying to find the strength to lift her head and take a sip. “How long have I been out?” Her girls had needed her and she’d crashed on them, they’d asked for bunks and remedies and they’d barely managed a shower before she’d abandoned them for her bed.

“Almost two weeks, Eye Eye.” Johnny whispered as if that blunted the news, Ida startled predictably and Bucky Egan made a soothing sound like she were a pet to be calmed. “You need to drink.” Johnny observed practically in reference to the timeframe and she supposed he was right and let him help tilt her jaw and bring the rim to her lips, Bucky’s hand came up from somewhere in back to prop up her heavy head.

As thirsty as she was, the bitter tang of metallic water was not at all what she had dreamed of when it first sloshed against her lips. She forced gulp after gulp of it down, grateful for it and all too reminiscent of recent times without, but it was revolting. No sooner had she pulled away to gain some upper hand on the rising nausea than she felt the surging of bile instead, faster than she could process, much less tamp down.

Something in her face must’ve shown as her observant brother tumbled backward on the floor with a flailing hand that grasped for any receptacle available, right as she wheezed out a warning “bucket!”

Her face felt horrible, and her stomach hated the rough and involuntary movements that puking required. Ida groaned weakly between bouts but it kept coming -the urge that is, after the water came up there was nothing else besides bile. Johnny had managed to grab something, although Ida was too preoccupied vomiting and keening in agony to notice what. She puked in the general direction of his lap and hoped for the best, the grounding feeling of his hand cupping her battered cheek the only thing tethering her in the pain.

For a moment Ida had the displaced thought that her brother was helping hold back her hair. But the feel of his fingertips against the lacerations on her tender scalp reminded her she hadn’t any. And that memory brought another wave of revulsion and she wretched all the harder. She was in this state, in this much plain, out cold for two weeks because of what those men had done to her. Oh god, did everyone know what they had done to her—

“Breathe, you’ve got to breathe.” Egan was gripping her chest again and it made it worse except now she could feel herself shaking and that brief, spiraling moment of numbness began to dissipate and she almost mourned it as the pain returned and she sobbed into her next retch. “That’s it, that’s it, shitty water is all, Johnny’s gonna get you some sparkling, aren’t ya Johnny? Yeah, yeah breathe Ida, breathe.”

She had to stop sobbing. It was pathetic at this point, she was perfectly safe now and all that harmed her was a little brackish water and a sour stomach. She breathed as told and blinked the water out of her eyes. “Johnny, that's a damn plate.” she scolded, now noticing what he’d grabbed, “I said a bucket.”

Johnny smiled back ruefully, “Wasn't one close.”

“Now you've got -I’ve made a mess of you,” she cried, contrite herself, “that’s disgusting.”

Johnny shrugged and set the full plate aside, brave face in place despite the gnarly nature of the incident. “Seen worse.”

Ida just stared at his lap and the odd pattern of criss cross stitches on his trouser seams and the rusty stains all along them. What had they done- “Johnny your pants-“ she didn’t even notice the way she tried to rise in her agitation until Bucky’s firm hand came again from the back like the spectral arm of God and pushed her down once again. “What did they do to you?” she was back to numb at the horror of it and this time she didn’t like it.

John Brady stared at her and then back to his lap before jerking with horrified realization, “No, no these -these are yours.” he rushed, utterly unsure that was actually a comfort, wishing in fact that they were his and he’d have borne their significance for her, “I gave you mine while we mended yours. Now they’ve got vomit on ‘em too.” he tried to grin, to make the joke they were his work pants now, best used for the grittier duties in camp, an eyesore no matter what and rather talked of. He preferred to be the one wearing them, the one talked of instead of her, it was all untrue speculation in that case and the guards’ taunts were empty and without real history while he wore them. “These are yours.”

“You two lanky lil shits.” Bucky mumbled to break the tension. “Not an ounce of butter fat on either of you.”

“Are you done puking?” Johnny asked her conversationally.

“I think.” she muttered.

“Ok, put your head back down. Can’t keep holding your cheek.”

“Don’t have to,” she protested even as she lay back down, face on fire by the lack of incline, “the hell is wrong with it?” she groaned.

“The doc says your cheekbone’s broken.” Egan supplied.

A flash of a table rising up too fast and her cheek slammed down against it, of a hand in her hair and a man, one of many strong and large men, pressing down on her head over and over, the pressure on her face too strong and finally making way with a sickening give just like other places had given way when they— Ida felt like retching again but for Johnny’s sake she was glad nothing more came up, although his hand was back to holding her cheek together.

“The recommendation was not to exert the facial muscles.” Johnny snarked.

Ida willed her mind away, “Noted.” and began to wonder at how this camp worked, “What sorta doctor?” it seemed odd no one had hauled her off for two whole weeks, not to a grave and not to surgery. Maybe not that odd, Egan had been in her bunk. And Cleven would have never let them. But she’d have never allowed so many things and yet -they happened all the same.

“There’s that med student pilot from the 418th,” Egan told her, “everyone calls him doc around here since we haven’t got any medics. Shitty oversight in the air, fatal on the ground. It’s him or camp doctor, and we didn’t want him gettin’ curious over you.”

“Major Cleven wouldn’t let them take you.” Johnny told her what she already suspected and Ida felt like smiling despite the way it hurt her cheek.

“Everyone’s really alright?” she asked once more.

“Yeah, everyone’s fine.” her bother swore, “Except for you, you’re our biggest worry.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t use that tone with me.”

“Then don’t lie.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, but you’re not currently fine.”

“You and your distinctions.”

“You and the pants you’ve worn for two weeks.”

Ida gaped, knowing and loving his sharp tongue but having missed it all the same, “Well that’s -that’s low, Jack.”

“I’ll get Smith in.” he decided after sharing a look with Bucky over her shoulder, she wished she could see Egan’s face, something made her suspect foul play beyond boredom for him to be in her bunk. “You haven’t stopped -bleeding.” he winced, wether in sympathy or in discomfort over the topic, she could only guess it was both.

“Well get me up, sit me up.” she asked first, her curiosity regarding her own damage growing and she didn’t need dear Tallulah to see her freshly puked and still lying like a corpse. She could sit up if she was going to remain conscious. “It’ll make the cheek feel better.” She cajoled her brother in the most effective manner -logic- and so he assisted her to sit up against the slats.

“Bucket.” she warned again because her vision was spotting and her stomach rose at the painful change in position but it felt good to be up, and Johnny handed her an actual bucket to dry heave over. The irony was not lost on her.

When the feeling passed she found she was looking down at Egan, that he hadn’t moved with her and he still lay on his side, garish green bruise around his eye and a grimacing smile stretching that still pristine mustache. Well, it needed some trimming at the corners, her fingers itched to straighten them. “Ribs are a little cracked.” he offered in explanation before she could ask.

“Yeah he’s not supposed to move much.” Her Johnny expounded and Ida didn’t doubt this was a source of much argument between them, she could tell by the familiar, bitchy tone and the look Johnny gave his superior, one just short of wry enough to get him court martialed. Ida realized with sudden sobriety that she would be stuck in close proximity with this duo for the foreseeable future.

Mother Mary give her grace.

“Where do you pee?” she asked, it was a decent segue and it was also a pressing issue, mounting over even the horrible ache down there.

“Uh,” Johnny floundered for a minute, “pretty loose around here but -there are latrines.” Ida could picture the sheer amount of pissing against stumps and combines that likely occurred here instead, “You’re not walking there, not today. We’ve got buckets, girls use those mainly.”

Ida stared at the bucket clutched in her arms, still there in case of another upset. Right, alright. Buckets.

“Brady, get Smith.” Egan directed helpfully and her brother roused himself and went out into the hall.

Ida waited until the sound of his footfalls faded thoroughly before bringing her hand down to rest on Bucky’s shining forehead, he felt feverish, or maybe it was only oily. “How is he?” she asked. “Really, Bucky, how is he handling it all?”

“He’s a champ.” Bucky replied levelly, before giving her a gentle look, “A champ who’s cried a few times. I’ve been giving him too much trouble to ask him what he thinks about having a battered sister, if that’s what you mean. But he’s ok, you know him. He’s okey.”

“Alright.” she muttered, staring down at her lap, noticing the stains she’d made on his trousers. Poor Jack, she didn’t know how she could bear it if it were the other way around.

Bucky waited a beat before adding softly, “He asked me what to tell your parents.”

That startled her, the idea of letters, of news, of more than anyone here knowing, “What did you-?”

“I told him to tell them you’re alive.” he answered and she took a great breath, “And that you two were together. The facts of the matter.”

Well that was another kindness. “Thanks.” she managed.

“Hey, you just worry about gettin’ better.” He charged her, hand nudging gently under her chin, mindful of the bruises.

She gave him a grin despite her cheek protesting, “Back at ya, Egan.”

“Race ya?” he suggested.

“Race to what?”

“To the latrines. Whoever can get fit fastest wins. I’m sick to fuckin’ death of pissing in a can he wants to hold like I’m past ninety and should be put out to pasture -now you’re awake it’s gonna be even funner.”

Ida thought about asking if he’d really been relieving himself in bed beside her, to ask who’d been cleaning her in the meantime, but some familiarity was best left mysterious and the stomping sounds of approaching persons made her pause.

“Great, he brought a crowd.” Bucky muttered without heat and sure enough, Smith came skidding in like Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb, and behind her Johnny, Cleven and Graham.

“Ta-daa.” Ida vocalized weakly, feeling mildly possessed by the spirit of Kendeigh to make a drama of it all -it was only that they looked so ridiculously hopeful and small crowding the doorway like that.

Gale slapped the doorframe and buried his face in the crook of his arm, something like a rough laugh coming out, “I’ll be damned.”

“Well Graham, you’ve seen her breathing, go, come on go, we asked for Smith.” Bucky good naturedly snapped his fingers dismissively.

“Good to see you Graham.” Ida called to her poor Co-Pilot who was fast not to loiter.

Tallulah Smith gently crept up to her bunk and sank to her knees beside her, sweet face still a little mottled but the old pearl white smile in place. Missing a tooth. A jolt of heartache ran through her— “Ida.”

“Hey old thing.” Ida smiled back, or tried.

“God it’s good to see -to see you.” Smith settled for before dropping her face to kiss Ida’s unwashed hands. Poor kid, Ida was sure Cleven was looking after her but he didn’t know the half of it. All these weeks she was needed and Ida had failed her.

“Hey, hey you guys get me up, I’m getting cramp.” Bucky hollered to Brady and Buck.

“You’re not supposed to move Bucky-“

“Johnny -I’m not going on a goddamn journey. I just wanna walk in the hall and piss on the doorframe like everyone else. C’mon get me up.”

