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evilgwrl · 3 months ago

Text

Ghost x Reader x König

Paris

Summary: You were bored at home so your roommates gave you a visit to the Eiffel Tower!

CW (MDNI): MxFxM threesome, PIV (no protection, cream pie), oral (M receiving), degradation mixed with a bit of praise, rough sex, face fucking, spanking, one facial slap, talk of anal, slight ass play, the boys r a bit perverted and don’t rlly see u as a person when they’re fucking u, reader doesn’t orgasm but it’s insinuated she will after ;) sorry

Word Count: 1433

Masterlist

You weren’t sure what prompted this situation. Maybe it was your constant whining and bitching about how boring your small town was and how you were destined for more. It wasn’t your fault, their lack of talking always led you to yap more, and more, and more and they had to shut you up somehow.

The room was filled with splutters and gargles as König held your head down on Simon’s girthy cock, his angry mushroom head tickling your tonsils as you choked, bile threatening to rise before you were pulled off for a second. Your nose was running, drooling almost as you gasped for air, tear-shed eyes staring up at your roommates as you coughed.

“Not so talkative now are you, Liebe? Just needed a mouth full of cock, ja?”

König’s words were degrading, yet you found your wanton mouth panting as you chased the taste of Simon’s precum again, the salty tang quenching your throat as you kitten licked the tip, a hiss-sounding from his throat as you were guided back down his length again.

You let out a pleasant hum as your mouth shallowly bobbed around his cock, two hands working the remainder of his length in gentle flicks of your wrists. “Good fucking slut, hm? Dirty cock whore loves being used by her roommates, isn’t that right?”

You nodded in agreement, gargling around his member as you took more of him down your throat, a hand coming up to gently squeeze at his heavy balls, a light fuzz of pubic hair littering them. A gentle hand stroked your cheek as Simon groaned, bucking his hips further into your mouth as König muttered gentle praises about how good you were.

“That’s it baby, so fucking good at this. Just like that – fuck.”

You felt a warmth of satisfaction in your chest as you hollowed your cheeks against the throbbing cock that buried itself in the warmth of your mouth, your tongue flat against the veiny shaft as you traced along every one of them, Ghost’s hips stuttering before he let out a guttural groan, the taste of his thick cum gorging down your throat.

König pulled you away hastily as the finishing spurts landed on your parted lips, tongue quickly darting out to lap at the residue as you panted. “You deserve a treat for doing so good, don’t you Maus?”

You practically whined in response, thighs rubbing together as heat radiated off of you. Your throat was dry as you squeaked out a ‘yes’, desperate hands resting on Simon’s meaty thighs as he pulled you up, the pair leading you to your bed as wanting hands groped at any flesh they could find. You were far past embarrassment as they stripped you off, König’s actions rough as he flipped you onto your stomach, holding your hips up to present your aching holes to them.

Simon sucked in a heavy breath, his cock straining against his hand as he wrapped a hand around it carelessly, giving it slight tugs. Messy digits pulled your cheeks further up, the site of your gooey entrance beckoning them as your asshole puckered, coos leaving their lips as König pressed a thumb against the tight crevice, laughing at how your body jolted in reaction to the unusual sensation.

“Another day, Taube. Need to feel that wet mouth tonight.” His voice was rough and presiding, calloused hands reaching out to his belt as Ghost’s hands gripped the flesh off your ass, a rough smack landing on it as he watched in satisfaction at the jiggle.

“Please,” you begged as you felt riotous digits rubbing at your slit, admiring the way your slick spilled from your twinging entrance. You were pulled back roughly, cotton burning your knees as you felt the familiar hardness you took in your mouth. Simon’s tip leaked precum once more as he spread the fluids in between your folds, nudging your sensitive bud as he barked out a laugh at your mewls.

“Desperate girl, aren’t you? Don’t know why it took us so long to do this.”

“Worth the wait, nein?”

Simon made a gruff noise as you buried your face into the sheet, a tight burn spreading across your body as you bit down on your blanket, a foreign stretch searing through you as you let out a pained whine. He laid a reassuring hand on the small of your back as he told you to relax, your legs spreading slightly as you let out shallow breaths.

“Fucking Jesus, she’s tight,” Simon barked, fingers spreading your cunt open as he sunk his cock in deeper, soft squelches sounding the room as he hissed in pleasure. You let out a wail as he bottomed out, your pussy stretched to the brim as you felt him nudge against your gummy cervix.

You let out a series of expletives as Ghost’s hands grabbed at your hips, gripping the flesh roughly, a series of bruises most likely to appear tomorrow. König’s hands reached out to lift your head, beady eyes welcomed by the site of an enraged cock, the tip a flushed purple, the impressive length supported by two handfuls of girth, sensitive veins visible as your mouth watered. Both were large, but as to be expected with the Austrian’s sheer size, he was bordering insanity and you clenched in both fear and arousal at him breaking in your tight ass like he suggested he would.

Ghost held your hips still as you attempted to rock against him, pussy aching in desperation as you huffed. “Patience,” he snapped, heavy hand sounding down on your ass, the crack sending vibrations through your body as you barked out a yelp.

“Horny thing,” König quipped as he gripped your mouth, holding it open before he leant down and spat in, strings of spit sliding down your throat as you wet your full lips, tongue darting out to lick at his sticky tip, flushed with his own arousal. The moan you sounded was pornographic as you felt Simon pull his aching cock out before thrusting it back into the hilt, the jiggle of your breasts sounding together as he kissed your sensitive spot.

Your mouth lapped around the Colonel’s cock, working the massive length into your throat slowly as you drowned it in your spit. You were a mess, your chin dribbled in slobber as you moaned and whined around König’s dick, horny hands gripping tightly at the shaft as he held your hair in a firm ponytail.

You looked up at him, doe-like eyes shedding with tears through wet lashes, a satisfied grunt leaving his lips as he guided you along his member, his thrusts matching with Simon’s as they worked you like a hooker, pounding both entrances with little respect, chasing their highs through desperate pounds.

“That’s it slut, taking us both at the same time.”

“Pathetic whore only shuts up when she’s stuffed with dick, schmutzig Mädchen,” König cooed perversely. Their thoughts were littered with perverted images of you, drowning you in their cum as they forced you to take them hour upon hour, bruising your holes and mounding their walls to the shape of their cocks.

You gargled around the giant man’s cock, every agonising thrust from Simon sending him further down your throat as you spluttered. “Jesus – gonna cum in this cunt, hm? Fucking breed your pussy? You would like that wouldn’t you?”

“F-Fuck – yes,” you begged, pulling away from König’s dick before he landed a harsh slap across your face, forcing you back down. You hummed around him happily, spit pooling at your chest, puckered nipples aching in the air as your tits bounced rhythmically.

Simon let out a satisfied laugh, his pace picking up as he slammed his hips against the flesh of your ass, heavy balls banging against your clit as you whined as well as you could. His pace faltered slightly, growing sloppier before he groaned once more, hot cum staining your walls as you choked, slowing your movements against König’s cock as he growled.

Rough hands gripped at the side of your head, holding it in place as he set a brutal force, shoving his member down your bruised throat as he growled before he pulled off from you, fists gripping his cock as he milked his length across your face, painting it with hot flashes of ejaculation. Your eyes closed as you collapsed, worn-out body shivering with pleasure as you felt the leak of Simon’s semen drooping from your abused cunt.

“We’ll let you rest for a moment, Liebling, but don’t forget we haven’t seen that pussy cum yet.”

Pic credits: @ave661

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messenger-of-babel · 1 month ago

Text

Reborn

Summary: Jason did what he swore he'd never curse upon anyone. It just so happened to be you he cursed in the process.

Word Count: 2.3K

Notes: Character death, greivous injury, language. I was actually so happy writing this one, I was thinking I was going to struggle with the prompt but it actually came to me with a lot less struggle than I was expecting. I'm a big Jason girlie so maybe this had a trace of self indulgence in there.

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"Hurry the fuck up!" Jason yells at Tim, hands pressed on the centre of your chest, blood trickling through his fingers. He hates the way the warm liquid seeps into the fabric of his gloves, sticky and wet.

"I'm trying the best I can," Tim grits back out, relaying something through their coms line while he runs to your side, dropping to his knees beside your body in the car wreckage. "Holy…" he breathes out, eyes flicking over your form in concern. Your eyes are hazy and your face is ashy, paling from the blood loss.

"Jason, I don't think we-" he says, picking up one of your limp hands in his own, looking to his adoptive brother with pity.

"Shut up and do it." Jason grits back.

He wasn't going to lose you. Not like this. Not before him, not because of him.

Drop you to work, that's all he was going to do. That's all he was going to do. It was late at night, and he had patrol anyways. You were going in for a trial shift that night at the security company, something that could land you an executive manager role and get you out of that shitty job waiting tables. Something that could get both of you into a better apartment, more independent, the start of your life together. When you first started dating he was more than happy to throw Bruce's money around, the billionaire had more than he needed anyways, he wasn't going to miss it. Yet you had begun refusing after the first month, saying you wanted to be independent, and he fell in love right there.

And is this where it got you?

No. That was still all him. He had picked you up in a simple car since he was staking out some gang causing issues around West End and needed to go on stakeout. No reinforced glass, no secret bat gadget hidden in the glove compartment, just some tinted windows. So, who even saw you getting into his car? Well, what was supposed to be just dropping you at work turned into a car chase while you held onto anything you could, screaming in terror. It wasn't often that Jason would be the one getting chased, and under any other circumstances he would have thrown the car into gear and flipped the tables on them.

But you were in the car.

So, he threw it into reverse and ran as fast as he could. It had all been for vain, a burst tire and shattered windshield sent the car spinning out to a side street, flipping as it hit the curb. The screech of metal was deafening to his ears, the crunch of glass ringing out around him as the world flipped one… two…three…times.

His lungs burnt as he struggled to escape from the seatbelt, head throbbing from the collision on the dash before he looked over to you. His heart stopped in his chest, unable to even respond to the calls of Red Robin over his com link, who he had contacted the moment a gun had been fired at the two of you. "Sweetheart?" his voice cracked slightly, unable to go louder over the ball of fear in his throat. You didn’t respond as he clambered from his seat, arms coming around your back to support you and drag you from the car. he hated the way the image of you, splayed over the glass covered dash, had burnt into the deepest part of his mind. He had dragged you to the shelter of the car, blood boiling in his veins.

Anyone who had come to follow up was laid across the floor in seconds, Jason standing in front of your body like a guard dog. He blocked as much of your features as he could, taking out each gang member that came to inspect the crash with frightening efficiency. By the time Red Robin had arrived on the scene, Jason was already cradling your body in the shadow of the car, desperately trying to stop the bleeding from the bullet wound in your sternum. The bullet wound that he might as well have put there himself.

This was his fault.

"This isn't your fault, Hood." Tim says, laying his other hand on Jason's shoulder, muscled tensed and ready to snap. "None of us could have predicted-"

"Shut up and help," he hissed, fighting to stop himself from crying behind his mask. He hadn't felt this terrified since he was a kid, back in that warehouse. He was stronger than that now. Strong enough that surely, he could help you.

Jason wasn’t oblivious to the pained and pitiful look cast his way. "Hood, they're already gone." he whispers softly, hands coming down to gently cover his still compressed on your chest. Jason shakes his head. "No." he chokes out. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no."

"Yes." Tim says firmly. "I've…I've got the car. I'll bring it round before the GCPD shows. We can handle this. We can take them back to the cave, clean them up like they deserve-"

"I said No." Jason snaps, blood rushing in his ears. He knew you were gone. He could tell from the way your blood went tacky on your chest, the stream trickling into a standstill. The way your face was devoid of colour, making you look shades lighter than he knew you were. Your hands were limp, head tilted. What was the worst was the way your eyes stared up into him, glassy and fogged, as if cracking open his soul.

Why did you kill me?

Why me?

Why didn't you save me?

He knew you wanted to live, god, he knew you loved life. Loved life with him, and he loved it back in return. If only you had been given the chance he once was. "Bring the car." he chokes out, eyes burning with a fierce determination.

"What are you planning?" Tim asks, hesitant as he sees the way Jason's body is coiled, ready to strike.

"We're going to save them." He says softly, hand squeezing your lax one tightly.

God, he just hoped you weren't going to hate him.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"So, you tracked us down to ask for our services?" Thalia scoffs, circling the two of them. "Didn't think I'd have two birds on our doorstep, didn't your mentor teach you better?" she says disdainfully, eyes raking over Tim and Jason. Jason just holds your body closer, wrapped in a white sheet and cradled in his arms. Tim shifts uncomfortably, making Thalia's eyes gleam when she detects the weakness. "Oh," she purrs, almost delighted, crowding into Tim’s space. "You're off the record."

