#ice bag for pain relief

[shotmrmiller]

size difference where the one afraid to fuck you is simon. he thinks you soft. which is what you are. soft. fragile. small.

you're not like him. nothing like the guys. battle-scarred. muscles carved by relentless missions, scars that speak of duty.

your skin divots under his fingers, yielding to his weathered touch and if he squeezes hard enough, you'll have marks by morning. (he needs to be careful, he can't hurt you, won't—)

and so simon watches you touch yourself in the beginning, clever fingers swirling over your slippery clit with practiced movements even though his cock is straining against his trousers painfully. he can hear you mewl his name through bitten lips and it takes all of his self control to not tug his jeans off, slot himself between your spread, inviting thighs and push— stretch open your fluttering walls, so hot and slick, until he meets resistance, until he can push no more but—

he can't. you'd hurt. and he'd hurt because he hurt you. he won't.

after, when your eyes are heavy lidded, mouth slightly parted in exertion, you remind him that you aren't made of glass. that you won't break. you'll shatter— in the way you do when his tongue replaces your fingers— but not break.

"not a virgin either, for christ's sake," you groan.

maybe he's thinking too hard about it. he knows your teeth have edges, knows your bite is swift when deserved. but all he's truly good at is making things give. biology made it so with his bulky frame and raw mass.

his eyes trace the contour of your collarbone. delicate. then it darts to the pulse on your wrist. vital. his hands, the size of dinner plates don't coax. they demand. he'd snap you like a twig, leaving nothing but splintered remains in his wake.

you don't seem to mind, however. it slightly alarms him. where's your self-preservation? do you enjoy pain? is this some masochistic thing?

he looks at you, all glassy eyed and dewy skinned (ethereal; you're practically glowing under the soft light of the full moon that paints the room silver) and he thinks of how it's going to take work to make it work. his cock is large (he's seen the guys' eyes pop out of their heads in the showers once they caught a glimpse of what's between his legs) but you're persistent in the end. one too many nights of having him without having him.

he understands. simon knows better than most what it's like to yearn. to want and not have. he'd cause you pain by not giving in, and cause pain by giving in. damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.

so he caves. promises to go slow. careful.

"i can take it," you bravely say but he's barely pressing himself to your entrance and you're already making noises that tug at his pathetic little heart. the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip-- you look so pretty, how'd a twisted creature like him get someone like you to come home to-- as his cock fills you has him feeling lightheaded. it takes every ounce of self control to not sink into your heat, to hook your legs around his thick waist and let gravity do the rest.

an unsteady hand weaves its way down to your stuffed cunt, fingers splitting into a vee, feeling how he splits your puffy lips, and the view makes him buck his hips involuntarily.

his hands tighten around your calves when you keen, a high pitched noise that swells the lust he feels burning white hot at the base of his spine, tips of his fingers, deep within his loins. he feels ready to burst.

and he's only halfway in.

your voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. "m-more, simon, c'mon," the n is low and drawn out.

his fingers bite into your flesh as he pushes slow, oh so slowly, until your vise-like cunt envelops him completely. the sibilant hiss you let out makes his hair stand on end. (shame pricks at his nerves like a thousand tiny needles when his cock twitches at the sound of your slightly pained moans)

simon doesn't move, feeling your swollen walls around his cock ripple, tighten and slacken, like it's got a pulse of its own. he could be here, in you, cock deep in paradise for the rest of time.

"fuck me," you warble out, hand rubbing your swollen clit to well up the pleasure that's being smothered by the searing pang of discomfort.

when simon cants his hips back, he watches his cock come out of you, glistening with slick. his jaw aches from how hard he's clenching it. control. got to keep it slow, gentle. slow, simon, slow, slow--

"harder."

he feels the sudden sharp sting of your nails and jerks forward in surprise, filling you completely in one fast movement.

your moan this time is needy, thick with want, arousal dripping from your voice as it does your pussy, coating him in creamy white, a frothy ring at the root.

simon can see the barest of bumps below your navel, or maybe he's seeing things, your hot cunt putting him in a state of delirium but the way you take all of his cock and continue to beg for more, beg him to fuck you like he means it even though he's twice if not thrice your size well...

you'll just have to forgive him on the finger-shaped bruises they're going to be on your body after.

(you'd looked so cheeky before he flipped you onto your knees, grabbing onto your delicate neck like a lifeline as he pulled your hips to meet his. you'd taken him easier here, cunt sodden with slick but the angle had him reaching a devastating depth no one else could ever dream of reaching and even though it'd sprung tears to the corners of your eyes at the pinch, "mama ain't raise no bitch.")

[irisintheafterglow]

hello!!! i saw your that your requests were open so i was wondering if you were able to write a hurt/comfort zoro x reader story about how the reader gets injured from a fight, but they don’t wanna be a burden so they hide it until they collapse on deck :)))

tell me that we’ll be just fine (opla!zoro x you)

wc: 1.74k

cw/tags: hurt/comfort with happy sappy ending, swearing, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood and injury, mentions of drinking and alcohol, zoro just loves you and you worry the shit out of him

note: yassss i love hurt/comfort injury prompts (it's the innate desire to just be carried and be vulnerable and have someone care in my weakest hour and and and and) hope you like this, thank you for your request !!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“Guys, I am about to get so wasted.”

“We still have that good shit from Baratie, yeah?”

“Hiding in the back of the cellar, baby!” A loud smack rings out into the harbor as Usopp and Sanji’s hands clap together, deliriously excited after winning a scrimmage with a rival crew. Their proud vocalizations are added to by their captain and devolve into giddy skipping down the remainder of the dock as you make your way back to the ship. Zoro walks just ahead of you, glancing back every so often like he was worried you would collapse. You were planning to, but not now. Just get to the ship. Get to the ship and we’ll be fine.

“I vote Zoro for vomit duty tomorrow morning,” Nami mutters next to you, nudging your arm with her elbow. It’s a light touch but it feels like the world tilts sharply and you pray she can’t see the panic in your eyes when you try to remain upright. Despite her best efforts to remain mature and indifferent, her eyes were sparkling with self-assurance that you only saw from her when she felt a mission went well. She carries the folder of coveted Marine intelligence under one arm, her other hand holds up a bag of goodies you’d snatched from the base that would make good money down the line. “Plus, it gives us some time to take our share of this stuff. Nice finds, by the way. I’m impressed.” 

“Thanks. I learned from the best,” you reply, relief flooding you when she turns back to watch her idiot crewmates and not further inspect the limp in your step. Zoro’s eyes meet yours over his shoulder and you give him a strained smile, well aware that you probably looked like you’d crawled out of hell. When he turns away again, you exhale with great difficulty, fighting off another wave of nausea that threatens to send you stumbling into the water. It’s just a flesh wound, you figure. No need to halt their celebration just because you got a silly cut. “What’s your first pick out of the bag?”

“There’s a pretty little jeweled chalice I was looking at,” she says casually. The waning afternoon sun makes her hair look like a fire, bright and warm. “We could scrape off the rubies and pawn them at the next island.”

“Or, you could drink water from it and look like a pompous asshole.” Just keep it casual. Be normal. The pulse in your ears becomes slightly faster when you notice the foggy spots in your vision. “Freeze some of the diamonds from that candlestick and use them as ice cubes.”

“Very true,” she laughs and you force out a chuckle to mirror her, wincing at the aching pain in your side. Her eyebrows furrow and her mouth falls into a frown. Your attempts to seem fine were starting to fall through. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been walking a little slower than usual.” 

“I’m fine, I promise. I just got punched in the gut a little harder than I anticipated,” you lie straight through your teeth, well aware that it wasn’t just a fist that had you losing enough blood to fill the galley sink. To be fair, the guy’s second blade appeared out of nowhere. You were outnumbered five to one but still held your own; only when there was a single fighter left did he resort to cutthroat tricks. One minute, you’re parrying with ease; the next, a small dagger pops out from the fighter’s left sleeve, cutting a deep wound into your side before you can block it with the saber in your right hand. It was a dirty move and you mentally kicked yourself for not anticipating foul play much sooner. To make matters worse, you were only able to staunch the blood so much before Zoro found you in the courtyard. Though you sufficiently covered your injury, he was still eyeing you like he knew that something was off. Like clockwork, every minute he was checking on you. It was wordless, but you still knew he was inspecting you, waiting for you to reveal that something happened and that you needed help.

That moment came the instant your boots met the wood of the deck. 

In seconds, your vision violently careens to the right and you’re conscious just enough to expect the thud of your head against the floor. But, the crash never comes. When you fall, your mind registers another body that you fall into, strong and stable. One arm slips effortlessly under your exhausted legs, lifting you from the ground while the other supports your upper back. Your eyes blur the image of your panicked crew like an oil painting, smearing it every which way until the colors are bleeding together more uncontrollably than the blood dripping from your side. Everything sounds like you’re drowning, rising above the water for a moment only to be pulled back down into murky disorientation. 

“Idiot,” a low voice says. It’s wrought with worry, even though you can tell they’re trying not to hide it. It’s clear enough that you know it’s coming from whoever is holding you. “Why the hell did you wait?” You’re barely able to distinguish far-off shouting from Sanji, ordering Luffy and Usopp to grab his knives. But, if all three of them were over there and Nami was throwing open cabinets looking for the med kit, that means the person holding you was… “Fuck. I knew something was wrong.” You have half the mind to articulate a weak response, but it comes out as nothing more than a groan when you’re placed onto what feels like the galley counter. The pounding in your forehead starts to become airy, like when you’re walking down the sidewalk after a night of drinking until you were on the verge of passing out. Zoro doesn’t let you go, though. His calloused fingers gently brush the dirt from your face, quietly pleading for you to stay with me, stay with me, stay with me. “You’re okay. We’re okay. Just stay with me.” 

“They’re losing a lot of blood and I can’t find the damn med kit.” 

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Above deck, having a collective panic attack.” Nami’s voice sounds like it’s coming from miles away. 

“Figures.” Zoro’s, on the other hand, is the only thing keeping you rooted and stopping you from drifting off. It’s sharp and strained, nothing like you’d ever heard from him before. Sanji’s lanky steps enter the kitchen and you hear the zip of his knife bag somewhere close to your ear.

“This is bad; I need to stop that bleeding or they might–” Zoro’s grip on your hand is tight, physically holding you down to reality. Whether you laced your fingers in his or the other way around, you didn’t remember.

“Well, let’s fucking do something about it then, waiter,” is the last thing you hear before darkness wipes your vision. 

Your eyes blink open after what feels like seconds, but the starry sky outside the window tells you it had been hours. It takes a moment for the details to come back to you, as does the soreness where they must have patched up your wound. The hard stone of the counter has been replaced by your bed and the comforting sway of the ship tells you Luffy ordered the ship to depart. It’s healing, in a way, the rocking back and forth motion of the ship that reminds you how close you were to slipping away. After a minute, you muster up enough energy to look at the rest of your room and you can’t help smiling when you see Zoro sitting at your bedside, tensely sleeping with the Wado Ichimonji laid across his lap. His eyes fly open when you whisper his name, delicately setting his blade on the floor before crouching at your side. 

“You’re okay,” he breathes and it sounds more like a reassurance for himself than for you.

“I’m okay,” you confirm just as softly, threading your fingers between his and squeezing lightly. He squeezes back, looking at you like you painted the constellations outside your window. “How long have you been here?”

“Since Sanji and Nami fixed you up, about six hours ago.”

“You’ve been sitting there for six hours?”

“I would have sat longer. I’d wait for you, no matter how long you slept,” he says and it sounds like a vow. “You scared the shit out of me, you know that?”

“Sorry,” you apologize weakly, giving him as much of a shy smile as you could. He rolls his eyes in exasperation but can’t help the corner of his mouth quirking too. “I didn’t want to bother you all while you were celebrating.”

“You really think I’m going to give alcohol priority over you?”

“Depends on the alcohol,” you point out and he shakes his head at your teasing. Your hand fits in his like a puzzle piece and you’re struck by the overwhelming feeling of safety you have whenever Zoro’s around. “But, really. I’m sorry for worrying you.” 

His eyes darted to the side like you’d said something that embarrassed him. The only thing he could think to do in that moment was bring your hand to his lips and press the lightest kiss to it. A promise that he’d always take care of you. He never was the best with words, you realized in your friendship-borderline-relationship with him. The things you said tended to short-circuit his brain and it was fascinating to watch him try and think of a coherent response. In times like these, however, when he’s simply unable to find the words for how much he feels for you, his actions are infinitely louder. 

“You should go back to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up. Do you need anything before you rest? Water or blankets or something?”

“No, just you. If you got in here with me, I wouldn’t mind,” you suggest nonchalantly and you giggle when his face becomes pinker. He obliges, though, slipping into the covers with you and carefully pulling you into him until you’re pressed against his chest like your own personal heater. His breathing is slow and steady, but you swear you can hear his heartbeat racing. “You’re the only one I’ll ever need, I think.”

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart. Just don’t do stupid shit like get stabbed again.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[actuallybarb]

here with me

pairing: male x gn!reader (i tagged with a lot of different male characters i find comforting, but there’s no names used so you can imagine anyone you so please)

word count: 0.6k

warnings: reader is in pain (nothing descriptive), he comforts. just fluff

a/n: i wrote this as a result of my own migraines, but i kept all the symptoms vague because any chronic pain is a bitch, and you deserve to be treated softly by the person of your choice

The apartment usually wasn’t this quiet when he got home.

Or this dark.

He set his keys on the counter and left his boots by the door, then carefully stepped through the apartment. The kitchen and living room were both empty, and the office looked like it hadn’t been touched all day.

There was no light under the bedroom door. He set a cautious hand on the doorknob, but a quiet whimper had him opening the door without question.

You were laid out on the bed, on top of the covers, with an arm draped over your eyes. The ceiling fan and rotary fan on the ground were both spinning at top speed, and he could just see a dark bag poking out under your neck.

He quietly closed the door and returned to the kitchen, now a man on a mission. He grabbed a straw and a water bottle from the fridge, then took an ice pack from the freezer and wrapped it with a dish towel. He took the last item, a bottle of painkillers, from the cabinet and silently returned to the bedroom, the only sound of his presence being the faint click as the door closed one more time.

“Baby?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

You let out another small whimper.

“How bad is it?”

“9.5.”

Unbearable, then, if you were using an actual pain scale.

He set his items on the nightstand and took a seat beside you on the bed.

“Meds?”

“At 3.”

Only a couple hours ago, too soon to take more. He put those beside the lamp.

He uncapped the water bottle and put the straw in, then he gently tucked a hand behind your head and lifted. “Drink.”

Your lips wrapped around the straw, and he didn’t pull the bottle away until you’d swallowed at least four times. But before you could lay back down, he replaced your old ice pack with a new one. You shivered a little, but the cold was a welcome reprieve.

“Stay or go?”

You could’ve cried. He’d stuck with you through this so many times he knew your comforts by heart. He read your moods instantly, and most of the time didn’t need promptings, but he always took the time to ask when it got bad like this. And he never shamed you for only being able to say a few words at a time.

“Stay.”

It nearly came out as a sob.

He shed his jacket and started unbuttoning his jeans. “Shirt or no shirt?”

“Soft.”

He took off his current shirt and replaced it with his sleep one, nothing decorating the black fabric, just ultra-soft cotton.

“Where do you want me?”

It differed every time. Sometimes you didn’t want him at all, the thought of another person with you sending jolts of pain through your body. Other times you wanted him to stay, but on the other side of the bed. Or you wanted him close, but barely touching.

“Top.”

Or sometimes you needed him to put all of his body weight on top of you like a human weighted blanket.

“Covers?”

“No.”

He positioned himself, knees on either sides of your thighs, then he slowly lowered himself until his hands on either side of your face were the only thing keeping him up.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

He finished lowering himself and settled his full weight against you.

You sighed in relief.

“Better?”

You nodded and tucked yourself into the crook of his neck. “Better.”

“Three taps if I’m suffocating you.”

For the first time that day, you took a deep breath and relaxed.

[pasukiyo]

DRUNK ON YOU

journalist!anakin skywalker x f!ice skater!reader word count; 4,344 warnings; unprotected p in v sex, verbal and physical abuse from an ice skating coach?, anakin may or may not be following reader idk who knows!! summary; ice skating has been her life for as long as she can remember. she's not sure why her head hasn't been in it lately, and her coach certainly has something to say about it. thank god the cute and awkward journalist anakin was there though, right?

 “Have you forgotten how to land a fuckin’ axel?”

 Cold bit into her palms and pain flared up the muscles of her thigh as she pushed herself onto her knees, lips agape as she panted. She’d fallen so hard, bile was beginning to brew at the base of her throat, burning the pipe. 

 “Hey, are you even fuckin’ listening to me?”

 Her hands were starting to numb and she should really get herself up off the ice. She was creating a scene— although this was a private lesson, she knew there still remained one man in the stands, one who she could see’s gaze fleeting back and forth between her and the ground from her periphery. Normally, she’d care enough about her dignity to get herself up as if nothing had ever happened. 

 But she was just so tired, so frustrated. Her legs hurt like hell, her feet feeling like they’d pop off any moment now. And her son of a bitch of a coach’s voice was really starting to irritate her. 

 “Hey!” Speaking of her coach, she was skating her way, deep rouge lips pursed in vexation. Her eyelids fluttered themselves closed as she sighed, rolling her head back to hang towards the ground below. 

 Finally, she pushed herself off the ice, wiping her palms against her leggings and the moment she opened her eyes, her coach was in her face, fingers that weren’t her own tangled in the hair on the back of her head. She pressed her lips together to stifle any sound that may come out of her mouth, a sharp exhale still sneaking its way past her nostrils as her coach tugged on the tendrils she had between her fingers, angling her face so that she had to look up at her. 

“Where the fuck is your head, huh?” Her coach practically spat in her face, lips curling in disgust. “We’ve a competition in one week and you’re here actin’ like a goddamn fool,” she hissed. “You like embarrassing me?”

 She said nothing, her eyelids narrowing as she stared back at the stormy irises of her coach. Her coach sniffed and leaned away, recognizing the narrowing of her eyes for what it was— a challenge. 

 “You wanna embarrass me here, kid?” Her coach said after a long moment of silence. “Fine. But trust me,” she stepped closer, too close to ensure she could look down at her student. “You don’t wanna fuck around and find out what happens if you try me out there.”

 “You’re the one embarrassing yourself,” she spat in a low, hushed whisper in retaliation, glancing towards the stands where the man watched alone, a notepad clutched in one hand and a pen in the other. His head was bent down towards the notepad but even from here, she could make out the way he stared from between his top lashes, the bill of his navy hat casting a shadow over his face.

 A journalist, she guessed. 

 Her coach whipped around to face whoever it was she was referring to, dropping the fistful of hair she had in her claw-like grip just moments before. Relief washed over her as the pain at her scalp finally began to subside and she rubbed her palms over her elbows as she watched her coach skate her way to the exit of the ice where the man sat, glancing away from his notes when her coach’s voice thundered through the rink.

 “Who the fuck are you?” Her coach asked as she, too, began to skate her way towards the stands, her bag only a few seats away from where the man sat. As she approached, the man glanced her way, the dark blue waves in his irises crashing into her own. 

 For a moment, all was silent and for a moment, she couldn’t bring herself to tear her gaze away from his. There was something so… alluring about him. He wore round glasses and a navy Puma hat, locks of dark blonde hair peeking out from the sides, just above his ears. His stare was dark, like a raging sea on a gray, stormy day. The longer she stared, the more she felt like she was drowning, as if she were astray at sea, helplessly fighting against the crashing waves. 

 His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips and she felt herself flush, forcing her eyes away from him so that she could make her way over to her bag and get the hell out of here. 

 “Hey!” Her coach yelled again. “Did you hear me? Who are you and what the fuck are you doing here? This is a private lesson.”

 She huffed as she sat herself down onto the seat beside her bag, leaning down to unlace her skates, sighing in relief when she pulled the first one off her feet. 

 “Just taking notes,” the man replied simply and she turned until she could see them out of her periphery, watching as the man held his notepad up for her coach to see. “Notes?” Her coach questioned in a scoff as she tugged her other skate off her feet, her lips falling open in a soft gasp as she stretched out her toes and rolled her ankles. “What? You some perv or something?”

 “No ma’am. I write for the New Repub–”

 ‘I don’t give a shit who you write for, you realize you’re trespassing on a private lesson?” Her coach raised a hand to interrupt him. “That girl over there has a competition in a week and I won’t let some lowlife reporter let it spill that my client is incompetent enough to not know how to land a fuckin’ axle!”

 Her eyes rolled in their sockets at this as she slipped her socks on over her feet, tugging her boots on over them. She rummaged in her bag for her hoodie and stood as she pulled it on over her head, slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

 “Relax, coach,” she cut through the argument as she approached, willing herself to not make eye contact with the man as he turned to look at her. “Besides, with the shit you just pulled, I’m surprised my axel is at the top of your priority list.”

 Her coach parted her lips, a remark surely on the tip of her tongue but when the man turned back to raise an eyebrow at her, she closed her mouth and huffed as she skated away towards the other side of the rink’s stands where her own bag was. 

 For a few prolonged moments, silence fell between her and the man still sat beside her, and it wasn’t until he rose from his seat and cleared his throat that she allowed herself to look at him again.

