#he wants to wear the coat and nothing else and jerk off and then give it back to Cas while it's still warm from his body.

[kerryweaverlesbian]

Whenever fanfiction has Dean say he hates Cas’s coat or thinks it's stupid or ugly and he wants to see Cas out of it as soon as possible I simply must disagree. He kept that thing for a whole year full of rank water. He saw Cas back in his usual getup and gotar bonar. Dean loves cartoons. He loves costumes. He loves Cas’s coat.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Get Her Back 4/4 (Word count 7.3 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The knife still juts from the table.

She touches it often, fondles the handle like it's her lover.

Days pass, and König escapes her stare with raised shoulders and poorly disguised hurt in his eyes. She feels��his eyes on her every single time she's not looking.

He breaks into her room every night, but she never wakes up to his presence. The only thing that tells her the man's been there are the fresh flowers on her table next to the knife.

He brings her flowers every morning, just like he promised, and she keeps the blade there to remind him that he's still in her heart. It's like a silent conversation, and it stabs her stomach full of pain.

On the fourth day, he returns her panties. They're covered in dried cum, and at first, it makes her feel disgusted. Then her heart flutters, a warm feeling settles deep inside her stomach when she imagines him jerking himself off to her underwear amidst his knives, with despair and longing coating the air.

For anyone else, it might be a chilling thing to wake up to: to open eyes to the sight of a brutal tactical knife, freshly picked forget-me-nots and some cum-stained lace. But for her, it's a loving attempt to remind her who she belongs to. It's also a sign that the man is trying to let her go and finally obey her wishes to be left alone.

And she doesn't want to be left alone.

He promised she would never be alone.

On the fifth day, there's no flowers, there's nothing. She starts her day with a horrible, awful bawl. Then she puts on a black dress. It makes her look odd, like she's in mourning, but it also gives her… power, somehow. Even if it's another cute kind of cotton babydoll dress, it makes her look more austere.

“König, wait.”

She chases him down this time: runs to his retreating form that stops the instant she calls his name. He’s tense when she walks the last steps to him and hugs him from behind. The familiar scent of tea tree and gasoline and sweat and guns bring a visceral memory of madness to her mind. It’s an ambrosia of crude virility, and she's missed him, God, that she's missed him.

It's also safety. Because no matter what anyone says, he is the only one who knows her, sees her, sees right into her core, her very soul.

He slowly places a hand on hers, the arms that embrace his narrow, treelike middle.

"Engel…"

The voice comes out tight and strained. He caresses her hand with hesitation and swallows.

"I'm confused.. I don't know what you want me to do."

"Come with me," she whispers in his back. He has no gear on, and she can feel his abs through the black shirt, the way his shoulder blades flare against her cheek with shallow breaths. "If you want…?"

"Ganz sicher."

She takes him by the hand and guides him to her room. People look at them with pity and dread, and she feels like they’re in high school where people were divided into groups of popular and unpopular.

She knows where she and König would’ve belonged. Where they belonged now…

And she just doesn't care anymore.

When the door to her room shuts behind him, she feels a little tug near her heart. She had nearly forgotten how big König looks inside her little room, the space she has tried to turn into a cozy home even though she doesn't view the base as her home like the soldiers do. It's just a place for her to reside in when she's working.

But he does not fit into a normal society like she does. The base must be the closest thing to a home for him. Not every elite soldier is a lunatic perhaps, but König certainly couldn't find any other job in the modern world that would cater to his needs without sending him behind bars.

But he was supposed to kill only in the field. Only somewhere far, far away.

Why did you do it?

Why…?!

That's what she meant to ask when they're behind closed doors, but something quite different comes out instead.

"Did you miss me…?"

She stands before him, holding her hands in front of her, looking probably quite silly clad in black.

"I've been in hell ever since I left, Engel."

Christ have mercy…

Normal men just didn't talk like that.

"Will you forgive me?" He looks her up and down, but the calm, proud posture, the way he holds his chin high behind that dark shroud tells her he's not used to begging. She has a feeling that this question is asked only because Soap suggested it would be a good idea to apologize for making her so upset.

"It's not me you should be–" She sighs. "Look… That man had a wife. König, I think he had a kid and everything."

His eyes are covered in a veil of disinterest only she can pierce. There's actually so much going on behind that odd, distanced stare. But what’s horrifying is that he clearly doesn’t agree with her on this matter.

"I kill people every week," he declares. "Just not in the break room."

His logic leaves her wordless for a moment. The officer was not an enemy, he was not part of some foreign military, his only crime was that he was in a hurry…

She has barely even opened her mouth to speak before he finally defends himself.

"How do you know his wife is not secretly happy with the news?"

The question is like a bucket of ice dipped in her head. She had prepared herself for almost anything but this. König only tilts his head and narrows his stare.

"Would you want to be wife to that kind of man?"

Her mouth opens on its own; her jaw would fall to the floor if it could do such a thing. His worldview unfolds before her in full, and it should disgust her: but all she feels is an odd thrill in her stomach from realizing this man is not only possessive; he's also fiercely traditional.

"He just spilled some coffee on me," she whispers in soft, tender horror. "He just happened to have a bad day."

"How many times a week did he have a bad day?"

The defense is solid, even if it's preposterous. The man was rude and disrespectful, yes. To everyone, every day, probably continued the abuse at home, too. But he didn't deserve to be killed for it. Still, König doesn't seem to find any fault in his way of thinking.

"I can tell when people are evil," he crosses his arms over his chest as a final note.

Evil…

Evil.

She's left blinking, then she finds her tongue again.

"You can't just… deal punishment like that," she huffs.

"Why not?"

Jesus Christ…

His arms are still over his chest, and he looks… so big, so powerful, like an omnipotent being.

Probably thinks he is.

"Will you go to jail?" She changes the subject because arguing with this kind of man seems futile. Downright hopeless.

"No," he says with perpetual calm. "Would you want to see me in jail?"

"...No."

He finally unravels his arms and takes a few steps toward her. That swaying lounge is intoxicating and seductive, even when he doesn't mean it as such. It's just the way he walks, but it makes her woozy.

"Engel. You are too… kind for this world."

More odd arguments are laid out before her, more confusion and love and pain. He raises a hand to touch her arm and make his point clear. The weight of him is heavy and adult, his military clothing is in blaring contrast to her tiny, childish dress.

"You don't understand it now, but perhaps someday you will."

The man looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with her. She's a child in his eyes, but something in this lunacy tells her she's dealing with a child, too: a boy who no one ever loved.

"My little angel. Always wearing pretty dresses," he says more softly now.

"I'm not an angel."

"Yes you are," he rules without effort. "And you look good in everything. But you shouldn't wear black."

"Why not…?"

"Because you belong with flowers."

Her heart aches, her eyes prick with burning tears. He's self-aware, that's for sure. He knows what he has done to her, what he is doing to her. And he wishes to spare her from him.

"I thought you liked black," she peeps, her mind and will and defense breaking.

He doesn't say anything, but his hand brushes down her cheek, then cups her chin softly. That same hand must be ironclad when it grips his enemies and brings them to his blade.

"I like this dress," she tries to quarrel, voice shaking.

"And I know a knife that would go perfectly with it."

His eyes are warm. There's even a passing sadness in them. She's relatively sure that he's not talking about butterfly knives any longer – she's almost certain that König hasn't gifted his weapons to any other human being on this earth.

“How about we take off that pretty little dress now, hmm?”

The time for the compulsory explanations is over in his mind, and it’s time for sex. He knows that his exile has ended, that whatever liminal space they walked in for a few days wasn’t enough to rid herself of him. There’s no turning back anymore, and he looks at her with amused hunger when she obeys his suggestion which is, in truth, a command.

Her fingers do not shake anymore as she undresses for him, but a shiver goes through her guts: that stare is a look from beyond. He’s a madman, and falling more in love with her every day, even if the only way he knows how to love is by stabbing people with his cock or his knife.

“Lie down,” he gives her more orders when she stands before him with nothing on.

It’s futile, completely futile to pretend that she doesn’t want this. It’s almost like an act, the way she slowly and demurely obeys his command. In reality, she wants nothing more than to be devoured by him.

He takes his clothes off while she waits for him on the bed like an injured bird. He rips, then throws his gloves off like they have done something naughty, all the while his gaze is fixed on her. She has missed the sight of that faint hair on his abs, missed that broad chest, missed how his muscles bunch even when he gets out of a shirt that weighs practically nothing in his hands.

The long, veined cock flies out from his pants with a demanding bounce that makes her swallow. They form an odd pair on the floor: her little dress and his huge woodland camos. His eyes are surrounded in black paint under the eternal mask, but otherwise, he's the palest man she has ever seen.

Her breasts rise and fall with aroused breaths as he settles himself beside her, naked and blazing. His cock is pure fire when it gets trapped between them, and he's already drooling hot precum on her thigh.

He's gentle, kind of. Slides a hand over her shivering stomach, palms one breast, then takes a nipple between his fingertips and gives her a pinch.

“Did you miss me too?”

The hood makes him look like a hangman, and he’s infuriatingly patient now. She expected him to rail her like a sex toy right after the door was closed.

"Yes."

He releases her, and the callous descends with a gentle, deliberate caress to her waist.

"Then you're the first who ever did."

She just might be the first woman he's gentle with, too, and she cannot help but think if it's because of what she said just before he killed that poor man. If the last piece of the puzzle locked in place when he realized how much she admired him. If her confession also made him stake his claim in the loudest possible way, announcing everyone that he's her protector.

It's not her fault that the man's dead, but she should be ashamed: she's wet already when the murderer's fingers delve further down to meet her folds. He disappears somewhere in her wetness, and her thighs rise and drift apart to give him full access.

And it's always like this: she spreads legs for him with a helpless, longing stare, he takes in what belongs to him with dark, pleased hunger.

He finds her clit in no time, drags his thumb over it, and she gasps. Her breaths come quick now, her nipples are shot to the sky and her back is already arching when he delves down and slides one finger inside. It's long and lean, and her cunt grips him like they have been apart for four weeks instead of four days.

He sighs under the mask, just from her greedy response. She wants to touch him too, but doesn't dare to move when he's looking at her like that. He starts to finger her gently, first with one, then two digits while attending to the tight nub on top. And he's good with a knife, quick with his hands, so what did she expect?

But she’s also sad and mad. Because he definitely knows what he’s doing. And it makes her think…

"Have you had a lot of women..?"

Her question is a mouse's whisper. His fingers halt inside her; they spread her with delicious torture.

"A few," he says. "Back in Austria."

He buries his face in her neck and nuzzles his way to her ear. The bag of darkness is soft and hot, but nothing compared to his heated whisper.

"But they were nothing like you."

He punctuates the declaration by curling the fingers inside her. She bites her lip to stifle a filthy, needy moan. He even grinds his hips against her: that cock is like a heated spear against her soft thigh, and more cum oozes out to trickle down her leg.

"How many men have had you, Engel?"

He doesn't ask: how many men has she had. She may not be his plaything, but she is his possession. In his mind, she belongs to him and only him, no matter who has come before. But the murderous passion with which he waits for her answer makes her flustered, and she bolts her mouth tight in an indication that she will not disclose this information.

"Gut. Don't tell. I would kill them all."

Oh.

Oh…

"Would you like that…?"

"No," she whimpers.

"Yes you would."

“I don’t–I don't want you to–”

“Shh.”

He’s working those fingers smooth and quick, and she’s already leaking on his hand, probably on the bed, too… The room is filled with sighs and whimpers and sobs as he fucks her with slick, wet sounds. She's close the edge in mere minutes, but he won’t let her finish.

Instead, he pulls out just when she's about to tighten around him.

"Why-why did you stop?"

"Angel... Take me in your mouth," he rasps, breathless too despite trying to disguise it. She briefly wonders if this is some sort of a punishment. That perhaps she’s ordered to give him a blowjob just when she’s about to come – after all, she has dared to keep him waiting for days.

But that’s not the case, it seems, as she moves with heavy limbs to fulfill his wish.

"Nein… Other way around. I want to taste you."

The perverse suggestion in the break room turns into a reality as she realizes what he wants to do. Her heart is pounding when she crawls on top of him to meet that leaking cock. How exactly is that thing even going to fit inside her mouth?

A sudden shyness takes her as her thighs are forced into a wide-legged spread from straddling the broadest man on earth. She's exposed to the cold air only for a second before his breath hits her. The shortest shadow of a stubble on that usually clean-shaven chin meets her soaked cunt with hunger.

“Ah… Take it– in your mouth,” he moans orders to her folds, and her cunt clenches immediately, just from hearing that accent and that voice.

She moves to give him a shy lick, sweeps a tongue over that tip to clean him from all that precum. He goes tense under her and breathes heavily when she wraps her hand around him, wraps her mouth around the weeping slit.

He tastes of salt and sin, and the minute she tries to take more of him in, he groans with a dry throat. It's a hot, broken breath that travels straight inside her. It’s too much – the position is far too stimulating, it’s over the top wicked.

And then he starts to lick her. It messes up the blowjob that has barely even started. She knows his hood must be almost completely off, otherwise he wouldn't be able to breathe.

"Take a bit more, Engel," he urges between the long slathers that already sound lewd. There's simply no way to take it fully in, he’s far too long for that. The last thing she wants to do is gag on him. But she does a good enough job, tries to concentrate on breathing through her nose as she goes as deep as she can.

"That's…more like it…"

It’s a relieved notion somewhere behind her before he continues with the agonizingly slow licks. Fat and flat-tongued, the work of a famished man. For someone who's so clumsy with social interaction, he’s infuriatingly good at giving pleasure to women. The tip of his tongue grazes her clit, and causes a muffled moan – her mouth is full of him but she just cannot help herself.

And arms of steel close around her middle the minute she whimpers on his cock. They pull her closer to his face – he wants to hear her make noise, then, and her will to compete arises. She wants to make him moan too. She ups the pace, flattens her tongue on him every time she retreats…

"Where did you learn to–nnh…"

She nearly laughs at his surprise, at their silly little competition. He's shocked, probably jealous too, of her past and the imagined cavalcade of men who may or may not have been inside her mouth before him. She swirls a tongue around the tip every now and then, wraps her lips tight around him, and goes even deeper.

"Verdammte Scheiße.. I'm not going to last long…"

Strong thighs around her power up, and he has stopped licking her altogether: he's just panting in her pussy and holding on to her hips while waiting for the upcoming wave.

"You know what to do, ja?" He pants that question like she doesn't know he's about to shoot a load on her tongue soon.

"Don't make a mess," he shares advice with a sly tone to his voice. "Unless you want to clean after…"

He gives a short laugh as if the joke is funny. As if that's a clever thing to say to a cleaning lady. It makes her grip him harder, and he's close, so close: he's not even moving anymore, everything's just completely rigid under her body and inside her mouth.

"I'm fucking–cumming…"

He spills with a long groan, moans against her cunt, cries inside her with pain. The seed is hot and heavy, it shoots right down her throat even in this position. She does the best she can to not make that mess, but it's hard work when a giant cock pulses in her mouth.

"You're perfect, angel," he sighs behind her, tries to feed more of himself inside her mouth by rolling his hips.

The praise makes her pump and suck him even more, get every last drop out, and a tremble goes through her lover. She has to take support from the bed until the earthquakes recede. His cock is a clean mess after, and she's a mess too: overworked, and shy, and victorious.