"This doesn't involve Batman." Jason gruffly says. "This involves me. This is my request."

Thalia's eyes flick back to him, but Jason doesn't flinch. He'd dragged Tim along as an accomplice, going dark on the radar as he returned to the alps, the one place he had sworn to never return to. To do the one thing he had told himself he would never force on anyone.

But he couldn't lose you.

"So, you think you can just show back up and ask to use the pits?" She asks, eyes flicking to your form in his arms. "My, you really are as dumb as you are bold, aren't you?" She hums. Jason remains still, eyes focused on the hooded woman in front of him.

"I'll owe you a favour." he says, without a beat of hesitation.

Red Robin's eyes widen behind him, domino mask unable to hide his surprise. "Hood, are you kidding? you can't just-"

"Shut it." Jason hisses back. "This isn't your decision. This is mine, consequences included."

Tim backs down only slightly. "You know what Batman will say. We can't trust these people; they'll use that favour to burn down Gotham. Think."

Jason tries to, he really does. He tries to see the big picture, but all he can see is fragments of you and your life together that was smashed the second he put you in that passenger seat. "I am." he says softly.

He could walk away now and save Gotham for sure, or he could stay and save his world.

Thalia sidles up to him, lips pulled into a smirk, like a snake rearing its head. "I could do you a deal if that's the case." she says, eyes sparkling like emeralds. "But you have to make good on it. You of all should know how we handle broken promises in the League."

Jason considers it for a second, before steeling himself. There was no other option for him.

"You have a deal."

"I knew bringing you back would be worth it." she smiles, like a cat batting a mouse between its paws. She turns, gesturing for them to follow her with two fingers. "Come." she commands, beginning a clipping pace through the carved stone hideout. Jason follows wordlessly, and Tim soon does a moment after.

"How long have they been dead?" she calls, not even looking back.

"Less than a week." he replies almost immediately. Thalia smiles at that, dark and curious.

"Oh? Snappy, I see. Who exactly is under that blanket to make you run to this corner of the world so quickly?" she grins, stopping at the entrance of a deep set of stairs. She stalks closer, steps echoing and deliberate. With a quick motion she pulls back the sheet from your stiff corpse, eyes raking over your face.

"A lover?" she asks, eyebrows raised at the way Jason holds you closer instinctively.

"None of your business." he replies gruffly, making her roll her eyes.

"We should've taught you how to be subtle." she murmurs, beginning to descend the stairs. He follows into the darkness, shadows beginning to give way to a soft green glow, bouncing off the carved stone walls. Tim takes in the room they step in to at the bottom, a grand, ornate space, yet somehow still appearing crude. Death clings to the atmosphere, cold and uninviting.

"Hood, is this where-" he begins quietly, but Jason cuts him off.

"Yes." he says as he follows Thalia deeper, feet stopping by the edge of the glowing green pool. Panic swirls in his gut, making his senses set themselves on fire. His mind races as he tries to control his own fear, to stop the metallic taste from rising in his throat. Flashes of his own time in the pool pry themselves into the forefront of his memory, making his fists clench in your sheet. He pushes them all down, taking a deep and shaky breath.

This was for you.

"Don't forget, you owe me." Thalia warns, gaze haughty as he kneels by the pool, unwrapping you from your blanket. His heart wrenches seeing your stiff body, eyes still open as if to judge him. When he's untangled the sheet from you, he slowly begins to slip your body into the water, Tim running his hands through his hair in worry behind him.

"Jesus…" Tim breathes, anxiety radiating off him as he watches your body submerge under the green glow of the Lazarus Pit. Jason doesn't move from his kneeling position, Thalia beside him as he scans the water for a sign of life, a sign of movement. A sign of you. After a few tense moments, it happens. A hand breaks through the surface, making Tim jump. Your fingers are clawed in pain, but he chooses to focus on the way your colour returns to the digits. You appear from the pit like you're drowning, eyes rolled into the back of your head as you breach the water. Your mouth is open in a wide gasp, screaming in unmeasurable pain. His heart tears itself in two and his stomach is in knots hearing you make that kind of noise, writhing and clawing at your face.

Thalia watches you scream and double over in the pit, making a mocking pout as madness clouds your eyes. "Aww, how cute. You're just like each other, a match made in hell."

"Shit…" Tim exhales, pacing back and forwards behind him. "Batman isn't going to like this. This isn't right, this isn't right…" he mutters, panic written all over him. Jason drowns both of them out, extending his hand softly towards you, leaning precariously over the waters to gently grip your wrist and guide you his way. He could fix you. he could fix this. He could make it all better.

He guides you until you're in front of him, the familiar burning smell of the Lazarus pit stinging his nose, a smell he struggled to describe yet it haunted him on random nights. His eyes soften under the mask as he sees the panic in your eyes, the shock of coming back paired with the madness fighting to grip your mind. The sound of your cries and screams echoed around the room, a sound so full of pain and fear that he couldn't help but flinch.

He could teach you, the way he was taught. He could help you get your feet back the soft way, a way he wished he could have been offered. He'd do everything in his power to make your second chance as painless as possible. He'd nurse your mind back if that's what it needed, calm the rages late at night if you had them. He'd take you in any form you came to him, growing pains and all. He'd teach you how to live again.

He only hoped that you wouldn't hate him forever for bringing you back.

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narcoticv3nus · 1 month ago

Text

Be Good to Me ❤︎ Arthur Morgan

Kinktober Day I: Edging

summary: reader gives arthur a hand tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, hand job, praise, a bit of degradation, edging (duh), fluff, dom!reader, sub!arthur, cursing, use of pet names ("sweetheart", "good boy", "honey", “darling”), author attempts at accents wc: 1.5k

MASTERLIST

It wasn’t every day you found yourself in this position, straddling your cowboy, his eyes glazed over and pleading as he gazed up at you like you were his goddess and he was your devotee. The top buttons of his shirt were left open, offering a teasing view of his broad, hairy chest while a sinful symphony of sweet temptation spilled from his lips. His large hands cradled your hips, and now and then, his soft caresses turned into almost painful clutches as he neared his release before you took it away.

“Please… sweetheart…” he panted desperately, his eyes squeezed shut as his hips chased your hand.

“Hm? Please, what?” You tilted your head to the side with a self-pleased smirk tugging at the edges of your lips.

“You know–” his warning growl cut off as you squeezed the base of his cock coated in endless amounts of precum that continued to leak from his tip.

“What is it?” You cooed with feigned sympathy, struggling to suppress the urge to display even a hint of mercy.

His long, dark eyelashes fluttered as his beautiful, clear blue eyes slowly reopened, appearing bleary and glistening with moisture. His slightly chapped, pink lips puckered, giving away his thoughts. As his arm encircled your waist, his fingers tightened their hold, sending a thrill down your spine. You noticed his jaw clenching, his subtle muscle flexing, and the intensity in his eyes.

“Just let me take care of you.” You purred, continuing the rapid movements of your hand before he could flip you over and have his way with you. Like you know he wants.

“You work so hard; let me do this for you,” you said, leaning forward and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. As his lips met yours, the soft, velvety timbre of your voice and the tender touch of your lips against his seemed to satiate him, if only for a moment.

You moan into his mouth, tongues intertwining as his large, warm hand reaches up to cup your breast, squeezing affectionately as his chest arches into yours.

“Darlin’…” he groaned, tipping his head back, exposing his neck in submission, moaning as your lips descended, sweet and soft kisses turned into teasing nibbles to wet sucks and licks.

“Jus’ like that,” he whined, thighs spreading wider as his cock twitched uncontrollably, tip an angry purple as his hips constantly lifted and retreated from your torturous pleasure-inducing movements.

“Feels good, honey?” you teased, twisting your fist as you went upwards, soft fingers tracing the outlines of his veins running up-and-down his cock.

"Ahh fuck!" The words flew out of Arthur's mouth involuntarily as you twisted your hand in just the right way, sending a jolt of exquisite torment straight through his body. He arched his back off the bed, hands balling into fists at his sides as he struggled to maintain control. He could see the amusement dancing in your eyes as you watched his reaction, enjoying your power over him.

With a low growl, he replied, "Yeah, it feels good." He bit his bottom lip, trying to contain himself, but the sensation was almost too much. He could feel the pressure building inside him like a wildfire waiting to erupt. His eyes locked onto yours, silently begging you to release him from this sweet torture.

“Fuck… yes,” Arthur’s voice strained as he called out, his chest rising and falling at a rapid rate as he tried to regulate his breathing. His hands found their way to your hair, fingers tangling in the silky strands as you continued your delicious ministrations. He groaned your name, the sound deep and guttural.

Arthur’s mind spiraled into a whirlwind of pleasure and agony as he fought against the impending climax. His thighs tensed, and his body quivered beneath yours. He knew you could sense his desperation, the way his breath caught in his throat each time your hand moved, and how his cock pulsed in your grasp.

The combination of pain and pleasure made him feel vulnerable, exposed, and yet oddly safe with you. He craved this intimacy, the connection between you two that went beyond mere physical release. It was as if you were peeling back the layers of his hardened exterior, reaching the raw emotions buried deep within him. He didn’t understand it but couldn’t deny its pull on him.

“Are you going to make me beg for it, darlin’?” He asked through clenched teeth, his voice a rough whisper as he challenged you to push him further.

“You might as well start,” you giggled, your breath warm and airy as you leaned close to his ear, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you enjoyed seeing him squirm beneath you.

Arthur’s jaw tightened as your breath tickled his ear, your giggle sending another wave of pleasure coursing through him. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, trying to steady himself before opening them again to meet your gaze.

Goddamnit, woman, you know how to play me like a fiddle, he thought, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as he felt himself losing control. He let out another deep groan, voice strained but filled with determination, the sound of your name reaching your ears, causing your thighs to tighten around him, “I need… ” He couldn’t bring himself to beg, but the words hung between you nonetheless. His hips bucked involuntarily, seeking relief that only you could provide. The intensity in his eyes deepened as he stared at you, silently pleading for you to end his suffering.

“Please,” he finally managed to say, the word torn from his lips as he swallowed hard. His hand moved from your hair to your cheek, gently guiding your face towards his for another passionate kiss. His thumb brushed across your bottom lip, urging it open as his tongue swept inside, mimicking the motion he wished you’d use on him again.

“Please, what?” Your words were soft as you murmured against his lips, but your gaze was hard and unyielding.

Pausing mid-kiss, Arthur studied your expression, seeing the playful challenge in your eyes. A corner of his mouth twitched upwards despite the torment you put him through. With a deep breath, Arthur swallowed his pride and let out a low moan. “Please…let me cum,” he finally uttered, the words sounding foreign yet oddly liberating on his tongue. He knew how much power he was relinquishing by voicing his need, but something about you made him want to give you that control.

There was something inexplicable about how you seemed to see past his flaws and still chose to stand by his side. It was as if you had formed an unspoken bond, drawing him in with an irresistible force. His longing for your touch and validation was akin to the desperate yearning of a person stranded in the arid expanse of a desert, utterly parched and in need of sustenance.

“Good boy.” you smiled, your leisure and methodical movements suddenly picking up in speed. The slick sounds of your hand jerking him off echoed loudly throughout the room.

“Go ahead…” you moaned, subtly grinding yourself over his thigh. “Cum for me.”

Relief flooded Arthur's system at your words, and the pressure within him began building rapidly. Finally, he thought triumphantly, his hips instinctively bucking upwards to meet your increased pace. The world around him narrowed down to nothing but you, your touch, and the exquisite torture you inflicted upon him. Every stroke sent bolts of white-hot pleasure coursing through his veins, and he could feel himself teetering on the edge of release.

Arthur’s grip on your shoulder tightened as his muscles tensed, and with one final, powerful thrust against your hand, he exploded. A guttural groan ripped through the air as his entire body shook with the force of his orgasm, every muscle contracting before gradually relaxing.

His head fell against the pillow as he struggled to catch his breath, eyes closed, and a satisfied smile played across his lips. Once he regained control, he opened them to look at you, the intense desire replaced with a gentler, warmer gaze.

"Thank you," he rasped, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I needed that more than I care to admit."

As your hand slowed to a stop, Arthur let out a deep breath, feeling both spent and alive simultaneously. He couldn't remember the last time someone had such an intense hold over him, and the realization sent a strange mix of emotions coursing through him. He watched you with heavy-lidded eyes, his chest still heaving from the exertion. The room was quiet save for the crackling fire and your labored breathing, creating an intimate atmosphere that made him feel vulnerable.