 “Sorry for causing such a scene,” he said at last, ducking his head so that their eyes could meet once more. She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head just as she felt color begin to warm her cheeks once again. “Sorry about… her,” she replied, gesturing towards where her coach was angrily tearing her skates off her feet across the ice. 

 “Yeah, she’s…”

 “A bitch.”

 “Well…” the man rubbed the back of his neck, slapping his notepad down against his thigh with the other. “Yeah.”

 She glanced down to his notepad against his jean-clad thigh, tilting her head curiously. “You doing a story on me or something?” She asked, daring to look back up at him. Color rushed to his cheeks and he turned to stare off into space, as if it had the answers he couldn’t quite seem to form on his tongue. 

 “Um, well I…” he stammered before dropping his head in defeat. “Sort of?”

 She raised a brow at this, suddenly wary of the man before her. She was quick to let his looks fool her into thinking this man could be harmless when in reality, he could very well be far from it. He was alone, intruding in on a private skating lesson after all, taking notes on who knows what. 

 “What’s that supposed to mean?” She questioned, her wariness evident in her tone. He must’ve picked up on this and sighed in defeat, a nervous smile tugging at a corner of his lips.

 “Listen, I’m a journalist for the New Republic magazine and I was at your competition working on a story last week and I…” he trailed off, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth as if contemplating his next words. “I was really intrigued by you.”

 She nodded, understanding finally washing over her. “Ah. So you’ve been following me.”

 The man’s pink lips parted and closed and repeated, and she fought the grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well no. Yes. Maybe? Ugh, I’m…” the man’s chest heaved as he drew in a breath, holding his free hand out for her to take. “I’m Anakin. And I haven’t been following you. You know, not in a creepy way.”

 Amusement finally got the best of her and she chuckled, allowing her smile to take over her mouth as she took his hand, warmth pooling into her skin. “Nice to meet you, Anakin. I’m not sure if I’m fully convinced that you haven’t been following me but I’m finding this really amusing so I’ll let it slide. For now.”

 Anakin chuckled nervously and smiled, white teeth peeking through the space between his lips. Her breath hitched in her throat at this and their eyes met once again, seemingly stealing the breath from her lungs. 

 He was… beautiful.

 She wondered if this man really had been following her over the course of the past week. Certainly she would’ve noticed him had he been stalking her before, right?

 The longer she stared at the man called Anakin before her, the more she wished to convince herself that he was harmless, that there couldn’t possibly be anything nefarious or sinister behind such a gorgeous smile. But when she found herself being sucked into the waters of that raging sea in his sockets like his voice was a siren song and his eyes were a wild, angry sea, she realized that maybe she wouldn’t care, so long as he looked at her like that.

 “What if I could convince you over some dinner on me?”

 It was safe to say that dinner went well.

 Too well.

 Ridiculously well.

 His hands were all over her as their mouths ravaged one another, hardly making it inside his apartment before she was pressed against the door, the thin straps of her dress falling loose down her shoulders. Anakin’s palms were pressed against the small of her back, the other firm and gripping onto the hair at the back of her head. Unlike when her coach had snatched her hair only the day before, Anakin tugged with enough pressure to have her mewling for more. 

 Her hands were entangled in the dark blonde curls atop of his head as his tongue demanded control over hers, his kiss making her feel weak in the knees before his lips trailed down to her jaw, to her chin, to her neck.

 She gasped when he nibbled on the space between her neck and shoulder, his name falling in a breathy whimper from her lips. His mouth kissed and sucked marks down to her chest where the tops of her breasts were spilling from over the hem of her dress. Anakin growled as he reached behind her to tug furiously at her zipper, tugging the dress down her body until it could pool in a puddle of fabric at her feet. 

 “Ana… Anakin!” She moaned as he unclasped her bra with one hand, tearing the glasses away from his face and tossing them into the wall beside them with the other. Neither were in the rind headspace to even care for the more than likely cracked frames as Anakin drew her back into his body, his mouth attaching to her nipple, her head falling backwards in ecstasy. She could feel the curve of his grin when she gasped as he nipped at the sensitive bud, guiding her back towards his bedroom with his hand against the small of her back, his mouth never once leaving her breast.

 It wasn’t long until she was nude and exposed on the plush of his mattress, blinking up at him as he stared down at her through hooded eyelids, tugging his shirt up and over his head. She eyed the defined lines of his chest and stomach as he breathed, working at the buckle of his pants and discarding it across the room, his pants falling loose down his legs. Her heart thud against her chest in anticipation as he crept his way onto the bed above her, hovering over her like a looming predator.

 She looked into the depths of his deep blue eyes now and was completely lost, blinded with libido, with the want for the man above her. “Please Anakin,” she whimpered, a hand slithering around to cup the back of his neck, desperate to bring their lips together once again. She couldn’t quite reach, unfortunately, but his breath was still warm against her face and she could still make out the outline of his smile against her mouth.

 When she opened her eyes again, his own were somehow a shade darker than they were before, the sweaty blonde curls damp against his forehead making his face darker than the shadows already made him out to be. He was beautiful, yes, but he was dark, and an enigma. Through the haze of her mind, however, she couldn’t quite bring herself to figure him out. She wasn’t even sure she cared right now. All she cared about was the feel of his skin against hers, the feel of his hard length against her thigh, the way he was staring at her now as if she were his last meal. It was impossible to think rationally when such a man wanted her the way she wanted him.

 “I’ve dreamed of this,” he whispered, bowing his head so that their lips were touching nut not quite, at least, not in the way she was wanting. “Anakin,” she panted his name again, a hand against the curve of his shoulder, the other tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck. She was so wet and she could feel it, could feel the evidence of her lust as it streamed down her folds, creating a pool on the duvet below. “Please,” she whispered again, her gaze surging into his, her brows furrowing in hopes to coax him inside of her. 

 Anakin took his time. He pulled his face away just enough to take a long look down her body, his hand not supporting himself on the mattress tracing a line up and down the curve of her waist, of her hips, the crease between her thigh and torso. She gasped when the tip of his finger came so close to where she was throbbing for him but yet again, not quite. 

 He was teasing her now, as if playing with his food.

 She could practically feel tears stinging the outskirts of her sockets, every ache in her muscles screaming for him, every throb she felt in her core pleading with him to just touch her. Anakin cooed when his gaze found hers once again, shushing her and using the edge of his forefinger to wipe away the tears that had leaked from the edges of her eyes. 

 “I can’t believe you want this as much as I do,” he whispered as if in awe. “You know, the second I saw you, you had just stepped onto the ice and all I could think was wow. And then you started doing all those tricks and shit that I can’t even wrap my head around and I knew that all I wanted was you. I didn’t care how much or how long it would take, all I wanted to have was you.”

 If Anakin hadn’t been dipping his hand in between her legs and brushing the tips of his fingers against her swollen clit, she might’ve had the sense to stop and really consider the meaning behind his words. With every stroke of his fingers up and down her folds and against her aching bud, he was reducing her mind to slime, turning each and every single one of her thoughts into nothing but putty. He was possessing every inch of her as if he were a parasite, as if he were doing some sort of mind trick on her, like he had her under some kind of trance.

 And when he dipped a single finger past the barrier between her folds, she couldn’t quite bring herself to care.

 Her back arched off of the bed and her lips fell apart in a gasp, Anakin watching in awe as she mewled and squirmed beneath him. He ducked until his nose was against the crook of her neck, breathing her in like a vapor, letting her fill in his every sense. He was drunk on her, on the way she looked, the way she breathed, the way she smelled. She was just so beautiful, and now she was his.

 “I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have you,” he whispered as he added another finger inside of her, his other hand kneading at her breast. “Every time I went to bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he said, leaning down until his lips were against the shell of her ear. “I couldn’t stop touching myself thinking about you.”

 She whimpered again when he added a third finger, pressing his lips against her ear before leaning away, kissing her jaw before pulling away altogether. She whined at the loss of his digits inside of her and Anakin watched as her cunt pulsed and throbbed with the yearn for him. He was aching for her as well, maybe even more than she was for hin. His cock was so hard it was beginning to feel painful, having edged himself for so long.

 But he could let go now. He had her. He had her right where he wanted her all along.

 Anakin leaned down to press his lips against hers and she eagerly drank him in like wine, mewling against his lips. He could feel the mix of her sweat and tears against his face, and he smiled against her mouth again. 

 And he let a hand trail down between their bodies until his hand was wrapped around his length, giving himself one solid pump. Then, with one snap of his hips, they were one.

 She cried out in bliss as he entered her, back arching off of the mattress, her chest heaving into his as he sheathed himself inside her. Anakin pressed his lips together and grunted, wrapping his arms around her body to hold her close to him as his eyes rolled into the back of his head, throwing his head back in pleasure as he savored how good she felt wrapped around him. 

 Perfect, everything about her was simply perfect and made for him. He couldn’t believe he hadn't found her sooner, that she was the one he was waiting for all of his life. This was what he’d always needed– this girl underneath him, wanting him, wrapped around him, burning for him. There was no way in hell he was going to let her go now that he had her. 

 “Ana–!” She cried. “Anakin!” She barely managed to choke out the rest of his name when he snapped his hips against her again. She was just so full, so overstimulated that she couldn’t even form a single coherent thought. 

 Ice skating came like second nature to her. It’d been that way for as long as she could remember. But she swore, if you asked her to do anything now, she wouldn;t even know how to begin. All she could think was Anakin, Anakin, Anakin. He’d somehow found a way to put her under his full control until she was reduced down to nothing more than a mindless zombie for him. 

 “Oh… fuck,” Anakin cursed beneath his breath, using his hands against the mattress as leverage to stare down between their bodies where they were connected. His cock glistened with a mixture of their juices and oh, his mouth watered for a taste. He reached down until his fingertips were against her clit, her toes curling at the pressure and she cried out when he dipped his fingers inside of her for the briefest of moments to gather their mixture. 

 Anakin’s mouth was practically watering, fuck, he was drooling by the time he finally brought his fingers to his lips, moaning and his eyes rolling when their mixed arousals coated his tongue. “Fuck,” he moaned again once he had finally licked his fingers clean, snapping his hips before wrapping a hand around the base of her neck. “Come here.”

 He met her halfway so that their lips could crash against one another and she hummed into his mouth when she tasted both of them, following his lips when he pulled away. 

 “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmured, grabbing a handful of her hips with one hand and reaching forward to grasp onto the headboard with the other. “I can’t wait to taste you once you’ve come.”

 Her eyes were rolling into the back of her head as Anakin pistoned his cock inside of her, quick to find that spot deep inside of her that had her seeing stars. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been fucked like this– no, she’d never been fucked like this. No man had ever been able to make her feel the way Anakin made her feel now, she knew that for certain. No man had ever been able to make her dumb to the point of no return, to make her so drunk on their cock that she couldn’t form a coherent though other than their name. No, only Anakin had ever made her feel like this. 

 Anakin thrusted into her again and again and again, ravaging her body like his life absolutely depended on it. There was something animalistic about the way he fucked her, something territorial as if this were the beginning of something she couldn’t quite wrap her head around at this moment. Not when she was so close that even Anakin could feel it, could feel it in the way she pulsed and throbbed around him. He gripped onto the headboard harder as leverage to give her everything he had, the bedframe making noises so loud that it was a miracle it hadn’t broken yet. 

 She was almost there. She was so close that she could already taste it, could already see it. She closed her eyes until she was submerged into a dark, seemingly endless tunnel. But there, off in the distance but approaching at rapid speed was a white, blinding light that she knew was her orgasm. She began to race towards it, meeting it halfway until they crashed together like a supernova, her back arching off the bed, her toes curling, fingernails clasping around Anakin’s wrists and burrowing deep. 

 Tears fell like rivers down the sides of her face as she thrashed, feeling so full and satisfied and overstimulated that she couldn’t take it anymore.

 “Oh shit, oh fuck,” Anakin panted, his thrusts sloppier but still as forceful as ever. “Almost there, almost there, almost the– fuck!” He growled as he bottomed out with a single forceful thrust, spilling himself into her. She could feel rope after rope of his seed bursting inside of her and her vision blurred until all she could see was watercolor. She barely even registered the moment Anakin’s cock slipped out from inside of her and he kissed a trail down her body until his mouth was ravaging her sore, fucked out cunt. 

 She cried as she gathered a fistful of the duvet below, squeezing her eyelids shut, her head rolling until her cheek was flush with the mattress. Anakin’s tongue swirled inside of her as if he were hunting for every last drop of her spend and her eyelids fluttered open, her vision murky with bliss. She blinked away the blurriness as much as she could, making out photos on the wall beside his bed that somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt like she’d seen before.

 It was hard to focus when Anakin was practically digging another orgasm out of her with his tongue but she zeroed in on one of the photographs, recognizing it as one of her from a competition she had done months ago. Her eyes darted to another, all of her, her at competitions that she’d done more than just a week ago, but some of her out and about on the street, at the grocery store, at the bar just a few blocks away from her apartment. 

 She wasn’t sure where these photos came from– she’d never seen any of these specific ones before anywhere. It meant that Anakin had to have been the one to have taken them but surely this wasn’t true– he said he’d only found her a week prior to her being fucked on his bed, didn’t he?

 “Taste so fucking good,” Anakin purred against her pussy, hooking his arms around her thighs and burying his face in even closer. Her heart was pounding against her chest at the realization that even despite her horror, she couldn’t tear herself away from Anakin. Maybe he really did have her under some sort of mind trick, some kind of trance. Maybe she really was drowning, falling into that raging sea in his eyes with no hope of ever resurfacing. 

 She knew how wrong it was, how disgusting it was, but it didn’t matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but reach down until her fingers were woven in the dark blonde curls on his head, pulling him in even closer to her throbbing heat. 

a/n; so hey! i've had this sitting around unfinished in my drafts for, like, ever and i finally just now got around to finishing it lol so sorry for not having been active! as some of you may know, i've been working on a book for the past couple of months on top of being in college and having a job so i've been pretty busy lately! i hope you all don't mind and still enjoyed this one nonetheless 🤭

TAGLIST;

@your-nanas-house

@chaoticevilbakugo

@k1ttenmittonz

[spencersssockss]

Let me help you.

Summary: After Spencer is shot in the knee he doesn't like to ask for help. You can tell he's struggling so you decide to comfort him and help him shower!

Warnings: fluff, self esteem issues, cuddling, pretty much just pure fluff!!!!

Word count: 2k

Spencer had been struggling with getting around after being shot in the knee. He would get home from work and immediately go to bed. The joy was practically drained from him. It hurt you to see him in so much pain. All you could do was do the little things to make him feel better. Cuddles, ice cream, movies, anything you knew he would enjoy, even just a little.

The pain he felt physically exhausted him still, he continued and would do nothing but deny it. He wouldn’t let anyone know about how badly he was struggling, and although Everyone noticed it, nobody spoke of it.

He arrived home one night and decided to take a shower, you decided to help him out to minimize the pain.

“Are you sure you wanna help, I can do it myself,” Spencer asked frowning slightly.

“of course, you’d do the same for me,” you replied grabbing his hand and making your way to the bathroom.

As you helped Spencer into the bathroom, you noticed how he winced slightly from the pain. You could feel his warm hand in yours, the soft skin against yours. You helped him sit down on the edge of the tub and began to help him undress.

“T-shirt first,” you spoke softly. Spencer nodded in agreement, allowing you to help him pull his T-shirt over his head. His movements were a bit stiffer and slower due to his injury but you remained patient and supportive, helping him however you could.

“please let me know if it hurts too much okay?” you ask offering a small smile.

“Okay,” Spencer replied, nodding thankfully. “I appreciate it.” As you helped him undress, you could see his wound, it was wrapped with a large bandage preventing the stitches from falling out and anything getting in.

“I’m going to grab a trash bag for your leg so we don’t get it wet okay?” you ask grabbing the door knob.

“Okay,” Spencer replied, nodding in agreement. “Thanks.” you left the bathroom, grabbed a trash bag from the cabinet and a roll of tape, and headed back to help him.

“Here let me see your leg?” You say holding the trash bag out.

Spencer looked at you, then at the trash bag, and finally back at you. His eyes were filled with trust and a hint of vulnerability. Slowly, he moved his injured leg towards you, wincing slightly from the pain but trying his best to maintain composure.

“your doing good, just put your leg in the bag and I’ll do the rest.” you praised holding his hand.

"Thank you," Spencer said softly, his voice strained with pain. He carefully placed his injured leg into the trash bag, biting his lower lip to stifle a groan. You tape the bag to his leg to keep any unwanted water from getting into the bag.

As you finished taping the bag around Spencer's leg, he let out a small sigh of relief. "Thank you," he repeated, this time more earnestly. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any signs of discomfort or embarrassment from seeing his injured leg.

“Are you ready to move to the stool?” you ask gesturing to the stool in the shower.

With a nod, Spencer carefully made his way to the stool, taking small, calculated steps. He gripped the sides of the stool for support as he lowered himself down slowly, wincing slightly with each movement but trying to hide it from you.

“don’t be afraid to be hurt Spence, you have a literal gunshot wound on your knee it’s okay,” you say giving him a hand to help him onto the stool.

"I know, I know," Spencer muttered, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. He leaned back against the cool tile wall, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard stool. "It's just... difficult not to feel self-conscious about it."

“don’t be, your allowed to be in pain.” “don’t let your mind keep you from getting better,” you say Turning on the water.

Spencer nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "I'll try," he promised, his voice soft and sincere. As the water began to pour over his skin, he let out a slow sigh of relief, feeling the warmth seep into his aching muscles.

you squirt shampoo and conditioner into your hand and slowly work it into his hair.

Feeling the coolness of the water and the soothing touch of your hands, Spencer closed his eyes, trying to relax. He leaned his head back against the wall, letting out small moans of pleasure as you worked the product through his hair.

you grab the cup off of the sink and fill it up to rinse the conditioner and shampoo out.

As you began to rinse his hair, Spencer let the water flow over his skin, washing away the dirt and grime from the day. He could feel his body starting to unwind under your gentle ministrations. "Thank you," he murmured softly.

“Always,” you reply smiling and grabbing his body wash.

As you continued to tend to him, Spencer felt himself becoming more and more at ease. He didn't resist when you began to lather up the body wash, instead leaning into your touch, his skin tingling with anticipation.

your hands continued to massage the soap into his skin gently.

“Mmm," Spencer hummed, his eyes drifting shut as you massaged the body wash into his skin. He could feel the tension seeping out of his muscles, replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling that began to spread throughout his body.

“ready to rinse?” you ask your gaze softening slightly.

“Yes, please," Spencer responded, his voice slightly hoarse from the relaxation. He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze for a moment before looking away, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks.

you help him stand and rinse the soap all off.

Slowly, Spencer stood, feeling somewhat unsteady on his feet. He couldn't help but smile as you helped him finish rinsing off the soap, his heart fluttering at your touch.

you grab a towel and hold it out for Spencer to step into.

“Thank you," Spencer murmured, stepping into the towel with a sigh of contentment. He leaned against you, his skin still tingling from the warm water and the tender touch you'd given him.

You kiss his forehead delicately before asking, “Are you ready to walk to the bedroom?”

"Yes, please," Spencer responded, blushing slightly at the unexpected display of affection. He held onto your hand as you led him out of the bathroom, his heart racing as you guided him towards the bedroom.

“Here sit on the bed and I’ll grab your pajamas,” you say smiling and sitting him down on the corner of the bed.

Spencer sat down gratefully, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He watched as you went to grab his pajamas, feeling a wave of comfort wash over him at your caretaking.

“Do you want the blue plaid or the purple plaid?” You ask holding both of them up.

Spencer hesitated, feeling a flutter of excitement in his chest. "Honestly, I don't really care, you choose," he said, his voice quivering slightly. "Surprise me."

“Okay!” You reply smiling gleefully and picking the purple ones. Purple was your favorite color to see on your boyfriend, it made him look so pretty.

after grabbing the matching long-sleeve and a pair of boxers you came back to Spencer to help him get dressed.

“ready?” you ask.

"Yeah," Spencer breathed, his heart racing with anticipation as he waited for you to help him get dressed.

you slide his boxers and pajama bottoms up his legs being extra careful of his bad knee.

"Thank you," Spencer whispered, his skin tingling from your touch. He felt even more vulnerable as you slid the soft fabric over his leg, the fabric brushing against the wound on his knee.

“Okay, we’re done with the hard part, time for your shirt,” you say smiling and grabbing it off the stand.

"Okay," Spencer replied, his voice a mix of nervousness and excitement. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing thoughts as he waited for you to help him with his shirt.

“put your hands up for me,” you say softly.

“Okay," Spencer replied, obeying your instructions. He lifted his arms, feeling the fabric of his shirt brush against his skin as you guided it over his shoulders and down his arms.

“you did great, do you want me to grab anything for you before you lay down?” you ask grabbing your pajamas.

"No, I think I'm good," Spencer replied, his voice slightly shaky. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he prepared to lie down.

“Okay let me know if you need anything, I’m going to change,” you say before slipping your nightgown on.

"Thank you," Spencer murmured, his eyes following your movements. He climbed carefully into bed, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position on the freshly cleaned sheets.