They're both left panting: she tries to catch some breath there between his thighs after everything, but she's not allowed to rest and recover. The grip around her middle pulls her back, and a breathless man trying to lick her like it's the end of the world is not only far too much, it's unbearable. She's already overly sensitive and needy from the four days of barren grief.

"It's too much…" She tries to tell him, but he won't listen. If anything, it only spurs him on.

"König, I can't," she wails softly while resting her head on his thigh.

"Yes you can."

A feverish tongue dips inside her as deep as it goes. It forces her legs apart, she spreads herself all over his face completely unwillingly. There's no mercy for her as he flicks a tongue over her clit, plunges a tongue inside her as deep as it goes, returns to the nub again – does it again and again and again like it's some secret code meant to break her.

"You like that, huh?" His rough voice is muffled by her cunt, he sounds both parched and wet.

"Hm? Talk to me," he demands an answer although it should be obvious that she's losing her mind from his treatment.

"Yes," she mewls while being spread so crudely wide for him. "I… I love it…"

"Hah. You sound like a little cat," he laughs, pleased, then gets to it again. She's so close now that she can feel the growing waves. Her thighs are not just shaking, they're trembling.

"So pretty and so wet," he comments between the licking and dipping, voice covered with smoke from all the lust. And he's hard again, too: right next to her face, and she could cry actual tears – what if he plans on fucking her too after this? It's too much, she can't even take this, she can't…

But she does.

Her back starts to arch just before the orgasm. She's not weeping yet, but every noise she makes sounds like she's crying her heart out.

"Slow down, slow–down, please…"

She's a one-woman choir of tight pleas. She tries to muffle them by burying her face somewhere in his thighs and musk. The tongue dips in and out like he's a machine and not a man, and the first wave hits unexpectedly, like a searing, white-hot blade.

"A–ah!"

The climax swallows her, she starts grinding against that face without meaning to. He only laughs and buries his nose and tongue deeper into her slickness. The arms around her hold her like iron bars, his breaths hit her along with his tongue like she's strapped to a torture device.

Her cunt is sloppy, and throbbing, and he is a torturer, licks her even when she's lying on top of him in ruin: a devastated, trembling heap of a woman who's lost everything.

"Stop–König, you need to stop…"

Her weak whispers do nothing. His tongue sweeps her from front to back until she's crying on top of him. Frail fingers try to claw his thighs but grasp nothingness.

When he finally relents, he does it with another laugh. Then he gives her a last lick: a total bully, snorts a chuckle when a tremble goes through her entire body from just that single, fat sweep.

"Mmm. That was good. Right?"

"M–mh…"

There are tears in her eyes, but not one comes out. Her pussy throbs and winks with the aftershocks, and his hand moves up and down her back like she's that little cat.

"You're mean," she sobs. Complains.

"Heh… you didn't like it?"

"I did," she sniffs, and his hand moves to caress her thigh.

"I know you did. I know you. Everything about you."

He sounds merciful at last, pats her leg softly.

"Come here. I'll take care of you."

When she turns and crawls back to him, his mask is fully in place. He receives her with open arms and speaks more softly than ever.

"I have to take care of you after. Isn't that so?"

"Yes…"

She holds onto him, because he's the only thing that's solid in her world at this point. His aftercare is the most tender thing she has ever known: her hair is being caressed gently, the tension in her neck and back is soothed with long, loving strokes. He buries his mask in her hair and inhales her after-sex scent like it's a whole offering of incense.

"Angel. You feel like… like it's my birthday."

His statement brings another round of tears to her eyes. Instinct tells her that birthdays might've been the only happy days of the year for this man.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He sounds worried when she's so quiet and timid again. Her heart settles slowly into a warm pool of love, she presses herself against him with fervor, and he squeezes her in turn like she's the most perfect birthday present ever.

"No."

I really needed that.

I need you…

"I will never let you go again," he promises. "Never. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispers. "I don't– I don't want you to go."

"Little one. I'm so glad I found you."

He takes her palm and uses it to brush away the hood from his lips. The violent edge is always taken away after sex, and the devouring is gentle, the passion is blunt. His kiss is soft; sweet.

"König…" She's raw and bare in his arms, her adoration reflects back to her from his blues. "Why did you pick me?"

"You're the one who picked me, Engel. I just answered your call."

He takes in the effect this truth has on her, then takes her breath away with another kiss. A small giggle erupts in the lazy afternoon as he threatens to crush her with a bear hug. Her hand steals its way further under the mask: she meets smooth skin and a collection of even smoother bumps.

"Why can't I see your face..?"

"It's not a pretty sight," he sighs. "Father liked to cut me when I was little."

The laziness leaves her body that very instant. The man is detached, distant: as if he's sharing something trivial, the city he grew up in or his favorite subject in school.

She doesn't know whether to feel pity or terror, but what he says next sends even more ice down her spine.

"Now I cut those who are evil."

Everything starts to make perfect sense.

Why he was bullied at school, why people fear him. Why disrespectful, cruel men deserve to be knifed and why women and wives are angels. Why he wears a mask.

It's not sound reasoning, but it is a strategy, perhaps. Survival… A defense mechanism.

And offense is the best defense…

She had been right: this man is incurable, only in ways she could never have guessed.

Afterwards, he shows her his knives.

His room is full of them: combat knives, throwing knives, bowie knives, daggers, bayonets, balisongs, two machetes, a kukri, knives she doesn't even have a name for… There's swords and sticks and a riot shield. There's only one bed, nothing more, not even a nightstand.

And the room is also full of guns.

Assault rifles, sniper rifles, shotguns, handguns; there's scopes, tripods, gloves, gas masks, a ghillie suit, pouches, plate carrier vests, magazines, grenades, even a launcher.

The room is filled with violence.

And she didn't know what she expected.

Some "Hot Gun Babes" wall calendar and a few pocket knives? That he would play by the rules and keep weapons and gear where they were stored instead of in his fucking room?

He gives her his third gift that pairs well with her black dress, or any dress, for that matter. Another knife, but not the kind he kills people with, nor the flimsy kind used for entertainment purposes.

She receives an automatic switchblade, simple but pretty. The double-edged blade looks almost feminine, the way it curves into a sharp, dainty tip. The handle is made of sturdy, polished wood; it's incredibly beautiful and so dark it's nearly black. The knife is only a threat when it's flicked open: all in all a piece that isn’t what it seems.

"Hier. Good little blade. Would take it wherever I go."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, Engel."

She kisses him after his gift. She kisses the white scar on his jaw, lifts the mask a bit more, and he doesn't stop her. He doesn't stop her, not even when she finds more keloid cuts and kisses them too.

And he's… simply a man.

There's a human under all that darkness.

It's not a pretty sight, perhaps, but for those scars, she couldn't love him more.

"You're not afraid of me," he sounds surprised when she takes in the violence done to his face with tenderness in her gaze.

"No."

He's speechless. The barricade covering his eyes is permanently broken, and she can see him, all of him.

She falls to her knees and opens his pants, gives the man another round of love. He looks at her with pain and pleasure; a pale, adoring god. Strokes her hair gently while she gets drunk on him like a succubus, wants him to spill that white on her face and all over her pretty black dress.

"Cum on my face, König."

She looks at him with angel eyes while saliva and drool make a rope from her mouth to his throbbing cock. But there is nothing left of the celestial, nothing more than a sweet, fallen angel, and a safe space just for her and him.

"Please…?"

Ruin me.

He hesitates a few seconds, then grabs his cock in an iron fist like it's heavy artillery.

"Whatever my angel wants, she shall have."

. . . . . .

He brings her flowers every morning and fucks her every night.

Sometimes he catches her when she's outside in the sun, reading a book or watching the clouds. He carries her off to the woods and takes her against a tree like they're the first man and woman on the earth after tasting the forbidden apple. They share a few hushed laughs and more than a few desperate kisses under the hood, then he brings her back to earth, straightens her dress like a gentleman before leaving to have a date with death.

He takes her out to eat sometimes, takes her to the shooting range. Calls her his little Wildkatze when she takes a liking to one of his shotguns. He takes her hand when they stroll through the grass and sings an old love song from his homeland. He has a beautiful voice, especially when he forgets he's in company. Or perhaps she's just special like that…

They share a secret language in the base. Whenever he sees her, he draws his knife and throws it in the air ("I miss you") or twirls it around ("The things I will do to you tonight…"). Sometimes, he just places a hand on the handle of the cruel blade. That stands for 'You're mine'.

It's the closest thing to I love you before either of them have spoken the actual words. Or then it's the closest thing to I love you he's capable of.

She gives him a small smile in return, puts a hand in her pocket and fondles the gift she carries everywhere she goes. He knows it's a nod to his secret messages. It stands for 'You're my everything'.

She keeps the switchblade with her even when she's wearing a dress after work. Red this time, the color of passion.

She wants to surprise him: König always comes to her before nightfall, but this time, she wants to go and visit him. She wants him to take her in the middle of black steel and acrid gunpowder while she's dressed in blood.

"Be a darling and fix me a cup of coffee, will you?"

She's stopped by Phillip Graves of all people. Another man who has never paid her any attention. Apparently, red cloth is the same thing for evil men as it is for the enraged animals in bullfighting shows.

She does stop, but she doesn't obey his wishes. She just stares him down like he's filth: another thing she thought she could never do.

I'm not your coffee girl.

"C'mon honey. I've had a bad day." The man only seems to feed off from her silent scorn: like it's some dark game they're playing now. "You could make it so much better."

For fuck's sake…

Here is a man who disrespects everything about her: her position as a cleaner, her value as a woman, her rank as a shy being who is too kind for this world. She's simply a doll who doesn't know how to kill, who doesn't know how to say no. This man however, won't take no for an answer.

"I'm not here to serve coffee," she says with pure ice.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. And I'm off duty, too."

"Thought we could have a little chat, you and I."

"Why?"

"You seem like an interesting woman."

He seems pleased with the fact that for some reason, she's still here, that he has her attention. Thinks he's winning her over with some yucky flirting.

"And wearing a red dress like that…" He tsks, as if it's a crime for a woman to wear red. "Red can drive a man crazy, darling."

She understands why she has been invisible to everyone except König up until this point.

Because deep down, she knows if she would carry herself in full, show herself to the world as the woman she truly is, she would instantly attract love, and power, and hunger, and lust.

"I'm going to go now, sir."

"Tell you what. You serve me that coffee and I'll let you go."

She catches sadism in that stare. And to think she had always found Graves to be somewhat… arrogant, perhaps, but not cruel. The man obviously has a Napoleon complex, but he was not supposed to be sadistic.

How wrong she has been.

She knows she could just get out of the situation by filling that mug the bastard can't fill himself because of some stupid need to have a powerplay moment with an innocent little girl who happens to wear red.

But she doesn't want to. König would have ripped this guy's head off by now.

"I'm off duty," she repeats.

Fuck these men who are always looking for a plaything.

Graves rises from the chair. She's both cold and sweaty by the time he has taken a step, two, three.

But men are a bit stupid sometimes.

They think dresses don't have pockets.

When he takes the fourth and last step, with joy-tinged cruelty in his eyes, she flicks the knife out and open, and simply stabs him in the supposed direction of the organ called heart.

It feels thrilling, pure power: to sink that knife there and catch a man – a soldier of all people – unawares.

So this is what it feels like…

The hurt in his stare doesn't necessarily come from pain, but from the realization that he has made a huge miscalculation.

He looks down at the small knife that will be the end of him, then at her, the woman he thought was just a simple, shy cleaner he could bully into submission.

"You fucking–bitch," he gasps. Weakly.

By the time she pulls the knife out and stabs him again, she's somewhere far away. It hits him in the stomach, and he still doesn't do anything about it, and that's the moment she finds pity, and mercy, and horror.

She turns and stumbles, then runs from the room, unsure if the thump on the floor behind her is real or imagined.

"You fucking whore…!"

The shout is real enough though, and she runs, runs, with a sharp little knife in her hand for what seems like an eternity. That flight is a prolonged medieval torture moment that ends in front of König's door.

Her titan is as calm as ever when he opens the door, and tilts his head when he sees she's breathing fast.

"I think I killed Phillip Graves," she informs with eyes wide.

He blinks, then immediately looks at her hand, the knife, the blood. She goes to him, lifts a hand to his shirt in a desperate attempt to find support. There's not even that much blood. She thought killing would be much messier.

König said it would be messy.

"I… He…"

Her hands won't even shake. All her senses are blown wide and sharp, she sees everything, hears everything, but her hands won't shake.

Is she a psychopath?

"I killed Phillip Graves," she repeats, looks at his chest, clutches at the knife, clutches at his shirt.

The door behind her closes, and König takes hold of her shoulders with warm, warm hands.

"Well done, Engel," he says with such joy, such unbound pride that it snaps her back into reality.

Her jaw starts to tremble, her teeth clatter, she raises her eyes to him…

"He… He wanted coffee, and to talk, and he liked my dress, and–"

"Did he touch you?"

He asks it like it's far more important than what she has just done. She has to shuffle through her memory, but she finds no recalling of Graves laying a single finger on her.

"No."

He was about to. Right?

He was. He threatened me–

"Don't shed tears for him," König says as he looks down at her with mesmerized awe and infatuation. "I can promise you he doesn't deserve them."

Then he hugs her, squeezes her and just holds her, and she's still holding on to the murder weapon.

What will everyone say? What will my friends say?

"My little angel is good with a knife," the titan laughs proudly somewhere high above her.

People have killed each other since the dawn of time.

These things happen.

I'm not the first murderer on this planet.

"My poor little… He was a bad man, Engel. I promise you that."

It's not a big deal. He was a killer too.

He could've died in the field…

"I'm going to jail," she whispers on his shirt. She wants to let go of the knife, but fears it might hurt him or her when it falls.

And she remembers she's not dealing with normal people.

"They will kill me for this," she says with distant realization.

"No they won't," he strokes her hair like she's the best pet he has ever had. "I will take the blame. It was my knife, ja?"

She pushes herself away to look at him, then nods slowly. Her jaw just won't stop trembling.

"Good girl," he pulls her against him again, so fondly that it forces out a whimper.

"Mh."

"Come here," he coos while already holding her so impossibly close. He's surprisingly good at this: at comforting her. Or then it simply feels uncommonly good to have someone sturdy to hang on to while her life and identity are falling apart.

"I'm not sure if he's dead," she whispers when the embrace lingers on. König breaks the hug immediately.

"You didn't confirm the kill?"

She must look like a shy cleaner again, because his resolve is stone cold and solid.

"Engel, I will go and finish it. Where is he?"

She tells, because he would find out anyway. He would start a manhunt and cause even more ruckus.

But when his hand reaches the doorknob, when he's already about to go and finish her crime on top of taking the full blame for it, he turns.

"Do I have your permission?"

Her jaw slowly stops trembling, and a soft sweetness spreads through her heart. The elite soldier, the mass murderer, asks for her permission.

She is more than just special…

"Yes," she whispers, and he gives her a curt nod before storming out the door.

And he's not living in the 21st century.

Instead, he walks in the world of gladiators, rages in a blood-drunk arena, lives in a time where killing was the norm. He solves problems with physical force: it's just that simple. There is no complex society, there are no rules other than the rules of the heart and the loins.

Anyone who disrespects her will get the blade, anyone who might take her away from him will make him do whatever is in his power to prevent it.

And he has the ultimate power: the power of violence.

He comes back surprisingly clean: only a tiny speckle of blood on his camos and some vivid-colored grime on his hands.

"Done."

She nods with solemn silence. She's done, too. Done with everything, because everything's gone. No matter how high the sun is, she will walk in darkness from now on.