Ida and Smith crouched further into the bed to allow Egan to lumber over them with the help of their friends, a painful, grunting business that suggested his leg was busted along with his ribs. He was leaving to give the girls privacy, Ida knew it, and perhaps her brother had picked up on it as he stopped protesting and shouldered his weight uncomplaining.

“See you dolls later.” he saluted as they dragged him out.

It was bizarre to have the room to themselves when the door shut. The door had a window, and that gave Ida the creeps but it couldn’t be helped.

“They aren’t going out, they’ll stand watch.” Smith whispered assuringly as if she could read Ida’s mind. “We’re all in this combine with just one’s from the 100th. Cleven insisted. I don’t know how he gets half of what he gets done but he’s been so good to us.”

Ida stared at her hands intertwined with Lu’s and nodded gently, never doubting that would be the case. She just worried for him, she hoped it meant their guards were fair, or at least the commandant. But she recalled Cleven saying he’d stayed clear of the fellow, kept his head down, not sought attention -until the girls came, now he no doubt made himself familiar. It made her pulse pound in worry for him. She hoped the commander was fair, that was the whole point of getting to a stalag.

“And you?” Ida asked, knowing that of everyone, Smith was perhaps the only one who’d like to be asked.

She watched the girl perk up, brave cheerfulness fluttering across her features, no less genuine for all that it was forced, “I’m ok. It’s easier here but I can’t sleep much, and I’m so scared it’s going to happen again. There’s dogs everywhere.”

Ida winced at that. “Cleven won’t let that happen.” she insisted gently, “You stick with who he puts you with and if they don’t stick with you then you tell him, he’ll get someone else. Really Smith, speak up.”

“Ok.” she muttered, “It’s been Murph or Crank so far, they’re never away.”

“Good.”

“It’s just-“ Smith’s deep brown eyes grew watery and Ida braced, “-what can they do? If the Germans really wanna? What can they actually do about it? I don’t think -oh Ida I don’t think I could take it, the way they did it in front of you -I couldnt take it, not in front of our boys. I’d wanna die this time, I would. I’d wanna die.”

It hurt, the heavy pressure of Smith’s face buried in Ida’s wounded belly, but the poor girl was suddenly sobbing and Ida impulsively ran her fingers through oily black strands, humming gently and ineffectively. What was there to say about that? What could she say to that? “Everyone here would die before watching that, Lu.” was all she could come up with, but it was true as truth could be. “And they can’t shoot up a whole stalag, they can’t,” she went on, it was soothing to hear herself spout such ephimerally comforting bulshit, “so, if they tried, that’s a dead end. Not gonna happen ever again, Smith, it won’t. We won’t let it.”

Smith turned her head, looking not a day older than her eighteen years and smiled back, soft and sad, “Ok.” she accepted, and Ida knew it was more for her benefit than real belief, “I just worry someone is gonna still have to-“ she quieted down in frustration with herself, “-sorry I’m so glum.”

Ida squeezed her hands strongly, “No, no, you’re right. It’s very uneasy, and it will be for as long as we’re on this side of our lines. What were you saying?”

Smith bit her lip thoughtfully before quietly confessing, “I worry someone else may still have to. The guards aren’t as bad but they seem -I’m paranoid, I know. But I also -oh Ida, I shouldn’t say. He said I shouldn’t say but-“ she was back near to crying.

“Telling your senior officer is like telling a priest.” Ida reasoned softly, teasingly, “There is no harm and there is no record.”

“I’m Baptist.” Smith laughed.

“Unburden yourself, my child.” Ida insisted, mouth wry with sad humor. “That’s an order, Lu.”

“It’s Major Cleven.” Smith got right to it, “I’m afraid someone hurt him. The way they hurt us. Before we got here. And I’m worried if that person is here, I’m worried that- I’m worried that it’ll be someone, if not me again, it’ll be someone else.”

“You’re not paranoid.” Ida muttured, cold dread seeping in along with fury, she counted to five before asking as casually as she was capable, “When he told you not to tell, what -what all did he say?”

“Not much, really,” Tallulah admitted with frustration, “it’s just he came to check on me, first night in and we were alone in the hall and I told him a little, since he asked, he’s always so kind and he was kind then. But he told me he understood, and then right away it was like he regretted it. Saying that, you know? And I asked him, if they’d hurt him like that and -h-he was so shaken by it, and he told me I shouldn’t ever talk like that. He didn’t said no, he just kept saying I couldn’t say that. About him.”

Ida felt her stomach plummet and she clutched at the bucket as if there was anything left to puke up.

“Ida I’m sorry- I should've waited.” Tallulah fretted at her agitation.

“No!” Ida’s voice came stronger than even she expected, “No you’re right to tell me. I’m his officer too, you know. You’re right to tell me.” she repeated before trying to straighten herself, make Smith look her in the eyes, “And now, Lieutenant, I need you to let this go, alright? Really, you’ve done the right thing now, give it over, let it go. He might not have meant that, might’ve meant anything, really. Try not to dwell on it. Any of it, if you can.”

Smith rubbed her hand beneath her nose gruffly while murmuring a “yessir.” She was back to smiling when the hand descended. “Now, what can I help with?” she asked, cheered at the chance of lending aid.

“I need to pee.”

“Oh gosh, sorry-“ Smith laughed at herself and her poor timing for a confession.

“It’s alright, it’s alright.” Ida joined in, “This is going to hurt like hell, I do believe.”

Smith winced in sympathy, “Yeah, still hurts for me.”

“No, truly?” Ida mourned through gritted teeth, depending on Smith’s arms to scootch to the edge of the threadbare mattress.

“Yeah. A little better after a week but not, it’s just -it’s stayed since. You’re still bleeding, though.”

Ida stared down at her bloodied crotch. “Yes.” she hissed, “I’d like to -take a look. Any mirror: in here?”

“No sir. Sorry.”

“Anyone else bleeding like this?”

“No one besides Kendeigh, got her period.” Smiths cheeks turned pink at the mention of normality.

“Ah, small mercies.”

“Yes. Try telling her that, sir.”

“Have you gotten yours, Lu?”

“No sir.” Pinker still under that dusky brown.

“Mm.”

“I could check?”

“What?”

“I could be your mirror.” Smith clarified, sheepishly as she got Ida up, arm around her neck, her officer about crumpling at the pain of standing.

Ida grimaced again at the mere notion. “Bit above your pay grade.”

“I’m a lieutenant.” Smith shook her head proudly before adding, “Besides -nothing I haven’t seen on the farm.”

“Oh thanks a lot.”

“I didn’t mean-“

“Joking, Smith, I’m joking.”

“Oh. Ha.”

“I’d not be so concerned,” Ida went on, shuffling towards the bucket in the corner of the room where it sat between two bunks, “if I didn’t suspect a little -tearing.” she muttered, humiliation burning her cheek and adding to the throb. “There was a, uh-“ god, she shouldn’t tell a subordinate this but they hadn’t any mirrors, “there was a knife. And, I-i- think they, it wasn’t the blade but the handle and it -still it felt like…Well, everything got even worse after that.”

“Oh Ida.” Smith whimpered in compassion.

“Oh stop it, you of all people don’t need to feel bad for me.” Ida squeezed her shoulder, the one supporting her weight. “It’s just I really don’t know what to expect. What’s normal. Yes? To bleed is normal, we always hear that but. How long, how much, you know? My brother seems to think it’s too much. How would he know?” she snickered briefly before ceasing at the sight of Smith’s solemn face. Ida was reminded of when she’d first met her as a little recruit, keen eyed and perceptive in training, Tallulah Smith had been so freshly out of the nest she’d delightedly blown up her standard issued rubbers and tossed them around their hut, charmed by the army’s thoughtfulness to provide balloons along with toothbrushes. Not even the worst of the cads had said a thing to dissuade her and Benny DeMarco had followed suit, even going so far as to lie that he’d been additionally given bubbles since he was more senior.

When the day came that Bucky had pinned Smith her single bar on her jacket, he handed her a tube of bubbles, too.

Five weeks before it all went to hell.

Now Smith wore a shy little look, one Ida remembered well from when she’d had to break it to the girl what the damn balloons were really for. Today, if it were anyone else, Ida would have ignored that look.

“What do you want to ask?” She called her out.

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

Smith helped her fumble with her belt buckle, trousers loose and low on her waist, not even Johnny’s trim figure a match for the weight Ida had lost in her convalescence. “Was this-“ Ida could only see Smith’s eyebrows and the beautiful flat bridge of her proud nose, “-was this your first, too?”

Ida had never once felt shame, inadequacy, anything other than a natural state over her own purity. It was a conscious decision and a matter of habit, she might have disposed of her virginity had she wished but she never had, never saw fit, never felt the lack of knowing. There were handsome men, and if they were worth the loss of her convictions, her standing and self respect, she might have enjoyed hopping on them as her baser first instincts suggested. As is, she had not, and life had felt perfectly fine and full without that knowledge. One day, she had told herself, maybe one day there’d be someone right and worthy and fitting. Suddenly it felt so very embarrassing to have known nothing more than this, to pretend authority and yet not even know this intimate response of her own body. She could still hear the disbelieving glee of the guards at the same realization.

A female colonel. Who was a virgin. What a lark.

Yet if it served to comfort Smith? Provide some solidarity not even Maureen’s brazen bravery could supply? Ida meant to give it her. “Yes, my first. I’ve never done anything of the sort before.” it served to be plain, to be thorough.

She was rewarded with the lifting of Lu’s face, mournful shyness fading into relief before compassion flickered again. “How do you want me to look?”

Ida ended up propping a foot up on an adjacent bunk, slacks around her ankles, face buried in her elbow as Smith crouched with veterinary efficiency and peeled her apart down there. Ida stifled an involuntary whimper into her fist, not so much from pain as the jolting feeling of that area being touched again.

“I honestly can’t tell much.” Smith sighed, standing up again and it took Ida a good long minute to regain enough composure to pull her face out of her elbow and meet her eyes. Smith wasn’t looking at her anyway, “It’s bloody. But not a lot. I can’t tell about tearing, not on the outside at least.”

“Alright.”

“Here, let me help you squat.” Smith was at the ready with strong arms for Ida to squat over the bucket and do her business, as best she could between sobs at the pain of urinating with some much adjacent damage.

“Are Kendeigh’s hands alright?” Ida thought to ask once Smith had helped pull her up. Piss and blood swirled at the bottom of the metal pail, it turned Ida’s stomach, a foreign queasiness having seemingly settled over her.

“I had to set a few fingers,” Smith replied, “Hammy helped me. But the swelling is going down.”

“Good.” Ida muttured, redoing her belt with Lu’s help, “Now,” she stalled the girl, “how’s the bite mark?”