You crawled into bed next to him, feeling his body heat. Feeling the warmth of your body so close to his, Spencer couldn't help but shiver slightly. He turned his head towards you, his heart thudding against his chest as he waited for you to make the next move.

Your arms wrap around his waist gently. “You're shivering," you whisper, pulling him closer. "Are you cold?" you ask, running your hands up his back.

"I'm not cold," Spencer replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned into your touch, his heart racing as you ran your hands up his back. "I'm just... nervous."

“why are you nervous?” you ask running your hands through his hair gently.

"Because this feels... different," Spencer confessed, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "And I care about you so much." He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding against his chest. "And I don't want to disappoint you."

“You're not disappointing me for needing help.” “I'm more than willing to be here for you,” you say stroking his cheek gently.

"Thank you," Spencer whispered, his eyes brimming with gratitude and something else... something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He leaned into your touch, his heart racing with a strange mixture of fear and anticipation. "I feel so safe with you."

“I'm glad, I feel safe around you too.” you agree tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

“I'm glad," Spencer echoed, his voice soft and sincere. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. "I just... I always want to know more and understand everything. It's hard for me to switch off sometimes."

“Sometimes you just need a break, to relax, your never letting anyone down by not knowing something.” “you're more than just your brain,” you say staring into his big brown eyes.

Spencer felt himself relax slightly at your words. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. "You're right," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... thank you."

“of course,” you reply pecking his lips. “we should get some sleep.”

Nodding, Spencer leaned into your touch, his eyelids growing heavy. "Yes, sleep sounds wonderful." He yawned softly, already starting to drift off.

Spencer stirred slightly, snuggling closer to you. He sighed softly, his body relaxing more with each passing second. The sound of your heart beating became the only thing he could hear as he drifted off to sleep in your arms.

[love-anddeepression]

Movie Posters- Miguel O’Hara x teen!spider!reader

The awaited Father’s Day fic :D love all of you, and I hope you like this<3333

“Lyla?”

“Yeah?”

“What the hell is this?”

“It’s a cake, dumbass.”

“Yeah I know, dipshit. Why is it on my desk?”

“How should I know?” The AI shrugs, “maybe check the icing? Dumbass.”

The perpetually tired old spider rolls his eyes and opens the box to reveal a red and blue cake with his logo iced onto it. There’s a chocolate piece with writing on it.

“Get an empanada at exactly 11:26 am today for your next hint.” Miguel reads out, “I mean- sure I guess?”

From somewhere above, another spider in a purple suit smiles and disappears.

——

At exactly 11:26 am, Miguel is at taking the empanada from the spider behind the counter who also hands him a small box.Nodding in thanks, he looks at the post it on the plate.

“Good job, open the box after eating the food.”

He doesn’t waste time in scarfing the food down before opening the box.

A battery. And another note.

“Good job, at exactly 1:30 pm, go to Jessica’s quarters.”

“What?” He says out loud, attracting the attention of some of the other spiders, “nothing to see here.” He snarls and they all go back to eating in silence.

He internally groans, because he knows you’re behind this.

—

At one thirty, he glares as Jess smirks and hands him a paper bag filled with confetti.

Amongst the confetti, he finds another box.

Another battery, another note.

‘Almost done, now at five, go to the main hall of spider society to find the last part of your gift.’

“I’m going to kill that kid.” He swears as he carefully folds the paper and holds it as if it made of glass

“You’d kill yourself before letting anything harm her.” Jessica replies.

He doesn’t answer, only clenching his jaw in response to his colleague’s words.

Because nothing has ever been truer.

———

At five sharp, he opens the doors to the main hall to find a single spotlight shining onto a table with the last box on it.

He rips the ribbon wrapped around it and opens it to find a remote with a single bright red button and another note.

‘Two batteries and one remote. You know what to do, wiseguy.

Also, happy Father’s Day ;)’

He has never assembled something faster, as he quickly puts the batteries in the remote. And hesitantly presses the button.

The spotlight switches off and the momentary darkness in the hall is then replaced by a single hologram of a butterfly flying around him.

It rests on his nose and flies around him, as if wanting him to follow it. In front of him, a portal opens and the butterfly flies through it, expecting him to follow.

On the other side is what is supposed to be a media room. Complete with wooden panelling and a projector and speakers. He sees posters of what used to be his favourite movies and songs. Photos of his favourite soccer players. His hand moves to over his mouth at the photo of him and Gabriella.

“Don’t be mad.” Your voice reaches his ears and he whirls to see you look at him nervously, “i wanted to make this special.”

He clenched his jaw and scoffs, looking around the room once more, he eyes the empanadas and the movie, his favourite, ready to be watched.

He then looks you in the eye, and for the first time in entire time you’ve known him, you feel nervous.

He stalks towards you and after a few seconds of painful silence, he wraps his arms around you and hugs you.

“Oh honey, why would I be mad?” He whisper into your hair.

You let out a sigh of relief, “i know how much she meant to you, she needed to be here today. I..know I’m not your real daughter or anything, but you’re my dad.” You hug him tighter, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, and he gingerly picks you up.

“You’re my kid. Understand?” His voice is shaky.

You nod and he puts you down, a small smile on his face.

You giggle, “wanna watch the movie?”

His smile turns into a smirk, “come on what are we waiting for?”

Your smile disappears, “wait, shit! I forgot my glasses!”

“I thought spiders had 10/10 vision?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry that your spider is a blind bat.” You snark.

“You’re hilarious.” He munches on the popcorn you’d made for him.

“Yeah I know.” You grin and open a portal to get your glasses.

A few minutes nts later, you emerge, a frown on your face. You go to stand in front of him and he looks up at you, “What?”

“They were on my head the whole time.”

“Oh were they?” He hums, “must’ve missed em. I have horrible eyesight.”

“Asshole.” You roll your eyes and adjust your glasses as you plop down next to him and start the movie.

He throws popcorn into your open mouth, “don’t talk to your father that way.”

“Shut up.”

[gojodarling]

sweet like sin ⤑ toji fushiguro | m

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: ❝ there’s nothing, toji thinks, that is as sweet as fucking his children’s babysitter in the bed he shares with his wife ❞ non-curse au. infidelity au. pwp.

❥ pairing: dilf!toji x babysitter!reader  ❥ genre: fluff ∴ smut ❥ word count: 11k 

⤑ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: daddy dom!toji, sub!reader, big cock!toji, toji is a fucking tease, teasing, corruption kink, dirty talk, rough nipple play, marking, degradation, finger sucking, toji is a fucking pussy tease and i’ve had enough!!!, pussy eating, hair pulling, pussy spanking, clit sucking/biting, orgasm control, gagging with underwear, toji fucks ur pussy with his tongue <3, face riding, crying, delayed orgasm, overstimulation, squirting, wet & messy sex, begging, reader is such a lil crybaby, choking, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, minor pain kink, size kink, rough sex, deep dicking, breeding kink, creampie

⤑ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: cheating, age gap (reader is 22, toji is 36)

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: does this have any business being this late? no. do i have any excuse? also no !

⏤ read it on ao3 here

“Almost done, Gumi?” you ask, smiling softly at the eight-year-old boy sitting in front of you.

With a stoic face, Megumi spoons the last chunk of ice cream into his mouth before nodding his head. You grin at the boy, your chair scraping against the floor as you stand up and approach him. Grabbing his bowl, you walk over to the kitchen and quickly rinse it clean, before stashing it away in a cupboard, hiding any evidence of the late night—well late for an eight-year-old—snack.

“Come on, Gumi, let’s get you to bed before your parents get home, yeah?” you say, walking back towards the dining table where Megumi is still sitting, staring stone-faced at you.

Just as he nods and moves to slide off of the chair, you both hear the familiar sound of keys clinking, followed by the door rattling. You and Megumi still, your eyes widening as you realise that one of Megumi’s parents has returned home. For a brief moment, you see a look of nervousness cross his face, the expression breaking through his usual detached façade. If it were any other circumstance, you’d internally cheer at the emotion that paints his countenance; since you met him, you’d always thought Megumi was far too unemotional for an eight-year-old.

Nonetheless, you can’t celebrate the rare occasion of feeling from the child, not when you realise you’re both about to be caught. It’s almost half past nine, and as far as Hisano, Megumi’s stepmother, is concerned, Megumi’s bedtime is eight, Tsumiki’s at half past eight. Luckily, you had tucked the ten-year-old into bed already, Tsumiki having finished her ice cream first. Truth be told, the only reason Megumi was still awake was because he had asked for another helping of ice cream, but being full from his first bowl, he had taken much longer than you’d anticipated to finish off his second one.

The front door slams open all of a sudden, causing you to jump while Megumi’s visage slips into its usual aloofness, any prior hint of trepidation completely disappearing. You watch as Toji’s hulking form walks through the doorway and into the living space, and momentarily, relief washes through you too. In your few months of babysitting the Fushiguro's—in a bid to ease your undergraduate tuition fees—you’d quickly come to learn the dynamic between the two parents—Toji is the more carefree one, typically allowing the kids to do what they wanted, leading Hisano to be the stricter, more rule-abiding parent. And from the few times you’d been at their residence while the parents were home, either as they left for or returned from work, you’d known that that very dynamic had caused a multitude of arguments between them.

From the open plan design of the living space, Toji immediately spots you and Megumi in the small corner that is the dining room. Flinging his heavy bag onto the couch, he looks at Megumi and quirks his eyebrow.

“Whatcha still doing up, kid?” Toji questions.

“Wanted ice-cream,” Megumi deadpans.

Toji turns his gaze toward you, and instantly, another type of nervousness floods you. Briefly, his eyes rake over your form, and all of a sudden, you feel far too exposed in your short skirt. Toji’s gaze always feels predatory, a starving wolf stalking its prey; you shuffle from foot to foot under his heavy observance.

“Where’s Miki?” Toji questions. You pull your lower lip between your teeth and gnaw at it, Toji’s eyes immediately drawn to the gesture.

“She’s in bed,” you answer.

“Yer not s’pposed to have ice cream before bed, Megs,” Toji attempts to scold, turning back to Megumi. Nonetheless, from his nonchalant timbre, you know he doesn’t truly care. In fact, if the knowing smirk on his scarred lips, or the twinkle in his jade eyes, is anything to go by, he’s amused.

“Tsumiki had some too, I just had more,” Megumi rolls his eyes. You swallow thickly in an attempt to loosen your constricted throat before licking your lips.

“It’s my fault, Mr Fushiguro. I’m supposed to be looking after them and I shouldn’t have allowed them to have any ice cream. I also should have put Megumi to bed already,” you apologise with a slight bow of your head. Toji’s lips twist lazily, your skin pricking with heat at the wolfish grin that colours his visage.

Guilt gnaws at your insides, your stomach roiling when you feel the tell-tale heat of desire flare between your thighs. Here you were, caught red-handed disobeying two of the clear instructions from Hisano, yet turned on by—and insanely attracted to—the woman’s husband. There’s a special place in hell for you, you’re sure.

“‘T’s alright, doll,” Toji drawls.

You stiffen at the pet name, your stomach churning. Seldom does Toji call you by any form of endearment, though, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice he only did it when his wife was nowhere to be found.

“What Hisano doesn’t know won't hurt her,” Toji continues.

You’re imagining it, you’re sure you are, but for a fraction of a second, you could swear that Toji’s voice is purposely lower, the already deep baritone gravelly with fervour.

“Can be our little secret, right Megs?” Toji grins, his gaze flicking back to his son.

In a rare display of affection, Megumi hops off the chair and runs to his father, hugging his leg tight. Toji stills, his eyes widening in the slightest. The gesture shocks you too, neither you nor Toji are used to witnessing such acts from Megumi. Usually, the boy was overtly ornery, in a way you didn’t think should be possible for a child so young.

Toji manages to pull himself together, awkwardly patting his son’s head. You can’t help but giggle at the way Megumi’s spiky hair sticks out between Toji’s fingers, his large hands almost dwarfing Megumi’s entire head.

“Take him to bed, will ya princess? Before this is no longer just our secret, yeah?” Toji says, looking over at you once again. Heat stains your cheeks when he winks at you. You avert your gaze, and instead, return your attention to Megumi.

“Come on, Gumi,” you call, holding your hand out for the little boy.

Megumi, as though realising what he’s done, hastily lets go of Toji’s leg, almost as if he’s been burned. His reaction has both you and Toji chuckling, Megumi’s countenance morphing into a scowl. You grin down at him and lead him to his bedroom. As you walk away, you feel the burning sensation of Toji’s tumultuous gaze.

Unabashed, Toji openly stares at your ass, relishing in the way the hem of your skirt brushes against the tops of your thighs. It’s just long enough to be considered decent, but Toji is also all too aware that if you leant forward in the slightest, he’d get a tantalising view of your lower ass cheeks. He can’t help the way his cock stirs, his mind envisioning the sight of you bent over in front of him, your skirt hiked up high as you look behind at him with your large, innocent eyes.

He knows it’s wrong, depraved, sinful, the way he fantasises of you on your knees, with tears in your eyes and his cock buried in your throat, the sounds you’d make when he makes you cum all over his tongue; the glassy, fucked-out look in your eyes when his cock first enters your cunt.

He knows he could make them a reality, knows from the way you sneak glances at him in the moments you think he’s not looking, knows from the nervousness that clouds your demeanour as you shy away from him; knows from the way he’s caught the almost—but not quite—imperceptible way you rub your thighs when he speaks.

Yes, Toji is convinced he could have you if he really wanted to.

And he really, really wanted to.

~~

Once you’ve finally put Megumi to bed, you exit his bedroom and quietly shut his door. Back in the living space, you look around in confusion, a frown marring your face when Toji is nowhere to be seen.

“Mr Fushiguro?” You call out. When you receive no response, your frown deepens.

Momentarily, your eyes flicker to the master bedroom and, with trepidation churning in your stomach, you carefully approach the shut door. For a few seconds, you simply stare at the wooden surface. It’s not the first time you’ve been in the room Toji shares with Hisano—Tsumiki had once hid in her parents’ wardrobe while the three of you were playing hide and seek—and it’s not like you’ve been forbidden from entering—Hisano had been very welcoming when you’d met her the first time as her children’s babysitter.

Still, you’ve never been in the room when either Toji or Hisano were home. And knowing that Toji—a man you’ve secretly harboured illicit feelings for—could be behind the doors, doing god knows what, has your mind wandering to forbidden, lecherous territory.

“Mr Fushiguro, Megumi is asleep now so I’m leaving,” you call out as you knock on the door. You still receive no answer. Pulling your lip between the teeth, you chew on it before knocking once again.

“Mr Fushiguro?” you call once more.

When you still do not receive an answer, you gather your courage and slowly open the door, peeking your head in. From the slight sliver, Toji is nowhere to be found once again. Your eyebrows knit together and, growing bolder, you push the door open wider and enter.

Instantly, you’re assaulted by the scent of Toji—a heavy, musky fragrance intertwined with fresh notes of citrus and earthen notes of pine. It’s laced with something more feminine, the hint of sweet florals overpowered by the raw, intoxicating masculinity that is Toji. You suck in a sharp breath, stifling a moan when you inadvertently breathe him deeper.

“Mr Fushiguro?” you call out to nothing, your voice dampened by a mix of your own lust and nerves.

Your eyes scan around the room, landing on the queen-sized bed that takes up the majority of the space. It shouldn’t, logically you know it shouldn’t, but the sight of Toji and Hisano’s shared bed has your stomach stirring in envy. Toji is Hisano’s husband, the stepfather of her daughter, the father of her stepson. You have no claim to him, no right to feel the inkling of jealousy that stains your being.

You know that, logically.

But the reality is, you are envious.

Toji may be married, to your employer no less—Hisano being the one who paid you your weekly fee—but that doesn’t stop the adulterous desire that floods your bloodstream at the thought of him. Doesn’t stop you from closing your eyes and imagining him—his fingers, his tongue, his cock—when you touch yourself every night before bed. Doesn’t stop you imagining him throwing you onto his bed, fucking you in the same place he sleeps with his wife.

It’s wrong. You know it is. But you can’t help it, the indecent, debauched way in which you crave him.

“Whatcha doing here, dollface?” Toji’s husky timbre breaks through your reverie. You jump, adrenaline surging through your veins as you whip around to face him.

You regret it instantly. Face to face with Toji, your mouth goes dry at his current, unexpected, state of dress.

Or well, undress.

He stands before you, clad in nothing but a black towel. Water drips from his hair onto his neck and, entranced, you follow their motion, your eyes inadvertently tracing the contours of his body: the thick knot of his Adam’s apple, the corded musculature of his shoulders, the hardened definition of his pectorals. Stray droplets trail further down, over his rigid abdomen and into the material that wraps around his slim hips. You stop there, your gaze honing in on his covered thighs and hidden shaft. Unwittingly, you swallow thickly.

“Whatcha doing here, princess?” Toji repeats. Shaken out of your stupor, your eyes snap to his.

“Megumi is a-asleep,” you begin, only to waver when Toji takes a deliberate step forward.

“Ah, the kids are all in bed?” Toji questions, his lips curling into a devilish smirk. The impossible low baritone of his voice rumbles through the air, each reverberation a live wire straight to your core. Clearing your throat, you inhale a deep, steadying breath.

“Y-Yes, so I’m leaving n-now.” You grimace internally when your voice falters once more. Toji’s smirk widens into a predatory grin, his eyes flashing with barely concealed desire.

“You sure that’s whatcha wanna do, dollface?” Toji questions.

Your breath hitches in your throat, your heart thundering within the confines of your rib cage. Still, you somehow find it in yourself to nod.

“You sure?” he taunts.

“Y-Yes, Mr Fushiguro,” you reply. Against your better judgement, for the briefest moment, you glance at the towel wrapped around him, only for your sex to clench when you notice the tented material.

“Like what you see, baby?” Toji hums. The back of your neck prickles, the tips of your ears flushing with heat.

“N-No,” you stammer out, your voice hoarse.

“Hmm. I think you do,” Toji goads. He takes another step forward, your body instinctively taking one back.

“N-No,” you try to refute a second time. Your denial only has Toji laughing.

“Liar,” he sneers. The derisive way in which he spits out the word causes you to whimper, a gush of wetness leaking out of your pussy and into your quickly dampening panties. “You want me, I know you do,” comes Toji’s jeer.

Your hands turn clammy, a cold sweat sweeping through you. No. No, he couldn’t know.

He can’t know.

“I-I don’t,” you rebut. Toji takes another step forward and, on shaky knees, you take one back.

“You do**.** I’ve seen the way you look at me, seen the way those pretty thighs rub together every time I speak,” Toji admits.

Despair flushes through you at the revelation. You had tried your hardest to keep your attraction to the man hidden away. Though, it seemed like your best efforts had failed you. Toji knew**.**

“Dirty little girl, lusting after a man almost twice her age,” Toji gibes.

As he speaks, he deliberately saunters over to you, his entire disposition exuding imposing waves of smug dominance. With each step he closes the distance between you, your own feet moving on shaky limbs as you try to futilely widen it. Within short moments, however, the back of your knees hits the edge of the bed. You don’t expect to come into contact with the bed frame and, with a surprised gasp, you fall over. Your back hits the mattress with a slight bounce, your eyes widening as you stare up at Toji’s looming figure.

Diopside eyes—tumultuous with unbridled hunger—rake over your figure, from your heaving chest, to your slightly parted thighs. Seeing the way your skirt rides up, a hint of lilac peeking through your thighs, Toji groans. One of his large, vascularised hands reaches out and drops to your thigh, the flesh flashing with heat under his touch. Languidly, his fingertips flit up your limb, until you feel the pads graze over your panty-clad sex.

“You always look so pretty in these short little skirts. You wore them for me, didn’t cha, doll? Wore them so you could tease me, flash me the barest hint of that cute ass and get me all riled up.” The knuckles of his fingers brush over the gusset of your underwear in long, teasing strokes, your clit viciously throbbing under his touch.

“Mr Fushiguro, w-we should stop,” you attempt to reason, desperately clinging onto your conscience. But mind addled by desire, the tethers of your morality quickly begin to fray. Against your better judgement, your thighs part further open, offering Toji’s fingers further access to your heated, dewy folds. The action has Toji’s eyes flashing; a hum of approval tremors through his chest.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby. Soaked through these cute panties,” Toji murmurs, his eyes dropping to the apex of your thighs.

Ravenous, he devours the sight of the darkening silk. Toji’s pupils dilate, his juniper irises blackening with fervid hunger at the wet patch, the darkened spot growing as your cunt drools your arousal. Fingers moving over it, your breath catches when you feel the tips of his digits press into your entrance.

“You wore these for me too, didn’t cha, princess?” Toji questions, his eyes flicking up to yours. Mesmerised by them—the vibrant hue having darkened to a deep shade of emerald—you find yourself swept away by their imperious undertow.

“M-Mr Fushiguro—” you begin. Toji tuts, a frown marring his face.

“It’s Toji, baby,” he interjects. Then, his frown morphing, he smirks at you, “Or Daddy, if you prefer.”

“Mr Fushiguro,” your emphasis on his surname is insistent, Toji only chuckling at your futile defiance. “You’re married,” you continue. You may be speaking to Toji, but the reminder is more for you than anything else. Toji has a wife and whatever this is, is wrong.