"I believe you Engel. He swore he didn't touch you."

And God.

She might be special, but a dying enemy's, a man's word is more worth to him than hers. As if she would try to protect Graves from his wrath by lying.

And Graves wasn't even dead…

But he is now. Probably tortured too to get the truth out about not soiling her with his paws.

"Did anyone see you..?"

"No. But they will know it was me."

It's another gift to her. Another murder. And her purity, intact, in exchange for a compliment, a testimony of his character during a lazy coffee break. For a few kisses on his scars of abuse. For letting him fuck her like a beast.

Her gifts are burning tears, soft flesh and tight little cries…

His gifts are cold, black steel, hot, white cum and a stream of crimson blood.

"Thank you…"

"I would do anything for you." He bows his head, a little nod to inform her that he is hers to command. "Anything you want, just ask."

She's at home in hell, filled with guns and knives and a fallen god. She knows he will take her again tonight, just like he has done every night in the past weeks. In every position imaginable, grunting, howling, panting, laughing how sweet she is, asking if she likes what he is doing to her. She has always whispered yes through tears of hot joy.

Sometimes, they come together and their gazes lock, and it feels like drifting into a starless space with him. He strokes her hair and coats her with whispers of love before they fall asleep. They always curl up together in the cover of womblike darkness, with soft little smiles on their faces, safe from all evil.

"Can you keep me safe…?"

It's a sad little question, but she doesn't feel weak. She knows he is lost in her too: especially when she's wearing a dress the color of blood, especially when she looks at him like he's her God.

"Please keep me safe."

He comes to her carefully, answers her summons. She's pulled into a familiar embrace, and she doesn't even think about Graves anymore: she thinks about whether König will take her on the bed that smells of acid sweat or on the wall next to the gun rack.

"Always, Engel. I promise."

She holds the most powerful weapon in her tiny little hand. A dark, fallen titan who has risen from the depths of the earth to pledge himself to her, body and soul, while her innocent little dresses flutter in the wind and make everyone believe she's a victim. But she doesn't feel sorry.

Because it's just like he said.

They belong together, she and him.

🖤 🖤 🖤

Taglist:

@ghostinvenus @konigsleftkidney @stillinracooncity @valenspuppy @koionthewalls

[nopainnowhump]

Cracks in the Glass Pt. 3

(TW): This story contains themes of physical and emotional trauma, medical experimentation, electric shocks, blood, panic attacks, confinement, aggression, violence, and mentions of past abuse and torture.

"I said, don’t let it fall!" A shock courses through me, and my head lolls in exhaustion. Hot blood leaks from my nose as my vision swims. I know how he is—never satisfied with the experiments—and I just happen to be in his line of fire today.

A rough hand grabs my chin, yanking my face up to his eye level. “If you keep this half-assed bullshit up, I’ll hand you over to security. And we both know just how much fun they like to have with you.” He releases my chin, and I force my head up, struggling to hold it steady.

“Now hold.”

I lift the 50-pound weight as instructed, but only for a few seconds before the darkness closes in. It crashes to the floor with a loud thud, and the next shock finishes me off.

“AGHHHH!”

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

I jerk awake with a sharp breath. A thin layer of sweat clings to my skin, and my breathing is rapid. It takes a moment before I realize I’m not in my cell—at least, not the usual one. Where am I?

I glance around the room. It’s barren, save for the bed I’m in and an open door leading to a bathroom. The most glaring feature is the wall replaced by a large window stretching from floor to ceiling, looking out into the hallway. I pull the blanket off me and immediately notice something else: everything is different.

I’m in clean clothes—new ones. All of my ports are gone.

Panic hits me as my hand flies to my neck. The collar is gone. I suck in a sharp breath, struggling to process what’s happening. What…what’s going on? My eyes lock on the door handle, and I rush to it. I’m getting out of here—wherever here is.

I twist the handle, but it’s locked. I pull harder, my frustration boiling over into a scream. My pounding fists echo down the hallway. “AGHHHHH!” My voice cracks from exertion as I slam my fists into the door, over and over.

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

I watch her on the camera, banging on the door. Shit. I take a deep breath and lean back in my chair. I’ve dealt with a lot of kids who’ve come through here—most of them difficult—but this one…

While waiting for her to wake, I read through her file: A-13, age 14. Parents: unknown. It doesn’t tell me much. I take a sip of coffee and leave the quiet of my office.

The second I step into the ward, the screaming is deafening. As I make my way toward the cell, a soft voice calls from behind me. “Hey! Are you the handler for room five?”

I turn to see a young woman in bright pink scrubs.

“Yes, I am. Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Oh, right. I’m Anna, the nurse for that room. I just wanted to let you know she’s awake. As you can hear.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and shifts awkwardly on her feet.

“Yeah, I noticed. I’m headed that way now.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be at the nurse’s station if you need anything. And your name?”

“Thomas.”

“Cool…um, see you around.” She scurries off, and I head toward the screaming. I stop in front of the glass, observing the girl inside.

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

I break from pounding on the door to glare at the strange man standing on the other side of the glass. He’s wearing a nice shirt and pants, looking middle-aged and calm. His expression gives nothing away as he takes in my angry form. He’s not wearing a lab coat or scrubs, so I know he’s not a doctor. Not that I care. I don’t want to be here. I need to get out.

I slam my fists against the glass and let out another scream. “AGHHHHH!”

“Hey, hey,” he says, holding his hands up placidly. “You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The words float past me, meaningless. My screaming and pounding continue.

“Listen,” he says, voice steady. “I want to talk to you. It’s important that you hear me, okay?”

I ignore him. I don’t care. Sinking to the floor, I let the tears stream down my face, my breaths coming in shallow gasps.

“That’s okay,” he says softly. I look up to see him sitting on the floor across the glass, leaning against the wall. “I’m just going to hang out here for a bit, if that’s okay with you.”

I don’t respond, thrashing on the ground in anger until exhaustion claims me.

What feels like hours later, I’m spent. I didn’t have much energy to begin with, and now I’m sprawled on the cool concrete floor, a sniffling mess. The man hasn’t moved, quietly waiting for me to stop.

When I meet his gaze, he speaks again. “Ready?”

His voice isn’t irritated or insincere. There’s an empathy in his tone I’ve never encountered before. I sit up slowly, wiping the tears from my face.

“First off, my name is Thomas, and I’ll be in charge of your recovery while you’re here. Has anyone talked to you yet about where you are?”

I stay silent.

“That’s okay,” he says. “I’d be upset too if I woke up in a strange place with strange people. A few nights ago, you were rescued from the facility you were living in. This place is a rehabilitation center for people who come from situations like yours.”

I shift uncomfortably.

“For the last two decades, there’s been an epidemic—labs using infants for human experiments, creating weapons out of them. You were one of those infants.”

I pretend I don’t care, but I do. The pain, the torture—it had to mean something.

“A few nights ago, a rescue team infiltrated your facility and brought you and two others here,” Thomas continues. “No one here is going to hurt you. You don’t deserve to live like that. No child, no person, should ever experience what you have. I’m here to work with you so that, eventually, you can join the general population.”

He pauses, gauging my reaction.

“One thing you’ll learn about this place—we do not tolerate physical violence toward staff or yourself. We don’t use collars because they’re barbaric, but actions have consequences. Safety is the top priority here, and that includes yours.”

He moves closer to the glass. “Can you look at me, please?”

I turn away.

He sighs. “Okay. I’ll leave you alone, but I’ll be back later.”

No. He can’t leave me here. As he stands, so do I, adrenaline surging. “AGHHHH!” I slam my fists against the glass. Don’t leave me!

He gives me an empathetic look before walking away. I sink to my knees in an exhausted sob, the reality of my situation crushing me.

I collapse onto the floor, tears soaking the concrete, and fall into an uneasy sleep.

OMG, I’m having so much fun writing this! I promise the next part will have more caretaking and emotional moments. For now, I’m heading to bed—stay tuned!

Pt.4

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 16

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, suicidal ideation, self-pity, humiliation, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Backslide. The essential trajectory of your life. The expected. The predictable outcome. Nothing ever gets better, but there can always be worse.

Lloyd's large hand spreads across your skull, lurching you forward. An echo of the past, a mirror to the present, you on your knees, him with your life in his palm. Humiliation, hatred, helplessness. All at once and more.

You grasp the front of his pants as they droop beneath his wanting length. The acidic bile of revulsion glosses over your tongue and pools in your throat. You close your eyes as your fingers wrap around the veiny flesh, your lips hovering before his swollen tip.

A ring on your finger cannot erase what you truly are. A thing. An object. Another cog in the machine of Lloyd's massive ego. 

You stretch your lips around him and swallow the shame. Let him use your body, let him win, you can't handle any more disappointment. You can't keep letting yourself feel, to reminisce, to dream of a world where you are truly wanted. 

Colin never wanted you. Not really. That was a dumbass thought. This man before you doesn't either. No, he only desires the same of you as he does from everyone else. Whatever worth they can give him. 

You descend down to your limit. He pushes you further as he prods at the back of your throat. You gag as he urges past the resistance and he issues a satisfied snicker. That's all he wants, for you to bend, to be nothing more than a hole. 

He drags you up and down his dick, your saliva coating him, body rocking to his desire. He grunts and his deep voice radiates around the foyer, underlined by the wet noises of his merciless intrusion. Your eyes roll back wetly as you puff through your nose, pumping him with your hand against your lips in a rampant motion.

You numb yourself, taking him without feeling, without tasting his salty anticipation, without hearing the rumble of his rising release. And when it comes, you hang limply from his grasp, eyes sealed shut as he slides out of your mouth. He rests his throbbing tip against your lips and works himself over the edge, cumming with a snarlish moan.

Ribbons streak along your nose and cheeks, stretching to your hairline and dripping along your lips. He puffs as he releases you, nearly throwing you onto your ass. He clears his throat, the whisper of his zipper loud in the tense silence. You lean back on the heel of your hand and lower your chin, reaching to wipe the sickening sliminess from your face.

“No,” he grabs your wrist and jerks you violently, “I didn’t say you could do that, baby cakes.” His grip tightens painfully as your eyes flick open, lashes sticky from his release, “I want you to wear me… and nothing else.”

You curl your lip in disgust but do not resist. You do not try to free or hide yourself. He lets you go with a wink and a scoff. He stands over you, looming, arms crossed as he sets his feet wide.

“Take your clothes off. Now, I want you naked.”

You clear the grimace from your face and nod. You slowly stand, hiding how your legs wobble. You reach for the hem of your shirt, brushing the curve of your stomach. You pause, chest knotting. You don’t want him to see how ugly you are, how your body is growing, distorted by the child’s weight.

“I didn’t hear you,” he sneers.

“Yes, daddy,” you meet his eye with a defiant gleam, a spark of that woman who walked in these doors with a vow not to let him break her.

He smirks and his tongue rolls over his teeth. He clucks and drops his hands to his hips, “you missed me,” he tilts his head coyly, “didn’t you?”

You stare at him as you undress, gritting back the embarrassment as you drop the clothing into a heap before him. You step closer to him, refusing to look away.

“What hole?” You challenge.

💎

He sleeps against you. Roiling like a furnace against your naked back. The crustiness across your face and body mingles with the damp sweat, a repulsive cocoon around you. His hand rests on your stomach, as if mocking you, as if declaring, I did this to you. He snores against your hair, breaths gusting along your ear.

You repress a shudder as you touch his thick fingers, testing him as you slowly lift it away from your middle. He grumbles but doesn’t awake. You slide out carefully and replace your form with a pillow, draping his arm around it.

You surpass the en suite and go down the hall. You enter the bathroom nestled at the other end and wash yourself at the sink. Warm water in a hand cloth, scratching away the remnants of his control. You pause, dropping your fist against the granite, and you spit up a mouthful of thin bile into the porcelain. You rinse it away then swish cool water to dull the sour taste.

You wring out the cloth and leave it to dry over the faucet. You step back and look at yourself in the mirror. The full expanse of glass gives a generous view of your body and the room. Your eyes drift down to your middle, your engorged tits hanging lower than ever, your stomach rounding slightly, and as you turn, you really notice the growth. 

Ugh, you never thought you’d let yourself get this fat. How wonderful, a new stretch mark, and another. It’s how you know Lloyd is full of shit. He doesn’t want you as anything more than a toy. It wouldn’t matter if you looked like roadkill, he just needed your holes. He said it before and you should’ve listened.

It’s only going to get worse. Like everything else. You shut off the light and tiptoe through the dark. You go downstairs, Lloyd’s snores carrying from the open bedroom. You flip on the television and turn on an old movie you used to watch with Colin. He used you too, for different reasons, just like your mother, just like every other person you’d ever known.

You recline against the arm, wrapping yourself in the throw blanket as the dialogue plucks at your tears. Self-pity, no, it’s just honesty. Knowing who and what you are is something not many can acknowledge.

And when the baby comes? You’ll be even less. You’re a vessel for a moment but after the birth? A caretaker. A baby sitter. Needed by the child only to keep it alive, the most basic form of codependency. A cow to be suckled on, a pair of hands to change the diapers.

With your luck, he– she– whatever they are, will be just like their father. And that will be your life. Waiting hand and foot on those who couldn’t care at all for you.

You stay as you are for an hour, maybe two. Not quite dozing but not quite awake. Drowning in the dread of your existence. The realisation that it was all another trick. A false sense of security you feel into so stupidly.

Restless, you sit up. The movie credits roll as another title is recommended. You let autoplay roll as you hug the blanket around you. You go to the front door and stare out the slender window. It’s dark and the spring night is laced with a sliver of frigidity.

You open the door, carefully not to squeak a hinge or click the latch too loud. You step out and let the blanket flutter to the floor behind you. Naked, you step out and shiver in the nocturnal breeze.

You cross the porch, one foot in front of the other. You come to the edge and peer across the expanse of the lawn, green and dewy, blades and hedges trimmed precisely. As everything in his life, it is curated exactly to his preference. What Lloyd wants, Lloyd gets.

Fuck that shit. He can’t have everything. He can’t take everything. You just can’t let him. You can play puppet but you will not be his broodmare. And the only way to deny Lloyd anything, is to take it all away.

You walk out along the wet grass and round the house, exploring the vast property, the shadows looming over the gazebo and shrouding the covered pool. Another chill runs up your spine, raising painful bumps across your skin. You go to the very edge, where the trees loom at the boundary, and lay yourself down on the lofty ground.

You stare up at the moon and sigh. You always liked the outdoors. When you were a girl, you loved sitting out on the roof and watching the sun rise. Your mother caught you once and threatened to throw you off. And you and Colin used to go to the park and have picnics on sunny afternoons. A measly spread of crackers and cheese, but you truly believed then you only needed each other.

You close your eyes as the damp air grazes over the wetness on your cheek. You exhale and let your body shake, soaking up the coolness below, letting the wind encase you. You could sleep like this, sleep forever with the scent of dirt and pollen in your lungs.

[l0sercat]

wesker for the nsfw alphabet plss

Y'all the amount of requests I have rn are crazy and I'm so fucking tired so I'm going to be slow to update and just do he asks I feel like doing so I dnt burn out. Hope y'all understand :')

Albert Wesker NSFW alphabet

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

There is aftercare if he has been rough. He will prepare a bath and get you whatever you need.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves his eyes. They are just so cool and makes his look intimidating. And they always seem to make you shiver when they pierce you. He loves you ass. That's all I need to say.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He doesn't like messes so he prefers to cum in you. Also because he wants to breed you..