Reaching up, Arthur gently pulled you towards him, wrapping his arms around your waist as he reversed your positions, his hands resting beside your head as he wolfishly grinned from on top of you. The weight of Arthur's body pressing against yours sent another pleasant shiver down your spine, his muscles still warm and taut from your shared experience. His intense blue-green eyes searched yours, a softness there that was rare to see. Despite the chaos that often consumed him, Arthur found solace in your arms, something he hadn't expected to see in this wild, unforgiving world.

“Now, darlin," he drawled, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards, "I believe it's my turn now."

main masterlist, rules

#tw:nsfw #tw:dom!reader #tw:sub!arthur #tw: degradation #arthur morgan #AHHH I made it just in time #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan smut #kinktober 2024 #rdr2 arthur #kinktober #2024 kinktober #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #rdr2 smut #venus.rdr2 #venus.arthur morgan

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rboooks · 1 year ago

Note

Can you write a dead on main? Something with a bookstore au please!

Now that I know the ship names, you bet I can! I'll try my best to get through the ones I got requested in the past few days.

Jason liked bookstores.

They were a safe haven for him as a child, even when the fancier ones chased him off when he became a street kid. He adores the various series, the smell of books, and the quiet of stores. Often he thought that they were a small pocket to escape reality.

He had always known he could escape between the pages when everything had been terrible.

Maybe that's what lead him to this store even if it was a bit odd.

It was out of the way by the old docks that Joker used to run, thus making it condemned to the rest of the populace.

An old warehouse turned into a three-story bookstore. The entire first floor was aisles placed in side-way lines with the main counter as its center. The second floor had cozy reading nocks, plush futon couches, pillows, and blankets, complete with a small cafe. The rule was that anyone could take a book off the second-floor walls to read for free.

Employees asked to be informed if any food or damage was done to the second floor since the second book only had one copy of each. The owner would pull one off the bottom floor shelves to replace it.

The final floor had various reading rooms, but Jason loved that each room was based on a book. The room was professionally decorated to the point it left visitors feeling like they actually stepped into the world of the book.

Sculptures, playable settings, phenomenal little details the hard die fans could spot, and even sound systems playing sounds that sounded like the world. Jason could only compare it to Disney World or universal studios. The fact that people could rent the rooms for an hour for only fifteen dollars made them much more popular.

The third-floor rooms- ten in total- would rotate between series after a few months. Hence, the rooms were always different, but inside them were recommended books with the same kind of theme that was always the perfect recommendation, or maybe people just wanted to explore a room of their favorites.

Jason had visited the strange little bookstore with Tim after his brother had gone on a date with Bernard there.

Tim and Barnard had rented the "Hogwarts common rooms" room for three hours. Jason had been amazed by how real the four standard rooms looked, how there were even dragons spitting fire in one corner, moving portraits, a sorting hat ceremony, a small teddy bear decorating corner, and even a wand building second. All for only fifteen dollars. Tim had practically been glowing when he came home with his Ravenclaw bear and his own wand.

And maybe Jason is a huge Harry Potter fan; perhaps it was one of the first things he boned with Tim over, so maybe his brother had taken him to have an experience that he compared to the first time Bruce took him to Universal Studios.

Then he ran into the owner while one of the employees had been helping him pick runes to have burned into his wand.

Jason started to come back for an entirely different reason.

"Hi, Jason!" Elle says when she sees him climbing the stairs toward the third floor. She's the store's co-owner and has gotten to know him on a first-name basis due to how often Jason has visited the store in the past year. If they made a reward points system, Jason knows he be the highest one on the chart.

She's sitting at a table that is decorated like a galaxy. The books for these quarters' room themes are on the table's surface, all with a door key under them and a clipboard for the various hours.

Jason's eyes land on Pride and Prejudice, and his heart leaps.

"Hi, Elle. What's the wait time for door seven?"

She smiles, flipping the clipboard to the time slots. "The Ball at Netherfield Park has a lot of openings today. I got a three, four, six, or seven. When shall I fit thee dance card in milord?"

Jason laughs and checks his phone, ensuring he doesn't need to do anything for a while before saying. "Three will be fine. It's only thirty minutes. I'll go get a coffee while I wait."

She nods, writing his name down for three. She then passes him some disclosure forms he has to sign, forgoes the long-winded explanation of the rules, and sends him on his way, promising to send him a reminder text.

"Just so you know, Ball at Netherfield Park comes with a unique costume option. Five extra dollars to go through our costume section, and you can dress up like Mr. Darcy for a full hour."

Jason shakes his head though it's a very tempting offer. "Thanks, Elle but I'm okay with my street clothes today."

The other shrugs and checks her nails- their asexual theme today, he notes- before nonchalantly commenting. "Too bad. Danny really wanted someone to cosplay with him. Jane Austin's books are less prevalent in Gotham than we thought, and he's been dying to wear his Mr. Bingley outfit. I thought you like to, so I told him to come over when you arrive, but I can text him to cancel-"

"Five dollars, you said? For the full outfit or just like a coat?" Jason ignores her smug expression and quickly places a twenty on the table.

"Full outfit. What do you take us for?"

He glares at her just as the man of the hour himself runs up the stairs. Danny Fenton, founder, and co-owner of Ghost Zone Reads. He's in a light blue Regency period man coat that makes his eyes pop. A pair of white pants that hug his hips and thighs in all the right places, black knee boots, and a black gentle top hat.

Jason's knees go weak at the sight of him.

Danny's face is flush from the run, but his whole face lights up when he sees his sister and her guest. "Jason! I'm so glad you choose the Ball at Netherfield Park experience. I can't wait for our dance."

"Dance?" Jason chocks. Elle chuckles.

"You can't experience a Ball at Netherfield without the ball part dingus." She waves a hand at her brother. "Told him Dick canceled on you, so he offered to step in."

Jason never even mentions Dick to her but he's not about to call her out on her lie. She's doing him such a big favor.

"I always wanted to go to a Jane Austin ball!" He says instead, mentally wincing at how lame he sounds. Thankfully Danny's eyes only light up even more as the other man starts explaining the instructional videos installed in the ballroom mirrors so they can learn the real moves of Contra Dancing.

Jason falls just a tad bit more.

(Elle watches with a fond smile as Jason and Danny get lost in Austin's most significant works. She quickly texts her allies in Wayne Manor under the table. This is a big step in the "Make us in-laws" operation; the Fenton and Wayne children started a few months back. They were all tired of watching Danny and Jason dance around each other. Damian's idea to use Jason's favorite author was working fabulously.)

#dc x dp crossover #Ghost Zone Reads #Dead on main #request #jane austin the way to Jason's heart #Danny and Dani run a bookstore based off the idea of Ghost Zone's magic doors #It's a huge success #(Yes Danny kills the joker off screen when the man tries to take his store)

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cod-fishing · 10 months ago

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When the 141 finally gets some leave, or even just a few days at one base, Ghost can sometimes go a little…overboard…during sex.

He just so rarely gets the chance to truly be alone with Soap. So often it’s quick kisses exchanged before they drop into a mission, good luck wishes from his lover pressed against the seam of his mask, or spit-lubed jerk off sessions while waiting in a shitty bunker for exfil. It’s not even that Ghost dislikes their messy, incredibly unprofessionally little tristes - quite the opposite. But Soap’s tongue on his balls while he stays in perfect sniper position doesn’t exactly inspire relaxation.

And so when he can relax - truly relax, with miles between him and the enemy, a secure enough lock to take his mask off, and access to real lube - he sometimes looses control.

It always starts with Soap below him.

And isn’t that alone just ecstasy. Johnny MacTavish, all his. Splayed out underneath him, strung out on pleasure and sweat and spit, moaning like he’s being payed for it. Soap’s voice, god, he’s always had a mouth on him, and when they’ve got the luxury of a door he doesn’t hold back. Ghost drinks it up, lapping his gasps and hitched breath out of the air, licking them from between his lips. He keeps his hands busy, running across sensitive ribs and over nipples, or notched up to the joint in Soap’s delicious little hole.

And Ghost has so much patience. So god damn much, he doesn’t even know where it comes from, some endless well in his soul that only Johnny can tap. He keeps him like that for what feels like days, floating in a little pool of pleasure.

Until he just snaps.

Fingers are ripped free of his lover, murmurs of praise traded for wordless growls. Suddenly, Soap is gasping for a new reason as Ghost flips him over, pulling his ass up and planting a crushing hand on his spine to keep him in place. He barely had the forethought to slick his cock before he’s forcing his way into Johnny’s slick, gummy heat. Arms come up around his chest to hold him in place, teeth sink into his vulnerable neck, and he sets about thoroughly ruining Johnny on his cock.

It’s not that he means to be so harsh to his lover. Despite his reputation, he never wants to harm Johnny, could never imagine it. But in these moments…it’s like his patience implodes and he just needs him.

All of him. Needs to be in him, surrounded by him, needs Johnny in every cell. It's an itch under his skin, a thrum of incesant desire, a fucking addiction.

When he feels Johnny clench around his cock, he can't even hear him anymore. All he can do is chase it, mixing their bodies and soul, licking Soap into his mouth, crushing him to his chest. It doesn't take long until finally, finally he releases into his lover, and whatever insanity that takes him is broken.

As he drifts back into the present, Johnny panting against his chest, he's always terrified. Terrified that he has hurt his Johnny, his sunshine. Short of breath himself, he runs his hands over him, grimacing at scratches and softly blooming bruises, but every time, Johnny just catches his hand.

Shut that brain off, Johnny slurs, half-way to sleep already. I loved it, I always do. Now turn the light off.

And Ghost is brought right back out of his over-active thoughts. He has plenty of time to worry about Soap being hurt. He doens't need to do it now, in the little haven of their love.

#this was inspired by a bluegiragi post on patreon...i just love passionate ghost and soap who is ready to take it in #cod mwii #soapghost #ghostsoap #cod mw2 #ghoap #simon ghost riley #tf141 #john soap mactavish #codmw2 #mywriting #cod mw3 #cod mwiii

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knavves · 1 year ago

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˖ ࣪ ꒷ KNOW SHE'S SUCH A PRIMA DONNA ꒦

synopsis : you hate kaiser's guts but he loves to rearrange yours.

wc: 1.1k ノ cw + tw: nsfw (18+). fem reader. kaiser is rlly mean and kinda possessive. hate fucking. cursing. slapping. spit kink. degrading. choking. unprotected sex. use of petnames.

"why don't you tell me how good i'm making you feel?" the figure looming over you from behind rasps, a shiver crawling up your spine feeling his warm breath tickle your shoulder. it feels good, so so good. he knows all the right places to touch you, he knows what makes you moan, what makes you come undone.

and you hate that. you hate michael kaiser.

it irks you. he's the one making you see stars. you're suddenly aware that the man who you swear up and down you despise is the one buried balls deep inside you right now, fucking you with the mutual feeling of hate.

you sink your face further into the sheets, drowning out the irritating thoughts. you turn your head to make sure he hears every syllable laced with venom, "shut the fuck up." to tell him how good you feel would only feed into his ego that's already many sizes too big, you'd rather die than fuel it any further. you gasp when he lands a sharp slap onto the flesh of your ass, a warning. a reminder that he's the one in charge.

his slender fingers take hold of your throat, a suffocating grip restricting your air ways. he yanks you from the pillows where you were attempting to tune out your moans, to take that satisfaction away from him. his thrusts, cruel and merely chasing his own pleasure, don't relent as he speaks directly into your ear, "keep running your mouth, slut. don't you want to cum? i'll fucking leave you here." you whimper, a pathetic one that you quickly regret letting out especially when you can practically feel the smug smirk gracing his face.

"open." he commands, hands leaving your neck to grip your jaw. you do, for once not wanting to push him any further. he lets spit pool in his mouth before pursing his lips, allowing a fat glob to land on your tongue that's lolled out just for him. "swallow it."

your eyes widen and you don't know why but you listen, obediently swallowing what he gave you. your head dips and hangs low in shame at the way you're clenching around his dick. "oh? you like that, when i treat you like a good for nothing whore?" fuck everything he says irritated you as much as it aroused you. you grimace and shake your head. no, you're not a whore, especially not for the likes of him.

you whine, feeling him slip from the confinements of your walls. but not for long as he flips you onto your back, shoving all of his length back into your dripping pussy in one go. slap. dead smack across your face, not too hard but definitely enough to leave a sting. your eyes water and you stare up at him baffled, with uncontrollable tears starting to gloss over your eyes. what was he so-

"don't fucking lie to me. i can feel the way you're squeezing around me. you're soaked and it's all for me, sweetheart." so arrogant but you're still dripping, tightening even harder around his girth that's stilled inside you at his words. your body betrays you but you still deny it, "whatever. i could have anyone i wanted."

