#i hate purple face but i wanted to draw this

[opalmarzi]

[BFDI] Same pose syndrome goes crazy… anyways here’s my fav sibling rivals

purple face isn’t that short btw he’s just being pushed down

can’t get any pictures of these two without them trying to shove each other out

[yoursjaeyun]

enhypen’s hyung line reaction to their 3-year-old daughter being angry at them ᡣ𐭩

pairings. enhypen x fem!reader | genre. fluff, imagines | wc. 1k+ (?) | warnings. not proofread | an. hai i have returned from my grave :] /gen hope you all like thisbekdnd promise i’ll come back w something better ! just starting off with something small for the time being <3 didn’t expect this to be so long so i apologize :[ love n miss u all.

이희승 (lhs)

it was a typical afternoon in the lee house, but today, a dramatic showdown was in full swing. your 3 year old daughter, with her puffed-up cheeks and a frown that could rival a storm cloud, was clearly upset with her dad. you watched from the kitchen, trying to hold back a laughter, as heeseung crouched down at her eye level, desperately trying to placate her. "sweetheart, what's the matter? did daddy forget something?" he asked, his voice a mix of concern and confusion. she crossed her arms and glared at him. “you didn’t let me use the purple crayon!” she declared, as if this was the most grievous of parental offenses. heeseung, ever the diplomat, knelt down and tried to reason with her. “but princess, the purple crayon is for special drawings, remember? you promised to use it for your masterpiece.” her response was a huffy, “but i wanted to color the sun purple!” heeseung blinked, clearly trying to understand the logic behind a purple sun. he scratched his head and gave you a helpless glance. you only stifled a giggle and watched as he continued to negotiate. “okay, how about this,” heeseung began, putting on his best ‘super serious dad’ face, “i’ll make you a deal. you use the yellow crayon for the sun today, and tomorrow, i’ll let you draw a purple sun, a purple moon, and even a purple spaceship.” her eyes widened at the promise of interstellar coloring adventures. she uncrossed her arms and considered the offer. “deal,” she said, but not without giving him a stern look. as heeseung breathed a sigh of relief and stood up, you could see the sheer relief in his eyes. “you’re the best, daddy,” she said, her pout melting into a smile as she grabbed her yellow crayon. heeseung ruffled her hair and gave me a warm glance, his eyes twinkling with affection. “glad to be of service, princess,” he said, smiling as he watched her eagerly scribble away and winked proudly at you as you leaned against the counter, catching his eye with a loving smile.

( the rest under this line! )

박종성 (pjs)

it was one of those rare, peaceful evenings when the chaos of daily life seemed to take a break. you were curled up on the couch with a book, enjoying a rare moment of tranquility, while your husband was in the kitchen, attempting to cook dinner—a task he was only slightly more adept at than his three-year-old daughter as she created abstract art with spaghetti. the quiet, however, was abruptly shattered by a high-pitched wail. you looked up, immediately recognizing the sound of your daughter’s tantrum. you sighed and set your book aside, heading towards the source of the noise. as you reached the kitchen, you saw jay standing there, looking bewildered, while your daughter sat on the floor, her face scrunched up in a fierce scowl, tears streaming down her cheeks. jay was holding a spatula in one hand and a half-cooked piece of chicken in the other. “what happened?” you asked, trying to suppress a smile as you took in the scene before you. jay looked up, his eyes wide. “i don’t know! i was just trying to make dinner, and she—” he pointed to his daughter, who was now dramatically flailing her arms. “she’s mad at me for some reason. i didn’t even get to ask her how she wanted her chicken cooked!” you knelt beside her, who immediately stopped crying as if she’d just noticed you for the first time. “sweetheart, what’s wrong?” you asked gently. she glared at jay with all the intensity her tiny frame could muster. “daddy’s mean! he put peas in the pasta! i hate peas!” jay’s eyes widened in surprise. “i thought you liked the green bits of happiness!” she shook her head angrily. “no! no peas! only noodles!” you suppressed a chuckle and gave jay a sympathetic glance. “well, jay, it looks like you’ve got a culinary crisis on your hands.” jay groaned and you only smiled, your heart softening as you looked at the chaotic but lovable scene before you. “it’s okay, baby. just talk to her. maybe she’ll understand if you explain why you added the peas.” jay took a deep breath and crouched down to her level. “my sweet angel, i’m really sorry. i thought the peas would make the pasta taste better. can you give daddy another chance?” she stared at him, her little brow furrowed as she considered his plea. “but... no more peas?” jay shook his head earnestly. “no more peas. i promise. just delicious, no-green-thing pasta.” her frown slowly began to waver. “okay... but i want a strawberry smoothie please..” jay looked at you, his face a mix of relief and exhaustion. “do i look like a smoothie-making machine?” you laughed softly and gave him a reassuring kiss on the lips. “you’re doing great. and don’t worry, i’ll handle the smoothie.” jay smiled weakly and reached out to her. “deal?” she nodded, finally letting go of her anger and allowing a small smile to form. she reached up for a hug, which jay gladly accepted, pulling her into his arms. you watched the tender moment between them.

심재윤 (sjy)

jake’s face twisted into a comedic mix of confusion and concern as he tried to navigate his three-year-old daughter’s latest meltdown. you watched from the kitchen, holding back your laughter as jake, ever the doting father, attempted to reason with his little girl, who was currently giving him the coldest of shoulders while clutching a teddy bear like it was her lifeline. “baby girl,” jake said, crouching down to her level with a look of exaggerated seriousness, “i’m really sorry about the ice cream. i didn’t know you wanted bubblegum, okay? i promise i’ll get you the bubblegum next time.” her little brows knitted together, her lips in a small pout that would’ve melted anyone’s heart, except she seemed intent on maintaining her grudge. “no, daddy! you forgot the sprinkles!” jake’s eyes widened as if he’d been struck by a thunderbolt. “oh no, sprinkles! i knew i forgot something!” he straightened up, looking around as if sprinkles might magically appear in the room. “i’ll get you some right now.” as he stumbled off to find the elusive sprinkles, you couldn’t help but interject, your amusement barely concealed. “jake, honey, i think the sprinkles are a lost cause. maybe just a hug will fix this?” jake’s face fell slightly, but he quickly squared his shoulders and marched back over, now armed with a massive, exaggeratedly apologetic grin. “baby, i’m so, so sorry for forgetting the sprinkles. how about a hug and a promise to never forget them again?” her stern face softened just a fraction, but she still shook her head. “no hug! i’m mad!” you watched as jake’s comedic struggle continued, every attempt met with her determined frown. “okay, what if i also give you a big, extra special hug from me?” jake tried, eyes wide with hope. she looked at you, then back at jake, as if weighing the merits of his offer. with a dramatic sigh that would put a soap opera star to shame, she finally relented and held out her arms. “okay… but only if mommy hugs me too.” jake practically beamed with relief, enveloping her in a bear hug, which she returned with all the fierceness a three-year-old could muster. you joined in, laughing softly as you wrapped your arms around them both. “there we go, the family hug fix.” jake looked up at you with a mock-solemn expression, his eyes twinkling with the kind of mischief you knew all too well. “i’m really going to work on those sprinkles. maybe i should just carry them with me at all times.” you raised an eyebrow, smiling. your daughter now placid and cuddled in the middle, looked up at her parents with a satisfied grin. “but daddy has to do better next time.” jake nodded solemnly. “you got it. i’ll be the best sprinkle-and-ice-cream-daddy there ever was.”

박성훈 (psh)

sunghoon’s reaction when his little princess gets mad at him is always a sight to see. one afternoon, as you were trying to tidy up the living room, you heard the telltale stomp of tiny feet approaching. your daughter, with her pouty face and crossed arms, stormed into the room, her small brow furrowed in the most dramatic fashion. "daddy, i’m mad at you!" she announced with the seriousness only a three-year-old can muster. sunghoon, who had been helping you clean the coffee table, immediately straightened up, his eyes wide with concern. he was always so attentive, especially when it came to his little girl. you couldn’t help but chuckle at how seriously he took her tantrums. he knelt down to her level, “why are you mad at me, princess?” he asked, his voice as soft and gentle as it could be. she folded her arms tighter and gave him the classic toddler response: “because you didn’t help me with my puzzle!” she pointed to the half-finished puzzle on the floor, her tiny finger jabbing at the pieces as if they were to blame for her frustration. sunghoon’s face fell into a comically exaggerated look of guilt. “oh no— i’m so sorry! i was just finishing up, but that’s no excuse. let me help you right now.” he scooped her up with a dramatic flourish, and she squealed with both surprise and delight. as he carried her back to the puzzle, you could see the determination in his eyes as if he were about to perform a rescue mission. sunghoon took his job as a dad very seriously, and his efforts to mend the situation were both endearing and slightly over-the-top. “okay,” he said, placing her gently on the floor next to the puzzle. “i promise i’ll make it up to you. daddy’s going to fix this puzzle like a superhero,” with exaggerated movements, he started picking up the puzzle pieces and placing them in the correct spots. he made goofy sound effects with each piece, “whoosh!” and “bam!” as if he were fighting a villain instead of just putting together a puzzle. your daughter watched him with wide eyes, her previous anger melting away into giggles as sunghoon made silly faces and pretended to struggle with the puzzle pieces. as he worked, you could see the loving glances he would cast your way, his silent way of saying, “i’m doing this for us.” despite the chaos of parenting and the little disagreements, his devotion to both you and your daughter was always evident. his playful attitude and willingness to dive headfirst into whatever made his daughter happy were qualities you adored. after a few minutes, the puzzle was complete. sunghoon triumphantly held up the finished product with a loud— “ta-da! daddy’s superhero skills save the day,” he declared, his grin as wide as ever. your daughter clapped her hands and giggled, her earlier irritation forgotten. she threw her tiny arms around him in a hug, her face lighting up with joy. “thank you, daddy!” you walked over and gave sunghoon a quick kiss on the cheek, your way of showing your appreciation for his efforts. “looks like you’ve earned the title of super dad,” you teased. sunghoon beamed at you, his pride evident. “anything for my girls.”

[bruisedboys]

jealous finnick?

jealous finnick will be the death of me!!!!!!

finnick odair x fem!reader

Breakfast in District 13 is an unusual affair. Nothing like you’re used to, being from District 4. It’s the same every morning — boring grey oatmeal with either honey or berries, depending on the day. It’s only as you take your seat next to Finnick that you realise you’ve forgotten the very crucial toppings.

“Oh no, I forgot to get berries,” you bemoan. They’re definitely all gone by now, seeing as they’re in popular demand — the oatmeal served in 13 tastes like cardboard without them.

“Here, have mine,” Gale says from across the table. You open your mouth to protest but he’s already spooning a big heap of berries into your bowl. They bleed red and purple into your otherwise plain oatmeal. “I don’t like ‘em, anyway. Too sour.”

“Oh.” You smile at him, flattered. Gale’s been nothing but kind to you since you arrived in District 13. You haven’t put it down to anything other than friendliness. Though it’s possible you’re too enamoured with the blonde next to you that you’re completely oblivious to other men’s advances. “Thanks, Gale.”

Gales smiles back and shrugs. “No problem, Y/N.”

Next to you and unbeknownst to you, Finnick scowls. He hates that Gale’s so nice to you. Loathes it. He knows it’s because you’re a ray of sunshine who draws even the coldest of people in (believe him, he’s experienced it), but the fact that Gale gave you his berries before Finnick could even offer his makes his blood boil. 

Who does he think he is? Everyone knows you’re Finnick’s girl, he’s made it very clear. It’s the whole reason you’re here, after all — Finnick specifically requested you be picked up from home before the Quarter Quell ended, to prevent anything from happening to you.

Breakfast passes without further incident. If you notice Finnick’s sour mood, you don’t mention it. You’re leaving the canteen with everyone else when Finnick grabs your waist and pulls you to the side, into an empty hallway. He peers over your shoulder to make sure Gale’s good and gone, watching the back of his head with a glare that could kill, before turning his attention to you.

“Finnick,” you say, clearly confused at his sudden manhandling. “What’s the matter with you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Finnick says shortly.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not.”

You squint at him. “You’re definitely mad. Why are you—?”

Finnick forgoes restraint and yanks you forward, pressing his mouth to yours before you can say anything else. His chest burns with molten hot jealousy, it climbs up his throat and pours into the kiss, hot and sticky. The heat ebbs though, when you kiss him back just as fervently, replaced by a fuzzy warmth only you can make him feel. It buzzes in his chest and down his arms, flares out his palm as he takes your face into one hot hand.

He pulls back just as suddenly as he’d drawn in. “You know Gale’s flirting with you, right?” He says abruptly, thumb pressed to your cheekbone.

You blink up at him, still dazed from his kissing. “What?” You ask, half laughing. “No, he’s not.”

“He is. He gave you his berries. I was going to give you mine.”

You raise both eyebrows. “He was just being nice to me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s my job.”

Finnick supposes he sounds quite pathetic. He doesn’t really care, not when your eyes go all gooey and you reach up on your tiptoes to push a curl from his forehead.

“Are you jealous?” You ask him softly, tucking his hair behind his ear. Your breath fans over his mouth and your hand lingers at his throat. “You sound jealous.”

Finnick rolls his eyes. “So what if I am? Just— have mine next time, okay?”

You smile at him, pretty as starlight. “Okay. But you don’t have to be jealous, you know? I only want you.”

Woah, Finnick thinks. “I know,” he says, too quick, his voice a notch too high.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Do you though?” You ask, definitely teasing now. He supposes he got off lucky, you could’ve done much worse finding out he’s so sickeningly jealous over Gale, of all people.

Still, Finnick narrows his eyes at you. “Alright, that’s enough.”

Your answering giggle is smothered as Finnick swoops in to kiss you again.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if u enjoyed 🤍

[versupital]

Stuffed Full 'a Rubber!

you've been a naughty little thing - and if you thought you deserved his cock, well, your stupid is showing.

content. degradation, dumbification, masochism, dacryphilia, overstim, impact play, toys, gn!reader (sukuna, gojo)

word count. 2.3k

incl pairings. sukuna, gojo, nanami, geto.