Toji disregards your statement with a simple, dismissive chuckle, “Do you know how hard you make my cock, huh, doll? How many times I’ve fucked my hand, my pocket pussy, my wife, imagining it was your tight, pretty little cunt instead?”

A scandalised gasp escapes you, your eyes widening at the admission. It’s wrong, the way your mind immediately flashes to how you have imagined the same—that it was Toji’s thick cock inside of you rather than your thin bullet vibrator. It’s immoral, the way your cunt viciously clenches, your wetness leaking out of you as your body practically yearns, weeps for him. It’s a sin, the way your morals willingly, and readily, crumble under Toji’s tenacious seduction.

“But your wife—” you begin, only for Toji to cut you off once more.

“What my wife doesn’t know, won’t hurt her, will it baby? Can be our little secret,” he repeats his words from earlier in the night. Though this time, the secret is heavier, less harmless. This time, it doesn’t cloak a meaningless broken rule. This time, it conceals an illicit affair, one that you know could break a marriage.

“T-Toji, we shouldn’t,” you attempt one last rebuff. Your voice is as weak as your protest, and from the use of his first name, Toji knows he’s won.

“But you want to, don’t you, baby?” Toji coaxes. Pulling your lip between your teeth, you chew on it as you avert your gaze. Then, you nod your head.

“Y-Yes,” you whisper. Your concession is barely audible, your words just a decibel above a whisper. Nonetheless, in the silence of the night, Toji hears it clearly. A triumphant smirk crawls onto his lips, his eyes flashing with victory.

“Yes, what, baby?” Toji urges. Hesitancy floods your eyes and you release your lower lip, choosing to gnaw at the flesh of your inner cheek instead.

“Yes, Daddy,” you quietly answer, shyly looking at him through the thick of your lashes.

“Fuck, you’re a sin, baby,” Toji swears.

In an instant, Toji pounces on you.

You barely have time to think straight as you feel the dip on either side of your hips, Toji’s hulking body caging yours. Gripping your chin in one hand, he angles your face to look at him, and then, his lips descend onto yours. He’s rough and bruising, your eyes slipping shut as you moan into him. Without any warning, his teeth bite down on the swollen fold of your lower lip, causing you to gasp out. Toji uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

The silky appendage glides inside your mouth, curling and twisting in frenzied motions as it lashes against your tongue. Spice fills your mouth, his flavour coats your taste buds and you lose yourself in the intoxicating sensation that is Toji’s kiss. He’s voracious, dominating you in a way only he could, his mouth ferocious as it moves over your own. With a few moments, however, your lungs blaze with the need for oxygen and, with a gasp, you tear your lips away from him. Undeterred, Toji kisses his way along your jaw and towards the bottom of your ear, suckling the supple flesh.

“Toji—Fuck,” you mew, your hands curling into his shirt.

“Uh-uh. It’s Daddy now, dollface,” Toji tuts. Fervent fingertips skim up your body, goosebumps prickling under your flesh from the touch, before Toji grips your shirt and divests it off of you. Seeing your bare tits come into view, he quirks an eyebrow.

“No bra? You were practically begging for it, weren’t ya, princess? Wanted me to see these little nipple sticking out your clothes when you’re wet and horny for me, didn’t cha?” Toji belittles. You cower from his gaze and seeing your bashfulness, Toji snickers.

Shifting above you, Toji grips the hem of your skirt before pulling it down your body, haphazardly flinging it onto the floor. He climbs back onto the bed, your thighs reflexively spreading to accommodate him. Left in nothing but your panties, Toji’s eyes deliberately rove over your body and he growls in approval at the lilac undergarment.

“And you definitely wore this for me, didn’t ya, baby?” Toji questions once again, a playful lilt in his voice. You swallow thickly and nod your head, heat flushing across your face.

“Yes,” you whisper, confirming his suspicion.

“Dirty girl, bet you wanted me to fuck you since the day you started babysitting my kids, huh?” Toji taunts. You avert your gaze once again before nodding shyly. “God, you’re fucking filthy. Is this what you wanted?” He unravels the towel from around his waist, leaving him naked.

His cock springs up with a little bounce, your throat drying as it comes into view. You’d always known Toji would be large just from his enormous, bulky physique and you’d spent countless nights imagining just how big he’d be, how he’d stretch you out with a delicious burn. But face to face with it, you realise he’s nowhere close to your imagination. He’s just a little longer the average, the tip sitting a little under his belly button, but it’s his girth that really has your eyes widening. He’s thick, impossibly and absurdly thick, almost the same width as your wrist.

Swallowing thickly, you look up at him, a hint of fear occulting the wanton desire that hazes your eyes. “I-It’s not going to fit,” you stammer.

Toji chuckles mockingly, “It’ll fit doll, I’ll make sure it does.”

The threat is barely concealed, and though it should terrify you, it doesn’t. Rather, your stomach roils with salacious hunger, another gush of wetness leaking out of your cunt. Spreading your thighs further apart, Toji pushes his hips to yours, your eyes rolling back when you feel his pulsating member press flush against your core.

“Fuck! Daddy,” you moan, feeling him grind his hard shaft into your pussy.

The skimpy material of your panties hinders nothing and you feel him, hot and pulsing, through the material. Instinctively, you begin grinding back into him, your hips writhing together in frantic movements while you lose yourselves into pleasure.

“You’re so fucking hot and—fuck—wet,” Toji gasps out.

His hands curl into your hips, fingers digging into the flesh as he pushes his cock harder into you. Precum drips out of his cockhead, the translucent substance saturating into your underwear and mixing with your own juices. When the blunt tip grazes against your throbbing clit, your spine curves off of the bed, your eyes rolling in pleasure. Reflexively, your hips buck, the movement forcing your core harder against him.

“Fuck yes, baby. Just like that. So fucking wet and needy. Shit—ha—so wet, can feel you soak my cock through those cute little panties,” Toji exhales heavily, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly.

“T-Toji,” you whine.

In one fell swoop, Toji’s head dips down. His lips wrap around your nipple, before he bites down harshly, roughly tugging the hardening bud with his teeth. The action tears a cry from your throat, tears stinging your eyes at the pain.

“What did I say, naughty girl? It’s Daddy,” Toji reprimands.

“D-Daddy,” you gasp, your face flushing with heat. Toji bites down once again, your chest automatically pushing up into his face at the sudden pain that flares around your breast.

Toji smirks, “You like when I bite these pretty nipples, huh doll?” His voice reverberates against your skin, a mew spilling from your lips.

He presses the flat of his tongue just under your nipple before laving up in one, long lick. The wet appendage strokes the indurated bud, causing it to twist—almost painfully—harder while you groan under him. You’re so wet now that your panties uncomfortably stick to your folds, the material sodden with a mix of both yours and Toji’s arousal.

“Pretty little baby, you make the sweetest sounds,” Toji coos whilst rolling your nipple between your teeth. Then, with a final, harsh bite, he releases the bud. “Wanna hear more of ‘em.” The murmuration of Toji’s vibrato against your tit has a shiver running down your spine.

Toji begins crawling his way down your body, stopping intermittently to press his lips against you. With each kiss, he bites and sucks your skin harshly, each one blooming mauve bruises over your flesh. He traces his way over your torso, from your sternum, to your abdomen, to your hips. Arriving at them, Toji’s fingertips bury into the swells, his teeth harshly tugging the skin of your left pelvis into his mouth. Sucking and biting hard, he leaves a particularly large hickey, only to pull away and admire his handiwork.

“Mmm—Look so pretty, all marked up by me. Gonna walk around campus with them, aren’t ya, princess? Let everyone know you’re a filthy little whore who got fucked by a married, older man,” Toji disparages.

It’s wrong, god you know it’s wrong, but you can’t help the way you nod your head eagerly, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Such a good little girl. Spread your legs, baby, show Daddy how wet your pussy is for me,” Toji cajoles.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you do as he asks. Laying your feet flat on the bed, your toes curl into the sheets as you bend your knees and splay your thighs further apart. Your obedience has Toji’s chest rumbling with appreciation, his eyes dropping to your cunt. Ardent gaze sweeping over your it, he takes in every inch of the panty-clad, sodden folds. Unable to help himself, he inhales deeply, his pupils dilating when the heady scent of your arousal clouds his senses.

“Fucking hell. You’re so wet I can smell you,” he growls.

The lewdness of his words has a muted squeak escaping your mouth. The heat of embarrassment claws its way up from your throat to the tip of your ears, and suddenly conscious under his gaze, you try to close your thighs. Nonetheless, before you can do so, Toji spots the movement. His large hands drop to your thighs, and pinning them down under his strength, he lets out a low growl of warning. The sound rumbles through the air and straight to your core, a gush of wetness leaking out of you.

“Try that again, dollface, and I’ll have you over my knee,” Toji threatens. You moan in response, your hips bucking into him at the thought. Seeing your reaction, a derisive smirk curls onto Toji’s scarred lips, “Like that, do you? Dirty little girl.”

Under the harshness of his words, lies a hint of affection that causes your stomach to twist, butterflies fluttering through the pits.

“D-Daddy,” you raggedly exhale, your eyes pleading with him.

“Mmm, now let Daddy see his baby’s pretty little cunt,” Toji coaxes. With that, he hooks his pointer finger under the gusset of your sodden underwear, a wet squelch filling the air. The sound has him groaning, and in one motion, he tugs hard. Instantly, the material tears, the sound of ripping fabric echoing through the air.

“Ah—Toji,” you gasp, your eyes widening as you watch him carelessly throw the tattered scraps of material onto the bed. Toji pays no attention to the reprimanding tone in your voice. Rather, his gaze is fixated on your pussy, his pupils dilating when he sees your drenched sex, the folds saturated with your juices.

“Fuck, princess. You’re already so sloppy and Daddy’s not even done anything yet.”

As he speaks, Toji presses his fingers against your folds, and then splaying his digits in a ‘V’, he spreads your cunt open wider. Then, using his free hand, he explores your sex: tracing the outline of your engorged, throbbing clit, down the glistening folds of your pussy, and towards the leaking rings of muscle that make up your entrance. Continually repeating the motions, he strokes his digits through your cunt, wetting the lengths in your arousal.

The teasing motions of Toji’s feathery touch as he plays with your cunt slowly drives you wild, pleasure coiling within your womb. With each stroke of his fingers, thick, filmy ropes of your juices cling to his digits, the strings thinning as he pulls them away. With rapt fascination, Toji watches as they snap, splashing back onto your drenched hole. When he’s sufficiently coated his fingers in your wetness, he slowly pulls away. Raising his slick fingers to his face, Toji’s eyes glint with mischief.

“Such a wet little pussy, you’ve soaked my fingers too, baby,” Toji purrs, unable to hide the glee in his voice. Lifting his hand up, he brings it over to your mouth. The pads of his fingertips brush against them, coating your lips in a thin sheen of your own arousal.

“Taste how needy you are. Suck,” he commands.

Instantly, you obey.

Slowly, your lips part open, only to wrap around his pointer and middle finger. Keeping your gaze locked on his, you begin to suckle. Your tongue swirls around his digits, and hollowing out your cheeks, the lengths press against your warm flesh. The vacuum-like suction has Toji moaning in appreciation.

“Such a good little bitch for me,” Toji praises. His fingers retreat from your mouth with a pop and instead, his hands drop to rest on your thighs once more.

Tongue darting out, Toji licks a broad line up through your folds, from your pulsating hole all the way to your throbbing clit. Your arousal coats the hollow of his tongue, the heady essence glazing his palate. Soft groan rumbling from within his chest, Toji presses the silken appendage flat onto your sex, relishing in the juices that spill from your cunt and onto his palate.

“Fuck, knew you’d taste sweet,” Toji mutters. As his cool breath fans across your heated folds, a shiver runs down your spine. Swiping his tongue through your cunt once more, he savours your taste with a low groan, “Knew you’d be sweeter than my wife.” His words reverberate through your clit, the vibrations sending sparks of electric pleasure up your nerves.

“D-Daddy,” you mew with a stutter.

Emboldened, he presses two of his sticky digits against your dewy lips and once more parts them. Splaying your cunt under the motion, he bares your throbbing clit and quivering hole to his view once again, watching the way they pulse.

“Awww, look how wet and swollen your needy little cunt is,” he hums. With how close he is to your pussy, each word he utters causes his scarred lips to teasingly graze against your tumescent bundle of nerves.

Breath turning ragged, your fingers card into his raven tresses, entangling them at his roots. Gripping his hair, you attempt to pull him further into your cunt, your hips simultaneously bucking into his face. Toji chuckles and wraps his lips around your clit before he lightly suckles the engorged bud. Fingers tightening in his hair, you tug his head once again, and encouraged by the action, Toji circles your clit with agile strokes. Head digging into the mattress, your back arches at the ministration, a shallow gasp escaping your mouth.

“Daddy, please,” you moan, the hollow sound resonating through the air.

Without warning, Toji points his tongue and begins tracing the outline of your sex: around your bundle of nerves, down the petals of your folds, and towards the honeyed entrance of your pussy. Skin flashing, heat prickles over your skin, your blood boiling as he begins tonguing the trembling ring of your cunt in languid strokes. Suddenly, he flattens his tongue against the hole, and with a broad swipe, he licks all the way up to your clit. Whorling his silken appendage around the bud, he wraps his plump lips around it and bites down on the swollen bundle. The sudden pleasure has you shrieking out his name, the words coming out louder, and higher pitched, than you’d intended.

Toji pulls away from you and “Be quiet, princess. Or you’ll wake my kids,” he warns.

Moving to enclose his lips around your engorged bud once again, his tongue lashes against your clit repeatedly, his teeth occasionally against it and causing you to croon his name. Under his ministrations, the walls of your core clench painfully, emphasising the emptiness between them.

“Please, Daddy m-more,” you beg, your hips rocking against him.

Toji releases your clit at your plea, and with one hand still splaying your folds open, he uses the other to trace the slick, twitching opening; your breath hitches in response. Lightly dipping the tip of his pointer finger into you, “Is this what you want, dollface?” he asks with a mocking coo.

Feeling the infuriatingly subtle stretch, you frantically nod your head. Unimpressed with your answer, however, Toji’s fingers move to roughly pinch your clit.

“Tell me what you want,” he commands. Pain coalesces with ecstasy at the harsh action, the juxtaposing sensations setting your nerves afire. Liquid lust surges through your abdomen, the sear of pleasure that swirls in your stomach making you cry out with need.

“W-Want your fingers,” comes your pitiful response, your eyes stinging with tears.

“That’s my pretty baby,” Toji praises. With that, he plunges one finger hilt deep into you. Feeling the sudden stretch, your eyes snap open. A strangled moan of pleasure rips from your throat, the sound morphing into a low mewl when he begins twisting the length inside of you. Back arching at the sensation, you cry out his name.

Suddenly spanking your pussy, “I said quiet,” he seethes with a hiss. Pulling his finger out, Toji plunges it back inside, revelling in the way your slick, pliant walls cling to his digit.

“Fuck, this is such a tight cunt,” he groans.

Curling his digit into you, he explores his finger through your slick, velvet walls, and when a jagged moan emanates from your lips, he knows he’s found what he’s looking for. Pads of his fingertip pressing flat against the spongy tissues, he wiggles his finger against your sweet spot.

“O-Oh god,” you shakily breathe out, your eyes fluttering open and shut. Molten pleasure intensifies into a blistering heat within the pit of your stomach and, thighs beginning to shake on either side of his head, your breath turns ragged.

“P-Please,” you choke out.

“Yeah, you like that, pretty baby? Like when Daddy fingers this tiny little hole?” he hums, the deceptively sweet intonation hiding the dark, imperious undertow of his voice.

You open your mouth to respond, only for the words to morph into a garbled cry when Toji pushes his finger deeper into you. Slowly, he begins pistoning the digit into you, the strokes slow and deep. With each thrust, his finger drags against your g-spot, causing ecstasy to blur your vision.

“Daddy, p-please! Wanna—ha—make me—ah!” Your pleas are choked, each broken by a breathy moan.

Despite your best efforts to articulate your wants, Toji’s incessant fingers make it impossible for you to form coherent sentences. On the cusp of your approaching orgasm, ecstasy burns through your bloodstream. As the rattling of your thighs intensifies beside him, however, Toji is abruptly pulling his drenched finger out of you.

Distraught over the sudden retreat of his digits, “N-No,” you cry, your hips wildly thrashing under him as you pitifully attempt to chase his hands. Painfully, your walls clench around nothing, and feeling your growing orgasm start to subside, tears mist your eyes.

“Quiet,” Toji hisses, his eyes gleaming dangerously. Under him, you heave for air, your eyes screwing shut as you shake your head and thrust your hips into his face.

“Wanna cum. Daddy, please, wanna cum,” you sob.

His scarred lips twist into a sardonic smirk before Toji spanks your cunt once more. The moment his hand meets the soaked flesh of your cunt, a wet slap echoes through the air. Toes curling at the harsh impact, you sob dryly.

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll gag you,” he threatens.

As he speaks, he repeatedly brings the palm of his hand down onto your tumid clit, and with each slap, your cunt clenches around nothing. Nerves electrified from his spanks, your hands fall from his hair and down to the mattress beside you. Your fingers twist into the sheets, your frustration building as you grow delirious from his action. Every impact of his hand has your pussy contracting around nothing, your walls weeping to be filled. With garbled sobs, you moan unintelligibly.

“Daddy—” you begin to wail, only to be cut off when Toji stuffs your tattered panties into your mouth.

Eyes widening as you feel the satin gag, your hand moves to pull it down. Instantly, Toji brings his hand onto your cunt, this time, harder than his previous ones. Pain blends with pleasure and, clit smarting under the impact, you screech. Nevertheless, muffled by the underwear gagging your mouth, the sound comes out inarticulate.

“Be a good little girl for Daddy and keep that in, yeah baby? If you do, Daddy’ll let ya scream as much as you want, princess,” he smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. Muffled whimper dissipating from your throat, your hand drops back to the ground, and you look at him through large, pleading eyes. Seeing the obedience in your tear-misted eyes, Toji coos, “That’s my good girl.”

With that, he dips his head back to your cunt. In a fluid motion, he pushes his slick digit back into you, though this time, it’s followed by a second. The girth of the two fingers stretches out your pliant walls, an euphoric sear thrumming through your flesh. Feeling the way he spreads your cunt open, Toji groans in pleasure.

“Fuck, you’ve got such a tiny, little cunt, princess. Daddy can’t wait to stretch it. Fuck it open. Leave it gaping with my cum,” Toji groans. Each sentiment is emphasised by a thrust of his fingers, the digits expertly stroking your sweet spot. You nod your head eagerly.

“You like that doll? Yeah, I know you do. Mmm, you’re so small… but that greedy little hole will take my cock whole, won’t it baby? You’ll take my fat dick better than my wife ever has, won’t you?” Toji mocks.

As he speaks, he spreads the fingers inside of you and opens your entrance for him. You moan at the stretch, but before you can register what’s happening, Toji plunges his stiff tongue inside of you. Eyes widening, you wail in pleasure at the sudden penetration, your spine contorting off of the ground. Frantically, you writhe your hips against his face, Toji furiously plunging his tongue into you over and over again.

“That’s it princess, ride Daddy’s face,” Toji urges, the words reverberating through your cunt. He presses further into your sex and, tongue swirling inside of you, he laps at your sodden, trembling muscles.

Ecstasy ripples across your nerves, your breath turning ragged. Lifting your shaky hands, you bury them into his thick tresses once again as your eyes roll back at his ministrations. With each contraction of your walls, you drip over his mouth, your wetness leaking thickly over his tongue and straight down his chin. Despite the messiness, however, like a beast starved, Toji drinks you up, his tongue vehemently lapping against your inner walls.

“Fuck you taste so good. This sweet cunt belongs to me, doesn’t it doll? Yeah. I know it does. Can feel you drip like a whore all over my tongue,” Toji taunts. Between the way he’s buried between your thighs, and your pleasure-blurred vision, you can’t see Toji's face. Nonetheless, you feel the way he smirks into your pussy.

Feeling the tell-tale signs of your approaching orgasm, you press your shoulders flat into the bed, and bracing your weight on them, you lift your hips and push them further into his face. At the action, Toji groans against your sex and the vibrations cause you to wildly buck into him. In response, he curls the two fingers inside of you, moving them in tandem to his tongue—all three appendages thrusting into you over and over again. Stomach quivering in pleasure, you feel your skin flash with heat.

“Toji, wanna cum,” you plead. Though, thanks to your makeshift gag, the words come out muffled and indecipherable. Still, from your ragged breath and the vice-like, erratic grip of your cunt—the silken walls practically milking his tongue—Toji knows you’re close.

“Hmmm? What’s that, baby doll? Daddy can’t understand you,” Toji taunts as he pulls away from your cunt.

A garble of displeasure emanates from your throat and your eyes screw shut as you let out a sob. Keeping his fingers inside of you, Toji languidly thrusts them in and out of you. Immediately, your quickly building orgasm slows, though, it doesn’t completely disappear. Rather, with his fingers languorously dragging over every one of your inner erogenous zones, he draws out your impending pleasure.

“My pretty little baby wants to cum?” he mocks, his eyes flashing in mirth.