"that's why you always come back to me, right?" your face screws together, who did he think he was? is what you planned on telling him but the words are ripped from your throat almost as quickly as they formed in your head, replaced with a guttural moan. he grinds his hips into yours, pressing his cock into your sweet spot. your glare softens as your mouth hangs open, whining right there and yes, completely forgetting about what you'd said earlier.

"i'm the only one who gets to fuck you like this." he spits, thinking about you with another person agitates him. no matter if you aren't even technically dating, you belong to him. yeah you piss him off just as much as he does to you but he can't lie, he'll always crawl back to you.

he situates one of your legs around his waist, angling himself to reach deeper inside you. you sling your arms around his neck, raking your nails into his back. he groans at the slight pain that comes with the angry red marks dancing across his skin. and you hope it hurts, fighting back for some dignity because right now, he has you shamelessly bucking your hips to meet his thrusts halfway.

"feels good, yeah?" he mutters, hands digging bruises into the skin of your hips. you're close, you can feel your orgasm sneaking up on you. you have to bite your tongue. you want to swear at him, maybe even strangle him. he'll leave you high and dry and you know it, he's done it before after all.

"fuck off... y-you know it does, asshole." he settles with the fact it's the nicest you can be so he lets it slide, only humming in reply. your eyes sharpen, trying your best to show how much you hated him in them rather than vocalize it. "keep glaring at me like that, i'll cum." "y-you're disgusting." but you're not any better letting the man you loathe, michael kaiser, drill in and out of your cunt, greedily sucking him in for more.

you're breathless, each drag of his cock is followed by another sharp snap of his hips, efficiently knocking the air right from your lungs. that coil in your stomach is getting ready to snap, he knows it too. he takes one of his hands from your waist to use the pad of his thumb to smear your slick all over your messy clit. you're thrashing against the sheets, hands wandering your body, you were losing your mind. tweaking at your own hardened nipples and tightening your hand at the base of your neck, wishing, no pleading for him to replace his hand with yours.

he complies, groaning at the sight of your eyes rolling back into your skull at the way he squeezes your throat as the coil in your belly snaps with a gargled cry. he doesn't stop even with the white ring forming around him, the wet noises of his cock slamming in and out of your drooling pussy and the sounds of your skin colliding with one another fill your ears and do laps in your mind. you beg for him to slow down and spew a few curses at him, you were so sensitive and all he was doing pounding himself into your overstimulated cunt.

he swears under his breath, pulling away from you to jerk himself off, needily dragging his hand up and down his aching length before cumming all over your clit.

your body jumps in surprise when he slaps his tip onto your bud, smearing your arousal and his cum all over it. "fuck you, michael. m still sensitive-"

"i think you deserve a punishment for all that shit you were talking earlier. hm? sweetheart?"

#🔖: knavves #bllk smut #blue lock smut #blue lock x reader smut #bllk x reader smut #kaiser smut #kaiser x reader smut #michael kaiser x reader smut #michael kaiser smut #kaiser michael smut

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anonymous-dentist · 8 months ago

Text

Or: Soulmates share their dreams every night and can communicate in them, but it's Spiderbit

For day three of @smallchaoscryptid's Spiderbit Week - Soulmates

Dream One: How to Train Your Dragon

He blinks awake and finds himself far from the battlefield. His clothes are dry and not muddy, his skin is clean, his teeth feel dull in his mouth.

He's in a strange room: fireplace, stiff bed beneath him(but, really, any kind of bed is better than what he's had since the War started.) The smell of cooked fish.

He grimaces. He likes cooked flesh better, thanks.

This is a dream. He knows it's a dream, so he doesn't hesitate in hopping out of bed and stretching. There isn't a burn in his muscles, and the dull ache of his growing bones is finally gone. Heck yeah.

It's peaceful, in a way. Weird, but peaceful. Really disconcerting, but peaceful.

And then a monster screeches outside loud enough to shake the windowpanes.

He instinctively reaches for his sword, realizes that, right, dream. Of course he wouldn't have his sword in his dreams, that would be stupid.

He runs outside, anyway, because duh. If there's a monster, he wants to see it!

He sees the dragon first: large and yellow and missing one of its legs. It growls at him with a weird dragony smile, and he smiles back.

He sees the child second: short with messy hair and freckles. He gasps when he sees him and runs at him with a gap-toothed smile.

"Hi!" he chirps. He's speaking Portuguese, but that isn't what his mouth is saying. Dream stuff, huh, must be translating everything.

Neat.

"You're my soulmate, right?" the boy asks. He looks him over appraisingly. "You aren't that much older than me."

He scoffs, crosses his arms. "I'm literally so much older than you."

"Yeah? Well, how old are you, then?"

He blinks, throat dry. "I'm-" (He can't remember. But Bad always says that he looks to be about 13, so...) "-13. So I'm way older than you."

The boy puffs his chest out annoyedly. "Only by a few years. Screw you!"

The dragon flies off, bored. He would care more if there wasn't an annoying little kid in front of him pissing him off.

He takes an angry step forward, arms falling to his sides and hands balling into fists. He might not have his sword, but he can still beat up a kid easy.

"Screw you!" he shouts. "Get out of my dream! I wanna go hang out with the dragons."

"It's our dream, idiot," the kid huffs. "We're soulmates, duh. My grandpa says that everyone shares dreams with their soulmates, so we're obviously soulmates."

"What the fuck is a soulmate?"

The kid gasps, all anger pouring out of his tiny little body. "You don't know what a soulmate is?"

He doesn't know what his own name is, but he isn't exactly gonna tell some kid that.

He turns to leave and go find the dragon, but he's stopped by both of the kid's tiny hands grabbing his sleeve and pulling at him until he stays.

He turns to look at the kid, and the kid smiles and explains.

"Soulmates are, well, soulmates, okay? They're like super best friends, that's what my grandpa says. His soulmate is dead, but they still hang out in his dreams because that's where your soulmate lives until you find them. And after you find them, too, I think, but I dunno. He says he never met his soulmate before they died, but I think he's lying 'cause he's really silly sometimes."

"Okay, but. Us? You and me? You're a kid."

"You're a kid, too, you know."

"Nuh-uh. I'm a soldier."

"A kid soldier. But, anyway, we're soulmates! When we meet in the real world, we're gonna be best friends, I can tell!"

"Yeah? Well, don't be too sure. I don't do friends."

"Wow, you're emo."

"What the fuck did you just say to me?!"

Dream Thirty-Two: Cyberpunk

He laughs as he chases the kid through the slimy, neon-ridden back alleys of the city. He's on a motorcycle, because of course he is, but the kid is on foot.

"Just give up already!" he shouts.

The kid flips him off over his shoulder, grinning widely. He keeps tripping over his own shoelaces, because he's running like an idiot, but he's somehow still faster than the motorcycle.

He doesn't know the kid's name because the kid decided it wouldn't be fair to have a name when he doesn't know his own. Sweet kid. Shame he's annoying.

"Fuck you!" the kid replies. He then proceeds to trip over the cuff of his pants and fall right onto his face in a muddy puddle.

He cackles triumphantly and slows the bike to a stop. He hops off it and goes to poke at the kid until he gives up, but... but he's crying. Quietly, he's crying quietly, but his shoulders are shaking, and, oh, right, he's a child. He's the younger one.

His face falls. He kneels next to the kid and helps him sit up with a frown.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

The kid's lip wobbles, and his eyes shine, but he nods. "It's just a dream. It doesn't really hurt."

He isn't convinced, but, well. It is a dream. Nothing matters in a dream, right?

"Okay," he hesitantly says. "Come on, let's go play laser tag or something."

The kid's eyes light up. "Cool! I'm gonna kick your ass!"

"Oh, really?" he challenges. "You're on!"

And they run off, motorcycle forgotten.

"How did you beat me!?"

"I'm just a God Gamer, dude. Get on my level."

"You are so annoying."

Dream Seven Hundred and Fifty-Two: High School

"I think I'm going to give myself a name," he announces.

The kid's eyes widen. "Really? Took you long enough."

He rolls his eyes, but the kid isn't wrong. They've been meeting in their dreams for, what, two years? And they still don't have anything to call each other but "idiot" and "you" and "asshole".

But, well, it's about time, he thinks. The War is ending soon, he thinks. Bad says so, at least, and he's pretty good with knowing when things end.

With the War ending, he's going to have to go out into the "real world"... if he doesn't manage to follow Bad where he goes next. But where's the fun in that?

He shrugs. "I need a name. If I don't have one, I can't join the army."

"Why do you wanna join the army?"

"So I can keep killing people, duh. How else am I supposed to get food?"

"Uh, the store?"

"What's that?"

The kid rolls his eyes and pushes his shoulder. "You're literally stupid, what the heck?"

They're in some kind of food line, he thinks. They shuffle forward as the faceless teenagers in front of them get their trays and continue through the line.

He picks up his own tray and wrinkles his nose at the food he sincerely hopes isn't about to be placed on it. Where's the meat?

"What kind of name do you want?" the kid asks.

He's hit some kind of growth spurt, because he's finally up to his shoulder. Still short, though. Loser.

"Dunno," he responds. "I'll think of something later, probably."

"What about... Peter?"

"No."

"Miles."

"No."

"Miguel."

"No."

"Ben."

"No."

"You suck!"

Dream One Thousand and Ninety-Five: Mermaids

"Call me Cell," he says.

The kid- not quite a kid anymore, much closer to Cell's age when the soulmate dreams started- cocks his head curiously.

"Like, as in a cell phone?" he asks.

Cell grins as shark-like as the tail he's currently sporting.

"Exactly," he says.

The kid's eyes narrow. "Or, like in a prison cell. Did you kill someone again?"

"...Maybe, but-"

"Oh my God, how are we supposed to meet each other if you're in jail!"

The kid swims around in a frustrated circle around Cell, who just watches him, placid. Calm. Totally cool, definitely not at all sheepish over pissing his soulmate off.

That would be ridiculous.

Cell doesn't get sheepish, and he definitely doesn't feel regret. Not over some kid.

...Some kid who's his soulmate. They're best friends already, though, so he should be fine with Cell being stuck in prison for a bit.

Cell rolls his eyes and reaches out and grabs the kid and stops him from swimming. He looks him in the eyes, and he smiles, softer than intended. (He's Cell! He isn't soft. He's a killer!)

"Calm down," he drawls. "I'll be out of here before you know it."

"Really?" the kid asks. "Is your sentence that short?"

"Nah, I'm gonna break out."

He lets the kid go and starts swimming off in a random direction, not waiting for the kid to follow. (He does.)

"Must be a shitty prison, then," the kid comments.

"Trust me, I'll be out soon, and then I can try getting up to Mexico again to see you."

"Then I can teach you how to drive."

Cell flicks his tail at him annoyedly. "Shut up, I can already drive."

"No way."

"Yes way!"

They continue bickering and chasing each other through the coral until Cell feels consciousness tickling at him.

"Hey," he asks, "I told you my name. You tell me yours."

The kid smiles, and he does.

"My name is Roier."

"And my name is Cell."

"You already told me that, idiot."

"Oh, yeah."

Dream One Thousand, Eight Hundred, and Twenty-Seven: 1920s Mafia

Even in his dreams, he's dying. He's in a pool of his own blood with a couple dozen bullets plugged into his chest, but it doesn't hurt quite as much as the goddamn betrayal burning his skin from the inside out.

If he dies in the dream, he wakes up. Cell knows this, so he's more than a little annoyed about the whole dying thing. At least in his dreams, dying doesn't hurt.

The cops that killed him have already long gone. They may not have had faces, but Cell knows precisely who they looked like. All four of them were traitors, all four of them!

"Bastards," he spits. He groans as the movement of his tongue alone sets off flares of imaginary pain (because he can't feel pain in dreams, but he sure can imagine what it feels like) all throughout his body.

In the real world, he's starving to death in a cave. In the dream world, he's choking on his own blood.

Great.

His eyes slip closed, and he waits to wake up.

He doesn't react as a pair of heels click towards him.

"Cell?" Roier asks, but his voice is just the slightest bit off. But, then again, he is a teenager now. His voice is going to be doing all sorts of weird shit. "Oh my God, Cell! What the- hold on!"