‧₊˚ʚ :: ꒷꒦ 🌸 ˖˚˳⊹

A RIVER IN EGYPT. | r. sukuna

Sitting above you, high and mighty, is your new husband. He’s in one of the black hotel chairs, his suit jacket discarded, tie loose, buttons popped. A clear rocks glass of brandy swirls lazily in his fingers, and his eyelids hang low as he stares at your tear-streaked face.

“Can I please—”

“No.”

Your little cunt slides up and down on a lilac-colored rubber cock. You’re dripping so sloppily that your previous rounds of cum are all over the hotel room floor as you plead for mercy. 

But Ryomen does not know remorse.

Your legs begin to slow. Your hands are bound tightly behind your back by your own underwear, so all you can do is lean your chest against Ryomen’s pant leg and whine hopelessly onto his knee.

He sits up, taking another swig of his drink, before he cracks a harsh palm across the side of your already sore cheek.

“My stupid wife, keep it up,” he says, palm cupping your jaw as he spits in your face, “I'll bet you waited the whole reception for my cock, and now look at you. Stuffed with a fake one.”

You whine, but your cunt throbs in response to the spit and contact of his hand. You’ve been at this for thirty minutes at least, riding your toy for your husband’s viewing pleasure while his cocks bulge against his suit pants.

He’s so incredibly drunk and you’re a different kind of intoxicated. You want to be in a mating press with both holes filled, but he’s torturing you instead, forcing you to please yourself with a skinny piece of rubber instead of his double dicks.

The dildo slides up into you angrily, bending and curving deliciously into your g-spot while Ryomen degrades you for how fucked out your face looks.

“You understand how pathetic you look?” he grunts. “You’ll never look this way for anyone else, Mx. Sukuna.”

“Mmh,” you cut yourself off before making a bold move. 

You slide off of the toy and use your chin on Ryomen’s knee to pull yourself into a standing position. His back flies off of the chair, but you’re already grabbing the little purple toy with your bound hands and whirling on him.

He falls into your trap and grabs your waist harshly, “Brat, what the hell do you think—“

You use his grip on you to slide back against him until you have the dildo placed on his clothed lap. Now, all you have to do is stick the landing.

You hear Ryomen gasp; you suspect he hadn’t intended to, but when you’ve perched yourself on his thighs with the dildo back inside of you, he can’t hide his noises of surprise.

“Shit,” he zips through his teeth. His brandy crashes to the floor, brown liquid running across the carpet and pooling around the feet of the chair. Neither of you care.

His hands have no choice but to fall on your hips, sharp nails digging into the crease of your thighs. You expertly begin to pounce like a cagey little bunny, toes digging into the wet carpet for stability between Ryomen’s large dress shoes.

“Hmm, keep it up, cunt,” he groans maliciously, making sure his nails draw blood from your soft skin. "Two more orgasms. Then I'll consider fucking you, pathetically."

It takes everything in you not to jerk away. You fight the pain by hissing through your teeth and focusing on the rubber cock that fills you. Even as overstimulated as you are, feeling Ryomen’s heartbeat pound into your back and his breath glide along your spine turns you on all over again.

“H-Hate you s’much,” you whine, knowing it couldn’t be farther from the truth. You aren’t sure why you spit out that corny lie each time you fuck your husband, but you’re reminded when his next words come from his mouth.

“You hate me, huh, stupid bitch?” His laugh is demeaning and chilling. “Now you owe me three.”

“But–” “Nah, brat,” his fingers come up and tangle themselves in your hair, “eventually, you’ll learn to stop talking back to your husband. I own you. You are below me. And you will remember,” he yanks your head back, arching your spine painfully against him as you keep gliding the dildo against your slick walls, “your place.”

HOLD IT RIGHT THERE! | s. gojo

Your one leg that remains on the ground is about to give out. Your knee bends each time your boyfriend’s cockhead rams itself into your cervix, sending painful signals up through your belly and down the nerves in your body.

You only have one free hand, and it’s splayed flat across the mirror in front of you that’s now covered in fingerprints and smears from drool. Your head goes back and forth from resting on the reflective glass to being yanked back against your boyfriend’s chest.

He holds one of your legs in the air. Red marks litter your thighs from the events previous to the two of you landing where you are now. Bite marks, claw marks, slaps.

And with his free hand, he holds your tiny red rose against your clit. Air vibrates over the bud and makes your toes curl while you’re simultaneously getting stuffed up like a holiday turkey. 

“Oh, it’s so drenched, pretty thing,” Satoru grunts deeply into your ear. His breath rides down the pulse in your neck and stops on your chest, making you shiver. “Covering me like a good slut, yeah? Sucking me up with your tight little hole.”

“I-I can’t,” you whimper, unsure what it is exactly you can’t do. Your brain is so jumbled, you don’t understand the words flowing out of your own mouth. 

“Can’t what?” Satoru purrs. “Can’t say you can’t handle it, cause you’re taking me so well. I’m so deep, feel me?” 

You do; buried deep in your guts is his fat, pink cock that threatens to shred you apart. 

The rose alone has taken you through two orgasms, and it seems Satoru and his cock pumping into you from the other side are determined to guide you through two more. He holds the toy to your clit with intention, dipping his head over your shoulder to get a better look at your arched body in the mirror.

Sweat sticks his hair to his forehead and his blue eyes are nearly illuminated with lust, all for you, staring at the way you drool and contort your face with every stroke, knowing it’s bringing you closer and closer to the finish line. 

“Being so good, aren’t you?” he whispers needily, “Unlike earlier. Though you could walk around naked and I would just ignore you?" He cuts himself off to whimper. "You’re gonna pull the cum right out of my cock so I can fill you up. Isn’t that right?”

“Ngh- yes, Satoru,” his name comes out breathy and soft, and you watch the effect it takes on him in your reflection.

His knees nearly begin to buckle as he applies more pressure to the toy, which is all covered in your slick and his precum. His thick balls are abusing your taint as he picks up his pace to drive his own orgasm out - but it’s not his first, either. 

Yet feeling his hot, salty semen shoot into your cervix makes your own orgasm come, filthy and hard, legs shaking you nearly to the point of collapse as he forces you to ride it out on him, his strokes still long and steady.

“Satoru, no,” you whine, but you know you don’t want him to stop, that much is evident in the way you keep throwing your hips back to fit his rhythm. 

“Yes, baby,” he replies softly, “hold it right there - just like that.”

NO, YOU HANG UP! | k. nanami

“Miss you s’much, pretty.”

The words are lost under your moans as you shake. Your knees are angled in the air, your laptop open to the video call that displays your husband’s face from thousands of miles away.

His damned business trips were always terrible, but him insisting on torturing you with a vibrator that he could control in another country was even worse. 

“Ken…” you begin softly, knowing when you whimper out his name, he turns unnervingly obedient.

Not this time, though.

“You almost had me, darling,” he mutters into the mic. "Sending me such a naughty photo when you know I can't do anything to you. Tsk, tsk."

You watch as his thumb circles his screen, taking the vibrations from the lowest to the most extreme in mere seconds. He repeats this, even despite your legs shaking, or your cries for him. 

“The moment I get back, you wanna give me a reason to start decorating the spare bedroom? Hmm?” He coos your name softly, “Wouldn’t a crib look lovely in there, honey?”

In your cockdrunk stupor, all you can do is agree. He could fill your womb twenty times if he wanted with the way the toy is massaging your walls, draining you of all common sense. 

“I-It… yes, Ken.” Your head spins.

He lifts the phone higher to show you exactly what he’s doing, dragging the scale up and down, strategically stopping before he gets to the point that he knows would make you cum. 

“Really?” he questions slowly, leaning further into the screen as if that would give him a better view of his pussy - splayed out before him. “How would we decorate it?”

“We- uh…” your voice trails off. Of course you can’t answer at a time like this. Your brain feels smooth and mushy. And for fuck’s sake, you miss your husband.

“I’m listening,” he yawns, but you can hear his belt buckle moving, and see his shoulder shifting as he reaches into his pants to take himself out. His arm muscles start to flex as he strokes to your pathetic, whiny moans. 

“B-Bees and,” you stutter and struggle to find words, “flowers and…”

“Mm, a little honey for my honey?” Nanami questions, punctuating it with a grunt. He’s clearly working hard to pump his fist over his needy cock. 

“A-As many little honeys as you want,” you whimper, feeling the vibrations go back up, just so Nanami can hear you let out a cry. Just so he can use your pathetic noises as fuel to fuck his hand. 

“As many as I want?” Nanami echoes, voice still soft and guiding, even as he tortures you with the vibrator controls, even as he takes himself towards his own edge. “J-Just like, you’ll cum as many times as I want, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Mmh- d-dunno if I can, sir,” you say, knowing the nickname is enough to drive him mad.

“I think you can take it,” he says, finger rotating back to the very highest vibration setting that his phone will allow, making you scream and leak spurts of clear liquid all over your couch. 

Nanami watches in silence, aside from his wanton moans, eyebrows furrowed over the brim of his blue-light glasses. 

“So fucking beautiful. I need you,” he complains, voice deep and begging.

“Hurry up and come home so w-we can start painting the walls,” you mumble, eyes rolling to the back of your head, “y-y’know, of the nursery.”

“Right. The nursery.”

AYE AYE CAPTAIN. | s. geto

“I can’t hear you,” Suguru purrs from above. “You said, what? Stop? Speak up.”

Your thighs are forcefully parted by a heavy, black bar that cuffs to your ankles. Your boyfriend has an iron grip on it while he flushes a thick, curved toy in and out of you as you stare up at him hopelessly. 

You’re gagged. Tears are covering your sore cheeks. You keep trying to connect your thighs, but it’s no use with the bar. Meanwhile, he keeps pushing the toy inside of you. In and out, with the same smooth rhythm he usually pumps his hips.

Well, it would have been his cock, had you not decided to tease him all evening at the meeting. Taking a little longer to kiss him, dragging your tongue over his bottom lip, dropping your hand so that your knuckles accidentally grazed his dick through his robes.

“G-Geto, please, I can’t take another,” you breathe around your cloth gag, approaching your third orgasm already. He always recognizes it in your breath pattern, the way your moans pitch themselves up, so he knows exactly how to respond.

“Sorry, I wish I cared,” he fakes a yawn before quickening his wrist to fuck the cum out of you that much sooner.

Your back is off of the mattress, arching to the ceiling as you fight the spasming that has overcome you all over again. You break into a sweat and more tears brim your eyes, but there’s nowhere you’d rather be, than under him as he takes advantage of your cunt.

“This is what you wanted,” Suguru reminds, “this is what you spent all evening punishing me for, isn’t it?” He smiles, and laughs inaudibly, “You look fucking awful.”

You bite down on the wet cloth and let out a cry, some noise between fighting back and displaying how good it feels to be made fun of while there’s tears coming out of your eyes. 

“You look so helpless and stupid,” he coos, “and desperate and used.” He takes his hand off of the toy momentarily to crack his palm on your sore clit. “As if you deserve to not have your orgasm ruined. Hm. The nerve.”

And he cracks his palm down again, and again, and again - before he starts stroking the toy again, which at this point is being swallowed up by your abused hole.

You plead with him through the cloth, but the lack of remorse in his eyes is doing unnerving things to you. 

“Cum again and show me that you deserve to feel me,” he spits, and you obey immediately, flooding the bed and his wrist while he watches in disgust. “Nasty little monkey. All wet for me now.”

He pulls the toy out and examines your pulsing hole with his bottom lip between his teeth. You make eye contact for all of two seconds before he smacks your cunt again. 

“Stupid you for believing me.”

‧₊˚ʚ :: ꒷꒦ 🌸 ˖˚˳⊹

hello guys, long time no see <3

sorry for flaking in October i was in the trenches, mentally and also with my lack of creative juices but

we are so back. I have a few things planned for this next holiday season and i hope I don’t disappoint <3

love always!

~ pennjammin

[luveline]

i'm missing coworker!james so much... is he doing okay?

James is poorly :( fem

James is a cruel kind of ill. Desperate to escape the dreaded ‘man flu’, he tries hard to portray the common cold. Doesn’t whine, groan or moan, simply suffers the near constant sneezing and his twinging neck without comment. 

Luckily, he has two —two! because you like him enough to be concerned! barely!— nice deskmates who ply him with tea and worry alike. 

“Did you take that antihistamine?” Remus asks. 

“I did, yeah. You watched me take it an hour ago and try as I might, I haven’t regurgitated it yet.” 

“Don’t be disgusting, he’s just worried,” you say. 

A month ago, you might’ve said it with deep, genuine ire. James annoys you and his choice of imagery is hardly workplace appropriate, but for some reason you’re good to him lately. You’re softening, and why shouldn’t you be? James is a boy worth softening for. 

He sneezes hard into a tissue in his palm and knocks the desk, sending his small crowd of figurines skittering, their light green bodies scuffed with scratches. They fall over each day. You like rearranging them. 

You also like feeding James biscuits, and pretending you don’t like him. Or maybe pretending you do. It’s hard to tell what’s real. 

“Jesus,” he says, forgetting to be demure as he drops his forehead against his closed fist. “I can’t take it much longer.” 

“You need to calm down, is all. Every time you sneeze you trigger the inflammation in your nose, which makes you more likely to sneeze again,” Remus says. He doesn’t sound particularly pitying, but he does then stand to grab James’ mug as he heads to the kitchen. 

In an office made up of mostly Brits, it’s extremely common for everyone to make one another a tea or coffee when they get one for themselves, but it’s a sweet gesture for Remus to keep James topped up nonetheless. It also provides for moments like this: you and him alone. Not awkward anymore. 

“Do you have painkillers?” he asks.

You open the drawer of your desk and offer him your pouch. “Here.” 

Inside are many things. A box of lil-lets, plasters in sterile wrappings, throat soothers, ibuprofen, a treasure trove of cures for little ailments. 

“Just, help yourself to anything you want.” 

“You’re an angel.” James unveils a shiny purple chocolate bar. “I can have Freddie?”

“Freddo,” you correct. “Come on, James, it’s on the packet.” 