Smith’s bronze face flushed darker. No doubt she hoped Ida had forgotten, no such luck -Ida expected to replay that scene a million times in her nightmares for the rest of her life.

“Your brother got us penicillin.” Lu rushed to assure her.

“Did he?”

“Yes!”

“How nice. Shots?”

“Yes.” Smith smiled brilliantly, “The boys they’ve -they’ve been so wonderful.”

“Excellent.” Ida agreed.

“Major Cleven said we could-“ Smith’s eyes fluttered aside, “-could get sick from the guards. I didn’t know but -he said the shots would help.”

Ida clasped her arm soothingly, squeezing it until the girl’s eyes came back to life, “He’s right. Good to take precautions. What've they said about the bite?

No answer came. Of course the girl hadn’t even told them. Ida could curse herself for falling asleep so long on the job.

“How’s the bite, Lu?” she insisted on being answered.

Smith sighed, defeated, “It’s -a little festered.”

“How much is a little?” Ida quirked a brow. “C’mon, show me.”

Lu begrudgingly undid her buttons and pulled the placard aside, showing the deep imprint of a canine bite to her breast. Partly healed but angry and hot to touch, Ida suspected it strongly. At least it didn’t smell. “Have you been seen for this?” she asked once more.

Smith shook her head. “They say the doctor is not good.”

“How’d Jack get penicillin then?”

“Well -I don’t know. But he told me never to go.”

Ida resigned herself to feeling perpetually on the verge of emptying her guts in this place. “You either need more or some sulfer, I’d say, but then, I’m no doctor.”

“The boys have been wonderful!” Lu reaffirmed as if that changed anything while refastening her shirt. Ida shuffled back to the bed and sat herself down too fast, wanting to let rip a scream at the pain. “Gale looks after us and Jack gets the medicines and Bucky has been so watchful even from bed and Crank and Murph -I told you how they’ve been so good to me.”

Ida summoned a smile for the girl. The things she was concerned about were an officer's concerns, it was right for Smith to be soothed by stuff like this, it was right she be taken good care of. Whatever it cost the men, whatever it cost her brother. She forced her smile to stay in place. “Good.” Ida confirmed assuringly, “I’m glad to hear it. As they should be. You know that, don’t you? They should be good to you, and it’s not too much to expect that they should.” she let that sink in a minute before adding her point, “Some men aren't, and that’s why we're here in the first place. -And, personally, I like to think about how many of those scumbags we’ve turned to crisps, you and I. Job well done, mm?”

Smith grinned back, “Yes sir, job well done.”

“Mm, alright, now you go get Gale Cleven for me.”

“Sir.” Lu seemed torn, half alarmed.

“I’m not going to broach that topic, I need medicines.” Ida gave her a warning look, too much questioning on her sick bed and she’d turn into nothing more impressive than a half starved woman with no rank.

“Yes sir. I’ll get him sir.”

“And when you’ve fetched him,” Ida went on, “Go make certain Bucky is off his ribs. No baseball, no big movements, not even to retell a story. Got it?”

“I got it.”

“Alright, off you go. And Smith,” she added when the girl was near the door, “thank you, for the care. And speak up, alright? When you need something, speak up.”

Smith ducked her head sheepishly, nodding in obedience, “Sir.”

It would seem Ida needed a word with Gale Cleven regarding tough little lieutenants with a tendency for sepsis.

A solitary set of footsteps broke the eerie silence left after Smith's departure. Ida took stock of the room as best she could, who seemed to be bunking with them, what clutter was on the shelves, that the dishes were indeed stacked as she imagined on waking. She heard the rap of his knuckles on the door frame before the lanky line of him sauntered in, hand on the overhead plank, just looking at her pleased and a little mischievous. Gosh he was a sight for sore eyes and a heart aching one all at once. Where he’d once been golden and blooming, he was as gray as his shirt. How would they fare in winter if they started autumn so sallow?

“Major Gale Cleven, reporting for duty.” he teased, somber gray eyes lit up boyishly like they did when he wanted to be taken at the jokes’ value.

Ida grinned back at him as best she could with her broken cheek, “Bucky not follow you?”

“Nah,” Cleven came in, picking a chair up by its slatted back and bringing it to her bedside, straddled it, “he heard I was called for. He’s plagued you enough.” Nothing dimmed that fond smile despite the exasperated words.

“Cannot believe he took over my bunk.” Ida observed.

Gale’s smile fell. “Really didn’t know if you were gonna make it, Ida.” he insisted gently, firmly. “Are ya now?”

Ida wanted to chuckle, feeling more horrible than she knew she could but after all this time she wasn’t going to die on him now. Not now she knew how needed she was. Remained needed. How much he’d endured, possibly, she had to remember it was only possible. “I’m sticking around.” she affirmed, and his smile came back, dimmer but still there. “And you?” she asked, not expecting the truth but she had to try.

The upbeat grin that painted his face was worthy of an Oscar. “Fine. Much better to see you alive, John too. Both of you been out for ages.”

“Sorry about that.” she feared more and more what burdens he had to bear alone, and what precedent that set for the remainder of their time here. Once Gale Cleven had shouldered a responsibility, he wasn’t one to delegate, even if overtaxed. “How is the commandant? Smith has told me what you’ve achieved.”

Cleven’s face wore an expression of pleasant surprise as if he were relaying pleasant findings for the first time, “Most decent German I’ve met.” His tone held such genuine relief that Ida had to believe him. “Supplies are scarce. They've shot enough of us down in short enough order it’s all a bit much for the Red Cross.” he let that dismal statistic hang for a brief moment before rallying, “But he’s fair, shares my low opinion of his subordinates. No real incidents but, they leer and they’re harsh. No girls can go out alone, I’ve laid the order down. Been no harm.”

Ida observed him, familiar chubby cheeked crinkling with what seemed genuine pleasantness, and she had gotten rather genius at deciphering that boyish face after years of training and laconic friendship. “What does he want in return?” she asked.

“Order.” Gale had an answer right away, “He’s got a massive thing going here, he wants order and he wants no complaints about females. So, I want the girls accompanied -he wants them accompanied. It works.”

Maybe there was honor among villains after all. “Good. How’s Maureen?”

Gale bit his lip before shrugging, “Alright, settling in, getting everyone else settled. We got shots for everyone and she’s had us cleaning the place, fussing about wintertime and how all the water to mop will freeze up then. Hands aren’t back fully.” he paused for a brief moment before glancing up, shyly, “You got any explanation for those?”

No more than he had given for his cuts. “She’s told you. As much as she’s told me. I don’t think anyone hasn’t got a story. Or ten.”

“Bucky’s having trouble with that.” It was a comment, not a warning or a complaint.

She might’ve guessed. “And my brother? He proving of any use?”

Gale’s pale skin seemed to color at that and his eyes skittered to the side, briefly, before he recalled himself, “He’s a damn bulldog with a task. Been -been real essential.”

“With the doctor I hear.” Ida ventured, “Smith told me.” and Gale nodded in understanding, “She also told me she’d been warned never to go herself. Which brings up a few issues.”

“Colonel?” Gale frowned at her like something she said was puzzling.

“I’ve got girls who need to see a doctor. Should be in the infirmary -hell I oughta be.”

Cleven just shook his head, “They tolerate the girls here, so long as you’re not anything more than a number. Ida, we can’t attract attention that way. We got shots, Johnny’ll get more. He’ll get -Anything.”

“And how’s Johnny gonna get ‘anything’ for me, mm?”

Cleven didn’t have an answer for that, he just looked terribly tired. “Tell us, we’ll get it but I can’t condone lettin’ a woman go there.”

Ida tried to settle her stomach, a laundry list of worries a mile long had begun to arrange themselves in her mind and by the size of Cleven’s eyebags, he carried them too. She had to prioritize, if only she wasn’t so very tired and practically an invalid. “Then I need your promise to be tenacious in the care of someone who ought’ve been in hospital weeks ago.”

He cocked his head to the side, alarm at the unknown flitting across his face, he looked her up and down as if anticipating she would name herself.

“Smith has what looks like a raging infection.” Ida stated.

Well that got him startled, confused and a little irate. His blue eyes widened, “Looks like.” he repeated. “-where? From what?”

“And she’s not told a soul.” Ida observed with an eyebrow that only slightly accused, it was lethal enough on Gale’s frail morale, “As she’s a stubborn thing and also -shy.”

Gale knew Lu to be both. He had taken pains to ask after her the night she came in with that express suspicion in mind. “I asked her.” He swore.

“She says she asked you the same.” Ida bounced the hypothetical tennis ball right back, quite casually she thought, and Gale gave her a wary, unreadable look. There went that topic for the present, Smith had to come first. “No, this is a dog bite. More like a maul, a gash, it’s horrid.”

“What?” The chair under Gale creaked from his irate posture. “They let loose a dog on her!”

“Set.” Ida corrected, straight mouth going even sourer, “They set a dog on her. Now it’s hot and pink and awful. Since she didn’t tell a soul and no one noticed somehow.”

“I-I-“ Gale wasn’t in a fluster to defend himself, Ida knew him better than to think that, he was merely in some disbelief at the cruelty, “I- gave her a shot, in the hip. Didn’t see-“

“It’s her breast, Gale.” Ida gently interjected, “Reasonable not for her to be eager to show. But it must’ve been stubborn pride or some assumption of a better lot that had her keeping it from Maureen.”

Gale took to pinching the bridge of his nose, a nervous tick Ida knew well, and it served to steady his hand, pinch away a budding migraine and hide the tell-tale windows of his eyes. “They set a dog on her -on her, to- and it tore her?” he couldn’t even get it out and she felt for him.

But he had the right of it. “Yes. And it needs something. Sulfer ointment? I don’t know. It’s why a doctor would be preferred. It could get septic-“

“I know damnit!” Gale still shaded eyes from her as his voice shook. “Why didn’t she-“ it trailed off, weary and rough.

Ida pursed her lips and swallowed back a dozen things she wanted to say: apologies and reassurances, demands that he tell her what he himself had endured. “I’m sorry you’ve got so much to be done.” she offered instead, mildly and with some gentleness she hoped she’d retained. “I’m sure Kendeigh will be a great help with this. I only ask you keep after Smith about it-“

“-I don’t mind the work.” Gale lifted his hand at last and his eyes were red rimmed, “You know I don’t mind the work.”

“No.” she agreed. It was only the sort of work. It was the hapless, thankless, hopeless work of piecing together friends who had been intentionally smashed to bits by a handful of demons. It was never about the work. “And you are to bring as much of it to me as you can. That’s an order, Major.” At least that got her a small smile, a conceding nod, “And I have my spies, you know.”

“Oh I know.”