A hand moves to lay the side of his thumb flat against your pulsating clit before Toji begins stroking the bud. Repetitively, it grazes your bundle of nerves and as he rolls it under the pad, your pleasure is intensified.

The additional sensation causes you to cry out—the sound swallowed by the panties gagging your mouth—as your skin prickles with spikes of white-hot pleasure. Jaw slackening, you attempt to swallow in a bid to lubricate your dry throat. However, with the cotton of your underwear soaking up all your spit, all you manage to do is choke. Instead, with a frantic nod, you wordlessly answer him, your hips desperately squirming against his hand as you try to quicken his pace.

Haze of euphoria clouding your mind, you struggle to form any cohesive thoughts as you lose yourself in your growing orgasm. Above you, Toji lets out a hum of thought, his fingers slowing down even further. Frustration wells up inside of you, and tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, you sob out his name—your mouth dry from the panties soaking up your spit—as you look up at him with an imploring gaze.

“Yeah, baby doll? Wanna cum?” he questions, a dark, predatory smirk tugging at his lips.

“P-Please,” comes your suppressed mew, the tears finally spilling from your eyes and down your cheeks. Cooing at the desperate, undone sight of you, Toji’s smirk broadens.

“Awww, look at my baby doll, crying for Daddy to make her cum,” Toji hums. Then, head dropping back to your cunt, “Cum, then. Cum for Daddy,” he commands. As he speaks, the two fingers buried inside of you curl to press against your sweet spot, and simultaneously, he wraps his mouth around your clit before sucking hard.

With his fingers plunging in and out of you vehemently, and his lips sucking harshly at your clit, Toji all of a sudden forces you off of the edge of your orgasm and straight into pleasure. Spine contorting, your head and hips dig into the mattress, while your back arches off of it. Instantly, your muscles lock, a muffled wail ripping out of your lungs as you cry out his name. Wave after wave of euphoria crashes over you, and under the sweeping tide of your orgasm, you drown in rapturous bliss. Thighs viciously trembling on either side of his face, you writhe and squirm under Toji, your hips wildly bucking into his face as ecstasy consumes you.

“Fuck, yeah. That’s it, princess. Such a good little girl, cumming all over Daddy’s fingers,” Toji praises, your walls clamping around his fingers.

Through your orgasm, Toji refuses to pull away from your pussy. Rather, he increases the intensity of his actions. His tongue lashes against your clit and his fingers piston in and out of your cunt. Pain of overstimulation gripping your over-sensitised sex, tears stream down your face as Toji nibbles on your clit, drawing out your orgasm.

Through your foggy mind—the euphoric fog of your orgasm eclipsing your mind—you vaguely register the pain that flitters through you, and thighs snapping shut, you attempt to stop him. Simultaneously, your hands move to push against his head. Nonetheless, with his head trapped by your thighs, and Toji’s own strength, he barely budges.

“Ah—Mmmm—Hnnn,” you groan inarticulately. When he strokes the pads of his fingertips over your g-spot, you sob in pleasure. The loosened knot of euphoria in your stomach tightens, and midst your orgasm, something begins building up deep within the pits of your abdomen.

Unceasingly, Toji suckles at your throbbing clit with his scarred lips and pushing his fingers further into you, he purposely drags his fingers over your sweet-spot once more, causing you to howl in pleasure. His actions cause your nerves to flare with electricity, a searing sensation surging through your bloodstream, and under the overwhelming, unadulterated pleasure, your entire body begins to tremble.

Out of the blue, Toji bites down on your clit, and jolts of pain sparking up the bundle of nerves, you immediately screech. Pain blends with pleasure, white-spots blinding your vision. Abruptly, the knot within your stomach unravels and, sudden relief flushing through your abdomen, you’re forced over the precipice of blissful ecstasy once again. Jaw slackening, your mouth falls open and your throat strains as you force out a silent cry. Your walls tighten without warning around Toji’s fingers, the forceful contractions causing pelt after pelt of your cum to squirt out of you.

“Fucking hell,” Toji mutters, his eyes widening as he feels you gush around his fingers. Thick, filmy rivers of your essence spray out of you onto his fingers and face, before splashing onto his mattress. Seeing the way your cum soaks into the sheet, Toji snickers, “Oh you’re filthy, aren’t you, baby doll? Look at you, you’ve soaked the sheets.”

“Mpf—” you try to respond, your tongue fighting against the gag to form intelligible words.

Gasping for air, your muscles erratically twitch from the sheer force of your orgasm. As your eyes flutter open, the white-spots fade, though, unshed tears still blur your vision. Taking pity on you, Toji pulls the panties from your mouth and instead throws it onto the floor. With your mouth finally free from the gag, you purposely gather spit in your mouth and swallow thickly—in a bid to soothe your dry throat.

Gaze dropping to Toji, the heat of embarrassment tinges your cheeks at the way his broad chest glistens—his skin glazed in your cum. Letting a high-pitched whine out, you bashfully look away. Sensing your humiliation, Toji chuckles.

“Look at the mess you made, princess. What am I going to tell my wife, huh? That our naughty little babysitter drenched the sheets with her cum? That it was my fingers and tongue that made her do it, hmm?” he taunts.

Each word drips out his mouth like viscous honey, each sentiment rife with lust and carnality. The mention of his wife causes your morals to voice themselves once more. Nonetheless, you’re far too inebriated by his seduction, the weak voice of your conscience stifled by your blistering desire. You gulp audibly. In the way you’re enticed—easily tempted—by him, he’s the devil himself, you’re sure of it. Yet, even with the dark edge of his intonation, you can’t help but want to give in to the hedonistic, sinful euphoria he promises.

“Please, Daddy,” comes your plea, your wide, doe-like eyes staring up at him. Heeding your words, Toji crawls up your body, your thighs spreading further apart as he settles between them.

Gripping the base of his shaft with one hand, Toji angles it towards your entrance and smacks the bulbous head against it. A loud, wet smack resonates through the air, and feeling the heavy weight of his cockhead against your wet cunt, you whine in need. Flexing his hips, slides the entire length of his cock through your slit. Your slick lips spread onto the underside of his thick girth, and with each stroke, the prominent seam of his cockhead drags against your hardened clit, causing you to moan.

“Is this what you want, princess?” Toji questions, his voice deceptively sweet.

You nod your head eagerly, “Yes, please. Please.”

“Look at you. Daddy’s pretty little baby doll. So fucked out and needy for my cock,” Toji smirks predatorily, his teeth peeking through the seam of his lips.

Jade eyes—tempestuous with hunger—lock onto your own and, while holding your stare, Toji drags his cock down your folds in one long stroke, before pressing the head at your fluttering entrance. As the crown of his bulbous cockhead pushes against your ringed entrance, you both moan. Turning his attention down to your drenched folds, Toji hisses when he spots the way your honeyed hole twitches.

“Such a small, wet, little cunt,” Toji groans. Gripping his cock tighter, he circles the head around your hole, “Fuck dollface, look at how tiny your cunt is compared to my cock. I don’t think it’s going to fit,” he chuckles.

Derision is heavy in his tone, and despite the clear taunt, you frantically shake your head. “It’ll fit, please Daddy, want you,” you whine, your hips thrusting to take him into you.

“Yeah, dollface? Think ya can take Daddy’s cock?” Toji taunts.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble.

“Yeah, baby? Think that tight cunt can fit my fat cock? Think ya can take it better than my wife?” he jeers. Your pussy clenches, the empty ache between your thighs close to torturous. Eyes welling with tears, you sob.

“I can! I can. Please, Daddy. Please,” comes your soughed pleas. Toji snickers at the desperation in your voice, one of his thumbs moving to brush a tear from your cheek.

“Ha—yer such a whore, princess, crying for my cock like this,” Toji mocks. He raises his thumb to his lips, his tongue poking out to lick the tear away. “Daddy’s pretty, needy little cockslut,” he derides.

“Daaaady,” you whine, your hips writing into his. With a wry grin, Toji begins pressing the crown of his cock against your sopping hole. A dull pressure builds up against your cunt, your eyes widening as a whimper slips through your lips at the sensation.

“Fuck. Yer gonna be so tight, princess. Have you ever had a cock this big, doll?” Toji questions. Though, from the cocky inflexion of his voice, you know he knows you haven’t.

“N-No, Daddy,” you stammer, your voice higher than you’d intended.

Your cunt is dripping, sloppy with your cum, and as such, Toji should slide easily into your entrance. Nonetheless, he struggles to thrust his head into you, his thick girth causing the taut muscles of your pussy to protest the stretch.

“Of course you haven’t, baby doll. Bet no one’s fucked this cunt open the way I’m going to,” he chuckles arrogantly. For a moment, your eyes flutter shut. Instantly, the hand wrapped around his cock moves to grip the delicate column of your neck and, fingertips squeezing against the side, he chokes you.

“Look at me. Want ya to watch as Daddy ruins this tiny hole,” he sibilates.

With a whimper, your eyes snap open and catch his stare. And in that exact moment, Toji thrusts harshly.

The force of his movement causes the mushroom-tip of his cockhead to squeeze into you with a sudden pop. Spine twisting, a dry sob tears from your throat as your back arches. Thick tears track down your cheeks, pleasure and pain surging through your body.

“D-Daddy,” you cry, the sound broken by a hiccup.

A searing ache burns ripples through your tight cunt, the ringed muscles smarting as they strain around Toji’s indurated, unforgiving shaft. Nevertheless, even through the agonising burn, an intoxicating undercurrent of pleasure thrums through you—pure ecstasy cutting the pain of your pussy being split apart by his girth.

“Fuck—Ya so pretty like this baby; crying as my cock ruins yer tiny, wet hole,” he groans.

The fingers around your throat flex, squeezing your neck firmer as he begins pushing his cock further into you. Inch by heavy, agonising inch, his unyielding hardness spears into your cunt, the thick girth of his cock pulling apart your walls. When he’s around half way into you, you let out a strangled cry, the torturous ecstasy overwhelming you. Your hands shoot out to clutch his muscular shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh.

“F-Fuck, Daddy—h-huge,” you hiccup.

Toji coos sardonically, “Still think ya can take it, princess? Hmmm? Can this sweet little cunt handle my cock?”

Your nails rake down to his pecks, leaving angry, red welts in their wake and, “Daddy,” you slur, your brain too electrified with euphoria to articulate a single sentence.

“Ha. Already fucked ya dumb, have I?” Toji ridicules.

Without a warning, his hips plunge forward. The action causes the final few inches of his cock into you, the length bottoming out to the hilt. The sudden movement has you howling, your eyes rolling back into your skull. Against your will, your cunt ripples around his cock, your inner muscles contracting and clenching around his unrelenting shaft in a bid to force out the thick intrusion. Nonetheless, with Toji’s hips pressing firmly against yours, the clamping only massages his cock. With his cock completely buried inside you now—his balls pressing flush against your wet sex—Toji halts, the hold on your throat slackening.

“Ah, fuck. Fuck, yer so fucking tight. Fuck—sweetest pussy I’ve ever fucked,” he moans, luxuriating in the silken grip of your cunt, his head falling back as it pulses around his cock.

Toji takes in the expression of agonised euphoria that paints your visage. Your eyes are glassy behind half-lids, your jaw slackened—a little bit of drool spilling out—as you pant under him. With each laboured breath, you whimper, your smarting walls stretched to their limit as you try to get used to his size. With wide blinks, you look up at him through tear-stained lashes.

“B-Better than your wife?” you ask, your voice breathless and higher pitched than you’d anticipated.

Toji groans at your words, his hips retreating before snapping back into yours as he starts thrusting into you.

“Dirty whore. Yer so naughty. But fuck—yeah, yeah,” comes his breathy response. “Even better than my wife. You’ve got the tightest, wettest cunt, princess. Such a good slut for me, taking my dick so good. Fuucckkk—” Toji groans out, each sentiment emphasised by a hard thrust.

“H-Hurts,” you whine, your palms pressing against his defined pectorals.

“Yeah? Fuck, bet it does. You’re so tight. But ya love it, don’t you dollface? Love how my cock’s fucking your tiny pussy open,” he jeers. In response, Toji’s grip on your throat tightens once more, his strength pinning you down and using his grip as an anchor as he fucks into you.

Your tits bounce from the force of his thrusts, the soft mounds bounding in little circles as he uses your pussy like a fleshlight. All of a sudden, his hand moves from your throat to paw at your tits. Moaning out, you mewl as he roughly palms at the flesh, rolling and massaging it in his large hand, his thumb mindlessly tweaking the hardened nipple.

“Hnn, yeah, Daddy,” you pant.

He swivels his hips, your spine twisting off of the bed as you feel his cockhead drag against your sweet-spot before battering into your cervix. With each and every one of his thrusts, his thick shaft opens up your walls, the velvet hardness stimulating every erogenous zone and setting your nerves afire with pleasure. Hoarse cries of ecstasy tear from your throat, his cock vehemently surging into you over and over again.

“Yeah? Yeah. Fuck, know you do princess. Can feel ya greedy little hole swallowing me,” he groans.

“Ha—Daddy,” you breathily mew.

Toji can’t help but chuckle, “That all you know now, baby doll? Huh? Only Daddy’s name?”

Somehow, you feel his pace increase, and suddenly, he’s jackhammering into you. You bounce under his cock, your body jerked up and down the mattress from the powerful force of his thrusts. Your hands move from his chest, your arms circling around his shoulders as your legs wrap around his waist, clinging onto him. The position pushes Toji deeper into you, your eyes rolling back once more as you feel his cockhead bruisingly smack against the back walls of your cunt. A throbbing pain begins intensifying deep within your womb.

“T-Too much. Too much. Daddy—deep. Too deep,” you cry. Despite your words, however, Toji continues rutting into you as he chases his own pleasure.

“Be Daddy’s good slut and take it,” Toji urges in retaliation. Feeling your walls erratically clamp around him, his chest rumbles with a groan. As his own balls start to clench, his shaft beginning to viciously throb inside of you, “Fuck. Fuck, yer so fucking tight, Princess. Gonna cum soon. You on birth control?” he questions.

“N-No,” you stutter out with a shake of your head.

“Fuck, yer gonna get impregnated tonight then, baby doll. No way Daddy’s gonna pull out a pussy this good,” Toji hisses in pleasure. Wired beyond belief, the implications and consequences of his words are lost on you. Rather, the thought of him cumming deep inside you only sets your nerves on fire, unbridled ecstasy coursing through your veins.

“P-Please,” you gasp.

“Fuck, you want that? Want my cum to fill up your fertile little womb?” Toji asks, his words punctuated by deep, hard plunges. The blunt head of his cock batters against the supple walls of your cervix, a dull ache forming within your womb and hips from the unforgiving power of his thrusts.

“Yes, yes, yes! Fuck, please Daddy. Cum in me,” you urge, your tongue loosened by euphoria as your brain hazes with pleasure. Hearing your response, Toji chuckles, the dark sound reverberating through the air. Lowering his chest, his lips brush over your ear.

“Yeah? Wasn’t enough to babysit my kids was it, doll? You wanna have ‘em now too?” Toji growls out; punctuating his words with a sharp thrust. Feeling him surge in deeper, you sob in ecstasy; euphoric tears stinging at your eyes as you feel intense, unadulterated bliss course through your veins. Your nails rake over his flesh, each leaving deep welts all over his shoulders and chest.

“Please—Fuck, Daddy, please,” you plead. Toji chuckles once again.

“What are we gonna tell my wife, huh baby? That I fucked your tight little cunt in our bed? That yer pussy was so good, so fucking tight, that I had no choice but to cum inside? That yer cunt is better than hers and so I had to put a baby inside?” Toji mocks, a blatant taunt tainting his gravelly voice.

“Hnnn—Daddy,” you gasp.

Feeling the way your thighs tremble on either side of his hips, one of Toji’s hands slips between your thighs and, cupping your sex, he presses his thumb to your clit. Electric ecstasy jolts through you, and with the additional stimulation, you climb higher and higher towards the crux of your climax. Your thighs quake vehemently, white-hot heat jolting up your spine as you feel your orgasm tear through you.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum for Daddy,” Toji urges, punctuating his command with a well placed thrust. Unable to hold back, a strangled cry escapes from your throat as you cum around Toji’s cock.

Erratically, the walls of your cunt contract around Toji, and feeling your silken pussy constrict over his shaft, he snarls, his pace picking up. His cock surges ferociously into you, every thrust drawing out your orgasm and forcing endless wave after endless wave of ecstasy to flood your being. As your walls ripples over his cock, Toji feels his own end draw near.

“Oh fuck, yer pretty cunt’s milking my cock, doll. Fuck—gonna cum,” Toji groans, his furious rhythm becoming stuttered. Instinctively, your legs move to wrap around your Toji’s narrow waist, and hooking your ankles together, you lock his body between yours.

“C-Cum inside, Daddy,” you force out, the words strained as they escape your raw throat.

“Oh fuck,” Toji groans, his own orgasm surging through him.

Abruptly, his hips drive forward, Toji burying himself as deep into your cunt as physically possible, before he grinds into you. Rope after rope of his thick cum shoots out of his cock and against your supple cervix, flooding your gummy walls and painting them white in his essence. Through the overstimulated fog of ecstasy, you feel the torrent of his seed pour into you, your womb overwhelmed with his warmth.

While your body uncontrollably spasms—your muscles still reeling with the aftershocks of your orgasm—you slowly come to. The blunt ache of his cockhead ramming against the back walls of your pussy blends with the sharp, stinging pain of overstimulation—the overwhelming sensations setting your nerves afire.

“T-Too deep,” you rasp out. Your eyes screw shut, tears rolling down your cheek. Above you, Toji chuckles. He bends down—a strangled sob spilling from your mouth when you feel his cock push deeper into you—and licks the wet trails up.

“Gotta be this deep to get ya nice and pregnant,” comes Toji’s instant response. You moan at his words, your pussy involuntarily clenching around him. “Mmmm, such a greedy cunt, milking my cock so nicely,” Toji hums.

Gradually, you drift back to reality, the high of your climax ebbing into a post-orgasmic fog. Breath laboured, the two of you heave for air. Feeling the dryness of your throat, you swallow thickly in a bid to lubricate the strained muscles of your oesophagus. As your mind slowly clears, you feel Toji slip his cock out of you and the inescapable sensation of his cum spilling out of you hits you like a freight train.

The weight of your morals returning to you shatters your bliss and, with a gasp, you try to push him off of you. From above you, Toji quirks an eyebrow. Nonetheless, you purposely avoid his eyes. You can’t believe you’ve just slept with a married man. And not just any married man, but the man married to your employer.

Oh, if Hisano finds out, you’re so screwed.

“Woah, what’s up, Princess?” Toji asks, his forefinger and thumb angling your chin to look at him.

“I-I should go before—” you begin. The shakiness of your voice betrays your panic, though, your nerves only turn to anger when you hear Toji chuckle. Eyes snapping to his, you glare at him. Toji only smirks back.

“We’ve separated, doll. She’s not coming back. Too busy fucking her boss,” Toji says. The admission stuns you, your anger fading into incredulity. Despite the gravity of his words, his tone is light, said in a devil-may-care manner that seems out of place considering he’d just admitted to his wife’s own infidelity.

“W-What?” you whisper.

In spite of the situation, you can’t help the flicker of glee that flitters through you and, seeing the odd inkling of joy twinkle in your eyes, Toji laughs, “Like it that much, huh, doll?”

“N-No.” Heat stains your cheeks, the tips of your ears burning as you stammer out in denial.

Toji snorts in response, “Don’t lie, I know ya like me Princess,” Toji reveals. Embarrassment flushes through you and in a bid to hide from his mischievous gaze, you cover your face with your hands. Your actions only has Toji snorting once more, “Can’t play the innocent little babysitter when yer so full of my cum dollface.”

As he speaks one of his hand slips between your thighs, his thick fingers pressing against your sloppy pussy. A wet, lewd squelch fills the air as he pushes two of the digits inside you, displacing his cum from your cunt and causing it to seep out of your battered, slightly gaping hole. A jolt of pleasure surges up your spine.

“T-Toji,” you whine. Before you can say anything else, however, Toji’s fingers retreat from within your slick depths, and instead, he presses his indurated shaft against your leaking hole once more. Eyes widening, you retreat from behind the cover of your hands to stare at him in incredulity. “Again? Already?” you ask in bewilderment.

“You didn’t think once would be enough, did you baby?” he gibes. With that, he pushes the bulbous head into you, the sudden stretch causing you to wince in pain. Leaning forward, Toji runs his nose over the corner of your jaw before taking the soft flesh of your earlobe between his teeth. Nibbling lightly, he almost purrs, “Didn’t Daddy say he was gonna get his pretty little baby pregnant?”

“S-Surely you weren’t being serious?” you gasp out, the sound morphing into a deep moan when Toji thrusts his cock into your silken cavern.

“Oh, I was being very serious, doll,” Toji chuckles lowly, the sound dark and devilish. Purposely, he lowers his voice, until the sound rumbles through the silent room, the rich timbre broken only by the wet sounds of his cock slowly fucking into you, “Daddy’s gonna fuck you until that pretty little cunt is filled with cum and your cute little womb is all swollen with my seed.”