He doesn’t truly want it. He doubts he could taste it, and he drops it back in. 

“Oh, no, you can have it!” you say, softer. “I’m just being pedantic.” 

“Thanks, but I don’t think I can do chocolate right now.” 

“Right, um… well, I have a sandwich?” 

“What kind of sandwich?” he asks. 

“One of those impossible BLT’s. But I can get you a proper sandwich, James. They have those sesame seed rolls in the vending machine.” 

James doesn’t understand why you’re being so nice to him. “I must look awful,” he murmurs, letting his aching, pulsing head drop onto the desk. He sniffs uselessly. Fuck, he hates work. Why can’t he go home?

“You never look awful,” you say. 

James turns his face to see you’ve lowered your own, resting your cheek in your hand, your knuckles grazing the table. 

“You’re being too nice to me. I’m dying.” 

“You’re the one who’s mean to me, James. I’m your unwilling victim.”

“As opposed to being my willing victim.” James hates being ill, his lips are dry and his throat feels sharp and he’s changed his mind, he does want the Freddo. “Please be nice to me again.” 

“You know what’s good for this? Nasal spray. That’ll fix you.” 

“You could fix me,” James says. You don’t answer. He presses his nose to the table. “My days are always good ones when you can't be bothered to pretend you don’t like me.” 

“Who says I’m pretending?” 

James whines. “That’s worse.” 

You tease a bit of his hair behind his ear. James is content to let you, content to never move again, balmed by the softness of your touch as you draw along the outline of his ear to his jaw. “Don’t press your glasses into your nose, you’ll start sneezing again,” you whisper. 

James refuses to move. “Stroke my hair,” he demands.

“No way.”

“You’re no fun.”

“But I’m having a much better day than you are.” 

He sulks. This is exactly why James hides your stuff and leaves you off of email chains you should probably be in. You’re horrible, awful, evil, with no sympathy for him and no friendliness, either. James was far better off when he was solely annoyed at you, and not whatever useless state of being this is where his mood depends on your willingness to make friends. If James could, he would—

“Are you okay?” you say, your voice as soft as your fingertip where it traces slowly through his curly hair. “Maybe you should go home and rest. I’m worried about you…” 

James might fall in love with you if you keep whispering sweet stuff like that. You hesitate at the nape of his neck before dragging your hand up through a tuft of curls. 

“If you don’t get better soon, your voice will go and I’ll have to talk to Lang and Co. on the phone again. You know I hate their finance team leader,” you finish. 

You sound so pretty that James almost misses your slight. Then decides he’ll allow it as long as you keep stroking his hair.  —

coworker james au

[sugurusbabygirl]

can you do a choso smut where he’s the sluttiest virgin in the world. like so slutty that he jerks off to the reader constantly and when he finally fucks her he gets all whiny and needy and overstimulated

(luv you!)

I may have gotten a little carried away….

this has been on my mind for DAYS

(luv you too babes <3 )

He shouldn’t feel so guilty about it. You guys have been together for a couple weeks, so it’s fine, right? He wants to go at your pace, it was his idea. He didn’t want to rush you—but he just couldn’t help it.

You were so adorable laying all over him while you both watch a movie. Smiling and laughing away, all you did was innocently set your hand on his thigh to give him a loving squeeze. He hated how hard it made him. He couldn’t focus on the movie, excusing himself to the bathroom. He was quick—he learned to be so you wouldn’t get suspicious. Thinking about you sliding your hand up the palm him through his pants. How good it would feel to pull you into his lap and fuck you dumb.

You left a pair of underwear in his laundry once, by accident. A thin, stringy little purple thong. They were clean, so it wasn’t weird, right? He wasn’t some depraved pervert.

Oh, but he was.

Whimpering your name as he pumps his aching cock into the fabric. Wishing so badly that he could grind up against you, splitting your pussy lips over him. He imagined what it would be like to make you beg for him to finally slide in and hear his name slip in your angelic voice.

Everything you did made him hard. Bending over to tie your shoes. Reaching up into the cabinet, when your shirt rides up just a little bit. Any dress that shows even an inch of cleavage. Your voice, oh dear lord. Jacking off to an innocent voicemail you left him is part of his nightly routine.

So, imagine his excitement when you’re over one night. You’re both tangled on his bed, making out, when you pause and bring one of his hands down to the hem of your shirt.

“Take it off.” You whisper in his ear with a smile.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He restrains himself, as much as he wants to rip it off of you, gently pulling the fabric up over your head. He leaves a trail of kisses down your neck, laying you against the covers. Looking up at you through his lashes, he continues to kiss his way across your chest, pausing to drink you in.

Your eyes haven’t left his, grinning with anticipation. God, you looked perfect. Lips red and puffy, hair a haloed mess on the pillow. He didn’t dare look away. Not even when he moved to latch his lips around your nipple. You sucked in a quick breath, sighing like an angel as he flicked his tongue over the hardened bud.

He was hard. Straining against his sweatpants, aching for any ounce of friction. But he had to focus. They were going at your pace, this was about you.

He gripped your other breast in his hand, rolling the nipple between his fingers, drawing a low whine from you. Shit, you were going to kill him.

“Choso?” Your sweet voice brings him back down to earth. He continues to look at you, reveling in your flushed face.

“Hm?” He answers, granting your nipple a particularly harsh suck, making your back arch ever so slightly.

“Want more….”

Your words went straight to his cock, twitching with need. He finally detached his lips from you, only to begin a descent down your sternum. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pajama pants, he slowly pulls them down your legs, pressing more gentle kisses across your stomach and hips.

He was imagining what kind of underwear you’d be wearing. Maybe something purple, like the ones he still had tucked away in his dresser. Maybe another thong….oh god he hoped you had more of those.

But when he looked at you, he was met with nothing. He groaned, rutting his hips into the mattress, just enough where he thought you wouldn’t notice. He pressed a slew of hungry kisses to the inside of your thigh, gripping the other tightly in his thick hand.

“You plan on this, baby?” He asks you, looking up with a shit-eating grin.

You’re blushing and you can tell he’s thrilled with your little surprise. “Maybe a little.”

He smiles like an asshole, glossing his middle finger up your slit, barely brushing your clit. You gasp at the unexpected feeling, letting your head rest further into the pillow. He looks up at you, breasts heaving excitedly as you smile. Parting your lips enough to truly admire you, he can’t help but give a few kitten licks to your bundle of nerves.

“So beautiful.” He hums, soaking in your soft moans when he pulls away. Meeting your eyes again, he sinks his pointer finger into his mouth, grinning at your flustered laugh. Before you can admire how hot he is in this moment, he’s sliding the dampened digit into you, pumping slowly at first.

He feels his cock twitch again. “Already so wet….” He groans, studying your reactions intensely.

“Another.” You wine, making him push his hips into the mattress again. Fuck, he can’t take much more of this.

Without a second thought, he obliges, adding his middle finger. Your breath catches at the feeling of the slight stretch, gripping the blanket on both sides of you. He watches you in awe. The way your chest rises and falls with each rapid breath. How your eyes screw shut when he starts pumping his fingers faster, drawing sweeter sounds from you. Even sweeter when he brings his mouth down to suck on your clit. He can't help but rut his hips when you arch against his tongue.

"Baby, baby, baby," You chant, pulling at his loose hair to get him to look at you. "Want more."

Your tone shift makes his heart flutter. No way this was actually happening. "You mean..."

You nod, and that's all the go-ahead Choso needs. His clothes join yours on the floor and he wastes no time crawling over you, his hair gathering around his face.

"You're s-sure?" His whole body shivered as his painfully hard cock brushes against your slick lips. His composure was starting to crack. He was on the edge of paradise.

"Yes, I'm sure." You say softly, pulling him into a chaste kiss. "Please."

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your jaw as he lines himself up. He's throbbing, having dreamed and fantasized about this for so long. He tries to keep his cool, wanting this to be perfect for you. Then he pushes in, slowly, all his self-control comes crashing down when he feels you swallowing the tip in.

"F-fuck." He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. It's like his body has a mind of its own. He pushes further in, halfway, pulling a whispered version of your name from him.

Finally, finally, he fills you completely. And he whines. He absolutely crumbles against you. He starts rocking in and out of you, dragging his cock against your tight walls.

"Ah...ah...fuck...oh my g-" A series of whimpered cries come tumbling out of Choso's mouth. He can't believe how good it feels. How perfect it feels. His thrusts start to gain speed when your fingers tangle in his hair.

"Feels so good, so good, baby." He whispers into the crook of your neck. Wave after wave of ecstasy curls and crests through his body. You pull on his hair, clenching around him. His hips stutter, another groan rumbling through his chest.

"So good." You agree, arching your back.

His chest pressed against yours, he slides his hands down to your hips, keeping his face buried in your shoulder. "Y/n, please..." He begs, loosing himself in the feeling of you. "I need-shit-feels too good."

You smile to yourself, moaning softly as you watch him lose control of himself. "Use me, baby."

Something in him snaps. He rolls his hips into yours faster.....faster.....deeper. Every thrust brings a high-pitched whine to your ears. He grips your hips tighter, needing to feel you. It's like you can read his mind, dragging your nails up his back. He cries out, a pitiful, needy moan. The sound of skin on skin bounces off the walls, mingling deliciously with your wetness and his whimpers.

"Shit," His voice quivers, fucking into you at brutal pace. "I can't-ah!"

You groan, egging him on, scratching down his back again. "Wanna cum, baby?"

He nods shamelessly into your neck. "Yes! Yes....fuck." His thrusts grown sloppy, holding a vice grip on your waist. "Need to, please, please." It's like he's losing his handle on reality. You feel so good around him, pulling his hair, marking up his back.

"Oh, fuck-" He whimpers, "y/n, y/n, I-"

"Choso..." You groan, and that's all it takes. He pulls out of you and that's when you finally get to see him: sweaty, beet red, breathless, toned chest heaving.

All he can think to do is grunt and groan as he lines up at your slit, pumping himself until thick white lines of cum shoot out. He lets out a long, high pitched whine as he coats your lips and slit with his cum until he's shaking.

You smile up at him, never seeing him look more attractive. You push yourself up onto your elbows before being pushed right back down. Choso, with a hand pressed lightly against your throat, kisses you with a renewed fire.

"Not done yet." He mumbles against your lips. "S'your turn, baby."

masterlist <3

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

ee congrats. What about a blurb or headcanons, whichever u want i suppose, of fake dating with Frank Castle having to infiltrate something or another? ^_^

Faking It.

frank castle x female reader

warnings - cursing. allusions to sex.

written for my 5k celebration - post here, masterlist here, inbox here.

He’s got his hand on your ass.

Sure, the two of you are playing a couple, undercover in a Mr & Mrs Smith style mission. But surely there’s a thousand other places he could put his hand.

You look at him with a scowl on your face and he winks, all cheeky and boyish. Heat crawls its way up your skin, and you beg yourself to calm down. It’s fake. It’s all pretend.

When you enter the ballroom of the gala, it’s packed with people. Frank winds a hand around the back of your neck, steering you in the right direction. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

You’re laughing and playing fake niceties to an old couple at the bar. They’re telling you how beautifully in love you look, and all you can do is rest your head on Frank’s shoulder and sigh wistfully as they coo. He pulls you into him with a hand on your ass, and you resist the urge to elbow him in the ribs. He knows he’s riling you up. That’s why he’s doing it.

It’s becoming a game, now. Who can wind the other person up more.

Frank is sat on a fancy leather couch, sweet talking a middle aged woman in a long purple dress. You approach, and take the spot right on his lap, wiggling your hips to get comfortable. He hisses in your ear, fake smile still on his face, and the satisfaction you feel is unparalleled.

You’re out in the hallway coming up with a plan when two men walk past, eyeing you suspiciously. You do what any logical woman would do - smash your lips to Franks and hope he doesn’t question it. He kisses you back with much more passion than necessary, one hand around your neck and the other one on your stomach, pushing you backwards into the wall. You bite his lip as hard as you can and he groans, all deep and pretty, and you’re starting to think this plan has backfired massively.

“Damn, girl.”

“Had to think on my feet.”

“Don’t think your feet were the body part you were thinkin’ with.”

You punch his arm as hard as you can, laughing when he grabs it in pain.

“Let’s get that fucking info and get out of here. I’m sick of everyone telling me how handsome my husband is.”

“He is though, isn’t he?” he teases as he grabs your hand, walking back into the crowds of people unaware of your scheme.

Your fingers stay intertwined for the rest of the evening. He squeezes every now and again, once or twice, and you figure out the code pretty quickly. It’s a silent communication, and it works. In no time, you’ve got what you needed, slipping out of the front door and down the huge winding driveway.

You snatch your hand away, and smack his ass as hard as you physically can.

“What the fuck was that for?”

“Revenge. You grabbed my ass way more than necessary tonight.”

He laughs, and you hate the way it makes you smile.

“Good kiss, by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re a good kisser. Even if you did draw blood.”

“I’m about to draw a lot fuckin’ more if you don’t shut up, Frank.”

He chuckles, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Might suggest we play a couple every time we go undercover. This is kinda fun.”

[kteezy997]

The Candy Man- Part Two//W.W.

Warnings: smut, bathtub sex, curse words, some dirty talk, Willy wanting to fill reader with his cum

You couldn’t stop thinking about him. Your candy man, your Willy Wonka. You were convinced that his wonder-filled green eyes were burned into your memory forever. Your mind raced with images of his springy dark curls, his creamy pale skin, and his big cock that filled you to the brim. Your pussy ached just thinking about it.

It was a week to the day that he came knocking again. Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest when you opened your door to reveal Willy: brown top hat, purple coat, and the sweetest of smiles.

“I can’t believe it’s you.” you uttered dreamily. Your prayers had been answered: Willy had come back.

“Hey, y/n. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Oh, you’re certainly not bothering me.”

Willy smiled kindly at you, then continued, “I have just been thinking about you, and I wonder if maybe what happened was wrong. I mean, it was absolutely wonderful, but you are a married woman. I would hate for your husband to find out-"

You cut him off as he was speaking, “Don’t worry, Willy. He will never know. It’s our little secret.”