“I can’t wait to be about. Help with it all.”

“Just try’n live Ida, if you can.” Gale laughed, short and clipped, “Seemed a lot to ask of ya just last night. Don’t wanna push my luck.”

“I’ve ordered you to push your luck.” she reminded. “And now, don’t you think it’s time we stop Bucky from thinking of things to keep everyone outside?”

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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[wtfdemother]

Idfk filth

CW: yes. fluffy dw

dividers by tsunami-of-tears

Getting so worked up after a night of drinking with König, his cock straining so painfully tight in his pants he almost took you in the back seat of the Uber driver right then and there.

You barely manage to get in the house, pushing each other further towards the bedroom in a whirlwind of messy kisses, mindlessly groping one another. His tongue lapped at your mouth, you can taste the whiskey on his breath as your saliva intermingles with his, König finally loses patience. He hoists you up to his waist, calloused paws gripping you firmly on the back of your thighs as he climbs the stairs in a hurry.

He’s to make sure you’re treated well tonight. Ahh, Schatz how you must know how much that man fucking loves you. Clothes mindlessly discarded across the bedroom floor after slamming you on the springy mattress, he’s an animal driven by instinct with the need to breed.

Stuff you full until you can’t even remember your own fucking name. He loves you, adores you, worships the very ground you walk on. He needs that fact engrained into your brain.

He wants your mind full of him, your pussy full of his tongue while he moans your name like a prayer, swallowing every drop of delectable honey you gift him, so soft and pliable, König could drown in your essence.

“Meine süße Königin, du bist eine schöne Hure für mich, ja? Alles für die König, ja?”

He’s egging you, edging you, taunting you with mean words only to coat them in sugar.

A desperate whine tears through your throat from the teasing, you can’t take it anymore. You can’t take it…you want to be full of your König.

But he worships your weeping cunt and stretches you good for him.

“I don’t want to hurt my little lamb…” he mutters before giving your clit a tentative little kiss, scissoring your entrance to accommodate what’s to come. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself if I hurt you, meine Taube.”

Despite the burn of the alcohol that courses through his bulging veins, König’s touch remains so sweet and tender it’s almost sickening. But it felt so good… you don’t want him to ever stop being the kind and thoughtful man he truly is.

He licks your swollen nub, rimming your cunt with calloused digits, not yet plunging them in. König laps leisurely, minutes tick by as he savours your natural lubricant, he doesn’t think he has to use any from the bottle he bought prior. You’re so wet, haven’t even cum on his tongue yet.

Lewd squelches echo through the silence of the room in between shared moans, your juices flowing down to the curve of your asscheeks, “You’re dripping,” he states, switching between tongue fucking your cunt and kissing your overly sensitive clit or fingering you.

But he pulls out too soon for you to cum.

You throb around nothing, fat globs of tears make their way down your flushed expression. You whine pathetically while desperately trying to get a firm grip on the tuffs of lightly coloured hair between your legs, devouring you. “König… my love… I want you, please… I need you so bad…I need you-”

He immediately obeys, doesn’t matter how immersed he was eating your pussy, your cries always come first. He crawls over you, caging you, securing you in his protective embrace.

“I love you…” König mutters, captures your lips with his as you taste yourself on his tongue. He slips inside you with ease, “Das ist es, Taube…” König praises, feeling the searing warmth of your body wrap deliciously around his aching cock.

“Ahh… das is es, Scheiße-!” He cusses and hisses through gritted teeth, trying his best to move slow. “Meine Liebe… I cannot—you feel too good…” he splays his hands under the crook of your knees, hiking your legs as far as they can go.

“Gonna fuck…this delicious pussy, my love. Gonna fill you…to the brim.”

He grunts out words of filth between thrusts, alternating between German and English until you both are reduced into a puddle of carnal needs and desire. The sound of skin slapping against one another fills the room, the bed creaks in rhythm to his pounding, taking the big boy well.

“Mein Sschaaatz…” he drawls out, drooling on your tits as he switches between either nipple to suckle on. “Du bist perfekt… Diese enge Muschi ist alles für mich, ja? Sag es.”

“All yoursss…!” You babble as you near the edge, pulsing and sucking him in further, trying to milk your man of all his worth. “This pussy is all yours!! All yours, König, all yours-! Fuckk! Meeeee-!”

Your words spur him further, he’s so close. “Gonna breed this needy cunt for König, ja? Is that what you crave, meine liebe? Meine Verdammt Sonnenscheine…”

A sharp gasp, your vision begins to spot, eyes roll to the back of your head as you let your orgasm wash over you in ecstatic waves.

König is quick to follow, giving your pussy a few more pumps before caving into the feeling. Broken ‘I love you’s’ were exchanged as he loads your womb full of his potent seed, cradling you with such tenderness as you both come down from your shared high. He kisses you feverishly, muttering words of gratitude, “I love you…I love you so much, you’re all mine…”

“All mine, Taube… you’re my love.”

He holds you through the night, nevermind the tacky feeling of sweat clinging to your bodies, König doesn’t pull out when you fall asleep together. The house is relatively quiet, except for the soft snores coming from the sleeping giant.

Phew.

[arachine]

. . . fire and desire .ᐟ

ᥫ᭡ pairing :: ellie williams x fem!reader

ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: there’s nothing more ellie loves than spending a day inside with you…

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: alternate universe, smut, fluff

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: pwp, strap sucking, vaginal penetration (strap), clit stimulation, overstim, cum eating, dacryphilia (if you squint), use of ‘daddy’, not proofread bc i’m tired!!!

ᥫ᭡ word count :: 2.1k

ᥫ᭡ note :: this is me finally making my formal introduction…hi >.< + dedicated to @luvsellie @3leni & @addisonnie

ᥫ᭡ song :: tinashe - ecstasy

brown tendrils of hair cascade over porcelain skin, clouding the vision of the girl looking down at you with a sultry expression. she’s toying with you. rubbing the smooth pad of her thumb over your spit-slick lips, all while holding your hair taut with her available hand.

“come on, baby, open wider for me,” she pushes her thumb into your mouth, the salty appendage forceful as it presses down on the pink muscle, “wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around me.”

methodically, she removes her hand from the tangles of your hair, and glides it down to rest firmly against the column of your throat. the thrumming of your pulse is strong beneath the pads of her fingers, and she taps once, twice—three times before lightly squeezing the sides of your neck. 

“you can do it, pretty girl. know you can.”

her grip is firm, and demanding, but her words are sugary sweet. a juxtaposition to the compromising position she has you in—which is on your knees, nestled between her legs. it’s cruel, almost, you think. the control she has over you. 

slowly, you take hold of the silicone and hold it up to your mouth, easing it past your puffy lips until the thick tip of it grazes your uvula. 

“atta girl,” ellie breathes, resting a flat palm atop your head. 

she watches intently as you try to keep yourself there. hands outstretched, and digging into the meat of her thighs, clawing and pawing so as to not gag. 

your persistence precedes you, though. because now you’re pulling off unceremoniously, gasping wildly for just a scintilla of air. and it’s a little embarrassing—the coughing—the keeling over that ensues. 

but it’s especially embarrassing when you see the crystalline tether of spit that connects from your lip to the dildo, and the pools of spit littered all over her thighs. so messy. just the way ellie likes it.

the girl chuckles at your expense. all low and confident, laced with a modicum of pity. she raises a lithe hand to caress the skin of your cheek. 

“so perfect…” she says softly, “always so perfect for me.”

the praises spill from her lips like warm honey, and you find yourself eager to taste it, to pull her down to your level and kiss her silly. impulsively, you encase the sides of her face between your hands and slowly rise from your knees—albeit shakily. 

in this moment, ellie’s gaze is unfaltering—

even as your knees dip into the plush of the bed, and you settle down into her awaiting lap. and even as you reach behind yourself to grasp the shaft of the silicone, sinking down onto it slowly.

lips ghost over lips but still do not touch. breaths intermingle with breaths, but still tease, and fuck, she’s had enough. 

“stop it…” she whispers against your lips, callused hands falling down to your hips. 

“oh, but it’s more fun this way,” you jest, flashing her a smile that’s faux sweet on the surface, but sadistic underneath. 

ellie pinches your hips in disagreement. gives them a firm squeeze, and lets the fat there spill between the slots of her fingers before she uses the bony prominences as leverage to maneuver you down onto her. 

a gasp emits from your throat, and you stutter forward in her hold, to which she uses as an opportunity to pilfer a kiss. the first is zephyr-light, just right. then, the few that follow suit are a little more heavy, a little more heated—passionate, and now the warmth heating in your belly has advanced to a fire overgrown. 

every kiss, lick, and suckle of a tongue, has you melting further into her touch. you fear that, soon, you’ll melt into a block of clay. become pliable and moist. a project that ellie will task herself with to mold you back to life—though, you reckon she’d find amusement in your misshapen form. 

the thought of her laughing at your helpless clay-form inadvertently makes you bite her lip, reminds you too much of the time you asked her what she’d do if you turned into a worm. poor ellie, you think. becoming a victim to your insanity.

“ow,” the auburn haired girl laughs, both out of shock and confusion, “you a vampire now? out for my blood?” 

“yeah, gonna drink you all up,” you dip down to her neck, retracting your jaw teasingly.

“gonna drink me all up, huh?” ellie’s hands find solace on the mounds of your ass. she kneads the skin there, then pulls you up experimentally, only to let you sink back down onto the silicone. “guess it’s a good thing you’re pretty.” 

you attempt to laugh but it comes out more like a strangled moan, much to your dismay.

now you’re chest to chest, legs wrapped up around her torso, and arms positioned underneath her pits. your hands wander frantically for placement but mostly settle for holding onto her shoulders, to which you hold onto for dear life as she pistons up into you aimlessly. 

every sensation is heightened by the feeling of her roseate lips on your breasts. they trail mindlessly without purpose, leaving lines of saliva, coupled with the occasional bite mark. 

while she works on the pastures and plains of your chest, a hand slithers from your ass to the iota of space between you. like a magnet, it quickly latches onto your clit, causing you to jump from the coolness. 

ellie rubs the nub in slow, deliberate circles, and you whine for her to go faster. she shushes you, tells you to be patient. which is, you think, probably her way of getting back at you for the teasing earlier. 

you mumble a plethora of obscenities into the interstice of her neck, rocking yourself back and forth, up and down, just to get a semblance of friction. but it’s not enough. you need her. need her to lay you down against the pillows like she always does—to have her way with you; pick you apart, piece by piece, and build you back up. 

“need…” you start, then trail off. ellie’s ears perk up, and she smiles, all cocky and annoying. 

“need what? what is it that my baby needs, hm?” 

you tighten your hold on her shoulders, applying so much pressure that the skin underneath turns erythro. 