The lasciviousness of his words isn’t lost on you. It’s wrong, you know it is. You can’t get pregnant, you’re almost half Toji’s age, not to mention, you’re still at university and he already has two children. Yet, you can’t deny the sheer thrill you feel as his words sink into you. Perhaps you’d lost your mind, erotic pleasure devouring any and every remnant of logical reasoning. Perhaps Toji really had fucked you stupid. Perhaps you never had any morality, or rationale, in the first place lusting after a married, older man. Whatever it is, though, you can’t seem to care. Especially not when Toji utters his next words.

“Hell, if you’re good for me, I may even make you my pretty little wife,” Toji coos with a promise. His voice is as sweet as sin, as tempting as the devil, and unable to resist, you wholeheartedly, and wilfully, throw yourself into his seduction.

Wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, your nails dig into their corded muscles and, “Please,” you all but beg.

A wolfish grin curls onto Toji’s scarred lips and eyes glinting with wickedness, “That’s my girl,” Toji praises.

a/n: listen. i have no excuse for the depths of this depravity.

m.list

[thestoryofella]

sunburnt

summary: after spending a day on the beach to take a break from London's constant noise, you end up sunburnt to a crisp. In an attempt to avoid Sirius's teasing, you desperately try to stay hidden. However, when you're finally forced to ask for help, you're reminded of the importance of choosing love over embarrassment.

warnings: fluff, swearing.

sirius black x reader ✿ 1275 words

After getting tired of the near-constant noise in London and the lack of scenery, you planned a solitary beach day to do nothing but read, lounge, and enjoy the nearly ice-cold pineapple you’d prepped the night before. You sprawled out under the sun from sunrise to near sunset, only dipping in the splashing, cold water when you woke up from a snoozy nap spent on a beach towel. Once the sun nearly set and you’d finished the book you packed for the day, you packed up your things and started the journey home.

When you reached the bus station to return to central London, you realized the issue, catching your reflection in the large, circular mirror near the bus driver. You had gotten burnt to a crisp during your beach day, and Sirius would never let you live it down.

Before you left in the morning, Sirius, ever the caring partner, had packed face sunscreen, body sunscreen, and aloe vera into your oversized tote bag. He had even checked if you had applied some in the morning before you rushed out the door. You, torn between the desire to lounge on the beach and the fear of missing the bus, had lied to him before planting a quick kiss on his cheek and dashing to the station. 

Now, you deeply regret not listening to him. In addition to your current appearance, your skin is inflamed, hot, scaly, and hurts to the touch. When you pressed down on your irritated skin, your fingers left an unmistakable mark associated with a severe sunburn. 

“Perfect,” you sarcastically muttered to yourself. 

When you finally stopped at the station closest to yours and Sirius’s shared flat, you walked quickly to get home, eager to shower with cold water and hopefully reduce the inflammation your sunburn caused. The plan was simple: you’d get home, dash to the shower, avoid Sirius for the rest of the night, and then what? After some consideration, you decide you’ll have to sleep with a paper bag over your head and in pajamas best suited for a nun. 

Once you reach your shared flat, you can hear Sirius inside cooking dinner. The low sizzle of sautéing vegetables and gentle humming is his giveaway. Quickly unlocking the door and tiptoeing inside, you sneak past the kitchen without detection until a creaking floorboard gives you away. 

Your heart lurches into your stomach. It’s no use being this sneaky over a sunburn, but you wanted to avoid Sirius’s teasing for as long as possible–even though you sometimes secretly loved it.

Sirius’s head turns to look at you, but you do not turn to face him. “Hi, dollface,” he says. You hear the words come out of his mouth, and you really want to turn around and greet him with a hug, but you are determined to avoid detection. 

You suck in a quick breath before tumbling out the words, “I gotta go hop in the shower before dinner, love you!” With that said, you run to the bathroom, your feet smacking down on the floorboards with each step before loudly closing the door. 

Great, that wasn’t suspicious at all, you think to yourself. You have the urge to facepalm your forehead before remembering the searing pain that would follow.

You hopped in the shower, sighing in relief when the cold water hit your inflamed back. Showering after days spent at the beach was the best. 

When you finally finished showering, you had devised a regimen to defeat your sunburn and hopefully avoid pain. You put thick lotion on every area of your sunburnt skin, planning to top it off with a layer of aloe vera gel for added measure. 

Things were going swimmingly. You’d lotioned every irritated limb and your unusually puffy cheeks–resembling a hamster with too much food in their mouth. That was until you tried to lotion your back and realized that your short arms and the searing pain of trying to stretch them due to sunburn would not make applying products easy. 

“No, no, no!” You exasperatedly muttered. You must swallow your pride to take care of your severely sunburnt back. The issue wasn’t that Sirius would be mean per se, but he would undoubtedly tease you before dotingly helping you. Plus, you really didn’t want him to know you had lied to him this morning, evading his attempts to prevent this in the first place. 

Defeat clouded your brain. Swallowing your pride, you peeked out the bathroom door before feebly calling, “Siri, can you help me quickly.” It wasn’t even a second later that you heard him set down plates and footsteps approaching your location. 

Now, face-to-face with your raven-haired boyfriend, you offered him a coy smile that silently said, please don’t be mad at me. His eyes slowly took in the sight of your sunburnt face. Unbeknownst to him, your back looked a lot worse. 

You stood in silence for only a second before he reacted exactly how you thought he would. He let a bellowing laugh escape his mouth before pressing a smiling kiss to your inflamed forehead. “What the hell happened to you? You look like a tomato!”

You were sure you did at this point. The combination of inflamed skin, paired with your now red cheeks from Sirius’s affectionate teasing, was sure to have reddened your skin. Honestly, you were surprised you didn’t look more like a beet. 

You playfully shoved his shoulder before cracking the door wide enough for him to sneak in. “Can you please just help me put some lotion and aloe vera on my back?” You tried to sound stern, but a smile still graced your lips. 

He let another laugh escape his mouth upon observing your sunburnt back. “I thought I packed your sunscreen, and you said you put some on before leaving.” 

You huffed in response, crossing your arms over your chest. “I know; I was just so eager to get to the beach and forgot to put some on,” you complained, slightly whining. 

“You know what I always tell you?” He asks.

“No,” you lied. You knew exactly what he was going to say. 

“Sirius knows best!” He nearly sings out before pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. 

“Sirius,” you whined out, not wanting to be reminded of your unfortunate errors. He usually knew best, but you would never in a million years admit that to him. 

“Okay, okay,” He laughs, holding his hands up in mock defense before gently lathering both lotion and aloe vera gel onto your inflamed back. 

You nearly sigh at the relief but hold your tongue, a feeble attempt to humble his enormous ego. Instead, you opt for a simple “thank you,” turning around to envelop his torso in a tight hug. He responds by kissing your forehead, not wanting to press his hands into your irritated back.

♡ ♡ ♡

By the end of the evening, you were honestly sure you had managed to avoid most of Sirius’s teasing. After he had helped you with your back earlier, you two had enjoyed dinner together and were currently cuddled up in bed, about to fall asleep. 

Leaning over to kiss under your ear–possibly the only part of your skin protected from the sun’s wrath–Sirius wrapped his arms around your waist and whispered, “Goodnight, tomato.”

You rolled your eyes, letting a noticeable sigh escape your lips. You felt Sirius’s chest move with gentle laughter as he delighted in your feigned annoyance. 

You truly were never going to live this down. But you realized you were willing to put up with it if it meant you could stay wrapped in Sirius’s arms forever.

[holylulusworld]

Big grumpy bear (3)

Summary: He’s grumpy. You are sweet. A match made in heaven.

Pairing: Alpha!Walter Marshall x OmegaReader

Warnings: a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, grumpy alpha, scenting, fluff, mentions of injuries

Catch up here: Big grumpy bear (2)

Big grumpy bear masterlist

You’re out of your mind. 

With a bag slung over your shoulder, a backpack on your back, and a basket full of groceries, you walk toward Walter’s house.

You’re not mad at him per se. It’s just that he got hurt and didn’t call you to ask you to take care of him, as he should.

You had to hear it from one of his colleagues. Rachel. His former lover, as you got to know a few months ago.

You’re fuming as you stand in front of his door and need to take deep breaths to get her stupid smirk out of your mind.

“I gotta take care of my alpha,” you cheer yourself up.

Walter is still a big grumpy bear, and always tells you he doesn’t like all the attention you give him. A lie, of course. In secret he loves that you take care of him, you’re sure about it.

Knocking at his door, you take another deep breath. Walter can say what he wants, but you’ll take care of him. He’s not going to stay alone while injured. 

“What?” Walter opens the door; he huffs and stares down at you, a gruff expression on his face. The alpha didn’t expect you to come to his home. “I got a few days off.”

“I know,” you tut. “I had to hear from Rachel that you got injured.” You walk around him to enter his house. “Come back inside. It’s cold, and raining. I need to check on your injuries. And I’ll cook for you.”

“Y/N…wait,” he closes the door, and follows you back inside, hot on your heels. “I can take care of myself.” Walter watches you place the basket on the kitchen counter before you drop the backpack next to your bag. “What’s all of this?”

“I had to bring a few things here, didn't I,” you smile softly as you unpack the basket. “I need clothes and toiletries while I take care of you. Now, sit on the couch, and I’ll be right there to check on you. I know how to nurse someone back to life.”

“I’m not sick,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. You watch him wince as his ribs are undoubtedly broken. “You can go home. Thanks for the visit, though.”

“I didn’t ask, alpha,” you put your hands on your hips. “I want you to sit on the sofa and wait for me. I’ll take care of my alpha.”

“I’m not your alpha,” he tries again, but his heart beats a little faster when you grab your bag and follow him toward the living room. “Seriously, you don’t have to waste your time.”

“Walter, I’m not wasting my time here.” You place the bag next to him on the couch. “I need you to take off your sweater. Let me check on your injuries. I know you’ve got broken ribs and bruises.”

“How’d you find out?” He grunts. “Did you steal my medical file, or extort my doctor?”

“Don’t be silly,” you giggle, and pat his thigh. “I asked nicely, and they gave me the information because I was worried about my alpha.”

“I’m not…” he sighs deeply. Fighting with you is a lost cause. “Fine. If I let you check on my ribs, will you leave me alone?”

You give him a stern look. “I won’t leave you here all alone while you are hurt. I will take care of you. Now, let me help you get out of your sweater. You are in pain; I can see it.”

“I’m…” Walter gives in. You are already tugging at his sweater, and he simply lifts his arms to let you shove the sweater up his body. “Satisfied?” He asks when you drop the sweater to the ground.

“Oh no! You are black and blue,” you whine while running your fingertips through the soft curls on his chest. You’d enjoy touching the alpha, but he’s injured, and you don’t want to hurt him. “I got my first aid kit.”

“Y/N,” he wrinkles his forehead but allows you to carefully touch him. “The doctor checked on me. He gave me pain meds and told me what to do.”

“I don’t care. To make sure that you don’t strain yourself, I’ll stay here and take care of you. I will ice your ribs to help you with healing and pain relief.” You are unimpressed by his grumpy demeanor. “After I’m done with your ribs, I’ll start cooking. You will rest a bit and let me help you.”

“You won’t leave me alone, right?” Walter cocks a brow. He should know by now that you are determined to take care of him. He grumbles under his breath and watches you rummage in your bag. “Uh-what’s for dinner?”

You smile widely at his question. “I will make your favorite meal, alpha. After, we can watch a movie, or talk. Of course, you need to rest and take your pain meds. But I’ll take care of all of this. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

Walter grins as you help him put his foot onto the couch. He watches you hover over him, and he can’t deny, having you around is nice…very nice…

Part 4

Tags in reblog.

[cxffecoupx]

the red mark on the calendar almost goes unseen when seokmin heads to work in the morning. the red mark that warns him to tread carefully; that you're gonna be unpredictable for the next few days; that your emotions are gonna be all over the place, and one wrong move can lead to waterworks and angry cries; that you crave comfort but are too shy to let out.

the notification that pops up right as he's about to leave work reminds him of some very urgent and important errands that he's gotta run before going back home.

an hour later, seokmin comes home to a dark living room and kitchen, and a dull light coming from your shared bedroom. he throws his work bag away and enters the bedroom to find you lying face down on the bed.

"hey baby," he beams and comes closer to press a fluttering kiss on top of your bed. you groan in return.

"i got some stuff for you," he says as he places the carry bags on the floor beside the bed. you reluctantly sit up.

seokmin can't help but let out an endearing smile, seeing your messy hair and puffy face. he pulls out the tub of chocolate ice cream from the bag and hands it to you with the wooden spoon (that breaks after two scoops). you don't mind though, more focused on finishing the tub that provides relief from the pain.

the approaching red mark may signal your upcoming emotional turbulence, but seokmin doesn't mind. after all, it's also the time when he gets to take extra care of you.

desperately in need of a tub of chocolate ice cream (and a seokmin) right now.

[artemisgrayy]

Your Unlikely Hero (pt. 2) [Alastor x Reader]

Read Part 1 here

✨ Masterlist ✨

18+ - Minors DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: Alastor x Reader, Fem!reader, more fluff than Angel Dust's chest, Ace Alastor, Awkward Alastor, Soft Alastor, trauma

[Artist source ^ ✨]

--

Flashes of chaos invade the darkness that envelopes you. Like a radio fighting to find a signal underground, the glimpses you’re awarded are muddled and fleeting.

“Will she be-”

Darkness.

“Quick grab the-”

Darkness.

“-re losing her.”

More darkness.

You hear screaming. Is it your scream? All you can focus on is the pain ripping through you like a tidal wave as if someone lit a whole stack of fireworks on your leg.

Another scream. You’re positive that one came from you. As soon you feel the pressure applied to the wound you instinctively thrash around.

The darkness swallows you whole.

***

You awake with a start.

The first thing you notice is the pain. While not as intense as before, you can still feel the aching pulse in your thigh with every minuscule movement. You lift the sheet and breathe a sigh of relief when you see your leg is still there, wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage. You reach out to touch it, wincing at even the slightest pressure. Releasing the sheet, you sink your aching head back into the pillow of what you realize is a guest room at the hotel.

The smell of disinfectants is almost suffocating, stinging your already heavy-lidded eyes as you look around. The room is dark, save for the segments of light cutting across the crimson carpet from the window. You notice the collection of pill bottles scattered on the nightstand beside you, the IV bag hooked into your arm to the right of it. Red wallpaper, delicately laced with apple-shaped gold detail covers the walls. Pillows are strewn across the floor, pools of blood surround and paint over them.

Everything is quiet. Dead quiet.

Your thoughts spin furiously as you attempt to recount the events that transpired. You feel your eyebrows furrow when you start with the closest memory. You remember Alastor displaying affection in a way you had never seen before. A way you never thought he was capable of.

Did you dream that? No, you distinctly remember the warmth of his forehead on yours and the feeling of his breath across your face. Your heart flip flops at the memory, and your cheeks burn, forcing a smile across your face. The movement of those muscles draws your attention to the ache around your throat. You wince instinctively and delicately brush your fingertips across the skin of your neck when you feel the raised hand-shaped mark.

Your stomach drops. The memory of their cause becomes clear as day.

You remember the look in Adam’s eye — the hungry, maniacal look of entitlement as his gaze swallowed you whole, moments before he planned to claim your body as his toy.

Your chest constricts, tears covering your eyes in a warm haze — the soul-crushing realization of what could have transpired sinking in. You almost lost everything. When the first tear escapes, the air around you suddenly goes ice cold. Thick blankets of shadow laced with the familiar emerald electrical storm ascend through the floor and take the shape of the Radio Demon.

The look of pure devastation soaked in Alastor’s eyes contrasts with his permanent, sinister smile. His eyebrows knit together, desolation soaks through the ruby-red glow of his eyes. Despite this, he doesn’t move. His body language suggests his urge to step forward, but he remains motionless.

You can’t stop the guttural sobs that follow when you’re enveloped in his presence. You’re reminded of the safety you felt cradled in his arms when your world nearly collapsed around you.

“I.. I thought,” You whimper through stuttered gasps, “he almost-”

Every sob that escapes your aching throat burns as if the grip that previously held it firm never released its hold. That was enough for Alastor to move, the shadows morphing into a trail leading to the spot beside you. He’s on his side, one hand supporting his head while the other awkwardly reaches out, his clawed fingers combing through your tangled hair as you crumble beneath his touch.

“I wanted to wrench his soul from his body with my bare hands,” begins the demon, disdain saturating his radio-filtered voice, “Nothing would have brought me more joy than to broadcast his terrified screams to all of Pentagram city for the appalling behaviour that disrespectful wretch displayed towards you, my doe.” Darkness invades his gaze, a terrifying murderous expression haunting his face.

“Why did you-” you begin hacking, the dryness of your throat preventing you from finishing your question. Searing pain fires through every nerve as your body convulses. Alastor’s demeanor snaps back to normal, concern taking over his features. He raises his hand, materializing a glass of water, and hands it to you. The coolness coats your throat as you furiously chug the liquid allowing you to steady your breathing. “Why did you come for me?” you finally manage to get out, turning your head towards Alastor. Your noses nearly touch and the familiar feeling of his breath skirts across your face.

“Well darling, you were in trouble.”

“A lot of people were in trouble. I could hear the screams from the roof of the hotel.”

He ponders that for a moment, his eyes narrowing while he chews over his words.

“The thought of losing you was one I couldn’t fathom.” Alastor finally spits out reluctantly, his eyes shifting away from yours, “and unfortunately I didn’t realize that until the moment you were almost taken from me.”

Silence follows as you watch him sink deep into his thoughts. The glow of his eyes dim, the saturation draining from them. You carefully reach out, ignoring the stinging caused by every movement you make. He recoils slightly, and you pause, carefully inspecting his body language before you push forward. You run your fingers through his crimson hair, gently brushing it away from his face, and his eyes find yours again.

“Hate to break it to you, but I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, pushing your forehead against his.

You feel his claws wrap around the back of your head, clutching a fistful of hair as he pulls you into an embrace. His teeth gently graze against your neck and the smell of pine invades your senses as he holds you against him. A breath escapes your lips against his ear, your body suddenly craving him, and you suck your lip between your teeth.

“Careful darling,” Alastor whispers against your skin, his hot breath sending a flurry of goosebumps across your neck, “you may be alive, but you have quite the road to recovery ahead of you.”

He pulls away and looks down at you through half-lidded eyes, his sinful gaze lapping you up as you melt beneath his touch. Disregarding his warning you push your face forward, hopeful to get a taste of him, but the motion causes a painful reminder of the trauma to fire through your broken body. You cry out, tears misting your eyes.

He chuckles at your attempt, “Tasty.”

You scowl at his remark and collapse into your pillow groaning.

“I best be off, you need to rest, my doe. Don’t hesitate to summon me if you need anything.” he taps your nose before melting into his shadow form. “I’ll be remembering that promise of yours. You best keep it.”

Something has changed with him, and you find yourself overwhelmed with intrigue as he disappears through the floor of the room. His last words echo through your head:

“I’ll be remembering that promise of yours. You best keep it”

It wasn’t a request.

---

Gosh I love writing Alastor, and your prompts have been fueling me so thank you! Let me know what you think of this continuation 👀

Writing has been a bit more sporadic with real life stuff going on! I'm working through the requests as we speak 💖

--

✨ Master list ✨

[thedeathwitchescats]

My collection of tips for people who are just now developing a chronic illness or just now realizing they have one. ((As someone who has only been struggling with mine for a little over a year))

-dont blame yourself for not being able to do what you used to. Your body used to do its job to a better degree than it does now. You are not lazy bc your taking more breaks or bc you cant get out of bed. Your taking care of yourself. I struggle with this all the time. Especially considering my living situation. Shit doesnt get done when I dont do it but I simply cant sometimes.

-that leads me into my next point. Take advantage of your good days, but dont overwork yourself just bc your "not feeling chronically ill." When you have the energy, start the laundry, do the dishes, take out the trash, but still take breaks as needed

-keep a set of your meds literally everywhere. I have a pill box I specifically keep in my car with a weeks worth of my morning meds. I have a three sets of my most important meds in my bag at all times. I have pain meds stashed in every crevasse they could be stashed. Trust me, when your running late and you get half way to work before you realize you havent taken your meds your gonna want to be able to reach into your glove box and take them rq

-buy the mobility aid. You think you need a brace bc a specific joint hurts like hell and wont stay in place?? Get it. You cant walk for long periods of time and think a cane would help?? Get it. You think a shower chair would do you good so you dont pass out with shampoo in your eyes and naked?? Get it. Just get it. Walmart sells canes for under ten bucks and they work really well. They also have extra tips in a two back for 2.50. Dollar tree has braces and like 12 different pain creams. Five below also has some braces and quite a few pain relief options. You can also get them cheap on sites like shein or Amazon and sometimes depop. ((I know I know, dont support those sites but a bitch is broke and two bucks for compression socks is a fucking steal)) You can also sometimes find wheelchairs and canes and crutches at goodwill. It isnt a guarantee but its a good option if you need smt cheap. ((Be careful and check that their not broken before you buy))

-take the pain meds. Put on the pain cream. Ice that joint. You dont get brownie points for toughing it out and it will help your health in the long run. If someone looks at you like your weak for taking smt to help with your pain, their the problem, not you.