“Oh,” he nodded, “alright then. That’s great. Um,” he looked down at his boots, shyly, “do you mind if I come in? There was something else I wanted to ask you.”

“Oh yes, of course, come in!” you said, maybe a little too enthusiastically, and you stepped aside, letting him by.

Willy walked over to the couch, rubbing his cold hands together. He did look rather cute with his rosy cheeks and slightly pink nose from the briskness outside. “You really should stay inside today, it’s too cold for you to be out there, y/n.” he said.

You blushed at his sweet words, “Should I get you some hot tea to warm you up? Or maybe some coffee?”

“No, no, I really don’t want to trouble you.” he insisted, “Come, sit with me if you would?”

You obliged him, and sat down next to him.

"Look, the real reason that I came by is to ask you if...it was okay, what I did? Was it any good?" Willy cleared his throat, apprehensively, "Did I do a good job?"

You laughed and touched his hand, "Yes, you did. I came twice, Willy. You were a natural. Better than my husband, might I add. And I've been having sex with him for years now. Well, not hardly at all lately, but that's neither here nor there." you shrugged.

"It's just that it was my first time, and I wanted to be sure that you enjoyed it as much as I did." his cheeks became a little bit flushed again, but it was not from the cold this time.

"I definitely did, Willy." you said sincerely, intertwining your fingers with his.

He softly squeezed your hand and nonchalantly looked over to the fireplace area. He shuddered ever so slightly, "That rug."

"Does it do things to you like it does to me? The memory?" you purred as you leaned in close to his ear with an idea creeping into your mind. You bit your lip.

"Yea-yeah, it does. I remember exactly what you looked like laying on that rug.” he turned to look in your eyes. The tension was palpable as your faces were just a few inches apart. “I can't get you out of my head, y/n."

"Ya know, I was about to draw a bath for myself before you came knocking, would you like to get in with me?"

"More than anything." Willy blurted out without hesitation.

.......

Willy had gotten into the hot water first, and you straddled his lap. With the both of you in the tub, the water level was dangerously high. But even if it were to spill onto the bathroom floor, you didn't notice. You were ravaging his lips, and he ran his wet hands all over your body, above and under the water.

Steam rose up from the water, creating a sweltering atmosphere. Your bodies were flushed.

You sank down onto his hard cock, and he rutted up into you. You cried out in pleasure as it slid all the way in. Your breasts bounced, tapping the surface of water and splashing in Willy's face. You grabbed his cheeks and kissed him sloppily as you fucked.

You did your best to grind your hips and keep up with him, but it was a losing battle. You were quickly brought to an orgasm with how fast he was thrusting up into you.

You whimpered as your body went limp, but Willy put his arms around you, and continued to pump his cock in and out. "Oh my God! Willy…Willy Wonka!" you cried, having never felt so good in all your life.

"I gonna come, y/n." he stuttered as his pace slowed and he thrusts became sloppy. He grabbed handfuls of your ass, and gave you a few more strokes as he kissed your face. He groaned in a huff, and you felt his cum filling your pussy.

You hugged him tightly, just needing to be close to him. Willy nuzzled into your neck and you rested your chin on his head. You put your hand on the back of his head, his curls at the nape of his neck were soaked as you pet them.

He looked up at you, his arms still linked around your body, "Kiss me?"

You leaned in and smashed your lips to his, "Mmm." you moaned happily against his mouth. You pulled away and he snuck in another peck to your swollen lips. You put your hands on either side of his chiseled cheekbones, "My angel candy man, dropped on my doorstep, so yummy and cute, with a cock made by the devil." you grinned, kissing him again. You couldn’t get enough. He was addictive like chocolate.

Willy chuckled, "I don't want to be done yet. Need to fill you with more of my cream.”

"Ugh, yes, treat me like one of your fine chocolates, Willy. Fill me, I want it.” you begged, moaning into his lips in another eager kiss.

"Turn over, please?" he asked, in between pecks, puppy dog eyes in full effect.

You couldn't deny his request. He was all you wanted, all you thought about and longed for, and you were going to take him as long as you wanted, as long as he was there. You nodded, swirling yourself in the water so your back was to him. Willy pushed you forward, careful to keep your head above water, and he pulled your hips up. With your ass to the surface and facing him, he held your waist, and slid his dripping wet cock inside you again.

"Ah!" you moaned as he thrusted fast, splashing the water and making it slosh out on the floor. The bathroom was filled with the loud splashing noises he created. You braced yourself on the bottom of the tub with your hands. The bath water sprinkled your face and hair with warm droplets as you took Willy's cock over and over.

After a moment, he let out a huff and you felt him release inside you once more. "Wheeew, sorry y/n. It may take more practice for me to last longer." his breathing was uneven as he spoke. He leaned over your back to leave a kiss on top of your head.

"No," you panted, "it's alright, it was amazing. You bring me more chocolate next week and we’ll practice some more.”

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @chalametbich

[jinxs-gf]

beauty is in the eye of the beholder

pairings: jinx x reader

summary: You’re an artist, giddy at the thought of creating a portrait of Jinx, your lover. Except she can’t understand why you’d want a portrait of her.

content, warnings: jinx has cute aggression & insecurities, fluff! reader calls jinx ‘angel’ and jinx calls r her toots, too much description and it’s all barely edited D: pretty cringe but it’s okay

w.c. 2.2k

a.n. based off this request <3 again tysm anon ILY :)

You walk into the little corner of Jinx's room (the abandoned, giant space full of nothingness—that goes down...who knows how far) exclusively reserved for you. There's easels with and without canvases. Some covered in abandoned art, some finished, and some blank. The corner screamed you all over it. Especially the mess of unnecessary amounts of paint brushes, buckets, pencils, tore up paper...

Paint splotches and spills were scattered across your little desk and the floor (the work of you and Jinx).

There's particular squabbles of paint that you don’t mind. A happy face with a squiggly smile that's been there long enough to start chipping away. An uneven mess of hearts scattered in attempt to make the perfect one. Big words that read "I love you" in blue and smaller words next to it, "jinx waz here" in pink. The newest stain is on one of the many cans of your desk, a mark of her kiss. She'd quite literally painted her lips with bright purple and kissed the can, insisting it was there so her toots would never miss her.

Even though there's no time to miss her. Even though she resorts to bringing her work over to your tiny desk instead of keeping it to her very spacious one. You don't mind, the closer to your girlfriend the better. You pretend to be bothered though, only so she'd persist and annoy and squish into your space further.

You tie the apron, generously gifted by Silco, around yourself, excited to (hopefully) start a new, special project. It was gifted reluctantly of course. He tried to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal, but it was a very big deal. The eye of Zaun gift giving? Unheard of. You must be special. And you were, according to your blue haired menace that reminded you everyday. The very menace you affectionately named Angel.

"Toots!"

Jinx's gloved hands wrap around your body and suddenly, your back is crunched to her front. Her hands squeeze your tummy while nuzzling her face into you. Clearly she had missed you...for the whole minute you were separated.

It's like she can tell you were thinking it, "What? You didn't miss me while you were gone? You don't seem so excited I'm here." She's teasing like she always does. The edge and rasp in her voice so close to your neck doing wonders to the butterflies in your stomach.

But of course Jinx missed you. Could you really blame her? She hates every second you're apart, and she loves that you do too. So she's open about it, maybe more dramatic and a bit of a show off, but only to make you laugh and see you turn bashful. She loves getting you shy with her affections and teasing, unable to fathom the way you're wrapped around her finger the way she's wrapped around yours.

Your hands delicately grab her small, rough ones, turning yourself around to face her. "Don't even start with me, I'll tickle you to death if you keep up the accusations."

"Is that supposed the be a threat?" And oh, the pout is more real than sarcastic than she wants it to be. Like she genuinely doesn't like the idea of being threatened...by tickles (you know the idea is scary to Jinx, it's the truest form of torture she said once).

"Kind of." Your hands swing in the gap between the two of you. "Hey I actually had an idea. Care to hear?" It's something you've been wanting to do for a while now, giddy at the thought of it. Yet suddenly you find yourself a bit reluctant, still undoubtedly shy around your lover. You hope she'll say yes and that her teasing from this won't be too harsh.

"Hit me with it!"

"Will you let me draw you? Like a full portrait? I promise I'll do you justice!"

Jinx is sorry for it, but she stopped listening immediately, too enraptured by your connected hands, heart beating a little faster at the contact. You'll never know the effect you have on her (or so she thinks), she refuses to get teased even though she loves to tease you. She adores how flustered you get. Teasing is her love language, Jinx's way of showing her love for her toots. And when you decide it's unbearable enough, you'll shut her up with a kiss. Jinx will drag it out and annoy you for that reason alone. She counts on a messy kiss every time.

Unknowing of what to do with the sudden adoration creeping up on her, she pinches your hands hard.

Unfazed, you call her "Angel?"

"Hm?" She looks up and at you with so much affection. So much it stops you for a moment. Your giddiness to do this increases tenfold, her expression killing you in the best way possible. You can be extremely honest about this to soften her up, make her want to say yes.

"I'd like to draw you. Like really, really badly. I have for the longest time. You're just...stupidly pretty and it makes me feel so stupid and I want to scribble your face all over my canvases all the time. So...can I? You'll have to sit for me as reference." You say it as if you don’t have every bit of her memorized, which you completely do.

And for whatever reason, your menace (angel) is stunned. You notice it’s a bad kind of stunned, you realize quickly.

“…Me?”

“Yes?”

“But why?” Jinx asks quiet and unsure of herself. Her eyes look everywhere but you, she tries pulling back but you squeeze her hands. There’s a hint of anxiety around her, something she hasn’t experienced since she met you.

The mood switch and uncharacteristic behavior causes worry to stir in your chest. “Uhh, why wouldn’t I? You’re my girlfriend, you’re the prettiest girl in the Undercity and in Piltover! Trust me, none of those snotty ladies are as pretty-”

“You haven’t even been to Piltover.”

“I don’t need to go over there to know they don’t compare to you.”

She heaves a big sigh, your worry growing.

“I just- I'm not pretty or beautiful or any of the things you say I am. You call me angel when I'm far from that! You love art, it’s your thing, toots. Your passion and escape. How can you let someone like me ruin something you love so much? I don’t want to…I don’t know.”

When you don’t answer, she continues.

“I’m not worthy of so much time being spent on something so precious you know?” She says it like she hopes you’ll agree. You won’t.

“Angel,” you let go of her hands to cup her face, needing her to hear you. “Of course you’re worth spending time on. I love you. Do I not say it enough? I know I can be-”

“No, you say it lots and lots!”

“I’ll say it more. I need to make sure you believe it. And guess what? I meant what I said Angel. You’re the prettiest girl. The prettiest to exist. And you’re mine, do you know how lucky I am? You clearly don’t understand how much I feel for you. You’re worth every second I’m gonna spend on your portrait, you understand?”

And finally, her smile is back, gone is the unsure frown.

Jinx nods and you nod while smiling with her, going in for a kiss…multiple kisses. Kisses all over her precious face, because she deserves to feel loved. To know that she’s loved.

You can be put your timidness to the side for the hour. She needs your confidence in your feelings right now. Your confidence in her.

"Now get in my lap, I need a better look at your pretty face." Your teasing demand flusters her. She immediately settles in your lap so your chests touch. It wasn't everyday (really ever) that you spoke to her like that, always too shy to do so. But Jinx finds that she kind of likes it, she wants you to demand contact with her, especially in a position like this. It makes her feel gooey inside. Butterflies uncontainable.

It's not exactly ideal, you're not used to having your girlfriend in your lap while sketching. But you wanted this, and it's not making it impossible. All you have to do is wrap your arms around her pretty waist and rest your chin on her shoulder. It's perfect.

"For science huh? To 'get a better look' at me was it? Toots, if you wanted me in your lap you coulda just said that!" She teases, assuming you just wanted her there to have a more accurate picture.

You quietly confess, "jus' wanted you in my lap." Giving her waist a squeeze while you sketch her jaw.

You can tell you've stumped her (but this time in a good way). She's gone impossibly quiet and still. Warm too, just like she always does when you attempt to flirt. The two of you were truly unable to get over and deal with the timidness of being affectionate. Of being together.

And just like always, she melts. Like how ice cream does in the sun (a sugary delight you've been able to share with Jinx once). Her stiff back let's loose and she squeezes in return. She holds on like you'll disappear. You wouldn't. Not ever, because how could you? When you love her and when she loves you to death?

It’s quiet for the rest of the time you’re drawing, Jinx resorting to drawing patterns on your back, seemingly drifting off at some point. She internally scolded herself for it, not wanting you to think she was bored but it was taking a while. She wanted to have this moment with you though, it was so delicate, something that’s not occurred before. Especially with the earlier conversation. It was special.

You dot the last bit of her freckles on the white sheet. "All done," a kiss to the side of her head that makes her impossibly warm and dig her face deeper. "Needa color it in now." Color it with the paint the two of you always make a mess out of, there's no doubt in your mind it'll happen again.

She turns to finally look at it, her eyes wider than you've ever seen. "Holy shit toots, there's no way you did that!"

"Are you accusing me of cheating?"

"Maybe." She always knew you were the best artist of the Undercity (definitely not biased), you were just that good. But this was different. Was it because it was a drawing of her? Well...it was also the fact that it was so accurate. From her eyes, nose, mouth, jaw...even the way her hair curled in front of her face. And the scars, scars even she herself had forgotten about. But you remembered, you hadn't looked at Jinx once the whole time. You really did have her memorized huh? You didn’t have to say it, the way you insisted she sat in your lap instead of on a different chair for reference and the drawing in front of her is enough proof.

Jinx needed to go look in whatever was left of her shattered mirror to see this. She couldn't believe how pretty she looked on a piece of paper. She couldn't believe you took the time to do this. That you even wanted to in the first place. Jinx has been flustered and felt her heart beating awfully fast just from your gaze alone. But she thinks her heart might be about ready to explode, much like her countless monkey bombs or firelights.