Cell gasps as he's rolled onto his back. His eyes flutter open, and he sees... a girl? A girl in a really bad wig. With even worse makeup.

"Roier?" he mumbles. "What are you wearing?"

Roier looks down at himself- red sparkly dress and all- and blushes slightly. "I'm... trying something out. But what happened? You showed up in the dream and you ran off and I heard gunshots and you're so stupid, what the fuck?!"

He grits his teeth and smacks Cell lightly on the shoulder. But that's still enough to wrack Cell's body with pain.

"I'm sorry," he wheezes, eyes squinting closed once more. "I'm dying."

"It's a dream, Cell. I'm just pissed you're leaving this early. You just got here!"

"No, Roier. I'm dying. In the real world."

Roier goes quiet.

Cell swallows the blood in his throat and continues, "Pac and Mike and... and Guaxinim. They betrayed me. Left me on an island. I'm dying."

"You can't be," Roier faintly says. "We haven't met yet."

"Didn't your grandfather say he sees his soulmate in his dreams? We'll be fine."

"My grandpa is also senile. Cell, I- you're so stupid."

Something wet falls onto Cell's cheek, but it isn't rain. It never rains in dreams. It's always sunny.

Fuck. He made Roier cry. Maybe is a monster after all, and not in the good way.

The dream world starts dissolving, starting with Cell's fingertips. It... tingles.

Why can't real death be as soft?

"You better live, or... or I'll never talk to you again!"

"I... I'll try. Roier, I'll try."

Dream Two Thousand, Five Hundred, and Fifty-Five: My Little Pony

Tonight, he's a horse.

Why not.

It's his first dream in, what, two weeks? He hasn't slept long enough to dream. It's hard to sleep when all he sees until the dreams kick in is his own mistakes.

But, well. Cell turned 20 today (he thinks, he's still not sure about his actual age), and Felps got him drunk to celebrate. Drunk means sleepy, and sleepy means dreams, and dreams mean-

"Roier!" he calls, running through the streets of the pony town desperately. "I made it!"

Roier knows that he's been having trouble sleeping since his whole moral dilemma thing started after Alcatraz. He doesn't quite get it, but he's trying, and that's all that matters, right?

None of the faceless ponies pay Cell any attention as he goes, but that's fine. Fuck them. He promised his best friend that they'd see each other, and they're going to see each other.

He doesn't have to look too far, thankfully, because, a few moments in, a blazing red blur bolts out of the sky and tackles Cell to the ground.

"Happy birthday!" Roier exclaims.

He grins, wings flaring behind him. What's this called, a pegasus?

Roier's eyes widen, and his jaw drops in shock. "What the fuck, you're a unicorn? Lucky!"

Cell tries looking at his own horn, going so far as to go cross-eyed, but all he manages to do is make himself look goofy.

It makes Roier laugh, at least. That's good. He's been having... a rough time, Cell thinks. He's been quieter when they have been able to meet up. Something about his brother leaving to go to college: a child prodigy gone to an exclusive university and leaving his twin behind.

Cell can't imagine what it would be like to have a twin. Weird, right? Someone that looks just like him but is different? Yeah, no thanks.

(He gave up on any ideas of family a long time ago. Thinking about whoever he had before the War just makes him sad.)

"You're red," Cell intelligently says.

"And you're green. You look like shit."

Cell bites Roier's ear and smiles as Roier lets out an exaggerated scream.

"Missed you," Cell says, and he means it.

"Yeah, well, I didn't miss you at all," Roier sniffs.

But Cell doesn't believe him at all.

"I still can't believe your brother's name is Doied."

"Our parents weren't very original."

"Maybe you should do what I did and just pick a name."

"Fuck you, man, I like my name!"

"Lucky. I wish I could change mine. It's too... heavy."

"I mean, you already did it once. Just do it again."

"...You're right."

"I usually am."

Dream Four Thousand, Seven Hundred, and Forty-Eight: Medieval

Cellbit hasn't seen Roier for days, and he's maybe starting to freak out. Maybe. Just a little.

Just before he'd disappeared, Roier had mentioned winning some kind of lottery. He was excited, and Cellbit was excited for him. He'd been looking for his asshole twin brother for years, he deserved a break.

But then the break happened.

And Roier hasn't slept since, apparently.

But Cellbit sleeps every night, anyway, even if he'd much rather be spending his nights trying to figure out where the fuck his soulmate went. Because Roier's... Roier is his soulmate. They've been sharing dreams for thirteen years now, they're best friends, and Cellbit is dying without him.

Tonight's dream has Cellbit in a knight's costume drinking flavorless alcohol in a bar. Nothing has tasted right since Roier has disappeared.

He isn't dead, at least. If he was dead, then he would be in the dreams. So he's just... not sleeping. Somewhere. Somewhere not sleeping.

Cellbit's hand shakes with rage and fear as he raises his cup to his lips.

He isn't a killer anymore. Well, he is, but he only kills animals now. He's a butcher, but not in the serial killer way. In the... in the butcher way.

(His hands itch for more blood, but he's been trying to do better.

He can't meet Roier if he's in prison, after all.)

It's as he's drinking that the bar's door slams open and stumbling in comes Roier in fancy robes with a gold crown perched on top of his head.

Cellbit drops his cup and immediately gets off of his stool to rush to Roier's side.

"Roier, what the fuck?" he demands. "Where have you been?"

He pulls Roier into a tight hug, mindful of his armor.

God, is he crying? How embarrassing, but Roier's seen worse from him.

But:

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Roier asks.

And Cellbit's heart drops.

Roier wriggles free and looks Cellbit over. This... this can't be Roier, can it? Because there's no recognition in his eyes as he looks at Cellbit, and no slight blush as Cellbit looks at him.

Roier gasps. "Oh, wow. Are you my soulmate?"

Cellbit's eyes sting. "I- yes, Roier, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Kinda annoyed that you took so long, though."

Roier smacks Cellbit's shoulder.

Cellbit can't breathe.

"I'm 21, motherfucker!" Roier shouts. "What took you so long!"

"I've been here," Cellbit faintly says. "Roier, I've been here. What happened to you? You said you- you got invited to some island? And then you disappeared? What happened?"

Something sparks behind Roier's eyes, but it's gone as fast as it appears.

"I've been alone for years!" Roier exclaims. He groans and runs his hands through his hair, almost knocking the crown off his head. "God, what is Spreen going to think?"

"Spreen? Who's Spreen?"

And then Roier blushes, and he grins, and Cellbit feels sick to his goddamn stomach.

"Spreen is my best friend," Roier tells him, and Cellbit wants to kill.

"Where are you? In the real world?"

"On the island. Where are you? Maybe Osito Bimbo can bring you or something. We have train stations, there's gotta be special tickets for soulmates."

"I'm in Brazil. What island?"

"Quesadilla Island, of course."

Reality: Day One

Cellbit's head is killing him. Fucking... what happened? He can't... he can't remember...

"Cellbit, you doing okay?" Felps asks.

He seems fine, sitting on the ground and not at all caring about the literal shipwreck they're stuck in.

"Oh, sure, as Cellbit if he's doing okay," Mike scoffs. He's still not over the whole prison thing, but he'd been angry enough when hearing about Cellbit's soulmate being kidnapped to help kickstart the whole rescue mission.

What a good friend.

Pac rolls his eyes. "He's literally bleeding, Mike. Look at him!"

Oh, shit, is Cellbit bleeding?

He raises a hand to his head; it comes away bloody, oh.

At least it's stopped raining outside. Cellbit can't see much, trapped with the others in what might be some kind of office space just below-deck. But he can't hear the rain anymore, and he can't hear any thunder.

"I'm fine," he sighs. "I've had worse. We should-"

He's cut off by a shout from outside.

Pac's eyes widen comically. "This island is occupied?"

Apparently so, because in comes a whole stream of people through a single door inlaid in the far wall. Tall man in what has to be anime cosplay, slightly shorter man covered in... green goo? Woman in purple. Man in bucket hat. And...

Cellbit's eyes meet Roier's, and the world slots into place around them.

Cellbit stumbles up to the glass wall and presses his hands against it. So close...

Roier is much more hesitant to approach (he still hasn't found that Spreen guy yet, of course he's hesitant...), but he offers Cellbit a small, genuine smile.

(He's so much more handsome in person, what the fuck? When did this happen? He was shorter than Cellbit just a moment ago, he swears.)

"Finally," Cellbit breathes.

The crowd around them is drowned out by the sound of Roier's voice as he says, awed-sounding, "You actually came for me."

"Of course I did," Cellbit replies. He smiles. "We're soulmates, aren't we?"

Tears well up in Roier's eyes- happy tears, Cellbit knows him well enough to be able to tell the different by now.

And then the door opens.

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#guapoduo #spiderbit #i feel like i must say that any and all romantic feelings form after they're both 18+#i tried making that clear but yk. this is Not the reading comprehension site.

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circle-with-me · 5 months ago

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summer’s in the air, heaven’s in your eyes

pairing: matt dierkes x female reader

tags/cw: 18+MDNI!! unprotected vaginal sex, the tiniest bit of spanking, overstimulation, skinny dipping, teasing, angst, fluff, yearning, hurt/comfort.

word count: 3.3k

tag list: @deathblacksmoke @darksigns-exe @malice-ov-mercy @baddestomens @sitkowski @cncohshit @lma1986 @sprokat @rain-down-on-me @honeytama @thisbicc @blackveilomens

author’s note: this is the third installment of my summer series. it ended up being way longer than i intended but matt has rotted my brain so he gets a long one :)

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It was supposed to be a girl’s trip. You and three of your best friends decided to go to the lake for a week. Your boyfriend of three years broke up with you at the end of May. It was sudden and unexpected, but you both kept it amicable. It would take a couple of weeks before his new place would be ready so you allowed him to stay in the spare room until then.

Not even two days later you walked in on him and his coworker having sex in your room on your bed. After you chased both of them out of the house with a baseball bat, threw his things in the yard, and changed all of the locks, you locked yourself in your room for a month. Your friends eventually came to your rescue, dragging you out and forcing you to shower. Telling you that you desperately needed a tan and some social interaction.

The lake trip was branded as a girl’s trip but you knew your friends had plans to get you laid. You had no plans on getting involved with anyone. All you wanted was a relaxing trip and to forget about the break up.

Meeting Matt wasn’t a part of the plan.

It wasn’t your fault he happened to be in the cabin next to yours and his dogs just so happened to take a liking to you.

It was annoyingly cliche how you met. He threw a tennis ball too far and it landed between you and your friends. Not long after it landed, so did two very wet and enthusiastic dogs. They were suddenly enthralled to find themselves among new friends—making sure everyone else was equally as drenched as they were.

Matt came running over apologizing profusely trying but failing to wrangle them, who you later learned were called Boo and Zeus. Your friends huffed about how they were going to have to reapply tanning oil, grabbing their towels to dry off. Meanwhile, you were too busy having a rom-com, wind in your hair, “Take My Breath Away” playing in the background moment as the gorgeous man in front of you spoke.

He offers his hand to you and you gladly take it, admiring the tattoos that cover his arm. You ask about them and he promises he’ll tell you all about them if you accompany him and the dogs on their nightly walk. He works fast, you’ll give him that. He beams at you when you agree—nearly stumbling over Zeus as he backs away, nervously telling you what time he’d be by to get you.

It’s endearing how he shows up a few minutes early.

He stands outside patiently; Boo and Zeus wait excitedly by his side. He’s freshly showered by the looks of the still damp ends of his hair—black baseball cap sitting backward on his head. The nervous smile he gives you as he hands you Boo’s leash makes your tummy do flips.

Conversation with Matt is easy. He keeps his promise and explains the tattoos on his arms, utterly appalled that you’ve never seen Lord of the Rings and making you promise to watch them once you return home. He catches himself droning on (his own words) about it and apologizes but you think you could listen to him read an instruction manual and find it interesting.

You learn that he’s a tour manager for a band you’ve never heard of. He’s almost thrilled to hear this—telling you that once women hear that he works with Bad Omens they’re far more concerned with getting autographs or meeting their favorite member. He laughs it off but the way he chews the inside of his cheek tells you it bothers him more than he lets on. Fighting your nerves, you lace your fingers with his and squeeze his hand.

“Everyone knows that tour managers are the hottest guys in the industry anyway.” You smile at him. He laughs and you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to your lips. It’s all a little overwhelming—after all you just met this man. He counters your claim with self-deprecating humor but the way his thumb lightly brushes over the back of your palm tells you that he’s smitten. Maybe a little summer distraction wouldn’t be too bad after all.