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

You came to his work wearing a small skirt and it got him really distracted and hard. So when you left and he could slip away he jerked off. The image of you in that short tight skirt plagued his mind and he moaned our your name.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Hardly has experience but what he lacks in experience he makes up in confidence.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Cowgirl but he's still dominant. Or doggy style. I can't pick 😮‍💨

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He more serious. What's so funny about sex?

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

It's all nice and trimmed. What else did you expect a bush? No not from this god. Nothing is messy or sloppy. It perfect.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He can be romantic. It usually is but sometimes it's not. He can be really sweet and gentle. It's kinda rare.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He hardly masturbates he just doesn't feel the need to.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He likes gags. Especially gag rings.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

The bedroom. You guys have privacy and it's easier to breed you.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing you all dolled up for him. Seeing you in your best clothing and hanging onto his arm it's gets him going.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Share you. You are his and his alone.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He prefers to give. He just loves tasting you and having your juices coat his face.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It's depends. Most of the time the speed is n between fast and slow.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He doesn't really like them. You don't have them that often. He prefers proper sex so he can properly breed you.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He doesn't take a lot of risks and he's okay to experiment as long as it's not too risky or bad.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He can last for hours. With uroboros he has so much stamina.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He does not own toys he doesn't need to. He will never bring the into the bedroom. He has himself and his tentacles so toys are not needed.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He likes to tease but doesn't do it a lot

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He grunts a lot and here and there he moans. If your sucking him off and catch him off guard he'll whine.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He likes to be edged. Idk why but I feel like he'd just love you to tease him back and try to take control.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He's 8 inches long and 3 inches thick.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It's not that high. But when he's horny oh boy...

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He waits till you fall asleep then he'll fall asleep a little after.

[ftmpupglacier]

pup trainer [jan ‘24]

“I’d love to see you in your pup mask tonight.”

This came as something of a surprise. My profile picture was me wearing my neoprene puppy hood. Not because it’s a big kink for me or anything, just because it looked hot and I didn’t want my face on the grid. You have to click into my profile to see my human self. It’s not a big deal and I know my exes would recognize the hood anyway…but it just makes me feel a little better.

But still. Although the photo draws a lot of comment, it’s rare anyone wants to actually play with my pup self. I was intrigued.

I reluctantly admitted I couldn’t play in certain ways that week. “I don’t mind a mess,” was the matter of fact response. Okay. Point to him. I mind (which I tell him), but I like that he doesn’t.

He countered with a suggestion that I could simply suck his cock. I sort of scoffed, telling him that I don’t normally go for the kinda encounters I get so little out of.

He offered to rub my pussy - over my pants if I preferred - and scratch my back and behind my ears.

And he sends me a photo. A bathroom mirror selfie of a handsome older guy in a suit. Shaved head, bearded. Very much My Type.

Before I can reply, his next message arrives: “Be man’s best friend.”

“Belly rubs too?” Hey, negotiations go both ways…

“Of course.”

And then he sends me an audio clip. It’s exactly six seconds long. His voice makes me squirm when I press play and hear sweet, enthusiastic encouragement: “C’mon, be a good boy. Be a good dog.”

I bit back an actual whimper. My brain was running a hundred miles a minute. It was 4:30 in the morning; I had only woken up because my dog needed to go pee. But this guy had all my attention.

We quickly negotiated a plan, and I hurriedly got dressed and headed outside to wait in my car. He parked in front of me and got out to open the back door. I hopped out of my own car and into the backseat of his SUV, with its dark tinted windows.

I had been too shy to put my hood on but I’d worn my collar. When I’d sent him the photo he had noticed my name tag immediately and begun to use my pup name. He did so again now, murmuring, “Good boy, Glacier,” as he stroked a hand over my back. He helped me take off my coat and my sweater, and let his hands roam over me as he praised me. I blushed and whimpered and leaned into his touches.

Eventually I let myself get brave enough to paw at his thigh. He unbuttoned his jeans and pulled out his cock, and I eagerly got my mouth on it. He moaned his appreciation of my oral skills while his big hands alternated between stroking my hair and rubbing between my legs, occasionally scratching behind my ears and holding me down a little.

He told me to get up on the seat and sit pretty like a good pup waiting for a treat. I knelt on the backseat next to him, watching with wide eyes as he jerked himself off. He told me to get my mouth back on him and I obeyed eagerly, swallowing his cum and mentally noting in a detached sort of way that I’d enjoyed that a lot more than I usually did.

“What a good boy Glacier. Yes you were. Lay down for a bit, pup.” I happily laid my head against his furry thigh and stretched out across the seat a little. He stroked my head and down along my back, and I let my eyes drift closed. I felt utterly content.

Eventually he breaks the silence to ask me a question, and as I clear my throat to answer I realize it’s the first time I’ve spoken since I got into his car.

He gives me his number and tells me to text anytime.

I text him later to thank him, and to apologize for having been too shy to put my hood on. He tells me next time.

“We’ll resume where we left off. But you in your pup hood and nothing else. I want to hear you whimper and howl for me.”

[squoxle]

On the kitchen counter, in the school storage unit, I don’t care

I think I like it in the kitchen😏...

🖤 𝐹𝓊𝒸𝓀 𝑀𝑒 𝐿𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒜 𝒮𝓁𝓊𝓉 ~ 𝒮𝓊𝓃𝑔𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒻𝒻 𝟣𝟪+

📷pairing: Sunghoon!procrastinator!bf x Reader!afab | 📷wc:1.4k | 📷summary: Your boyfriend, Sunghoon, procrastinated with completing a video assignment for school, but when you came over to help him you ended up making a different type of video |📷cw: unprotected sex, pussy eating, voyeurism/exhibitionism, spitting, dirty talk, pet names [slut, princess, whore, etc.], masturbation, choking, oral m. and fm. receiving (basically, porn with a plot)

“I can’t believe you waited until the last fucking minute to do this,” you sighed as you walked through the door, greeting your procrastinator of a boyfriend. "This video assignment is due tomorrow and you haven't even started."

“I didn’t feel like doing it though,” Sunghoon said, running his fingers through his hair as he trailed behind you.

“So you just waited for me?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Uhhh yeah,” you replied as you slid your puffy coat off of your shoulders.

“You didn’t have a problem when I waited for you the other day,” he smirked as you thought back to the events that transpired a few days ago.

“That was different,” you spat, trying your best to hold back the smile.

“Was it? Because I do remember you saying something along the lines of ‘wait! I’m not ready to c—“ you cut him off with a playful push to his arm.

“Just go get the damn camera,” you said as you swiveled yourself into one of the metal barstools. Even though you were wearing jeans, you could still feel the cold steel against your thighs.

Sunghoon chuckled to himself before walking off to grab the camera from his room. You distracted yourself with random thoughts while you waited for your boyfriend to return.

You gasped as you felt Sunghoon’s lips against your cheek. He gently pecked your face as he reached a hand down to grip your thigh.

“Smile princess,” he said, using his free hand to hold the camera at an angle that caught the actions going on between the two of you.

You rolled your eyes as he placed the camera on the counter.

“Hoon, we need to focus,” you giggled as he spun you around to face him.

“I am focusing.”

“On your project.”

“Hmm, fine,” he pouted before leaning in to kiss your lips.

After a few failed attempts at the video’s introduction, Sunghoon was just about ready to give up.

“Hoon, come on. This is due tomorrow. We need to get some footage or else we’ll have nothing to edit. Therefore, nothing to present. No video, equal nothing to turn in and that’s gonna be a zero,” you sighed in an attempt to encourage your boyfriend to at least make something.

“I don’t even fucking care anymore. So what if I get a zero. One zero won’t fuck my grades up that much,” he shrugged.

“That’s not the point,” you said as he plopped down in a chair. “How about I do it with you? Would that make it easier?”

“Hmm…maybe,” he sighed, tilting his head back. “But I really just don’t want to do it. I’d rather be doing something else,” he smirked.

“Sunghoon. Focus,” you spat. “Now come on, get over here before I change my mind,” you adjusted the tripod and lenses to get a shot of you and Sunghoon in frame.

“Fine~” he hummed, jerking his body out of the seat before walking over to you. “Is it recording?”

“What do you think?” You asked sarcastically.

“What do you think,” he mocked you as he noticed the red light. "Can you start it? Just for the practice run," you slightly rolled your eyes at his request. "Please. And I promise I'll do it next," he pouted.

Looking at that face, only one thing crossed your mind, if he wasn't your boyfriend you would walked away by now. Ditching his lazy ass to figure it out on his own.

"Ugh, fine," you groaned as smiled so hard you thought he was gonna break his jaw. "Hi, I'm--" you were cut off by Sunghoon grabbing your hips as he pressed himself into you. "Sunghoon--"

"Shh. I'm trying to focus," he said as he persisted to gently push into from behind.

"Sunghoon--"

"Please, Princess. I promise I'll do it after we finish."

"But--"

"I can't think straight if my dick is aching to fuck the shit out of you," he said as you now came aware of his growing hard that he rubbed against you.

You couldn't deny the fact that sometimes you could be equally as conceited as him. Just the idea of him being so turned on because of you was enough to get you going.

"Okay, but we gotta be quick alright," you said as you looked over your shoulder to meet his eyes.

He reached his hands around you, sliding your pants to your ankles as he kneeled down to glide his tongue between your folds. The wetness increasing from a mixture of his saliva and your own juices as you moaned from his satisfying touch.

You looked down to see him palming himself through his sweats as he let out soft moans while tongue fucking you. You couldn't help but swirl your ass around as he pulled out his dick, stroking it with one hand while he continued to eat you out. "Fuck, princess. You taste so fucking good."

He pushed you back onto the countertop, sliding you across the cold surface as he spread your legs to expose your sloppy wet pussy. Every part of your body belonged to him and he made sure to remind you anytime you fucked. "Mmm, look at my pretty little fuck hole," he grinned as he pressed his thumb into your clit, slightly massaging it before pushing his tip against your opening.

He teased you with it, gliding it back and forth without going in. You were at the point where you were ready to push it in yourself, but you knew how much he loved to torture you with pleasure. "I know you want me slut. I know you want my dick deep inside of you," he said as he gripped your thighs tighter. "Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you."

You broke, craving his dick more than anything, "I want you to fuck me so bad," hearing these words placed a little grin on his face as he spat on your pussy before pushing every inch into your throbbing cunt. You let out a high-pitched squeal as you felt him enter you. "Ah," you moaned.

"Ngh, fuck. I wanna see that pretty face while I fuck you," he said as he grabbed the camera pointing it to your face as your eyebrows furrowed. "Mmm, fuck you look so sexy. My sexy fucking cum slut," he said as he started fucking you faster.

"Tell me how much of a whore you are for me," he huffed moving the camera down to get a shot of his dick pumping in and out of your slimy pussy. "Ugh! I'm such a dirty slut. Your dick feels so fucking good inside of me," you hiccuped as you felt his dick pumping deeper into you.

"Mmm, fuck yes. You're my slutty little princess," he said as he bit into your neck. He caught a shot of your face as he sucked on your neck. "God, I love those delicious sounds you make," overwhelmed with pleasure he placed the camera down as he pushed you down onto the countertop, gripping his hands around your throat as he kept fucking you.

He pulled your legs over his shoulders, as he picked up the speed. He was almost whining at this point as he fucked you mercilessly. "Ugh! Ngh! You feel so fucking good, princess," he moaned as he slammed against your juicy pussy. You were moaning uncontrollably at this point, heaving your chest as he tore your legs open more, pressing your thighs into the surface as the two of you came at the same time.

You felt his cum spill inside of you as you caught your breath. You must've blacked out because you didn't remember anything else when you woke up naked next to Sunghoon who was jerking off to the video you unintentionally made last night.

"Sunghoon," you groaned as the sounds of him stroking himself were muffled by the cover. "You're just so sexy, I couldn't help myself," he said as he continued pleasing himself. "Did you at least finish the project?" you asked as you reached your hand down to hold his hand as it moved up and down his length.

"Of course I did. And I submitted it. See, I told you I was gonna do it," he said as he pulled the cover back exposing his cock as he held out his hand for you to spit on it before using your wetness to stimulate his dick some more. "Hmm, well I'm glad I could help," you said, lowering down to suck on his pink tip before he pushed your head down, throat fucking you as he let the video play beside him.

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

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[saving-ray-23]

BATGIRL (ELEVEN)

Coach Yeoh was a master of all trades, it seemed. Lacrosse coach by day, seamstress by night. She had heard from James that she was a small, tiny fan of Batman and went nuts. The next day, she was presented with a dark purple jacket make of leather, a bright yellow bat-symbol on the chest. It was badass to say the least, not to mention one-of-a-kind.

And when Barbara asked how she got it, all the Coach said was that she knew a guy. By Friday, the costume was complete and awesome. Coach Yeoh had found this cape that clipped onto the jacket shoulders and a utility belt dyed bright yellow filled with dollar tree smoke bombs, safety pins, and a couple fake batarangs from Toys-R-Us. Barbara cleaned a pair of black jeans and laced tightly the yellow boots she had gotten for Bess too long ago to remember. She never got a chance to give them to her, but with all the effort Coach Yeoh was putting into the costume, she couldn't find a good excuse to not wear them. Last was a dark coat of greasepaint in a stripe across her face and with her hair braided back and most of her face hidden under the hood of the jacket, she was a female Batman.

It was extremely dorky, but that night, she just felt . . . cool.

James and his girlfriend were going as police officers— most likely a slight towards the Commissioner, but Babs tried not to overthink it. It was a party— something fancier than the annual Policeman's ball but hopefully not as awkward as a Gotham Academy Formal.

When they got there, it was a mess. Mostly adults, already taking advantage of the open bar and lack of more than three kids. She mentally sighed, watching her cousin's girlfriend practically dive into the crowd.

"You know," James said, leaning closer. "I heard Bruce Wayne's here tonight."

Babs tensed, nails digging into her palms as she forced herself to stay calm. "He's probably enjoying the chaos."

Just because his dad was there, Dick didn't necessarily have to be. She remembers him once saying he hated to stuffy balls and galas. Said it was all old ladies pinching his cheeks and saying how much he'd grown.

The costume ball seemed nothing like the boring events he'd described.

Squeezing her shoulder once, James disappeared into the crowd with an easy grin, as though he hadn't just dropped a bomb on Barbara.

She gravitated towards the nearest table, slumping in the seat. The lights were dimmed and the music was loud— something felt weird about the situation. Lex Luthor was nowhere to be seen, though she doubted he attended most of his parties. The bald-headed Superman-hater gave off more of a Gatsby vibe; throwing the party to show off all his riches without actually being apart of the party.

She looked around the scene, eyes searching for Lois Lane. Only Lois Lane. She wouldn't look for Dick buttface the third because he was a jerk who—

Who was kissing Jenny Addams?

Barbara felt— she felt—

She didn't know how she felt. Dick— she'd been mad at him for so long because he pretended to be her friend, just like everyone else. Because he wouldn't leave her alone— because he kept spamming her with bullshit apologies.

Because she thought he was better than that.

And she had felt bad for a while, too. She didn't like making people feel bad, even jerks who totally deserved it. It just made her feel bad and them feel bad and most of the time it wasn't worth it.

But clearly Dick didn't feel bad. Not at all. He was just perfect. Probably breathless because he hadn't come up for air in—

Standing, Barbara stormed out the doors.