She's unsure how to contain or show this rush of deep, deep affection, so she pushes your face from where it's searching her reaction and jumps out your lap, rushing for your paint cans.

You're kind of confused, but also accepting of her reaction. You're used to it, not that she always runs away due to avoiding feelings. Definitely not. Jinx was one to have so much affection for something or someone that you just...want to pinch, squeeze or...bite it. Luckily she hasn't got you (yet). It was a little shove, probably to prevent herself from sinking her teeth into your cheek. (You truly wouldn't have minded) (you kind of would have, it hurts).

She's back in front of you holding up a bucket half full of bright blue paint. At her feet she's set down small cans of various blues, pinks, and purples. Her favorite colors, obviously.

"Here ya go toots!” There’s no doubt in your mind you’ll be making a mess with the paint when you’re done.

Except, you haven’t even picked out a paint brush before you feel her hands grab your waist from behind, the familiar feeling of paint transferring from her touch to your body.

You look back at her, squinting. “Excuse me?”

“What? Can’t grab my toots’ love handles?”

You turn around, grabbing her hands and pulling her closer to you. You take a peak at her handy work, the blue on your waist making you feel things. You won’t let her know that though.

“Two can play at that game.”

“Try me then toots.”

You release your hands from hers and cup her face with them, leaving blue prints of your palms on her cheeks.

[demonic0angel]

If you aren’t too busy, is it possible for you to do a small one shot of Batfam meeting Fenton! Damian for the first time? 🥹🥹🥹🥹

(I’m not sure if you meant a drawing or a piece of writing, but I’m going to assume it’s writing. Also, Damian met them at separate times, so I’ll just write the scene that I imagine what happens when Damian meets Tim and Steph, since it’s one of the earlier scenes and most vital.)

Damian was darting through the streets when he felt Shadow brush against him, ears perked up as they tilted their head and looked behind them.

Damian paused and turned around. A figure in red and black, and another in purple, looked at him with curious tilts to their heads. He flinched but stayed calm as he tried to relax underneath the vigilantes’ searching gazes.

Robin and Spoiler had just arrived.

They stared at each other.

Then Damian said, "Uh, hello?"

Robin gave a small smile. "Hey there, kiddo. It’s dangerous to be out here at this time. Where are your parents?"

Damian frowned. "I'm fine. I have my dog with me."

Spoiler then asked, "Oh! You're the kid on the roof that Nightwing met!"

Damian said, "I'm not on a roof right now, though."

They chuckled and Robin said gently, “Still, it’s not safe out here. You’re not from Gotham, right? You should go back to your parents.”

“I can’t,” Damian said, stressed, and the looks on the vigilantes’ faces changed into something harder and more protective. Quickly realizing that perhaps they were reaching for a bad conclusion, Damian quickly continued, “I have to find my friend. He moved to Gotham a few weeks ago and he hasn’t contacted me since then. I heard that his parents died, but I can’t find him.”

“What about your parents? Shouldn’t they know? Or help you?” Spoiler asked.

Damian fidgeted with his shirt. Truthfully, he didn’t want to tell Jazz. Jazz was quick to worry and already tired from whatever daytime work she was doing, but if she had helped, the search would have definitely been faster. It was just that Damian liked doing things on his own and he hated stressing her out.

“I don’t want her to worry,” Damian said, “And I would like to do it on my own.

Spoiler nudged Robin, and then pulled him aside. Damian crouched to pet Shadow, trying to pretend he wasn’t listening in as he stroked Shadow’s velvety, mist-like fur, while the two whispered to each other.

“Patrol is going slow… So how about we just stay and help him? We protect a kid, hopefully help another, and we can avoid B for awhile!”

“Well…. I think I’m on thin ice with B. I’m not sure I should go out on my own…” they looked at each other for a brief moment and without another word, both turned and Robin grinned at Damian.

“Okay, so how about we help you? We’ll come with you to find your friend, and in 2 hours, we’ll bring you back to your home and try again tomorrow, alright? Do we have a deal?”

Damian tilted his head, but Shadow barked, a hoarse and crackling sound. Both vigilantes stared warily at them, but since Shadow agreed, Damian had no real reason to say otherwise.

He smiled, reaching out to shake Spoiler’s gloved hands. “Deal!”

[dvchvnde]

excerpt; hitchhiker au | Simon Riley x Reader gore. graphic descriptions of decomposition. implied noncon.

“You’re not real,” she whimpers, words a rough scrape out of her raw, torn throat. “You can't be real.”

He doesn't answer tonight. Silent in his appraisal, his hatred; the bloodlust rolls off of him in waves, a suffocating deluge that tangles in her chest. Heart pulsing at the base of her throat, clogging her airways. She can't breathe. Can't move. Can only watch as the man cocks his head slowly to the side in a mutated parody of consideration. Confusion. Taking her in as he stands in her doorway, massive body filling the frame in an outline of black, making him more shadow than man. An apparition that haunts her at devil's hour. Always.

The moon's glow casts a line through the open window. A pale meridian between them. 

Childishly, she thinks of hiding under her blanket. Bad things can't touch you under the covers. Curling into a ball with her eyes squeezed shut, fingers plugging her ears. Wishing for her mother. Howling for her dad. Waiting until morning when the thing haunting her finally leaves.

But he doesn't. Not tonight. 

And she knows if she tries to hide, he'll just crawl into the bed next to her—

“Fix your bumper yet?” He asks, measured in his mockery. The weight of his words makes her stomach churn. Nausea a cold, familiar comfort that tethers itself to her ribcage. “Better get that fixed before someone comes askin’ questions, pet. Clean the blood off it, too. Caused quite the nasty spill.”

His directive makes her want to curl into a ball. “I–I didn't mean to, I didn't—”

“What'd you tell everyone? Hit a deer? Left ‘im in the bushes to die? And now he's got maggots crawlin’ all around ‘is ‘ead. Eatin’ his brains clean outta ‘is skull—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up—you’re not real! You're not real—”

The man—Simon Riley, her mind supplies bitterly, brokenly; tinged full of regret and sorrow and hatred—lashes out in an instant, moves like water, like shadows on the wall, the too bright flicker of a moving car, until he's in her face, looming over her. A massive, unclimbable wall. And she hates it. Hates when he's this close to her. Close enough to smell the stench of rotten blood that dries on his chest, the side of his head. A brown stain that sinks into the too-large frame of his chest. 

He smells of death. Sickening. Tainted with a noisome sweetness that glues in her nostrils, leaks down her throat. She can taste him there, right on her tongue. Him. Simon Riley. 

Missing, the newspapers say. But only she knows the truth. Stowed away in a facsimile of a grave by the swamps, left to rot. Here, in her bedroom. Waiting for her whenever she tries for a modicum of sleep. A veteran. A drifter. Homeless, they write, and he barked out an ugly laugh as he read over your shoulder, but said nothing else as you scrolled. Tense. Shivering in your seat, waiting for the day the police show up and arrest you. You did a terrible thing. A horrible thing. Pay for what you've done—

His hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around the delicate arch of her throat. The width spans the entirety of it until the bone china, the vulnerable slope, is clenched tight in his slick, slippery palm. Moss, she knows; it grows over his hands and feet now. The earth reclaiming the body she threw into the swamp—

“Not real?” He mocks, wrenching her closer by her throat. Pulse thudding like the wings of a hummingbird against his thumb. “Oh, pet. M’very real—”

He leans in, too, until his horrid face is lit by the sliver of pale blue moonlight. Scraps of tissue slough off of his head, skin purpling beneath the balaclava that peels off in patches. Animals, he'd told her idly, like talking about his body being eaten away by creatures was piecemeal. The jaundiced bone of his cheek pokes out from raspberry skin. It shifts when he speaks, and draws her eye to the devastation of his mouth. Jawbone visible; muscle blackened, clinging by a strip of thin tissue to his lower mandible. His teeth gleam in the light. Yellow and crooked. The rest of his face is covered under the blood soaked fabric of his mask. A small mercy, she thinks.

But the worst is his eyes. 

Once black, midnight grey, is now filmed over. Milky. And the other—

Something moves in the cherryred chasm. A long, thin black line slinks out of the gaping hole. Another. Another. From the rotten socket, a large spider emerges, crawling over the craggy pieces of his broken nose, making his decomposing body her home. 

She whimpers as the bile surges up, swallowing it down when the blue skin of his mouth peel back in a horrifying grin—

Something white falls from the corner of his eye, rolling down the slick, damp skin of his oily face in a mockery of a teardrop, the image glueing to the bone deep remorse that coils like a noose around her neck. Tighter, tighter. 

His tongue lulls out. Cold, slimy, when it flickers over the trembling ridge of her jaw. Fingers digging into her skin, stealing the warmth from her flesh. The air from her lungs. 

He'll have her like this, she knows. Always does when he gets in these moods—the kind that makes him touch her more, sink boney fingers beneath the hem of her pants, and cooing in her ear about how much he wants to eat her alive. Buzzing with some strange, electric energy. She can't run. Can't scream. 

Going to the police isn't an option when she buried a body under loose rocks and sticks. Hit and run. Vehicular manslaughter. Life over in a blink—

No. No—

She just has to wait, she thinks, her eyes slipping shut as his rancid breath curdled over the tears on her cheeks. Wait until his body rots all the way. 

Until he's nothing but bones—

Only then will this ghost finally leave her alone. 

[deadsetobsessions]

Tim drake triplet au owns my soul I’m not gonna lie

Have some more ✨

——

Moral and ethical crises aside, having three Robins increased the crime fighting rate exponentially. Crooks could not do even a mildly villainous scheme without being cheerfully beaten down (Lionel), robbed blind (Tim), and having their operations permanently crippled (Archy). At this point, the only reason the Rogues were still alive was because Batman insisted on handling them.

“There’s a weird ship coming into Gotham bay~!” Lionel sang, skipping into the room with an armful of papers. Alfred sedately followed behind him, with a plate full of snacks and milk. He had been passive aggressive in feeding them, muttering something about making up for lost time.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Tim mumbled, grabbing a snack. One hand was doing case work, the other (the hand that grabbed a snack) was doing homework. “Yeah, I clocked that. Some pretty interesting people on it.”

“Once again, Bruce’s old flings haunt our doorstep.” Archy crossed the room and plucked some of the papers off of Lionel.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. People are gonna come flocking to his gates with the fake baby traps again at the end of the social season.” Tim grimaced, remembering all the cheek pinches he endured last season as he headed off anyone that would approach Bruce in his Brucie persona.

“Talia al Ghul is a different kind of issue.”

“I’d take fist fighting her over Mrs. Laughfy’s pinching any day.”

“Gee, I kind of want to meet Talia. She seems kind of badass.” Lionel plopped down onto his seat, dumping the rest of the papers onto the table. “Dick hates her though. Oh, Archy, here’s all of the paperwork from that shady chemical plant.”

“Thanks.” Archy went back to the drawing board, drafting up a complicated corporate scheme that ended up with Drake industries acquiring said shady chemical plants. They were planning the reveal of the Drake triplets soon, but their method had much to be planned.

As a matter of fact…

“As expected,” Archy scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Our best bet is to pretend we were always there.”

“Gaslight, gatekeep, girl-boss!”

The triplets nodded and moved on, Archy forging their birth certificates.

Idle conversation started up again, rotating between their upcoming gaslight gatekeep girl boss masterplan, Talia’s arrival, and whether or not they should dye Jason’s hair bright purple.

“I wonder why she came? She got on the ship with a… kid.” Tim stilled, dawning horror and realization settling upon his face. “No way.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s juicy.” Lionel grinned like a bat fresh out of hell.

“We need more information.” Archy set aside his papers, an indication of intense focus from him.

The door clicked open and three heads swung in unison.

“Hey, guys, what are you…” Dick faltered as three sets of piercing blue eyes locked onto him. “Uh. Something wrong?”

Lionel dove at the door, shutting it closed and locking it.

Tim sprung up and clamped a hand onto Dick’s wrist. His smile became eerily polite. “Dick! We had a couple of questions for you!”

Dick glanced down at him, back at Lionel, and then forward at Archy’s widening grin. He shuddered.

“Am I about to die?” He wondered out loud, resigning himself to his fate as his baby-birds dragged him over to their war table.

——

“You didn’t know about me.”

“…No.”

“But we did!” Damian startled, unsheathing his sword in record time and swinging an arc of deadly blades towards the voice.

“Heya! I’m Robin!”

“I am also Robin.” Damian sidled back and looked up, weapon at the ready. Two identical Robins perched on the flickering street lamps, tilting their heads down at him.

“Hey, Damian. I’m Robin.” The one on the left waves.

“Boys,” his father sighed.

“Can it, B. I can’t believe you did the horizontal tango with Talia, of all people.”

Damian bristled. “You would not be worth the ground mother walks upon, you ingrate!”

The three robins looked at each other and simultaneously looked back at Damian. “Oh, we like you. Yes, you’re about to be our new favorite brother.”

Damian didn’t know whether to lunge at them or be flattered.

“C’mon, Wayne junior. We’ll show you around. Pick an alias, one you can use before we train you to be Robin.”

“I… I will fight you! Robin is mine by right! I am father’s blood son!”

One of the Robins perched on top of the lamp post grinned, half feral as he swung down. “We’d like to see you try, little bird.”

“Stop antagonizing him. Damian, you’ll become Robin eventually, but the only way is to get acknowledged by the former Robins. There’s so much more to becoming Robin than being good at combat like you are.”

“We’ll teach you! Robin lesson number one! Annoy B with competence!” The cheery Robin cheered.

“No.”

They ignored Batman. Damian, after checking his father’s face and not finding anything other than exhaustion, followed their example hesitantly.

“Here, take this grapple.” The serious Robin handed him a grapple and a domino mask. “Second lesson, Robins fly through the sky. We can stalk, sure, but we fly better than anyone else.”

Damian glanced at Batman again, before taking the grapple. In unison, the Robins shot up and away.

“Let’s go, Damian. We shouldn’t leave them unsupervised.”

“They are not competent enough to patrol alone?”

Father grimaced. “They are. But if we leave them be, they’ll take over Gotham in a matter of weeks.”