You weren’t sure how he talked you into it. It could have been the alcohol coursing through your veins that made you feel a bit brave. Or maybe it was how his arm wrapped around your waist, eyes sparkling even through the darkness, that made you agree. Regardless of the true culprit, you found yourself shucking your clothes off and running naked off the pier and into the water.

Neither of you accounted for the water being so cold. Matt’s teeth chatter similar to yours as he swims closer to you, angrily murmuring about the temperature. The giggles that escape you don’t help his mood. He starts to swim off but you grab him by the arm, wrapping your legs around his waist.

As you lean in to kiss him, your bare breasts press against his chest. You feel him suck in a breath and hold it when you tighten your legs around him, trying to maintain some self control. Smirking against his mouth, you drag your tongue across his bottom lip, and you feel the hands that were hesitantly on your waist shoot to your hips.

“Warm enough, yet?”

Matt blows out the air he was holding as he laughs. The open mouth kisses you leave across his jaw have his head tilting to the side so you have more access. You decide to test the waters, teeth scraping across the surface of his neck. He jerks a little, but the fingers now threading through your hair prompt you to continue.

“Yeah,” He finally responds in a breathy laugh. “Yeah—I, um… I’m definitely warm now.” His fingers flex into the meat of your hips, fingernails scraping against the skin. The hand in your hair pulls you off of his neck and kisses you harshly, tongue exploring your mouth. He squeezes you tight around him, pressing his erection into you. There’s no insistence behind it—he seems perfectly content rocking his hips slowly against you. Every gasp and mewl that leaves your lips is quickly devoured by his mouth on yours.

It’s comical, you think, how confident you were that you wouldn’t meet someone on this trip. You planned to enjoy your Fourth of July week with as much alcohol, sun, and alone time as you could get. Then, day one, Matt Dierkes comes along and ruins your plans in the best way—now you’ve spent every minute of the past four days together.

It was made known on day two when you would be leaving. He learned you lived several hours away, while you learned this was a regular getaway spot for him—his house being less than an hour from the campgrounds. He toured frequently with the band and wasn’t home that often. It wasn’t an issue. You’d spend some time together, maybe get laid, then move on with your life.

Except it became so much more than that.

Matt was kind. Kinder than you’d ever experienced. He held your hand everywhere you walked, thumb caressing the back of your hand like it did the first time you hung out. He took a genuine interest in your life and what you enjoyed doing for fun—and was so god damn adorable talking emphatically about his own interests.

The reality that you would ultimately have to leave him in a few short days loomed over you. The closer the day came the more the tension in the air thickened. You tried not to let it bother you, but there would be times where you would catch him staring at you—a somber look that screamed “please stay” but the plea was never spoken out loud.

It all hits you so fast and nearly knocks the breath out of you. The hands roaming your body, lips covering every inch of exposed skin, and the beautiful eyes that peer up at you like you’re heaven sent are all temporary. Somehow, losing a man that you’ve known for less than a week feels more devastating than the one you knew for three years.

Matt stops what he’s doing as your face contorts and immediately gives you space. He pulls you further up his torso and moves his hands back to your waist, stroking your back as he places your foreheads together. There’s no third degree, no sign of disappointment in his face. You think that somehow he knows exactly what is bothering you.

“Are you sure you have to leave on Friday?” He asks, as if you needed the reminder. The sadness in his voice is evident and you’re pretty sure ripping your heart out would be less painful. Your emotions overwhelm you so you nod meekly, afraid of your voice betraying you. Matt presses a kiss to your lips, whispering that it will be okay—that he’ll do what he can to make it work, and you think you believe him.

There was a plan set for tonight. A perfectly laid out plan:

Take the dogs for their nightly walk.

Have dinner.

Go watch the fireworks on the lake.

Easy.

The dogs got their walk. You were on time to go to dinner, but when you came out of the bathroom in a yellow floral sundress that hit just at the right spot below your knees, Matt's eyes darkened. He pulled you in by the waist and skirted his hands up your thighs. He kissed your stomach over the cotton fabric of the dress and when his fingers brushed over your already wet aching core, plans were instantly changed.

You did get to see the fireworks, kind of. From the window of the cabin—the one behind the bed that Matt had you on as he slid his cock in and out of you so agonizingly slow you thought you might crumble into a million pieces. Somewhere between rounds, you lost track of time. Each push inside of you reminds you that you’re spent but you can’t find it in yourself to care. As long as you’re with him, you’ll happily stay in this bed for eternity.

Matt picks up on it, though. The way your body shakes beneath him. How desperate your whines have become. You’ve been so good for him—cum so many times for him—he can’t believe you’re real and you’re his. Even if he can’t make it work after tonight. You’re his for now.

“I know it, honey,” He soothes you, softly kissing your collarbone. “I just want to remember every inch of you.” He slows his pace to a near stop and the sob that tears through you makes his brain go numb. You’re making that sound for him. For his cock. He buries his face in your neck, trying to will the throbbing away.

“Baby,” You pant, threading your hand in his blonde locks. “Please, please move.” The way you arch into him forces a groan from the back of his throat.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Matt whispers, kissing behind your ear.

“You won’t, need to feel you,” As your body writhes underneath him, he breaks—pulling out of you and flipping you over in one swift motion. He smacks and grabs your ass, kneading the plump flesh with his palms. He gives you a few more good smacks before he’s kissing and marking up your back.

“Get on your knees for me, baby,” He requests, but he’s already got his hands on your hips pulling you up to meet him. You feel his cock at your entrance and he doesn’t ease into you this time. The stretch and the ache hurts in the best way—you beg him to move faster.

If there was ever a moment that you wished you had eyes in the back of your head, it would be now. The vulgar noises Matt makes as he thrusts into you are so intoxicating you have to see his face. The reflection of him in the window gives you minimal help and the sheer force of his hips against yours make it more difficult to maneuver around… but you have to see his face.

When you turn and see him, he’s glistening with sweat— eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. His jaw muscles are clenched so tight they’re bound to snap any second. His eyes stay fixed on where the two of you are connected and you wish you could see it too.

Matt catches you staring and leans over, wrapping a large hand around your throat and pulling you against his chest. His hand stays only to keep you against him, the other slithering around to your center to circle your clit. He sinks deeper into you, so deep it feels impossible—hitting the perfect spot each time.

He recites the sweetest filth in your ear, every part of him working ardently to chase both of your highs. When you reach yours the dam breaks—the hold he has on you being the only thing that keeps you from collapsing into the bed as your legs give out. Matt twitches inside of you, filling you to the brim.

He guides the two of you back down to the mattress on your sides, your back held tightly against his chest. Aside from your heavy breathing and the fireworks in the distance, it’s completely quiet. He remains inside of you, unwilling to part from you for a second. You fall asleep like this—with him softening inside of you—and pray the morning arrives a lot slower than it normally does.

You’re awake long before he is. The desire to turn in his arms to admire him as he sleeps makes you ache. He’s sleeping so soundly you can’t bring yourself to disturb him. He softly snores into the crook of your neck, still holding you in the same position that you fell asleep in.

When he wakes up, he litters your neck and cheek with kisses. He doesn’t move from his spot, though—just tugs you even closer. He’s hard between your legs but makes no effort to remedy it. There’s no conversation. No tears. You stay slotted together until you’re dangerously late to leave.

Matt helps you pack your luggage and the car. He refuses to let the girls put their own bags in the trunk and if he had it his way, they wouldn't have carried it out of the cabin either.

“You have some stubborn friends,” He gripes, playing tetris with the last couple of bags.

“Independent is the word I think you’re looking for.” You smiled at him.

The two of you head back to your own cabin—the one you barely spent five minutes in the whole week. You wanted to do one last sweep of the place to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything. Matt sits on the edge of one of the beds, quietly watching you. You ask him if he’s seen your sunglasses but he ignores the question.

“What if I don’t let you go?” Matt blurts out. Thinking he’s joking you laugh, but when you turn to look at him, he’s completely serious. “What if—ah, fuck—what if you tell your friends to leave without you? You call your boss at that stupid job you hate and tell him to go to hell. And you stayed.”

“Matt..”

“I know it’s fucked. We just met. If anyone else did this I’d call them a damn idiot but..” He pauses, lifting his hat to card a hand through his hair before placing it back. “There’s something between us. I don’t know what to call it yet, but I can’t stand the thought of you taking off and never finding out.”

“Matt, this all sounds wonderful but it’s not that easy. I have to work. I need a place to stay. I can’t just drop everything to stay here.”

Matt looks at you bewildered. “I know I just spouted out a lot at once but which part of what I said makes you think I’m not going to take care of you?”

All of the air is immediately sucked out of your lungs. You stand in front of him, staring like a deer caught in the headlights. Matt’s right, this is fucked. You just met. It would be insane to do this. This whole trip was to get over a relationship, not start a new one. Meeting Matt was not part of the plan! Yet—

What if it was?

“I was thinking—” Matt interrupts your thoughts. “I was hoping that you would stay with me. I have a house. It’s nothing special but I have a spare bedroom you can have if you’re not comfortable sleeping with me, yet.”

He closes the space between you, smiling as he takes your hand.

“A job I can help with too. You can come on tour with us and be our merch girl. Steve desperately needs help at the merch table,” He leans in and whispers as if there’s anyone else in the room that could hear you. “If you ever tell him I said that I’ll call you a liar.”

You slap his arm playfully as you laugh together. He takes your face in his hands kissing you through your giggles. You circle your arms around him and lay your head on his chest sighing. There’s so much to consider in a short time. The thought of uprooting your whole life to take a chance like this—it all seems impossible. The fear of leaving and never finding out, however, was devastating.

“If you’re not ready for all of this, I understand,” He confesses. “I still would like to keep in touch with you. See you when I’m not touring.”

The horn honks outside and your world closes in on you. Going home would be the safest option. You have a job, a home, friends, stability. You also hate that job, live in a townhome that holds nothing but bad memories for you, and have friends who are more worried about their tan than their friends’ wellbeing.

Staying with Matt meant taking risks. Traveling the world with people you barely know. A completely new job. Living in a tour bus and hotels for an unknown amount of time. You’re used to stability. There is nothing stable about this option.

Somewhere deep inside a new version of you creeps out and screams, “Fuck stability.”

Staying with Matt meant traveling the world. Making new friends. Friends that he’s spent the last week raving about and how much they’d love you. Learning a completely new job that sounds so much better than the crap office job you have. Being crammed in a tour bus or a hotel room is better than being reminded of a failed relationship day in and day out—not to mention being alone.

And the best part? You’ll have Matt.

The dread that covers his face when you shift to look at him turns to hope when he sees you grinning at him. He searches your face excitedly, eagerly awaiting for you to say something. You stand on your tiptoes, kissing the bridge of his nose, which he promptly scrunches. You think you can get used to this.

#matt dierkes x reader #matt dierkes fanfiction #matt dierkes fanfic #matt dierkes fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #matt dierkes smut #matt dierkes fluff #matt dierkes angst #circ's fics

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giggly-squiggily · 1 month ago

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A Chase To Start The Season (Bungo Stray Dogs) **Tickletober2024**

Hey guess what? LEE!CHUUYA! :D I wanted to say it hehe! Happy Tickletober everyone! I'm doing the weekly prompts because it's easier on me this year- what better way to start things off than some classic SouKoku? :D I hope y'all like it!

CW: Mild swearing

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@myreygn @thatbigbisexual29 @dirtpie39 @duckymcdoorknob @cupcake-spice13 @rachi-roo @mystwrites @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @sevenincubistolemyheart @riisada

“DAZAI!"

This wasn't the first time he’s done this. It certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Chuuya stormed down the hall in a fit of fiery rage, his apron dusted with a thin but prominent dusting of sugar- his hands tips of his hair stained with frosting. Just moments earlier he had a tray of 12 perfectly baked, masterfully shaped pumpkin spiced cookies ready to be decorated for the Halloween season.

Now there were only 11- the missing cookie being munched on by the scoundrel he called his boyfriend.

“Try to hide, you bastard- I’ll find you! This apartment isn’t that big!” He called out as he threw the bedroom door open, convinced this is where Dazai ran off to. He looked around, looking for the smallest of lumps, bumps or creaked doors.

Nothing. The room looked and felt untouched. Letting out a sigh, he turned to leave when he heard it- the faintest of crunch. His eyes shot to the closet.

In a matter of steps, a scrunched up Dazai was revealed. He stared up at Chuuya with big eyes, lips twitching around his stolen treat. The longer he looked up at the redhead, the harder it was not to start giggling. “Oo, you found me!”