-create a good support system. Find the people who will drop their brand new iced coffee to stop you from slamming your head into the ground during a fainting spell. They are out there. Find them and hold onto them for dear fucking life

-try to make the best of what you can do every day. Put on cute earrings. Buy cute compression socks. Get braces that fit your vibe. Put stickers on your mobility aids. Put pins on your bag. Carry a cute weighted stuffie for when you need some extra comfort. Make the most of what you are capable of doing.

[stubz]

grandma said

"I wonder what's taking Max so long?" mumbled the human, waiting with several younglings and children for the other human to come so that they can leave the centre.

"Kim can we go now?"

"Not until Max and Ezshi come."

"But Ezshi takes light years to get ready~" whined the child.

"I know but--"

A wail like no other echoed throughout the halls. The screams bounced off the walls into the human's body, from their heart to their skull they felt the vibrations of the child.

"Cover your ears and stay here!" they said before sprinting inside the classroom.

The wailing grew the closer they got to the source which was little Ezshi who was being comforted by the other human.

"What happened?!" even at Kim's loudest her yells were easily drowned out the reptilian's wails and cries.

Max pointed at the youngling and she looked down to see their tail swollen and slightly discolored. He then drew her attention to the door leading outside of the centre.

Ah shit it had to be the tail. As younglings Caimunes had incredibly sensitive tails as they were still developing the necessary healing abilities to allow them to regrow them.

'Anyting I can do?' she texted.

'Just take the others to the garden without us. Ezshi' cries r probably hurting some of their ears. Text management to send over a sub in my place and close the door to muffle the noise.'

'K, gud luck' and with that she left leading the younglings far away from the pained wails.

.

..

...

What the hell do I do!? They don't want an ice pack or a cold cloth or me to even breath on it and it'll be at least another 15 minutes till Eza get's here...

The poor human had spent the last 15 minutes trying to comfort and help the youngling to no avail. He tried applying first aid but Ezshi wailed even louder at the thought of anything touching their tail. The human then tried soothing them with words and rubbing circles on their back but that had only worked for mere seconds at a time.

So far the only thing he managed to do was give them a pillow to sit on and reassure them that their Bubba was coming as fast as they can.

A Caimunes tail is the most sensitive body part, equivalent to a human's fingers or toes...think think think. This isn't that far from when I slammed my finger in the closet door so what was done to help me?

He cried; just like Ezshi. He didn't want anyone to touch it; just like Ezshi. He calmed down but that was because he trusted his parents when they put his hand under cold water.

There has to be something...

"Oh." and Ezshi whimpered for the human had gotten up and went to the small kitchen they had.

*wHinNE*

"Don't worry I'm coming back buddy. I just remembered something that could help. Something my Grandma once said." they opened the top cupboard and came back with a small bag.

"Now don't tell anyone about this because this is for next week," he took out a small wrapped upped square and began to open it, "but my Grandma said that it's harder to be sad when eating something sweet so we're going to give it a try." he placed the small smooth square into the youngling's claw.

They sniffed it then plopped it into their mouth. It was strange to them. It was hard but then chewy and sticky. Sweet but tangy.

"It's called a Starburst. A candy from Earth."

The youngling started to cry once again but to the human's relief it was a much quieter cry.

"What does it taste like?"

"...*whimper*"

"Is it sweet?"

Nod*

"Kinda tangy?"

Shake*

A little sour?"

Shake*

"Just sweet?"

Nod*

"Huh, usually I find that flavor to be a little tangy. It's cherry by the way."

"...can I have another one?"

"Of course."

They sat like that until Eza came. Max fed Ezshi different flavors and asked them questions about the flavor until he had them try and guess which flavor they were eating. By then the cries were far and few between one another.

Later when the Caimunes had left the human was contacted by the med bay about a hearing test as 90% of those who hear a youngling Caimun wail go deaf. Max was ultimately fine and actually found the experience interesting as he had experienced a full inner/outer body vibration from the soundwaves coming from Ezshi

[entomolog-t]

The cold weather has me absolutely FERAL for cold weather G/t meet cutes (and not so cutes).

Like, maybe a borrower is looking for a particular item their resident human keeps in their purse/backpack etc... and while routing through it, they happen to miss the sound of the human's alarm going off (much earlier than their normal routine). They don't, however, miss the sound of them barreling down the stairs. Before their mind can form any semblance of a coherent thought, they're sent sprawling back as their whole world seems to flip as the human haphazardly grabs the back and rushes out the door.

The car rumbles to a start- and they hear the muffled sound of the human swearing and the door opening and closing again. They risk a peak outside the bag and see the human preoccupied with scraping ice of the window.

In a snap decision, they clamber out of the bag, hiding themselves in whatever spot they can manage. This was fine. They'd have to figure a way back in the bag later, but the human never left the house for longer than a few hours at a time. They'd never actually been in a car before- and the air that was being blasted through it was warmer than expected. Perhaps they notice some travel snacks laying about.

This would be fine...

Right?

Hours later the borrower is deeply regretting their choice to abandon the bag, having learned that the car, unlike the house, does not stay warm while the human isn't inside. They can hear the wind howling outside.

In the beginning it was almost peaceful. Watching the snow fall from the safety of a still bearably warm vehicle, sheltered from the ruthless wind outside... but as the chill sets in, so too does the panic.

They try to take their mind off the cold, moving around, exploring the vehicle to stave off both the chill and boredom alike, though their curiosity is short-lived.

Hours pass, the winter sun too quickly setting in the horizon, and taking with it what little warmth it offered. If they're lucky, maybe there's a discarded glove or hat left laying about that they can take some degree of shelter in, though it offers little relief.

They don't remember falling asleep, but they do remember waking- their body racked with brutal shivers, teeth clacking together as they curln in on themselves. It's dark. Though in the pale light of the moon, they catch the soft puffs of their breath in the air.

The approach of footsteps is both terrifying and relieving simultaneously. The borrower scrambles out of sight and lets out a barely audible sigh of relief as the car rumbles to a start, slowly bringing warmth back into the vehicle.

Their relief, however, is short-lived. The human tosses their bag in the back with a huff- out of reach of the borrower. They panic the whole ride back, trying to come up with some semblance of a plan but- nothing.

The human drives, eyes barely managing to focus on the road. Exam season was painful. They'd spent the whole day on campus trying to cram a semesters worth of material into their brain. They hadn't meant to stay so late, but their practice exams had gone... not great.

As they pulled into their parking spot, they could practically hear their bed calling their name. Though, as they go to exit the car, they hear something else entirely.

"Wait!"

They swallow. A strange feeling of dread pricking at the back of their neck as they realize the voice had come from their own car. Frantically, their eyes scan the car, thankfully seeing no person hiding in the back.

Just as they're about to dismiss it as some sleep deprived strangeness, they see it. A small figure, standing frozen on their passenger seat. Even at their tiny size, they're visible shaking.

"Please... I-" they seem at a loss for words. Maybe they don't know how to explain the situation, maybe they don't want to. The only thing they know for sure is they absolutely do not want to stay in the car another second.

---

AHHH ! I love cold tiny meet cutes so much!! Especially when it differs a bit from the classic "tiny passed out in snow"

Anyways! Enjoy my current flavor of g/t brain rot😘

[ghostedeabha]

simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

wc: 894

warnings: chronic illness, mentions of acid reflux and nausea, mentions and descriptions of chronic pain. it's implied that reader is autistic and adhd but never explicitly mentioned. migraines. other than that, pure fluff.

a/n: this is absolutely a personal lil comfort fic i wrote bc i'm chronically ill and disabled lol. hope y'all enjoy. i tried to keep it broad and not mention specific illnesses so anyone with a chronic disability can read, but my experience with chronic illnesses and disabilities are based solely on my own and thus may accidently exclude certain illnesses.

it was more often than not that simon came home to the flat like this, and it never failed to break his heart a little bit every time. dirty dishes untoched in the sink, clothes strewn about. just generally messy and dirty.

it’s not as if simon had left the flat alone during his deployment, quite the opposite in fact. and anyone who knew that fact and saw the state of the flat would probably tell simon that his girlfriend was clearly lazy and didn't care for his things.

simon, however, knew that was far from the truth. he stepped over the dirty clothes and past the sink of dirty dishes, he’d deal with all that later, and made his way to the bedroom where he knew he’d find his love. find her in the exact spot he had left her no doubt.

his suspicions only confirmed when he opened the door slowly, giving it a gentle knock first as to alert her of his arrival. as he stepped into the room, placing his bag down by the door as he closed it behind him, he looked over to his girlfriend, curled up in a pile of blankets in the dark room. simon took note that the lights were completely shut off and the blackout curtains pulled over the window.

“hey bunny…” simon says quietly as he approaches the bed with careful steps, his deep, gruff voice barely a whisper. “got a migraine?”

his girlfriend’s response came in the form of just slightly moving blankets and a small face poking out from a tiny hole in the pile of warmth and plush. her pretty face etched with that permenant pout she had when she was having flare ups.

she needn’t respond to his question for him to know her answer.

“take your migraine medicine?” simon asks gently again, no condescending intentions, he knew the answer was one of two things. ‘yes and it barely helped’ or ‘no, i have none left’

when his girlfriend shakes her head no, he instantly knows that the latter option is her current situation, and his heart breaks further. it was too late to take those meds now, even if he ran to the pharmacy just up the road and got her refill. they were preventative meds, not relief.

“would you like to go to the hospital?” simon questions further, he holds up both hands and his girlfriend pokes the right.

‘no.’

“okay, then… how about i go and get you some chips and a soda? maybe that combo will help, want to try that luvie?” he suggests, his hands held up again.

this time she pokes the left.

‘yes.’

“perfect.” simon responds, kissing her blanketed forehead. “i’ll be back in 10 with a large chips and a large dr. pepper. want anything else? have you eaten at all today?”

yet again his lovely girlfriend shakes her head no and her hand pokes out to point towards her lanyard on the nightstand.

“your cards?” simon asks, despite this he’s already grabbing the shark lanyard and handing it to his baby.

she takes it with a weak, forced smile. only on her lips to show her love and gratitude for his help before the mask slips and her pained pout returns to her face. no big deal, simon understands it’s not a reflection on her feelings to him.

uncapping the marker she writes on the blank, laminated card on her lanyard, part of a set of communication cards.

'didn't eat. too much nausea and acid reflux.’

“oh, okay. then just the chips and soda.” simon confirms with a firm nod. “i’ll be back in 10, doll.”

and as promised, he’s back in 10 minutes flat. ice, cold dr. peper and some hot, salty chips in his possession. a small smile on his face at the sight of slight progress in his lover’s state, instead of a pitch black room she sat in a mostly dim room with the tv quietly playing an episode of Bob’s Burgers.

“here y’are. made sure to get them nice and hot. want some ketchup?” simon says with a gentle tone, a stark contrast to the man he had to be just 12 hours prior.

when she nods, simon is quick to go to the kitchen, coming back with the bottle of ketchup for his beloved. he sits on the bed next to the blanket monster that his girlfriend currently was and handed the bottle of ketchup to her, holding out a little cup for her to squirt however much she wanted into.

even moments like these simon treasured. many would see his girlfriend as a burden, why? well he wasn't really sure. but simon didn't. he felt a sense of purpose being able to help her when she needs it, plus, what was better than coming home from deployment and snuggling with his princess? even if his princess was more of a blanket moutain than anything right now.

the two adjusted to make them both comfortable and cozy, blankets surrounding them both as simon held his darling close, large hands gently rubbing up and down her sides in a soothing manner, happy to relax with her and watch tv.

simon would take this here, over the battlefield anyday.

[jen-with-a-pen]

F O X ＨＵＮＴ

summary: Not only has HYDRA executed their infiltration on S.H.I.E.L.D., but they have also reclaimed their finest weapon. Your safety isn't the only thing that's compromised.

pairings: WS!Beefy!Bucky Barnes x F!Avenger!Reader

word count: 6.1k

warnings: chasing, being hunted down, implied n0n-con elements, canon-level violence, cursing, implied t0rture, blood, beat1ngs, forced nud1ty, language, HYDRA-level cruelty, Bucky gets Brainwashed (again), there's Steve x Reader if you squint REALLY REALLY hard

read here on ao3!

a/n: This was inspired by last year's Whumptober Day 2: NOWHERE TO RUN - CORNERED, CAGED AND CONFRONTATION. I know it's February JUNE, but shit came up and my motivation tanked lmao thanks adhd med trials Literally have never done a dark(er?) fic before and this one has been cooking for god knows how fucking long now. I hope y'all like it <3 (also the hydra victory au is something i discovered from the lovely @lunarbuck reset series and stewed obsessively over for literal months now. still obsessed with it whoops)

dividers by @firefly-graphics | gif by @lost-shoe | @hydravictrix

my ao3 | my masterlist

Translations

Lisitsa | лисица - fox/little fox

Soldat | солдат - soldier

Syuda | сюда - over here

Khitraya suka | хитрая сука - sly bitch

Moy priz | мой приз - my prize

Glupaya pizda | глупая пизда - stupid cunt

Moye | мое - mine

The infiltration was subtle at the start.

A few missions gone mysteriously wrong, agents killed in action or disappearing entirely, hacks that were, thankfully, contained within an inch of a full-blown data breach. All of it seemed so coincidental when it happened, swept under the rug each and every single time before Director Fury could have a swear-filled say as to what the hell was going on. 

But hindsight is 20/20. It always is.

The day S.H.I.E.L.D. fell was, ironically, the perfect day: brilliant sunshine, clear blue skies, a breeze weaving between the towering buildings and skyscrapers. It was almost eerie, in a way, how perfect of a day it was. 

You found yourself in the gym, Steve and Sam hashing it out on whose turn it was in sparring. You had all but knocked Sam out cold in the previous round as Steve watched from behind the ropes, cheering you on with a cocky, proud grin as he watched all of his hard work in your training pay off.

Of course, the stubborn ass he was, Sam wanted another go. 

“C’mon, Steve! I wanna rematch!” Sam protested, gesturing wildly in your direction with one hand while his other held an ice pack to his bruised temple. Steve stifled a laugh, tossing a glance over his shoulder to you. You shook your head, smiling back as you gulped down the rest of your water bottle. Cool strands spilled out from the corners of your lips and down your chest. You welcomed the relief from the sweat gluing your t-shirt to your skin. 

“How ‘bout I take Steve instead of giving you another concussion?” you retorted, giggling as Sam shot a narrow look at you. He huffed, forfeiting his argument by waving a dismissive hand. 

“Fine, ’m gonna go find some pain meds,” he grumbled, turning to point a swollen finger at Steve. “I better see you in the infirmary next, Cap.” 

He stomped off through the metal doors and left the two of you in silence.

“Whaddya say, sweetheart? You up for round two?” Steve teased, stepping under the ropes and into the ring. He wrapped his hands as he moved to the center, muscle memory carrying him while keeping his eager gaze on you. His eyes carried excitement as they journeyed up and down your figure, rolling his lip between his teeth as he drank you with his stare. 

You did little to hide your pride at the Captain checking you out, chewing the corner of your cheek to tame your own smirk at the beautiful blond. You turned away, hiding the heat from your cheeks as you tossed your bottle at your bag. You weaved under the ropes, coming face to face with your willing opponent in the center. You lifted your chin to meet his, the hidden smirk on your lips growing into a grin.

“With you? Always, old man,” you purred. You tossed him a teasing wink as you positioned your fists in front of you, feet planted firmly in the starting stance. Steve lingered on you for a second longer, tongue swiping across his lips hungrily as he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, raising his hands to mirror you.

The two of you began to circle one another, dancing in a familiar pattern you knew by heart. Steve took his first swipe at you and you ducked, managing a hit to his stomach. A grunt escaped from him– not of hurt but of thrill. He lunged for you as you dodged again, blocking his failed strike to your head. 

“Wow! You really can’t teach an old dog new tricks!” you taunted, dodging another blow, his wrapped fist only grazing your shoulder. You rolled it back, holding back a slight wince as you continued the violent waltz. 

You lunged at him, instead faltering and falling to the ground. Readying the curse on your tongue, it stopped short of your lips as you looked up at Steve. 

He stood frozen in place, panting, fists at his sides clenching tighter and tighter. As you opened your mouth to unload even more cursing questions, screeching erupted from the loudspeakers around the room. High-pitched tones screaming above, a robotic voice speaking clinically and quickly. You scrambled off the floor, unease creeping in as you latched onto Steve’s arm, his arm tensing under your touch.

CODE WHITE. CODE SILVER. ALL SECURITY AND TEAM UNITS URGENTLY NEEDED. 40th FLOOR. THREAT IS ACTIVE AND HIGHLY DANGEROUS. REPEAT. CODE WHITE. CODE SILVER. ALL SECURITY AND TEAM UNITS–

The message had cut out, static replacing it alongside the echoing alarms throughout the hallways outside the gym. You looked up at Steve. Anxiety surged upon finding his face devoid of all blood, his jaw slack, eyes boring into the metal doors leading to the hallway. He looked scared. 

You’d never seen Steve scared before. 

“Steve, what the fuck was that–”

“Get to the locker rooms and hide,” he ordered. He pulled his arm from you, jumping over the ropes and sprinting to his duffel bag on the floor. He pulled out his phone and dialed frantically as he ran to the doors. 

“Steve!” You stood trembling in the ring as your stomach churned. 

“Now!” he yelled. “I’ll come back for you!” 

He didn’t wait to hear your response as he slammed the gym doors shut, followed by a whir and click.

He locked you in. 

You didn’t– couldn’t– hesitate as a surge of urgency overtook you. You needed to hide. Now. Fast.

Your legs carried you as you jumped out of the ring and raced to grab your duffel bag, sprinting to the back of the gym through another set of double doors. You wove through the tiled maze of the locker room searching for some sort of hiding spot, settling on the showers. You snuck over to the stall at the very end, the closest one to the emergency exit, and ducked under the opaque plastic curtain. Your bag fell to the floor as you climbed onto the stall seat. Blood pumped in your ears, thumping as quickly as your shaky, shallow breathing. Millions of thoughts and questions and worries rushed through your mind at impossible speeds.

White and Silver. Which alert was that for?

You racked through fleeting memories, distant recollections of training and orientation from months ago, searching for anything remotely familiar. You remembered all of the other codes– red, orange, teal– but no white, no silver. 

A faint buzzing sounded from inside your duffel. You lunged, unzipping it and fishing out your phone. Natasha. Her name lit up the screen and you frantically hit the answer key before the call could even think about dropping.

“Where the fuck are you?” Her panicked voice hissed into your ear. Her edged tone was enough to make your stomach backflip faster. 

“Locker rooms, forty-fifth floor. What the fuck is going on, Nat?” Your voice shook as anger and confusion boiled in your blood.

A muffled swear. “Where’s Steve?”

“He ran out, locked me in, told me to hide.” More incoherent curses.

“Fuck, fuck, okay, look, trust me on this, you need to stay where you are, okay? I can get you out, I–” 

High-pitched ringing overtook the speaker, sending you reeling away from the receiver. Static echoed out of the speakers.

“You what? Natasha!”

“No– time– you–”

“Natasha! Hello?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You tore the phone away from your ear and choked back the bile rising in your throat. Service was out. The blinking bars at the top of the screen mocked you and your sudden plunge into isolation. 

The lights went next. 

The dull fluorescents flickered. Someone cut the electricity, sending you into almost darkness as the backup generator lights kicked on. Scattered lights from above cast an eerie yellow glow over the shower tiles. You’d only seen this kind of outage happen once before, when New York was hit with Hurricane Noah a few years back.

The fear you felt in that storm paled in comparison to what you felt now.

You sighed, shaky and surrendering, and pulled your body closer to you on the shower bench. A chill snaked its way down your spine as your skin brushed the cool ceramic, an unwelcome addition to the cold already enveloping you. Your sweat-soaked t-shirt and shorts failed to aid you and your aching muscles. Fingernails dug into your kneecaps in a struggle to stop trembling as you tried to focus on your breathing. Inhaling, exhaling, in, out. Screwing your eyes shut, praying to any deity imaginable it was all just a drill, it was all an accident or a misunderstanding or–

The ground shook as a loud bang echoed from outside the locker room. A panicked yelp escaped your throat before your hands could scramble and cover your mouth. You froze as the tremors subsided and listened. It, or they, sounded close. 

Too close. 

Another BANG! Then another. 

Rhythmic, steady blows, each quicker and more powerful than the last. Hands clamped tighter over your lips until your blood froze at the sounds of crushing steel and crumbling concrete. The lump in your throat grew as horrific realization flooded over you. 

They, or it, broke in.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it– those doors were more fortified than Tony’s lab. Four-inch-thick, steel and plexiglass doors with a three-tier secured locking system. Nothing, nobody– not even the strongest Super Soldier– was powerful enough to make the faintest of dents in them.

Racing through who, or what, could have possibly broken into the gym, your train of thought derailed as echoes of men yelling indecipherable words and mixed commands shattered the remaining air of safety you clung to. Listening intently, a mix of combat boots and tactical gear filtered in with the echoed commands.

The S.T.R.I.K.E. Team.

Your legs begged for reprieve from crouching, but your body disobeyed and froze you in place. Part of you didn’t trust who was outside. Footsteps and gruff voices became heavier, closer. The relief that greeted you was replaced again by panic as you listened closer.