__

It took Barbara nearly an hour to get back to Somerset. She had texted James after a while, letting him know she wasn't feeling well and left early. It wasn't really a lie. Seeing Dick suck face made her want to hurl.

Six subway stops later, she was following her phone's GPS back towards her house, wanting the quickest way back. All she wanted was to curl up in a ball and sleep for the next week.

"Stop— stop it!"

Babara's head whipped up from her phone, eyes straining to see in the darkness of Gotham. The costume's cape billowed around her in the wind, purple glinting in the moonlight. A flash of silver caught her eyes and then she made out two figures in the alleyway.

A smart person would turn and walk away. She was tired and just a kid, no real experience fighting off the mats. 

But, the woman was screaming for help and Babs had some anger she needed to expel.

Launching forward, she tackled the guy to the ground, fist colliding with his jaw. The leather gloves she wore did little to soften the blow, but the large figure still flipped her off of him, both rolling to stand. She fell into ready position easily, fists high and feet spread. This was just like the spars in the dojo— except, the guy was a lot bigger than the teenagers she usually fought with and he had a knife Babs had only just noticed.

Using one hand to hold the knife away from her, she rammed her hand hard against his forearm, his fingers losing their grip and the blade falling to the ground. Punching him square in the jaw, Barbara watched in shock as he crumpled to the ground unconscious. Blinking, she reached for the thin rope hanging from her fake utility belt, tying his wrists tightly.

Standing, Babs turned towards the crying lady, surprised she hadn't run off. Her bracelet was broken on the ground, but other than that, she seemed . . . fine. A little hysterical, but fine.

"What— who— " The woman gasped, looking her up and down.

Barbara felt good— the summertime high she'd been on seemed like nothing compared to the adrenaline rushing through her. She opened her mouth to respond, about to answer the woman when her phone went off.

COMMISH

The Commissioner was texting, asking where she was. She never told him she was going to the party— figured she'd be back before he even got home. But now— now, she had knuckles that were surely going to bruise and a woman was crying in front of her. If she told him what happened, he'd never let her leave the house. When she was a kid, he was always preaching to her how dangerous it was to be a vigilante— to run from danger, not towards it. Granted, her stopped caring so much about what Barbara did in the past few years, but still. Barbara Gordon stopping a robbery wouldn't stay secret long.

Good thing she wasn't dressed like Barbara Gordon at the moment. The purple grease paint around her eyes suddenly felt like a really good idea.

"Who are you?" The woman breathed more evenly now, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"I'm just, uh . . . a friend?" She winced internally, feeling like she'd just quoted the worst action movie of the decade.

The sound of sirens rang out in the distance, maybe five blocks away. She winced— the costume might've fooled the scared woman, but she doubted the cops wouldn't recognize her.

"I, uh, I've gotta go." She explained badly, double-checking that the thin nylon once apart of her costume was holding the crook in place. "Sorry about your necklace!"

She ran down the alleyway, ducking around a corner and down the street. She was close enough to her house to make it before the cops could even get a statement from the woman. Babs had gotten away.

Gotten away. God, she sounded like a criminal.

Criminal.

She'd just stopped a crime! Saved some woman! She was a savior!

It felt pretty great.

[the-firebird69]

So going down there and here and we see that there are a bunch of jerks it's starting to hear something I don't care for a son that's talking all this they're having to talk these people are complete assholes meaning from 1 to 100 they match up with every point that says that they're spend they're still sitting next to him they have no couthy we're doing the work though you think that it's fake or something and they are kicking their own ass you think it's an effective and everybody's reading it so there's something stupid about that and a lot of people saying these people are full of crap and they're doing all sorts of things and trying to take all sorts of stuff but it's not a great deception and they get caught but he does have the traits of a pure a****** and nobody can stand him and he's yelling and screaming being an evil person making fun of everyone taking stuff beating people up and nobody want oh thank you very much and thank you and the sandwich game but nobody wants to deal with him and nobody wants him around and nobody wants Trump around or Terry cheesman and Garth on the whole game of idiot always picking on her son completely picking up right now just sitting there about to do they don't really have any options they made enemy friends or the enemies and no everyone hates them. All sorts of people want them out like gone everybody that we talk to of ours and practically everybody else so can't figure out why they're there let's try poking around and getting answers. There's about 10,000 people listening to Dan trying to see if it has stuff. Who's wearing and saying it's not going well did he dump too much information. It's with the clones and some others and he thinks she can escape things our son is nothing. Love you more or less had it with them. Well something's telling them it's probably the max and you need to f*** off they don't seem to want to do that. It's a call from Stan have the empire is taking his fleet and you're saying I said thank you very much you airhead anything else you want to do says he lost his fleet and Dan's at fault and Trump and the guys can't figure it out. This is part of a mix. So soon they're arguing out loud in the jailhouse. And then let's try to growl I won't be playing for this. Started saying we're doing stuff yesterday and got caught. Finally Matt came around the corner and said shut up I put you under they said no way. Chris Browning his blabbing and blabbing he gave him a shot and he's out. And that guy is mentally ill for real. His stone cold out I have his mouth while he's sleeping you hear this so what stans against us and he stands with the empire. Cancel say the fruitcakes making him say it cuz who's the fruitcake cuz they can make him say stuff they said sorry but you're not supposed to so just like him you provoking a reaction you're looking at each other wondering why. They know why. Listen to this we want to get a big and you're saying you can't afford to says it's not trying to get big and doesn't have any money so to calm down. So they're sitting there talking and Dan is mumbling I'm going to the mental hospital that's where I belong and is out okay so they're mad they give him more. In a minute they're going to drag him to court no doing after his guys. An appointment here with plain clothesman.

There's a touchy point keeps making fun of our son no son saying there's this indigent retarded man who's f****** up everybody's plan I don't want you making fun of me so it starts talking since listen sweetie I can't use some money cuz I'm not using it. I didn't try that hard cuz I know it's coated you fat a****** and then is quiet so things are going to go on and it's a regular day here except for that it's really a minor compared to what John remillard has been doing and it's called the police on him many times about five times three of the house and two times outside it and he gets arrested every time and you really shouldn't be doing that stuff.

It's a huge number of dummies around who want to look like him die somebody else to do his character I mean they don't think of it that way cuz they're stupid but really there's a lot going on today and this is not really needed and he says it probably was it really is those two need to fight each other there's a lot of people fighting there it is a huge huge battle in war there's a number of them that are red hot does that mean I mean they are red hot and they are overflowing with people and we have to go in there and call some out every once in a while we have to pull we have to pull them out and the max are doing it too and it's disgusting so we looked at like this he thinks it's a free-for-all the guy thinks he can get away with it but really he wants to intimidate our son didn't work and people in prison beat him up because it doesn't work and he keeps doing it and it's starting intimidating him they say that's how you do it stuff like that and our son is not easy to intimidate some reactions so they think it's working and then he just says no. But these areas are red hot and there's a lot of them and they're all over Florida and they're losing the ships I don't know if losing is the right word but the ships are leaving and not coming back and really Garth is doing the same stupid s*** to him and it might be them no researching it now

We're going to publish because the dollar is a sign

Thor Freya

They're all in sophisticated it's not just Garth it's the a****** too

Shaq

[a-crow-ready-for-a-murder]

Screw it chapter 6

This one is a bit more miscellaneous, but we're getting there. Hope you enjoy.

Kalim was hesitant as he faced the Savanaclaw dorm entrance, he didn’t want to encounter anyone Rook had listed and find Ruggie right away but if he did, he knew he had a duty to give them closure, it might take time but he would let them down gently, it’d be rude to do otherwise. Looking down at the bouquet in his hands, it was beginning to look worse for wear and may be unrecognizable very soon, so with a quick breath to steel himself, Kalim entered Savanaclaw set on his mission.

As Jaylin gulped down her third bottle of water she groaned. After booking it back to Pomefiore and as far away from Leona’s unique magic as possible, all she was getting for her efforts was a tummy ache. Crumpling up the plastic bottle she glared at the wall she was facing as if it had said something to worsen her day. The whole sitting area in the dorm seemed to piss her off the more she stood in it, she’d even considered throwing her scrunched up bottle on the polished, marble floor as a hurrah against the dorm. But it wasn’t the dorm that provoked her ire, it was the vice housewarden and his ridiculous antics. She’d still had a piece of her mind to give him but they’d lost sight of each other as they fled from Leona and she hadn’t seen him since. With an irritated sigh, she went to the kitchen and tossed the water bottle into the recycling bin under the sink along with the rest of its fallen brethren, its sharp thud as it bounced off the plastic wall would likely be her only victory today if nothing else went as hoped. Pulling out her phone, she walked back to the sitting room to drop unceremoniously onto the couch where she kicked off her boots and began to scroll magicam. It was up to them to figure things out, and all she could do was hope they did.

The Savanaclaw heat was apparent from the moment he set foot on the dirt path, it didn’t rival Scarabia at all but it still made Kalim squint against the sun with a small huff. His nose was quickly filled with the warm scent of earth and a spice that could seemingly only be found in the savannah, a smell that Ruggie always had around him. Kalim smiled fondly as he clutched the tattered bouquet tighter. In the distance he could hear students training for upcoming games and as his ruby eyes scanned the rocks and trees around him, he wondered where Ruggie might be at this moment.

Laundry. Was there anything more grueling than laundry? Maybe trying to stay awake in professor Trein’s class. Ruggie laughed to himself as he hung up his lab coat on the clothes line then found himself thinking of how Kalim would chuckle with a slightly embarrassed look since more often than not he would nod off halfway through a lecture. It came to a point where Ruggie and Jamil would take shifts to ensure he stayed awake in class. He remembered one time while sitting next to Kalim where he himself was beginning to feel his eyelids grow heavy when he started hearing soft snoring beside him. Kalim had fallen asleep, head on one arm while the other was still over his notebook, pencil in hand. It was adorable but he needed to wake him. “Kalim.” He whispered, shaking the young man’s shoulder, “wake up.” The pencil dropped from Kalim’s hand and now that it was free, it reached out to Ruggie’s arm and latched on as its owner jerked awake. “Morning sunshine.” Ruggie said with an edge of amusement. Kalim took a moment to look around before sitting up straight, his hand still on Ruggie’s arm as though he hadn’t noticed it was there to begin with. Ruggie opened his mouth to mention it but decided that Kalim would remove his hand when he felt like it and he was already embarrassed for falling asleep. Besides, Ruggie didn’t really mind the contact, it felt almost natural at that point. Kalim did eventually let go of his arm to take notes but neither of them really discussed it further.

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Hello, may I request some angst? More like hurt/comfort with Megumi and/or Nanami? Like reader is affectionate and they had a bad day and called the reader annoying or clingy. And then the reader kinda pulls back or stops being as affectionate and then Megumi/Nanami apologized?

Notes: I did this one for Kenny since I don't have much for him, and I have a similar story for Megumi already :)

I didn't use any pronouns but I do feel it reads more female so it's up to you guys! Not beta'd~

Kento left for work at nine-thirty that morning, meaning he’ll be home by six, and you wait giddy to see him like every evening. You’re even more impatient to see him today because you took a day off work to go to the shopping district and managed to hit the beginning of a good sale, leaving with clothes that you know he’d like.

You wait longer as seven starts to slowly tick closer, and you start to worry about where Kento could be since he hates working overtime more than anything. Then, you hear the handle to the door starting to shake so you stand up, ready to greet him with a “welcome home”.

When the door opens, you don’t give him a second before reaching up to throw your arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his cheek before sprinting to grab the dozens of bags you had piled in the corner.

Nanami shrugs off his coat and props it on the coat rack, and he drags his tired body to the nearest seat and collapses on top of it. He hangs his head over the back of the chair and snatches his glasses off.

Today had been just awful at work between having to deal with his coworker’s antics and getting the run around by a particularly annoying curse then Shoko was tipsy earlier than usual, so he had to wait for her to sober up to heal his broken rib. All that culminates into staying at the school longer and having to drive through late-night traffic.

On the other hand, you are absolutely on cloud nine to have Kento home, always wanting to be with him as much as possible in this chaotic world, and you want to show him your affection by showing off the presents you bought for him.

“Honey, guess what I did,” you say, dragging the designer bags behind you as you squeeze in next to him. Nanami moves one of his legs over to offer you the room but does little else to acknowledge your excitement as he hears your voice grating in his ear. “I went shopping today and that place you like had a huge sale on all their business wear. Apparently, they’re switching to their spring collections, so I got you a bunch of new clothes.”

You shuffle the paper lining of the bag, pull out a grey jacket, and force it into his hand. “Feel this,” you chirp proudly, “The clerk said it’s made with wool from Italy. I mean, I can’t really tell myself but it does feel nice! And I got the perfect shirt to go with it.”

“Here, try this on,” you tell him, receiving nothing but crickets in return. It’s quick for you to notice that he’s not paying the slightest bit of attention to you. “I’m talking to you. Kenny,” you say, fighting for his attention with a continuous poking to his shoulder. “Neee, Kenny.”

“Will you please stop doing that,” he finally says. It’s not the type of acknowledgment you want as he waves your hand off of him. “I don’t have the energy to play around with you right now.”

“The ener—Kento Nanami!”

He groans softly to himself. “(y/n), I’ll try it on later, but I had a very long day and need you to stop annoying me for thirty minutes," he says, showing clear lack of care of the new issue you had concerning his choice of words.

You’ve never heard him talk like this to you before not since you were dumb kids in high schools. You never got the feeling he actually meant it back then but this time you can’t stop your mind from yelling that he was serious about finding you irritating. “Forget it,” you tell him, mumbling a soft “jerk” under your breath.

When you go to sleep that night, it’s with your back to him instead of your arm slung around his waist. You wake up early that morning, make breakfast as usual, and start ironing your clothes for work. Nanami is already dressed in his signature wardrobe and grabs his house keys.

“I’m leaving.”

“Alright.”

He waits at the door, not really sure what he’s waiting for as he jostles his keys in his hand. He catches a glimpse at his watch. He’s ten minutes early today despite sticking to his strict schedule.

Ah. He remembers now. He was waiting for you to come to the door and fuss over him before he leaves. You’d clumsily pull on his tie, trying to fix what’s not broken, even though you’re terrible at tying them and can never seem to learn to do it right no matter how many times he shows you. Then, he’d have to spend extra time fixing what you messed up.

As if expecting you to come do that, he repeats, “(y/n), I’m leaving.”

“Mhm, have a good day.”

Nanami waits a few more seconds before marking off in his head that you must’ve been too busy with your routine to come fuss over him for today.

After a much better day than the last, he returns home expecting to hear your voice ringing out across the house to welcome him back, but you don’t budge from your spot on the couch nor do you move to cozy up with him when he sits down next to you after settling in for the night.

In fact, you scoot away.

“What are you doing?”

“Mm…just getting comfortable,” you explain softly, and he doesn’t make any complaint to stop you as you wiggle a little uncomfortably.

Nanami could tell something was wrong. Normally, you’d be all over him the second you’d see him after a long day. Normally, you’d be begging him to give you kisses. Normally, you’d at least ask how his day has been.

“I think I’m going to head to bed early. Goodnight, Kenn—Kento,” you correct, remembering he doesn’t like it when you use that name even though you love it. Otherwise, he might say you’re aggravating him again.

And perhaps you had been annoying. The two of you weren’t always on the same rhythm personality-wise, and you had been told plenty before that you could be exhausting to deal with, clingy, annoying to be around. You don’t know why you’d always trust Nanami to never be the person to tell you that.