Damian’s respect towards the Robins went up a couple of notches. He put on the domino and grappled after the Robins.

When they find Joker goons transporting goods, the third Robin (Timothy, he found out later) turned to him and smirked.

“Third lesson? The punishment has to fit the crime. Those are stolen goods. So we rob them blind.”

“Those goods are evidence, Robin,” Father rumbled. Damian tensed, but the Robins remained relaxed.

“Okay, so we don’t touch the evidence, but everything else is fair game. Wallets, keys, lightbulbs.”

“That is incredibly petty,” Damian snapped.

“Well, B said we can’t murder them and maiming someone for stealing is too much. So, petty we must be, to refrain from going off the deep end.”

Damian considered tossing them off the roof, but these infernal fools would probably laugh and return to the roofs like cockroaches.

——

Damian watched the carnage in awe. The Robins were incredibly efficient and effective, drawing terror from their victims even before even commencing a beat down.

“I will accept their guidance,” Damian muttered to himself.

Behind him Batman lowered his head into hands in a moment of weakness. He prayed to allah and his parents for patience… and sanity.

——

“Jaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyysonnnnnnn!”

“Oh, fuck no!” Jason shot out rubber bullets without hesitation. “Fuck off, you demon!”

“But don’t you want to meet our youngest brother?”

Jason lowered his guns, glaring at Lionel’s chirpy face. “What? I’ve already met Tim.”

“Nope! Apparently, Bruce had a kid with, I shit you not, Talia al Ghul!”

Jason holstered his guns, interested in any mockery aimed at Bruce. “No way. You’re lying.”

“Nope! Meet Damian!”

Behind Lionel, Bruce’s mini-me stepped out. “Todd.”

Jason straightened and stepped closer, though noticeably giving Lionel a wide berth. He was never going to let the old man live this down. And from the looks of it, he had allies in the form of the three terrors.

——

Bruce looked down at the cake. He looked back up.

On one hand, his kids were getting along.

On the other hand… he was getting bullied by his kids.

Bruce heard a low chuckle.

Scratch that, he was being unjustly bullied by his kids and Alfred.

In front of the exhausted dad of six (and future dad of so many more), sat a cake with the words “congrats, it’s a boy!” and a picture of Talia.

[gravehags]

destroying all (and make them want it again)

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: copia holding reader hostage for marathon fucking, copia being our favorite little sex freak, office sex, blowjobs, terzo being terzo, reader becoming more satanic every day :)

Words: 2,848

Summary: You'd think after almost three days of being held hostage by your perverted lover, you'd have tired of his touch. You'd think.