Chuuya quirked an eyebrow. It was enough to get Dazai laughing properly now.

“Alright, you cookie thief- what do you have to say for your-” Chuuya reached out to pull him up, but Dazai was fast. With an unexpected tumble, he dived between the redhead’s legs, rolling into the room and scrambling out the door.

Chuuya blinked. Then he turned with a roar, flying after the cackling brunette. “DAZAI!”

Around and around they went, running into rooms and diving around furniture. Every time he was inches from grabbing onto Dazai, the brunette would avoid him. When he got enough distance, he’d stick his tongue out at Chuuya, sometimes adding a booty shake.

Oo, how Chuuya was gonna get him good when he caught up!

Their chase continued until Dazai suddenly took a knee, falling haphazardly into the tatami mats below. Chuuya saw an opportunity and took it, running over and wrapping his arms around his torso from behind-

The world suddenly flipped. Chuuya found himself on his back, Dazai’s cheeky grin looming over him. “Gotcha, Chibi! What, did you really think you had me?.”

The redhead gaped. His shock quickly turned back into rage. “You son of a bi-hehehehahhahahahahahahhach!”

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re giggly Chibi!” Dazai laughed in his newfound power, positioning himself overhead with his thighs trapping Chuuya’s arms. Effectively pinned, Chuuya could only flail and squeal while Dazai dug into his upper ribs and armpits. “Come on- give me a smile!”

Chuuya was gonna give him a mouthful of bloody teeth in a second! Shrieking with mirth, he twisted the best he could given his predicament, his threatening kicks coming off more like a cat attacking a yarn ball. “Yoohohohohu’re sohohohohoho dheahhahahahd! Gehahahahah I’m goohohohohonna choohohohke yoohohohu ohohohout with my thihihihihighs!”

“Oo, hot. What else are you gonna do to me?” Dazai dropped his hands lower so they danced against his belly, making kissy noises at Chuuya’s reddening cheeks. “Talk silly to me!”

The scritches were bad enough, but the teasing? Oh the damn teasing! Chuuya’s laugh took on a squeaky noise as he tried and failed to activate his gravity control. Maybe he wasn’t focused enough, or maybe Dazai was cheating and using his own ability to stop him- but the cheeky brunette remained right where he was. “DAHAHAHZAI LEHEHEHET ME GOOHOHO!”

“Awww, already? And I was having so much fun too!” Despite his whine, he released the redhead, pulling his legs up to his chest and resting his chin on them all cute. “Better now?”

Chuuya groaned and gasped, arms coming down and tightly against his waist as he shot an upside down glare in his boyfriend’s direction. It only made Dazai smile more, softening Chuuya’s insides like butter. “Shuhuhut up.”

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“You're saying things with your eyes- it’s making me feel things.”

“Oh?” Dazai’s eyes twinkled as he leaned in, looking down at Chuuya with twinkling eyes. “What kind of things?”

Chuuya didn’t bother with a response. Instead, he reached up and pulled the other man into a spontaneous kiss- gentle and passionate at the same time. When they pulled away, Dazai was flushed and a bit breathless. Chuuya could feel his heartbeat racing beneath his fingers.

“Did that answer your question?” He growled- smirking when Dazai nodded. He leaned in for another kiss, but Chuuya was quick- activating his gravity manipulation and sending him floating out of reach. “Do that again and I’ll make sure you’ll stay lightheaded for the next few months.”

“Aww, Chibi! You know I’m always lightheaded whenever you’re around.” Dazai fluttered his eyelashes with a swooning grin, crumbling near instantly when Chuuya grabbed at his suspended thighs, tickling with all his might. “Gheahhahahaha! Chuhuhuhuya! Cuhuhuhya- Chihihihihibi, pleahahhhahahahse!”

“You really didn’t think I forgot about the cookies, did you?” Chuuya growled, grinning from ear to ear as Dazai continued squealing out terms of endearment between giggle fits. “Time to face your just desserts!”

Thanks for reading!

#tickletober #tickletober2024 #tickletober 2024 #bsd #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #soukoku #fluff #tickle #tickle fic #squiggily writes the things #dorks in love #dorks #last year I think I did lee!Dazai so this year lee!Chuuya! :D #babies #precious boys

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 2 months ago

Note

thinking about ivy who runs hot but polyvessels !!! iii gets a cramp in his leg? he gets ivy to massage it out with his warm hands. vessel who has frog hands (hands that are always cold)? hes holding ivys hand or slipping his hands under his shirt at any given opportunity. ii who cant seem to get warm in the winter? finds ivy immediately and is cuddling with him naked to get as much warmth as possible. you have bad cramps? youre getting ivy to rub your stomach and back.

just thinking (i have an ivy bias)

All the sleep token x ivy x reader

Warm hands

Look, sharing is caring. And what kind of friend would Ivy be if he didn’t share a gift of warm hands with the ones closest to him? It started as a joke at first. It was Vessel who had been blowing at his palms for as long as you all sat around ii’s garage writing music. “Fucking freezing”, he had mused in frustration. “It’s not that bad”, Ivy chuckled but once he was met with all of you glaring at him, he simply lifted his hands in defense, “My bad, balls are shivering in my underwear”.

He watched III wrapping both of his arms around you and II, bringing you closer to his chest. All seeking that extra warmth. That left him and Vessel, Vessel whose hands were nearly turning blue. Ivy put down his guitar and stepped closer to him. Vessel let out a little hiss once the warm hands touched his freezing ones. “Should have said you were that cold”, Ivy muttered, rubbing both of Vessel’s palms between his. “It’s nothing”, the lead singer grunted, watching as Ivy reached for the hem of his hoodie, slowly moving Vessel’s hands to lay alongside his lower stomach. The two males let the eye contact linger as Vessel slowly let his fingers trace shapes on Ivy’s skin.

iii never asked for help. That was just how he was. He handled it all by himself. iii thought that no one noticed when something was wrong with him but he couldn’t be more wrong. “What did you do this time?”, Ivy muttered, stepping out of the shower after watching iii limping across the bedroom the whole time. “What do you mean?”, iii frowned turning to face his bandmate. “Don’t bullshit me, long John. I have two working eyes, while you have only one working leg” Ivy sassed back, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “Well, you should see a doctor 'cause you are blind, mate”, iii grunted, turning away from him. “Iii, make it easier for both of us”, ivy cut in, walking closer to him, “sit”, he gestured to the bed. iii hesitated before following the orders. Ivy watched him trying not to frown as he sat down. Hands instantly reaching for the waistband of iii pants. “Hey”, iii grunted, wrapping his fingers over Ivy’s wrist. “Don’t be dramatic, I want to feel your thigh”, ivy rolled his eyes, fingers digging into the knots forming in the upper leg. “Fuck”, iii let out a deep sigh once Ivy’s warm fingers pressed into his flesh, “shit, that feels nice”, he whined, letting himself fall backward into the sheets. “Could have done it sooner if you weren’t acting like a little bitch”, Ivy snorted, making iii flip him off.

ii was a regular in Ivy’s bed. Just like iii he would go all mean about it. Bickering with ivy until he dragged him beneath the covers. Feral street cat ivy called him at times. Desperate for attention but not knowing how to ask for it. That’s how the two were now. With Ivy pulling the blanket higher up my shoulders. His cold feet pressed against Ivy’s warm skin. “Fuck you”, ii grunted, cuddling deeper into Ivy. “For what now?”, Ivy chuckled, rubbing his fingers through my hair. “For being so warm when we all are freezing all the time”, the drummer grunted, making Ivy chuckle, “I apologize, truly”.

You were as much of a regular as ii. Especially on your periods. By now Ivy knew your cycle to the tea so for most times even the pre-period cramps were chased away by his hands. But he was especially vital when it all got bad. He would slip into your room after you would miss dinner. And the sight of the dim room would tell him all that he needed to know. Making his way to you Ivy would slip into the bed, trying to disturb you as little as possible. Slowly letting his hands dig into your back at first, putting pressure on the lowest points.

“Ivy”, you would whine, face all scrunched up. “I know, gorgeous, I will make it all better”, he would breathe against your ear, slowly letting his fingers trail towards your stomach. Pulling the semi-warm water pouch away before replacing it with his palms. “Circles”, you mutter, leaning into him. “I know, baby”, he would do just that, putting that sweet pressure onto your lower stomach. “You try to sleep and I will be here”, kissing the side of your head, he would nuzzle closer, “No cramps will find you when I’m near”, and he would keep his promise, warming you up through the night.

#sleep token imagine #sleep token x reader #sleep token ivy imagine #sleep token ivy x reader #sleep token ivy x you #sleep token ii imagine #sleep token iii imagine #sleep token vessel imagine

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starryevermore · 5 months ago

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the house of snow (25) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: coriolanus’s obsession brings distance, and you are not sure you can handle such a thing.

word count: 2,334

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: angst angst angst, pet name (petal), not proofread

Your work with Coryo had slowed rather drastically. Though there were days you had the energy to join him in the office, you had primarily distracted yourself with reading or the occasional nap. Much of your time, however, had been spent making arrangements for your babe’s nursery. It was one of the few times Coryo did not protest you doing any sort of work. If it was because this work only involved you flipping through catalogues, neither of you made a comment.

Things were…strange between yourself and Coryo. Ever since you had asked if you could give birth at the cottage, he had grown…distant. In the early days, you pretended you did not notice. But as time wore on, it became increasingly difficult to ignore.

Even now, as you sat across the table at him during breakfast, Coryo might have been stationed on a Peacekeeper’s base on the outskirts of Panem. When he might have stared at you as if you hung the stars in the sky, he kept his gaze to the newspapers brought to him. You had long since stopped eating, but he had yet to notice.

Where he might have once been asking you of your plans for the day, you found yourself being the one inquiring so.

Coryo finally spared you a glance. “Primarily answering demands for the Crown’s assistance, scheduling meetings with the Electors. And, of course, we have the ball we are attending this evening.”

You waited for him to ask if you were going to join him in the office, or if you are still well enough to attend the ball. He did not. You stirred your spoon around in your tea cup, the metal clanging against the porcelain. “Sounds eventful. I shall spent the morning, then, in the library.”

When you rose from your seat, you expected Coryo to rise after you. To pull in for a searing kiss before letting you escape to the library. In your mind, you imagined him chasing after you minutes later, demanding that you not leave his side for a long while. But as you watched him remain at the table, back to glancing at the papers, you knew he would not.

“I love you, Coryo.”

He looked up at you again. He smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. “And I you, petal.”

Ordinarily, such a response would send butterflies aflutter in your tummy. Yet, as he refused to say the word love, only bile began to rise from your stomach. You turned, and you did not wish him a good bye.

You never felt smaller than you did as you traversed down the halls of the palace. It no longer quite felt like a home to you. A part of you, the part that once thought that this marriage would be a loveless trap, wanted to run away to the cottage—Coryo be damned. If this was the manner in he was to conduct himself, you would stoop even lower. There was no one, after all, that could hit Coryo where it hurts harder than you. But the part that loved him still, the part that wanted him to stop whatever nonsense this was, desired to stay. For better or for worse, or however the vows went.

That did not mean, of course, that you could not make him squirm.

You passed the library and continued all the way down to the servant’s quarters, ignoring the strange stares you received. A passing maid gave you directions to the housekeeper’s chambers, and you entered without knocking. The woman jumped upon seeing you, quickly rising from her bed and sinking into a low curtsy.

“My apologies, Your Majesty. If I had known you were looking for me, I would have come to you with great haste.”

“If things do not improve between myself and the King by the end of the week,” you said, “you shall have my belongings moved to my personal chambers.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“But not the ones across the King’s chambers. I think I would like to take up residence on the other side of the palace. And, of course, should I make this move, the babe’s nursery shall follow.”

The housekeeper fidgeted, but still maintains eye contact with you. A braver woman than the King, you mused. “Shall I inform the King of this move?”

“No. Let him come to his senses on his own, or else let him retire to his chambers without me by his side. Whatever shall happen shall be his decision alone.”

“How do you fare this evening, Your Majesty?” a lord, whose name you couldn’t be bothered to remember at the moment, asked as Coryo stepped away to fetch you a refreshment. He avoided looking you in the eyes—either out of fear of the King’s ire should anyone look at you too long for his liking or out of discomfort at your so-called “condition.” You knew the ton was not accustomed to pregnant women maintaining an active role in society. Though they could not ostracize you the way they could anyone else, you also knew they were waiting for a moment to whisper scandalized words about how a Queen should not conduct themselves in such a manner.