You sniffle to yourself, wiping the wetness from your nostrils. You head into your room and climb into bed with a sigh as you cuddled up alone with your sheets and close your eyes for a blissful few minutes of quiet with your thoughts. You don’t hear when Nanami comes in, watching you curl up to yourself.

“(y/n).”

You hesitate to answer, needing the time to calm yourself first to stop your voice from trembling, to stop yourself from shaking. “Yeah?”

“You’re behaving strangely. Do you mind telling me what’s the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter. I’m just tired,” you answer.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. Enjoy your alone time.”

“If this is about before. I’m sorry about what I said. It was uncalled for to take my frustration out on you.”

“It’s fine,” you fake a yawn, as if not to care, “I forgive you.”

Nanami doesn’t pry any further even as he can feel the negative aura still hanging around your form like cursed energy. He leans over to kiss your forehead but as you pull away, he decides to let you have your rest and to stop pressuring you into allowing him close.

He decides to allow your rest, returning to the family room, still full of bags you bought yesterday. You could be so messy sometimes, but instead of scolding you, Kento decides to put everything away for you.

He starts to sort the bags in piles based on where they needed to go. Kitchen, bathroom, your clothes and his. He starts to put everything away, quietly shuffling through the house as not wake you.

It’s when he takes the time to start putting away your gifts that he finally runs his fingers over sterling grey. Full canvas, nice even lining, and you were right on it being wool as he runs his thumb over the sleeve. Slowly, he goes to the bathroom to try it on, but he has no doubt you managed to buy the perfect fit. Somehow you always do, and it always looks better than what he can find. No matter what it was.

“You’ll look handsome in it, Kenny.”

“I haven’t even tried it on.”

“My instincts are always right about this sort of thing.”

Looking at himself in the mirror, he bows his head forward against his palm, a growing irritation rising in him as he looks at the coat, but it’s at himself this time for hurting your feelings when you were trying to be nice to him.

When you got home from work, you immediately start to work on cleaning the living room so you can properly relax in a clean environment. You’re ready to collapse against the couch when you hear the front door cracking open, and you’re a little on edge, not expecting to see Nanami return in the middle of the afternoon.

“Kento, what’re you doing back so early. Did something happen at work? Are you okay?” you ask before railing yourself back to avoid crowding him, and he notices how uncomfortable you look as you hold your hands in front of yourself to create imaginary distance between him and yourself.

“I took the day off so I could spend time with you today,” he tells you, confusing you as he holds up a bright purple paper bag to your eye height. “I got this for you.”

Curiously, you open the bag and reach inside to pull out your own designer wear and unfold it. You squeeze into the luxurious material in your hand. “This is nice,” you comment absentmindedly, smiling as you hold the outfit to your skin, “What is this for?”

“The suit. I like it,” he says, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “And considering how much you unconditionally spoil me, it’s only fair that I do the same to you once and a while.”

He clears his throat.

“(y/n), I’m sorry for hurting your feelings when I called you annoying. I didn’t mean it. I love you more than anything, and I wish I could show you as much as you show me; but hopefully, this will make it up to you even a little.”

Slowly, you soften and close the distance to drape one arm around his neck to hug him. Your lips softly brush against his cheek, making him crack a small smile. “I love you too, Kenny.”

[goldengoddess]

it looks better on you - nikolai lantsov

pairing: nikolai lantsov x reader 

request: Hiii! I recently discovered your blog and I love everything you write, your Nikolai content deserves so much love (as does everything else)!But speaking of that cheeky bastard, would you be up for writing headcannons or in a style you’re comfortable with about Nikolai (Strumhond in this case) where reader is new to the job and packs light and forgets a coat, but Tamar tricks them into wearing Strumhond’s coat (being oblivious that it’s his) and Strumhond makes a sarcastic comment but in the end is fine with it? Don’t worry about if you’re busy - it just came to mind! ❤️

a/n: thank you sweet thing! i love my baby nikolai,,, this is so cute by the way i love the concept so much 

warnings: cursing, suggestive comments

you could not have been so stupid. 

it was your first week on this job. you were new to the crew of this ship, and you had done everything right up until that point. you wanted to make the best impression possible. strumhond’s crew was legendary. there wasn’t a single sailor on the seas that didn’t know his name.

and you, of all people, had been lucky enough to be chosen to help his crew. if you proved yourself, you hoped, you could get an actual permanent job with the crew. 

but of course that wasn’t going to happen, because you were going to freeze your ass off before you even got the chance to do anything useful.

your inability to think ahead had caused you to forget to bring a warm coat. most days at sea were warm, sometimes too warm, with the sun hitting your face and body at every angle.

but there were days like this one where the winds were too rough and the air to cold, and every part of your body felt like it could fall off due to frost bite.

you searched the deck of the ship around you, hoping to find a spare coat, but mostly to make sure that the captain of the ship didn’t see you freezing in the corner.

you’d seen him a couple of times in the last couple of days. usually giving an order or messing around with the closest of his friends on the ship.

he was cute, you couldn’t deny it. at a distance there was nothing wrong. but closer up it was easier to see that there were parts of his face that seemed.. wrong. you’d been around long enough to know a tailored face when you saw one.

you tried not to linger on the reasonings for his tailored face, it wasn’t your business and it didn’t change his ability to lead a crew. despite that, you couldn’t help but imagine what he looked like for real. he had this royal presence to him.

even though he was a pirate, sorry, a privateer, he knew how to hold command. how to get people to listen when they didn’t want to. to make deals and compromises whenever a fight broke out. to leave both sides satisfied. he was like a prince at sea.

okay so maybe the prince had caught your attention more than you wanted to admit.

but it was hard not to be interested in him when every time he made eye contact with you it felt so intense that your knees felt weak.

the sudden gust of cold air snapped your thoughts back to the reality of your situation. your arms were wrapped around your body, as if this position could make the light jacket you had on suddenly sufficient against the cold.

you saw tamar walk onto the deck from below deck. she turned and saw you huddled near the wall. you gave her a sheepish and embarrassed grin. tamar had been the first person to speak to you and though you’d only known her a couple of days, you knew she was the kind of person one trusted.

she walked over to you with an amused smile. you could practically feel the teasing retort that was about to come out of her mouth.

“you look a little warm y/n, you sure you don’t want to take off your jacket.” she sarcastically said, her grin growing on her face.

you rolled your eyes and let out an annoyed huff, “if i die from hypothermia i’m going to make sure to haunt you.”

she let out a throaty laugh. “good, i happen to like your company. you can help me scare the shit out of tolya. he could use a ghost visit.”

the two of you shared a laugh and then you looked at her with slightly sweet puppy eyes. “tamar, please please tell me you have a coat. i stupidly forgot to pack one, trying to keep my bag light.”

she nodded her head at you, “yeah i’ve noticed.” she thought for a moment and then her face broke out into a mischievous smirk. “well i don’t have a coat to lend you but i know someone who has a spare.”

you nodded your head rapidly with enthusiasm. “saints, yes. i won’t get any work done today without a coat.”

she smirked at you and some part of your brain was telling you that her smirk had something hidden behind it. an extra plan. the look of many of the criminals you’d met during your time in ketterdam.

she linked her arm through yours and pulled you towards one end of the ship where a long brown coat was laid on top of the helm of the ship.

you looked at her sceptically, “who’s coat is this?”

she shrugged, grabbing the coat and easing it onto you. “think of it as a community jacket. we all like to share.”

you grinned and let yourself slip into the warmth of the cloth. you shuffled around a little and grabbed onto the ends of the sleeves since the coat was on the bigger side.

“i like it”

tamar smirked and motioned for you to spin, “it suits you. like it was made for you to use it.”

you narrowed your eyes and her words but before you could say anything she was walking back below deck.

the rest of the day went by without a hitch. the cold stopped bothering you and completing your daily task were actually easier. the coat smelled of the sea, the feeling of the sun, and an oddly familiar cologne that you couldn’t quite place.

it was too late before you realized how badly you’d fucked up.

you were on the right end of the ship, tying knots as the sunset around you. tamar was sat on a box talking while you worked quietly.

“nice coat y/n. i didn’t know we were at that level in our relationship just yet.” you heard a voice say from a couple feet away.

your head jerked upwards at the voice and you met the eyes of the one and only strumhond. he wore a smirk on his beautiful face and he was leaning against one of the beams of the ship.

you looked down at the coat you were wearing and had grown fond of throughout the day and your eyes went wide. you snapped your head to the girl sitting next to you, only to find her laughing silently into her hands. you threw her the most menacing glance you could manage before turning your attention back to your captain.

you got up and started wiggling out of the coat, “i am so so sorry. i was freezing and i under packed and i knew i wouldn’t get any work done today if i was cold so i asked tamar and she gave me this one and i never would have borrowed it had i known that-”

you paused your rambling and the sound of strumhond’s laugh. he took a couple steps forward so that he was closer to you and tamar.

“y/n, sweetheart, it’s really okay. we wouldn’t want you to freeze now would we tamar?” he shifted his attention to the girl next to you, throwing a teasing threat.

she hopped off the boxes she was sitting on and began walking away. “nope.” she said, popping the ‘p’, “we wouldn’t want that.” and then she was gone, leaving you and the privateer alone.

you gave him a small, embarrassed, smile. “i really am sorry. i wouldn’t have taken it.”

you finished taking it off and tried handing it back to him. he grabbed it and opened it up, an invitation to step in.

you looked at him curiously. “what are you doing?”

he nodded his head, motioning for you to step into the coat. “just use it. it’s cold. plus.” he paused and slipped the coat onto you, popping the collar. “it suits you.”

you blushed and turned to face him, suddenly aware of the closeness between the two of you.

he looked you up and down. “yeah,” he said in a breath, “it looks better on you.”

your breath hitched and your blush grew down onto your neck.

he leaned forward, his mouth closer to your ear.

“but it would look better on my floor.” he teased before walking away.

oh fuck.

[bokutoslittlebird]

Request: nii!bokuto fucking y/n dumb at a team reunion party and the whole team ends up joining.

Okay so I made it so the whole team is there but Akaashi and Konoha are the only ones who really get to do anything. The others are enjoying the show.

Warnings: incest, humping/grinding, voyeurism/exhibitionism, watersports/piss play, gangbang, squirting, fire play/lighter use, breeding, dirty talk, cum shots, human urinal, thigh riding, asphyxiation briefly creampie, swallowing urine

Kōtarō-nii + Gangbang [includes Bokuto, Akaashi, Konoha]

It’s just supposed to be a little get together was what you were told. Two hours later, each old teammate of Bokuto was still downstairs, chatting and laughing. Every time Bokuto laughed so joyously, it rubbed you the wrong way. It was like he forgot about you, sitting back and talking to his old teammates. You were supposed to be hidden out of sight, but your needs needed to be met and if that meant walking downstairs to remind your brother you were still waiting for him, that’s what you’d do.

You didn’t expect him and his friends to wave you over.

“[Y/N]! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! Visiting your nii-san, eh?” Komi asked, an eyebrow raised. ‘Visiting’ was one way to put it, but you were actually living with Bokuto, guest room still unused as your belongings were in his bedroom.

“Guess you could say that,” Bokuto threw out, then continued. “She’s going to college here, so it’s easier to live with me than pay for on-campus living,”

“Saving money, I see,” Akaashi piped up, taking a drink from his glass. It was just water, which meant they weren’t drinking alcohol. Bokuto had a soda, but everyone else looked like they were drinking tea or water.

“Hey, [Y/N],” Bokuto tapped you on the shoulder, making you turning your head towards him. “Can you get me another drink?”

“Of course, Kōtarō-nii,” taking his empty bottle, you go into the kitchen to see where he keeps the soda. Since he doesn’t want you to have any, they’re usually up high. Standing on your toes, you still can’t reach the sweet drinks. To speed up the time, you hop on the counter only to feel someone’s hands guiding you off.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Bokuto says, caging you to the counter. “I thought I told you to stay upstairs,”

“I was bored, nii-san,” you whine, pressing yourself against him. “You’re ignoring me,”

“I’m entertaining my guests. You need to learn how to be patient,” he whispers, one of his hands rubbing at the spot between your thighs. “You’re dripping. Have you been touching yourself?”

“It’s not the same, plea—”

“If you’re good, I’ll fill you up so many times you’ll be swollen with my seed, how about that?” You nod your head, still pressing yourself against him. “Stop pushing yourself on me or I’m gonna have to punish you,”

With a final warning, Bokuto gets his own drink and removes himself from you, sighing as he sees your pout. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he pats your head. “Just another hour, okay?”

That’s what he said.. an hour ago.

Sitting beside him was almost too much to bear. Knowing he could take you whenever he wanted to and him knowing you’re desperately waiting for him to touch you, it’s all too much. Even as your thoughts swim with the image of him absolutely ravishingly you in front of his friends, your pleading eyes and a pout his way whenever he glances at you, yet all he gives is his arm around your shoulders. As a good big brother should, but this is getting to be too much.

Sarukai is the one who decided to play a game. It was a silly card game you played as kids, but it was fun to pass time. Since you didn’t wanna play, you had to sacrifice your spot to Akaashi, your bottom instead being placed on Bokuto’s thigh. A warning squeeze on your hip was all you got, quickly telling them that you were cold which they all brushed off, going on with the game. He was like a heater, warmth rising from beneath his clothes, but it just made you more hot and bothered. It wasn’t until he started rubbing a hand on your thigh — inner thigh, included, his fingers brushing against your sensitive area — did you really feel impatient.

You hoped nobody would notice as your body started moving, and it seemed like they didn’t. Legs on either side of his thigh, you rubbing yourself against him, trying to get as much friction as you could. Bokuto doesn’t stop you, his hand instead rubbing soothing circles into your hip as you continue to grind against his thigh. Eventually, you end up humping his thigh as the rubbing effect wears off, only to have him lean down to your ear. “You can’t wait, can’t you? Such a needy slut needs to be punished, you know?”

There’s no other warning, you suddenly being pushed in the middle of the game as everyone shoots back in shock, surprised at Bokuto’s actions. “You’ve wanted this for a bit, haven’t you? That’s why you’re even wetter, isn’t it?” He smiles down at you, prying your shorts off. He then addresses the guests of his abode, “you guys get to see how much my beloved sister loves me,”

With your shorts and panties off, you’re staining the wooden table with your dripping juices as Bokuto gets his cock out. His friends seem into it, sitting back on the couches and chairs, eyes glued to the way Bokuto spreads your sopping cunt, clenching around nothing as you wait for him in anticipation. Licking his lips, he sinks into you, without letting you adjust as your legs tense and your toes curl, squeezing him as he pushes himself all the way in.

“Did you already cum?” He asks, seemingly dumbfounded by your sudden orgasm. You don’t answer, simply keeping your head against the table and having your eyes rolled into the back of your head. With no response, he decides to roughly thrust up into you, making you gasp as he pushes in so far, feeling so full as he snaps his hips to yours, your hands grasping at the edges of the table as you moan. Through your blurry vision, you’re able to see his old teammates with their own cocks out, hands around the thick appendages as their eyes are trained on how well you take in their former captain’s cock.

It’s only mere seconds before you’re mewling, back arching as you’re clamping around his cock again, body twisting with the force of your orgasm as you shake. Bokuto removes himself from your cunt, though, making you whine. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna let my friends have a turn with you, though. You seem eager Akaashi, wanna go first?”

“I’d much prefer her mouth than her pussy, Bokuto-san,” he says, moving around to your head. His cock comes into view, to which you eagerly open your mouth to take him in, tongue killing out to lick at the tip.