Clear, Russian commands resonated at the entrance to the locker rooms. They were coming in. 

Your breath hitched, blood running cold as footsteps closed in. It was one person, but their steps didn’t sound like the heavy boots before them. They sounded more like…

Sneakers?

The rubber from the intruder’s shoes squeaked on the tiled floors. Ragged breathing echoed off the walls. A low growl, accompanied by quiet whirring. Someone big, someone mean. 

Your heart made its way to your throat as the intruder inched closer. Slow, methodical, as if trained in search and rescue. 

It didn’t feel like a rescue.

The lump almost turned into a scream as an echoed BANG carried from the bathroom stalls around the corner. Silence followed, then a growl, then another BANG. The cycle repeated for the remaining stalls, the intruder slowly creeping along. Growls became deeper upon each disappointment. 

Hostages. They were looking for hostages.

Soles squeaked as the intruder changed course, stomping around the corner to search the line of shower stalls. You hiccuped a sob, realizing tears started to trail down your cheeks. Biting your palm only proved a lame attempt to calm your racing heart, a scream threatening to leave your throat as they began tearing the plastic curtains off the stalls. Each clang of metal cracking onto the tile became closer as you ground your teeth into the meat of your hand. Eyes screwed shut, silent prayers raced in your head, pleading to wake up; to wake up from this hellscape of a sick, twisted nightmare. 

The intruder’s steps stopped. 

Your eyes opened, widening at the blurred, hulking shadow standing outside of your stall. They had to be well over six feet. Towering, bulky, monstrous. 

Slowly, the shadow’s hand reached for the curtain. One by one, its fingers closed around the plastic’s edge, preparing to rip it down and rip you open. Eyes burning, hot tears felt like molten metal as you attempted to make yourself as small as possible in your corner, huddling your knees as close as they could be. This was it. This was the end. You prayed– actually fucking prayed– hoping they couldn’t hear your pathetic whimpering, hoping they would make this quick, painless; break your neck or put a gun to your head and get it over with. Leave your body for someone else to find.

“Soldat, syuda!” 

The command made your heart stop.

The shadow froze, stopped by a call from the entrance to the locker room. Skin met your teeth as you bit harder into your hand. Lungs began panicking as you started hyperventilating, bile reaching your throat and burning the back of your tongue. 

The shadow, the monster, growled in protest. It retracted the curled hand from the curtain, wordlessly moving back towards the bathroom stalls. Footsteps faded as muffled conversation floated away from the locker room.

You needed to get the fuck out of there. 

You slid off the bench, legs aching and knees popping as you crouched silently over to the curtain, peeking out behind the plastic. It crinkled quietly and you bit your lip, leaning out ever so slightly over the threshold. 

Tiptoeing around the corner, you faced the emergency exit. The glowing sign omitted a creepy, green glow that added to the eeriness brought by the generator lights. 

This was it.

You slammed the push bar down, throwing the door open with your body and spilling out into the hallway. Sunlight flashed through the infinite glass hallway, blinding you. In your frozen state, you hear commotion from behind the door as it slammed shut. Banging from the other side, the sound of metal on metal, made your teeth grind. Indents from punches dented the door, deforming its smooth outside. You didn’t stay frozen for long as your body screamed at you to fucking move, now.

Your legs obeyed immediately, carrying you through the corridor to the closest means of escape you could find. As you rounded the corner, the crushing sounds of the door breaking off of its hinges hit your ears. You didn’t dare to look back, sprinting through the twists and turns of the infinite hallway. You followed what felt familiar, burning muscles egged on by the sound of pounding footsteps getting closer and closer.

Finally, you stumbled onto the entrance to a stairwell, pausing to gasp for air your lungs demanded. The burn in your legs and chest only aided in the physiological need to hyperventilate. Sweat dripped from your temple and your head pounded as hard as your feet hitting the ground. 

You leaned into the safety bar, inches away from further distancing yourself from whatever, whoever, was on your trail, when a yell erupted from the end of the hallway. 

It felt like slow-motion; one of those scenes in those cheesy horror movies Sam always made you and Steve watch on weekends off. The ones with cheap FX, bad sound, but somehow great editing for the budget. The scenes where realization hits the main character and suddenly everything is half the speed while they still move in real time. 

You turned your head towards the source. Then, it hit you. Blood drained from your face as the horror of realization hit you, like a speeding sixteen-wheeler head on.

Bucky Barnes stood hulking at the end of the hallway. Generator lights and setting sun illuminated his snarling teeth, gleaming from parted lips that had him panting like a rabid dog. If you hadn’t known better it would’ve looked like he was heading for the gym for his daily workout. Blown pupils, sweat-stuck hair, complimented by a shaking frame– most definitely caused by adrenaline, dopamine, and a slew of Gods-knew-what other drugs he had pumped into his system. Splotches of drying, smeared blood coated his neck and shirt while even more dripped onto the ground from his fists. The crimson contrasted with the medically white floors. 

Bile rose in your throat again. The acidic taste made you dry heave at the sight of the blood, knowing from the looks of Bucky it definitely wasn’t his.

He snarled as your eyes finally met. Fists of flesh and metal flexed. Rippling muscles shook as he readied to launch forward.

“You’re mine, lisitsa!” he barked. His voice booming louder than the speed of sound, it made your ears ring.

Your throat finally opened. You screamed as he sprinted towards you, making more ground down the hallway than an apex predator out of hibernation. You shoved the exit door open, heaving your legs forward as you ascended the stairs. No choice but to go up, you refused to look back– nay you didn’t dare to even consider it. Muscles and tendons and joints burned, yearning for you to stop, but the door slamming from flights below you only pushed you harder, flying up and passing floor after floor. 

You were fast, but he was faster. 

Dizziness overtook you as your vision began to blur. Darkened edges of your peripherals made you stop your climb at level 50, pausing for a split second to hear Bucky’s progress. He was close behind, but you still had more of an advantage. You knew the Tower better than him. You knew level 50 had another stairwell on the opposite side of the floor, through another hallway off the corner of your current one. Sneakers pounded too close for comfort as you shoved the door open and made a break for it down another corridor labyrinth.

If you made it out of this alive, you swore you’d kill Tony’s architect yourself. 

“You can’t hide forever, lisitsa!” Bucky’s voice rang out from the stairwell as you rounded the corner, sprinting through more identical-looking hallways. Another corner later and the glowing red EXIT sign appeared above the next stairwell. A beacon of hope, almost. Relieved, you head straight for it, body and mind and soul pushing against the burning and the gasping for air. You were right there, hand outstretched, fingertips grasping the metal bar–

It felt like a car crash. 

Not an accident or fender bender. No, it felt like seventy miles an hour meets a tree with no intent of moving. That split-second feeling where your stomach drops and you can all but brace for the deadly impact destined for you to meet.

Time stopped as you were yanked backwards. Cold, slick metal wrapped around your ankle, bloody hand print smearing some poor bastard’s DNA all over your calf as your body fell to the ground. Hard. Your jaw clenched as your chin slammed into the linoleum. Teeth ground into your tongue as copper flooded your tastebuds. Your lungs, with little wind left in them, gasped for oxygen. Another scream rising in your throat became stuck in your vocal cords. 

Bucky whipped you around as you struggled to free your lower half. You landed on your shoulder, head bouncing against the floor and teary eyes struggled to stay open and endure the pain. He straddled your form, the weight crashing down on your bones and organs. A sharp inhale impaled your chest as you met Bucky’s darkened eyes, then; the familiar steel blue replaced entirely with dilated, unhinged pupils. 

It was the first time you got a good look at his face. His face is speckled with blood spatter and several bruises spread across his cheek down his neck. Two black eyes, a bloody nose– one you hoped was his– and a broken lip. The bloodied collar of his shirt only aided in the mess of his hair. His soft, chocolate strands stuck in mats to his neck and temples with sweat and blood. 

Out of sheer habit, because he looked like your Bucky, you couldn’t help but reach a hand out to him. A soft plea for the man behind his eyes, one you begged everything holy was still there. He held your stare, face contorting into unrecognizable emotions. Tears brimmed your eyes as your hand stretched further, sobs escaping as your fingers inched closer and closer to his battered face.

“Bucky, it’s me–”

Your appeal transformed into a shriek, quickly snuffed out as Bucky wrapped his crimson-spattered metal hand around your throat. You choked, sputtering lost pleas as your hands flew to your neck. Fingernails flailed in futile attempts to claw off the weapons-grade titanium. 

“You’re done running, khitraya suka,” Bucky’s hot breath fanned your face as he leaned in. His mouth grazed your jaw, titanium hand on your throat flexing with each syllable. He slowly made his way down your neck, pushing harder into your chest with his forearm. A heavy growl. His grip only tightened as you tried to knee him in the groin, picking you up by your neck and slamming you down again.

Stars circled your blurred vision, eyes rolling back into your head. The corridor, the lights, everything split into two.

“You owe me for my victory, lisitsa,” Bucky’s husky whisper resonated in your ear as he licked the side of your face, his hot, wet mouth against your tear-stained cheek. As his free hand moved to the waistband of your shorts, another surge of panic washed through you. You tried to sputter a weak cry from your closed-off throat, blood turning cold, another scream building and building in your chest and aching for release. 

“You owe me what’s mine –!” 

BANG!

Something from somewhere all of a sudden. The object slammed into Bucky, throwing him off of you and spilling across the floor. 

Finally, your lungs lunged at the chance for air, leaving you a heaving, choking, coughing mess. Spitting at the ground as you made your way shakily to your hands and knees, a freed hand traveling to rub the fresh strangulation bruises forming on the column of your stiff neck. 

“Get the fuck off her, Bucky!” 

Steve.

As your vision cleared, the shield whizzed past you as it ricocheted back into Steve’s open arms. Bucky groaned, low and guttural, but only for a moment is he subdued. Slowly, he rose, like smoke from extinguished ashes, looking to his metal vice. A large dent adorned the weathered, bloodied appendage where his bicep met his shoulder. He then turned his attention to Steve, baring his teeth, anger coursing through him as he immediately disregarded you. His sights set on a new target, launching himself at Steve without a beat lost.

Steve grunted as Bucky’s metal fist met the vibranium shield with a deafening clang. Steve gritted his teeth and pushed back, managing to break Bucky’s attack and aim a kick for his stomach.

“Go! I got him!” Steve yelled to you through a gasp as Bucky countered with his own swipe at Steve’s middle. Your body stayed put, relishing in the ability to fucking breathe again, also painfully aware how screwed you’d be if you didn’t escape as you had the chance. You willed yourself to move, to run and to keep going, to no avail. As Steve landed a blow to Bucky, his eyes met yours once more. His baby blues, pained and tired, begged for you to listen to him for once in your life. 

“Now!”

The strain in Steve’s voice seemed to ignite a fire underneath you. Pushing yourself up, you willed your legs to carry you to the exit. Bloody shoe prints tracked your route as you slammed through the doorway. You cursed, knowing they’ll give away which way you’d go, knowing your life matters more than a twenty-dollar pair of sneakers. Kicking them off, throwing the pair down the exit, praying they made it far enough Bucky wouldn’t know any better. 

You threw yourself up the stars, tremors and pain afflicting every limb as the cold concrete seeped in through your socks in each step. The railing helped as you heaved yourself forward with help from the railing. Sweaty palms slipped on the bars, but your grip only grew tighter. 

You didn’t know how you, or your body, was able to do it, making it up seven more flights of stairs before your knees buckled on level 57. Heaving the door open and slamming it shut, you stumbled out into the new hallway. You hadn’t visited that level before. Something Steve and the others– especially Doctor Banner– said was “just a business floor.”

The sign on the wall directing to ‘SAFELAB’ said otherwise. Nothing in the Tower was “just business.” 

What you did know was that every SAFELAB on every floor was located in the same, far-east hallway. 

Wiping the sweat from your temple, you turned right, jogging down the darkened, emptied-out hallway. It felt like the apocalypse. No sign of anybody else. Doors left ajar, papers and bags and other employee memorabilia scattered throughout abandoned offices and cubicles. You hoped everyone was able to make it out, at least.

Part of you didn’t hope for much, though. 

The door to the lab came into view as you rounded the last corner. The door was still locked, the lab inside sterile and untouched. A sigh of relief escaped you. Holding your palm to the door’s scanner, it answered your prayers in a soft beep and whir, miraculously allowing you in. 

You maneuvered through the multiple security doors, four in total, crouching low once you managed to slip into the lab itself. The gigantic window at the front of the labspace spared no room for you to hide easily, but you had zero room to complain about it. It was your only option, after all.

Well, besides the roof. 

Crouched, you snuck your way around the counters and various equipment to one of the supply closets. The furthest corner from the entrance. You scoured through drawers and cupboards for some sort of weaponry; the most you could find was a new scalpel out of a box of extras. 

You closed in on the supply closet, reaching up and grasping the handle, turning it slowly to prevent any squeaks from the inner hinge. A tear glided down your cheek in relief. You hadn’t realized you started crying. Again. 

The door swung open. It greeted you mostly empty, deep enough for you to cram your body into. Crawling inside, bones and limbs contorted into the most comfortable position you could manage. You pinched the edges of the doors to close them as best as you can, accepting they, in fact, couldn’t close all the way from the inside. A curse under your breath, the sliver of dim light through the crack cast onto your face. Once settled, you crumpled your damp t-shirt up from the collar and shoved the fabric into your mouth. Teeth and tongue greeted sweaty cotton and hints of copper as you bit down on the collar, covering your mouth with a free hand. 

At last, after Gods knew how long it had been since you ceased moving, a silenced sob heaved out of your chest. Tremors only worsened as your nervous system rode out the fumes of its adrenaline high and flight mode instincts. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks, mixing with snot further down your face, slipping down to your neck and leaving behind streaked paths in the bloodied, hand-printed bruises adorned on your flesh. The pain from the near-strangulation you suffered broke through the shock and endorphins that were keeping you sane until then. You knew, though, you couldn’t break down. Not yet. Not until you saw Natasha or Steve or someone you trusted face-to-face. 

You started counting your breaths. Mind racing, thoughts traveling near sonic speeds through your mind carrying questions at how the hell it all happened.

You thought for sure S.H.I.E.L.D. was secure, especially after the ordeal with Bucky, Steve, and the whole ‘defeating HYDRA’ ordeal from a few years back. Hell, you thought it was safer than taking the FBI’s recon mission that was offered to you before being referred to Tony himself. Your mind raced, what-ifs and endless possibilities flashing across your eyes like a snuff film. You hoped Steve was okay. You hoped Natasha was on her way to your location any second. You hoped Sam was safe and made it out okay. You hoped Bucky –

Bucky. 

Christ, you hadn’t even stopped to think about how the hell everything happened to him. He’d been doing so well in his recovery program. Steve was even telling you about it that same morning, bragging about how well Bucky was doing, how much progress he was making, how soon they’d finally be able to move in together once Doctor Banner cleared him. Another sob overtook you. How you’d never seen him like that before, the feeling of his titanium arm slowly crushing your windpipe, the weight of his entire body crushing your internal organs as he’d held you down. The things he’d said. You tried to wrap your head around what he’d said, what he was going to do–

Crashing followed by shattering glass emitted a muffled yelp from you as your blood ran cold. Another wave of tears flooded out of your burning eyes, chest heaving unevenly. Your hand clamped even tighter over your mouth as teeth bit into the salty fabric of your shirt, drying up any more moisture your mouth was grateful to finally have.

BANG! Then another. Then more in rapid succession. Shattering, crashing, shattering, silence. The final blow to the security doors sounded from inside the lab itself. Your breath hitched and bile began bubbling in your stomach, reaching the back of your throat and across your tongue. You forced yourself to swallow the acid, listening intently to the crunch of sneakers on shattered glass.

He’d found you. 

“Lisitsaaa,” Bucky drawled, his voice dropped to a primally low octave. Lower than before. You almost couldn’t make out the words, a mixture of growled mumblings of English and Russian. Knees folded closer to your chest, you tightened your grip on the handle of the scalpel. Bucky’s footsteps were slow, methodical, predatorial. 

His heavy steps inched closer, each followed by a pause, then sudden crashing of lab equipment and smashing of drawers. More glass and metal slammed to the ground and walls after each pause. He sounded feet away. Then inches. 

Your breathing stopped as the sliver of light clouded over. The lump in your throat threatened more puke to rise as you dared to peer up through the crack, heart dropping like a dead weight to your stomach as your eyes fell on freshly bloodied sneakers. A stifled scream in your lungs choked you. You refused to think about whose blood that was.

Eyes darted back up. You could see Bucky’s blurred features clouded in shadows. The only light visible, then, was the glint from his wicked smile. Bloodied teeth shone as he licked his lips hungrily, a predator finally cornering its prey. 

Ever so slowly he crouched, shoving his face closer into the seam in the door. Tears and snot continued to stream down your face, your body hyperventilating as you forced yourself to look into his eyes. There was nothing else you could do. Nothing else to say, to cry about. There was nowhere left to run. He got you. 

“There you are, moy priz,” Bucky hissed before reaching through and throwing the doors open, heavy hands leaving imprints in the flimsy metal. Frozen, your fist was still closed around the scalpel, your muscles tensed as joints locked in place. His evil eyes scanned your body greedily, looking for which cut of meat to divulge in first. His gaze stopped at your fist and he chuckled, tisking in a disappointed tone. 

“Oh, glupaya pizda,” Bucky shook his head, amused at your meager choice of weaponry. Compared to him, you might as well have been waving a white flag. His smile only grew, tongue jutting out to lick his lips. Specks of blood coated the sides of his cheeks and edges of his mouth, smeared about from ear to ear with the back of his hand.

“Come with me and they might consider your life, lisitsa–”

You sprung into him, swinging your arm, landing the scalpel into the middle of his flesh hand, impaling straight through it. In an instant, blood spewed from the impact. Bucky screamed out in pain, a slew of mixed language curses reverberating in your skull. You scrambled out of your hiding place, bashing him with a balled fist to the face as you tumbled out and onto your feet, sprinting to the lab’s only exit. Freedom was only an arm’s length away when an overturned stool tripped you. The impact didn’t hurt near as much as the millions of shattered glass bits shredded cut into your skin, your hands and knees and arms and face littered as blood smeared under you and across the once-sterile white floors. You cried out, writhing around. Battered and bloodied, struggling to rise and run again despite the searing pain in your ankle.

Before you could form your next thought, a rough hand snatched your scalp and dragged you up by your hair. You uttered a panicked scream as Bucky hoisted you to eye level, snarling like a rabid dog as he shook you hard.

“I thought you were smarter than that, lisitsa,” he sneered, “but I was wrong.”

He hurled you back onto the floor, his bloodied, titanium fist still gripping your hair, dragging you over to one of the disheveled lab tables. More glass shredded your skin, blood and sweat and tears mixing and pouring over your face and hands and body. With ease and a free hand, he swiped the rest of the contents off another counter; beakers and burners crashed to the floor. His grip tightened as he threw you up onto the stainless steel counter, the dead weight of your body banging onto the table, landing you hard on your back. Eardrums rang into your skull and jaw, radiating down your spine and out your limbs. Your hands slip against the smooth metal from the blood, futile attempts to grab onto something, anything. You groaned and huffed excess sobs. The pain, unbearable; the fear, unimaginable. 

Bucky hoisted himself onto the table, landing on top of your broken body, his knee hitting your spine and knocking your last breath out of you. Straddling you, his thick thighs bulged through tattered sweatpants, squeezing into your rib cage. He looped another fist into your hair, raising your head and slamming it down. The side of your face smushed into the steel table, smearing around more blood as he did it again. And again. The cartilage in your nose cracked and throbbing pain radiated into your eyes, your skull. Warmth from the break and the blood poured over your face. The pain, dulling into numbness as you began to fade in and out of consciousness.

Your vision started to blur and blacken, stars and specks orbiting around Bucky like a halo of hallucination. Your body, finally surrendering to him. No fight left. Any strength you could have mustered, funneled into staying awake, proved useless. 

A new sound, then: ripping.

You didn’t have to look to witness Bucky unrelentingly tear your t-shirt away from your body, training his eyes on your open form. Bruised skin exposed to cool air, your chest still momentarily held together by your sports bra. He made quick work of it next, the nylon snapping off in one swipe, sending goosebumps racing down your spine. 

Ice-cold titanium fingers untangled from your matted hair and made their way from your nape, to the small of your back, to the waistband of your gym shorts. Muscles tensed as you felt each digit wrap almost leisurely onto the elastic. He tore them away swiftly, baring the rest of you and your skin to him. A growl, one of pleasure, vibrated into you from him, emitted he palmed the skin of your ass. His fingers journeyed languidly in a slow trail from your back to your core. You squirmed, wasting the last of your strength, a hopeless attempt to get away one last time. 

A crack came across your face. Flesh against flesh, he slapped you. A punishment. A command for obedience. Your body fell limp. Breathing raggedly and gagging on blood and spit, you shuddered as he took your wrists and tied them together with your t-shirt. 

Satisfied, his prey finally submitting, Bucky paused, panting as he leaned down to you. He wet his lips before speaking, gruff words slurred against your ringing eardrum. As he spoke, cold metal grazed your entrance, a threat of what was to come. 

“Now, I get to take what’s mine.”

Your screams echoed as the world fell dark.