“n-need more, wanna f-feel you deeper.”

 ellie, ever the pleaser, indulges you without a quip. she’s quick to lay you down against the pillows, slithering in between your thighs that, oh-so-generously, make room for her. 

slowly, she pushes the mushroomy tip of the dildo past the tight ring of muscle, and settles down into a position where the both of her forearms encase the sides of your head. 

it’s intimate this way. with her on top of you, and you beneath her. two bodies melded together into one. every breath she takes is mirrored by your own, and every gasp you emit, every moan, mewl and whimper, is greedily swallowed by her. 

“so,” a thrust, “fucking,” a kiss, “pretty,” a suck, “my best girl.”

it’s hard trying not to crumble under the weight of all her praise, but you find yourself smiling silly anyway. even through the moans that she consecutively pulls from you so effortlessly. 

and you’re pretty—so, so pretty. but this is when you’ll always be the prettiest, ellie thinks. when you’re all fatigued and slick with perspiration, smiling from ear to ear while she’s working you to completion. it’s a visual that makes her heart all tight, and her cheeks all sore because…she can’t help but to smile back.

she finds sweetness in these moments. uses the love that flows from her heart to her fingertips, and draws circles on your clit, giggling into the crook of your neck when you start gripping her biceps and she mocks you for it. 

“look at how hot and bothered you get over a few fingers,” she jokes, earning a playful eye roll. 

“oh shut u-“ 

but before you can finish, ellie unsheathes herself briefly, then pushes all the way back in without warning. pathetically, you whine and arch from the intrusion, which gives ellie the satisfaction of mocking you for a second time. 

“what was that?” ellie pouts, waiting for a sassy remark. she keeps her brows raised in anticipation, pushing in and out of you at a tantalizingly slow pace, all while her fingers play with the swollen nub.

but the rude remark never comes. instead, it’s replaced by a firm grab of her wrist, and a series of breathy pleas. 

right there, keep hitting right there.

feels so good, ellie.

please, please, please. 

and, shit, it’s music to her ears. she almost feels bad for mocking you earlier. almost. the pleaser in her wants to finish you off, coo sweet words in your ears and cradle you up in her arms. but the little shit in her? the little shit in her wants to drag this out. 

“please what, baby?” the girl queries, pulling out and tapping the weighty head on your nub. the absence has you raising your hips up in an attempt to push it back in, but ellie’s hand on your abdomen keeps you grounded. 

you whine and groan in frustration, letting a few expletives slip from your lips. sometimes she could be so mean. you have half a mind to respond with attitude, and half a mind to play into her sadistic mind games. you choose the latter. 

with an avian flutter of your lashes, and your best doe eyes, you part your lips to speak.

“please…daddy,” you pout, forcing out a few tears, “need you to make it feel better.”and there it is, your best work yet—truly, an oscar worthy performance. 

“yeah, that’s right. daddy’s gonna make it feel all better. that what you want? want me to take care of this pretty pussy?”

you nod, which is all the confirmation ellie needs before pulling you down the bed and throwing your legs behind your head. 

so predictable, you think. but so welcomed. it always went like this whenever you used that on her. made her feel all big and in charge, like she had something to prove. and sure, ellie had a way with you, that was undeniable. but you? you had her wrapped around your manicured little finger. it really didn’t take much effort to get her right where you wanted her—which was on top of you, your favorite place to get her. 

in this position, you feel so full. it calls for your chin to be tucked down into your chest, and all you can see is the pudge of your stomach, including all glorious eight inches of silicone ramming into you fiercely without abandon. 

you’re only allowed mobility when ellie grabs your face to flit it up. she temporarily draws your attention away to pilfer a kiss, and asks if you can feel her all the way up there as she presses down onto your bulging tummy. 

when you utter a yes, and say, “you feel so good inside, daddy. sososo good,” ellie’s entire disposition changes. starts kissing you all sloppy, groaning and grunting in your ear like she can actually feel your cunt squeezing ‘round her. 

the intensity of her unrelenting thrusts have you scrambling to wrap your arms around her neck. she’s just so fast, and too good. a real recipe for disaster, and entirely way too much for you to keep up with. 

fatigued, you drop your head back and melt into the plush of the pillows. you let her take you apart, piece by piece, kiss by kiss.

“gonna give me one, pretty girl?” ellie breathes, “c’mon give it to me.” 

and her touch is as gentle as her words. she works on you devotedly, and doesn’t stop until you’ve come on her cock with a soft cry. that’s when she builds you back up. when your legs are shaking uncontrollably from pleasure, and your face is stained with tears. when you’re the prettiest. 

gently, ellie unsheathes herself from you, and then shimmies her body down the bed until she’s face level with your cunt. she uses her thumbs to spread your lips, and like the asshole she is, licks a long stripe from the bottom to the top of your mound. 

the overstimulation forces your legs shut, but she only pries them back open. the little shit. you roll your eyes. 

“i was gonna say you taste sweet, but you know what, now i’m tasting a little bit of sourness,” she jests in response to your eye roll, rising from her stomach to crawl back up your body. 

you scrunch your nose and pull her down against your chest, “oh my god, shut up!” 

the two of you stay like this for a while. breaths intermingling with breaths. yeah, ellie could get used to this. 

© arachine 2023

[wxwrites]

cherry chapstick

ellie williams x reader

cw: cunnilingus, graphic descriptions, poor writing

sub!ellie, dom!reader, e!receiving, praise, gentle hair pulling, slight choking, spit kink, aftercare

nsfw under cut, men and minors dni

you're sleeping peacefully, finally allowing your body to rest after a rough day on patrol.

that is... until you feel a very familiar presence press into your back, pulling you against her tightly. her clingy behavior is nothing unfamiliar, always warm and welcomed as she continues to pull you against her body.

you mumble sleepily, still in a tired haze. "mm, whas' up els?"

and the oh so lovely sound of her whimpering against you ignites a repressed hunger you had been pushing away due to your busy schedules.

you turn around to face the pretty girl resting on the bed beside you. her lips are curled into a little pout, face flushed with a light pink.

"it's been soo long, y/n," she practically whines, moving her hand to caress the soft skin beneath your shirt. she leans forward and presses sloppy kisses into your neck. you reach back and lace your hand through the hair on the back of her head, gently tugging her away. this time, she does let out a truly pathetic whimper.

craning her head back, you push her onto her back, letting go of her hair and trailing your hand to gentle grasp at her throat. her brows furrow as she arches her back up, pawing at your thighs and hips.

"such a needy girl," you chide gently, gripping her jaw firmly. "actin' like i haven't touched you in ages." you continue, before leaning down to press your lips to hers harshly, relishing in the sweet sounds she releases.

you release her lips, grinning at the sight of her flushed face and wide, needy eyes. moving down her body, you straddle her thighs and attach your lips to her neck, nipping at it immediately. releasing her jaw, your hands move down to play with the hem of her t-shirt before helping her sit up and tugging it off.

you reattach your lips to her pale skin as you push her back down into the mattress roughly. you continue sucking deep marks into her throat and collarbones. she continues to whimper and whine beneath you, "please, please, please," she continues to beg. "i need you to touch me," she whines, continuing to grope tightly at your ass and hips.

and while you would normally push her hands off of you, it truly has been far too long since you've been able to give your sweet girl the attention she deserves.

"oh, i know sweetheart, just gimme some time, okay?" you coo gently, pulling her to sit up once more as you unhook her bra, reattaching your lips as you do so. she laces her hands into your hair desperately, gasping against your lips. you swipe your tongue into her warm and pliant mouth, swallowing her pretty noises.

once she settles back into the bed, you let yourself relax against her, pressing your chest against her abdomen as you attach your lips to her left nipple, rolling the right one between your fingers.

"f-fuck," she gasps, throwing her head back as you harshly assault the over-sensitive skin. her hands remain interlocked with the strands of your hair, tugging at it desperately. she attempts to rolls her hips up, but her movements are quickly halted as you press her hips back down into the bed.

"be a good girl ellie, lemme take my time. i jus' wanna make my girl feel good, hm?" you mumble against her skin, moving to attach your lips to her other nipple.

she relaxes her body beneath your strong hands, panting heavily as she tries not to writhe beneath your prying touches. as you work your way down her body, finally reaching the hem of your jeans, you look up at her, silently asking for permission.

"please, i need you so bad," she whines, hands frantically searching for something to grab onto as she impatiently stares at you, eyes glossed over with need.

you chuckle lowly at her need, finally sitting up to unbutton her cargos and shuck them down her legs. you skate your hands gently back up her leg, noting how her skin breaks out in goosebumps as your hand passes over each section. you shuffle around the bed and settle between her legs on your stomach, staring up at her through half-lidded eyes.

you attach your lips to her inner thigh, quickly tossing her legs over your shoulders. you lick and suck at the soft flesh, nipping teasingly as you continue to work your way up towards her pussy.

"you're so desperate, els," you say, in between bites. "you're fuckin' drenched," you say, mockingly, chuckling as she whines at your comment.

"ha-" she whimpers, tensing her thighs around your head tightly. you wrap your hands around her thighs, encouraging her movements. you move to lick over the fabric, wanting to prolong the sound of her desperate cries.

once you've had your fill, you pull the obstructing fabric down her legs and immediately lick a long stripe up her pussy, suckling on her clit roughly.

her hips immediately buck into your mouth and she lets out a loud moan, immediately tangling her fingers into your hair. as you continue to lick and suck at the sweet and sensitive flesh, you begin grinding your own hips against the bed.

"you taste so fucking good, els," you moan against her, immediately moving to lick more of her juice into your mouth. "c'mon baby, you got it," you encourage, flattening your tongue against her clit. you grip her thighs tighter, relishing in the suffocating feeling as she continues to squeeze her thighs around your head tightly.

she lets out guttural moans and cries as she rapidly climbs the impending orgasm, fingers pulling harshly at your hair.

"f-fuck, i'm gonna--" and she's cut off by a loud cry, finally releasing over your awaiting mouth. you moan at the feeling and taste as the slick liquid runs down your lips and chin, letting her continue to grind against your tongue, despite how sore your jaw is.

once her high subsides, she relaxes against the bed, chest still heaving. you crawl back up her body and attach your lips to her neck, licking your way back up to your mouth where you sit up and pry it open with your thumb, before spitting her own cum into her mouth.

the degrading feeling causes her to let out another quiet moan, unable to put any more force into it.

you stroke a gentle hand through her bangs, pushing them back. "you did so good for me, sweet girl," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss onto her freckled cheek.

you coo gentle praises and words to her, eventually escaping to get a wet and cool towel. you crawl back onto the bed and swipe the cloth down her heated body. she hums contentedly as you soothe over her skin, keeping a hand on you at all times, refusing to let you detach again.

after you've calmed her down completely and slipped comfy clothes onto her body, she falls asleep curled against your chest, satiated and warm.

tag list:

@yeahimsogaydude

[myymi]

“Look. Yer new here, I get it.” Sails grumbled, his mechanical arm resting on the hedgehog’s chest to force him to keep his distance, “But you need to learn our rules and fast.” He growled, eyes narrowing into a glare.