a/n: i for one would really benefit from being locked up in bed with copia for days like i really think i deserve that

~~~

By the time Copia allows you to stumble out of his quarters two days after your fateful visit you are delightfully, deliciously sore.

You had no idea he’d be so…voracious. Your mild-mannered awkward Cardinal had you bent over and spread on every surface in his apartment, multiple times, drawing words out of you that you never dreamed of saying. He wasn’t a cruel kidnapper either - sporadically he would leave the apartment and return to you bearing sustenance from the dining hall. Your favorite was lounging nude on his mussed sheets while he dutifully and adoringly fed you plump purple grapes, kissing you in between bites. The thought stirs your heart as you open your apartment door and stumble inside to your bedroom to collapse face down on the duvet. You groan as you hike one leg up, the beautiful ache of being thoroughly used emanating from your core and into your muscles. You’re about to throw yourself in the shower when your phone vibrates.

Miss you already bellezza mia xx

You sigh.

Miss you more <3

I could…come over?

You laugh out loud, shaking your head.

You dog! You’re relentless. I haven’t showered in days, I feel filthy.

I could help you feel filthier ;)

Copia! Not that I’m opposed to the idea but my girl needs a break, per favore. You’ve worn her out.

Mi dispiace amore, she’s just so plump and willing and perfect for me, I can’t help myself.

Speaking of your girl, she’s stirring to attention at the thought of where this conversation is going and your fingers hover over the screen, tempted, before shaking your head.

You’re welcome to come over but no funny business. Might show my face in the dining hall to prove I’m still alive if you’re interested in meeting me there.

There’s a pause and your phone vibrates.

I’ll meet you at dinner and see if I can’t persuade her. Ti amo <3

Love you

When the two of you meet up a couple hours later at your usual table in the dining hall you garner more than a few curious looks. Rather than taking his typical spot across from you, instead he elects to sit next to you. You’re midway through a forkful of vegetarian lasagna when you feel the slide of leather clad fingers along your thigh. When you slowly turn your head, Copia’s shit-eating grin pans into view and you drop your fork, unamused.

“Really? In front of my lasagna?”

He gives you a creepy nod, still holding his smile and the sight has you bringing a fist to your mouth to stifle your laughter. Reaching down you grab one of his fingers and bend it back slightly as a warning.

“Ah, my amore would never hurt–ah!”

He cradles his hand to his chest and gives you a pout unbefitting a man of his distinguished age and position.

“Told you,” you say, shoving a bite of lasagna into your mouth then pointing at him with your fork, “no funny business.”

“Oh she’s cruel,” he laments, shaking his head, “La mia crudele, bella padrona. She would watch me wither away, never to feel her touch–”

“Oh come on, Copia, you held me hostage in your bed for almost three days! This is the first real meal I’ve had in literal days please let me–”

“She does not care for me,” he says, somehow managing to give you the most unsettling puppy-dog eyes ever. “She tells me she hates me and she wants me dead.”

“Oh for the love of fuck you cannot be serious,” your cheek rests on your propped up fist, watching this ridiculous display. “I just want to enjoy my lasagna unmolested,” you lower your voice as a sibling walks past, giving the two of you a disgusted once-over, “so naturally that means I hate you. Unholy fuck, if I had known pussy was going to turn you into this I never would have–”

“What kind of fuck?” Copia asks innocently, mustache twitching.

“I–hmm. You must be rubbing off on me.”

“Is that an invitation?” he asks, filthy leer returning to his face.

You roll your eyes but can’t smother the smile.

“I’m leaving, Copia,” you announce, standing up. “If you would like to accompany me to bed - for sleep - then you know where to find me. Unbelievable.”

You stomp off and you can feel his eyes on the sway of your ass the entire way out of the room. He does join you, not long after that, the picture of a perfect gentleman as he strokes your hair and places soft kisses to the top of your head. You can’t lie though - a part of you is disappointed he didn’t continue his dirty old man routine but, you think as your eyes drift closed, you really did need to give your poor cunt a break.

The next morning you awaken to an empty space beside you and you’re not surprised. Copia had to wake up early for morning prayer and you’ve been lucky to have had him by your side for as long as you did. You feel his absence acutely - how could you not after days with him? - and it leaves you with a lingering sense of melancholy as you get ready for the day and leave your quarters. The first few hours of your work day passes without incident - typing emails, ordering archival supplies, meeting briefly with Sister Imperator (with whom you can barely make eye contact after shirking your duties to get repeatedly and thoroughly railed by her Cardinal), and continuing on your quest to catalog the Ministry’s extensive art collection. When lunchtime rolls around that unpleasant sadness sits heavy in your belly. Part of you feels ridiculous letting yourself be so affected by well, love, but hey it’s your first time at this, right? Gotta cut yourself some slack. Your heart aches for him but also…other parts of you. You thought for sure after the marathon he just put you through you’d be satisfied for a while but if anything it’s made you even more hungry. When you look up at the clock and realize it’s lunchtime, a low heat begins to simmer in your belly and between your legs. You hesitate before standing up and heading to the door with a grin on your face.

When you approach Copia’s office door and knock softly, you’re met with a muffled “entrare!” and open it to sidle inside. He’s on his old landline with someone he clearly would rather not be speaking to judging from his exaggerated eye-rolls and dismissive hand gestures. You quietly walk up to his desk and try not to laugh as you listen to him desperately try to end the conversation.

“Uh-huh. Yes. Yep. Uh, you too. Okay, goodbye. Good–what? Yes that will be taken care of, of course. Buh-bye. Bye.” Copia slams the receiver down and turns to fix you with a tired stare.

“Long day?” you ask, rounding the desk to lean against it.

“Stressful day, all of a sudden the fundraiser gala is my problem when it should be Terzo’s problem, but where is Terzo? Nowhere to be found, naturalmente. And Saltaria–wh-what are you doing?”

You’re halfway through sinking to your knees next to him when you blink up at him innocently.

“Helping with the stress.”

His jaw falls open and he swallows thickly, eyes on the way you inch up your flowy skirt to expose your spread thighs to his gaze. You place your hands on his knees and he jumps comically.

“Cardinale, you were very thorough in your ah, teachings these past few days however there are some areas we never touched upon.”

“O-oh?”

“Mmm mmhmm,” you confirm, grabbing the end of his black cassock and inching it up his legs. When you reach past his knees and can go no further he lifts himself off the chair and hastily draws the garment to his hips. You smile at the tent in his trousers and your tongue darts out to wet your lips.

“Missed you this morning,” you murmur, hand coming up to cup the curve of his cock. “Been wanting you so badly all day.”

“T-thought you were eh, sick of my advances?”

You give him a gentle squeeze and smile, resting your cheek on his knee.

“That was yesterday,” you say, finger drawing patterns on his bulge, “And while she might be tired, I certainly am not.”

His gloved hands grip the armrests of his desk chair as you lean forward to slowly unzip his trousers. When you take him out, hard and leaking, he sighs.

“You don’t know how many times I came into this office wanting to do this exact thing,” you confess, hand wrapping around him, “How all you had to do was say the word and I’d be on my knees or bent over that desk.”

He sucks in a breath.

“I-Is that so, amore? So all those times we were in here working, you–”

“--Were thinking about you fucking me raw? Mmhmm.”

Copia lets out a sigh and his head falls against the back of his chair.

“But let’s not think about the past, hmm? All I want to think about right now is you teaching me how you like to fuck my mouth. Okay?”

His hips buck into your touch and he lets out a whine before nodding. Slowly, keeping your eyes on his, you bring your lips to the red, swollen head of him and place a chaste kiss. Pre dampens your lips and you slowly dart your tongue out to taste the salt of him. He exhales shakily and encouraged, you lower yourself once more to drag the tip of your tongue along his slit. His low whimper makes you grin and gently you slide your lips over the head, flattening your tongue underneath him. You want to drag this out as long as possible, delighting in the feel of his heated flesh in your mouth so you suckle at it and moan around him when his gloved hand flies to the back of your head.

“D-dolcezza,” he breathes, burying his fingers in your hair to cup your skull, “Are you s-sure you’ve never done this before?”

You slip him out of your mouth and give him a grin.

“I’m flattered,” you murmur, using your thumb to rub against the vein going down the length of him, “But no. Just watched a lot of porn, honestly.”

He chuffs out a laugh and his head tips back to thunk against the back of his chair.

“Tell me what you want, my love,” you say, “Tell me what you like. Guide me.”

His eyes slip closed and a lazy grin curls his lips.

“Amore you could bite it off and I’d say thank you,” he groans as you lower your lips to suck at the head once more, “But–ah–I want to see what y-your instinct tells you, si?”

When you laugh around him the vibrations make his hips twitch against your mouth, and you take that as permission. Slowly, you slide your lips past the head and down the shaft and you can feel yourself dripping at the way he stretches your mouth. You’re about half way down the length of him and you can feel him petting your hair.

“Bene, amore mio,” he chokes out, “Molto bene. C-can you, eh, take more?”

You’re not sure but you’re willing to try, so you nod as best you can.

“Breathe through your nose, amata,” he sighs and you can feel drool threatening to spill from your lips and tears prick your eyes as you near the base of him. When the head of him prods your throat you swallow around him and the action causes his hips to spasm. Panicked, you jerk backwards - not sliding all the way off but just enough to where you can catch your breath - and you hear him murmuring praise above you.

“Cazzo, so good for me, taking me all the way into that pretty mouth. You’re doing so well for me, bellezza mia.”

His words of encouragement make your clit throb and push you to once again slide your lips down the length of him, dragging your tongue along the underside. This time, when his hips buck into your mouth you’re ready for him, allowing the head to bump the back of your throat as you nose the brown curls between his legs. Gently, the hand in your hair pulls you off him and pushes you back down, and you realize he’s showing you what he likes. 

“Ah, ragazza intelligente mia,” he groans, and you can feel his eyes on you as you begin to bob your head, “My beautiful girl always knows–ah!--what I like. Always–cazzo–so p-perfect for me. J-Just like that. Just like that, amore. J–augh–”

You’ve picked up your pace, the wet sounds between the two of you pornographic as you hollow your cheeks and suck. The hand unoccupied with gripping his cock, slides under your skirt where you find yourself soaked.

“That’s it,” Copia grunts, “Touch yourself, amata mia. L-Let those sweet fingers–hnngh–rub that pretty little clit.”

You do as he asks, moaning sloppily around his cock as you flex your hips into your hand. His grip on your hair tightens as he begins directing the movements of your head once more, fucking up into your throat and making you gag around him.

“Close,” he pants, “So close, a-amore. C-can I cum down your throat? Me lo permetterai? Please, please, please.”

As best you can, you look up at him and make eye contact. You imagine what he must see between his knees - you with your mouth stuffed full of him, mascara running down your cheeks, and your fingers frantically rubbing at your clit under your skirt - and the thought alone makes you cum, moaning around him and your hips bucking. You nod frantically as you continue chasing your own high and with one, two, three thrusts of his hips Copia empties himself in your throat. The way he holds you steady as his cock twitches in your mouth has you clenching around nothing, desperate for more of him. When he removes his hand from the back of your head to cup your cheek as he pants wildly, you slowly slide off of him and rest your cheek on his trembling knee. You’re only half aware of the way he tucks himself back into his trousers and gently eases you up by the shoulders to sit in his lap. You brush your thumb along his cheekbone and lean in for a slow, deep kiss. He hums contentedly into your mouth and you pull away with a cheeky grin.

“Like the taste of yourself, amore? Filthy thing.”

He tilts his head back and laughs at your echoing of his words said only days ago during your first time together. You lean in and brush noses with him, moving to kiss him once more when the door flies open to reveal Terzo.

“I am here to discuss the gala fra–oh.”

The Papa’s eyes flick between the two of you and the smeared paints on both your lips.

“Ah, a little afternoon delight for my topolini, huh? Tell me was it on the desk? A classic, I–”

“Fuck off, Terzo,” you say.

His face falls.

“No, you don’t mean that bella. You–”

“She said fuck off, Terzo Emeritus. Now.”

Terzo schools his face into an expression of outrage but you can tell he’s trying desperately not to smile.

“Very well, just don’t come crying to me when Imperator asks why your work isn’t done, huh?”

“You mean your work, sì?” Copia says, giving him a look. Terzo lets out a nervous laugh.

“Ah, yes. Well. Perhaps I’ll just take this–” Terzo says, grabbing a thick manila folder labeled GALA “--and get back to ah, fucking off. Ciao ciao, topolini.”

With a flourish, he’s gone.

“Really should have locked that door,” you muse quietly, “Anyone could have come in.”

“Anyone did come in, amore,” Copia laughs, “But not only did you eh, soothe my worries, you inadvertently got Terzo to do his fucking job. Promise me you’ll come see me at lunch more often, sì?”

“Not just for the blowjobs?” you ask innocently, flicking the jeweled grucifix on his chest.

“Next time it’s your turn,” he says, gloved hand inching your floral skirt up your thigh.

“Hmm well last I checked,” you say, looking at your watch, “It’s only half past noon. Plenty of time for you to eat.”

He grins at you.

“You know Terzo was right,” he says, urging you to stand and hop up on the worksurface in front of him.

“Oh?”

“We have under utilized my desk.”

Your smile splits your face as you spread your legs for him to settle between.

“Good thing I wore a skirt then, hmm?”

He’s already hooking a finger on the gusset of your soaked underwear, pulling it to the side.

“Thank Satan for small mercies.”

“Ave Sathanas,” you sigh as you lie back and let him work his devilry.

[supernova41st]

Pics/gifs that remind me of them

(Fnf x reader)

Warnings: zaza, I hate this word but tsundere, insults but you guys are big girls/boys/things you can handle it

A/n: I’m gonna post shorter hcs for a bit cuz I’m working on this one req that has a lot of stuff, anyways ik this is cringey wattpad shit but who cares. Enjoy <33

Darnell

This is before you two were dating btw

All he wanted to do was doodle a bit 😔

“Oo whatcha got in there?”

“None of your goddamn business..”

grab

“Why are you hiding these they’re so c..”

This man was practically glowing mauve

It’s okay, you were blushing too

“…I won’t tell anyone if you let me keep it.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Really? Cuz this says otherwise”

“IT SAYS NOTHING”

No but actually, you stared at them almost everyday

It got to the point where you memorized them page by page

After you guys started dating, it became an inside joke that he was always embarrassed of

“Draw me like your French girls Darnell..”

“Oh my fucking-just-don’t remind me”

Once you tried drawing him and it def wasn’t up to his level of mastery, but he still loved it

He cut it out and hung it up on his wall next to his bed

Nene

You guys swap every now and then but she likes it more when you do it

“Y/n do me first plsplspls”

“Okay okay just as long as you take out your knives, I don’t want them to cut me again”

“That was one time 🙄”

“No nene, it was two times.”

Sometimes you’ll choose themes, like ocean or just a general color

You guys would get into funny arguments about the shades

“Nene this not purple that’s pink”

“It’s a mix of both!”

“The theme was purple so just do purple! It shouldn’t be a mix of anything 😒”

No wonder she always loses in dress to impress..

She would sometimes awkwardly zone out just staring at your eyes

(And if you have brown eyes and your eye does that one thing during golden hour, she’s immediately gone)

“…nene?”

“Yea?”

“The makeup.”

“Oh fuck, sorry”

You guys love face masks too

When she gets back from Ulta or Sephora she always brings something back for you

“Y/n guess what I got you!!”

“Lemme guess, another face mask”

“No! Sol de Janeiro scent 40!!”

“ gasp MARRY ME”

“OKAYY ^^”

Pico

(Big ass picture omg)

Guys, the makeout sessions.

Pico is an okay kisser when sober, but for some reason his tongue just gets ✨✨ when puffing that za

He loves going to his house, playing “doin’ time” by sublime in the background while making out with you on his bed

You guys have been doing it since your teen years

“Mom I need to go to my friends house to study”

“Okay hun just be back before 8:30”

Best studying session of your life

Sometimes you guys don’t even kiss, just 🍃 + cartoons

Or random convos, like really random convos

He’s not a fan tho

“You think the wind is ever trying to tell us something we don’t understand yet?”

“…I want you to stop saying odd shit.”

One time, he grabbed your belt to pull you closer and did his tango with the tongue

The butterflies you felt when he did that.

“Jesus fuck Pico..”

“What? Did you not like it? I’m sorry I just-“

“Do it again or I’ll kill you”

You guys were such horny teens

And it hasn’t settled down ever since

But since consent is sexy, you two never BOOMBAYAH’D while 🍃

“P-Pico I bet can kiss every freckle on that beautiful fffucking face of yours”

“You wanna bet? Giggle I’ll put 20$ on this table right now”

“Hell yeah, bring it on Ed Sheeran head ass”

Eventually your lips got tired

“Pico my lips are so tired now”

“Nuh uh, keep going”

“Hey you can’t tell me what to do, respect women!”

“Idc I’m sexiest now”

“I think it’s sexist”

“No, it’s sextile”

“…okay”

I don’t think he was with us at that moment

Bitch was seeing stars

[jadewritesficshere]

Eddie x fem!reader (reader wears lingerie, no other descriptions of reader given except mentioning hitting that spot just right)

Contents: lingerie, both are a lil pervy tbh, humiliation, crying, praise kink, sub!Eddie, this is literally just horny ramblings

18+ only

It wasn't every day you came back to your house and your best friend had broken in. Maybe, every other week at best.

Usually, Eddie would be high eating your snacks (you were thinking about getting a lock for the cabinets). Or he would be watching whatever show you recorded and tease you about spoiling it (you threatened to use the VHS to beat him over the head and strangle him with the VHS ribbon if he did).

But, you had no clue Eddie was even in your house today. His van wasn't parked in your driveway when you came home. His shoes weren't in a haphazard pile at the front door. You had 0 clue he was there.

Not until you heard a thump coming from your bedroom. Which, your first thought went to the knickknacks you had that someone could be stealing (they wouldn't cause to a normal person it was junk but to you they were memories).

You grabbed a knife from the kitchen (you weren't gonna die without a fight, besides you learned a thing or two from the horror movies Eddie made you watch). You quietly pushed your bedroom door open and-

Shit.

Eddie was standing in your room in front of your mirror. Miles of pale skin just on display, scattered with contrasting dark tattoos he had. Nothing on, save for your lilac lingerie.

The palest purple lace bra, you can see from the back isn't even clipped correctly, missing the hook entirely. But the color is striking on Eddie. The lace thong cuts high on Eddie's ass, and you try not to gawk at the little black heart tattooed on his cheek. Eddie's scars seem softer amongst the lace.

How often did Eddie do this? Come over and put on your lingerie? Stand in front of the mirror and rub his fingers over his one hardened nipple. You couldn't see from where you were, but you knew his cock was hard. He'd be leaking all over your underwear, marking them.

Eddie lets out a little moan and it ignites a fire in your gut. You lick you lips as you watch Eddie, which maybe makes you a pervert but really it is your house and he is wearing your clothes so if anyone is-

Fuck why is it so hot?

"So-" you clear your throat. Eddie let's out a screech (that you are pretty sure ruined your eardrums) as he whirls around. He tries to cover himself with his arms, curls in on himself. And Holy cow he is hard.

He is big, so big, the tip just peeking out of the waistband of the panties. You can see the pearly translucent precum already dripping onto the underwear.

"I- fuck, I'm aha listen I can exp- i can explain!" Eddie fumbles over his words. You blink a few times tearing your eyes away from his massive dick (oh it would feel so good it would hit every spot just right).

Eddie's face is red, tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh Baby, no," you rush over, pausing when Eddie flinches. You gently put a hand out on Eddie's shoulder, drawing him into a hug, " It's- it's okay. Please don't cry." "Don't hate me." You gasp in shock, pulling back to look in his eyes," I could never!"

Eddie's eyes are wet, filled with unshed tears. His nose is turning a bit red, from embarrassment, shame, or sadness you can't tell. But his cheeks are such a pretty pink you think it'd look nice elsewhere on his pale skin.