“I won’t pass up free pussy,” Konoha chuckles, taking Bokuto’s position and pushing into you. “Thought she’d be loose after taking a cock that big, but you’re tight as a virgin!” He laughs, pinching your clit as you squeeze down on him even more, muffled moans coming from your throat which is stuffed with Akaashi’s cock.

“Mhm! I taught her well, didn’t I?” Bokuto hums, guiding one of your hands to his cock. “Don’t forget about me, baby girl,” he says, low as he watches your hand jerk him off. Despite your eyes not being anywhere around his form, your hand works expertly from experience of handjobs. Akaashi seems pleased himself, fingers occasionally tracing your jaw and throat, only to close your nose as he face fucks you. Konoha seems to be enjoying himself, as well, your legs secured around his waist as he thrusts into you, his thumb rubbing at your bundle of nerves that has milky fluid coating his cock with each thrust.

“I’m close, can I do it inside?” He asks, looking at Bokuto, using his own hand to guide yours.

“No. You can cum in her ass, but not her cunt. That’s only for her nii-san, isn’t that right?” He directs the last bit at you, fingers pinching your nipples as your body jerks. Konoha decides to pull out, letting his semen paint your stomach white as he groans, making sure every drop lands on your skin. Akaashi is right behind him, closing your nose as he shoots his own load down your throat, your eyes glazed over as you drink it all.

Konoha takes it upon himself to push back into your cunt, feeling your walls clamp around him once more time. It’s too much and you feel something warm fill your insides, eyes widening as you think he put a load in you. When he pulls out, however, you feel it trickling out as the warm liquid drips from your cunt. “Seems she’ll only take cum, not piss,”

“She’ll take it, won’t you, pretty girl?” Bokuto coos, fingers keeping your mouth open as Akaashi takes his turn, warm liquid filling your mouth as you struggle to not let any spill. Once he’s done, Bokuto closes your mouth and nose to force it down, your eyes squeezed shut as it tastes bitter. “See? Just gotta know which hole to use. It’s okay, I’ll clean her out so you can use her again,” he hums once more, pushing his thick cock into your still leaking pussy. The force of his thrust has you mewling, drool spilling from your lips as your body jostles with each thrust. “There’s a cute little trick her cunt will do if you give her a bit of pain,” he grunts, fishing a lighter out of his pocket. Your eyes widen at the familiar click of the item, brief light before it’s shut off. He hands it to Konoha, who then flicks it on as he brings the fire close to your face, the light dancing ridiculously close to your cheek. Akaashi keeps you fron moving your head, sweat beginning to form as Konoha brings the lighter closer, the flame barely licking your skin as you scream, tongue lolling out as your squirt all over Bokuto’s abdomen, his groan overwhelmed by your cute noises. With another thrust, he’s spilling his own load into you, fill you up exactly how you wanted him to.

Konoha shuts off the lighter, then locks across the mark against your cheek where the flame touched you, pressing a sweet kiss in apology to the hot skin. “Now, what do we say, [Y/N]?”

“Thank you for filling me up nii-san. I’ll take anything you give to me, I promise,” you sweetly say, another moan as you feel Bokuto’s piss fill you up as well, his thumb rubbing your clit.

“Don’t worry, baby. Only I’ll be able to breed you, but my friends can have their fun, can’t they? I’ll promise to give you all my attention later, is that okay?” Your response is a nod of the head, the rest of his friends eager to have your holes and your hands around their cocks.

[frenchfrywrites]

hey franchy 🤌👁👁🤌 could we get the bros with an MC who dresses super fancy? Stuff like jewelry, those off the shoulder fuzzy coats, etc. It came to me in a dream (lie)

Bros w a fancy fashionista MC

i wish this had come to you in a dream.. that would've been a very fun dream

Lucifer loves your fashion sense. He also dresses pretty sophisticated/fancy-like so you guys get to look like a rich power couple that absolutely runs the HOA or something. Has high standards for you based on your looks alone. If your personality doesn’t match your exquisite taste he’s a bit ticked off, but then he quickly finds amusement in the fact that you look fancy but in reality are not.

Mammon is a bit jealous of the fancy clothes you wear. He’s going to complain until you share your clothes with him. But will not allow for you to wear his clothes (jerk). You dress like you got money, and that means Mammon is attracted to you like a moth to a flame. He comes to you with all his money issues and begs that you buy him things. He’s a bit scared that you’re going to be stuck up but then he realizes that you’re just very elegant.

Levi thinks you look super good but is also a bit intimidated and nervous. When he sees you looking so good he just feels so bummy compared to you. He might ask you for some fashion tips, but you have to swear you won’t tell anyone he asked, ok!? No one can know he wants to look like a normie. The two of you look like the strangest couple, and have definitely been mistaken for a sugar daddy/mommy/parent and a sugar baby when you go out together lmao.

Satan, like Mammon and Lucifer, will make assumptions (what he calls “deductions”) based upon your looks. He is pleasantly surprised when he finds that you’re not the stuck up entitled rich person he was envisioning. He’ll like to go antiquing with you, finding you authentic large diamond earrings, or strings of pearls from the 20s. He might also give you cursed items that look fancy by mistake, whoops!

Asmo loves your sense of style. Like Mammon he’s going to steal some of your clothes, but his wardrobe is open to you as well! He wants to go on big shopping sprees with you, despite the hit his bank account takes from it. While shopping he’ll say he’s buying for himself, but he ends up spending more time thinking about things for you. He’ll send you to the dressing room with a whole collection of elegant items, and beg for a mini fashion show.

Beel gets mesmerized by your clothes. Sometimes he’ll stop mid sentence to touch your fuzzy coat, or fluff the ruffles on your shirt, and boy does your shiny jewelry distract him like nothing else. If you wear stuff that looks too good he might want to eat it, so watch out! Otherwise he’s pretty indifferent, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care per se. He’ll compliment you, and buy you things that catch his eye sometimes, even if they don’t match any of your other clothes.

Belphie is largely appreciative of how nice you look, but oh my god he hates any of your clothes that are uncomfortable for him to sleep on. Your lace-y clothes, the ones with ruffles, anything sequin? He hates it so much!! How’s he supposed to cuddle up to you when you’ve got a sparkly top on that scratches his cheek?! On the other hand he loves when you wear fur, silk, or velvet because they’re soft/comfortable. He bases his compliments on your outfits by how well he can sleep on you.

[malfoysstilinski]

hogwarts express | DRACO MALFOY (smut)

Draco Malfoy x Reader (past harry x reader) 

SUMMARY: Draco fucks Y/N to prove a point to Harry who he knows is hiding in the storage compartment above, watching the whole thing. 

REQUESTED: first of all, i absolutely love your writing!!! ok so you know how on the train in sixth year harry was spying on draco in the compartment? what if draco and y/n have sex in front of him while he’s still under the cloak and draco is like “put on a show.” 👀 i’ve been thinking about this nonstop for days @sapphicnoodle69 

WARNINGS: dirty talk, public sex, choking, oral (both receiving), slut shaming, probably more idk 

MASTERLIST

“Hogwarts,” Draco scoffs, a sneering look on his face as he fiddles absentmindedly with his fingers on the table in front of you, “what a pathetic excuse for a school. I think I’d pitch myself off the Astronomy Tower if I thought I had to continue for another two years.”

You frown from where you’re leaning your head on his shoulder, your senses consumed by Draco. All you can smell is his expensive cologne and the peppermint of his shampoo, the smooth material of his suit’s blazer brushing your cheek as you stare across at Pansy and Blaise. They look equally as confused as you do. Draco hadn’t been the same since his father had been sent to Azkaban, all thanks to Harry Potter, Draco had said. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pansy questions. 

“Let’s just say, I don’t think you’ll see me wasting my time with Charms class next year,” Draco mutters bitterly. 

Blaise snickers lightly and Draco’s eyes snap to him in an instant-- venomous and daring. It’s the kind of cold look that anybody would dread getting from a Malfoy. 

“Amused, Blaise?” Draco sneers, “We’ll see just who’s laughing in the end.”

You miss the tiny metallic clanging noise from above your heads, and so do Blaise and Pansy from where they’d sending you questioning looks, as if you should know why your boyfriend’s suddenly acting like the four of you haven’t spent the past six years exchanging all your secrets and hanging out at any free moment you may have. 

Draco knows who’s there. Your ex-boyfriend. His enemy. Harry Potter. He pisses Draco off even more with the way he always stares at you. It gives Draco an idea. 

Draco’s gaze flickers down from the storage racks above your heads and back down at you when you finally lift your head from his shoulder. You reach for his hands that are on the table and pull them underneath innocently. You give his hand a squeeze and keep your fingers intertwined on his lap, watching as his shoulders relaxed slightly beside you. 

The rest of the train journey is less tense. Draco doesn’t suggest anything else as solemnly as he had been, and you all talk about your summers. Well, you, Blaise, and Pansy do-- everybody knows Draco definitely did not spend his summer eating the finest food in France like he usually did. 

As you’re listening to Blaise talk about his mother’s latest fiancé, you feel Draco’s hand snake from your hand and drift to your leg. It’s bare beneath your school skirt, the British September weather not yet cold enough for a pair of tights. You know he’s glad that you decided to get changed early. You shiver at his icy fingertips on your thigh, pursing your lips together when he gives it a rather rough squeeze. 

He glides his hand up and down, leaving goosebumps in his wake as he tries to remain as casual as possible, keeping a hard look on his face whilst he stares at Blaise. You’re also trying to appear neutral, cursing your boyfriend for having such a thing for getting off in public. One day you were going to get caught, and that was the day you would also be disowned by your family. 

He keeps you in suspense for the last hour of the train journey. At that point, the dark green panties that you’re wearing are absolutely soaked, sticking to your pussy and even dampening the top of your thighs. His hand hadn’t left your leg once, trailing close to where you desired him the most, where your clit throbbed and pulsated, and then back down closer to your knee to give you a breather. 

Draco Malfoy was a fucking tease and he would be the death of you-- that was for sure. 

Finally, when the train pulled up at the station, everybody starting to climb off of the compartment, but Draco remained sat where he was, also blocking you in from your window seat. As Blaise and Pansy grab their bags and start to head off, they look back at you both in confusion, wondering why you’re not leaving. 

“You two go on,” Draco mutters, running his hand across his jaw. “Y/N and I have something we need to discuss.”

Pansy gives you a sly smirk and a wink before she grabs Blaise’s arm and practically drags him out of the compartment. Your heart is pounding as you watch Draco slide out of his seat once your friends have left the two of you by yourselves, watching as he moves closer to the carriage door, sliding it shut. He pulls the blinds down next. 

“This might be the last time we get the chance to do this,” Draco smirks as he glances back at you. “Stand.”

You do as he says, watching as he grabs his wand out of his pocket and swishes it, all of the other blinds coming down to conceal you from the outside. Your clit is pulsating so hard and you nearly groan out loud as he starts to march closer to you, rubbing your thighs together for some relief. 

Draco’s hand snaps out to grab your neck, fingers gliding down your soft skin before he digs his fingers in slightly, shallowing your breathing. You whimper as his other thumb drags itself down your lip. 

“I know you’ve been desperate for this,” Draco mutters, releasing your neck and undoing his tie, flinging it down onto the table beside you both. “And you’ve been a good girl for me. Parkinson and Zabini didn’t suspect a thing, did they?”

“No,” you breathe in agreement, “they didn’t.”

“I think my good little slut deserves a reward for being so patient,” Draco mutters, tilting your head with his hand on your jaw, leaning down to press wet kisses to your neck, sucking hard below your ear and leaving a hickey behind as you grip his arms, eyes rolling into the back of your head. 

“Draco...” You pull away from him slightly, finding his silver eyes darker than usual as he stares down at you. “Right here? What if someone comes looking-”

“Colloportus,” he mutters, locking the doors with his wand. “There. We’ll hear if someone tries coming in.”

“And if somebody hears us?”

“Muffliato.” 

That’s enough for you. Especially when Draco’s looking as handsome as he does and when he has that grip on your waist. You know you’re in for a good quickie when he grabs you and whirls you around, forcing you down so that you’re bent over the table that they had just been sat at. 

His hand drifts between your legs where your school skirt has ridden up, exposing your soaked panties. He tuts as he kicks your legs apart with his foot, gliding his lanky fingers up your leg and towards your ass where he lands a harsh smack. You whimper, your hand clasping over your mouth. 

Draco reaches down and dives his hand between your legs, cupping your sex. He pushes your panties to the side and immediately comes into contact with your slick arousal. It coats his fingers and makes him smirk as he glides it between your folds and towards your clit where he rubs circles. When he notices how you’re muffling your moans with your hand, he lands a sharp slap to your clit that makes you jerk unexpectedly against him. 

“If I see you trying to keep quiet one more time then I won’t touch you,” Draco swore, returning to rubbing your clit when you peeled your hand away from your lips. “Good girl. I want to hear those pretty sounds you make.” 

You moan at a mixture of his words and the sensation rippling through your body, your arms stretching out in front of you and trying to grab hold of anything, but there was nothing for you to hold so you simply clawed at the table as Draco drops down onto his knees. 

He whirls you around so that you’re facing him, his face level with your pussy as he yanks your skirt up. He glides your panties down your legs and then thrusts one finger inside your hole, making your breath hitch. You throw your head back, you hands clinging to his bleach blond hair. As another finger slides in, both pumping in and out at a dangerously slow pace, Draco leans his head dow and starts to lick at your clit, looking up at you whilst he did it. 

You moan, bucking your hips. “Draco, please. Please, please. Fuck. Fuck!”

That’s right, Potter. He thinks. This is the closest you’ll ever get to seeing her like this. And it’s all because of me. 

Draco hums against you and wraps his mouth around your entire clit, sucking hard and licking at the same time. It throbs and feels like it’s going to explode, porn-worthy whimpers leaving you as you throw your legs up onto his shoulders, sitting further along the table as he laps up your juices eagerly. 

A third finger slides in and you groan at the stretching sensation as he fucks his fingers into you harder. Your hands move up to palm at your breasts, until Draco grabs your wrist. You huff at the loss of contact. He stands, licking his lip as he pulls his fingers out of you and holds them towards your lips. 

“Suck,” Draco demands and knowing Potter is watching, envying him and wishing that he was the one that had you at his will, makes him smirk harder. 

You respond eagerly, leaning forwards and taking his fingers into your mouth. You look up at him, eyes all wide and innocent that have Draco even harder in his trousers. He swears to Merlin that you’ll be the death of him as your tongue swirls around his digits, licking yourself off of him and cleaning him up. 

“Good fucking slut,” he grows. “Now on your knees. Where you belong.”

You respond quickly, dropping down like he had commanded you to. Without hesitation, you reach for the button and zipper of his trousers, undoing them both. You reach into his underwear and pull his cock out, wetting your lips at the sight. He’s as hard as ever, precum oozing out of the top as he grabs the base of it, smacking your lips with it. 

You half open your mouth, making a moaning sound as he smears it across your lips, leaving his precum behind. Your tongue darts out and you lick it up as he smacks your cheek with it. Your mouth opens wider, sticking your tongue out. Draco thrusts his hips slowly closer, his cock resting in your mouth as you take over, grabbing his shaft and jerking off anything that you couldn’t fit into your mouth. 