Sonic tried to keep his body from visibly wilting at the rejection. He wasn't used to being pushed away by his little brother, and it seemed to hurt worse the second time around.

Except they aren't his little brother, are they? Nine and Sails don't know him. They shouldn't trust him. But he needs them to. Sonic needs his brother(s?) to trust him to keep them safe, why won't they let him protect them?

That's his job, isn't it? He has to keep them safe from those who are hunting them or whatever awful thoughts are plaguing them. What good is protecting the world when he can't protect his world?

“Whaddya mean?” He decided to ask, firmly ignoring the way his voice wavered even after the fox in front of him raised a brow at it.

“I mean quit stickin’ yer nose where it don't belong.” Sonic tried to ignore the fact that only one of the pirate's ears folded down as he crossed his arms, shrinking into himself. “My tale ain't your business, so quit poking.”

“I didn't mean to offend you or anything,” Sonic said, raising his paws in surrender. He'd never want to push his brother to talk about something he didn't want to. Why didn't he just drop it? “I was just worried, y’know?”

“Don't worry over strangers, landlubber.” Sails warned, his metal arm retreating from the teens chest as he averted his gaze, “it'll only make things harder for ya.” He mumbled, almost too quiet for the other to hear.

“But you're not a stranger, Sails.” The older argued, watching the fox’s movements, “I know everything about you!”

“No, you don't.” The kit frowned, his fur bristling, “If ye did, ye wouldn't be here askin’ questions about a life that doesn't concern you.” Was the last thing he said before turning away from the hedgehog, quickly making his way to somewhere on the boat that wasn't near him.

Sonic's ears flattened against his head as he watched Sails walk away, his left paw holding his right arm in an absolute death grip. He groaned and ran his paws down his face.

This was his own fault.

He's always been one to preach about boundaries. He remembers he used to have to remind a 4 year old Tails quite often that sometimes people just didn't want to talk about or do certain things and that was okay.

So why didn't he keep his big, stupid mouth shut when he saw Sails start to pull away?

Sure, Sails wasn't technically Tails, but they had the same mannerisms. His tails twirling around themselves to appear as a single appendage, his eyes looking down to stare at his crossed arms, his fur proofing up, and his foot tapping against the ground were all signs that someone was pushing him too far. Sonic knew that, yet he wouldn't stop pushing.

Maybe it was the desperation to understand this two tailed fox. Because he wasn't his fox, but he was so close he might as well be his doppelganger. Yet the teenager didn't actually know him.

But he wanted to. He wanted to show the kit that he was the one the kid should trust. He wanted to prove to Sails that he was a free shoulder to lean on if he needed it.

A big brother who would always have his arms open, waiting to comfort the fox should he need it.

It was a need for the hedgehog. He so desperately needed his little brother to understand he was always here that he forgot that Sails wasn't his brother. Not in those blue eyes, anyway.

To Sails, Sonic was a stranger. He was just some guy they found on an island who begged to be let aboard their ship. They had only met a few hours ago.

He was, understandably, overwhelmed by the hedgehog. It seemed like the stranger knew almost everything about his life, except for one key detail; Sonic didn't exist in it.

And that's exactly what made Sonic keep pushing. He wasn't a part of Sails’ life, but he wanted to be. Because he knows what Tails’ life was like before meeting the hedgehog, and he needed to make sure Sails was safe.

Nine wasn't.

Mangey wasn't.

There had to be at least one variant of his little brother that was okay. The kid's safety couldn't only rely on Sonic, surely there had to be one of them that got off easy.

But he guesses that was just another assumption he was wrong about.

“Landlubber!” Sonic's ears twitched at that, swiveling around until they located the direction the shout came from. He turned around to see Batten flying above him.

“What’d ye say to Sails?” She asked, one hand resting on her hip as the other held the hilt of her sword. The bat nodded her head up towards the crow’s nest.

Squinting, Sonic could see Sails was leaning against the banister, his head hung low.

The hedgehog winced and rubbed the back of his neck, “I kinda pushed him about something I shouldn't have.” He admitted, ears folding down against his head. “Do you know how I can make that up to him?”

Batten’s frown deepened as she glanced up to the fox for a brief moment, “Don't do anything. He'll sort it out on his own.” She advised, lowering herself down to land beside the hedgehog. “And don't bring the topic back up again. Ever.”

“Noted.” Sonic tried to smile, but it was very obviously strained. He sighed and looked away from the fox, not wanting to be caught staring.

He wasn't used to leaving Tails alone. When the fox was upset he would always bring him a gift to make up for whatever it was he did.

But maybe it's time to stop treating these two tailed foxes like they're his little brother. It never seemed to work out in his favor.

[loserboysandlithium]

Cashmere and Cigarettes (Steddiexreader) Part one:

⚠️Explicit sexual content. Minors DNI⚠️

Summary: Steve Harrington. Your soulmate. The love of your life. You know you were meant to be. But sometimes you wondered if there was something else or someone else on his mind.

You know Steve loves you but you've seen the way he looks at him. Lustful eyes, a bit of confusion on his pretty face, sneaking glances when he thinks no one is looking.

Eyes for the one and only Eddie Munson. Bad boy with a heart of gold. Dark and charming. A bit mysterious. Flirty comments always aimed at you and Steve, causing you both to blush.

It was something you thought about often. The two of them together. All of you together.

Am I crazy? Or would Steve be into it? Just one night. One night of no limits. No boundaries. No secrets.

One night of pure ecstasy for all of you…

********

“You smell so good.” you moan, burying your face in Steve’s neck.

“It’s the cologne you got me for my birthday, you like?”

“Mmm…I love.. can’t you just skip work today?” you mumble into the crook of his neck as his arms wrap around you, holding you close.

“I wish I could, sweetheart.” he sighs, kissing the top of your head.

“Just one day?” you lean back, looking up into his pretty eyes, a pout placed on your lips.

He smiles warmly, before leaning in, bringing his lips to yours. His lips move softly against yours, his kiss tender and strong.

You pull away after a moment, moving to kiss his neck as your fingers run down the soft fabric of his cream colored sweater, stopping once you reach the hem of his jeans.

You run your fingernail along his zipper playfully, listening to the sound of your nail scraping against the metal grooves.

“Oh.” his eyes widen in realization, a big grin spreading across his face.

“I’m sure I can be a little late..” he continues, a soft moan coming from his lips as you grope him through his jeans.

“Yeah, baby?” you purr, dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Oh yeah.” he chuckles lustfully.

“Mmm… you’re so hot.” you praise him, slowly unbuttoning his pants, pulling them down to his ankles. Your knees land on the hard tile as you take him in your hand, slowly stroking him.

“Oh fuck.” Steve breathes as you flick your tongue across his head, tasting his precum before wrapping your lips around his swollen tip. You keep your eyes on him as you suck gently making him whimper.

You take him a little deeper, pulling a desperate moan from him as you suck back to his tip. You hollow your cheeks, bobbing up and down on his hard cock as his hand rests lightly on your head.

“I want you.” he groans suddenly, making you pause.

“Now?” you smirk, trailing your tongue down the side of his length once more.

“Wanna be inside you, baby.” he mumbles, reaching down for you. You stand up wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing him hard on the lips.

You giggle as he scoops you up, carrying you down the hall to your room where he lays you gently on the bed. Clothes fly across the room as you both undress, and then he’s on top of you. The familiar warmth of his body making you feel safe. His lips capture yours in a heated kiss as your legs spread and he settles in between them.

“Fuck me, Steve.” you pant into the kiss just as you feel his thick cock pressed against your entrance. Your mouth drops open with a needy moan as you feel the delicious stretch.

“Steve.. oh my god.” you cry loudly, clinging to his back as he enters you fully.

“I love hearing you moan my name, y/n.” he hums in your ear, his strokes slow and steady, each thrust of his hips allowing him to reach deep inside.

“You’re so big, Steve.” you whimper lightly, hooking your arms under his, your hands pawing at his back.

“I love you.” he breathes as his hand grips your thigh tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as your legs wrap firmly around his waist.

“I love you, baby.” you exhale as he rolls his hips, pumping into you fiercely, his lips lock onto your neck, sucking harshly.

“You feel so good, Steve.” you whisper, your head falling back giving him more access to your neck as he sucks and nips at your soft skin.

“You’re so perfect, angel. So good for me. F-feels so good.” he murmurs into your neck as he drives into you.

“Right there, yes! Right there, baby.” you cry as he switches positions, hitting the perfect spot.

His lips slam into yours, his kiss swallowing every moan as he brings you closer and closer, your hips lifting to meet his every thrust, your bodies grinding together wildly.

“I love you, y/n.” he moans again just as you feel your back begin to arch. “Steve! Don’t stop!” you plead as his thrusts start to get sloppy.

You hold him close with your ankles locked behind his back as you reach down, rubbing your clit.

“I-I’m so close.” you whine, swiping the sensitive bud even faster as he rolls his hips.

“Cum for me, y/n.” he pants against your lips, his hip bones slamming into yours. Your eyes squeeze shut as you let go fully, moaning his name as your muscles clamp down around his cock.

“Mmm… there we go, honey. You look so pretty when you cum. So fucking pretty.” Steve whispers, as your pussy flutters around his member. He keeps his lips attached to yours as he starts rapidly thrusting, his release only moments away.

Your slick coats his cock creating a filthy noise as he glides in and out. He moans into your kiss as his hips jerk and you feel his warm cum fill you. He rocks into you slowly, his lips sucking on yours as he comes down from his high.

“Shit, baby.” Steve mumbles, moving to kiss your neck.

“I love you, Steve.” you pant breathlessly, savoring the feeling of him buried deep.

Sex with Steve was always great. But sometimes it felt like there was something missing. He never left you unsatisfied but it was a pretty routine act on how to get you there.

You knew his positions before he switched you. You knew where his hand would go next, where his lips would land, and it always felt amazing. But a part of you wanted more. You craved something a little different. Something new. And you knew he did too.

Just say it.

“I wanted to ask you something.” you start softly, running your fingers through his soft brown hair as he lays his head on your chest. He hums in response, tilting his head to look up at you.

“Would you ever… do you want.. do you ever think about fucking Eddie?” Shit.