Eddie hides his face with his hair, shuffling his feet a bit. "So..." you pause unsure how to ask it politely so you just go for it," I can see this is a kink thing...but like, what kind?"

Eddie shrugs," Wanted to feel pretty..." You frown," You are pretty Eddie." Eddie shakes his head and gestures to his abdomen," Not with these."

Eddie really should not be drawing your eyes any further south then his face. Cause your pulse kicks up and the fire inside you lights back up your spine. You can't help but notice his dick is still hard as a rock.

"You are too pretty." "Not really." "Yes!" Not-" You shove Eddie lightly, causing him to stumble back and fall onto the bed. Eddie's eyes widen in shock as he peers up at you.

"Don't talk about my best friend that way! You are too pretty. And handsome. Funny. So talented," You sigh and step forward, into Eddie's parted legs. Eddie leans up on his elbows and blinks rapidly at you. "You're so fucking pretty Baby." You murmur, hand reaching out lightly touching his thigh.

Eddie let's out a whine before looking startled at himself. You can't help but notice his dick twitch under the pale purple lace. "You like being called pretty?" You smirk. "Like when you call me Baby," Eddie replies softly.

You aren't sure who moves first, but suddenly your arms are wrapped around each other. Your lips meet Eddie's without hesitation. His are slightly chapped but still soft, molding perfectly against your own.

You run your hand down Eddie's neck, to the pale bra strap and snap it. He gasps and you take the chance, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He tastes of weed, mint gum, and just Eddie.

Eddie moans against you, hips bucking forward seeking friction. You pull back, gasping for air. Eddie let's out a whine," No, come back-" "I ain't going anywhere Baby."

Eddie's eyes flutter shut as he bites his lip. He hums as you kiss his jaw, lightly nipping at his pulse point. He shivers against you, hips bucking forward again. You suck lightly as you decide to give him some relief.

Your hand snakes down, grasping him firmly. You lightly squeeze through the lace, giving just enough friction as you move your hand.

"Look so good in my lingerie Baby, you should wear it more often." You murmur between kisses. Eddie nods absently, gasping and moaning beneath you. "Got a red pair that has some nice straps, you'd look so metal and so so pretty."

Eddie freezes, mouth falling open. His brow wrinkles slightly as he moans, pleasure overtaking him. His hips spasm, even his thighs twitch, as he comes. You can feel your underwear get soaked along with part of his stomach.

You stroke him through it, extending his pleasure until he whimpers and pushes at your hand. You pull back, smiling softly at his face. Eddie's eyes flutter open, darting down to your lips. "Kiss?" He asks quietly, unsure. You simply smile and kiss him again.

[scribesoflex]

going quietly - ethan landry

a/n; she’s here!!! thanks for waiting, i love u 🫶🏻 also there’s def bound to be spelling errors, and grammar or punctuation mistakes even after reading it a billion times- I wrote on my phone this time 😭

pairing; e2l nongf!ethanxfem!reader

warnings; smut! mentions of stabbing, blood, violence, mentions of killing/death, bickering, stabbing, brief panicked hospital, ghost face attack, smut, kissing, making out, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex (do not try this irl), cream pie, sub ethan undertones

taglist; @elinanova @fanboyluvr @ghswlz @bajadotcom @oscarisdaddy69 @nuhteyam @certifiedpussyeater @lunaoieoie @hotweeb @beautyb1ade @vivianbay @doingurmomma @multishippinghoe @luvmara @lilluna @jaysarchiv3 @iovemoonyy @shaylaaaaa16 @nini123 @bloodyv7mp @inlovewmikewh33ler @karacaroldanvers @nishinoyastoes @zxvcq @luv-4-jj @sluttt444slashersss @fuaq

music

Big round puppy dog eyes are staring down at you, a sense of faux innocence masking the curly headed boy you swear you hate right now. You can’t stand him, really. In all his good boy, golden retriever, dork glory. You don’t believe it for a second.

So why do you have this feeling in your stomach, a warm heat that sparks when he’s this close. When you can smell the cologne on him, and the musky sweat from running all over New York. The dark bags forming beneath his shiny eyes that make him look almost dead, the purple and red bruise on his cheek bone, the dark blue long sleeve that’s far too form fitting. Why do you stare at his biceps, watching the way his long thick fingers run down the side of his pretty face.

He could be a murderer. He could be plotting to kill you at this very moment. Maybe he looks at you that way because he wants to make it hurt. Why do you want him to make it hurt? Why does the thought of him behind a mask you’ve come to hate have heat pooling between your legs? Maybe the lack of sleep, and the inability to escape this killer has finally gotten to your head. Maybe you’re actually going insane.

“Hey! Are you listening?” Sam draws you out of your thoughts. Your eyes land on her, suddenly a pounding in your head, and a pain from your side that has you grimacing. You mutter a ‘what?’ pressing your palm into the stab wound, blood seeping from your side, through the material of your black tank top, running down the cracks of your fingers down your wrist.

She frowns at you, eyes looking at Ethan before they land on you again, as if she’s already regretting what she’s about to say “Ethan should take you to the hospital- you’ll bleed out” she does regret it. Knows that if Ethan is the killer that he’ll leave you to die in alley somewhere, but if he isn’t and he doesn’t take you to the hospital, you could die after getting away a third time. Knows you’d haunt her if she let that happen.

You glare up at Ethan through your lashes, can feel the tears gathering at your lash line, but reach up to grab his shoulder anyway “if you kill me and survive, I’ll haunt you for the remainder of your sad life Jack ass” you threaten, and he hums, slipping his arm round your waist, placing his hand just above yours.

You limp down from the apartment, loosing strength by the minute, forced to lean more into Ethan as he tried for a cab. When one finally pulls to the side you slide in, ethan sliding in a little too close next to you.

“When I save your life, I better get the greatest thanks known to mankind” he mumbles, lifting your shirt a little to asses the damage, “I hope that hurts” he tacks on, whispering it bitterly into your ear.

‧ ⨯ . ⁺ +. ✦ ⸝⸝ ✧ 𓂂 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🪩 ﹅ ੭

When you walk through the ER doors, you’re bombarded with a flock of nurses, ushering you to the nearest bed. Ethan trails behind, lost like a puppy, stumbling after the nurses as they scurry around, asking them what they’re doing or how long it’ll take. You roll your eyes, scoffing at his idiocy. The boy has clearly never even scraped his knee falling off a bike, much less been in an ER with someone who’s been stabbed. It makes you anxious.

“Ethan! Just sit!” You whisper yell, whipping his head as you call his name, his features falling as you scold him. He slumps into the leather chair not far from the bed you’re sat on, cradling his cheek in his palm. He just watches you, eyes fleeting from your wound, to your face, clearly trying to decipher what you’re thinking or how you’re feeling.

You roll your eyes again “Quit staring creep” you press your lips into a flat line, trying not to laugh as the nurse coming closer side eyes him hearing your words, your spin straightens, a hiss escaping your lips as she begins rattling on about what’s going to happen.

You already know of course, the scar on the back of your left shoulder a reminder, you’ll need sedated, an iv drip, stitches, blah blah blah. This time you’ll have to leave earlier, no way you can afford to stay for 48 hours, don’t care how much blood you’ve lost or how weak you are. Ethan can see it in your eyes as the lay you back, what you’re plotting, the way you don’t even flinch when they stick your side with whatever, or when they stitch you up. You do look at him when they cut your shirt off, and he doesn’t look away for once.

When they’re done, eleven stitches later, and you’re laying back in the bed with an IV in your arm the small secluded area becomes flooded with an awkward silence.

“We need to leave” you sigh, eyes glancing to the clock, you’ve only been gone two hours max. Unfortunately you know well enough a lot can happen in two hours.

Ethan sits up stripping in his chair, shaking his head with drawn brows “If something happens we’ll know” he stands, coming to the edge of your bed “you need this though” his fingers thrum against the needle in your arm, the small touch has your skin breaking out in goosebumps, fingers tightening their grip on the sheet beneath you.

“Why are you being so fucking sweet to me” you grimace, face forming a scowl. You sit up just enough so that your eyes are closer to his, but he’s obviously taller than you, leaving you forced to glare up at him. His brows draw together and he crosses his arms over his chest, the muscle of his biceps bulging beneath the dark blue shirt, from the angle he looks less boyish. Dark eyes staring you down, jaw clenched in clear aggravation, lips forming a hard line instead of a cute pout.

“Why are you always such a bitch to me?” He shoots back, voice low so that nobody hears, but loud enough that you can tell he’s clearly angry.

“Maybe I’m just a bitch” you shrug.

“Maybe you’re just a liar” he cocks a brow, shrugging back.

Before you can jest back, the fire alarm rings through the hospital, water spraying down from above, lights dimming down so that the flash from the alarms is evident.

You’re ripping the iv from your arm and slipping on Ethan’s jacket, zipping it up, and yanking him quickly towards the exit before a nurse can even reach you. As you make your way through the panicked crowd, your fingers lace together, tightly wound so you don’t get separated.

The ER of a New York City hospital is hard enough to get in and out as is, fire alarm only added stress and the halls flood and become to crowded to even see the nearest exit. Bodies are pushing against and in between the both of you, shouting and babies crying, water blurring your vision as you try and tunnel a way out.

“Ethan, we need to get out now! There are no coincidences in our movie!” You warn, hoping he gets the message, your spine going rigid when your fingers are forced apart and the start of a reply is muffled as your bodies are pushed apart. You spin on your heel, pushing through bodies, wincing in pain when someone elbows your stitches. A shoe catches your boot, loosing balance you stumble to your feet, people don’t bother helping you up as they pass.

You crawl, the rips in your jeans leaving skin visible to bruise against the wet hard floor, someone steps on your fingers and you yelp out, forcing yourself to your feet with your hand cradled to your chest. Your fingers ache, unbendable, your curse under your breath, squinting as people push past you, trying your best to find Ethan’s face in the crowd.

You fail to see him, ready to give up and call out for him, when you see it. The white mouth, faux mouth smiling menacingly, looking directly at you. They tilt their head, knife waving in the air in front of them, teasing you with a fake stab motion the their chest. You frown, looking to your left and then right, and when you look back they’re gone. Panic sets in, and you bolt to the door on your right, shaky hands twisting and pulling at the knob. Locked. You curse under your breath, looking over your shoulder, before you fall to a squat, walking along the edge of the wall.

Your eyes are frantic, watching the feet you pass for the end of a black cloak, heart wild in your chest. Your palms are sweating, fingers and hands shaking, knees aching as you creep around a corner, escaping the crowd. You slump against the wall, knees pulled tightly to your chest, erratic breathing. The sprinklers have stopped now, but the water makes your mascara run, eyes aching, body now cold, your side aching. You’re alone, Ethan had to have gotten out, but the ghost face is here and you’re alone.

What if the ghost face got to Ethan first? The thought has your stomach twisting, nausea crawling up your throat, you slump forward onto your palms, breakfast spilling all over the floor. Tears have now crept past your lash line, falling down your cheeks to the ground, legs shaking as you stand. You press your palm to your wound, blood seeping through Ethan’s jacket, staining your skin. A stitch must’ve broken.

You peek around the corner, the last of crowd escaping through the exits, and then look the opposite way. Deciding that the ghost face couldn’t have gotten far, you begin jogging towards the exit you’d originally intended leaving out, foot steps heavy against the damp ground.

Before you can even get half way there, a scream echoes through the halls, a guy clearly. The thought of it being Ethan has you stopping in your tracks, spinning around to see where it could’ve come from.

“Ethan! Ethan where are you!” You shout, greeted by the screech of sneakers on the ground, you flinch, head whipping around in the direction of the sound. The bed you’d been at, curtains pulled closed, a figure looming in the distance “shit” you grumble, rolling your eyes as you run in the direction of the figure.

Your hands are shaking, fingers hesitant as you reach to yank the curtains back, and when you do large hand wrap around your shoulders, sending you tumbling backwards. You scream in protest, staring up into the eyes of the mask, one of your hands meets the side of their face, knocking them in the jaw, rolling of of you with a grunt. You scurry to your feet, eyes searching for the knife, failing to see as they stand up far too quickly, gripping the hair at the base of your neck, yanking you backwards into their chest.

You protest “let me go you motherfucker!” you shout, elbowing them, lurching across the bed falling flat onto your face into Ethan’s chest. You gasp, palms flat against his chest, straddling him as his eyes struggle to stay open. Blood touches your fingertips, his shirt open revealing a stab to his shoulder, and then you notice the blood pooling his curly head.

You’re about to say something when his arms wrap around you, your bodies rolling to the right, you look to the left- ghost face mere feet away. You and Ethan are now quick to your feet, him still slowly moving behind you as you start down the hallway, getting closer and closer to a room that hopefully has a lock.

You usher him inside first, slamming the door just as the ghost face spots you, locking it hurriedly, moving the filing cabinet closest to block it.

You look at you me surroundings, assessing the windows, a way out. Then you remember Ethan.

He’s sat slumped against the front of the desk, palm pressed to his wound, grimacing. You fall to your knees, fitting yourself between his, carefully moving his hand away. He flinches when your fingers dance along the wound, unable to tell how deep it is, you grip the tear already made by the knife, pulling with all your strength to rip the shirt off him.

He stays silent, watching as you use the fabric to wrap across his chest and shoulder, hoping it can suffice enough for you to get out of the window and to your apartment.

“We need to leave now.”

‧ ⨯ . ⁺ +. ✦ ⸝⸝ ✧ 𓂂 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🪩 ﹅ ੭

It had taken you longer than expected to reach your apartment m, several weird stares and concerned police officers later, you’re now sat with Ethan on your couch as you dress his wound. Finishing off you lean away with a sigh, tossing your first aid kit onto the coffee table, cradling your head in your palms.

“It hurts doesn’t it?” You mutter, looking at him through the cracks in your fingers, frowning when he quietly nods. His knee knocks against yours, and his fingers wrap around your wrists, tugging your hands away from your face gently.

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice quiet and raspy, wavering a little. Your chest stutters, stomach doing that stupid thing, finger tips twitching in his palms. His hair has dried, but it sticks to his face because of sweat, sweat that makes his face glow, lips parted and swollen from biting them. His eyes are wide, a little red from irritation, searching your face, dropping to your mouth, then looking away when he realizes you’re staring back.

It’s slow, silent, as your faces inch closer. You can feel his warm breath on your upper lip, the stubble on his jaw when your fingers slip up his face into his hair, the heat from his hands that are now on your hips like an open flame, searing the feeling of his skin on yours into your body like muscle memory.

Then you’re kissing, lips moving in sync, tongues brushing. It’s messy and inexperience, your teeth even clashing, breathing becoming hurried. He tastes like watermelon chewing gum, and also blood, the coppery taste bitter but no unwelcome at all.

You crawl onto his lap, straddling his thighs, sighing into his mouth as his hands travel up your spine, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. He tugs very slightly, just enough for you to feel it, making your core ache. You start grinding down against his bulge subconsciously, desperate for friction between your legs, your mouth falling open against his when you get it.

“Oh fuck ethan” you whine, brows drawing together as you press down harder, he presses his forehead to your temple. Panting out against your cheek, his hand creeps around your body, down your stomach and to the button of your jeans.

When his fingers slip into your panties, very quickly finding your clit, your eyes roll to the back of your head. His fingers make circles on the bud, whispering into your ear as he plays with your pussy “Does it feel good?” he asks, and when you can’t seem to respond he worried he’s doing it wrong “Please I want to make you feel good baby” he mutters, switching techniques, flicking your clit side to side.

You squirm, hands digging into the skin of his hips as you pull away to look him in the eyes “I’m gonna cum” you whine, and your jaw goes slack when his fingers suddenly plunge into your heat, stretching you out deliciously.

“You’re so tight, and fucking wet” he coos, fingers thrusting in and out of you quickly, while his thumb abuses your clit. You rock into his touch, open mouth panting against his jaw, eyes rolling back as your orgasm creeps up “You look so pretty, so so pretty cumming on my fingers, Jesus fuck” mumbling the words into your hair has your thighs shaking, cumming dramatically, cursing under your breath. You clench around his fingers, grinding into his touch, wetness ruining your underwear, even soaking through the crotch of your jeans onto his.

“Can you give me another one? Wanna feel you on my cock please?” He whines, slipping his hand out of your pants, bucking his hips up into your core, stiff cock pressing to your core through the layers.

“I don’t know Ethan” you pout, nose knocking against his, a blush covering your cheeks when he pecks your lips. When you look at him, face flushed and sweaty, eyes begging silently, you feel heat between your legs once again, sighing in defeat “Has to be fast, need to get back to sams” you mumble into his mouth, and he nods in agreement.

He’s quickly, almost ripping your pants off, panties as well. When his cock is free, you think you’re actually salivating. He’s big, as to be expected, long and girthy, tip slapping against his belly button; angry and red, leaking with pearly beads of precum. A vein runs up the underside, prominent. You’re staring at his cock, like you’re ready to eat him alive.

“Is something wrong?” He interrupts your gaze.

Your quick to cradle his face in your palms, shaking your head quickly, pressing your mouth against his. You hover above his tip, grabbing him by the base, letting the head gently protrude at your entrance, shuddering at the stretch that already begins to burn as you slowly sink down. He moans into your mouth, and you accidentally bite down on his lip too hard, breaking the soft skin. Once he’s fully inside you find it hard to breathe, completely stuffed full of cock. Full of Ethan’s cock, feeling it twitch and pulsate inside of you, clearly begging you to move.

“So fucking tight” he practically growls, shoulders shuddering when you rise up again, ass slapping against his thighs when you fall back down. He wraps a stepping arm around your waist, carefully avoiding your wound, then begins fucking up into you a a gentle pace.

“Feels so good, love it so fucking much” he whines, eyes wide open as he looks between your bodies, speeding up with no warning “never want to leave, live in this pussy” his babbling has your heart fluttering, a drunk smile taking over your face as you moan out, nodding at his every praise.

He reaches so deep, deeper than any guy before, you’re almost sure he’s in your cervix, literally rearranging your guts. You chuckle at that, recalling threats from six months ago over the phone. When you laugh slightly, you clench around him, and that has him moaning out, head falling against the back of the couch.

The noises he makes are pretty, whiney and shameless, a contrast to the dirty words he’s letting out; and to how he looks, tall and muscular, drilling into you at an inhumane pace.

“I’m gonna cum again baby” you let out, slumping into his chest, spent, letting him fuck into you as he pleases. Your thighs are burning, sweaty everywhere, eyes barely open. The cord in your stomach is winding so tight your cunt aches, seeping wetness around the base of his cock, making obscene wet noises every time the skin of his thighs meets your ass.

He hums “yeah, yeah I’m close” he mumbles into the top of your head, fingers digging into the skin of yours hips so hard you know it’ll bruise “want you to cum on me, but- but can I cum inside?” he babbles, whiney, bordering on begging.

You nods frantically into his chest, heaving out a breathy string of ‘yesyesyesyes’ until you’re cumming around him, your body stilling, clenching around him as he cums as well. It’s the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced, white hot burning through your veins, your eyes rolling so far back you can see your skull, nails digging into his biceps so harshly you make him bleed. The way he pulses, twitching, loading you completely full of himself. It almost feels like it’ll never stop, creaming out around the base of his cock, covering your raw puffy lips in a mix of his seed and your wetness.

As if on cue, pounding comes from your door, making the both of you jump, heads whipping to it in panic “We’ve got serial killers to kill!” Tara’s voice shouts, and the both of you face each other in surprise, bursting out into a fit of laughter.

rebloggers are the best <3