Your hand came to rest on your barely-there bump. In just your fourth month, much had already begun to change. Perhaps not physically yet, but things were changing between yourself and Coryo. He still worshipped the ground you walked on, to be sure, but there was an odd look in his eyes whenever he would gaze upon you. As though he was already trying to go accustomed to a life in which he loses you.

“I am quite well, thank you,” you said. Since the lord would not look you in the eyes, you took the time to glance around the ballroom. It was a standard ball, nothing out of the ordinary. Except for, of course, you. Bile rose in your throat at the looks people sent you when they didn’t think you were looking. You took a breath and, unable to hold your tongue, said, “Or at least I had been before I came to this sorry excuse of a ball. A shame, I think, that your wife is so uninspired by your love for her, or rather the lack thereof, to throw together anything worthy of my time.”

His eyes snapped to yours. “I beg your pardon?”

“You must be so unaccustomed to begging,” you said. You turned away from him. “I only mean that, if a woman felt the love of a man, she would be inspired to ensure that every aspect of their lives would be safe from tarnishment.”

“As if you have done anything but tarnish the Crown,” the lord scoffed. When your head snapped to look at him, he at least had the good sense to lose all color in his face. “What I mean is—”

“That you have chosen to disrespect the King and, more importantly, his Queen,” you said. You squared your shoulders and, though he was much taller than you, you looked your nose as though he was an ant beneath your shoe. “The Crown shall not forget.”

A cold glass was pressed into your hand. You did not have to look to know if your Coryo who had returned. Nor did you have to look to see the grin on his face as you threw the drink in the lord’s face. Gasps erupted around you, heads swiveling to see who had the poor sense to offend you. In the distance, you could see the lord’s wife pushing her way through the crowd. You turned to her as the lady reached you and held up your hand. She stopped in your tracks.

“Don’t,” you said. “I have no issue with you. Your husband, however, is daft and unworthy of a woman such as yourself. If he took offense of my recognition of such, then that is his burden to bear. If he decided to take that offense and hurl it into an insult at me, then he is only to blame for the consequences that followed.”

“I am so deeply sorry, Your Majesty—” the lady tried.

You raised your hand again, and she stopped. “It is not you I take issue with. I will, however, soon take issue if you don’t direct the band to begin playing again. I should like to dance with a man worthy of my breath.”

She gave a small nod and hurried off to the band. Slowly, the ton began to return to their own conversations, though their eyes still remained on you. You fought the urge to snarl at them.

“She provoked me,” the lord hissed to Coryo. If he thought your husband would take his side, speak to him man-to-man, he was sorely mistaken.

“And you must be so simple so as to take the bait,” Coryo said. He plucked the now empty glass from your hands and passed it off on a passing server’s tray. His fingers interlaced your own. “And simpler still if you think I would do anything but wholeheartedly support her in her scathing review of your character.”

The lord sputtered, but Coryo was too occupied letting you lead him onto the dance floor to care.

The two of you fell into an easy waltz as Coryo spun you around the floor. Finally, finally, the eyes of the ton melted away. You felt yourself relax in Coryo’s arms.

“Pregnancy has made you combative,” Coryo said, holding your body closer against his.

“I do not like the way the ton looks down upon me for being out, for showing that the love between us is culminating into beautiful life,” you said. You spared a glance out at the crowd. “The night of our wedding, I recall your ire at the lack of respect the ton showed me. It did not bother me so much then, when I thought our marriage would be a loveless affair. But now that I know your love, that you would do anything for me, it stokes this fire inside me to see the ton think I am the ruination of the Crown.”

Coryo smiled, the kind of smile that would look wicked to anyone else but so clearly reflected his love for you as you gazed upon it. You had missed this look. Why did you have to cause a scene to receive it? “I take this to mean you will allow me to force the ton to bow before you?”

You leaned in, pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips and ignored the increase of whispers around you. “Bring them to their knees.”

And yet, even still, as Coryo undid the fastenings of your gown in the comfort of your shared chambers, the ire still stoked a fire inside you. While your gown pooled at your feet, you found yourself pushing Coryo’s hands away from you. You stepped behind a privacy screen and finished undressing before slipping on a nightshift and climbing into bed. Coryo followed soon after.

When he reached for you, you pushed his hands away again and turned on your side, facing the wall. You could very nearly see his frown in your mind’s eye. Coryo shuffled closer to you. You moved closer to the edge.

“Alright, what is the matter? I did as you asked, my petal. I reminded the ton of the might of the Crown.” He reached out and ran his fingers through the ends of your hair. A shiver ran through you. “Did I misunderstand you?”

You swallowed thickly. “I fear I might be the one who misunderstands. Coryo, you said this was to be a marriage of equals, did you not?”

He was silent for a moment, as if trying to determine if you had any riddles hidden in your words. “I did, yes.”

“And you meant that, did you not?”

“I did.”

You rolled over. He was so close to you now that your noses brushed against each other. “Then why, I beg of you, have you treated me like a fragile little thing ever since we learned I was with child?”

Coryo’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “You know why.”

“History shall not repeat itself. And even if that should be my fate, why do you regard me as though I am already gone? If I am to die during childbirth—”

“—don’t say that. Please, don’t—”

“—then at least let me feel my husband’s love in whole. Do not deprive me of that. Do not make me beg for that.” You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand, feeling the wetness upon them. “And do not say that you have been giving me such love. I know you, Coryo. I know how you loved me so fiercely at the cottage, and before, and after. You have seldom left my side, but you have never been more distant.”

“Petal…”

You squeezed your eyes shut and let the tears fall freely. You flinched away as his thumb stroked across your cheek, wiping them away. “I told the housekeeper to have my belongings moved to other side of the palace by the end of the week. In the morning, I shall tell her to hasten the move. And, at the beginning of my eighth month, I shall make the move to the cottage.”

Coryo sat up. When you looked at him, his eyes held more emotion than they had in weeks. Your heart ached, but you could not back down now. “Please, don’t.”

“I should like some space. Of course, it shall not be so different than how it already has been the last few weeks.” You rolled back over to your other side and faced the wall once more. “If you should choose to join me at the cottage, you may. I will not deprive you of that.”

“Petal, I do love you.”

“Then why can’t I feel it any longer?”

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

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green-eyedfirework · 1 year ago

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Trick or treat! 💀

Look what I discovered lurking in a random Discord channel! This was based off of a scene from one of my original works that adapted nicely to SlaDick.

____________

"Heads up," Jason's voice came through the comm, low and clear. "Deathstroke."

It landed like a punch. Tim inhaled sharply, Cass stiffened next to him, and there was a burst of static from Bruce's end.

"Are you sure?" Tim asked, hurriedly flipping through camera feeds to find where Jason was. The crowd at the gala had only increased and there were too many people to sift through. "Maybe it was someone else--"

"How many white-haired guys have you met that have one eye and look like they could bench press a truck?" Jason snapped back. "It's him."

"Dick," Bruce's voice cut sharply through the squabble. "Abort. Get out of there."

Dick's voice came through, light and airy. "A bit too late for that."

And through his comm, echoing distantly, came a low growl. "Hello, little bird." "I'm sorry," Dick said, all patented confusion. "You must have me confused for someone else."

Tim finally found the right camera feed. Dick was cornered against a table, a tall, built man looming over him, keeping him trapped with nothing but sheer presence. Slade Wilson laughed in Dick's face.

"I can recognize those scheming blue eyes anywhere, kid. I don't need to know the name on the fake ID you're sporting. What brings you here?"

"Mark's leaving the room," Jason warned from his lookout post. Bruce cursed vividly.

"A mark," Wilson repeated, interested. "So you are running a con."

"He can--" Tim cut himself off and turned towards Cass. He can hear us?! he mimed frantically.

Super soldier, Cass signed back.

"And what are you doing here?" Dick snapped back, giving up on the lie. "Whose bounty will you be collecting tonight?"

"Maybe its yours." On the screen, Wilson reached out and grabbed Dick's jaw, keeping him firmly in place. Bruce and Jason both growled. "Can't fly from me forever, little bird."

Instead of leaning away, or maybe kicking Wilson in the balls to get some space, Dick leaned closer, face-to-face with one of the deadliest mercenaries in the world. "As long as I make the chase entertaining, hm?" Dick murmured, voice low and breathy, and god, Tim did not need to hear Dick's bedroom voice directed at Deathstroke the fucking Terminator.

But it worked. Wilson laughed and let Dick go, stepping back. "Always a delight, kid. Now go find your mark. I have a date and I wouldn't want to be late."

#green answers #trick or treat #my snippets #sladick #I'm aware we're well into November #but it's always time for a nice little treat #I think this was supposed to be a leverage au but I'm not sure

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darlingsfandom · 1 year ago

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dd/lg relationship with lenny miller?? 😍

Bless you ✨

The sun was rising high into the kitchen as you sat the dinning table poking at your plate.

"What's the matter Doll?" Lenny sipped on his coffee while flipping the paper before he looked over at you. A soft sigh left your lips. You held your head up and pushed the plate away from you. Lenny raised his eyebrow at you as pouted your bottom lip. He put his paper down on the table as folded his hands before he got up and walked over to you. He stood over you as he pulled out your chair. You stood up slowly as he ran his finger tips over your cheeks.

"Come on darling, you can tell daddy." He gave you a soft smile before you just sighed again. Lenny was use to seeing you happy and spoiled. He loved spoiling you because you had the prettiest smile and always gave him the sweetest kisses that they were almost tooth rooting.

"You..." is all you got out before a tear dared to fall from your eyes.

"I... what baby?"

"You've been gone too long and now you have that blonde girl here and there! She's prettier and smarter ..." Lenny kissed you hard to cut you off. His hands cupped your face before pulling away too look at you lovingly.

"I will not stand for that! You will not stand here and degrade yourself like that in front of me. You know that you're my baby! Anna has nothing on you. She's just someone in CIA care. You my beautiful baby, are smart, kind, caring... I mean look at that charity event you hosted last month! Only you could do that! Are you really that worried that I'd leave you for her? That's so silly of you baby. I'd never leave you." Lenny stroked your hair softly as you sniffled. He wrapped his arms around you tightly before giving another kiss. The kiss turned heated as his hands found their way under your babydoll nightgown that Lenny bought you last week.

Your knees felt week as your lips trailed from his down his neck and made sure to suck a bruise into the side of it. Lenny gripped your ass before pulling down your pink cotton panties and stuffed them into his pocket. Both of you looked at each other full of love and passion as he set you on the edge of the kitchen table, spread your legs and bit his lip while running his thumb over your clit.

"Who's my good girl?" Lenny asked as he rubbed your clit faster .

"Me! I'm your good girl daddy!" You yelled out as he slid a finger inside of you while still thumbing your clit. Your hips started bucking forward. "Daddy, I need you inside of me! Please! Use me! Breed me! Please!"

"Breed you hmm?" He raised his eyebrow before pulling away his fingers and thumb. "Is that what you need hmm? For me to get you pregnant ? Or do you just want me to fill you up with my cum??"

"Both daddy! Please ! I'd look so cute stuffed with your cum!" Lenny pushed you back on the table as he undid his pants. You whined at the sight of how hard his cock was. "Next time baby! Right now I just need to fuck you so you remember that YOU'RE my baby!" Lenny lined himself up and slowly pushed into you. He waited a few seconds before thrusting into you slowly. Your hands wrapped around his tie so you could pull him in by it and kiss him hard which made him crazy. Lenny squeezed your hips making sure to dig his finger prints into you as he fucked you hard. Your whines echoed off the walls just in time for Anna to walk in on you two.

"Lenny are you... OH MY GOD!" Anna stood there frozen as Lenny was balls deep inside of you. You gave her one of those satisfied looks but mixed with a bit of "it looks could kill" .

"Not now Anna! I'm busy fucking a baby into my pretty baby!" Lenny grunted loudly while you clung onto his shoulders. Anna quickly walked right back out as Lenny looked into your eyes. "I told you baby! You're ! MY! GIRL!" Lenny groaned as you felt him cum deep inside of you. Your own orgasm chased after his as you creamed on his cock. He pulled you close and kissed you hard.

"Don't you ever forget that you're my girl and if you EVER compare yourself to another woman again... you will be punished! Got it?" He cocked his eyebrow at you while pulling out slowly to look at the cream ring on his cock. He used your panties to clean himself off before putting them back in his pocket.

"I love you daddy!" You smiled brightly at him as he kissed your head gently. "Now be a good girl while I'm gone today and if you're good I'll buy you a new toy when I get back."

#lenny miller #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #emsblurbs

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