Steve sits up suddenly, his eyes widening, cheeks blushing a bright red, giving you your answer already.

“Munson? What? N-No.. do you?” he blurts out, his eyes searching your face carefully.

“Sometimes I think about all of us… together.” your words come out so soft you’re not sure if he heard you or not. He sits back on the bed, leaning against your wooden bed frame. He’s silent for a while and you begin to get nervous. I fucked up. He’s upset. I never should have said anything.

“Steve, I didn’t mean to-”

“You’re not wrong, baby. I mean… sometimes, sometimes I think about that too. When I look at him sometimes I just get stuck.. like I can’t help but stare, like I want him.. But it’s weird, right? That’s not normal…” he trails off, his eyes shifting away. You move to straddle his lap, cupping his handsome face in your hands.

“He looks at you like that too. I’ve seen it.” You whisper softly and see the corner of his lip curl into a small smile.

“I love you.. you know that right? I love you so much and I don’t need anyone else but..” he pauses, meeting your eyes.

You kiss him, your lips lingering on his for a moment. “But it couldn’t hurt to try something new.” you finish for him and he nods slowly.

“This is crazy.” he laughs, resting his forehead against yours.

“Maybe we need a little crazy.”

******

Two days later:

“What the hell is that?” Steve questions, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

“Just some… supplies.” Eddie shrugs, shuffling through the black duffel bag.

After your conversation, you had both decided to ask Eddie if he’d be interested in some fun. His response was simple, “Took you guys long enough.”

“Supplies for what? Sex? You have a sex supplies bag? Now this, this is crazy.” Steve rambles, his eyes widening.

You giggle as you slip your hand into his, your fingers interlocking. The excitement of the situation making your entire body buzz.

“Do you think he’s gonna kill us?” Steve whispers loudly as Eddie pulls out a bundle of rope making your grip tighten in Steve’s hand.

This is gonna get wild.

“Don’t worry Harrington, I only sacrifice the virgins.” he looks up, giving you both a wink.

“I didn’t know what you guys were into, so I brought a little of everything.” Eddie continues, his voice casual as he sets a pair of handcuffs on the bed.

“Heh.. Eddie, what exactly is that?” Steve says nervously, leaning closer, pointing towards a small black object.

“It’s a butt plug.” Eddie grins, looking up at the two of you again.

“Right.. yeah..” Steve mumbles.

“Too much? This is too much, isn’t it?”

“A little.” “No.” You both answer at the same time. Your response makes Steve look over at you like you’re crazy.

“I just thought we could try some stuff?”

“Yeah stuff.. not that. That’s not going anywhere near my forbidden area.” Steve lowers his voice at the end.

“Doesn’t have to be you..” you trail off, your cheeks reddening.

“Oh.. oh. Yeah.. um, keep that.” Steve says hurriedly, his worried tone switching to excitement.

“Look, let’s start simple, yeah?” Eddie says, shoving his array of toys and accessories to the side. “Both of you, come here.”

You glance up at Steve, watching him nibble nervously on his bottom lip. He keeps his hand in yours as you walk toward the bed. You both sit down, looking up at Eddie as he stands in front of you.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Eddie winks down at you making your stomach flutter.

“Hi.” you whisper, giving him a soft smile. He turns his attention to Steve whose eyes are already on him.

“Is this a new sweater? I like it.” Eddie compliments, his voice is gentle when he speaks to Steve. Steve shakes his head, glancing down at his baby blue sweater.

“Have you ever been with a guy, Steve?” he asks, bringing his fingers to Steve’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“N-no.” he stammers, pink creeping across his cheeks.

“Ever kissed a guy?” Eddie presses.

Steve shakes his head lightly.

Eddie smiles softly, inching closer to Steve. His ringed hand lands on Steve’s thigh, making him inhale sharply.

“Do you want to?” Eddie whispers, his eyes locked on Steve.

Steve swallows hard before nodding his head ever so slightly. His gaze flicks over to you and you give him a soft smile scooting closer to him on the bed.

You cup his cheek, leaning in and pressing your lips to his, feeling his body relax as he melts into your kiss. You pull away after a moment, turning to face Eddie.

His brown eyes zone in on you, a small smirk on his pretty lips. Eddie leans in, closing the gap, his lips capturing yours in a gentle kiss. His free hand wanders to the back of your neck as his tongue slips into your mouth. You can’t help but moan as you taste cigarettes and weed in his kiss. He sucks your bottom lip as he pulls back, giving you just a tease.

You glance back at Steve and reach out, running your fingers through his fluffy hair, cupping the back of his neck. Your other hand drifts to Eddie’s hair and you lean back just a bit, pressing their faces closer.

You watch Eddie’s lips curl into a little smirk as he gets closer to Steve.

“What if.. what if I don’t like it?” Steve blurts out suddenly, making Eddie’s smile widen.

“Then we stop.” he replies calmly. Steve nods before taking a deep breath.

“Fuck it.” he breathes, closing the gap, slamming his lips to Eddie’s forcefully.

Oh shit.

Part two 🖤

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Love Bleeds

Love Bites, Chapter 7 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

Ship: Astarion Ancunin x fem!vampire spawn!elf!Tav/reader

Summary: Fangs gleam in the shadows and a coffin lies open nearby. Vampire lords are nasty creatures; even a changed heart can do very little when there are claws around it.

Word Count: 2,835 words

Warnings: Cazador, power imbalance, Cazador's a creep, Astarion's forced family, trauma responses, beating, mention of sexual abuse & sexual assault, threats of sexual assault, biting, fighting back, vampiric hunger & other instincts, vampire bite, purposeful injuries, reader's death, Dalyria, implied torture

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

As usual, Cazador was waiting on his throne. 

Dread had curled in Astarion’s stomach again and tears waited to fall from his eyes, but he kept pulling you along, his fingers digging into your arm hard enough to make you whimper. You desperately pawed at his hand, but you couldn’t loosen his grip. Yet when he stopped before Cazador’s throne, his head down and his eyes fixed firmly on his feet, you knew to stop thrashing. You stood still beside him, trembling slightly in his grip. 

“Cutting it close, boy,” Cazador snapped. His voice slid down Astarion’s spine, his anger all too audible. A tear slipped down Astarion’s cheek and fell to the floor. “Yet look what you’ve brought me tonight…”

Moving stiffly, Astarion shoved your forward. You yelped and fell to your knees. The shape of his fingers remained imprinted on your skin. You looked back at him, your pain and heartbreak on your face—and yet also determination. 

She’s scared, the most scared she’s ever been, and she’s still trying to stay strong for me so I won’t break. She doesn’t deserve this. I should be on my knees in her place.

But it was too late for that. Cazador was standing with his staff in hand, making his way over to inspect his new prize. Astarion felt his siblings’ presence the moment they entered the throne room, forming a line in front of the door. Did they expect him to try and fight this time?

“You’ve brought me your lover,” Cazador purred, grinning wickedly. “Your one true love, your fiancée, I see.”

Astarion’s head snapped up immediately, horror on his face. If Cazador knew who you were, his internal pain would not go unnoticed—or unpunished. Astarion began to tremble.

“Yes, boy. I know who she is. I knew everything about you the moment I decided you would be mine,” Cazador taunted. “Your little wife. I never saw her for myself, but I’d heard rumors she was pretty. I can see why you liked her.”

You looked up at Cazador with narrowed eyes, two hundred years of rage on your face. “You staged it. You staged Astarion’s murder!”

If Astarion’s heart had still been beating, it would have stopped then. All these years, Cazador had told him he’d simply walked across his dying body, left brutalized by the Gur he’d angered with his ruling. But it hadn’t been anything like that—Astarion’s vampirism had been intentional. 

His master snickered. “Oh, child, of course I did! I took your lover from your arms and brought him into mine. A handsome thing like him, I couldn’t help myself.” He sneered at the pain in your eyes. “If I had known more about you, I would have taken you then, too…”

A shudder passed through your body. “You’re disgusting,” you spat, your voice full of a venom Astarion was sure he had never heard before, not even two hundred years earlier. 

Cazador tutted. “You’ll change your tone soon enough, little one.” He put two fingers under your chin and tilted your head up. You threw yourself back, protesting his touch with a grunt. Glowing red chains encircled you instantly and brought you onto your knees, your arms restrained behind you. You thrashed against them but could do nothing as Cazador repeated the motion, the chains tightening around you, and gripped your head in his hand.

Astarion didn’t dare move or speak as he inspected you. Your eyes flicked between Cazador and Astarion, your desperation clear. Astarion shook his head subtly.

“He won’t help you,” Cazador said, noticing immediately. “He obeys me. Do not convince yourself that he is yours anymore; he has been mine these past two centuries and will be mine for another two!”

Yet Astarion caught your eye. I can’t help, he mouthed. Thrall.

You understood immediately and hissed to his master, “Not by choice.”

Cazador smirked. “Control is control, one way or another. You’ll understand his loyalty soon enough.”

Astarion heard a quiet murmur of surprise from his siblings. Cazador glanced at them, then at him, and then back down at you.

“You won’t be food,” he said to you. “You will join your lover and his siblings in eternal undeath. You will feel his two hundred years of turmoil and then some. You will join them in belonging to me forever.”

The malice in his voice made you shiver. Astarion admired your courage as you looked Cazador dead in the eye and spat in his face, even as his body tensed in preparation for the punishment his master would dole out for your actions. Cazador reared back and gasps filled the room. Into the deadly silence that fell, as Cazador wiped your spit from his face, you said, “I think I’d rather be food, if it’s all the same to you.”

To Astarion’s surprise, Cazador didn’t backhand you; instead, he began to laugh. It was a shrill, mocking sound that made him and the six other spawn cringe. The longer it went on, the more worried you became. You glanced at Astarion, who met your confused gaze with a look of terror. Slowly, your confusion became a matching fear. 

“You have a fire in you!” Cazador said when he could finally speak through his laughter. “Such rebellion in your blood. It shall taste divine. And it is all the more reason to keep you for my personal…entertainment.” The darkness in his voice made Astarion shudder; yet some small part of him felt a kernel of relief. Was this the end of his own torment? Was it a reprieve at the very least?

Astarion felt Cazador’s eyes on him and looked up. There was disappointment in his face. Astarion shrank back, curling into himself, whispering, “Master, please…”

“Don’t look so excited, boy,” he spat. “I’m not done with you yet. You and your bride will make a lovely couple during nights of debauchery.”

“No,” Astarion croaked before he could stop himself, his tone pleading. “Please, not her. Don’t do this to her. She doesn’t… This isn’t… Please, Master, don’t hurt her! Do whatever you want to me but not to her, please!”