You suck in your cheeks as you bob on his dick, pulling off all of the way to then lick at his tip. Draco’s hand grips your hair like it’s a lifeline, small curses leaving his lips as you take him all the way back in. His tip hits the back of your throat, making your eyes water, but you keep him there for a few second, hearing his breathing grow short at the feeling until you pull him off of you, his cock now covered in your saliva. 

“Fuck, you’re so good,” Draco mutters, his fingers going beneath your chin and moving with you as you stand up. “And you’re all mine. Nobody else can have you.”

“Mhm,” you moan in agreement as he lays you across the table that you had been at before. “Don’t want anyone else.”

“Not even Potter?” He refers to the boy you’d dated briefly back in fourth year-- the same one that hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of you since, even when you were wrapped under Draco’s arm two years later.  

“No, you,” you agree, “Just you. Only you, Draco.”

Draco places runs his tip up and down your folds before he presses it at your entrance, slowly gliding in. You both groan at the sensation. You’d throw your head back if you weren’t already being fucked on the hard surface of the table. Your hands grip the sides beside you, but it doesn’t stop your body jerking as Draco fucks into you hard. 

He’s being rough, clearly trying to prove a point as he watches your body wither beneath him from where he stands at the end of the table. He pushes your skirt back up when it falls down a little, and this time his thumb moves to your clit. Draco smirks when your back arches and you cry out. 

“Draco!” You nearly sob as he slams into you, your soaking heat making sounds that echo across the compartment. “Draco, Draco. Fuck me just like that.”

Draco groans at your words, rubbing your clit harder and slamming in and out of you like it’s his mission. Your walls clench around his cock and have him tilting his head back, a breathy moan leaving his lips as he doesn’t stop his assault on your nub. Everything feels so good-- you can already feel your orgasm coming, thanks to the foreplay earlier as well. 

“You’re so good for me,” Draco growls, glancing down and spitting on your pussy, even though you were already soaked. He rubs it in as he watches his cock drive in and out of your shaking form. “Such a good, pretty, little slut. But just for me.” 

“Just--” You squeeze your eyes shut when Draco hits a certain spot inside you, making you scream out. “Just for you, Draco.”

“Do you hear that Potter?” Draco booms with a laugh, but you don’t process what he’s said at first. “Do you see her? The way she comes undone for me. How she would let me do anything for her?”

You realise what he’s saying after a few seconds and several more powerful thrusts. Your eyes widen, realising that Harry must be snooping around in the compartment-- that was why Draco had been so tense after the small blackout. 

“Draco--”

Draco leans down and hisses against your ear, “Let’s put on a little show for him, shall we, princess?”

You cum. You scream out and throw your head back, the thought of Harry watching Draco fuck the life out of you guiltily filling you with adrenaline and power and even arousal. You claw at Draco’s blazer-covered back as you call out his name, walls clenching around his cock over and over. 

Finally, seconds later, you feel his hips stutter and one last powerful thrust before his cum begins to fill you, hot and fast. Your eyes flutter at the sensation, breathy whimpers leaving your lips as he pulls out of you and yanks your skirt back down whilst you sit up. 

“Petrificus Totalus!” He grabs his wand and shoots the spell at the storage shelves above you. 

You gasp when you hear a thump. You bend down on your knees and pull up the invisibility cloak that Harry had, revealing the boy himself-- paralysed, of course. Draco grabs you and pulls you back, a smirk on his face. 

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to eavesdrop, Potter?” Draco spits, grabbing his bag with the hand that isn’t holding you wrist. “Oh, that’s right, she was dead before you could wipe the drool off your chin.”

Harry’s seemingly-lifeless eyes just stare back up at the two of you and you gasp when Draco drives his foot down onto Harry’s face, an audible cracking noise filling the compartment. Blood immediately dribbles down his face as Draco releases you to grab the cloak back off the ground. 

“That’s for my father. And stop fucking staring at my girlfriend. I think it might be obvious to you who she prefers now.” He throws the cloak back over Harry, making him invisible again. “Enjoy your ride back to London.”

Draco grabs your hand again and his briefcase and leads you away again, fully satisfied that Potter had learnt his lesson. 

[wri0thesley]

I propose slow loving sex with Gojo thank u for ur time

propose and you may receive

prince charming - gojo x reader (2.5k)

[comments and reblogs are much appreciated! // my jjk masterlist] 

warnings: afab reader, no pronouns. not sfw. minors dni! light fingering, piv sex, coming inside, soft. . . soft . . .

Most people who know Satoru Gojo would tell you that the man has two modes. Two ways of being. There is the way that he is from day to day; the laugh, the shovelling of sweets into his mouth, the constant stream of upbeat nonsense and jokes that few people are able to keep a proper track of. This is the Satoru Gojo he is with his students, you think – when the weight of being the strongest does not weigh so heavy on his shoulders.

Then, there is the Satoru Gojo in battle. There is the lift of his blindfold, the way that his blue eyes bore into his enemies – the self-assured way of talking, the ruthless precision with which he deploys his skills. This is the Satoru Gojo that does bear the weight of all of his strength; but his lips still quirk at the corners, he still cracks a joke sometimes though his tone is steely. They have shades of one another, those two personalities - but still, they are the two personalities that he chooses to show the world.

You, however, are permitted to see a different side than most people do.

You see Gojo now, with his body over yours, his soft lips brushing your jawline. You see him with his big hands, cupping your face so he has more access to your neck and your ear, the kisses coming slow and soft and relaxed. He is a large man, despite the fact that he is tall, lithe muscle as opposed to pure brawn – he cages you beneath him like he never wants you to be able to escape him.

You do not want to escape him. Not least when you finally manage to capture those lips in your own and you taste sugar on his tongue. As his teeth nip gently at your lower lip and a breathy sigh is transferred into his mouth; as his long fingers run down your body, appreciating you with a soft hum.

“I’d ask what I did to get so lucky,” he murmurs, voice low and throaty, “but I think I deserve you.”

Some things do not change; Gojo’s arrogance is always there, beneath the surface. He is lucky you find his self-confidence charming, your lips sliding into a smile as your own hands gently push up the shirt he’s wearing. His skin is warm and soft beneath it (you dread to think how expensive it was; Gojo spends money like it’s going out of style, and you have a myriad of gifts to prove it).

“You don’t shut up, do you?” You ask him, mildly, your smile not leaving your face. He laughs softly, and it feels like wind blowing through a field of flowers.

“You love me for it,” he says, all fondness, and he’s right. His shirt is parted from his top half and you admire him; unmarked skin (you suppose his technique means he’s free from the scars so many other jujutsu sorcerers learn to live with), the lean but taut muscles of his abdomen and shoulders. You run your fingers over him and he sighs, leaning into your touch like a cat. Your thumb brushes the hollow of his throat as you take a handful of his pale hair and drag him down into another kiss.

If nothing else, it occupies his mouth.

You can feel his hardness straining in his ripped jeans (pre-ripped for his convenience, with an eye-watering price tag, but even you have to admit that they make his ass look rounder and cling to his thighs and crotch in a way that makes you needy and heated if you stare for too long) as he moves his body against you, half-grinding.

You’re on the couch. You really should move to the bed – heaven knows Gojo’s is big enough for both of you – but there’s something domestic and sweet about Gojo kissing you here, amongst the remains of the sweets he’d been feeding you and with a romantic comedy neither of you are watching any more playing on the screen.

It’s so easy to feel like everything with Gojo is a life-or-death situation – to ascribe more meaning to a brush of his fingers on your shoulder or a murmur of ‘I’ll be home later tonight’ than you really need to.

This, though - this is simple, and easy. It lets you forget the world outside, just for the moments in which Gojo’s body is pressed against yours – lets you think of yourself as a normal couple.

There is nothing more romantic to you than the thought of you and Gojo being able to be just anybody.

So you spread your legs further apart so he can settle between them, sighing as his mouth moves from your own to brush kisses over your cheeks and the bridge of your nose instead.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he tells you, as he pulls back and tugs on your own shirt – you allow it to be removed, thrown onto the ground where you may never see it again. Much more interesting than the lost shirt are Gojo’s hands, large and warm, sliding up the expanse of your stomach and to your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh. He undoes the catch of your bra as if the motion is as easy as breathing – and maybe to him, it is. Upon your flesh being newly bared, he sighs, leaning down to kiss the swell of the curve. To find your nipple with the warmth of his tongue and tease it to hardness as he flattens his tongue against it and laps at you, the motion sending little electric shocks of pleasure to the place between your thighs. You sigh and squirm, and he gives the hardened bud a gentle graze of his teeth as he pulls back to look at you.

The sight of his blue eyes concentrated wholly on you and all of the distilled starshine contained within always makes you lose your senses for a moment. It should be unfair, you think, for him to look like that. For those wide blue eyes to seem so innocent when you know that he is not--

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells you. You know that he’s telling you the truth; Gojo is not the kind to mince his words. His hands rest on your waist, curving down over your hips to tug at your bottoms and make short work of those too. You lift yourself slightly to allow it, Gojo wriggling so that he can get them off without ever having to really move from between your legs. The bottoms go the same way as your shirt, and you are below him now in nothing but your underwear--

Though that’s barely covering anything. Gojo sighs to see the pale white of the piece you’re wearing has gone translucent from the gush of your slick, clinging to the outline of your folds and showing him just how needy the kissing and the touching and the groping has gotten. He trails a finger down and brushes your mound through the fabric, ghosting over your clit.

“This is for me, doll?” He asks you, a smirk on his face that you want to kiss off.

“You know it is,” you breathe, lifting your hips – and the smirk softens into a smile.

“Maybe I like hearing you say it,” he murmurs, increasing the pressure of his touch so he is rubbing you through the cotton; his big fingers pressing against your clit, making your hips jerk. You don’t know if you want to jerk away from the sensation of the fabric pressing against your swollen nub, or jerk into the pressure that you want so badly – so you settle for circling your hips, panting soft little noises.

Gojo smiles at you and the expression on his face is dazzling. Your heart skips a beat; he’s so beautiful. You’re so unbelievably, amazingly lucky--

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, leaning and kissing your cheek, burying his face in the crook of your neck to kiss and lick and suck at the skin there. Your back arches as his attentions send yet more shivers down your spine, set you aflame even further. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear his face was warm – is he blushing? “If you could see yourself, you’d understand--”

“If you could see yourself,” you tell him, through the pounding need in your chest, “you’d understand exactly why I’m looking at you like that--”

“Oh, I know,” he preens, though his face is still warm. He hooks his fingers into the wet underwear and pulls them over your thighs. “I know why you’re looking at me like that! I’m gorgeous-- but . . .” He seems to stumble over his words before he manages to get a good hold on them again, before he pulls back and the flush on his cheeks is only barely there. “You don’t know how gorgeous you are, and . . .” He places a hand to his chest. Your underwear is dangling from his thumb, though you’re not entirely sure how he fully tangled you out of him in the position the two of you are still in. “It breaks my heart!”

You smile despite yourself.

“You’re being too romantic,” you tell him, though your insides are secretly all aflame and bubbling. “It’s not like you.”

“I’m wounded,” he says. One hand lands on your thigh, drawing circles and patterns on the slick skin – his middle finger gently nudges the very outside of your sex, teasing the puffy lips apart so he can brush your clit. Your gasp dies in your throat. “I’ll have you know I’m an absolute Prince Charming, baby--”

And he’s giving you that charming smile, even as that same finger presses deep inside you in one swift movement and your knuckles clench on the couch cushion. You groan aloud, lifting your hips to allow him deeper, to make you feel fuller--

Your eyelashes flutter, eyelids somewhere between open and closed, but you still see that Gojo’s own gaze is fixed on you. It’s tender. Loving. You feel strangely exposed beneath it – but at the same time, you feel warm and comfortable and right as he adds another finger and stretches you out on it, scissoring them apart. He brushes the spongy spot of your walls that always hits different and you sigh, murmuring out his name--

“Satoru,” you’re practically whining. “Satoru, faster, please—”

“Prince Satoru,” he corrects you, with a grin that’s slightly crooked to one side and more charming than it has any right to be. He pumps his fingers in and out of you a few more times, until they are thoroughly coated in your wetness, until the fire inside you has been suitably kindled and your breath is uneven and your face is hot – and then he pulls them out.

You don’t have time to whine.

Not with the sound of his zipper, the sound of him kicking off his expensive jeans – the heat of him settling over you on his knees and taking your hips to slide you easily onto his cock.

He groans out your name like it’s all he ever wants to say.

“You feel like you were made for me,” he says, and you reach up and grab a handful of his hair again. He lets it be pulled with only the softest sigh – lets you bend him over you so the two of you are cheek to cheek, chest to chest, so close that you can feel his heart beating. “Fuck, doll--”

He’s right. He fits inside of you like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle; warm and tight and perfect.

It’s a triumph, for Satoru Gojo to be lost for words – but he stops speaking as he fucks you slow and soft. It’s not that you and he only usually fuck hard and rough – but his job is stressful, and he is teasing and smug, and it’s more usual for you to be bent over on his bed as he pulls your hair and runs his mouth than it is for anything like this to happen.

He doesn’t seem to have any complaints about it, though – and neither do you. How can you complain when he holds you so gently? When he kisses you like he’s savouring the taste of you instead of devouring you?

He’s not speaking, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t noisy – he’s panting, groaning, moaning. He’s always loud in bed – he has almost no self-control when it comes to pleasure, you don’t think – but the noises also go right through you in only the best of ways, making you shiver and shudder. It’s unfair that his voice should sound so good. It’s unfair that he should have almost no flaws--

Some people might say his personality is a flaw, you suppose, but you unfortunately find him charming.

You wrap your legs about his waist and his cock hits deeper, brushes that same spot inside of you – but you find you do not care so much about the orgasm as you care about having Gojo in this embrace.

Not caring about it, though, doesn’t mean that is not going to happen – not with the slow thrusts of his hips, or with the sight of him with his lip bitten and his hair all mussed up from your tangling.

You’re not sure if Gojo has ever found something that he isn’t good at, and fucking you is no exception. His cock hits every spot inside of you and seems to find new nerves you didn’t know would feel so good when stimulated; your entire abdomen (hell, your entire body) feels like it’s on fire. You were slick enough before he’d entered you, but now you can feel your own arousal pooling on the couch cushions beneath you – you can hear how wet Gojo’s cock must be, on the push-pull of him fucking into you. The glide is slick and silky and searing, and your fingers flex on his back, as the tight string inside of you readies to snap.

“Sat-- I’m-- ‘m gonna--”

Your words are lost to the feel of him, to the haze that seems to descend around you whenever you and Gojo are together. You see the curve of his smile, hear him softly whisper;

“S’alright, baby--”

A stroke of his hips that has the flat plane of his pelvis pressing against your clit and you let yourself go, tumbling into the bright lights of your oblivion, your thighs tightening reflexively about him as if you want him to drown inside of you. Gojo sighs, groans, moans out your name as your cunt milks him for all he is worth, squeezing around him – and, he, too, lets go. Heat. Warmth. Gojo’s cock, twitching, heavy and perfect and right inside of you.

“I love you,” you whisper, against his collarbone, in time with the beating of his heart – and Gojo looks at you as his hips continue to roll slow and leisurely, eking out the final drops of his release as it settles inside of you like a claim, and he smiles slow and soft like honey or syrup.

“I know,” he says, quietly. “I love you too.”

He stays inside of you, on top of you, in the embrace, even as his cock begins to soften. Enjoying your warmth, your presence, your closeness.

Maybe he is a Prince Charming.

You’re not going to say that aloud to him, though.

He’d never let it go.