Cazador sneered. “A single night with her and you think you can argue with me? You think to make bargains? Two hundred years of teaching, erased in a single night! All you are is the sniveling fool I watched crawl from his coffin, mewling and pleading and crying, begging for your little wife to save you!”

He raised his hand as if to strike Astarion and he whimpered, dropping to his knees immediately, curling up on himself. He shivered where he sat, waiting for the strike. But it didn’t come. Astarion looked up despite the small voice telling him not to, searching for the cause of his master’s mercy.

Thwack! Thwack!

The staff smacked into Astarion’s head twice. His vision blurred and he cried out, keeling back over. He had just barely shaken the pain from his skull when the staff slammed down on his back. The force of the hit sent him sprawling to the floor. 

You let out a strangled cry, straining against the magical chains to reach Astarion. When your efforts proved futile, you turned your face back to Cazador, your fury burning in your gaze. 

“Don’t touch him,” you spat. “He hasn’t done anything—”

The staff slammed into your ribcage and you wheezed as the air was knocked from your lungs. Astarion whimpered softly. 

“Insolent girl,” Cazador said, perfectly composed. “Trying to protect him is foolish.”

You panted heavily as you regained your breath. You gathered yourself enough to look back up at him. “Beat me all you wish, but leave him alone. He brought me to you. He brought you what you wanted so just let him be!”

“A logical one, aren’t you?” Cazador yanked you to your feet. You stared him down, lifting your chin defiantly. “I’ll whip that out of you.” His gaze slid to Astarion. “Or should I fuck it out of her like I fucked it out of you?”

Astarion whined, curling in on himself. Despite his hints at how far Cazador had taken using his body, he hadn’t exactly told you what happened. Shame settled in his gut and he was terrified to meet your eyes as you whispered his name.

“He didn’t tell you?” Cazador asked, his voice nearly a coo. He was obviously enjoying Astarion’s mortification—just as he always did after the deed was done.

“Astarion,” you whispered again.

When he chanced a look in your direction, he found you looking at him with sympathy in your gaze as you completely ignored Cazador’s finger stroking your cheek. Astarion shuddered, knowing that cold touch all too well. 

“It’s not your fault, Asty,” you whispered. “None of what this monster did to you is your fault.”

Cazador ignored the insult for the time being, electing instead to laugh. “Asty,” he repeated through his high-pitched giggles. He glanced at the other spawn. “They have pet names for each other!”

You snarled, turning your gaze back to the vampire still holding you close to his body. “You, on the other hand… You can go to hell.” Without warning, you lunged, throwing yourself at him. The movement caught Cazador by surprise; he stumbled backward and fell hard onto the marble floor. You had no use of your hands or feet, but your mouth was weapon enough; you bit Cazador’s neck hard enough to draw blood, ripping the skin above his jugular open. 

Cazador yelled in pain and threw you off. A chunk of his flesh came with you and you spat it on the ground, his blood dripping from your mouth. 

For a moment, the two of you stared at each other, both panting on the floor. Cazador groaned, a hand attempting to cover the sizable wound you’d left in his neck.

You glared at him. “I know I don’t have your refined vampiric palate, but your blood tastes disgusting. I pity the vampire who sired you.”

The smell of blood filled the air. It was tart and old, older than Astarion had ever imagined, but it was heady. His ever-present hunger tightened in his gut and pulled a whine from his chest. Behind him, his siblings all inched forward, spreading out into something of a hunting formation.

Through the fog of his hunger and the pain pulsing in his body, a few coherent thoughts formed. Was this her plan all along? Spilling Cazador’s blood to send the rest of us into a frenzy so we’d rip him apart with our teeth? Does she mean to free us all? Something akin to hope filled his abdomen.

Cazador recovered far too quickly for Astarion’s liking. He snarled at you as blood oozed from the wound and poured down his pale skin. “This is the game you’ve chosen to play? Practicing for the rest of eternity, eh?” His grin was wicked and every vain hope stirring in Astarion’s heart was dashed. “See how you like this!” He lunged for you, moving too quickly for you to get to your feet. It took only a second for him to have you pinned beneath him.

“No!” Astarion yelled, but his shout was very nearly drowned out by your scream of pain; Cazador had sunk his teeth into your neck.

You twitched and thrashed beneath him, desperately trying to throw him off. The scent of your blood joined Cazador’s in the air. You were sweeter, lively, and Astarion could still smell the arousal and the sex in your blood—a scent so distinctly him even though it was your scent. He glanced away from you for just a moment to see the other vampires hesitate despite their bloodlust. They could smell him, too, they could smell the permanent mark he had left on you. Even the impulse to obey Cazador faltered against vampiric instincts—never take what belonged to another vampire. 

Possessiveness curled through Astarion, nestling deep in his gut. You were his, the first thing that was his in two centuries, the woman who had always been his. And Cazador dared to take you from him? Yet still, Astarion remained frozen where he knelt on the floor.

Your scream rose in pitch before dropping off completely. The sound became pitiful whimpers, pained cries, and gentle pleas for help. No one dared move to help you and Cazador was too lost in your blood to hear you.

Astarion took advantage of Cazador’s distractedness to drag himself to his feet and stumble closer to you, his body still shaking with either terror or rage, he couldn’t tell anymore. You watched him through dazed, glassy eyes. You were getting terribly pale. Despite himself, Astarion began to salivate as he neared you, the scent of your blood nearly overpowering his desire to escape.

You met his eyes and whispered, with the last of your strength, “Astarion, please…”

Every ounce of self-restraint snapped. Two hundred years of conditioning drained away. Mustering strength he hadn’t felt in years, Astarion wrenched Cazador away from you. You cried out as his fangs tore your neck but Astarion didn’t slow down to check and see if you were alright. He grabbed your hand and hauled you to your feet while Cazador was distracted. Before his siblings could react, Astarion whispered to you, “Don’t stop running.”

He took off like a shot, pulling you along with him. You followed dutifully, but your blood loss slowed you down. As the pair of you ran through the doors and past servants that were thankfully human and too shocked to react, Astarion realized you’d never make it to the door in time. He wouldn’t either, unless he left you here and escaped alone. 

Leave her. Hide in the shadows until you can come back and steal her away tomorrow night when she has her strength back. Astarion glanced back at you, already hating the idea. No. She’d never leave me. I can’t leave her. I’ll carry her.

 Astarion stopped running. Confusion danced across your dazed face until he scooped you up in his arms. Moving sluggishly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him. The smell of your blood was stronger now and Astarion groaned in need, but he forced himself to keep running. 

Despite the adrenaline coursing through his body, pushing him onward, Astarion knew he was slowing down. He’d been starved for too long to keep up a fast enough pace to outrun Cazador, who fed until he burst every night, and now he carried your precious body in his arms. 

A sense of doom fell on Astarion’s shoulders as a clawed hand dug into his shoulder. His legs were kicked out from underneath him. He moaned, falling to his knees. You fell from his grasp, your prone body spilling onto the floor like you were made only of liquid. The door was just feet away from you, but you were unmoving, aside from the shakes induced by your blood loss. Astarion thought two words as soon as his master spoke them.

“It’s over,” Cazador hissed in his ear. He shoved Astarion to the ground and stared down at him. Astarion had never hated that beady red stare more. “Just so you don’t get any ideas…” Cazador stepped on Astarion’s calf and he whined as he added more and more pressure until— 

Astarion screamed as the bones snapped. 

Satisfied that Astarion was immobile, Cazador scooped you up. He latched onto your neck once more and drank deeply. You wriggled, fighting until your last breath, when your body went limp in his arms, your skin pale. Astarion heard the death rattle escape your lips and whined pitifully.

Cazador tutted at him. “Patience, boy. She’ll be with you again come tomorrow morning.”

Slowly, reverently, the vampire master carried you away, down a set of dark stairs the spawn were never permitted to use. Getting down the stairs with a broken leg would be a trial, but Astarion’s fear of the pain diminished the farther away from him Cazador took you. When he was certain his master would not hear or see, Astarion began dragging himself across the floor. 

He was healing quickly due to his vampirism, but it still wasn’t fast enough. Every movement coaxed a whimper out of his lips.

A gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him. Astarion looked up and found Dalyria standing next to him, her face half-obscured by her hair. Nevertheless, he could see the disappointment on her face.

“Dal,” he rasped, desperate and tired. “Help me get to her.”

“I’d hoped she would escape, too,” she said, her voice hollow. “But it’s too late for her now. Come on, Astarion. There’s nothing you can do. She is his.”

Those last three words broke the dam in his chest. He propped himself up, leaning as much as he dared on Dalyria’s leg, and let himself sob. She put her hand on his head, the only comfort she could provide.

Deep within the palace’s dungeon, you began to scream.

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

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[sprunkimortality]

Hey Tunner, how's Ciqu at the moment? Are/were you able to talk to him or,, help him with his current issue at all? Everyone who knows what's going on is worried about him. He talked about "not being real" and stuff :(

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Tunner: "Ey, pardner. Y'feelin awright?"

[Ciqu was uncharacteristically quiet for a while. He kept looking down at himself, eyeing how the light reflected from his metallic "skin." ]

Ciqu: "...Sheriff."

Tunner: "Yeah?"

Ciqu: "...my feelings aren't real, are they?"

[Tunner's brows furrowed at that.]

Tunner: "What're ya talkin' about? They're as real as you."

Ciqu: "That's the problem, Sheriff. I'm not...real."

Tunner: "Yer here, aren't ya?"

Ciqu: "That is not what I mean. I'm...not a real person. My life, my memories, my desires...they're all pre-programmed."

[Ciqu looks down at his paws once more. They were one of the only parts of his body that felt and looked as real as a regular Sprunki, but even so, Ciqu could now see how synthetic they were.]

Ciqu: "...how much of me is me? Is there even a...me?"

Tunner: "..."

[Tunner was silent for a while. He drew closer, wrapping an arm around Ciqu's body.]

Tunner: "...well, if you weren't real...you wouldn't be questionin' it, would ya?"

Ciqu: "...what do you mean by that."

Tunner: "Er, well, there's this sayin'...I Think Therefore I Am, or somethin' along those lines."

Ciqu: "...oh."

Tunner: "...I'll be honest, Ciq. I've...never known this kinda dilemma before. But just know that...robot or not, yer always gonna be our Ciq. And I'll be here fer ya, no matter what."

[Tunner holds Ciqu's paws, squeezing them firmly. They felt soft to the touch, with a hint of solid material underneath.]

Ciqu: "...Tunner..."

Tunner: "...yeah?"

Ciqu: "...I'm scared, Tunner."

[Ciqu held Tunner back, his grip notably firmer. It hurt Tunner slightly, but he didn't say anything about it.]

Tunner: "I-I'll stay, Ciq. As long as ya need me to."

Ciqu: "...alright."